by K. M. Ashman
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Back in Londinium, Galeo heard the returning patrol before he saw them. The sound of the Optio’s voice rang out over the general sound of panic, demanding the crowd clear the way or suffer the consequences.
Verres waddled to the Centurion’s side and stared over the crowd.
‘At last,’ he said, ‘now we can get out of here.’
‘Prepare to raise the plank,’ shouted Galeo, ‘release the ropes. Verres, pass the word below, ready the oars.’
The ship burst into frantic activity and men ran everywhere preparing the ship to sail.
‘The wind is favourable,’ shouted Verres, ‘stand by the sail.’
The crowd on the dock parted before the oncoming squad of Romans. In their midst, Galeo could see the Procurator, his wife and one of his household. There was no sign of the others. He watched as they climbed up the gangplank and onto the deck, closely followed by all the remaining guards from the dock.
‘Raise the plank, shouted Galeo. ‘Verres, get us out of here.’ He walked over to the group, all catching their breath from the sustained run.
‘Procurator Catus Decianus,’ he said, ‘I am Centurion Galeo and have been tasked with your transport to a place of safety. Welcome on board the Minerva.’
‘Good to be here, soldier,’ said Decianus.
‘Sire, I thought there would be more in your group.’
‘My fellows left a few days ago,’ said Decianus. ‘I had to stay to call in some debts before leaving.’
‘Really?’ said Galeo. ‘They must have been important to risk your life so.’
‘They were,’ said Decianus, ‘not that it’s any of your business.’
‘And your staff?’ asked Galeo.
‘Mere Britons,’ said Decianus. ‘I left them behind. Plenty more slaves in Rome.’
‘They will probably be killed,’ said Galeo.
Decianus stopped and stared at him.
‘Listen, Centurion,’ he said, ‘I appreciate you sending your men for us but my business is exactly that, my business. I answer to the Senate only not some jumped up street rat who kills for money. The slaves were mine to do with as I please and today, I chose to let them die. Now get out of my way.’
The Procurator barged past the soldier and headed toward the Captain’s tent at the far end of the deck. Galeo felt the ship lurch as the first pull of the oarsmen powered the Bireme toward the centre of the river but before they had gone more than a few lengths, a voice cried out from the dock.
‘Procurator Decianus, please take me with you.’
Galeo turned and saw a woman running along the bank.
‘Who is she?’ asked Galeo.
The Optio shrugged his shoulders.
‘One of his whores I expect.’
‘It’s Cara,’ said a voice, ‘Sura’s handmaiden. She must have followed us through Londinium.’
Galeo turned and saw Beacan, the Procurator’s head of household standing behind them.
‘We have to help her,’ continued Beacan. ‘Can we take the ship in?’
‘We will do no such thing,’ shouted Decianus overhearing the conversation. ‘Captain, keep to your course.’
‘But Sire,’ answered Beacan, ‘she has been a loyal servant to you and your house for years. Surely you owe her something.’
The Procurators’ eyes blazed with anger at the slave’s impudence and he walked forward until he stood toe to toe with Beacan.
‘I owe her nothing,’ he said. ‘I own her as I own you. How dare you raise your voice to me.’
‘But Sire…’
‘Shut your filthy slave mouth,’ growled Decianus, ‘I am speaking. Now turn around.’
Beacan turned and stared out over the rail toward the shore and the still running girl.
‘That slave is nothing to me,’ said Decianus, ‘I throw away rotten food that is worth more to me than her. Do you understand?’
Beacan remained silent.
‘She is worthless to me and is easily replaced, as indeed are you. Long service does not earn you loyalty, Beacan, it is simply a measure of my kindness that I allowed you to stay. However, I am not an unreasonable man and in this case I will make an exception. You are no longer of use to me Beacan. You can go.’
‘Sire, I do not understand,’ said Beacan.
‘It’s not difficult,’ said Decianus, ‘I am setting you free. Go and join her.’
