Boudicca - Queen of Death

by Ralph Harvey

  Tacitus stopped him in mid sentence, “Watch that one,” he commanded.

  As he spoke a chariot raced forward, its occupants holding their war shields above their heads in protection, the horses padded with quilts and iron plate. When it came into range the charioteer turned as five human skulls and a severed head were thrown towards the defenders in a gesture of defiance, then checking his horses he turned around, momentarily exposing the undefended backs of the occupants.

  “Now!” Gaius called gleefully. As he spoke the javelinas released their heavy nine-foot armoured spears, and simultaneously the onagers and catapulta fired in succession. The first javelin pierced the side of the chariot killing one man outright and severing the leg of another beneath the knee. A second killed a horse outright at full gallop. As its companion fell dead in the hafts the solitary horse stalled and fell, as the dead weight of its companion halted its progress.

  Then the second batch of missiles struck the now stationary target. Men, horses and chariot exploded in a welter of flesh, blood, bone and wood as the chariot and those within disintegrated, rendered apart by rocks javelins and boulders.

  Seeing their victory, a resounding cheer echoed from every throat on the walls of the city, while all the time the Romans beat out a deadly tattoo to the accompaniment of horns and drums. Caught off guard the Celts fell back on the other fronts, leaving their dead and injured behind, then withdrew from range. As the Romans watched, the Boudiccan army retreated over the horizon and out of sight.

  Lucinus, ever vigilant called from the watchtower, “They are pulling back.”

  Within the hour the only Celts that could be seen were the dead, dying and injured at the city outskirts. The gates were opened and the Roman death squads set about their grim task of slaughtering the injured and dying.

  Caltrus, called out, “I need prisoners. Take three of the highest rank and bring them in, one place is as good as another to die,” he laughed, “in or out of the walls. I need news of Boudicca, she was not to be seen today, and I want to know why.”

  The centurion listened and barked an order accordingly. Moments later the patrol came in, carrying four unfortunates to deliver to the tender mercies of the Roman lictors.

  Tacitus approached Caltrus and barked out, “Centurion.”

  The man turned and looked upwards and recognising his leader smartly saluted, “Sir.”

  Tacitus pointed to the Roman patrols, which now having finished the culling were scavenging for weapons, discarded arrows and the inevitable trophies from the dead.

  “Retrieve all those rocks and bring them back in here. Then I want every carcass of those carrion there hung on the city walls upside down; except for the Iceni warriors. I want them placed on the stakes, impaled as a warning to that arch-sorceress,” he added, “if and when she appears, to see them.”

  Days later as Cantis and his troupe approached the port of Dovernum, a Roman trireme was seen coming into sight. Realising they would pass each other, Cantis gave the signal to slow down.

  “As they come closer, wave, offer to barter for goods, wine, food, anything. Just be natural.”

  By now the vessels were alongside each other and the Britons started to hold up blankets and jewellery, silver amulets and leather belts.

  “Four sesterces,” one cried, while another shouted out he would sell his jerkin and shoes for a flagon of wine.

  A centurion turned to the side to seek out any who may have been tempted to trade with them, “Keep to your posts, and go about your duties,” he roared at the soldiers, “keep order! You don’t trade with barbarians.” He peered over the side to the men below, “Shove off or I’ll report you to the imperial guard. We don’t want anything from you robbers. I can buy those in Dovernum for half the price.”

  The oarsman grinned and rowed away. As they passed into the distance the centurion watched them go, “Bleeding heathen scum. What do they think we are?” Then he resumed his watch on the upper deck.

  Ragna looked back as the trireme headed for harbour, “For one moment I had the inclination to ram them.”

  Verulamium: The Tension Rises

  Tacitus the garrison commander continued his vigil, ever watchful, reviewing the defences regularly, and diligently checking missile stocks, men, and water supplies to combat the threat of fire. In the middle of one of his unscheduled patrols, Gaius joined him.

  “What are the signs Tacitus? Do you think they will come back?”

