to the dim interior lighting of the inn, Tuccianus cursed under his breath. The place was crawling with people! He scowled as he looked from table to table searching for Rhys.

With growing displeasure, he noted that not only was the inn crowded with Catuvellauni travelers, but the man in the far corner appeared to be none other than Legatus Legionis Corvinus Valerius. Ill-omened, but it accounted for the miserable looking cavalry troop trying vainly to stay dry under the trees in the Inn's forecourt.

Spying his quarry at last, the Roman made his way to Rhys's plank table. At least he's put us near the fire, he thought grimly, as he shook out his wet cloak and spread it over a bench near the hearth.

"Rhys," he acknowledged the Catuvellauni headman with a grunt as he dropped into a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Not exactly what I expected," he said as he pointedly looked around the bustling common room. "I thought I said private. You Catuvellauni do know what 'private' means?"

Rhys' smile never wavered as he regarded the leader of Verulamium's Ordo Decurionum. The Municipal Council had been effective under Tuccianus' guidance, and relations were generally good between the two men.

"I never would have believed that Cadfan could make this much success of this place," the Headman laughed. "I apologise. I haven't been in here for a while."

Rhys stood and stepped over to the hearth. Taking logs from the large stack of hewn wood, he chucked them into the hearth, shooting sparks and smoke into the room. Using an iron prod, he rearranged the wood on the firedogs, increasing the amount of heat pouring into the room.

Tuccianus looked gratefully at the now roaring blaze. He would never get used to the miserable weather on this island. His bones ached and he was constantly chilled. Reaching across the table, he snagged the pitcher of warm cider and poured a large flagon for himself.

As Rhys seated himself again, Tuccianus fished hardboiled eggs from the platter and rolled them on the table under his fingers, crushing the shell. Peeling the crinkled shell away, he finally broached the business at hand.

"All right, Rhys," he stared at the former warrior, trying to guage any change in his expression, "what kind of compensation are we looking at for failing to protect the Queen?"