Rage Against the Dying Light

by Jan Surasky

  The games of the Praetorian Guard lasted into the night, torches lighting the revelry, the midnight air carrying the sounds of cheers for Roman victories, both winners and losers passing out onto the bedrolls of tents set up by slaves, to sober up by morning. The men of the regular army were doled as much as could be expended of the dwindling rations, collapsing onto blankets set out under the open sky in the chilly night air of late autumn.

  The boat building began the next morning, slaves laying planks of oak and maple and ash end to end to form the flat bottom of a boat. The rounded sides were made as usual, the inside filled with seats for the slaves who oared the boat and seats alongside for the foot soldiers.

  The cavalry groomed their horses and the foot soldiers practiced their swordplay. The Praetorian Guard ironed out the drunken fights from the night before, and did exercises to maintain their riding and swordsmanship skills.

  Seutonius sat alone in his tent, thinking of the military genius of Caesar and the generals who had gone before him, plotting outside in the dirt a proper military landing, slaves bringing in his food and water. Every now and then he called in an aide to bounce his ideas off of.

  "We must get the infantry across all at once," he said to Lucius Pompeius who, beckoned, sat nearby on a stool at the edge of the tent. "The barbarians will be waiting in all their strength, throwing javelins to keep us from the shore. The infantry is better prepared to resist them. The cavalry must concern themselves with the welfare of their mounts. The infantry must engage the barbarians with swords while the cavalry swims ashore."

  Lucius Pompeius said nothing, nodding as Seutonius spoke. When he finished, Pompeius answered. "I will give the command to Gaius Decianus. He will prepare the infantry to dodge the javelins and prepare for a quick attack once they reach shore."

  Seutonius continued. "The infantry must divert the attention of the barbarians, to allow the cavalry to land. But, once ashore, the cavalry must take quick action, for the cavalry of the barbarians will first have the advantage, and they are trained by nature, for their horses are not bound by the limits of a city, and they ride hills and woodlands year round."

  As Seutonius finished, Pompeius stood. "I will call a meeting with Decianus and Cassius Octavianus of the cavalry. They will coordinate a plan that will get the infantry across and the cavalry just behind them."

  As Pompeius left, Seutonius walked out of the tent and toward the large area set aside to split the wood felled by the expert axmen. The sounds of boat building filled the air, slaves with mallets striking the wood, others fashioning the planks, some off to the side carving the pegs, many former boat builders themselves.

  In the tents of the Praetorian Guard, Marcus Quintillius Calenus sat on the edge of his bedroll, his few possessions still in a small pack he had carried from Rome. The assurances of his centurion Fabius Antonius, that the Guard would be back in Rome shortly after an attack on Londinium and a short stint on the Britons' isle, had faded into the distance. His nights of gaming and chasing women, trading tales of military glory, seemed farther away after seasons of battle with tribes who refused to submit.

  He reread the worn letters of his father, his only tie to home. As he sat, Lucius Varinius, a tent mate, came in, putting his hand on Marcus' shoulder, then beckoning him to join him for a stroll along the rocky banks of the ocean. As they walked, the scent of salt water filled the air, the sound of the waves lent a power to the still of the early spring afternoon, hung heavy with fog.

  As they walked, Varinius, a career soldier, spoke. "We have been long gone from Rome," he said, "and I miss my family and the villas of my family and friends. The banquets far into the night, the taverns, the feasts of the finest meats and fruits and wines. But, we will add to the glory of the empire when we conquer this island, and riches will flow into Rome."

  "I think the sooner we conquer, the sooner we will back on the streets of Rome," returned Marcus, "with the flow of wine and ale, and slave girls to fill your goblets. This island is hostile, rocky, thick with rain and fog." He paused. "Do you have a wife, Lucius?" he asked.

  Varinius walked a distance, then answered. "I am engaged to a woman of a well-born family, Varinnia Lapidus. She is beautiful. Her long, dark hair falls almost to her waist, and when she is gay, the room lights up with her laughter. She will wait for me. And, when we finish this campaign, the sounds of merrymaking and the toasts of our wedding will fill the streets of Rome."

