Boudicca - Queen of Death Read online

  Pyrrhus turned upon him, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “With so much water, I presume the cattle and pigs drown then — perhaps you should breed carp instead.” He walked arrogantly before the assembly, “Tell me,” he cried, “how strange it is, that Britannic plaid and wool is sold openly in the markets of Rome, that the finest salted beef from prized herds can be acquired with ease there.” He whirled upon Calcus, “Tell me Calcus, do the cattle and sheep swim across the channel?” Proctor, observing the tirade, was clearly holding back, for while having no love for the unfortunate Calcus, his loathing of Pyrrhus was far greater and gathering momentum. As he simmered, Pyrrhus continued.“And what of your mines may I ask? Has the rain flooded them too? Tin, copper,” his hand struck the parchment again “gold from Siluria — where is it?”

  Julius Maximus, one of the council stepped forward in Calcus’ defence. “Stay your hand Pyrrhus, much of what Calcus states is true — these Celts are not miners — I know, I fought against these people for eighteen years, they refuse to work the mines, and despite all our threats and blandishments they listen not. But what is this gold from Siluria you enquire of? — Siluria is not part of the occupied territories yet, our legions halted at the mountains of Siluria to the west and the mountains of Caledonia to the north.”

  Pyrrhus reacted instantly, “So, I take it that before our coming they had no copper knives, no bronze axes, and no spears of iron?” he whirled upon the assembly. “They ate no broth of oats, and knew not the taste of meat,” In sudden temper he swept the documents to the floor. “Did they eat grass then? And live like fowl or deer?”

  Proctor could take no more. “Contain yourself Pyrrhus, Do not push my patience any further, may I remind you that I am Governor here, and I also hold the imperial dictum, forget that at your peril.”

  Pyrrhus nearly exploded, then containing himself he walked out in high dudgeon, at the doorway, furiously he turned and called out, “I have my instructions Governor, so listen well. The debts must be paid in full within three moons, together with all interest. So if your Celts will not work as you say, I suggest you seize their land, requisition their cattle and horses and take their crops — Rome will be paid, and in full — it is for you to enforce, it is in your hands.”

  Maeve and Sequenna

  Maeve and Sequenna stood side by side plucking the strings of their long bows languidly, before them a wicker pannier lay packed with arrows, while in the distance a wicker and straw figure stood silhouetted on a sharp rise, over the head and thorax a piece of white goatskin was stretched tautly.

  Calculatingly the two girls took up their positions, while behind them an amused crowd of onlookers watched them vying with each other as they jostled for supremacy. Time and again their arrows thudded into the target area, as the marker standing nearby checked each girl’s arrows after they were loosed it was soon plain that neither were winning.

  Maeve laughed, “You have improved little sister, you will be a good hunter of boar now, or even of the cony that the Romans brought with them — an alien animal to our land, but in truth I like their flesh, and the fur is soft and makes good garments.”

  Sequenna selected another arrow.

  “I have hunted the cony for practice, since the legions imported them they have spread everywhere, their meat is good, but they are destructive also, I have seen many a crop ruined, even what is good from Rome is also adverse.”

  Maeve selected another missile, “Ten more paces and I will show that I have the edge on you.”

  Sequenna shook her head, “Not so sister, not now — you are better with the sword but I am the better with the bow.”

  The girls walked back a further ten paces, then lifting one eyebrow Maeve turned, “Another ten?”

  “So be it,” Sequenna replied, “why not.”

  Twenty paces further back now they both drew string as each glanced at the other to give signal, then they loosed their arrows simultaneously once more, each striking the target again, the two arrows nestling side by side.

  “Place a marker centre” Maeve called to the man by the target.

  Talco, who had been judging, delved into his pouch and selected a marker then placing the small red square of leather dead centre, he retired to a safe point.

  “Hold girls,” a voice called out, “you are no match for a man. Here, let me show you real marksmanship.” They turned to view the challenger, and laughed gleefully when they saw it was Owen, the son of Crasus, and a renowned marksman with the bow. He took careful aim and loosed his missile, his arrow striking a good three inches above theirs.

