Boudicca, page 21
“They chafe under Rome’s yoke of taxation. Farmers are being forced to give up food and goods their families need to survive the winter, but they know if they don’t they will be met with the kind of violence our tribe has known,” said Cadoc darkly after we’d passed a cart loaded with baskets of produce driven by a sour-faced man and his bitterly complaining wife.
“That is good for us,” I said.
“Aye,” agreed my shield.
As we got closer to Camulodunum, the farm huts changed from our wooden roundhouses to cold stone things built in squatty squares and topped by tiles.
“Have they all become Romans?” I asked Cadoc.
“No, my queen. These”—he gestured at the latest stone building we cantered past—“are Romans. Soldiers who have behaved valiantly in battle or who have retired are often gifted farmland by the Roman governor. I’ve heard the Trinovantes warriors speak of it often. It is how they were pushed off the land when the Catuvellauni allied with Rome and defeated Addedomaros. Rome gifted the Catuvellauni traitors with land that Tribe Trinovantes had farmed for generations.”
“That is the doing of the Roman governor, Gaius Suetonius Paulinus,” I said.
“Yes. He leads the legions here as well,” continued Cadoc.
“I am aware. I remember him from the signing of the treaty with Rome. We bring vengeance to Decianus for what he did to us, but Paulinus is our ultimate enemy—he and the legions he leads.”
“Indeed,” agreed Cadoc.
“So the Roman governor gifts his men with lands belonging to Britons,” said Maldwyn. “First taking it away from the Trinovantes and then taking it away from the Catuvellauni warriors, even after they fought beside Romans.”
“Yes,” said Cadoc.
“The Romans will take even from their allies. Were I Catuvellauni, that would make me very angry,” said Maldwyn.
“Perhaps all is not as neat and tidy in the city as the Romans would like us to believe,” I said.
“Perhaps not,” agreed Cadoc.
We slowed with the flow of horses and carts and people that crowded the road as the westernmost gates of the city came into view before us, four rounded specks on the eastern horizon. I thought from this distance they looked like the backs of beetles crouched on a hedgerow.
“The Balkerne Gate,” Cadoc said, keeping his voice low and guiding his horse closer to Tân. “It’s as Addedomaros described and as I remember from when I was here with Prasutagus well over a decade ago. Four arched entryways. Then this was the only gate wide enough for chariots to enter.”
“Guard towers on either side of the gates,” Maldwyn said. I rode between them so close that my legs often brushed theirs.
“Let us turn off before we reach the gates,” I said. “Even from here I can see that the dykes and ditches stretch around either side of the city.”
“They should run the circumference of the city,” said Cadoc. “And meet with the two rivers on the east side.”
We kneed our horses onto a dirt path that fed into the Roman road before we reached the gates and were able to increase our pace to a canter again, covering ground quickly as we traveled around the outside of the city.
The foolish Romans had built no wall to protect Camulodunum, nor had they staked the ditch-and-dyke system that served as their only defense. It was true that the expansive V-shaped ditches were chariot deterrents, but several of the banks were low enough that cavalry could ride over them. The only established lookouts were at the Balkerne Gate. Chariots would have to enter through those main gates, but the rest of the army could easily rush the others as the cavalry hurtled over the ditches. My shoulders loosened with relief and I almost laughed at the arrogance of Rome. That arrogance will be their downfall.
The setting sun reflected the saffron and orange of the changing leaves into the clouds over the western forests when we’d finished scouting outside the city and trotted back toward the Balkerne Gate.
“Shall we enter? Find an inn and a warm meal for the night?” Maldwyn asked me.
“Let’s eat within the city, but the crawling feeling I have along my skin says we should camp outside in the woods,” I said.
Cadoc grunted agreement. “I have no desire to lie with traitors.”
