CHAPTER 3

Iceni Territory - Fall 60 AD

It was a beautiful crisp autumn day in the borderlands of the Iceni. The late autumn sun shone bright, beating back the frost which would rush in upon its setting. There nestled snuggly against the trade road that connected their capital of Venta Icenorum with Camulodunum, which was now a city of Romans, lay a small Iceni village. Consisting of less than a dozen houses the village bustled with activity, as its inhabitants took advantage of the fine weather to lay in extra firewood and tend to last minute repairs. The rustle of thatch being bundled and tied down into spare spots on roofs and the sing song chant of women as they stored away late harvest grains echoed across the landscape. Children roamed the far fields, strewing straw across the furrows to protect and mulch the land during the winter's rains and snows, watched over by a handful of laughing adults. The smell of smoking fish and venison filled the air battling against the overwhelming stench of boiling soap and tallow being scrapped for candles. It was a peaceful town, of little or no military importance, more used to trade than war.

So when the sound of horses' hooves began to rumble through the ground, becoming louder and louder until it caught the attention of the town's inhabitants, they did not worry. They had friendship treaties with both the Trinivantes and the Romans so they were unafraid but curious. Many in fact left their chores to gather at the edge of the village to greet the riders, hoping for trade, news and stories. Despite the sound of a large company's approach the villagers were surprised to see what appeared to be a full Roman cohort thunder into view.

It was a rare occurrence for the Romans to come into the Iceni lands, except during trading season, and even then it was usually traders not military units. The cohort, even at a distance, made an impressive display that the Iceni could appreciate. Both soldiers and horses were decked out in their shiny battle dress with colorful banners on high, flapping in the wind of their passing. The villagers reveled in the sight of the strong warriors, who were their allies, fully expecting to be passed by as the contingent moved through on important business. They were quite surprised when the Roman ranks began slowing and their path veered. The cohort's column had changed direction, and were now heading directly towards the village.

The Iceni became excited. Was the cohort planning on spending the night in their insignificant little town? If so, the village might be able to glean enough stories to last through the long dark winter. Women unconsciously smoothed their hair and straightened their frocks, trying to at least be presentable for their visitors. Out in the fields the children began racing to complete their chores, so they to could join in the celebrations, if the Romans stayed. The villagers began calculating what they needed to prepare to offer the visitors a proper feast of hospitality. While others began rushing about to set up all that would be needed for such a large meal. A sense of festivity filled the air. After all any reason for a feast was a good reason as far as the Iceni were concerned.

The village chieftain stepped forward, a welcoming smile on his lips, to greet the cohort's leading officer. But his smile quickly faded away as he took in the grim expression on the rigidly stern Roman's face. Before he even had time to wonder why the Roman was so serious, or what it had to do with his town, his half-formed question was answered.

"We are here by order of the Procurator of Britain," the officer announced, speaking slowly, enunciating each word, so the Iceni would understand even in Latin. "The Iceni client-kingdom status had been revoked. As such the Iceni are hereafter to be considered a conquered people. All Iceni titles and privileges are hereby stripped and their property and their persons are now subject to the Emperor's whims.

"You will gather together all portable property and food supplies to be turned over to this cohort, to assist in paying off the Iceni debt to the Emperor. In addition all inhabitants of this village shall peacefully submit to this cohort. You will be taken to Londinium to be sold in the slave market to aid your people in eliminating the great debt they owe the Empire. Is this understood?"

The villagers stood silently smiling in expectation while they waited for the two or three of their number who spoke the Roman tongue to translate for them. But those who could understand said nothing. They were too stunned by the pronouncement. They were shocked and confused. It was unexpected, disturbing and completely unbelievable. Between one breath and the next the words sank in. The Romans were breaking the treaty and were expecting the Iceni to willingly put their necks into the yoke of Roman slavery. It was an affront that could not be tolerated.

The chieftain stepped forward, furious at the Romans' audacity, demanding an explanation, "What is this all about? We have a long-standing treaty with your Emperor. If you are so greedy for battle and plunder take it somewhere else. Somewhere that you have no alliance. Or are you willing to start a war over a mere handful of trinkets and slaves?"

As he got close to the cohort's leader the Roman kicked out at his face. It was a slow blow, one that was not meant to injury only to drive back. A kick that the chieftain was easily able to dodge.