  “’Twas the wind against me,” he exclaimed agitatedly, “one more this time — watch.”

  Again the arrow flew, this time striking three inches beneath.

  “Curses,” he muttered. “So the wind blows high.” He drew again as the two girls mocked him.

  “Owen! Will you be beaten by a girl?” they both giggled “Oh what a tale I will tell around the camp fire tonight.”

  He turned to them superciliously, “This time, I will make an adjustment for the wind — watch and I will strike in-between the two arrows and be on target.”

  He strung his bow, fletched it and took aim. They all heard the whistle of an alien arrow above their heads causing them to duck, then it descended with thwack as it struck the small red leather area dead centre, reverberating with the velocity of it. Both Maeve and Sequenna as well as Owen turned around in astonishment; there some fifteen paces to the rear stood Boudicca her face triumphant.

  “If you had enough strength in your arm, dear Owen, the arrow makes its own wind,” she called exultantly. Then chortling to herself she walked away

  Alban Eielir

  A procession wended its way to the great gathering of Alban Eilir, one of the religious highlights of the year. At the head walked Boudicca and Corrianus. Alongside them the royal guards attended, while ahead of them, starkly outlined on the horizon stood a stone circle, within which stood the Druid hierarchy, waiting expectantly.

  The column entered slowly, then as Copernicus raised his stang they started the traditional chant of Helios.

  “Eulogetes ei, Athanatos, Pneumatikos, ho Helios!”

  Ceremoniously they anointed Boudicca, invoking the sun and moon upon her forehead, and upon her breasts, and then thus sanctified they brought forth a newborn lamb before her. Boudicca watched as it was ceremoniously killed with much veneration.

  The priests then gathered around for the ritual disembowelling. As its entrails were spread out on an altar, the Druidic hierarchy closely examined them. Their faces were inscrutable as they gazed, not a word being spoken.

  “Well, what see you priest?” demanded Boudicca impatiently.

  Mordicas shifted uneasily from foot to foot, and then glanced towards Copernicus querulously, “It is a puzzlement O Queen, I see blood — much blood — and yet it is strangely favourable.”

  Corrianus laughed, “Of course you see blood fool, does not a slaughtered lamb bleed?”

  Copernicus and Mordicas ignored him.

  “Let us consult the rune stones — they may well provide the answers for there are mysteries still to be explained.”

  In complete silence a leather pouch was emptied, and the same grey heads strained forwards once more, examining the strangely marked smooth stones before them. Then Copernicus spoke.

  “Now I see what the stars foretold, which is the reason for my journey here. It was in the time of the waning moon, the death moon, that I saw a great comet in the firmament — its tail gleamed behind, and such was its brilliance it lit up the whole sky, turning it as unto day for a moment of time.”

  His fingers, bloodied, poked amongst the entrails and came to rest upon the liver and the heart. He beckoned to the Queen.

  “See here Boudicca, the heart is pure, yet the liver is infested with fluke — and here” he pointed to the rune stones, “it is showing a great army — and here, this one,” he pointed again, “shows us free.”

/>   Boudicca reacted with a mixture of incredulity and rebuke.

  “Your eyes are old and rheumy, Copernicus. How can you foretell the triumph of Iceni wood and leather against Roman iron? Rome is strong, and across the great waters they say, the legions’ soldiers are as grains of sand on a beach. See here Copernicus,” she picked the liver up contemptuously.

  “This is not liver fluke, but speckles of light glistening upon it.”

  She turned on her heel.

  “Come Corrianus, I wish to hear no more of this dangerous and foolish talk — you speak of freedom, but for how long? One victory buys you freedom till the next attack. Tell me,” she shrieked, “how long? One month, two months, three until Caesar can ship more legions to crush us later? Be gone, old fool. Get out of my sight!”

