The Wrath of Boudicca

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘We have to try,’ said Heulwen. ‘We need to go down there.’

  ‘No,’ snapped Prydain. ‘The sheer numbers are a threat in themselves. They allow no room for manoeuvre.’ He looked around the valley edge. ‘Come, he said, we will follow the ridgeline around and get closer to the battle. At least we will have a better view.’

  ‘Won’t those forests be guarded?’ asked Cullen.

  ‘They will,’ said Prydain, ‘but we have little choice. If we don’t do something quickly our journey will be wasted.’ Prydain turned and ran along the ridgeline, closely followed by his comrades. As they neared the treeline they could see many warriors were already engaged with the Auxiliaries amongst the trees.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ shouted Prydain, ‘head for the lower slopes.’ Within seconds they were amongst a running battle. There was no room for tactics or formations, up here man fought against man in a deadly duel with only one possible outcome, the death of one combatant.

  Prydain drew his sword and leapt over the dead bodies in his path and though men of both sides fought desperately all around him, he knew this was nothing compared to the main battle unfolding in the valley below.

  ----

  ‘Hold,’ screamed Cassus straining against the enormous force being exerted against the Roman lines. ‘Not a step backward.’

  Each man in the Roman lines strained every sinew but despite being close to the enemy, not many casualties were caused in those first few moments of contact. Closed shields meant few blades could reach them and the massive numbers meant the front lines of warriors were crushed against their shields. For several minutes both sides drove their weight against the enemy, the barbarians desperate to cause a breach and the Romans equally desperate to hold them out. Finally the pressure eased and the sounds of horns ripped through the air, Celtic signals to withdraw.

  Slowly the warriors retreated but no more than fifty paces. The Romans gasped with relief, each man exhausted from the strain.

  ‘We did it,’ said a soldier. ‘They have pulled back.’

  ‘A momentary respite,’ snarled Cassus before stepping out of the line and turning to face his cohort.

  ‘Do not relax your guard,’ he ordered,’ prepare for another assault. Again they will be met with a wall of shields.’

  ‘Look out,’ screamed a soldier and Cassus spun around just in time to avoid a spear hurled at his back. He pulled it from the ground and facing the Celtic army, snapped it across his knee.

  ‘Come on Barbarian filth,’ he screamed. ‘The day has just started and we haven’t even broken sweat.’

  His challenge was met with a roar and again the massed ranks raced forward to engage the Romans. Cassus regained his place in the line.

  ‘Same again,’ he screamed, ‘close ranks, present Scutum.’

  The barbarians crashed into the Romans once more, though this time with even more ferocity. The Roman lines staggered backward but held firm until once again the Barbarians withdrew to a safe distance. Over and over again the attacks came and each time the assaults were repelled. During the clashes, axes smashed through shields and attackers were despatched by the defenders. During another withdrawal, Suetonnius came over and offering Cassus his flask, took the Centurion to one side.

  ‘Cassus, the men are exhausted. We can’t go on like this. The lines may be holding but with each attack we lose more men and though their losses are greater, they can well afford them, we cannot.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Cassus staring at the enemy ranks. They too were tired and were being affected by the midday sun. ‘The beast’s ferocity has been tamed and it is time to show them our own resolve. Now we take the battle to them.’

  ‘Then give the signal, Centurion,’ said Suetonius, ‘I tire of these games and would rather fall with Gladius drawn.’

  Cassus saluted and marched to the front of his command.

  ‘Legionaries of the first Cohort,’ he shouted. ‘These past hours you have seen the mettle of the enemy. They are nothing but unwashed barbarians with little knowledge of battle. We however, do have such knowledge and it is time we taught them how a battle should be fought.’ He drew his Gladius and turned to face the enemy. ‘First Cohort,’ he screamed, ‘Cuneus formation. Prepare to advance.’

  Behind him the centre of the lines marched forward to join the Centurion, and the flanks followed, a few paces behind.

  All along the lines the order was repeated and men marched into well drilled formations. Within moments the recent flat line of the Legion defences had transformed into the arrow head shapes favoured for Roman attacks.

