Alternate Generals (3 page)

Several legionaries were dragging Brighid and Maeve away, tearing at their dresses and shouting coarse wagers at each other. Horrified, I swarmed down from my horse and came face to face with Ebro. His laconic expression didn't change, but his meaning was obvious. The legionaries were following orders. By interfering I'd only call censure upon myself.

I spun around and shot the sharpest look of which I was capable at Catus. He was inspecting Boudica's brooch, turning it back and forth to catch the light. Nothing personal, just business, Roma's virility making an example of the proud women of a proud tribe.

The girls' screams turned to sobs. Boudica never screamed. Her eyes blazing, she spat quick painful gasps—curses, no doubt—toward Catus and toward me.

Again I started forward, again I stopped. Tightening my jaw, I climbed back on my horse. She dealt honorably with me, I shouted, and swallowed every word until my gut knotted with them. What of my honor? I made my accounting, as was my duty—should I have said the Iceni were a poor people, not worth the conquest? But I couldn't lie, Boudica's
geas
had seen to that.

I saw her face twisted in pain and rage and the blood running down the white flesh of her back, dabbling her braids with crimson. I heard the cries of her dishonored daughters. What of Roma's honor, to treat a free-born people like disobedient slaves?

Overcome with horror and shame I fled, and supervised the squads who were already loading gold ornaments into carts and rounding up the horses and cows. That evening when we left the ruins of Venta Icenorum I didn't look back.

Within a day wild rumors filled the shops and taverns of Camulodunum—screams had been heard in the theatre, ghosts had been seen along the seashore. The Romans began glancing warily behind them. The Britons exchanged furtive smiles—except for the women married to our veterans.

I knew their dread, and told Catus, "The Iceni will respond to this insult with war."

"Let them," he returned. "A disorganized rabble will make a good drill for our soldiers."

He went trotting back to Londinium with his booty. Despite the pleas of the settlers, he left only two hundred legionaries to man the nonexistent defenses. And he left me, telling me this was my chance to further my career in the service of Nero Augustus.

In truth, I was no longer certain I wanted to serve Nero. But I thought of my family, and their ambitions for me, and steeled myself to die.

Not only the Iceni went to war, but their cousins the Trinovantes. It was noon when the warriors fell upon Camulodunum, tens of thousands of them screaming their battle cries, their maned hair flying behind them, utterly disdainful of us and of death.

My little squad fought well, but for every warrior we brought down ten others came behind. By evening only Ebro and I were left, standing back to back on the steps of the temple while the city burned around us.

Several warriors ringed us, while others sprinted up the steps. A moment later the great bronze statue of Claudius came rolling down, with a clattering crash loud enough to wake the senators back in Roma. They tore the emperor's effigy apart. They fired the temple. They dragged Roman and Briton alike into the streets and cut them to pieces. The gutters ran with blood.

They didn't advance on Ebro and me until the ceiling of the temple caved in and a gust of hot black smoke almost knocked us over. Ebro took down two, and I might have stabbed one, but their long swords overcame our short ones. We were brought in chains before Boudica.

She stood in a light wicker chariot, her face glowing, her red hair fluttering like leaping flames. A gold torc shone at her throat. Behind her stood Brighid, trembling with rage, and hollow-eyed Maeve, pale even in the light of the fires. Lovernios stood next to them, holding a staff, a golden sickle tucked into his belt. At their feet rose a gory pile of severed heads, steaming in the cool of the evening. Among them I recognized the misshapen faces of men who'd done their duty.

"Shall I add your head to my trophies, Marcus?" Boudica asked, her voice grating, her scowl like a slap across my face.

I forced myself to stand tall, wearing my chains like a torc, and met her eyes. "I am once again in your hands, Lady."

"I knew that dog Catus would come for the gold. I planned that. I never in my worst nightmares thought he would come for me and mine. What did you tell him?"

"The truth."

She stared at me. And then she laughed, humorlessly. Her daughters looked up at her, more fearful than curious. Lovernios stared down at the blood pooled at his feet.

