Còmhraig
Title: Còmhraig
Characters: Ierna, Boudicca, Rome, Albion, Cymru, Eire, Alba.
Rating: 15
Warnings: Rape, violence, muddy ancient history, naked Celtic people.
Summary: Prequel to Vincere, the tale of Ancient Britain's last stand.
The night was full of screaming. Sobs of mourning had turned to cries of fear, ripped clothing and the crack of whips. A woman, trapped against a tree and viciously whipped, called for her daughters, but they were lost already, dirty, calloused hands raking their bodies and stealing dignity and self-worth, greedy as the hands of conquerors always were. These were her people, her son's people as well, and she could do nothing to help them.
Rome's heavy hands pinned them above her head, no matter how she tried to bite at his wrists and arms or kick her legs into his chest to push him off her. She snarled obscenities and curses and "you broke your promise" and "I will make you suffer for this".
The Empire simply chuckled. "What reason is there for me to be afraid of a woman like you?"
She prayed her children would stay in the woods as she told them to, and plotted her vengeance in kind.
-----
The day was bright and the warriors ready. A hundred thousand painted men, all making a stand to protect their home no matter what the invading forces tried. Rumbling back and forth in front of the soldiers was a worn but decorated wooden chariot, pulled by two snorting, wild eyed horses. A tall, fierce woman with long red hair bound into braids.
"We British are used to women commanders in war." Queen Boudicca shouted, lungs projecting far out into the gathered crowd. "I am the daughter of mighty men. But I am not fighting for my royal power now... I am fighting... as an ordinary person who has lost freedom. I am fighting for my bruised body. The gods will grant us the revenge we deserve. Think of how many of us are fighting, and why.You will win this battle, or die trying. That is what I, a woman, plan to do."
Blue eyes swept the crowd, and landed on someone of similar height, build and hair colour. They shared a smile.
"Let the men live as slaves if they want, I will not!"
An almighty shout rose from the gathered Celts, and Ierna prepared her spear to fight for her children.
-----
The city was awash with blood before long, tall white buildings engulfed in flames. Old soldiers, who had so foolishly used this place for their "retirement" (a word that Ierna did not understand) stood to try and fight the advancing Iceni army, but they had little more than ornamental swords (another thing she did not comprehend) and kitchen implements to use against their foes. Boudicca rode through the crowd, screaming at the top of her lungs and gathering heads as she went. Her face wide in the glee of the kill, breasts and body painted in swirls of blue and tartan cloak hiding little to nothing. Ierna rode beside her, spearing any who dared to come within three armlengths of her steed.
They herded the fleeing Roman filth into their precious temple. Boudicca grabbed a torch as she passed, and soon the whole army had flaming objects raised, throwing oil on the temple steps and the cowards that ran up them. Standing tall, Ierna threw the first torch.
The cheers of the tribes of Albion eclipsed the screams of the Roman invaders, and the smoke curled up into the ether. Camuldonum burned to the ground, taking it's people with it.
Ierna stood on the burned city walls and laughed.
"Do you fear me now, Rome?"
And the Empire answered.
"No."
-----
Londinium was empty when they got there, which perhaps contradicted what Rome had said. The Celtic army sacked and pillaged and burned and cried vengeance over it regardless.
"See how he runs from us like a rabbit from a hawk?" Boudicca roared, galloping through the streets, rallying the disappointed, blood hungry mob into another marching frenzy. "Onward, we chase him to the coast!"
-----
This time, they found Rome waiting. On the eve before the battle, Ierna undid and re-braided the Iceni Queen's hair in the light of the campfire.
"How many do you suppose there are, Macha?" the warrior woman asked, sharpening her sword against a wetstone, sending sparks off like tiny stars. The Fae gathered to watch, played with the little bursts of light.
"I know there to be 10,000." Ierna replied. An incredulous look was thrown her way.
"Only that? We have amassed 100,000 strong!" she laughed, then turned back, looking in the reflection of her blade. Her grin was just as wide, curved and sharp. "This land is ours. His attempts to claim it are feeble as that of a newborn foal's legs."
There was a rustling in the trees, and the red heads turned sharply around, searching the dark. Carefully peeking out of the bushes were four pairs of green eyes. Ierna relaxed. "Lower your sword, they are my children."
