Boudicca - Queen of Death

by Ralph Harvey

  A murmur of disapproval ran through the crowd at her words, this was not the Boudicca they knew, but after the first impact of her words the onlookers started to nudge each other. They did not know what to expect next, but clearly she was toying with the man.

  “Well soldier — do you agree my terms?”

  The legionary was relieved, “I do Queen Boudicca, I do.”

  She clapped her hands “Bring wine, and the handfaster. We have a wedding.”

  She rose to her feet, and with a grandiose sweep of her hands shouted, “Bring forth Calina, she is widowed and needs a man. She has slept alone too long and now I have a husband for her. You Urcus. Assist her!”

  Relieved, the Roman's eyes scanned the crowd in anticipation, then Urcus emerged from the depths of the throng with a withered old crone, frail and skinny. Reaching him, she faced the Roman, her long and skeletal like hands pawing his face, her fingers tracing the outlines.

  “He is young, is he not?” she remarked in a frail and faltering voice

  Corrianus who had been watching interjected, “Aye Calina, he is young and virile, and my Queen’s present to you.”

  He turned to the soldier who stood there transfixed with sheer horror.

  “She is blind Roman” Corrianus snapped. “Treat her well.”

  The soldier shrank back in utter repulsion, as suddenly her thin lips parted revealing the pinkness of her gums. Sickened he recoiled. Corrianus’ hand grasped his wrist and placed it on the back of the withered ones hand, uttering one word, “Come.”

  In a daze he listened to the Priestess as they were handfasted, then, after what seemed to be an eternity it was over. Holding his hand like a young maid Calina allowed herself to be led away to her wedding tent. Silently they walked away, the throng following them. This was a fate far worse than death, and Boudicca’s evil sense of humour to give Calina a virtual slave appealed to them.

  Eventually they reached Calina’s new dwelling, where they both stopped. In front of them two men drew back the flaps of the tent, revealing a pile of animal skins laid out on a bed of exotic furs and wool blankets.

  “Gather friends,” shouted Boudicca, “and watch the consummation of Calina and,” she turned, “what is your name, Roman? I forgot to ask you earlier.”

  The Roman by now was trembling, “Silernius, Queen” he answered.

  “Well undress Silernius,” she commanded, “and let her feel your manhood. Show us all; love her, and teach her all you Romans learned at Calurnium, from our girls there.” She spat, “Give us a good performance Silernius. I wish to see that I have given her a man!” She laid heavy emphasis on the last word.

  The Roman sprang back, drawing forth his short stabbing sword in one movement, “Celebrate a funeral Boudicca,” he cried, “I take no more.” Deftly he placed the gladius blade first upon his chest, and with both hands thrust it into his heart. With the hilt protruding from his chest he fell forward upon it.

  Close to the camp, Iceni scouts were observing a small, tranquil and unsuspecting hamlet. One of the war party watching, a scarred old warrior gestured to his companion.

  “How many? Twenty-five, thirty?” he enquired.

  The Celt next to him raised both his hands three times signalling thirty.

  “Inform Boudicca at once” he commanded.

  Within the camp sometime later Boudicca called one of her chieftains over to her.

  “Lucinus, now heed me well, within two moons we shall strike at Camulodunum, my spies tell me that they quarrel amongst themselves, and dispute with each other, and that there is no central command there.”

  Lucinus listened intently,“Aye Boudicca, ’tis so” he affirmed.

  “Tomorrow we shall lay Calleva waste.” Boudicca continued, “It will be a good exercise for our warriors before the main conflict starts, and will strengthen their sinews for the assault on the Roman capital, the same town that was once our own centre!”

  “Your plan Queen?” Lucinus asked.

  “Outside the walls of Calleva Atrebatum there is a small hamlet of some thirty souls and a farm of where ninety others labour, they are packing barrels and crates and loading wagons. My spies inform me that they are supplies for the capital, and their movements clearly show they are preparing in readiness to move them out to Camulodunum.”

  Lucinus smiled, “So they labour for us, we hit the column from ambush, slay all, and roll the provisions into our own camp.”

