by K. M. Ashman
‘What of the Ninth?’ he asked.
‘No news,’ said Suetonius. ‘We can only assume they weren’t able to get there in time. If they had, Petillius would have crushed this bitch.’
‘Perhaps they were already there,’ said Cassus, voicing the obvious thought both men harboured.
‘No,’ said Suetonius eventually. ‘That is impossible. The Hispana are good against ten times their number.’
‘Until we get confirmation, I suggest we assume the worst,’ said Cassus, ‘and march the men at double time to offer relief.’
‘The arrangements have already been made,’ said Suetonius. ‘The auxiliaries are riding out as we speak and we will be rid of this Cerrig within the hour. What is the mettle of your men, Cassus? Can they do a fifteen day march in ten?’
‘We will do it in seven,’ said Cassus.
‘From any other man I would see that as an empty boast but from you, I see it as a fact. Lead us out, Primus Pilus. I feel our Legion needs your example now more than ever.’
Cassus saluted and marched away, his demeanour completely changed.
‘Centurions to me,’ he roared and from all around the Cerrig, the experienced soldiers ran to hear his orders.
‘Listen carefully,’ he shouted when they were gathered around him. ‘The Ninth may be in trouble and we are the nearest available relief. Tell the men to tighten their straps and prepare for double pace. We will march harder than we ever have before and cover twice as much distance. Any stragglers will be left at the wayside until the following carts can pick them up but we will not leave any guards. I want each man to carry two extra water bottles in their pack and an extra ration of Buccellatum. Erase the memory of yesterday’s battle for it is done. Our comrades need us now and I will not let them down. Now get back to your men, we march within the hour and will not stop until we share the Ninth’s campfires. Now move.’
The Centurions ran back to their commands and within seconds, their raised voices combined to echo around the stone fortress. The mood changed drastically and the Legion’s hangovers were replaced with what it knew best, military efficiency.
----
Gerrilius opened his eyes slowly. Despite the injury to his head and his desperate need to sleep, he hadn’t lasted this long in Rome’s army without developing a sixth sense, often the only difference between life and death. Today was no different. A movement to one side caught his eye and he threw himself sideways just as Finian lunged toward him with the sharpened branch.
Gerrilius’ training kicked in and as he rolled away he reached for his Gladius but though his assault had missed, Finian’s desperation meant he was just as quick and he pounced on the wounded Roman in a manic fit of rage.
For a few moment’s Finian dominated the surprised Roman and they grappled in eerie silence, each desperate for an opening to better the other but within a minute the Roman’s greater strength and better training told and he punched the Celt hard in the face, making him fall dazed to one side.
Gerrilius staggered to his feet and drew his blood stained Gladius before limping over to the still dazed Finian.
‘Is that all you have?’ he spat, ‘I am insulted.’
Finian was on his back on the floor, looking up at the giant Roman, knowing full well that he had blown his one chance and there was no chance of mercy.
‘Despite my death, you are still defeated, Roman,’ he said. ‘It is just a matter of time.’
Gerrilius stepped forward to plunge his Gladius into the Celt’s gut but as he did, his sixth sense once more screamed a warning, though this time it was a second too late.
With a primeval roar, Taliesin launched himself onto the Roman’s back and before the soldier could respond, smashed a fist sized boulder against the existing injury on the side of the man’s head.
The resulting scream of pain matched the intensity of Taliesin’s and the Roman dropped to his knees, blinded by the lightning bolts of agony bouncing around his head. Taliesin fell away and looked on in horror as the man held his head in his hands, screaming in pain as his shattered skull cut into his damaged brain.
‘Taliesin,’ shouted Finian, ‘get his sword.’
Taliesin looked over in a daze, as if his friend was talking a foreign language.
‘What?’
‘His sword!’ screamed Finian, ‘quickly before it’s too late.’
Taliesin saw the sword lying amongst the leaf litter and bent to pick it up.
