‘You are safe with me,’ he said.
‘I know that, Lord. You are a good man.’
‘No, I am not. But you can trust my words. No further harm will come to you, and I will see you safely home.’
‘I do trust your words, Grey Man,’ she replied. ‘My uncle said that words were just noises in the air. Trust deeds, he told me, not words. I will not be a burden to you. I will help with your wounds as we travel.’
‘You are not a burden, Keeva,’ he said softly, then heeled his horse forward. She rode alongside him.
‘I told them you were coming. I told them you would kill them. But I didn’t really believe it. I just wanted them to know fear as I knew fear. Then you came. And they were terrified. It was wonderful.’
They rode for several hours, heading south and west, until they came to an old stone road leading to a secluded fishing settlement on the banks of a wide, flowing river. There were some forty houses, many of them stone-built. The people here looked prosperous, thought Keeva. Even the children playing close by boasted tunics without patches or any sign of wear, and all wore shoes. The Grey Man was recognized instantly and a crowd gathered. The village headman, a small, portly man with thinning blond hair, pushed his way through them. ‘Welcome, sir,’ he said, with a deep bow. Keeva could see fear in the man’s eyes, and felt the nervous tension emanating from the small crowd. The Grey Man dismounted.
‘Jonan, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir. Jonan,’ answered the little headman, bowing once more.
‘Well, be at ease, Jonan, I am merely passing through. I need some food for the rest of the journey, and my companion needs a change of clothing and a warm cloak.’
‘It will be done instantly, sir. You are most welcome to wait in my home, where my wife will prepare some refreshment. Let me show you the way.’ The little man bowed once more and turned towards the crowd. He gestured once at them, and they all bowed. Keeva climbed down from the tall horse and followed the two men. The Grey Man did not show any evidence of his wounds, save that there was still dried blood on his ripped tunic.
Jonan’s house was of sand-fired brick, the frontage decorated with blackened timbers, the roof covered by red terracotta tiles. Jonan led them into a long living room. At the northern end was a large fireplace, also built with brick, and before it were set several deep leather chairs and a low table. The floor was of polished timber, adorned with attractive rugs, beautifully crafted from Chiatze silk. The Grey Man eased himself into a chair, resting his head against the high back-rest. A young blonde woman entered. She smiled nervously at Keeva and curtsied to the
Grey Man. ‘We have ale, sir,’ she said, ‘or wine. Whatever pleases you.’
‘Just some water, thank you,’ he replied.
‘We have apple juice, if that would be preferable?’
He nodded. ‘That would be very fine.’
The headman shifted from foot to foot. ‘May I sit, sir?’ he asked.
‘It is your house, Jonan. Of course you may sit.’
‘Thank you.’ He sank into the chair opposite. Keeva, unnoticed, sat down cross-legged upon a rug. ‘It is a great pleasure and an honour to see you, sir,’ continued Jonan. ‘Had we known you were coming we could have prepared a feast in your honour.’
The woman returned, bringing a goblet of apple juice for the Grey Man and a tankard of ale for Jonan. As she backed away she glanced down at Keeva and silently gestured for her to follow. Keeva rose from the floor and walked from the room, through the hall beyond and into a long kitchen. The woman of the house was flustered, but she offered Keeva a seat at a pine table and filled a clay cup with juice. Keeva drank it.
‘We did not know he was coming,’ said the woman nervously, sitting down opposite Keeva. She ran her fingers through her long, blond hair, pushing it back from her eyes, and tying it at the nape of her neck.