Roman III - The Wrath of Boudicca

by Ashman, Kevin

  ‘Not in open battle, I agree,’ said Boudicca, ‘but there are many ways to kill a bear. Gather the clan leaders to meet outside the city gates. I will be along shortly to address them.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Rianna.

  ‘I have a temple to demolish,’ said Boudicca.

  Rianna nodded and limped back to her cart.

  Behind her Boudicca summoned the leader of the warriors trying to break down the door.

  ‘Maccus, attend me,’ she said.

  The man walked over and removed his helmet, releasing rivulets of sweat to run down his face.

  ‘It seems the doors fight back,’ she said.

  ‘They are surely made of Iron,’ said Maccus.

  ‘Nothing but Oak, I feel,’ said Boudicca, ‘but as hard as iron I agree.’

  ‘Fear not, Boudicca, they will starve before my men leave this place.’

  ‘I have greater plans for your men, Maccus, so time is not generous. Our people tear down this city as we speak but it will be a hollow victory if the temple remains.’

  ‘I will bring woodsmen with fresh axes,’ said Maccus. ‘We will have the doors open in days.’

  ‘Days we do not have,’ said Boudicca, ‘though woodsmen are a good choice of strength.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Maccus. ‘The door width will only allow six men to swing their axes at a time which will take days and the steps prevent the construction of rams.’

  ‘Divert your axe men to the forests,’ said Boudicca, ‘along with a thousand warriors. Drag wood to build a fire against the doors and burn them down.’

  ‘Boudicca, as you know oak burns slowly and it is embedded with bars of iron. It will still take days.’

  ‘Oak burns, iron melts,’ said Boudicca, ‘and the bigger the furnace, the hotter the flame. Cut down the trees and build me a fire, Maccus. A fire bigger than any we have seen before. Make it bigger than the temple if necessary, cut down the whole forest if needed but I want a pyre such as has never been seen. Do this and I feel the doors will fall to ash before your eyes and when it does, spare nobody inside the blade. Man, woman or child, send them all to hell. You have two days, Maccus, do not fail me, there is a fresh task that needs our attention.’

  ‘What task is this?’ asked Maccus?

  ‘A hunt,’ said Boudicca, ‘We have a bear to kill.’

  ----

  Chapter Nine

  The Straits of Menai

  Suetonius looked over the straits between the mainland and the island of Mona. The darkness was falling away and slowly he could make out the preparations that had been made in the previous two hours. Ballistae had been manhandled out across the rocks as far as possible and all along the foreshore, hundreds of men sat wrapped in their waterproof capes against the morning drizzle, each waiting their turn in the assault barges . At the far side of the channel he could see several boats bobbing gently in the gloom, though these were empty, having already served their purpose. Beyond them he could just about make out the shapes of the local fishermen, feverishly laying out the reed mats designed to spread the weight of any men running across them.

  Suetonius turned and looked up at nearby cliff edge and though it wasn’t very high, he knew it was enough for its intended purpose. As the sky lightened he could make out over a hundred women and children lined up along the cliff edge, each shivering in the dawn chill, some from the temperature, others with fear as their fate unfolded before them. Behind each captive a soldier held an unsheathed Gladius, waiting for the order to force their prisoners over the edge on to the rocks below.

  ‘Watch well, Barbarians,’ called the Optio in charge of the prisoners, ‘and pray to your gods that your men are successful in their service to Rome. For every man that falls short in their task, two of you will learn how to fly, albeit for only a few seconds.’ He laughed at his own joke, oblivious of the sobs of the children.

  Out on the far mud banks the local fishermen worked furiously laying the mats, spreading them out and building up layer after layer to increase their weight carrying properties, knowing full well that the encroaching light would shortly reveal them to any sentry’s eyes on the far shore. Despite their frantic activity, many more stood behind them waiting their turn to unload their cargo. Further upstream hundreds of cavalry stood beside their mounts, comforting them with quiet words as they waited for the battle to start.

  Suetonius turned to his Tribune.

  ‘The day is here, Attellus,’ he said. ‘Give the signal.’

