Roman III - The Wrath of Boudicca

by Ashman, Kevin

  ‘You know the orders,’ said Cassus over his shoulder, ‘no prisoners. Kill them all.'

  He kicked in his heels and galloped across the field heading toward the last place he had seen Prydain. It had been a long seventeen years but at last, it was payback time.

  ----

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  The Fate of Britannia

  Taran and Heanua led the way, closely followed by the rest. Prydain brought up the rear and they panted heavily as they made their way up the steep slope. All around them, individual battles still took place but they fought their way through to reach the plain on the other side. As they broke free of the forests the true scale of the defeat became apparent as tens of thousands of Celts raced away from the slaughter.

  ‘By the Gods,’ said Heanua, ‘Andraste has truly turned her back on her people this day.’

  They joined the crowd and pushed their way through as fast as they could. Women sobbed as they helped their wounded men and orphaned children wandered aimlessly amongst the throng, seeking the parents who would never come.

  Throughout the exodus, Roman cavalry rode at will and people ran screaming before them or fell to sword or lance but soon even the bloodthirsty cavalrymen tired of killing and settled for rounding up the survivors for slaves.

  Heanua led the group down into a stream bed and away from the fields and though the going was slower, they were out of sight of any pursuers and were still undetected as night fell. Through the hours of darkness they pressed on until finally they reached another forest, though this time, vast and welcoming. The group collapsed at the base of a giant oak and fell into an exhausted sleep.

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  The sun was high when Prydain woke and for a while he sat against the tree reliving the events of the last few days. His comrades were still fast asleep and as they were miles away from the battle, he decided to let them rest. They would need every ounce of strength if they were to survive the next few days.

  He knew they would need food and took the opportunity to scout the way forward. Hopefully they would find a village who could give them food enough for travel but if not, they would have to rely on what they could steal.

  He nudged Taran gently.

  ‘Taran, I will be back by noon. Guard them well.’

  Taran nodded.

  ‘Be careful,’ he said.

  Prydain walked along the stream bed and away from the temporary camp. They had found the boy but he had lost two of his best friends in the process. He hoped the boy was worth it.

  For an hour he walked through the wood but dropped to the floor when he heard someone coming toward him. He pulled his knife slowly from its sheath, fully expecting a Roman to emerge from the undergrowth but the man who appeared was no more than a local hunter and across his shoulders he carried the carcass of a young deer.

  Prydain stood up and stepped out to face the man.

  ‘Hail, friend,’ he said.

  The man stopped and stared at Prydain with suspicion.

  ‘Friend, you say,’ said the man, ‘yet you brandish a knife like a brigand.’

  Prydain glanced down and realising he still held the knife, placed it back in the sheath.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but I thought it was you who may be a brigand or worse still, a Roman.’

  The man still did not move.

  ‘I have need of your aid,’ said Prydain. ‘I have friends back in the wood who are weak from hunger. I see you have made a fine kill and would beg a share of the meat for a fellow Briton.’

  ‘Why should I share my kill?’ asked the man. ‘Hunger is the bedfellow of many and this deer will feed my family for many days.’

  ‘You have a family?’ asked Prydain.

  ‘A woman and a child of four years,’ said the man. ‘We live in the woods and trouble no one.’

  ‘Then you too are in danger,’ said Prydain. ‘You must get them and leave this place immediately.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘About the battle back amongst the hills.’

  ‘I know of no such battle.’

  ‘Boudicca has suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of the Romans,’ said Prydain, ‘and they scour these lands for slaves as we speak. You and your family are at risk and at the very least would be enslaved if not killed. Join with us and we will take you to the Khymru.’

  ‘How do I know this is not a ruse to free me of my kill?’ asked the man.

  Prydain sighed and realised he was wasting time.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I tell the truth. I have an injured girl and six hungry mouths to feed. As a fellow Briton I am asking for your aid. In return I can offer only good advice. That is all I have.’

  The man stared at Prydain for a while before throwing the deer to the ground.

