As soon as we arrived in the livestock area, the Frisians got the horses settled in the large fenced field. Our section is pegged out with stake and rope to keep our stock separate.

The Friesians are already gamboling about, as is their nature. The Shires stand steadily, their massive size intimidating to those who don't know the gentle disposition of the breed. There are no finer horses in Britain than the ones from our farms. And from what I've seen, the Roman horses can't hold a candle to them either.

Looking out over the market, I can see several other sellers here with livestock, mostly cattle and goats. There is one man, at the far end of the field with what appear to be Welsh ponies. I smile to myself. If he's got anything half decent, Morgause will be on him like a flea on a dog. She's always looking for good stock.

Piet, Hanse, and Ottmar are now helping the drivers unload the wagons. We came prepared for anything, leather tents, food, feed for the animals. I doubt that Morgause will stay in the city. She likes to stay close to her animals. The large flat area will accommodate our tents quite well.

The Frisian slaves have settled into their lives here, and proved to be good workers. Piet is one of the best horse handlers I've seen; Hanse is deft with training, and Ottmar has a healer's instincts for sick animals. As industrious as they are, they will one day be able to purchase their freedom and establish homes here.

It won't be long before we get the cookfires started. Good. Morgause and Garydd will no doubt be ready to eat when they return from the Forum inside Camulodunum's gates.

Perhaps then I'll take a turn at seeing the sights. I smile with anticipation.