by Ralph Harvey
Death of Corrianus
Dawn the next day saw Corrianus arrive at the hill fort, which had been Boudicca’s original Iceni encampment.
As the chariot started its laborious journey up the hill, the assembled villagers could see the horses were lame, Corrianus’ body was slumped over the fore guard of the vehicle one arm half severed, the other still holding the reins, the arrow shaft clearly visible between his shoulder blades. Flies buzzed around his stinking sweat-grimed body, his back covered in coagulating gore.
“It is Corrianus,” they called, “he is stricken. What has happened?”
Horsemen galloped from the village, and one leapt aboard the chariot and took the reins from Corrianus’ lifeless hands and looked down at the bundle at his feet. Then, recognising the features of his dying Queen he called out, his voice choked with emotion.
“It’s Boudicca. Fallen!”
Moments later the chariot entered through the defence perimeter and anxious hands stretched out to help. Carefully they removed the pair from the half-wrecked chariot and carried them up the hill to the village. Then they unharnessed the two valiant Silurian ponies that had served them so well on their sad journey back to her village. Minutely they examined the wounds, then fearfully looked around to all the faces assembled. With tears in their eyes they shook their heads.
“It is just a matter of time before our Queen slips to the Summerlands. Corrianus her consort is already in the sleep of death and will not come around from it.”
An old woman looked at his wounds in greater detail as she swabbed the coagulated blood away.
“It is a miracle that he got here,” she murmured, “by all the laws of nature he should be dead.”
One of the men looked at the deeply embedded arrow — then snapped it off at the haft.
“Can it be removed?” he asked. The women looked at each other then shook their heads again negatively.
“If it is pulled out from the back the barbs will do further damage — and already he bleeds inside, if pushed through it will strike a vital organ.” They covered them both up with soft skins from wild bear.
“Send for her daughters, break the news to them gently that their mother soon parts this life.”
Sobbing quietly to herself one of the wise ones exited to deliver the sad news to the two girls who unknowing of the drama being unfolded were bathing in a stream many miles away.
One of the young girls nestled the grey head of Corrianus on her lap, delicately stroking his brow as she did so, while her companions poured a small measure of warm wine and honey mixed with painkilling herbs down his throat from a wooden spoon. The soporific liquid flowed down the ashen faced chieftain creating an immediate response. Corrianus’ body convulsed and his eyes opened, then his head turned weakly to Boudicca laying by his side. Emotionally the Iceni tribesmen and women watched, as with what was clearly a supreme effort, his hand slid beneath the bearskins covering Boudicca.
One of the young men, choking back his own sobs, guided Corrianus’ hand to hers. As he gripped it, Boudicca’s hand tightened, now holding his, then a wan smile came to her face as she uttered, “Corrianus. My own dear Corrianus.” Then she slipped back into unconsciousness.
Corrianus’ hand still gripped hers as he attempted to sit up, the movement however causing his wound to bleed again as his eyes looked towards those in the hut imploringly.
Then his other hand stretched out to Darien, “Swear to me comrade, that you will not let them take my Queen from me, swear you will not let them take her alive.”
Darien’s eyes brimmed with tears as he clasped Corrianus’ outstretched arm, “I swear it dear friend, on the life to come and by all I hold holy. I do so swear.”
Corrianus relaxed. “The war is lost, the legions followed me here. They were close on my heels. They will not be long in coming.”
Having assured himself that he would be heeded he released Darien’s hand, and placed his arm lovingly around his beloved Boudicca’s neck. And so it was with one arm around his Queen and one hand grasping hers that Corrianus gave a great sigh and parted this life as he started his final journey.
Reverently the old woman closed his eyes, and then left him in a grim embrace of death with Boudicca.
Darien looked at the wise ones and healers gathered around their Queen.
“How long?” he asked.
The senior of the wise ones said, “She could linger two days, maybe three. She is a strong woman but the end will be the same. She parts this life.”
It was at that moment that Hrodry entered.
