None of us feels much inclined to talk and the night slowly wears away. A thin cold wind springs up and we huddle into our cloaks and wait for dawn.

As the very first signs of light show to the west we make our preparations. We join the main path out of the woods. I fake up impressive looking but phoney bindings which appear to lash Brann and Flidhais hands and tie lie our horses together. Then we ride out of the woods towards the village. I lead the procession. Brann and Flidhais slump in their saddles, the picture of dejection. Even Cliste gets into the act, sloping along with her tail between her legs.

One of the Roman sentries on the watch tower challenges us

“Hey Roman.” I reply in my best broken Latin. “More for you.”

“You’re a bit keen, coming at this time. You’ll have to wait until full daylight. Wait.” He adds, slowly and loudly.

“But these…important. Need to get them inside. Your boss wants badly. I bring them quick No wait”

The Roman swears. “All right”. He comments to his colleague. “You know the CO’s been in a lather about a couple of prisoners he wants- guess we’d better let them in or he’ll throw a wobbler. These had better be the ones, though or he’ll throw another one”. Turning back to me he shouts “All right. But they must be bound properly- fettered. Take them to the slavers. Understand? Second hut. They can wait until after dawn.”

The gate swings open. We ride in. Things are as Flidhais described them. I lead the party to the end of the Roman horse line and dismount outside the hut where weapons are kept. A yawning sentry, clearly roused from a walking slumber, calls at me. “Hey you. You can’t put your horses there.”

“Orders. Have to take these for fetters. Move horses after. Got stuff for you.”

The sentry shrugs. “Get a move on then. And keep that bloody dog away from our horse lines.” I hear him mutter “Bloody Brits, can’t get them to do anything right.”

I dismount and shove Brann and Flidhais off their mounts, none too gently. Brann glares at me in a suitably convincing manner. “So far, so good.” I growl. I herd the two of them towards the hut which has been pointed out as the gathering area for new prisoners. I bang on the hut door. “More for you to chain.” I call in our language. There is a grunt from inside and a clatter as the door fastening is removed. The door opens.

“What’s this then?” a rough voice says. I can’t pick the accent- possibly Gaulish? It belongs to a hefty figure who stands in the doorway. “Two more for you to fetter.” I reply. “Another two? You’re busy lads. Lets have them then”. I shove Brann and Flidhias through the door. The slaver’s attention is distracted from a moment- and I drive the dagger in my right hand into his neck, twisting it hard. His body slumps against me.

The hut is full. There’s very little light but I can sense the presence of many bodies- and smell it too. A small fire burns in the hearth; its flickering light reveals chained figures. One of them- whose face shows signs of hunger- looks up, wakened by the noise.

“What……” he says.

“Friends.” I reply. “We’re here to get you out.” I help Brann and Flidhais slip their bindings, then search the dead slaver for weapons and keys. There’s a sword and dagger on his belt and a large bunch of keys. I toss the latter to Flidhais, who starts the process of unlocking fetters. Working by trial end error it feels an agonisingly slow process. I stay by the door watching. So far no alarms. The sentry at the weapon hut is stretching and walking to and fro to wake himself up and warm himself against the morning cold. His attention is wandering. The men on the platform seem absorbed in guarding against external attack.

The scufflings and rattlings in the hut slowly give way to the sounds of movement. I hear Brann instructing the freed captives on what comes next. The next move is to free the people in the neighbouring huts. Brann and Flidhais, assisted by a freed captive each will see to this. Once they’ve secured the huts I’ll go and try to get the weapons. The sentries have still not spotted anything is amiss. The man outside the weapons hut turns his back for a moment. I whisper. “Go” and the four of them scurry out of the hut, keeping in the shadow of the eaves as long as possible.

Time again seems to stand still. I count my heartbeats. One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. I strain my ears for sounds. There’s a faint thud somewhere to my right. I count again. One hundred. Surely someone has to notice something is going on. But the Gods are with us; nothing stirs in front of us apart from the stamping of the Roman horses. I hear an owl’s hoot. Flidhais has secured her hut. I wait a little longer, my instinct to do something fighting my reason. A crow caws. Brann has his. I count a further hundred heartbeats, trying to correct for the fact that my heart is going faster than usual. “Wait for the noise to start”. I tell the mass of freed captives behind me. “Then run like fury to the weapons hut.”

