Rage Against the Dying Light

by Jan Surasky

  As they reached the glade, they chose a fallen log to seat themselves upon, Boudicca arranging her simple earth tone course linen tunic, held by a wide circle of gold embossed with the Iceni crest, about her, waiting for the chiefs and her Iceni council to join them. She threw over it a crimson mantle, warding off the chill of the late autumn afternoon. As they sat, squirrels scurried beneath the trees, a red fox ran for cover, and an acorn, dropped from the mouth of a startled squirrel on a branch above them, fell nearly at their feet.

  As the chiefs assembled, Boudicca fell silent, waiting for them to settle. They chose the soft, mossy ground, covered with pine needles, sitting cross-legged upon it.

  When they were silent, Boudicca spoke. "I know you have never seen a woman upon the field of battle," she said, "But, the minstrels sing of two great queens who led their tribes to victory in battle."

  She paused, looking at each chief as she stopped. Then, she continued. "But, I fight not as Iceni queen, but as an Iceni woman and daughter of the ancients. To avenge the wrongs of the Romans upon me and upon my daughters."

  She paused once again, raising her voice over the clatter of the birds as she continued. "I will lead you to freedom," she said. "I will fight to the death as our ancestors fought before us."

  "Now," she said, leaning forward to emphasize her words, "we must make a plan to sack Londinium. It is a large city, but we number now in the thousands. We must ride in, all of our tribes together, plundering what we see before us.

  "But, we must also make a plan for a special group of warriors to ride at the same time toward the Roman governor's villa, destroying its stone walls and leveling all that's in it.

  "Then, as we lay waste to Londinium, we must remove all food stores. Our warriors must stave their hunger, to keep their energy behind their desire to drive the Romans into the sea."

  When she finished, Varix, chief of the Osismi, a small inland tribe, spoke. "Our warriors could lay waste to the governor's villa," he said, shifting his weight to a squatting position to be better heard by the others. "Before the Romans," he continued, "we sacked many a tribe who took by night our grain and our goats. Our warriors are fierce, and it took but one raid to destroy a thief."

  The other chiefs, along with her Iceni warriors, nodded in assent, the reputation of Osismi raids legend upon the island.

  Indomarius spoke next. "It is agreed," he said. "Varix will lead the Osismi to attack, laying waste the governor's villa, looting the great stores of grain taken in taxes from farmers who toil from the first rays of the sun to put bread on Roman tables, and routing the governor and his servants to face our sabers and our swords."

  Then, Carvilius, chief of the Cenimagni, spoke. "Our warriors must attack riding only upon their mounts. We must leave our chariots, for the streets of Londinium are winding and narrow."

  Murmurs of agreement followed. Boudicca answered. "I alone will remain upon my chariot, a symbol of Celtic victory."

  Next, Taximagulus, chief of the Segontiaci, a tribe settled north along the sea, spoke. "We must ride in from all sides at once, to drive the enemy into the sea. We must attack the day of a full moon, for then the tide will be highest, the harbor vessels far from their reach. The enemy will be forced to face our swords and our javelins."

  Carvilius, who had studied with the Druids of his tribe as a youth, then spoke. "Three days will bring a full moon into the evening sky," he said.

  Boudicca, still seated upon the log, answered. "Three days will give our warriors rest and a chance to keep in practice their skills. Also, it will give us enough time to strike ahead of Claudius' notice, for he has shown us that our island is not now his first political concern. He sent merely two hundred soldiers in answer to the plea for reinforcements from the fleeing veterans of Camulodunum."

  Indomarius, listening intently until now, spoke. "It is agreed we attack Londinium three days hence," he said. "We will lay a plan of attack that will allow the Osismi open passage to the Roman governor's villa while we ride the streets of the city to drive them toward the sea."

  "Now," he continued, "go back to your tribes and share our plan of attack with your warriors. Tonight, we celebrate our victory at Camulodunum and along the east with a feast and games."

