Caransius (_who has been blowing on the fire, now sits up comfortably
and smiles upon Gleva, who is tortured with impatience_): God bless
you, mistress, there isn't any Wall. I know about the Romans; I know!
I fought at Verulanium. Now!
[_Gleva turns away in despair of getting any sense out of him. A
trumpet sounds on the top of Bignor Hill, faintly. All turn swiftly
towards it_.]
Gleva: Ready!
[_A sound of armed men moving, a clash of shields is heard from the
top of Bignor Hill._]
Now fire the torch. Give it me! (_She springs on to the bank and waves
it three times from side to side, steps down, and gives it back to an
attendant, who puts it out._)
Caransius (_continuing placidly_): No, there's no Wall. There are a
great many mistakes made about the Romans. They are no longer the men
they were. I carried a sling at Verulanium, and there you have it.
I'll tell you something. The soldiers were marching to Regnum.
Gleva: To Regnum? Are you sure?
Caransius: Yes. Up over the great Down they went. I saw their armour
amongst the trees on the side of the hill, and the smoke of their
marching on the round bare top.
Gleva: They were going to Regnum and the sea. (_She speaks in
despair._)
Third Attendant: I am afraid.
Gleva (_turns on him scornfully_): You! Why should you fear if they
are marching to the sea?
Third Attendant: I have been afraid ever since yesterday. The noise of
the marching scattered my wits.
[_Gleva and the others laugh contemptuously._]
And because I was afraid--I killed. (_A low cry of consternation
bursts from Bran and Caransius._)
Bran: Madman! Madman!
Gleva: You killed one of the Romans!
Third Attendant (_stands before her_): I was afraid. It was by the old
forge in the forest. There's a brook by the forge.
Bran: Yes.
Third Attendant: He had fallen out of the ranks. He was stooping over
the brook. I saw the sun sparkle upon his helmet as he dipped it into
the water, and his strong, brown neck as he raised it. I crept close
to him and struck at his neck as he drank.
Caransius: That was a good stroke.
Bran: A mad stroke.
Third Attendant: He fell over without a cry, and all his armour
rattled once.
Bran: It will be the fire for our barns, and death for every tenth man
of the tribe.
Third Attendant: No one saw.
Gleva: Stand here!
[_The third attendant stands before her._]