‘I don’t expect you to beg. You are a Keltoi chieftain. What I expect from you is wisdom – and you’ve shown precious little of that. Had the Vars succeeded it would have signalled the end of our culture. They would have taken our lands, brought in their families, and more warriors. Your thirst for revenge blinded you to this simple fact – even as my desire for revenge blinded me. Not a day passes when I do not think of those children at Shining Water, or the women who fell under my sword. I do not expect forgiveness. Some crimes should not be forgiven. But if you want my death, send a champion and I will face him.’ Conn looked at the battlefield. ‘I killed some of your people, Laird. You have brought thousands of them to their deaths. And for what? What has it achieved?’ Conn sat silently for a moment. Then he looked up and held the man’s gaze. ‘I will send a messenger to you, offering weregild for Shining Water. You will accept.’
‘Why should I accept?’ asked the Laird.
‘Because it is right for you to do so. Understand me well. This battle could be an ending to our feud.’ Conn leaned forward, fixing the man with a cold stare. ‘Or it could be the beginning of a terrible war that I will bring to you. I will destroy your towns, your settlements and your ports. I will raze your buildings and sow salt in your pastures. I will hunt you down and kill you, and your whole family with you. The choice is yours. Peace or war. Make the choice now.’
‘What have you done with the Pannone wounded?’ asked the Laird.
‘They are being tended along with my own men,’ Conn told him.
‘Then it shall be peace,’ said the Highland Laird.
‘You will swear this as a Blood Oath before the druids. Then you can go.’
‘I will stay and help with the wounded,’ said the Laird.
‘As you wish.’
The pipers were still playing, and the sad, haunting sound filled Conn with a deep melancholy. This morning his men were fathers, brothers, husbands and sons. Tonight there were new widows and orphans, and across the land there would be a great sadness in many homes.
He saw Bran talking to Brother Solstice and moved across to join them, telling the druid of the Highland Laird’s promise of peace. ‘Will you take his Blood Oath?’ asked Conn. Brother Solstice nodded.
‘He is not a man of great honour. He may break his oath.’
‘If he does I shall kill him,’ said Conn.
He felt suddenly weary, and swung his gaze over the field. Torches had been lit, and a few lanterns were hanging from spears thrust into the earth. Back in the low ground between the hills he saw Ruathain sitting quietly, his hands resting on his sword hilt, his chin on his hands. Conn smiled and waved. There was no movement from Ruathain, and something cold touched his heart.
He started to run. Bran saw him and followed fast.
Conn arrived and fell to his knees before his father. Ruathain’s dead eyes were staring into the distance, and on his face was a look of great contentment. In the distance the pipes continued to play. Bran knelt beside Conn, tears falling to his cheeks. ;: ;
For a while they did not touch the dead man, merely sat and watched the fading sun glint upon his silver-streaked yellow hair, and gleam upon his bright mailshirt. Then Conn sat alongside him, and drew him into an embrace. Bran sat on the other side, and closed Ruathain’s eyes.
‘Ah, Big Man,’ whispered Conn, his eyes misting with tears, his throat tight. ‘What will we be without you?’ He stroked his father’s hair.
The last of the sunlight blazed across the land, turning the mountains to gold.
And the pipes fell silent.
EPILOGUE
valanus stood on the hills above the dockside, watching the hundreds of commandeered ships moored in Goriasa’s crescent bay. The Stone officer removed his helmet and counted the vessels. Three hundred and twenty-three. Jasaray had ordered four hundred. The general would not be pleased.