  The chiefs rose to return to their tribal encampments, Indomarius and his council to return to the Iceni. As Boudicca and Indomarius walked the plain, Boudicca praised him for his skills in keeping the chiefs, the fierce, the independent, the mild, together to fight for the freedom of all Celts of the island. Then, she left, walking the fields to search for Alaina and Valeda.

  The days before the planned attack of the city of Londinium gave Boudicca a chance to spend time with Alaina and Valeda. To roam the fields, walk the plains, and ride the surrounding forests on borrowed mounts. As they walked, the blooms of the knapweed, the campion and the honeysuckle, brought daily new scents wafting into the air around them. The sisters chased each other, engaging occasionally in a game of tag, chasing the butterflies flitting from bloom to bloom and the starlings and robins above them, their laughter filling the air about them. Alaina wove garlands of wildflowers, winding them through her sister's tresses, bringing a ruddy glow to Valeda's otherwise pale countenance.

  They took their meals beside a stream in the woodland, catching a speckled trout or two to cook for their evening meal. Boudicca prayed with her daughters to Sequanna, asking for blessings for their future joinings, using the rites she learned as a youth from Diviticus, and a rough-hewn idol she carved from a sturdy branch of a nearby oak.

  On the last night, they sat around their campfire, the stars shining bright in a clear, dark sky, their features lit by a nearly full moon. Alaina spoke. "Mama," she asked, "how shall we ride tomorrow?"

  Boudicca answered, looking at her daughter's sinewy frame, toughened from seasons of riding the plains and the woodlands with Nerthus. "Alaina, you will drive the ponies," she said, "keeping them running as fast as you can after we charge the city."

  Then, she looked at Valeda, slender and wan, pale since the attack on the palace, losing her morning meal almost faster than she could eat it. "Valeda," she said, more softly, "you will raise the Iceni crest, keeping it high so our warriors might look upon it as they crush the Romans and drive them into the sea."

  As Boudicca finished, Alaina rose, pulling blankets from the saddlebags of their tethered mounts. They lay upon them in silence, pondering the brilliance of the more prominent stars, the still of the night broken only by the chirping of a cricket or two. Then, mother and daughters fell into slumber beneath the newly leafed branches of the moonlit trees.

  The day of the attack on Londinium brought torrents of spring rains pouring from the skies. The tribes were assembled, breaking camp and gathering as one, each tribe led by their chief, the Iceni brought together by Indomarius. Boudicca stood before them, tall in her wicker wood chariot, her many-hued mantle bright despite the grey of the day, her large, golden torque, emblazoned with the Iceni crest, glistening through the mist.

  As she stood, she motioned for the minstrels to sound the horns of battle, giving the signal to begin. As they rode, she paced them, saving the energy of the warriors for the battle ahead. As the stone of the shops and homes of Londinium rose before them, she raised her arm in signal to attack.

  Hordes of Celts, flush with the victory of the eastern seaboard, and bent with the urge to regain the freedom they once knew, some clad in tunics girded with gold and silver, large torques above them, others naked with the dye of the woad plant upon them, all with the iron helmets of battle topped with the horns of the stag and the boar, or the fierce birds of the woodlands, charged the unwalled city. Inhabitants, unarmed for the last many years, scurried for cover. The Romans searched for their weapons, laid carelessly about since Roman rule had been imposed upon the city.

  Panic arose on both sides. The mud of the narrow, dirt streets captured the hooves of the Celtic mounts, forcing a number of warriors to dismount and fight on foot. Th
e torrents of waters racing down the cobblestone streets caused their mounts to slide.

  "Alaina, stay to the cobblestone roads," shouted Boudicca, as Alaina urged the ponies forward, pulling a chariot meant to travel the grassy plains. "We will be done if the mud puts a stop to the wheels of our chariot."

  "Stay as far ahead of our warriors as you can," she continued, shouting above the noise of battle. "If anyone attacks us, our warriors are sworn to protect us before they turn to slaying the enemy or defending themselves."

  "Valeda," she called, shouting as well, "hold high our Iceni crest. We fight for the cause of Celtic freedom."

