'Did you like him?'
'I don't know him.'
'Come, come, Ravenheart, I have no time for word games -unless of course they are mine. Did you like him?'
'Aye, sadly I did.'
'Nothing sad about it,' she told him. 'Gaise Macon is a fine young man - doomed but fine. I'm glad you took to him, and I am delighted he took up for you.'
'Why do you say he is doomed?'
'He lives to ride the storm horse. No man can ride it for long. Those that do are bonny and brave - aye, and doomed.'
Kaelin chuckled. 'Every time we meet you add a little riddle to the conversation. Stags and storm horses.'
'You enjoy it, though?'
'Aye, I do. Will you come home with me and share a meal?'
'No, though it is kind of you to ask. I have a long journey ahead. I am going back to the Wishing Tree woods. I need to rest awhile and seek the wisdom of the Seidh.'
'I thought they had gone from the world?'
'Not from the world, Kaelin. Only from Caer Druagh. There are still places where they walk the wild woods, and leave their magic in every footstep.'
'Why did you say I had seen a stag?'
'Not a stag, Kaelin. The Stag.'
'You have lost me.'
'Of course I have.' She smiled at him, and he wondered anew just how old she was. When she smiled her face seemed suddenly youthful. 'I am as old as I choose to be,' she said.
Kaelin jerked as if stung. 'You can read my thoughts?'
The Wyrd's laughter pealed out. 'That is no great talent. You are still young and your expressions are honest. You have not yet learned to disguise what you are thinking. Though you should - at least when you are around Chara's mother.'
Kaelin chuckled. 'She's a fine-looking girl. I think she knows magic, for my heart beats like a drum whenever she is close.'
'All women know that magic,' said the Wyrd.
'Even you?' The words were out before he could stop them. 'I am sorry,' he said swiftly. 'That was rude.'
'Yes, but it was honest. Yes, even the Wyrd. I have chosen to hold that magic within me. It strengthens my powers to be celibate. Why that should be I don't know.' Her green eyes locked to his dark gaze. 'However, my time in Old Hills is short, and I've little of it to waste on matters philosophical.'
'Nor I,' said Kaelin. 'Aunt Maev will be angry about the fight and I need to be getting home. I don't doubt she'll scold me over it. Scolding is one of her talents.'
'Aye, she's a hard woman. Difficult to live with.'
Kaelin laughed. ‘I’ll vouch for that.'
'You know how you came to live with her?'
Kaelin looked away. 'I know my mother was killed two nights after I was born. The beetlebacks came into the village. They slew all who could not escape to the woods. After that Aunt Maev raised me.'
'It was a night of sickening slaughter,' said the Wyrd, her voice low. 'Some women managed to run to the woods. However, Maev - instead of fleeing - ran back to your mother's hut. The soldier who killed Gian was standing over her body when Maev slammed a dagger into his throat. She killed him, Kaelin. She avenged Gian and she took you from your crib and carried you to safety.'
'She has never spoken of it,' said Kaelin. 'I did not know.'
'She is Rigante, Ravenheart, and in her flows the blood of Ruathain and Meria, two of the great heroes of our past. Aye, and Lanach and Bedril, who held the pass. Maev is old blood. As are you. As is Gaise Macon.'
'Varlish blood. Murderer's blood.'
'Chara Ward is Varlish blood, Kaelin,' said the Wyrd. 'Do you hate her?'
'No, of course not.'
'Then think before you speak, Ravenheart. Chara Ward is good and kind.' The Wyrd suddenly seemed sad. Kaelin expected her to speak, but instead she reached down to a canvas sack at her feet and opened it. From it she took a muslin pouch. 'Now, listen to me. Ramus has given you good herbs and they will help Shula a little. They will not, however, save her life. When you get home put this in a pint - no more - of boiling water, then leave it until the water is merely warm to the touch. Make her drink at least half of it. When she does so she will fall into a deep sleep. It will be like death. You might not be able to detect a pulse. Do not fret. She will recover, but she will sleep for at least three days. You understand?'
'Aye. Thank you, Wyrd. And now will you tell me about this Stag?'
The Wyrd smiled. ‘I’ll tell you this, for now. When Raven the hound came to the rescue of a stag it brought you your soul-name. It linked you to the land. Yet it was also a prophecy, Ravenheart. One day, you too will need to rescue the Stag. Now get off with you, and take my herbs to Maev.'
