cradled in Brann’s arms. Her inquiry about a hooded man had come as a surprise, though I suppose it shouldn’t have; Flid sees things that are hidden from the rest of us. I’m not quite so certain that the figure is male, though. Something about how it sat its horse reminded me of someone- someone female.

Flid looks pale and shaken. She smiles rather wanly at Brann. “Sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” He kisses her again.

“So what did you see, my love?” he finally asks.

“Nothing that made much sense. The hooded man and his group riding furiously, heading east towards the hills. I don’t know where it was- nowhere near here, I think. Somewhere out on the moors, much closer to the high hills than we are. Then they stop at a place where several paths cross. There’s an argument but I don’t know what it’s about.”

“I can guess.” I say. “It’s begun to dawn on them that they’ve been sent the wrong road. When was this?”

“Not now- the sun was much lower. This evening? Or another day entirely? I don’t know.”

That’s the trouble with visions; they never quite tell you everything you need to know. At least this was a useful vision- I’ve known seers who fell into a trance and all they saw was that someone somewhere had forgotten to top their cauldron up with water and the stew was burning in and others whose visions came in such a maze of allegories and symbols as to be quite unintelligible to all except the most learned druid. The Gods can be capricious with the Insights they give us mortals. Flid is very favoured to be given visions that are (mostly) quite easy to interpret and useful.

“Any more, darling?” Brann asks.

“They argued and argued. Then it goes odd. An eagle swooped from the sky and sat on the hooded man’s shoulder and appeared to whisper in his ear. Then it flew off to the south. The group turned round, but not quite to go back the way they had come. They took another path. And then I came back to myself.”

“Eagle?” I ask . We all know that that usually means. Romans. “That suggests this group are in some way working for the Romans.”

Brann frowns “Not impossible, I fear. There are Brigs- and well placed ones- who think the best hope of survival is to give the Romans what they want. ‘Feeding the Eagle’, they call it- like when we gave them Caradoc. They can’t see that the Eagle just gets hungrier with each meal. I’m sure part of our trouble comes from the Eagle-feeders. They’ve got some druids on their side who’re very quick to say anyone who stands against Eagle feeding is in some way an enemy of the Gods.” He spits on the ground in anger. “Especially some of the women.”

I ask Flid directly “Flid, are you sure the hooded man is a man? Could he-she- be a woman?”

“Possibly. I hadn’t thought…”

“You and Val aren’t the only women who can ride like a man. I can think of at least one druid who’d fit into that category. I thought the horse looked familiar.”

Brann swears mightily. “She was the one who led the hunt against Flid.”

“Knowing full well that you would stand by her against everything. Two birds killed with one stone, two fewer voices against the Eagle feeders.”

There is a moment of silence. I feel sick. I’ve known in my heart that the druidic orders were becoming more and more fragmented and disunited. I know well that some druids in the Gauls have foresworn their oaths and their heritage to teach the people submission to the Beast. I killed one of them once myself. We’ve feared the same might happen here in Britain. But druidic defection in territory not directly under Roman occupation is an unpleasant novelty.

“We need to move fast.” I say finally. “And keep out of settlements, I think.”

“We need horses.” Brann replies “And horses are usually found in settlements.”

“Vaugn and I can buy a pair. The Eagle-feeders aren’t chasing Vaugn and I’m not sure how far they’re chasing me.”

“Let’s get moving.” Vaugn says. “The next settlement large enough to have a horse dealer is some way off but if we push on fast we can be on its edges by nightfall.”