  Shocked, Mordicas recovered. As Boudicca and Corrianus left, a great wailing echoed behind them. Mordicas was waving his arms wildly in the air.

  “I see a field of dead Romans — I see fire and destruction throughout the land, and a star shines behind your head, Queen of destiny. I see Roman towns burning and your people free.”

  He ran alongside her as she made her exit.

  “Strike Boudicca, strike. The tribes would follow you, daughter of the Gods, you are the anointed one.”

  Exhausted the old man sank to his knees as the column passed him by.

  “Boudicca,” he called after her, “I swear it — you cannot walk away from your destiny, it is written in the stars.” He paused. “Queen of death!” he shouted after her, “Listen! I see Roman cities burning!”

  Boudicca did not even glance back.

  Londinium Merchants

  Londinium was awash with rumours, many of those involved in the Britannic fraud wondered what the end result would be, while those who had entrusted their savings to the usurers in Rome were now uncertain as to the legality of the contracts — not that legality worried them too much when dealing with Celts — might was right and the legionaries were always there to enforce the laws, however unjust.

  Within a shabby tavern, a group of Roman merchants stood arguing amongst themselves as to how the situation should be resolved. If it was true and the tribes did unite they may well refuse to honour the debts, regarding them as gifts given by Rome to keep the peace as was the Celtic custom, and then their very lives could be in danger as well as their livelihoods.

  Resentment against Rome was always beneath the surface, for prior to the Romans coming, they were a proud and previously unconquered people.

  As the babble of voices rose in argument, Plautius, a dealer in hides and leather, raised his hands, calling for silence.

  “I have news from Camulodunum,” he announced. “Calcus, who is our agent there has received word that Nero has been informed that the moneylenders in Rome want their money back. We are in a grave position.” He looked at the assembled faces.

  “I do not have to spell it out my friends, but we are in trouble.”

  “Why?” shouted a voice.

  “Because,” Plautius continued, “the dividends we have been returning to Rome are not acceptable. We have taken too much as our share and returned too little — now they demand payment in full within three months.”

  “I cannot pay in that time,” one cried out.

  “Nor I,” shouted another. Immediately a clamour of protests rose.

  One of the motley mounted a small rostrum in the drinking house.

  “My name, as many here know is Ariovistas, and I am a vintner. You all know the true facts, as do I — these Celts are not a business people,” he threw his arm out in a theatrical gesture. “They are a nation of horse and cattle breeders.” By now the assembled merchants were quiet and listening intently,

  “We all fooled them — all of us, we’re all guilty. We had to invest in the future of this country as a Roman province. It was necessary after the last rebellion in order to settle the country — ’twas far easier to give the Iceni a fraction of the gold Rome sent to buy wheat and breeding stock with, and keep the rest for ourselves to build up our own business interests.” He looked down at them.

  “And have we not prospered? Our crime is keeping too much of the profit for ourselves, and sending too little, we have all lived too well on the proceeds. The problem is, the Celts believe the money was a gift from Rome, and know not how much great Caesar sent.”

  A roar of laughter greeted his words,

  “Proud bastards, that is the only way they would accept such gifts,” shouted one.

  “But did they sign for them though?” shouted another.

  Ariovistas grinned, “They made their marks but could not read the documents we had prepared for them.” He laughed again, “So our scribes read it to them — poor fools.”

  As he spoke, another man, Degodian, came forward.

  “How will they react Plautius, when we call the debt in, I would not like to be the collector, nor the one that tells them — any trouble would affect us all, I buy their wheat cheap here and sell high in Rome, I want no trouble.”

  Trojan, another merchant, pushed his way onto the podium, a hideous figure of a man, stunted, with a pockmarked face, he now addressed them,

  “Why should we worry on the fate of a Celt? They serve us as we wish — the answer’s simple, get Aurrelius to backdate a poll tax, and bring in Silentarius and Catus Decianus to carry out the Senate’s orders. This way we can wash our hands of it, Caesar’s collectors and his legions will do the job for us.”

