by Ralph Harvey
“I see your point Mordicas — such an alliance would undoubtedly draw in the Parisi, and the Cantiaci and the Regnenses would undoubtedly join her too.
“And such a union could threaten you yourself, Suetonius,” Mordicas added.
Suetonius was thoughtful.
“Indeed you speak true priest, but how can I prevent such marriage? An alliance between the tribes could undoubtedly be dangerous to Rome, but there is still no proof that she intends war.”
The Druid argued his point.
“There is talk of such in the Iceni villages and Catamandua of the Brigantes fears that Boudicca seeks to avenge the capture of Caratacus.”
Suetonius stood up suddenly, standing above the sitting priest he looked down at him. “My hands are tied priest,” he ejaculated, “what can I do?”
He paced up and down agitatedly in the tent, then turned to Mordicas.
“Caesar’s command is to settle this country and colonise it, and let life go on as normally as possible.” He removed his gladius from the table and replaced it in its sheath, “As long as they wage war amongst themselves it suits both Rome and I to ignore it — they weaken each other.” He hesitated then looked down on the unfortunate man again. “Is she not more likely to go to war against Catamandua, Queen of the Brigantes, or even Siluria? There is an uneasy peace there, and with Catamandua — now there is a woman to fear.” He walked over to the tent flap and pulled it aside indicating Mordicas to leave.
“I thank you for your warning Mordicas — but I am powerless to prevent it. We do not interfere in marriages no matter what.”
The Druid turned to leave, but as he approached Suetonius, he turned and tugged his arm, now speaking in a whisper, “Listen to me Suetonius,” he hissed, “the Iceni Queen will strike you and your legions — I have seen the event in the heavens,” he laid heavy emphasis on the word ’will.’ “whether it be alone or in an alliance — she will go to war soon, better it be if she stands alone.”
Suetonius listened intently.
“Continue priest.”
The white-garbed one drew ever closer. As he did so Suetonius’ hand shot to his gladius warily.
“The Iceni custom is that a chief can only marry a girl who is pure and untainted, one who has never known a man. This is the Celtic way.” Suetonius was silent as the priest continued.
“A pair of drunken soldiers to rob them of their maidenhoods — and the alliance is dead.”
“Too dangerous,” Suetonius responded. “The she-bitch could then well turn upon Rome in revenge.”
“Not if they were disguised as Brigantes, and wore the Catamandua garb — a Brigante ring and torc were left behind and the union ceases, and the Brigantes and Iceni will decimate each other, there is no love lost between them and the Iceni itch to settle old scores.”
Suetonius lifted the flap once more.
“Guard,” he called out, “send me a chariot and pony, and take this man back to the Henge, with an escort. He is tired has walked far.” He turned to the Druid.
“I thank you Priest, as I said it is dangerous, but there is much in what you say — we will meet again and talk later — I will send transport for you at the time. In the meantime, there is much for me to think about.”
He watched the man hobble off as a charioteer pulled up to take the old one back.
Then he turned to Juventus outside the tent, and commented, “I will need a long spoon if I sup with that one.”
The Revolt Starts: Iceni Village, three weeks later
At the village gates the sentinels saw the urgency with which Salla spurred his steed on, as the horseman approached, the lookout on the wall raised his horn in anticipation, but the gate guards signalled him to stay his hand.
“Wait ’till we know Cantra,” one called to him. The man lowered the horn and resumed his vigil.
As Salla swept past them one of the guards raced hotfoot behind in case he needed to warn Cantis to signal of any impending danger. Salla pulled his foam-flecked horse up outside Boudicca’s long house and was admitted at once.
Boudicca and Corrianus emerged from the back quarter of their dwelling, the Queen hastily pulling on a cloak to cover her nakedness, but not overly shy, nudity was not a thing of shame among her people.
“Salla!” she exclaimed, “What is it?”
Salla regained his composure, took a gulp of air, and then spoke.
