Roman III - The Wrath of Boudicca

by Ashman, Kevin

  It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. Her sister seemed to be handling the memory of the abuse well but Lannosea couldn’t get it out of her mind. Every minute of every day since the assault, she had thought of nothing else. The pain, the shame and the overwhelming stink of the soldier’s breath on her face as they tore into her body, was relived in her mind over and over again. By night her nightmares were replays of the assault while by day she searched her memory to see if she could have done something different to avoid it happening. Her head felt as if there was a beast within trying to escape and despite the care of the Shamen and indeed her mother, Lannosea finally could take no more and had ran from the camp to seek solace.

  She hadn’t meant to go far, just to find a secluded spot amongst the trees, away from the constant battle preparations happening all around her but she had kept on walking and by the time she realised she had gone too far, it was too late. She was lost. That had been two days ago and she had tried in vain to find her way back to the camp with no success. Her feet dragged through the leaves and her face was smeared with blood where she had fallen countless times, once smashing her head against a rock.

  ‘No more,’ she mumbled to herself as she went. ‘By the gods, no more!’

  She stumbled again and lay amongst the rotting undergrowth, too weak to even cry. After a few moments, a sound reached her ears and she tilted her head slightly, hoping fervently that it was voices. For a few seconds she wondered what it was but then realised though it wasn’t the people she craved, it was something just as important, the sweet sound of running water.

  Lannosea pulled herself to her feet and pushed onward, each painful step taking her closer to the welcome sound and she finally emerged onto the banks of a wide stream flowing sweet and clear amongst the trees. Sobbing to herself she stumbled down the bank and dropped to her knees, leaning forward to suck up the freezing, life-giving liquid. The water was painful on her throat at first but she drank deeply. Finally she lifted her head and stared at the reflection below, unable to recognise the face that stared back up at her. Her hand reached forward slowly and touched the surface, sending ripples across the pool and hiding the image from her gaze. For a few seconds she let her fingers play in the gentle current, and her mind wandered to what might have been but within moments reality came flooding back and she smashed her hand into the pool over and over again, screaming as loud as her voice would allow.

  ‘No, no, no…’

  Lannosea jumped to her feet and ran downstream. Again and again she stumbled on the stones beneath the surface and finally fell headlong onto the rocky stream bed, screaming in pain as her forearm snapped beneath her. Only the freezing water stopped her from passing out and once again she dragged herself to her feet, following the water downstream, in the hope of finding a village or at least a hut.

  Just as she thought she could go no further, the trees started to thin out and within moments the stream fell away and the whole world opened up before her.

  She realised she was at the top of an escarpment and stared out over a vista of unbroken tree canopy as far as the eye could see. At first the beauty astounded her but the more she stared, she realised there were no signs of life. No trails cut through the trees and there were no tell-tale wisps of smoke, showing any civilisation where she could find help.

  For an age she stared, realizing that the beauty was also her death sentence. Despite this her heart seemed strangely calm and she stepped closer to the edge of the waterfall, looking down toward the misty pool far below. Amongst the rocks the watery mist had formed a rainbow and despite her terrible state, Lannosea smiled at the beauty. She knew she could not go on much further and night was approaching fast. With her broken arm there was no way she could climb a tree and without the safety the boughs would offer, she would likely be killed by a bear or a wolf pack before the dawn broke. If that happened, her spirit would never rest.

  Exhausted and weak from hunger her mind was settling. For the first time she found herself thinking of other things away from the assault. The colours around her seemed brighter, the smells crisper and the birdsong louder. The beauty of the scene flooded her brain and the rainbow beckoned her as if it was a gateway.

  Lannosea knew what she had to do. It was better to stride through the gateway to the afterlife with head held high, than to become a spirit of the night, forever wandering the forests of the beasts. The way was clear and she felt for the necklace her mother had given her as a child. For a second her smile faded as she realised she had lost it during one of her falls but despite this her mind was set. Her time was done and the afterworld waited for her.

  She pictured her family in her mind and after taking a deep breath, held her arms out wide before stepping out over the cliff edge.

