‘I think this Gaelen has already been harshly treated, Agwaine,’ said Layne. ‘Why make it worse for him?’ Gwalchmai felt relief flow through him, but Agwaine was not to be persuaded.
‘We are talking about a jest,’ said Agwaine smoothly. ‘I’m not suggesting we kill him. Where’s the harm?’
Layne ran a hand through his long, dark hair, his eyes holding Agwaine’s gaze. ‘Where is the good in it?’ he countered. ‘Such an action is beneath you, cousin. It is well known that your father has no love for Caswallon, but that is a matter for the two of them.’
‘This is nothing to do with my father,’ said Agwaine angrily. He swung to Lennox. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Do you side with your brother?’
Lennox shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘Always,’ he said, his voice deep as distant thunder.
‘Do you never think for yourself, you ugly ox?’ snapped Agwaine.
‘Sometimes,’ answered Lennox amiably.
‘What about the rest of you?’
‘Oh, let’s have a little fun with him,’ said Draig, Gwalchmai’s foster-brother. ‘Where’s the harm? What do you think, Gwal?’
All eyes turned to Gwalchmai and his heart sank. He spent his life avoiding argument, and now whatever he said would hurt him. Layne and Lennox were his friends. Layne was stern of nature but a loyal youth, and his brother Lennox, though strong as an ox, was a gentle companion. But Agwaine was Cambil’s son and the accepted leader of the Farlain youth, and Draig was Gwalchmai’s foster-brother and a boy given to hot temper and malice-bearing. Of the other five, all were larger than Gwalchmai.
‘Well, what do you think?” urged Draig.
‘I don’t mind,’ mumbled Gwalchmai. ‘Whatever you think best.’ He tried not to look at Layne, but his eyes were drawn to the other’s
gaze. Layne merely smiled at him, and he felt the pity in that smile; it hurt him more than he could bear.
Then let’s do it!’ said Agwaine, grinning.
The plan was a simple one. Kareen had innocently told them that Caswallon planned to send his son to the meadow that morning to meet the other boys of the village. Agwaine had suggested they take his clothes and chase him back to his house, lashing him the while with birch sticks.
Now Layne and Lennox moved away from the group to lounge on the grass. Gwalchmai sat miserably on a fallen tree, wishing he had stayed at home.
He looked up as the conversation died. Coming towards them was a slender boy in a green woollen tunic edged with brown leather; his hair was red, with a white flash above the jagged scar which ran down the left side of his face. He wore a wide belt and from it hung a hunting-knife. There was no swagger in his walk, but he seemed nervous. Layne and Lennox ignored him as he passed, and Gwalchmai saw the boy’s jaw was clamped tight.
He approached the group with eyes fixed on Agwaine. Gwalchmai saw that his left eye was filled with blood and he shivered.
‘I am Gaelen,’ said the boy, addressing Agwaine.
Agwain nodded. ‘Why tell me?’
‘I see from the way your friends are grouped around you that you are the leader.’
‘How observant of you, lowlander.’
‘Will you tell me your name?’
To what purpose? You will never address us directly, you are like the wolf pup you brought home – of no account to those with pedigree.”
Gaelen said nothing but his mind raced. In Ateris there had been many thieves and many gangs, but he had always been alone. This scene was no different from many in his life. There would be a little more talk, then tempers would grow and the violence would begin. The difference was that in Ateris he always had somewhere to run; he knew every alley and tall building, every rooftop and hiding place. As he had approached the group lie had scanned them, making judgements, deciding which were the boys to be feared, which to be ignored. Two were lounging on the grass away from their comrades; one of these was slender, but athletically built, his face strong. Beside him was a veritable giant, bigger than most clansmen Gaelen had seen. But since they were apart from the group Gaelen ignored them. His eyes had been drawn to a small boy sitting with the others. Slight of build, with short-cropped ginger hair, he had seemed nervous, frightened. Gaelen put this one from his mind. The others had gathered around the young man now facing him. These would not act- only react. Therefore everything depended on the outcome of this confrontation with the leader. Gaelen took stock of him. His face was strong, the eyes dark, the gaze steady. And he was proud. In that instant Gaelen knew that he was facing no cowardly bully who could be browbeaten, or dominated by words. His heart sank.