(Originally posted in 2004 and lost in the attack. reposted from alternate archives - Kelryck)

The Death of the Iceni
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PROLOGUE


To truly understand the disappearance of the Icenians, one must first understand their life. And not just how they lived, but why they lived. Yes, as with every group of peoples in this world, there is a reason for being. The Icenians were no different.

Through research and translation of ancient journals that have been recovered, we know that the Iceni clan began during the years of Christ. In order to better understand their purpose for living, one must now begin to learn how it all began…

In the ages of Rome’s rule of Britain, there were more than twenty tribes or regions of people throughout England. In the east, the two prominent tribes were the Iceni and the Trinobantes, though some translate them as the Trinovantes.

The Iceni tribe was a Celtic one, its first ruler was known simply as Can. He reigned during the reported years of Christ, until the Christian year twenty-five, when he turned to Roman rulers and Antedios took over ruling the Iceni tribe. Antedios followed suit and became a client of Roman rulers, avoiding speaking against the Roman invaders of his home soil.

Two men, Aesu and Saenu, were both Iceni tribal leaders who spoke against the invasions of Rome and tried to instill their own reign over following peoples, though they both met their deaths during the wars of the late forties.

Following the deaths of Aesu, Saenu, and Antedios, Roman leaders gave to one man, kingship over the Icenian people. This man was Prasutagus, a man who was a client of Rome and a recognized leader throughout all of the invaded lands. He was the husband to Boadicea and a father to Julia Victoria and Stradwawl. During his reign, he amassed great wealth for his tribe and had taken time to fairly divide his kingdom and monies between all who were deserved, upon his death.

History reveals that the Romans would show mercy upon, and even privileges to, those who abided by their rules and did not speak against their leaders. Prasutagus was one of these people who was a respected client of Rome and had maintained their kindness to his people. Sadly, when he died, so did the respect of the Roman leaders who had thus far left his people alone. As word of his death spread, centurion pillagers arrived to rape his daughters, steal his lands, and force his family and faithful to become slaves to these Roman leaders.

Prasutagus’ wife, the Queen Boadicea (sometimes translated as Boudicca), became outraged and formed up armies of her people to fight back against the Romans. The neighbouring tribe of the Trinobantes agreed to lend their aide as well and the two tribes prepared for battle.

The first several battles were won through only perseverance and fate, but as word of this hapless army’s victories spread, so did the fear of the Romans. At one point, the Roman leaders had sent a procurator of the Iceni province to reinforce the battles for Rome, but after realizing that these were the very people he had approved to have pillaged and oppressed, the procurator fled, tail between his legs.

Another great Roman leader, Seutonius, held not this fear and promptly marched to battle this great woman’s army. And woman’s it was, for the barbaric army of the Iceni and Trinobante tribes was comprised of as many females as it was males, if not more. Barbaric is a lesser definition of the army, for they truly were not trained in war mannerisms. They were not familiar with the courtesies and formalities of combat. They had no use for servants or slaves, no thoughts of hostages to be exchanged; so the army would kill all they came across. Ones sex or age, was of no interest or concern to the army.

Seutonius saw the army as weak, that because it was led by and comprised of women, it in turn could be easily defeated. His forces numbered ten thousand trained men and thus, victory was certain. The battle began with the Romans charging in a wedge like pattern at the Iceni army, darts flew, javelins impaled. And in the end, the Iceni tribe was ruined. No less than eighty thousand of the tribal soldiers died in that battle. The great queen supped her poison and died on the plain.

And one would think that this is where our story ends. But alas, it is only the prologue to the story of the last of the Iceni. Our story begins after the death of Prasutagus, prior to the battle of the Icenians.

The daughters of the great king Prasutagus were among the victims of the centurion soldiers. Having lived a charmed life until this point, the daughters were accustomed to being respected, adored, and above all, safe. There were servants and servants to their servants, assistants and protectors, filling their home in the area known as Saham Toney. They sisters had never lived a life of fear until the passing of their father.

Following his death, the soldiers invaded their home and the sisters found their bodies forced upon by fierce men. Their mother’s screams echoed from the rafters of the home from her own pain as the men slashed her pale skin with their blades, striping her body. This torture continued for what seemed an eternity, while the commanding officers took charge of the lands left by their father, rewarding the obedient forces with the treasures promised to the royal family by the late king.

After their friends and respected kin had been forced into slavery, their kingdom oppressed by strange Roman leaders, and their promised birthrights stolen, the ladies were left abandoned in the house that had once been their home and place of security.

