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Blood Slakes The Sand At The Circus Maximus
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Bal-sagoth
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[Thoughts of an Iceni gladiator, awaiting the opening of the arena portcullis:]
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[Memories of rebellion (Carnage at Camulodunum):]
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[Iceni Messenger:] Hearken! The Ninth Legion has been put to the sword! The
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war-Chief of Queen Boudicca: Onwards to Camulodunum... wet your swords!
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Redden the earth with Roman blood!
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I remember the carnage at Camulodunum...
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The glorious clash of Celtic sword against Roman gladius,
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The pride in the eyes of our war-queen
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As we hacked down the Imperial Eagle,
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And the severed heads of centurions gaping atop our spears.
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[Bloodshed and Battle: 61 AD (C.E.)]
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They had gone too far, these invaders from the east, with their imperial eagle
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which they dared to drive into our sacred soil... pompously claiming our
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island as their own. They who marched across the world expanding their empire
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all for the greater glory of their succession of debauched emperors, reclining
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upon their ivory thrones in the heart of sweltering Rome. Aye, they had gone
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too far... After their brutal annexation of our sovereign Iceni lands and the
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vile rape of our Queen Boudicca's royal daughters, the Romans had the sown the
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fields of carnage and they would reap a grim harvest of slaughter, without
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doubt! They had enraged the Red Queen, and by the gods, they would pay!
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We certainly taught the arrogant invading dogs a lesson, at any rate. The
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omens and portents spoke of vast bloodshed and great carnage, and after our
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slaughterous victories at Camulodunum (the Temple of Claudius burned
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wonderfully!), Londinium and Verulanium, the cursed Romans finally dared to
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meet us honourably upon the field of war at Mandeussedum. They sent fifteen
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thousand legionaires, their armour gleaming like gold in the sun... but it
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would still yield to our swords and spears, no matter how it sparkled.
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The Roman scoundrel, Governor Suetonius Paullinus, battle-scarred from his
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campaigns against the Druids, was able to choose the ground upon which to make
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his stand, and so it was that he selected as the battlefield a narrow valley,
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fronted by a flat plain, with dense woodland at its rear. Aye... Mandeussedum,
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"the place of the chariots"... I remember it vividly.
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The Governor's army looked unnerved as wee took the field. I'll never forget
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that, iron Roman fortitude or not! We were one hundred thousand strong,
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infantry and cavalry, both men and women warriors, as is our Celtic custom, in
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the ranks together, all annointed with woad, all roaring oaths and vows to our
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ancient gods, who were surely grimly watching the epic confrontation from
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their great thrones and vast halls. Our war-chariots thundered up and down the
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Roman front, the charioteers screaming abuse at the grim legionaires,
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decurions and centurions, and hurling spears and other missiles which
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clattered against the Imperial shield wall. And not one Roman javelin or pilum
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was hurled in response, not one arrow was loosed in retaliation. They were
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disciplined, I'll give them that. We were swelled by our victories, empowered
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by our noble cause, enraged with the battle frenzy; thirsting to take as many
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Roman heads as our bright blades could sever!
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And yet we were perhaps somewhat overconfident that day...
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[Abducted from the Iceni:]
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In the aftermath of our defeat at Mandeussedum, I was captured by Romans with
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a veiled intent... (though three of them died at my hands in the attempt!)
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Nero was growing bored with the gladiators, slaves and lion-fodder at his
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great Circus, and so had requested Suetonius Paullinus to provide the citizens
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of Rome with new entertainment... The Emperor had heard much of the wildness
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and fighting spirit of these barbaric Britons who had brought such woe to his
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far-famed legions; these painted, pagan tribesmen who had resisted the
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Empire's iron fist where the glorious phalanxes of the East had not.
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"Agents of the Imperium... hearken to my words", Nero had demanded. "Bring to
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Rome some of these tribesman for the Games. Let us pit them against our most
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ravenous beasts and our greatest gladitorial champions."
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And so I was taken in fetters aboard a Roman trireme, the blood of slain
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legionaires still crusted upon my thews, I was taken far from the fens of my
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beloved homeland, to tread the sun baked sand of the Circus Maximus... to
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fight for my life in the Imperial Arena.
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[Arrival at the Circus Maximus:]
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The Circus Maximus was certainly a splendid sight, I'll admit. A vast
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colosseum with great stone columns and tiers, huge ornate arches and mighty
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statues of grey marble. Countless people filled the seats surrounding the
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sandy floor of the Arena... and in his opulent royal enclosure, flanked by
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gleaming guards and grovelling lackeys, sat the great Emperor himself...
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[Emperor Nero:] Fight, barbarian outlander! Please us, and mayhap Mars will
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smile on thee this day!
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[Iceni warrior:] Bah! I do not hail to your Roman gods, and you are not my
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emperor! By Cernunnos, the blood of my enemies shall stain the sand of this
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cursed arena red this day!
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[The Combat Commences:]
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They unleashed the lions first. Hunger maddened beasts, goaded into a frenzy
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by the cruel point of many a pilum... And yet my own hunger, the hunger for
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revenge, was greater, and my honed steel was sharper than bestial fang and
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claw. And so they ranged their finest warriors against me. Three more iron
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gates around the arena yawned open, and they strode from the colosseum tunnels
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amidst a cacophony of cheering from the assembled Roman spectators, urged on
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and showered with martial adulation from the massed arena crowd, who howled
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their bloodlust without cessation.
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I studied my opponents... there were two trained gladiators, champions I was
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told, who had never met defeat in the Games... and then there was another like
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me, a captured warrior forced to fight for his life. This one was a towering
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reaver from the Northlands with a bright yellow beard, hefting a crude axe
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with a single iron head. I lifted my iron bladed Celtic shortsword with its
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bronze hilt (the same sword which, mere days before, had been slaked with
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Roman blood... and its blade would soon be red once more with the blood of my
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captors, by all the gods!) and nodded to the reaver. An understanding passed
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between us... we knew we were here simply as sword-fodder, and we knew we
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would both fight these Roman dogs to the death!
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The first gladiator moved towards me; he was a giant of a man, standing nearly
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seven feet tall and clad in dark leather and bronze armour from head to toe.
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His full-face visored helmet was set with ornate metal fittings and encrusted
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with jewels of various hues, and a vast black horse hair plume rose from the
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metal crown. Strapped on to his forearms were two black vambraces, to each of
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which had been secured twelwe inch serrated blades, and they gleamed brightly
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in the hot afternoon sunlight. He began to circle me slowly, his eyes hidden
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beneath his great helmet. To his left, I saw the second gladiator begin to
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close on the Northman. The yellow-bearded axeman's opponent was a huge
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steel-helmeted Nubian, wielding a wickedly pointed trident and carrying an
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embossed iron buckler with a great spike jutting from its polished centre.
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Far above, upon his great dias, the Emperor gave the signal for the combat to
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begin, and with the battle-lust engulfing me, with the red mist swirling
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before my eyes, I vowed to my northern gods that I would show these leering
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Romans the fighting spirit and battle prowess of my people... I would leave
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the arena littered with the bloody corpses of my opponents...
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I would cast off the imperial fetters and return to the fens! Aye, I would
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escape, and make all Romans fear my name, and compel Nero to rue the day
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Julius Caesar had first ordered his legions across the grim grey sea to my
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ancient island... BLOOD FOR BOUDICCA... CARNAGE FOR CERNUNNOS!!
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To be continued...
The Voyagers Beneath the Mare Imbrium
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