by K. M. Ashman
Those who were too old or stubborn to run held their arms out in recognition, pleading for mercy but any hopes they held were shattered by crushing hooves and spinning blades as the chariots smashed into them. The air was torn asunder by the screams of women and children alike but the riders took no notice and vented their pent up rage on anyone within range. Within minutes the chariots split up and wheeled in two directions, following the ill-defined perimeter to the south and north respectively. Those who had escaped their ferocity, either by luck or subterfuge picked themselves up from the dust and stared after them in shock. For a fleeting moment they thought they had been saved by the gods but soon realised that all hope was lost as they returned their gaze to the oncoming foot soldiers.
The army ripped through the remains of the tented village, slaughtering any who had survived the chariots. The impetus went unabated and within minutes they were at the edge of the town, venting their fury on anyone and anything that moved. Hundreds upon hundreds of warriors followed each other between the wooden buildings as they headed into the town, cutting down everything in their path. Those behind kicked down doors and rampaged through the buildings, murdering man and woman alike in their blood lust. Children suffered a similar fate and babies were thrown from upper windows to be crushed beneath the rampaging army’s feet.
Boudicca’s chariot had pulled up before the main gates and she watched as the main army poured past her. The scythes on her chariot were scarlet from human blood and her spear arm was tired from use.
‘You,’ she shouted toward a passing warrior wearing the colours of the Iceni, ‘Attend me.’
The warrior ran over, his sword still un-blooded.
‘My Queen,’ he gasped, out of breath from the run.
‘Can you drive a team?’
‘I can.’
‘Then climb aboard, I have a task for you.’
Rianna looked at Boudicca in confusion.
‘Boudicca, what are you doing?’
‘Surely you don’t think our part in this day is done,’ said Boudicca, selecting a short handled spear from a scabbard, ‘those who have fallen beneath our wheels are only a symptom of the disease that wracks our country. The infection lies within the streets before us and I for one intend cutting it out. You can join me or chase down those that flee.’
Rianna handed over the reins to the young warrior and drew her sword.
‘I am at your side, my Queen,’ she said with a grin.
Boudicca turned to the warrior.
‘Take my chariot back to the camp. I will see that you are well rewarded for being denied the battle.’
Both women jumped from the chariot and watched it disappear back toward the camp.
‘Ready?’ asked Boudicca.
‘Always,’ said Rianna and both women joined the seemingly never ending ranks of soldiers racing toward the town.
----
The Celtic army descended on the town like a tidal wave, killing everything in its path. The forward ranks of armed men were followed by those bearing makeshift weapons, constructed from whatever they could find. Wooden cudgels or simple skinning knives were borne by younger boys and women alike, each just as desperate to seek not only retribution but the promise of plunder from the stored wealth of the traders. Older men and those who suffered from infirmity also limped along in their wake and the massed ranks of warriors were soon replaced by thousands of ordinary tribal members, spread across the plains as far as the eye could see.
It was this disorganised throng that helped one man merge amongst them without fear of his true identity being found out. Centurion Cassus Maecilius had donned the garb of the Catuvellauni and stayed within the dark shadows at the edge of the enemy camps, listening to campfire talk of the soldiers. Much of the talk was typical soldier bravado but occasionally he picked up a snippet he could possibly use against them but overall, it was more or less what he had expected. Cassus had fought the Britons on many occasions and though this was the first time he had encountered the northern tribes, they seemed very similar to those he had fought for almost twenty years across the south of Britannia.
Cassus had been away from the Legion for five days and was considering returning with what little information he had but something happened that changed his mind. The mood in the camps had changed and the rumour was that Boudicca had arrived and the attack was imminent. The word spread like wildfire and the change in everyone’s mood was tangible. Confirmation soon came in the form of runners from the Queen’s tents, bearing messages from the warlords.
‘Make peace with your gods, for tomorrow we assault Londinium.’
Warriors set to sharpening their swords with renewed vigour and carefully stored rations were used up in feasting to the gods, showing trust that the day would be won. Men made love to their wives with renewed vigour while those still single drank ale and sang battle songs with exaggerated bravado. Throughout the forests, animals were slaughtered in homage to the gods and the mood of the army heightened with anticipation for the coming battle. Few men slept that night and as the ale flowed, Cassus moved freely amongst them, joining in their revelries as if a fellow Celt. By the morning the army was high on alcohol and almost rabid in their eagerness to engage the enemy. Cassus knew this was an opportunity too good to miss for the prospect of being amongst the enemy forces as they assaulted a fixed position was a perfect chance to see them in action and understand their tactics at close hand. The sheer numbers meant that apart from their own clan comrades, most men didn’t know the countless new faces around them and as Cassus spoke the Britannic tongue as well as any native, his presence was never questioned. So it was, that when the second wave of screaming Barbarians reached the outskirts of the Roman trading town, Cassus was deep amongst them, to all intents and purposes, one of Boudicca’s warriors.
