The Boudicca Parchments

Prologue

“Give me the dagger and I will spare you from the gravest of sins.”

A handful of cubits from where they stood, she could hear the heavy thud of the Roman battering ram pounding on the solid wooden inner wall, its destructive force aided by the all-consuming power of the fire. It was only a matter of time before the wood gave way to the invader. No fortress is impregnable and she knew that this one too would fall to the might of Rome, just as her mother’s kingdom had fallen a decade earlier.

Eleazer Ben Yair, proud in his warrior bearing, stood tall over this woman, who was almost young enough to be his daughter. There was strength in his stature and posture, the look in his eyes was one of hurt, as if she were in some way responsible for this debacle that had befallen his people. He had warned Simon to divorce the daughter of the stranger. But Simon had disregarded his counsel, as he disregarded the counsel of others on all matters, be they affairs of state or affairs of the heart.

The young woman herself had not gloated at her victory. Rather, she had been conciliatory, pledging allegiance to their God. And Simon himself had been the descendent of proselytes. But standing before Ben Yair now, sharing this final moment of vulnerability, she knew that he felt at best ambivalent towards her. He had kept his promise to Simon and protected her when the mob of Sicarii had wanted to lynch her. But on the other hand, he had stood idly by when they cut off her long flaming red braids in an act of defilement, branding her not just a foreign woman, but a prisoner.

Simon would not have stood idly by while they did that. Simon would have drawn his sword and fallen upon them, cutting them to shreds — or died trying. On one occasion, when his rivals for power had kidnapped her, he had threatened to kill every man, woman and child in Jerusalem unless she was released unharmed. And those were his own brothers and sisters.

Simon had been a zealot for love. But Ben Yair was a zealot for his faith. So when she stood before him now, she knew that there was an element of hostility between them, despite all that she had done for them. She suspected that he even blamed her for the change in the direction of the wind that was now blowing the fire towards the wooden walls of the fortress.

For all that they had been through together, she was still an outsider, the proselyte, the stranger who was within their gate. And she was also a woman — a woman who had stood up to men and fought against them on behalf of her husband’s people — a people who marginalized women every bit as much as the Romans did, despite their pious protestations to the contrary. But she had no regrets about standing up for herself. She had learned from her mother that even a woman — especially a woman — must stand up for herself.

She was leaner than their local women, though not thin. Indeed some of the men — the younger ones especially — mocked her for her physique, comparing her musculature to that of a man or at least a male youth. But she had always answered their mockery by pointing out that their own women could carry heavy loads too.

When their taunting aroused her ire and pride beyond her powers of self-restraint, she retaliated by challenging them to unarmed combat, a challenge to which none had risen but which humiliated them by its mere utterance. However, that merely made them change the form of their goading. In the face of these humiliations, that they had brought on themselves, they accused her of sorcery. They said that witchcraft was the source of her strength.

At one point it had nearly cost her life, had Ben Yair not interfered. He had saved her from the mob but also chided her for her recklessness and immodesty.

“You cannot fight your enemies if your time is consumed by fighting your friends.”

How ironic that it had taken his own people so long to learn that lesson. But she realized that he was right. So she bowed her head and apologized. But she would not bend her knee. Just as her mother — or indeed these people so akin to her mother in their proud, stiff-necked spirit — would not bend the knee before might of Rome.

But now the battle was over and they were the last ones here in this mountain fortress. She could have escaped through the sewers with the others, but she elected to stay with Ben Yair, reciprocating Simon’s loyalty and courage. And now there was no possibility of escape. Now all they could do was wait for slavery… or elect for death.

As the sound of the battering ram grew more intense and the flaming heavy wooden walls began to give way, Ben Yair made his decision.

He elected for death.