  Attellus drew his Gladius and held it aloft for a few seconds before dropping it sharply. Usually there would be accompanying fanfares of massed cornicines, along with the beating of war drums to herald any advance but in this instance, it was important to harvest every minute of silence. Below them the laden barges pushed off from the bank and over five hundred light infantry, crouched beneath their round shields in anticipation of defending arrows. For a minute or so the quiet was maintained and Attellus thought they would actually get the first wave across undetected but suddenly the silence was shattered by a blood curdling scream as the enemy spotted the threat.

  ‘This is it,’ said Suetonius, ‘let battle commence.’

  ----

  Fifty miles away, Prydain and his comrades sat against a bluff, taking shelter from the driving rain. They had been riding hard for three days, only stopping to sleep for an hour or so at a time and taking it in turns to stand guard against the constant Roman patrols.

  One of the riders stood out in the rain, paying close attention to one of the horses.

  ‘There is no way she is going to last until we get to the lands of the Deceangli,’ said Cullen, wiping the water from his horse’s neck. ‘Her best years are behind her.’

  ‘We need to find somewhere to get some proper rest,’ said Prydain, ‘this rain has taken it out of all of us. If we don’t look after the horses what chance have we got.’

  ‘The Roman influence is everywhere,’ said Gildas, ‘and the nearest friendly village is miles to the west. It will take us a day to get there.’

  ‘It matters not,’ said Prydain, ‘without proper rest, we will not get much further.’

  ‘There is a farm nearby where we can get help,’ said Heulwen. ‘I have shared their hospitality in the past.’

  ‘How far?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘Half a day,’ said Heulwen. ‘If the family still lives there, I think they will help us.’

  ‘Then lead the way,’ said Prydain climbing into the saddle. ‘With a bit of luck we may also be able to share some hot food.’

  All the riders mounted their horses and followed Heulwen off the hill into the valley below.

  ‘The river passes the farm.’ explained Heulwen.

  ‘Are you sure we will be welcomed?’ asked Prydain, ‘these are hard times and strangers are viewed with suspicion.’

  ‘We will be fine,’ said Heulwen. ‘My people have provided attendance to many in these parts for many years. This family I know personally.’

  For the next few hours the party rode in relative silence, stopping only to rest the horses. Finally they crested a rise and looked down to the farmstead below.

  ‘This is it.’ said Heulwen. ‘Keep your hands from your weapons and try to look friendly.’

  They rode down into the farm while several people emerged from the roundhouses to watch, alerted by the barking of the dogs. A white haired old man approached them, relying heavily on a staff to help him walk.

  ‘Hwyl, strangers,’ he said. ‘If you come in peace then there is a welcome here for you. If it is plunder you seek then you will not find resistance for we have little of value.’

  ‘Madoc, it is good to see you again,’ said Heulwen. ‘I trust you remember me.’

  The old man paused before answering.

  ‘My eyes fail me with age,’ said the man, ‘but if I’m not mistaken that voice can only be Heulwen of the Asbri.’

  ‘Your ears are true, Madoc, and these are
my friends. We seek a day’s rest and some hot food if you are able.’

  ‘Heulwen,’ answered the man, ‘you are always welcome here and any friends of yours are friends of ours. Come, dismount and share my home.’ He turned to a young boy sitting on a nearby wall.

  ‘Allyn, show our friends to the stable and make sure the horses are tended.’

  ‘Why me?’ asked Allyn. ‘Why can’t they do it themselves?’

  ‘Curb your tongue, boy,’ snapped Madoc, ‘or it’ll be the birch for you.’

  The boy mumbled his retort under his breath but jumped off the wall to do as he was told.

  ‘Take no notice,’ said Madoc. ‘He is a good boy but is very opinionated. His father was killed at Caer Caradog. I try my best but he needs a younger man’s influence.’

  ‘It seems he races to be a man while still a boy,’ said Heulwen,

  ‘He does,’ said Madoc. ‘He and his friends play at killing Romans every chance they get. It brings fear to my heart for he grows up too quick. But enough talk, come, join me in our home. You are in luck for we have a sheep’s head in the pot and there is enough for all.’

