They came as traders, then as invaders, those cursed Romans who have come among us to enslave or ravage these green lands. So here I stand this day before the feast of Beltane begins, we have to kill these invaders before we can feast but when we drive them back towards the sea the wine will taste sweeter than spring rain. Pulling on the chariot reins I feel the blood coursing through my veins as the leather strap bites into the back of my hand. I turn to Nyfain my daughter, she looks beautiful as the breeze ripples her lovely pale blonde hair. She smiles at me sardonically knowing I didn’t want her to be here today, to be here at Lyanymynech, to face the foe. I smile back but its more of a grimace than a smile, here is my daughter, defiant and brave yet only nineteen summers young. A war chant begins as the ranks of men taunt the Romans, to my left my son wails curses, ah Brethoc my son and heir, youthful yet wise, pray hope he doesn’t fall ere this day. My stout ponies shift nervously as the chant gains momentum and I gaze along the assembled lines of warriors of the Cornovii tribes here today. My gaze rests upon Caractacus, the warrior who was displaced from his lands far to the south east and has fought the Romans since, he comes this day with tribesmen from Silurus, our fierce southern kinsmen and we call him Caradoc in our own tongue. With such a mighty gathering we shall scatter this enemy, Caswallawn our god of war shall see to this for he listens to true warriors. If I fall here today then I’ll be feasting from his cauldron and making merry with the other brave souls, toasting the victory he has given us, for we are worthy. I gaze across the Llanymynech plain watching our hunters skirmish with the Romans, hurling spears of oak to smite them. Gurci our druid dances before them shrieking incantations at the ranks of the Romans cowards, jeering loudly my kinsmen shout obscene insults at the roman scum. I raise my spear
‘Fear us’
Nyfain stands beside me uttering her last prayers to Brigantis as a silence descends over the sun drenched grassy plain. Brethoc shouts to a nearby warrior that he’ll be back in Onguen’s bed this night, he belly full of wine and her belly with child. I always did approve of Onguen, by Caswallawn I pray I don’t deliver to him back to her a corpse. I unclasp the wine skin from my belt and pass it to my beloved brave children, I only hope I return to my beloved and do not tarry in this place. Still I am confident and before this day is over my woman will firm my hand and my fingers will tussle playfully with her red braided hair. I look to the sky, wisps of clouds hang above and on those clouds the gods bear witness, holding my spear aloft I yell
‘Give me the spear of Caswallawn and give me clear understanding, give me hope as a talisman’
Our warriors lurch forward, taunting and rattling spear against shield, druids yell, maidens howl then suddenly we charge.
Swiftly goading my trusty chariot ponies’ forwards I raise my spear aloft, my cry stifled as my mouth is suddenly dry even though my thirst was recently slaked. The chariot rattles and creaks as we surge ahead of the warriors, turning I see other chariots nearby but we are too few here today. We may be in battle first but fearless warriors follow to hew and cleave these Roman curs.
Nyfain is screaming, rivlets of tears adorn her face but her shouts are of defiance, my brave daughter, my flower of Brigantis. Brethoc regards me with a grimace, his jaw clenched, his woad paint glistening in the afternoon sun, his dark hair dancing in the breeze, my son, my heir and my firstborn.
Then we are upon the dogs of Rome, crashing into them like a scythe through a farmers crop, we brace ourselves as we cleave into their shield wall but all too quickly the ponies buckle and fall under Roman iron. My chariot suddenly grinds to a halt and I master my senses shouting a war cry at the reeling Romans around us. Suddenly in the fog of battle we are circled by them, Nyfain takes an advancing Roman in the groin with a spear before grasping another sturdy spear from within the chariot. Brethoc has jumped free from our wrecked chariot and takes a roman in the throat, crimson blood cascading down his spear shaft. I wheel around to see a roman dog hurtling towards me, his sword raised about to strike but I take the fools life quickly with my spear, plunging it deep into his vitals. My hands shake and my head is delirious, the clash of iron and death screams hang in the sweet spring air as the rest of our army crashes into the roman ranks. In the infectious heat of battle I lose sight of Brethoc but Nyfain stands at my rear in the chariot, screeching like a banshee and hurling vehement spears at the encroaching foe. Who would have thought I would draw courage from my daughter? She makes an old warrior proud, songs will be sung after this day. I notice the brave Caradoc nearby, grim faced as his sword deals a death blow to roman soldier, beside him Gurci the Druid wields his sickle whilst singing a dirge of Caswallawn, the romans step back gripped by fear, hah - their gods are no match for ours!
Our fervour is short lived as the roman’s quickly regroup their ranks and approach again, their eager spears thrusting against us. Gurci falls, a roman javelin pierces his green tunic, he utters his last words to our gods before his body falls to meet the crimson streaked grass. Our warriors seeing this hurl themselves hatefully at the foe but their armour is strong and many a woad daubed warrior falls, blood replacing war paint, death replacing life.
I parry a roman javelin with my shield and swiftly despatch its owner, he glares at me before smiling weakly to acknowledge his defeat as he slides off my spear tip. Then…
‘NO’
Brethoc, Oh Brethoc my son, my heart almost stops and I yell a blood curdling scream as I see him hewn down by two roman cowards but as I leap from the chariot to avenge his death I hear Nyfain call for me. Wheeling around I see all her spears are spent and her arms flail wildly against the roman’s trying to pull her from the chariot. My breath rasping from fatigue I charge to her defence as the roman curs pull at her gown, yelling joyfully as they grapple with her. As I reach her side she kicks and screams, her teeth locked on a roman’s cheek, his blood cascading onto his armour.
