‘Against civilians and children?’ asked Cassus. ‘A task for lesser men I feel.’
‘Yet the most profitable for spoils you would agree?’
Cassus stared at the commander for several moments before answering.
‘My lord, can I speak freely?’
‘As always,’ said Suetonius.
‘My lord, my men are the best there are and have handed you many victories. To pull them back from the van will have an effect on their morale as ill as any defeat. I request the decision is revisited.’
‘Request denied,’ said Suetonius. ‘I know you are angry but some decisions are for the greater good. Tell your men there will be other opportunities for glory.’
Cassus took a deep breath before replacing his helmet.
‘I will relay your message, my lord, but feel it will be like seed upon barren ground.’ Before the general could answer, Cassus saluted and left the hall.
Attellus approached and stood beside Suetonius.
‘Sometimes I wonder why you put up with such insubordination,’ he said.
‘Have you ever seen him fight, Attellus?’
‘No, but I have heard he is good.’
‘Good isn’t the word I would use,’ said the general. ‘In fact there is not a word I can think of to describe him. You have to see it to understand.’
‘He is but one man, General.’
Suetonius turned to stare at the Tribune.
‘No, Attellus,’ he said finally. ‘Sometimes I don’t think he is.’
Chapter Eight
The City of Camulodunum
Hundreds of traders stood outside the walls of the city waiting for the giant gates to open, a daily ritual for those locals who frequented the Roman markets. Despite the underlying hatred for the Romans, there was no denying their coins were as good as any and the markets within often held goods that the outlying villages could only dream of.
Camulodunum had once been the Capital of Britannia before the invasion seventeen years earlier but after its surrender to the legions of Plautius, the city had gradually become more Romanised and was now completely under the control of the Empire. In the intervening years, those soldiers who had reached the end of their twenty-six years’ service and had retired from the legions, often chose to stay in Britannia and settled in Camulodunum. These were the Evocati, ex-soldiers who were available for reserve duties as required.
Such was the Roman influence, it even had a temple to Claudius, the emperor who had visited Britannia briefly to accept the surrender of the capital on behalf of Rome. Stories were still told in the city of the enormous beasts he brought with him and though children looked up in awe at the storytellers, those who had not witnessed the war elephants with their own eyes doubted the truth of those who had.
As the gates creaked open, the traders mounted their carts and stirred their mules into action, keen to get the best pitches in the market square. Farmers, shepherds and tailors walked alongside each other, each hoping that their goods would be snapped up by the ever consuming Romans, and though the procession was similar to other days, if the Evocati guards had taken more notice and not been so self-assured in their dominance of the populace, they might have noticed some differences.
Where carts had previously had one driver, most now had two. The piles of sacks in the backs of the carts seemed to be a little higher than normal and surely the number of herders had increased. In addition, the number of ordinary people joining the traders seemed larger than normal but despite this, the Evocati stood aside in boredom, resigned to the daily procession that was as necessary to the success of Camulodunum as it was to the villagers.
‘By the gods they stink,’ said one of the armoured soldiers as the procession of animals and people passed through the gates.
‘What do you expect?’ said the other. ‘Once a barbarian, always a barbarian.’
A passing man threw him a withering look.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ repeated the guard, ‘I’m talking about you, stinking barbarian filth. Do you have a problem with that?’
‘Actually I do,’ snarled the man, and before either soldier could act, he ran across the space between them and plunged a knife into the guard’s heart. Another man yelled a warning but sack cloths were thrown back on the carts and dozens of armed men jumped down to attack the remaining men around the gate.
‘Alarm!’ shouted a guard up on the parapet, but within seconds a flurry of arrows flew upward to cut down any remaining defenders. All around people started panicking and another group of guards ran out from a nearby hut to see what the commotion was about.
Dozens of the men previously dressed as traders threw away their disguises and even women under the protection of hooded cloaks turned out to be disguised warriors, heavy with their weapons of choice. With a frenzy born of frustration they attacked the defenders, each screaming their battle cries as they cut them down.
‘We’re under attack,’ shouted a guard, ‘sound the alarm.’
A Cornicine blasted a signal over the sounds of peoples’ screams and all across the city the alarm was repeated, alerting the populace to the danger.
One of the attackers ran back outside and waved his sword back and fore above his head giving the agreed signal to hidden eyes back in the treeline. Within moments, hundreds of previously unseen riders broke free from their hiding place to gallop toward the captured gate while behind them the forest shook with the battle cries of ten thousand men.
* * *
Dozens of soldiers ran from the nearby barracks to confront those who had taken the gate and despite the fact they had retired from active service, the skills learned over twenty-five years in the legions never waned and the drills kicked in immediately.
‘Present shields,’ shouted an officer, and immediately the front rank locked their shields together in an impenetrable wall.
