Boudicca - Queen of Death

by Ralph Harvey

  “I have no under garments,” she explained almost lamely, then naked she picked up her clothes and meticulously laid them neatly in a pile to the side of the bed of furs, the boots, side by side, on top.

  “Turn your backs, cows!” Caspa snarled.

  The women in the corner of the tent turned around, the long waist chains encumbering them in the process and satisfied, Caspa disrobed.

  “Lie down!” he snapped, “and do as I say.”

  Carlsa laconically laid herself on the bed, her fawn-like eyes looking up at Caspa, “I hope you will find me pleasing master,” she murmured, “may I have more to eat if I make you happy?”

  Caspa relaxed and beamed, “Serve me well wench and I will make you in charge of my household, and you can eat your fill each day.”

  She did not speak but placed her left hand in the small of his back while her right hand caressed the back of his neck. Then she arched her back to receive him. Caspa thrust himself roughly into her; his breath was now coming in deep draughts as he satiated himself, while Carlsa’s right hand continued to go from his neck to his buttock, then his thighs, dragging him into an even greater sexual frenzy.

  Then, stroking him beneath, she arched her back once more, moving her right arm away from him in the process. Slyly, in the corner, the five women were watching the proceedings. Everything depended on the next two minutes.

  Gyrating her hips, her hand now felt for her boot at the side of the bed, and she silently drew the honed blade from it. Fascinated by the proceedings, the quintet watched as a sudden upward thrust of her loins brought him to near climax as her pelvis gyrated against his.

  Caspa closed his eyes ecstatically, and she pulled clear of him pushing him away before he could ejaculate, her hand snaking inwards at the same time, so that as he angrily bore down upon her in fury, his abdomen descended upon the upturned blade. A combination of events synchronised: as his weight descended, her right hand thrust upwards with all the force she could muster, while her left hand, on his back, pulled down with all her force. With an agonised scream Caspa threw himself off her, desperately trying to extricate the blade buried deep in his stomach.

  “Foul bitch!” he screamed, “die you cow!” With one hand he made for his sword while the other vainly tried to extricate the knife, but in doing so he stepped backwards towards the five furies. Roula rolled over throwing the leg chain at his feet, bringing Caspa crashing down onto his face, the force of the fall driving the dagger so deep into him that the very haft was almost embedded.

  Caspa’s howls of agony chilled the blood, as alternately he cursed then cajoled them for help, but by now Carlsa was upon him. Placing one foot on his sword arm, she pulled hard on the dagger haft, in an upward motion, slashing open his abdomen in the process.

  White-faced, Caspa lay there breathing his last, his intestines protruding as his life blood ebbed away, every move he made was an agony. Helplessly he could only watch while she coolly undid his belt and removed the key from inside the pouch, passing it to her fellow captives. Then the six of them all sat on the bed, feasting on Caspa’s stock of food, drinking his wine and watching him depart this life. Carlsa, still naked, sat with them, watching intently as Caspa’s body convulsed in the final agonising paroxysm of death, then satisfied, she stood up.

  “I go to wash the stink of that carrion from me in the pool,” Carlsa announced, “and to make sure I am clean within: for I want no child of his.”

  The women rested besides the stiffening cadaver of Caspa, rubbing oil into their chafed ankles where the heavy iron bands had rubbed them raw. Eventually Carlsa returned carrying her little dagger, now washed clean, and meticulously placing it back in the hidden section of her boot she got dressed and rejoined them.

  Lamia divided the gold coins equally, together with other silver and copper coinage they had found in Caspa’s saddlebag, then packing the tent and all of Caspa’s possessions they headed for Siluria and safety, leaving the disembowelled corpse of Caspa rotting in the sun, while the buzzards, crows and ravens circled overhead, their raucous cacophony signalling to all the birds around of the feast awaiting them below.

  Boudicca Dies

  Within the Iceni camp an observer waved his hand agitatedly.

  “Romans,” the man hissed to his companion as he looked out through the knothole in the palisade.

  “How many can you see?”

