Britain at the end of September, and the Iceni received their weapons from the Trinovantes at about the same time. The uneasy peace was shattered immediately as the newly rearmed Celts began staging raids, gathering in intensity as the leaves turned colors and fell from the trees. Claudius did not have time to notice the glorious seasonal changes, he was too busy battling the natives in every possible arena. The Romans couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without being attacked; the Celts materialized from behind boulders, jumped down from trees, appeared out of nowhere like the wraiths their myths described so vividly. The constant harassment wore down troop morale, as did the worsening weather, and the garrison was losing far too many men to the kind of warfare for which the Romans had no preparation, or indeed respect. By the beginning of November over one thousand of the new arrivals were dead, and winter had not even established a firm grip yet.
Scipio knew from experience that the superior weaponry and training of the Romans were causing heavy losses on the other side as well, but he was also aware that the Celts would continue relentlessly on their current path no matter how grievously they suffered. As he tallied the Roman dead and watched the temperature fall each day, he contemplated the future with a heavy heart.
Claudius did not see the red-haired girl again. He looked for her, but soon learned that the old lady she had come to escort home had moved into the Scipio servants’ quarters. There was no reason for the young woman to return to the fort. He had no idea who she was, but she lingered in his mind, surfacing in dreams which woke him with their disturbing intensity. During the day he was too busy with warfare to think about her, but she came at night, like an incubus, and robbed him of sleep.
The autumn rains became sleet and chill east winds whipped around the fort, seeping through the cracks in the barracks walls. The Romans built up their fires, stuffed rags into the chinks between the boards and piled animal skins on their beds. And still they shivered. They had made war in Spain and North Africa and Greece, but these were all sunny Mediterranean climates; in Britain the weather was their enemy along with the Celts. They fought on doggedly, too disciplined to complain, but their general remembered the previous year very well. Tired of the cost of the endless skirmishing in time and Roman lives, in mid-November Scipio met with his officers to get their opinion and then sent an emissary to the Iceni camp offering new terms for a treaty.
On a blustery morning when the gray sky threatened either a freezing rain or more snow, Claudius entered the headquarters building and knocked on the door of Scipio’s office. He went inside when the general’s voice called him, and found Ardus, Cato and several of the other tribunes already waiting for him there. A fire was burning on the stone hearth, fed by a pile of stout cedar logs, and as he unwrapped the others made room for him in front of the blaze.
Scipio cleared his throat, his thin greying hair looking thinner and greyer this morning, his seamed face appearing pale with the final loss of his Roman tan.
“As you all know,” he said, “I have sent word to the Iceni proposing a new treaty. I don’t know why I use that term, since they have paid very little attention to the old one.” His tone was matter of fact, and his audience listened gravely.
“You will remember from our last meeting that I decided on this course of action since we are unlikely to endure cold weather fighting as well as the natives. Even though we have better supplies and weaponry and superior resources the weather is bound to take its toll. Last year we skirmished with the Celts all winter and were not the better for it. It has been my goal since I returned from Rome not
Scipio knew from experience that the superior weaponry and training of the Romans were causing heavy losses on the other side as well, but he was also aware that the Celts would continue relentlessly on their current path no matter how grievously they suffered. As he tallied the Roman dead and watched the temperature fall each day, he contemplated the future with a heavy heart.
Claudius did not see the red-haired girl again. He looked for her, but soon learned that the old lady she had come to escort home had moved into the Scipio servants’ quarters. There was no reason for the young woman to return to the fort. He had no idea who she was, but she lingered in his mind, surfacing in dreams which woke him with their disturbing intensity. During the day he was too busy with warfare to think about her, but she came at night, like an incubus, and robbed him of sleep.
The autumn rains became sleet and chill east winds whipped around the fort, seeping through the cracks in the barracks walls. The Romans built up their fires, stuffed rags into the chinks between the boards and piled animal skins on their beds. And still they shivered. They had made war in Spain and North Africa and Greece, but these were all sunny Mediterranean climates; in Britain the weather was their enemy along with the Celts. They fought on doggedly, too disciplined to complain, but their general remembered the previous year very well. Tired of the cost of the endless skirmishing in time and Roman lives, in mid-November Scipio met with his officers to get their opinion and then sent an emissary to the Iceni camp offering new terms for a treaty.
On a blustery morning when the gray sky threatened either a freezing rain or more snow, Claudius entered the headquarters building and knocked on the door of Scipio’s office. He went inside when the general’s voice called him, and found Ardus, Cato and several of the other tribunes already waiting for him there. A fire was burning on the stone hearth, fed by a pile of stout cedar logs, and as he unwrapped the others made room for him in front of the blaze.
Scipio cleared his throat, his thin greying hair looking thinner and greyer this morning, his seamed face appearing pale with the final loss of his Roman tan.
“As you all know,” he said, “I have sent word to the Iceni proposing a new treaty. I don’t know why I use that term, since they have paid very little attention to the old one.” His tone was matter of fact, and his audience listened gravely.
“You will remember from our last meeting that I decided on this course of action since we are unlikely to endure cold weather fighting as well as the natives. Even though we have better supplies and weaponry and superior resources the weather is bound to take its toll. Last year we skirmished with the Celts all winter and were not the better for it. It has been my goal since I returned from Rome not
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