as the big Brigante slid off the dappled grey horse. His eyes were all on the glossy coat, the huge eye frame, the sculpted muzzle, and the delicate looking, but very strong legs of the mount that had carried Morgause's husband smoothly over the rough terrain.



"Not even blown," thought Garydd excitedly, "and yet ridden hard to judge the time."

"Morgause is by the fire, Torig. I'll take care of these horses while you take the Queen over. Oh," he added, "best have one of the Babylonians attend to those big beasts."

Torig's big laugh boomed across the camp as he slapped the Master of Horse on the back. "Nothing more important than your horses, is there. Well, you won't be disappointed. They're beauties."

"Indeed they are," a silvery voice broke in and the Babylonian Queen stepped into the light of the campfire. She turned to the tall blond Iceni, and offered her hand. "You must be Garydd," she smiled.

Garydd looked at the hand, uncertain what to do, so he took it between his two large ones and shook it firmly. The small woman with the luxuriant dark hair looked momentarily startled, then laughed aloud.

She grasped his two hands and turned them over, feeling his palms with her thumbs. "A horseman's hands," she said, noting the caluses and scars. Good hands. My children will have good care."

Garydd just nodded dumbly. The queen smiled and turned to Torig. "And now, perhaps you would take me to your wife?"