----
Deep in the heart of Londinium the news spread like wildfire and the population took to the streets. Crowds jammed the narrow walkways and many were trampled underfoot as they desperately sought escape from the onslaught. The numbers swelled as they flowed back and fore throughout the town, desperately seeking an exit only to find their way blocked by others fleeing the carnage in every direction. Smoke filled the air as Boudicca’s men torched the outskirts of the town and the spring winds helped spread the flames from building to building almost quicker than the hoard could do it themselves.
On the southern edge of the town, the River Tamesas thronged with vessels of every size, each taking advantage of the high tide to carry the rich away from the slaughter. Boats had been ferrying people away from the town for days, most just going to the far side but the larger ones taking the nobles and the rich downstream to the relative safety of the estuary. Vessels of all sizes from rowing boats to trading barges did what they could, each vying for position amongst the horror and the smoke but amongst them all, one ship sat serenely alongside the dock as if immune from the panic.
The ship was a Bireme, a warship of the Roman navy manned by a Contubernium of well-trained marines and another of Legionaries. In addition, a hundred and twenty professional oarsmen sat at their stations within the giant hull, waiting for the command to leave. Their brute strength and practised skills meant that when the command came, they would be midstream within minutes and driving the ship toward the safety of the sea, complete with their important cargo, but each also trained in the use of various weaponry and if there was need of conflict, every man would bear arms in defence of the vessel.
----
Trierachus Verres, the ship’s Captain walked nervously back and fore along the deck. He had been in the Navy for twenty five years and in that time, the gods had been kind to him. He had only seen serious action once and even then, a minor flesh wound from an enemy arrow had meant he spent most of the time below deck with the Medicus, missing the ferocious fighting that had ensued on the shore. Since then, a mixture of guile and fortunate postings had meant his service had been relatively safe and he was only one year fro
m retirement and the journey back home.
He never had a wife but his substantial wealth, accumulated by fair means and foul, meant he was rarely without a bedfellow, either woman or boy and he knew that his father’s inheritance along with his pension, would combine to ensure he enjoyed a comfortable retirement back in Rome. All he had to do was survive this godforsaken posting for one more year.
Verres approached the rail and peered down to the dock side, his face alive with worry.
‘Where is, he?’ he asked for what seemed the hundredth time. ‘He should be here by now.’
‘He will come,’ said a voice beside him and Verres looked over at the ship’s Centurion, Galeo.
‘He should have been here at dawn, Galeo,’ said Verres. ‘Something could have happened to him.’
‘We will wait as long as possible,’ said Galeo. Our orders are clear, to evacuate the Procurator and his entourage from the city.
‘I still can’t believe the Nauarchus gave this man the time of day,’ said Verres. ‘Decianus could have left days ago but instead he has dragged his feet and put one of Rome’s best ships at risk.’
‘The Nauarchus is the fleet commander and his orders are final,’ said Galeo. ‘Besides, I would wager that there’s a nice little reward for providing this ship for the Procurator. Decianus is a very rich and powerful man. It is said he has the ear of the Emperor himself.’
The two men fell silent and watched the crowds milling around the dock. Galeo’s Legionaries and twenty of the Milites from the rowing decks formed a guard around the gangplank, ensuring no desperate refugees tried to access the ship. Smoke billowed across the roof tops and screaming could be heard in the distance.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Verres, ‘If he isn’t here in the next few minutes I will give the order to sail.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ said Galeo.
‘I am the Captain of this ship,’ snarled Verres, ‘and I will do what it takes to keep her safe.’
‘You forget your place, Verres,’ answered the Centurion. ‘As you well know, during conflict, command of this ship transfers to me and it becomes a warship.’
‘We are not in a battle,’ said Verres. ‘Your role remains subordinate.’
‘We are under orders to rescue Roman citizens from a marauding army,’ said Galeo, ‘and this vessel is indeed in danger. If that isn’t a qualifying conflict I don’t know what is. Now stand aside. I am assuming command.’
Verres stifled his angry response for he knew Galeo was right. In times of conflict, each ship’s Centurion assumed command.
‘Optio,’ shouted the Centurion.
Down on the dock, his second in command looked up at him.
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Take ten men and follow that street north and look for the Procurator’s group. Go no further than a thousand paces and if there is no sign, return here immediately. This ship will not leave without you.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ shouted the Optio and within moments, his unit was marching into the city.
Galeo turned to Verres.
‘I have done what I can,’ he said, ‘but this ship stays until I say so. I suggest you ensure the men below are ready to move at a moment’s notice.’
Verres didn’t answer but walked away in silence. There was nothing he could do.
----
Deeper in the town, Decianus was getting frantic. He and his wife were in a litter being carried by twelve slaves and though they had left it quite late before leaving, they had been confident of reaching the ship in time. What they hadn’t allowed for was the sheer number of people in the streets. Decianus lifted the side curtain.
‘What is the hold up?’, he shouted, ‘get a move on.’
‘The crowds are heavy, Sire,’ answered Beacan, the head of the household servants leading the way. ‘It is difficult to get through.’
‘Use your cane,’ shouted Decianus, ‘beat them until they move.’
Suddenly the litter lurched as one of the slaves fell and within moments his fellow bearers all ended up on the floor as they tripped over each other.
