“That wasn’t because of the bull,” said his daughter. “It is said that when Intosh came back to his house he found his bed had been slept in and his best sword stolen.”
“The man is unreasonable,” said Maggrig, unable to suppress a grin. “I gave Intosh that sword after he won the Games.”
“Shall I get it for you, Father? I’m sure Intosh would like it back.”
“He’d bury it in pig’s droppings rather than use it now.”
“Caswallon plans to wear it at the Games.”
“Ye Gods, woman! Has he no shame?”
“None that I’ve noticed.”
From the hearth room below they heard a door open and close, and the sound of whistling floated up the stairs.
“Well, I suppose I’d better see him,” said Maggrig, pushing himself to his feet.
“Be nice,” said Maeg, linking her arm with his.
“Be nice, she says. What should I say? ‘Been on any good raids lately?’ ”
Maeg chuckled, looped her arm around his neck, and kissed his bearded cheek. “I love you,” she told him.
He grinned at her. “I was too soft in the raising of you, child. You always had what you wanted.”
The two of them walked downstairs where Caswallon was standing before the hearth, hands stretched out to the flames. He turned and smiled, green eyes twinkling. “How are you, Father?” he asked.
“Not a great deal better for seeing you, you thieving swine,” snapped Maggrig. Maeg sighed and left them together.
“Is that any way to talk to the husband of your daughter?” Caswallon asked.
“It was a miserable day when you crossed my doorway,” said Maggrig, walking to the far table and pouring a goblet of honey mead. It was full-flavored and rich, and he savored the taste. “This has a familiar feel to it,” he said. “It is not unlike the special mead that Intosh brews.”
“Really?” said Caswallon.
Maggrig closed his eyes. “That is all I need to complete my day-my own bull grazing in your meadow, while I drink mead stolen from my comrade.”
“You must give him my compliments. It is the finest mead I’ve tasted.”
“I’ll do that. Where is Gaelen?”
“I’ve sent him out to meet the other lads.”
“Was that wise?”
The smile faded from Caswallon’s mouth as he moved to Maggrig’s side and poured himself a goblet of mead. “It had to happen sooner or later,” he said, gesturing Maggrig to a chair. Sitting opposite him, Caswallon gazed at the golden liquid, then sipped at it slowly. “He’s a good boy, Maggrig, but he’s been through much. I think they’ll make him suffer. Agwaine will lead them.”
“Then why send him?”
“Because he has to learn. That’s what life is-learning how to survive. All his life he has done that. Now he must find out that life in the mountains is no different.”
“You sound bitter. It is not like you.”
“Well, the world is changing,” said Caswallon. “I watched the Aenir sack Ateris and it was vile. They kill like foxes in a henhouse.”
“I hear you had words with them in the mountains?”
Caswallon grinned. “Yes.”
“You killed two.”
“I did. I had no choice.”
“Will they attack the clans, do you think?”
“It is inevitable.”
“I agree with you. Have you spoken to Cambil?”
Caswallon laughed aloud. “The man hates me. If I said good day he would take it as an insult.”
“Then talk to Leofas. Make plans.”
“I think I will. He’s a good man. Strong.”
“More than that,” said Maggrig, “he’s canny.”
“He sounds like you, Maggrig.”
“He is.”
“Then I’ll see him. And you needn’t worry about your herds. Those days are behind me. After watching Ateris I lost my appetite for the game.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Caswallon refilled their goblets. “Of course I might just sneak back for some more of Intosh’s mead.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” said Maggrig.
Chapter Three
Gwalchmai listened as Agwaine planned the downfall of the Lowlander. Around the Hunt Lord’s son, in a wide circle, sat fifteen other youngsters-the sons of councilmen, who would one day be councillors themselves. They listened as Agwaine spoke, and offered no objections. Gwalchmai wasn’t happy with such conversation. An orphan child of the mountains, he knew what loneliness was, the pain it brought, and the inner chill. He had always been popular, but then he worked at it-jesting and joking, seeking approval from his peers. He ran errands for the older boys, always willing to help in any chore, but in his heart his fears were great. His father had died when he was seven-killed while poaching Pallides lands. His mother contracted lung fever the following year and her passing had been painful. Little Gwalchmai had been sent to live with Badraig and his son, and they had made him welcome. But Gwalchmai had loved his parents deeply, and their loss hurt him beyond his ability to cope.
He was not a big child, and though he approached fifteen, he was by far the smallest of his group. He excelled in two things: running and bowmanship. But his lack of strength held him back in both. At short distances he could outpace even Agwaine, and with a child’s bow at twenty paces he could outshoot the Farlain’s best archers. But he had not the strength to draw a man’s bow, and failed in tourneys when the distance grew beyond thirty paces.
Agwaine was talking now about humiliating Caswallon’s new son. Gwalchmai sat and stared at the Hunt Lord’s son. He was tall and graceful, with a quick and dazzling smile, and normally there was little malice in him. But not today. Agwaine’s dark eyes glittered, and his handsome face was marred as he spoke of tormenting the Lowlander. Gwalchmai found it hard to understand, and he longed to find the courage to speak out. But when he looked inside himself he knew that his nerve would fail him. Nervously his eyes sought out Layne. While all others would follow Agwaine blindly, Layne would always go his own way. At the moment the son of Leofas was saying nothing, his aquiline face showing no emotion. Beside him his giant brother Lennox was also silent. Layne’s grey eyes met Gwalchmai’s gaze and the orphan boy willed Layne to speak out; as if in answer to prayer Layne smiled at Gwalchmai, then spoke.
“I think this Gaelen has already been harshly treated, Agwaine,” said Layne. “Why make it worse for him?” Gwalchmai felt relief flow through him, but Agwaine was not to be persuaded.
“We are talking about a jest,” said Agwaine smoothly. “I’m not suggesting we kill him. Where’s the harm?”
Layne ran a hand through his long, dark hair, his eyes holding Agwaine’s gaze. “Where is the good in it?” he countered. “Such an action is beneath you, cousin. It is well known that your father has no love for Caswallon, but that is a matter for the two of them.”
“This is nothing to do with my father,” said Agwaine angrily. He swung to Lennox. “What about you?” he asked. “Do you side with your brother?”
Lennox shrugged his huge shoulders. “Always,” he said, his voice deep as distant thunder.
“Do you never think for yourself, you ugly ox?” snapped Agwaine.
