London by Edward Rutherfurd Page B

Cartimandua, standing in the boat with her three children, caught his eye. He nodded imperceptibly.
    “Seems in order,” he remarked gruffly. Surveying the men, he quickly picked out three. “You will go with the boats as guards.” He paused. “All the hamlets will assemble five days upriver. There’s a fort there. You’ll be told what to do next.” Then he glanced at her husband. “You go too. You’re in charge. Post a watch each night.” And he turned to go.
    It had worked. She felt a flood of relief. Thank the gods. For the moment, at least, they were all safe. She started to sit down in the boat. And so, for an instant, she hardly realized that her husband had failed to move.
    She looked at the other women in the boat with their children. She smiled, then noticed that her husband was speaking and began to listen.
    “I cannot.”
    The captain was frowning. He was used to being obeyed. But Segovax’s father was shaking his head.
    What was he saying? Suddenly she became aware. How could he be refusing to go?
    “It’s an order,” the noble said sharply.
    “But I swore an oath. Only days ago,” the fisherman was explaining. “To Cassivelaunus himself. I swore to fight with him at Londinos.”
    They all heard him. Cartimandua heard herself gasp, felt herself go very cold. He had not mentioned an oath. But then, she realized, she had scarcely seen him since his return.
    “An oath?” The captain looked perplexed.
    “Look, he gave me a brooch,” the fisherman went on. “He told me to wear it in battle so that he would know me.” And he produced the brooch from the pouch on his belt.
    There was silence. The captain gazed at the brooch. The fellow might be only a simple villager, but an oath was a sacred thing. As for an oath to a chief . . . The brooch, he could see, was Cassivelaunus’. He looked at Cartimandua. She had gone an ashen colour. He looked at the girl. A pretty little thing. But there was nothing to be done about that now. The bargain was off.
    He grunted irritably, then pointed to another man. “You. You’re in charge instead. Get going.” Then he was gone.
    As the fisherman watched the boat with his wife and children go off, he felt a sense of melancholy, and yet also of satisfaction. He knew his little son could see that he was not as strong as other men. He was glad that he should have heard, in front of everyone, about his oath to the great British chief.
    The boats went slowly. As they rounded the bend, Segovax gazed at the forces gathering there. They had been coming fast. Already there was line upon line of chariots; behind the palisades were scores of little fires around which groups of men gathered. “They’re saying that when Cassivelaunus arrives tomorrow,” his father had told him, “there may be as many as four thousand chariots.” How proud he was to think of his father as part of that great array.
    They left the ford and the druid’s island behind, went southwards for another half-mile and then the river curved again, to the right, so that the boy could no longer see the battle lines. On each side were mud flats and islands, green and heavy with willow trees.
    Branwen, leaning her head against him, had fallen asleep in the sun. His mother, staring out at the water, was silent.
    As the river meandered through a broad, level valley of meadows and greensward dotted with trees, Segovax realized now that the river was flowing against them, downstream. There was no longer any tidal flow in from the estuary. They had passed out of reach of the sea.
    They camped under willow trees that night, then proceeded on their way joined by the folk from another hamlet. Once more they passed a quiet sunny day working their way slowly up the pleasant stream. Nobody noticed that, as evening fell, a new air of excitement came over Segovax. How could they guess that now, at last, it was time for his secret plan.
    Segovax crept through the darkness. There was no moon, but the stars were