Decianus and his wife, Sura lay tangled within the litter, until Beacan reached inside to help them out.
‘Get them up,’ screamed Decianus as soon as he was out, pointing at the injured slaves. ‘Get on your feet you miserable filth.’
As the men struggled to their feet, one stayed down, his ankle obviously broken.
Decianus pulled a riding crop from beneath his robe and started whipping him about the head.
‘Get up,’ he screamed, ‘I will have you crucified for this.’
The cowering man screamed in pain as the crop cut deep into his flesh and the other slaves backed away in fear.
‘Beacan, get them back,’ shouted Decianus. ‘Get this litter upright immediately.’ His tirade was cut short as he felt a hand on his arm and the soft voice of Sura addressing him.
‘Decianus,’ she said, look.
Decianus looked around and saw the crowd had fallen silent. Hundreds of faces stared at him in anger and a clearing had opened up, with him and his entourage at the centre.
‘What are you looking at?’ shouted Decianus. ‘Back off or you will suffer the same fate as this man.’
‘Really?’ shouted a man from the crowd. ‘How many whips do you have, Procurator.’
A well-built man stepped forward and pulled a knife, closely followed by several others.
‘It is his fault we are in this mess,’ shouted another, ‘and if we are to die today, then it is only fair he should share our fate.’
‘Get back,’ shouted Decianus. ‘I am the Procurator and can have you all crucified for this.’
‘Go ahead,’ shouted a voice from the crowd and though there was a nervous laugh, the faces on the crowd were deadly serious.
Sura gripped his arm tighter.
‘Beacan, do something,’ shouted Decianus.
Despite being a Celt, Beacan had spent his entire life in servitude to the Romans and knew no other way of life. His entire existence had revolved around looking after people such as these and at last, this was an opportunity to discard the yolk of slavery. Behind him he could hear the soft sobs of Sura as she realised there was no way out.
Sura had always been kind to him and if it hadn’t been for her, he would have gladly stepped aside but the amount of beatings she had saved him from over the years meant he owed her his protection, even if only for a few futile moments. He pulled the small knife his position of privilege allowed him and stepped forward to stand between the Procurator and the threatening mob, knowing full well he was about to die
‘You heard the man,’ he said, ‘get back.’
For a second the mob paused and then started to laugh.
‘So what do you intend to do with that pig sticker?’ shouted a man. ‘Kill us all? Get out of the way, man. Let this Roman and his whore get what they deserve.’
For a few moments nothing happened but finally one of the men started forward, blade in hand but before he reached Beacan, a commotion to one side made them all turn in panic. At first they thought Boudicca’s army had reached them but were proved wrong when a unit of heavily armed Legionaries broke through the crowd and into the clearing.
‘Soldiers,’ Shouted Decianus, ‘thank the gods.’
‘What’s happening here?’ shouted the Optio as his men formed a loose perimeter facing the crowd.
‘They threatened us,’ said Decianus, ‘kill them.’
‘With respect, Sire,’ answered the Optio, ‘we are but a Contubernium, not a Legion. We are outnumbered and the ship is about to sail. We have to get out of here.’
Despite the shock of the arrival of the soldiers, the crowd soon realised they were only ten strong and the mood darkened once more.
‘They are but a hand full,’ shouted the main protagonist and there are a thousand of us. ‘We will probably die today anyway, let’s take some Romans with us.’
The Romans drew their sw
ords, forcing the crowd back once more.
‘Sire, do you have anything of value on you?’ asked the Optio.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Decianus.
‘Coins, jewellery, anything of value.’
‘No,’ said the Procurator.
‘Yes we do,’ said Sura, contradicting her husband. ‘You have the monthly tribute from the traders.’
‘Sura, shut up,’ said Decianus. ‘I will not give a fortune to barbarians.’
‘It is that or die,’ said the Optio. ‘Choose quickly for I will not let my men die needlessly for a rich dead man.’
Decianus still paused but Sura reached around her neck and removed a beautiful gold necklace encrusted with precious stones.
‘Here,’ she said, ’take this, the rings too. It is all I have but Decianus has a purse of golden coins beneath his robe.’
The Optio stared at the Procurator.
‘Rich and dead, or poor and alive. Your choice.’
‘I will have you whipped for this,’ growled Decianus and reached beneath his robe to retrieve two large leather pouches. He handed them over and the Optio cut away the leather ties before addressing his men.
‘On my mark, we head back to the ship,’ he said and turned to Decianus. ‘In a moment, my men will cut a hole through the crowd behind us. We will form a square with you at its centre. Stay with us and do not falter. I am about to buy us some time but they will be behind us within seconds. Are you ready?’
Decianus and Sura nodded silently.
‘Right, get ready.’ He turned to the soldiers.
‘Prepare to move,’ he shouted, ‘Hollow square formation, double time.’
Opening the purse necks wide, he poured the gold coins into his hands and scattered them into the crowd.
For a moment nothing happened but within seconds there was pandemonium as people fell over each other in their panic to get rich.
The Optio threw the last of the coins into the crowd before turning to his men once more.