Boadicea was determined to fight for her people, her daughters and the memory of her husband. She traveled to Thet to meet with tribal leaders of Trinobante numerous times, planning in secret to form up their people in retaliation of the Romans. She knew very well the likelihood of death that would come to her and her daughters from this death. If not in battle, certainly in revenge for the death of any Roman blood spilled at her command.

With the intent of continuing her husband’s lineage, she had arranged to have Julia Victoria and Stradwawl escorted westward to the coastal tribe of the Silures, to reside with the royal leaders in the area of Caerwent. The tribal leader of the Silures assured her the safety of her daughters, and the royal marriage of the princess Julia Victoria to the prince Marius Meurig Gwyrydd; who would later be known as King Meric. To avoid detection of their departure, the queen commanded two maidens be brought to her home, to appear to be her daughters.

Stradwawl, being younger, and more rebellious, refused to leave her mother’s side. It was then determined she could stay, but as an attendant only. The young princess promised her mother that should death prove to be imminent, she would flee westward until the “waters of salt washed over her [sic] flesh”. Her words must have offered enough reassurance, as she was permitted to stay.

After the seasons had changed and the trees began to weep their leaves, it became obvious that Stradwawl was with a child. Boadicea was fearful of the repercussions this could have on not only her daughter’s safety, but also the family lineage. A Roman-Welsh child would be terribly obvious and the stories that could damage the family if others’ were to learn of the child’s heritage…

The decision was made that Stradwawl would have the child in secret and then it must be orphaned. Boadicea reassured her daughter that they would place the infant in a temple or like structure, and a family would certainly take it in. Stradwawl did not trust her mother’s promises and swore to herself she would care for her daughter. Stradwawl was sent to reside as a maidservant to the young bride of a leader in Hockwold cum Wilton.

The baby was borne in the middle of the night, the worst time for labour to strike one who is hoping to give birth in secret. The infant girl was wrapped in linen bundles two days later, and taken to the centre of the village. It was left to lie there for several hours, until an elderly woman happened upon the folded sheets. She almost dropped the infant, not realizing it was wrapped within the clothe.

Thus, Ystradwl was borne.

Stradwawl spent the following weeks, trying to find her child. She finally was found by the eldered woman who beckoned the princess to follow her. Stradwawl obliged the request and followed the older lady out of the village and into the forest. Stradwawl’s journal gives us great insight into her fears and thoughts of the moment…

“We had passed eight trees to the east when she did turn to face me. Having studied her gait for a distance, it was refreshing to have a new view. But her expression was one of anger. Hate. I did not know what her plans were and I almost did run.

I heard her question, but did not understand her words, and it seemed to only fill her with more rage when I asked that she did but repeat it to me.

‘Why did you toss your child away?’

I felt my body harden, my nails were piercing my palm and my teeth sunk against my lip. I did not know if I should tell her the truth. I finally chose to share with her the secret, for how did she know of what I sought if she were not aware of my babe’s new home.

We stood in the wood until it grew eerily dark and yet I continued telling her the story. From father, to mother, to sister, to the soldiers, to the plan and lastly of my baby. Her face calmed, but remained devoid emotion the while.

When I finished speaking, she curled her finger and once again beckoned me follow.”

The older woman was the same who had collected the young child and Stradwawl writes that deep in the forest, through the knot of a tree, was the entrance to a home below the earth that this woman appeared to live in…

“She pulled dried twigs by the handfuls from the tree until I was quite assured she had no senses about her person at all. Then she stepped back to reveal an opening at the base of the trunk and she motioned for me to get in it. And thus, I did.

There was an odd structure, which seemed to be that of a hearth, with oranged rocks glowing about. They offered only a light glow to the room and she quickly came at them with a stick and suddenly flames appeared. If I were not so curious and intent on discovering what she knew of my babe, I think I would have been keenly interested in the stick’s abilities.

I did stare for a moment at the wonders about her home, as it did prove to be. She had a curious flattened piece of wood that seemed to lie over the hole we had just walked through. She was busying herself with tugging at it and something over it, so I stole this time to look about. There was a shelf with the most bizarre of iron boxes and dirt vases I had ever seen. Below this shelf was one of books. Books and more books. She certainly did not seem to be so well versed as even I, and I had yet to see so many books in all my life; much less in one spot.

She finished her task and humbled over to a curtain in the far corner. I started closer to her and she turned quickly. Her hands were thrusting at me a wad of clothe…that moved!

It was indeed my lovely Ystradwl. Yes my dearest lovely, it was then I first laid mine eyes on yours and yours on mine. Your hair was so light, your skin so fair. Oh to be as lovely as you. Your nose was a bit erect and your eyes so terribly dark.”

