Boudicca - Queen of Death

by Ralph Harvey

  A murmur of approval went round the onlookers as she continued. “Within Camulodunum itself our people are flogged and branded, our women taken at will and our farmers dispossessed of their land.”

  Corrianus joined in supporting her, “The Celtic nation starves while the Romans grow fat, but they are no match for us! Gather your warriors together, gird your loins, sharpen your swords, and prepare for war — for in three days from now we will march on Camulodunum and we will be at the gates within seven.”

  Everywhere the great chieftains rejoiced — men broke down and cried at her eloquence. War was their profession and now they would rejoice on a wave of euphoria, drink the old drink made with the berries and magic fungi of the forest and field, drink once more of the magical elixir whereby men felt no pain or injury, and whereby a warrior could hurl himself into battle imperviously. They had been good days, and now they would ride the war track as of old.

  As the cheering in the round hut reached a crescendo, everyone rushed to greet Boudicca and show their loyalty as proudly she walked among them.

  At the back of the hut in a darkened recess a Brigante disguised as a Cantii, turned to his conspirator a fellow Brigante.

  “Ride fast to Camulodunum, Idris, seek out Proctor there,” he hissed. “Tell him Boudicca marches in three days from now and will attack in seven. He will reward us well for this information.”

  Idris acknowledged and left. Minutes later he was riding pell mell towards the capital to alert the Proctor of the impending invasion … and to receive Roman gold as his reward.

  Conflict

  Within Camulodunum controversy still reigned. Calcus, councillor and high ranking plebeian, was fervently addressing a crowd who had assembled outside the town hall. He was grossly overweight, and sweating profusely as he harangued the onlookers, his wheedling voice rising and falling in falsetto tones as he pleaded his cause.

  “If we arm who will pay for it I ask? Will Caesar or Rome grant us gold?”

  Ratinus a local merchant was quick to intervene.

  “Don’t be stupid, Calcus, you speak like a fool. No matter what the cost we must commission smiths to forge weapons and carpenters to buy wood for defences.”

  He turned around and addressed the crowd directly.

  “It is essential that we build barricades before it is too late — every hour counts as Boudicca draws closer each day.”

  Calcus sneered down at him from the rostrum, “And if we do build and the Celts pass us by as I predict they will do, then all this expenditure will have been for nothing.” His face reddened.

  “This is the capital of Britannia you speak of — not a small provincial outpost like Calleva, the population here is ten times greater, plus we have 600 trained legionaries as well, while they had few.”

  He glared down at Ratinus, “Will you pay for it Ratinus?” he asked sarcastically.

  Proctor the procurator of the capital rose angrily from his seat on the platform, “By the Old Gods how can you discuss money and cost when the barbarians are almost at our gate? What is money when our very lives are at stake?”

  Aurrelius a member of the council looked towards Calcus.

  “Good words Calcus, keep your wealth. You could end up the richest man in the graveyard yet through your bumbling.”

  Ratinus was deep in thought, and then spoke again. “Would not a levy on all according to their means not be the fairest way Proctor?”

  Aurrelius seconded him, “I agree. Would not a tithe on all rents and properties be best for all?”

  Calcus was beside himself with fury.

  “Do I not pay enough taxes already? Why should I pay for other people’s property to be protected? With my slaves I can wall up my own villa like a fortress for a pittance, and sit there until the legions came.”

  Ratinus also reacted angrily, “You’re a tight bastard Calcus, you could afford to fortify the whole town if you wished.”

  A voice echoed out derogatorily from the back of the crowd.

  “As long as your fat hide is safe what do you care?”

  Calcus was not deterred one iota.

  “Why should I care? Unlike you I’ve saved for my retirement. I have bought and traded slaves all my life in order to enjoy my old age. I cannot afford to contribute, the expense is too high.”