  The man peered again, “Five, maybe six.”

  They both looked out together once more, this time they could plainly see six Romans stealthily crawling towards the encampment.

  “Spies. They are checking us prior to an attack. What shall we do Lugh? Will they report back first?”

  Lugh watched again, “Unless they get close enough to be a danger let them be. The longer they remain there watching, the longer till they report back, and we need time.”

  Three hours later the Roman patrol was still concealed, oblivious to the fact they had been seen. Then an unwary Iceni head peering over the top of the palisade alerted them, then another, and another was seen, and still they did nothing, until eventually the patrol lost its nerve and slipped away to report back.

  In the background the low chanting of the Iceni women drifted eerily over the approaches, while within a round hut in the camp Boudicca was slipping away to the land where all was peace, the wise woman placing cold compresses on her brow as beads of sweat broke out.

  “The end is near,” she announced, “our Queen is sinking fast.” She placed her ear to Boudicca’s bosom, “Her heart is fading,” then feeling her pulse she sighed, “I am losing her pulse … it is time.”

  Suddenly Boudicca’s eyes flickered open, “It is getting dark beloved. Are you there Corrianus?”

  Darien quickly knelt by her side and held her hand, “Yes, I am here beloved.”

  Boudicca squeezed Darien’s hand in her delirium, “We are free dear Corrianus, free of Rome and Roman rule.” They watched her eyes close once more and the flicker of a smile crossed her face as, clutching Darien’s hand, she started to fade rapidly.

  “I can see the night sky, and my chariot rides the heavens. It is in the stars as was foretold,” her grip lightened, “and shooting across the heavens … and then: oh such a light I can see, such a wondrous light. And …”

  Her hand released his and fell gently to her side as her soul slipped away forever. She was now with Corrianus her beloved in the Summerlands.

  Darien, brave strong warrior as he was, started to sob uncontrollably. The senior wise woman, gently closed Boudicca’s eyes, then swiftly looked away as a tear ran down her cheek.

  “It is over,” was all she said

  Chapter 28

  Preparations to Attack

  From a vantage point Suetonius and three of his centurions gazed up at the Iceni encampment, which was completely encircled by his forces.

  “Any movement?” he enquired.

  The senior legate, Paulus, shrugged, “No movement at all sir, they’ve been quiet since dawn. I sent a small patrol out earlier today as close to the wall as they could get. It was strange Suetonius, many eyes watched them we know, but they were not attacked. There was much activity within though, they heard chanting, and wailing too.”

  Suetonius looked puzzled, and then as enlightenment dawned upon him he spoke, “Boudicca knows all is lost. The Iceni sing their death song and prepare for their Summerlands. Let them finish their mourning, we owe them that, then in one hour we will attack.”

  “Why commander?” Paulus asked, “If they are holding a ritual they are ill prepared for battle. Let us strike in the middle of the ceremony and catch them off guard.”

  The Roman leader looked Paulus straight in the eye, “Ever practical Paulus. But you are right. If we attack now we will suffer fewer casualties. Prepare the troops, bring the war machines up and make battle formation. Send word to each centurion to see that every man is aware of the following.”

  Paulus saluted and listened intently.


  “There are 100 pieces of silver for the man who brings me Boudicca’s head, 200 for her body, and 2,000 for the man, or men,” Suetonius added, “who bring me her alive.”

  Paulus smiled, “They will take the cow sir, we’ll cut her legs from under her. You will have her by sunset.”

  Suetonius then gave a further instruction, “Also dear Paulus, tell them that the man or men who capture her, will have the honour of escorting her to Rome, and in addition to their reward will be given a home posting in their native land away from these cursed shores.”

  Paulus smiled at Suetonius, “That is a great incentive, the men will be overjoyed. It shall be so Suetonius. She will be taken alive, and I will instruct them to be careful in taking her as we believe she was injured when her chariot crashed.”