  ----

  Up on the hill the artillery commander saw the tactics change and turned to his command.

  ‘Onagers use all remaining ammunition available to you. Ballistae and Scorpios, target their front lines. On my command, fire at will and reload faster than you ever have before. Any man found slacking will fall to my sword. Those below are relying on us. Prepare to fire.’

  The Roman infantry below fell silent and faced the enemy across the corpse littered battlefield. The front lines of Boudicca’s army were tired and though their numbers filled the valley, the confusion meant few fresh warriors could make their way forward. The Romans on the other hand had refreshed their ranks after every assault.

  ‘Sire, the first Cohort are ready,’ shouted Cassus.

  ‘Then do what you were born to do, Centurion,’ shouted Suetonnius, ‘and lead us to victory.’

  Behind them the artillery opened up with their devastating bombardment and the air was torn apart by volley after volley of giant arrows from the Ballistae and the smaller crossbow bolts from the Scorpios. Fireballs and giant boulders from the Onagers smashed amongst the barbarian ranks causing devastating casualties but despite this, the tribe leaders rallied their own lines in defiance and sounded the charge toward the Roman advance.

  Cassus raised his Gladius high above his head.

  ‘First Cohort,’ he roared, ‘no prisoners, no retreat, no quarter. Advaaance.’

  As one, over six hundred heavily armoured Legionaries stepped forward and marched toward the oncoming enemy. The manoeuvre was repeated across the entire valley and two proud nations crashed into each other in a bloody battle that would determine the future of Britannia.

  ----

  Lannosea was caught amongst the throng in the middle of the valley. Despite the crush she continued to push forward, determined to reach her mother’s side. Far to her front she could see the trails of black smoke as the dreaded fireballs fell amongst those clans leading the assault and she knew that many would die. As she pressed forward, a ripple of angst seemed to flow through the crowd and a wail of fear rose from the throats of many women.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ shouted Lannosea, ‘what’s happening.’

  ‘Boudicca has fallen,’ shouted a woman, ‘hit by an enemy arrow.’

  ‘No,’ gasped Lannosea, stopping in her tracks. ‘It can’t be true.’

  The shouts increased as the rumour spread.

  ‘Boudicca has fallen,’ came the call. ‘The Queen is down.’

  Lannosea shook herself from her momentary stupor.

  ‘Is she dead?’ she called. ‘Does anyone know her fate?’

  A warrior with severe burns limped past her, heading toward the carts to the rear.

  ‘The Queen is alive,’ he said. ‘At least she was when last I saw her.’

  ‘Where is she?’ gasped Lannosea.

  ‘They have taken her to the Shamen,’ said the warrior. ‘They need to remove the arrow.’

  Lannosea looked around the slopes of the valley, searching for the carts she knew would be there. At last she spotted the covered cart with the strange designs typical of all Shamen and knew her mother would be taken there. She changed direction and forced herself into the crowd again.

  ‘Out of my way,’ she screamed above the din. ‘I have to get through.’

  ----

  Both armies crashed into each other with mutu
al hatred and though the Celtic army was immense, the wedge shaped formations of the Romans cut into their ranks like spear heads. The frustrations of many weeks added strength to the Roman sword arms and they hacked their way through the enemy ranks with impunity. The disciplined army kept its shape and each man protected the one to his left as they slowly the split the barbarian army apart.

  Cassus took the lead at the head of his elite first Cohort and his mind was lost amongst the battle lust. Over and over again his blade met barbarian flesh and his shield smashed into the faces of those stupid enough to confront him. Lakes of blood turned the battlefield into red mud and any wounded man unlucky enough to fall at the Romans’ feet had their faces caved in by hobnailed Caligae, their brains joining the cloying mess of the valley floor.

  The artillery had raised their aim and now fired the remaining missiles deep into the main body of the barbarian masses, causing mayhem and panic amongst the families of the warriors. Women and children fell in flames as the fireballs landed and the giant boulders from the Onagers smashed through flesh and bone, irrespective of age or sex.

