10 who had no real weapon. Many had only pitchforks, clubs, and whatever else they could find. The Iceni passed through a narrow forest path and entered a clearing. There, facing them, stood the Romans. They had formed up in tight rows, armor gleaming, like one large metal beast instead of individual men. And yes, there were few of them, compared to the thousands and thousands of Britons. The sun shone on the deep green field, glinted off the Roman armor and shields, and made the gold torques and bracelets of the chieftains gleam. Queen Boudicca gave a rousing speech from her war chariot, her voice ringing out as she stirred up the troops. Gold bands encircled her muscular arms, which tautly held the reins of her horses. From some quarter of the Britons, an old battle song arose; it was taken up by more and still more, and was soon accompanied by the beating of weapons on shields. Horses paced in the harnesses of the finely carved battle chariots, whinnying and tossing their heads. Faelan’s heart surged. He, his mother, and his sisters, Rhiannon and Esselt, climbed atop their cart behind the war chariots and the infantrymen to watch the destruction of the Romans, and all the other families in the convoy did the same. Somewhere in the sea of their warriors was Faelan’s father and every one of his male kin.
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