  As she spoke, the noise of battle grew louder, the minstrels having exchanged their horns for swords, the warriors on foot in hand to hand combat with Romans who had no time to form a protective phalanx, some who had lost their swords to a well-trained Roman swordsman, using their fierceness to escape the sword of an opponent and sink the dagger they pulled from its scabbard behind a protective Roman breastplate.

  The warriors still on their mounts had the advantage, and used it well. They rode protection for the warriors on foot, leaning to knock the sword out of the hand of a menacing Roman swordsman.

  Despite the chaos of the battle, the Romans were clearly outnumbered. The ferocity of the Celts and the surprise attack which had forced the Romans to abandon their well-trained discipline of defense, took its toll upon them. Those who were not slain were easily forced by the mounted Celts in the direction of the sea.

  As they fought, the Osismi charged quickly the Roman governor's villa, the stone of its indoor and outdoor baths surrounded by steam from the vessels of heated waters, its courtyards lush with the greenery and multi-colored blooms of well-tended gardens.

  The governor and his family, clad in the togas of his political office, sat at table, dining on the fruit, the grains, the cheeses, the game, and ales of the surrounding countryside and the choicest figs and olives and wines shipped daily from the nearby continent. A bevy of slaves, taken during the fall of Londinium, hovered nearby, sensitive to the family's slightest whim, shown by the frequent snap of a pair of fingers.

  As they sat, the Osismi surrounded the villa, tightly encircling it with the depth of several warriors. No gates blocked their entrance, so certain were the Romans of their absolute rule.

  Varix called out, but his shouts were met only with chaos from within. Then, he gave the signal to storm the doors, now bolted from the inside by a cadre of Roman soldiers housed at the rear of the villa to keep order within the city and to urge the farmers in the surrounding countryside should they offer resistance to part with their increasingly rising taxes.

  The heavy, wooden doors gave way to Osismi axes, the shuttered windows to the blows of well-placed clubs. As they stormed the villa, they overpowered the soldiers, barred from escape at every exit, and, over the frenzied shouts of protest from the governor as he rose from table with threats of retaliation from Rome, put into shackles the governor and his family, driving them into the streets and toward the sea.

  "You will not get away this," he shouted, his pudgy countenance bristling with a mixture of terror and aggravation. "Claudius will crush you, Rome will retaliate, and Rome will be victorious forever."

  Varix, tall on his mount, shouted back. "We Celts are free people. We have done nothing to you Romans. You take our lands. You take our crops. You take our women. We shall fight to the death to ride the plains of our lands again in freedom and to defend the honor of our ancestors."

  As they went, Roman soldiers fled before them, hoping for a chance of escape in the vessels that were anchored along the sea, passing the shackled family. As they reached the shore, Boudicca's chariot stood before them, her presence imposing as she stood before her warriors, ordering them to slay every Roman or drive them into the sea. Many of the Romans, some with hastily clad breastplates or leather armlets, most by now without weapons, ran toward the sea, only to be driven back by the force of the evening tide, to be cut down by a Celtic sword. Others pulled under by the strength of the waters and the great waves rushing toward the shore.

  As Varix reached the rocks of the shore, he gave the governor a choice of the sea or an Osismi sword. The governor, choosing the sea and dragging his family after him toward the ships, now rocking ever more violently in the harbor, sank with the rising tide and the iron of their shackles, allowing the sea to claim them.

  As the battle came to an end, Boudicca spoke to the warriors gathered about her. "We must loot every dwelling, for we will be unable to sow the crops of spring. We must store the grain to bake bread to give us sustenance to meet our foe."

  "Each tribe will take a turn to keep watch and bring order to the city," she continued. "The rest will camp just beyond the city streets."

  The celebration of victory lasted two days and two nights, with plenty of ale and games and wild boar on roasted spits. But, many of the warriors, both young and old, far from their women and their fields, now left untended, began to give way to flagging spirits. Boudicca sighed as she thought of how to bring back the fight that brought them from their homes to Camulodunum.

  As she pondered the question, the second night of revelry just getting underway with the rise of a sliver of a moon, Valeda came upon her. Her long, blond tresses glimmering in the soft moonlight, the flush of her cheeks made vibrant by the blaze of a nearby torch.

