Another respectable day's work today. A bit more than four thousand words, which is my daily goal. Didn't get as far in the plot as I expected, since Galaad decided to take a bath along the way that I hadn't planned on, which meant a bit of time digging up the proper terminology for things like tepidarium, caldarium, and laconicum, and a quick check on the map for where the nearest public bath to the procurator's palace would have been (the Huggin Hill baths, for what it's worth, just the other side of the Walbrook Stream).

10,985 / 100,000 (11.0%)

Here's a brief sample of the day's writing. This is just after Galaad and Caius have been to the therma, or public bath, and have gone back to the procurator's palace, where Artor had set up court.

A place had been made for Galaad at the palace. Formerly the room of a high-ranking slave or household servant, it had evidently stood unused for sometime, if the dust lining the mantle and eaves was any indication. But it was dry, and warmer than the outdoors, and for that Galaad was thankful.

When it came time for the evening meal, Galaad was made welcome in the kitchen while the High King and his captains dined in the audience-hall. The meal was meaner than he might have expected in the home of the Count of Britannia, the stew more like a watery broth, but there was hard-crusted bread and watered-down wine, and the cook, maid, and scullions were pleasant company. One of the servants had skin the color of honey and a kink in her hair, suggesting something of Africa in her ancestry, and another had the olive complexion of a Scythian. Galaad was surprised to find that another had the coloration and accent of a Sais, though she insisted that she was not one of the Saeson, but was from a place she called Geatland. Galaad was soothed by this, until the cook pointed out with a wry smile that the Saeson leader Bödvar Bee Hunter had himself been a Geat. After that, Galaad ate a bit more warily, keeping watch on his tablemates.