Roman III - The Wrath of Boudicca

by Ashman, Kevin

  Prydain rode his horse slowly through the village, leading the now un-laden pack horse. Alongside him rode Heulwen. The group had decided it would be better if the two of them rode in together, as a couple wouldn’t be seen as a threat. Back in their own lands strangers would be made welcome but it was no secret that many Catuvellauni villages had become heavily Romanised over the years and they couldn’t take the risk of close inspection. Their features and accents were typically Khymric and would raise too many questions if noticed by any Roman spies.

  The main street was fairly quiet and those people who were out paid them little notice. Both riders dismounted at the village centre and tied the three horses at a hitching rail. A boy with a deformed arm ran over to greet them.

  ‘A coin to water your horses, stranger,’ he said.

  Prydain nodded.

  ‘How much to find some hay to go with the water?’ he asked.

  ‘Another two?’ said the boy, more in hope than expectancy.

  Prydain pulled three coins from within his coat and handed them over.

  ‘Is there a market?’ he asked.

  ‘The market gathers later,’ said the boy. ‘What is it that you seek?’

  ‘Just food,’ said Prydain. ‘Dried meat, biscuit, that sort of thing.’

  ‘My cousin slaughters the sheep for the herders,’ said the boy, ‘and always has mutton hanging in his hut. He will be glad to help, his name is Calder.’

  ‘Where is he to be found?’

  The boy pointed along a side street where a muddy path wound its way between many small huts.

  ‘At the end,’ he said. ‘It is easy to find. He keeps pigs in a pen outside.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Prydain. ‘We will be back in a short while. Feed the horses well and rub them down. If their coats shine on my return there will be one more coin.’

  The boy’s eyes lit up at the thought. Four coins would feed his family for days.

  ‘Thank you, Sir,’ he said and ran toward the nearby stables to make a deal.

  Prydain and Heulwen made their way down the well-trodden path until the smell of the pigs told them they were near.

  ‘This must be it,’ said Heulwen, pinching her nose against the stench.

  Prydain called out across the pen of black pig filth.

  ‘Hello there, we seek the man known as Calder.’

  For a moment there was no response but eventually the small door in the mud wall opened and the oldest man Prydain had ever seen ducked through the opening. His face was a mass of wrinkles and there wasn’t a tooth in his bald head. In his hand he held a bloodied knife and a leather apron covered his dirty tunic and leggings. He squinted toward the two friends.

  ‘Who wants him?’ asked the man.

  ‘My name is Prydain,’ came the answer, ‘and this is Heulwen. We are looking to buy food for our journey and understand you are the man to see.’

  ‘It depends,’ said Calder.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether you have coin.’

  ‘We can pay,’ said Prydain.

  ‘Then there is business to be done,’ said Calder, ‘come in.’

  Prydain and Heulwen waded through the mud, pushing through the curious pigs that sniffed around their feet.

  ‘Go on in,’ said Calder, standing to one side. As they ducked through the door Calder looked warily up and down the path. It was always prudent to know who was watching you in these troubled times.

  Inside the hut the smell was no better despite a smoky atmosphere. A half skinned sheep’s carcass hung from the ceiling, its hind legs secured in looped ropes suspended from the roof timbers. A pile of un-cleaned furs lay heaped in the corner and several recently butchered joints of meat hung from curved hooks on an A-frame that ran the length of the hut. Despite the smell, Prydain looked around with interest. Life was never easy in the clans and this was more meat than he had ever seen at one time. Heulwen held her hand over her mouth, trying her best not to inhale the stench,

  ‘State your business,’ said Calder as he followed them in. ‘And be quick, I am a busy man.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Prydain. ‘Is all this yours?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Calder. ‘Some of the villagers pay the shepherds to look after a communal flock. I do the butchering for them. In return I get the offal and a roof over my head.’

  ‘You live on the offal,’ said Heulwen.

