‘Aye, there is. But there is also a gentle side. I hope to show it to you.’ He walked away from her then, and he and Parax continued on their journey, coming at last to an open area with a grazing meadow beyond. The ponies were there, tethered to a rail, and three men, Farrar among them, were sitting on a blanket, playing dice bones.
They looked up as the two men approached, then climbed to their feet.
Farrar walked towards Conn. ‘Your ponies seem—’ he began. Conn smashed a hard left into his face, that crushed his lips, spraying blood over him. An overhand right clubbed him to the ground. One of the other men pulled a knife, but Conn stepped in close, slapped the knife hand away, and struck him with a right cross that sent him spinning to the grass. The third man backed away.
‘I’ve only just come here,’ he said. ‘I don’t have anything to do with whatever it is that has angered you.’
‘Then get you gone,’ said Conn.
The man turned and sprinted away. There was a barn close by. Conn strode to it, returning with two lengths of rope. Moving to the unconscious men he tied their hands behind their backs. ‘What now?’ asked Parax.
‘Now the fun begins,’ said Conn, coldly. Farrar groaned. Conn hauled him to his feet. ‘Wake the other one,’ he ordered Parax. The old man knelt by the fallen man and nudged him several times.
‘He’ll sleep for a week,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve broken his jaw.’
‘There’s a well behind the barn. Draw some water and douse him with it.’
‘Fiallach will kill you for this,’ said Farrar, through bleeding lips.
Conn ignored him and waited for Parax to return with a bucket of water. He drenched the unconscious tribesman, who at last began to stir. Parax helped him stand. He swayed groggily, but kept to his feet.
‘Now let us go to the hall,’ said Conn, mounting his pony.
As they rode through the settlement a crowd began to gather, and by the time they reached the Long Hall word had reached the Lady Llysona, who was standing in the square, Fiallach with her.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ she asked, icily.
Conn slid from his pony and offered her a deep bow. ‘I am sorry to bring you sad tiding, my lady, but these men stole our ponies, and I apprehended them. As you are aware the penalty for such an offence is death by hanging. However, as is my right as a free Rigante, I demand trial by mortal combat. I will kill these two men, and that will be an end to the matter.’
‘You’ll kill no-one, you whoreson!’ bellowed Fiallach.
‘Yes, I will,’ said Conn, quietly, ‘for that is Keltoi law, and no-one, not you, you arrogant pig, nor the lady you serve, can go against it.’
‘By Taranis, I’ll kill you myself,’ stormed the giant.
‘I accept the challenge,’ said Conn, angry now. ‘As soon as I have killed these two I will make myself available to you. And I hope you fight better with a sword than you do with your fists, for you are old and slow and I will cut you to pieces.’
The force of his fury radiated out over the group, and a silence fell upon them. Conn removed his cloak, folded it and threw it to Parax. Then he drew his Seidh sword and stepped back, slashing the blade through the air in a bewildering series of glittering arcs as he loosened the muscles of his shoulders and arms. The speed of his movements was dazzling, and not a man present failed to appreciate how deadly was this young warrior. Parax glanced at Fiallach and saw doubt in his eyes. As a fist fighter he was greatly skilled, but Conn was right. He was too heavy in the arm and shoulder to be fast with a blade.
‘Cut the first one loose, Parax,’ said Conn.
‘No!’ said the Lady Llysona, panic in her voice. ‘There will be no killing. This has gone far enough. Can you not accept, Connavar, that the . . . removal of your ponies was not theft, but merely a joke in bad taste?’