Free Roman - The Fall of Britannia by K. M. Ashman

from the very
ground upon which the Cerrig had stood for hundreds of years. Entry
was gained through a pair of wooden gates, framed within thick
walls that channelled visitors into an easily defended
corridor.
    Gwydion stared
up at the awe-inspiring fort in amazement. He had only travelled a
short way up the hill before two outlying guards appeared from the
undergrowth and demanded to know his business. After hearing his
explanation, they escorted him up the Cerrig, passing numerous
checkpoints on the way until he stood before the doors of an
impressive central hall.
    ‘ Wait there,’ said the guard and he entered the hall leaving
Gwydion outside, guarded by six heavily armed warriors.
    Within the hall,
six tribal elders sat around a horseshoe shaped table, deep in
conversation. In the open end of the horseshoe sat two visitors,
each eating a platter of cold meat. The door at the end of the hall
opened and the guard walked up to the table, interrupting an
argument.
    ‘ Sire’s’ he said, ‘there is a Gwydion of the Blaidd outside
seeking audience.’
    ‘ Can’t you see we are busy,’ snapped one member. ‘Send him
away.’
    ‘ Who
are the Blaidd?’ asked Owen, a senior member of the
council.
    ‘ A
client clan to the south,’ answered a colleague. ‘Loyal to the
tribe, but of no great significance. Get rid of him.’
    ‘ Sire, he is very insistent,’ said the guard. ‘He said to give
you this.’ He placed a golden Torc with a wolf pendant on the
table.
    ‘ What is it?’ asked one of the visitors.
    ‘ It
is the symbol of the Blaidd,’ said Owen, realizing like everyone
else that any emissary bearing the symbol of their own clan, could
expect audience and hospitality with any other Deceangli. ‘We will
humour him, send him in.’
    The guard left
the building as the council stood to stretch their legs, some
seeking to warm their backs against the roaring log fire at the end
of the hall. A minute later, he returned, closely followed by
Gwydion.
    ‘ Welcome, Gwydion of the Blaidd,’ said Owen. ‘You bear your
clan’s totem. I assume you hold the legal right.’
    ‘ I
do, Sire,’ answered Gwydion, ‘I was sent by Erwyn of the Blaidd to
conduct business on his behalf.
    ‘ I
know of Erwyn,’ said Owen. ‘But I forget my manners, have you
eaten?’
    ‘ I
have, Sire,’ he replied, ‘though my thirst is great.’
    ‘ Then let me serve you,’ said Owen, pouring a tankard of beer,
‘and after you have quenched your thirst, you can tell us how we
can help you.’
    Gwydion sank
half the draft in one go, before placing the tankard back on the
table.
    ‘ Well Sir,’ he said wiping the froth from his mouth, ‘my
initial task was to source twenty horses for my clan, but while
passing through the village, I learned that there are none to be
had due to the threat of invasion.’
    ‘ And?’
    ‘ If
this is true, Sire, I would seek clarification.’
    ‘ Your concern is understandable,’ said Owen. ‘But worry not,
we will send word should a threat arise and you will know in plenty
of time.’
    ‘ But
why then are you securing the horses, Sire?’ asked
Gwydion.
    ‘ And
why should I share the Kings business with you?’ asked
Owen.
    ‘ I
am sorry if I offend, Sire, I think only of my clan. We will have
need of horses, whatever the situation. If there is a threat, then
we need to defend ourselves, and if there is not, then I fail to
see why I cannot purchase the beasts. I passed many on the farms
along the coast.
    ‘ They are being sent to Caratacus,’ said Owen, ‘Cunobelinus’
heir, and new king of the Catuvellauni.’
    Gwydion nodded
in recognition. During his time with the Catuvellauni, he had seen
Caratacus on many occasions and he was an imposing man. He looked
over to the two Catuvellauni travellers talking quietly together,
slightly apart from the others.
    ‘ I
realize we are at peace with the Catuvellauni, Sire, but surely we
should not be selling our resources to another tribe. Horses