Boudicca - Queen of Death

by Ralph Harvey

Nero leaned back in his seat, “So?” he exclaimed.

  “He seeks three more legions Caesar.”

  As Xavier spoke the catcalling commenced once more.

  “Recall him Caesar,” one shouted.

  “Send Glaucus,” shouted another.

  “He should have been Governor General years ago,” a voice echoed.

  A clamour of voices now broke out excoriating Suetonius. The first centurion moved in once more ordering silence. The man looked around threateningly, then placed his hand on his gladius hilt and glared at them, seeing Caesar nod approvingly to him their voices were swiftly stilled. These men were the elected representatives of the great city of Rome, but you did not argue with the imperial guard as many a senator had learnt to his cost in the past.

  Nero signalled enquiringly to a man in full armour who stood to his right.

  “Grachian is the supreme commander of all the legions, what say you Grachian?”

  Grachian half turned towards the emperor, striking his chest with his fist in the process.

  “Impossible imperial Caesar, the Huns push continuously from the east, while Gaul has to be continually monitored. Caesar will understand that my first duty is the protection of Rome, not help some remote province whose governor should be able to handle the situation.”

  Nero had clearly heard what he wanted to hear.

  “Quite right Grachian, besides,” he added, “that miserable little island is no threat to us,” he returned his gaze to Xavier, “is it Xavier?”

  Xavier shook his head, “No Caesar, but Britannia is a Roman investment and a source of riches to us.”

  A senator, balding and with a huge paunch stood up to seek Caesar’s eye.

  “Xavier speaks true, imperial one, there is much disquiet there as he says, and it could grow much worse.” He turned to his fellow senators.

  “Many of us have invested heavily in Britannia, and with a rebellion our money is at risk.”

  “So I have heard,” Caesar muttered dryly. “Your ‘investments’ tricked the Iceni into believing they were gifts or grants.” He looked around the assembly, which had now grown silent. “Oh I am well informed you know. You all have much to answer for.”

  A thin elderly senator, shaking with ague, rose to his feet. In a faltering voice he added, “I note what Xavier has told us of this matter Caesar, and clearly there has been a misunderstanding. Much I fear lays at the door of Catus Decianus and of Silentarius also.”

  Caesar was quiet, as the memory of that conspiracy came back to him. Deep inside he had worried as to the wisdom of this action, of which he had been forewarned, but had chosen to do nothing.

  The senator continued, “Many here feel that Glaucus would make a better Governor General, and would also protect our investments.” He looked at Caesar, “There is much merit in this argument.”

  Caesar turned upon the assembly angrily, knowing full well he had also secretly invested in Britannia’s future, and his gold was also at stake. Besides had he not accepted half of Prasutagus’ estate in exemption from tax?

  “It was the gathering of your so-called dues that started this. Suetonius is on his own and he must do as he sees fit, but I shall issue an order to recall Catus Decianus at once. His greed started this and when he is here he can stand before you all and explain.” He cried out, shaking now, “Scribe!”

  The man hurried forward nervously as Caesar gestured to Xavier.

  “Take this missive to Suetonius, and bring me his reply by return.” He turned to the scribe who awaited his command.

  “I Caesar send greetings to you Suetonius and command you as Governor General of Britannia, to suppress this revolt at all cost. Command the Ninth Hispana and Twentieth Hispania to abandon Siluria and hasten to aid you in your campaign to crush this barbarian Queen. Also recall Catus Decianus, and use him as bait to end this folly. It was his actions that caused this trouble and the sight of him may well inflame Boudicca to abandon caution. Furthermore take her alive so she may be paraded naked through the streets before her crucifixion, that all shall see the power of Rome.

  After the suppression of the revolt the Ninth and Twentieth legions are to return to their duties in Siluria, along with all the men you can spare, to suppress the Silurian rebels once and for all, and continue the slaughter of the Druids on Mona.”

  Grachian showed his approval, “Nero has spoken wisely Xavier, but take you this message to Suetonius from me, also.”

  Xavier looked at the man, “Yes?” he queried.