“I have ridden since sunrise. The legions are on the march, they are just a day away, and will be here by noon tomorrow. Can my Queen be moved?”
Darien did not answer, but shook his head, convulsed in emotion.
It was one of the old women who answered him, “Boudicca is close to death even as we speak, and we have vowed not to let her fall into Roman hands alive.” She looked up at Darien, “We must hold here until then and will all undoubtedly die in the attempt.”
Darien swallowed hard, “We can hold until then I am sure, but it is the end for us all.”
The Valley
The Roman dead were being carted off and laid out.
“How many?” asked Suetonius?
The legate studied a parchment, “400 plus so far commander, but well under 500, we have countless wounded though.”
“And Celts?” he queried.
The legate hesitated, “Too numerous to count, but we estimate 150,000”
Suetonius looked at the valley floor, “Leave them where they fell, let the buzzards and crows feed upon the carrion.”
He glanced towards Marcus who was silently digging a grave, a bloodstained blanket covering Valeria’s body beside it. The legate looked at Suetonius questioningly. Suetonius shook his head.
“No, I do not understand either. We did not see this and it will never be mentioned. Do you understand?” He glanced towards Marcus again, reiterating, “It did not happen.”
Suetonius took the legate by the arm and walked until they saw Paulus walking towards them. As he approached he swept away some of the dust of battle.“What now commander?”
Suetonius started to unbuckle his armour, “For me, a shower, and a good night sleep. Camp on the high ground and give all the troops wine and ale as a bonus, then on tomorrow we will bury our dead and make a late start towards Boudicca’s village. She shall not escape, though I fear she is too badly stricken to live. I will never achieve my ambition to parade her before Nero — nor Corrianus either, but I shall pickle their heads and send them to Rome.”
“In the meantime I have a report of five wagons of men and young women some three miles from here attempting to flee north. In the morning send a cavalry unit after them. Slay all the males, but bring the women back alive; I have a debt to Caspa. I may not like him, but he showed me this valley, and thus my victory. In the meantime round up all the Celts’ horses, that are around, there must be thousands on the loose.”
As the legions gathered the next morning, the cavalry unit returned with the young female prisoners. On the outskirts of the camp, Caspa waited patiently. Suetonius, having showered and breakfasted, sent for Paulus. He wrote a note and handed it to him, “200 pieces of gold, Paulus. Have the camp clerk draw it from the reserves, blood money for a Celtic turncoat whom I despise, but to whom I am nonetheless grateful. I owe him.”
Paulus picked up the parchment,“Shall I send for Caspa?”
Suetonius waited a moment, then remarked, “Yes, I will pay him and send him on his way. I want him out of here before we march.”
A few minutes later Caspa was ushered in. Suetonius had the coins laid out in piles of ten. “200 Caspa, as agreed, five Iceni girls and six horses, right?”
The arrogant tribesman confidently sat himself at the tent mouth and poured himself a goblet of wine under the disdainful gaze of Suetonius.
“Your victory was great commander, greater than eve
n you could have foreseen. Did I serve you well?”
Suetonius nodded. “Yes Celt, you served me well.”
The tribesman leaned forward, glancing at Suetonius, “A bonus of a stallion and say three extra brood mares. What do you say?”
Suetonius gestured to the wrangler who was also present, “Let him pick another six where he chooses.”
Caspa wrung his hands and took his gold, “And the slaves?”
Again Suetonius signalled, “Pick six where you will: five was the agreed number.”
Caspa walked up the line of dispirited women and selected six of the youngest and most beautiful. When they were unshackled Caspa roped them and departed.
Suetonius looked up, “What of the she-wolf?” he asked of the tribune.
“The Ordovice scouts tracked her to her camp, two days march from here. Even as we talk, they are watching the hill, and any movement will be reported. They are as determined as we are to see she does not escape. The Iceni make no secret of her being there, her banner flies from the southern point, but the camp is silent.”