  "My sister is now of age for marriage," said Marcus. "I wonder who she will marry."

  "Perhaps it will not be long before you find the answer," said Lucius. "Seutonius is a good general. Harsh, but bent on finally subduing this island for the empire. He will achieve his goal."

  As the two walked along the rocky edge of the ocean, musing upon their own thoughts, the sun sank slowly into the horizon of the sea.

  As Seutonius satisfied himself that the vessels, enough to hold the entire infantry, would soon be done, he returned to his tent. Every victory brought him closer to the recognition he should have had long ago, he mused, if only Corbulo had not been so successful in subduing Armenia. He sat down to refine the plan of attack on Mona.

  On a late autumn morning, sixty flat-bottom boats bearing the infantrymen of the legion under Seutonius set out for the shores of Mona. Slaves oared the boats, trying to stay free of the shallows that slowed their speed.

  Seutonius led the fleet, sitting at the helm surrounded by standard bearers and the most expert javelin throwers and swordsmen of the legion. The infantry, dressed in full battle regalia, sat erect, iron helmets with red feather crests upon them, leather breastplates covering their identical white tunics, leather leg protectors, wood and leather shields with golden Roman insignia by their sides.

  The cavalry followed, their battle gear stowed in a pack upon their mounts, close at hand to don as they neared the shores of Mona. The relative calm of the sea provided an ease for the oarsmen, their synchronized strokes propelling them forward with the greatest of speed. The grey of the day, thick with fog, provided cover.

  As they rowed, bands of warriors lined the shores of Mona, standing several rows deep. Some with their naked bodies covered by the dye of the woad plant, depicting the gods of their tribes or the frightful images of their imagination. Others, covered by simple tunics, their iron helmets sporting bronze and golden birds and horns, their shields the length of their bodies, studded with coral and etched with the birds and the stags of the woodlands.

  Druids stood nearby, waving their arms toward the sky, shouting powerful incantations. Women with disheveled tresses and long, black tunics, ran screaming amongst the warriors.

  The sight, unfamiliar to the eye of a Roman, brought panic to the boats as they moved forward, rendering many of the well-trained infantrymen limp with fright. Seutonius stood, keeping his balance over the swell of the waves. "You men quail before a group of frenzied women," he shouted. "Return to your senses and remember your army training. Keep your ranks close for the barbarians fight with a passion but without a well-trained order. Alight, and bring glory to the Roman empire." At that, he sat, pushing his standard bearers, still mute with fright, to wade ashore, giving the order to the infantry to follow.

  Once ashore, the massacre was complete. Outnumbered, and unused to organized battle, the Celts, though strong with fury, fell to the superior military strength of the Roman army. The Druids, untrained in swordsmanship, were cut down quickly as well. "Now," shouted Seutonius, "run through with a sword every woman who has aided the battle, or who runs or flees."

  As the bodies lay upon the field of battle, Seutonius set up a command to destroy the sacred groves of the Druids. The stone temples were smashed to rubble, the wooden altars, set among the hawthorns and the ash trees, and the wooden cages where the sacred hares and nightingales were kept, were set ablaze with the very torches the Celts had used to keep the Romans from their shores.

  The annihilation complete, Seutonius prepared the return trip to the mai
nland. Boats were salvaged, slaves were set to clean the silt and the mud, and the wounded were laid on the floors of the largest vessels.

  As the boats were oared back to camp, over the now rougher waters of evening, Seutonius asked Decianus to prepare a victory celebration for the legion, one that would last several days. "The legion deserves it," he said, as he turned to the career soldier who was one of his top aides. "They have fought hard and well. We must give them rest, and a boost to their morale. We have destroyed the last of the barbarians' priests. Their only link to the law and order of their tribes, and to what they believe are their ancestors' spirits who give them courage in battle."

  As Seutonius' vessel neared shore, he climbed over the sides of his boat to wade ashore, giving the infantrymen amusement and a signal to do the same. As he stood ashore, his sandals wet with salt water, the waves of the evening tide behind him growing louder with every rush, a messenger ran out from a nearby tent. "General Seutonius," he said, "I bear a message from the emperor."