  Grachian grinned malevolently, “Tell him I am surprised at his defeats. I thought naked warriors were no match for Roman armour.”

  Xavier saluted Caesar and left the boos and catcalls of the assembly ringing in his ears.

  Return To Camp

  A marauding party of Iceni and Celts were returning to the warrior Queen’s camp from a foray. It was the normal format for the horse riders to ride slightly ahead of the foot soldiers and as the combined party approached the camp perimeters the horsemen gallop triumphantly into the encampment.

  Boudicca, clad in a plaid woollen dress, walked out to greet her returning warriors, thankful at their safe return. Upon seeing their Queen, they raced around joyously in a great circle, drawing ever closer towards her. At a signal they broke into two circles, the inner horses racing deosil while the outer circle raced around widdershins. As the inner ring of horsemen, racing from left to right, gathered closer to her they triumphantly held aloft Roman heads and captured weapons and other trophies of the recent raid.

  Boudicca’s face lit up in sheer delight, “Well done my faithful Celts!” she shouted.

  “Hail Boudicca!” they responded and with one accord showered her with part of their booty, as custom demanded. Brooches, trinkets and jewellery cascaded upon her as she held forth her skirt like a proffered pinny to catch the descending spoils of war.

  Raising up her left hand was the gesture from her for them to cease the perambulation. Obeying her at once the circling horses pulled to a halt, at that point a great bearded giant of a man reined up in front of her.

  “Agrippa,” she called in greeting to him, “Always you bring me something special you rascal, what gift do you bring me this day?”

  Agrippa was clearly elated.

  “Mistress, I bring you the finest ring you have ever had or seen. I took it from a fat sow of a Roman wench.”

  He laughed as he fumbled in his leather pouch as his fingers sought it. Eventually he found the missing item. He roared hilariously, “She was extremely loathe O Queen to part with it, and extremely fat too! Here, catch!” With that he tossed an object deftly into her lap.

  Moments later a roar of laughter arose from all the surrounding tribesmen as a fat and bloodied swollen finger still adorned with a glittering jewel landed in her lap.

  “Agrippa, you never cease to amaze and amuse me. You are a great leader. Here,” she signalled to one of her entourage who had entered the circle, “take this as a reward from me. A gladius with a solid gold hilt.”

  The aged patriarch by her side stepped forward and handed the Roman short sword to Agrippa handle first, who exultantly snatched it and whirled it around in the air as he felt its balance and made it sing.

  “This I took from a brute of a Roman princip,” she mimicked, and then on more serious note, enquired, “tell me Agrippa what captors have you brought in? I must have intelligence of the Roman positions.”

  Agrippa looked downcast, “Only one, lady. After the rape and destruction of our village at Calurnium the men were in no mood for mercy, but we have one for you; a fine upstanding Roman officer who has been milked dry of all the knowledge he has, before we brought him here. But maybe you desire to question him further.”

  “He spoke readily, and without persuasion?” she enquired.

  “No,” he nodded to a fellow horseman by his side, “Galena here singed his toes by the campfire and he was soon anxious to tell all.”

  Boudicca turned to leave, �
�Have him brought before me. What legion is he from?”

  “The 14th Gemina, Queen, the same legion that ravaged Calurnium.”

  Boudicca pondered awhile then as she exited the circle; she stopped and looked back, “Tell him we will spare him and that he may live amongst us provided he tells us the layout of the Roman bastions at Malworth where they are currently encamped.”

  Agrippa looked puzzled, “A Roman here, Queen? Is that wise?”

  Boudicca laughed merrily, “You shall see Agrippa, you shall see. Tonight we will have much sport with this man and it may well be that he will not want to stay with us — believe me.”

  Boudicca toyed with the small dagger in her belt “I have a feeling this Roman you have captured will not stay long, but in return for information I will spare his life.”

  Agrippa threw his right hand across his chest as he saluted, striking it with the flat of his hand as he saluted her.

  “So be it, Boudicca, I do not know what sport you have in mind. But will you really spare his life?”

  Boudicca grinned, “Indeed I will Agrippa. Now no more questions, trust me, wait and see what I have planned.”