He glanced down at a parchment in front of him, “Also I have despatched a unit of some 400 men to support them until a full legion can arrive, so she is bottled up until we can take her.”
Suetonius was pleased, “Good,” he exclaimed, “she cannot escape. Form the men up and prepare to march out in pursuit, and then let us destroy the last remnants of this accursed uprising.”
The Fading of the Light
On the hilltop, within the hut, Boudicca was unmoving, propped up on furs and animal skins. As the onlookers watched, signs of movement were detected and a physician immediately bent low, placing his ear to the Queen’s breast.
“Her heart is fluttering and pumps the blood fast … what little she has left. She is recovering consciousness, but not for long.” She looked around the assembled throng hopelessly, “They always rally just before death.”
Boudicca’s daughters, who were lying, one each side of her, cuddled up even closer to their dying mother, softly sobbing to themselves.
“What do we do with Corrianus? He lays now in the stiffness of death and is cold. It has been many hours since his spirit fled to the Summerlands.”Darien looked down at the still form of his war chief. In the last convulsion he had let go of Boudicca’s hand, and now the Queen lay there, pale and unseeing, an arm around the shoulders of each of her beloved daughters.
“Let him be Darien. If her majesty is coherent, she will think he sleeps and will be assured by his presence here. There is no need for her to know that he has gone ahead to prepare a place for her.”Darien looked at Boudicca intently, “She stirs. All be quiet,” he ordered.
Feebly Boudicca attempted to raise an arm, but it lifted only slightly then fell back. There was not the slightest vestige of colour in her face. Ashen and grey she lay there, her indomitable spirit still clinging vainly to life, then her eyes flickered open and slowly swept the circle of her people around her. Moving her head slightly to left and right she became aware of Sequenna and Maeve lying there next to her. She flexed her arms, cradling them even closer. Sequenna kissed her mother’s cheek, her face wet from her tears.
“O Mama, Mama, please do not leave us.”
Maeve leaned across and kissed Boudicca on the forehead, salt tears falling like rain upon her upturned face. Embracing her mother gently in her grief, she was unable to speak, but all the love of a daughter for her mother was there for all to see.
Boudicca glanced next at the still form of Corrianus. “I know,” she murmured, “his spirit spoke to me as he went, and I know I must follow soon.” She looked at Darien intently, “Tell me the truth Darien, where is Suetonius and his army now?”Darien knelt beside her. “He approaches fast Boudicca, the legions will be here when the sun is high in the heavens on tomorrow, and you cannot be moved, Queen. But we will defend you to the last drop of our blood.”
Boudicca smiled wanly, “I know Darien. I do not worry for myself. I …” By now her voice had fallen to a whisper and Darien drew closer to hear her words. Softly and reassuringly she hugged her daughters.
“Never again Darien, never again will they look upon a Roman.” Her voice was now barely audible, “We will travel to the Summerlands together where Corrianus awaits us.” She looked at the senior wise woman, “Prepare the berries that grow in the shade for us. Soon we shall depart this life.”
The wise ones departed and soon were scavenging the hedgerows for the death berries. Having found the deadly fruit, they returned with them and while one pounded them into a pulp, another filtered the residue with wine through muslin, and soon three goblets stood half full. A third crushed a selection of fungi containing agarics and death cap toadstools, and this was also filtered and added to the goblets.
Back inside the hut, the camp women started to wail as the old crones entered and gently shook Boudicca by the shoulder.
“It is time great Queen. Our Lord and Lady, stand either side of Corrianus and wait to greet you.”
Boudicca’s eyes flashed recognition, “I am too weak now dear sister to hold it. Lift me and place it to my lips that I may drink of the salve that gives sleep and eternal peace.”
Maeve and Sequenna had stopped crying, and took a goblet each, then as the old ones held the mixture to their Queen’s lips, they drank together.
The warm mixture was effective within minutes, for as the two girls encompassed their mother they swiftly fell into a deep stupor. The senior of the old ones felt their pulses then lit a tallow candle marked at intervals to symbolise an hour. Taking a small pin she placed it in the wax at the fourth space, then felt their pulses again.
