I would go to the Celtic camp the night before the last battle between Boadicea and Paulinus.  I know it is morbid but at that impossible moment it seemed that the golden age of heroes had returned.

A generation after the invasion and subjection of the country by the Romans things were looking poor for the celts.  They were being taxed, they were paying for a temple in honour of Claudius who had conquered them and their land was being confiscated by the Romans for a veteran colony.  Then the Romans broke their word to Boadicea, took her land, raped her daughters and whipped her.  They sowed the whirlwind and it broke on them.

The Celts rose up, united for the first time in generations to avenge the honour of a wronged queen.  They had put tax collectors, administrators and other grey people to the sword then given the collaborators and quislings a robust talking to.  Then they fell on the veterans destroying them and the towns of London and Colchester.   Paulinus returned from Anglesey to discover his province on the verge of disaster.  He decided to advance towards the rear with the celts on his tail.

Days later the two sides faced each other on a lost battlefield ready to fight in the morning.  The night before the celts celebrated.  They drank, they boasted, they sang and dreamed that their world would change.  They imagined that with the destruction of this last Roman Army they would usher in new golden age, of heroes, of honour and pride and manliness and all the things that the Romans had taken from them.

Little did they imagine that their leaders were already squabbling amongst themselves, that the Romans had chosen this battlefield to end forever the freedoms of the Celts and that after the battle the Romans would engage in retributions that would put an end to celtic dreaming forever.

The battle began between a 120,000 strong celtic force and 25,ooo Romans who in the course of the battle destroyed the celts leaving 80,000 dead on the field compared to 400 Roman fatalites.

But that is the morning now anything could happen till the morning I would like to share those impossible dreams, that passion for honour and freedom.  Till the break of dawn I would share the dreams of a vanquished people.

This post is mirrored in a later post where I imagine seeing the moment when Romans won the battle against the Celts in the face of impossible odds.

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