  Calder leaned forward and picked up the skinning knife from a stone table. Prydain half held his breath, not sure what the old man intended to do. Calder stared into Prydain’s eyes for a moment before leaning forward and plunging his knife into another leather bucket and Heulwen gagged as he withdrew a bloody kidney from amongst the entrails.

  ‘The choicest parts,’ said Calder and laughed as Heulwen turned to run out of the hut, the vomit already pouring through her fingers.

  Prydain watched her go, quite jealous of the fact she was getting out of the overpowering slaughterhouse.

  ‘Typical woman,’ snarled Calder. ‘Give them a nice joint and they are happy enough, but once they see a bit of blood it’s a different matter.’

  Prydain didn’t answer. It was all he could do to stop himself from being sick.

  ‘So what do you want?’ asked Calder.

  ‘Do you have any smoked meat?’ asked Prydain. ‘Something that will last a journey of several days.’

  ‘You are in luck,’ said Calder. ‘I haven’t got anything smoked but I’ve got a salted gammon ready to go. One of my masters had a deal with the brewer’s son but he fell from his horse and broke his neck. Took him three days to die, it did. My master wasn’t happy as they had a deal but his bad luck is your good fortune.’ He walked to the back of the hut and lifted a heavy hessian sack before dragging it over and hoisting it up onto the stone table. He peeled the edges back to reveal the yellowed skin of an enormous pig’s leg, complete with trotter. ‘Nothing wrong with it,’ said Calder, swatting away the flies. ‘Cut a few slices off and hang them over a fire. Either that or throw some in a pot with a bundle of roots and you’ve got yourself a soup. Last for weeks, that will.’

  ‘How much?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘That depends what you are paying with,’ said Calder.

  ‘Coin,’ said Prydain.

  ‘Copper or silver?’

  ‘Gold,’ said Prydain.

  Calder stared at Prydain and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  ‘You’ve got gold coin?’ he asked.

  ‘I have.’ said Prydain. ‘Don’t ask how because I won’t tell you.’

  ‘No business of mine,’ said Calder. ‘Be you brigand or merchant, business is business and for a golden coin I will throw some extras in.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘Couple of hearts,’ said Calder, ‘some kidneys and you can have that sheep’s head if you want. Killed fresh this morning.’

  ‘Throw in that goose outside and we have a deal,’ said Prydain,’ but you can keep the sheep’s head.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Calder and wiped his hand on his apron before holding it out for the promised coin.

  ‘Meat first,’ said Prydain.

  Calder hesitated.

  ‘Let me see,’ he said.

  Prydain pulled a leather pouch from beneath his cape and extracted a gold coin.

  ‘I’ll go and get the goose,’ said Calder. ‘Do you want it killed?’

  Prydain nodded. A few minutes later Calder returned with the limp body of the goose over his shoulders. Once it was in a fresh sack he turned to Prydain once more.

  ‘The coin?’ he said.

  Prydain flicked it over and watched as Calder used his knife to check it was indeed gold.

  ‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said once he was satisfied.

  ‘Where can I get bread and biscuit,’ asked Prydain.

  ‘There are many bakers on the far side of the village,’ said Calder, ‘but surely there is no bread worth a gold coin?’

&nbs
p; ‘You can’t eat gold, Calder,’ said Prydain as he hoisted the sack over his shoulder.

  ‘If you have gold, who needs to eat?’ said Calder.

  ‘I think we are done,’ said Prydain and ducked out of the doorway to find Heulwen.

  Calder watched him go before pulling out the gold coin again. Only Romans or brigands had such riches these days and that man was no Roman. Without another thought he followed him out of the hut and down the lane before disappearing down a side alley.

  ----

  Prydain made his way back toward the centre of the village, looking all the while for Heulwen. Though he couldn’t find her, he wasn’t unduly worried and after dropping the meat sacks off at the stables, made his way to find the street of bakers. During his time at the slaughterhouse, the village had become busier and children were playing in the central clearing while their families laid out their wares on sack cloth around the edges, or offered their skills to whoever passed them by. Tailors stood behind hand barrows, hoping that a brand new tunic would be preferable to the second hand rags offered by many of the desperate people around the square. Farmers brought turnips and field greens from their farms as well as live sheep and baskets of eggs, while Brewers lifted buckets of stale smelling ale onto trestles confident their particular commodity would sell quite well.