"Here's another truth for you," Boudica went on. "We've just had word from the northwest, as Catus has no doubt had word in Londonium. Suetonius took the sacred island of Mona and destroyed the druid college there. My plan is twisted and bent back upon itself. But I shall go on to victory despite all, in Andrasta's name."

One of the warriors dragged Ebro's head back and raised his sword. "No!" I shouted. "If you crave more blood, take mine."

Boudica looked me up and down, as she had the first time we met. A ghost of her amusement moved deep in her eyes and vanished. "Very well, then. I'll show your man more mercy than you showed my daughters." She jerked her head. The warrior released Ebro, but not without pushing him into the dirt.

"Thank you," I said, and bent my head for the blow.

"Oh, don't be so noble, Marcus. You know what your life is worth." The horses stamped and neighed. Turning, Boudica flicked the reins. The chariot moved off across the battlefield that had this morning been a peaceful colonia. Her warriors saluted her and went back to plundering the town.

Yes, in that moment I knew what my life was worth. Boudica had planned all along to revolt, perhaps even before her husband's death. Lovernios and his druid colleagues had drawn Suetonius and his legions away to the northwest. And then Boudica had dangled the lure, gold and horses and power, before Catus and before me.

Of course Lovernios and most of the warriors hadn't been in Venta Icenorum the day of Catus's raid. Boudica had sacrificed her own town in order to enrage all the Britons and lead them into rebellion. That Suetonius had won his battle added fuel to the fire. That Boudica and her daughters suffered such dishonor fed the fire to a white heat.

And as for me? It was my honor that had been in peril that night in the dell, not hers. Oh I'd played the fool, all right. She'd knotted me into her plot like an iron thread drawn through the midst of her gold embroidery.

"Marcus," said Lovernios, drawing my eyes to him. "Poenus Postumus in Glevum is occupied with our cousins the Silures, and won't be able to reinforce Suetonius. But I'd like to know how many men are garrisoned at Lindum, and the disposition of Petillius Cerialis, their legate."

Boudica had intended all along to capture me once the rebellion began. Because I knew the truth, and had to speak it. And so I did, halting and stammering as the blood drained from my face and sickened in my gut.

Ebro stared at me, his long face growing longer, but said nothing.

The old man bent over the scroll, not knowing whether it was the pain in his belly which drew a chill sweat to his forehead, or the memory. Even today he couldn't smell damp straw burning without growing queasy.

"Master," said Rufus's voice. "Your son is here. He sends his respects, and has gone to the bath house."

Marcus glanced up. "Thank you."

The shaft of sunlight inched closer to his couch, dust motes spiraling in its golden glow. It was time to make an end. He picked up his pen, moistened it in the pot of ink, and continued to write.

The Britons left Camulodunum, its white temple blackened, the bodies of its citizens worried by wolves and crows. Their army spread far beyond the road, warriors, horses, wagons laden with plunder sauntering across the untilled fields not just in poor order, but in no order at all.

Not that I offered any criticism. I trudged along behind Boudica's chariot in a black melancholy which lay heavier on me than the chains they'd removed. Ebro, too, walked unencumbered, sometimes at my side, sometimes behind me, his eyes darting to and fro.

But if we'd tried to escape our captors would've made short work of us. Don't think I wasn't tempted—if I couldn't throw myself on my own sword, then that of a British warrior would do. But a stubborn spark of life kept me on my feet. And the
geas
kept my tongue wagging.

Boudica glanced in my direction every so often, as did Maeve, but Brighid made a point of presenting me with her back. None of them spoke to me. It was Lovernios who told me that Petillius Cerialis had come south from Lindum with a detachment of the Ninth Legion and met with a larger detachment of the Iceni. Petillius escaped the slaughter with only his cavalry, and was now walled up in Lindum licking his wounds.

I saw the conquest of Verulamium with my own eyes. The Britons were drunk on blood and booty, and spared no one. The baggage train grew longer—longer by far than Catus's. Boudica turned toward Londinium.

Lovernios came to me yet again. By this time I was as filthy outside as I felt inside. Even so, I rose to my feet and offered him a place by the tiny fire Ebro had kindled.

"No, thank you," he said. "I must ask your advice."

I smiled thinly at our mock courtesies.