  Chapter 12

  Marcus Pines

  Marcus was sitting in his tent disconsolate. Juventus relaxed, sat at his side. In front of him on the table was the crumpled toga worn by Valeria. At his feet laid the Celtic tunic and armour she had worn when she was captured, while on top rested the great horned helm that so shortly before had hidden her golden tresses, while neatly piled to one side was a small stack of hair pins, and the leather sandals taken from her when she was captured.

  Juventus grieved in his heart to see his great commander wallowing in his misery. A hardened soldier himself, he was not of the ilk to show emotion, but the sad figure of Marcus his friend and colleague perturbed him.

  As he sat there, his head cupped in his hands, Juventus gently laid his hand on his comrade-in-arm’s shoulder.

  “What ails you friend?” he enquired softly.

  Marcus did not speak, but silently his hand reached out and gathered up the assembled hair pins, then staring at them he let them drop slowly back onto the table top one by one. Juventus was ill at ease.

  “Marcus,” he started, “has that arch-sorceress bewitched you?”

  Marcus looked up and shook his head, “I know not Juventus, I have never seen such hate. I only know that for a moment I knew love and she spurned me but despite all that hatred that boils within her against Rome, even as she execrated me, her eyes lied.”

  “She’s a proud woman Marcus, a Celtic princess is one to be reckoned with, and in that one you have a she-devil.”

  He shifted in his chair alongside his comrade, “You will never hold her my friend, but listen and I will tell you a story that was afforded to me recently by a soldier returned from the north. There, in the mountains, 600 leagues from here in that land we call Caledonia, lives a wild cat that none can tame.”

  He continued with his story, “Well one day, while hunting he caught one, and finding it with milk sought out its young. There were three in there Marcus, all blind. Anyway he kept them and tried to rear them. Two died shortly afterwards before they opened their eyes, but the third one survived. You know what? The first day it gazed out upon the world, the first thing it ever saw was a Roman soldier. He picked the mewling animal up, and young as it was, it savaged him. Six months later, he had given it every love and kindness he could, determined to tame it. And what do you think he had after all that time Marcus?”

  Marcus looked puzzled. “Tell me Juventus, what?”

  “A wild cat Marcus, he still had a wild cat. You see they cannot be tamed.” He paused, “Valeria, Marcus, like Boudicca, is a wild cat of the Iceni, neither she nor Boudicca can be tamed. Your Valeria is a wild untameable Celt — a barbarian.” He paused. “No, Marcus. Like the wild cat she must be destroyed, for she will never be brought to heel.”

  “That is a deed I would dread to do Juventus, for this surely will be her lot if she and Boudicca continue to defy the might of Rome. It is not easy to take a sword to one you love.”

  “Love! Love? By the Gods Marcus I tell you, you are indeed bewitched and I think the spell will only be broken with that witch’s death.”

  “We shall see,” countered Marcus, “we shall see. You know the ways of the Old Gods as well as I, and we mortals cannot always comprehend them.”

  He picked up the toga that had been worn by Valeria, his nostrils seeking some scent of her, “I want Silvanus, I desire augury.”

  Juventus went outside the tent and snapped an order, and moments later Silvanus, a local wise woman was before him. She stood there, dishabille, her long dank hair, matted and uncombed, partially concealing her face. She carried the tools of her craft in a leather bag in one hand, and a dove in a cage in the other.

  Marcus rose, “You know what I want woman, so perform. Read the future Silvanus, and tell me what you see.”

  Without a word she took the dove out of its cage and with a deft movement wrung its neck; then taking out a thin blade she dissected the bird ritually, carefully arranging the entrails before her.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “It is not wise to see the future — the entrails are not clear.” She frowned at Marcus, “It is a sign that the Gods do not wish us to know.”

  Marcus grew angry, “Don’t fence with me woman.” He looked at the stiffening corpse, “It looks clear enough to me.”

  Silvanus started to shiver, her voice trembling, “I have made a great mistake sir, I thought the bird was a cock, it is necessary to use a cock bird, but …” Her fingers sought at the entrails until a yellow yolk was displayed, “It is a dead hen bird. I cannot continue with this — it is a bad omen.”