But even as agile as the chieftain was he was not quick enough to dodge the half-dozen pilum that were launched at him from the front of the Roman ranks. Before he could even think of ducking the chieftain found himself hung, suspended, already close to death, transfixed by three of the long spears, that went completely through his body and buried their tips into the ground. Bloody foam bubbled out onto his lips as he lifted his head to glare at the Romans with the fierce determination that only those with nothing left to lose could truly master.

"What glory for Rome to attack the undefended," the chieftain mocked, coughing up even more blood, gasping and choking on it. "It is better to die once in freedom than suffer a lifetime of death as a Roman slave."

His head slumped against his chest as the chieftain's final breath rattled free of his punctured chest. The Iceni were quick to react to the attack. Though most did not understand the words the soldiers uttered, they did understand the language of battle. They may have been farmers and potters by trade, but they were a race of warriors first and foremost. Some turned to scream out at the fields for the children to run, even as they grabbed up improvised weapons; hoes and skinning knives, heavy metal wood-axes, and even odd chunks of firewood. Anything they could use to defend themselves, were snatched up by desperate hands. It was a hopeless battle and they knew it. There were barely fifty of them, unarmored and poorly armed, against near to five hundred well-armored and well-armed Romans. But they would not give up without a fight. They had to delay the thieving slavers long enough for their children to escape.

The Roman officer saw the villager's defensive posture and signaled for his men to move in. They already had their orders to preserve the merchandise in the best possible condition, and none of them had really expected the Keltoi to peacefully hold out their arms for the chains to be locked on. But neither did they expect the struggle to be too hard. After all they were hopelessly outnumbered and had a history of submitting to Roman might. He watched the faint spots that were the fleeing children vanish into the scanty woods that bordered the village's fields without concern.

They were but little children, how far could they run. Soon fright and hunger would get the best of them and they would end up huddled next to a creek somewhere. When the time came the children would willing surrender to the Romans out of desperation for adult security. Besides they posed no threat to the army as it moved through on their way to the Iceni capital city. It would be a simple matter for the veterans from Colonia Claudia and their Keltoi allies to scoop them up as they followed in the cohort's wake.

* * * *

In the great hall of Venta Icenorum Boudicca sat, feet stretched out to the central fire, patiently reading the proclamation brought to her by a Roman messenger. Her calm continence revealed nothing of the fury that raged inside her threatening to erupt. She did not bother re-reading the document. It was utter rubbish and unlikely to change.

She raised her eyes to the messenger, who slouched insolently before her. Boudicca studied him for a moment before asking, in her most neutral tone, " Do you know the contents of the message you brought?"

"Of course," the messenger sneered.

He was a contemptuous little man, filled with bravado and very little good sense. Obviously the Procurator had sent him out with the full knowledge that he would probably die. Yet it was as equally obvious that the messenger had no idea of the danger he had put himself in. Was the man so foolish to try and intimidate her in her own hall? Yes come to think of it he probably was that much of a fool. But Boudicca refused to let his pointed barbs pierce her calm exterior.

"Tell me are you a herald of the court or a military man drafted into messenger service?" she asked setting aside the document.

"I am a soldier," he replied haughtily. "You may consider me a forward scout for the cohort that even now approaches your city."

Not a herald, Boudicca mused, good then he was due no protection as a messenger. And his declaration that he was an enemy scout eroded his courtesy rights even further. First she would extract as much information as he had, then she would have him confined. And if he continued in his insults she would have him killed.

"You are aware that a copy of my husband's will has been sent to the Emperor, and the Procurator's actions will be seen as traitorous to the Roman Imperial Court," she commented, watching the man for tell-tale clues.

"Your currier to the Emperor had been intercepted," he spat maliciously, relishing the knowledge that he was the bearer of her bad news. "All routes are currently being watched to prevent any further attempts to influence the Emperor against such august and respectable persons as the Procurator and Governor."

"Unless of course I choose to send another messenger via my eastern coast," Boudicca offered innocently, watching the Roman visibly flinch. Blast these treacherous Romans, they were attempting to steal what rightfully belonged to her daughters and the Iceni clans. They had cut off communication between her and their superiors, and if the Roman was correct they were already invading her lands.

"Do you in all your infinite knowledge, know why the Procurator is making this claim against me and the Iceni people?" she asked, her voice dripping with contempt as she sought to goad him into revealing more than he was suppose to.

