Beric the Briton : a Story of the Roman InvasionHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
Beric the Briton : a Story of the Roman Invasion
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Britons -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Roman period, 55 B.C.-449 A.D. -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"We can wait," the queen said. "A messenger, who left the camp of
Cerealis at daybreak, has just arrived, and at that hour nothing
was known to the Romans of our attack here. They will not now arrive
until tomorrow."
Not until the afternoon was it considered that the entrances would
be cool enough to pass through. Then the Sarci prepared for the
attack, binding pieces of raw hide under their feet to protect them
from the heated stonework. They were formed ten abreast. Beric took
his place before the front line of one of the columns, and with
levelled spears they advanced at a run towards the doors. A shower
of missiles saluted them from the roof. Some fell, but the rest,
pressing on in close order, dashed through the gateway and flung
themselves upon the Roman soldiers drawn up to oppose their passage.
The resistance was feeble. The Romans had entirely lost heart and
could not for a moment sustain the weight of the charge. They were
swept away from the entrance, and the Britons poured in.
Standing in groups the Romans defended themselves in desperation;
but their efforts were vain, and in five minutes the last defender
of the place was slain. As soon as the fight was over the whole
of the Iceni rushed tumultuously forward with exultant shouts and
filled the temple; then a horn sounded and a lane was made, as
Boadicea, followed by her chiefs and chieftainesses, entered the
temple. The queen's face was radiant with triumph, and she would
have spoken but the shouting was so loud that those near her could
not obtain silence. They understood, however, when advancing to
the statues of the gods that stood behind the altars, she waved
her spear. In an instant the tribesmen swarmed round the statues,
ropes were attached to the massive figures, and Jupiter, Mars, and
Minerva fell to the ground with a crash, as did the statue of the
Emperor Claudius.
A mighty shout hailed its downfall. The gods of the Britons, insulted
and outraged, were avenged upon those of Rome; the altars of Mona
had streamed with the blood of the Druids, those of Camalodunum
were wet with the gore of Roman legionaries. The statues were broken
to pieces, the altars torn down, and then the chiefs ordered the
tribesmen to fetch in faggots. Thousands went to the forest, while
others pulled down detached houses and sheds that had escaped
the flames, and dragged the beams and woodwork to the temple.
By nightfall an enormous pile of faggots was raised round each of
the eight interior columns that in two lines supported the roof.
Torches were applied by Boadicea, her two daughters and some of the
principal Druids, and in a short time the interior of the temple was
a glowing furnace. The beams of the ceiling and roof soon ignited
and the flames shot up high into the air.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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