  ‘Thank you, Madoc. As usual your hospitality is generous.’

  Ten minutes later they all sat around the inner walls of the smoky roundhouse, each wrapped in sheepskin as their sodden cloaks dried in the heat. A woman stirred the giant pot on the central fire and Prydain’s mouth watered at the enticing smell. Finally she fished out the sheep’s head and placed it on a wooden platter before hitting it with a large knife to reach the brain within. Wooden platters were passed around and each of the guests was summoned forward for their share of the meal.

  Prydain gestured toward Madoc to lead the way.

  ‘No,’ said Madoc, ‘there is meat enough for all. Your bellies must be small from hunger. Eat your fill.’

  Needing no second invitation, Prydain and the other three men held out their bowls for a portion of brain and some of the meaty broth. Heulwen joined them and soon everyone in the hut was dipping chunks of rough bread into stew and eating the feast noisily. Gildas finished before anyone else and looked longingly at the pot.

  ‘Old mother,’ he said eventually, ‘your meal is fit for the gods and manners forbid I ask for more but once all are fed, I have a silver coin that I would gladly pay for a second bowl.’

  ‘You will keep your coin, Sir,’ said the woman, ‘for you are you are our guests but though the meat is scarce, the flavours of the broth remain and there are roots aplenty within the pot. Fill your bowl as oft as you wish for my heart glows to see such an appetite.’

  Gildas smiled widely and approached the pot to refill his bowl, quickly followed by the others who had been too polite to ask. Soon the meal was over though Gildas pored over the sheep skull, seeking any scrap of meat that may be left on the bone.

  ‘Your hospitality does you proud, Sir,’ said Prydain to Madoc, as they watched the big man, ‘and we are indebted to you.’

  ‘If a man cannot share his soup with one who hungers, then I feel we are not long for this world.’ sighed Madoc. ‘So, are you able to share your tale or is it one of secrecy?’

  ‘It is for the ears of the loyal only,’ said Prydain, ‘and though you have shown your friendship, I would ask that you keep it to yourself.’

  ‘We see few strangers here,’ said Madoc, ‘and my heart yearns for the old days. I would garner no benefit from a loose tongue.’

  Prydain retold the tale of Taliesin and their quest to return him to the Asbri. Madoc listened intently and poured Prydain a tankard of ale as he talked. Finally Prydain was done.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘that is our goal. Whether it will be successful or not only the gods know.’

  ‘It matters not,’ said Madoc. ‘Either you will find him, or you won’t. If you survive then it will be a noble task and will give hope to a nation and if you die then it will be a noble death and the aftermath will be none of your business.’

  ‘A very astute outlook on life,’ laughed Prydain.

  ‘Perhaps so,’ said Madoc, ‘but one that has kept me relatively happy throughout my years. Whatever the gods have in store for us will come to pass and nothing we can do will change it.’

  ‘You may be right, Madoc but unless we try, we will never know.’

  Madoc stared at Prydain for a few moments before speaking again.

  ‘Prydain, you have trusted me with the truth which is an honour. Perhaps I may be able to repay that trust for there is something you should know that may help you in your task.’

  ‘I am intrigued,’ said Prydain

  ‘Come with me,’ said Madoc and led Prydain from the hut and across the courtyard to the wood store.

  Prydain looked on as Madoc banged on the wooden building.

  ‘Morfan, un-brace the door,’ called Madoc, ‘the riders are friendly and there is no danger.’

  For a few moments there was silence but finally the door swung inward enough to for a man’s face to appear.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the man.

  ‘This is Prydain of the Silures,’ said Madoc. ‘He is a friend.’

  ‘What do you want of me?’ asked the man.

  ‘The riders are on their way toward the Cerrig,’ said Madoc, ‘and I thought you could have information that may be of help.’ He turned to face Prydain. ‘Morfan was one of Idwal’s soldiers at the Cerrig,’ he said. ‘When the King died, many bent their knee to the Romans within days but Morfan and others refused to yield. They fought their way out of Treforum and rallied resistance in the forests but they were quickly hunted down.’