Just before we entered through one of the four large stone arches that marked the Balkerne Gate, I turned to glance over my shoulder at the road and surrounding woodlands and farms behind us, and I had to blink spots from my eyes as the sun touched the tree line and roofs of the farmers’ houses. Still blinking my vision clear, I entered the city. The soldiers standing atop the square stone lookouts that butted against the arches gave us only a glance—we were just part of the long line of traders, weary after a day’s travel, glad to enter the city and dismount for the night.
I was surprised by the lax attitude of the Roman guards. Any soldier who looked sharply enough at the three of us would have seen more than farmers or traders, but their gazes were not sharp. They were dismissive and restless, as if they had somewhere else they’d rather be.
“I’d replace every one of them,” Cadoc grumbled low.
“Aye,” Maldwyn agreed.
I only whispered Thank you to Andraste. I saw the laziness of the guards and the city’s meager defenses as blessings showered on us by the goddess of war.
Just inside the gates there were two large stone shrines. The one to my right was dedicated to the Roman goddess Venus, who stood graceful and naked, one hand holding a robe that was obviously Roman and the other lifted to the crown of hair ringing her head. Candles burned at her feet amidst coins left as offerings. Venus, why are you here? I thought. Do you not long for home?
I turned my attention to the second shrine and pulled Tân to an abrupt halt.
My stomach tightened. It was a large stone statue of Epona astride a horse with an arched neck. As with many of the shrines dedicated to our goddess of the horse, Epona was bare breasted, her hair cascading down her back and shoulders. But unlike any rendering of her I had ever seen, a bronze crown of laurel circled her head, and a Roman tunic had been draped around her stone body and fastened at her shoulder by a golden brooch in the shape of the Roman eagle. Horrified, I could not look away, could not move at all.
Then Maldwyn was there with Ennis, who gently crowded Tân to turn us from the desecrated shrine so that we were, once again, part of the ebb and flow of the busy gate.
“They’ve tried to make her Roman!” I whispered fiercely to Maldwyn, who remained so close to Tân that Ennis’s shoulder kept nudging us forward.
“Aye, but to stop their desecration we have to survive,” said Maldwyn softly. “So we must keep moving.”
In front of us Cadoc kept glancing over his shoulder, sending worried looks my way, until I finally shook off my disgust and moved Tân forward myself.
As Addedomaros had explained, Camulodunum had been built on a grid, with the wide main stone streets running east-west and the smaller, hard-packed dirt streets north-south. The outer ring of the city was an awkward mixture of Britain and Rome. I found the rectangular stone buildings the Romans preferred to be cold and unattractive—soulless. Interspersed between those stone structures were our wooden roundhouses. I hated how shabby they looked.
The city was crowded with Roman soldiers. Torches were lit on the outsides of the taverns and inns that lined the main streets. Periodically large metal braziers provided light and warmth along the streets. Those braziers seemed to be meeting places for the soldiers clustered around them, throwing strange shadows as they drank and laughed and gamed.
The city was divided into three major sections. The Sheepen District was in the northeast, and it held the main Roman barracks, a theater, a basilica, and the trading center. The Gosbecks was an older section in the southeast of the city where, situated on a gentle rise in the land, a temple dedicated to Brigantia had stood for generations. We would scout both sections tomorrow, but that night we followed the main road that fed directly into the third section, the Roman colonia, which sat in the center and held the monstrosity the Romans had built to their dead emperor Claudius. The temple filled a city block. Stone arches gleamed in torchlight revealing an immaculate courtyard that held an enormous central building high up on a podium-like base. White stone stairs stretched up to tall columns. As we passed slowly by the temple, I peered within. Multiple braziers, too many to count quickly, threw licking shadows over a bronze statue of Claudius, making it appear as if his empty eyes came alive, only to die again in darkness.
There were none of our roundhouses in the colonia and it seemed uncomfortably as if we had been transplanted to the heart of Rome. The temple was surrounded on three sides by barracks. Soldiers walked about the courtyard, calling to one another and raising mugs of wine. These were older men than the Romans who filled the city streets and pubs. They were gray haired, scarred, and grizzled. They paid little attention to travelers but laughed and joked easily with one another.