"King Prasutages died without a male heir," he replied puffing himself up. The man's eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he began reciting by rote. "The correct procedure would have been to apply to the Procurator and the Governor to choose your next king for you. Instead the deceased king chose to steal two-thirds of the Emperor's Iceni occupied lands and give it to females. This act of rebellion voided the treaty that granted the Iceni a client-kingdom. In the voiding of this treaty the Iceni reverted to being a conquered nation. Your hereditary titles and rights have been revoked. And you are now considered dependants of the Empire. Property and persons will continue to be seized until all loans extended from the Emperor to the Iceni people have been fully repaid. At which time the Iceni people may once again petition the Emperor to become a client-kingdom under a king chosen by the Emperor's representatives in Britain."

"What loans?" Boudicca asked cocking her head to the side, confused by this claim and infuriated by the Roman official's audacity. "We have never received loans from the Romans."

"Upon the violation of a client-kingdom treaty all gifts granted to the client-king are to be returned in full. All profit made on business ventures involving or offered by the Roman people must be repaid to the Empire. All taxes that would have been due from a conquered nation from the time of the client-king's ascension also become due, in full." He replied smugly.

"What!" Boudicca roared, leaping to her feet. "Have you and all your people lost their minds? We will not pay you monies your people have not earned! This is an outrage orchestrated by a greedy politician overstepping his bounds, and you know it. Else he would not have gone to such extremes to keep news of it from reaching your precious Emperor.

"We are not a client-kingdom nor are we a conquered nation. We are the Iceni and we bow to no one!" she raged, infuriated by the pompous Romans who thought they could just take whatever they wanted without repercussions.

"You are no more than slaves!" the Roman yelled back. Relying on the guest courtesy he had been offered to protect him, regardless of his offense. "And you Boudicca will be sold on the block to the highest bidder. Or maybe the Procurator will claim you for himself when he arrives at this squalid little town!"

Boudicca's anger cooled as quickly as it had exploded, replaced with cold clarity. She signaled for her clansmen to grab the overbearing soldier, ignoring his sputtered protests as he was brutally grabbed from all sides.

"Guest courtesy does not extend to those who use it as a shield to hide behind while they declare war and threaten their hosts," She informed the Roman calmly. "Take him out and have him executed slowly for his affront."

As he was dragged out kicking and screaming Boudicca turned her mind to more important matters. The messenger's very existence banished from her thoughts. If the information was correct there was a Roman cohort currently marching through her lands. In all probably it was already attacking and seizing all the small villages and isolated homesteads in their path. Knowing her people the way she did Boudicca knew that word of the invasion would fly ahead of the cohort and the Romans would quickly find only empty hamlets and farms. While it meant that more of her clan would escape it also meant that the Romans would be able to travel more swiftly. A mixed blessing indeed.

There was so little time, and so much to do. Boudicca leapt to her feet and marched out into the town's market square with her thoughts racing. Supplies would need to be prepared for the influx of refugees that were sure to begin flooding in any time now. Evacuation routes, not only for the refugees but her for city's populous as well, would need to be utilized. Warriors, both those who would fade into the hills for later resistance and those who would stay to defend the city, would need to be supplied and armed. She was sure that the Romans would head straight for Venta Icenorum, thinking that if the capital was subdued then the people would be as well. She had to be sure that there would be no one still in the city to be captured for ransom or the Roman's infamous prisoner parades. But at the same time she would not give up Venta Icenorum without a fight. It was her city and it had been since she had entered it all those years ago to make Prasutages the Iceni king.
Using her bardic training to project her voice to its farthest extent Boudicca called for her people to gather in the market square. She could hear her call being picked up and repeated throughout the streets and faint echoes as it was carried beyond the city walls and into the fields beyond. Urgency filled the air as people hurried to gather but there was no panic and no fear. Boudicca's preoccupation with defense and her constant drilling for emergencies was finally paying off. Oh but she wished that it had never come to this.

In no time at all the town's inhabitants were organized, and hard at work preparing for the inevitable onslaught. Travel rations were packed into small portable packs, so the escaping clan would not be slowed by the need to forage. Cloaks, blankets and extra clothing were piled with the travel packs near the two outer gates for anyone who might have need of them. The healer and her apprentices quickly bundled up small packets of restorative teas and fever bark to be added to the ration packs. Children ran back and forth carrying small utility knives, axes, cooking pots and other tools to be added to the piles of supplies, for any who were forced to flee without the necessary gear to survive into the winter. Escape routes had already been mapped out eastward into the fens where safe hiding places had already been prepared, and north to the coast and even up into the Coritani's lands. The constant practice that she had insisted her people practice on a regular basis had instilled a quick calm efficiency in the residents of her city. They fell into their deeply ingrained duties and prepared for war with no wasted movement.

