My name is Carin ap Lleenog (Cari). The eldest daughter of Gwallog ap Lleenog, King of Elmet and this is the start of my story.

 

I crouch below the crumbling remnants of the dilapidated roman bridge, cleaning the dried blood from the battered, dented blade which is my most precious possession. It had once belonged to a centurion, or so I’m told. Now its faded beauty just reminds me that all the world is crumbling like the bridge with dim memories of past glories.

 

I cower between the flaking masonry in the vain hope that the shadows and my mud splattered face and skirt will disguise me from their ever probing spears and swords. I hear a faint scuffling as they search either side of the decaying track, chopping at the bracken and disturbing the occasional pheasant which screeches and flaps into the undergrowth.

 

 The clatter of my faded, worn Roman coin necklace seems to reverberate around the forest alerting the world to my presence but I notice no change apart from the pitter, pattering of the rain drumming on the leaves.

 

Despite my predicament the natural world seems to be returning to its normal cycle. A robin alights on the rotten, decaying bridge rail and begins to peck at the tiny insects hidden within. A flock of geese screech across the leaden skies, their presence announced to all and from far away I can hear the pitiful bleats of lambs trying to be reunited with missing parents.

 

They’re coming closer! I can hear their mournful voices and ponderously heavy boots as they kick the loose rubble from the track.

 

“Let’s pack it in. She can’t have got this far”. The rains getting harder and we don’t want to get soaked.”

 

My heart skips a beat as I realise they might be going back. But I freeze as I hear one say.

 

“Let’s shelter under the bridge and we can decide what to do.”

 

I panic and hoisting up my purple peplos I race from under the bridge towards the impossibly far, encircling forest whilst my flouncy, flaming, fiery pigtails and necklace seem to thump out the message.

 

“She’s here! You can catch her easily now.”

 

I hurtle on and hearing no warning shout I begin to think they’ve not spotted me.

 

She’s there! After her!

 

I hurtle into overhanging branches frantically trying to brush them aside whilst they impede me by tangling in my increasingly wild hair, ripping my arms and sodden skirt to rags. Then suddenly my foot snags in a root. I’m falling down, down the banking in a tumbling mass of linen, hair and mud to be deposited in my final resting place of a bed of dank, stinking, rotting leaves.

 

I’m dazed with the feeling of the cold and damp slowly oozing, squirming, sinking into my exhausted body. The first thing I’m aware of is the icy, fatalistic prick of a sword at my throat.

 

“ Got you Cari! It’s your turn to find us.