He saw the lad glance at Banouin, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Connavar tied the pouch to his belt, but made no show of thanks. ‘I am keeping you from the pleasures of the hall,’ said Garshon. ‘You will stay here tonight as my guests, and any services you require will be free – wine, women, food and lodging.’
‘Thank you, Garshon,’ said Banouin, rising. ‘That is most gracious.’
‘Not at all.’ He turned to Connavar. ‘If ever you have need of my services you have only to ask.’
Connavar nodded, but did not reply.
Garshon walked them to the door, then returned to his couch.
How interesting, he thought. The fearless Valanus had been afraid of the boy. And now Garshon knew why. There was something very dangerous there, lurking beneath the surface.
Something deadly.
Conn was glad to leave the turbulent city of Goriasa. The air there seemed dense, full of harsh scents and foul aromas. And the earth maiden had been a huge disappointment. She lacked the skills of Eriatha and her breath had stunk of stale wine. On the open plain now he felt himself relax. Here he could smell the grass and feel the whispering breeze, cool from the sea.
For almost a hundred miles the land was flat, barely a hill to break the visual monotony. Rarely did they see travellers, and when they did Conn was impressed by the knowledge Banouin had of them, identifying tribes from the various colours of the cloaks, shirts or adornments worn by riders. Banouin was greeted everywhere with warmth and recognition. The merchant had removed his Rigante clothing now, and wore a red, knee-length tunic, leather leggings and boots and a conical blue hat. The hat was old, the fabric worn away, exposing the wooden rim beneath. Banouin claimed it was ‘a lucky hat’. Conn’s clothes excited great interest in the travellers they met, for the design of his Rigante cloak of chequered blue and green was not well known among the Gath, and he was asked many questions about his homeland.
In the main people were friendly, and only once in the early part of their travels did Conn feel under threat. They came upon five riders wearing black cloaks. There were no smiles from the newcomers, who blocked the road and waited, grim faced.
‘Stay calm, Conn,’ said Banouin, keeping his voice low. Lifting his right hand in greeting, Banouin edged his pony forward. Conn touched heels to his own mount and rode alongside. The five men wore curved cavalry sabres, and carried short hunting bows. Conn glanced at their faces, assessing them. They seemed tough, and their manner showed they were tensed for action. Conn well knew that Banouin could fight without weapons, for he had spent many an afternoon with the Foreigner sparring, but five armed men were not to be taken lightly. ‘A fine morning,’ said Banouin. ‘May Daan smile upon the riders of the Gath, and more importantly on those from the village of Gudri.’
‘I know you, Blue Hat,’ said the lead rider, a young man with a drooping blond moustache and braided hair. ‘You are the merchant who brought honey sweets in the fell winter.’
‘And you are the boy who was in the tree,’ said Banouin. ‘Osta? Was that it?’
The man laughed aloud. ‘Ostaran, but Osta is what my friends call me. Are you carrying honey sweets?’
‘Not this trip, my friend. You are a long way from your village. Is all well there?’
The two men chatted for some time. Conn saw the tension easing from the riders, and when at last they rode away he saw Banouin breathe a sigh of relief. ‘That was close,’ said the Foreigner.
‘They were planning to rob us?’
‘Indeed they were.’
‘How did you know they were from Gudri?’
‘The cloak brooches. All in the shape of an oak branch.’
‘So, lives were saved by your knowledge of brooches,’ said Conn.
‘All knowledge is useful, my friend. But they would only have killed us had we put up a fight. They are not – generally – wanton slayers.’
Conn smiled. ‘Have you considered carrying a weapon? Perhaps there will come a day when you cannot identify a brooch.’