The Lion and the Lark Read Online Free PDF

furiously.
         “Did you see the weapons they have?  Each man has a double edged sword two arms long, and a dagger and a four arms length brass shield and two javelins.  What do we have?  Leather covered boards for shields and cutting swords of inferior metal so soft it often bends after the first stroke.”
         “There shouldn’t be a second stroke,” Bretix said darkly.  
         “Not to mention the ballista   on that wagon,” Parex continued, as if Brettix  hadn’t spoken.  “They brought it with them, Brettix, in pieces to be assembled here.  It throws stones the size of a six year old child.  What are we going to throw back at them this time?  Seashells?”
         “We’ve done pretty well so far.  If they weren’t worried they wouldn’t be sending in reinforcements.  They’ve always been better equipped, and soon we’ll have the weather in our favor.”
         “If we live that long.”
         Brettix walked over to his horse, untied its tether from a bush, and mounted it lithely.
         “You talk like a coward, so I’m leaving,” he said to Parex, who watched him go, his expression a blend of admiration and concern.
         Brettix rode toward the Iceni settlement, sticking to the paths he knew through the forest, inwardly seething.
         What plans did these new invaders have for his people?  They had landed at the seaport instead of sailing up the river from the place they called Londinium, which meant they had come this time with bigger ships and more people.  It was clear that the recent success of the Iceni raids had fueled the Roman determination to dig in and hang on at all costs.  And he didn’t trust the people he was relying on for weapons, the Trinovantes.  They changed loyalties with the wind, establishing the first treaty with the  Romans and profiting from the trade they had conducted over the last decade with the invaders.  Right now they were willing to help, but that might change tomorrow.
         The Iceni were really alone, and Brettix knew it.
         As he neared the camp he saw Bronwen hoeing corn in the garden patch behind their house.  She looked up as he cantered past her.
         “Brettix!”
         He slowed the horse as she ran to catch up with him.
         “Is it true?  Are they here?”
         He nodded, wondering as always how she managed to know so much, so soon.
         “Show me,” she said, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand.  “I want to see.”
         “Bronwen, I have things to do.  They look exactly like every other Roman...”
         Bronwen ignored him, dropping her hoe and running lightly to jump up behind him on the horse.  She hitched her skirt up to her thighs and gripped the animal’s flanks with her knees, putting her arms around her brother’s waist.
         Brettix resigned himself to his fate; he knew how persistent she could be.  He might as well do as she requested or he would just wind up doing it later.
         He took them back the way he had come, judging from the pace of the march he had seen where the Romans should be.  As they came to the edge of the trees on a forested overhang they could see the column below them, still moving at the same deliberate rate, as organized and deliberate as worker bees.
         “They’re so close,” Bronwen murmured.  “You can almost see their features.”
         “Keep your voice down or they’ll be seeing yours,” Brettix whispered in response.
         Bronwen watched in silence for a while, touching her brother’s arm when a man in front of the column turned and held up his hand.  He was taller than the others with some kind of gold insignia on his breastplate.
         “Who is that?”
         “The leader, I guess.  What does it matter?  They’re all the same.  Murderers.”
         “Why did he stop them?”
         “For a rest.  See, they’re sitting