‘With fresh horses you should be able to catch him,’ suggested Conn.
‘And catch him I will,’ swore Fiallach. But he did not move. His pale eyes held Conn’s gaze. ‘Tell me there is nothing between you and Tae, and I will offer you my hand in friendship.’
‘I shall ask her to walk the tree with me,’ said Conn, and, though he disliked the man, he was saddened by the pain his words caused. Having lost Arian he knew what Fiallach was suffering.
‘Aye, I thought it was you at the root of my trouble. You have robbed me of the one joy in my life. One day we will have a reckoning. Not today. My heart is too heavy. I will find Phaeton, and bring him back for trial.’
‘Just kill him,’ said Conn. ‘I don’t want to see his face again.’
The raiders had killed thirty-one of the villagers: twenty-two men, five women and four children. Their bodies were laid out in a line, their faces covered by cloaks or blankets. The fire had been brought under control, mainly by the powerful rain of the night before, and people were picking their way through the scorched remains, seeking items that might have escaped the blaze.
Standing at the main gates Conn scanned their faces. All wore the same blank, resigned expression. Raiders came, and raiders went. Life had to go on. But it would move on now, heavy with sorrow. Conn saw Tae organizing people, giving out orders. He moved across to her. ‘You should rest a while,’ he said.
‘I will rest later. This is my settlement now, Connavar. I answer for it.’
‘I know.’ He saw her glance at the line of bodies. The first in that line, her face covered by a gold-edged cloth, was the Lady Llysona. Tae swallowed hard, and for a moment he thought she would weep. Instead she strode away to a group of waiting men. ‘We need fresh timber,’ she told them. ‘Oras, you organize work parties.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
She turned to another man. ‘Garon, I want you to see that those who have lost their homes have somewhere to sleep tonight.’
‘It will be as you say, Lady.’ He bowed and backed away.
‘What can I do to help?’ asked Conn.
‘There is a druid who lives in the northern hills. In a high cave close to an oak grove. Fetch him here so that we may bless our dead.’
Conn bowed and moved out towards the gates. Parax rode in, followed by several of Fiallach’s men. Conn asked one of the riders if he could borrow his mount. The man nodded absently and slid from the saddle. Then he wandered off to one of the burnt-out buildings. Before he reached it he paused before the line of bodies. He gave a great cry and ran to the corpse of a young woman, pulling the cloak from her face and hugging the body to him.
Conn mounted his pony and gestured to Parax to follow him. The old man rode alongside and Conn told him their mission. ‘Shouldn’t be hard to find,’ said Parax. Then he sighed. ‘A black day, Connavar.’
‘Aye. Yet it could have been worse.’
‘What happened in the woods?’
‘I found her and brought her out,’ answered Conn, simply.
‘I think there’s more to it than that.’
‘Only blood, Parax. And death. How could a cultured man like Phaeton bring such casual destruction on a people he had lived among? Did you see evil in him?’
‘No. But then who could? He was friendly and kind to us. I saw a golden goblet once that the old king bought. Beautiful thing. One day he dropped it, and it struck the edge of the table. Underneath a thin layer of gold it was lead. Almost worthless. I guess Phaeton is like that. Seems a shame. I liked him.’
‘So did I.’
As they rode they saw the druid walking down towards them, his white robe glinting in the sunlight. He was an elderly man, with long, white wispy hair and a drooping moustache.
‘I saw the fires,’ he said. ‘Are there many dead?’
‘Around thirty,’ said Conn. ‘They killed the Lady Llysona.’