The Finance ordered food and drink to be brought to the main hall, where he and his senior staff settled down at a long table. Three of the generals with him were relatives; cousins, reliable men with little imagination or ambition. The fourth was his nephew, Daril, a large clumsy boy with little wit. To be honest, thought the Finance, I wouldn’t trust any of them to fight a battle. Which is why he had acquired the services of Colonel Garan Beck. The man was low born, and therefore could not be offered the most senior rank, but he was a skilful soldier.
‘There’ll be no fighting then, uncle,’ said Daril, disappointment etched in his broad, flat features.
‘Not today, Daril. Tomorrow you can take a troop out towards the north and see how far the enemy has run. For today we will rest and enjoy the fruits of our first victory. After we have eaten we will take a little tour of the castle.’
‘You are in a good mood, uncle.’
‘Indeed I am. My enemy has fled before me. I am sitting in his chair, as lord of his castle. From today his tax revenues will be mine, and all of his belongings and lands. My mood is golden, Daril.’
The golden mood lasted less than an hour.
Apothecary Ramus closed the door of his shop, clipped a padlock in place, and then walked slowly down the cobbled street, a small package in his hands. It was a little lighter in the evenings now that spring was approaching, and the weather was definitely improving. He wandered on, stopping to watch the new lambs in the field, snuggled down with their mothers. Several people called out to him, and he smiled politely, or bowed.
It had been a strange day. Almost everyone who had come to his small shop had wanted to talk about the coming of the Finance and his army, and the departure of the Moidart. Ramus had no understanding of military matters, but he was glad the Moidart had gone. Ramus had no wish to gaze down upon a battlefield, or walk among the mutilated and the dead.
He remembered his father’s words, said so long ago now, but still apposite. ‘All wars are started by angry old men, but they are fought by young men who die for reasons that are beyond them. In the end the same old men sit around tables and the war ends. Nothing is achieved. Nothing is gained. New faces move into old castles and the sons of the dead build families ready to feed new battleground graveyards.’
Ramus had tried to ignore the southern war. People spoke of it when they came to his shop, and he gave the appearance of listening politely. But he let the words roll over him. He concentrated on the preparing of medicines, the drying and mixing of herbs, the sunshine on the hills, and the condition of his patients. For the last few days he had enjoyed immensely the new lambs. New life, experiencing the sun and the wind, scampering about the fields on spindly legs. The lambs raised Ramus’s spirits.
He walked on, stopping at the house of Tomas Cantinas, the tanner. He tapped at the door. It was opened by Kellae, the youngest daughter, who called back to her mother that there was a man outside. ‘What’s your name?’ asked the child.
‘I am Ramus.’
‘He says he is Ramus,’ she called out.
The tanner’s wife, Lyda, came from the kitchen. Ramus bowed. ‘How is he today?’
‘He’s sleeping better, apothecary, but the weight is dropping away from him.’
And from you, thought Ramus, looking at her sunken features and red-rimmed eyes. ‘I have some more herbs. They will dampen the pain and enable him to sleep.’
‘Won’t cure him, though, will they?’
‘No. Nothing will cure him now. I have written instructions on how to administer the herbs.’
‘I have no coin, apothecary,’ she said, reddening.
‘Pay me when you can,’ he told her. ‘How are you sleeping?’
Lyda forced a smile. ‘Not well. The nights are the worst for him. He cries out.’
‘I will bring a sedative potion tomorrow. Good night to you.’ Ramus stepped back into the street, and the door closed. He sighed. Life was hard in these highlands, but death was harder. Tomas Cantinas had six children, a small business, and cancer in his bowel. His oldest son was only fourteen and would not be able to carry on the business. Ramus decided that tomorrow he would visit the local butcher, and prevail upon him to supply meat for the family.