‘And these powers have touched you, Bowman?’ asked Hogun gently.
‘Perhaps. Think back on recent history – you will find examples.’
‘I do not need to. I know where this tale is leading,’ said Hogun.
‘What do you know?’ asked the archer, turning to face the dark-cloaked officer. Hogun smiled gently, though he noted that Bowman’s fingers were curled around the hilt of his dagger.
‘I know that you are a man whose life has been marred by some secret tragedy: a wife dead, a father slain . . . something. There may even be some dark deed which you perpetrated and cannot forget. But even if that were the case, the very fact you remember it with such pain means that you acted out of character. Put it behind you, man! Who among us can change the past?’
‘I wish I could tell you,’ said Bowman. ‘But I cannot. I am sorry, I am not fit company this evening. You go on. I will stay here a while.’
Hogun wanted to clap his hand on the other’s shoulder and say something witty to break the mood, as Bowman had so often done for him. But he could not. There were times when a grim-faced warrior was needed, even loved, but this was not one of them and he cursed himself and left silently.
For over an hour Bowman stood on the ramparts, staring out over the valley, listening to the faint songs of the Nadir women drifting out from the far camp below.
‘You are troubled?’ said a voice.
Bowman swung round to face Rek. The young Earl was dressed in the clothes in which he had arrived – thigh-length doeskin boots, a high-collared tunic with gold embroidered collar and a reversed sheepskin jerkin. By his side was his longsword.
‘I am merely tired,’ said Bowman.
‘I too. Is my scar fading?’
Bowman peered closely at the jagged red line from brow to chin. ‘You were lucky not to lose an eye,’ he commented.
‘Useless Nadir steel,’ said Rek. ‘I made a perfect block and his blasted sword snapped and lashed across my face. Good gods man, have you any idea how long I’ve protected my face?’
‘It’s too late to worry about that now,’ said Bowman, grinning.
‘Some people are born ugly,’ said Rek. ‘It’s not their fault, and I for one have never held it against a man that he is ugly. But others – and I count myself among them – are born with handsome features. That is a gift which should not be lightly taken away.’
‘I take it you made the perpetrator pay for his deed?’
‘Naturally! And you know, I think he was smiling even as I slew him. But then he was an ugly man. I mean really ugly. It’s not right.’
‘Life can be so unfair,’ agreed Bowman. ‘But you must look on the bright side, my lord Earl. You see, unlike me, you were never stupendously handsome. Merely well-featured. The brows were too thick, the mouth a shade too wide. And your hair is now growing a little thinner. Now, had you been blessed with the near miraculous good looks possessed by such as I, you would have truly had something to grieve over.’
‘There is something in what you say,’ said Rek. ‘You have indeed been greatly blessed. It was probably nature’s way of making up to you for being short.’
‘Short? I am almost as tall as you.’
‘Ah, but what a large word almost is. Can a man be almost alive? Almost right? In the question of height, my friend, we do not deal in subtle shades of grey. I am taller, you are shorter. But I would concur there is not a more handsome short man at the fortress.’
‘Women have always found me the perfect height,’ said Bowman. ‘At least when I dance with them I can whisper love words in their ears. With your long shanks their heads would nestle near your armpit.’
‘Get a lot of time for dancing in the forest, do you?’ asked Rek amiably.
‘I didn’t always live in the forest. My family . . .’ Bowman stuttered to silence.
‘I know your family background,’ said Rek. ‘But it’s about time you talked about it – you’ve carried it too long.’