‘Nyfain!’
Heedlessly I launch into the fray smiting romans before me but my battle cry is the last I shall utter as roman iron bites deep into me from behind, torturous pain rips through my body and I stumble, a grey haze descends all around. I see Nyfain on the ground, roman dogs clawing at her, shouting in triumph. I try and rise but my strength fails me, blood surges into my mouth to stifle my shouts of ‘Nyfain’. Her robe in tatters and a roman dog heaving himself upon her stricken body before taking a knife and cutting her throat, she quivers like a newborn lamb, her eyes rest upon me, a faint smile passes between us, no fairer warrior maiden died this day. My beautiful Nyfain.
‘Caswallawn I come to you now, I Tethion of the Cornovii’
Then darkness takes me, Nyfain and Brethoc await me.
Che-Jay, 4th Feb 05
The recorded history of Britain of that time is extremely sketchy. In the main the only records are those by the conquering race, the Romans. But to set the scene it is necessary to remember that the country was, at that time, in a tribal state, each with its own leader but perhaps having allegiance, when advantageous, to other tribes and other leaders, and at times, even to the Roman invaders themselves.
In AD 40, Cunobelinus, of the Trinovantians (an area north of present-day London) expelled his son, Adminius, who fled overseas and made an act of submission to the Roman Emperor Gaius. At the death of Cunobelinus, his kingdom was divided between Togodumnus and Caractacus.
The invasion by Rome is said to have coincided with a plea by Adminius for help, as well as an economic need for Rome to conquer Britain. This economic need was simply that it was easier to conquer Britain than it would be to create a mainland Europe defence against possible invasion from British tribes.
In AD 43, when the Romans landed in force, the Britons' resistance was led by Togodumnus and Caractacus, but, although there were successes, the general result was a retreat by Togodumnus and Caractacus who gathered support from the various tribes as they retreated. But some tribes sensed that the end was nigh, and made peace with the invaders. Eventually, Caractacus found refuge with the Ordovices of Powys, although some say it was with the Cornovii of Shropshire, but either way it would put the scene of his last battle firmly in the area we know today as Shropshire and Powys. Little seems to be known about Caractacus except what was recorded by the Roman historian Tacitus who, in turn, obtained his information from eye-witness reports. Yet Caractacus is important enough to be listed under Prominent People in my edition of Pears Cyclopaedia.
The Romans called him Caractacus, although he is better known as Caradoc. (the name Caradoc still can be found in use in Wales today) He was one of the last of the British leaders to stand against Rome.
Details of the battle, including a description of the terrain, were recorded by Tacitus at the time, and he states that the British leader artfully availed himself of his knowledge of the country, and posted himself on a spot, the approaches and retreats of which were as advantageous to his own party as they were perplexing to the enemy. Despite inferior weapons, it is said that Caradoc encouraged his men and told them that the work of that day would be the beginning of a new liberty or of eternal slavery. Their resolution astonished the Roman general, and the river which flowed at the foot of the hill, together with the ramparts and steeps, presented to the assailants a formidable and resolute appearance.
But despite their resolution, the Britons had no chance against the superior strength of the Roman legions. Caradoc's wife and daughter were taken prisoner, his brother surrendered and Caradoc himself was treacherously delivered up to the Romans soon after by the Queen Cartimandua of the Brigantes with whom he had sought protection (Cartimandua later refused to help Boudicca). The story of Caradoc does not end here as he and his family were taken as prisoners to Rome where the news of his valour had preceded him.
First in the procession came the king's dependents and retinue; next his brothers, his wife and daughter, and last himself was presented to public view; his body was mostly naked and painted with figures of beasts; he wore a chain of iron about his neck, and another about his middle; the hair on his head hanging down in curled locks covered his back and shoulders. Caradoc neither by his looks nor language pleaded for mercy, and when he came before the Emperor's seat expressed himself in these terms:-
"Had I made that prudent use of my prosperity, which my rank and fortune would have enabled me to make, I had come hither rather as a friend than as a prisoner; nor would you have disdained the alliance of one descended from illustrious ancestors, and sovereign over many nations. My present condition, disgraceful as it is to myself, reflects glory on you. Possessed as I once was of horses, men, arms and wealth, what wonder is it if I parted from them with reluctance. Had I sooner been betrayed, I had neither been distinguished by misfortune nor you by glory. But if you now save my life I shall be an eternal monument of your clemency."
The Emperor generously granted the pardon of Caradoc, his wife and brothers, who remained at Rome in the highest esteem. At this time Christianity was preached in the imperial city and many of his family became Christians.
At the expiration of seven years they were permitted to return, and were thus furnished with a favourable opportunity of introducing the Gospel into their own country and were instrumental in reclaiming many of the Britons from their ancient superstitions. Of course, we don't know how accurate this report of Caradoc's arrival in Rome is. But the records of Rome show that either he was held in high esteem by his behaviour, or that Rome felt it necessary to record his time in Rome in this manner. Either way it shows that Caradoc was an enemy worthy of Rome's respect.
It is not recorded whether Caradoc was converted to Christianity, but his son, Cyllin, and his daughter, Eigen, are both ranked among the British saints. Eigen married a British chieftain and one of her sisters is believed to have become the wife of Pudens, a Roman senator.
Names and place names were taken from various sources and all may not be historically accurate though I think most are. For further reading see the link below.
http://www.britannia.com/history/bb51.html
