‘And I you, lord.’
The sound of shouting cut through the old man’s memories. Angry voices could be heard. Ramus rose from his chair, pushing shut the heavy store-room door.
Now there was silence.
Mulgrave reined in the chestnut and sat gazing out over Old Hills Lake. The water was shimmering in the afternoon sunshine, the jagged lines of the western mountains reflected upon the still surface. The sight of the lake calmed him. ‘We are such fleeting creatures,’ he told Gaise Macon. ‘Here for a heartbeat and then gone for ever.’
‘Why do you say that with a smile?’ asked the young noble, drawing his own palomino gelding alongside Mulgrave’s mount.
‘It makes the evil of men more bearable to know that it is largely of no account,’ replied Mulgrave.
‘If that be the truth,’ said Gaise, ‘then the good that men do is also of no account.’
Mulgrave chuckled. ‘Now there is something worth debating, sir.’ The smile faded. A cold wind blew off the lake, a gust billowing Mulgrave’s grey cloak. The sudden movement caused the palomino to rear. Gaise fought for control, calming the horse. A lesser rider would have been thrown. ‘You handle him well, sir.’
‘He is a skittish beast,’ said Gaise, leaning forward to stroke the palomino’s golden neck. For a moment the two riders sat silently, as Mulgrave once more turned his attention to the glittering water.
‘Why did you want me to ride with you to the apothecary?’ asked Gaise.
Mulgrave sighed. He was entering unknown territory here. ‘I wanted to tell you that your actions last night filled me with pride, sir. You tackled armed men. You did not run. You saved your father’s life. Of that there is no doubt.’
Gaise Macon reddened. ‘I was stealing coal,’ he said.
Mulgrave swore suddenly, and swung in the saddle to face the younger man. ‘You are a fine man, Gaise. You have it in you to be a great one. Do not let the man’s malice change you.’
‘It would be a help to know why he hates me,’ replied Gaise. ‘But we should not speak like this, Mulgrave. The Moidart is the law. Your words could see you hanged if reported to him.’
‘Aye, sir, that is true.’ He chuckled. ‘You are not the first to offer such a warning. The truth will be the death of me yet. Come, let us find the apothecary.’ Mulgrave gently heeled the chestnut forward.
Time to ride!’ shouted Gaise Macon. The palomino surged into a run, thundering along the shores of the lake. Mulgrave’s chestnut followed, and for the remainder of the short gallop the swordsman’s burdens fell away.
Gaise cut to the left, racing towards a fallen tree. Fear touched Mulgrave. It was not that the palomino couldn’t jump the obstacle, but that Gaise could not possibly know what lay beyond it. There could be jagged rocks, or rabbit holes, or twisted roots. The palomino could snap a leg. Mulgrave had seen riders crippled or , killed by such falls, their backs snapped, their limbs flopping. The palomino rose majestically. Mulgrave’s breath caught in his throat. It seemed as if the golden horse hung in the air for an eternity. Then it sailed over the fallen tree, landed smoothly and ran on. Mulgrave’s chestnut followed. As Mulgrave leaned into the jump he saw that the falling tree had broken several saplings, which now jutted from the earth like spears. The chestnut – as had the palomino – just missed them. Furious now, Mulgrave rode to where; Gaise waited. ‘Did you see the broken trees?’ he raged.
‘Yes,’ said Gaise.
‘That was monumentally stupid! You could have been killed.’
‘Aye, I could.’ The young man shrugged. ‘Did you not say that our lives were fleeting and of little account? So what would it have; mattered?’
‘Your life is of great account to me, sir. I do not like to see you. risk it for so small a matter as a moment of recklessness.’
Gaise shrugged. ‘It was not a small matter, Mulgrave,’ he said. ‘I needed that jump.’
‘Why?’
Gaise did not reply instantly. Instead he leaned forward and ran. his fingers through the palomino’s white mane. Mulgrave sensed the sadness in the young man. Gaise looked up. ‘Last night, as I returned to my bed, I could not sleep. I began to tremble. I felt feax~ as I have never felt it before. You complimented me for saving my father. Yes, I did that. I did it through instinct, not through any con — sidered courage. You understand? The fear came later, and with it a terrible doubt. I came close to death. If I was faced with the same situation again, would I react differently? Would the fear unmain. me? Would I run? Would I cower and cry like a babe?’ He fell silent.