CHAPTER FOUR
BANNY HAD NOT YET REGAINED ANYTHING LIKE HIS FULL STRENGTH, and the walk up to the hidden meadow had all but exhausted him. He lay on the grass watching Jaim Grymauch and Kaelin Ring practising with wooden swords. The sun was shining, and the grass felt soft as a feather bed beneath him. Jaim and Kaelin were laughing and joking as they circled one another. Banny felt privileged to have been invited to join them. Even wooden swords were outlawed among the clans and Banny felt a glow within that these two full-blooded clansmen should trust him so.
Everything seemed to be going well now. His mother had slept for three solid days, but had awoken feeling stronger. She had eaten a good breakfast and it seemed to Banny that there was colour in her cheeks.
'Don't think, boy!' roared Jaim Grymauch. 'Just do!'
Kaelin leapt at him, cutting and thrusting. Jaim swayed aside. He moved very fast for a big man, parrying Kaelin's blade and whacking his own against Kaelin's shoulder. ‘I’d have had your arm off!' he shouted gleefully. 'Concentrate now.'
'How can I concentrate while I'm not supposed to be thinking?'
'Concentrate on not thinking.'
'That doesn't make any sense.'
'I know, but that's what old Lanash taught me.'
'Was he drunk at the time?'
'He was always drunk.'
'Is that someone coming up the hill?' asked Kaelin suddenly.
Jaim turned. Kaelin leapt in and struck him a blow on the buttocks. 'You cheeky rascal!' yelled Jaim, and the two began to hack at one another yet again. Banny rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, wondering what it would be like to have wings like an eagle and soar through the clouds, to look down on the green earth far below, safe from any danger. Would it be cold up there, or warm because you were closer to the sun?
Banny yawned. He had spent the last few days resting, eating and sleeping. It was a strange feeling to be without the call of hunger, or the pressure of the cold, to sleep under warm and heavy blankets, his head resting on a soft pillow. Banny pressed his tongue against his teeth. They were firm now.
Life was good.
The Spring Feast was tomorrow. Banny, who rarely had an opportunity for fine foods - honey-roasted pig, wine-marinated steak, stuffed goose - was looking forward to it. Unfortunately there was a touch of dread within the anticipation. In a crowd someone was bound to pick on him; Luss Campion or Kammel Bard - any one of a dozen Varlish youngsters. He had hoped to spend most of his time with Kaelin, but now his friend was going to the feast with Char a Ward.
Banny sat up and watched Kaelin fight. He moved swiftly and with confidence, unafraid of the pain that would come if Jaim's wooden sword pierced his defences. Banny wished he too could learn to be unafraid. The two fighters closed in on one another. Jaim tossed his sword away and grabbed Kaelin in a bear hug, and the pair fell to the ground, struggling and laughing.
'Enough! Enough!' shouted Jaim, releasing the youngster. The one-eyed warrior sat up and glanced across at Banny. 'Would you like a try with the swords, lad?'
'No, thank you, sir,' answered Banny.
Jaim rose to his feet and wandered across to sit beside him. For a moment Banny remembered the first time he had seen Jaim Grymauch, and the terrible fear that had swept through him. Banny had been very young then - five or six? - he couldn't remember.
Wha
t he did recall was seeing this gigantic creature striding towards their little hut. Grymauch was so ugly that the child thought he must be a demon. His one eye seemed to glare balefully. He had a bulging sack on his shoulder, and Banny had been convinced that the bodies of other little boys were held within it. As Grymauch had approached, Banny had screamed in fear and run for his mother. Hearing his cries, Shula had come from the hut. Seeing Grymauch she had curtseyed. Grymauch had smiled, and, in that moment, Banny's fear had drained away. The smile was broad and infectious. Even so Banny hid behind his mother's skirt, peeking out at the giant.
'I know your man is away seeking work,' said Grymauch, 'so I thought you might like a little extra meat.'
'Thank you, Master Grymauch, but we are doing well.'
'I didn't doubt that,' he said swiftly, 'but I owe your husband for a small debt, and, having no coin, this was the only way I could think of repaying him.' Dropping the sack he opened it and drew out a large hank of ham, and several small sacks. 'There is sugar here, and salt, and a pot of that mustard the Varlish are so fond of. No offence,' he added.
'None taken, Master Grymauch. I shall tell my husband when he returns that you have repaid your debt.'
'Oh, this is only part of the debt,' he told her. 'When I have the time and the coin I'll come back.'
With that he had wandered away. He had often visited after that time, dropping off food, and sometimes a few daens. He never came into the hut. Always he would stop outside, chat briefly, then leave. Banny had come to realize that there was no debt to his father.
