Mother I better tell you nothing.

She drinks. She wipes her mouth.

Tonight, you and my foster sons, dig pits in the woods. Secretly. I want part of the harvest hidden. And go round the fathers and mothers of the farms, the older ones. Get them to do the same. At night. Fast. Before anyone knows what’s happening.

Second Village Man You’ll not keep that quiet. There’ll be a row.

Mother If anyone wants a row. I’ll row.

Second Village Man What do you know!

A silence.

What!

A silence.

You’re my wife. Tell me.

A silence.

Mother Two nights ago. The Trinovan families. Sent me an envoy.

They have made an agreement with the Roman Army.

Second Village Man Agreement?

Mother They will not fight.

Silence.

Second Village Man What do you expect, from fishermen?

Mother The Romans took five hundred hostages, to keep them to it.

Second Village Man Five hundred?

A silence

Second Village Man What – did you reply to the Trinovan families?

Mother I said that – we foster children with them, not the Cassivellaun families.

That the children bind us.

That their love for the five hundred taken, is our love.

That we are stupid farmers, thick as pigshit.

And we will farm. Just farm.

Second Village Man In peace.

Mother Huh.

Second Village Man And we – we! Thanks to the treachery of a load of fishermen, we are in alliance with the Roman Army!

None of us have ever seen a Roman!

He turns a circle then stands still.

The forest. The fields. The boundaries. The stockades. The cattle runs. The kilns. The tall roofs of the houses. The Gods on the eaves.

He stamps his foot three times.

The ground in late summer. The thing I know. The thing that’s me. The place. Is it changed? Is it –

Is it –

Is it –

Not what I know?

A silence. He reaches for the wineskin. The Mother pulls it away.

Mother Ah no.

Keep your eyes sharp. And on the chicken. On the pigs. On what’s coming out of the trees.

And it’ll go by. Whatever it is. Out there.

She stands, walks to the sacrifice, takes the bowl from beneath the dead Daui’s throat and pours blood onto the ground.

Scene Three

River bank and woods. Sunlight. The clothes of Brac, Marban and Viridio on the stage.

A silence. Then the brothers come out of the river, naked and wet. They lie down.

Brac In the winter, I’ll grow my hair. In the spring I’ll dye it. Three colours. Black at the roots, henna, and at the tips, bright yellow.

It will be fucking terrifying.

Viridio A short arse like you needs to put on a bit of height.

Brac and Viridio look at each other. Brac looks away then does a cat leap onto Viridio.

Marban lies back with his hands behind his neck, crosses his legs and yawns. Then he suddenly sits up, listening.

Brac and Viridio stop fighting and look at Marban.