Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt (Wild Sisterhood)
In the heart of this great palisaded fortress, being the hilltop Capital of this besieged Kingdom of Caint this bright morning and laid before King Cyngetoric on his parade ground were the Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt. This sacred gathering prepared themselves now in their own honoured and private conclave, and which the King had set-up on this sandy arena for them. This sanctified ring was surrounded by hundreds of jostling chariots, horses and armoured men, but what went on within was unseen by them all, as it had been enveloped by a great circle of stitched sheets of white linen, mounted on long poles. A large ring of these had been hammered into the hard-packed earth by the Kingâs stewards, and to allow this holy congregation the concealment they needed for their ancient rites. Voluminous clouds of aromatic and pungent smoke wafted over this tall, white hoop of curtain and it was redolent with the herbal weed this âSpiritual Sisterhoodâ smoked through their noses inside, in long slender pipes with large bowls. The small, dried buds they smoked were known as Cywarch Benyweg, and they were harvested from a special strain of the Cywarch plant the Brythons normally used for making their bowstrings and Hemp ropes. The females of this ancient land-race species once separated from the males and allowed to form unfertilised calyxes, would at the end of summer produce a resinous and herbal medicine which had been used for countless centuries by healers. Much careful selection and seeding by the Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt had over the years developed a highly potent and effective medicinal strain of this ancient plant, and this unique, âwild sisterhoodâ held glowing embers to the equally glowing bowls of their pipes, and inhaled great lungfulâs of this resinous smoke through their noses, as their mouths had been forever sealed.
The Shahanshaâs countless warriors of mighty Persia, the Carthaginians and the Syrians were known to consume Hemp flowers or their resin regularly before battle, and many Gallic tribes were also known to use it in war. Most Brythons used Cywarch Benyweg to control pain, especially arthritic pain in the elderly, but it was also commonly used to stimulate appetite and to aid restful sleep. The Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt used this herbal medicine in the same way as the Persians; for war. It allowed them to commune with their fierce Goddess of war before they were finally presented to Her. It helped them prepare for battle and certain death in Her name, whilst helping them to remain calm and focused in their one and only conflict. This âWild Sisterhoodâ were always Druid led and inspired, and it was HĂȘnDdu himself who today dedicated and sanctified these ninety-nine spiritual female warriors.
Supported by the most eminent Druids of all Prydein this momentous day, these senior priests would convey their sacred declarations to their Goddess Andras Fawr as they battled the foreign invaders with no thought of survival - in Her name. The Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt were tasked with first contact, even before the packs of great slavering war-hounds were released as they always had in war. These completely naked, suicidal spirit warriors would attack first as was their long and honourable tradition, and as a spiritual, Brythonic introduction to what was soon to follow.
These courageous women, squatting behind the white linen curtain in Cyngetoricâs hilltop Dun and smoking their weed were all volunteers, and today these brave women would go to war unclothed, with a bronze torc around their necks and only a single short sword to fight with. These torcs were hollow bronze rather than the solid Gold reserved for royalty, but they still showed the reverence and respect given to these fierce warriors, the mature and the young alike. Their lips had been sewn-up with silver wire so they could utter no sounds or screams in the battle to come, and their bodies had been freshly painted by the acolytes of the Uati with the blue woad, in the swirls and patterns that pleased their Goddess, and which ensured a glorious and conspicuous death. Each had a white skull mask painted on their faces in lime by the Uati, to signify their sacred status and to demonstrate that each was marked for holy sacrifice. Mistletoe was woven into their braided hair which declared that they belonged to these Druids, and these ultimately courageous, spiritual she-warriors prayed now, on their knees and with bloodshot eyes. They prayed to their fierce and warlike Arglwydd Andras; their beloved deity, and they dedicated and sacrificed their lives to Her and to this allied defence of Arglwydd Prydein against Roman invasion. They would precede the main, manic onrushing attack of the wardogs and the tribes as their predecessors have always done, and all would die as expected, but songs and englyns are sung about the most successful of these religiously inspired warriors, and will be, unto the end of days.
Their most lauded and most infamous Chwaer was one Gawres Cyllt, a phenomenal woman warrior who is deeply honoured to this day, and who long-ago personified their fierce and terrible Goddess. Sister Cyllt had cut great swathes of enemy spearmen down many years ago, spinning and pirouetting gracefully before inevitably she had been brought down. She was soon slaughtered, and her painted body pierced with so many spears, her body had resembled a giant hedgehog. One mindless enemy had done the unthinkable however. One idiotic, mead-addled and long-forgotten individual had cut the head off this legendary heroine, throwing it over the shield wall with a curse, back into no-manâs land. A howl of enraged and deranged disbelief had broken from the main body of her tribe at such unbelievable profanity, as no one but a Druid could touch the body of a slain Sister without incurring the displeasure of the Goddess Andras and all of Prydeinâs deities, but to decapitate her in that sacrilegious way was nothing short of desecration. It had turned the tide in that battle, that day so long ago, and it had cemented Sister Cylltâs place in Brythonic history and legend. Eventually, the songs of the Bards would have the listener believe that she slew forty armoured men that day before being brought down, but whatever the true tally, Cylltâs name was revered centuries after her long-forgotten contemporaries had faded into the mists of time.
