Iceni

Chapter 8-3

All of the legionaries had been equipped with fine shiny armour, all their heads protected with wonderful helmets, for what good it had done them. But the ones Lovernios had called ‘centurion’, they had the most magnificent helmets of all, and Boudicca wanted one for herself. Those helmets had shone like mirrors at midday, but across the top of them, arranged transversely, were a crest of proud white feathers. Any head which Boudicca bore back to Camulodunum to show off to the rest of her horde, would be wearing one of those helmets. And she remembered slaying a centurion just around... here. Greedily, she sliced off the head, using her weight to press through the bone, and hefted the prize under her arm. The helmet was held on firmly by a chinstrap, so she turned the head upside down so the blood dripped into it.

Then she looked for one of the wolf-skins worn by the signifiers that she’d coveted. Heads could only be taken by those who had made the kill, but clothing and armour and any other spoils of war were there for anybody. She found the skin and hung it round her neck; she knew she looked fierce in it. Then she thought about some armour for herself, perhaps some greaves or a chest plate. Romani javelins were there aplenty, but she discarded the lot in disgust. Their long untempered shanks were designed to bend upon impact, their disposable nature making a mockery of Lugnasah spear-throwing games devised by a more opportunistic people.

She continued to search greedily, like a child at her first travelling fair tempted by so many foreign traders with an abundance of exotic wares. Suddenly and capriciously the wolf-skin was dropped and all thoughts of armour abandoned. Such things were fine and glorious but would only hamper her in battle and she enjoyed the freedom of light-footedness where she might dance death’s dance hand-in-hand with the Life-Taker Herself.

She came back to Lovernios now, grinning like a child who’d eaten too many autumn fruits and proud of the things she’d acquired. She showed them to him, hoping perhaps for some sort of approval. He just nodded at her and continued with his healing, either not willing or not able to give her the recognition she desired. She looked down at the things she’d taken. Suddenly they seemed so very insignificant. Valuable as they were amongst the Celtoi, nevertheless she’d have gladly traded them all just then for a moment of Lovernios’ attention. Immediately they’d been rendered as nothing.

‘Have you found many of our people alive?’ she asked, determined for him to take some notice of her.

‘Not enough,’ he replied sullenly.

‘One death would be too many.’

‘Remorse, madam, after such a great victory?’

‘Remorse, Lovernios, even for some of the Romani. They were so young.’

Lovernios busied himself with the broken wrist he was setting in a simple splint. A sharp pull and a quick binding with some torn cloth and the bone was set ready for mending. Then he came to her, gathering her in his arms. ‘We can’t afford to be like this. Neither of us. We can spare no regret at the things we’ve done, wallow in no second thoughts, else the leadership of our people crumbles in indecision and doubt. Such is the price we both pay, to put those who come to us before even ourselves. We must harden ourselves against the realities of this rebellion, even at the cost of our own compassion, or for us, our own humanity.

‘The Romani are anathema to us, an alien race who seek to utterly destroy; the only language they understand is that of our swords. They’d treat us no better than this, and have indeed treated us far worse, as well you know. As for the Celtoi who sacrifice their lives for us, they are now in the Summerlands, with our ancestors, basking beside eternal meadows and presiding over their abundant herds. Didn’t you see how they embraced their deaths and fought for you so willingly? Death in its stark aftermath is always disturbing, but in its actuality the spirits gladly return to their true homes as soon as the illusions of this world drop away.’

He finished his speech with a pause. ‘I don’t Sense any more Celtoi are still alive. Have your warriors collected all the heads they want?’

‘It appears so. They’re limited to taking the heads of those they actually killed.’

‘Really? So, that explains why such an avaricious bunch of collectors have left this battlefield relatively tidy!’

‘It’s a sort of loose code of honour between warriors.’

‘I see.’ And so did Boudicca. Lovernios’ words had illustrated the wide gulf that occasionally existed between the two of them: the secular and the profane. Her training meant she understood some of his world by her own experience, but his understanding of hers came from a detached observation which was so much less involved.

