and the large group of Celts gathered around, drinking their warmed ale and waiting for the stew to be thoroughly hot and thickened.

Morgause dumped another spoonful of oatmeal into the simmering stew and stirred it briskly. The big iron pot marked her as a woman of means, which indeed she was.

Garydd sat and looked at the flames, wondering what the new horses the Babylonian Queen was bringing with her were like. As far as he was concerned, Morgause raised the finest horses on the island, or anywhere for that matter. Her Friesians were hand gentled, and the big sturdy Shires were the only horses that could pull a plow through the heavy clay soil of the Iceni and northern Catuvellauni territories.

A faint pulse of noise caught the group's attention and they immediately came alert. Within minutes, a group of riders had crested the hill to the west and drawn within hailing distance of the camp.

"Torig," called out Morgause, is that you?"