  "The emperor will be pleased with our victory," returned Seutonius. "I will give you the news for your return journey."

  As he spoke, the infantrymen walked around him, anxious to return to their stores of ale and a bed. "I'm afraid the news is bad," answered the messenger. "The emperor has asked I give it as soon as I come upon you. He asks as well you act upon it immediately."

  Seutonius' body stiffened, his eyes turning intently upon the messenger. "What is the news," he asked.

  "There has been an insurrection to the south," continued the messenger. "A woman, Boudicca, queen of the Iceni tribe, leads the barbarians. She seeks revenge for an attack upon her and her daughters by our veterans after the death of her husband, Prasutagus. They have sacked Londinium and Verulamium. They take no prisoners as slaves, but destroy all in their path."

  "You have delivered your message," answered Seutonius. "Now, go to the tent of Octavianus. He will see that you are fed and given rest."

  Then, he walked directly toward his tent. As he entered it, he removed his sandals and his tunic, exchanging them for dry ones, declining an invitation to join the festivities being set up all around him. As he dressed, he thought how Prasutagus had been given everything by Rome. And, how could the barbarians follow a woman? He sat down promptly upon a small wooden stool set before a table with a stylus and began to devise a plan to crush the insubordinate rebels.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Boudicca stood at the edge of a field filled with the poppies, the hawk weed, the corn daisies, and the newly bleached grasses of autumn. Black, green and gold-plumed pheasants and coveys of partridges moved among them. Small hills rose behind her, a valley stretched below, a river flowed beside it. The songs of the thrush, the skylarks and the wren, nested in the red and golden-leafed branches of the elm, the birch and the maple, their nests now empty of fledglings, wafted up through the breeze from the valley below.

  It had been long since she had ridden the plains and woodlands for pleasure with Alaina and Valeda. Long since they had tethered their mounts to share their childhood tales over an evening meal beneath the leaves of an oak tree.

  The ranks of the Celtic warriors who had chosen to follow Boudicca had swelled to over 40,000. With three major victories behind them, and unused to long absences from home, the warriors of most of the tribes that had joined them had sent for their women. Wagonsful had arrived in the last several weeks, putting the encampment into a perpetual state of reunions, laundry and occasional general merriment.

  Valeda grew larger every day, the pallor of her countenance growing ruddier as she walked in the noonday sun or sat upon a rock in the rays of the morning sun to dress her tresses. Both Boudicca and Alaina encouraged her to eat, roasting special tidbits of freshly caught fish over an open fire during their evening meal, saving for her the freshest chunks of oaten or wheat bread baked from the ransacked spoils of battle. And, throwing a woolen mantle about her to keep her from the chill of the rain and the fog.

  Boudicca had news that Seutonius was traveling south to meet them, livid at the destruction of Londinium, Rome's largest island port. Her scouts kept watch on his progress, reporting to her every day. She must meet with Indomarius and her council. A victory would change the minds of the Trinobantes, the largest Roman-held tribe on the island's eastern coast, to join them.

  As she mused on the politics of battle, she thought of Diviticus. Diviticus who only asked to bring the wisdom of the gods and the skies to the people of the Coritani tribe, to intervene on behalf of peace, to take a maiden to his knee to fill her young head with the hopes and the dreams of the ancients.

  She thought of Diviticus lying slain on the beaches of Mona. She hoped that his journey to the Other World would be one of peace, and when he reached his destination, he would impart his wisdom forever.

  As Boudicca passed through her thoughts, she heard behind her a rustling in the tall, brown grasses, giving way to a familiar hearty laughter. She turned to see Linnea running toward her, barefoot across the meadow, arms outstretched, her simple, pale green linen tunic flowing in the midday breeze.

  As Linnea reached her, they threw their arms about each other, holding a long embrace, the memories of their long friendship crossing their thoughts at once. "Oh, Linnea," said Boudicca, as they parted their embrace, "how did you get here?"

  "It was a long journey," answered Linnea, "but I knew I must join Anthropus. I have left the fields in the hands of Anthropus' father, and the care of the children to his mother and to mine."

