Iceni

Chapter 6-3

As Boudicca watched, the centre of the crowd heaved and parted as it ejected a huddle of warriors from its midst. There was a struggle as a captive was led forward by those who’d just pushed their way to the front. Several Celtoi women had discovered a young man and they pulled the Romani with them so he was in view of the vast Temple doors. He was still young enough to be someone’s son, Boudicca realised, with just a hint of fluffy hair upon his lip, but he managed to hold himself tall. They stripped him and poked him with their spear tips in all his soft places. His resolve crumbled — inside he was still a child, nowhere near an adult really — and he started to blubber. Boudicca laughed. The spears were thrust more forcefully and he started to cry out loud for his mama, begging the women to leave him alone, that he had done nothing wrong, and how his father would save him.

‘Quintus!’ A voice boomed from the temple. For an instant the Celtoi cowered, thinking it was the voice of the Claudius god come from the sky. Then they realised it only heralded an echoing heroic charge by an old sweat who came hammering down the Temple steps despite his colleagues’ attempts to hold him back. Their attention diverted for an instant, the boy ducked under his tormentors’ arms and ran for his life across the square to the safety of his father and the sanctuary beyond.

They never even reached each other. Despite a hail of Romani javelins to cover the veteran’s sally, a chariot whipped out from the Celtoi ranks and rode between father and son. Deftly the warrior standing on the wicker frame cast a spear with each hand, in different directions, neatly into the chest of each Romani, leaving their bodies stuck through. They died at the same moment. The driver hadn’t even slowed the horses to allow the manoeuvre, but kept the chariot at the same furious pace until it had travelled the length of the precinct. Then the chariot turned tightly, and to a riotous cheer from the Celtoi ranks, made a victorious pass back to where it had appeared from.

Lovernios tapped Boudicca’s shoulder to divert her attention back to her purpose. She realised she’d been shouting in triumph as raucously as everyone else at this marvellous display of the charioteer’s skill. The chariots were usually ridden upon uneven grass; these cobbled streets were a veritable treat. Lovernios nudged her again; he’d obviously been giving their situation a lot of thought.

‘Madam, we need the force to be divided into three, a third to rest immediately. We need to keep a constant vigil over these besieged veterans — they’re professionals, remember? They’ll realise soon how hopeless their position is and will probably start some sort of diversion so they can bolt. We must be wary of that, so we need a third of our force to be constantly on guard here. Those that rest now can be set to take over the next shift here. We need another third to continue searching for those who’ve secreted themselves around the Colonia and who might still try to escape and those who might have been sent to bring relief to the town. When the Celtoi who choose to remain here tire of their current entertainments, I suggest we set some of them to arranging the feast to end all feasts, as we promised. They should be warned to be continually wary though. Lets see if we can’t tempt those Romani out.’

Boudicca contemplated his ideas for a while. ‘We not only need to split the army into three, but to do so evenly. There’s no good in setting old women and little boys to watch the temple. Also, we need to do so diplomatically. If we’re Celtoi now, as you claim we are, and not Iceni plus other lesser tribes from around Britannia, then we need each tribe to be represented in each third.’

Lovernios grabbed her arm and squeezed, hard. She pulled away. ‘Don’t be so antagonistic, madam. You only need the wrong tribesperson to hear choice remarks like ‘lesser’ and you will be Iceni. Yes, Iceni alone, and it’ll be you the Celtoi will turn on instead of the Romani. Have a care, madam.’

Boudicca looked around her. ‘No one heard,’ she hissed.

Lovernios gave her a very serious stare.

‘I need...’ she corrected herself. ‘Request, the aid of your Druids as translators to aid my Chiefs in ensuring each part of our force is evenly balanced.’

‘Call your Chiefs to you, I’ll request your translators.’

Boudicca sent a runner for two selected leaders, Addedomarus from the Trinovantes and whoever the Coritani would choose. Grania was also sent for as second in command. Addedomarus arrived along with a huge woman from the Coritani who was almost as broad as she was tall, but her frame was built of muscle not fat, and her strength bulged out of the gaps in her makeshift armour. She introduced herself by uttering ‘Fand’ and punching her chest, and once again Boudicca realised how very reliant the whole operation was upon the goodwill of the Druids. These armies before her would never have been able to even communicate without Lovernios’ assistance; the rebellion would have been nothing more than a half-baked shambles without him.

