bright. Nobody stirred. The night was warm. They had made camp that night on a long, thin island in the stream. As the sun set, the sky had had that hard, red colour that promises a fine day to come. Everybody was tired by the journey. They had all made a big fire, eaten and then lain down wherever they were to sleep under the stars.
He heard an owl. Moving carefully, his spear in one hand, he made his way down to the water’s edge.
The people from the other hamlet had brought with them two small coracles, one of which had a pointed prow like a canoe. The moment he had seen it, he had known that this was his chance. It was lying on the muddy bank now. It was so light, he found that he could easily drag it with one hand. He had just begun to slide it into the water when he heard a familiar patter of little feet on the mud behind him. It was Branwen. He sighed. She never slept.
“What are you doing?”
“Sssh.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Father.”
“To fight?”
“Yes.”
She greeted this tremendous news with silence, but only for a moment.
“Take me with you.”
“I can’t. Stay here.”
“No!”
“Branwen, you know you can’t come.”
“No I don’t.”
“You don’t know how to fight. You’re too little.”
Even in the dark, he could see her face begin to pucker and swell and her hands bunch with rage.
“I’m coming.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll wake everyone.”
“I don’t care. I’ll cry.” This was a very real threat.
“Please, Branwen. Give me a kiss.”
“No!”
He hugged her. She hit him. Then, before she could wake anyone, he pushed the coracle into the water and stepped inside it. Moments later he was paddling swiftly out of sight, down the stream into the darkness.
He had done it. Ever since the news of the invasion had come, just before the druid had offered the shield to the river, he had secretly planned this expedition. Day after day he had practised with his spear until he achieved an accuracy that few adults could equal. And now his chance had come at last. He was going to fight beside his father. He can’t very well send me away if I suddenly arrive just as battle is beginning, he thought.
The night was long. With the current flowing behind him, and with the little paddle to help, he was able to slip down the river at two or three times the speed the boats had made coming up. In the darkness the banks seemed to race by.
But he was only nine. After an hour his arms felt tired; after two they were aching. He pressed on, though. Two hours later, in the deepest night, he began to long for sleep. He had never been up so late. Once or twice his head fell forward and he came awake again with a start.
Perhaps, he told himself, if I was just to lie down for a little while, but an instinct also warned him: do that and you will sleep until midmorning. He found that if he kept the vision of his father before him, it gave him strength. In this way, resting his arms now and then, and thinking always, hour after long hour, of his father waiting for him upon the battlefield, he was given the power to press on. They would fight together, side by side. Perhaps they would die together. It seemed to him that this was all in the world he desired.
As the dawn began to lighten the sky, he entered the start of the river’s tidal flow. Luckily, it was on the ebb, and so it carried him swiftly down, towards Londinos and the sea.
By the time the sun was up, the river was getting much wider. An hour later and he was approaching a familiar bend. Even his lack of sleep was forgotten in the excitement as he began to turn it and came in sight of the druid’s island, less than a mile ahead. Then he gasped in amazement.
In front of him, the Romans were crossing the river.
The force that Caesar had assembled for the conquest of Britain was formidable indeed. Five disciplined legions – some twenty-five thousand men, with two thousand cavalry. He
He heard an owl. Moving carefully, his spear in one hand, he made his way down to the water’s edge.
The people from the other hamlet had brought with them two small coracles, one of which had a pointed prow like a canoe. The moment he had seen it, he had known that this was his chance. It was lying on the muddy bank now. It was so light, he found that he could easily drag it with one hand. He had just begun to slide it into the water when he heard a familiar patter of little feet on the mud behind him. It was Branwen. He sighed. She never slept.
“What are you doing?”
“Sssh.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Father.”
“To fight?”
“Yes.”
She greeted this tremendous news with silence, but only for a moment.
“Take me with you.”
“I can’t. Stay here.”
“No!”
“Branwen, you know you can’t come.”
“No I don’t.”
“You don’t know how to fight. You’re too little.”
Even in the dark, he could see her face begin to pucker and swell and her hands bunch with rage.
“I’m coming.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll wake everyone.”
“I don’t care. I’ll cry.” This was a very real threat.
“Please, Branwen. Give me a kiss.”
“No!”
He hugged her. She hit him. Then, before she could wake anyone, he pushed the coracle into the water and stepped inside it. Moments later he was paddling swiftly out of sight, down the stream into the darkness.
He had done it. Ever since the news of the invasion had come, just before the druid had offered the shield to the river, he had secretly planned this expedition. Day after day he had practised with his spear until he achieved an accuracy that few adults could equal. And now his chance had come at last. He was going to fight beside his father. He can’t very well send me away if I suddenly arrive just as battle is beginning, he thought.
The night was long. With the current flowing behind him, and with the little paddle to help, he was able to slip down the river at two or three times the speed the boats had made coming up. In the darkness the banks seemed to race by.
But he was only nine. After an hour his arms felt tired; after two they were aching. He pressed on, though. Two hours later, in the deepest night, he began to long for sleep. He had never been up so late. Once or twice his head fell forward and he came awake again with a start.
Perhaps, he told himself, if I was just to lie down for a little while, but an instinct also warned him: do that and you will sleep until midmorning. He found that if he kept the vision of his father before him, it gave him strength. In this way, resting his arms now and then, and thinking always, hour after long hour, of his father waiting for him upon the battlefield, he was given the power to press on. They would fight together, side by side. Perhaps they would die together. It seemed to him that this was all in the world he desired.
As the dawn began to lighten the sky, he entered the start of the river’s tidal flow. Luckily, it was on the ebb, and so it carried him swiftly down, towards Londinos and the sea.
By the time the sun was up, the river was getting much wider. An hour later and he was approaching a familiar bend. Even his lack of sleep was forgotten in the excitement as he began to turn it and came in sight of the druid’s island, less than a mile ahead. Then he gasped in amazement.
In front of him, the Romans were crossing the river.
The force that Caesar had assembled for the conquest of Britain was formidable indeed. Five disciplined legions – some twenty-five thousand men, with two thousand cavalry. He
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