Stradwawl would later wed her nephew, Coilus, son of Julia Victoria verch Prasutagus and Marius Meurig Cyllin ap Gwyrydd; the king and queen of Siluria. Stradwawl was never contacted by the elder woman and never was able to determine the fate of her child, Ystradwl.

Through research and finds, we have been able to locate many of the journals kept by Stradwawl, as well as those belonging to Ystradwl. Through various memoirs and entries we have been able to trace the Ystradwl offspring through to the last of the Icenian bloodline.

Stradwawl of Iceni begat Ystradwl; Ystradwl of Siluria begat Alyuba; Alyuba of Dematae begat Janna; Janna of Dematae begat Simokehn; Simokehn of Dvrotrigvm begat Anyn; Anyn of Isca begat Elen; Elen of North Ferriby begat Rheingar; Rheingar of Ratae begat Trefor; Trefor of Ratae begat Margred; Margreg of Wheathamstead begat Gwenllian; Gwenllian of Thatcham begat Llywelyn; Llywelyn of Afon Cleddau begat Isabel; Isabel of Trelissey begat Bretagne; Bretagne of Tadcaster begat Alisagne; Alisagne of Lichfield begat Icie.

Stradwawl's Journal
Chapter One


Mother was one of those sorts that you could always count on for comfort and support, but everyone knew not to cross her.

I remember one time that my sister and I had somehow managed to get ourselves out to the creek alone and we lost hours of time making mud castles and laying siege to them afterwards. When the bugs came round to nip at our necks and shoulders is when we finally noticed the darkness setting in and we began the trek home. It wasn’t until we came face to face with Mother, her red hair let down from its braids and swirling around her body like flames that we realized we were in for it. Her glare pierced our ears and screamed out at us more than her yells did.

Evidentially, the strange men from the North did not know of Mother or her anger. Or perhaps they did not care.

Oh, to be so young once more.

It was only but a few weeks after Father had died that the men arrived from the North. So many had spent time in our home when Father was alive, I still do not know why following his death they were so angry. Father had even paid debts to them and their leader, but it was not enough for them.

Their horses clomped down through the village, creating such a storm of dust that it seemed as smoke. Mother had beckoned Julia and me to her and we tried to emulate her as we stood there, our backs erect and eyes set.

The men wore the most ornate garb you could imagine; hide with spikes and buckles and medallions. Julia and I they restrained first, grabbing us with such force. Mother screamed and wailed, for no good at all.

I heard Julia’s cries first and I listened to them to distract myself while the men weighed down on my body. I hardly remember the pain, it hurt so little. It hurt me more listening to Julia, sobbing. It hurt me more wondering what had become of mother.

The afternoon turned dark and for another day of light, I continued to lay there. Sometimes I would sleep and be awakened to do duties for these men. I knew Julia was safe still and it comforted me.

Odd, how comforting one’s cries for help can be. But they were. They assured me she was still alive.

I don’t know when the men actually left, I just know that they stopped coming into the small room and I finally grew the courage to move. I went to the room next to the one I had been in and Julia was huddled into a perfect ball in the corner. We never spoke, not then, not later, of what we had gone through. We knew.

We found Mother laying on the patch of earth out front the door. I cannot erase the image of her from my mind. She was bare, her back swollen with long bruises and gashes caked in dirt and blood. Her hair was matted, parts seemed to be missing or maybe it was just the knots. Whichever it was, we thought she was dead. Julia motioned me to roll her over, so I knelt down and gave her shoulder a shove. She truly appeared as though she would crumble apart beneath my fingertips, that maybe the dried blood and dirt was a paste holding her together. Her body fell over and I held my breath as I stared at her face. Her lip was swollen and blackened, her eyes purpled with bruises. I laid my hand over her mouth and felt her breath on it.

“Julia! She breathes!” I don’t know why I remember saying that. I remember so little else of that time. I don’t recall how we made it into the house or what we did. I know it happened but I cannot recall it at all.

The next days were spent with so many of our peoples in our home. Women came to fret over Julia and me. Men came to talk with Mother. We could hear her yells echo off of the walls and I always got a strange pleasure from it. When Mother yelled, everyone listened and obeyed. She didn’t have that red hair for no reason at all.

It was not long before my robes no longer fit me and I did not know why. Mother tried to explain how the men from the North had stolen my flower and I argued with her how I had no flowers for them to steal. She would get so angry each time we talked over it and I remember I was so confused. Naivety is a blessing in disguise.

Mother decided Julia was to go to the waters with the Silures and I would later go as well. But first I must have my child. It was an odd excitement to be pregnant for me; but everyone else was so angry over the whole ordeal. I was confused as to why on this as well.