“O Queen, a Roman patrol approaches, some twenty to thirty strong, they have a strange banner unknown to us. They are not from the local commander’s garrison —”
Corrianus interjected, “Tell the elders to welcome them in, offer them food and wine, and keep the young girls out of sight — just in case. We outwardly have no cause to fear them, this is a royal household and Suetonius knows it. He must be aware of any visiting units — how far are they from here?”
Salla hesitated, “Two horsemen draw near and a foot patrol follows some way behind, I am probably a mile ahead of them.”
“Good,” Boudicca grunted, “let everybody be normal — show no alarm, but as Corrianus says, bid the womenfolk to lay low.”
Some time later the unit entered, comprising of a centurion on horseback,Verres, a Tribune, four Decurions with forty legionnaires and Procurator Catus Decianus in the lead.
The headman, an emissary of Boudicca, greeted them and placed a newly plucked oak sprig in front in the traditional gesture of peace, and two of the older women immediately brought drink. The Procurator accepted the goblet while still mounted.
“We require a hut for my men to rest in, and food and drink,” he arrogantly announced. He tossed a small pouch contemptuously at the headman, “Romans pay their way - see to it.”
Surprised, the headman took the purse and responded, “I shall prepare the long hut for your Excellency as requested and announce you — I know not your name.”
“Catus Decianus, Procurator of Rome.” Haltingly he dismounted, the legionaries immediately snapping to attention as he did so. “Decurion, have the men stand down,” he commanded.
As the soldiers relaxed, the villagers brought them drink and bread, while the long hut was prepared.
Back in Boudicca’s abode, the headman approached Boudicca and Corrianus and laid the purse before her.
“I like it not Queen, each legion always stops and throws up a defence wall before they eat and sleep — they never enter and stay in our villages or our encampments.”
Boudicca was puzzled.
“It could be laziness on their part — although it is clearly unusual — but they are a long way from Londinium, and there is no-one to know they relax the rules, but it is most certainly strange behaviour.”
Corrianus spoke, “True, the legions grumble continuously of the discipline and at having to build defences and ditches at the end of each day — but we will be vigilant. I must confess however that it is most unusual for them not to do so.”
Rome
Back in Rome, the news of the impending crisis had reached the ears of Nero. The moneylenders had known many days before of the calling in of the Britannic debt, for indeed had they themselves not been instrumental in it? Those who had lent knew full well of their own duplicity in the presentation of ‘gifts’ to the unsuspecting Celts, so they had been quite content to wait, and decide when they chose to call the debts in: but it had been decided to levy over a period of several months. To be ordered to repay them now at such short notice with a potential crisis upon them, then it would be up to Caesar’s legions to see that their debts would be paid.
One thing that had made the usurers of Rome jittery was the fact that they had not reckoned on the Iceni Queen’s reaction. Now that the merchants were calling in the alleged ‘debt’, the market place was awash with rumours, which had been carefully nurtured by the Deva Druids, of a Britannic revolt. They had made sure that their conspiracies had been whispered in the right ears and would thus be carried back to Rome, and eventually to Caesar himself.
Within the imperial palac
e itself, Nero sat languidly, eating from a bunch of black grapes indifferent to the waiting senators outside who were anxiously waiting to speak with him.
Eventually he swallowed the last of the grapes and nonchalantly spat the pips out into a ceramic bowl held by a slave girl, and leaning back on his throne he spoke to a guard.
“Bid Petronius enter, I am now ready to receive him.”
The legionnaire salute and exited, reappearing moments later with Petronius and a handful of senators.
“Well dear Petronius,” Nero taunted, “do not stand there like a mute, clearly you and your cronies have come to torment me, so speak up and be done with it for I grow weary and would fain rest.”
Petronius swallowed hard, then taking his courage in both hands he spoke,
“There is a problem with the Britannic colony, great Caesar, I am informed that Suetonius your Governor General is worried about a Britannic queen, who they say seeks to unite the tribes in revolt.”
Nero selected a peach and casually bit into it, “There are many queens in Britannia, each mistress of their own domain, but they hate each other, and no one tribe would serve another.”
