‘What have you found?’ called out Ruathain.
‘The old man was not alone. A young woman or a child was with him. Small feet.’ Arbon gestured for them to cross the trail and enter the woods beyond. Within minutes they had discovered the second body, that of a naked girl no more than fourteen years old. That she had been raped was obvious. Then her throat had been cut.
Ruathain closed the dead eyes. Banouin stood by impassively. He alone felt no shock. On his travels through other lands he had long since learned that such crimes were common. But not here in Rigante territory. He surveyed the scene, and waited for Arbon to study the ground. The herdsman, his face pale with anger, rose at last and walked back to the first body. The dead man, dressed in a long pale blue tunic, hemmed with red, had been stabbed through the throat, the blade breaking his neck. His cart lay on its side, the contents strewn around the bushes. There were two broken chests that had mostly been full of clothes, and three small sacks of provisions.
Arbon approached Ruathain. ‘The man and the girl were walking. Then the riders came alongside them. One of the riders drew a blade. The old man threw up his arm – hence the cut on his wrist. It did not stop the blow and the blade crushed his neck. In panic the girl ran into the woods. The riders dismounted, chased and caught her. When they had finished with her they ransacked the cart, dragged the old man’s body into the bushes and rode off towards the north.’
‘What can you tell of the men?’ asked Ruathain.
‘One was very tall, more than six feet. Another was short and heavy. One of them is riding a mare. One or more of them carry the marks of a struggle. There is blood under the girl’s nails. There is little else I can tell – save that they were killed no earlier than yesterday, probably late in the afternoon.’
‘They are foreigners,’ said Banouin.
‘We all know that,’ said Ruathain, coldly. ‘No Rigante would commit such a crime.’
Banouin shook his head. ‘I meant they came from over the water. The sword used to kill the old man was a gladius. They are not common here. Also the killing of the girl was probably part of a ritual – a sacrifice to Gianis the Blood God. He is worshipped by the Gath, and many other tribes across the water.’
‘I have heard the name,’ said Ruathain.
‘It is also possible,’ continued Banouin, ‘that the riders knew the old man. His clothes show him to be from the Ostro tribe. Their land borders the Gath homeland. They may even have travelled over on the same ship.’
‘We’ll know when we find them,’ said Ruathain, striding back towards the horsemen.
Banouin remained where he was, staring down at the dead child. Connavar walked up to stand beside him. His face was ghostly white, his eyes filled with cold fury. ‘You do not need to see this, Conn,’ said Banouin.
‘Yes, I do,’ whispered Conn.
Leaving four men to bury the dead, the Rigante rode off in pursuit of the killers.
By late afternoon they had lost the trail, and the party split up into teams of two to search for sign. Connavar and Banouin rode together, heading north-east and deep into the Langevin woods. They pushed on until dusk, then Banouin suggested riding home. Conn shook his head. ‘I will rest my pony here for a while then push on,’ he said.
‘The others may already have found them,’ Banouin pointed out.
‘Perhaps, but I do not think so,’ said the young man, dismounting.
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Banouin, intrigued.
‘If they are, as you say, foreigners, then they must have a purpose here. They are seeking trade treaties either with the Rigante or the Pannones. If it is with us then they will be travelling to Old Oaks to seek an audience with the Long Laird, or they will be making for the Cavellin Pass. Either way they will have taken this route.’
‘They could be intending to cut to the west, for the wool route,’ Banouin pointed out. Anyway, we are supposed to be seeking sign of them. You sound as if you want to catch them yourself.’