by Adam Palmer
It was a family-friendly pub/restaurant. Ted, who had already eaten, was limiting himself now to a salad, but the other two hadn’t eaten a proper meal since yesterday and were tucking into grilled steaks with pepper sauce. Daniel had chosen the fries, while Sarit had opted for a baked potato.
As Ted was eating the least, he was in the best position to be talking the most.
“So if Lanevshiah was Lanosea, then we could be talking about the daughter of Boudicca. And Farashotagesh, you said the F could be a P the S-H could be a plain S and some of the vowels could be misplaced. So I’m thinking… Prasutagus?”
Daniel nodded.
“It could be. Even though there isn’t a second vav to act as a placeholder for the second oo sound, there is a kind of soft double o sound that’s pronounced like in book rather than soon – and that softer vowel doesn’t need a placeholder.”
“So Prasutagus fits perfectly.”
“But who was he?” asked Daniel.
“He was the King of a Britannic people called the Iceni – Ikeni as the Roman’s called them. He was the husband of Boudicca.”
Now that, at last, was a name that Daniel recognized.
“The queen with flaming red hair who wore a golden torque and fought against the Romans.”
“Exactly Daniel. And damn near won!”
“I have to admit that I don’t know the story as well as I should.”
“Well for that you have to understand the background. Prasutagus was the king of the Iceni people in east Anglia until round about 60 or 61 AD. He was a client king or vassal of Rome. The custom was for client kings to hold their kingdom in their lifetime and then bequeath it to Rome upon their death. But when Prasutagus died, he left only half his kingdom to Rome and the other half to be divided between his wife Boudicca and their two daughters. Needless to say this outraged such a patriarchal society as ancient Rome.”
“So they seized the lands?”
“Well more than that. First they called in their loans – and it has to be said that Prasutagus and the Iceni nobility had been living on huge loans. One wealthy Roman creditor alone, Seneca the Younger, had lent them something like forty million sestertii – that’s a about fifty million pounds.”
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head there Daniel. And the first thing they did to show their outrage was demand the money back – with interest!”
“And presumably the Iceni couldn’t pay it.”
“Obviously not. So the Romans seized all the lands and effectively enslaved the Iceni, including the nobles.”
“But how did a woman get to be their leader? I mean even if she was the king’s widow.”
“You have to bear in mind what the Romans did in addition to seizing the land. They had Boudicca publicly flogged. And they raped her daughters. And that was an act of defilement that the Iceni could not forgive. They were already a proud people who had rebelled against Rome once before when they were forced to disarm and now the Romans were defiling their queen and her daughters and this was all too much for them.”
“So they rallied under the banner of their queen.”
“Yes.”
“She must have been a pretty good military strategist – even if she did lose in the end.”
“Actually, she wasn’t. She just had demographics on her side.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well the Romans had decided that the druid priests were a major threat to them – far more so than the nobles or kings – because the kings and nobles were corruptible by bribery, but the Druids lived up to high ideals.”
“It’s always the clergy,” said Daniel with a wry smile.
“Exactly. But the druids were concentrated in what was then called Mona – modern day Anglesey in north Wales. And so the Romans had most of their army concentrated there on a systematic campaign of genocide to wipe out the druids. In fact this might have been the real reason for the conflict with the Brythonic peoples. It was Tacitus – and later Cassius Dio who told the story of Boudicca and neither of them were there at the time, although Tacitus’s father-in-law Agricola was.”
“So are you saying the whole story of the uprising is a myth.”
“Oh no, although the Roman sources certainly exaggerated the scale. But they may also have gilded the lily when it comes to the causes. Was it the flogging of Boudicca and the rape of her daughters or the massacre of the revered druids? Or maybe it was the rape and flogging in the case of the Iceni but the massacre of the druids that gave them the support of other tribes. But whatever the cause or causes, there certainly was a revolt. We know that from the archaeological records.”
“And what exactly did they do? I mean if they were in East Anglia and the Romans were in Anglesey, who exactly did they fight?”
“Basically, Boudicca and her rebel army – if one could call them an army – attacked those towns that were deemed to be representative of Rome, even if they were populated by their fellow Britons. The first place they attacked was the Roman town of Camulodunum. That’s modern day Colchester.”
“And that was originally a Roman city?”
“Well strictly speaking it had originally been a local city – the capital of the Trinovantes tribe. But by the time it was attacked by Boudicca it had become a Roman colonia – that was the highest status of Roman city, even larger than a municipalis. It was settled by retired Roman soldiers, who liked to lord it over the locals. That made it a perfect target for the irate Britons: not too well guarded, but symbolizing everything they despised about Rome. When the local Romans knew the British hordes were coming, they requested reinforcements from the Roman procurator, Catus Decianus. But he underestimated the scale of the problem and only sent two hundred auxiliaries.”
“That’s all they had?”
“Well no, not exactly. After Boudicca had laid siege to the city for two days, the commander of the Ninth Legion, the Hispana, sent some reinforcements to break the blockade. But still not enough, given the large size of the forces that had allied themselves to Boudicca. Most of the Roman forces were wiped out, but the cavalry got away, as did their commander, one Quintus Petillius Cerialis.”