  Final Day — Village Burns

  Within the hill fort, a giant burial pit had been dug out, a steep ramp leading down into it. At the bottom lay Boudicca in her war chariot, decked out in all her finery, wearing her horned war helmet and embracing a daughter on each side of her; they were beautiful even in death, their faces serene. Her shield and targ were laid alongside her body, and two swords were stuck in the ground as sentinels, Next to the three corpses lay the body of Corrianus, along with his great war-spear and axe. Darien, who had been supervising the burial, watched as the last of the grave goods were lowered in. When he was satisfied, he gave a final command.

  “Build a cairn of stones round them and place Corrianus at the entrance when you seal it. Place him on the old throne, his axe in one hand, his sword before him, and his thrusting spear in the other hand. Dress him in all his armour and let him wear his war helmet until the dawn of time.”

  He looked at the corpse of Boudicca, and then added, “Let him guard her in the afterlife as he did, so valiantly, in this. He shall stand guard at her feet forever. So mote it be.”

  All around him the onlookers echoed his words, “So mote it be.”

  Two hours later the cairn was finished, a canopy had been erected over the regal trio, and likewise over Corrianus who, resplendent now, sat at the entrance to the tomb. Then as the last stone block was placed in position, they filled the huge crater in.

  When they had finished, Darien addressed the assembly.

  “Now let us ensure that she will rest forever,” he exclaimed, “build a hut around the gravesite, trample the ground and lay down straw mats to conceal the newly dug earth.”

  Soon the gravesite was covered as a brand new dwelling rose within the encampment. As they finished it a war horn sounded in the distance. Startled, Darien grasped his sword, “The Romans are here! Hurry!”

  Instantly they manned the barricades, while below them the Romans started to haul their onagers, trebuchets, and catapultas into position.

  Darien appraised the situation, “How many able bodied men have we Urcus?” he asked.

  “One hundred and fifty-eight fighting men Darien,” Urcus replied, “plus thirty-two old and disabled who can still pull a bowstring, and forty-three women and children. They,” he said pointing to the legions gathering below, “have two cohorts of six hundred legionnaires in position so far, and more on the horizon. It is the end Darien, our army is destroyed and now they move in like the death crows to the final kill and to claim Boudicca as their prize.”

  Darien grasped both of Urcus’ arms, “What I have to tell you Urcus is hard, but it must be done. The night berries grow in profusion this year do they not?”

  “Yes,” Urcus answered, “And the white caps of death lay in large numbers beneath the bushes.”

  “Then do it Urcus,” Darien said, “our women and children must not fall into Roman hands. Tell the wise ones of our decision.”

  Urcus left and entered the hut of the healers. His speech was blunt. “Our end is near and I fear that none will be spared. The menfolk will hold the barriers as long as they can, but when the Romans break in they will do terrible things as of old.”

  Olma, the oldest crone looked up at him with rheumy eyes,“Your point Urcus in coming here? Come to the point there is not much time.”

  Urcus swallowed hard, “The men will fight to the end, but as you know, it would be better if the rest of you, young and old, women and babes, died by your own hands and went to the Summerlands ahead of us … together.”

  Olma’s lower lips quivered, then she walked to the back of the hut, looking back at Urcus as she did so.

  “Three nights ago I had a vision, I saw the hill surrounded so we could not venture out for the death berries or the red and white mushrooms.” She pulled back an old piece of sacking in the corner of the hut, “All this I saw. So when we gathered the death caps for our Queen and the royal children, I recalled the vision I had, and knew I had foreseen the end, so we gathered many of the plants that kill. For three days now the brew has matured. It is deadly, for its potency increases as it ages.” She smiled wanly, “It will now complete the death sleep in the passing of a sand glass, or a notch on a tallow candle.”

  Urcus placed his hand on the old crone’s shoulder. “Ever the wise one. Do it Olma, go out of this world peacefully now, and we shall follow you. Go ahead and prepare a place for our coming.”

  The old crone stumbled forward leaning heavily on her stick, shooing the wise women before her. “Warm the potion then my sisters, we have work to do.” Silently they set about their tasks.

