Cai channelled anger into running rate,
increased pace along valley floor, river
flowing on road right. Loped past a Llyn, saw
roadside entangled pile of logs, rope and planks;
work crew waved; Cai mellowed and returned it.
Focussed on slight uphill towards two spurs
joining valley floor. Past it, rapid river
arrived, crossing the road where horses grazed
amidst clustered tent and cart encampment.
Commander Fin of the Déisi
– considerate, kindly, killer – called:
‘Clear the bridge for the courier, lads.’
The main road bridge was missing, gone;
temp-rigged rope footbridge replacing.
Cai crossed, halted in front of Fin, who
passed a warm leather sack of water.
Cai thanked, drank deep before reporting:
‘There’s OK signals from all stations.’
Fin nodded, cast professional eyes over:
‘Where’s your weapon got to now, young soldier?’
Cai winced eyes tight shut with recall groan:
‘Against the postal house in Caer Segont;
sure that’s the last time I had it; can’t stand that
metal anywhere near, messes with my navigation.’
‘Good job you have roads to run instead of
cutting across country. Ah, lad, you know
that Bwrs will give you a good beasting…’
Cai merely nodded glumly; Fin wink-smiled:
‘You’re very lucky I sorted my victors stash
out last night; I’ve a bronze one I can lend you.
Wouldn’t use it for real fighting, mind.
There’s real good reason that I have it.’
Cai burbled thankful relief, Fin fitted
it across his back, gave a hearty slap:
‘Now you be on your way, and convey a
standard insult to Brychan about his Ma.
Remember: say it comes from me personally.’
‘Er, OK, Fin and thanks again!’
Cai continued on his mission.
‘Make sure to say it comes from me!
Or else he’s going to kill you!’
In improved mood, two miles sped past, Cai came to
the confluence of two rivers; a settlement,
another bridge being rebuilt, but this time
of burnt timbers. Commotion, hammer bangs;
carpenters replacing charred planks, slinging
new ropes into position. Passed through, then
the road veered, doglegged east along a valley.
In the distance rose Dinas Ffaraon Dandde,
pennants visible, displayed above stockade;
Cai accelerated up to home stretch pace.
Road traffic increased, folk bimbling round
in evening ease. Left main road through
wagon park; carts, chariots, camps set out.
Woodsmoke writhed around a recent arrival:
Dragon prowed ship of thirty-six oar power.
Cai could discern cryptic rune script that read:
No – It’s Really the King of the Spear-Danes.
When the prow winked, Cai stumbled, almost tripped –
gawped, gave a quick wave back toward it.
Crowds dispersed – from campsite, gained gnarly ground;
could see three familiar figures, distant.