Boudicca - Queen of Death

by Ralph Harvey

  “Within five miles one half the civilians who follow will abandon their carts and within twenty, scarce one of them will still be with them.”

  Boudicca nodded, “Aye, they know the Romans will strike camp at nightfall, and try to catch up, but by the second night, they will be like ripe plums for the picking.”

  “Where do you think he leads Boudicca? What information has he? Will he reinforce Verulamium?”

  Boudicca squatted on the ground, a captured Roman pila resting between her legs, “I think not Corrianus, my spies tell us he considers Verulamium to be easily defended. It is Lindum that concerns him.”

  Corrianus stood awhile, honing his war axe with a rough file, “The Catuvellauni are outwardly siding with Rome. However, as we know, their cheiftan has sworn fealty to us.” He paused, “If we attack Verulamium, they will turn on the Romans and make our victory assured.”

  Boudicca stood up, and hurled the pila with unerring accuracy at a tree, striking a bole that had clearly been her target.

  “True beloved, but I like to strike where Suetonius expects me not. If he runs to defend Lindum, I shall strike northwest after we have taken Londinium, to Verulamium. In a week the legions will beat least eight days march away, and that is if they return, and if the Catuvellauni desert them,” she walked to the tree and pulled the pila out, “then the days of Rome shall be ended.”

  She looked purposefully towards Corrianus then towards the city once more, noting the never-ending stream of refugees already returning.

  “But now Corrianus, let us prepare to take Londinium. I have developed a taste for Roman wine.”

  Corrianus placed his arm around her, “Do not become too addicted to it my Queen, for once the Romans have been driven from the land, there will be no more.”

  The Road to Congotium

  Eventide two days later saw Cantis and his men at the base of a small hillock. He watched the horizon diligently looking upwards as he scanned the hilltop.

  “We may have already been seen, is there any way round?”

  Salinas nodded, “I do not know for certain, this is not Atrebate country, but I have been here before, and I do remember a Roman outpost where couriers and dispatch riders changed horses. It was only manned by a handful of auxiliaries, and that was over three years ago.”

  Cantis frowned, “Roman habits don’t change much, nor does their arrogance. Ragna, here!” He called out to one of the warriors, “You are the best tracker. Check it out, before the light fails.”

  Ragna dismounted, discarded his spear and bow, and slipped his sword in and out of his sheath to check easy movement, and patting the leather of his dagger exclaimed, “This is all I will need.” Silently he disappeared into the underbrush with the stealth of a fox.

  It was dark when he returned and reported in.

  “An old fire three or four days old, and signs where a patrol has been, again some days before, but it is clear.”

  Cantis relaxed, “Good, we will camp here. When you have eaten, the five of you keep watch on that rise. Spot for any fires or smoke, and we will need to know where any enemy may lie.”

  As the Iceni band breakfasted the next morning, the sentinels gave their reports.

  “Three fires Cantis, one many miles from here clearly came from a hill fort so will be of our people, while the other is a hunter’s fire, but to the south on the old track I saw four beacons, suggesting a Roman outpost.

  To their surprise Cantis was happy, “Good! I seek no confrontation yet. All I need to know is where they are in order to avoid them.” His attention was drawn as Aubus, a tribesman, was seen approaching.

  “We have four horses sick with colic,” he announced, “Where we tethered them there is a grove of crab apple trees nearby, and now … look,”

  Cantis hurried over, his foot sifting over piles of horse dung,

  “See how soft their stools are? We need to feed them dry food for at least four days before they are rideable again.”

  Cantis reacted irritably, “I do not have the time to spare.”

  He look at Salinas. Not a word was spoken, but as their eyes met Salinas broke the silence, “I will show you where there are fresh horses easy to steal near where I have just surveyed.” He beckoned his leader with a simplistic hand gesture. “Come, I will lead you there Cantis.”

