Post by anirbas on May 4, 2009 23:06:22 GMT -6
Open your minds, children of Brighid.
Gather round, the embers of my banked fire;
settle in, get comfortable.
As I, a simple storyteller,
attempt, to tell the tale;
albeit stylized and rampant,
with creative licensing;
a remberancing, if you will,
of a woman of greatness;
of which not near enough
of naught is known...
See if you will, the mist of time,
roll back, back, back-
as your mind's eye opens,
on a forgotten age...
An age of darkness, plunder,
politics and pillage.
As hapless tribes rose and fell,
beneath the merciless heel,
of a phalnyx of Rome driven soldiers.
(Um. In retrospect, not unlike our own time...)
And into this setting, was born
a royal, girlchild of the Iceni;
destined to be the consort
of a dark age king.
Statuesque, she grew, by the by;
with thick, straight hanks of auburned hair,
that fell like a water fall, to her knees;
kept bound, in a mahogony, blood red braid.
As females were encouraged, amongst
the myriad Britannic clans;
to fight side by side,
their male kith and kin;
she grew stong and clean limbed,
a healthy, naturally muscular speciman,
of a human being. Gifted in the arts
of swordfighting and charioteering,
of the barbaric sort and style;
light, fast, carts of willow,
captained by a warrior,
swinging a long, heavy broadsword.
Tough as any gypsy, of a later day and age;
shrewd as any of her masculine counterparts;
this pagan woman of Celtic royalty,
whom became and was, the bane
of civilized Roman existence and society.
Used to women, of the fawning sort,
as thus were their girlchildren raised,
Romanesque males were put off, by her abrasive,
to their minds, manner.
Sneeringly, they called her,
barbaric, mongrel queen.
We know her better,
thanks to the sweat of venerable historians,
as Boudica, Warrior Queen of the Iceni,
Defender of Britannia.
This bane of Roman male existence;
baned them more still, with her unbelievable
capability of commanding the allegiance,
of men, even more mongrelistic and barbaric,than she!
High and low born pagan kings and men,
of rapacious, heathen appetites;
who saw nothing wrong,
with painting their naked bodies blue,
afore they charged into battle;
conveyed by foot, chariot, or horseback.
Led by this mere woman,this defender
of Britannia, they so admired, this Bodica;
touched in the head, as with the pure, righteous anger,
of a God chosen, earthbound, avenging angel;
whom by sheer charisma and cold, calculating will;
drew her people's tribes together;
to storm the established bastions
of supercillious Roman overlordship.
anirbas
1/23/2005 10:05 PM 14 out of 62
This mutiny, of dark age Britannic natives,
the Romans could naught but blame themselves,
first and foremost.
After implementing, the Nero ordered flogging
and debasement, of so rare a woman.
Boudica, the assumed helpless, widowed queen
of Prasutagus; and mother of his fatherless daughters.
Whom were further defiled in a horrendous, base manner;
deflowered of their tender, virginal status;
at the hands, not of Roman soldiers;
whom considered themselves to good
to touch mongrel flesh,
even that of young females.
And had instead, turned the helpless progeny;
of the beaten and battered Boudica;
over to the hordes, of their Roman owned slaves;
to take their so called pleasure with.
Yet the Romans called the native Britannic tribes,
they sought to overlord and overtax;
mongrels and barbarians...
Nay, twas naught hard, for a spirit wounded,
and publically, physically flogged widowed queen,
to rally to her side, men;
who'd watched her shame as well theirs';
at Roman hands, with knives at their throats,
and bile, filling their mouthes; at their own
inability, to save her, their country,
nor way of life and reverencing the Ancients;
in their religious practices.
No matter how much coin or land,
they ceded, by pact or loss of war,
to the ravaging dog;
the wants and needs for power,
of the Roman aristocracy.
Nay, a woman wouldn't have needed much charisma,
to rally to her side men, such as her kith and kin;
and bring to fruition, a revolt, two decades,
in the making...
Men, who'd been raised in the first place,
with women of equal might and battle trained skills;
running by their sides, behind or in front of them;
ready to jump into the fray and hold sway,
beside their masculine counterparts;
if need be, to protect the rights and safety,
of the individual or collective clans or tribes,
of southwestern Britannia.
Ruled by the three royal clans of Iceni,
not by the blink of Nero's eye,
thousands of miles away.
In fact, Boudica's men, reveled in the discomfit,
the sexist Roman's took, in dealing with,
and losing to the leadership;
of a fox-witted and wiled,
female battle ax, of a mongrel queen;
a true child of Britannia, to them,
no matter her gender.
Which was more than could be said,
of the Roman soldiers invading their lands;
mercilessly, not diplomatically;
this storyteller, might add...
anirbas
1/23/2005 10:28 PM 15 out of 62
An age of darkness, plunder,
politics and pillage.
