by Ralph Harvey
The centurion snapped a command and seconds later the patrol were on their way at a jog trot.
Back to the side of the plain, hidden amongst the thick foliage Valeria was watching the approaching Romans still gathering wood.
By her side Avallach awaited eagerly.
“Now Valeria?” he queried, “They are in range of our bows.”
Valeria put a restraining hand on his arm, “No, wait Avallach, let them draw even closer, then those who do not die in the first volley can be killed afterwards by the foot soldiers, and as the distance increases between them and the fort, the extra distance could buy us precious seconds of time in our escape. See Avallach,” she pointed, “they move even further from the fort as they search the fields for wood, and look,” she pointed to a lone soldier walking casually towards them, “yet another walks into the net unarmed. Wait, and let him join them, then there will be one more Roman head hanging in the huts tonight. We will swoop when they are at the forest edge and it will take the Romans several minutes to launch a rescue bid, and by then the patrol will be slain — and we will be gone.”
On the plain itself the decurion in charge became aware of the approaching figure, but the man’s unhurried gait did not alarm him, but some sixth sense told him he had a message. Anticipating something was wrong he made his way slowly towards him. As the two met the runner became immediately aware of the hostility in the decurion’s eye at his failure to salute him.
“I am Esus of the 3rd detachment as you know. Forgive me for not saluting sir, but my instructions are to act natural as if off duty, and not make it obvious that I am bringing you a message, walk with me slowly to each man in turn and tell them that a party of Celts hides to your right. They are clearly a raiding party waiting to snare you.”
He paused. “Some way behind them, on the high ground, their horses are tethered, but it’s obvious they wait for you to draw even closer to better strike you down and then retreat.”
The decurion frowned, then spoke, “I understand Esus, I thought by the casualness of your approach something was wrong, for all messages are delivered at speed, and it’s true I was about to roast you for not saluting.”
He paused for a minute. “Let us split up, walk casually among the men, taking your bearings from the holly bush in front and to the left. I will wander slowly to the right and warn the others surreptitiously. Between us it will take half the time to warn them. Instruct them to go no further towards the wood’s edge and very slowly and very casually to gather on me. Instruct each to discard the wood when the Celts attack, and race for the safety of the forest, the cavalry will attack from there and cover them. Tell them not to pause to pick up anything but appear helpless; they are to draw the Celts forward into the open.”
The man's hand started to rise in an instinctive gesture to salute his commander, but swiftly corrected himself and unhurriedly began to wander amongst the patrol, while the decurion did likewise.
After a few minutes Valeria started to get agitated at the sudden uncertainty, but suspected nothing, for as she watched the Romans started making small piles of the gathered wood.
“Curses,” she snapped, “they have enough fuel and are not coming any closer, we will have to strike now. They have pulled back slightly and are no longer within effective range of our arrows. Split the force Avallach, make a direct attack when I go. I will cut off their retreat, being able to travel the fastest. Bring me my warhorse, and I will harry them from the rear, if a few of you get your horses and follow me, the Romans may think I am part of a larger force, and flee to the forest where we await them.”
Avallach hesitated, “Is it wise to split the force Valeria? We are not that strong in number.”
Valeria bristled, “Obey me Avallach,” she quoth, gritting her teeth, “I am the leader here, not you.”
Avallach nodded dumbly, “I hear and obey, Valeria, It shall be as you say … but I am not happy.”
Silently, head down, Avallach slowly slithered backwards down the rise, and moments later a Celt emerged, with her horse in position and ready.
As Valeria mounted and took the reins, a group of Celts likewise mounted behind her, then Avallach glanced at her, awaiting her signal. He did not have to wait for long for the Roman patrol was rapidly disappearing in the distance, Valeria raised her hand to signal standby then nodding to Avallach dropped it.
