‘Your heart is weakening, Ruathain. The foxglove powders will help, as will the other herbs. But you must slow down. You cannot afford to become exhausted, or to strain that heart.’
‘Can I not strengthen it?’
‘Had you come to me sooner it would have been better. As it is … No, you cannot strengthen it. You can only slow down the deterioration. You should tell Meria. She has a right to know.’
‘A right to worry herself sick? I don’t think so. How long will this treacherous heart continue to beat?’
‘Do not speak of it in that way,’ she told him. ‘It is not treacherous. Think of it as an ailing friend, who has aided you over the years and now needs your help. You must reduce the pressure on it. Drink more water and less uisge. Eat more oats – without salt.’
‘I asked how long, Vorna.’
‘If you are careful you could have ten years. No more than that, I think.’
‘That will bring me to fifty. Good enough.’
‘It will bring you to fifty-three, you vain man,’ she said, with a smile. ‘Now I want you take the powders exactly as I have described. Be very careful with the foxglove. Remember that more is not better. Too much can kill. Do not be tempted to add a pinch.’
Banouin ran back inside, holding up his hands for Ruathain to inspect. ‘Ah, you cleaned them well, little man,’ he said, hoisting the boy high. Banouin squealed with delight as Ruathain tossed him into the air, catching him expertly. Vorna shook her head, and suppressed a laugh.
‘Two children,’ she said, ‘one big, one small.’
‘Can I come with you today?’ asked the boy. ‘Can we ride?’
‘Today I am chopping wood,’ said Ruathain, ‘but you can help me roll the rounds. I need a strong lad, mind.’
‘I’m strong, aren’t I, Mam?’
Vorna nodded then glanced sternly at Ruathain. ‘Chopping wood, is it? You stop and rest often.’ She called Banouin to her. ‘If you see the Big Man growing red in the face you tell him to sit down.’
‘I will, Mam.’
‘Then let’s be off,’ said Ruathain, pocketing the medicine pouch and stepping out into the sunlight. Banouin ran to him, grabbing his hand. The Big Man hoisted him high, setting the child on his shoulders.
‘Look how tall I am!’ shouted Banouin. ‘Look, Mam!’
‘I can see you,’ said Vorna, from the doorway. She watched as they marched away, and listened to Banouin’s laughter as they walked across the meadow. The sun was shining brightly upon them both, and Vorna felt her heart would burst.
The winter was mild, and once again Conn spent Samain away from Three Streams, remaining at Old Oaks. He did not attend the Feast Night, but stayed instead at the hall, with Maccus, Braefar, Govannan and Fiallach.
The huge warrior had ridden from Seven Willows with news that a fleet of two hundred longships had been sighted, heading north along the coastline. Fiallach had gathered his five hundred fighting men, but the ships had not beached.
The news was both alarming and mystifying. Two hundred ships meant ten thousand fighting men. No raid had ever been conducted in winter, when food supplies were limited. How then would ten thousand men be fed? And where were they heading?
‘They must be invading Pannone lands,’ said Maccus. ‘It is madness. Even if they defeat the Highland Laird there will be insufficient food for them.’
Conn had sent a rider to warn the Highland Laird, and offer military support, but the man had returned with a blunt message from the Pannone Lord. ‘We neither need you, nor want you.’
‘How many men can he field against the Vars?’ asked Conn.
‘No more than twelve thousand,’ said Maccus.
‘How many can we gather within – say – ten days?’
‘The Highland Laird doesn’t want us,’ put in Fiallach. ‘Let him cook in his own broth.’
The Pannone are Keltoi,’ said Conn. ‘But even more than that we must consider the size of the invading force. Ten thousand are not needed for a raid. They have come to conquer, to take land. Once they have a foothold here we will have deadly enemies to the north. No. Whether he wants us or not we will help him defeat the Vars.’