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Myrddion had difficulty understanding much that he said. The reason for Cadoc’s dismay was immediately obvious.
    Oxen!
    A single, dun-coloured horse was tethered at the rear of the leading wagon, but the beasts between the traces were huge brown oxen with brass-tipped, sawn-down horns and dull eyes. Cadoc loathed oxen because they were slow, stupid and difficult to master. In emergencies, they had only one pace, regardless of how harshly whips were applied, and the time required to turn them could be fatal if the wagons were under attack. Even Myrddion, who was unbiased, disliked travelling behind a team of oxen as their broad hooves stirred up a fug of dust.
    ‘Would you credit that horses seem to have vanished from Dubris? The best I could muster was this spavined creature from a Dumnonii trader who needed extra funds to return home. The Celts are deserting Dubris in hordes, but there’s no lack of migrating northerners eager to take their places.’
    ‘Aye, Cadoc, we’ve already established that the docks here are more dangerous than those of Ostia, and I thought that was bad,’ Finn added. ‘I’ve dreamed of home every step of the way from Constantinople, and now that we’re here, home is stranger and more threatening than most of the outlandish places we’ve been to.’
    ‘Let’s get out of this foul place.’ Myrddion sighed gustily. ‘I can’t believe that six years have wrought so many changes in Britain. We’ve seen the movement of thetribes in Gaul and we know from first-hand experience what violence has filled the void created by the Roman retreat. Somehow, I never expected to find it here, in Britain, so we’ve missed astonishing changes during our wanderings.’
    ‘Nothing much of benefit to the people has happened, master, and that’s for certain,’ Cadoc grunted as he climbed down from the primitive, poorly constructed wagon, which lacked even the refinement of leather covers. ‘Look at this thing! Even the wheels are made of wood. Remember those metal rims on the wagons in Rome?’
    ‘We’re not in Rome now,’ Finn snapped back unnecessarily.
    ‘I have a strong desire to see broad skies and breathe clean air,’ Myrddion muttered under his breath. ‘Let’s dust Dubris off our backs as soon as possible.’
    With the economy of long practice, the healers packed the wagons. They were conscious of the hard, envious inspection of the watching dockworkers so, nervous of further interference by footpads and thieves, the men worked with dispatch. As they laboured, Praxiteles asked numerous questions about the size and quality of Britain’s largest port, and the healers felt a certain embarrassment as they compared grubby little Dubris with the wonders of Constantinople.
    Once they had loaded the wagons and climbed aboard, the crack of Cadoc’s long whip urged the oxen into grudging movement. And so, with Praxiteles driving the other wagon and Myrddion riding the dun-coloured horse, the journey through Dubris began. The evidence of wide-sweeping and destructive change was all around them and Myrddion, with his new sophistication, told himself that this shift was the way of the world, as natural as rain or sunshine.
    Nevertheless, these fresh scars on his homeland caused him pain. Even the smaller temples had been stripped of stone, while vandals had toppled wholecolumns in many buildings so that Myrddion could see the clever engineering that had pegged the sections together. Mute, and yet eloquent, naked plinths reminded him that gods of marble had once stood here and blessed the citizens of Dubris with peace and plenty.
    ‘All things change,’ Myrddion whispered aloud in a vain attempt at self-persuasion. ‘To stay still is to rot and die.’
    Then the forum hove into view and the entire party was silenced by its complete ruination. Even more poignant were the ragged children who played with shards of marble in the weak spring sunshine. Like young animals, they were tormenting a starving