Roman III - The Wrath of Boudicca

by Ashman, Kevin

  Before she could say three Rianna had dug her heels into the haunches of her horse and gained a few strides advantage over her friend as the race began.

  ‘Oh Rianna,’ laughed Boudicca as she spurred her own horse, ‘I should have known.’

  ----

  Two days later, the nobles of Boudicca’s tribe gathered in the centre of the village, waiting for the arrival of the Roman deputation. They knew a large force had camped nearby and many were nervous why Suetonius had sent so many men at arms. This was supposed to be a meeting to determine on-going trading terms and no conflict was anticipated. Despite this, they had amassed several hundred warriors of their own, who formed a large circle in the village clearing, an impressive sight in itself.

  To one end of the clearing stood a high back chair carved from a single piece of oak embedded with hundreds of precious stones. Celtic designs of intricate artistry wove their way around the chair and the seat was padded with the finest purple silk, a rarity indeed in the lands of Britannia. This was the throne of the Iceni and it was designed to display the wealth and power of the tribe.

  Several paces in front of the throne was another ornate chair and though this was also decorated with intricate carvings, it held no precious metal and was lower than the other, designed for visitors of lesser importance than the Iceni ruler.

  A runner raced across the clearing and stopped before the roundhouse of Boudicca. Rianna ducked out of the low doorway and faced him.

  ‘Well?’ she snapped.

  ‘They are here,’ gasped the man. ‘They are riding toward the village as we speak and will be here in a few moments.’

  Riana returned inside.

  ‘It’s time to go, Boudicca,’ she said.

  Boudicca nodded and turned to her daughters.

  ‘You two stay here,’ she said and watch from the doorway.

  ‘But we can’t see anything from here,’ whined Heanua, ‘the people will be in the way.’

  ‘Stay here,’ repeated her mother. ‘When we know it is safe, perhaps I will send for you.’

  The girl huffed in defiance but knew better than to argue with her mother. Boudicca kissed them both and donned her multi-coloured cape before fastening it with a large golden brooch. She pulled her long hair from beneath the cloak and let it hang down her back.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Rianna.

  ‘Ready,’ confirmed Boudicca and followed her friend out to the clearing. Her people parted to let her through and she took her place on the bejewelled throne.

  ‘Let them in,’ she called and the gates of the stockade were pulled open by a group of slaves.

  All heads turned to see the visitors, fully expecting a parade of brightly coloured Legionaries to march in to the sound of drums and trumpets. Instead, a dozen riders galloped in and reined to a halt just short of the throne, followed by a Cohort of running men, each fully armoured and covered in the dust of travel. Immediately they circled the clearing, each holding their Pilae outward toward the surrounding onlookers.

  The leader of the horsemen dismounted and handed the reins to a comrade before removing his riding gauntlets and banging the dust from his tunic. He removed his horsehair crested helmet and hung it from the pommel on his saddle before looking around the arena, seemingly ignoring Boudicca. Finally his gaze fell on the Queen and a smirk played around his mouth. He walked toward the lesser chair and paused before looking over to the Queen.

  ‘Is this for me he?’ asked.

  Boudicca nodded silently, hardly able to contain the anger she felt at his obvious indifference to her station. The officer sat down unceremoniously.

  ‘Get me a drink,’ he ordered.

  Despite her ire, Boudicca nodded to a servant who brought over an ornately carved silver goblet, filled with wine.

  The man examined the intricate designs on the goblet before drinking deeply. Finally he cast the half empty tankard from him in disgust.

  ‘I’ve tasted better horse piss,’ he said and Boudicca made to rise from her seat before being forced back down by the hand of Rianna.

  ‘So,’ shouted the man, looking around, ‘who is in command here?’

  ‘I am,’ said Boudicca, her voice shaking with pent up rage, ‘and I demand to know the name of the man who abuses the hospitality of an ally.’

  ‘Really?’ asked the officer, looking her up and down in feigned disinterest. ‘What a novel idea.’

  Before Boudicca could react, the man continued.