"Suetonius arrived in Londinium with his cavalry last night, far ahead of his legions. They're making forced marches down Watling Street, and will arrive in good order, I daresay, but too late."

I nodded. "Londinium has no defenses. Suetonius knows he can't hold it."

"He's already taken what battle-ready men he could find and headed back to the northwest. Londinium is ours for the taking."

"For the destruction," I said.

Lovernios didn't contradict me. He waited.

If only, I thought, I could bite out my own tongue and lay it at Boudica's feet. I spoke through my teeth. "You have to strike Suetonius now, before he rejoins his legions. If you can wean your warriors from their plunder."

"I can't," Lovernios replied. "But she can." He turned away from the fire into the darkness, then looked back around. "By the way, Catus Decianus has fled to the continent."

I sat back down, indulging myself in a vision of Catus's ship sinking, his British gold plunging into the watery grasp of the British gods. Ebro spat into the fire. Around us, beyond the trees, other campfires blazed, and the sounds of men singing filtered through the night.

The next night the army ranged itself from bank to bank of the Tamesis, trapping the city between fire and water. Boudica called me to her own bonfire, and gestured silently toward a gleaming pile of arms and armor. Roman arms, and finely-wrought armor. In the midst of the pile stood a javelin, and upon it was spiked Suetonius's head. I recognized him, if not his shocked expression—he'd dined with my family more than once, and he and my father had reminisced about old times. . . .

For once my tongue was still. I said all I needed to say in a look at Boudica.

The bones of her face had grown sharper, and her blue eyes were clouded by gray like a noon sky overcome by storm clouds. Her mouth was tight, as though it'd forgotten how to smile. She was beyond sated, I think, sick on her own vengeance. But to stop the war before total victory would mean retribution. "I hold no grudge against you, Marcus," she said. "When this is over, you'll be free."

"I'll never be free of you, Lady." As I squared my shoulders and turned toward my own little fire I saw Maeve peeking from the flaps of Boudica's tent. Somehow I managed to summon a wink for her. Her eyes widened and she disappeared inside.

Ebro and I sat against the massive trunk of an oak tree, a warrior nearby, and watched the destruction of Londinium. Even at such a distance our faces burned in the heat of the fires, and the screams of the tortured came clearly to our ears. A stream to the west of the city was dammed by severed heads. The waters of the mighty Tamesis were stained with blood. The smoke rose thick and black into the sky, so that the sun looked like an open sore.

I fingered the braided gold of the torc, wrapped around my upper arm beneath my cloak. Its weight kept me off balance, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.

Two nights later Lovernios came to me again, told me the two legions were a day's march away, and asked me for advice.

"They're better trained and better disciplined," I told him dully. "But you outnumber them ten to one. Choose your field so as to give them little room to maneuver and you can defeat them."

We discussed tactics and the disposition of troops until he at last turned to go. "Thank you."

"Lovernios," I called. "You tell me. How many other tribes have joined your war?"

"The Atrebates have refused to rise," he answered, "as have the other tribes in the south. And Cartimandua, queen of the Brigantes in the north, is still your ally."

I didn't need to drive home the point. I sat back down and prayed for an end, for any end.

Boudica met the legions on Watling Street, between the Roman fort at Manduessum and the British temple at Vernemeton, at a place where the road ran into a narrow defile. Her warriors seethed over the field, beyond counting. They were so confident of victory they brought their families, in wagons at the rear of the field.

The legions divided into three columns, flanked by cavalry and auxiliaries. From our perch on a rocky hillside Ebro spotted the cluster of standards. Beside them I recognized the compact body of Agricola, Suetonius's most able lieutenant, striding up and down delivering a speech. The legions were in good hands. They would die with honor, and with them the Roman rule of Britannia. How Boudica would then deal with her own cousins, I couldn't imagine.

She harangued her warriors, her daughters displayed at her side, no doubt pouring scorn on Roma and its men and calling for even more blood. Her voice had become hoarse and shrill, like a crow's.

At last she released a hare from her cloak, which scurried away toward the Roman line. The Britons clashed their weapons and shouted taunts. I turned away, remembering the night I'd been a hare to Boudica's hound. But that had been a long time ago, in my youth.