  ‘What has this to do with me?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘Morfan, tell Prydain of the boy who fought alongside you.’

  The man shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Not much to tell,’ said Morfan. ‘Like many others he had the calling to fight alongside the King but had been with us for a few days only. He was young and obviously inexperienced in warfare.

  ‘What was his name?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘I know not,’ said the man. ‘We called him Witch-boy for he said he was brought up by the Asbri, a false story no doubt but amusing enough.’

  ‘It was true,’ said Prydain, ‘the boy’s name is Taliesin and he is the one we seek. Tell me, does he still live?’

  ‘The Roman cavalry were everywhere,’ said Morfan, ‘and many fell. Those of us who had resisted scattered before them. Some came south to join with those clans who still resist while others rode east to the Iceni. The boy rode with them.’

  ‘Why eastward?’ asked Prydain, ‘surely that way is into the arms of the beast.’

  ‘It is,’ said Morfan, ‘but there are reports emerging of a great army being raised by Boudicca to oppose the Romans.’

  ‘And who is she?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘The widow of Prasatagus, King of the Iceni,’ said Morfan. ‘It is said she and her daughters were ravished by the Romans after his death and she seeks vengeance, calling on all the tribes to lend their swords to her cause.’

  ‘And is there any truth in this tale?’

  ‘As true as you stand before me. I have heard tell that the Trinovantes have already heeded the call as well as many smaller tribes. Their numbers are in the thousands and growing every day.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘The end that we all would see,’ said Morfan, ‘the death of all Romans.’

  ----

  Ten minutes later Prydain ducked back in to the hut of Madoc and shared the news with his comrades.

  ‘Then this is indeed good news,’ said Heulwen. ‘At least we know he is alive.’

  ‘We do,’ said Prydain, ‘yet it brings a whole new set of problems.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ’First of all we will have to pass through the lands of the Catuvellauni,’ said Prydain ‘and we know little of the landscape or indeed who has sold out to the Romans. We will be alone and will have to live off the land as much as possible. On top of that, the very fact that
the Iceni are in revolt will put every Roman in Britannia on a war footing and watches will be doubled. We will have to live like Brigands until we find this Boudicca and by then he could already have met a Roman blade. War is not pretty, Heulwen and if this Boudicca thinks she can lead an army against Rome in open battle, then she is gravely mistaken.’

  ‘I understand that,’ said Heulwen, ‘but at least this way there is a route through the dangers and our fate is in our own hands. The task has not changed, Prydain, just the location.’

  ‘Fret not,’ sighed Prydain, ‘I will keep my word. I just wanted to let you know the risks involved.’

  ‘And you have my gratitude,’ said Heulwen, ‘but I am well aware of the risks and if the gods intend I die on this quest then it is an outcome I welcome. The fate of the Khymru is greater than us all.’

  ‘And what about you?’ asked Prydain turning to his friends. ‘Is your path still with ours or does it lay elsewhere? There is no shame in going home for the task has changed.’

  ‘I ride with you,’ said Cullen.

  ‘As do I,’ said Gildas.

  ‘Taran?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘Do you really need to ask?’ asked the young man. ‘Of course I ride with you and am insulted at the question.’

  ‘Then it is agreed,’ said Prydain. ‘Tonight we rest but tomorrow we turn east.’ He turned to face the old man.

  ’Madoc, we are in need of fresh horses. I know we ask a lot but do you have any you could spare?’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Madoc, ‘but there will be steeds in the local village for sale. Do you have any coin?’

  ‘No,’ said Prydain, ‘at least not enough for horses.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Heulwen. ‘We no longer need the gold coins to bribe the Cerrig guards. We can use some of those.’

  ‘Gold coins will arouse suspicion amongst the Roman spies,’ said Madoc.

  ‘It matters not,’ said Prydain. ‘By the time any word gets to the Romans we will be far to the east.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Gildas standing up. ‘We need a dry place to lay our heads and will be gone by dawn. Madoc, do you have such a place?’

  ‘The stable is dry,’ said Madoc, ‘and there is plenty of straw for your beds. I will have the boy bring over some sheep skins. Heulwen can share Sioned’s hut.’