by Ralph Harvey
“What is that Dagda?” asked Catamandua curiously.
Dagda opened the palm of his hand to reveal a square of ivory inset with small circular pieces of jet.
“A Roman dice Queen, and a present to you.”
Intrigued, Catamandua took it, inspecting it with delight.
“Thank you Dagda, your gift is appreciated,” she laughed, and rolled the dice on the ground in front of her tribesmen. where it revealed a six.
Catamandua was delighted, “I see the significance of it as an omen. It is loaded. Whichever way the dice falls in this conflict, I, Catamandua, Queen of the Brigantes win either way.”
Rescue
The British band under Cantis passed by the ruins of Calleva Atrebatum. Scarce six weeks had passed since its destruction, yet in the humid climate the ever-spreading couch grass and columbine was already snaking over the fallen brickwork. Clusters of stinging nettles were already waist high, swarms of flies confirmed the bodies of the slain had had still not been buried, but the stench had now abated as white bone glistened besides rotting cloth and rusting armour.
“This is the furthest our Queen struck,” said Ostra as they passed, “we shall be at Cegontion by nightfall.”
And so it was. The intrepid group had arrived only a few hours behind schedule. The sick horses and the raid on the staging post had delayed them but they had still made good time, the slave auction still being two days away.
Cantis rode to within half a mile from the town of Cegontion and then hid the horses in a deep hollow in the woods, leaving two of their number to guard them. The remainder steadily approached Cegontion itself.
It was a small but clearly prosperous outpost, one of the new Romano-Celtic hamlets that had started to spring up since the invasion, part of the pacification plan designed to erode the Celtic lifestyle and embrace the populace into the Roman Empire and all things Roman.
It had been a slow process for the Roman conquerors, Celtic customs were deeply engrained in the people and they resisted strongly any intrusion into their ancient lifestyle.
It was the new and young generation who had been first to adapt, the girls in particular. Materials imported from Rome to make dresses seduced them away from the practical wool and plaids traditional to their people, often under the stern and disapproving eye of their men folk and parents, and they admired the Roman pottery and utensils with its highly coloured glazes that were now being imported.
Yet beneath the surface a smouldering resentment prevailed even amongst those who were adapting to the new lifestyle. Despite the outward demeanour instilled in them by the occupiers of their land, there was a sullenness that prevailed in the township in the last few days, and the villagers muttered ominously.
Salinas was dispatched with Guern and Hraticas to reconnoitre the marketplace surreptitiously, while Cantis and the others wandered around the perimeter marking out bridges, water crossings and inlet roads in preparation for the raiders to be able to effect their escape safely.
That evening they all met and compared notes. Guern had explicitly noted the bridge that served the great Roman road from Thaneti, was rickety and dangerous, and the woodpiles rotting and beset with worm and fungus.
He gave his report. “The Romans have started to bring in quantities of stone and masonry to build a new bridge,” he announced, “and a sentinel stands guard to ensure that no overloaded wagon crosses it for fear it will collapse, such is the state of it.”
Cantis looked at him querulously, “Clearly Guern, you have a reason for telling us this. You are saying do not race pell-mell for the north after the raid, as bunched horsemen and the thunder of our steeds’ hooves will bring it down — right?”
Guern grinned, obviously pleased with himself, “No Cantis, on the contrary, we gallop across in single file, it is the quickest way out. Here,” he unfolded a parchment he had drawn, “this is the idea I have drawn, I offer it to you to approve.”
His finger traced the trail to the bridge, “After we ride out, let one or two of us go ahead with ropes and cross the bridge, and when on the other side slay the sentinel and dump his body in the river. Moments later you arrive with the captives and make your way over the bridge at your own pace like I said in single file. By then the two who went before and killed the guard will have fastened the ropes to the understays of the bridge, and harnessed them to the horses. One pull and the bridge is gone leaving the pursuers on the other side. Besides, once some of us are across our archers will keep any Romans at bay, until we are all are safely over with the captives.”