‘Kill him,’ shouted Finian. ‘Stick the bastard before he comes to his senses.’
Taliesin walked forward and stood before the kneeling Roman who was still groaning in pain.
‘Do it,’ screamed Finian. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Gerrilius slowly lifted his head and stared at the young man before him yet still Taliesin hesitated. Finally the mortally wounded Roman broke the silence between them and spoke in the Britannic language.
‘Do it boy,’ he said, ‘I am done.’
Without a pause Taliesin drove the Gladius through the Roman’s eye socket and deep into his brain. The soldier gasped in pain before falling to the floor, writhing in his final death throes.
Taliesin watched him die as Finian limped up beside him.
‘Thank the gods,’ he said.’ For a second there, I thought you weren’t going to do it. It was almost as if you haven’t killed a man before.’
Taliesin looked up at his comrade but said nothing.
‘I don’t believe it, said Finian, ‘with all your brave talk, I thought you had killed hundreds.’
‘One or a hundred,’ said Taliesin, ‘what does it matter?’
‘Nothing I suppose,’ said Finian, ‘now come on, let’s see if he has any food. With all that racket this place could be swarming with Romans within minutes. We have to get out of here.’
----
Chapter Fourteen
The Lands of the Iceni
Rianna was sitting in the back of a covered cart having her wound dressed by one of the Shaman. Boudicca sat alongside the temporary bed containing the sleeping form of Lannosea, gently smoothing her daughter’s hair.
‘How is she?’ aske Rianna.
‘The mind demons plague her,’ said Boudicca with sadness. ‘The Shaman have invoked the gods’ blessings and drenched her with the dream smoke but she still suffers.’
‘Has she spoken since the battle?’ asked Rianna.
‘No,’ said Boudicca. ‘The last few days she has spent little time outside the cart and stares into the distance. Who knows what horrors beset her.’
‘What about Heanua?’
‘Her demons are conquered,’ said Boudicca. ‘She throws herself into swordplay with our warriors alongside the best of them. She craves the opportunity to blood her blade again and I fear her anger may prove her downfall.’
‘It is her way of dealing with it,’ said Rianna. ‘I would let the girl embrace her anger and do what she has to do.’
Boudicca nodded in silence.
‘I just wish Lannosea could find her way through,’ she sighed, looking down at her youngest daughter. When it was obvious the young girl was finally asleep, Boudicca crossed the rocking wagon and sat opposite her friend before looking out at the wagon train behind them stretching back as far as the eye could see.
‘The army grows bigger every day,’ said Boudicca. ‘We have to be careful it does not grow so big it can’t be sustained. ‘
‘The villages give what they can,’ said Rianna, ‘but many are still going hungry.’
‘It is a worry,’ said Boudicca. ‘We have almost thirty thousand men at arms under our banner and the same number pledged from the other tribes. We cannot afford to wait too long or our warriors will drift off to the comfort of their clans. ‘
‘So what is your plan, Boudicca? Do you intend to assault one of their fortresses?’
‘To what end?’ asked Boudicca. ‘Their permanent forts are well defended and we are no experts in siege warfare. Behind palisade
s I feel they will provide a resistance too great. No, what we need to do is lure them out into the open where our numbers can be brought to bear.’
‘And how do you intend to do that?’
‘By denying them the comforts to which they have become accustomed. Hit them where it hurts and deny them the goods they rely on so much.’
‘Their supply lines?’ asked Rianna.
‘No,’ said Boudicca. ‘The supply lines are but veins in the Roman body, we need to cut out the heart.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What is the biggest trading town in Britannia?’ asked Boudicca.
‘Londinium,’ said Rianna.
‘Londinium,’ agreed Boudicca. ‘Almost all of their supplies are shipped up the river Tamesas and the town has become an essential hub in their strategy. Deny them access to this and their whole campaign will falter.’
‘You mean to attack the ports?’