  ‘Like I said,’ said the man. ‘I know of no such battle but hunger is a pain I know only too well. We will not join you, however, I will not see you go hungry.’ He nodded toward the deer. ‘Use your knife, stranger. A haunch will last you three days if you eat sparingly.’

  Prydain sighed in relief.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said and walked over to the dead animal to carve away one of the legs. When he had finished he turned to the man again.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t join us?’ he asked.

  ‘I am sure,’ said the man, ‘our home is here and rest assured it is well hidden.’

  ‘Then at least take care,’ said Prydain, ‘for the world just became a far more dangerous place.’

  ‘It has always been such,’ said the man. ‘Journey safely, stranger.’ He picked up the deer, and disappeared into the forest once more, leaving Prydain staring after him.

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  Prydain knew he was nearing the place where he left the group and was about to call out when a noise stopped him in his tracks. Slowly he crouched down amongst the bracken and listened again. There it was, the sound of a horse snorting after a hard ride. He put the venison aside and crawled forward to see the source, knowing full well there were no horses within his group. Within moments he saw a Syrian Cavalryman astride a horse, obviously keeping watch over the path leading through the wood. Prydain knew that could mean only one thing, his comrades had been compromised. He retreated back into the undergrowth, his mind racing as to what he could do. Eventually he realised he had to have better information and made his way through the denser parts of the forest, giving the guard a wide berth and made his way back to where he last saw his comrades. Finally he crawled forward and peered down into the clearing.

  What he saw made his heart sink Taliesin was tied against a tree, his hair matted with blood and one eye closed from the beating he had obviously received. Heanua, Lannosea and Heulwen were sitting next to each other, their hands and feet bound and their mouths stuffed with gags. There was no sign of Taran.

  Prydain took in the scene quickly. Four men stood guard around the clearing astride their horses and he knew at least one more was guarding the path. He knew there would probably be more as most units in the Roman army were based on multiples of ten. But it wasn’t the number of riders that caught him cold, but the man sat nonchalantly on a fallen tree to one side. It was Cassus Maecilius, his boyhood friend. They had spent their childhood growing up amongst the vine covered slopes of Picenum and had set out together as young men to seek glory in the Legions but fate had intervened and sent them on separate paths and since that day, Cassus had sworn to kill him.

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  Prydain stayed hidden for as long as he could, forming plans over and over in his mind, each discarded as the futility became clear. There was no way he could better ten men and even if he could, he knew Cassus was a formidable fighter and was more than a match for him. If he wanted to survive, he knew he had to run, to get as far away as possible while he had the chance but below him he had a situation no man could walk away from. There were two daughters of Boudicca, a boy destined to be king of t
he Deceangli if not the Khymru and a woman he had grown to love over the past few weeks.

  The thought shocked him. Until now he had simply enjoyed Heulwen’s company but suddenly the thought of losing her, hurt more than any of the battle wounds he had ever suffered. He savoured the unbidden thought for a few moments before realising that he could no more run away than fly like a bird. No, he had to do something and had to do it quickly. He crawled back through the bracken knowing what he had to do. It was risky, but it was the only plan he had.

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  Cassus stared at the women before looking up at the sun. It was already well on its way to midday and he knew Prydain should be back by now. He swallowed the last of his Buccellatum and washed the dry biscuit down with some water from his bottle. He looked at the women again and caught the youngest staring at his food pouch.

  ‘Hungry?’ he asked.

  Lannosea looked away quickly.

  Cassus reached in the bag and retrieved some dried meat. He walked over and crouched before the women, carving thin slivers of the meat and dangling it in front of their faces.

  ‘Plenty of food to be had,’ he said. ‘In fact, tell me what I want and I will get one of my men to make a broth. How does that sound?’

  Lannosea looked away and Cassus laughed as he saw the hatred on her face.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ said Cassus, ‘is why Prydain is so far away from his so called people and risked his life to lead you right across a battlefield. What is so special about you, eh?’ He placed the point of his knife under Heulwen’s chin and forced her head up. ‘Your face is familiar to me,’ he said. ‘We have met before.’

