Boudicca, long hair tangled and bunched; fiery flame red hair.
Warrior queen of the Iceni, daughter of these isles of tin.
Defender of freedom, leader of men, slayer of legions.
Through the mist the Britons, Celtic in origin; saw the legions.
Row upon row of tightly packed troops, shields locked together!
Flanked on either side by cavalry. Above the silence orders could
Be heard echoing across the field, the leather harness’s creaked
Metal chinking, horses stomping and snorting, in the stillness.
Through the mist came the first rays of sunlight glinting on sharpened
Swords and spearheads; horns began to blow as the steady
Stomp of the legions moved forward in formation.
Boudicca’s eyes peered out from a face of blue woe. Bow strings
In turn began to creak death, as archers pulled back on their bows.
A slow chant from the Iceni, slow at first, began to build into a crescendo
Of noise, as the boom, boom of sword and axe rapped against wood shields.
Boudicca flame haired warrior queen stood proud and fearless on her chariot;
Daughters on each side of her, defiant against Gaius Suetonius Pauline’s
And the might of Rome.
Oh what a sight it must have been!