  A clamour of voices rose up in agreement.

  “Right — bring the legions in to collect, they’ll brook no argument.”

  Plautius raised his hands once more, “Agreed then, we get Aurrelius to pass a law taxing each individual, right? A tax on each man woman and child and a levy on all livestock.”

  “Aye, aye,” the crowd shouted, “do it Plautius.”

  “And see they use the lash and the boot to enforce it — show them who their masters are.” shouted out one Sarla, nearby.

  As they turned to leave, one of the traders gave a curiously prophetic warning to Plautius.

  “Tell Catus and Silentarius to be wary of the Iceni when they visit them — they are different from the rest of the tribes, they say Caesar himself smiles upon Boudicca their Queen, it is said her late husband Prasutagus gave him half their estate when he died — and that she is exempted from taxes.”

  Another nearby sneered at him, “Boudicca? What’s so special about her — she’s only an Iceni woman — like Sarla said, use the whip to enforce it, curb all Celts like a man should curb a dog — besides, the Iceni have always been to big for their boots, it is high time they were cut down to size.”

  Plautius thanked him, “Well said friend — I’ve made a note, and Catus will know the score. I’ll offer a percentage of what he gleans to Silentarius and to Catus, that way he will be sure to contain the situation.”

  “What now then Plautius?” asked Ariovistas

  Plautius hesitated a moment, then spoke, “Send a message to Catus Decianus — that the council here advise that he prepares a garrison from here — and make ready to march on Boudicca’s camp — but we must swear no knowledge of them or of their mission.”

  He turned to Ariovistas, “I have an idea that may well solve the situation for all of us, and I will brief Catus in secret later — in the meantime I intend to seek out Copernicus the old priest — they say he has little love for the Iceni and he may well become Rome’s tool in what I plan.”

  Ariovistas looked perplexed. “And what is that Plautius?”

  Plautius tapped his head with his forefinger. “Later Ariovistas, later. I have much scheming to do, but if all goes to plan you will not have to worry about dues to Roman moneylenders.”

  Chapter 3

  The Feast of Alban Eilir

  Everywhere there was rejoicing. The news of the Druid’s oracle had spread, and although not generally believed, it was still taken as a favourable sign.

  “The fields of Roman
dead the priests saw must mean the end of Rome itself,” they whispered “not here, all we have to do is be patient and the Romans will leave. They hate our damp and cold — and the eternal rain, And long for their own land where the sun shines all day long — then let them return there and good riddance to them,” was the general opinion.

  Boudicca was relaxed on her portable throne, pleased to see her people happy, young girls raced around bushes, pursued by young men, other boys wearing deer antlers mimed a dance. From the bushes sounds of love and courtship emanated.

  Wine flowed freely. A near naked tribesman, hardly able to stand, staggered into the stream and fell head first into it. Merrily, women rushed to him and dragged the spluttering man to the safety of the bank.

  Blankets were laid out, festooned with the moon-shaped honey cakes, roasted meats and bread baked in phallic shapes, adorned with sexual symbols and depicting animals and men and women copulating.

  In the village square the traditional gathering place a great ox was being roasted whole. Vintners plied their wares, musicians beat out rhythms with flute and drum, and entertainers juggled and paraded performing bears — lovers everywhere paid courtship to each other as the feast reached its height.

  One girl approached Boudicca carrying a basket. Curtsying she proffered it to her, “I bring you a present O Queen.”

  Delighted Boudicca took the pannier, within was a loaf baked flat in the shape of a Roman soldier — clearly Caesar. As Boudicca hesitated, the girl laughed,

  “Will you break bread with me great one, as is our custom.”

  Boudicca laughed delightedly, as the symbolism of the gesture dawned upon her, “I shall do more than that Rhuna,” she exclaimed, “watch!”

  Holding the effigy aloft for all to see she bit the head off.

  “If the head falls the body dies,” she cried. As she did so, a great clamour of acclaim rang out from all around her.