by Ralph Harvey
Aristicus looked hard, “And?”
“There has been an ambush of the Ninth Hispana. The infantry were wiped out and the standards taken, only the cavalry escaped the massacre. Siculus their leader lives but is badly injured.”
Aristicus sucked on his teeth, “Siculus, dear brave Siculus, to be drawn into an ambush.” He shook his head, “It is hardly credible, he is an experienced man who has survived many campaigns.”
Flaccus hesitated then added, “He has survived this one too sir.”
Aristicus brushed away a fly that was attempting to settle on his sweating brow.
“But what future for him Flaccus? For such a man to lose his legion and the standards is a social disgrace for him when he returns to Rome. But tell me what further news?”
Flaccus swallowed hard, “Boudicca sir, they say her force numbers well in excess of 100,000, and only 600 men defend Camulodunum.”
“Over 100,000!” exclaimed Aristicus, “The city walls will never hold for more than a few hours, even with the populace resisting.” He paced up and down speaking aloud, “Proctor was a good soldier, he rose to be a first centurion from the ranks and later was elevated to tribune long before he retired,” he added, “and you don’t get to be that high by pussyfooting. It is good to know that he holds such high office now in Camulodunum and that he is in charge of its defences.”
“How long has he been retired?” asked Flaccus.
“Fourteen years,” Aristicus replied, “He went into business with Rasca, a very highly trained capsarius, and they now own the largest apothecary in Britannia.” He paused, “He married Marina, a Catuvellauni girl, daughter of a minor chief or something, who has had three children by him, all out of wedlock. When he was discharged after twenty-five years service, he legitimised them under Senate law and now they are Roman citizens.”
“Where stands she in the conflict,” Flaccus asked.
Aristicus laughed, “She is a woman and she loves him, and now at least she has a high social position because of her life with him, and security now that she is a Roman, plus being married to him. The Iceni people hate her even more.
He looked at Flaccus intently, “Also she hates Boudicca. Her race, the Catuvellauni, have for centuries fought the Iceni; despite the present alliance of the tribes it will not last! No they gather like wolves at the kill, afraid of not receiving their share, but it is greed and the thought of plunder that unites them not loyalty.”
Flaccus leaned on his pila, “Aye and after the kill, they will be at each others throats again.”
Aristicus frowned, “There will be no kill, and when Boudicca is slain, then every tribe regardless of who they fought for anywhere, will feel the might of Rome.”
Aristicus walked a short distance with Flaccus, “Suetonius has sent to Caesar for more legions, when they come, it will swing the balance.”
He looked at the lines of soldiers sprawled on the ground.
“How long have the men had?”
Flaccus called an auxiliary over to him, “It must be about one hour sir.” He looked towards the man, “Check the hour glass” he commanded.
The auxiliary hurried away, glancing furtively behind him as he reached the hourglass. Then being unobserved, he reversed it, waited five minutes then placing it on a platter, he returned to Flaccus, having reversed it back into position out of sight.
Flaccus looked at him, “That’s a long hour,” he remarked suspiciously, then he turned to Aristicus, “the sand will run out soon, shall I move them then?”
The tribune nodded his head, “Yes, every hour counts. They know we are coming and will hold, but there is always danger.”
Even as he spoke, a horseman came thundering into the camp.
“Iceni!” he shouted feverishly, “Iceni!”
He pulled the snorting beast up by his commander, “A large force sir, approaching fast, they are but fifteen minutes behind me.”
Aristicus sprang into action, “Rise!” he shouted. “On guard, on guard!”
The order went out. As the command was given the war trumpets were sounded and the drums beat out the signal to arms.
Men struggled to replace boots onto chafed and swollen feet and minutes later the legion stood in line, completely prepared.
“Reconnoitre the hill,” shouted a cavalry commander, and instantly a troop of horsemen galloped for the high ground, then turning to a centurion he shouted, “Form a square” Obediently the soldiers closed ranks, they could now see the enemy closing fast upon them, a substantial band, but certainly not enough to overwhelm them.