“These barracks are for retired soldiers,” Cadoc said quietly. “I’ve heard reports that Paulinus had them built for his legionnaires, the ones not gifted land and farms. After pillaging the countryside for him, they’re meant to live out the rest of their lives in luxury here, cared for by Britons who have been made slaves in their own country.”
“Oh, they will live out their lives here,” I said. “But their end will come much sooner than they imagine.”
We kneed our horses around and returned to the outer part of the city, though I still felt as if I had crossed into a different world.
It was ironic that we finally chose to stop at an inn that blazed a brightly painted wooden image of Epona over its door and called itself the White Horse Inn. We dismounted and Maldwyn led all six horses to the rear of the building, where he would pay the stables to feed and care for them. I knew we would not see the horse master again until he had wiped each horse down and made sure they were properly watered and fed.
Cadoc and I entered the busy inn. The main room was large but had a low ceiling and a smoking fire that stung my eyes. We chose a narrow table in a corner facing the door and ordered a pitcher of beer and roasted chicken, which we paid for with Catuvellauni silver we’d brought from the Iceni treasury. While we waited for Maldwyn to join us, the shield and I sipped our beer and listened.
Cadoc had opened his mouth to speak to me when I made an abrupt motion to silence him, then cut my eyes to the table to our right, where several farmers were deep in conversation, gesturing so wildly with their mugs that beer sloshed around them.
“Say it again. I haven’t heard a word about it,” said one red-nosed man whose beard was moist with drink and grease.
“And I tell you that you haven’t heard a word of it because they don’t want you to know, but it fell!” answered a farmer whose hair was braided into a single blond length that stretched down his back. “I saw it with my own eyes. Straightaway off the top of that damned arch. No wind. No storm. Just the goddess Victory breaking off to fall and shatter on their stone road as if she were made of the same glass as their wine goblets.”
“Which road?” asked another man who wore a cloak of Catuvellauni brown and moss green.
“The one that leads from here to Londinium,” said the man with the braid.
The first man clucked his tongue. “’Tis a bad omen. A bad omen.”
“Aye. It’s as if Victory meant to escape what is to come.” The bearded man wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I hear the Iceni and Trinovantes have harvested early.”
The other two men nodded and shared pointed looks.
The bearded man continued. “Mayhap that’s where the Fourteenth and Twentieth legions are headed. Out to put the boot to the two tribes as they collect the harvest tax.”
I felt a chill of fear as I listened intently.
The Catuvellauni shrugged. “Why take the legions to do that? It only took a centuria to attack Tasceni, and they returned from that missing only a handful of Romans—or so they bragged. No, Paulinus is up to something else.”
“Mark my words,” said the man with the braid. “Victory falling was a warning to us. I’m taking my family and heading to the inland forest. Won’t return until snow bites the air, if then.”
The Catuvellauni nodded slowly. “I’m going inland too, well away from any Roman road or city. I have no love for Iceni or Trinovantes, but less for Rome.” He leaned forward and hatred deepened his voice. “I fought with them against Addedomaros and they still took my farm and divided it between three Romans.” He spit on the floor. “I’ll never raise my sword to aid them again.”
The other two men grunted and nodded before they refilled their mugs.
Maldwyn joined us as the serving woman placed three platters filled with succulent baked chicken and beets, red as blood, swimming in onions, before us. We didn’t speak while we ate. We continued to listen as the conversations around us all held a similar theme—Tribe Catuvellauni strained under the yoke of their Roman overlords.
It was fully dark with only a fat yellow crescent moon to light the night after we retraced our way to the almost deserted Balkerne Gate and trotted west. We found a deer path that led away from the stone road into the forest and a grove of silver birches that clustered around a narrow stream. The ground under the trees was thick with moss. Cadoc and Maldwyn raised a crude shelter while I built a fire, and then we spread out our bedrolls and shared a bladder of Wulffaed’s honey mead.