The young and the elderly inhabitants of Venta Icenorum began streaming out of the city before the sun had even reached mid-day. The majority of the people, however, chose to remain. They refused to leave their queen to face the Romans alone. Among those who stubbornly dug in their feet, unwilling to leave, were Boudicca's own children.

Young girls of ten and twelve they matched their mother's fierce tirade with one of their own. They cunningly used the argument that the Romans were coming because of their inheritance and that they had the most right to defend it. They overrode her objections, that it was because of their rights to the Iceni crown that they had to be kept safe, with the argument that it was their sacred duty to protect their people.

Boudicca thought briefly of having them forcibly taken into hiding. But she just as quickly dismissed the idea. If they were taken away without their consent they would just escape their protectors and return to the city, possibly falling into the Roman's hands on the way. She was forced to finally agree to their demands. As much as she hated it, there was nothing else she could do or say to sway their minds. Boudicca relented to her daughter's arguments just as the first of the expected refugees arrived.

Stumbling with exhaustion the fleeing Iceni were given no chance to rest or regroup. Instead they were loaded up with the necessary supplies and gear for survival before being hustled out of town with guides or instructions on how to reach various safe-havens. Boudicca wanted no non-combatants in her city when the time came for the face off with the Romans. First and foremost she needed to keep her people safe. And a town filled with weak and weary refugees would only assist the enemy. In addition the evacuees would act as an alert system, spreading the word of the Roman invasion throughout the kingdom. It was all part of her preparations. The only thing that remained unpredictable would be the confrontation with the Romans themselves. The Romans were breaking their own laws, and they were doing so in a desperate furtive way that made their actions unpredictable. Not even her knowledge of their customs was guaranteed to be of any help. All she could do was prepare to the best of her abilities and hope that she could break through to their proper sense of justice and order.

For three days the fleeing Iceni staggered in and out of Venta Icenorum in a fairly steady stream. By the fourth day however there was no one on the road. The lack of activity was unnerving, especially after the constant bombardment of panicked and exhausted people that had flowed through the city. Everyone knew what it meant, the Romans were almost upon them. The tense expectation of the town's remaining defenders rose higher and higher until the very air crackled with anxious anticipation.

Warriors adorned themselves in their finest style, arming themselves to present a united and strong front. Boudicca and her daughters decked themselves out in their most elaborate court garb, putting on a show the Romans would understand. She intended to receive the Romans with royal hauteur equal to their own. The Iceni would face the invaders not as a fearful and cowed people but as innately regal personages who deserved respect. A people who were valuable allies that they dare not alienate.

Heads held high, exuding pride and strength the Iceni of Venta Icenorum watched the Romans march into view. The clan attempted to hide their surprise at the vast numbers arrayed against them. It was more than just the single cohort the refugees had reported. Although the cohort was easily recognizable in their matching armor, high banners and neat orderly marching rows. There was also a large contingent of Romans in mismatched and outdated armor surging back and forth along the edges of the cohort's formation. Boudicca rightly assessed them as veterans who had joined the campaign for blood and profit. Behind them came a large squad of Roman guards, clustered protectively around what appeared to be a sedan chair, obviously the Procurator himself. Most heart wrenching of all though were the strings of slaves that trailed the company.

The slaves were corralled under a heavy guard made up entirely of other Celtae clans, mainly Catuvellauni. Boudicca's anger boiled within her, yet she refused to allow it to show in her expression or her demeanor. How could other clans support and join the Romans in breaking a treaty, the same kind of treaty that kept them safe? Enslaved men, women and children of all ages staggered and stumbled along behind the Roman forces. They were dragged along by the ropes that bound them together, without concern if one fell and dragged down the others they were attached to. The harsh cracking of the slaver's whips could be heard, even over the Roman cavalry, as they snapped over the captive's heads driving them on. Even at the great distance the scraps of clothing that still clung to the slaves could be recognized as being of Iceni patterns.

