Andrasta’s Guild Poem by Steve Trimmer

At ‘r lacustrine shrine She sharpens Her father’s falchion
He was once a Great Druid of Her people (he was my teacher)
For he has long since been in Annwn; land of Tir na Nog
Land of The Young; yet to be reborn of Cerridwen’s Cauldron
He has yet to return in neo-nascent form (pain holds his return to Her)

Her name is Breacca nic Graine
Yet the tribes of Britannia hail her as The Boudicca
“Bringer of Victory”; a titular claim she doth brandish lightly
She loathes the Roman legions who hath usurped the lands of ‘r people
An’ sully it’s shorelines daily; an’ besmirching the Holy Forest

“This shalt cease on this day! ” She decrees
Onto ‘r Goddess Matron of War; Lady Andrasta
This supplication cries She, with such fervency and zeal
That my spine shivers in glorious trepidation (relieved to be at Her side, rather than at end of ‘r spear) ……ah! Great Queen Boudicca of the Iceni tribe!
Vengeance and requital seeks She
A mind racing, fraught with memories so rancourous
Her daughters dishonoured before Her very eyes by Romans soldiers
An’ She, bound to a pole, watching on in horror
Hate grows rampant within Her heart for these invading minions of Emperor Claudius
Yet no accruement of spilt Roman blood can assuage Her pain
I weep for Her and for the innocence of Her Daughters fair

Boudicca was once Lady and Queen to King Prasutagus (my dear friend)
Dear Prasutagus, forced into a suzerain kingship under the mighty thumb of Rome
Only wishing for peace; a concept forgone in the new orders Roman compunctions

As She rises up from the Holy Ford
Up from the healing Holy Waters of Sulis, The Lady of The River glistening ‘pon Her
Dripping from ‘r ruddy hair and woad-blue pallid skin (a fearsome roar delivered)
A war scream from deep within Her soul, pierces the night air
Again, I shudder; reveling in Her mighty war cry
I am honoured to take to the battlefields at her side
Poor Romans….they know naught of the horrors and bedlam which lay afore them

The year was 62 A.D, by contemporary reckoning
Yet to us then, it was the Year of Vixen, during the Age of The Twain Salmon Fish
The energy of this Age was quite passive and indecisive
In The Pantheon of Rome they sensed this somehow (Jupiter and Mithras rejoice..faugh!)
So the strongest amongst us were called upon during this violent time
Although we were desirous of peace……………………………
We knew that we must spill Roman blood to achieve it

For I was a Black Druid in those days
Born to the Trinovantes tribe in East Britannia
Named for the Wild Hunter of Hermetic truth
They called me Gwydyon……..Gwydyon ap Don
Warrior Bard and Hunter Child of The Lady Danu
Now in my 40th year, a Druidic Black Knight of Gwydyon
Yet my name in temporal realms, I be Dubhughrnos ap Etainna
For my mother was a Moon Child of Etain, from Land o’ Erin
Aye, Dubhughrnos of The Trinovantes was my name in those days
Blessed in eruditions of The Ages by The Great Mother
Taught of Divine Wisdom o’er many a year
Now deemed a Warrior Sage
A title I too wear lightly, yet with humbled honour

For I was a great friend of this Warrioress Queen; Queen Boudica
At rivers edge we hone our falchions in supplication to Lady Andrasta
Queen Boudica is of this Goddess incarnate; a High Priestess of Lady Andrasta
An’ with Her left hand blesses my pate with woad mud spiral ‘pon my 3rd Eye
Visions of The Seers now be with me

We both carry this honour and burden of Divinity
The Gods be with us; The Morgan’s Crows circle o’erhead (a meal they await)
The drums of the IX Hispania Legion, lead by General Cerialis, beat a malevolent death march
Our army of Britannia’s tribes scream war cries behind us as we lead them into battle
The Coritani, The Catuvellauni and my people, The Trinovantes march toward them
We march on our former capital, now under Roman control…..city of Camulodunum
I hearken the lamenting cries of my people from behind the city walls……
In the trees our sons hung bloodied and naked
Through the walls our Daughters wept and sullied
…………ire fills my heart and very soul….I only see red now
I call on my dead ancestors from the Western Lands of Avalon
The Knights of Avalon heed my call
As do Gawian’s Green Knights of Cambria, lead by Cardoc of The Ordivices
By means of my cloak I disappear among the living ranks
Now joining the ranks of my ancestors; who hail from the Age of The Bull
They bringeth with them the strength we require on this day
Queen Boudicca walks with a foot in either realm into battle
As I help steady her left flank of the Avalonian Knights
We of The Black Knights of Gwydyon stay the course with battle cries to Callieach
We welcome death if it must be so
We are met with a wall of shields and thrusting Gladius blades
We nothing care

Blood…………..aye………….. scent of blood fills the air………..
……………warriors are falling on either side of the skirmish line

Crows of The Morgan still a circling o’erhead
Dying screams
Doors to The Otherworld now wide open as scores of the fallen pass it’s gates

I strike hard and fast with my falchion
Bodies crash into my shield
Sounds of bones cracking
Limbs and blood fly about, impeding my view
As of yet, I stand unwounded and adrenaline allows me not to tarry

Soon the battle horn of the IX Hispania peals in the air
The legion soldiers flee for their lives
An’ their commanders had fled already

Victory is ours…………..at least for today
The Boudicca hath led us to triumph yet again
Flee, Catus Decianus……….for my Queen shalt take Her vengeance ‘pon thee next!

Blessed be Andrasta, our Muse of The Battlefield!


Steve Trimmer