‘Oh no, Rianna, the ports are just the doorways. If we are to do this we need to wipe out the entire city. By doing so, we will force them to tighten their belts while filling our own food wagons. There is food enough in Londinium to sustain our campaign for many months. It is the obvious choice.’
‘But the population,’ said Rianna, ‘surely there as many Britons as Romans.’
‘Perhaps so, but most suck the breast of the Roman Empire and grow fat on the labour of our brothers. Those that bent their knee have made their choice and will pay the price of servitude.’
‘Have you shared this with the clan leaders?’
‘Some but not all. I have sent word to those tribes who have yet to join us. This is a chance to strike at the Roman heart and we cannot risk defeat. Take Londinium and the Romans will shake in fear behind their palisades.’
‘What about defences?’ asked Rianna.
‘Minimal,’ said Boudicca. ‘I have questioned many who have been there. Londinium was a mere village just ten years ago but the deep Tamesas has enabled it to grow at a pace that quickly outgrew any defences it may have once had. It is an open city populated by traders, traitors and the roman gentry who rake in the coin for distributing the supplies. I hear tell of Roman women being carried on litters as if they were in Rome itself while their husbands drink and whore as if they owned the country.’
‘When do you plan the attack?’ asked Rianna.
‘As soon as we have the commitment of the other tribes,’ said Boudicca. ‘A few days rest and then we will move south. By my reckoning we can be at the outskirts of the city within ten days.’
Rianna nodded.
‘Then I have a favour to ask,’ she said. ‘My wound is healing and I ask your agreement to join in the assault.’
‘Can you wield your sword?’ asked Boudicca.
‘I can,’ said Rianna, ‘and though there is still an ache, ten days practise will strengthen my arm. Against fat traders it will be more than enough to prevail.’
Boudicca nodded.
‘You above all have shared this journey with me, Rianna. The city is rich with plunder and while it is right our people will share the wealth, it is only fair that you too, share in the spoils.’
‘The only wealth I seek is that afforded by retribution,’ said Rianna. ‘My sword arm grows stronger by the day but my spirit aches at the humiliation I suffered at Roman hands. It too needs to heal.’
‘Then heal it will,’ said Boudicca. ‘You will join me in the assault and heal your spirit with the blood of Romans.’
The wagon train ground to a halt and a warrior appeared around the back of the covered cart.
‘My Queen,’ he said. ‘The lead carts have reached the river junction.’
‘Good,’ said Boudicca. ‘Tell our people to make camp, we will rest here for a few days. Deploy scouts on the hills all around us. I want to know about anyone approaching hours before they arrive, no matter who they are. Any sign of enemy troops, sound the alarm immediately.’
The warrior saluted and ran off to give the orders.
‘Come,’ said Boudicca to Rianna. ‘There are other arrangements to be made. I will arrange to deploy the carts throughout the forest and send out hunting parties. You send riders to the local villages and ask them to furnish whatever food they can spare, including cattle. We have an army to feed.’
‘Boudicca,’ said Rianna as the Queen jumped from the cart.
Boudicca turned to look at her friend of many years
‘Tell me what is in your heart,’ said Rianna. ‘Do you really believe we can do this?’
Boudicca paused before answering.
‘I believe this is our greatest chance,’ she said. ‘Our army grows by the day and we have already defeated an entire Legion, a feat unheard of even in the days of the great Caratacus. Only the gods know the outcome but I fear nothing they can send against us. There are but three Legions left in Britannia and even if Suetonius fielded all three, I feel our numbers are too great. This is our time, Rianna, the fight back has begun.’
----
Petillius opened his eyes, struggling to realise where he was. As a Legate he was used to waking beneath covers of clean furs, in a tent warmed by a fire pot but today was different. Today he shivered as he woke and blinked the cold rain from his face. The dawn was just breaking and he soon remembered he was still on the palisade alongside his men. His scarlet cloak now lay sodden around his shoulders, clinging to his Lorica Segmentata, the bronze ceremonial armour he had donned before the battle in anticipation of total victory. Usually it was a stunning burnished emblem of Rome’s authority but now it was just a cold weight against his chest, a humbling reminder of the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the Warrior Queen.
