Mr ICENI

That’s the third time she’s come back with the chariot bent to buggery.
Ever since she got tied up with Queen Boudicca’s gang, she’s been hell to live with.

“What are you men doing to get rid of the Romans?” she yells.
“Nothing,” I tell her, “what’s the point of getting yourself killed in somebody else’s fight?”
Old King Prasutagus was up to his ears in debt when he died; most of it borrowed from the Romans! No wonder they took his assets. Yes alright, the Romans shouldn’t have raped his daughters but she could have gone to the Governor and asked him to punish his men. He seems quite civilised, I’m sure he would have dealt with it.

Course, Boudicca’s mouthy, that’s her trouble. Couldn’t hold a quiet conversation if she tried! And now her mouthiness has got all the Iceni women in a tizz and copying her antics. And who picks up the pieces?
I’ve told her and our girls time and again– “Don’t slice the Romans’ legs!” but do they listen? It’s the devil’s own job getting the blood off the spokes AND it blunts the hub blades.
I don’t know how she expects our daughters to find husbands, the only men they ever meet are Roman, or Britons with a death wish.
Last night she was talking about charging off to Londinium.

“No good will come of all this hell-raising,” I told her, “You know they’ll follow you home and set fire to our hovel.”

She tells me I should get my mates round and see ‘em off! Yes, well I’ve seen what happens to blokes who have a go. Old Wulfric’s head stared down at me from that pikestaff for a good week before an eagle carried it off. And they don’t call them CROSS roads for nothing.

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©: Avril King 2nd March 2014