Boudicca's jaw clenched at the sight of her people in bondage. An icy calm flowed out from the core of her being, flooding her veins with ruthless cold. No matter what words the Romans used she would not loose her temper. This confrontation was too important. No matter what actions they took she would counter them using their own logic against the Romans. There was no way she would allow the Iceni to become Roman slaves.

Instead she waited at the very gates of the city, her people spread out behind her, ready for battle. If the Romans wanted to press the issue then they would have to come to her and her people. She would not move out to meet them.

As the Roman army came within shouting distance of the city and Boudicca's party they came to a slow halt. Their forces settled into place with a great rattling of armor and jingling tack. Horses stomped impatient hooves and neighed challenges at one another as the soldiers stared silently across the open field at their Iceni opponents. The tension grew, arcing between the two forces with a life of its own, as the wait stretched on.

Still Boudicca refused to move.

She would offer no greetings. She would force the interlopers to make the first move.

Finally there was movement in the Roman ranks as the curtained sedan chair was carried into view, moving up to be positioned next to the cohort's Tribunus. The curtains were drawn slightly back and the Tribunus leaned out of his saddle to converse with the hidden dignitary. But at her angle Boudicca could not see its occupant. Was the Procurator so weak that he could not sit a horse? Or so frail that the weak northern sun would damage him? He was the one who had set this whole thing into motion. Was he too cowardly to face the foe he had challenged? Whatever the reasons she would soon find out as the conference ended and the Tribunus rode out into the space separating the forces.

"Boudicca, former queen of the Iceni," the man shouted in stilted Iceni. "You are hereby ordered to peaceably surrender in the name of the Emperor."

"The Emperor has sent me no word that he wishes me to surrender," Boudicca called back, watching confusion flash across the Roman's face. Had they really expected her to simply capitulate to such an outrageous demand?

"The Emperor's messenger has already brought you notice," the man accused.

"I received no messenger from the Emperor," she stated simply, not allowing the vicious humor she felt to show through.

"The Procurator personally sent a messenger to you. If you had no word then how did you know to prepare for our arrival?" the man demanded peevishly.

"Oh a message from the Procurator," Boudicca smiled. "I did receive one from him. But you must admit that he is not the Emperor. The Procurator is no more than an account clerk."

"The Procurator is an authorized representative of the Emperor!" the man shouted, his patience with her verbal sparing already wearing thin. "As such he has revoked your client-kingdom status. You will abide by this decision and surrender."

"The treaty was made between the Iceni and the Emperor. At no time was the Procurator ever involved or mentioned. Since he was never part of the treaty I do not recognize his authority in this matter," Boudicca called back nonchalantly. "If you like I will personally write Emperor Nero to have this matter straightened out."
Now the Roman's face purpled in rage, "No you will not! You will submit without further stalling!"

"Are you challenging me for the right to recognize the Procurator as a proper representative for the Emperor?" she queried, allowing the hint of a smirk to slide onto her face.

"There is no contest…" he began.

"Are you challenging for the right?" Boudicca demanded, cutting him off.

"Yes, yes, I am challenging your ignorance! The Procurator is the rightful representative of the Emperor," he stormed.
"Fine," Boudicca said calmly, taking a step forward. "There is but one way to settle such a challenge. In one on one com

bat. If I win you will release all your Iceni prisoners and remove yourself from the Iceni lands to await the Emperor's personal pronouncement. If your Procurator wins we will recognize him as a true and rightful representative of the Emperor."

The Roman's anger transformed into bemused confusion. This was not a situation he had been prepared for. Somehow he had been tricked into issuing a challenge. He roughly turned his horse and trotted back to the Procurator's sedan, unsure of how to handle the situation. He did not have the authority to issue a challenge, let alone accept terms. He would not be responsible. How they proceeded from here would be for the Procurator to decide.

Boudicca watched him confer briefly with the Procurator's curtained presence. The Tribunus kept nodding his head in agreement before he dismounted and handed off his reins to another member of the cohort, all the while keeping his back to Boudicca and her people at the city gates. The Tribunus must have said something to his men though, for there was a shuffling among the Roman cavalry, as they arced out into a half-moon formation. Even as this was happening the Tribunus turned back to face Boudicca and marched briskly out halfway between her forces and his own.

"Boudicca, former queen of the Iceni," he called officiously, in his stilted Iceni. "The Procurator accepts the terms of the challenge. However due to his health he requests that I be allowed to stand as his champion. Is this acceptable?"