  The disciplined assault and controlled aggression caught the clans by surprise and though many took the battle to the Romans, they were soon cut down by the relentless advance. Faced with their own certain death some of the younger Britons turned and ran from the Romans, causing even more confusion amongst their ranks

  ‘Hold your lines,’ screamed Maccus. ‘The day is not lost.’ He grabbed at those running past him and threw them back toward the relentless Roman advance. ‘Do not shame your people,’ he cried, ‘face the enemy and die like men.’

  The older men resumed their attack with renewed ferocity and though they counted for many enemy lives, far more Barbarians fell than Roman. Finally Maccus found himself isolated from any of his comrades and knew his time had come.

  ‘Come on?’ he screamed and waved his enormous axe around his head. ‘My gods await me with open arms, Romans. Who amongst you will join me?’

  The nearest legionaries faltered, knowing that the first to approach would undoubtedly fall to the giant blade before he could be overcome. Suetonnius stepped forward knowing he had to do something quickly.

  ‘Pila,’ he ordered and a legionary handed him a spear.

  ‘Get out of my way, heathen,’ shouted Suetonnius, ‘and meet your gods alone.’ He launched the Pila and watched with satisfaction as the steel shaft smashed into the man’s chest.

  Maccus dropped his axe and staggered backward. He looked up and saw several Romans running toward him with swords drawn and knowing his fate was sealed, opened his arms wide to stare at the sky above.

  ‘Andraste,’ he roared, ‘I attend thee in…’

  Before he could finish, a sword plunged into his stomach and he fell to his knees. The sole of a Caligae smashed into his face and as he fell backward, the face of Suetonnius appeared above him.

  ‘Pathetic,’ said the General and plunged his Gladius through the face of Maccus. ‘Continue the advance,’ shouted, Suetonnius withdrawing his sword, ‘the enemy are turning. Press home the advantage.’ He stepped over the corpse and forged forward, leaving the body of Boudicca’s lieutenant behind him.

  ----

  All across the battlefield the Romans unleashed their fury and though the enemy were immensely superior in numbers, the narrowness of the valley meant they could only ever deploy the same amount of men as the Romans at any one time. Slowly the barbarians were forced back, leaving hundreds of their dead behind them and gaps started to appear in their lines as many turned to escape the slaughter.

  Within moments the malaise spread like a fire and warriors across the valley turned to flee. Many Romans continued but were astonished to hear the sound of the cornicines sounding the halt. Men stopped in their tracks, gasping for breath, blood dripping from their swords.

  Suetonnius stormed up to the Cornicen, the young officer who had given the signal.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ he shouted, ‘the enemy is in retreat.’

  ‘I was ordered to sound the halt,’ said the Cornicen.

  ‘On whose command?’

  ‘On mine,’ said a voice and Suetonnius turned to see Cassus removing his helmet.

  ‘The enemy has turned, Centurion,’ growled the General. ‘Since when do we allow a foe to escape?’

  ‘With respect, Sire,’ said Cassus, ‘the enemy are going nowhere.’ He nodded toward the far end of the valley and slowly Suetonnius saw the mayhem unfolding before him. The retreating army had run into those massed behind them and confusion reigned as tens of thousands of people struggled to escape. To add to the chaos, the many carts on the far slopes stopped any clear passage and the continuing arrival of those who had missed the battle meant pandemonium reigned.

  ‘The men need a few minutes to reorganise, Sire,’ continued Cassus. ‘Then we can send the enemy to hell.’

  Suetonnius nodded silently and sheathed his sword. Cassus turned to face the ragged front lines of the Legion, thousands of men looking at him in expectation, their hearts still racing from the conflict.

  ‘Close your lines,’ shouted Cassus as he strode along before them with Gladius drawn, ‘and remember your training. You are Legionaries not Barbarians. Those with wounds fall back and seek the Medicus. Second and third ranks, to the fore, I want fresh blades for what is about to unfold. Every man will drink deeply of their water bottles. Drain them and cast them away for there will be no time to drink in the hours ahead.’ He turned to look at the panic ensuing at the far end of the valley. ‘The next time we rest will be at the top of that ridge.’