Something small and blonde darted out and into his mother's arms, letting a satisfied huff escape when she petted straw-like hair. The others emerged; a young red headed boy, a girl who looked much like her mother, and another small blonde whose hair curled at the ends of his braids. The smallest boy turned his head to peer curiously at the queen, and Boudicca chuckled.
"Truly this is a land worth fighting for."
-----
Warning her children to stay at the camp had been a good idea, in retrospect. The glimmering shields of the Roman soldiers relfected light into the eyes of the Celts where they stood atop the hills. A hundred thousand men and women, all warriors, itched for the off. In two chariots next to each other, Ierna and Boudicca shared a final nod.
Raising her spear, the first queen of the united tribes of Albion screamed "CHARGE!"
The thundering of footfall could be likened to a fabled earthquake, the trees themselves shaking leaves off the branches. Orders barked in Latin were lost to the battle cries of a people fighting for their freedom.
But on this day, they would not get it.
For no matter how hard they drove their swords into the shields, between the barest gaps would appear blades tempered with superior technology. The bodies of humans still impaled on Roman spears only boosted the defense, creating walls of flesh between the two armies. From the sunrise, to the middle of the day when the rain slicked the ground and sunk heavy metal boots and bare feet alike into the dirt, to the very last rays of sunlight and the lighting of torches to be thrown at the imperial armies; no progress was made of the armies of Boudicca. Even the queen herself had to abandon her chariot and horse once both had become stuck in the piles of woad-covered bodies.
Elbows-deep in blood that was only half hers, Ierna spotted the last face she wanted to see. Grabbing Boudicca's wrist, she dragged her from the fray and into the trees, summoning the speed only gods could give to escape.
It wasn't enough. The branches of trees snapped and gave under Rome's pursuit, their spirits crying out in pain that Ierna forced herself to ignore. They would have to live with it. She reached down and grabbed what she needed as she ran.
Once she felt they were far enough ahead, she stopped in a half-abandoned village. Opening her hand, she showed the queen she had pinned her last hope on the way out. Deadly nightshade, the poisonous flower in her hand, looked so innocuous.
"You must not let them take you." she uttered. Boudicca solemnly nodded, lips in a grim line. Throwing it into a pot of boiling water left over the village fireplace for when the heroes would supposedly return, the two women quickly concocted the deadly poison.
"Mama?"
Ierna whipped round, spotting with heart racing her children, innocently blinking their eyes at her. "Mama, what's going on? Did you win?" asked Eire. Excitement blossomed and wilted on her face with her words as she noticed the cuts and wounds that adorned both warrior women. "Mama, you're hurt!"
This enraged Alba. "Who did it?! I'll rip them apart with my bare hands!" he made such motions with his hands. Ierna rushed to them and held them close, stilling her son's hands.
"No, no, darling you can't." she urged, hearing snapping tree branches. Standing, she pulled her bow from over her shoulder, and readied her arrows. "Hide in the trees."
"But mama-"
"Go!" she snapped, and the four ran to obey her. They lurked, just out of sight. Boudicca scooped some of the poisoned water out with a cup, just as Rome and twenty of his soldiers stepped out of the forest and into the village clearing.
"Well here's where you went to." he greeted, and Ierna regretted ever teaching him a word of Gaelic. He ruined her language with his hideous accent. "Have you learned your lesson?"
The arrow embedded in the tree behind him only because he had the foresight to dodge. "How mean. I was only asking a question. But obviously I have my answer."
He took a step forward, and Ierna shouted to the queen, "drink it now!"
Without hesitation, she did. Smacking her lips afterwards, she swayed, laughing when the soldiers tried to come near her, upturning the cauldron at their feet, halting their advance. Swaying went to convulsions, to frothing at the mouth, and finally to collapse. Rome watched with the expression of a child that had accidentally broken a toy.
"Well that's ruined it." he said, folding his arms and huffing. "She would have been a good example to make of your people."
"Your people make better examples." Ierna snarled. "Their heads make for good decorations."
The dark haired nation pulled a face. "Oh come on, that's just gross." With speed one wouldn't think a man so laden with armor would have, he grabbed Ierna around the neck, wrenching the bow from her hands and forcing her to the ground. She tried to scratch at his face, but again found her hands pinned, and this time a sword at her neck as well. Screaming in frustration, she struggled, but with such a heavy weight straddling her it was in vain. "Don't be difficult, it would be a shame to kill someone so pretty. And besides, I would have to hunt down the next incarnation of your people then. Though," he thought about it. "A child would be easier to tame."