  ----

  Miles away, Rianna rode into the camp, exhausted from the twenty four hours she had spent in the saddle. She slid from her horse and after allowing a slave to lead the spent animal away, made her way over to Boudicca’s tent. As she approached, Heanua emerged and looked at Rianna with hope in her eyes. Rianna just shook her head silently and the young girl’s face fell along with her hope.

  ‘Is your mother here?’ asked Rianna.

  ‘She is inside,’ said Heanua and stepped to one side.

  Rianna ducked into the tent expecting to see Boudicca briefing fresh search parties. It had been a week since Lannosea’s disappearance and thousands of warriors had been deployed in all directions to search for her but with no success. For the first few days Boudicca had been frantic and had ridden amongst the search parties, desperately seeking her daughter, as indeed had Rianna but over the past day word had been sent to all the searchers to return to camp. Rianna looked at Boudicca expecting to see a drained woman, beset with grief but what she saw was completely different.

  Boudicca stood at the far edge of a crude table with a deerskin map spread before her. Around the table edge stood several warriors, most of whom Rianna recognised by sight as chieftains of the larger tribes in the area. Boudicca herself was wearing a leather tunic over a chainmail undercoat and her flowing red hair was tied back out of her way as she pored over the map.

  ‘My Queen…’ started Rianna and Boudicca looked across the table at her friend.

  ‘Rianna, you have returned’, said Boudicca. ‘Good. You are just in time to hear the news.’

  ‘About Lannosea?’ asked Rianna.

  ‘No,’ said Boudicca after a pause. ‘Lannosea is dead. It is time to move on.’

  Rianna stifled a sob and her hand flew to cover her mouth. For a few seconds she struggled to keep her emotions in check in front of the warlords but gradually she trusted herself to speak again.

  ‘Where is her body?’ she asked.

  ‘There is no body,’ said Boudicca, ‘live or otherwise. I have called off the search.’

  Rianna’s brow lowered in confusion.

  ‘But if there is no body, how can you be sure she is dead?’ she asked. ‘She could be wandering around out there as we speak, weak and frightened.’

  ‘It has been almost eight days,’ said Boudicca, ‘and there has been not one sign of her. Either she has been captured by the Romans or taken by the beasts. Either way, she is beyond our help.’

  ‘But…’ started Rianna

  ‘Don’t you think I hurt, Rianna?’ shouted Boudicca ‘Don’t you think I hate myself for my actions? There is a pain in my heart greater than any blade could inflict but I have to face the truth. The gods are punishing me, Rianna and have seen fit to take her from me. If I do not make my peace with them, Heanua could be next.’

  ‘Punishing you? Why would the gods punish you? I do not understand.’

  ‘The Shamen have cast the bones, Rianna and they show anger at my indecision in the face of the enemy. Too often I have doubted my role in this and as we speak I have allowed myself to waste more time while the enemy lick their wounds and gather their strength. This uprising is bigger than me, Rianna, and bigger than Lannosea.
She is gone but our destiny remains and with it, a resolve reborn. It is time to seek the trail forward and continue that we started.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Enough, Rianna. See to your needs and pass the word for the army to prepare. I have news that the Roman Governor Suetonius approaches Londinium with the Gemina Legion and if we move quickly, we can trap him there. It is done, Rianna, we ride with the dawn’s light.’

  Boudicca returned her attention to the map alongside her warlords and after a few second’s pause, Rianna left the tent to seek some much needed food. Her head was throbbing with the implications and her heart was heavy. But despite it all, she knew that Boudicca was right. Their task was greater than any one individual and if Boudicca was willing to put the future of Britannia before her own daughter, then who was Rianna to argue. What was done was done. Lannosea was dead, but the revolt was very much alive.

  ----

  Fifty miles away Cassus looked back down the lines of his Cohort. They were strewn along either side of the pathetic track the Britons had the audacity to call a road. Cassus knew that had it been a Roman road they would have been at their destination two days earlier but the pull of the mud had slowed them as efficiently as any heavy pack. Almost a quarter of his men had fallen by the wayside, each a victim of the terrible pace he had set them and though they would be picked up by those coming behind, their sword arms were lost to him in the event of a fight. The pace had been hard with only minimal rest breaks to eat or drink. Blistered feet had been treated with the ointments of the Medicus and bandaged tightly but many of those still with him were now limping.