  Some two miles south of where Cantis and his men had slept a handful of auxiliaries started to raise themselves leisurely from slumber. In a paddock nearby the horses were already restless as they awaited fresh provender. It was not long before a Roman made his way to the well carrying a leather bucket.

  At the same time within the camp an ostler started to gather up saddles to be cleaned, while another mixed grain and flour and soon the fresh smell of baking bread whetted their appetite.

  Carefully concealed, Cantis and his men watched every movement awaiting their chance to strike. Two Romans, completely relaxing and off guard, started to take milk from two goats tethered nearby. Seizing his opportunity, Cantis raised his hand in readiness. Immediately each man strained like a dog on the leash, then when eventually he lowered it each warrior made for his selected prey like a lion will choose one victim in a herd.

  Moving like wraiths in the morning light, they closed silently on the bemused Romans, the older men, nearing the completion of their twenty-five years in the legion, did not stand a chance and neither did the auxiliaries, recently imported and now lax.

  As Ragna closed on the Roman auxiliary carrying a bucket of water the man dropped it spilling water over his feet and legs. Completely off guard he hesitated as to whether to attempt drawing his gladius, or run to the safety of the camp. His indecision spelled his doom

  At the last moment seeing the other Iceni running pell-mell into the staying post, he turned and ran towards the safety of the forest. Ragna, racing behind him raised his great sword up, and as they closed struck at the small, unprotected nape of the man’s neck, which showed stark and white beneath the protective covering.

  As the corpse, as it now was, rolled to the right, the severed head fell to the left. Uttering a great cry of exultation Ragna eagerly picked it up, and brandishing his prize like Jason holding aloft Medusa's head, he displayed his grizzly trophy to the retreating and now, panic-stricken Romans.

  The Roman millers also dropped the pails they were carrying, and swiftly realising the hopelessness of the situation buried themselves in the hay pile to await the raiders departure. Caltinus, younger and more astute than his fellow Romans, realised he must raise the alarm. Grabbing a burning brand he raced for the great scaling ladder to light the high beacon — a mixture of straw, oil and wood, that would send a giant plume of black smoke skywards and warn the surrounding outposts that they were under attack.

  Expertly he climbed to the summit then raising his arm prepared to send his fiery message out. By now however, some of the Celts, seeing the danger, had stopped in their charge and drawn bows; these men were seasoned fighters, well used to handling any situation that arose.

  The unfortunate Caltinus made the summit but three arrows sped towards their mark and struck home. Grimly the dying man struggled to hold on, vainly attempting to complete his task. Twice his quivering hand reached out and fell short, but by then the three archers had re-drawn their bows and three more arrows thudded into his body and completed their task. With a cry Caltinus fell, landing in a pool of his own blood, as his brains splattered like uncooked dough, stark and white against the scarlet pool now emanating from his body.

  Cantis looked down at the mangled remains, “He may have been a Roman and an enemy but he was a brave man, he could have aroused the countryside against us.”

  There was admiration in his voice, respectful of his fallen adversary.

  By now the Celts were gathering up the fresh horses they had captured.

  “Get ready to move out,” Cantis called, “set free all the horses that we do not want, but do not fire the place. It could be days before they are missed.�
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  Moments later, the band was on its way again, leaving behind the partly demolished fort. Before leaving, they had pulled down the signal post and the four corner beacons, then scattered the livestock.

  “They will undoubtedly fall into Celtic hands eventually,” laughed Rondus, “A Celt can spot a stray horse or a lost goat from a mile away.”

  It was nightfall the same day before the two Romans emerged from the hay pile.

  “In truth! I lay sweating they would fire the place as is their wont,” one muttered, “it was only their fear the fire would be seen that prevented us being roasted alive. But now what of us?”

  His companion sat in thought.

  “We could well be executed for cowardice, and no matter what story we tell of how we survived I think the legate will not brook it. Legionaries fight to the last man, and none survive. Even if we were spared no regiment would accept us.”

  The second Roman sat by forlornly meditating his fate, “Either way we are dead men, whether we die at the hands of the Brits or by our own people; such is the lot of the soldier. What do we do comrade?”