She spat at him. "Don't you touch them."
Eyebrows rose. "So there are more?"
"I said don't you dare touch them, drúsire!!"
"If there are more, then why am I bothering with you?" The sword pressed further, lines of red appearing on her neck as she choked.
A rock hit the side of his head. The empire looked around to see the four small Nations, eyes wide and panicked and angry. Rome sat back and surveyed them.
"Good evening little ones." the smile was friendly and Ierna wanted nothing more than to rip it straight off his hook-nosed face. "What do you say to joining my Empire?"
None of the four looked understanding of the term, but their mother's heart froze in her chest.
"Run!" she shrieked, renewing her attempts at escape. "Run, run as far and as fast as you can! All of you!"
Either they were too frozen with fear or caught between the desire to obey their mother or rescue her. Either way, all four siblings were there to watch the decent of Rome's sword into Ierna's chest.
"Mama!" Eire screamed, and a few of the soldiers winced and put their hands over their ears. Cymru grabbed his sister's arm to stop her running forward. Alba made a soundless lurch forward, words frozen in his mouth. Albion stared, uncomprehending, eyes going impossibly wide. "MAMA!!"
Rome twisted the blade, and Ierna choked on air, grabbing at the sword's edge as blood blossomed around the wound. He pulled it out, and spurts of crimson followed it, coughing up and out of her mouth, which hung slack and open. Hands and limbs grew weak, limp, and her head lolled sideways, staring blankly at her children as the light faded from her gaze.
"Run..." she mouthed.
And they did.
Notes:
- Còmhraig is Gaelic for the infinitive "to fight". I thought it went well with "Vincere", the Latin infinitive "to conquer".
- Boudicca (pronounced either "boo-dee-kah" or "bow-deh-see-ah", also spelled as Bodica, Boudecia and Baggod last one is Welsh, can you tell?) was an epic Iceni queen who, in 60-61AD, lead a British uprising against the Roman Empire. Famously red haired, she towered over most Roman soldiers at nearly 6 feet tall (which, considering the average height in those days, was HUGE) and was a fearsome leader. She gathered tribes from all over the county and united them in a way that nobody else ever had thanks to their common enemy (thanks Rome!). Originally her husband had a treaty of non-aggression with the Romans, but after his death the Romans broke their promise, annexed the Iceni land (now East Anglia), whipped Boudicca and raped her three daughters.
- Full of the rage of a woman scorned, she lead an army maxing out 50,000 to sack Camuldonum (now Colchester), which was a common retirement destination for Roman soldiers. Thanks to this, it was poorly defended, and everyone ran to the temple for safety. The Celts burned it to the ground with everyone inside.
- When they got to Londinium (London) they found it was empty. The soldiers had evacuated everyone, knowing that the Iceni were coming. They burned that down too. They then made their way to chase the Romans back over the channel, army swelling to 100,000 with more tribes joining the hunt.
- That's where it backfired. Rome had 10,000 soliders waiting there, which sounds like pittance compared to the Celt's massive numbers. However, the Romans were very, very good at fending off hordes. Using their tortoise shell phalanx techniques, they easily defeated the Celtic army.
- Rather than be captured, Boudicca took poison and killed herself. A nice big "fuck you too" to the Roman Empire, who planned to take her to Rome and make an example of her.
- Boudicca calls Ierna "Macha", Celtic goddess of war, fertility and sovereignty, if I'm remembering my Celtic mythos correctly.
- Woad is a plant indigenous to Britain. It's seed, when crushed and mixed with water, becomes a blue dye, which was famously painted on warriors for bravery and magical protection. It's also an easy way to freak people out; nobody wants to touch a blue guy, not when you don't know if that blue is woad or an infection.
- The Celts also fought mostly naked, cloaks aside. You can decide if that's brave or stupid.
- They were also big on trees. They loved them; ashes, oaks, holly. They were of great symbolic importance, and hurting them without apologising or having a good reason was a no-no. They had no such scruples about the way they treated people though.
- "Drúsire" = "bastard" or "dirty minded man".
- Oh, and I'll make it known that Boudicca's big speech is not one I made up. It's one of the few recorded instances of her life; the speech she made to her troops. Apparently a Roman bloke heard it.