  Juventus intervened, “Let it be thus, Marcus, these Celts love to mystify with their auguries. Here,” he opened a pouch and tossed the woman a coin, “get out of here — now” he snapped.

  Hastily the crone gathered up her pieces, took the coin, and exited, as she did so she turned to Marcus, “It is better so Roman, it is not wise to see the future and know what the fates intend for you. It is one of the mysteries of the Gods.”

  Painfully she walked away hobbling on a stick, her frail body riddled with rheumatism. She stopped as soon as she was out of earshot, then looked back and added,“Nay brave Marcus what I saw is not for your ears to hear — or any of your kind, Roman.”

  Iceni Camp

  Everywhere there was the hustle and bustle of activity. Women were scraping animal skins and preparing food. Men were sharpening weapons and making arrows. The Iceni camp was in a state that was both relaxed and vigilant at the same time; secure in their own strength. At the outer perimeters, guards’ eyes scanned the landscape before them ever watchful. In front of them small parties scoured the countryside looking for any signs of enemy activity.

  Suddenly Boudicca appeared with an entourage of warriors and followers in her wake. Purposefully she strode across the Iceni camp, while everyone who saw her left their tasks and hurried to join her, in anticipation of what was obviously a coming spectacle. To the right of Boudicca's tent a slightly raised podium stood. Solemnly she mounted it, throwing her cloak with one movement over her shoulder. Then majestically she sat down, turned, and signalled a warrior nearby.

  “Fetch the Roman,” she commanded waspishly.

  The man gave a half bow and left to seek out the prisoner, then moments later reappeared with him in tow, the Roman was clearly seen to be limping. The terrified man stood before her, now fully armoured, his gladius having been restored to him, his face was bruised and swollen showing for all to see the result of his handling earlier.

  Accompanying him a tribesman stood just behind with a drawn bow, the arrow aimed at the small of his back, he was puzzled as to why the Queen had allowed a fully armed Roman to be so close to her, but his face softened when he saw two pairs of spearmen either side of Boudicca raise their spears aloft as they approached, t
heir arms drawn back ready to throw in an instant. The Roman hesitated obviously expecting to be impaled at any moment, but Boudicca waved them to put their spears down.

  “Do not fear Roman, you are safe. Are you sure you have told all you know?”

  “I swear it Queen,” he replied, “I have told all.”

  She turned to Crasus, a headman, “Does he speak true?”

  Crasus affirmed, “We know their positions, strength and movements, also where they march and when. Our scouts have confirmed his story.”

  Boudicca mused a while then spoke, “What legion were you?” she inquired.

  The man hesitated, “The 14th Gemina,” he said with obvious reluctance.

  She leaned forward, “The 14th?”

  He nodded fearfully.

  “The same regiment that torched my village at Calurnium, slaughtered my people, raped our women,” she bristled, “and burnt my crops!”

  The Roman winced, “I will not deny the truth of it, great Queen; but I did no raping, nor slew innocents. I am a common soldier recruited into the legion against my will, a conscript: I only obeyed orders.”

  “Liar!” she screamed at him, “liar! Always it is the other men, never the ones we capture.”

  The man recoiled from her vitriolic attack, even more fearful for his life now.

  Boudicca leaned back, “Relax Roman, I swore to spare your life, fool that I am.” She leaned forward still tormenting the man, to the delight of the onlookers puzzled at Boudicca’s mercy, but knowing well the impish nature of her.

  “So you like our Celtic women Roman do you? You like to feel the warmth of an Iceni girl beneath your loins, you have a penchant for our women have you not?”

  The man shook his head negatively “We have our camp followers Queen,” he stuttered, “they supply the legion’s needs.” He gulped, and then added, “Voluntarily.”

  “Britannic ones I presume,” she snapped, “I do not recall you Romans importing your own women to use as such!”

  She leaned back again, “Very well Roman, I choose to believe you, your life is spared. But to live amongst us as I promised, and to be one of us, you must marry one of our women.”