  Tacitus spoke in a confident tone, “No, my personal opinion is that they now know our strength. They will rattle their bridles at us, make lots of noise, loose a few burning arrows, to save face, maybe even try to lure us out into the open.” He grimaced, “No more than that. But we must keep up our guard. If they get drunk on that red and white fungus they find in the beech woods and mix with honey and wine, they lose all control and could launch a major assault, fearing nothing. Drunken men are dangerous men and impervious to danger.”

  Gaius nodded, “Also, remember that this is enemy territory as far as the Iceni, Trinovantes and Belgae are concerned. The Catuvellauni are the indigenous population here, and have a blood feud with Boudicca. There’s been some pretty nasty excesses between them over the years, there’s no love lost between them.”

  Tacitus was clearly convinced, “True Gaius. Our scouts are Catuvellauni and have given me detailed plans of every position of the Iceni army. I have accurate accounts of the strength of their cavalry; men, chariots, everything. There are over fifteen thousand armed Catuvellauni between them and us, who have moved into position, just itching for a fight if they dare return.”

  Gaius shrugged, “Let dog eat dog. The Catuvellauni serve our purpose well. If she does attack the town she will be weakened from fighting her way through them, and they will harry her from behind if she makes it to the walls.”

  Tacitus looked out across the fields, “She could be crushed against the walls. Suetonius is on his way here with twelve thousand men, and remember it was his prediction that it would be here at Verulamium that she would meet her end.”

  Gaius appeared by his side and also stared across the sprawling plains. “You know Tacitus, I hope she does come. I want to parade that bitch, naked and in chains before Nero himself.”

  As he spoke a small contingent of horsemen were seen approaching rapidly.

  “Keep vigil,” growled Tacitus. “Wait until they can be recognised.”

  Pulling up at the gates, the lead horseman raised his hand in greeting. The sentries shouted out excitedly to Gaius, “It is Caliages of the Catuvellauni!”

  Caliages approached the heavily guarded barricades. As he pulled up his steed a guard hailed Tacitus who was not far away. Instantly Tacitus approached the perimeter and looked down at him.

  “Greetings Caliages. What news?”

  Caliages half rose in his saddle pointing to the golden orb in the distance, “Boudicca’s army is gathered in the east. It is eighty thousand strong in foot soldiers alone, and close to twelve thousand cavalry. Her chariots are concealed and we cannot estimate how many.”

  Tacitus frowned, “She is stronger than we thought, I gather tribes have been flooding to her assistance. How fare you?”

  Caliages waved his hand. “We are ready, Tacitus. This conflict has been brewing a long time. This is Catuvellauni territory and they have invaded it. We fight them now on our own ground.”

  Tacitus leaned over the parapet, “Hold them as long as you can, Caliages, our legions are on the march and will be here soon. We are grateful to you.” Caliages shrugged nonchalantly, “We live at peace with Rome. My people live under Caesar’s protection and the country has been stable since you came.”

  By now a large force of some two thousand foot soldiers had caught up with Caliages.

  “What is your plan?” asked Tacitus.

  “I go to meet them on the open field. I have more cavalry than she and that will stem the tide. I am also strong in chariots; they and my cavalry will decide the day.
” He looked up at the towns defences, “I will leave you two thousand archers. They will serve you better here.”

  Tacitus acknowledged the gesture, “May the Gods be with you, Caliages Bring me Boudicca alive and I will reward you with her weight in silver.”

  Caliages grinned evilly, “Prepare her cage, Tacitus. She will be yours by nightfall. Forward!” he signalled to his chieftains and with a loud warcry they galloped off, men following at a fast run.

  As they disappeared into the distance, Gaius turned towards Tacitus.

  “She is stronger than we thought, sir, but two thousand archers I can certainly use to good advantage — where shall I deploy them?”

  The two men looked down upon the Catuvellauni bowmen, patiently squatting on their haunches, awaiting their orders. Tacitus did not hesitate.

  “We cannot leave them there — they’re too exposed. They’d be cut to pieces by her horsemen — open the gates and set them on the ramparts, place three hundred to the north, south, and west — each in-between a legionary and six pilas between each of them and our own bowmen.”