He finished the fruit, wiping his hands on the hem of his toga, then continued, “Besides, I have received a message from Marcus, that there is now nothing to fear. The merchants push for their money, and Suetonius plans to collect the taxes and break any potential union in one stroke.”
Caecilius, one of the senators accompanying Petronius, their spokesman, was clearly distrustful.
“Your pardon Caesar,” he interjected, “but I like not some of those who surround Suetonius, they offer bad advice. Tell me Caesar, who are to be his instruments in this matter?”
Nero waved the slave girl away, “Catus Decianus and Silentarius, they are experienced men.”
Petronius reacted instantly.
“Catus? In truth Nero, I swear that for every sesterce he collects for you or the merchants, he will collect two for himself.”
Caecilius leapt to Petronius’ support.
“And Silentarius’ temper is well known, whatever Suetonius’ plan is he needs men with cool heads, and these are an evil choice.”
Nero interrupted him, “Suetonius knows what he is doing” he ejaculated, “I know not his plan but he is a thinker.”
The two senators exchanged worried glances at Caesar’s outburst, but remained silent.
Nero relaxed again. “However, I know your intentions that are due to me and the Senate, it’s my intention to send my own man with Catus to watch over the situation — and see that I am not cheated.”
He waved them away with his hands then turned to a fair-haired youth who waited in the corridor with a lyre.
“Now leave me,” he commanded. “Lucius awaits, he is so anxious to hear my new composition. Dear child,” he turned to the boy, “have you tuned it for me dear Lucius?”
The youth nodded.
“It is worthy of Caesar.”
Nero turned and patted the boy on the head and started to strum the Lyre, his eyes closed in rapture, oblivious to all and everything around him. As he did so, the senators bowed and left.
Iceni Village — Queen’s Dwelling
It was noon the following day in the Iceni village where Boudicca had been born some forty years before. The visiting soldiers were wandering round the village in small, but ominously heavily armed groups. A perturbed trader anxiously approached Corrianus.
“Corrianus, I implore you to aid me, I seek common justice as is decreed under Roman law.” Corrianus looked grave.
“What ails you Pwyll? What is the problem?” he asked. The man pointed behind him,
“Two Roman soldiers have selected a collection of amber jewellery that I have made, and now refuse to pay, one has been drinking since noon at Raglan’s hut and now he can scarce stand, and now announces he has neither money to pay nor goods to trade for the wine he has drunk. Nor can his companion pay me for my jewellery, and refuses to return it.”
Another man standing nearby broke in, nodding his head in assent “Maglan, Gwall’s wife has been chased by a Roman, and offered money to satisfy him. She hid from him but the man returned with his companions to seek her, and finding her not they smashed her hut.” Pwyll turned to the man.
“Where is she now?” he asked, clearly disturbed.
“She fled, Gwall has taken her to the forest and they will hide there until the Romans have departed.”
Corrianus spoke angrily, “I have been watching Pwyll. These are not undisciplined auxiliaries but Catus Decianus’ men, sent by Suetonius from Londinium. Their Centurian Silentarius is clearly a hard man, but I shall complain to him nevertheless.”
The two traders thanked him and as they were leaving one turned saying, “Tell him Corrianus, we seek only justice. Return my goods and they can owe for the wine!”
Moments later Corrianus entered the long hut that had been loaned to the Romans in accordance with Iceni hospitality. Silentarius was seated at the far end marking documents. As Corrianus approached, he looked up angrily, “How dare you enter my hut without authority!” he snapped.
Corrianus gasped exasperatedly, then retorted, “There were no guards to issue challenge, and I am accustomed, commander, to entering my own property — you are my guest, not I yours!”
Silentarius sprang to his feet apoplectic with rage, “All property is governed and owned by Rome including Boudicca’s, it is the spoils of war! Woe to the vanquished — to the victor the spoils!”