Cantis was overjoyed,“Is the river itself passable?”
Guern lay back, “Not so, far too deep. The next section I discovered that is fordable lies some four miles to the east, and they say that even there the water runs fast. Apparently a rider was drowned attempting a short cut last year.”
“Roman I hope,” laughed Cantis. “It is a good plan Guern, for we shall be slowed on the way back by those that we rescue. That is if they wish to join us, for other than Salinas’ daughter, the others may decide to make their way home instead, or disappear into the countryside. It is essential that we must put space between us and any cavalry they may send after us fast, for that is my only fear.”
He looked at the assembled faces, “So tomorrow we must check where the Romans stable their mounts within Cegontion, and we will try to scatter them. Without horses the Romans will be at a disadvantage, and we can gain ground.”
He poured from a jar of wine they had stolen at the staging post, “Now let us eat, drink and then sleep untill tomorrow. We are in good time to prepare well in advance.”
The following day the band split up as before, and in no time had located the local unit’s horses, a mere half dozen, but superbly fit and able beasts.
Cantis, who had been the first to locate them, slowly approached looking admiringly, but was swiftly warned away by a guard who angrily shouted out at him.
“Be off, you thieving beggar, or I’ll skewer you where you stand.”
Cantis held his ground, “I am sorry. I used to breed horses and I was admiring your beasts.”
The Roman relaxed, “OK I understand. You are not from here are you? I know most of them around.”
Cantis was disturbed at the man's suspicion.
“No,” he ventured, then remembered the auction on the fifth day also included horses.
He responded quickly, “I have come to buy a horse, for I learn there is a sale in two days time.”
“Yeah,” the Roman grinned, “and a few Celtic fillies as well, wouldn’t mind a sample of one of them myself.”
Cantis found himself tautening at the mention so callously of the girls to be sold, but regaining his composure he responded, “Aye Roman, that may be so, but to me a good horse is the better ride.”
The Roman guffawed, Cantis joining in, then, waving, he wandered away, the Romans eyes following him, but clearly his suspicions were allayed.
The Die Is Cast
Two days Boudicca waited. Her riders were shadowing the Roman army on the way north. Each hour they were drawing further and further away from her main army. When there was sufficient distance between them, she called her war council together.
“Eat lightly tonight, and sleep early, for we move out at dawn. We will not be able to attack with the sun behind us as the river lies in the way, so we go direct for the heart and try to seize the port area. We will attack on a wide front, not that I see any serious opposition.”
Her tribal chiefs turned and left.
“Tonight, I hone my blade for tomorrow,” she mused, “then let it sing the death song of the Celts.”
She lifted the blade on high and whirled it above her head in a glistening arc of light. Faster and faster it whirled then gathering momentum it started to emit a mournful whirr.
Chapter 22
Auctions
Cantis arrived early to secure a good place at the front of the auction; it was essential to the plan that he
was to the fore. Within minutes a crowd had started to gather behind him, growing larger as the seconds ticked away. They were wise to have arrived early, as it was not long before the front started to fill up. Urcas and Ragna, together with their companions, flanked the sides, their swords hidden down the sides of their loose tartan trousers, their daggers equally concealed in hidden sheathes.
At the front of the vintners opposite, the remainder of the raiding party gathered, casually browsing, and haggling, to avert suspicion, among the assorted bundles of cloth, leather, sacks of grain, and garlands of fruit for sale.
Each warrior had in turn likewise brought a bundle with him, as if he had also just made a purchase, and casually laid them down amongst the assorted bundles laying around, for concealed within each, their famed bows and arrows snuggled side by side with their fearsome swords.
The task of smuggling in the broad heads, (spears), had fallen on Rondus, a giant of a man and being the strongest of the group. He was the last to arrive trying desperately to make light of the long rush matting he carried on his shoulder, within which lay close on thirty spears.
