RapeCage Story Contest: May/June Entry
Title: Britannia Awakes
Word count (story only, not prelim): 2366
NB: I am aware I have taken liberties with history here, not least aging up the characters involved to avoid the pedophilia that was actually perpetrated at the hands of Rome.
"They took our lands!"
Prasutagus had been a loyal client of Rome, independent yes, but still loyal. He had ruled the Iceni wisely and brought wealth to the tribe and his family. Yet Prasutagus had been elderly and in failing health. Knowing what could become of his tribe, let alone his wife and daughters, after his passing he had tried to ensure their safety. He drew up plans to divide his lands between his family and the might of Rome. Yet that had not been enough for Rome. On his passing, Rome claimed, his lands became theirs. Besides, rulership could only pass along the father's line, not to a mere "queen." Except where it could such as that bitch Cartimandua, Boudica spat in rage.
"They took our sacred position!"
They came clothed in red as if wearing the blood they would spill. They beat the elders of the Iceni through their towns, flogging them and scourging them as if they were nothing but slaves. So-called debts were called in, robbing the Iceni of their wealth, their nobility, their homes. And the assault on their freedom had come at the point of gladius and pila, protected by shield and cuirass, weapons and armour not sacred to the gods of the Iceni, not held by the warriors of the tribe. All the implements of war, of state, were applied mercilessly to devastate Boudica's people.
"They took our liberty!"
Chained and terrorised, she and the other elders were beated and flogged. How the shackles had clinked through the streets. How the lash had bitten and torn her flesh. Inch by inch her skin had torn and shredded under the punitive whip. Blood had flowed as agony ripped her soul apart as brutally as the leather did her body. She'd bitten her tongue to stifle her screams, denying the roman dogs the pleasure they sought. Yet it was not her wounds that stung most brutally, but the wounds she witnessed inflicted on her people. Friends, ex-lovers, family. None were spared as the Romans sought to ensure no king would ever attempt what Prasutagus had again. Worst were the screams of the elder grandmother, visionary of the tribe and nearing the end of her life. In more peaceful times, Boudica herself would be an elder of the tribe, but she was not a fraction the age of Airmid and seeing the old woman beaten till she hung limp in her bonds had made all Boudica felt pale to nothing.
"They stole the innocence of our children!"
Eventually the screams stopped as the Romans sated their list for violence. That was when the most heinous crime was committed against the Iceni. Half blind from pain, Boudica was roused by the scream of her younger child, Rhiannon, as she was dragged to the center of the town and strapped down across a stone plinth before her mother. A moment later, Keelin, her older sister, was dragged forwards and tied down beside her. The girls fought and spat. They screamed and twisted, but against the strength of men such as these, fired by lust, there was nothing to girls barely into womanhood could do.
They had been innocent.
It did not last long enough.
The Roman officer in charge barked a command. She heard it as little as she felt the pain in her own flesh. Her mind, her soul, was filled with the sight of her daughters, now strapped down making their struggles even more futile than before. Two soldiers stepped forward to stand by the writhing, crying women. Daggers were in their hands. Boudicca had not seen them drawn. The men grabbed the neck of the girls' tunics and sliced down through the fabric in swift unison.
Boudicca screamed like a wild cat. As her daughters' bodies were revealed to the gathered crowd she spat and fought her bonds, a banshee wailing against the destruction of innocence. Rope ripped and tore at her flesh as she yanked and tugged and pulled in her desperate attempt to save her children. Imprecations to the gods and calls for damnation filled the air from the once-proud queen. She had to save the girls. She had to. And she couldn't.
Looking over the tribesmen gathered before her, Boudicca blinked hard. She couldn't cry. Not now. Now she had to be the champion her people needed. Now she had to inspire courage and faith enough in the beaten down warriors of the various tribes to bring their blood rage. Now she had to be strong. Tears were weak.
"They took everything," she called to the men and women and to the very land itself. "And the gods demand we take it back!"
Memories dragged her unwilling vision back to the recent past, overwriting the scene of gathered warriors and tribesfolk with the throng of Romans and the frightened Celts they were terrorising. Her daughters lay prostrate before her, staked to the dirt and shaking, while Roman soldiers stripped off the cloth from their loins and prepared to rob them of the gift that should only be given willingly. The first of the men stepped between their widespread thighs, their cocks held hard and ready in their hands. They dropped to their knees, impassive, unyielding, and speared the women as cruelly as a blade on a battlefield. Rhiannon screamed, words lost to the young woman in the agony of her rape. Her head thrashed as she cried in despair. Black locks streaked across her face, the raven gaur of her father's side at least sparing her the sight of the sick debauchery as it covered her eyes. Still it could not spare her the pain, the sound of the rutting beast above her, nor the stench of his body as it beat into her savagely.
Boudicca swallowed her stomach as it tried to crawl out of her body. Bile scorched her throat as she felt the fight drain from her. She could not save her children. She could not spare her own daughters the ultimate defilement and what good was she if she could not... As a mother, as a queen, as a woman?
Her elder daughter wept silently, green eyes, verdant as any valley, turned dark as she stared past the fire-red fair that hung as limp as her body to where her mother hung still struggling in her own bonds, though weak in defeat now. There was no accusation there. Boudicca saw that as their eyes locked. Keelin should have been enraged at her mother for failing to save her, but she wasn't. Instead she sought the gaze of a parent who could give strength and comfort as she faced to worst ordeal of her life. Yet Boudicca knew she had no strength to give, no strength even for herself now.