“He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.”
“Exactly, and he did indeed redeem himself in the final battle and go on to become governor of Britannia. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Boudicca systematically destroyed the city with a take-no-prisoners policy.”
“That must have put the wind up the Romans.”
“Oh it did that all right. Catus Decianus, the discredited procurator, fled to Gaul. And when the news of the defeat got to Suetonius – the Roman governor – he and his men began hurrying back. But of course there was no point sending just the cavalry. And the bulk of their men were on foot.”
“But surely by then Camulodunum would have been destroyed. I mean they must have known that? And surely Boudicca wouldn’t just stick around would she?”
“Oh no, she didn’t Instead she went on to Londinium, which at the time was a major commercial city, though not the capital that it was going to one day become. And that’s where the Romans were trying to get to as well, because they knew that Londinium would be next on her hit list.”
“But presumably Boudicca got there first – not having to cover such a great distance.”
“Of course. In fact Suetonius did get there with an advanced party, but he didn’t have enough men to make a fight of it. He’d seen what happened at Camulodunum when Petilius had decided to fight with inadequate forces and he decided not to make the same mistake. There were very few Romans in Londinium. Most of the inhabitants were locals or foreign merchants. So he simply pulled his forces out – ignoring the pleas of the locals – and abandoned Londinium to Boudicca’s angry mob, who burnt it down.”
“And we know that for a fact?”
“Oh yes. Archaeological excavations at various London sites have confirmed a c
ombustion layer. It’s seen in dust covering coins and pottery from before 60 AD but not after.”
“So what did Petronus do?”
“He waited for the rest of his forces to arrive in the area north of Londinium. Meanwhile Boudicca and her ever growing army went on to destroy Verulamium, also mostly by fire.”
“Verulamium?”
“Modern day St. Albans. It wasn’t really a Roman city but it was heavily romanized – largely by choice of the inhabitants themselves. So it would also have been a natural target for a vast horde that had grown to detest anything Roman. You have to remember that in addition to the fighters, this vast army was accompanied by the wives and children of the British combatants. It wasn’t so much a war or a military campaign as a rampage with very little by way of planning.”
“So far, I make it Boudicca three, Romans nil.”
“And so it was, but by now the Roman army was back. You could say they made a couple of last minute substitutions and their team was now back to full strength. Suetonius now assembled his army, somewhere that the Britons would have to pass through if they wanted to get back to their lands. There is some dispute as to whether they had planted their crops that year – ”
“Similar to the Jerusalem siege in the year 70,” Daniel interrupted.
“Exactly. But regardless of that, the Iceni and their allies couldn’t just wonder around aimlessly. According to Tacitus, Suetonius assembled his forces in a place where he had the topography on his side. He had a forest behind him and steep slopes on either side.”
“But couldn’t be attacked from above if he did that?”
“No because the wasn’t overlooked by the steep slopes. They overlooked the approach to his front line. That meant that Boudicca’s army would be funnelled into a narrow area where their front line would be no larger than the Roman line. So the Roman’s could pick them off one line at a time.”
“But the Romans were still outnumbered weren’t they?”
“Oh yes, Daniel. But not to the extent that Tacitus or Cassius Dio suggest in their historical propaganda. The Romans had the Germina Legion – that’s the fourteenth, as well as some of the twentieth legion, known as Valeria Victrix. He also had the cavalry remnant of the Hispana, the famous ninth legion, plus assorted auxiliaries. The one thing he didn’t have was the second Legion, the Augusta, who were stationed in Exeter. He had in fact sent a message to Poenius Postumus, the commander of the Augusta, telling him to send forces. But Postumus declined to do so.”
“Does history record why?”
“Some say he was afraid. Some say he didn’t have time to get them there and some say he had to maintain a rear guard defence and that his decision was sound strategy. I’m inclined to the last of those, but regardless of my opinion, when he missed out on the great battle he was so shamed for depriving his men of a part of that great victory, that he committed suicide.”
“Ah, so we are now talking about the final battle.”
“Yes. And this is where Boudicca’s strategy – if one could call it that – fell apart. First of all you have to remember the Romans had an iron discipline to match Boudicca’s iron will. Secondly they knew military strategy inside out. It was in their blood… and their history. So when the first line of Britons charged at them, the Romans used their spears. Even if the Britons defended themselves with their shields, the spears imbedded themselves in the shields and bent or warped, so they couldn’t easily be removed from the shields.
“Then when the Britons charged again, the Roman’s held their shields in a tight formation and when the Britons got close enough to engage, the Romans fought with swords taking advantage of their superior combat skills. When the Britons tried to flee, they found their retreat blocked by their own wagons that contained their families whom they had brought along with them. And then with the Britons in retreat and disarray, it was the Romans who went on the rampage with a take-no-prisoners policy.”
“And what happened to Boudicca?”
“Well according to Tacitus, she poisoned herself. According to Cassius Dio, writing a hundred years later, she fell ill and died and was given a lavish burial.”
