Boudicca - Queen of Death

by Ralph Harvey

  Seeing Ophelia venting her anger at the servants, Detronius, knowing his mother’s moods, changed his mind and decided to take his unit out to the plateau and drill them. He knew that when Ophelia was in this mood even a Roman officer was not immune to her tongue, and he was in no mood this day to bandy words with his mother — let the servants suffer, their ill-treatment was not his concern — they were Celts and lower than dogs.

  “Bring the catapultae and ballistae,” he barked to Antonius, his centurion, “we’ll practise on the old oak over there.” He pointed to a gnarled tree several hundreds of yards away. “Assemble the men and march out.”

  Antonius gave the order then returned, “All of them Detronius?” he queried, “Should we not leave a contingent behind? There are rumours that raiding parties have been seen in the area. The servants, I feel, are on edge, as if they know something we do not.”

  Detronius hesitated a moment, “True Antonius, I have seen the signs myself. Best be cautious, leave five men and a horse behind, in case they should need to summon our return — but I do not visualise it.”

  The two men watched the contingent marching away, sipping wine in the hot sun as they did so, then finishing their drink they mounted their horses and rode slowly out to them.

  Flat on their stomachs, watching every move, Boudicca, Corrianus and her warriors observed the activity at the villa. Behind them, covered in gorse and branches, her newly constructed chariots lay concealed, the horses tethered in a nearby glade out of sight.

  “They move out — perfect!” the Queen exclaimed “But I see no officers.”

  Corrianus strained his eyes, “There are two mounting now, I can just see them, and clearly they intend to join up with their unit.”

  As they watched, they saw Detronius and Antonius ride out, and minutes later they were with their men.

  Boudicca loosened the sheaf on her waist and removed the short seaxe in it, and drew a pattern in the earth.

  “Split our forces into three Corrianus. One,” she pointed to a square she had drawn, “race for the villa and attack from behind out of sight of the soldiers; two,” she showed the gap between the Detronius’ forces, “our second group is to hit south in a pincer movement, and at the same time prevent them from launching a rescue attempt at the villa; and three, strike from the north and immobilise the ballistrae and catapultae before they can turn them. They are pointing away from the sun at present to give themselves a clear target. The third group under Cantis, will come out of the sun behind them.”

  Corrianus grunted, “A good plan Boudicca I’ll get the chariots harnessed.”

  On the plateau below, a soldier strained with his companions to move the heavy war machine into position, then they laboriously unpacked the wagon, which carried the heavy javelinas the catapulta fired. The short heavy broad-headed spear could penetrate shield and armour and still kill three men at a time, or easily pierce the wood and wattle fences and houses of the Celtic villages. Against such weapons there was no defence and in the early days of conflict when the conquerors had first invaded the country hill fort after hill fort had fallen to Roman technology and ingenuity. These, plus the dreaded ballistae which could hurl a full half ton boulder into their midst could decimate any army and demolish walls and homes in a single launch.

  Boudicca well knew that the only defence against these dreaded machines in the field was to spread your forces thinly, thus obviating the possibility of more than one being struck, but a thinly strung out line was not an efficient strike force, speed was of the essence, therefore it was necessary take the war machines from behind before they could be used against them.

  She spoke to Corrianus, “Valeria split her forces unwisely. It is a known strategy that one should only use such moves to entrap, as Marcus did to entrap her.”

  Corrianus smiled, “There is a mystery there Boudicca, I swear we do not know all the facts of that encounter.”

  Boudicca started to tighten her sword belt in readiness for the fray, sliding the blade up and down in the scabbard to ensure its ease of draw.

  “I must admit I am also puzzled, she holds so much hatred towards him that it has become an obsession, which is understandable from the treatment she received at his hands, yet how much of it is resentment about the fact he outwitted her and thus humiliated her?”

  Corrianus assented, “Her prestige suffered, yet amongst all this hatred she often speaks of him as a noble Roman. Is this not a contradiction from one who had dice thrown for her, and who sold her to the soldiers for sport?”