Vincere
Characters: Ierna, Boudicca, Rome, Albion, Cymru, Eire, Alba.
Rating: 15
Warnings: Rape, violence, muddy ancient history, naked Celtic people.
Summary: Prequel to Vincere, the tale of Ancient Britain's last stand.
The night was full of screaming. Sobs of mourning had turned to cries of fear, ripped clothing and the crack of whips. A woman, trapped against a tree and viciously whipped, called for her daughters, but they were lost already, dirty, calloused hands raking their bodies and stealing dignity and self-worth, greedy as the hands of conquerors always were. These were her people, her son's people as well, and she could do nothing to help them.
Rome's heavy hands pinned them above her head, no matter how she tried to bite at his wrists and arms or kick her legs into his chest to push him off her. She snarled obscenities and curses and "you broke your promise" and "I will make you suffer for this".
The Empire simply chuckled. "What reason is there for me to be afraid of a woman like you?"
She prayed her children would stay in the woods as she told them to, and plotted her vengeance in kind.
-----
The day was bright and the warriors ready. A hundred thousand painted men, all making a stand to protect their home no matter what the invading forces tried. Rumbling back and forth in front of the soldiers was a worn but decorated wooden chariot, pulled by two snorting, wild eyed horses. A tall, fierce woman with long red hair bound into braids.
"We British are used to women commanders in war." Queen Boudicca shouted, lungs projecting far out into the gathered crowd. "I am the daughter of mighty men. But I am not fighting for my royal power now... I am fighting... as an ordinary person who has lost freedom. I am fighting for my bruised body. The gods will grant us the revenge we deserve. Think of how many of us are fighting, and why.You will win this battle, or die trying. That is what I, a woman, plan to do."
Blue eyes swept the crowd, and landed on someone of similar height, build and hair colour. They shared a smile.
"Let the men live as slaves if they want, I will not!"
An almighty shout rose from the gathered Celts, and Ierna prepared her spear to fight for her children.
-----
The city was awash with blood before long, tall white buildings engulfed in flames. Old soldiers, who had so foolishly used this place for their "retirement" (a word that Ierna did not understand) stood to try and fight the advancing Iceni army, but they had little more than ornamental swords (another thing she did not comprehend) and kitchen implements to use against their foes. Boudicca rode through the crowd, screaming at the top of her lungs and gathering heads as she went. Her face wide in the glee of the kill, breasts and body painted in swirls of blue and tartan cloak hiding little to nothing. Ierna rode beside her, spearing any who dared to come within three armlengths of her steed.
They herded the fleeing Roman filth into their precious temple. Boudicca grabbed a torch as she passed, and soon the whole army had flaming objects raised, throwing oil on the temple steps and the cowards that ran up them. Standing tall, Ierna threw the first torch.
The cheers of the tribes of Albion eclipsed the screams of the Roman invaders, and the smoke curled up into the ether. Camuldonum burned to the ground, taking it's people with it.
Ierna stood on the burned city walls and laughed.
"Do you fear me now, Rome?"
And the Empire answered.
"No."
-----
Londinium was empty when they got there, which perhaps contradicted what Rome had said. The Celtic army sacked and pillaged and burned and cried vengeance over it regardless.
"See how he runs from us like a rabbit from a hawk?" Boudicca roared, galloping through the streets, rallying the disappointed, blood hungry mob into another marching frenzy. "Onward, we chase him to the coast!"
-----
This time, they found Rome waiting. On the eve before the battle, Ierna undid and re-braided the Iceni Queen's hair in the light of the campfire.
"How many do you suppose there are, Macha?" the warrior woman asked, sharpening her sword against a wetstone, sending sparks off like tiny stars. The Fae gathered to watch, played with the little bursts of light.
"I know there to be 10,000." Ierna replied. An incredulous look was thrown her way.
"Only that? We have amassed 100,000 strong!" she laughed, then turned back, looking in the reflection of her blade. Her grin was just as wide, curved and sharp. "This land is ours. His attempts to claim it are feeble as that of a newborn foal's legs."
There was a rustling in the trees, and the red heads turned sharply around, searching the dark. Carefully peeking out of the bushes were four pairs of green eyes. Ierna relaxed. "Lower your sword, they are my children."
