David Gemmell. The Hawk Enternal

Caswallon stretched out his legs before the fire. The last time I was here, you thrashed me with your belt,’ he remarked.

‘I recall that you deserved it,’ said Leofas. He was a big man, not tall, but wide in the shoulder with a thick neck and heavy beard streaked with grey. But his blue eyes were keen, the stare forbidding.

‘Indeed I did.’

‘State your business, Caswallon,’ snapped the older man.

Caswallon pushed himself to his feet, a knot of anger deep within him. ‘I don’t think that I will,’ he said softly. ‘I am not the child who stole your knife, I am a man. I came here because Maggrig advised it, and it seemed sensible, but I’ll not sit here swallowing your discourtesies.”

Leofas raised his eyebrows, waiting as Caswallon reached for his cloak.

‘Would you like a drink, boy?’ he asked.

Caswallon hesitated for a moment, then dropped his cloak across the back of a chair and turned to the older man. ‘That would be pleasant,’ he said.

Leofas left the room, returning with two jugs of ale. Then he sat opposite Caswallon. ‘Now will you state your business?’

‘Before I do, let’s clear the air. When you were young you raided all over the druin to build your herds. So why are you set against me?’

‘That’s easy answered, and I like a man who states his grievance swiftly. When I was a lad there was open warfare between the clans.

No man knew what it was like to be rich. Raiding was often the difference between starvation and small comfort. But times changed and clans prospered. I applauded you when you began, I thought you were spirited and cunning. But then you grew rich, and yet the raids continued. And then I knew that the raids were not a means to an end but the end itself.

‘Sometimes in life a man must risk death for the sake of his family, but you risk it merely for pleasure. Most men in the mountains value their clan, for it is like a great family and we depend on one another to survive. Children of the mountains are cared for; no one man starves while another gluts himself. But you, Caswallon, you don’t care. You avoid responsibility, and your very existence eats away at what makes the clan strong. Children imitate you. They tell tales of your exploits and they want to be like you, for you are exciting, like a clansman out of time. A myth from the past.

‘Cuckoo Caswallon they used to call you, because of your amorous exploits. Women yearn for you and I can understand that and don’t begrudge it. But when you creep into the bed of another man’s wife, and sire him a son, all you have done is destroy that man’s life. He cared for his wife deeply, loved her and cherished her. She surrenders all that for a few nights of passion with you. You don’t stick by her, so she despairs. And her life is ruined too.

‘As for your raids… you encourage other clans to copy you. Last autumn I caught three Pallides poachers making off with my prize bull. I had to mutilate them, it was the law. But why did they do it? Why? Because Caswallon had stolen their bull. Now state your business.’

Caswallon leaned back in his chair, his heart heavy for he could not refute a word of Leofas’s damning indictment.

‘Not yet, Leofas. First let me say this: Everything you accuse me of is correct and I cannot gainsay it. But I never intended evil. Cuckoo Caswallon? Sometimes a man gives in to selfishness, telling himself there is a nobler reason – he is bringing a little happiness into a dull life. But since I married Maeg I have been faithful, for I learned by my mistakes.

‘As for the raids, they too were selfish, but I don’t regret them for I enjoyed every moment. If men suffered by imitating me, then it is on their heads, for my risk was as great as theirs. But that too is now a thing of the past.

‘I came to you because of the Aenir; that is my business with you. I seek not your friendship nor your approval. I care for neither. The Aenir are killers and they will invade the clans.’