by K. M. Ashman
‘No, we are three thousand strong though we are joined by the survivors of the Ninth Hispana. A unit not exceeding a hundred men.’
‘Does Petillius live?’
‘He does, Sire and has taken temporary command of the Vexillation. He is hungry for retribution and awaits your orders.’
‘Tell Petillius to continue north west until he reaches a wide river,’ said Suetonius. ‘Go firm there and we will join him as soon as possible.’
‘I also have news of a graver nature,’ said the man. ‘It is said that Verulamium burns and everyone within has been slaughtered.’
Suetonius glanced at Cassus before shaking his head.
‘There is nothing we can do,’ he said. ‘We continue with the plan.’
‘Shouldn’t we send a patrol to see if there is anything we could do?’ asked the rider.
‘No, we will need every man if this madness is to be brought to an end. Verulamium is lost to us. Tell Petillius we will join forces before the sun sets tomorrow and make a stand against this woman.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said the man and turned his horse to return to his unit. Within moments they were galloping away across the plains.
‘Events are closing in fast,’ said Cassus.
‘They are,’ said Suetonius, ‘and truth be told, it is a situation I welcome. It is time we steeled our hearts and showed this woman the real strength of Rome.’
----
Prydain and Heulwen lay hidden in the bracken, cold and tired from their long day’s hunting. So far they had managed to get nothing more than a wood pigeon but finally they had struck lucky as less than fifty paces away was a deer grazing at the edge of the forest. Slowly they crawled forward, each desperate to fell the creature that would feed their party for several days. Finally they slipped into a ditch, out of sight of the animal.
‘Stay here,’ whispered Heulwen, removing the wrapped bow from her back. ‘I will get closer on my own.’
‘I am no stranger to hunting, Heulwen,’ said Prydain.
‘We can’t afford to get this wrong and with two of us there is twice as much chance of being noticed.’
‘You flatter yourself,’ said Prydain but sat back as Heulwen strung her bow. She peered over the lip of the ditch.
‘Still there,’ she said. ‘I will go up as far as that bush. It is downwind and from there I should get a clear shot.’
Prydain watched her crawl over the edge and adjusted his position to watch events unfold. It was essential the hunt was successful as the group was out of meat and the heavy Roman presence in the area meant they couldn’t risk entering a village to buy supplies. Despite his jibe, he was well aware of Heulwen’s prowess as a hunter and her skills with both bow and knife were unrivalled. Truth be told, he had no doubt her aim would be true and they would dine again on venison that night.
Heulwen crept forward, keeping as low as possible. Inch by inch she covered the ground, pausing only when the deer looked up nervously.
‘Steady,’ whispered Prydain to himself as she took aim but he knew there was no way she would miss from that range. Suddenly the deer’s head flew up startled at some unseen danger.
‘Shoot,’ gasped Prydain again, even though he knew Heulwen was too far away to hear but despite the imminent flight of the deer, Heulwen lowered her bow and stood up. Immediately the deer bolted and Prydain cursed out loud before running over to join Heulwen.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he shouted, ‘you could have taken that deer easily.’
‘Forget the deer,’ said Heulwen without facing him, ‘look there.’
Prydain followed her gaze and at first thought there was a grass fire out on the plains but after a few moments he could make out that what he thought was smoke was actually dust. Dust from the feet of tens of thousands of marching people.
‘Who do you think it is?’ asked Heulwen.
‘There is only one army as big as that in Britannia,’ said Prydain, ‘it has to be Boudicca and it looks as if they are travelling with purpose. Come on, we have to go.’
‘Where?’ asked Heulwen.
‘To get the others,’ said Prydain. ‘If Taliesin is anywhere, he is amongst that throng. I think it is about time we joined the cause.’
The two ran back through the woods to get the rest of the men while back on the plains, a team of four black horses pulled a chariot holding a Britannic Queen at the head of an army over a hundred thousand strong.
