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There was only this single figure, another man-child. Unwilling to abandon this easy prey, the wolf crouched once again. The man-child was only carrying a stick. The wolf ran forward.
    The searing pain in its shoulder took the wolf completely by surprise. The boy had thrown the pointed stick so fast it had taken the quick-moving animal off guard. The pain was sharp. The wolf stopped. Then, puzzled, suddenly found it could not go on. Then sank to the ground.

    Segovax did not want to tell the grown-ups about the wolf.
    “If they find out,” he explained, “I’ll get in even more trouble.”
    But the little girl was beside herself with excitement. “You killed it!” she cried joyfully. “With your spear!” And he saw that it was useless.
    He sighed. “Come on then.” And they began to descend the hill.
    It was his mother’s reaction that was so mystifying. At first, while his father kissed them both and patted his son on the back, she had said nothing, staring across the river as if the little reunion before her was not taking place. But after his father had gone off to skin the wolf, she turned and fixed her eyes upon Segovax with a terrible, haunted look.
    “Your sister nearly died. Do you know that?” He gazed miserably at the ground. He knew there would be trouble. “You would have killed her by letting her go up there alone. Do you understand what you did?”
    “Yes, Mother.” Of course he understood. But instead of scolding him, Cartimandua had let out a low, despairing moan. He had never heard such a sound before and he looked at her awkwardly. She seemed almost to have forgotten him. She was shaking her head and clutching the little girl at the same time.
    “You don’t know. You don’t know at all.” Then she had wheeled round, uttered a cry almost like an animal’s wail, and walked away from them both towards the hamlet. And neither he nor Branwen knew what to think.
    The terrible bargain had been made when the noble from the great chief Cassivelaunus had first come to plan the river defences that spring. Perhaps the idea would not have occurred to her if it had not been for a casual remark he had made to the women of the hamlet while he was inspecting the weapons of the men.
    “If the Romans come to the ford here, you’ll all be moved upstream.” The dark-bearded captain did not like having women near a battle. In his opinion, they got in the way and distracted their men.
    But the remark was enough to set her thinking, then to give her inspiration. That evening, seeing him alone by the fire, she had ventured up to him.
    “Tell me, sir,” she asked, “if we go upstream, will we have a guard?”
    He shrugged. “I dare say. Why?”
    “All the people round here trust my husband,” she stated. “I think he would be the best one to accompany us.”
    The noble looked up. “You do, do you?”
    “Yes,” she said quietly. She saw him smile to himself as one who, having authority, has known every kind of proposition.
    “And what,” he asked gently, as he gazed at the darkened waters, “would make me think that?”
    She stared at him. She knew her attractions.
    “Whatever you wish,” she replied.
    He was silent for some time. Like most military commanders, he did not bother to count the women who offered themselves to him. Some he took; others not. But when his choice came, it was a surprise.
    “The fair-haired little girl I noticed beside you this afternoon. She is yours?”
    Cartimandua nodded.
    And in just a few, brief moments, she had given little Branwen away.
    It was all for the best. She had told herself so a thousand times. Branwen would belong to the captain of course. Technically, she would be a slave. He could sell her or do what he liked with her. But the fate of such a girl might not be bad. She would be at the court of the great Cassivelaunus; if the captain liked her he might free her; she might even make a good marriage. Such things happened. Better than waiting around this