through the skull and the knight had fallen. Aubertain raised his mace and sent forth a scream of victory that clawed into my heart with talons of fire. I felt his surging exhilaration, sensed the ecstasy that certain men gain from combat. My dreams of being a knight died on that day and I saw other things. I saw the knight’s widow being helped from the viewing dais. I saw her ashen face and her wide, disbelieving eyes. And I watched his sons run to the broken body, passing through the shadow of the triumphant Aubertain.
I was glad that my father was alive, but I never, ever desired to be a warrior after that.
The rain came again just before dawn, then faded away, leaving the forest washed clean and ready for the new sun. Mace awoke with the first rays of morning and moved across to me. ‘Good man. We needed our sleep,’ he said, patting my shoulder. ‘We may have to fight today.’Will you challenge Kaygan?’God, no! If I see him I’ll send a shaft through his back. You stay here. Wulf and I will scout around for a while.’Armed with their longbows they set off through the forest – Mace tall and powerful, Wulf shorter and stockier, yet both men moving with animal grace, entirely at home in their surroundings.
A short time later Piercollo decided to explore for herbs and wild onions. His eye was still paining him and he rarely spoke. His presence, once so vibrant with love of life, was now brooding and dangerously quiet.
‘Be careful,’ I said. ‘There may be enemies close by.’Good for them if they don’t find me,’ he grunted.
I boiled some oats and shared them with Ilka and Astiana. The two women sat close together and, every once in a while, Astiana would look at Ilka and nod or shake her head. For some minutes I watched.
‘You are communicating,’ I said at last. Astiana waved me to silence and the two of them sat staring at one another, the breakfast forgotten. Suddenly Ilka nodded and smiled, reaching out to take Astiana’s hands in hers.
‘Yes,’ said Astiana, ‘I hear you.’Tears welled in Ilka’s eyes and the two women embraced.
‘You are a mystic,’ I said, moving in close.
Astiana shrugged. ‘I have a gift from God. It is not the same.’What does she say?’Be patient, Owen,’ she advised me. ‘We are almost there.’I wandered away from them to sit by the ruined wall. It was there that I caught sight of armed men moving from the undergrowth and my heart began to beat faster. Three of the men carried longbows, the remaining two wielded barbed spears. I stood and waited as they approached. One of the spearmen grinned as he saw me. He was a handsome, golden-haired fellow, with eyes the colour of a winter sky, blue and chilling.
‘God’s greeting, brother,’ he said, his voice mellow.
‘And to you,’ I responded. I saw them relax as they neared. The golden-haired stranger let fall a canvas sack from his shoulder and thrust his spear into the earth beside it. Stepping into the shelter, he saw Astiana and bowed low.
‘Well, this is pleasant,’ he said, turning to me. ‘Two lovely women and a young man together in the forest. How sweet! How inviting!’There was an edge to his voice that left me tense and apprehensive. I glanced at his companions; they were hard-faced men, grim and tough, and I saw that their gaze lingered upon the women. All colour fled from Ilka’s face and her eyes were wide and fearful. She had lived this scene once before, the horror of it never leaving her. Now she was facing her nightmare again. Astiana smoothly rose to her feet, her expression serene.
‘Who might you be, sir?’ I asked the leader, though I knew the answer, having seen the curved sabre at his side. But I wanted to divert him, to take his attention from the women.
‘I am Kaygan,’ he said.
‘Not the great swordsman, the champion of Azrek?’You have heard of me?’Who has not, sir?’ I said, hoping that flattery would win him over. ‘It is an honour and a privilege to meet you. Why, only a few days ago we heard of a display you gave in the town of Willow. Men were still talking of it.’How gratifying,’ he said. ‘And you, what is your name?’Graeme,’ I lied. ‘Graeme of Ebracum. I am a bard, sir, and would welcome an opportunity to talk with you of your exploits. Perhaps I could compose a saga-poem based upon them.’