  ‘So be it,’ he said. ‘In the absence of a real ruler I will address you. I am Tribune Quintus Virrius, and am here in the name of Seneca the Younger, advisor to the Emperor of Rome.’ He held out a hand and another officer ran over to place a scroll in his grasp. Virrius unrolled the document and stood up to read the proclamation.

  ‘Let it be known,’ he read, ‘it has come to our attention that the great Prasatagus, King of the Icenic clans and ally to Rome has passed on to the next life, leaving his lands without heir or Kingship. Rome offers her condolences to those he leaves behind but knows that Prasatagus would expect fair outcome to those he owed debt. To this end, Seneca hereby claims the repayment of all loans paid to the Iceni over many years with immediate effect complete with all interest due.’

  ‘What lies are these?’ shouted Boudicca, ‘we owe Rome no debt.’

  Virrius lowered the scroll and stared at Boudicca.

  ‘Really?’ he asked in feigned amusement. ‘If I’m not mistaken, the cushion upon which you sit is of eastern silk. The beads around your neck are jade, are they not? And even the cloak around your shoulders has been woven by Numidian weavers. Are you telling me that your trade routes extend so far from your shores?’

  ‘They are gifts from Suetonius,’ snarled Boudicca, ‘as well you know.’

  ‘And the wines, the luxuries, the many baskets of coin over the years? Are you saying these too were also gifts?’

  ‘They were tribute to my husband,’ said Boudicca.

  ‘Tribute?’ laughed Virrius. ‘For one who claims majesty enough to lead a tribe as great as the Iceni, you display a breath taking ignorance. Rome pays tribute to nobody, Boudicca; the world pays tribute to Rome. You and your husband lived in luxury at the expense of Nero’s purse on agreement that it would one day be repaid. Today I am here to collect that debt.’

  All around the clearing the crowd started to get restless and voices called angrily above the walls of spears, causing the soldiers to brace in case of any sudden rush from the onlookers. Boudicca raised her hand to calm her people.

  ‘You know well this is fabrication,’ she said, ‘yet I feel Prasatagus saw this day coming and made suitable preparation. We too have our scrolls, Virrius and the King left instruction written in the language of your people. In it he bequeaths a treasure a hundred times greater than any debt you allege so cut short the politics and we will reach agreement.’

  ‘Spoken like a man,’ said Virrius, ‘so be it. Where will I find this great treasure you speak of? I would feast my eyes on this mountain of gold.’

  ‘There are indeed mountains,’ said Boudicca, ‘but golden they are not except to those born into their shadows. These past two days you have seen the treasure for you have ridden through the midst of it. Prasatagus has decreed that on his death, half of the Iceni Kingdom would be bequeathed to Rome in return for favoured trading terms and continued friendship. Everything south of the hills you passed yesterday back to the great river will become the property of Rome. The sweetest grazing and fallowed land as far as the eye can see. Deer filled forests and streams sweeter than the purest wine. A place fit for an emperor. This is our gift, a treasure that cannot be measured against silk or coin but in beauty and land. Managed well, it will repay your so called debt within two seasons.’

  ‘Half a Kingdom,’ mused Virrius, ‘and what about the other half?’

  ‘It will remain with the Iceni,’ said Boudicca. ‘Ruled by myself as Queen and handed down to my daughters when I die.’

  �
��Ah,’ said Virrius. ‘Now that could be a problem.’

  ‘A problem?’ asked Boudicca, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Let me put it this way,’ said Virrius. ‘When our gold laden carts turned up at your doors over the years, did you take a look and think, ah, there is a cart full of gold but I will take only half.’

  ‘I don’t see the similarity,’ said Boudicca.

  ‘Oh come on, Boudicca,’ said Virrius, ‘the comparison is obvious. I see an un-ruled land in debt to Rome and you offer half. Explain why I would accept such a feeble proposition.’

  Boudicca’s eyes narrowed at the implications.

  ‘The other half is not on offer,’ she said quietly.

  ‘On whose decree?’ asked Virrius, ‘yours? I think not, Boudicca. Prasatagus was a clever man but we tolerated his games knowing his time would end. You people see only to the next harvest but Rome is patient and plans many generations into the future. These scrolls have gathered dust they have been written so long. Your Kingdom is no more, Boudicca. I claim it in the name of Nero and in full payment of the debt of Prasatagus.’