More survivors of the battle had trickled into the camp through the night and while their needs were tended by the one surviving Medicus, those who had been there for almost two days stared at the threatening forest edge in anticipation. There was agreement that Boudicca would surely follow the retreating Romans and administer the final annihilation on the remaining hundred or so survivors who had made it back to the fort, so every available man had stayed at their posts for twenty four hours, taking it in turns to sleep and eat. Despite his station, Petillius had taken his share of the load and had stood alongside the lower ranks as comrade rather than Legatus, a sign of the shared camaraderie of his Legion.
‘Sire,’ said a voice and Petillius looked up at the young officer he had berated the previous day. Tribune Dellus was holding a heavy waxed coat with fur lined hood in one hand and a tankard of something hot in the other.
‘Dellus,’ he said. ‘You look as bad as I feel. Have you slept?’
‘A little,’ said the officer. ‘While you were sleeping, I rounded up some of the walking wounded and made a broth. There isn’t much but it is hearty and will warm you up.’
‘Have all the men been fed?’
‘Most of them,’ said Dellus. ‘The last will make their way down as soon as they are relieved. There is enough for all.’
Petillius turned to sit with his back against the Palisade wall before accepting the tankard of broth. Carefully he sipped at the meaty liquid, enjoying the heat as it made its way to the pit of his stomach. Dellus produced a hunk of bread from beneath his cloak and waited patiently as his commanding officer ate hungrily, the first hot meal he had eaten for three days.
‘It’s good,’ said the Legate eventually, ‘and welcomed by the men no doubt.’
Dellus didn’t answer and the Legate saw his eyes were sunk deep within his face.
‘How much sleep have you had?’ he asked, ‘and be honest.’
‘There was much to be done, Sire. There will be time to sleep when I am dead.’
Petillius stared for a moment while chewing the last of his bread. The young man had a lot to learn but he seemed made of the right stuff. Finally the Legate stood up and unclipped the sodden red cape before throwing it to the camp floor below.
‘Help me with this,’ he said and Dellus unclipped the
heavy bronze breast plate, watching in surprise as this too was discarded to the mud below.
‘Sire, you may need that before the day is out.’
‘A shiny plaything in times of dominance,’ said Petillius. ‘If I am required to fight for my life, I would prefer the freedom of chain mail.’ He took the waxed cloak from the officer and threw it around his shoulders, already welcoming the instant warmth its weight brought. ‘First I will talk to the men at the palisade. They have shown great fortitude these past three days and they need their Legate amongst them.’
‘I understand, Sire,’ said the young officer and turned to leave.
‘Dellus,’ said Petillius, ‘once the last of the men have been fed you will get some rest. At times like these, men show their real mettle and yours will not go unrewarded. You are dismissed.’
‘But Sire,’ started Dellus.
‘But nothing,’ said Petillius. ‘Our numbers are few and the men need strong leadership. Before this is settled I will no doubt have need of your council and your support. You are a Roman officer and as such your leadership will be required in the next few days. You are no good to me exhausted. Now finish your task and get some rest. That is an order.’
‘Thank you, Sire,’ said Dellus and continued to his task.
Petillius fastened the cloak and spent the next hour walking the earthen ramparts of the Palisade. As he went he talked quietly with the men on duty, thanking them for their fortitude and giving calm assurance that the situation was manageable. The look on many of their faces reflected the shock they felt at the extent of their defeat. Losing a battle was never a good thing but the extent of the rout had affected them to the core. The Legion had been routed and the hundred or so in the camp were all that were left from a strength of over five thousand. It had been slaughter. Finally Petillius descended to the fort floor and made his way to his command tent. Though he was tired, he knew there was much to do. They couldn’t just stay here and wait to be overrun, they had to take the initiative. Quite what that was, he had no idea but he knew he had to make a plan, and make it soon.
