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breeding stock was safely in the byres, the grain filled the big urns and storehouses, and the weather could do its worst. Mead, beer, and red Roman wine flowed freely, conversation rose loud and excited, and Caradoc, Cinnamus, and Caelte battled through the throng to their appointed places. Cunobelin sat on the floor on skins, wrapped in his yellow cloak, his thick gold torc flashing in the firelight and his gray hair lank upon his breast. Beside him were the guests, Subidasto and little Boudicca, who was chattering to her father. To Cunobelin’s left knelt Adminius, his eyes on the pigs, his mouth watering, and Caradoc and his followers went to squat beside him. Togodumnus had the next place but he had not yet arrived, and Aricia sat beside Subidasto, for, though she had been at Cunobelin’s court for many years, she was still regarded as a guest and had a special and permanent place at all feasts. Caradoc looked for Eurgain and spotted her at last, far down the Hall with her father. Gladys, his sister, was with her too. Eurgain felt his gaze and turned to smile at him. She had on a new tunic this night, tightly patterned in green and red, and she wore silver anklets and a thin gold band on her brow. Her father was rich, almost as rich as Cunobelin, his master, and Eurgain possessed trinkets from all over the world.
    Gladys saw him but gave no sign. She was wearing a black coat, and her dark brown hair, braided in one long plait, hung down her back and coiled on the floor. She was a strange one, Caradoc thought. Nineteen years old and not married from choice, she wandered in the woods, with no fear of the gods who watched her jealously, collecting plants and small animals, and gathering queerly shaped driftwood from the beach she often went to with the traders. Yet for all her abrupt, unwelcoming air she was Cunobelin’s chosen confidante and often his advisor since the death of their mother. Perhaps Father took comfort in her calm wisdom. She had ceased to be part of the Royal War Band after that time Tog and the others raided from the Coritani and three people had been killed, one of them a child. Gladys had been incensed with Tog and from then on had refused to meet any of them outside Camulodunon, and Caradoc was sorry. There was something intriguing and commanding about his sister, but he could not penetrate her cold exterior.
    The slave turning the spit signaled to Cunobelin and there was a hush as all eyes turned to the meat. Cunobelin rose with effort, his knife in hand, and after carving off a haunch with flourish, laid it on a silver plate and presented it to Subidasto.
    “The choice cut, for our guests,” he rumbled, and Subidasto took it with thanks. A low table was brought to him, and then Cunobelin carved the rest of the pigs and each man or woman received a piece commensurate with his or her station in the tuath. Far in the back by the open doors a fight had already broken out over who had been cheated of his correct joint this night, but no one but the protagonist took any notice of the brawl. Fearachar brought Caradoc his meat and bread, and Cinnamus and Caelte waited for their servants to do the same, and the Hall quieted as bellies were swiftly filled.
    Suddenly Caradoc stopped eating. He had caught a flash of white close to Subidasto. He craned forward as Togodumnus slipped down beside him and whispered, “Do you see him? Is he not awesome?” Caradoc felt cold and his appetite left him. He pushed the dish away and took a mouthful of wine, his eyes never leaving the spare, whiteclad man with the gray beard and sharp eyes who was sitting motionless, neither eating nor drinking, though his gaze wandered over the company.
    Druithin! What was the old bird of doom doing here? Caradoc wondered, alarmed. The Druithin hated the Romans with steadfast fanaticism, and it had been a long time since one had been seen anywhere within the sphere of Cunobelin’s influence. This one must have come with Subidasto.