Brigantia

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THE TWO MEN followed the path as it meandered up from the valley floor towards the lone farmstead. They were big men, one just slightly taller and the other broader at the shoulders. Each wore mail armour and helmet and had a sword on their left hip, and few among the Selgovae of these parts could boast such a fine panoply. The thicker set man also carried a torch held high in his right hand. There was no moon, but the heavens were an endless field of bright stars, and they did not need the torchlight to find their path. Instead it warned anyone who cared to watch that they were coming, two warriors well armed and grim.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ the taller man said. His face was long, the skin drawn taut over the muscles, giving him the air of a leering horse. His companion ignored him and trudged on. Now and again the gentle breeze picked up and made the flame gutter and wave.

There was no sign that anyone in the farm had noticed them. It was much like the others dotted along the valley, indeed throughout much of Britannia, with a main house, its conical roof a little higher and broader than the round huts on either side. Below all was deep shadow, with the odd hint of movement as the livestock in the fenced enclosures shuffled and fed. Higher up the thatch was pale in the starlight. The Selgovae did not care to live too close to their neighbours. Men felt the need for room around them, so families lived apart and got on with the business of keeping their own flocks or herds and tending fields. Eburus, the old man who lived here, disliked company more than most, for the nearest homestead was nearly two miles away, and his own farm was perched on a narrow shelf halfway up the eastern side of the valley.

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