Originally written for Crucible’s Commander, an event in Hellsgate in Ansteorra. This has since been published professionally. I would especially like to thank Master Alden, who helped me finesse this final version into existence. It would not be what it is without him.
By Hextilda Corbett, 2018
This ancient land we call our own
Breathe free Iceni, free from Rome.
My husband led — and legions fled
In fear from our Bretonic home
I then took up my horse’s reins
And raced across the fields and plains
Then called to arms, from glen and farms
For all to break the Roman chains.
Divine Andraste hailed through hare
Freed from my dress, it fled from there
‘Tis Victory we soon shall see
With blade in-hand and shoulders square.
One hundred thousand at my back
We raced along the Roman track
Through hill and dale, we told the tale
Prepared our swords for the attack
I marched them all to London-town
Torches ablaze, we burned it down
All buildings fell in flaming hell,
The embers glowed upon the ground.
‘Twas eighty thousand Romans dead.
As sun dawned bright, o’er rivers red
We headed west to gain some rest
Ere final clash we soon would dread.
“Though noble-born, I fight as Brit
With righteous vengeance, heaven’s writ,
My daughters’ light gives cause to fight
A woman’s will shall never quit
Upon this day we live or die
Beneath the open British sky
In flaxen fields we’ll never yield
As Britons we shall never fly.”
Suetonius at Watling Street
Held fast at last, would not be beat
Our numbers fought, but all for nought:
We Britons fell in sad defeat.
Though vanquished we could not foresee
It’s British we shall ever be
We’re briefly bowed, still fiercely proud
For in our hearts we’re truly free.
Fear not for me, I have a knife:
For women know the price of life.
Not for the grave, men live as slaves
At last I’m freed from Roman strife.