  “If you make old bones you fat pig,” another voice called out

  Proctor raised his voice above the clamour, “Enough! There shall be a tax of thirty sesterces levied for every hectare of land owned; for every house alone, one hundred sesterces; every house with land, two hundred. And every tradesman regardless of his profession will contribute twenty-five sesterces. I have spoken.”

  Voices were raised in protest, but Proctor ignored them. He tuned to two senators, “We will plan at once — I need a map of the town.”

  Later that day he sat within his office studying it, his expression grim as he traced the contours of the city with his finger.

  “The outer perimeter is indefensible, so we will have to abandon all outlying areas and concentrate the main defences on the heart of the city around the temple.”

  More voices were raised in protest, even his friend Aurrelius was angry.

  “Abandon my villa?”

  “I am sorry Aurrelius but it is necessary,” he responded.

  Calcus was quick to take advantage.

  “I notice that your residence is in the boundary Proctor!” he exclaimed.

  He leaned forward and grabbing the map made a wide sweep of his hand over it in a circle.

  “Widen it another street all round and encompass the trading area, it is our shops and living that you sacrifice, I have much property there, and you save your own!”

  Proctor pushed the man aside contemptuously, “This is a military decision, and property does not enter into it.”

  All around him muttering broke out as the various factions argued, egged on by Calcus.

  “Save your properties if you will, she will burn them all, and yourselves with them when she comes,” then added, “And she will!”

  He hesitated in the doorway.

  “I want every carpenter, woodworker, and smith summoned to my quarters at once — hear me? I will listen no more to this rabble.”

  Chapter 15

  Suetonius and Lavinia

  Lavinia, the deaf Iceni girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hut on a scarlet wool blanket, Suetonius’ head cradled in her lap as she played with his hair tying it into small plaits. Then delightedly she picked up a highly polished brass mirror and held it before his face.

  Suetonius laughed, then raising himself on one elbow gazed at his reflection, “Would you make me a barbarian, girl? Is that what you want eh?”

  She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  “By the Gods,” he laughed again, “they call us barbarians, and history may well paint us so.”

  He rolled her over, and his hand moved to the stone lamp from which a small light flickered, one finger dipped into the black oil on its sides, then he traced a series of whorls on his face in the Iceni style. Lavinia giggled at the grotesque plaited face before her.

  “So girl, you want to be bedded by a Celt do you? so how do I love you? Gently? Tenderly? Or do I take you like a beast in heat?”

  Lavinia stared at him, so wanting to understand him, then, not knowing what he was saying, showed him her affection in the only way she knew how. Taking his head in between her cupped hands, she kissed him gently on the brow. Suetonius melted, never in his life had he ever known such affection, certainly never from a Roman woman, yet here was an enemy girl who loved him dearly.

  Casting off his robe, he removed her skirt and top, and then rolled her on top of him. Laughing happily she rode him, then suddenly he pulled her closer his arms closed around her.

  “By the Old Gods, and the Goddess Aphrodite, I love you, little one, how I wish I could tell you, make you understand,” his mouth slowly spelled the expression out in the Iceni ton
gue “I LOVE YOU.” He looked into her eyes, “Do you understand Lavinia, can you lip read me, I am trying to tell you that I love you?”

  Nodding, she placed a finger on his lips, then cradling herself in his arms they slept together, at peace with the world. Here was a man notorious for his slaughter of the Celtic nation and her people, able to show tenderness and love, and with a Celt.

  Idris and Proctor

  Idris led his horse slowly by hand to the gap in the trees. In the distance flickered lights from the fires within the town of Camulodunum itself — for a Brigante to ride in could be risky — ever since the Iceni revolt started, armed Celts could be slain at will. Roman sentries had a habit of loosing a volley of arrows at any suspect rider or footman, no questions asked. If they made a mistake, so what? it was only a Celt that died — just as long as he wasn’t somebody’s vassal they would not even be reprimanded.