These wire-lipped and painted warriors now smoked their weed, held their arms wide and pleaded for the blessings of Arglwydd Andras Fawr in this sacred white circle, and with the aid of the Brif-Druid of Prydein himself and his Arch-Druidens all praying in harmony, the atmosphere was both febrile and portentous. As alien war horns sounded to the south, each and every one of these gods-sworn sisters were utterly convinced in view of this most revered and all-powerful group facilitating their connection, that they would be curled-up at the feet of their much-worshipped Goddess within the hour.
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As they wheeled on this lumpy, uneven grass, Caesarâs attention was drawn ahead of this mobile force and to a great and worrying clunking sound coming from the huge twin-gates of that hilltop fortress before them. It had seemed abandoned until that ominous sound reached them, but all eyes in this host turned now to watch those tall black gates swing pendulously open. At the same time, the twin gatehouses and the palisaded, distant battlements around that smoky hilltop stronghold began to fill with warriors. Moments later, dozens upon dozens of pairs of horses sped down through those gates, towing behind them the speedy and eminently dangerous two-man Prittanic chariots. Fully manned and armed, they streamed down the ramp onto the grass of this huge plain, and Caesar knew then for certain as the clattering sound reached him on this sullen breeze, that his gold had been squandered and that he had been betrayed and ambushed.
âBattle formations!â He roared, and his men began to form-up to meet this onslaught, but rather than charge straight at them with the reckless abandon expected, these chariots approached to just out of javelin range at a trot, and then split their formation into an avenue, revealing a strange and exotic sight to these Romans.
About a hundred completely naked women strode forth between this rolling honour guard, and each was painted in the fantastic, blue whirling symbols and patterns clearly loved by these uncivilised barbarians. Each female warrior wore a torc around her neck, and it seemed that all they carried in arms was a foot-long blade.
âWell gentlemen, it looks like the entertainment has arrived.â Mamurra chortled, and this broke the spell these naked female warriors had spun, and the officers around him all laughed. The tension released in all these soldiers then, and the front ranks began to rotate their muscular shoulders and swing their arms about, preparing themselves for the warm work which approached, along with these blue-swabbed and skull-faced Prittanic women. The one priest who had survived thus far drew near to Caesar then and spoke quietly to him, and the General nodded at his advice.
These naked warriors had approached sedately to within forty yards before Centurion Gaius Crastinius yelled out: âAd Aciem, et Pilli Parati.â
Caesar quickly overrode his command however; âNo Pilii if you please Crastinius. Apparently, they are sacred warriors, and so I want to you to cut them to pieces with your Gladii!â He ordered this officer and all his front-line men. âThey are merely women and girls, and one oyster-picker is all they are armed with, so I want you to make an example of them. Show these mindless barbarians the worth of Romeâs steel! Cut them down with your swords gentlemen and then decapitate each and every one, as it will be a spiritual blow to these cave-dwellers and a good warm-up exercise for the work to come!â He instructed them with a dangerous smile, and his men roared their assent.
âLook at the tits on that one!â Came a familiar, guttural voice from the rear, and many enlisted soldiers joined in the resulting laughter.
The javelins and tall shields were put aside, and the front ranks prepared themselves for sport as these naked, blue-warriors suddenly broke into a run toward them. As they neared, the Romans saw that the lips of each womanâs white, death-skull mask had been wired shut, and it made them open their eyes in surprise. Their surprise was doubled in a heartbeat, when at the point of contact, these courageous women warriors bounded into the air in front of them and vanished. These muted, female fighters from this long-lost world somersaulted over their heads to engage their comrades behind, some being thrown into the air by two comrades and it amazed them all.
Many astonished soldiers in the ranks behind were stunned by the miraculous arrival of these furious, wire-lipped and red-eyed, blue painted killers among them, and these were the ones who died first. These naked dervishes were spinning blue nightmares of flashing, killing steel, and they were as agile as birds. They were equally vulnerable however, and these blue painted sisters inevitably succumbed, one by one, and the two front ranks of Legionaries cruelly carried out their orders and put them to the sword. Their armour plates and helms easily deflected those slim blades, and as these grinning Romans hacked, chopped and slaughtered these fragile, spiritual warriors, there was much laughter among their watching men.
As each fallen sister was brutally decapitated to Caesarâs personal orders and their white-painted, blood-dripping heads held-high, a massive roar of abject horror and protest came from the fringes of this broad plain, like the angry rumbling of some huge but yet hidden monster.
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Excerpt from Iron Blood & Sacrifice (The Sons of Beli Mawr)
Amazon link; https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0773V2W6B
Copyright Eifion Wyn Williams 2018
