Page 61 of Boudicca

The foolish Romans had built no wall to protect Camulodunum, nor had they staked the ditch-and-dyke system that served as their only defense. It was true that the expansive V-shaped ditches were chariot deterrents, but several of the banks were low enough that cavalry could ride over them. The only established lookouts were at the Balkerne Gate. Chariots would have to enter through those main gates, but the rest of the army could easily rush the others as the cavalry hurtled over the ditches. My shoulders loosened with relief and I almost laughed at the arrogance of Rome.That arrogance will be their downfall.

The setting sun reflected the saffron and orange of the changing leaves into the clouds over the western forests when we’d finished scouting outside the city and trotted back toward the Balkerne Gate.

“Shall we enter? Find an inn and a warm meal for the night?” Maldwyn asked me.

“Let’s eat within the city, but the crawling feeling I have along my skin says we should camp outside in the woods,” I said.

Cadoc grunted agreement. “I have no desire to lie with traitors.”

Just before we entered through one of the four large stone archesthat marked the Balkerne Gate, I turned to glance over my shoulder at the road and surrounding woodlands and farms behind us, and I had to blink spots from my eyes as the sun touched the tree line and roofs of the farmers’ houses. Still blinking my vision clear, I entered the city. The soldiers standing atop the square stone lookouts that butted against the arches gave us only a glance—we were just part of the long line of traders, weary after a day’s travel, glad to enter the city and dismount for the night.

I was surprised by the lax attitude of the Roman guards. Any soldier who looked sharply enough at the three of us would have seen more than farmers or traders, but their gazes were not sharp. They were dismissive and restless, as if they had somewhere else they’d rather be.

“I’d replace every one of them,” Cadoc grumbled low.

“Aye,” Maldwyn agreed.

I only whisperedThank youto Andraste. I saw the laziness of the guards and the city’s meager defenses as blessings showered on us by the goddess of war.

Just inside the gates there were two large stone shrines. The one to my right was dedicated to the Roman goddess Venus, who stood graceful and naked, one hand holding a robe that was obviously Roman and the other lifted to the crown of hair ringing her head. Candles burned at her feet amidst coins left as offerings.Venus, why are you here?I thought.Do you not long for home?

I turned my attention to the second shrine and pulled Tân to an abrupt halt.

My stomach tightened. It was a large stone statue of Epona astride a horse with an arched neck. As with many of the shrines dedicated to our goddess of the horse, Epona was bare breasted, her hair cascading down her back and shoulders. But unlikeanyrendering of her I had ever seen, a bronze crown of laurel circled her head, and a Roman tunic had been draped around her stone body and fastened at her shoulder by a golden brooch in the shape of the Roman eagle. Horrified, I could not look away, could not move at all.

Then Maldwyn was there with Ennis, who gently crowded Tân to turn us from the desecrated shrine so that we were, once again, part of the ebb and flow of the busy gate.

“They’ve tried to make her Roman!” I whispered fiercely to Maldwyn, who remained so close to Tân that Ennis’s shoulder kept nudging us forward.

“Aye, but to stop their desecration we have to survive,” said Maldwyn softly. “So we must keep moving.”

In front of us Cadoc kept glancing over his shoulder, sending worried looks my way, until I finally shook off my disgust and moved Tân forward myself.

As Addedomaros had explained, Camulodunum had been built on a grid, with the wide main stone streets running east-west and the smaller, hard-packed dirt streets north-south. The outer ring of the city was an awkward mixture of Britain and Rome. I found the rectangular stone buildings the Romans preferred to be cold and unattractive—soulless. Interspersed between those stone structures were our wooden roundhouses. I hated how shabby they looked.

The city was crowded with Roman soldiers. Torches were lit on the outsides of the taverns and inns that lined the main streets. Periodically large metal braziers provided light and warmth along the streets. Those braziers seemed to be meeting places for the soldiers clustered around them, throwing strange shadows as they drank and laughed and gamed.

The city was divided into three major sections. The Sheepen District was in the northeast, and it held the main Roman barracks, a theater, a basilica, and the trading center. The Gosbecks was an older section in the southeast of the city where, situated on a gentle rise in the land, a temple dedicated to Brigantia had stood for generations. We would scout both sections tomorrow, but that night we followed the main road that fed directly into the third section, the Roman colonia, which sat in the center and held the monstrosity the Romans had built to their dead emperor Claudius. The temple filled a city block. Stone arches gleamed in torchlight revealing an immaculate courtyard that held an enormous central building high up on a podium-like base. White stone stairs stretched up to tall columns.As we passed slowly by the temple, I peered within. Multiple braziers, too many to count quickly, threw licking shadows over a bronze statue of Claudius, making it appear as if his empty eyes came alive, only to die again in darkness.

There were none of our roundhouses in the colonia and it seemed uncomfortably as if we had been transplanted to the heart of Rome. The temple was surrounded on three sides by barracks. Soldiers walked about the courtyard, calling to one another and raising mugs of wine. These were older men than the Romans who filled the city streets and pubs. They were gray haired, scarred, and grizzled. They paid little attention to travelers but laughed and joked easily with one another.

“These barracks are for retired soldiers,” Cadoc said quietly. “I’ve heard reports that Paulinus had them built for his legionnaires, the ones not gifted land and farms. After pillaging the countryside for him, they’re meant to live out the rest of their lives in luxury here, cared for by Britons who have been made slaves in their own country.”

“Oh, they will live out their lives here,” I said. “But their end will come much sooner than they imagine.”

We kneed our horses around and returned to the outer part of the city, though I still felt as if I had crossed into a different world.

It was ironic that we finally chose to stop at an inn that blazed a brightly painted wooden image of Epona over its door and called itself the White Horse Inn. We dismounted and Maldwyn led all six horses to the rear of the building, where he would pay the stables to feed and care for them. I knew we would not see the horse master again until he had wiped each horse down and made sure they were properly watered and fed.

Cadoc and I entered the busy inn. The main room was large but had a low ceiling and a smoking fire that stung my eyes. We chose a narrow table in a corner facing the door and ordered a pitcher of beer and roasted chicken, which we paid for with Catuvellauni silver we’d brought from the Iceni treasury. While we waited for Maldwyn to join us, the shield and I sipped our beer and listened.

Cadoc had opened his mouth to speak to me when I made anabrupt motion to silence him, then cut my eyes to the table to our right, where several farmers were deep in conversation, gesturing so wildly with their mugs that beer sloshed around them.

“Say it again. I haven’t heard a word about it,” said one red-nosed man whose beard was moist with drink and grease.

“And I tell you that you haven’t heard a word of it becausetheydon’t want you to know, but it fell!” answered a farmer whose hair was braided into a single blond length that stretched down his back. “I saw it with my own eyes. Straightaway off the top of that damned arch. No wind. No storm. Just the goddess Victory breaking off to fall and shatter on their stone road as if she were made of the same glass as their wine goblets.”

“Which road?” asked another man who wore a cloak of Catuvellauni brown and moss green.