  The lines of Romans reorganised and straightened their formations. Within minutes silence fell and Cassus returned to the front of the first Cohort. The men were ready for the final battle and this time, there would be no stopping.

  ‘Sire, we are ready,’ he said.

  Suetonnius drew his bloody Gladius and held it up. This time there was no morale boosting speech, the men knew exactly what was expected of them.

  ‘Soldiers of Rome,’ shouted Suetonnius, ‘advaaance!’

  The legion stepped forward as one and within minutes, the massacre of Boudicca’s army began.

  ----

  ‘Leave me alone,’ screamed Boudicca, ‘I have to get back down there.’

  ‘There is nothing you can do,’ said Rianna, ‘the tribes have turned and fight amongst themselves to escape the valley.’

  ‘This can’t be,’ said Boudicca. ‘The signs from Andraste were clear. This day should be ours. Our army still outnumbers theirs tenfold. We have to turn them around.’ She tried to get to her feet but gasped in pain at the arrow still through her side.

  ‘Boudicca, the day is done,’ said Rianna. ‘We have to get out of here.’

  ‘No,’ screamed Boudicca, ‘the signs were right. Bring me the Shaman.’

  Within moments the old woman was dragged in by her hair and cast at Boudicca’s feet.

  ‘Tell me old crone,’ gasped Boudicca, ‘why has Andraste turned her back?’

  ‘Andraste stays true, my Queen,’ said the woman, her head facing the soil.

  ‘No,’ snarled Boudicca, ‘you took the dream root and she showed you a vision. Are you saying the vision was false?’

  ‘The vision has come to pass as promised,’ said the Shaman. ‘The gods do not lie, but it is for us to interpret the visions as we see fit.’

  ‘The vision was clear, Hag,’ said Boudicca, ‘the minnow turned and consumed the pike. How could this have been interpreted in any other way?’

  ‘Boudicca,’ said Rianna quietly. ‘I fear we looked too far into the future. The vision was about this battle only and indeed reflects the reality.’

  ‘How can you say this?’ shouted Boudicca. ‘The Romans are the pike and we are the minnows.’

  ‘Not today,’ said Rianna and turned to stare into the valley. Boudicca followed her gaze and realisation dawned. The sheer size of her army compared to the Romans meant tha
t her own people had become the predator and the Romans the prey. The vision had been true and now the Britons would pay with their lives.

  ‘By the gods,’ whispered Boudicca, ‘how can I have got it so wrong?’

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ said Rianna. ‘All we can do now is salvage as much as we can and regroup for another day.’

  They both looked up as a commotion broke out the other side of the ring of guards around the Queen.

  ‘Boudicca,’ shouted a voice, ‘I need to see you. I have important news.’

  ‘Let him through,’ shouted Rianna.

  A warrior fell at the Boudicca’s feet and gasped for breath.

  ‘My Queen,’ he said. ‘I have seen your daughter. Lannosea lives.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Boudicca. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, my Queen. I have seen her with my own eyes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the valley,’ said the man. ‘She was caught up in the crowd but it was her, I swear.’

  ‘Take me to her,’ shouted Boudicca.

  ‘No,’ shouted Rianna. ‘You need to escape this place. I will get your daughter.’

  ‘As will I,’ said a voice and both women looked over to see Heanua, her leather armour was covered with blood and her sword hung loose in her hand.

  ‘Heanua,’ said Boudicca, ‘you made it. Come to me.’

  ‘No,’ said Heanua. ‘Rianna is right. You are the Queen and Britannia needs you alive. If you succumb then there is no hope. Rianna and I will take the best men and find my sister. This I swear.’

  Boudicca tried again to rise but collapsed once more.

  ‘We have to remove the arrow,’ said the Shaman, ‘or it will be too late.’

  Boudicca nodded and turned to her daughter.

  ‘You are no longer my little girl, Heanua,’ she said, ‘for you have grown into a fearsome woman. Go then and do what I know you can. Bring your sister home to me.’

  Heanua nodded and spoke to the messenger.

  ‘Show me where she was seen, ‘she said, ‘and make no mistakes. Your life depends on it.’ The man nodded and led her down the hill.