Iceni

Chapter 5-4

‘Can you show us what’s on the shores of Britannia? What are they so scared of?’

‘There’s no need; watch.’

Lovernios’ breathing was fast and deep now; he was panicking. ‘The Romani are attacking Insula Mona then. I never thought they’d dare.’ Then he went very quiet as they watched the flat-bottomed boats, crammed full of shining soldiers, edge nearer to the banks of Insula Mona. Romani horses, too, swam in their hundreds towards the Celtoi, each one’s rider swimming alongside. It was only a short distance to the island, but the boats moved fractionally nearer and nearer as if they would take forever. As Boudicca watched she realised that very few of the Celtoi warriors awaiting the Romani attack were armed. They were bolstered purely with their religious faith. In a sickening moment she realised that any killing on the shores of Insula Mona would be simple butchery.

Frenzied and hysterical, the Celtoi’s behaviour was clearly causing alarm to some of the younger Romani who were obviously expecting less savage adversaries who might show more restraint and propriety. The ideal enemy was not one who laid down and died or who submitted to the might of Rome quite voluntarily, but one who embraced Romani ways to the extent that they would give all they had to the State; even delaying the sacrifice of their lives to match Rome’s choosing if Rome ever deemed it necessary.

Boudicca’s eyes darted over the Romani faces to see if she could recognise any of those responsible for her daughters’ degradation. She could not. Most of the faces were battle hardened and impassive, seemingly immune to the emotions of battle. This was a job for them, not a part of life. A task to be completed, an order to be followed, with total absolution from any of the personal responsibility of their actions. These were not thinking, caring individuals, these were killing things, stealing lives for some grander plan they neither knew of nor felt for. It was only the hardness in the eyes, engendered by such attitudes, which Boudicca recognised in those faces.

Then the first was ashore. With a helmet as reflective as the brightest mirror and plumed like the proudest horse, the Romani splashed through the shallows, stabbing with his short sword and calling to his fellows. The first few legionaries were cut down, sending wriggles of blood into the lapping waves, then the onslaught began and the trumpets blared and the Romani ordered themselves into a solid wedge and charged. Brave Celtoi warriors fell tumbling around the wall of shields, turning the sea red, with here and there a tattooed limb poking out of the waters and a limed head crying in agony.

Useless against such unaffected coldness, the Brothers and Sisters of the Druidic Council had backed away, realising their magic and curses were no threat to the Romani. Death’s encroachment was delayed solely by the warriors who fell to give the teachers, priests and poets some opportunity to flee. The Romani hacked on, efficient in the ruthless murder they dealt out to any caught in the lick of their swords, and oblivious to the dark Spells and Workings hanging over them now like a shroud.

Together both black and white robed Druids scuttled for the trees and the shelters of the Groves. Those who dawdled, those who were lame or old, those ritually blinded to enhance their clear sight, were picked off as they stumbled, and were left prone, with awful wounds upon their bodies, where they fell. A white haired child pulled at an older man, urging him to hurry. The older man jogged along, responding to the urgent tugging as best he could, then tripped, turning for a fleeting instant to see the horror of the Romani close behind. Reaching within his black robes, he pulled out a golden sickle which glinted for the tiniest instant before the boy grasped it and darted for the trees. Boy and man shared a last yearning glance of mutual understanding before the Groves enveloped the boy and the Romani trampled the old man.

The killing was finished quickly. Boudicca saw the Romani send troops into the Groves to seek any stragglers, while the cavalry circled the beachhead to capture any who’d escaped. She saw the foot soldiers emerge, incredulous, from the Groves, and knew that once between the stout oak trees they’d have found no sign of human passing. She saw the Romani’s puzzlement turn to frustration. Then she saw the Romani bring axes and stoke fires and destroy the sacred Groves of Insula Mona out of sheer rage that anything so simple should dare to trick them and cause such vexation. Then the vision faded and her emotions returned from the calm repose they had melted into whilst she Scryed.

Now there was no return. This was the only consequence of Romani rule and there was no going back to their former existence in which they were all subservient to Rome and some god Emperor who cared not for his people. There was no longer any alternative but to horde, and their first target was one to bring union between Iceni and Trinovantes: Camulodunum.

She looked up with a new resolve, only to gaze deep into the troubled expression of a white haired child who held out a golden sickle to her. ‘This is Andraste’s own knife. He said you’re its owner now.’

Boudicca took the cruel blade. It fit snug in her hand, worn in the same places her calloused fingers would eventually wear it down had the sickle been presented new and she about to wield it for a generation’s passing and more. This was not being thrown in the stream; this marked a new style of sacrifice.

‘I’ve just understood what he’d been trying to teach me. All his lessons make sense now. May I be alone to think on it, Teacher?’ It was the child, still talking in his high piping voice, but to Lovernios now.

Lovernios nodded. ‘There’s only this evening and this night. I hope that’s enough for all of you.’ Boudicca looked past the child and realised Lovernios was addressing a whole crowd of Brothers and Sisters, all ragged and bloodied, and recognisable as the same Druids she’d seen moments before running on the beach at Insula Mona. On reaching the trees they’d Found and the Pathways had brought them here, in silence, to stand before her and await her presence.

‘It has to be enough.’ She announced, raising her voice so everyone in the whole clearing paused their tasks to hear her words. Everyone that is except Grania who could be heard a little way off complaining loudly about how there was no more beech to be had anywhere and that the first oak would have to be chopped down if any more wood was needed for shelter. Then even Grania was silent, as someone must have nudged her to be quiet.

Boudicca winked at Sucellus, who’d limped over to join her. ‘We can’t have that, can we?’ she whispered in an aside.

‘No, Madam, it’s right for you to leave now,’ he whispered back.

‘It has to be enough, my people, for there’s only tonight left. Tomorrow we horde!’