by Ralph Harvey
“Strip her completely and let us see what a Queen looks like.” Soldiers pulled on the ropes and slung Boudicca even higher, her toes now barely touching the ground, her long Titian hair hanging down her back partly concealing her nakedness. A guard roughly pushed her hair over her shoulders down her front, then grinning removed her nether garment, leaving her completely naked.
As the first blow of the lictor struck, Boudicca gritted her teeth and bore the flogging stoically, the tears that now ran down her face were for the screams of her violated daughters as even more soldiers entered the room. Then as the pain reached a new threshold she passed out mercifully released from the lingering screams of the two girls she loved.
Druids Augury
High in the hills the storm clouds gathered, the sun breaking out spasmodically between both the dark and the light of the cumulus as they rolled across the heavens.
As the sun started to disappear behind the blackening clouds in the sky, a novice Druid standing outside the great temple visibly shivered, then glancing furtively around to make sure he was unobserved lowered the pannier of water he was carrying to the ground, and made the sign of the horns heavenward in an effort to protect himself from the evil forces that mentally he envisaged were gathering.
Within the temple itself all was ominously quiet as the youth strained his ears awaiting his summons to enter. While he stood there shivering, a light drizzle began to fall and the youth jumped visibly as a resounding clap of thunder reverberated around the heavens.
Within the temple itself Mordicas held his hand on high waiting for the lightning strike he knew would shortly follow.
After what seemed an interminable period the sky lit up as sheet lightning now ripped across the ether. As it did so Mordicas immediately dropped his hand, scattering its contents over the burning brazier flaming in front of him. Instantly the sweet incense he had been clutching descended onto the hot embers of the brazier and immediately a great cloud of pungent smoke arose, enveloping the room in an aromatic haze.
Outside the darkness descended once more and this time a roll of thunder echoed from the gathering blackness. At that point the white-clad Druids in the background started a melancholy chant, growing in intensity and synchronising with the gathering of the storm.
To the side of the temple, an aged patriarch stood in anticipation, while before him a great brass gong hung, suspended on an ancient and sagging wooden frame intricately carved with Theban runes.
Now Mordicas’ hands delved into the folds of his robes unleashing the thongs of a pouch concealed beneath, and pulled out a separate handful of aromatic gums mixed with iron pyrites. With a theatrical gesture he cast them into the brazier with a flourish.
This time there was a great flash of fire and sparks as the brazier leapt into life, the flames leaping to the ceiling and illuminating the whole room.
Mordicas swiftly stepped back and signalled to the old man poised by the gong. “Now,” he commanded.
At that point the chanting had reached a crescendo, and was reverberating throughout the chamber as the old one struck a resounding blow.
Outside the temple the novice, hearing the boom as it resonated through the building, hurried in and presented the pannier of water he had been holding to Mordicas.
Mordicas solemnly took it from the young man and placed it on the altar, before a large spluttering tallow candle, then summoned the two arch-druids Sandros and Copernicus forward, while the third, Lasca, now took over the duties at the burning charcoal, sprinkling further substances upon it, until this time the whole room glowed with a scarlet hue. Mordicas, Sandros, and Copernicus gathered together and started to gaze intently into the still waters of the pannier.
In the background the flames continued to flicker, casting weird shadows upon the walls and flickering in alternating shapes across the surface of the water, as the three Druids commenced their scrying into the depths of the bowl. As they watched, macabre shapes started to appear on the water’s surface as both the brazier and the candle flame were reflected upon it.
Then, suddenly, the flames died completely down and all was still. Seconds ticked away while the three Druids stood there meditating while the chanting died slowly away. Thunder roared forth once more and forked lightning struck outside the temple, casting weird shadows around the room for a few fleeting seconds.
Mordicas gazed into the ashen faces of Sandros and Copernicus, who were visibly unnerved, then he spoke, “It is done — soon we shall witness the bloodiest conflict that this country has ever seen. The fields and cities will run red with Roman and Celtic blood, mingling together.”