‘Second rank, ready Pila, on my command.’
The second rank stepped back and prepared to launch the spears designed to bend after impact, rendering them unusable by the enemy.
The attacking warriors closed in, screaming their war cries to intimidate the defenders.
‘Steady,’ roared the officer, ‘release!’
Twenty Pilae sailed above the front rank, taking out over half of the warriors.
‘Extended line,’ screamed the officer.
The second row spread out on either side of the men in front presenting a solid wall of shields fifty paces wide.
‘Close quarter,’ shouted the officer, ‘advaaance!’
With shields locked together, the whole line marched forward as one, secure behind the solid wall of wood and brass. The remaining few attackers threw themselves on the shield wall in a vain attempt to kill the soldiers behind, only to find Gladii waiting for them. Within moments the last of the warriors fell and the Roman officer realised there was no more threat between them and the open gate.
‘Break ranks,’ he shouted. ‘Get to the gates. We have to get them closed in case of a second attack.’ The Evocati ran toward the gate. Those who had maintained an element of fitness outstripped those who had enjoyed the finer diet of retirement but within seconds the soldiers in front stuttered to a halt.
‘You men,’ shouted the officer, ‘what’s the problem? Get to the gate, that’s an order.’
One of the Evocati turned to face him, fear written all over his face.
‘It’s too late,’ he shouted, ‘they are here.’ Before he could say any more, two arrows thudded into his back and he dropped to his knees. The officer looked up in shock and mentally said a prayer to his gods as the warrior horsemen thundered into the city, cutting down the Romans as they went. His vast experience told him that resistance was futile and he lowered his Gladii to welcome death, mentally picturing his wife and children as he did, an image cut brutally short by a warrior club smashing into his face and bursting his skull.
* * *
From her vantage point, Boudicca could see her ar
my pouring into the city through the main gate. She stood upon a chariot drawn by four black stallions, a gift from her ailing father back in the lands of the Trinovantes. The horses had been given with a simple message.
‘A conqueror looks like a conqueror, no less the liberator.’
Beside her sat Rianna and though she yearned to ride alongside her queen, her injuries were still raw and she could stand for minutes only at a time.
‘It looks like the day starts well, Boudicca,’ said Rianna.
‘The first steps are taken,’ said Boudicca, ‘but the race is not yet done. Many men who soldiered for Rome sleep within those walls and swords do not forget how to be swords.’
‘The main gate is ours,’ said Rianna, ‘and look, our warriors spread along the ramparts.’
All along the walls, thousands of warriors waited their turn to climb the assault ladders being thrown up as far as she could see. The defenders hurried to the defence of their city but they had been caught cold and the lack of cohesion meant there were hundreds of smaller battles rather than a concerted defence. Smoke started to spread as the first buildings were set alight and all along the walls, she could see her warriors engaging the defenders with rabid savagery. Bodies were hurled from the parapets and those still alive were torn limb from limb by willing hands. The sounds of battle carried toward her on the breeze and below her position, thousands more waited their turn to vent their rage in the city. A rider galloped up the hill and reined in his horse before her in a cloud of dust.
‘My Queen,’ he said, struggling to control his panting horse, ‘the outer limits are taken and the defenders fall back in disarray. Our warriors run amok in the outskirts while the Roman nobility flee to the sanctuary of their temple.’
‘And the people?’
‘They beg for mercy at our feet,’ said the rider, ‘Roman and slave alike.’
Boudicca stared out toward the city again.
‘My children begged for mercy,’ she said quietly, ‘and their cries fell on deaf ears. What difference are their cries to those who now plea?’
‘None,’ said Rianna.
‘Then treat them as they did us,’ said Boudicca. ‘Spare the slave that joins our cause but let everyone else feel my wrath.’
‘What about the women and children?’ asked the rider and slowly Boudicca turned her head to stare into his face.
‘Has the sounds of battle dimmed your understanding,’ she asked. ‘I said kill them. Kill them all.’
‘My Queen,’ shouted the man in acknowledgement and spun his horse to gallop away down the hill.
Boudicca turned to see Rianna staring up at her with cold eyes.
‘Is that hate I see in your eyes, Rianna?’
‘Hate?’ said Rianna. ‘I thought you knew me well, Boudicca. No, it’s not hate but admiration. Admiration for a woman doing what many men before her said they would do but failed to deliver.’ She gestured toward a couple of slaves who hurried over to help her from the chariot.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Boudicca.
‘I am still too weak to ride beside you, friend, but I will not hinder your glory. Ride, Boudicca, taste the triumph that is yours to savour.’ She looked toward Camulodunum once more and then down on the thousands of families who had poured from the forest to watch their men assault the city. ‘They have waited a long time for this Boudicca, let them taste victory, no matter how fleeting.’