Beacan was sweating in fright at the implications.
‘Sire, I can’t swim,’ he said.
‘Not my problem,’ said Decianus before turning to the two nearest soldiers.
‘Seize him,’ he said.
The men grabbed Beacan and held him fast.
‘It’s very simple,’ said Decianus approaching him, ‘reach the bank and you and that whore can set up a nice little slum somewhere and rut to your heart’s content.’
‘But Sire,’ shouted Beacan, his voice shaking with fear.
‘Throw him overboard,’ shouted Decianus.
The two soldiers dragged the struggling man to the rail but just before they pushed him over, Decianus called out again.
‘Wait.’
Everyone stopped and the Procurator walked up close to the servant.
‘I forgot to give you something for your journey,’ he said.
‘Please let me go, Sire,’ pleaded the slave, ‘I will not survive the river.’
‘Too late, Beacan,’ said Decianus, ‘but before you go I have a gift for you.’
‘A gift?’
‘Yes, this,’ he said and plunged a knife into the man’s stomach.
Beacan gasped in pain and his eyes widened.
‘Do it,’ said Decianus and watched as the two soldiers threw the mortally wounded man over the side.
Decianus looked over the rail and started laughing as Beacan struggled in the current.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing excitedly, ‘he’s actually trying to swim.’ He clapped his hands in glee as the ship left the man far behind. ‘Good luck, Beacan,’ he shouted, ‘I hope you enjoy your freedom.’
When the slave finally disappeared from view he turned around and saw everybody on the upper deck looking at him in disgust.
‘What are you staring at?’ he shouted, ‘I am the Procurator of Londinium and my word is law. Get back to your duties.’
For a few moments nobody moved but finally Centurion Galeo’s voice rang out across the deck.
‘You heard the Procurator,’ he said, ‘there is work to be done. Get to it. Trierachus Verres, take us to Rutupiae.’
‘Wait,’ said Decianus, ‘our destination has changed.’
Both Galeo and Verres turned to stare at the Procurator
‘Sire, we were told to take you to Rutupiae,’ said Galeo. ‘Though Governor Suetonnius is in the field, he has ordered a temporary headquarters set up at the port. He will surely want to meet you there when the conflict is over.’
‘I have no intention of meeting Suetonius,’ said Decianus, ‘and my passage has been approved by men of high station within the senate. My orders are clear, Centurion, take me to Gaul.’
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Chapter Twenty One
The Trading Town of Londinium.
The evening sky glowed red, reflecting the raging fires below. Screams of pain echoed through the night and warriors rampaged through the streets, killing at will. Cassus watched from the shadows as the city fell around him. The carnage was total and drunken warriors used the bodies of the dead as temporary resting places. Everywhere Cassus looked, the population were being rounded up and tortured or killed in every way imaginable. Women were passed from man to man for their sexual gratification, while orphaned children ran crying through the streets, often silenced by a blade before they had gone too far. But rape and murder were the lesser evils for the residents of Londinium, for those who were proved to have Roman blood suffered far worse. Roman men were nailed to doors and had their knees smashed, while others were genitally mutilated and left
to die a slow and lingering death. The women were gang raped by the warriors before being killed but that was nothing compared to the fate suffered by those left to the barbarian women. At first the Roman women were just killed with knives or strangulation but as the night continued, the degradation increased and many had their breasts hacked off and made to run naked through the streets. Some even had parts of their breasts stuffed into their mouths and their lips sewn together, watched by hysterical, drunken crowds. The longer the night progressed, the more varied the torture became and both women and men were impaled on wooden stakes driven between their legs, before being hoisted high above the crowds as macabre trophies. Others were covered with animal fats and used as living torches to light the squares where the atrocities took place.
Through all this, Cassus maintained his detachment. He had seen such things before and there was nothing one man could do to stop the horror. It was as if he had stepped into Hades itself. Finally he had seen enough and made his way back toward the edge of the city but as he walked down a darkened alley, a man lurched out of the smoke and fell against him. Both men fell to the floor and though Cassus immediately rolled away and drew his Pugio, it soon became evident he was in no danger.