As hapless tribes rose and fell,
beneath the merciless heel,
of a phalnyx of Rome driven soldiers.
The Romans, were not prejudiced.
Bringing down the house of Prasutagus,
was merely business, as usual.
Par to the course, in
managing a recalcitrant country.
They were over running,
and domesticating all
of Briton's natives!
Queen Boudica's humiliation
at their hands, enduring a public flogging;
and helpless inability to protect the
innocence of her pre- and pubescent daughters;
was just par to the course, for the Roman Empire.
Nero and the Senate, considered her,
bowed and properly broken.
No more, than a mongrel cur,
brought to heel; to lick
their symbolic feet,
if they so allowed.
Tossing Boudica, from
their collective, aristocratic
minds. As one would fling a token
from the fingertips into the open,
grimy palm of a beggar, without
touching it...No longer caring,
where the coin went.
As long as it was spent.
Shame. Shame upon Nero.
Shame. Shame upon the Senate.
Shame. Shame upon the Roman legionaires,
and retired veterans; moving native families,
from homes; and snapping up the best real estate,
for their own, in the ever loving name, of Rome!
Shame. Shame, retribution and swift revenge upon them!
Shame upon the Britannic natives who'd become
their wives and concubines. Or the Roman scrouge's
willing male disciples, vowing vassalage;
and paying lip service, to an empire,
a world away, literally. Rather
than daring hold sway,
and say, naught a bit more,
will I take and swallow;
naught this day!
anirbas
1/23/2005 11:37 PM 16 out of 62
Down, her highness, Queen Boudica was.
Nero's second mistake; was in thinking
the lady warrior, would stay there.
Out, she wasn't...
The mattoid emperor's first mistake,
was made in tangling with this woman;
Prasutagus queen and consort;
in the first place.
Then torturing her,
instead of killing
the stubborn female.
She'd been happy to uphold
the contract her dead
husband, had made with Rome.
Making Prasutagus' daughters,
along with Nero, the heirs to his kingdom.
In order to protect, his homeland,
the high king, had mistakenly thought;
as time would tell and did;
and as witnessed by history.
An unrepenetant Boudica, lay bellydown,
in her bed of loss, pain, tears and travail;
only for as long, as it took her ripped back to heal.
As her physical being repaired and knitted itself;
how her brow must have furrowed in concentration!
This historically mythical,
legendary woman bred, born and raised;
not to walk beside any mere man;
but a worthy man, of warrior royalty;
as mansutudenal as he was brave;
must have burned with righteous indignation!
How this warrior queen, not princess,
must have helplessly, for the moment,
fretted and fumed, like a good parent
and responsible monarch;
over the atrocities committed against
her precious, helpless children;
herself and her countrymen.
Death. Death. She must have chanted in her head.
Day after day, as her body, filled in the
deep lacerations, that now marred,
her once velvety flesh.
Death. Death to the Roman hounds from hell!
Death to their willing acolytes
and hapless slaves, alike!
Death. Death, to Roman rule.
Queen Boudica must have planned her attack,
even as she lay, face down, pain wracked,
bruised and beaten, like a mongrel cur.
Over and over, in her anger darkened thoughts,
she must have said to herself, remorselessly;
her people would be liberated!
Of the Roman yoke, be free!
Or they, and she, would freely
die trying to make it so.
For through history's, backward
looking eyes; as seen through
Agricola's Roman orbiters,
and later recorded by
his kinsmen, Tacitus;
and the back breaking labor,
of acheologists, long since
this forgotten dark age-
We know Queen Boudica;
hard bitten, hawk visioned, stoic
that she was; rose from her bed,
barely recovered from the itching,
pulling, still scabbed, Roman gifted
scars, that lay across the pliant
hide of her toned, muscular back.
Upraised reminders, these thick welts were!
With throbbing voices all their own;
whispering in her ears, to speed Boudica,
the Defender of Britannia;
single mindedly, from there, with immediate,
revenge filled, redemptive purpose.
For the Rome labeled, mongrel queen's
next move, was to draw together,
an awesome force of men and women,
of Britannic, not Roman lineage;
of several tribes; as well,
high and low kingdoms, alike.
Seemingly escaped from a Roman bred
nightmare and hell; led by an Icenic Alecto;
whom showed naught a trace of mercy,
in her next move and moves, thereafter;
as she shook and slammed her fist!
Pounding down the gates,
of Roman aristocracy,
in her land and country!
Not and never,
theirs, rightfully.
Through Tacitus, we know the Roman Empire,
termed this botched period of their history,
in Britannia, a rabble roused and led revolt.
Nothing more and nothing less.
But, Boudica and her people knew what it was.
It was an all out, take no prisoners, war.