  A party of riders galloped back down the path toward him and Cassus stood up as he recognised the lead officer. It was Attellus, the Tribune who doubted him back at the Cerrig of the Deceangli. Cassus could see the urgency on the man’s face and realised he was the bearer of bad news.

  ‘Hail, Attellus,’ said Cassus as the Tribune reigned in his horse. ‘Do you have word of the Ninth?’

  ‘I do,’ said Attellus. ‘Do you have water? We have ridden hard.’

  Cassus beckoned a slave with a goatskin of water and gave it to the now dismounted officer. Attellus drank deeply before passing the skin to the next man in line.

  ‘Cassus,’ said Attellus, staring at the soldier. ‘I have news of the worst kind.’

  ‘Then spit it out, Attellus,’ said Cassus.

  ‘It’s the Ninth,’ said Attellus, ‘they have suffered a great defeat.’

  ‘At whose hands?’ asked Cassus, already guessing the answer.

  ‘Boudicca,’ spat Attellus. ‘It would seem her army is as great as the ants beneath our feet.’

  ‘How many casualties?’ asked Cassus.

  ‘They were wiped out, Cassus, almost to a man.’

  ‘You are sure of this?’

  ‘Our scouts have picked up some survivors,’ said Attellus. ‘Their tale is one of devastation.’

  ‘And the Eagle?’

  ‘Nobody knows,’ said Attellus. ‘The standards are missing as is Legate Petillius. We can only hope he escaped though I fear his head adorns a heathen saddle as we speak.’

  ‘Then our march has been in vain,’ said Cassus, looking back along the column of men.

  ‘You have pushed them hard,’ said Attellus.

  ‘They are Romans,’ said Cassus. ‘It is what we do.’

  ‘Exhausted men are weak in the fight,’ said Attellus.

  ‘Not these men,’ said Cassus, ‘they are the best Rome can offer. I would trust my life in any of their hands, no matter how weary.’

  ‘It may come to that,’ said Attellus.

  ‘How?’ asked Cassus. ‘Surely Suetonius doesn’t expect us to face this woman alone. The fate of the Ninth would suggest there is only defeat on that path. We should seek the strength of the other Legions before drawing swords.’

  ‘Are you afraid, Cassus?’

  ‘Of death, no, of defeat, yes,’ came the reply. ‘This woman presents a threat long dormant but always there, the unification of Britannia. Unchecked she will unite the tribes but strike too soon and their horizons will know no bounds. What does Suetonius say?’

  ‘He orders we change our route and head for Londinium,’ said Attellus. ‘He makes his way there as we speak and looks to find a position of strength from which we can defend against the hoard. You are to make haste to support him while I rally the rest of the Legion to his side.’

  ‘How far is Londinium?’ asked Cassus.

  ‘A day and a half march,’ said Attellus. ‘You should start as soon as possible.’

  ‘And are the enemy there?’

  ‘Not yet, though our spies say they are no more than a few days away.’

  ‘Then I will allow my men a few hours’ sleep,’ said Cassus.

  ‘Suetonius is waiting for you,’ said Attellus.

  ‘From what you say, a few hours won’t make much difference,’ said Cassus.

  Attellus remounted his horse.

  ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘It seems the gods have set us on a great road where every sword will be needed before this thing is done. Look to your men Cassus and let them know that from this day, we are the ones who are the oppressed.’

  ‘We will never be oppressed,’ said Cassus, ‘we are Romans.’

  ‘We are but three Legions, Cassus. Boudicca has mobilised a nation.’ Without another word he pulled on the reins and wheeled his horse to gallop further down the line. Cassus watched him go before calling over his Optio.

  ‘Gather the Centurions,’ he said. ‘The stakes have changed.’