"Yes of course. Though it is a shame he is too enfeebled to back up his claims himself," Boudicca mocked in flawless Latin.

"Who will be your champion, woman?" the man snapped, in no mood for her continual goading.

"Why I need no champion. I will be facing you myself," Boudicca laughed, as she began stripping off her jewelry, handing it over to her daughters.

"But, but," the man sputtered. "You are a woman!"

"Really? Are you sure?" Boudicca laughed, looking across to meet his eyes. She continued to hold his gaze as she dropped her cloak and under-dress. His gaze darted away from hers when he realized that she was facing him naked. He knew nothing of her training, nothing of her history as a warrior among the Galatians. But what he knew and didn't know was of no importance to Boudicca. All that matter was that she win this challenge.

The Tribunus' eyes roamed greedily over her bared flesh. He tried to ignore his body's involuntarily reaction to the sight of a naked woman, even as he ignored the lurid calls of his men. "What are you doing?" the Tribunus asked confused, shouting to be heard over the soldiers.

"Why meeting your challenge of course," she replied innocently. She turned to take up a proffered sword from one of her men, giving him a complete eyeful, before walking out to meet him.

His eyes rocked back and forth captivated by the gentle sway of her breasts as she approached him. He didn't even realize that his mouth was hanging open, as he watched her smooth flowing motion. He couldn't believe that he was being asked to fight a naked woman. A woman. A naked woman! This couldn't be happening! Were these people mad? Through sheer force of will he snapped his mouth shut and schooled his body. The Tribunus knew that if he didn't regain control of himself he would end up not only losing but probably dying as well. This was just a woman's trick, meant to distract him to compensate for a woman's lack of skill in combat.

"You don't expect me to strip for this combat do you?" he demanded flustered.

"No of course not," she countered smoothly. "I know how much you Romans value your turtle shells."

Up close the Tribunus found she was a much taller woman than he had originally thought. She topped him by at least a head, which meant she would have a longer reach as well. He had the heard stories that the women of the Keltoi fought alongside their men. But so far he had never run across one that was actually battle-trained. So even if she did have a longer range, there was a good chance that she would not be able to use it to her advantage. No she was clearly hoping to use her naked charms to win this contest for her. Well it would not work. He knew what women were for and it was not martial combat.

He took up an offensive stance and waited for her to take up at least an attempt at a defensive posture. But she just stood there, sword dangling at her side, open as if she had no idea what to do with her weapon.

"Well?" she asked raising her eyebrows. "Any time now."

"Take up your weapon," he growled.

"I have my weapon. See its in my hand," she smiled.

"You make this a mockery. On your own head then," he growled as lunged forward. He had intended to knock the sword from her hand and end this travesty quickly and effortlessly. He was overconfident and totally unprepared for her speed and finesse as she snapped her sword up to bat his blade away. Not only did she block his strike she also managed to leave a gash across the back of his hand.

She had drawn first blood! This was no longer an amusing farce. He came at her with fast and furious blows. The Tribunus was now fully determined to ruin her pretty flesh and carve her mocking smile from her face. But each of his blows were blocked, as she bent and twisted as lithe as a cat, using his own battering strength against him. In just a couple of minutes the Tribunus was forced to pull back. Not only had she managed to evade all of his strikes but she had also landed plenty of her own. Blood leaked from numerous minor cuts along his arms and even one on his nose. If he had not been wearing armor he was sure that he would even now be crisscrossed with her claw marks.

"Come now you should be able to do better than that," she goaded. "After all I am just a woman and you are a big strong Roman soldier."

By all the gods the woman was not even winded! What was she? The blessed daughter of Athena? Cold realization filled the Tribunus. She was just toying with him like a cat with a mouse. She was going to kill him! He was going to die at the hands of a naked woman!

He circled her watching, waiting for an opening. But he did not know what to look for. She spun in place, giving no ground, watching him with her pale eyes, sword hanging at her side, as it had been before the fight had started. There were no moves to counter! In fact she seemed almost disinterested in this battle of life and death. That was not a good sign. She did not even consider him a threat! All his previous attacks had been at her upper body. Perhaps just perhaps he could take out a leg and even the odds.

Slowly he inching his circling path closer and closer to the Iceni Queen, as he readied himself for the perfect moment. With an abrupt dive he rolled at her legs, sword held out like a scythe to cut her limbs out from under her. Only to summersault through empty air. She was not there. He should have made contact by now. Before he had time to much more than wonder where she was, a painful weight crashed down on his back and arm.