“How many?” he asked.
A centurion peered into the distance, “Some 400 of them sir, a tasty enough bunch but no match for us.”
At that moment the commander of horse returned.
“Clear ground behind them sir,” he informed the tribune, “No reinforcements that we can see.”
“Right!” bellowed Aristicus, “Fortify the hill.”
In practical formation the unit moved to the hilltop and minutes later were substantially ensconced at the top. Below Belgae, Trinovantes and Iceni stood together, a great mixture, just out of range of the archers. Silently the two sides observed each other, then an Atrebate horseman drew in front of them and blew three long blasts on a horn.
Immediately, in response, echoing replies were heard from four directions around the entrenched Romans. In the distance, from the east, south, west and north, the four more solitary horn blowers kept up their signals.
Outwardly surrounded the Romans nervously, glanced at their front, rear and sides, not realising that this was the trap that Boudicca had so secretly planned with Corrianus. It was all a gigantic bluff to delay their reinforcing Camulodunum and snatching the conquest of the city from her grasp.
Now as part of her scheme, and unseen by the Romans, deep in the centre of the forest glades in the four quarters, minor units of only eight to ten tribesmen were completing the deception. Together with a horn blower they moved rapidly amongst the undergrowth and lit pre-prepared fires.
With a roar the flames leapt upwards throwing orange streaks of fire high into the sky as giant piles of straw blazed. Next they threw on piles of green wood and twigs, sending great spirals of smoke upwards into the atmosphere, where they could be clearly observed by the entrenched Romans. Then, laughing the tribesmen sat and drank.
“The Romans will think they are fighting the whole of the Belgae nation!” one laughed, putting down a pitcher from which he was swigging ale.
Another of the Celts swiftly climbed a tree, and standing on a branch surveyed the hill ahead of them.
“What are they doing, Caellid?” one shouted, “What do you see?”
The man peered into the distance again, “Digging trenches and throwing up barricades.”
He climbed down, “The fools will be up all night long, and while they hide and await our attack Boudicca will strike and Camulodunum will burn.”
Another joined in, “And while we rest, we will deny them sleep, a trick that has worked well in the past. Tired men are weakened men.”
Back on the hilltop, the tribune watched the gathered group below, standing in silence; none of the usual taunting or uttering of threats came. No war cries emanated as was to be expected, usually rising in crescendo and proceeding an attack, just silence, and all the time they watched, Roman defences grew higher and higher.
Urged on by the overseers, men sweated and laboured to build an earth wall. Darkness started to fall and nervously the Romans increased their vigilance.
“I like it not, Flaccus,” Aristicus observed, “They wait for night to fall, and clearly hope to surprise us. Keep all men in full armour, one third resting, two-thirds on duty. Light fires in front of the defences; the light will give us some warning at least, when they attack. We will wait for them to come to us. I do not intend to be caught as Siculus and the ninth were.”
He looked around as the light faded, in a large semi-circle all around them
dozens of campfires blazed.
“Do not relax even for an instance Flaccus, come morning we could be fighting for our very lives or else trying to hack our way through their lines. It is clear that we are surrounded by a considerable force, and dare not move in the dark, whatever happens we have a formidable task ahead of us.”
Flaccus was disturbed, and ventured hesitantly, “And Camulodunum?”
Aristicus did not answer immediately. He started to walk away, then turned and spoke, “Aye … and Camulodunum? Pray for her Flaccus, pray for her, for I will not be there to save her now. Camulodunum is doomed.”
And so it was that the 14th Gemina legion waited, futilely, throughout the night for an attack that never came. Boudicca’s supreme plan to ensure victory had succeeded.
As the morning mists cleared, the spiralling smoke, so clearly seen the night before, was now but a trickle, and there, by the first morning light in the clearings, where the scattered tribesmen had gathered, stood an empty space.