  ‘No,’ shouted Boudicca standing up. ‘You cannot do this, these are our lands and have been since time dawned. If there is a debt then we will pay but in gold and corn, not with the resting places of our ancestors.’

  ‘Too late, Boudicca,’ said Virrius. ‘The gold we will have, the corn we will have. But we will also have your cattle, your people and your lands. You can stay here and play at being Queen but it will be under our rule and at our whim. Submit gracefully and you will hardly see a difference. You will continue to live in your lands but will send tribute to Camulodunum. A schedule of taxes has been drawn up already. Cattle, gold, iron and slaves. All will be due in monthly payments starting immediately. Meet the tally and you will enjoy our patronage. Defy Rome and feel our wrath. What is it to be?’

  To one side a commotion broke out in the crowd and both Virrius and Boudicca looked over to see the cause.

  ‘What goes on there?’ shouted Virrius

  ‘Mother,’ came a shout,’ they won’t let us through.’

  Virrius turned to Boudicca.

  ‘Your children?’ he asked

  ‘My daughters,’ she confirmed

  ‘Let them through,’ called Virrius and watched as the two girls ran to their mother’s side.

  ‘Pretty girls,’ he said. ‘It would be a shame if something was to happen to them.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ snarled Boudicca.

  ‘Wouldn’t I?’ asked Virrius. My work here is done, Boudicca. Tonight we will camp outside your walls. Tomorrow you will sign a treaty handing over all your lands to Rome.’

  ‘And if I don’t’

  Virrius laughed

  ‘You will,’ he said and turned to go. As he walked back toward his horse, a rock flew through the air and smashed against his unprotected head, causing him to fall to his knees, his forehead pouring with blood. For a few seconds, everyone stared in disbelief, unsure what had happened. Virrius got slowly to his feet and turned to face Boudicca as one of his men ran forward.

  ‘Sire are you a right?’ he shouted.

  ‘I am fine,’ growled Virrius, still staring at Boudicca with loathing. To one side four soldiers dragged a struggling man from the crowd and threw him to the ground. Virrius glanced down toward the man in the dust.

  ‘Is this the man?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Sire,’ said a soldier. ‘Do you want him killed?’

  ‘Killed, yes,’ he growled, ‘but he is just one flea on an infested rat. Crucify him along with a hundred more and for each man crucified, add a woman and a child. This rat needs teaching a lesson.’

  ‘No,’ shouted Boudicca and ran forward toward him

  ‘Seize her,’ shouted Virrius above the rising clamour of the crowd, ‘and silence the rest of them, use blades if necessary.’

  Two soldiers grabbed Boudicca and wrestled her to the floor. The arena broke into pandemonium as the Iceni surged forward in anger, keen to support their Queen. The soldiers reacted with swords and the air echoed with the sounds of screams as blood flew in all directions. A cornicine echoed in the morning air and within moments, hundreds more auxiliary infantry ran through the gates with swords drawn to help subdue the angry tribe.

  In amongst the confusion, Rianna grabbed the two girls, realising the danger. There wasn’t much she could do to help Boudicca but she could help the children.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said.

  ‘But what about mother?’ cried Heanua

  ‘She will be fine,’ said Rianna, ‘come quickly.

  ‘But…’

  ‘Heanua,’ snapped Rianna, ‘you have to be strong. Your mother would expect it. You are a future Queen and have to be kept safe.’ They made their way through the crowd toward the huts.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Lannosea.

  ‘To the horses,’ said Rianna, ‘we have to get out of the village.’

  ‘But there are more Romans are out there.’

  ‘We’ll go out of the side gate,’ said Rianna, ‘hopefully we can get a head start and if we can get to the forest, they will never find us. We will have to ride hard though, do you think you can do that?’

  Both girls nodded.

  ‘Then come quickly,’ said Rianna. ‘We have to go.’