Valeria And The Beaten Boudicca
Wailing women were everywhere, their laments echoing to their Gods. In the village centre, the Celtic dead lay on biers, decked out in their fighting clothes and armour, their sword belts buckled around their waists, their cold stilled hands resting on their pommels. On the right side of each corpse lay their fighting spear and their targs upon their chests. Anger was mingled with their sorrow as the women poured dust upon their heads, some had stripped off their tunics and naked to the waist raked their faces and breasts with their fingers until the blood ran.
Valeria, the Queen’s niece watched in silent anger, her lower lip trembling with inner emotion. A maid walked by her side awaiting her bidding. Valeria hesitated and then spoke.
“How is my aunt today?” she enquired of her.
The maid was silent for a moment, and then answered, “Her majesty has a high fever from the whipping — the unguents and salves have healed the hurt without, but the hurt within will never heal I fear.”
Valeria was grim faced, “Has the Queen discussed retribution?”
The girl shook her head negatively, “No, Corrianus feels that such is the might of Rome that any raid upon them will bring further retribution and has advised her thus my lady.”
Valeria bristled, “When my aunt is recovered, and can fight once more, she will counsel differently. Boudicca will not take this she is a warrior of the old school and will undoubtedly make war.”
The maid interjected, “Not so! Corrianus speaks of petitioning the Governor General, Suetonius, and through him making representation to Caesar direct.”
Valeria smiled, “Suetonius! Him of all people, that mothers whelp is behind this, and any petition sent to Rome will never reach Nero, Suetonius will see to that.” Valeria stared ahead “No Copia, this is only the beginning, they will come again and next time they will kill the Queen.” She waved her hand widely towards the cadavers, around which the women continued their wailing, “And they will all have died for nothing, while we wait like sheep, awaiting the slaughter yard.”
She beckoned Copia. “Come, let us seek out Boudicca and ask her health and so seek her counsel also.”
Moments later they entered Boudicca’s hut. The Iceni Queen was laying face down, her back crisscrossed with deep welts, the flesh around each stripe, raised blue and swollen.
“By the Old Ones! Why!” Valeria choked back a sob. Boudicca’s body lay there trembling, but she herself was barely conscious. An old woman looked towards Valeria. “She sleeps Valeria. Her pain is great and we have given her hemlock to cool her fever and help her sleep.”
Valeria, smothered her own tears, then her face set, bowed out and strode towards the training area at the far end of the village where the men were practising their skills with sticks and cudgels, weapons being outlawed by the Romans except for the Iceni royal household guards who now laid dead around the square.
Seeing her enter the arena, a man stopped and looked toward her. “Have you seen …” he started to say, but even as he spoke, the assembled tribesman gathered in response around her.
Valeria addressed them, “The Queen is too ill to ride, for as you all know, she lies in a fever within her hut. So I, Valeria, niece of the Queen, will take the mantle of power until Boudicca can lead once more; and I intend to repay the Roman swine, blow for blow, blood for blood,
and a life for a life.”
“Corrianus has urged caution,” she continued, “but these Romans will not respect us any the more if we stay our hands. Why should we lick our wounds like dogs?!” she cried out, her voice rising in a crescendo, “We must let them know that although we have a treaty with them, we,” she threw her hands to each side, “are also a people.” She paused, and then in a loud voice exclaimed “We are Iceni! Who dares to smite us walks with death as his companion?”
She walked amongst them, her hands on her hips, “Twenty men I ask for, to strike the Roman camp at Watling, throw your caution to the winds and ride with me, I have full reports of the legion’s movements and they are not vigilant.”
“Tell us Valeria!” a scarred old warrior urged her.
Valeria smiled “Each day they send out a patrol to gather wood, a soft target, but enough to teach them a lesson. So,” she turned towards them, “who will ride with me, without the Queen’s command? Do I, a woman, have to ride alone to avenge the slight upon us? Is it for me and me alone to avenge the slight that has been delivered to our people and to your sovereign Queen?”