Last week, when his mother had been too weak to move, and Banny was semi-delirious, Grymauch had entered. Kaelin had been with him. Banny had struggled to sit up. Grymauch had leaned over his mother's bed and lifted her into his arms. Her dress was filthy and vomit-stained, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. 'You hang on, lass, and we'll take you home,' he remembered Grymauch saying. Kaelin had helped Banny to his feet, and half carried him after the departing Grymauch.
Now, days later, Banny was feeling strong and the giant Grymauch was sitting beside him. 'How is your mother?'
'Better, sir. Almost strong, I think.'
Jaim placed his huge hand on Banny's shoulder. 'Do not call me sir. My name is Grymauch. It is a good name, and my friends use it.'
Banny nodded, unsure of how to respond. Kaelin joined them. He sat quietly, rubbing his forearm. 'Those swords are heavy,' he said.
'The wood is hollow,' Jaim told him. 'There is a centre rod of lead to give them the same balance as a steel blade.' He grinned at Kaelin. 'I hear you are soon to Walk the Tree with a young Varlish girl,'
'There's no talk of marriage,' said Kaelin. 'She is my friend, that is all.'
'Then you'll be walking your Varlish friend to the Beltine Feast?'
'You mustn't call it Beltine. It is the Feast of the Veiled Lady. Beltine is a pagan festival, born of devil worship.'
'Pah! What nonsense.' Jaim leaned in close to Kaelin, sniffing loudly.
'What are you doing?'
‘I’m picking up traces of Varlish bullshit on you, boy.'
Kaelin burst out laughing. 'That coming from the man who last had a bath when the world was young. By heavens, Grymauch, your armpits could fell an ox.'
Banny lay back on the grass and listened to their argument with great pleasure, feeling himself a part of their easy camaraderie. After a while Jaim fetched a canvas sack, and from it drew a bottle of golden uisge. He took several deep swallows and offered it to Kaelin, who shook his head.
'Good for you, lad. Cleans the blood.'
‘I’ve no wish to get maudlin,' Kaelin told him. 'In a few minutes you'll be talking about the old days when men were men.'
'Ah, true enough,' admitted Grymauch. 'So tell us about this walk to the feast with the beautiful Varlish maiden.'
'Why do you keep saying Varlish?' snapped Kaelin.
'Because that's what she is, Kaelin. Are you in love with her?'
'I don't know. I like her company, and . . . she is very beautiful.'
Grymauch took another drink. 'Have you kissed her? Be honest.'
'A man shouldn't talk about such things,' said Kaelin, embarrassed now.
'Aye, maybe he shouldn't. So let me say this: if you have kissed her and you still don't know whether you're in love, then maybe you aren't. Beautiful women are a wondrous temptation, Ravenheart. But, by all accounts, Chara is a good lass. So you listen to your uncle Jaim. Don't bed her until you are sure that you want to Walk the Tree with her.'
'I don't want to talk about this,' said Kaelin. 'It is not seemly.'
'If you must sow your seed,' continued Grymauch, ignoring his protestations, 'and I fear a man must, then there are plenty available who will not have their hearts broken by it. I myself visit the earth maiden at the old mill house.'
'Parsha Willets?' said Kaelin, pulling a face. 'She must be close to forty.'
'She's a good girl and big-hearted,' said Jaim.
Kaelin laughed aloud. 'By big-hearted you mean she extends credit?'
'I do,' said Jaim.
'You are a disgraceful man, Grymauch.' Kaelin chuckled. 'It is no surprise that decent people avoid your company.'
'Will you be attending the feast, Grymauch?' asked Banny, more to practise use of Jaim's name than anything else.
'Perhaps, lad. I'm still considering it.'
'You won the fist fighting two years ago. There's another tournament this year, they say.'
'Not for me, Banny. The Varlish will gather round the circle and bay and cheer as clansmen whack and thud at each other. I've no mind to add to their entertainment.'
'The tournament is open this year,' said Kaelin. 'There's thirty chaillings to be won. I've heard that there will be Varlish looking to win it.'
'Is that so?' replied Jaim, taking another deep swallow.
'According to Captain Galliott two fighters are coming up from the south. Big men. Varlish champions. I expect they'll be looking to show that clansmen are easy meat.'
Jaim chuckled. 'You are trying to goad me, boy. I'm not so drunk I cannot see it.'