  The legionaries rushed to obey, pulling the great gates apart. The Catuvellauni archers marched in to cheers from the populace.

  “Hail Caliages scourge of Boudicca! Hail, brave warriors!” As the gates closed behind them four centurions divided the men into groups and escorted them to the highest points. Bread, fruit, and wine were brought to them, while they waited, each taut as a bowstring.

  Unsuspectingly each Roman stood alongside his Celtic ‘allies.’ Not even the Trojans of history could have bettered Caliages’ ploy. With one move he had placed over two thousand of his finest warriors within the walls, who now had only to wait for Caliages return … and Boudicca.

  Two days had elapsed since Cantis and his band had passed the Roman trireme, rough seas and heavy winds had pushed the intrepid band to the limits of their endurance, now exhausted they entered the safety of the Thamesis estuary. They were safe from the storms, but now found themselves battling the fast flowing of the tidal water.

  “Pull into the bank” Cantis ordered. “At dawn the tide will flow inwards and we can go with it, in the meantime sleep. It will be the first time we have rested on firm land for days.”

  Hours later the tide turned, and pulling hard on the oars they overcame the swell and made it safely to the shore. Beaching the boat the men made a last supreme effort to pull it off the mudflats where it had stuck, ready to re-launch it the next day.

  “We will be in Londinium itself by this time tomorrow” Cantis announced.

  They noticed that the entire skyline had altered as they walked up the estuary towards the few scattered ruined buildings. Of Londinium itself, a pall of smoke could still be seen rising in the far distance.

  Cantis retched and placed a rag to his nostrils,“Disease and pestilence will now follow as sure as night follows day.” He coughed, “Let us be gone from this cursed place. We still have need to travel.”

  Dawn the next morning saw an incoming tide, and Cantis quickly seized the opportunity, stamping out their fire, everyone grabbed their half cooked food and made for the boat.

  Within two hours, they had cleared the ebb and flow of the tidal waters and were now straining hard on the oars as they made fast progress with the help of the river current pushing with them from behind. A light breeze sprang up from out at sea and Cantis was able to raise the sails to further speed their progress.

  It was not long before the flotsam from the fall of Londinium became visible. Charred timbers and materials flowed past the boat, human corpses and dead animals, already swollen with decay. Treva retched as a corpse flowed by; its intestines trailing by it, swiftly followed by the great and bloated belly of a dead horse, its fore legs now stiff in the rigor of death, standing like four sentinel posts out of the water.

  Salinas placed his hands on his daughter’s shoulders, “Come Treva, do not look. Remember this, but for the grace of the Gods, they could have been Celtic corpses that flowed here this day. For had the Iceni, under Queen Boudicca, failed in her attempt to oust the hated Romans, it would have been Celtic heads that rolled that day not Roman.”

  Treva said nothing but squeezed Salinas’ hand averting her eyes from the horrors in the river. Eventually Londinium was reached. But of the conquering armies there was no sign. Smoking ruins cast a black pall over the area, and the sweet stench of death was everywhere, a grim reminder of the great carnage that had taken place.

  As the boat landed they started to search for food, and it was not long that from amongst the stench of death, the smell of baking and burnt bread wafted toward them.

  Rondus poked for a while amongst the smouldering ruins of a house and came across two great clay kilns. Opening one, still warm from the holocaust, he found inside a number of over-baked but still edible loaves of bread. Clearly the dwelling had been a baker’s shop, for amongst the charred mess at his feet were the remains of the bakers tools of trade. Long pans, shovels, trays and griddles were strewn around, but of the baker there was no sign. Eager hands tore at the bread as hungry men devoured the loaves ravenously.

  It was while this was being enacted that Raglan, ever the great scout, triumphantly approached carrying an amphora of wine that he had found buried in the ground.

  Cantis’ face lit up, “In truth Raglan, I swear you are the best tracker we have ever had, whether you are hunting down deer or cony or even Rhenish wine. The Gods gave you mighty nostrils.”

