‘Aye, I knew the feeling.’
‘Ah, Conn, it hurts me to see you so unhappy. You are the Laird now, a great man, respected, admired, aye and even feared. You are becoming a legend among the Rigante. Most young men would give ten years of their lives to be you.’
‘I know that,’ he said. They see the man on the tall horse, and they hear tales of the bear and the evil king. That is not me, Mother. It is just a part of me. I grew up with the hurt of believing Vara . . . my father . . . was a coward. Then I saw you and the Big Man part because of something I had done . . .’
‘It was not you—’ she began. He waved a hand to silence her.
‘I know, I know. But I didn’t understand that then. And as for the bear – well, he showed me my mortality, ripping my flesh from my bones. I have lost friends: Riamfada – though he is happy now – and Banouin. I have watched the rise of a great evil – and even fought alongside it. Then – after betraying my wife to her death I destroyed a village, killing men, women and children. I am not the hero they believe me to be.’
‘You were grief-struck, Conn. It was not my beloved boy who did that. You were possessed. You didn’t know what you were doing.’
He laughed. ‘Ah, what it is to have a mother’s love. It was me, Mother. It was the beast inside, with the chains loosed. The responsibility was mine and I will not make excuses for my actions. The Pannones call me the Demon Laird. Can you blame them? Every year at Samain I have sent offers of weregild – increasingly fabulous sums. But the Highland Laird refuses even to speak to my representatives.’
‘You are not a demon. You are my son, and you have a good heart. Why is it that you dwell only on the bad? You are working tirelessly to protect your people. And you did save Riamfada from the bear. And you did avenge Banouin. The Big Man is so proud of you. Does that not warm you, Conn?’
‘Aye, it does.’
‘And as for your friend, Banouin, yes, he died terribly, but he had a good life, Conn, and good friends. And a part of that life lives on in his son. He’s almost four now. A bonny boy. He misses Bran, though. As do I. Are you going to keep him here with you all winter?’
‘No, he can go home. I’ll be with you myself at Samain.’ There was a tap at the door, and Maccus called out to him. Conn rose. ‘And now I must bid you farewell, Mam. Maccus and I are to discuss the heady joys of revenue collection.’ She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his bearded cheek.
‘You are my dearheart,’ she told him, tears in her eyes. ‘I love you more than life.’ Running her fingers through his long, red-gold hair, she forced a smile. ‘Mothers can be so embarrassing,’ she said.
‘Och, there’s no embarrassment, Mam,’ he lied. He walked to the door, but she called out to him.
‘There is one other matter you should know about, Conn, if you are coming home for Samain.’
He paused. ‘What?’
‘Arian has left Casta. She is back home with Nanncumal.’
‘Why did they part?’
‘She had a child, Conn. Did you not know? A boy. The child has oddly coloured eyes: one green, one brown. I thought you should know.’
Conn did not make the trip to Three Streams for the Feast of Samain, spending it instead with Brother Solstice at Old Oaks. Throughout the winter the druid taught Conn, Braefar, Maccus and Govannan to read script. Conn had decided on this course following the ordering of the census, becoming increasingly frustrated by the need to have scribes and clerics decipher the results. Braefar took to the tuition with remarkable ease, learning faster than any of them. He was the prize pupil, and he gloried in the praise of the teacher. Govannan stuck to the task doggedly, and by spring had merely a tentative grasp of the subject. Conn was little interested in the nuances of language. He needed to understand script, and he forced himself to learn at least enough of the bizarre little symbols to make sense of the census scrolls.