  “You have it Lucinus,” she replied, “but I want some spared. Leave some wounded to escape.”

  “Escape?” he queried, “O Queen of death, you would let Romans live?”

  Boudicca nodded “Yes Lucinus, live! Let a few survivors make it back to Camulodunum and spread the fear of our coming.” She hesitated, then grimly said, “Let our men misuse one of their women, rape and badly beat her, but let her flee. ’Tis thus I will strike terror in the town when she tells her tale there.”

  Lucinus listened intently then said, “Good tactics Queen, news of torture and rape spread fast. Men and women will kill themselves or flee, rather than be captured or face us; and for every one who does, it will be one less for us to fight.”

  Boudicca picked up her sword and swung it, “Gather the warriors Lucinus, my blade aches to sing the death song!”

  Chapter 13

  The Deaf Girl

  Suetonius, covered in dust and gravel, entered his tent, his face streaked with flecks of blood from the recent battle.

  Entering, he beheld a beautiful Iceni girl before him, fair-haired and slender: it was obvious that she was unaware of his presence. Suetonius started to unbuckle his armour. In the entrance his legate watched vigilantly.

  At that moment she turned, now suddenly aware of him there, her face beaming into a broad smile beholding him.

  Suetonius, now down to the loins wrap, turned toward his friend Marcus.

  “Always the wary Marcus, eh. Would you keep watch while I sleep with her? Watch each move of love I make? Count every thrust of my loins?” he grasped the girl and drew her to him, “She loves me Marcus, poor creature, deaf and dumb she has never experienced kindness from her own people. One of the soldiers found her hiding after we took the village of Calerna and we spared her.”

  He entered the flimsy wicker contraption that served as a shower, and then turning his back to Marcus he dropped the last remaining garment. Instantly an orderly on a small platform poured water onto a perforated tray from a leather bucket. Marcus produced a small footstool and sat upon it.

  “Of course I worry dear friend, she is a Celt, and her people hate us, so why should I trust her? A naked man is susceptible when he sleeps. Your gladius is as much to hand to her as it is to you when you lay together.”

  Suetonius left the shower drying himself.

  “I take your point Marcus, but I know her better than you and trust her implicitly.”

  All the time he spoke the girl had been standing, watching him bathe, not comprehending the conversation between them, but now as he exited she helped to dry him.

  “If it makes you happier then leave all my weapons outside the tent, but instruct an auxiliary to remain with them. Will you have one eat my food to check for poison?”

  Marcus chuckled, “No Suetonius, only Caesar himself has need of food tasters.”

  Suetonius donned a robe, “Here girl,” he beckoned her.

  She raised her eyebrows quizzically, and obediently stepped forward. Suetonius gently unlaced her bodice, and removed it from her unresisting body, standing behind her back he cupped her breasts in his hands, exhibiting her to his colleague.

  “See how sleek and fat, she is now, Marcus.” He kissed her shoulder.

  “Before she came to me her people they threw her scraps of garbage to eat, and beat her when she could not understand, a creature to be pitied. Now,” he cradled her, “she has tasted wine for the first time in her life and feeds well.” He gave a laugh, “And being mute she chides not a man.”

  The P
lain Of Calleva Atrebatum

  A procession of chariots and riders were strung out along a well-worn path through a plateau. Ahead of them lay hills, starkly outlined against the rising sun. As they approached, Boudicca raised her hand from her chariot to halt the procession. Seeing the gesture scouts raced ahead checking any fortifications they might encounter, or to secure any heights that might be held by the Romans.

  Boudicca raised herself aloft from the front of her chariot, “The sun behind us will blind our attack upon them, the terrain here just lends itself to war, it is the perfect place for an ambush.”

  “They learn from your tactics Queen,” remarked Aqualinus, a headman nearby, “they are becoming more vigilant. Two days ago we slew a shepherd who seemed unduly interested in our movements, when we stripped his corpse he bore Roman tattoos and had Roman amulets about him.”

