‘Well, it is a name,’ he offered.
‘I can’t put this forward to the Roll Makers. Can’t you see that? They will accuse the old man of making a mockery of the law. And I will be summoned to answer for it. I came here in good faith; I like a jest as well as the next man, and it did make me laugh when first I saw it. But it cannot be allowed to stand. You see that, don’t you?’
Tovi nodded. There was no malice in the little man and, as far as was possible with an Outlander, Tovi quite liked him. It was a thankless task frying to take a census in the Highlands, especially since the object was to find new tax-payers. ‘I’ll speak to him,’ he said, handing back the paper and walking over to where Gwalch sat. The old man was staring at one of the soldiers, and the man was growing uncomfortable.
‘Come on, Gwalch,’ said Tovi soothingly, ‘it is time for the fun to stop. What name will you choose?’
‘What’s wrong with Hare-turd?’ countered Gwalch.
Ill tell you what’s wrong with it – it’ll be carved on your tombstone. And you’ll not be surprised when future generations fail to appreciate what a fine man you were. Now stop this nonsense.’
Gwalch sniffed loudly, then drained his mead. ‘You choose!’ he told Tovi, staring at the soldier.
The Baker turned to the Census Taker. ‘When young he was known as Fear-not. Will that do?’ Andolph nodded. From a leather bag he took a quill and a small bottle of ink. Resting the paper against his saddle, he made the change and called Gwalch to sign it. The old man gave a low curse, but he strolled to the horse and signed with his new name.
Andolph waved the paper in the air to dry the ink. ‘My thanks to you, Tovi Baker, and goodbye to you… Gwalchmai Fear-not. I hope we will not meet again.’
‘You and I won’t,’ said Gwalch, with a grin. ‘And a word of advice, Andolph Census Taker: Trust not in dark-eyed women. Especially those who dance.’
Andolph blinked nervously, then climbed ponderously into his saddle. The three horsemen rode away, but the soldier Gwalch had been staring at swung round to look back. Gwalch waved at him. ‘That is the man who will kill me,’ said Gwalch, his smile fading. ‘He and five others will come here. Do you think I could have changed the future if I had stabbed him today?’
Tovi shivered. ‘Are we ready to load?’ he asked.
‘Aye. It’s a good batch, but I’ll not be needing the new barrels. This is our last trip, Tovi. Make the best of it.’
‘What is the point of having the Gift if all it brings is gloom and doom?’ stormed Tovi. ‘And another thing, I do not believe that life is mapped out so simply. Men shape the future, and nothing is written in stone. You understand?’
‘I don’t argue with that, Tovi. Not at all. Sometimes I have dreamt of moments to come, and they have failed to arrive. Not often, mind, but sometimes. Like the young cattle-herder who loved Sigarni. Until yesterday I always saw him leaving the mountains to find employment in the Lowlands. Last night, though, I saw a different ending. And it has come to pass.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Bernt, the broad-shouldered young man who works for Grame the Smith…’
‘I know him … what about him?’
‘Hanged himself from a tree. Late last night. Dreamt it sitting in my chair.’
‘Hell’s teeth! And it has happened? You are sure?’
The old man nodded. ‘What I am trying to say is that futures can be changed sometimes. Not often. He shouldn’t be dead, but something happened, one small thing, and suddenly life was over for Bernt.’
‘What happened?’
‘A woman broke a promise,’ said Gwalch. ‘Now let’s have a swift drink before loading. It’ll help keep the cold at bay.’
‘No!’ said Tovi. ‘I want to be at the market before mid-morning.’ Gwalch swore and moved away to the barrel store, and together the two men loaded twelve casks of honey mead alongside the empty barrels Tovi had brought with him. ‘Why don’t you let me leave the empties here?’ asked the baker. ‘You might change your mind – or the dream may change.’