  "Yes," Boudicca said, "Anthropus has been gone long. Mandorix sent the Coritani to us soon after the victory at Camulodunum."

  "Our fields do not give what they gave when Anthropus was there to till them," said Linnea. "Though we work from when the sun's rays begin to fall upon our shutters, and finish when the moon begins to rise, neither I nor the children can pull from the earth what he can."

  "And, how do the children now number?" asked Boudicca.

  "Five hungry mouths now fill our dwelling," said Linnea, a broad smile, much like the one that crossed her features in childhood as they sat cross-legged upon the gorse along the Coritani river banks watching the frogs jump for insects and the squirrels at play, broke out about the creases of her now worn countenance.

  "I must get back to Anthropus," she continued, "for his garments are in sore need of cleaning."

  "You would be very proud of Anthropus, Linnea," said Boudicca. "He has used his courage well. He has held the faith of our ancestors in battle and polished his skills with our ancient warriors as we camp."

  "May the gods be with you, Boudicca," said Linnea. "I shall pray to Sequanna to give to our children the peace we knew as maidens along the fields and woodlands of the Coritani."

  "I must also embrace Alaina and Valeda," she added, "for I have not gazed upon them since they newly learned to walk across the Iceni fields and chase the balls we threw them."

  She then embraced Boudicca once again, turning at parting toward the Celts' encampment, her steps a little less lively than those of her youth, her shoulders bent forward slightly with the mantle of worry.

  As she left, Boudicca headed toward camp to search for Indomarius. They must set a plan to meet Seutonius and his army.

  Indomarius sat in a glade not far from the edge of camp, a stool set out for him to support his weary frame. Boudicca sat nearby on a bench, her long, red tresses held back by a single, linen strand, her simple, green linen tunic edged with golden Iceni crests gathered neatly about her, her worn feet covered by sandals of doe-skin, her attention on the chiefs and the ancient warriors of her council sitting cross-legged about her on the tufts of grass competing for the rays of the sun in the only clearing of the dense woodland.

  Boudicca spoke. "Seutonius rides to meet us in battle as the crow flies, stopping only at Londinium to survey the damage. Our scouts report he has refused to spare his army to give aid to the city, so anxious is he to meet us."

  "We must no
t attack another city or outpost," she continued, as she leaned forward to be better heard above the chirping of the birds flitting about among the trees at the edge of the glade. "We must save our strength to defeat Seutonius. A victory will convince the Trinobantes, who have not been hasty to break their Roman oppression, to join us."

  "We are camped now in the open, far from the gates of a city," she added. "But, if we hold ourselves within a city's gates, or a woodland, or our backs to a river or a set of hills, we make ourselves vulnerable to Seutonius and his army.

  "We now outnumber the Romans. Claudius sends them no replacements, thinking our efforts of little value."

  Varix, still triumphant with the flush of victory at Londinium, spoke next. "Our tribes are ready to face the Romans," he said, as he changed to a squatting position to be better heard. "We polish our skills in practice each morn as the sun comes up and in games at evening by the light of the torch. Our young warriors learn well from the ancients covered with the scars of battle who teach them."

  Carvilius spoke next. "Our Cenimagni warriors are ready as well, anxious to cut down the Roman army. They fight for the women who have joined them, and for the freedom and honor of their homes and their tribal lands."

  "Seutonius has the advantage in choice of battle field," said Boudicca, addressing all the chiefs at once. "He will not attack us here in the open, because he knows he is outnumbered. He knows, also, that we must destroy him in order to gain the freedom of our island. He counts on the destruction of the Druids to throw us into panic, making us easy prey to a final Roman submission. We must avenge the deaths of our Druids, and take back the freedom which is ours." She paused, leaning back upon her bench. She continued. "We must wait for Seutonius to choose a site, and then devise a plan to overrun his army."

  The chiefs agreed, nodding and murmuring their assent. As they finished, they rose to return to their women and their sword and javelin bouts, Boudicca calling for a large celebration and as much feasting as they could spare, to raise the spirits of their warriors so far from home. As they left, Boudicca headed back to camp to search for Alaina and Valeda.