Winter was coming, and the Rigante faced lean and hungry times. This night was a time for excess, for gorging and dancing and singing. A time of drunkenness and joy, a shining hour before the bleak bitterness of winter. :
The Long Laird sat at the high table, Connavar on his right, Tae on his left, Ruathain and Meria close by. The Laird’s First Counsel, Maccus, sat beside Meria. A calm and quiet man of middle years, his black and silver hair receding, his eyes bright with intelligence, he listened more than he spoke. Meria liked him, but then, as she was the first to admit, she preferred talking to listening.
Ruathain had told her of Maccus, and the fact that though shy and gentle in peaceful company he was a battle-hardened commander who fought like a cornered wolf. That Ruathain admired him was obvious.
‘It is said,’ whispered Meria, ‘that the Laird is to make an announcement tonight.’
‘Indeed, lady,’ said Maccus.
‘What is it?’
‘It would be presumptuous of me to say.’ He smiled. ‘Your gown is very beautiful. I have rarely seen a more bewitching shade of green.’
‘Banouin – a friend of ours – brought it with him on his last trip. It is satin, and was made two thousand miles to the east. It is my favourite gown, though I fear it is growing a little tight these days.’
‘The best of cloths shrink a little with age,’ he said, gallantly.
Braefar sat alongside Govannan at the far end of the table, his brother, the twelve-year-old Bendegit Bran, sitting alongside Conn. The seating arrangements irritated Braefar. He was the second eldest. It was wrong to promote the youngster. Not that he envied Bran. The boy was enjoying himself enormously and Braefar was pleased for him, but it was a slight that should not have been made. He glanced at Tae. She was looking exquisitely beautiful in a white gown decorated with creamy pearls, and wore a silver circlet on her brow, inset with three opals. Every now and again her eyes would be drawn to Conn, who was talking with the Long Laird.
The conquering hero! He must have been blessed at birth, thought Braefar. The Boy who Fought the Bear, the Man who Killed the King. Now the rescuer of the fair Tae. Ten years with no trouble, but upon Conn’s arrival Seven Willows is sacked and Conn finds himself with yet more heroism to add to his overblown legend.
‘Have you found the answer yet?’ asked Govannan.
‘What?’
‘Creating a better saddle for the new warhorses.’
‘Oh that. I am working on a number of plans,’ said Braefar, airily. ‘Perhaps stronger wooden cross-pieces at the rear, and a higher pommel.’
‘Might work,’ said Van. ‘It still means the rider must grip them, thus losing the use of the shield arm.’
Conn had set Braefar a difficult task: finding a way of creating greater stability for mounted warriors. The Rigante saddle was a simple piece of moulded leather. The rider held himself in place during battle by applying pressure with the thighs to the barrel of the pony’s belly. This meant that during a battle a rider could be easily unhorsed by a blow, or a push, or a pull from a foot soldier. Braefar wanted to refuse. He had no interest in saddles. Until Conn had pointed out that Braefar was the only man he knew with a mind sharp enough and brilliant enough to supply an answer. Braefar had been so pleased to have his talent acknowledged that he had agreed immediately.
He had been thinking about the problem, on and off, for six weeks, and was no closer to a solution. Perhaps that was what Conn wanted, he thought suddenly. Perhaps he was looking forward to the day when Braefar would have to tell him he did not have the sharpness of mind, nor the brilliance required.
Yet another stab of irritation pricked him.
His hunger deserted him and he left the table and began to wander around the festivities. He saw Gwydia sitting with the huge warrior Fiallach. She was playing with her hair, her head tilted seductively. It was a dreadful closing of the circle, for it was after his humiliation on that night, when Fiallach had struck him, that Gwydia had told him she did not want to walk the tree with him. He had tried to explain that, had Conn not intervened, he would have stood up to Fiallach; that he was not frightened by the man. Gwydia had told him she did not doubt that was true, but that it had nothing to do with her decision. In truth, she told him, it was just that she saw him more as a good friend than as a lover.