Cormach, another warrior, bearing the scars of many battles, gave his response in reply, “Pick where you want, and who you want Valeria, there is not a man here who would say no to you, let us ride out now, we will answer to Boudicca after the event. When we lay the heads of the soldiers at her feet.”
A ripple of approval met his words as Cormach continued, “I tell you this, Valeria, I have still to see the day where a king or queen of the Iceni would condemn a man for being a Celt, and taking an enemy’s head in revenge.”
Valeria was clearly pleased. “Lead the horses out silently, and pad their hooves as we exit. We can be there by noon.”
Within minutes the men has returned, the horses hooves sheathed in rags. Swords and shields miraculously appeared, as the men brandished their weapons.
“Oh you treacherous people,” cried Valeria humorously, “are you not forbidden to carry weapons under Roman rules? Such deceit” she laughed, “this evening you shall add Roman armour to your hidden hoards.”
Silently the troop mounted, and soon the heavily armoured group had moved out. Within the hut, unknowingly, Boudicca still slept, while next to her two daughters lay in oblivion, their bodies stilled and resting from the soporific herbs administered to them by the wise woman.
Mordicas and Lasca
Within the Druidic temple Mordicas sat in brooding silence. Lasca, his co-conspirator stood there, his lesser rank shown by the black garb he wore.
An uneasy silence pervaded the atmosphere between the two men. The horrendous events of the previous day bore heavily upon Mordicas’ mind. In his heart he knew that he may well have set the spark that not only would burn the Celts, but a blaze that could destroy them all.
Eventually Lasca raised his eyes and looked towards Mordicas querulously, but immediately he did so Mordicas looked away agitatedly, then spoke,
“The die is cast Lasca. There can be no going back now.”
Lasca responded, “Aye Mordicas; the Iceni lament their dead. Ashanda and Gallius have sent back their dowries together with tributes for Boudicca, and gifts to the princesses royal and the marriages are off exactly as you planned … or plotted” he added maliciously.
Mordicas was thoughtful, “It had to be done Lasca, now soon they will be at war with each other again and both Roman and Celt will seek our advice, and pay for our guidance.”
Lasca interjected, “Not so Mordicas; things have not worked out as planned. Suetonius’ action has further united them. It seems the rape was done by the soldiers, and the two conspirators who dressed as Celts for the deed have been found with their throats cut. They were discovered and killed by guards beforehand.”
Mordicas turned, “They were not missed then; the Romans have made no mention?”
“No Mordicas,” lasca replied, “and neither the ring nor the torc were planted as arranged.”
Mordicas erupted in fury, “Curses. Tell me what happened Lasca.”
Lasca involuntarily took a step backwards at the sudden outburst, “I … I …” he stammered, “I don’t know.” He swallowed hard. “But as I know it was brutal. The two soldiers were found outside the village the next morning. They didn’t know the language when challenged, and so paid the price, their tongues had been cut out.”
Mordicas was smiling, “So we’re safe now. Our two conspirators are dead and with them goes Suetonius’ secret; and Lasca, ours too.”
Lasca was quiet, “The Romans did what was required as instructed, but Catus ignored the specifics, the two girls were to have been raped by the two Romans we had dressed as Brigantes, bur Catus has a fiery nature and even had they lived they would never have had a chance to perform the deed, the fool had already lost control of the situation, he let loose the soldiery upon then, urging them on, and then in a fit of fury had Boudicca flogged almost to the point of death.”
Mordicas was beside himself with fury, “There will be a dreadful reckoning for this — it did not go as planned and even Boudicca herself will not be able to contain her people now — even if she wished it. Soon I fear, we will see this barbarian Queen on an orgy of bloodletting, so let us hope she contains it just to the local garrisons and attacks Catus’ unit only.”
Lasca was disturbed, “It cannot be Mordicas, Catus Decianus is not a local commander, he is the Procurator and had marched to commit this deed from Londinium itself, and thus avoid conflict with the local detachments. Throughout the whole operation the banner of the Londinium legion was prominently displayed.”