‘Please, help me,’ gasped the man.
Cassus paused, waiting for his heart beat to steady once more.
The man scrambled to his knees.
‘Please,’ he said, holding out both arms, ‘whoever you are, please help me.’
Cassus squinted in the fire lit gloom, seeing dark shadows on the man’s face.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked.
‘My eyes,’ said the man, ‘they have taken my eyes.’
Cassus realised the shadows were the blood stains and remains of soft tissue hanging down the man’s face.
‘They tore them out,’ sobbed the man, ‘with their bare hands then let me go. I can’t see, please help me.’
‘Why you?’ asked Cassus. ‘What link do you have with the Romans?’
‘Nothing,’ cried the man, ‘I was enslaved to those filth. You don’t understand, I had no choice but to serve. Please you have to help me.’
‘You call them filth?’ said Cassus walking around the man.
‘Yes,’ gasped the man, his head turning as he tried to locate where Cassus’s voice was coming from. ‘I recognise your accent, friend. I too am of the Catuvellauni. We are brothers, you and I. We above all know the weight of Roman oppression and you must believe me, though I was a slave, I did everything I could to make their lives hell.’
‘Like what?’ asked Cassus.
‘Small things,’ said the man, ‘I stole their food and pissed in the wine. Sometimes I even poisoned the horses. Over the years it must have cost them a small fortune. See, I am a true Briton and I need your help. Please take me from here and let me speak to your Queen. She will understand.’
‘I have no Queen,’ said Cassus quietly. ‘I have an Emperor.’
The man’s head turned in confusion.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘I thought…’
‘You thought wrong,’ said Cassus. ‘I am not a Briton but a Roman, perhaps even one of those who drank your piss-laced wine.’
‘I didn’t mean it,’ gasped the man, ‘I was lying, I thought you were one of the attackers.’
‘Enough,’ shouted Cassus. ‘I have heard enough of your lies.’
‘What are you going to do?’ sobbed the man.
‘You are in luck,’ said Cassus, ‘I have seen enough cruelty for one night. I have no intention of leaving you here to wander in permanent darkness.’
‘You’re not,’ sobbed the man.
‘No, it would be barbaric and Romans are not Barbarians.’
‘What do you intend to do?’ asked the man with renewed hope.
‘I will help you see again,’ said Cassus.
‘But…that’s impossible,’ said the man.
‘It is in this life,’ said Cassus, ‘but I have no doubt your gods will allow you your sight in the next.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said the man but before he could say anything else, Cassus grabbed his hair from behind and pulled back his head, exposing his throat.
‘Accept my mercy,’ barbarian’ said Cassus, ‘your suffering is over.’ His knife sliced deep through the blind man’s throat and Cassus pushed him forward into the mud.
The man’s hands clawed at the wound as his blood spurted between his fingers but within moments his struggles ended and Cassus wiped his blade on the dead man’s tunic before disappearing into the darkness.
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Three days later Boudicca stood at the edge of the forest, looking back at Londinium. The town was still smouldering and crows argued over the scarred remnants of the population. The smell of the fires reached her on the breeze and countless spires of smoke climbed up into the morning air.
The fields before her were littered with thousands of smaller fires but not from destruction, these were the fires of her army, built in the open for the first time since the call to arms. Their numbers were growing daily and for the first time there was a feeling of invincibility about them. They had defeated a Legion and destroyed two of the most important Roman population centres in Britannia.
Rianna rode up on a horse and dismounted before her.
‘Boudicca, it is a momentous morning.’
‘It has merit,’ agreed Boudicca.
‘Merit worth shouting to the gods,’ said Rianna, ‘another blow dealt to the invader. Suetonnius must be quaking in his boots as we speak, as must any of Roman descent throughout this country.’