Raising his war horn to his lips he gave three mighty blasts upon it, then while the last tremor was still resounding in the air, Valeria gave a ferocious war cry and charged forwards, the bloodlust upon her at the prospect of the slaughter of the Roman patrol. Every fibre of her warrior’s soul was aching to shed the blood of the hated Romans who had beaten her Queen and ravaged her sovereign’s daughters. Mercy at that moment was a quality unbeknown to her, as she relished the forthcoming slaughter.
As the Celts fell upon them the Romans looked up and abandoning the fuel they had just gathered, ran for the safety of the forest as instructed.
On the hillside shielded by the trees, Marcus waited his opportunity, then when the attacking Iceni were well out into the open he gave a single command. “Now!” he cried.
Instantaneously two units of Romans raced, the first to the fore, between the fort and the retreating wood gatherers, while a second cohort took position, forming a shield wall for their fleeing comrades to seek safety behind.
The Roman cavalry raced to their position behind the advancing Celts, entrapping them in a pincer movement. Within seconds the two Roman lines entrapped their adversaries. Spasmodic hand-to-hand fighting broke out everywhere, the Celts confident they could hold their own against this number of men.
Marcus watched the ensuing conflict a short while, then commanded his reserve troops, still carefully hidden, forward into the melee. As he did so, a number of Valeria’s band turned to meet them head-on, Valeria herself seeing the attack that was about to be launched on her flank, reined her horse around and raced to join them.
“More Roman blood to spill,” she cried. “They come like lambs to the slaughter. Forward! Kill!”
With a wild cry she struck the rear of her horse with the flat of her spear, then as the animal broke into a gallop she levelled its deadly point at the first Roman in line, as she did so her supporting warriors rushed in, echoing their bloodcurdling cries in unison.
Grim faced, Valeria bore down on her adversary, but the man with practised ease sidestepped her onslaught, raised his shield and struck upwards at her, nimbly she leaned back in the saddle, leaving the blade scything through empty space. The Roman, missing, fell slightly forward with the momentum of his blow, instantly Valeria swung the horse around in a 180 degree turn, the horse’s flank striking his heavy war shield and sending the man flying. With a cry the man rolled over, he trying vainly to free his trapped arm from the shield straps as he sought to rise. Completing her turn her face lit up with an expectant glow, as she thrust the horse forward again upon the prone figure.
With a scream of despair the man tried to roll aside but the flailing hooves of her steed caught him a glancing blow in the face as he lay there, spread-eagled upon the ground, simultaneously another jerk of the reins sent the flailing hooves over both man and shield. Violently pulling back on the reins, Valeria gave a cry and the horse rose on its hind legs, its forefeet pounding her terrified victim — then with a resounding crack the man’s arm beneath the heavy shield broke in a welter of blood, wood and canvas.
With a cry of triumph Valeria then gave heel to the animal and leapt across his prone body, then her face contorted with rage the relentless she-huntress pulled her horse up and leaped from the saddle towards him, like a fox upon its prey, petrified the man looked up his eyes wide with fear. Relentlessly Valeria raised her sword and with a single stroke severed the man's other arm at the shoulder.
“Now Roman,” she snarled, “tell your grandchildren how you lost your arm to Valeria, niece of Boudicca, Queen of death and misery — tell them Roman, tell them in yea
rs to come,” she screamed, then sadistically she drew the blade across the man’s thigh hamstringing him.
By now the roar of battle made her turn as her warriors fought desperately against the highly disciplined Romans, when to her horror she saw that a further unit of Romans had raced onto the scene as she had gone about her grisly work cutting a swathe between her and the main section of her men.
Marcus racing alongside his unit looked in anticipation at the figure of Valeria, her features entirely enveloped in a great helm and blue woad, his eyes fixed on the royal standard and pennant that was so arrogantly displayed from the side of her saddle pinioned there with great leather straps.
Raising his gladius on high he shouted a command, “Take that man alive, I want that son of a bitch who’s their leader. Alive, understand? Fifty sesterces to the soldier who takes him.”
