It was as Old Gramps had always said: ‘Steal a loaf of bread and they hang you, steal a land and they’ll make you king.’
Draig’s concept of good and evil was simple and easy to maintain. What was good for the small Cochland clan was good, and what was not was evil. Or so he had thought before the Varlish rider had come into the high country settlement the Cochlands called home.
The man had ridden far, and he had come with promises of gold coin if the Cochlands would do a service for his lord. This lord remained unnamed, though Draig guessed it to be the Moidart, but as a gesture of good faith the rider had brought ten silver chaillings as a gift.
Draig did not like the man, but then that was not unusual. Draig didn’t much like anybody. Except, perhaps, his brother Eain. Though truth to tell he wasn’t that fond of him either. No, it was not the dislike that bothered Draig. It was something entirely different.
Even now, two hours after the rider had left, Draig could not quite put his finger on the cause of his disquiet. The man was Varlish and well spoken, which was enough to earn Draig’s contempt. He was also cold, his eyes hard and flinty. But that wasn’t it either.
Draig sat quietly by his fire, his heavy shoulders hunched over. After a while his brother came in and squatted down opposite him. Despite Eain’s being a year younger they could almost have been twins, both green-eyed, large and hulking, their faces flat, their red beards matted and filthy.
‘What did he want?’ asked Eain.
‘He wanted us to kill someone.’
‘Good coin in it?’
‘Aye, so he promised.’
‘Excellent. Who are we to kill?’
‘A child and a woman.’
Eain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you making a joke, brother?’
‘No.’
‘I’m not killing any child. Or any woman either,’ he added, after a pause.
‘No? Why?’ asked Draig.
‘What do you mean why? You just don’t, is all.’
Draig sat quietly for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘Aye, that’s what I told him. He wasn’t best pleased.’
‘Who did he want killed?’
‘The Dweller by the Lake, and the boy Kaelin Ring brought down from the hills.’
‘The lad whose parents were killed by Hang-lip?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘It makes no sense,’ said Eain. ‘Who’d profit by such a deed?’
‘We would have,’ observed Draig.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Aye, I do, and I’ve no answer to give you.’
Eain took up a long stick and prodded the fire into life. ‘I expect he’ll go to Tostig and those Low Valley lads. They’ll do it right enough.’
‘I expect so. Ten pounds he was offering.’
Eain swore softly. ‘I’ve never even seen ten pounds in one place.’
‘You sorry I turned him down?’
Eain thought about it. ‘Nah,’ he said.
Draig rose from the fireside and walked to the doorway of the hut. Ducking his head he stepped beneath the sagging lintel and out into the clearing. Few of the Cochland clan were outside. Two scrawny children were throwing snowballs at each other, four others were hauling an ancient sled up the hillside. Only four of the men of the clan were in the settlement, the other twenty-three being off to the east, in two groups, seeking to steal cattle and head them south to Eldacre. Draig scratched at his beard. He wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, but he felt too old to be chasing over the mountains after a few scrawny cows.
He felt strangely unsettled. Ten pounds was a fortune. A man could live well for two years on ten pounds. Yet he hadn’t even come close to accepting the commission. The wind picked up and he shivered and returned to the fire.
Eain had set up the cook pot tripod and was mixing oats, salt and water into the old black pan, stirring it with a cracked and stained wooden spoon. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said.
Draig stared balefully at his brother. ‘You don’t even know what you’re thinking half the time.’
‘You’re thinking of warning Kaelin Ring.’
‘Why would I do something that stupid? The Varlish is a man of power. I don’t need him as an enemy. And I wouldn’t want Tostig and his crew creeping in here to cut my throat.’