‘Do you think,’ he continued, ‘that some of them will be able to carry some of their comrades back to Camulodunum and still be able to hold on to their prizes?’

‘We hook the heads onto our belts. See!’ Boudicca showed him by looping the chinstrap of her centurion’s helmet onto her belt. ‘Unfortunately it means the feathers will get crumpled, but I’ll straighten them out for display. Usually we attach them by knotting their hair, but it’s more difficult with the Romani because they keep their hair cropped short.’

‘Well.’ Lovernios swallowed awkwardly. ‘Can you call over some help for these wounded? Some of them can walk — although gingerly because of the bumps to their skulls — and will just need support. A couple will need to be carried because of leg wounds, but they’ll live once they regain consciousness.’

What remained of this select detachment of Boudicca’s force were now growing bored with picking over the remains of the battle and responded quickly to Boudicca’s command to help the wounded and follow Lovernios back through his Found paths. The forest would take them directly back to the wooded area nearest to Camulodunum, but as Lovernios had advised, the Workings were open now and would soon be less of a secret.

Boudicca was the last to leave, waiting in the hope of hearing the return of horses, perhaps bearing her daughter Grania back to her. As she stood patiently, alone amongst the dead, she felt like the Morrigan herself, the female destroyer resplendent over the things she’d wrought. She felt the power diffuse through her body, like a tingling of the Divine, that was transferring her spirit, no matter how unwillingly, from the maternal to the destructive. She was slipping into a change of being utterly profound and over which she had less and less control. Then, almost as if at her silent command, her thought was answered and the ravens swooped in, the Goddess’ birds and the first scavengers of war. They settled like a cloud of dust, seemingly birthed from every tree around with their screeches and greedy cries of ‘never more, never more’.

They were wrong, Boudicca knew then with her elevated insight. She’d be providing them with many more feeds in the moon cycle to come. The next would come that afternoon as soon as she returned to the Colonia. Then the Temple of the Romani’s Claudius god would fall and all within would become evening sustenance. Would these birds know to roost near Camulodunum tonight?

She turned from the ensuing feast, which reminded her too well of the massed Celtoi looting and destroying the Colonia, leaving the bones of foe and enemy to be picked clean. The ravens were indiscriminate in their taste. Still with these images clear and fresh in her mind, she returned to Camulodunum, the paths clearing before her to bring her out within a short walking distance. When she emerged from the woods nearest the town she joined the remains of the detachment that had been awaiting her. Lovernios had halted them, assuming she would be only moments behind and wanting her to lead them back in victory. It wouldn’t do for her to be absent from such a parade. Such a low profile might result in the horde concluding she’d lost her life during the ambush and they couldn’t yet afford such demoralisation.

She took her place in the lead and they strode quickly back into the streets of Camulodunum with its flattened buildings and burnt shells of houses. They could not run for fear of jolting the wounded unnecessarily, but their steady pace meant the warning of their approach was carried quickly back to the mass of Celtoi in the Temple precinct.

Before they had even reached the open square, they were greeted by a welcoming cheer virtually worshipping them back amongst their kin. Boudicca was astounded by the number of people waiting to acknowledge their victory with the full honours due to such military prowess. It was as Lovernios had promised it would be. Their numbers had been replaced in their absence; many more Celtoi thronged the precinct than there had been even before she had left with her sizeable detachment. She could identify from the chequered patterns on their clothing that some were from far, far outlying tribes occupying lands she could only ever imagine as swathed permanently in mist. The horde was larger now than anything she’d ever dreamed possible; it was hard to comprehend so many peoples had come ultimately at her beckoning.