I was taken to Hockwold cum Wilton to work as a hand servant to a new bride. She was much more pleased with my child to be than the people at home and often she asked who the father of my child was. I remember her face when I said I had not yet picked a father. As I said, naivety is a blessing in disguise.

The night my child chose to breathe her first breath, two clerics came from Mother’s request to aide. But once my baby was borne, they took it away, insisting I could not ever see it. I was told to say nothing but that it had died in birth, and thus I did as ordered. But no one told me to stay in wait. I walked by foot to three villages, offering my services as a nurse for any who had infants. It was not until I came to the third village that I found work. And quite by surprise.

An older lady, hunched at the back and covered in a grey wool found me on the stone block in the centre of the village. Her finger curled at me to come, and I did. She kept her back to me and ambled on for such a distance I was about to turn away. But turn away to go where, I thought. We had passed eight trees to the east when she did turn to face me. Having studied her gait for a distance, it was refreshing to have a new view. But her expression was one of anger. Hate. I did not know what her plans were and I almost did run.

I heard her question, but did not understand her words, and it seemed to only fill her with more rage when I asked that she did but repeat it to me.

‘Why did you toss your child away?’

I felt my body harden, my nails were piercing my palm and my teeth sunk against my lip. I did not know if I should tell her the truth. I finally chose to share with her the secret, for how did she know of what I sought if she were not aware of my babe’s new home.

We stood in the wood until it grew eerily dark and yet I continued telling her the story. From father, to mother, to sister, to the soldiers, to the plan and lastly of my baby. Her face calmed, but remained devoid emotion the while.

When I finished speaking, she curled her finger and once again beckoned me follow. She pulled dried twigs by the handfuls from the tree until I was quite assured she had no senses about her person at all. Then she stepped back to reveal an opening at the base of the trunk and she motioned for me to get in it. And thus, I did.

There was an odd structure, which seemed to be that of a hearth, with oranged rocks glowing about. They offered only a light glow to the room and she quickly came at them with a stick and suddenly flames appeared. If I were not so curious and intent on discovering what she knew of my babe, I think I would have been keenly interested in the stick’s abilities.

I did stare for a moment at the wonders about her home, as it did prove to be. She had a curious flattened piece of wood that seemed to lie over the hole we had just walked through. She was busying herself with tugging at it and something over it, so I stole this time to look about. There was a shelf with the most bizarre of iron boxes and dirt vases I had ever seen. Below this shelf was one of books. Books and more books. She certainly did not seem to be so well versed as even I, and I had yet to see so many books in all my life; much less in one spot.

She finished her task and humbled over to a curtain in the far corner. I started closer to her and she turned quickly. Her hands were thrusting at me a wad of clothe…that moved!

It was indeed my lovely Ystradwl. Yes my dearest lovely, it was then I first laid mine eyes on yours and yours on mine. Your hair was so light, your skin so fair. Oh to be as lovely as you. Your nose was a bit erect and your eyes so terribly dark…

It was that night I first laid eyes on you and named you my dear. And now, though I grow feeble, I still have yet to see your face again.

Stradwawl's Journal
Chapter Two


It seems only days ago when I close my eyes and recall the scent of my daughter as a newborne lass. Of course, eventually my knee creaks or my fingers ache…something always reminds me that I am now as old as that woman was and I still have never again laid my eyes on my babe.

It was decided I would return to aide Mother and then make the journey west to the waters, to be with Julia. Julia had a young son she thought I should wed and then we could build our family and continue the Iceni.

Mother had certainly improved, only a few scars could still be seen. But her anger, that had scarred her for eternity and she was determined to make the men from the North pay for their crimes. The home was bustling with activity; I never saw Mother lay down to rest. There was always someone to speak with regarding plans. She had offered to me that I might go with her into battle and I agreed. I did not have any wishes to battle these men; I did however wish to be with Mother.

Our carts were packed and every horse about was taken for the cause. Even the plowmen gave up their creatures to aide Mother’s army. We traveled for weeks before we came to the first village and to recall the devastation we laid onto the village.

I can close my eyes and still see it. There were screams all around; Mother’s army wailed like banshees, the village people cried out for mercy. Mother showed them none. The army charged right to the houses, knocking into them with great trunks of trees until their weight gave way and they collapsed. The sod created dust storms like smoke as they crashed down. The thatch was set afire and any person in their path, slaughtered. This battle, if you want to be so simple as to call it that, lasted for days. Mother’s army took time to ascertain that every unit of land was brought to ruin. After all of the towne was destroyed, we would make way to the temple, for it seemed they all ran there for shelter by their gods.