Now as the last piece of the jigsaw fell into place, the Roman patrol was seen approaching.
Rondus sidled up to Ragna, “I was expecting a decurion and ten, but there is a mounted escort of twenty or more. Why? Do they suspect something?”
Ragna looked around furtively, “I’ll find out.” He signalled the vintner over, “More wine man, here!” he tossed a coin to him, then gestured towards the Roman escort, “Is that usual?” he asked, “so many legionaries present at an ordinary auction?”
The vintner placed another gourd down and wiped his hand on some straw, then addressed him.
“No,” he grumbled, “there is much resentment among the people here, but seeing our men and women sold like cattle creates fear as well as resentment. The Romans are strong here and we avoid them.”
He glanced nervously around to make sure he was not overheard, then added, “They have brought reinforcements in since the Iceni Queen burnt Calleva, only a day and a half from here and too close for comfort for the local garrison. So they are permanently on alert nowadays. Besides,” he added, “the garrison here is so undermanned that they are in a permanent state of fear at the thought of her returning.”
At that moment the auctioneer strode onto the platform, a thonged whip in one hand, a blade strapped to his waist, his belly swollen by ale overhanging his trews. But what made Cantis and the others gasp were the blue whorls and tattoos on his face and arms showing the tribal marks of an Iceni. Raglan angrily tapped the dagger hilt stuck in his boot, his fingers twitching in anticipation.
At the same moment a half-drunk Atrebate staggered in, his hand clasping a handful of coins.
“How much is the cloth?” he demanded.
Salinas, whose bundle it was turned gruffly, “It’s not for sale.”
“Why?” the man demanded, “this is the shop of the tradesmen.”
Salinas whirled, getting agitated at the intrusion so close to their coming action.
“Because I’ve just bought it,” he snapped.
The man thrust the coins at him, “I’ll give you a profit. I want it.”
Salinas glanced anxiously at his companion, it was clear they were going to have to silence the man before he drew too much attention to them.
He leaned over to him, “I’ll tell you what, if you wait till the end of the auction I’ll give it to you free.”
The man looked puzzled, then broke off the conversation. Meanwhile on the rostrum the unfortunates to be sold were being led out. Instantly the soldiers increased their vigil, and secure under their protection, the auctioneer’s assistant removed their shackles. Cantis looked up at Treva, Salinas’ daughter who was clearly identifiable, her eyes red from weeping and her head downcast.
A balding merchant pushed his way to the front, lecherously appraising the girl, then the auctioneer started the event.
“Lot one, a woman of the Durotriges tribe. He glanced down to a parchment in front of him, “Seized under Caesar’s edict 141 for non-payment of taxes, she being in arrears for over one year to the extent of owing forty-eight sesterces. A bargain, as there is a low reserve of just fifty sesterces.”
A rounded matron of some forty summers was pushed forward as the auctioneer continued, “Skilled in cooking, she can gut, skin, and clean a deer, bake fine bread and is expert with herbs. Also she can weave the tartan cloth so sought after by all. A jewel of a woman, she can make your fires, work your fields, or,” he laughed coarsely, “you can use her as a bed warmer — who’ll start me at fifty sesterces?” he glanced at the vellum before him, “As ordered, to be sold to pay off her taxes and all tithes due unto imperial Caesar.”
One thin hawk-like man at the back raised his hand and the bidding started.
Cantis looked behind him at the men in the tavern, and then removed his headband, sending his long hair cascading down his back, it was the signal agreed on. Within the confines of the vintners shop, the Iceni and their allies hastily undid their bundles, swiftly slipping strings onto bows beneath the cover of the tables and out of sight of the Roman guards. The other denizens within the tavern immediately noticed the movement.
Ragna gesturing to the rear of the building to avoid an obvious exodus, commanded,“Get out of the way — leave now!”
