communications route. At Verulamium, a town still perilously close to Londinium, a smaller, less travelled path led across the uplands to Corinium and, from this centre, to Glevum and onwards into Cymru.
‘We must head north-west to join the Roman road to Verulamium,’ Myrddion told Cadoc and Finn, who had taken the reins of the two wagons. ‘Praxiteles, your task is to protect Finn and the women from any attack. I will support Cadoc in the lead wagon and, if we push on through the night, we’ll reach Verulamium some time tomorrow.’
‘Good!’ Praxiteles spoke carefully in his halting Celt. ‘I smell trouble all around us, master, worse than Italia or the Frankish kingdoms. There is no law here.’
The night was full of the sounds and smells of spring and should have been pleasant had the travellers not sensed a pall of danger that hung over the roads like an invisible spider’s web. Every corner represented a possible threat and every dark coppice could have concealed watching eyes. Moonlight illuminated the roadway, but so much was hidden by the darkness among trees and ground cover that enemies could be all around without being seen. Within the wagons, the women sleptlightly, but Myrddion could make out the gleam of Willa’s eyes as she stared out at the dark trees that hemmed in the road, one girlish hand resting on her downy cheek.
He pulled his horse close to the side of the wagon.
‘Sleep, little one,’ he whispered, so as not to disturb Brangaine. ‘Tomorrow will see us far along the road and safe from the clutches of the Saxons, Uther Pendragon and the High King.’
The child looked up at his tall, dark form with eyes shadowed with a maturity that was far beyond her years. Her hand fell and Myrddion noticed, irrelevantly, that it was the arm that had been scarred by fire.
‘We aren’t safe,’ she whispered sadly. ‘Not safe. He will come!’
The novelty of hearing Willa speak took Myrddion aback. The young healer could recall only a half a dozen instances when she had chosen to express her thoughts beyond a single word, and her vocal cords were rusty from disuse.
‘I’ll protect you, Willa, I promise. Go to sleep now so the night will pass quickly. Thieves and warriors rarely attack at night.’
The child lay down and nestled into the crook of Brangaine’s arm. Feeling the sudden weight, even through the fog of dreams, Brangaine hugged the child closely to her breast and whimpered in her sleep. Willa’s eyes seemed enormous in her small face as she looked up at her master.
‘Please look after my mother, master. Promise me. There’s no saving me, but she’ll mourn for me and I’d not want her to be unhappy.’
Then, as Myrddion gasped like a gaffed fish dragged into the poisonous air, Willa closed her eyes. Within moments she was asleep, and Myrddion felt a deep spasm of pity as the child began to suck her thumb for comfort.
She can’t know anything, Myrddion thought, but he felt an icy finger stir the hairs on the nape of his neck, for an owl suddenly screamed in a nearbythicket. Myrddion shivered in superstition, for the Mother was out hunting and all sensible men found shelter on such nights and barred the door against unseen malice.
The owl shrieked again and Willa stirred in her sleep. Myrddion’s horse shied as he rode towards the stand of trees and the darkness was suddenly filled with rushing wings and long talons.
Verulamium appeared much as Myrddion had imagined it, although he had never visited its stone monuments, wooden towers and graceful marble forum. On the surface, the bustling streets and busy marketplace were untouched by either time or trouble. Only a sharp-eyed stranger would have noticed the absence of mature men and youths in the busy throngs of people on the streets of the town.
‘Uther and Ambrosius have taken the able-bodied men away to fight their wars,’ he said quietly to Cadoc, who nodded in reply. ‘We must buy our supplies and leave as
‘We must head north-west to join the Roman road to Verulamium,’ Myrddion told Cadoc and Finn, who had taken the reins of the two wagons. ‘Praxiteles, your task is to protect Finn and the women from any attack. I will support Cadoc in the lead wagon and, if we push on through the night, we’ll reach Verulamium some time tomorrow.’
‘Good!’ Praxiteles spoke carefully in his halting Celt. ‘I smell trouble all around us, master, worse than Italia or the Frankish kingdoms. There is no law here.’
The night was full of the sounds and smells of spring and should have been pleasant had the travellers not sensed a pall of danger that hung over the roads like an invisible spider’s web. Every corner represented a possible threat and every dark coppice could have concealed watching eyes. Moonlight illuminated the roadway, but so much was hidden by the darkness among trees and ground cover that enemies could be all around without being seen. Within the wagons, the women sleptlightly, but Myrddion could make out the gleam of Willa’s eyes as she stared out at the dark trees that hemmed in the road, one girlish hand resting on her downy cheek.
He pulled his horse close to the side of the wagon.
‘Sleep, little one,’ he whispered, so as not to disturb Brangaine. ‘Tomorrow will see us far along the road and safe from the clutches of the Saxons, Uther Pendragon and the High King.’
The child looked up at his tall, dark form with eyes shadowed with a maturity that was far beyond her years. Her hand fell and Myrddion noticed, irrelevantly, that it was the arm that had been scarred by fire.
‘We aren’t safe,’ she whispered sadly. ‘Not safe. He will come!’
The novelty of hearing Willa speak took Myrddion aback. The young healer could recall only a half a dozen instances when she had chosen to express her thoughts beyond a single word, and her vocal cords were rusty from disuse.
‘I’ll protect you, Willa, I promise. Go to sleep now so the night will pass quickly. Thieves and warriors rarely attack at night.’
The child lay down and nestled into the crook of Brangaine’s arm. Feeling the sudden weight, even through the fog of dreams, Brangaine hugged the child closely to her breast and whimpered in her sleep. Willa’s eyes seemed enormous in her small face as she looked up at her master.
‘Please look after my mother, master. Promise me. There’s no saving me, but she’ll mourn for me and I’d not want her to be unhappy.’
Then, as Myrddion gasped like a gaffed fish dragged into the poisonous air, Willa closed her eyes. Within moments she was asleep, and Myrddion felt a deep spasm of pity as the child began to suck her thumb for comfort.
She can’t know anything, Myrddion thought, but he felt an icy finger stir the hairs on the nape of his neck, for an owl suddenly screamed in a nearbythicket. Myrddion shivered in superstition, for the Mother was out hunting and all sensible men found shelter on such nights and barred the door against unseen malice.
The owl shrieked again and Willa stirred in her sleep. Myrddion’s horse shied as he rode towards the stand of trees and the darkness was suddenly filled with rushing wings and long talons.
Verulamium appeared much as Myrddion had imagined it, although he had never visited its stone monuments, wooden towers and graceful marble forum. On the surface, the bustling streets and busy marketplace were untouched by either time or trouble. Only a sharp-eyed stranger would have noticed the absence of mature men and youths in the busy throngs of people on the streets of the town.
‘Uther and Ambrosius have taken the able-bodied men away to fight their wars,’ he said quietly to Cadoc, who nodded in reply. ‘We must buy our supplies and leave as
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