The Mother squats and spits. The Second Village Man comes back on.

Second Village Man I didn’t kill the dogs. Didn’t want me to, did you?

Nothing from the Mother.

Hunting dogs like that.

He looks around the group.

Third Village Man If there was an army, there’d be signs. Animals in the woods, running from it. Birds of prey flying towards it, for the flesh. Stragglers, refugees. Listen!

A silence.

Nothing. Just the animals, just our voices, just a day over the farms.

Mother’s right. Let’s get back to work.

Second Village Woman Though we could, just about harvest now. Dig pits in the woods, hide the crop. (A short silence.) It’s the time of year for an army, with the harvest almost on us. (A short silence.) If there’s an army.

First Village Man If pigs fuck sheep!

Third Village Man There’s no army. Only the old scores.

First Village Woman But he was frightened. That made me see what he said. I saw his words. The ships on the beach.

Fourth Village Man A trick of speech. Probably a poet. Powerful men like Cassivellaunel keep a poet or two for that kind of work.

Second Village Man We could move the animals to the fort.

A silence. They all look at him, except the Mother.

And the old people and children. That at least we could do.

A silence.

Fourth Village Man That could take four, five days. To get water up there, fuel, the animals of fifty farms. You’ve not seen it done in your day. I remember the families, barricaded in up there. Just – I was a child. A religious scare. Some druid went off his head and prophesied the end of the world. It caught on and we all ended up in the fort.

We could all get up there. Arm the walls. Miss the good weather – and watch the harvest rot down below.

Second Village Man Well, at least consecrate the ground up there.

Fourth Village Man Oh, we can consecrate the ground.

First Village Woman And carry weapons in the fields.

A silence.

Fourth Village Man Mother? (Nothing from her.) Consecrate the fort. Carry weapons in the fields. And no drinking during the day. End up cutting ourselves to pieces.

They all look at the Mother.

May we leave you?

The Mother waves them away. The Villagers straggle off, the Second Village Man hanging back.

Mother My husband!

The Second Village Man turns back.

You can get me a drink.

The Second Village Man runs off. The Mother and the Slave alone. The Slave looking at her. The Mother still squatting, looking down.

Work, Thing.

The Slave goes back to work. The Second Village Man comes back on with a wineskin. The Mother pours wine down her throat. She wipes her mouth handing the wineskin to the Second Village Man. He squats and drinks.

Mother Listen, husband. There is an army.

A silence.

Second Village Man. You cunning old bitch. You better tell me what you know.