Web of Deceit by M. K. Hume

were quite at home now, and were deeply rooted in the British soil. Myrddion wondered if any Celts regretted their part in the defeat of Hengist and Horsa, brothers who would have shared the land with the original inhabitants because they had initially been invited in as immigrants. These new invaders were the sweepings of the north, and lacked most of Hengist’s virtues. They were transforming each village and township into replicas of the places they had known in their distant homelands and were scouring away all signs of the culture that had existed before their arrival.
    What, then, can we expect of Londinium when we arrive? Myrddion asked himself. He realised that thoughts of the great city preyed on the minds of the whole party, but no one was prepared to give voice to their feelings of apprehension.
    Privately, Myrddion had already decided to skirt the central parts of the city entirely, though they would be forced to use a bridge to cross the Tamesis river and pass through the outskirts. With a pang of recognition, Myrddion conceded that he had already broken his promise that he would share his decisions with Cadoc and Finn. He sighed inwardly, for he understood that he, alone , had determined that it would be unkind to add to the women’s nervousness.
    I have patronised them as if theywere children. How would I feel in their places?
    But the habits of leadership are strong and Myrddion had been making decisions that affected the lives of other, older people since he was sixteen years old. He knew in his heart of hearts that he would find it difficult to change.
    As on their previous visit, Londinium continued to spread outwards, but because the land was featureless and flat the city lacked the impact and visual beauty of Rome’s seven hills. Nor did it enjoy the stunning clarity of light that glittered on the blue waters that surrounded Constantinople on three sides. The Tamesis was brown and fouled and, like the Tiber river, threatened anyone who drank its brackish waters with infection, disease or death, but the graceful bridges that spanned the Roman river loaned elegance to the Tiber’s turgid depths. The many trees, frescoes and mosaics of Ravenna shouted aloud the pride of its citizens, but Londinium barely boasted a single tree, as the poor had hewed down every sapling to feed their winter fires.
    The shell of one building caused Myrddion to dismount and explore the dusty ruins. He sighed as he picked up a set of rusted forceps from the remains of a bed. Now that he examined one of the long, narrow rooms that lay open to the sky, he could see the detritus of a hospital: barrels for water and scraps of rags left to moulder on the leaf-strewn ground. Everything of value had been pilfered long ago and only the forceps remained to remind the healer that Roman surgeons had laboured here by the banks of the Tamesis to drive death away from strong young warriors.
    Wherever their eyes rested, the healers had noticed evidence of rapid social change and the havoc that had been deliberately wreaked on fine old buildings. Either their purpose had been swept away by the Saxon advance or the invaders had utterly rejected the religious beliefs that had given the original architects cause to raise one stone upon another. Christianchurches, Roman temples, the forum, the baths, theatres built in the Greek style and even the hippodrome had been chopped up piecemeal. In their places stood halls, huts and barn-like storage sheds all constructed from timber. Open markets still flourished as they always had, but the goods for sale were either local or northern, as if the time-honoured commerce with the continent was now curtailed or, at the very least, much diminished.
    Yet, for all its tawdriness and sprawling dirt, something lingered in the air of Londinium. Perhaps any place that has known the chariots of the Iceni, wicked and glowing in the sunlight, or the might of the Roman galleys, resplendent with red-dyed sails, coursing