Staring from the four corners of the encampment, their commander made a decision, “Send scouts out to find their strength, we could be in for a hard time. I would imagine they have gathered at one of the four points here, under cover of darkness and will concentrate their attack on one wall only.”
From each point three men silently left and started to probe the Celtic strength while silently, the legion awaited their return. Slowly the hours dragged by, yet as the sun was at its zenith at midday, still no attack came. The first scout, Ralla, returned, then another, and another. They all told the same story.
“They have struck camp and left, commander. We did observe where a few men had camped through the night, but, from the look of the ground and grass, there was but a handful at each point. It appears they made much smoke and fire, and used their horns and drums to signal to each other, but they had no substance sir. The first force you saw of some four hundred souls was their entire strength. There were no more than ten men at each compass point, and furthermore the tracks of the main force indicate that they proceeded towards Camulodunum just after dusk when we first saw them, some fourteen or fifteen hours ago.”
Aristicus’ face blanched, “By Jupiter, we have been tricked. They have done their work well, and delayed our advance to the relief of Camulodunum and not lost a man. Put one third of our men on duty, and let the two thirds who were on vigil throughout the night sleep for an hour and a half.” He turned, “No! Cancel that order. We must strike camp at once and proceed with all speed to the relief of Camulodunum. May Mars preserve them until we get there, and pray we are not too late!”
Clenching his fists he glanced skywards then muttered under his breath, “But the die is cast.”
Camulodunum
Barricades were now hurriedly built across each street entrance from the main square, like a giant spiders-web spreading out from the Temple of Claudius at the centre. Giant timbers blocked each entrance as the people laboured to throw up defences. Within the square itself there was now a great hum of activity. Charcoal burners smelted iron ore, having dismantled their primitive burners in the now abandoned outskirts of the city, and set up foundries in the shadow of the great temple.
Within the temple grounds, smiths now forged hastily made weapons, as potential demand exceeded supply, wood workers worked along side them fixing poles and stays to spear-heads, while wood cutters sought out ash for the spear shafts.
In the front precinct of the temple old and retired warriors practised long dormant skills with clubs and swords once more. Aging limbs now ached at the new exertions suddenly thrust upon them. The entire area had exploded into activity under the gaze of Proctor who overlooked the whole operation.
“May the Gods help us if that bitch attacks now, three whole days have been lost in debate and argument,” he turned appealingly to Lacus, his voice tinged with bitterness, “Death is at our doorstep and the timber merchants demand payment in advance and the smiths have jacked the prices up to take further advantage of the situation.”
He spoke even more angrily, “And we have had to pay ten times the price for charcoal to melt the iron ore, for the hewers of wood state they are afraid to venture into the forests for supplies.”
He stood with his hands on his hips absorbing the sudden hustle and bustle of activity, for an overwhelming urgency had gripped all in its infectiousness as the Celtic army drew near.
“Three whole days lost, and only the first barricades started,” he bemoaned.
Unhappily he walked anxiously amongst the citizens. As he observed them the buzz of industry around him was now intense, for the full realisation of the impending danger that confronted them had struck home at long last. Then, a distant war horn sounded, an instant signal to alert them, three short blast followed by a long protracted one.
“A rider,” they shouted, “a rider!”
Minutes later, just as the watcher had predicted, a horseman was seen racing towards the city entrance. On edge they watched the man flailing his mount increasingly as if the very devil was at his heels. Then he came into sight, the chequered cloth and long plaited tresses of a Celt could be clearly seen identifying him.
“A Brigante” the cry went up.
As the men raised their weapons Proctor peered anxiously, scrutinising the approaching rider.
“Hold!” he shouted to the marksmen, “It is a Brigante, but it is Idris, our man on the outside. Open the entrance for him fast!”