  Raglan sat down cradling the earthenware vessel and started to pour the aromatic liquid into a series of earthenware cups.

  The group sat feasting on the still warm bread and cool wine, while other members of the band recovered vegetables and other produce that had been destroyed in the inferno and were charred but still edible.

  Silently they wandered about the devastated city. Putrefying bodies lay where they had fallen, dead animals lay around, their stomachs bloated with gas, and all the time magpies, crows and buzzards swooped and quarrelled as they gorged themselves on the feast. Above all the interminable buzzing of flies and bluebottles prevailed as they joyfully mated and laid their eggs on the rotten carcases. Everywhere the cloying scent of death, permeated the foetid atmosphere. Not a dwelling had been left standing and not a living thing was to be seen. Except for the ever-ravenous birds. Ravens, crows, magpies, starlings and kite hawks now patrolled the area and colonised it as their own. Yes, only birds were left alive in what had once been a great city.

  Cantis gestured towards the two kilns. “One thing fire does not destroy,” he commented, “is a kiln. The clay itself has preserved the bread within. What is in the other one? Have you opened it?”

  Ragna nodded, “Aye Cantis, both Salinas and I tried it but the door had expanded fast in the heat, and I could not un-wedge it.”

  Rondus picked up the remains of a charred blade, once a Roman sword, from the ruins. “Here, hammer this in and see if we can force it. Who knows, it may contain Roman honey cake.” He laughed, “Not everything the Romans brought here was bad.”

  Ragna slapped the man resoundingly on the shoulder, “Roman fare Rondus? I tell you my grandmother made cake with honey, oats and herbs long before the coming of the accursed Romans. Let me give you a hand.”

  Now three pairs of strong arms stained at the oven door, then with a loud twang, it conceded and sprang open. Inside was the body of the baker who had been roasted alive in his own oven by the retreating Celts.

  Nobody had further stomach to eat after the macabre discovery, although most had satiated themselves beforehand. They sat devoid of conversation drinking the wine.

  Once rested, they gathered their packs, the Iceni warriors, together with the freed men and women, started to leave. Cantis turned to them.

  “The rest is on foot. We march to Verulamium, and if we hurry we shall be in time for the final battle. Salinas leave us. Go back with your daughter and join up with your people, take all the freed men and women with you, they
will be safe there. As I have said, the rest of us intend to fight once more.”

  He glanced at the sailboat they had pulled ashore.

  “We are warriors not seamen, and I for one wish to be present at the final conflict, as do these.”

  He gestured to the band of men who had so successfully perpetrated the raid and with one accord they raised their swords and shields on high.

  “To victory!” they cried, “and expunging the last of the Romans from Britannia. Death to Caesar, death to all Romans!”

  Cantis embraced Salinas, then turning to Treva, he embraced her too, “Pledge her in marriage to me Salinas,” he said, “for I swear when this is all over I shall lay my sword at your feet and seek her hand.”

  Treva looked up at Cantis, “I owe you everything, and should you seek me later you will find I shall smile sweetly upon you. Here,” she took off her bangle of silver and copper, “take this Cantis as a pledge of my gratitude. Wear it in battle and may the Old Ones protect you.” Then she kissed him upon both cheeks and slipped it on his wrist.

  Cantis kissed her in return gently on her lips then removing his gold torc placed it around her neck, as their love was sealed. Sadly he watched her ride off with Salinas then marched on with his men towards Verulamium and an unknown future, for already the benevolence that had shone upon them at the start of the uprising was fading fast.

  Some would later say that the atrocities had angered the Gods, and now the Gods were abandoning them.

  Verulamium, Noon — The City Falls

  Four hours had passed with neither riders nor news, when they heard the first sounds of what appeared to be a mighty conflict coming their way. Even as they watched the first horsemen came into sight, and raced to the city walls. Everyone ran to listen as the breathless Catuvellauni tribesman, his robe slashed from neck to waist, pulled up his mount and called for Tacitus. A rough blood-soaked bandage swathed his left arm, hanging limply at his side. Tacitus, perturbed, came to the battlement.