London - Edward Rutherfurd [10]
For Segovax had never seen the sea.
“You always say you will, but you never do,” he complained, and sometimes sulked a little.
The only shadows that fell across these sunlit days were the occasional dark moods of their mother. She had always been mercurial and so neither Segovax nor his sister was much troubled. But it seemed to the boy that recently her moods had been harder to account for than usual. Sometimes she would scold him or Branwen for no reason, then suddenly seize the little girl and clasp her tightly, before just as quickly sending her away. Once, having slapped them both for some offence, she burst into tears. And whenever his father was there, the boy would see his mother’s pale face watching him, almost angrily following his every move.
As spring turned into summer, no further news came of Caesar’s movements. If the legions were still massing across the sea, no one came to the hamlet by the river to tell them. And yet, when the boy asked his father, “If the Romans come, do you think they will come here?”, his father always quietly answered: “Yes.” And then, with a sigh: “I think they must.” For a very simple reason.
The ford. It lay by the island where the druid dwelt. At low tide, a man could walk from there to the southern bank with the water only reaching up to his chest.
“Of course,” his father would add, “there are other fords, further upstream.” But, coming up from the estuary, this was the first place where the river could safely be crossed. Descending from the ancient tracks along the great chalk ridges that strode across the island, travellers since time out of mind had made for this pleasant spot. If this Roman Caesar landed in the south and wished to strike up into the wide lands of Cassivelaunus beyond the estuary, then the simplest course would bring him to this ford.
“Soon,” the boy told himself, “he must come here.” And so he waited as a month passed. And then another.
It was in early summer that the incident occurred after which, it seemed to Segovax, his mother’s behaviour became stranger.
It had started quite innocently one afternoon with a childish quarrel. He had gone for a walk with little Branwen. Hand in hand they had crossed the meadows on the southern bank and started up the slopes behind, to the edge of the woods. For a while they had played together; then, as usual, Segovax had practised throwing his spear. And then she had asked.
It was a small enough thing. He had promised her that she could throw his spear. Nothing more than that. But now he refused, though whether because he thought she was too small after all, or because he felt like teasing her, he could not afterwards remember.
“You promised,” she protested.
“Perhaps. But I’ve changed my mind.”
“You can’t.”
“Yes I can.”
Little Branwen, with her tiny, athletic body, her bright blue eyes; Branwen who would try to climb trees even he hesitated to tackle; Branwen with her temper that not even his parents could control.
“No!” She stamped her foot. Her face began to go red. “That’s not fair. You promised. Give it to me!” And she made a grab at the spear. But he cleverly switched hands.
“No, Branwen. You’re my little sister and you have to do what I say.”
“No I don’t!” She shouted the words with all the force of her lungs, her face now puce, tears welling from her eyes. She made another grab, then swung her little fist, hitting him on the leg with all her might. “I hate you!” She was almost choking with rage.
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do!” she screamed. She tried to kick him but he held her off. She bit his hand and then, before he could catch her, she ran up the slope into the trees and vanished.
For some time he had waited. He knew his little sister. She was up there, sitting on a log probably, knowing he would have to come looking for her. And when he finally found her, she would refuse to move so that finally he would be reduced to pleading with her. At last, however, he had made his way up into the woods.
“Branwen,” he had called. “I love