‘He most certainly is.’
‘Are we still going to steal the bull?’
Jaim nodded. ‘Aye, but I’ll need a stronger bull-song, by heaven!’
CHAPTER TWO
FOR SEVERAL HOURS JAIM SAT UNMOVING, WATCHING THE BULL. FOR part of the time Kaelin dozed. He felt safe here, hidden at the centre of a gorse bush, the giant Grymauch close to him. Jaim was a ferocious fighter, and even though he had not brought his mighty glave – clansmen were forbidden, under pain of death, to own swords -he was carrying two broad-bladed hunting knives, held in horizontal sheaths stitched at the back of his wide belt. Kaelin doubted if even a black bear would have the nerve to face Jaim Grymauch in battle.
The youngster yawned and stretched. He moved alongside Jaim and, looking through the parted gorse branches, saw that the body in the paddock had been removed. Several men were repairing the fence, and Kaelin could just hear the distant sound of hammering.
‘They’ll not try to move the bull today,’ said Jaim suddenly. Time to stretch our legs and see the country.’
‘Will we go back to the shack?’
‘No. We’ll grace the town with a visit. I’ve a hankering to taste smoked fish soup and fire-black bread. Aye, and a pint or two of brandy-barrel ale.’
‘You’ll get into a fight, Grymauch! Then we’ll be in trouble,’ warned Kaelin.
Jaim chuckled. ‘You listen too much to your aunt Maev. Women exaggerate matters. It’s in their natures. Anyway, it will be an education for you, Ravenheart. Moon Lake boasts one of the last of the timber castles. You’ll not see their like again.’
He eased himself back across the hide and pushed aside the interlaced branches. Staying low, he moved back through the gorse and the heavy undergrowth until he could no longer be seen from the outbuildings. Kaelin followed him, and they were soon walking across the low hills towards the woods above and behind the Moidart’s western estate.
‘Why do we steal cattle?’ Kaelin asked as they entered the trees.
‘It is an honourable tradition, my boy. A man should always treat with respect the traditions of his elders.’
‘If it is that honourable, why do you not steal from clan herds?’
Jaim laughed. ‘Balance, Kaelin. The Varlish have stolen our lands, our cattle, our homes, even our traditions. My stealing of their cattle – and on occasion horses – brings me a sense of harmony. Of balance.’
‘Do you hate them, then?’
‘Hate them? A man might as well hate the sea for the friends that have drowned in it. No, boy, I don’t hate them. I don’t know them all – and it is a principle of mine never to hate a man I do not know. It just so happens that I have come to dislike all the Varlish I do know. Their arrogance works into my skin like a thorn.’
‘I hate Mr Shaddler,’ said Kaelin. ‘One day I’ll show him!’
‘I fear you won’t,’ said Jaim. ‘Teachers are never shown, for they are never wrong. If you rise up to be a great man, respected and admired by all who know you, Mr Shaddler will swell out his bony chest and say: “I taught him all he knows.” If you become a brigand and a terrible killer he will say: “I always knew he was bad. I told him so to his face every day.”
‘Perhaps I’ll just kill him,’ snapped Kaelin.
‘Whoa now!’ said Jaim, pausing in his walk and turning to face the black-haired youth. ‘No, Kaelin, that you must never do. The man may be Varlish, and misguided in all that he teaches – though I doubt he is in all that he teaches – but he has still chosen a profession of service. He is a poor man, this Shaddler. There are rats where he lodges. He owns no house and has no private income. His topcoat is threadbare, and his shoes have soles like paper. He could earn far more chaillings in Eldacre, in commerce or in the law. He teaches because he wants to serve, to pass on knowledge to the young. And he suffers poverty for his dedication. Hate him, by all means, for the stick across your hands, or the corrupting of our history, but never ever consider killing him. You understand, boy?’