  He tethered his horse carefully out of sight then stealthily approached the outskirts. His keen eyes soon spotted the Roman patrols, the Roman obsession with routine and discipline could equally be used against them. Vigilantly observing, and monitoring the situation, Idris lay there counting each man pacing, 360 paces, stop, turn, 360 paces back, and so it went on continuously. Idris counted slowly, estimating the time taken each time.

  Satisfied, Idris crept up to the man’s starting point, then, waited while he smartly turned about and re-commenced his perambulations, then seizing his opportunity he ran silently across the fields as the man’s back was turned, dropping low he crawled the last few yards, and was soon through the lines. Moments later Idris was roaming the outskirts of the city.

  Removing his sword belt, he threw a cloak around himself and made his way to Proctor’s residence. Once at the entrance he called to a guard that he wished to speak to the town commander. Suspicious of him, he was immediately seized and roughly searched then while they held him fast they informed they informed Proctor.

  Proctor hesitated only a moment, “Idris? That is the name I am expecting — you have checked him?”

  The decurion grinned, “Clean as they come sir, his only weapons is ’is teeth.”

  Proctor smiled, “Bring him in and stay with him. Be vigilant, but I think this is the Brigante spy I have been expecting.”

  As Idris entered he immediately went into a diatribe of how he had been treated, Proctor listened patiently — for clearly the man was of use — then interjected, “I am sorry you were ill used by my men, but with Boudicca’s spies everywhere, any stranger could represent danger, and you could well have been an assassin; but your purpose here man — what is it?”

  Idris looked to a nearby seat and Proctor swiftly bade him sit.

  “The Iceni Queen,” he started, “the bitch Boudicca,” he stopped and spat at the ground, “has gathered a vast army, and even as we speak recruits more men from the tribes to make war upon you.”

  He leaned forward confidentially.

  “She has chosen her target Proctor. The Iceni and their allies have practised long enough, and the taking of Calleva was but a rehearsal for the big one.” He paused, for now he had Proctor’s full attention.

  “Go on then,” snapped Proctor, “Where does the bitch strike next?”

  Idris leaned back, “Here, commander, here. She intends to take and sack Camulodunum.”

  Proctor looked shocked.

  “Here?” he gasped incredulously, “Camulodunum?” He took a grip on himself, “So that is her plan.”

  He looked at one of the centurions who was present.

  “What forces can we get and how long will it take?” He looked back at Idris. “When is this planned for Celt?”

  Idris was enjoying himself, “She will march this day, and will strike in seven. And that was yesterday. You have six days to prepare.” He looked directly at Proctor, “I near killed my horse on the way here to get this to you. I’ve been in the saddle for over thirty hours” he lamented

  The second centurion now joined in, “In two weeks I can have the Ninth Hispana here, and in six or seven days the remnants of the Fourteenth Gemina. I can signal them to come non-stop here, they are miles apart but each can make it individually.”

  Proctor turned to him, “Waste no time centurion — the sun is low in the heavens — signal the message now.” He addressed Idris, “Great Caesar is grateful to you and your companion.”

  He produced a small cloth bag and opened it, then counted out a number of gold coins.

  “Your reward Idris for the information I sought. And,” he counted out a further five, “for your trouble with the guards, so let all be bygones.”

  Idris gathered up the money to leave but Proctor called him back.

  “Here,” he produced a small seal, “if Boudicca does come, as I now know she will, thanks be to you, send me messages with this attached, imprint it in wax or clay and I will know it came from you.” He gestured to the remaining pile of gold coinage still on the table.

  “Serve Rome well Idris, and there shall be bountiful rewards for you. Let me know everything that this she-bitch does.”

  As Idris exited Proctor threw one more rejoinder at him, “Idris!”

  The man halted and turned, then Proctor turned to a decurion.

  “Attend Idris, and give him wine and food, and then see to it that he is given safe conduct through the lines, and on the way out, have him point out where he entered,” then added grimly, “and send the soldier who failed to see him to me.”