  They sat glumly awhile, making a small fire amongst their dead companions.

  “Is there any food left?” queried Antonus.

  Decontian, the other survivor, walked to what had been the store, “Nothing,” he called, “it has been gleaned like rats in a granary. I’ll pick some fruit and draw water.”

  Minutes later he returned ashen faced and empty handed.

  Antonus looked up, “What is wrong Decontian?”

  Decontian quietly sat down, “I have lost my appetite.” He gestured towards the well, “I went to draw water and … and found what provisions they couldn’t carry away they had thrown down there, and …” Decontian paused.

  “And?” Antonus queried.

  Decontian pointed again, “I saw the dead face of Silvanus staring up at me!”

  “Mighty Mars!” cried Antonus, “I shall not sleep this night. Tell me, when is the next patrol expected?”

  “Two days from now,” Decontian replied. “We could don full armour and say our commander Flavius had ordered us to break out and fetch help, but the horses were scattered so we had to bring news to them by foot. Say it was a much larger force that hit us.”

  Antonus shook his head negatively, “Look at the bodies, half dressed, not one at his station, some cut down in the paddock. It is clear we were caught off guard and you and I shall answer for it. Come, we will think more clearly in the morning.”

  Huddling under the hay once more they slept a fitful sleep, then as dawn broke Antonius stretched himself.

  “Decontian” he called out.

  There was no answer. As he stretched once more he walked outside in the chilled morning mist. Starkly outlined, hanging from the cross beam of the entrance, was Decontian.

  Chapter 21

  Brigante camp

  The fire had grown low, the logs and branches that had previously been heaped upon it were now scarlet embers, consumed by the fire and spread out in a great glowing scarlet mass into which, the Brigante men and women tossed balls of meat wrapped in green vine leaves to cook, or sat and roasted cutlets of meat on spearheads.

  Pegla jumped as a giant moth, attracted by the flames, brushed his cheek. Then grinning evilly he looked towards Catamandua.

  “As this fire burns, Queen, so does Camulodunum, even as we speak.”

  He poked one of the steaming balls in the embers with his knife.

  “Which way does the Brigante nation go now Queen? What is the end result of this Iceni madness?”

  Catamandua sucked the marrow from an ox bone, her fingers running with grease. Pausing she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand leaving a trail of fat on her face that glistened strangely in the combination of moonlight and the flickering flames of the fire.

  “My belief Pegla,” she replied, “is that Rome will ultimately triumph. If Boudicca looks like winning and has further successes, then surely Caesar will send more legions until he ensures that the she-bitch lays in her own blood, or is taken.”

  She looked around at the warriors sitting there waiting on her every word. “Caesar has unlimited resources and so ultimately will triumph.”

  Pegla picked up a sand stone from a leather bag at his feet and started to sharpen his blade with it.

  “They say she marches on Londinium and the inhabitants flee before her army. A new camp has been seen at the Watling Road leading to the port, and even more tribes hasten now to join her.”

  Dagda, another tribesman, broke in, “He speaks truly Catamandua, I passed many a young buck on the way to her, including a handful of Silures who had made it through the passes, all aching for a fight and the rich spoils to be found in the cities.”

  He tried to snatch a roasted rib piece from the flames, dropping it as it burned him, then sucking his scalded fingers continued, “Londinium cannot hold. That is for sure. With the capital Camulodunum now fallen and Londinium about to go the same way, they will have lost both their heart and stomach, for Londinium controls all the trade in Britannia, and it has often been thought that one day it may even become the capital.”

  He looked first at Catamandua then at Pegla, “Surely Roman rule cannot continue now?”

  He flicked a smouldering piece of wood back into the fire, drew his sword from its sheath, and attempted to drag the lost rib joint out of the embers, this time with the blade.

  “If the Romans are massacred here, surely Caesar will abandon Britannia, and seek conquest nearer to him.”

