‘Maybe one day you will,’ she whispered. ‘But I don’t understand. Why did they kill them?’
Conn gave a harsh laugh. ‘There is only a small market for young children. So they took away some of the prettier ones, and slaughtered the others. More than a thousand in Alin alone. Now, everywhere I ride, people say, “There is Connavar, the man who killed the evil king.” The evil king.’ He let out a deep sigh, then rubbed his hand across his face. ‘As far as I know Carac murdered four people: his brother, his brother’s wife, his brother’s son, and Banouin. Jasaray, the conquering hero of Stone, has now slaughtered untold thousands. And I helped him. He rewarded me with stallions and six chests of gold. Now when I sleep I see the faces of the children. They are calling out to me to save them. And I do nothing. Connavar the hero. Connavar the coward, more like.’
‘You are not a coward, Connavar, and you know it,’ she said. ‘And you will protect the children. The children of the Rigante. I have heard what you have been saying to Ruathain and the others. The armies of Stone will one day cross the water. When they do you will stand against them. The past is dead and gone. You cannot change it. The future waits. Had you ridden down and killed a few soldiers you would have died for it. And thousands more children, yet to be born, would face a terrible doom. Think on that.’
‘I do think of it. As I think of this one little boy, who saw my garb, and recognized me as a tribesman. He ran towards me crying for help. A soldier threw a spear through his chest. That boy will haunt me all my days.’
‘Perhaps it is right that he should,’ she said, softly. ‘And, despite it, you will live your life as a man – a good man. You did not kill those children, and you could not have saved them. There is a limit to the power of any single man – even a hero. You were the Boy who Fought the Bear. Now you are the Man who Killed the King. Yet still you are only a man. You are not responsible for the woes of the world, nor the evil of other men. You understand? If the past must haunt you, then use it wisely. You cannot alter the past – but you can use it to alter the future. The terror you saw has strengthened you, Connavar. It has given you purpose. Bless the dead for that. And move on.’
Conn leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Eriatha looked closely at him, and knew that her words had struck home. He seemed more relaxed. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and smiled. ‘You are very wise,’ he said. ‘And I will heed what you say.’ Lifting her hand he kissed the palm. ‘I am grateful you came here tonight. You were right. I did need to speak of it. I feel at least a part of the weight has lifted from my soul.’
‘Good. I shall leave you now. I can hear my own bed calling me.’
‘Stay,’ he said, his voice gentle.
And she stayed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
the LAND APPROACHING SEVEN WILLOWS WAS RUGGED AND
beautiful, the hillsides covered with pale blue heather and yellow gorse, shining gold in the sunshine. Conn reined in his steeldust pony at the top of the last rise and stared down over the wide valley below, and the distant, sparkling sea.
In the centre of the verdant valley stood Seven Willows, a large stockaded town of perhaps three hundred homes, with some twenty farms dotted around it. Cattle, sheep and goats could be seen grazing on the hillsides, and, further away, fields of golden corn were being harvested. Parax moved alongside him.
‘A pretty place,’ he said.
‘Pretty and exposed,’ replied Connavar, pointing towards the estuary. ‘A good landing place for longships. No cover to protect a defending force, and only the wooden stockade of the town to hold them. Any force stronger than a few hundred could take that town in less than a day.’ He cast his gaze around the valley. ‘It should have been constructed further to the west, on one of those flat-topped hills. The gradient would slow an advancing force, giving archers more time to thin them out.’