  The Road To Camulodunum

  Siculus, at the head of his cavalry, wended his way through a deep, heavily wooded valley. Behind him, a mere two hundred yards away, limped his legionaries. Romulus, a centurion, kneed his horse to Siculus’ side.

  “The men are foot-sore sir. They have been force-marched for days, and must rest. We have achieved twenty-six miles a day, well, over the legion’s target.”

  Siculus turned in the saddle.

  “Not possible,” he retorted, “Camulodunum lays ahead and they may well need us earlier. The Iceni have no armour and travel both fast and light. They could arrive faster than anticipated, so it is essential to continue this pace until we get there. There is no argument,” he snapped, “we must go on.”

  The centurion persisted, “Begging your pardon, commander, if they reach there in this state, they will not be fit to fight. I dread the thought commander, can’t you see the men are dead beat. They are dead on their feet even as I speak, sorry to push the point sir but we’d be massacred.”

  Siculus took a deep breath, “Whatever I do is bound to be wrong,” he rose up in his saddle, “Halt!” he shouted, “break camp.” Then he turned to the centurion, “How will Rome judge me Romulus, whatever I do is bound to be wrong; lag behind and we will be branded cowards who failed to come to the aid of our comrades, speed and be accused of bad tactics to engage the enemy with men in such condition. Well, I have taken your advice soldier and have halted.”

  He looked down at the man who had now dismounted.

  “I wish you were not a centurion, man, but higher in rank than me, then I could declare I took your advice and obeyed it, but a tribune to be guided by a centurion?” He half rose in the saddle, and looked at the dog-tired men collapsing wearily to the sides of the path, and then shook his head.

  “No soldier, you are right, but it is a situation I cannot win.”

  The centurion held his ground visibly relieved, “Aristicus and the 14th are closer than us to the city. They’ll hold easily, sir, until we get there.”

  Siculus nodded, “Five days we’ve been on the road, and that Celtic cow will strike Camulodunum in another two. Bring me a map and send for the cartographer, I must know our exact position and progress, then I will know how long we can afford to rest.”

  The centurion saluted then glanced meaningfully at Siculus’ steed.

  “Your beast needs rest too, commander, besides youself. Shall I send an ostler to it?”

  Siculus looked down to the foam-flecked animal,
then placed his hand out to the soldier to help him down. Having dismounted he looked at the man with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Take my horse then centurion, and give it to the ostler, have him check its hooves and that no shoes are loose.”

  The centurion took the reins from his commander and started to lead the two horses away. Then looking back remarked humorously,

  “The ’orses ’ooves, the infantryman’s feet, and …” he ran his hand over his posterior feeling it tenderly “… and yours and mine’s arses!”

  Siculus smiled, “We are all saddle-sore soldier.”

  Some three miles further on, Boudicca and Corrianus waited patiently with a large force of Celtic warriors.

  Corrianus spoke, “Someone has betrayed us Boudicca, Suetonius has sent two columns north and it’s plain to judge that their course is set for Camulodunum.”

  Boudicca rose to her feet, “They say it is the 14th Gemina that is closest to Camulodunum, and that the one we wait to ambush is the 9th Hispana.”

  “Why did you choose to ambush this one my Queen?” Corrianus asked.

  Boudicca flicked her head backwards sending her hair cascading over her shoulders.

  “Because dear love though I hate the 14th above all the legions, they are too strong at present to confront in open battle and the 9th will be an easy target. I want to be present at this conflict, and I have a plan to delay the main force, as you will see. We will discuss it when we eat.”

  Corrianus stretched his hand out in a supplication for help, and with a merry laugh Boudicca took hold of it and pulled, helping her chosen man to rise.

  “You are getting old Corrianus I swear.”

  As Corrianus rose he continued to hold her hand then smartly turning her gave her a resounding slap on her rear.

  “Bitch!” he exclaimed, “I’ll show you if I’m getting old.”

  She gave a little yelp, half pain, half joy, then as he released her she embraced him.