“But where did Cassius Dio get that? I mean he must have read Tacitus’s account.”
“Oh certainly… and it’s not clear where he gets his story from, other than the propaganda element, which to some extent is present in both their narratives. But the interesting thing is that Tacitus actually gives two different accounts. In his more detailed account in the Annals he mentions suicide. But in the Agricola, which is an account of his father-in-law’s career – and remember his father-in-law was there – he says that Boudicca’s rebellion ended through what he calls ‘socordia’ – which means indolence. In other words it just fizzled out – which suggests a much smaller revolt.”
“But there’s no possibility that she was captured?”
“None whatsoever. If that had happened, she would have been taken back to Rome in chains and paraded through the streets.”
“And that would presumably have been recorded by other writings in Rome.”
“Exactly Daniel. And no such record exists.”
“But if this ketuba is genuine – and we can’t be sure without the original – then this is…”
Ted nodded.
“Words fail me too Daniel. If the daughter of Boudicca got hitched to a visiting Judean – let alone one of the leaders of the Jewish uprising of 66 in Judea – then it’s a find that promises to rewrite history.”
For a while they sat there in silence, contemplating the enormity of the discovery, or at least the potential discovery. Finally Daniel spoke.
“Okay, now what is the significance of the site where you were digging?”
“Compared to yours, it almost pales into insignificance.”
“Maybe, but tell me anyway. At least you’ve got something concrete to show for your troubles. And it might just add to the big picture.”
Ted smiled, encouraged by Daniel’s words.
“Well, Arbury Banks has been suggested as a possible site for the final battle. The site was originally a late bronze age site in pre-Roman Briton. But it may also have been the site of the final battle. At any rate, that’s what we’ve been looking into.”
“But what’s so special about this map that you found?”
“Well first of all. It’s on parchment – and like I said, not the type of parchment you usually find in Roman Britain. Secondly remember what I said about the writing. I’m hoping that you might recognize it.”
And with that Professor Hynds cleared his plate from in front of him, opened the cardboard tube and carefully removed the parchment, that was now inside a transparent folder. It was actually quite a thick, sturdy parchment, that Daniel instantly recognized as gevil the unsplit cowhide that orthodox Jews used to make Torah scrolls.
But as the professor carefully unrolled the parchment and transparent plastic, Daniel recognized something else. The map showed the Mediterranean Sea as a flat horizontal oval, with Europe to the top. North Africa to the bottom, Iberia and the Atlantic Ocean to the left and Judea and Mesopotamia to the right. But there was also an arrow pointing to the Italian peninsula where Rome would be. And adjacent to that arrow was some writing in a Hebraic script that Daniel recognized as from about 2000 years ago, just like on the ketuba that Martin Costa had found.
But there was something different about this writing.
“What does it say?” asked Hynds.
“I wish I could tell you.”
Hynds did a double take.
“But isn’t it Hebrew… or Aramaic?”
“The lettering is Hebrew script all right. But I don’t recognize the language. It’s not Hebrew or Aramaic.” Daniel stared long and hard at the short text. “It’s not any Semitic language that I recognize.”
Chapter 53
The man who had followed the Sassons and Helen Klein to the house had been told by HaTzadik not to use the phone. They had been wary
of using the phone at the best of times. But now with HaTzadik concerned that they might be under surveillance, they had to be extra careful. So instead, he drove back to the city centre.
He was in fact one of the few members local of Shomrei Ha’ir who could even drive. Because the sect was so fanatically opposed to the State of Israel, they refused not only to participate in its elections or to serve in the army, but even to cooperate with its institutions. Hence learning to drive was very difficult for Israeli members of Shomrei Ha’ir even though foreign based members – in the UK and USA – had mastered the skill driving of driving and were licensed to do so.
In the case of this man, he was Israeli, but he had not always been a member of the sect. For most of his life, he had been a secular Jew with no religious upbringing whatsoever until a personal crisis had caused him to “see the light” and become a ba’al teshuva – a master of repentance – who had hazar bitshuva, returned in repentance. This was not a convert, but a lost soul who had returned to the fold – the Jewish equivalent of a “born again” Christian.
As such he capable of equalling if not exceeding the fanaticism of other members of the sect. It also meant that he could be ruthless in his dealings with other human beings in order to fulfil the wishes and demands of HaTzadik, his beloved “rebbe” or teacher.
Once he reached the city centre, he drove around for twenty minutes before he found a place to park. Then he walked to Mea She’arim.
“The house is in the basement. There’s gold-painted metal gate. You go down the stairs and to the right and that’s where they are.”
“And you just drove by once?”
HaTzadik was grilling his man on the details. This time Shalom Tikva was taking personal command of the operation and he didn’t want it to go wrong yet again. He would proceed the plan with hours of prayer, knowing that success or failure was in the hands of Hashem. But in the meantime, he would plan it carefully and diligently.
“No I stopped further down and started chatting to a religious couple about buying a property in the area. I asked if it’s quiet on shabas and used that as a starting pointing.”