I step out of the hut, laughing and shouting a meaningless pleasantry as if to the slaver. I walk steadily towards the weapons hut, an artfully constructed bundle which looks as if it contains weapons under my arm. This is the really tricky bit because I’m not sure how things will work out. We’ve thought of a few options but you can’t cover everything.

“You’ve taken your bloody time.” The sentry complains. “Been pinching the best bits with your slaver friend?”

“Got weapons for store. Need to deliver them.”

I’m close to him now- close enough to see the scar on his cheek and the stubble of his campaign beard.

“All right.” He turns his back to me and bangs on the hut door

“Wake up, Gaius, you dozy Neapolitan git. There’s a Brit here with a present for you.”

There is a clattering noise from inside and the door creaks open. A yawning soldier pushes it wide. “What’s the bloody racket about, you noisy Etruscan sod? Can’t a fellow get a bit of shut-eye.”

I drop the bundle, slam my hand across the sentry’s mouth and slice his throat. I thrust his body into the arms of the man inside the hut, knocking him off balance. He manages to get out the beginnings of a yell before my dagger finds his throat too. At least I’ve secured the door open.

I spin round. The sentries on the watch tower have turned inwards. They shout something. The time for silence is over. I put up a war cry. I see Flidhais is already at work slicing the tethers on the Roman hoses with a razor sharp knife. Cliste does her job too, howling at maximum volume. The horses whose tethers have been cut stampede, running wild into the parts of the village where the Romans and the renegade Brigs are stumbling out of the huts.

I take an arm full of swords and distribute them to the men who come running from the huts where the freed captives were lurking. They scatter in search of an enemy to fight. I tell one of them “Take over handing out weapons” and leap on to Lugh, drawing my sword. Time for battle.

It is a moment of total confusion. One of the sentries on the tower tries to sound the alarm on his bucina; the call shrieks off key as an arrow buries itself in his arm. A hut is on fire- probably the one where the slavers had based themselves. I gallop though the chaos of panicked horses people running to and fro, slashing at Roman soldiers and they tumble out of the huts they have been sleeping in. I see the centurion trying to rally his men and gallop at him, thrusting downwards at his face. I feel the point bite on something, but I am not sure what. I wheel left towards where the renegades were based. Things are more difficult here- it’s not so easy to tell friend from foe in the confusion. I assume everyone wearing ornaments is going to be an enemy and hack at one who lunges at me with a spear. Again I feel the blade make contact but I don’t know with what.

I ride back to the central part of the village. The Roman horses are still milling round and round in a crazed herd. Several huts are aflame now. I sense the fighting may be dying away as the freed captives begin to overcome their captors. I see Flidhais, also mounted and with a broad smile on her face. Brann rides up too, looking much grimmer. I know what’s on his mind- if fate hasn’t come for him now, when will it?

“Good day’s work before breakfast.” I shout.

“Not over yet.” Brann replies. He looks over my shoulder, to where the chief’s hut blazes. Outlined against the fire, the Roman commander stands. He has mounted up and drawn his sword. Brann looks at me. “Goodbye. It’s been good working with you.” He leans over and kisses an uncomprehending Flidhais “Goodbye, my darling. Sorry it isn’t going to work out the way we hoped”.

Then he swings his horse round and rides hard at the Roman. They meet. Swords clang and clash. The Roman is a skilful fighter and the two are well matched. They feint and parry. Then the Roman thrusts at Brann, who evades the thrust. The Roman is off balance for an instant. Brann’s blade bites into his neck.

And then another rider gallops out of the gloom. A hooded figure, outlined dark against the flames. Flidhais screams as it comes up behind Brann, right arm drawn back, a dagger blade catching the light. Brann half turns, sensing danger. Too late. The Hooded One’s dagger plunges into his neck. He stiffens in the saddle. The Hooded One overshoots its victim, turns and comes back, drawing another dagger from its robes. Somehow Brann finds the strength to reach his arms out and grab the Hooded One as it rides back. The momentum of the horse drives them both back towards the fire. Brann’s mount rears. He topples, grasping the Hooded One to him. A fierce yell comes from him. They fall into the blaze. An instant later the roof of the hut finally caves in.

Flidhais makes to gallop to the blaze. I put my hand on her reins and stop her. “He’s gone, Flid. He saw the Washer last night. I’m sorry.”

She buries her face in my shoulder, sobbing desperately.