  ----

  Back in the square the extra soldiers had brought the crowd under control and everyone fell to their knees at sword point. Dozens of bodies lay around and the dust was blackened by their spilled blood. Boudicca was held down by two Legionaries as Virrius addressed the crowd.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he roared, ‘you are no longer allies, you are servants of Rome. The woman who squirms in the dust at my feet is supposed to be a Queen. Witness what we think of this claim.’

  Two soldiers dragged Boudicca to her feet stretched her arms out between them. Another officer drew his Pugio and cut away the brooch that held her cape. Within seconds her tunic was also cut from her body and she stood naked from the waist up. Despite her humiliation, she stood upright with head raised. Another soldier approached and gave Virrius a thin branch of hazel.

  Virrius stripped the thinner twigs from the makeshift whip and swished it through the air, enjoying the way it flexed in flight.

  ‘That’s a very pretty chair you have there, Boudicca,’ he sneered, ‘let’s see if we can put it to good use.’

  The two soldiers dragged her to the throne and bent her over the rear of the frame. Virrius walked over and ran the makeshift whip gently down her naked back. The crowd fell silent as they realised what was happening.

  ‘You people should know when you are beaten,’ he said, ‘but just in case, let me give you a reminder.’ Without any more warning he drew back the whip and lashed it full force across her back, cutting deep into her flesh.

  Despite her resolve Boudicca screamed in pain and it echoed around the village.

  Over and over again Virrius whipped the Queen until her back was a mess of ripped flesh, and her blood splashed against him. By the Ninth stroke, Boudicca was unconscious but he gave her three more lashes before stepping back. The two men holding her over the chair let her fall to the dust. Virrius turned to the people and walked over to face them.

  ‘This is what we think of your Queen,’ he shouted, ‘a mere servant to be beaten as we see fit. As she bleeds, so will you.’ He gestured for his horse and mounted before turning to face the nearest Centurion.

  ‘Centurion Rammas,’ he called, ‘I will return to the marching camp. Identify the nobles of this so called tribe and send them in chains to Rome.’

  ‘And the rest of the village? asked the grizzled Centurion.

  ‘Your men have worked hard these past few months,’ he said, ‘it is yours to do with as you will.’

  All around the soldiers started cheering and Virrius rode out of the village with the rest of the officers. When they had gone, Centurion Rammas turned to face the terrified villagers bef
ore looking at the grinning faces of his command.

  ‘Well,’ he shouted, drawing his Gladius, ‘you heard the man, what are you waiting for?’

  ----

  A few hundred yards away, Virrius heard the screaming start in the village behind him and knew there would be few survivors that night. He did not fret at the thought for it was how things were done and the village was just one more spoil of war. Soon he was back in his command tent within the marching camp, writing a letter to Seneca. An hour later, an orderly asked permission to be admitted.

  ‘Enter,’ said Virrius.

  ‘Sire, you are requested outside,’ said the orderly.

  ‘What for?’ asked Virrius.

  ‘I think you should see for yourself,’ said the orderly.

  Virrius followed him outside and saw a mounted Batavian scout patrol waiting on their horses. One of the riders held the reins of another horse with two young girls tied together on its back while another carried the body of a woman.

  Virrius’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘These are the daughters of Boudicca, are they not?’

  ‘We believe so, Sire,’ said the lead rider. ‘We found them trying to escape in the forest.’

  ‘Un-chaperoned?’

  ‘This woman was with them. She put up a fight but fell at my sword.’

  ‘Is she dead?’

  ‘No, Sire.’

  Virrius walked up to the girls and stared up at the older one.

  ‘Your eyes show hate,’ he said.

  ‘Where is my mother?’ asked the girl.

  ‘Probably dead by now,’ said Virrius without compassion.

  The younger of the two gasped and burst into tears but Heanua just stared at the Roman.

  ‘Then you had better kill me too,’ she said, ‘for one day I will cut your throat.’

  Virrius smiled.

  ‘You have your mother’s spirit,’ he said.

  Heanua spat and the Tribune closed his eyes as the spittle ran down his face.

  ‘Such a shame,’ he sighed as he wiped away the spit. ‘You could have made such pretty slaves.’

  ‘I would rather die,’ she answered.

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘So be it.’ He turned to the Batavian cavalryman. ‘Decurion, they are yours.’