  He managed to spear the joint and held it up to cool, then added, “Rome has lost vast resources in trying to control Britannia, and all her investments here are now lost. What has he to gain in attempting to retake a ruined and rebellious land?”

  Catamandua belched out loud and opened the top of her heavy skirt, so that her stomach could be more comfortable from her gorging, then settled back as Dagda went on.

  “The land is laid waste. Throughout the country the Romans’ crops are destroyed, their villas razed. What is there here for them now? What has been built upon years of occupation has disappeared within three moon phases.”

  Pegla was thoughtful, “There is room for thought here Catamandua. Only Verulamium and Lindum are of any consequence, and Lindum will not hold. Verulamium,” he spat into the fire, “now that is a nut she cannot crack, but a long siege would lay it low methinks.”

  Catamandua grinned, “If I were Boudicca I too would lay siege. Any direct assault upon it would meet in failure. The terrain is not made for chariots, and with the high walls and deep ditches an army would be destroyed hurling itself against its defences. No, their food supplies are their trade exits, and with over eighty thousand mouths to feed it would depend on two factors: one, how long would the city hold, and two, how long before Caesars reinforcements could land.”

  She leaned forward and attempted to extricate a charred sheep heart from the dying embers. Failing she cursed out loud as she burnt herself also, then gathering up a spear she impaled it, then waited for it to cool. Seeing her action, a young girl waiting on her selected another one and laid it upon the glowing coals.

  Pegla intervened, “The Ninth legion have been massacred, that alone is a quarter of the Romans’ strength, no army can stand such losses. Suetonius must break out and head for the coast, for if he delays, Boudicca will win for sure and the Iceni and their allies will try and stop Caesar at the coast, as they did successfully once before. But this time they will be far stronger, better prepared, and have benefited from the experience they have gained.”

  Catamandua sneered. “And Caesar too will send more. If I were he I would land at three places, Boudicca could not hold all of them. He knows she will not await him on the shore-line.”

  Dagda played with the embers once more with his foot, “When Londinium falls, as we all know it will, and when the wind of change is seen, will not the Catuvellauni desert their Roman masters and side with her? I
swear their loyalty to Rome will disappear like snow in the morning sun.”

  A young warrior displaying a stump where once had been his hand, was listening to the discourse thoughtfully. Lacillus was a strange mixture of warrior and philosopher, now more thinker than fighter since the loss of his limb, although he was well able to defend himself with his one good appendage.

  “I have an idea Queen, if you have a mind to listen. Are not the Brigantes two distinct races, with two paramount chiefs and you overall Queen of them both?” He paused, “The north and south tribes have always been diverse. Let the north, here, in secret, give lip service to Rome, and the south make overtures of friendship to Boudicca. Then …”

  Catamandua interrupted him, “I am one step ahead, Lacillus, and have pre-empted you. Uislui of the north Brigantes attended the great war council of the Iceni. Together with others of our people, he has brought one thousand men to her cause, and promised more, and she has been told that when he can get a messenger through to the south, they will come too.”

  Pegla broke in, laughing, “But Boudicca believes the river is in flood and our southern brothers are delayed in coming to her aid.”

  Lacillus gave a crooked smile, “I should have known better Catamandua. That is why you are a Queen and I am but a minor chief.”

  Catamandua relaxed and turned to Pegla, “Send word to Horsa, and command him to give fealty to Suetonius — alone so that no-one may hear. He is to tell him that the southern Brigantes march to his defence.” She poked the coals once more, “Instruct Horsa to put the army together slowly, Lacillus, and also to be sure to send runners as to their progress.”

  She picked her teeth with her dagger point, “Be sure they arrive too late, then whatever way the conflict ends, I Catamandua will suffer no retribution from the winner, nor share in the losers defeat, for Boudicca will know I have pledged my support to her via Uislui and Suetonius that I aid him via Horsa.”

  Dagda took a flagon and drank deep, then unravelled a piece of cloth from his wristband and withdrew a small object.