  Boudicca smiled, “And does his head now adorn your tent entrance?”

  Aqualinus responded at once, “Of course Boudicca, when his comrades find a decapitated body with the head taken they know their man has been discovered, and whoever takes his place is more likely to run from his own shadow when we are near.”

  She watched intently as the scouts approached the ridge on their bellies, then suddenly the lead scout raised his hand in warning.

  “So they are there,” she exclaimed, “our spies serve us well.”

  Moments later the man beckoned Boudicca with a set of semaphore like hand signals. Concealed tribesmen read the signal alongside her and smiled, they had truly caught the Romans off guard.

  Boudicca jumped from the chariot, grabbing a great bow and her quiver. Seeing her action tribesmen immediately raced to accompany her. But she beckoned them back.

  “He has seen a solitary scout, he is mine.”

  Stealthily approaching the top, the Iceni watcher slid down toward her, raising his finger to his lips barely managing to suppress his laughter.

  “He digs his poop pit Boudicca,” he exclaimed.

  Her eyes looked over the top. A solitary Roman, some thirty yards ahead, could be seen digging a small latrine, his back toward her.

  “A long arrow. Degodian, now I will show you sport.”

  She drew an arrow protruding from her quiver that stood out longer than the rest then stringing the bow she awaited her opportunity, her eyes never leaving him.

  Eventually the man finished and bent forward to a squat position, lifting his kirtle as he did so. It was a perfect target for the moon of his buttocks gleamed white. With one deft movement she loosed the missile. It sped true to its mark impaling the legionary through his anus. With a despairing cry he lurched forward, the tip of the long arrow protruding from his mouth.

  As his death call rent the air, five Romans from a bivouac nearby raced to investigate. Devoid of their shields they had rushed to his cry unarmed. Degodian and Boudicca fired a volley of arrows in quick succession, each finding its mark. Moments later five more Romans lay dead by their companion.

  Boudicca’s scouts swept forward to take the position and soon returned.

  “It was not a patrol Queen, they were but a scouting party. The main encampment lays before us on low ground. The heights are ours.”

  Crouching low she approached the edge of the clearing and looked down. There in the valley below, the Second Augusta was striking camp, ready to move out at dawn. They were at their most vulnerable! Her fingers went white as she grasped her sword.

  “We have them,” she exclaimed.

  Death of Quintus

  As dawn broke the next morning, the 2nd Augusta were awakening, their overnight vigil over. Men went about their chores, washing, repairing and sharpening weapons. The sentries, their duties complete, now tired and with aching legs awaited their relief due in a few minutes. All the while their centurion, Practica shifted from foot to foot with cramp, his eyes glancing continuously towards the last fraction of an inch of sand in the large eight-hour glass.

  Yards away from them, in the high grass the Celts moved forward stealthily, their faces tattooed, and their targs camouflaged with grass, smeared with mud upon the fronts. Silently the deadly avengers moved forward until the foremost was but feet away from the first unsuspecting sentry. Within the camp, Quintus, commander and tribune of the second Augusta was now only minutes away from death.

  On a high outcrop another lone guard had not noticed that a bush had inched its way forwards towards him, all he knew was that in a few minutes his long night vigil would soon be over and he could look forward to a short respite and food before they marched out abandoning the recently constructed encampment.

  The Iceni warrior stalking him knew his target. Ever vigilant he continued to observe the progress of the crawling Celts who awaited his signal, it was essential that he must eliminate this lone guardian before his comrades could attack. Fate sealed the man’s life, for he glanced down to his feet and observed a leather tie flapping loosely from his sandal. Furtively looking around to make sure he was unobserved he lay his shield and pila upon the grass and knelt down to tie it and at that moment the Celt struck. With a swift run he was upon him, seizing his head from behind he jerked it back and with a single movement cut his throat.

  Now, the final obstacle removed, the time was ripe to attack. He glanced skyward and waited patiently until the sun emerged from the clouds and the brilliance of the day shone forth upon the encampment. Jumping to his feet he threw aside the foliage and sounded the war horn.

