Harry Turtledove - Alternate Generals

The next morning I took my leave of Boudica, Brighid, and Maeve. And of Lovemios, even as I wondered what Suetonius would think of my courtesy. At the eaves of the forest I looked back at Venta Icenorum, at the dark soil of the fields awaiting the plow and the blue arch of sky. So our ancestors must have lived, wild and free, before submitting to the rule of law…. I remembered the skulls decorating the gate, and chilled, rode away.

When I made my report to Catus Decianus I thought briefly of minimizing not only the wealth of the Iceni, but their position at the knot of the golden thread of trade. My tongue, however, couldn’t shade the truth, let alone utter a lie. I found myself telling him even of Boudica herself, of her strength and beauty and determination to hold the Iceni for her daughter.

His chin went up. His brows rose.

“So tell me then, Tribune, how is this barbarian village defended?”

My heart sinking, I told him that, too.

The old man let the scroll roll shut. He shut his eyes and touched his lips with his fingertips. From the atrium came the sounds of voices, footsteps, and furniture sliding across the tile floor.

“Are you in pain?” asked his wife’s voice.

“Yes, as always,” he replied, looking up.

“But mostly I’m tired.”

“Why are you writing it down? It was so long ago.”

She walked to his side and began stroking his shoulders.

“It’s my geas. I know the truth and I must speak it.”

She sighed.

“The memories are harsher for you than they are for me.”

“You were guiltless. I was not.” He captured her hand and held it to his face. It was scented with rosemary, thyme, and coriander, the hot herbs of a hot climate.

“What will you do when I’ve gone to Mars and Mithras?

Is there comfort in your secret new god, the crucified one?”

“He reminds me of the gods I knew as a child, who taught that death was not an end.”

“As Mithras teaches, too.”

They leaned together in companionable silence, as they had for almost forty years now. From the corner of his eye Marcus saw her dangling braid, its red-gold faded to gray. Which was just as well—her hair color no longer drew comment in the streets, although her height always would.

Through the atrium he could see the flat, pale sky.

“Thank you, my love,” he said, releasing her hand, and spread open the scroll.

The next time I saw Venta Icenorum, it was burning.

The damp thatch of the roofs singed slowly, sending billows of gray smoke to mingle with a gray sky. Men lay dead beside their plows in the muddy fields. Birds both black and white wheeled overhead.

A blond warrior was pinned by a javelin to one of the gate posts. Inside the town women screamed and arms clashed. But Catus s legionaries had taken the Iceni by surprise. Why should they suspect an attack by an ally?

I urged my horse toward the Great Hall, Ebro jogging at my knee, sword drawn. But already the sounds of battle were dying. I wondered how many of the bodies we passed were of men I’d lately heard boasting. But perhaps they were the fortunate ones, to go so swiftly to their gods…. There were very few bodies, I noted, and wondered whether Catus had been fortunate enough to attack when most of the warriors were out hunting.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Catus himself stood atop a small platform hastily assembled from logs, the standard bearers ranged behind him. Before him Boudica was lashed to an upright pole. Two legionaries crouched nearby, clasping themselves, red-faced. She’d not gone without fighting, then.

Catus signaled. Two centurions stepped forward, ripped Boudica’s dress open, and began applying their rods.

The slap of leather against her back made my gorge rise.

“Catusf” He ignored me. Obviously he meant not only to bring the Iceni under Roman rule here and now, but to punish Boudica for her presumption. But she was hardly presumptuous in following her own customs…. Highpitched screams made me look around.

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 I 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 honorable with me, I shouted, and swallowed every word until her gut knotted with them. What of my honor? I made m accounting, as was my duty—should I have said the Icen were a poor people, not worth the conquest? But 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 other dishonorer daughters. What of Roma’s honor, to treat a free-boil people like disobedient slaves? Overcome with horror and shame I fled, and supervise the squads who were already loading gold omamen 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 heir battle cries, their maned hair flying behind them, itterly 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 !bro and I were left, standing back to back on the steps fthe 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 laudius came rolling down, with a clattering crash loud enough to wake the senators back in Roma. They tore the emperors effigy apart. They fired the temple. They ragged Roman and Briton alike into the streets and 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 tore shone at her throat. Behind her stood Brighid, trembling with rage, and hollow-eyed Maeve, pale even in the light of the fires. Lovemios 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.