‘You can go in now,’ said the guard. ‘There is a brush mat inside. Wipe the mud from your boots. The general doesn’t like mud on his floor. And you can leave your sword and dagger here. No weapons are allowed.’ Conn lifted off his baldric and handed it to the guard.
He entered the tent. The contrast between these quarters and those of Valanus was so marked that Conn wanted to laugh out loud. The mosaic floor was expertly laid, mostly of small, square white stones. But at the centre darker stones had been used to form the head of a panther. Curtains screened the far end of the tent, which Conn took to be the sleeping area. Seven bright lanterns hung from hooks on the tent frame, their light shining down on six wooden chairs with velvet cushions, two heavily embroidered couches and a long, ornate table of carved oak. An iron brazier full of coals was set close by, and several large, thick rugs had been placed near the seats. The general, dressed in a simple white, knee-length tunic and sandals, was lounging on one of the couches. No-one could have looked less like a warrior.
‘Come closer,’ he said. Conn wiped his feet on the brush mat then advanced. Removing his damp cloak he dropped it to the floor and approached the brazier, enjoying the sudden warmth. ‘You may sit down,’ said Jasaray, gesturing towards a couch.
‘My clothes are wet and mud spattered,’ said Conn. ‘Best if I stand.’
‘Thoughtful of you,’ said Jasaray. ‘So, tell me about Banouin.’
‘You knew him?’ countered Conn, surprised by the question and seeking time to form an answer.
‘He was both my teacher and my student,’ said Jasaray, ‘and he was quite skilled in both areas.’
‘I did not know that,’ Conn told him. ‘Banouin often spoke of you, but never mentioned you were friends.’
‘I said teacher and student,’ said Jasaray, testily. ‘I did not mention friendship. Try to avoid making assumptions. Communication is best if it is precise. Now, I understand he was living among your people – indeed that he took a wife there.’
‘Yes, on both counts.’
‘What was it, do you think, that attracted him to the lands of the Rigante?’
‘He said he liked mountains and wild woods, the scent of pine and heather on the wind. What was it that he taught you?’
Jasaray ignored the question.
‘Why should Banouin teach you my theories?’ he asked.
‘He was trying to explain the greatness of his people,’ replied Conn, carefully.
‘Unlikely. He was not overly fond of our ambitions, as I recall. Did you know he was a general in the civil war?’
‘No, but I guessed he was a soldier.’
‘He was a fine general, respected by his men, feared by his enemies. He was a man without vanity. Although I had been his student, when I became his leader he followed my orders without question. A rare man, Banouin. Yet a man with flaws. His mind was full of abstracts: honour, nobility, courage, conscience. He focused on small issues. The nature of the human soul, the possibilities of change and redemption. Good and evil, right and wrong, these abstracts dominated his thoughts and actions.’
Some of the words Conn did not understand. He had become almost fluent in Turgon, but Banouin had never spoken of redemption or conscience. But if Banouin had valued these things – whatever they were – then Conn would value them too. When he spoke he chose his words as carefully as he could. ‘I do not have the . . . skill in your language to . . .’ he struggled for the right word: ‘debate such matters. What I do know is that Banouin was a good man – perhaps a great one. He was loved by a people not his own, and I will always honour his memory.’
Jasaray’s cold, pale eyes showed the merest glint of annoyance. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, ‘people loved Banouin. I liked him too, in my own way. Indeed, I was surprised by how sad I felt when I heard of his death. Did he ever tell you why he resigned from the army?’