----
Taliesin and Finian walked through the depths of the forest leading a horse carrying the exhausted Lannosea. They had found the horse earlier that morning standing by its dead rider, a Roman cavalry man with three arrows in his back and since then their pace had quickened. The further they went, the more people they saw in the woods, each making their way as fast as possible in the opposite direction but every attempt to make conversation was ignored as the refugees concentrated on their plight. Finally a woman and child passed close enough for Finian to run her down.
‘Please don’t hurt us,’ screamed the woman, covering her young child with her body.
‘Why would I hurt you?’ asked Finian.
The woman looked up in confusion.
‘You are not Roman?’
‘Me, of course not,’ said Finian and then looked down at the red cape draped around his shoulders.
‘Shit, I forgot about this,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I took it from a dead man. I am Khymric and hate the invaders as much as you. I mean you no harm.’
The woman stood but kept her child held tightly against her side, still unsure about the stranger.
‘Tell me,’ said Finian, ‘who are all these people and why are they running?’
‘You don’t know?’ asked the woman.
‘Know what?’
‘Boudicca has sacked Londinium and Verulamium. Both cities lie in ashes and they say the bodies stack higher than a hill.’
‘She has sacked Verulamium as well,’ gasped Finian. ‘Her army must be impressive.’
‘She has an entire nation on the march,’ said the woman, ‘and that is why we run. That many people need feeding and her warriors take everything in their path, food, horses, even women.’
‘Why would they rape their own?’ asked Finian.
‘It is said the army has become so great that Boudicca’s warlords struggle to keep discipline. It takes a rider half a day to ride from one flank to another. She has become as much a threat as those she wishes to depose.’
‘Where is this army?’ asked Finian.
‘An hour’s ride west,’ said the woman. ‘I have heard others say the Romans lie that way also and there will be a reckoning within days. Can I go now?’
‘Of course,’ said Finian. ‘Thank you.’ He returned to Taliesin and Lannosea who were sharing the last of the water.
‘Well?’ said Taliesin.
‘There is good news,’ said Finian, ‘Boudicca lies less than a day west of here. The only thing is it seems she intends to face Suetonnius, so we must be careful not to fall victim to either side.’
‘Why would my mother’s people be a risk to us?’ asked Lannosea.
‘Those who are loyal will probably be true,’ said Finian, ‘but the army has outgrown her influence and many see this fight as a means to riches and glory. They forget the true cause preached by your mother.’
‘Nevertheless, our fate is likely to be safer amongst the Britons,’ said Taliesin, ‘and I think it is a risk we should take.’
Finian nodded.
‘Then we should move as quickly as possible,’ he said, ‘and return the girl before battle is joined.’
‘Why?’ asked Taliesin.
‘Think about the omens,’ said Finian. ‘The return of the Queen’s daughter on the eve of battle will send raptures through her lines and add strength to their sword arms. They may be a rabble but they are a Britannic rabble and we will need every advantage possible to defeat the Romans. Now, if you are both agreeable, we need to get goi
ng.’
----
The Gemina Legion formed a defensive position while Suetonius rode forward flanked by a Cohort of cavalry to meet with Petillius at the river edge. The two Legions had camped a mile apart along the river and the Governor wanted to see for himself the strength of the Victrix and even more importantly, the state of Legate Petillius’ mind. The man had just lost one Legion and Suetonius wanted to make sure he was in a fit state to command.
The General rode toward the camp, passing squad after squad of mounted guards placed at strategic points along the route. He noticed with satisfaction that they seemed alert and focussed, obviously fully aware of the perilous situation their Legion was in. Finally he rode through the outer limits of the marching camp, leaving his escort waiting on the outside. Minutes later he was shown into the command tent of Petillius.
The Legate immediately stood and saluted the General.
‘Hail, Suetonius,’ he said. ‘Your arrival is timely and welcome.’
‘Sit,’ said Suetonnius abruptly, ‘our time is limited for such formalities. I need to know what happened to the Ninth and what strengths the Victrix offer.’