“I want to warn them,” I said. “I wish I could tell every Briton to leave Camulodunum.”
Cadoc raised a thick silver-gray brow at me. “Have a care, Boudicca. We are vulnerable here. If we draw too much attention to ourselves we could be discovered and killed. Then we will be of no help to anyone.”
“I will not give us away, but I would not have our countrymen within those walls when we bring our vengeance to the Romans.”
Maldwyn nodded. “My queen, I believe Andraste has heard you. She will find a way to warn the people who will listen. Have faith.”
I met his steady gaze. “I do.”
Cadoc blew out a long breath. “We could spread the story of Victory falling from the arch. Call it the warning it is. Encourage those who might be considering leaving the city to do so immediately.”
“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow as we move through the city blocks among those who come to trade with the Romans, that is what we must do. It is the right thing to do.”
“Remember that the Catuvellauni are not our friends,” grumbled Cadoc. “Do not trust them.”
“They are not friends, but they did not attack Tasceni. They did not kill our elders, rape my daughters, or flay the flesh from my back, and they cannot force us to pay taxes to them. The Catuvellauni are a familiar enemy, one that can be dealt with swiftly once the Romans are not infesting our land. We will kill them if they stand with Rome. If they do not . . .” I shrugged.
“As you ask, so will I do,” Cadoc said, though with obvious reluctance.
Maldwyn’s smile flashed white in the firelight. “Andraste will find a way, my queen. I am sure of it.”
I do so hope you are right, I thought as I stared into the fire.
Chapter XXIII
In the morning the Balkerne Gate was even more crowded than it had been the evening before. I was glad we were mounted and not on foot or dragging a cart. Instead we were able to guide our horses around the slower-moving traffic. The soldiers stationed at the two lookout towers were as apathetic as the day before. Cadoc’s lip curled in disdain when we passed unchecked and unnoticed through the gates again.
We turned north at the first of the side streets and followed the large square that was Camulodunum, noting each of the other gates and where the ditch was shallowest and would be easiest for our cavalry to navigate. By midday we’d made mental maps of the circumference of the city and headed to the Gosbecks, where I meant to leave my mother’s pendant as an offering for Brigantia. On the way we stopped at a public house to eat, making sure that we engaged the scullery maid in a lively conversation about Victory falling and the dark omen that must be. I was gratified when several of the tables around us paused their conversations to listen, nodding along with us.
Andraste, I know I cannot save them all, but let those who will take heed save themselves. I found myself praying quietly to my goddess all that day as it seemed she listened with the wind and watched through the eyes of each raven perched on the foreign tiles that roofed the soulless stone buildings the Romans called home.
There were fewer Roman houses in the Gosbecks and instead many round huts with goat pens, chickens, and hutches filled with fat hares. In this area of the city there were also decidedly fewer Romans walking the streets and haggling with merchants. I was able to relax just a little and breathe deeply of the familiar scents. If I closed my eyes it almost seemed I was back in Tasceni.
The land lifted gently to a green clearing, in the center of which large stones carved with Ogham symbols were interspersed with oaks. The focal point of the clearing was a circle of flat stones from which blazed an ever-burning flame, similar to the fire that was never allowed to extinguish before Brigantia’s shrine at Isurium, the seat of the Brigantes’ royal family, where I’d been born. There were a few people present, all women and all dressed in the style of the tribes. I smiled at the absence of Romans. Brigantia would approve.
Maldwyn waited with our horses outside the clearing, but Cadoc joined me as I walked between the standing stones, finding comfort in the flame and its warmth. My attention was on the ever-burning fire, so I did not raise my gaze to the stone statue of the goddess until I was very close to her. I’d dipped my hand into the satchel slung across my body and felt around the torque that rested there to find the pendant I’d brought as an offering. As I lifted it out of the satchel, my eyes rose to the goddess and the breath left my body. Beside me I heard Cadoc curse.