Eager hands tore at the one barricade still able to serve as an entrance. Ropes from the buildings above were hauled up to lift the massive timbers so that a gap was opened in the defences to receive him. Furiously he galloped through them and raced unerringly towards Proctor standing expectantly on the temple steps. Exhausted, he dropped to the ground as he halted the horse abruptly.
“What news brings you, Idris?” Proctor asked anxiously.
The man looked up to him, half crouched, panting with his exertions, “Boudicca Proctor, at the head of her army, not thirty kilometres from here, and heading fast towards you!”
“Stay Idris, but I must hasten you. How many are with her?” demanded Proctor.
The man raised his eyes, then half poised on one leg he attempted to stand and immediately helping hands steadied him.
“They were as ants on the ground Proctor, countless thousands as far as the eye could see, a massive army on the move,” he paused, “There will be no holding them, you must flee.”
“Almighty Mars give us strength,” Proctor called out, “there is no way we can evacuate the city in time, and where would we go? Her chariots would cut us down within hours.”
He turned to the swiftly gathering populace who had hurried to the temple steps to await the latest news.
“Boudicca,” he shouted, “is less than a day’s march from here. Escape is impossible, she would overtake us, and slaughter us in the open with her cavalry.”
At his words a great wail went up, but he resolutely continued, “Now MOVE! Bring out your wagons and your furniture. We have one last chance or else we will never complete the barricades in time.”
A sudden panic now set in, the streets filled with all the debris that could be mustered, trunks, carts, chests, and sideboards were piled on high, wagons were overturned and barrels hastily filled with stones and earth, as slowly the piles grew higher. Men spent the last hours sharpening knives and everything they could lay their hands on that could be used as a weapon, even children made slings and scoured the ground as they gathered pebbles for missiles. Every hoe, spade and fork was honed and sharpened.
In front of the barriers men raised the paving stones, and hastily dug deep pits. Everywhere a cold fear had now set in with the deep chill of impending death.
As darkness fell they laboured on into the night. Outer buildings were hurriedly demolished or wrecked to make a firebreak, and their masonry used to make an inner defence wall. Suddenly the people no longer complained, their worst nightmare was about to come true.
Proctor looked on dejectedly, “Too little, too late, I fear. Three days the idiots lost, three whole days in argument.” He called out to the high priest who had now appeared in the doorway, “Make sacrifice to the God of war, Trinias, and pray that we may hold out until relief comes.”
The priest bowed, “It shall be done legate,” he smiled. “I have a fine ram, with great horns that I shall dedicate to Mars himself.”
Proctor grimaced, “So be it priest, do as you will.”
Trinias bowed, “Then I will offer the carcass as a burnt offering in supplication to the Gods.”
Proctor whirled, “Make sacrifice Trinias as is the custom, but waste no wood on fires, nor destroy meat we may well need. Gods, you priests make me sick.”
Trinias looked rebuffed, but said nothing and left.
Dawn broke the following morning. An uneasy calm had gripped the city and only now did the people hastily grab sleep after their nocturnal exertions. Vigilant eyes watched from the roof of the great Temple of Claudius.
Inexorably the minutes ticked by while an icy fear gripped them all. Men sharpened blades that had already been sharpened; women and children flowed up the staircase of the temple to the roof above, carrying baskets of stones and rocks. The small contingent of soldiers still remaining followed to carry the heavy paving stones up, anything that could be used as a missile was utilised. Finally, the timbers were rearranged at the barricades as they were checked, re-checked and roped together.
Calcus nervously fiddled with a rose-hued amber necklace. The self same politician and councillor who days before had resisted every attempt to spend anything on the city’s fortification now anxiously enquired as to its strength. “Will they hold, Proctor?” he asked.
Proctor turned contemptuously to him, “Yes, it will hold, but no thanks to you. It’s their numbers I fear. Man for man, they could well win. We must stop them at the barricades where we have the advantage, for if we attempt to hold them in the open we will all surely perish.”