At the prospect of a months wages a number of Romans now raced towards Valeria, who, realising the danger raced for her horse but as she drew ahead of her pursuers a well aimed arrow struck her beloved horse’s withers, bringing it to its knees, then they were upon her like hounds holding a stag at bay.
Now a degree of panic came upon Valeria, furiously she turned to meet them. Realising the severity of the situation she now found herself in, she struck blindly to left and right turning and swirling looking vainly for the succour she knew was not there to save her.
All around her, her warriors were in retreat as the superior Roman forces inexorably overcame them. Relentlessly the Romans jabbed and parried at her, deliberately avoiding a lethal blow wanting her alive, Valeria had heard Marcus’s cry to take her alive, he believing her to be a man.
Seeing her mission had failed and that she was completely encircled, in her mind during the heat of battle she sought only the warriors death she had always desired — to go into the Summerlands with a sword in one hand and an enemy’s head in the other, and on this day the Gods would welcome her with a sword running with the blood of an accursed invaders.
Vaingloriously she hurled herself in demonic fury at the taunting enemy but it was at that moment that fate played its hand, for the sun bursting through the clouds caught the highly polished brass boss of her leading adversary’s shield, throwing a momentary flash of light into her eyes, vainly Valeria tried to avoid its reflection, but seizing his opportunity a legionnaire stepped forward and struck her on the side of the jaw with the hilt of his gladius, denting the metal side plate, and felling her in the process.
Marcus watching the maelstrom gave a cry of triumph, “Well done Castra, now bind the bastard fast, and bring him to me when he regains consciousness.”
Eagerly the soldiers were now upon her binding her arms behind her until her prone body was completely secure, then, as Marcus approached he called out to her captor.
“Fifty sesterces shall be your reward Castra, you have done well. Clearly he is a man of importance.” He gestured to the fallen horse, still on its knees, foam emitting from its mouth as the beast just laid there trembling. Marcus’ eyes swept the bound body at his feet then the animal before him,
“Capsarius,” he cried, “you are equally skilful with man and beast; yonder is a great stallion, can it be saved?”
The capsarius stepped forward and after a swift examination of the horse, nodded affirmatively then, judging the angle, gave an almighty pull and removed the offending arrow then turned to Marcus.
“Have the beast brought back to the fort sir, and I shall poultice the wound, and as long as we can keep the flies away from the wound, it should survive.” He looked querulously at Marcus, then almost apologetically asked, “If you wish to keep the horse, can you let me have a man sir, to gather fresh cobwebs and spider silk at first dawn. I shall need a fair quantity, for it is a deep wound sir, and I will need to draw the poison out. I also need permission to draw honey from the store.”
Marcus thought for a moment then answered, “I was not aware that the mixture worked as well on animal wounds as men’s. Choose what you will capsarius, I want that horse saved.” He turned to the man and smiled, “And I take it you will be drinking sweet wine tonight.” The capsarius grinned.
Marcus waved his hand, dismissing the man, then gazed down at the unconscious Valeria, her face visibly swelling beneath the blue woad tattoos ornamenting it, he stood arms akimbo, then turning looked out towards the field of battle, from which the last of her raiding force was now retreating. A decurion stepped forward briskly and struck his breast with an open hand in the traditional military salute.
“The day is ours commander, but this is the only prisoner, plus two others laying out there mortally wounded.” He looked at Marcus, “But they’ll be dead by sunset, what now sir?”
“Good,” Marcus exclaimed, “tell me what are the final figures — did we get them all, I see the field is strewn with their dead.”
The decurion stood before him a rivulet of blood oozing down his arm.
“Only a handful escaped. We lost three men and five wounded, including myself. None of the wood party were even touched. We saved close on fifty men who would have been cut down.”
“Get over to the capsarius and get it seen to master of ten,” he gestured towards the capsarius who was tending the others, “I would hate to lose you through an infection.”
Marcus looked down at the prone figure at his feet now starting to stir feebly.
