The 'Spiritual Sisterhood'; the Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt.
Almost two hundred carbads were mounted armed and ready,
inside the great gates of CaerCant and the Belgic King Cyngetoric sat easily on
his horse in his old-fashioned armour, awaiting the signal to throw his gates
open and release the flood of rattling and banging vehicles of death, to go
clattering down his broad ramp to the turf below.
A long and deep, base lowing of familiar horns wafted to him
on the air then and all around him became animated, as the signal informed
everyone that the Wolf of Rome had appeared from the south at last and had
finally taken the field.
In the heart of this great palisaded fortress and laid before
King Cyngetoric on his parade ground, were the Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt, who prepared themselves for battle in their
own sacred and private conclave, which the King had set-up on this sandy
quadrangle for them. This sanctified ring was surrounded by hundreds of
jostling chariots, horses and men but it had been enveloped by a great circle
of stitched-sheets of white linen mounted on poles, to allow them the
concealment they needed for their ancient rites. Voluminous clouds of aromatic
pungent smoke wafted over the tall white curtain and it was redolent with the
herbal weed the ‘Spiritual Sisterhood’ smoked through their noses, 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 they normally used for making their
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 medicine and
this unique ‘wild sisterhood’ held glowing embers to the equally glowing bowls
of their pipes and inhaled great lungsful of the redolent smoke through their
noses, as their mouths had been forever sealed.
The Shahansha’s countless warriors of mighty Persia, the
Carthaginians and the Syrians were known to consume it 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 used the herbal medicine in the same way as the Persians, in that
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.
The Sisterhood were always Druid led and inspired and it was
HênDdu himself, who today dedicated and sanctified these ninety-nine spiritual
female warriors. Supported by Ladies
Meleri and Karych the two Arch-Druidens of all Prydein, these senior priests
would convey their sacred declarations to their Goddess Andras Fawr, as they battled
the foreign invaders with no thought of survival. 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, as a spiritual Brythonic
introduction to what was soon to follow. These courageous women were all
generational volunteers, who had already brought children into this world and
would today fight unclothed, with a bronze torc around their necks and only a
single short sword to fight with. The torcs were hollow bronze rather than the
solid Gold reserved for royalty but still showed the reverence and respect
given to these fierce warriors, mature and young alike. Their lips had been sewn-up
with silver wire, so they couldn’t utter any sounds or screams, and their
bodies were painted by the acolytes of the Uati, with the blue woad 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,
to signify their sacred status and that each was marked for holy
sacrifice. Mistletoe was woven into
their braided hair, which declared that they belonged to the 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
the defence of Arglwydd Prydein. They would precede the main, manic onrushing
attack of 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, until the end of days.
Their most lauded and famous Chwaer was one Gawres Cyllt, a phenomenal woman warrior who is
deeply honoured to this day and who personified their fierce and terrible
Goddess Andras Fawr. Sister Cyllt had cut great swathes of enemy spearmen down
many years ago, spinning and pirouetting gracefully before inevitably, she was
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 off the head of this legendary heroine, throwing it over the
shield wall with a curse, back into no-man’s land. A howl of enraged and deranged disbelief had
broken from the main body of her tribe at such unbelievable profanity, as none
but a Druid could touch the body of a slain Sister without incurring the
displeasure of the Goddess Andras and all the deities of Prydein, but to
decapitate her was nothing short of sacrilege. It had turned the tide in the
battle that day so long ago and cemented Cyllt’s place in Brythonic history and
legend. Eventually the songs would have the listener believe that she slew
forty armoured men that day before being brought down but whatever the tally,
her 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, with the aid of the Brif-Druid of Prydein himself and
his Arch-Druidens. 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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