The translators arrived, taciturn and learned. Two wise women, ill-equipped for more social discourse, their white robes emphasising the paleness of their skin gained from years spent in recluse. They nodded sagely at everything Lovernios said to them in their own private Druidic tongue, of which Boudicca knew only a smattering. He explained to Boudicca what had been agreed whilst one translator communicated the information to Addedomarus, and the other conversed with Fand. Discussion followed. Boudicca felt uneasy; this was out of her control. How could she be certain they were saying the right things? Even an incorrect inflection might stir up animosity. She watched and listened to the conversations, desperately trying to discern how things were proceeding from universal body movements and nuances of language.

Finally Addedomarus clasped her hand, smiled and said, ‘Good plan, we watch, you rest.’

The translator explained the exchange to Fand. She in turn nodded and grinned, grasping Boudicca in a suffocating bear hug to confirm her agreement. Then she gabbled something at the translator, who muttered, ‘Queen Fand says she is pleased to be still looting, and will find some especial trinket for Andraste.’

‘Does she mean some gold or a sacrifice?’

The translator communicated the question back to Fand who laughed and slapped Boudicca playfully. ‘She says you understand her in the way that only a woman would and she is honoured to answer to your orders.’

‘Well, I’d never have suspected such a character to be so enigmatic,’ Boudicca muttered under her breath as soon as they were all dismissed.

Lovernios gave her a warning stare, then sniggered at her observation. ‘Just go careful who hears you, madam, that’s all.’

‘What is it you’re so very scared of, Lovernios mine?’

‘This is all new territory for me, too, madam. We’ve received Blessings from the Goddess beyond anything I’d ever dreamed of in formulating this enterprise, but still there’s a part of me which questions how long free spirit of the Celtoi will respond to your authority, indeed to any authority?’

‘The horde is like my horses, Cloud and Mouse,’ she mused. ‘Battle-trained and hardened, it seeks the thick of conflict but stalls at the slightest hint of reticence. Our horses are fiercely independent, any sense of control stems from an illusion which conceals a cooperation between partners.’

Having thought this through, Boudicca was able to answer Lovernios more fully. ‘We must let the hoard have free rein, only making steering adjustments, if we’re not to lose its wild momentum. We won’t really be commanding, we’ll be suggesting. It’s the divine authority of Andraste which results in a suggestion being responded to as a command. It’s only if the Goddess influence wanes that we shall appear to lose any control, and She shall continue to wax as long as there’s blood to be let.’

Lovernios gave her his odd little bow and seemed to be reassured by her words. She felt strangely tired and, taking his arm, withdrew. She left Grania to ensure that enough warriors took the opportunity to snatch some sleep so they might be alert to guard the Temple through the night’s feasting, although Grania was as reluctant as anyone to be drawn away from the trapped Romani. It took argument before Grania conceded there would be more chance of a Romani to kill during the night when they were most likely to attempt to escape. Boudicca imagined Grania twitching and flinching in her sleep between shifts, like a cat dreaming of mice.

Already, edible spoils were being piled in preparation for the evening’s celebrations and wood was collected for bonfires. Eagerness paced the temple precinct in anticipation of the grand feasting and laughter that would ring out tonight, although for now the Temple was as silent as a tomb, as if the Romani within already considered themselves dead. Gradually the Colonia was being razed out of total hatred for what it had symbolised; buildings were levelled and commodities destroyed. Soon there would be nothing but dust.

Maeve had travelled with the wagons. They’d been drawn up to block the main exit from the Temple precinct and contained all the non-combatants of the horde. They represented only a small proportion of Boudicca’s army because even the barely active had taken up arms in the hope that an easy kill would ensure that their names would be sung in memory. No one had wanted to miss this opportunity for glory.

The oxen had been left harnessed and brooding and, on first sight of the wagons, Boudicca felt that the beasts summarised the mood of all the passengers. There was little activity, as if the excitement of this raid hadn’t yet filtered through to those who’d been left out. Boudicca felt bad about insisting on Maeve being transported in this way, but it was easier to keep track of where she was when she was packed in with children and those too sickly to fight. Fortunately, Sucellus had largely taken over Maeve’s welfare while they camped at the forge and had chosen to accompany the horde when it left, travelling in the wagon since he was too lame to run. He sat patiently with Maeve, gripping her hand and accepting her strange, far away look.