Boudicca followed Rianna’s gaze and saw thousands of eyes turned toward her, waiting for the command they knew would come. Older men mingled with boys and women of all ages but each shared three things; anticipation in their eyes, anger in their hearts and knives in their hands.
‘You are right, Rianna,’ she said, ‘so it begins.’
Without another word she rode the chariot forward a few paces and drew a spear from the rack on the side.
‘People of Britannia,’ she roared. ‘Behold the Roman threat running like children before us. Show them why they are right to fear us and take back the infested city of Camulodunum – it is yours.’
As one the throng cheered their support and ran forward across the plain toward the city, a people’s army ten thousand strong, every one hell bent on revenge.
* * *
For the next few days Boudicca’s army rampaged through Camulodunum in a frenzy of retribution. The pent-up rage of the people burned like a firebrand, having seen their capital wrested from their control to be turned into an outpost of Rome. Led by the Trinovantians, they worked their way through the city killing anything that moved. Women were raped and children dragged behind horses as the drunken warriors repaid a debt of seventeen years’ worth of subordination. Despite the overwhelming numbers, the Evocati tried their best to defend their families, a futile gesture and they were swatted away like flies. As they were ordered to their deaths in the face of the Britannic hoard, the elders of the city holed themselves up in the last secure place in the city, the temple of Claudius. Built from solid stone and having enormous doors made from the stoutest oak, it was a citadel capable of withstanding the fiercest assault. Inside, dozens of nobles and their families huddled together, still dressed in their finery having run from their villas in fear.
‘Father, what is to happen to us?’ asked a little girl, looking toward the barricaded door as the attackers beat uselessly against it.
‘Fret not, child,’ said her father, ‘help is on its way. Be brave, this place is blessed by the gods in Claudius’ name – it cannot be breached.’
‘But how long must we stay here?’ asked one of the others. ‘There is food enough for a week but after that we will surely starve.’
‘A week is more than enough,’ said the man, ‘we heard whisper of an assault ten days ago and sent word to Procurator Catus Decianus asking for help. We have asked for a thousand men at arms to help us and I have no doubt they are only hours away. Soon these filth will taste Roman steel.’
‘A thousand men?’ asked the voice. ‘There is surely ten times that number attacking us as we speak. They will be outnumbered.’
‘A thousand Romans are worth ten thousand barbarians on any given day,’ said the councillor. ‘But fear not, we have also sent riders to seek out the Ninth Hispana. They are close by and recently laid siege to the Iceni. They too are only days away. Once Quintus Petillius Cerialis hears of our plight he will press an entire legion against the attackers and feed our fields with their blood.’
Murmurs of approval echoed around the main chamber and though the useless attempts at entry continued against the door, the prisoners continued to eat and drink calmly, accustomed as they were to the better things in life.
* * *
Outside, Boudicca stood before the temple, watching the futile attempts at battering down the doors. Rianna had joined her from her cart and limped to her side.
‘Boudicca,’ she said.
Boudicca turned to her friend and for a moment her face lit up.
‘Rianna, you look much better.’
‘Another few days and I will carry your spears on your chariot,’ said Rianna. ‘Boudicca, I have news.’
‘Speak,’ said Boudicca.
‘Our cavalry have ambushed a column not far from here,’ she said. ‘They were on their way to relieve the city but found Trinovantian archers instead. Most are now dead.’
‘How many?’ asked Boudicca.
‘Two hundred,’ said Rianna.
‘Who were they?’
‘Reinforcements sent by Procurator Decianus,’ said Rianna. ‘It seems he thought two hundred cavalry would be ample to deal with our threat.’
‘An ill-conceived judgement,’ said Boudicca, ‘but how do you know this?’
‘We took prisoners,’ said Rianna, ‘and though some went to their deaths with honour others were not so brave and the fires loosened their tongues. In return for their lives they talked like washer women.’
‘What news did they have?’
‘Not good,’ said Rianna. ‘Al
though Decianus underestimates our strength it seems there are others that may not share his stupidity. We were told that riders have been sent to summon the Ninth Hispana and they could be here in as little as a few days.’
‘The Hispana,’ spat Boudicca. ‘The soldiers who devastated our village and violated my girls bore that standard.’
‘They did,’ said Rianna, ‘and they are on their way here. I fear we should leave now and seek the safety of the forests.’
‘Why?’ asked Boudicca. ‘The very pigs that started us on this trail of liberation are within our reach. I hoped it would one day be so but to have them walk into our reach so early in our campaign is a gift from the goddess Andraste herself.’
‘Boudicca, we are yet undisciplined and cannot take on a legion.’
‘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.’
The Wrath of Boudicca Page 8