For the next half hour Petillius briefed the General about the demise of his Legion. Suetonnius listened carefully, often interrupting the Legate with pointed questions regarding tactics. Finally he sat back and stared at Petillius.
‘I hear only a hundred men survived,’ he said eventually.
‘A few more have been subsequently found by our patrols,’ said Petillius, ‘but we fear there are no more.
‘And when you were found, you immediately took command of the Victrix,’ said Suetonius. ‘On whose authority?’
‘Nobody’s,’ said Petillius. ‘They marched without their Legate who is laid low with illness. He sent what strength he could spare under the command of his Tribunus Laticlavius. A keen young man but with no battle experience. I felt that in the circumstances, I was better able to ensure the Legion’s effectiveness. Of course, if you wish me to stand down…’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Suetonius. ‘We do not have time for petty politics, your reputation speaks for itself. No doubt there will come a time when you will have to answer to a greater authority regarding the fate of the Ninth, but in the meantime I need your experience alongside me. What forces are under your command?’
Petillius breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wanted a chance to redeem himself and had taken a chance assuming command of the Victrix but it was a gamble that had paid off.
‘Two Cohorts of heavy infantry,’ he said. ‘Another two of auxiliary light infantry and five hundred cavalry.’
‘Any archers?’
‘Two centuries only,’ said Petillius.
‘Artillery?’
‘Ballistae and Onagers, twenty of each.’
‘Scorpios?’
‘Just under a hundred,’ said Petillius.
‘A depleted force but it will have to do,’ said Suetonnius.
‘General,’ said Petillius, ‘I have to reiterate the dangers of facing this woman in open battle. I have never seen such numbers and I fear even our combined strength may not be enough to claim victory.’
‘And that is why I have no intention of meeting this woman in open battle,’ said Suetonnius. ‘In fact, my plan is quite the opposite. Listen well, Legatus for our fate lies not in brute strength or overwhelming numbers but in the most basic of Legionary skills. Discipline.’
For the next hour Suetonnius outlined his plans and by the time he had finished, the temporary commander of the Victrix Vexillation knew exactly what was expected of him.
‘Send out patrols immediately,’ said Suetonnius, ‘and instruct them to report back no later than nightfall tomorrow. My own patrols are scouring the area as we speak and it is essential we find a suitable location as soon as possible. I am informed that Boudicca is on the move and trails us no more than two days behind. This is it, Petillius, this is the time of reckoning. We will face this woman with Britannia itself the spoils. Before we are finished the fate of this country will be decided.’
----
Suetonnius returned to his horse and made his way back to the Gemina lines. Everything relied on the success of the patrols sent to choose a suitable killing ground. Successful selection meant they had a chance but if they got it wrong, he knew both Legions would be slaughtered and Rome’s influence in Britannia would come to a crashing end. The consequences were unthinkable. He could not afford to fail.
----
Chapter Twenty Four
The Plains of the Trinovantes
Boudicca paused atop a small hill and gazed over the darkened plains in front of her. These were the lands of her childhood and she recognised the low rolling hills with longing in her heart. Those childhood days when she and Rianna rode these vales for hours on end without a care in the world, seemed several lifetimes away. Thoughts back then were of freedom and fun, with occasional glances at the attractive boys of the village. Oh how they had teased them and played them along, knowing full well that as the daughter of a King, there was no way she would ever choose one of them but nevertheless, the baiting had been fun.
These days her thoughts were of mayhem and slaughter. Her nights were wracked with nightmares and her days were taken up discussing the best way to kill thousands of fellow human beings. Her soul was split in two for despite her regret as to the necessity of killing, her heart knew it was the only way. She had no doubt that many more thousands had to die on both sides if Britannia was ever to be free. A terrible price but one worth playing.
‘Does your mind race back?’ asked Rianna at her side.
‘It does,’ said Boudicca, ‘and plays in the streams where we swam as children.’