  Heulwen stared back, meeting the Roman’s gaze.

  ‘I am Heulwen of the Asbri, true natives of these lands. We were here before you came and will be here after you are gone.’

  ‘The Asbri? said Cassus. ‘I remember you. You are the woman who nursed my wounds in the household of Madoc. You were also the one who robbed me of my revenge the last time Prydain crossed my path.’

  ‘You knew the arrangement, Cassus,’ said Heulwen, ‘a life for a life.’

  ‘And the debt was paid,’ said Cassus. ‘This time there will be no such burden to stay my sword. So tell me, Witch, why are you here and where is Prydain?’

  ‘I have nothing more to say to you,’ said Heulwen.

  ‘Not yet perhaps,’ said Cassus, ‘but you will.’ He stood up and walked over to the tethered Taliesin. The boy’s head hung limply on his chest and Cassus grabbed his hair to lift it up. Taliesin’s face was a mess and he mumbled through swollen lips.

  ‘Shame about his pretty face,’ said Cassus. ‘The boy has spirit but little skill.’ He looked over at Heulwen and saw the fear on her face.

  ‘I see this boy means something to you,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can loosen your tongue. Now, where is Prydain?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Heulwen.

  ‘Wrong answer,’ said Cassus and smashed Taliesin across the face with the back of his hand. The boy’s head flung sideways and fresh blood poured from his mouth.

  ‘Stop,’ shouted Heulwen, ‘I tell the truth. He left before we awoke. He could be miles away by now.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Cassus and smashed the boy again.

  ‘Stop it,’ screamed Lannosea, ‘she tells the truth. Hurting him more will not make the truth change. Can’t you see he has had enough?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Cassus, ‘but I have only just started.’ He drew his Pugio, spinning the knife in his hand while staring at the women. ‘Ever seen a man with his tongue cut out?’

  ‘No, don’t,’ begged Lannosea. ‘Please, there is no point. Killing him or us cannot make the unknown, known. Spare his life and I will sacrifice mine in his place.’

  ‘A girl’s life has no worth to me,’ said Cassus.

  ‘I’m not an ordinary girl,’ sobbed Lannosea.

  ‘Lannosea, be quiet,’ shouted Heanua.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Cassus. ‘Speak quickly or he dies.’

  ‘I will give you a gift worth a fortune,’ said Lannosea, ignoring the shouts of the other two women. ‘My true identity.’

  Cassus stared.

  ‘Speak,’ he said, ‘or he dies right now.’

  ‘I am Lannosea, daughter of Boudicca,’ she said quietly.

  Cassus stared in silence, taking in the astonishing fact. Her capture would be worth a fortune.

  ‘So that’s it,’ he said at last, ‘the reason he tried so hard to save you.’ Before he could say any more, a shout made him turn in alarm.

  ‘Sire, a rider approaches.’

  Cassus ran across the clearing and watched as a horse walked slowly into the clearing, a body draped across its saddle.

  ‘It’s Ashur,’ shouted one of the guards.

  Cassus recognised one of the riders he had posted as an outer sentry and he ordered the tethered man cut from the horse’s back. The man was wounded but conscious.

  ‘What happened? asked Cassus.

  ‘I was struck from behind,’ said Ashur, ‘and fell to the attacker’s sword.’

  ‘Where is the wound?’

  Ashur indicated his shoulder, a place unlikely to be fatal.

  ‘Why did he spare you?’

  ‘He gave me a message,’ said Ashur. ‘He said he is the one you want and he is willing to give himself up in return for the freedom of your captives.’

  ‘He said that?’ said Cassus quietly. ‘And why should we trust him?’

  ‘He said he gives his word, and swears on the memory of Karim.’

  Cassus fell quiet. Karim was the man who had saved Prydain as a baby and had brought him up as his own son. He knew that whatever he was, Prydain would never sully his father’s memory with a false promise.