Corrianus reacted angrily himself, “It’s not so here, Silentarius. Prasutagus gave half his kingdom to Caesar in settlement, we are exempt from tax during our Queen’s rule, and rule our nation autocratically from within.” He paused then added, “Though under Rome’s divine guidance of course.”
“Guidance?” Silentarius screamed, “Rome dictates and decrees every movement you make: every decision you take is ordained by Caesar himself. You are vassals — understand — vassals!” he shouted the last word even louder.
Corrianus was visibly shaken, but he continued, more dignified, “I do not wish to be embroiled in a slanging match, Silentarius so I suggest you check with Suetonius, we have made peace with Rome and with him, we are your allies, our dues have been paid to Rome, and the royal household and my Queen are immune.”
Silentarius sat, still inwardly fuming “Do not push me too far Corrianus, to me you are a rebellious dog, and as such you will come when I call, and beg at the Roman table.”
He looked up, his measured words causing his adversary to suppress an innate wrath. “You Celts enjoy a degree of licence under the auspices of the Governor General. His decisions in all matters however is final — which brings me to the point as to why I am here.” He looked down at a scattered array of parchments before him.
“Caesar acknowledges the settlement from Prasutagus, but nothing has been paid on the loans made to you and your people over the last few years.”
“Loans?” Corrianus asked querulously, “We have entered into no agreements for loans, Caesar’s emissaries gave us grants to breed new cattle and horses after the treaty, but as I said — they were grants!” His tormentor smiled at him with an ugly smile, “Come Corrianus, Caesar receives gifts, he does not make them. Surely you cannot be so naive to think the money would not have to be repaid.”
Corrianus remained cool, “Prasutagus bequeathed a fortune to Caesar, the grants he gave us are but a fraction of what he received. Prasutagus bequeathed half his kingdom to Caesar.” Silentarius did not react, “Let me clarify the situation before I collect, right,” he spoke with soft but sinister emphasis, “Caesar did not make you any grants, the Roman usurers made loans to your people, they are nothing to do with Prasutagus’s deal with Caesar. So all I need to know from you, is can you pay, and can you pay now? That is all that is to be said in this matter.”
Corrianus reacted angrily, “Why did you not declare your mission when you arrived yesterday — why this deceit?”
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Silentarius leaned back, then answered slowly, “Because, Corrianus, by the time we came around to collecting, your treasures would have been hidden from us. Now my men have seen the riches of your people, your silversmiths at work, your carvers of stone and lapis lazuli, your workers of precious metal. Yours is a prosperous village. Rome has subsidised you too long. Here,” he thrust a parchment at Corrianus, “you have two hours to collect.”
“But the settlement is binding,” shouted Corrianus.
Silentarius waved him away, “I have no knowledge of such. You state you gave to Nero what was already Nero’s. What sort of fool do you take me for eh? Well not the fool you think Celt!”
Corrianus glanced at the paper, read momentarily, and then threw it back.
“Twenty-five oxen! We have only sixty here; one hundred and thirty sheep — that alone is more than we have — and this!” his finger stabbed the paper, “two thousand sheaves of wheat! That alone would denude our granary and leaves us hungry this winter.”
Silentarius walked away.
“Two hours: if you had paid your taxes I would not be here.” He marched out arrogantly.
As he exited, Corrianus called after him, “Boudicca is of the royal blood and so exempt! Stay your hand Roman, I shall appeal to Camulodunum.”
Silentarius turned in mid-stride, then shouted,“Camulodunum issued the order — dog!”
Roman Headquarters in Londinium
The headquarters of the Roman administration in Londinium was quiet as Romans celebrated the festival of Saturnalia and indulged themselves on this most holy of holy days. The slightly overcast cloud threatening to dampen the proceedings with the odd shower was the only thing that marred the day.
Within the confines of his tent Suetonius gazed out at the populace erecting banners and garlands in preparation for the evening’s celebration.
“In Rome we could always guarantee a warm and sunny event for our Saturnalia, here in this accursed country the marsh frogs are more numerous than our sand lizards, and every pond hides a poisonous eft.”