Still more were coming to join her force. Even as she’d walked down the broken roads of the Colonia, groups of tribes-folk had questioned where they might find Boudicca’s rebellion and the returning warriors had directed them towards the Temple, keeping themselves anonymous for a while longer. Now, nearer the Temple, she noticed huddled groups of pale and weary men and women with dreadful sores upon their necks and weals upon their backs and she deduced that slaves, ensnared by the Romani for their tile factories and mines, had been released and won to their cause. The only thing bothering Boudicca, as her eyes swept over the mass before her, was how much the overall proportion of warriors had lessened. Though their numbers defied the imagination with whole tribes rising against the Romani, they now seemed to be carrying many more non-combatants and those who were totally untrained in warfare.

No matter. Battles could be won and lost with psychological tactics. This amount of people would be certain to terrify every Romani in Britannia even if the legions were to stand all together. Such a horde might be unwieldy but they could overwhelm the Romani now simply by their appearance.

To tumultuous acclaim from the crowds parting before them, Boudicca and the remains of her detachment made their way to the open area before the Temple. Once there she addressed the crowd, which quietened, straining to catch her words. She told them of their victory, of the annihilation of the Romani’s legion nine and of Grania’s mission to ensure the remnants of Petilius’ men whimpered all their way home. She spun her story out for her peoples, entertaining them the way Lovernios might. She told them of the way the Romani looked and the way they marched. Of their fine shining armour and their skill with weapons. She built up the picture of how formidable a foe they’d faced so her audience might guess by inference how much greater were the Celtoi.

She lowered her voice, the crowd becoming even more attentive, to tell them how they’d waited patiently in ambush, desperate for the sight of their prey. The Goddess, she assured them, had chosen the right place for them to attack, the best moment to run from Her forests and had assured them of victory, sending Her ravens in readiness for the meal which would certainly be provided. Then she lifted the head she’d loosened from her belt, holding it high above her head, her arm straining with the weight.

‘This,’ she screeched, ‘is your foe. These are the ones you should be most afeared of. But these are the ones who stand back in conflict, letting their more junior, less hardened soldiers fight before them. Even the centurions quake before Celtoi battle lust; even their chiefs are cowards. We’ve destroyed the might of Rome. Their most beautiful town, their most celebrated troops. With such ease! We’re unstoppable!’

Her words had been especially chosen to both rouse the Celtoi and also intimidate the Romani still trapped in the Temple. The shouts and cheers for her wove a sound so complex it was as if it could be worn like a blanket; the noise was so great as to thicken the very air.

Boudicca was very aware of the effect she was creating. It had been staged so very professionally; she had gained the ability from years of experience. Even Lovernios would be pleased with her. She made sure all the Romani heads were displayed by turning with her trophy to show it off to everyone in the Temple square. Even the Romani in the Temple would be able to see what she carried. Every warrior who’d returned with her did the same. The effect could not have been missed, even if her words had been unheard. It must have been glaringly obvious what had happened to legion nine, and any hoped for relief for the veterans, from the evidence of the captured heads and unusual mixture of legionary armour with which her army had festooned themselves in triumph.

Just to make sure the point had been driven home to the beleaguered veterans in the temple, and to ensure they turned now to desperate measures, Boudicca had one more prize to show. She’d prepared the measure of her speech carefully, with one eye upon the cloudy sky. As she neared her final glorious words, the sun emerged from behind unfolding clouds and she thrust her other arm up towards it, as if in salute.

The first rays to shine down fresh upon her caught the glinting thing she held in her open hand. The massed Celtoi saw it and understood its meaning. The golden eagle being lifted in triumph seemed poised to fly from her touch as the sun illuminated it for all to see. The spectacle could have been lost on no one. Here was all that legion nine stood for and represented. Such a thing could never have been taken unless the legion had been totally destroyed and routed. If such a detachment of the main force could effect such success, then there could be no stopping this much larger horde which still increased in size even as they watched.

Boudicca prayed the sunlight would stay for moments longer as she turned sedately, grinning in wild excitement, to ensure the besieged Romani saw the message of their doom. Her grin broadened.

They had.