Before her, the amassed tribes stood waiting. The Iceni were there in full, of course, because they were the ones who had taken the full force of this assault. Otherwere were there too though. From her estimate, there were almost a hundred Trinovantes, as well as a number of Silures and Atrebates. A few riders, men of the horse goddess Epona, were present from the Coritanii too. But what of the Brigantes? Or the Belgae? Or the Dunmonii? Over the years since they had overrun Britannia, the Romans had committed crimes against all the tribes, but the truth was most now accepted them to varying degrees as their overlords. What had been done to Boudicca and her kin was seen as a purely Iceni matter. She had to rely on these men and women to be her sword and chariot if she was to bring the revenge she knew the gods demanded and there were far too few of them.
They would come. Of that she as certain. Once they heard of the victories of the Iceni and their rebel queen they would come proudly and eagerly to join them. The problem was, she had to get that first victory to draw the other tribes to her. Right now, that seemed as impossible as sparing her children had been.
They kept on coming, the Romans. One after the other took their places between her daughters' thighs and rutted viciously into them. Rhiannon screamed and thrashed at each new violation, sobbing hysterically as man after man emptied his balls into her fertile womb. Each rapist sickened Boudicca more than the last - those who bellowed their lust into her the young woman's face, those who simply seemed to be obeying the given command and remained as impassive as their watching officer. If she could, she would see each and every one gutted like a fish. Yet she couldn't. Bound as she was, she could do nothing to save Rhiannon from this shame. Nor could see save Keelin.
Keelin had it worse.
She'd remained stoic, unresponsive, as each man pounded her body with more violence than she should ever have met outside the battlefield. That had angered the Romans who saw it as the rebellion it truly was. No woman would prove to be stronger than a Roman man, especially a soldier. They proved their determination in that by the way the kept increasing the nastiness of their assault. When mere rape failed to stir Keelin, a soldier knelt by her face. The steadfast gaze that had held onto Boudicca's was blocked by her violator's flesh as he yanked her head up and forced his cock down her throat. Boudicca knew Roman beliefs and she knew that oral sex was never used but to shame someone. It wasn't so for the Celts. Her people recognised that one could love another's body in many ways, but there was no love to this.
Her daughter choked, but refused to give the Roman's the agonised, terrorised screams they sought. It only drove them to further excesses. When a dozen violations failed to destroy her, they unfastened her bonds and began to violate her arse. All three holes were filled as the romans strove for a victory Keeling denied them. Boudicca was stunned by her daughter's strength, but she feared what her impassiveness would result in. Her fears were well founded.
Rhiannon was left battered and weeping as the rest of the Romans turned on the one Iceni able to deny them this much. Keelin tried not to scream. By the gods did she try, but when she saw the four large horses being brought forwards her resistance crumbled. Leather straps were tied around her limbs, binding each tight but separately. What she might have been fearing these demons would do turned into something worse as soldiers tied the other end of the straps to their horses and mounted up. Both mother and daughter screamed more shrilly than ever as the soldiers mounted up and made their horses step forward. The naked woman was stretched each, limb pulled in another direction, the leather so taught Boudicca felt certain her child was to be torn apart. Only when Keelin was held aloft between the beasts, her body spread and tortured for all to see, did the horses stop and then things turned worse still. One roman drew his dagger and stepped between her wide thighs. He raised the blade to the cheers of his cohort and then slowly lowered it between her thighs.
"ME!" screamed Boudicca. "Do it to me, not her!"
She would have taken anything, she would have died a thousand agonised deaths, to spare Keelin the agony of having her pussy skewered with that blade. Yet the Roman wasn't done. He fucked her with it. Slow and merciless, the blade thrust in and out of her body, cutting flesh, drawing blood, driving her beyond pain, beyond madness, to become nothing but a shrieking body unaware of what was happening.
Keelin stood beside her now, Rhiannon on the other side, as Boudicca continued her speech to her people. When they'd been let go the healers of the tribe had stopped the bleeding and Keelin had, in her mothers arms, rescued herself from whatever hell the Romans had sent her to. How she had survived, how even her sister had though less had been done to her, Boudicca was unsure. Yet now they were the strength for her that she had not been for them. If they could survive the Romans' onslaught, then her brave warriors, spearmen and sheild maids alike, would take the fight to the enemy and drive them from the land. The Romans could not win!
"Camulodunum lies before us, plagued with Roman blood. Soon that blood will fill the streets! The men of Belatucadrus will drive them from their homes, skewering the barbarians as they flee!"
A hundred spears banged on the ground as warbands saluted the call to the war god, the cry of battle.
"Epona's chosen will ride the flanks, and sever the heads of any who manage to escape!"
Horses neighed, some even raising on their hind legs, as the Celtic riders saluted the horse goddess.
"And none will stand against us! We cannot fail!"
Except they could, and Boudicca knew it. The Romans were masters of war. They had shown that when they had conquered the isles many years ago. And the Celts? Her people? They would fight each other as readily as the red-clad savages. Even now, even after what had been done, few had truly come to stand with her. Others would come in time, but only if she secured victory now, and that was not certain. This was not an alliance of like minds gathered before her, it was a mob of people with a common foe. She had not drawn a true plan, beyond attacking a relatively weak Roman post to begin with. This was not a carefully calculated war. It was improvisation of the worst kind. If they could fall, then it was likely now. Yet sometimes, when the worst that could happen had been done, you had no choice but to stand and retaliate. Sometimes even your own death could not stop justice. That time was now.
A crack of lightning split the distant sky. She grinned.
"Even the land is with us! Britannia awakes!"