‘I am not trying to goad you,' Kaelin told him, with a wink to Banny. 'You are getting too old to fight, Grymauch. You've said it yourself. I think you should let the tournament pass.'
'Too old, am I? You rascal! It may be that I will show these southern Varlish the error of their thinking.’
‘Thirty chaillings is a great sum,' put in Banny. 'There'll be more to be made on the side betting,' said Jaim. 'I'd say the winner of the tourney would clear maybe four . . . five pounds.'
'How much is that in chaillings?' asked Banny, who had never seen a pound. 'Tell him, Kaelin.'
'Twenty chaillings to a pound . . . one hundred chaillings.’
‘That is a fortune,' whispered Banny. He closed his eyes. There were twelve daens to a chailling. He knew that much. The sum was the equivalent of twelve hundred daens. Enough to feed Banny and his mother for ... for ... he tried to do the calculation but it was too difficult. Shula had managed to scrape enough food for them on three daens a week. Ten weeks then would be thirty daens.
Concentrating hard, Banny carefully built the sums in his mind. A year would cost one hundred and fifty daens, ten years one thousand five hundred. The difference was three hundred, or two years. According to his calculation the winner of the tourney would have enough money to feed himself and his mother for eight years!
'Could you teach me to fight, Grymauch?' he asked, sitting up. 'I could teach any clansman to fight. It's in the blood.’
‘I'm not a clansman,' Banny told him. 'My mother is Varlish.'
Jaim put down his bottle. Removing his black headband he scratched at the empty socket, and turned his one-eyed gaze on Banny. 'This Rigante eye is magical,' he said. 'It sees into the hearts of men. And when I look at you, young Banny, I see a clansman. And that's an end to it.'
Banny felt as if his heart would burst. His throat tightened and he could not speak. H
e glanced away so that the others would not see tears in his eyes.
'Let's be getting back,' said Kaelin. 'Shula has made a fruit pie.’
‘It's a good one,' said Jaim. 'I had a little taste before coming to meet you boys.'
Apothecary Ramus drew rein on his small, fat-bellied pony, and carefully dismounted at the gates of the Moidart's Winter House. A soldier expertly searched him, then opened the gate. Ramus did not remount. A small man, with an arthritic hip, Ramus needed a mounting step or a box in order to climb to the saddle. Slowly he walked towards the house, leading the pony.
A servant came out to meet him. Ramus recognized the old retainer, Maldrak, and greeted him with a smile. The pony picked up its pace as Maldrak approached. He knew the old man would feed him carrots, or sweet apples.
'Good morning, apothecary,' said Maldrak. 'Are you well?'
'I am, sir. Is the nettle tisane still keeping the rheumatik at bay?'
'Mostly. Save when the weather is bad.'
Ramus nodded. 'No herb can completely repair the ravages of time.' Maldrak took the reins and the two men walked side by side towards the rear of the house. Some two hundred paces to the north - almost hidden by the trees - Ramus could see the blackened remains of the old house. Weeds had grown over the ruined walls, and a tree was growing through the collapsed roof. 'You were here, were you not, when fire consumed the old house?'
'Aye. A dreadful night, that was. The screams of the trapped were terrible to hear. Even some of those who got out, their clothes on fire, died later.' Maldrak shivered at the memory. 'We all thought the Moidart would die. But he's tough, the man.'
Another male servant met them at the side door. Ramus patted the pony's neck, removed his small pack from the saddle, and followed the servant into the house, through the kitchen and on to the stairs. His right hip ached as he mounted them, and continued his walk along the corridor towards the Moidart's private rooms. The servant tapped on a panelled door, then, on hearing a command from inside, entered. He reappeared moments later. 'The lord will see you in a few moments, apothecary. Please be seated.'
Ramus gratefully sank onto a couch by the balcony rail, and gazed up at the paintings adorning the wall. Mostly they were of the Moidart's ancestors, dressed in martial fashion, shining plate armour, swords in their hands. There were occasional hunting scenes, and - closest to where he sat - a stunning portrait of a young woman with golden hair. She was standing beside a tall horse, and dressed in riding garments of velvet and silk, including the long split skirt that had been high fashion half a century ago. Ramus always found himself captivated by her. He had first seen her as a real woman, just before her death some ten years before. She had been old then, her skin wrinkled and leathered, her eyes sunken. Here, in this portrait, she was young, and the artist had captured the fire of her spirit, and the quintessential lure of her femininity. The face had strength, and yet compassion, sensitivity allied with a steely determination. She was the Moidart's grandmother, and people still spoke of her with reverence and love.