  ‘What else did he say?’ he asked.

  ‘He said to send your men away and release the prisoners. When he sees both parties on opposite horizons he will meet you one on one.’

  Cassus stared at the man, his mind racing with the implications. At last his quarry of seventeen years was within his grasp.

  ‘Do it,’ he said.

  ‘Sire,’ said one of the riders, ‘the girl is Boudicca’s daughter. She alone is worth a fortune in gold. Surely this man can wait?’

  I have waited long enough,’ said Cassus, ‘and it is time to bring it to an end. Release the prisoners and give them a horse for the boy.’

  ‘But Sire.’

  Cassus turned around and punched the Syrian, sending him sprawling in the dirt.

  ‘I am the Primus Pilus,’ he shouted, ‘and you will do as I command. Release the prisoners and take your unit back to the Legion or suffer the consequences.’

  The man stood up and saluted the officer.

  ‘Yes Sire,’ he said and turned to carry out his orders. Ten minutes later both parties were heading in opposite directions leaving The Centurion on his own. Cassus watched them go before sitting back on the fallen tree. He drew his Gladius and retrieved a small whetstone from a pouch. Slowly he drew the stone along the blades length anticipating that soon, it would be needed to end a burden he had lived with for too long.

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  Prydain stared down into the clearing. Cassus sat waiting for him but Prydain had to be sure there was no trickery. Finally he saw the riders appear on a far hill and he knew Cassus had kept his side of the bargain. He climbed down from the tree and after saying a prayer to his ancestors, walked down the slope and into the clearing.

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  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Resolution

  Cassus stood up and watched Prydain approach. For an age, both men stared at each other in silence before Cassus finally spoke.

  ‘So, you were stupid enough to come after all,’ he said.

  ‘I am a man of my word, Cassus,’ said Prydain, ‘we made a bargain.’

  ‘A one sided bargain,’ said Cassus.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I will ride away from h
ere today while your corpse will be left to rot alongside your friend there.’ Cassus pointed to a corpse half hidden in the undergrowth. Prydain recognised the body of Taran and his heart sank.

  ‘He put up a good fight but was no match for my blade,’ said Cassus.

  ‘You killed him?’

  ‘I did. Is that a problem?’

  ‘He was a good man,’ said Prydain, ‘and deserved better.’

  ‘He died with honour,’ said Cassus. ‘A trait I admire in any man.’

  ‘So what is this about, Cassus?’ said Prydain. ‘What burns you so much that you still require I die, after all this time?’

  ‘You know why, Prydain,’ said Cassus circling around the clearing. ‘You have brought disgrace on my family’s name by deserting and joining the enemy all those years ago.’

  ‘You know that is not true,’ said Prydain. ‘I simply joined my father’s people.’

  ‘You were a Legionary,’ shouted Cassus, ‘and took the Sacramentum.’

  ‘An oath based on the unknown,’ answered Prydain. ‘I believed I was as Roman as you and fought alongside you as brother. But when I found out I was killing my own people, how else could I react? You surely would have done the same.’

  ‘Never,’ growled Cassus. ‘I have too much honour to betray my comrades, no matter what the reason.’

  ‘Really Cassus?’

  ‘Do not mock me, Prydain,’ said Cassus, ‘and enough talking. Draw your sword for this ends now.’

  Prydain slowly drew his sword and stood opposite the Centurion.

  ‘Have your sport, Cassus for I know I am no match for you. Even on those sun-baked slopes of Picenum as a boy you were always the victor and I expect no different outcome.’

  ‘You already talk defeat,’ spat Cassus. ‘What trickery is this?’

  ‘No trickery,’ said Prydain, ‘just realism. I fully expect to die this day though will use everything in my power to delay that moment.’ He paused. ‘We were close once, Cassus. Boyhood friends growing strong together in the hills, above the Adriatic. Where are those allegiances, Cassus? Are they not stronger than any false oath?’