Celtic Ceili: The Wolf's Trap

The Briton army, strung out in a long, thick column to navigate the broad road running through the westlands, had begun cresting a thinly-wooded hill, from whose top the length of the next valley could be seen. At the far end of that valley, on bare ground before the road again dove through the densely forested slopes of a narrowing ravine, Paulinus had set his two legions out in their standard battle formation, spears and swords bristling from several iron-shielded, close-ranked turtles of a thousand or more soldiers each.

Boudicca and her commanders stood together on the hillock at one side of the road, staring down at the Legions and discussing tactics, as their army continued streaming past. Just as Rhosyn pulled her pony to a halt and jumped off, the little group began breaking up, moving to rejoin their various peoples. Desperate, Rhosyn pelted after the Iceni Queen, calling sharply.

"Boudicca, no! Don't send our army – our people into the Roman trap!"

The Queen looked askance at the blonde, the question of her sanity written on her face, while the other commanders of the combined Briton army scoffed openly. "This is the perfect opportunity to grind the Romans into the dust!" said Caradoc, the grizzled old weapons master from Boudicca's own village, now serving as her second-in-command. "Don't listen to this foolish girl, my Queen – she knows nothing of tactics and battle, we have seen that!"

Another sharp glance, and Boudicca turned away from Rhosyn, regretfully dismissive.

Rhosyn took a desperate step after them, and said in a low, intense voice. "I told you 'no' once before, Boudicca, and you didn't listen – and your back bears the scars, and your daughters their disgrace. Will you listen to me now?" The question burned the air between them.

Boudicca had stopped cold, that scarred back stiffened in shock. Slowly she turned her head, her wide eyes finding Rhosyn's almost in fear. Rhosyn saw her make the decision. She turned fully back towards her 'conscience', and said one word: "Speak."

Rhosyn took a deep breath and began the speech she'd been mentally rehearsing, speaking as carefully, and hopefully as persuasively, as she ever had in her life. "The Roman Legions have swept across the known world, and conquered all of it. Those Legions, right there, fighting in that formation," she stressed, stabbing a finger towards the valley below. "They know tactics, and methods, that we cannot begin to imagine, let alone counter. Every single one of those soldiers has trained, and trained, and trained, for years. Every single one has weapons that outmatch ours, and armor that our swords and spears cannot hope to penetrate – the few we have! Even the ground itself will fight for them – why do you think Paulinus chose that spot to stand and face us, bypassing all others these past days, unless the lay of the land favors their strengths and not ours?"

Caradoc had been working up a head of outrage, and now broke in. "None of that matters, foolish girl! We have three times their numbers!"

Rhosyn shook her head, staring back at the old warrior in disbelief. "Do you think you're the first to try throwing sheer numbers at them? They have defeated armies five times their size!" She turned back to Boudicca and took another step forward, imbuing her next words with all the sincerity she could muster, hoping desperately to persuade the warrior queen. "We cannot win against them if we fight their way, Boudicca. But we can win if we continue to fight our way – our war. We are so close to winning. If we can just keep holding on for just a little while longer, keep harrying them, cutting off their supplies, leveling their settlements, and whittling away at their numbers, we will see the end of these invaders, these Romans."She paused for emphasis, taking a deep, final breath. "But not if you march us into the trap they've laid for us – for you – down there in that valley."

Boudicca was staring, weighing Rhosyn's words against everything she knew. "You know this? You swear to me that you know this?"

Rhosyn nodded. "Yes. The same way I knew what would happen that day in the village, the same way I knew you would catch Decianus at the port. I know this battle is a trap we cannot win, but that we can win – we will win, if we stay out of it."

It seemed to Rhosyn that the entire world held its breath a moment, waiting for Boudicca's decision. Then, suddenly, "Caradoc! Call them back! No, wait!" Boudicca whirled, staring down towards the Roman formation in the distance for a moment, weighing and discarding alternatives. "Let them continue – but slow them down, and only the first fifth of our number. They must cover for the rest of us. Manduvarius!" She turned towards the Trinovantian king who had joined them before Camulodunum. "Take your people out of the line, turn back to Lutocetum and take the road south towards Isca Dumnoniorum. Burn whatever Roman towns you find, but do not kill Britons. You must deal with the Second Legion there when it marches – the same way we are dealing with these here. You understand? Do NOT face them in a pitched battle."

Manduvarius nodded, and she turned to the Catuvellauni king next. "Take your people back, as well, old friend, and then melt through these woods to the north, and find a way around those iron-skinned fools. Get to Viroconium behind them and deal with them as we have those other Roman towns. Then head back this direction – but carefully! We may crush these Legions between us." He nodded, grinning wolfishly, and Boudicca turned back to Caradoc.

"Take half of our own people, Caradoc, and put them into the woods behind this hill, as we waited for the Ninth Legion after Camulodunum. I will go down below, make a show as if gathering to attack them, and then suddenly retreat. Perhaps we can draw them after us – if so, you will spring the trap. If not, we will melt into the trees like our own marsh mists, and pick them off when they tire of standing there like statues."

She looked again at the assembled commanders. "We must keep in touch with each other through these coming weeks. We may need to join forces again to convince our unwanted guests to go home. But remember this, my friends. Rhosyn is right. Do not try to fight the Roman's war, the Roman's way. Stick with what we do know. Fight them our way. Are we agreed?"

Rhosyn held her breath, waiting, Fate's cold, fickle breeze tickling her nerve endings. The men were all three staring at her out of the corners of their eyes, wary, wondering, and accusing. "Why should we believe her, Boudicca?" one of them finally asked.

"Because I do," she calmly replied. "No portent foretold the events that day when I was scourged, my daughters – and she herself – ravaged. But she did. She tried to warn me. Nor could anyone have known Decianus would attempt to flee our shores – but she did. Because of this she-wolf, we regained our treasure and had our revenge upon that one fox. I believe her now. She has proven herself to me, and I stand by her."

Rhosyn's eyes were blinking against prickling tears. Never had she expected to hear such praise from her heroine. Nevertheless, she stood tall and still, and finally, one by one, the three men nodded their assent.

As they each turned to collect their people and march to their separate paths, Boudicca turned once more toward Rhosyn and stretched out a welcoming hand, her smile fierce and feral. "Come, little she-wolf," she laughed. "Let's go be bait."