He spoke more lowly, “And even as we speak he is safely ensconced back in Londinium, and safe beyond her reach … and retribution.”
Chapter5
Capture of Valeria
Valeria and the village tribesmen safely concealed, were watching the Roman foraging party who were out scavenging for wood. On a nearby hillock, unseen, two Roman sentinels were scanning the party vigilantly.
Patiently the warriors watched from their concealed positions while the Roman patrol moved ever closer to the Iceni ambush. Suddenly a tribesman broke cover, ducking low to avoid being seen as a foraging legionnaire came to close to him and made for a nearby thicket. The movement however was immediately seen by one of the watching Roman guards on the hill, although the wood gatherer himself was unaware of the Celt’s movement.
One of the Romans scanning the unit, Titus, turned to his companion.
“What think you Plubius? I like it not. Yonder there is a Celt watching and hiding, and who knows if he is alone or just a spy.”
Plubius strained his eyes also, then a flash of light glancing off a spear point confirmed his suspicions.
“Aye, you are right Titus it is undoubtedly a war party, and heavily armed to boot, even though war weapons are forbidden them,” he exclaimed. “They are preparing an ambush.” His fingers pointed at the horizon, where horses could be seen amongst the trees at the top of the rise. “Horses mean nothing — they are everywhere and arouse no suspicion, but if they belong to the raiding party then we can calculate their numbers.”
Titus nodded, “Undoubtedly our men are walking into a trap, the Celts must be gathering in the east of the wood, ’tis clear they intend to launch their ambush from there. Inform Marcus at once, and he will ensnare them like rats in a trap.”
His companion dutifully produced a highly polished brass plate, then selecting a wool pad he breathed upon it and gave it a quick rub, enhancing the already gleaming surface.
Glancing skywards, he noted the position of the sun and seconds later was telegraphing a message in the primitive Morse code of the period, to the Roman fort.
Within the battlements of the fort two more legionnaires, Cassius and Rasa were watching vigilantly awaiting any sign.
As the sun’s rays caught the plate, the two men watched intently, Cassius translating, and Rasa poised with a charcoal stick, recording each word.
&n
bsp; As the flashing ceased Rasa spoke, “The guards say a war party of Iceni are preparing an ambush. Signal the 3rd detachment and warn them at once?”
Cassius surveyed the scene before him and silently shook his head,“No, there are Celts out there we cannot see, and they cannot see Plubius signalling us from his position, but any return signal we send back may well be seen by them.”
He walked up and down the battlement for a few moments, his hands clasped behind his back clearly thinking deeply.
“The initiative must be ours, the Celts will not attack until our men are closer to them, they will strike from the woodland — kill fast and retreat — they will not remain in the open but race for their horses afterwards.”
Then pausing in his stride, he turned to Rasa, “No Rasa, stay your hand, do not react too fast, just listen to me. If we play our hands right we can catch them like rats in a trap. It’s your unit that is wandering into the ambush, as you see. Send a runner and instruct them to make for the ridge on their left; slowly, so as to not arouse suspicion. There is heavy woodland there and when the Iceni attack, tell them to make for cover. The Iceni will be forced to break cover and come out into the open.” He laughed, “Unarmed Romans out wood gathering will be too great a temptation to such a reckless people.”
He continued, “We can have cavalry in place shielded by the hill, they will not be seen approaching, meanwhile we can have a contingent ready to sally forth from the fort itself, let the first unit leave from the back unseen at once.” He turned directly to Rasa, “Then watch Marcus spring his trap, as he ambushes the ambushers.”
Rasa sprang to attention and saluted, “Understood.”
He swiftly slid down the highly polished pole to the ground, where a group of soldiers awaited him.
“Move out from the rear of the fort there’s a raiding party laying up,” he commanded. “Join up with your patrol out there, tell them to take the high ground to the left of Marcus. Keep low, you’re to cut off their retreat.”