  At the barricades, the tribesmen watched as the siege machines were finally positioned and strung.

  “How long Darien before they attack?”

  Darien studied the terrain carefully. “They do not know how weak we are. See?” he pointed ahead, “the third cohort of 600 men now approaches. Suetonius will surely place them behind us to cut off any retreat and attack with the first two cohorts here. But first the onagers and catapultas will demolish our defences and so make it easy for their butchers to enter. I think a sand glass will pass both ways before they come.”

  Urcus and the others with him seemed satisfied.

  “The death brew is ready, even as we talk our families drink of it. One passing of the sand glass is all that is required. Let us take our leave of them.”

  While a skeleton guard kept watch, the tribesmen flocked into the newly constructed long hut, now stacked with firewood and straw. Upon each pile of faggots and hay, the women and children sat as the crones and old men went around with great ladles giving out the mixture, mixed with honey for the young ones sake, to all present. Once they ensured that everyone had partaken the mixture, they sat with them, and partook of the death potion themselves.

  Sorrowfully, and yet with joy, a strange ethereal contradiction, husbands said tearful farewells to their loved ones. Sadness was mixed with the deep sense of belief that on the very same day, they would be united in death and would rejoin each other in the Summerlands.

  Then as the men departed to man the barricades the women, the young and old together, sang the song of death. Olma, the oldest of them was the first to go. Old and feeble, the brew worked its deadly purpose in minutes. Then the young fell into a deep trance and swiftly joined her and within the hour all were dead and the death chant fell silent.

  A male physician, who normally followed the Iceni into battle, checked that everyone was dead, and to make sure, he opened a vein on each incumbent body. He then left the hut visibly shaken.

  Outside the warriors waited. “I will fight with you at the barricades,” he announced softly, “I will not wait for death to come to me inside.”

  One of the tribesmen went back to the huts and returned with a sword and targ, “Die well physician, though I doubt we will need you in the afterlife,” he laughed, “there is neither pain nor suffering there. But hasten to join us all the same, the Old Gods bid us all enter into their fair and lovely realms.”

  The timing had been impeccable. The newly arrived cohort was split into two units of 300 and deployed behind the hill as the Iceni had predicted. Once in position, they loaded the first of the great w
ar-machines. The forward onagers were the first to discharge a missile. A huge piece of rock came hurtling over the heads of the Icini, to land with a resounding crash behind them, then another and another until they had the range.

  A larger missile smashed a gaping hole in the palisade killing two defenders, followed by a succession of javelinas. Helplessly the Iceni held their position as their numbers were decimated for the loss of no Romans. A blazing missile then landed with a great shower of sparks inside the village, and within minutes the centre was ablaze.

  Darien had been waiting for this moment. He knew that part of the Roman machine siege technique would be to use fire, and it had been his intention all along to cremate the remains of their dead in the long hut above Boudicca’s tomb, knowing the charred timbers would effectively disguise the newly turned earth.

  That and the vast amount of human remains that would be found would leave the Romans to presume that somewhere in that blackened charnel house, the last earthly remains of the Iceni Queen’s bones were scattered alongside those of the women and children. At the last moment, Darien had also placed the newly fallen men inside the hut as they died to further confuse the Romans, should they investigate.

  Hrodry, a grizzled old warrior, approached Darien, “We die like rats in a trap as they slay us with their infernal machines’ long distance. This is no way for a warrior to die. Look!” He pointed down the hill at the gathering hordes.

  Darien did not hesitate, “Hrodry speaks true,” he exclaimed, “these cowards fear to meet us in open battle. Let us go out as warriors should: let us show these Roman swine that the spirit of the Celts can never be stopped, and let them know and remember from this day forth, that Britannia will never submit to Nero. Fire all the huts, then gather to me.”

  Jubilantly the warriors abandoned the smashed camp perimeter and raced through the village with burning brands, adding to the inferno already spreading fast amongst the straw thatches of what had once been their homes. Soon the heat was so great that the men were quick to escape in order to rejoin Darien, lest they be caught in the inferno.