Festooned around the wagons were the trophies of war: heads of slain enemies hung by their hair from the wickerwork above the wheels, their severed necks dripping blood and globs of brain which trickled over the cobbles. Lovernios blanched a little when he saw them and shook his head in disbelief as one little boy leaned precariously over the rails of his wagon to prise open a mouth stuck in its death grin and work out the blackened tongue. The children around him giggled and squealed as he prodded the head further, trying to alter the expression or push in the eyes.

Boudicca ruffled his hair. ‘Sorry, little man, you can join your mama soon when she comes to bring you to the feast.’ There was a chorus of aahs and oohs from the wagon and lots of wide eyes looked to Boudicca. ‘There’ll be stories and songs too, but only for those who wait here for their parents to come for them.’ Some of the children still looked in need of reassurance. Boudicca guessed their question. ‘There are very few Celtoi dead, your mamas will come for you. The Romani didn’t want to fight at all, they just ran away.’ There were cheers and claps from the children, and from those in the other wagons. ‘If you stay here, your parents will know where to come for you and then they won’t be distracted from their fighting by worrying about your welfare.’

Celtoi children were boisterous but obedient in general. They were also equipped with lively imaginations and could keep themselves amused for long periods quite happily. It was a characteristic which tarnished only fractionally with age. Boudicca felt quite calm about leaving them to the peripheral vision of those warriors just inside the Temple precinct. More and more people would soon be enjoined to rest, and they’d come here first to seek out their dependents.

Maeve, though, she wanted to gather to her. ‘Daughter mine, please come to me.’

‘Is there water to wash?’ Maeve pleaded.

‘No, Maeve, but there are fires prepared and we can warm ourselves next to them. We should stay together, for a while at least. We can rest. I would talk with you too.’ Boudicca gestured to Sucellus and he led Maeve through the muddle of those squeezed into the wagon and helped her down to the ground.

The four of them made their way back into the Temple precinct to where the fires had been prepared and meat had been set to roasting. The noise of jeering warriors was still deafening as Druids moved amongst the crowd inciting them to further fury by reminding them of their ancestral glories and past outrages of the Romani. A place had been prepared for Boudicca by the largest fire. Blankets and swathes of rich cloths had been earmarked from plundered homes for Boudicca and her Chiefs to rest upon, wine had been set apart along with some of the choicer cheese and bread which hadn’t suffered too much trampling.

The seating allowed maximum warmth without burning and a clear view of the Temple. There was enough smoke to make Boudicca’s eye smart, but she ignored the discomfort, aware that the veterans would be barely able to breathe soon. She scanned the precinct and noted how the crowd had already started to gather around the Nobles to whom individuals owed allegiance.

‘Lovernios?’ she whispered. He bent to hear her quiet voice. ‘Can you ensure your Druids do all they can to keep the horde as Celtoi and not revert to tribes?’

‘It’s inevitable, madam, that they’ll collect around their own people.’ He thought for a moment. ‘However, for every quarrel they can remember between them, there can be found another memory of alliance. Every Celtoi here can name at least one ancestor who quarrelled with an ancestor of every other Celtoi, but they forget their unions quickly, too. The Druids have memorised the ancestry of every Celtoi family back to the days of the Faery. We can use that knowledge to remind them of the inappropriateness of their rivalry.’

‘Keep their anger directed at the Romani then. Must we provide continuous diversions to prevent them turning in upon themselves?’

‘Madam, you still have to realise that every advantage can equally be a disadvantage, it depends upon how it’s viewed.’

Boudicca took a deep breath. It seemed that every attempt she made to reach out to Lovernios for reassurance was answered with detached rhetoric, yet on other occasions he’d offer total emotional support quite unbidden. She felt pulled between relying upon him and being independent, the balance shifting continually.

‘I’m going to rest now,’ she announced. ‘I want to be woken if I’m needed, for the slightest reason, you understand?’ Lovernios nodded. Boudicca pulled Maeve to her and covered her with blankets, as she had when her daughter had been much younger, clasping Maeve protectively, her motion effectively shutting Lovernios out from the comfort she offered her own.

She heard Lovernios give a few orders and felt Maeve relax her stiff unyielding posture, and then, despite the excited noises and all the tension, she slept a light, disturbed sleep where she was running, always running, to keep up with... who knew what?