  Boudicca raised an eyebrow quizzically, “Was she Corrianus? Was she? Remember she escaped, but by her ingenuity or by design? Like you say there is a mystery here; and she cuffed Copia for making a disparaging remark about him I heard. But to business, clearly Valeria has an axe to grind, and we have Roman blood to shed.”

  While the Celts plotted nearby, Detronius was overlooking the practice. Antonius had placed an old rusty breastplate over the bole of the oak and padded it inside with rags. Then, satisfied he returned to the firing point.

  “Right Galtren, let’s see your skills. Yonder is a war wagon and the breastplate is its rider. Can you take him out first time?”

  Galtren did not reply but placed the heavy javelina in its furrow then pulled on the adjusting wheel that altered the trajectory. Satisfied, he looked at Detronius.

  “Childs play commander. The honour is yours, just slip the catch.”

  Detronius looked towards Antonius, “You do it Antonius, I want to watch.”

  His friend behind the contraption grinned, and with a theatrical flourish, released the catch. As the tautened rope sprang back, the missile sped unerringly towards its target, striking the breastplate dead centre penetrating iron and rags, and splitting the rotten trunk asunder.

  “Bravo Galtren!” the men cried. “A perfect shot”

  Detronius was impressed.

  “Your skills are as good as ever I have it in mind to promote you to decurion and give you your own detachment of ten.”

  Galtran was pleased, “Thank you commander I have long dreamed of having my own unit.”

  “Let us examine his work, eh Detronius?” said Antonius, “And recover the javelina — it will take a man and a horse to pull it free.”

  Abandoning the catapulta and ballistrae, the Roman moved to check the target and see firsthand the arrow’s deadly work for as they reached the oak the javelinas shaft could be see protruding from the breastplate.

  In the hills above, Boudicca, who had been watching intently, moved into position. Leaping aboard his chariot Corrianus threw off his mantle and naked to the waist turned towards his men. Still healing from the Roman lictors beating, the flesh scabbed and swollen for all to see.

  “Remember,” he shouted, “that when you take the villa and you meet Roman troops in battle once again, show no mercy. They are the scourge of our land. Remember me, but most of all remember your Queen and her daughters, princesses of royal blood, violated by the despised Romans, and how I, Corrianus, your chief, was whipped like a common slave by the Roman dogs.”

  He turned to face the assembly holding his targ in his left hand and his great throwing spear in his right and cried out loud, “Hail Boudicca, warrior Queen of the Iceni, hail Boudicca.”

  He raised his eyes skywards to where a chariot appeared on the horizon. There, through the swirling and ever perpetual mists of that area stood Boudicca, her long red hair hanging dark and languid over her shoulders, a crowned helmet resplendent on her head, displaying the symbolic horns of power. On spikes to the left and the right of her were the impaled heads of two Romans, trophies from past battles. One hand firmly held the reins of the snorting stallions, and the other raised up her great war shield in salute to her troops below. Stark in contrast on the horizon the chariot stood, the billowing cloud swirling around it, giving the impression that the chariot was floating unsupported in the sky.

  With a crack of her whip she threw the beasts forward
breaking into a full gallop within seconds. Sweeping down the hill, she rapidly overtook her own lines, and now leading from the front raced towards the villa. En masse the Iceni swept forward, then in three orderly formations, they divided into three prongs to cut off the Roman soldiers.

  With the sun behind them the Romans were unaware of the impending death swarm that was hurling itself towards them. Doggedly they had started to attach the leather thongs to the impaled javelina for the horse to pull clear, when the animal suddenly whinnied, sensing other horses coming. It was only then they heard the deadly drum of hoofs.

  Detronius sprang into action, “Shield wall, fast trot, back to the javelina,” he ordered.

  Immediately the Romans gathered up their cumbersome shields and started a jog trot in orderly formation to the deserted war machines, but before they were half way there, it was clear they would never make it. Detronius screamed an order, only to contradict it moments later.

