war, but, he said, honour would not allow him to shirk the fight today. Other warriors worked on their weapons and armour, fixing holes in their chain mail vests, grinding the edges of their swords.
But many of the would-be fighters wore only farmers' work clothes, tunics and trousers and cloaks of wool or leather, and had no weapons save for a club or a scythe.
Agrippina admitted that a good crowd swarmed on this muddy river bank. Caratacus's army was made up of levies from the Catuvellaunians themselves and from the peoples who owed the Catuvellaunians tribute, mostly Trinovantes, Cantiaci, Iceni and Atrebates. Nectovelin constantly grumbled that the disunity of the British nations since Cassivellaunus gave the Romans their clearest advantage. Even before the invasion force had landed some southern rulers had allowed Roman soldiers on their territories, making them protectorates of the empire. So it was a significant feat of leadership for the Catuvellaunian princes even to have assembled this horde of many nations, though Nectovelin growled ominously that he could see no sign of the Dobunni's promised warriors. But it was a scramble, a mix-up, a crowd of many tongues, and it was hard to see who was in charge.
And the fighters had brought their families, even their dogs and goats and sheep. Children swarmed around Agrippina's feet, mock-fighting with bits of wood, excited by the noise. Vendors of broiled meat, pine cones and hazelnuts worked the crowd. With the noise of men shouting, children screaming, dogs barking and chickens clucking, it was more like a huge, disorganised market than an army.
This was the way the Catuvellaunians and their allies and enemies had always fought their wars. But Agrippina glanced uneasily across the river, where the clean straight lines of the legionaries' fort were clearly visible.
Cunedda asked Nectovelin, 'So what do you think?'
Nectovelin grunted. 'What a dog-fight. I wouldn't bring my family here, put it that way.'
'I'm your family,' Agrippina pointed out.
'Yes, and I had to stop you putting on armour!'
'There are many women preparing to fight here-Braint among them.'
'Braint is a tough old boot with forearms like Coventina's shuddering thighs.'
'I heard that,' Braint growled, suddenly right behind them. Agrippina was always surprised such a massive woman could move so silently.
Nectovelin sighed. 'My point is, 'Pina, she will make the Romans piss their pants-whereas you, child, would only make them laugh, before they performed revolting acts on you and slit your throat. I have a feeling you'll get your chance for revenge,' he said grimly. 'But not today, not here. Not like this.'
'You're looking for Caratacus,' Braint said.
'Since the sun was high.'
'The princes are at the edge of the water. Follow me.'
Nectovelin and Braint led the way down to the river. The ground here, already marshy, was churned up by feet and hooves, and was thick with animal droppings. They had to work their way through hastily assembled defences: heaps of boulders, trenches, stakes thrust into the ground, all intended to deter the anticipated Roman crossing. The crowds grew denser until Agrippina was hemmed in on all sides, and the noise and stink of leather and sweat grew overwhelming. It took some heavy shouldering by Nectovelin and Braint to force a way through.
At last Agrippina found herself facing the languid water. But the river itself was crowded. Warriors stalked up and down in water that lapped up to their knees. Some of them waved swords at the Romans on the far bank, or slapped the water with their blades. Women pulled faces at the invaders, with tongues extended and eyes bulging. Even children were showing their little arses.
A handful of Romans on the far bank, washing their feet in the river, seemed unperturbed. They laughed and catcalled and pointed out to each other particular sights that amused them: a fat old warrior doing a war dance in the water, a dog that gambolled in the spray thinking everybody was playing this sunny afternoon.
Agrippina pointed out a mother duck who serenely swam down the river's centre followed by a line of her young, their formation as orderly as a Roman legion. 'All this nonsense doesn't even frighten the ducklings,' she said dryly.
'Perhaps it makes these big men feel better about themselves,' Braint murmured.
Nectovelin said, 'And Caratacus?'
'There.' Braint pointed.
The two princes stood knee-deep in the water, working their way through a heap of weaponry. They destroyed each item, snapping dagger blades, bending swords in two, smashing shields with axes, before hurling the pieces into the deep water. Agrippina saw a priest close to the princes; the druidh held his hands out wide, as if to embrace the river itself, and he chanted as the princes worked.
Amid the ludicrous spectacle of the posturing warriors, Agrippina found this ceremony dignified, oddly moving. Her own people, farmers, had similar rituals in which you offered the gods household objects like cups, bits of clothing, farm tools like ploughs. You placed them in gaps, like ditches and doorways and river banks-places between worlds, where reality came unstuck. These were sacrifices to the gods, pleas for the continuing cycle of the seasons-and, today, pleas for victory and honour in war. And as he destroyed his iron weapons Caratacus built on a still more ancient ritual yet. It was the closure of a circle of life, for some believed that metal, born in fire, was alive, and that it was fitting that it should at last 'die' in water.
But Agrippina saw that among the gifts being offered to the river were Roman goods: Samian crockery, finely worked Gallic daggers and swords, even coins no doubt adorned with the invading Emperor's head. Even in this most sacred of British rituals, she thought, the Romans had already gained a foothold.
A runner approached Togodumnus, evidently bearing bad news. The prince swore, hurled away the last of his offerings, and stomped out of the water. His brother, Caratacus, continued with his patient ceremony.
Cunedda murmured, 'Togodumnus may pay for that. It doesn't do to turn your back on the gods.'
'Probably he's been told that the Dobunni have laid down their arms to the Romans,' Braint said laconically.
Nectovelin snapped, 'Gods, woman! If you were Greek I'd call you an oracle.'
Braint shrugged. 'I just listen to what people say.'
Cunedda asked Nectovelin, 'If things go badly today, what will become of everybody-the old people, the women and the children?'
Nectovelin grunted. 'The Romans haven't crossed an Ocean to be merciful. They'll be looking to strike a blow that will resound throughout the island. We may still be able to stop them doing that, even without the Dobunni. But it's in the hands of the gods.'
Agrippina asked softly, 'But, Nectovelin, your Prophecy-has it no news of what will happen today?'
He laid his fist over the chain mail covering his chest. 'The parchment is brief,' he said. 'Just a few lines. You can't expect it to list every little thing that will ever happen.'
'This isn't some 'little thing', cousin!'
Nectovelin glared at her. 'No bit of parchment is going to help us here. Only iron and blood will shape our future now. Drop it, Agrippina.'
They were interrupted by cries of anger, coming from far off to the rear of the roughly assembled mass of Britons. Caratacus, his boots still wet, went running towards the commotion with a group of his allies, their swords already drawn.
Braint hopped onto a storm-smashed tree stump to see better. 'It's the chariots,' she called. 'Somebody's having a go at the horses.'
Nectovelin yelled, 'The Batavians!'
Agrippina asked, 'Who?'
He drew his sword. 'Pina, find somewhere safe, and stay there. Braint-come on, you old boot, we've a few Roman skulls to crack before supper.' And he ran off, pushing through the jostling crowd of old women, children, goats and sheep.
'So it begins,' Cunedda said. With a last helpless glance back at Agrippina he followed Nectovelin.
XIII