Something small and blonde darted out and into his mother's arms, letting a satisfied huff escape when she petted straw-like hair. The others emerged; a young red headed boy, a girl who looked much like her mother, and another small blonde whose hair curled at the ends of his braids. The smallest boy turned his head to peer curiously at the queen, and Boudicca chuckled.
"Truly this is a land worth fighting for."
-----
Warning her children to stay at the camp had been a good idea, in retrospect. The glimmering shields of the Roman soldiers relfected light into the eyes of the Celts where they stood atop the hills. A hundred thousand men and women, all warriors, itched for the off. In two chariots next to each other, Ierna and Boudicca shared a final nod.
Raising her spear, the first queen of the united tribes of Albion screamed "CHARGE!"
The thundering of footfall could be likened to a fabled earthquake, the trees themselves shaking leaves off the branches. Orders barked in Latin were lost to the battle cries of a people fighting for their freedom.
But on this day, they would not get it.
For no matter how hard they drove their swords into the shields, between the barest gaps would appear blades tempered with superior technology. The bodies of humans still impaled on Roman spears only boosted the defense, creating walls of flesh between the two armies. From the sunrise, to the middle of the day when the rain slicked the ground and sunk heavy metal boots and bare feet alike into the dirt, to the very last rays of sunlight and the lighting of torches to be thrown at the imperial armies; no progress was made of the armies of Boudicca. Even the queen herself had to abandon her chariot and horse once both had become stuck in the piles of woad-covered bodies.
Elbows-deep in blood that was only half hers, Ierna spotted the last face she wanted to see. Grabbing Boudicca's wrist, she dragged her from the fray and into the trees, summoning the speed only gods could give to escape.
It wasn't enough. The branches of trees snapped and gave under Rome's pursuit, their spirits crying out in pain that Ierna forced herself to ignore. They would have to live with it. She reached down and grabbed what she needed as she ran.
Once she felt they were far enough ahead, she stopped in a half-abandoned village. Opening her hand, she showed the queen she had pinned her last hope on the way out. Deadly nightshade, the poisonous flower in her hand, looked so innocuous.
"You must not let them take you." she uttered. Boudicca solemnly nodded, lips in a grim line. Throwing it into a pot of boiling water left over the village fireplace for when the heroes would supposedly return, the two women quickly concocted the deadly poison.
"Mama?"
Ierna whipped round, spotting with heart racing her children, innocently blinking their eyes at her. "Mama, what's going on? Did you win?" asked Eire. Excitement blossomed and wilted on her face with her words as she noticed the cuts and wounds that adorned both warrior women. "Mama, you're hurt!"
This enraged Alba. "Who did it?! I'll rip them apart with my bare hands!" he made such motions with his hands. Ierna rushed to them and held them close, stilling her son's hands.
"No, no, darling you can't." she urged, hearing snapping tree branches. Standing, she pulled her bow from over her shoulder, and readied her arrows. "Hide in the trees."
"But mama-"
"Go!" she snapped, and the four ran to obey her. They lurked, just out of sight. Boudicca scooped some of the poisoned water out with a cup, just as Rome and twenty of his soldiers stepped out of the forest and into the village clearing.
"Well here's where you went to." he greeted, and Ierna regretted ever teaching him a word of Gaelic. He ruined her language with his hideous accent. "Have you learned your lesson?"
The arrow embedded in the tree behind him only because he had the foresight to dodge. "How mean. I was only asking a question. But obviously I have my answer."
He took a step forward, and Ierna shouted to the queen, "drink it now!"
Without hesitation, she did. Smacking her lips afterwards, she swayed, laughing when the soldiers tried to come near her, upturning the cauldron at their feet, halting their advance. Swaying went to convulsions, to frothing at the mouth, and finally to collapse. Rome watched with the expression of a child that had accidentally broken a toy.
"Well that's ruined it." he said, folding his arms and huffing. "She would have been a good example to make of your people."
"Your people make better examples." Ierna snarled. "Their heads make for good decorations."
The dark haired nation pulled a face. "Oh come on, that's just gross." With speed one wouldn't think a man so laden with armor would have, he grabbed Ierna around the neck, wrenching the bow from her hands and forcing her to the ground. She tried to scratch at his face, but again found her hands pinned, and this time a sword at her neck as well. Screaming in frustration, she struggled, but with such a heavy weight straddling her it was in vain. "Don't be difficult, it would be a shame to kill someone so pretty. And besides, I would have to hunt down the next incarnation of your people then. Though," he thought about it. "A child would be easier to tame."
