‘No. He never spoke of it.’
‘A pity. I have often wondered why a man with such skill should become a travelling merchant.’
‘He enjoyed the life – meeting new people, seeing new lands.’
‘Yes, he had a way with people. No doubt about that.’ Jasaray gestured towards a silver flagon filled with water. Beside it was a single goblet. Jasaray had said nothing, but with that single gesture their entire relationship was clearly delineated. Conn might be a guest in Jasaray’s tent, but in the eyes of the general he was just another servant. Now was not the time to make a stand, however. Swiftly he moved to the table and filled the goblet, handing it to the seated man. Jasaray took it without a word of thanks, but he smiled. Then he spoke again. ‘Banouin also had an eye for talent. This is why you intrigue me, Connavar. What was it he saw in you, and why did he teach you? Are you the son of a chieftain or king?’
‘No. My father was a horse hunter, my stepfather is a cattle breeder.’
‘And yet – at seventeen – you are already famous in your own land, I understand. You fought a bear with only a knife. Added to this you entered the main Perdii settlement, killed the merchant who betrayed Banouin, and then six of the pursuing hunters. Since then you have become a dark legend among the Gath. Are all your people so gifted at fighting?’
‘All of them,’ said Conn.
‘I doubt that.’ Jasaray stood and walked to the rear curtains, pushing them aside. Beyond was a narrow bed and a wooden stand, upon which hung the general’s armour. ‘Help me into my armour,’ he said.
Conn moved to the general’s side and lifted the iron breastplate from its peg. Jasaray struggled into it and Conn buckled the sides. Then the general put on a kilt, made up of bronze reinforced leather strips, and added his sword belt. Conn knelt by his feet and buckled on his bronze greaves. He did not ask why the general wished to be dressed for war at this time of night, though it puzzled him. Lastly Jasaray put on his battered helm. Conn could not resist a smile. Jasaray saw it. ‘Yes, I am not a warrior,’ he said, without hint of rancour, ‘and I know I look ridiculous garbed in this manner. Yet it serves a purpose.’
Jasaray walked to the tent flap and lifted it, calling out an instruction to one of the guards. The man handed the general Conn’s baldric, then moved off through the rain. Jasaray withdrew into the tent. The general drew Conn’s sword and gazed at it in the lantern light. ‘This is a fine weapon,’ he said. ‘The hilt alone is worth several hundred silver pieces. Your father must be a very rich cattle breeder.’
‘The sword was a gift from a friend,’ said Conn. Jasaray turned the blade in his hands.
‘The embossed bear is a creation of rare beauty, and I understand its meaning in your life. But why the fawn in brambles? I see that your cloak brooch carries the same motif.’
‘When I was a child I tore all my clothes rescuing a fawn. The story became something of a joke with my fellows.’
Jasaray looked at him closely. ‘A killer who rescues fawns? Such a man should be watched closely.’ Sheathing the blade he tossed the baldric to Conn and instructed him to put it on. Then he walked from the tent.
The storm was clearing, but the rain was still falling fast. As Conn joined the general he saw that soldiers were moving from their tents in full armour. Once gathered they formed into silent lines and stood, statue still, rain coursing over breastplates and helms.
The storm clouds above the camp drifted apart, and bright moonlight bathed the scene.
At that moment the air was filled with battle cries, high and shrill, and javelins rained over the ramparts. The tents, wagons and horses had been placed well back from the ramparts and most of the missiles fell on empty earth. One pierced the back of a baggage pony, which whinnied in pain, then fell to the ground.