I imagine it had to be a distressful sight, your final breath in the house of your god, awaiting til the moment the spear in your belly robbed you of the last of life you had; the entire while you envision bolts of fire to rain wrath down upon these people of war. A dreadful means of death I am certain it must have been.

Mother was always certain to allow a few of the men from the North in their fancied garbs ride on and escape. I remember asking Mother why the children were killed. Her response was simple, ‘They breed.’


Londinium was Mother’s pride capture. Though it was mostly barren of peoples when we arrived there; those who we found suffered fates much worse than the bloodying of Mother.

To describe it now, all of these years past, I still feel shivers. The people who had remained were the wives of these men of the North, much fancied up in silken clothes of purple and crimson. Mother’s armymen would take these women by their ankles, a slip of rope about their feet and dangle them from the very temples they thought a haven. With their clothes stripped from them, they really looked not noble at all.

I remember watching the sentence done unto one woman, she screamed the whole time throughout and I recall thinking to myself, I would beg for death, not mercy. The armyman drew out a large curved sword, and after dragging it roughly back and across her overturned breast, he removed it. He handed it then to his own woman, who deftly took an iron needle and threaded the breast into the woman’s screaming mouth, as though she were suckling upon it. And they left her there, hanging right side down, screaming and bound and suckling her own teat. I quit watching the battle after witnessing that punishment and I sat with Mother in the cart.

With hindsight, I can understand her reasoning, her anger, her need to wage war. However, at the time, I was so focused on wanting to be with my child once more, I went through each day just praying it would end. My fantasy of Mother ravishing a towne and then saying to the army, ‘Let’s go home’ never occurred. It would be shortly after Ystradwl’s third year of life that Mother ended her own.

We had readied ourselves to battle the men from the North. All of the battles before then had always been against their families and even some of our own kin who sided with the men from the North. But Mother was strong. We set up camp along the edge of a valley. The camp of the men from the North was along the trees and I always kept a fearful eye on them. I wondered why they avoided slaughtering us in our slumber, or us them.

The morning light came up so slowly, it lurked slowly up over the trees, gradually pushing aside the black clouds of night. The army gathered in a half moon crowd around Mother. There were hundreds and hundreds of them, men and their wives, painted up in mud for armour, all still to hear Mother’s commands. There is a feeling of pride inside me yet to recall that moment, when all that remained of our peoples were straining to hear the words of my mother.

“My daughters had their flowers stolen from them; my husband, my king, who paid so much out of our wealth to these Roman savages, now turns beneath the dirt in shame at how they treat our peoples! Our freedoms stolen for their wealth! I speak not as a queen, nor as a woman, but as a mother to my daughters and to my people. The heavens shall side with the just and lay vengeance on the savages through our hands! There is no choice as to fight or not; you choose freedom or slavery no matter man or woman! On this day, we fight and conquer or die with our freedom!”

They hollered and cheered, chanted and banged about, but I cried. I did not have any desire for death, not of myself, nor that of Mothers’. I began to wish solemnly that I had gone to be with Julia at that point. Mother instructed that I should sit with the families and I did as such. They sat on the side of the mountain, spread out on woolens and clutching their babes to witness the liberation of all of our peoples.

It was bloody. The most descriptive and yet the easiest of manners in which to describe it is bloody. I could typically find Mother in the crowd, but then I would think it not her and search the warriors again. Our army was obvious, most unclothed and painted in mud of many colours; the men from the North in fine hides and capes.

It was nearing the hours of dusk when I saw Mother being carried to her cart. I remember hurrying down the hillside, half slipping, half running. My heartbeat was so loud that it drummed on my ears. I heard nothing but that drumming as I ran, and yet as fast as I ran, it seemed to take so long. I reached the cart and the man spoke to me. I heard him not though and he kept making motions with his hands. It plays in my mind one movement at a time. His hand is on my shoulder. He shakes me. I see his lips move. He is shaking me once again. Now he is pulling me. Pushing me. Making me take Mother’s place in the cart. He puts the leather straps into my fingers…I don’t recall guiding the horse and cart away, but I know that I did. For days we must have ridden along, but I remember none of it.

The people of the Belgae knew of Mother and her efforts and took us into a home there. Mother upturned a small iron tube that dangled from a rope on her neck and died promptly. I remember such shock at it being so quick. She had worn the neckpiece as long as I could but remember, I never did know that it would bring death. But death it brought without so much of a whisper from her lips. Her red hair was like a pillow beneath her torso so pale. I wondered if my own child would cry as I was, should I ever die. I wonder that still.