‘I would have built it here,’ said Banouin, squatting down. ‘But I can see the battle from this spot, and it grieves me.’
‘Are they fighting now?’ asked Bane.
‘Yes.’
‘Let me know when it is over.’
‘Why?’
‘I will help you release their souls.’
‘You are not a mystic. How can you help me?’
‘You never did know how to talk to fighting men,’ said Bane. ‘I do.’
The Morrigu sent you, didn’t she?’
‘No. Your mother came to my farm. Asked me to help you.’ He looked directly into Banouin’s eyes. ‘Vorna has always been a friend to me. I help my friends where I can.’
Banouin looked away. ‘I am sorry about what happened in Accia,’ he said.
‘Pah, it is in the past. Forgotten.’
‘Is that true?’ asked Banouin, hope flaring.
‘Of course it is not true,’ snapped Bane. ‘I was trying to be polite. Now tell me about this battle of souls.’
‘What is there to tell? They fight eternally the battle of Cogden Field, not knowing that it is over and gone. Their spirits are trapped here, caught in a web of hatred and violence. I have tried talking to Valanus. He hears me, but does not believe what I tell him.’
‘And why is it important to you that he does believe?’ asked Bane.
‘It is the land, Bane. It suffers as they suffer. All life is being drained from this place, like a stain that grows and grows. There must be an end to it. The dead must know peace.’
‘Why should they be any different from the living?’ asked Bane. ‘When do we ever know peace?’
‘You still sound bitter.’
Bane laughed, with genuine good humour. ‘Ah, you misread me. I am no longer the man you once knew. I found a friend in Stone, a great friend, a man who risked his life for me. That changed me. I am more content now. I care nothing for Connavar and his rejection of me, nor for the dislike of my fellow Rigante. I live my own life, answerable to no man.’
‘Like a leaf in the breeze,’ said Banouin. ‘The Rigante are your people.’
Bane shook his head. ‘My people are the twenty men who work for me. And the friends who have stood by me: Vorna, Rage and Telors. The rest of you can rot and die. How is the battle faring?’
Banouin glanced back and shuddered. ‘It is at its height. It will go on like this for an hour or more, then start again.’ Bane added more sticks to the blaze. Banouin watched him. His hair was still long, a tight yellow braid hanging from his temple, but he had grown a golden beard now, trimmed close to the chin. He seemed larger across the shoulder.
‘Mother told me that Lia was alive, and that you rescued her,’ he said.
‘Aye, I rescued her.’
‘I am glad.’
‘Well, that is good to hear.’
‘Please don’t hate me, Bane. What I did was cowardly and wrong, but I am trying to make amends with my life.’
‘Druid’s robes suit you,’ said Bane. ‘Men say you are a great healer and a prophet. I am pleased for you. And I do not hate you. I have no feelings for you at all, neither hatred nor love. You are just a man I know.’
‘But we were friends once, weren’t we?’
‘I don’t think that we were. Anyway, it is immaterial now. How is the king? I understand there was yet another attempt on his life.’
‘Yes. Two Pannone attacked him while he was hunting. Killed his horse and wounded him. The wound was not deep and I healed it.’
‘One cannot blame the Pannone,’ said Bane. ‘They didn’t ask to be overrun by the Rigante.’
‘Most Pannone believe in the king,’ said Banouin. ‘As do most Norvii and the other smaller tribes now under his banner. But there will always be those who yearn for the old days.’
Bane laughed. ‘By the old days you mean the time when they were free to make their own decisions, and not pay taxes to a foreign king?’
‘He is not a foreign king,’ said Banouin. ‘He is a Keltoi, fighting to preserve our ancient way of life in the face of a terrible threat.’