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from him twelve of his cattle as well as your own back. That will hurt him far more than my father’s justice, and I would hate to see you and him shed each other’s blood over a few cows.”
    “A few cows!” Cinnamus swore and spat on the ground. “Fine for you, Lord, with your vast herd, but I must count every beast twice. A drop of Togodumnus’s blood would go a long way to assuage my heart, and a lot of others, too. Even his own chiefs are wary of his thieving ways.”
    Caradoc knew it was true. Tog was sixteen and he had great charm, a gift that rescued him from scrape after scrape and caused his chieftain freemen to cluster around him like fawning dogs, but he was dangerously close to losing his father’s patience and the admiration of his kin. Cinnamus could easily kill him, Caradoc knew. The young man who stood before him, frowning angrily, had been trained from birth as a warrior, a cold fighter whose reflexes were lightning swift and who could destroy without mercy. That was why Caradoc had chosen him as shield-bearer and charioteer. But he had also been chosen because he was generous and quick to laugh, and he and Caradoc loved one another.
    “Do what you think best, Cin,” he said at length. “It is your feud. But think of the consequences to your family if Tog decides to make it a blood feud.”
    “He never would. Not him. If you speak to him, Lord, I may be content. Tell him I want my cattle, and the others too, and tell him also…” He paused, his green eyes smiling into Caradoc’s own with an edge of pure ice to the humor. “Tell him also that if he enters my compound again I will order my freemen to kill him.” He nodded and walked away, striding loose-limbed and tall by the river, the sun glinting on his golden hair, and Caradoc turned, making his way slowly back along the path to the gate.
    Halfway there he met Togodumnus, one hand on his horse’s flank and the other around the little figure perched atop like a tiny sparrow in a big tree. Boudicca waved to him and then clambered down, her eyes sparkling with success.
    “I rode him all by myself! I did! I even made him trot!” She stroked the smooth neck of the animal, sniffing at his warm smell, and her red hair, loosed from its braids, floated in a great aureole about her face. Caradoc watched the square, blunt little fingers moving over the brown coat while the horse stood patiently, his soft muzzle quivering.
    “Good,” Caradoc said absently, and they moved slowly on. “Listen Tog, I’ve just been talking with Cinnamus. He’s very angry with you over those cattle.”
    Togodumnus sighed with exaggeration. “What cattle? I stole no cattle. They must have strayed.”
    Caradoc stopped in the path and took his brother by the shoulders. “You are a fool, Tog. Cinnamus is deep and dangerous. He thinks. And he knows your habits.” Togodumnus shrugged.
    “Do you know what he has done?” Caradoc asked. Boudicca was watching and listening with interest, and Tog shook his head, smiling. “He marked his cattle last spring. All of them.”
    Togodumnus whistled. “Then I am in trouble. I suppose he wants them back.”
    “He wants your blood, but he will take the cattle back, along with twelve of your own and a promise to leave his goods be. Otherwise, he will kill you.”
    They resumed the walk in silence, but as the gate neared, Togodumnus stopped. “I will do that,” he said. “I like Cinnamus.”
    “Then why do you steal from him, and from everyone else?”
    “I do not steal from you!”
    “A chieftain does not steal from any member of his tuath,” Caradoc said pointedly. “Even if he is starving.”
    Togodumnus laughed. “Then he is a fool.”

Chapter Two
    T HAT night the great hall was crowded, and the huge logs on the fire spat and crackled as the fat from the roasting pigs dripped onto them. Samain was over. The cattle were slaughtered and would soon be salted, and men knew that the winter would be without want. The