“I told you. Doing the rounds, drumming up a bit of support before spring, him and that Saxon Queen of his.” And he spat on the floor.

“Why do you do that? You’re a Saxon yourself.”

“That’s a long time ago. I live here now. Wasn’t it that flaxen bitch that made Vortigern sell out in the first place? Or at any rate you know as well as I do that since she’s been in the High King’s bed the Northmen have been loose over the land like a heath fire, till he can neither fight them nor buy them off. And if she’s what men say she is, you can be sure none of the King’s true-born sons’ll live to wear the crown.” He had been speaking softly, but at this he looked over his shoulder and spat again, making the sign. “Well, you know all this—or you would, that is, if you listened to your betters more often, instead of spending your time with books and such like, or chasing round with the People from the hollow hills.”

“Is that where you think I go?”

“It’s what people say. I’m not asking questions. I don’t want to know. Come up, you.” This to the pony as he moved over and started work, hissing, on the other flank. “There’s talk that the Saxons have landed again north of Rutupiae, and they’re asking too much this time even for Vortigern to stomach. He’ll have to fight, come spring.”

“And my grandfather with him?”

“That’s what he’s hoping, I’ll be bound. Well, you’d best run along if you want your supper. No one’ll notice you. There was all hell going on in the kitchens when I tried to get a bite an hour back.”

“Where’s my grandfather?”

“How do I know?” He cocked his head at me, over the pony’s rump. “Now what’s to do?”

“I want to go with them.”

“Hah!” he said, and threw the chopped feed down for the pony. It was not an encouraging sound.

I said stubbornly: “I’ve a fancy to see Segontium.”

“Who hasn’t? I’ve a fancy to see it myself. But if you’re thinking of asking the King. . . .” He let it hang. “Not but what it’s time you got out of the place and saw a thing or two, shake you a bit out of yourself, it’s what you need, but can’t say I see it happening. You’ll never go to the King?”

“Why not? All he can do is refuse.”

“All he can do—? Jupiter’s balls, listen to the boy. Take my advice and get your supper and go to bed. And don’t try Camlach, neither. He’s had a right stand-up fight with that wife of his and he’s like a stoat with the toothache.—You can’t be serious?”

“The gods only go with you, Cerdic, if you put yourself in their path.”

“Well, all right, but some of them have got mighty big hoofs to walk over you with. Do you want Christian burial?”