  Covered carts parked against walls, each offering the more private services that could be found in busy markets such as these. Soothsayers, Shamen and Magicians offered the older people hope, while the younger men hung around the whore’s wagons, summoning the courage to venture into the welcoming silks of their perfumed boudoirs.

  Children taunted the many loose dogs around the square, their joint cacophony being exaggerated by the scolding of the adults and Prydain knew this scene could be anywhere in the Khymru if it hadn’t been for one differentiating fact, the presence of a dozen or so Roman Auxiliaries wandering in pairs through the crowd.

  Prydain walked amongst the busier part of the crowd, hoping to blend in unnoticed as he crossed the square. Within moments he was in the relative safety of a side street as he made his way toward the welcoming smell of warm bread. This time there was more urgency in his manner and he wasted no time in buying a sack of biscuits from the nearest dealer before making his way back toward the stable. A disturbance had broken out in the square and a crowd gathered around two men arguing over an unpaid debt, obviously hoping it would break into a fight. Prydain took the opportunity to make his way toward the stable, keeping to the side of the square as much as possible but had gone no more than twenty paces when a voice called out, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  ‘You there,’ said the voice. ‘Hold still.’

  Prydain looked around and his heart sank as he saw a large man with a scarred face standing next to the slaughter man he had done business with less than an hour earlier.

  ‘That’s him,’ said Calder to the armed man. ‘He has more gold on him than you or I will ever see. I tell you, there’s something strange going on there.’

  Prydain looked around quickly, hoping for a quick escape but the thug stepped toward him.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, stranger,’ he said. Just back up against the wall and show me the purse.’

  ‘My purse is my own,’ said Prydain, ‘and no business of anyone but me.’

  ‘Wrong,’ said the thug. ‘Tales of brigands abound in these parts and I do not know your face. Perhaps the contents of your purse are not of honest origin.’

  ‘Just stick him,’ said Calder, ‘and we will share the contents. I will vouch he reached for a blade.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Prydain. ‘It is true I have coin and you can have it. ‘ He reached beneath his coat and pulled out the purse. ‘Let me leave freely and this is yours.’ He tossed the purse over to fall at the man’s feet.

  ‘Check it,’ said the thug and Calder leapt forward to pick up the leather pouch. Within seconds he had undone the leather lace and poured some of the contents into his hand, the gold coins glistening in the sun.

  ‘Told you,’ he said, stifling a laugh, ‘we are rich. Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Give it to me,’ snarled the man.

  Calder handed over the purse.

  ‘Equal shares,’ hissed Calder. ‘We had a deal.’

  ‘Where there’s one purse, who’s to say there aren’t more?’ asked the man.

  ‘There are no more,’ said Prydain. ‘You have what you want, now let me go.’

  ‘Not going to happen, stranger,’ said the thug drawing a large cleaver from beneath his cloak. ‘This isn’t your lucky day.’

  As the huge man strode forward Prydain dropped the sack of biscuit and drew his own sword, much to the surprise of both attackers.

  ‘Back off,’ snarled Prydain, ‘or it is you who will die this day.’

  The man paused but did not withdraw.

  ‘We will see,’ he said and lunged forward to the assault, swinging his heavy blade at Prydain’s head.

  Prydain deflected the blade but the strength of the blow forced him back, causing him to lose his balance and drop his own weapon to the floor. The thug instantly followed up his advantage, forcing Prydain up against the wall. It took all of Prydain’s strength to hold the blade from his throat but he knew the bigger man’s strength would soon tell.

  ‘Stick him,’ hissed Calder. ‘Do it quick before someone notices.’

  The man’s hand crept closer and though Prydain strained to hold the blade away, within seconds he could feel the edge against his throat.