  ----

  Taliesin woke beneath the red cape of the Roman he had killed days earlier. They had stripped the corpse of everything useful and both he and Finian were adorned in various items of the dead man’s clothing. The dead soldier had half a bag of biscuit and dried meat in his leather pouch and the two men had used it sparingly to keep them going as they continued their quest to find Boudicca. Though they knew they were headed in the right direction, there was still no sign of the Celtic army and the going was slow due to the continued presence of the odd Roman survivor still wandering the forest. Finally they had crawled beneath a thorn bush and wrapped themselves in the cape for warmth as they faced yet another night in the forest.

  Checking there was no danger, Taliesin left the thorn bush and after urinating against a tree, made his way over to the nearby stream to drink. A flash of silver caught his eye and he realised the stream was teeming with fish. He allowed himself a smile, for one of the things he had enjoyed as a boy, was fishing in the streams of his people and had garnered a bit of a reputation at his continued success. At last there was a chance of some meaningful food and he followed the flow downstream until he found a suitable spot where the bank overhung the water. Laying on his stomach he slowly lowered his hand into the water and moved it beneath the overhang. The gods were with him and almost immediately he felt the cold scaly skin of a resting fish and he had to calm himself in case he scared it off.

  ‘Steady Taliesin,’ he murmured to himself, ‘take it easy.’

  Gently he used the tips of his fingers to tickle the fish body, knowing full well that as long as he didn’t make any sudden movements, the fish would happily stay there and enjoy the sensation. Bit by bit he moved his fingers along the body toward the head until he could feel the openings of the gills. Taliesin took a deep breath. This was the important part, get this wrong and the fish would be gone in a flash. Finally he made his move and with a dramatic lunge, he grabbed the body of the fish while digging his fingers into the gills to get better purchase.

  His target thrashed violently but it was too late. Taliesin swung his arm over his head and threw his catch onto the bank behind him. He jumped to his feet and turned to see a fish as long as his forearm thrashing amongst the bracken.

  Using the hilt of the knife he had taken from the dead Roman, Taliesin killed the fish before starting to gut it. He knew the catch would go a long way to repla
cing some of their strength, at least for a day or so and where there was one fish, there had to be others. Finally he had it cleaned and was about to return to Finian when he heard a noise in the woods coming toward him. Quickly he lay down amongst the bracken with the knife in his hand. Though he was weak, he would fight to the death if need be. There was no way he would become a slave once more. Quietly he waited as the threat approached and he tightened the grip on his knife in anticipation.

  The intruder burst into sight and ran past his hiding place. Though it made Taliesin’s heart jump, he quickly realised this was no threat. He paused, not sure what to do but within seconds was on his feet again, following the imagined aggressor downstream, realising that far from being a would-be assassin, the intruder could in fact prove to be their salvation.

  ----

  For several minutes he followed the runner downstream, catching occasional glimpses of the retreating figure. He considered calling out but a combination of caution and fear made him hold his voice, he still wasn’t sure what was happening here. Finally he ducked under a thicket and stopped dead in his tracks. The runner was just a few yards ahead and had also stopped.

  Taliesin ducked back amongst the thicket and watches as events unfolded. The runner was facing away from him and obviously breathing deeply from the exertion while they contemplated the next step.

  At first Taliesin was confused but as it became clearer what was about to happen, he stepped out quietly and approached the person from behind, careful not to startle them. He quickened his pace, unsure if he would be in time but finally he reached his target and just as the person was about to step forward, he put his hand on their shoulder and spoke a single word that would change his life.

  ‘Don’t!’

  ----

  Petillius stalked the ramparts of his thinly manned fort. The trickle of survivors had dried up and he believed that all those who were able to reach the fort had done so. The wounded had been tended and the men were rested but their predicament was dire. He had no more than a hundred men left alive, from a strength of over five thousand and most of those carried wounds of some description. There was food enough in the camp for a few days but it did not change the fact they were dangerously understrength in the middle of hostile territory. The size of the perimeter meant they would be unable to defend the whole camp should an attack come and they did not have enough able men to construct a smaller palisade. The one good thing was that they had over fifty fit horses due to the amount of cavalry who had managed to escape and there had been no sustained attack of yet.