  “Form a circle!” he shouted. Then to his horror saw that the force coming out of the sun at them was only part of the offensive. Looking back, the thunder of hooves was heard as Boudicca caught him like a nut between steel grips, but it was the third force that was racing for the villa that caused his heart to stop. Here he was in the field with his unit, and only five souls had been left to guard Ophelia and Lucius at the dwelling.

  “Antonius,” he screamed, “break out and head for the villa. Take half the force with you and save them.”

  Antonius, whose men had formed a disciplined circle, argued, “There are not enough of us Detronius, we will be cut down by the chariots. Make a fighting withdrawal to the villa together.”

  “No!” Detronius screamed, “They’ll be slaughtered, do as I command; move I tell you — move!”

  Antonius dutifully reformed his men and ran toward the villa three abreast, forming a phalanx.

  The move was immediately noted by Corrianus, who now commanded the two attacking sections, Boudicca herself had raced for the villa in order to seize it and hold it until Corrianus’s forces rejoined her.

  “Boar’s snout!” shouted Corrianus leaping from his chariot.

  Well trained and disciplined, though not to the infamous Roman standards, Corrianus’ men formed up. Corrianus himself headed the ‘nose’ to enjoy the glory or death in battle — of being the first man through. As his words died away the Celts dutifully formed a ‘V’ behind him, the line-breaking manoeuvre so beloved of them: one man — heavily padded — at the front, two behind him, five behind them, seven more behind them, and so on — a flying phalanx shaped like a boar’s head. Once the front man was through the enemies defences the wedge rolled aside its opposition and an army could be thrown in its enemies midst — and here heading to the villa was a beautifully strung out line of Romans just waiting to be broken. Corrianus raised his sword and the formation charged.

  Half way across the plain, the strung out Romans saw them coming, but stopped in mid flight.

  “Right turn!” ordered Antonius, and the unit formed a link up of shields three deep, pilas at the ready. Vigilantly the Romans waited the onslaught, but the beady eyes of Corrianus had already observed one of the soldiers to the fore, who had been badly injured earlier in the conflict and clearly had a leg injury. Seeing the weakness in the Roman lines, Corrianus headed straight for it, and threw himself forward in a mighty drop kick, catching the top of the stricken mans shield, it cantilevered backwards, striking the unfortunate man in the face.

  Staggering back, his face spouting blood from his shattered nose he fell against the man behind — then seeing the gap, Corrianus was in — striking to left and right he struck out at every unarmoured part in sight, his war axe hacked at bare legs and jabbed at faces, then with a roar he shoulder barged the third line. Bodily he broke the formation up, followed by the two behind who flanked him, then there were three, then more and the entire line fractured.

  Antonius, seeing his force split in two, knew the end was near. The Celts swiftly encircled the leaderless section, isolating Antonius and the remainder of the men; the Legionaries had desperately attempted to reform but they were overwhelmed by the barbarian hordes.

  Men were dragged down and butchered where they lay, a legionary, his leg severed beneath the knee supported himself on his pila for a few fleeting minutes, flailing about wildly with his gladius, the man’s eyes filled with horror at his impending fate, not daring to look down at the ghastly stump. Then it was all over, the section completely destroyed, and he remained the only one standing.

  Now a note of merriment crept into the carnage as the Celts danced around him, taunting and making mock attacks. The dying man, his life-blood ebbing away, vainly struck out as his tormentors. Then tiring of their sport Loki, a small wizened runt of a man, came up behind him and rammed his broad head spear into the back of the Roman’s knee.

  With a cry the man lurched forward helplessly, resigned to his fate. Casually Loki removed the man's helmet, and drawing his sword cut the man's throat with a sawing motion. Then with the head completely severed, he held the grisly trophy up and together with his compatriots barracked Antonius and the second half of the unit who had watched helplessly the decimation of their colleagues.

  “Fall on your swords Roman cowards — or die on ours” they shouted.

