‘My mother is dead,’ said Cara, pouring cold milk onto her oats.
‘I am sorry.’
‘Why?’ asked Cara. ‘Did you know her?’
‘No. I meant I am sorry for you. My mother died earlier this year. I miss her.’
‘I don’t miss my mother,’ said Cara. ‘She died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her.’
‘Did your father die too?’
‘No. He went away. He might be dead now. We don’t know, do we, Grandfather?’
‘We have not heard from him,’ said Rage.
‘So, is it just the two of you that live here?’ asked Bane.
‘We have four herdsmen who have rooms at the far end,’ said Rage, ‘and two servants who live down the hill.’
After breakfast Rage sent Cara back to her room to wash and dress. Then, after cleaning the porridge pan and dishes, he took Bane outside once more.
‘I will train you,’ he said. ‘You will stay here. I will have a room prepared. Every morning this week we will run and work. Next week we will begin on your sword skills. Now you will excuse me. I need to see to my dairy herd.’
With that he wandered back into the house. Bane gathered up his cloak, swung it round his shoulders and set off back to Goriasa.
Having paid for his room at the tavern Bane saddled the grey and rode back to the farmhouse just before noon. A fat, middle-aged Gath woman took him to a spartanly furnished room facing west. There was a narrow bed, a chest for his clothing, and two wooden chairs. The walls were white and unadorned, save for an empty shelf to the right of the door. The room was spacious, some twenty feet long and fifteen wide, and there was a large window, with red-painted wooden shutters that opened outwards. A fire was blazing in the hearth.
‘If there’s anything you need you have only to ask,’ said the woman. ‘My name is Girta, and I cook and clean here three times a week.’
‘Thank you, Girta,’ said Bane.
‘You are Rigante, aren’t you?’ said Girta.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘I have a cousin who dwells among the Rigante now. He left years ago with Osta and other fighting men to serve Connavar. I have often thought of crossing the water to join him. Don’t suppose I will now, though. I have no wish to see more wars and death.’
Bane did not respond and Girta moved to the doorway. ‘The others will be here within the hour. I’ll serve the meal then,’ she said.
‘Others?’
‘The other gladiators,’ she told him. Then she pulled shut the door behind her and Bane heard her walking away down the corridor. Taking off his cloak he draped it over the back of a chair then pushed open the window. From here he could see a line of wooded hills, and the distant stone road that led to Goriasa. The sky was clear above the hills, but in the distance dark storm clouds were bunching over the sea.
Tired from his efforts that morning he pulled off his boots and lay down on the bed. He thought of Banouin, and wondered again why his friend had deserted him. Oranus had told him Banouin had boarded a ship the morning after the killings. It made no sense to the young Rigante. They had been friends. Did I misjudge him so badly? he wondered.
Then he slept lightly, and dreamed of Caer Druagh, and of Lia. He was holding her hand on the mountain slope, and pointing down at the settlement of Three Streams. Then she began to float away from him. He ran after her, but she was swept along like a leaf in the wind, ever higher, until she vanished among the clouds.
A sharp rapping on the door roused him from sleep. ‘Come in,’ he called.
Cara pushed open the door. She was dressed now in a knee-length tunic of bright blue. ‘The day is not for sleeping,’ she chided him.
He grinned at her. ‘Ah, but I am old and tired,’ he said.
‘You are not old. Grandfather is old, and he doesn’t sleep in the daytime. Anyway, Polon and Telors are here. Would you like to meet them?’