Gaby Halberstam - Boudica: The story of the fearless Iceni queen

Get your hands off me! she screamed, jerking and tugging her arms to free herself. You you stinking Roman thugs!

Bucking her head so that her long red hair whipped at their faces, and kicking, lunging and jack-knifing her body, Boudica struggled against the iron grip of the centurions on either side of her.

When her husband, King Prasutagus, had been alive, hed exchanged loyalty to the Roman Emperor, Claudius, for peace in the kingdom of the Iceni. Now, it was the year 60. Claudius was dead, and her bold and clever husband was dead, too. And Nero had stepped into Claudiuss sandals, and sent his cruel procurator to Britain to squeeze whatever he could out of its people, however he could.

From the back of her villa, Boudica heard piercing screams, joined by frantic shrieking.

Her daughters.

The Romans had captured both of her daughters, Tasca and Camorra.

Fear stabbed her stomach, sharp as a javelin blade. Shed told them to run, to get out of the villa, to hide. Why hadnt they listened to her? Why hadnt she sent them far away weeks ago, when Prasutagus died? She should have known the Romans would come for them.

Help! Moth Tascas voice was stifled.

Boudica lunged at the centurion on her left, her mouth open. She sank her teeth into his arm and kept her jaw locked.

Briton she-devil! the centurion yelled, flinging his arm to free it.

Boudica felt his skin tear as her head flew upwards. She spat. He jerked her away from him and tightened his grip.

Let go! Take me to my daughters! She jerked and elbowed and kicked, cursing and spitting.

The centurions looked straight ahead. They squeezed her arms and lifted her off the ground.

She arched her back and launched her feet at the centurion to her left, striking him with all the force of her anger. He flinched. She saw her chance. Slick as lightning, she delivered another kick. In the moment he took to register the pain, she was free of his grasp and clawing the other soldier.

You will be punished for this, she said through clenched teeth. Nero himself will hear of this! And with the first two fingers of her left hand outstretched, she lunged at the centurions eyes.

Watch it, woman! He grabbed her hand, bent her arm behind her back and within seconds she found herself strung between the two soldiers, one holding her arms stretched behind her, the other gripping her feet.

Im not woman! she yelled. Im Boudica, Queen of the Iceni. Not some common slave!

Just then a third centurion came running.

Need help? he asked.

Shut her up, will you, one of the others said.

A pleasure, he said, with a grunt. The daughters were wild, too. One of them got me. He pointed to the deep scratch marks that raked his cheek.

Before Boudica could say another word, he grabbed her face and bound a strip of cloth tightly over her mouth and around the back of her head.

Her daughters. Where were they now? What had the soldiers done to them? She must get to them immediately. She began to thrash again, screaming through the cloth.

A sharp blow to her head turned everything dark and, after a thick rush of sound, completely silent.

It was a loud roar and a sharp, banging pain in her head that made her open her eyes. The light was harsh. She blinked. How long had she been unconscious? Trying to move, she found her hands and feet were tied, and the cloth was still tight across her mouth. The roar in her ears became the clamour of human voices. As her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, she found that she was lying at the edge of the marketplace. Around her the Iceni people her people were crowded, shouting and stamping their feet, dust billowing and filling her nostrils. She saw that they were held back by a wall of centurions, light flashing off their helmets.

Lady! Help us! Why is this happening?

Help us, Queen Boudica!

This would never have happened when King Prasutagus was alive!

Boudica struggled to get up. Immediately, the two centurions standing guard over her each grabbed one of her arms and dragged her upright.

A gasp ran through the crowd. Some surged forward, only to be beaten back by the soldiers.

Let me go! she shouted through the cloth over her mouth, flinging her head from side to side.

The centurions hauled her across the square, her toes scraping against the rough stones. She saw where they were taking her. Writhing and twisting, she tried again to free herself, but in no time theyd reached the stone column in the centre. Quickly, the soldiers untied her hands and flung her against it so that her chin bashed against the warm stone. Her hands were pulled round the column and tied once again.

No! the people shouted.

One of the centurions stepped forward and pressed her face hard against the stone. There was a rattle and a sharp rush of air. Boudica knew that he was flicking the flagrum, the whip the Romans loved so much.

She knew what would follow.

Stiffening her back, she clenched her fists. She did not have long to wait.

With a grunt, and all the strength in his huge arm, the centurion brought the flagrum down on her back. Boudica closed her eyes and focussed not on the pain, but on her determination for revenge. In the name of her dead husband, King Prasutagus, her daughters honour and her proud and brave people, she would pay back these Roman dogs. Each burning stripe across her back meant a thousand Romans she would kill.

At last, the centurion dealt his final lash. Despite the pain that rang through her back, pain that burned as if she had been branded with a flaming iron, Boudica had refused to cry out once. She wouldnt give the Romans that satisfaction.

The Roman flung his flagrum at her feet, the clumps of metal threaded along the leather thongs clattering as they hit the ground. She heard the soldiers leave, the drumming of their horses hooves, the shouts of her people as they were beaten by passing centurions.

All at once, Boudica was exhausted. She slumped against the column, all the determination shed summoned as the centurion flogged her now draining away. She pressed her cheek against it, just as she had pressed her face to her husbands body only weeks before. Oh, Prasutagus, she thought. Why did you have to die? A tear rolled from her eye, and quickly she smudged it against the stone.

As soon as hed drawn his last breath, the wild Roman dogs had descended on his kingdom grabbing and stealing and looting, unleashing their violence and brutality on the Iceni. Boudica had hoped to be able to speak to the Procurator, to persuade him to rein back his men. Shed failed.

The people were still gathered in the forum. The clamour that rose from them was full of despair and confusion. They needed someone to take control. The Iceni needed a new leader.

Then the thought came to her. Could she do it? A woman? After all, Prasutagus had insisted on showing her how to use a sword. Hed even shown Camorra and Tasca, which had made her uncomfortable. Hed hated leaving them on their own while he was away fighting.

So she was a woman who could wield a sword. So what? She was also a woman who, so far, had only been in charge of a household.

No. She could not do it. She could not lead the Iceni into battle. She shut her eyes. The only commands shed ever given were to her slaves to wash her feet.

Lady! She heard the shouting of the people. Help us, Lady!

Boudica wore the gold torc that her husband had always worn. She hadnt allowed it to grow cold with his body, but had fastened it, still warm from him, around her own neck. Now, its twisted gold bands felt hot against her skin, a circle of heat that forced her to open her eyes. Was it a sign? Was it a message from her beloved Prasutagus?