‘This campaign has just begun,’ said Boudicca. ‘We should not get carried away celebrating victories in battles not yet fought.’
‘A fair point,’ said Rianna, ‘but we should still enjoy those that have been won.’
‘How are the men?’ asked Boudicca.
‘Nursing their hangovers and counting the spoils,’ said Rianna, ‘the storerooms of the traders were generous.’
‘I thought as much,’ said Boudicca. ‘What about casualties?’
‘No more than a hundred,’ said Rianna, ‘and half of them were from fights within our own ranks.’
‘A curse of the victorious,’ said Boudicca.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘If we are not careful those who have gained the most will return back to their lands while those with the least will covet their spoils and seek to gain them for themselves. Gold can be destructive as a blade.’
‘It is our way,’ said Rianna. ‘There isn’t much you can do about it.’
‘Yes there is,’ said Boudicca, ‘we can keep up the momentum. Summon the warlords.’
Rianna mounted her horse and galloped away while Boudicca continued to stare down at the devastated city.
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An hour later, Boudicca stood in a clearing along with almost fifty tribal chiefs, some of whom she hadn’t met before.
‘Fellow Britons,’ she said. ‘I call you here first to pay homage to you. Your blades have again proved the better of our enemy and the Tamesas runs red with Roman blood. The gods sing of our victories and more people flock to our cause every day.’
‘A bloody few days,’ answered one.
‘Yet profitable,’ said another and the whole group burst out laughing.
‘Both descriptions are true,’ said Boudicca, ‘and our people deserve to enjoy the celebrations, but we must call them to an end and press forward.’
‘What’s the rush?’ asked a voice.
‘The rush is to ensure the enemy have no time to consolidate and build their defences’ said Boudicca.’ We have them on the run and it is important that situation remains. I have been informed that many fled to Verulamium and sought refuge there. Verulamium is yet another city that has been infested by their touch and many ex Legionaries who have completed their service now call that place home.’
‘Surely it can wait,’ shouted a voice.
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‘No it can’t,’ said Boudicca. ‘We no longer have surprise on our side. As we speak, they will be building their defences and the better their defences, the more of our people will die in the assault. Verulamium is an important target and we can’t afford to leave it behind us or it will become a focal point for reorganisation. So I ask you, tell your men to replace the stoppers in their wine jugs, sharpen their blades and march on Verulamium without delay.’
‘Don’t forget,’ added Rianna, ‘Verulamium is heavily populated by retired Legionaries and as such, is rich in gold and spices. Londinium’s wealth was but pennies in comparison.’
The possibility of a richer plunder made many of the men listen harder and Boudicca glanced at Rianna with gratitude.
‘Rianna is right,’ said Boudicca. ‘Already clan argues with clan over the sharing of the spoils but they need not do so. Take Verulamium and there will be enough for all, irrespective of allegiance.’
‘What about the Legions?’ asked one of the men.
‘They hide like frightened children,’ said Boudicca, ‘and after we have taken Verulamium, we will turn our attentions on them. Tribes flock to our banner by the day and even if the Romans combine all their Legions to face us in battle, they will be swatted like flies. So what say you?’ shouted Boudicca. ‘Do we sit and drink at the destruction of a mere trading town, or do we face the walls of Verulamium as a liberating army and send a statement to Rome they will never forget.’
The gathered men shouted their allegiance once more and for the next few hours, Boudicca outlined her plans. By midday, they had left to join their own clans, all agreed that the following morning, they would march on Verulamium.
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Chapter Twenty Two
The Gemina Fort
Suetonius stood on the Palisade of the fort and watched the lone rider approach. The very fact that the rider had got within a mile meant he was Roman and the outer patrols had let him through.
‘It’s Cassus,’ he said quietly to the Tribune at his side. ‘Have a hot meal prepared, I am guessing he will be hungry.’ The Legate clambered down to the fort floor.
‘Open the gates,’ he ordered, ‘the Primus Pilus returns.’