She spat at him. "Don't you touch them."
Eyebrows rose. "So there are more?"
"I said don't you dare touch them, drúsire!!"
"If there are more, then why am I bothering with you?" The sword pressed further, lines of red appearing on her neck as she choked.
A rock hit the side of his head. The empire looked around to see the four small Nations, eyes wide and panicked and angry. Rome sat back and surveyed them.
"Good evening little ones." the smile was friendly and Ierna wanted nothing more than to rip it straight off his hook-nosed face. "What do you say to joining my Empire?"
None of the four looked understanding of the term, but their mother's heart froze in her chest.
"Run!" she shrieked, renewing her attempts at escape. "Run, run as far and as fast as you can! All of you!"
Either they were too frozen with fear or caught between the desire to obey their mother or rescue her. Either way, all four siblings were there to watch the decent of Rome's sword into Ierna's chest.
"Mama!" Eire screamed, and a few of the soldiers winced and put their hands over their ears. Cymru grabbed his sister's arm to stop her running forward. Alba made a soundless lurch forward, words frozen in his mouth. Albion stared, uncomprehending, eyes going impossibly wide. "MAMA!!"
Rome twisted the blade, and Ierna choked on air, grabbing at the sword's edge as blood blossomed around the wound. He pulled it out, and spurts of crimson followed it, coughing up and out of her mouth, which hung slack and open. Hands and limbs grew weak, limp, and her head lolled sideways, staring blankly at her children as the light faded from her gaze.
"Run..." she mouthed.
And they did.
Notes:
- Còmhraig is Gaelic for the infinitive "to fight". I thought it went well with "Vincere", the Latin infinitive "to conquer".
- Boudicca (pronounced either "boo-dee-kah" or "bow-deh-see-ah", also spelled as Bodica, Boudecia and Baggod last one is Welsh, can you tell?) was an epic Iceni queen who, in 60-61AD, lead a British uprising against the Roman Empire. Famously red haired, she towered over most Roman soldiers at nearly 6 feet tall (which, considering the average height in those days, was HUGE) and was a fearsome leader. She gathered tribes from all over the county and united them in a way that nobody else ever had thanks to their common enemy (thanks Rome!). Originally her husband had a treaty of non-aggression with the Romans, but after his death the Romans broke their promise, annexed the Iceni land (now East Anglia), whipped Boudicca and raped her three daughters.
- Full of the rage of a woman scorned, she lead an army maxing out 50,000 to sack Camuldonum (now Colchester), which was a common retirement destination for Roman soldiers. Thanks to this, it was poorly defended, and everyone ran to the temple for safety. The Celts burned it to the ground with everyone inside.
- When they got to Londinium (London) they found it was empty. The soldiers had evacuated everyone, knowing that the Iceni were coming. They burned that down too. They then made their way to chase the Romans back over the channel, army swelling to 100,000 with more tribes joining the hunt.
- That's where it backfired. Rome had 10,000 soliders waiting there, which sounds like pittance compared to the Celt's massive numbers. However, the Romans were very, very good at fending off hordes. Using their tortoise shell phalanx techniques, they easily defeated the Celtic army.
- Rather than be captured, Boudicca took poison and killed herself. A nice big "fuck you too" to the Roman Empire, who planned to take her to Rome and make an example of her.
- Boudicca calls Ierna "Macha", Celtic goddess of war, fertility and sovereignty, if I'm remembering my Celtic mythos correctly.
- Woad is a plant indigenous to Britain. It's seed, when crushed and mixed with water, becomes a blue dye, which was famously painted on warriors for bravery and magical protection. It's also an easy way to freak people out; nobody wants to touch a blue guy, not when you don't know if that blue is woad or an infection.
- The Celts also fought mostly naked, cloaks aside. You can decide if that's brave or stupid.
- They were also big on trees. They loved them; ashes, oaks, holly. They were of great symbolic importance, and hurting them without apologising or having a good reason was a no-no. They had no such scruples about the way they treated people though.
- "Drúsire" = "bastard" or "dirty minded man".
- Oh, and I'll make it known that Boudicca's big speech is not one I made up. It's one of the few recorded instances of her life; the speech she made to her troops. Apparently a Roman bloke heard it.
Vincere