“When the pin drops it will be over. Their hearts grow weak and they are fading fast.” She had a look of triumph on her face as she announced, “She has cheated Suetonius of his greatest victory.”
Caspa’s Tent
When Caspa made camp later that day, the legions were half a day ahead on the quest to finish off the Iceni Queen and display her body as a warning of Roman might. Leaving the leg shackles on the women he struck each in turn as a sample of what would be their lot if he were not obeyed implicitly in the future.
“Make camp, raise the tents and prepare a meal,” he commanded, then leaving them secured on a running waist and ankle chain he undid their hands.
Dutifully they stuck the stakes into the ground and raised the tent then they sat together in a silent resentful group as they peeled vegetables and beat meat to tenderise it. When the meal was cooked, they presented it to Caspa.
The traitorous Celt sat apart from them, eating his fill and choosing the choicest pieces of meat. When he was satisfied, he gestured them to partake of the remainder. Ravenously they scoured the pot gleaning every last morsel. Still hungry, they looked towards Caspa who ignored them as he sat drinking mead.
In the middle of his guzzling he stopped suddenly,“Feed my horses,” he commanded, “they are more important than you: move!”
Again the women obeyed and still shackled at waist and legs prepared to hobble and graze the beasts. Alone and out of earshot they plotted. Stena, a lithe Iceni girl, started the conversation.
“He has the keys in his pouch, and still drinks. If we are stealthful enough we may be able to take the pouch from him while he is in his cups, and make our escape.”
Lamia, a small petite Coritani girl was more timorous, “I am fearful of what he will do to us if we fail.”
Roula another Coritani interjected, “Can it be any more fearful than what our future holds? We will be either sold to a Roman brothel keeper to be used by any who can pay as they wish, or spend a lifetime beaten and subjugated as brood mares for Caspa, and maybe his friends too. If we are lucky we will be put to work in the fields like beasts of burden. Me… I’ll take my chances.”
Carlsa now broke in. Tall and fair she had been born a Damnonii, and was on her way to join the great rebellion when she had been captured.
“Think sisters, has the bea
st not chosen the fairest of the captives? Has he not selected the most desirable and the youngest of us? I think that this very evening he will take one of us to lay with him, and it is for this we should prepare ourselves.”
A groan emanated from the group at the thought of being bedmates to the uncouth Caspa. Then, with a smile Carlsa produced a short dagger from her boot, which was carefully sewn into the fur lining.
“This is the only weapon we have amongst us all, so whoever is taken tonight, and believe me one of us will be, let us smuggle this to the unfortunate bitch and hope she can use it before he enters her.”
The whole group instantly agreed. Then Roula looked at Lamia, a slightly built and slender girl of only fourteen summers, “Could you kill him Lamia, have you the nerve or strength?”
The girl shook her head.
“No matter, if he chooses you I will say you have your moon time and will offer myself to him. A willing woman anxious to please her new lord is preferable to a submissive slave. Agreed?”
All the women nodded approval.
“So be it Roula, and if it is one of us then give the knife to the chosen one surreptitiously. Now make haste, he watches and is suspicious.”
When the last leather bucket of water had been taken to the horses, the girls, still hungry and exhausted from their labours collapsed on the grass outside the tent. When Caspa noticed them he hooked his thumb towards the tent flap.
“In,” he commanded, “and sit down.”
Dutifully the captives obeyed, then Caspa took up the hand chain and secured each girl in turn, clearly taking no chances with his captives, except for one, the tall elegant Carlsa. Then unhooking her waist chain and leg shackles he sat on a stool as she stood before him.
“Strip … slowly. Be sexy and seductive,” he commanded. “You will learn to please me. Understand?”
The Damnonii girl started to unlace the leathers of her jerkin, slowly peeling it off. Gradually she lowered her skirt to the ground until it formed an arc around her ankles.