“We have a fine prize with this one, the lictor will soon make him talk.” He glanced at the battlefield from which the sounds of the two dying men emanated, then gave a command. “Cut their throats then strip this one and bring him to me first, let’s have a look at him, see if he’s known.”
As the soldiers lifted her body up, Castra, her captor, looked enviously at her cloak with its silver buckles and the gold torc around the neck. Marcus, sensing the man's wishes, responded, “Keep the cloak Castra, you can have any ornaments as well, but the torc shall be mine, spoils of war, you have my reward of fifty sesterces to come as well.” He looked at the crestfallen eyes of the soldiers, “But a bonus of five sesterces every man who fought today and a flagon of wine for each. The taking of this chieftain is a great triumph for us.”
Castra grinned, then deftly removing the cloak he ripped his victim’s tunic open to better seize the heavy gold torc. As he did so the swell of Valeria’s breasts burst out, for a moment there was a shocked silence, then Castra seized the sides of the tunic and pulled hard. With a ripping sound Valeria’s bosom was revealed, her firm, pert, maidenhood now exposed to all. At once a cry of surprise echoed from the assembled men. Castra undid the clasp of her helmet and pulled it off and as he did so, a cascade of long golden hair fell down.
“’Streuth, our wild stallion is a mare! Let’s have a better look at her; wipe the face clear of that heathen blue.”
Dutifully a soldier complied, revealing the outstanding beauty of the stricken Valeria.
Marcus stood there transfixed, “By the Old Gods. This one truly is a war Goddess in human form, and did you ever see such beauty in a heathen?”
The sight of the fallen woman fascinated him, and while he stood there mesmerised a soldier entered the circle wiping blood from the blade of his slashing sword.
“Job’s done sir. I’ve croaked those two out there, shall I finish this one off as well sir?”
Marcus shook his head. “No soldier, stay your hand I want this one alive, for in truth I have captured a greater prize than I thought.”
His men stood expectantly by, awaiting his next command, then Marcus spoke, “Have the camp woman tend her.” he looked down upon the recumbent figure, “Have her washed and perfume and arraign her like a Roman woman, then bring her to me. She has only been knocked out.”
Castra saluted and left. By now the last of the Roman cavalry were returning, one dragging a corpse behind it on a long rope.
“We thrashed them sir, shall I order a pursuit?”
Marcus thought for a moment then reacted.
“No, let them
return to their camp, they shall be the harbingers of bad news to Boudicca, these defeats are good propaganda victory to us, and there will be much wailing in their camp tonight, I shall burn their village and slaughter the guilty later, But now — let us get back to the safety of the fort in case there are others out there. I shall sweep the area tomorrow and hang any curs I find.”
Report Of The Rape
Suetonius was seated on a stool outside his tent, before him, a messenger stood looking disconsolate. Suetonius was clearly angered, “And you were there Verres and saw this with your own eyes?”
Verres looked at his commander coldly, “I was there sir. I saw it all. It is as I reported it, in violation of your orders.”
Suetonius rose, “Pluto’s blood — and where are they now?” he exploded.
Verres continued, “Afterwards they headed for Londinium, as per your instructions.”
Suetonius’ face creased in anger, “My instructions eh? They can obey the latter part when they make their escape, yet forget the former when it suits them.” He walked a short distance clenching and unclenching his fists. “It was intended to be two men.” He paused. “Two men only, those were my instructions — two men dressed as Brigantes to appear drunk, break in and rape her daughters, right! The rest of the unit to keep guard,” Verres nodded in agreement.
Suetonius looked thoughtful, “So the girls are defiled now, the potential union by marriage to the Catuvellauni and Trinovantes tribes is off you say, and the dowries have been returned.”
He walked to the entrance of the tent and then abruptly turned.
“It would all have been so simple if they had obeyed orders, we intended to tell Boudicca that the men had been returned to Rome for sentence, and would have placated her. Later we would announce once the men were safely out of the country and back in Rome that they had been executed thus and the tribes would remain disunited and the menace to Rome removed.”