  Antonius, at the fore of his remaining men reacted angrily, “We have no legless men here as easy prey for you. You cowards. Come on you dogs!” he urged, “but I swear by the Gods themselves that as many of you as us will face the boatman and see the Styx this day.”

  This reference to Charon, the rower on the Styx, was equally well known to the Celts, who despised the Roman religions.

  “Book a passage now Romans, we come for you,” they responded.

  Then, with an ear-splitting roar they charged. Assailed on all sides the Romans fought valiantly but as volley after volley of spears thudded into their midst combined with the heavy rocks hurled down at them, they wilted.

  To the fore, each Roman found himself parrying with at least three adversaries at a time. Then the centre broke and a human avalanche overwhelmed them. Antonius fought until eventually a war club laid him low. Immediately a warrior raised his axe to brain him but Corrianus shouted out to the man to desist.

  “Spare him Ralgus, he was a brave soldier. Always leave one to tell the tale of Iceni might — it is good propaganda. One survivor to tell the tale is better than a dead regiment.”

  He looked at the unconscious figure on the ground blood oozing from his scalp.

  “When he comes round he’ll think we left him for dead, but strip him and all the dead of their armour, to do otherwise would be suspicious, but make sure he will never fight again — hamstring him. And let us now ride to the villa.” A Celt drew his blade across the man’s thigh severing the main sinew, then the grisly task accomplished, mounted his horse, and joined his companions.

  In the distance they could hear the screams and sounds of carnage within the villa itself.

  Portents

  A lone auxiliary was patrolling the banks of the Thamesis that flowed through the city of Londinium. The chill air permeated his armour while shivering he pulled the scarlet cape he wore around himself for warmth. In the sky above the morning mists started to clear, and he looked down upon the mud flats that had been exposed as the ebb tide receded. His eyes peered through the mist intently. A human body could be discerned, spread-eagled in the silt — then another, and another. Gathering up his shield he raced to his outpost, where he poured out his story.

  Later that day he returned with a full patrol, and a throng of townsfolk who had gathered excitedly at the news of the discovery. Hesitantly they approached the waters edge for by now it had become clear that the sprawled human shapes were driftwood not bodies. Perturbed the civilians and soldiers marvelled at the extraordinary phenomenon, but some started to mutter superstitiously, then a young child pointed down the river.

  “Look!” he cried, “the water’s all re
d.”

  As they looked up, a cry of horror exploded from the populace, “An omen, an omen!” they cried.

  A grey-bearded patriarch shook his head in bewilderment, “The Gods are angry with us — the river runs red with blood — this is an evil sign. There are grave times ahead for Rome.”

  “What does it mean?” cried an old woman.

  But even as she spoke another one burst out hysterically, “Woe, woe!” she cried, “the wrath of Mars is upon us! The God of war has set his hand against the city.”

  Later that day, the news of the find was being talked about in every bazaar, as wonderment grew at the meanings, particularly enhanced with the arrival of a fishing boat that had sailed up the Thamesis, whose crew announced they had sailed through a scarlet sea.

  What happened next was incredible, for as the people argued and discussed amongst themselves and propitiated Mars, there in the sky amongst the cloud formations appeared a mirage that was also reflected upon the waters of the estuary. It was like a town in flames. White nebulous clouds that spiralled away from the ruins looked like a gigantic smoke pall.

  The following day, a delegation of eminent merchants and traders approached the legate. Already rumours were rife of what happening in the Iceni uprising, but at that stage it was being regarded as a minor insurrection, and the citizens lay their confidence in the efficacy of the legions to deal with any fractious king or queen that dared challenge the might of Rome. The Procurator agreed to address the assembly from the steps of the temple.

  “Friends, and Romans all,” he cried, “there are evil signs that have been seen that we cannot yet interpret, but despite your alarm, they may be no more than coincidence.” The people looked at him intently as he continued, “The clouds will form as they will, and make their shapes. They say that Caesar himself saw clouds like the waves on the sea, with Caesar’s boat on the top.”