  ‘Goodbye, stranger,’ hissed the thug through rotten teeth and despite his imminent death, Prydain gagged at the stench of his fetid breath.

  Suddenly a shout rang out.

  ‘Prydain!’

  The thug turned his head quickly to assess the new threat but didn’t release the pressure.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ shouted Calder, ‘it’s just his woman. Do it!’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Prydain saw a flash of movement from Heulwen and a second later, a blade span through the air to sink deep into his attacker’s throat with a sickening thud. The would-be assassin’s eyes widened in shock and he staggered backward, clawing at the weapon in panic. Prydain reached down to retrieve his own sword from the dirt and without pause, plunged it through the man’s chest. He turned to face Calder but the old man was already shuffling toward the crowd.

  ‘Come on,’ said Heulwen, ‘we have to get out of here.’

  Prydain picked up the purse and retrieved Heulwen’s knife.

  ‘I think this is yours,’ he said and tossed it over to the girl. Together they walked quickly through the square toward the stable.

  ‘The horses are ready,’ whispered Heulwen, ‘at least the boy has honour, unlike his kin.’

  ‘It is a disease spread by the presence of the Romans,’ said Prydain. ‘In their eyes, everything in this world is measured against monetary value and as such can be bought, even loyalty.’

  Within moments they reached the stables where the horses were waiting for them, looking fresh after their attention from the stable boy.

  ‘Sir, I did what you requested,’ he said as they approached. ‘Fed and watered as you asked. You said I could have an extra coin?’

  ‘And you shall,’ said Prydain mounting his horse. ‘Is there another way out of this village?’

  ‘Down there,’ said the boy pointing down a side alley. ‘It takes you to a ford in the river.’

  ‘Good,’ said Prydain. ‘One last task, boy. If anyone asks, tell them we rode toward the main gate. Can you do that?’

  ‘I can,’ said the boy ‘but…’ His sentence went unfinished as a gold coin fell at his feet.

  ‘But that’s…’

  ‘It’s the price of loyalty,’ said Prydain. ‘Will you do it?’

  The boy nodded and picked up the coin.

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘Spend it well, boy,’ said Prydain and without looking back, led Heulwen and the pack
horse down the narrow alley away from the village.

  ‘That was close,’ said Heulwen when they had crossed the river.

  ‘Too close,’ said Prydain. ‘From now on I think we will rely on our hunting bows. Civilisation is too dangerous.’

  ----

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Lands of the Iceni

  Rianna struck her sword over and over again against the trunk of a tree. Her wounds were tightly bound and she felt confident the freshly healed skin would hold when it came to conflict. They had been encamped in the forest for over a week and each day brought another level of strength to her sword arm. She knew that the day was rapidly approaching when her life may depend on her skill with blade.

  Her training session was mid flow when a disturbance back amongst the Queen’s tents made her spin around in concern. People were running everywhere and raised voices added to the confusion. Rianna wiped the sweat from her brow and started to run toward the camp, afraid that they were under attack. As she approached she heard the voice of Boudicca raised above the rest, issuing commands to all those around her but though Rianna had heard her Queen like this many times before, this time there was something different about her voice. There was fear.

  Rianna ran amongst the tents, trying to work out what was happening and within moments came across Boudicca talking to one of the clan’s scouts. As she approached, the scout wheeled his horse and rode away, closely followed by his ten men.

  ‘Boudicca,’ called Rianna as she approached. ‘What’s happening? Are we under attack?’

  Boudicca turned and stared at Rianna for a moment before answering.

  ‘Attack? No, nothing like that,’ she said ‘It’s Lannosea.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s gone,’ said Boudicca. ‘Nobody has seen her since last night.’

  ----

  Lannosea stumbled through the depths of the forest. He legs were lacerated from the thorn bushes and her hair fell in a tangle of untended knots about her face. Despite her exhaustion, she knew she had to find water and if possible something to eat. She had been walking for two days without any food or water, except that which she sucked from the occasional muddy puddle she found amongst the forest debris. At night she sought shelter from the beasts amongst the higher branches of the trees.