  "Mama", she said, "why is my middle so big when I lose nearly all of my morning meal?"

  Boudicca looked at her daughter, her tunic draped loosely about her, her face as pale as the snow upon the winter's hillsides. She had been too preoccupied to notice Valeda's changing shape.

  She pulled Valeda to her, holding her about the shoulders as she brought her to walk beside her toward the nearby hillside. Then, she sat upon it, pulling her daughter down beside her on the slightly damp grasses of evening. "You must rest," she said. "I will comb the woodlands on the morrow for a plant that will help you ward off your morning sickness."

  "Now," she continued, "we will find a spot away from the revelers full of ale, and lay our blankets beneath the branches of a tree. We will sing the songs of your childhood, and we will count the stars until we fall into slumber beneath the sky. And, tomorrow, as the sun's rays wake us, we shall talk."

  She rose, taking Valeda by the hand as she spoke, heading for a stand of trees not far from a nearby lake. As they went, Boudicca shuddered as she thought of how she would tell her daughter she was with child.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Seutonius Paulinus surveyed the waters that stood between his army on Briton's mainland and the isle of Mona. A host of barbarians awaited him on the other side, fierce warriors protective of the Druids who had fled there. Long a refuge for fugitives from everywhere, the group included some of the fiercest warriors of the island and the Continent, many of them independent warriors for hire.

  Seutonius, famed for his knowledge of military strategy and skills, knew he must conquer them and rid the island of the holy men who had brought belief in a higher order and a desire to do battle in honor of their ancestors to the barbarians of the island. He knew, also, that to beat his biggest rival, the great general Corbulo, who had subdued Armenia for Rome, or to best his predecessors, Aulius Didius, who had kept the already subjugated tribes at bay, but never conquered new ones, or Veranius, who died before he ravaged any further than a few raids upon the Silures, he would have to subjugate the entire island of Briton, turning it into a province of Rome.

  The waters that stood between the barbarians and his army were uncertain, shallow at one point, the floor of the ocean rising and falling with no apparent pattern, deep at another. The vessels they had brought would never carry them to the other side, grounding his soldiers and their mounts, creating chaos and keeping them from the rush of meeting their foe.

  Seutonius called for an aide, the leader of the Praetorian Guard, Marcus Aurelius. When he arrived, Seutonius dismounted, handing the reins of his black stallion
to a waiting slave. "We must talk," he said, as Aurelius dismounted as well. "We must make a plan to cross the water, lest our army get caught in the shallows, trapping our mounts as well."

  Aurelius silently surveyed the water, the glint of the noonday sun upon it, the schools of fish and the sea urchins visible beneath the brilliant hues of blues and greens. He waited, knowing Seutonius would soon lay out a plan, for not only did the general's military skills surpass all others, he rarely listened to the council of a subordinate.

  After a lengthy pause, Seutonius continued. "We will build flat-bottomed boats to carry our infantry across the water to the other shore," he said. "Our cavalry will ford the shallows on the backs of their horses, and swim the depths alongside their mounts."

  Aurelius turned toward Seutonius, gazing for a moment at the tall, lean sinewy frame, impeccably clad in formal military garb, a small mustache grazing his upper lip, his locks graying slightly at the temples cropped short. "We will begin immediately to forage for the wood to build our boats," he said. "We have just ridden past woodlands that stretch far inland. I will send our best boat builders out to the forest to find the wood that will give our vessels strength, accompanied by men handiest with the axe."

  "But, now we must rest," he said. "We have ridden long and hard this day. We will begin at sunrise to cut and measure our planks."

  "Now, I must get back to my men," he continued. "Despite the crudeness of camp, far from the streets of Rome, the Guard expects its privileges. I must arrange for field games and prizes, a banquet of the best fish and game our slaves can manage to prepare, and a lavish flow of ale."

  As he finished speaking, he climbed his mount, leaving Seutonius to contemplate a strategy that would get his army to the shore of Mona, and win a battle against a very large band of fugitives and warriors for hire.