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cottages with thatched roofs, their occupants coming out to see them pass. Juliana pointed to a large hall which stood behind some of the cottages at the bottom of the street.
    “That is the Moot Hall where my father and the other local nobility held court.  I suppose you will have to take your place there for the customary meetings.”
    Ulfric nodded and turned his horse to weave his way through the cottages and dismounted in front of the Hall.  This was the place of justice where the people brought their complaints to their lord.  He stood back to admire the wooden painted shields which adorned the front of the building.
    “My father was born here,” Juliana added.  “My grandparents lived here in the old days but as the town grew, a place was needed to dispense justice so my father gave up this home and built the present Hall where we live now.”
    “Who is the Reeve here?” Ulfric asked.
    “Peter, known as the Reeve, followed my father to war and was lost.  We have no Reeve now,” Juliana said sadly.  “There are precious few young men left to learn their father’s trades.  Luckily we have James the blacksmith,” she pointed to a forge opposite the Moot Hall, “but we are missing woodworkers and potters who served my father and this town for many years.”  She looked around and pointed out the cluster of workplaces used by many of the people she once knew.  The tannery was still working evidenced by the smell, and skins were being stretched and dried on frames outside.
    “Show me inside the Hall, Juliana,” Ulfric asked gently, seeing her frown at the thought of so many people lost.
    He lifted his arms to help her dismount but she was confused as she felt a tiny spark between them.  Her hand wanted to linger in his hair and she became flustered. She gathered her skirts and saw that Thorvald was holding the door open to the Hall and she led the way inside, hoping neither men would notice her flushed face.  It was a typical Hall of its type with seats and a table at one end where the lords would gather to discuss plans and also to hear complaints and squabbles between neighbours.  It was made from good English oak beams with wattle and daub walls.  At one time there had been a fire in the centre of the room where the smoke had filtered through the thatch at the top, but Juliana’s father had installed a hearth and built a chimney which had cleared the air and reduced the risk of fire. Her father had travelled abroad when he was a young man and seen how other people designed their homes, bringing the knowledge back to Bertone with him.  The Hall itself was dark having an unused air about it and Juliana felt sad, remembering the vitality of her father and how he had enjoyed helping the townspeople although he had never shied away from meting out justice if it had been deserved.
    Noticing her demeanour, Ulfric offered his arm and once again she took it and they emerged into the sunshine, leaving Thorvald to close the Hall up again.  The horses were dancing with suppressed energy so they rode into Southgate and gave them their heads riding in the direction of Caistor.   Juliana was using her side saddle but would have preferred to ride astride as she had done many times with her father and brother, but even so, she rode like the wind behind Ulfric.  Thorvald brought up the rear, his friend always in view.  At length Ulfric reined in Elding and waited for Juliana to catch up.  Her cheeks were flushed with the exercise and her eyes shone with the pleasure of the ride but she pulled up at his side.
    “You ride very well, Juliana,” he smiled.  “You must have had a good teacher.”
    “My father taught me.  I remember the first time he lifted me and held me in his lap and cantered around these hills.”  She looked earnestly at Ulfric, “I wish you’d known him, sire.”
    “Me too, Juliana.  Me too.”
    “My lord Ulfric!” they both turned at the shout from a young boy who was riding