As they saw the weapons being drawn they needed no second bidding and silently started to exit. As they did so, the half drunken Atrebate went to grab his promised cloth, noisily drawing attention. A Roman looked towards them querulously. Half intoxicated the man bent down to retrieve it but Salinas kicked the bundle into a corner, then as the man stumbled after it Rondus struck him with a heavy blow with his fist in a mighty uppercut, rendering him unconscious.
The man fell heavily to the ground, knocking into a small clay amphora of wine in the process, which fell to the ground and smashed. Rondus picked the prone Atrebate up with one hand by the scruff off his neck and casually tossed him into a dark corner of the vintners behind some sacks of leather then hurriedly pulled the body out of sight, covering it with one of the sacks. Then and Salinas left the vintners to go to their pre-arranged rendezvous.
On the rostrum, the slave master pushed the Durotriges woman aside, but by now the disturbance had been noticed and the Roman sentinel was curious, and had started to walk over to investigate.
Rondus turned to the warriors, “Now!” he shouted.
He picked up a throwing spear, instantly drawing it back and throwing it straight at the approaching Roman. The man, sensing danger, started to draw his gladius, but the missile caught him in the throat and he went down, his life force pumping spasmodically out in a scarlet stream.
Simultaneously the raiders loosed the first volley of arrows into the Roman guards, each man having selected two targets. Pandemonium broke out, at which point Cantis and those stationed with him struck. Swords stabbed at the remaining mounted men’s legs, hamstringing them, sending a cascade of crimson down the horses’ flanks, then as the second volley of arrows struck home, they charged the remaining guards.
The locals scattered before the onslaught giving the attackers plenty of space when the full realisation of what was happening dawned upon them. Then as the Roman civilians panicked, the locals turned on them, cutting off their retreat. A third volley of arrows came hurtling in, this time striking the fleeing buyers who had come to stock their households with Celtic slaves.
In the meantime Cantis had mounted the rostrum and with one stroke gutted the fat paunch of the traitorous Celt auctioneer.
“Die traitor, let them see your blood is the same as a Romans.”
With a gasp the man dropped his whip and made a half-hearted attempt to draw his sword, then failing, he slumped forward. Alarmed, the auctioneer’s assistant turned to run, Cantis calmly drew his dagger and taking aim, sent it thudding into the man’s back with unerring accuracy. The ensuing fighting was quick and bloody and within
minutes it was all over. Every Roman soldier lay dead along with the potential buyers lay alongside them in a bloody mass.
“Treva, here!” he shouted “Salinas your father is at the bridge. Hurry, come with us.”
Shouting joyously the freed slaves now grabbed Roman mounts and weapons, while others followed the retreating tribesmen.
“Scatter as you will. Or come with us. But hurry!”
Some raced for the safety of the village and hills to lie concealed there, but the young men and girls unanimously chose to follow Cantis and thus serve the Iceni Queen.
On the edge of the town a Roman on guard duty in the watchtower nearby was aware something was wrong, but all he could see was the milling around in the market place. Then as the crowds dispersed he could see the prone bodies lying there. As he hesitated he saw Cantis and his two companions racing ahead to the bridge as planned. He drew the circular war horn and emitted three long blasts on it.
Cantis and the other two had reached the bridge, their horses carrying sheaves of hay to give the impression that they had just purchased these at the market, and had started to carefully walk their horses over it on foot when they heard the war horn sounding in the distance.
“What’s happening?” Cantis casually asked the guards.
“Don’t know,” they shouted, “get off the bridge quick, and clear off. Move, while we find out.”
Obediently they completed the precarious journey as quick as possible, then Salinas who had been sitting on the riverbank watching with a blanket around him moved his right hand stealthily towards his side scabbard, then slipped his dagger up under one of the guard’s armour plates beneath the armpit, his left hand now over the sentry’s mouth smothering his cry. Just then Urcas and Ragna struck the remaining guard down.
“It’s good to feel the thrust of iron again,” Salinas grinned, “a Celt never loses the skill even when he grows old.”
Then a rider came into sight, galloping hard.