Caught mid-roll the Tribunus' forward momentum slammed him face first into the dry dying grass. His mouth filled with the dirt and brown weeds that his chin ploughed up. His sword hand and his weapon were pinned to the ground beneath her foot. His wrist tore in two different directions, until the bones separated under the pressure with a serious of loud cracks. But she was not done with him yet. Unable to scream with the pain, because of the soil that filled his mouth and choked down his throat, he was permanently silenced as her sword cut half-way through his neck, severing the vocal cords.

It was unimaginable agony. It was more than screaming pain. The feel of his blood and life pouring out of the gaping wound, mingling with the earth into which his face slammed, as his head began to roll away from his neck. Gurgling sounds escaped him as he begged for death, pleading for the torture to end. He no longer cared that a woman was killing him. Now all that mattered was that she finish what she had started and quickly.

A prayer she answered. With a smooth tug she jerked her blade free to swing again. This time severing the head completely from his body. Boudicca delicately stepped off the Roman's, now lifeless, remains and turned to face the shrouded Procurator.

"Fate had decided," she called to the hidden man. "Now get off my land!"

"No I think not," the disembodied voice answered.

Boudicca spun about to rejoin her clan and prepare for a siege, furious at the Procurator's duplicity and his lack of honor. Although she had to admit to herself that his disgraceful sullying of his own honor came as no surprise. Only to find her people surrounded and virtually immobilized. Mounted archers, arrows notched and bows drawn, flanked them on one side. Others of the Roman cavalry had dismounted to encircle the Iceni in a bristling corral of spears and swords. Worst of all was the sight of her daughters. They had been separated out from the rest of the Iceni and confined by strong soldiers, each girl frozen and unable to move, with a bared sword held threateningly against their arched necks.

Caught up in watching the combat the Iceni had unwittingly allowed themselves to be surrounded. They had naively relied on the proper code of conduct to prevent hostilities on either side. At least until the challenge was resolved. The Iceni had paid little attention to the Romans' reshuffling themselves. Each time an Iceni had glanced at them the Romans had appeared raptly attentive to the fight. So it had been assumed that the soldiers were simply spreading out for a better view. As soon as their champion went down however, that had all changed. The Romans had already worked their way into position around her people. All they had to do was draw their weapons. Before Boudicca could even deliver the second blow that ended the Roman champion's life the Iceni found themselves imprisoned and the little princesses being yanked aside. The few Iceni who had been quick enough to draw their weapons in protest lay dead at the feet of their companions. The Procurator had willingly sacrificed honor and his champion's life to capture the Iceni and their most valuable hostages. Boudicca was shocked. What kind of monster was in charge of these Romans?

"Have your people discard their weapons or your daughters die," the Procurator's voice called out from behind his protective curtain.

Boudicca knew there was no way to win in this situation. Her daughters were too far away to reach before the Romans slit their throats. If her people drew their weapons to fight they would be dead before swords could even clear sheaths. The betraying Procurator was equally far away and heavily guarded. There was no way she could get to him, let alone kill him, before she was cut down. Even if she could somehow manage it, it would still make no difference. Her daughters would still be murdered and her people butchered where they stood.

Resignation weighed heavily on her as she admitted that she had been outmaneuvered by the Romans' lack of humanity. With slumped shoulders and bowed head she dropped her sword, hearing the faint squelch as it fell into the pool of Tribunus' blood. With weary leaden limb she signaled for her people to do the same. She would give them no further reason to kill her people. She would give the picture of an ideal defeated queen, meek and weak in her vanquishing. She would wait and watch for a chance to rescue her daughters and as many of her clan that she could. This was but one battle. It was not the war, and they were not defeated yet. The majority of her people were safely away, the Iceni would not be slaves to Rome.

The rasping sound of clearing weapons filled the ominous silence, followed by harsh clangs as the Iceni's weapons were tossed outside the Roman circle. Overheard ravens circled, screaming harshly at the people below, already arrived for the Morrigau's feast.

She heard the Romans moving forward to surround her but she did not bother to turn around. What would be the point? She knew they were there. They knew they had her in a no win situation. Where could she go?

The Romans had become an unstoppable tidal wave, rolling into Venta Icenorum. There was nothing she could do to stop them at this time. Boudicca could only pray that like a wave their power would quickly ebb.

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