  Eerily the sound echoed in the early morning breeze, the sky darkened again, as hundreds of bows simultaneously loosed their volleys of destruction. Thrice the bows were raised and thrice the cascade of death rained down upon the half-dressed Romans.

  The first shafts stuck home with unerring accuracy and the lead Celts leaped upon the unsuspecting guards as the sun emerged from behind them, blinding their enemies, slaughtering them where they stood. Romans everywhere went down under axe, sword, and club, the grassland came alive as a tartan and woad-clad avalanche of blood-crazed humanity swept down upon them.

  Within the camp itself men vainly attempted to strap themselves into their armour, others fell racing from latrines and campfires. Then a fourth wave, of fire arrows this time, landed amongst their horses. Instantaneously the straw bales flamed up scattering the terror-stricken animals who broke their halters and stampeded from the camp, scattering cooking pots and equipment, and felling tents, then bunching together they broke through the Roman lines to freedom.

  Cantra, one of the first over the barrier, seeing the confusion amongst the soldiers needed no second bidding. He pointed his sword at Quintus, the Roman commander who was now shaking with fear. The remaining defenders raised their shields aloft to stem the missiles descending upon them, nearby the last of the outer barriers of the camp crashed down under the weight of the attacking tribesman and then they were amongst them. Men rushed hither and thither grabbing shields and spears, where they could, but the fleet-footed barbarians quickly overwhelmed them.

  Men fell under a torrent of blows that came from all directions; skulls splintered and heathen arms thrust iron blades into Roman flesh. Quintus stood outside his tent dressed only in a toga, his hastily snatched helmet upon his head, his gladius in his hand striking a comical and pathetic figure, watching the carnage being wrought about him, knowing that at any moment they would seek him out, his left hand cradling his ornamented breast plate which he had no time to put on.

  He stood there motionless, watching as the fighting started to subside. Sheer overwhelming numbers had swiftly decimated his semi-clad and unarmoured units. In moments the massacre was complete, and now the barbarian horde silently advanced forward with Cantra at the fore. Quintus stood there unmoving. Fate had decreed and he knew that his time had come, but that he intended he would depart this life as a soldier showed as he stared impassively at a brute walking towards him, brandishing a huge war club.

  Protectively Quintus raised his gladius and lunged and missed. Sidestepping t
he onslaught the Celt struck him a resounding blow upon his shoulder. He felt the bone crack as his stabbing sword fell from his lifeless fingers. Then one of the advancing hordes started to mock him.

  “These Roman men dress like women in their white dresses — shall we check his sexuality?” A roar of approval rose up. Quintus reeled back, unarmed and helpless, a red haired giant snatched his helmet off, and pranced in front of his comrades, then they started to strip him until he stood naked in front of them his good hand, instinctively protecting his groin.

  “These Romans are so brave with all their armour on, intimidating women and children — but plucked like a goose they shiver like a new born lamb in winter,” Cantra shouted, then turning he struck his victim a heavy blow.

  He shouted suddenly at Quintus, “My wife died at Glevum at the hands of your men. Your unit, swine — the second Augusta — you were the bastard commanding them.”

  Quintus did not answer, for indeed he remembered the excesses of Glevum, it was too late now for recrimination. In the background, the Celts began to murmur amongst themselves, then started calling.

  “Finish the job Cantra, and let’s move out, we have more Romans to hunt this day and more heads to take.”

  Cantra needed no second bidding.

  “Now die Roman cur!” he snarled.

  With a swift upward movement he slashed Quintus’ belly open. With a scream Quintus fell forward clutching his stomach, vainly looking for a merciful ending to his misery, but rough hands now seized the dying man and suspended him by one leg only from a tree branch. Then leaving the stricken man to die, they moved out.

  Chapter 14

  Camp Afternoon

  Boudicca was racing at full gallop towards her encampment. Behind her a naked woman was being dragged by a rope, as she whisked round a bend in the path, one of the guards standing behind her at the side of the path raised his sword and cut the rope with a single blow.