‘You were wise to refuse.’
‘If I were truly wise I would have refused the first time, and then the bear would not have ripped away my flesh and cost me my love.’
‘Your love?’ enquired the Druid.
Conn was surprised at himself, for the words had slipped out before he could stop them. And in that moment he realized that he needed to speak of Arian. Slowly he told Brother Solstice the whole story. The druid listened in silence and when Conn had finished he stood lost in thought. Finally he turned to the young man and spoke, his voice sorrowful. ‘Her betrayal must have cut worse than the talons of the bear,’ he said.
‘Aye, it did. Why did she do it?’
‘I do not know her, Connavar, so I can only guess at her reasons. You have learned a savage lesson. Just because we feel great love does not necessarily mean it is reciprocated. For you it was a wondrous – almost spiritual – moment. For her it was – perhaps – merely pleasure. Or need. Ruathain told me last year that you carried the crippled boy to the falls and taught him to swim. For Riamfada the gift you gave him was greater than a mountain of gold. For him swimming was freedom and a joy he had never before experienced. For you swimming is a refreshing and pleasant diversion. You see what I am saying? To an outsider there are just two boys enjoying themselves. The reality is wholly different.’
Conn took a deep breath, then sighed. ‘You are saying that, with Arian, I am like Riamfada.’
‘More than you probably realize even now,’ said Brother Solstice. ‘Now let us speak of it no more. She is wed to another, and gone from your life.’
‘I doubt she will ever be gone from my life,’ said Conn, sadly.
‘I hope that you are wrong.’
Below them the hall doors opened and the crowd streamed out, heading for the gates and the winding path to the settlement below. ‘You should go back now,’ said Brother Solstice. ‘It would be discourteous to keep the Laird waiting.’
Conn thrust out his hand. ‘Thank you, sir. And I apologize for my earlier behaviour.’
Brother Solstice grinned and grasped the offered hand. ‘You do not need to apologize. Go now and choose your sword and your pony.’
The death of winter, and the promise of a new season, was a time of celebration for the Rigante, and the Feast of Beltine was always a joyous occasion. The maidens of Three Streams, and surrounding settlements, dressed in their finest clothes and decorated their hair with green leaves and fresh flowers. The young men, stripped to the waist, daubed blue woad on their faces and upper bodies, and took part in fire dancing, foot races and wrestling bouts. At dusk the people assembled at the centre of the settlement, and, linking arms, danced around Eldest Tree, before forming a torch-lit procession that wound past all the homes, across the Three Streams and back to the feasting pits.
Banouin watched the scene with both affection and envy. The closeness of the Rigante, their easy tactility, their obvious enjoyment in each other’s company, was good to see, yet it was a joy he could not share. Not just because he was a foreigner, though that was a part of it; more because he was a solitary man, not given to any form of tribalism. He understood the need for a community spirit. These people depended on each other. The success or failure of any individual would have repercussions on the community as a whole. But Banouin was different. He liked people well enough, as individuals, but such a gathering as this left him feeling isolated and alone.
Across the feasting area he saw Connavar, drinking and laughing with his friends, among them the crippled Riamfada. Even from here Banouin could see the terrible scars on Connavar’s upper body. He shuddered. To call his survival a miracle would be to understate the matter. To the right Ruathain was talking to the widow Pelain. Her husband, the fat baker, had collapsed and died six days before. Vorna said his heart had given out. Pelain did not seem to be wholly grief stricken and Banouin was amused to see her making obvious efforts to impress Ruathain. Constantly she ran her fingers through her dark hair, her gaze fixed to his face, her body turned full towards him. Banouin looked to the left, where Meria was talking with Vorna and the black-bearded druid, Brother Solstice. Every few heartbeats Meria would glance towards Ruathain, her face expressionless. Banouin thought he could see the anger in her eyes.