‘A happy time,’ said Rianna.
‘It was,’ said Boudicca, ‘and it saddens me to know that somewhere out there, the plains where we made daisy chains and raced the clouds’ shadows are now soiled by the feet of the invaders. Where there was grass is now mud and birdsong has been replaced with the sound of marching feet.’
‘Then it is our duty to remove them,’ said Rianna, ‘and return these plains to our children.’
‘It is,’ said Boudicca, ‘and I accept this burden placed upon me. They are out there somewhere and I intend to find them.’ She looked back at the army amassed under her banner. Though the night was dark, the myriads of campfires paid testament to the numbers willing to die in the name of freedom. ‘Look at them, Rianna,’ said Boudicca, ‘every fire represents a yearning to be free. Men, women, the old and the young all desperate to laugh again. Those who are long dead or have died in the course of this campaign are owed our victory. They earned it while those not yet born deserve it. We cannot afford to fail, Rianna, Andraste herself demands a victory.’
‘Surely no army in the world can withstand an army so great,’ said Rianna, gazing over the countless fires. ‘Our numbers alone will see them crushed like ants beneath our feet. This is your time, Boudicca, this is where you release Britannia from her yolk of slavery.’
‘We have to catch them first,’ said Boudicca. ‘If they reach the Khymru, we will never get them out and our warriors will ultimately disperse to their homes. This is our only chance.’
Rianna glanced around and saw a group of men carrying burning torches making their way up the hill.
‘We may be in luck,’ she said. ‘Perhaps our scouts have news.’
The group reached them and Boudicca recognised the face of Maccus in the light of his burning torch.
‘My Queen,’ he said, ‘we have momentous news. Today we watched as Suetonius left the river and led his Legion north. They were joined by a lesser force but nothing to cause us alarm, we have twenty times their number.’
‘So what other news brings you up here breathless from the ride?’ asked Boudicca.
‘My Queen, they have passed the Crag of Eagles and into Wolf’s Pass.’
Boudicca paused as the information sunk in.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, ‘that way lies nothing but impenetrable forest. The vale closes in and if they continue they will be forced to retrace their steps or be trapped.’
‘They obviously do not know this country like we do,’ said Rianna, ‘and have made an error of judgement. This is our chance, Boudicca, if we can move quickly we can close the neck of the valley and the Romans will be trapped. They will have nowhere to go.’
Boudicca turned to Rianna.
‘You are right,’ she said, ‘the gods have sent us a gift. Pass word to the warlords. Extinguish all fires and get the army moving.’
‘Through the night?’ asked Maccus.
‘Yes,’ said Boudicca, ‘and make sure they carry no fire torches. I want to be at Wolf’s Pass by dawn without any Roman scouts sending word to Suetonius. Tell them to wrap their weapons to dull any sound of steel on steel. Only the warriors are to march tonight, the carts and the rest of the people will follow at sunrise. This so called Governor has made a grave mistake and this time, he will pay the price.’
----
Prydain and his fellow travellers headed toward the outskirts of Boudicca’s camp. Though they had long ago joined the throng, the camp followers were spread out over many miles and it had taken far longer than they had thought it would to reach the main warrior core.
‘Hold, stranger,’ said a voice in the darkness. ‘State your business.’
Prydain looked at the levelled spear aimed directly at his chest.
‘I am a friend,’ he said, ‘and would seek permission to pass.’
‘Beyond here are the campfires of the warriors,’ said the man. ‘Your voice is strange to me, what clan are you from?’
‘The Silures,’ said Prydain.
‘There are no Silures here,’ said the warrior, ‘they hide in their forests like frightened children while real warriors fight for liberty.’
Gildas took a step forward but a hand from Taran held him back.
‘Hold,’ whispered Taran, ‘they are nothing but cheap jibes. We cannot afford meaningless conflict now, we are too close.’
‘He insults our people,’ snarled Gildas, ‘and should pay the price.’
