Reflecting on that, he realised that it was his long association with the two Rangers that had taught him that lesson. He saw that Halt was watching him now, with those calm, serious eyes of his. And he saw that Halt agreed with him.
`Yes. You're right,' the Ranger said. 'You should know all the facts behind the current situation. For a start, there's one pertinent fact you should be aware of. Ferris and I aren't just brothers. We're twins.That's why the Outsiders' leader at Selsey thought I looked familiar. He'd spent some time in Clonmel and he'd seen Ferris several times.'
`Twins?'Will sat up at that news. In all the years he had spent with Halt, he had never had the slightest inkling that his mentor had any siblings, let alone a twin brother.
`Identical twins,' Halt said. 'We were born seven minutes apart.'
`And you were the youngest?' Horace said. He shook his head. `It's funny, isn't it? But for that seven minutes, you'd be the King of Clonmel now and Ferris would be . . .'
He paused, not sure how to continue. He had been
about to say, 'Ferris would be a Ranger', but then he realised, from what they had heard about the vacillating, ineffectual King, he would never have become a Ranger. Halt regarded him, seeing the sudden question in the young warrior's mind.
`Exactly,' he said quietly. 'What would Ferris have become? But you're not exactly right there, Horace. I was actually the one who was born first. Ferris is my younger brother.'
Horace frowned as the implications of what Halt had said sunk in. But it was Will who asked the obvious question.
`Then what happened? Surely as the elder brother, you should have become King? Or isn't that the way it works here in Hibernia?'
`Yes. That's the way it works here, just like everywhere else. But I had a problem. My brother resented those seven minutes bitterly. He felt he had been cheated out of his birthright. Cheated by me,' he added.
Horace shook his head in disbelief. 'That's crazy. It wasn't your fault you were born first.'
Halt smiled sadly at Horace. So honest. So straightforward. So free of deceit and jealousy. If there were more men like Horace, and fewer like my brother, the world would be a better place, he thought. It saddened him but he recognised the fact that it was accurate.
`He made himself blame me,' he told them. 'That way, it was easier for him when he tried to kill me.'
`He tried to kill you?' Will's voice rose in disbelief. 'His own brother? His twin brother?'
`His older brother,' Halt added. He looked deep into the smoking embers of the fire as he recalled those long-agodays. 'You know, I don't really enjoy talking about this,' he began and both Will and Horace reacted immediately. `Then don't!' Will said.
`It's none of our business anyway,' Horace agreed. 'Let it go, Halt.'
But Halt looked up at them both now, letting his gaze move from one to the other. Both of these two I would trust with my life, he thought. But my own brother? He let out a short, bitter laugh at the thought, then continued.
`No. I think you need to know this. And I certainly need to face it. I've been running away from it for too long.' He saw their reluctance to hear more and reassured them.
`You need to know this, really. It could be important to you. So let me get it out of the way as quickly and painlessly as possible. Ferris believed the throne was rightly his. Why he believed that I have no idea. But he did. Maybe it was because he was the more popular with our parents. And that may have been because they felt he needed their attention more than I did. After all, I was going to be King and they possibly felt that he needed something in compensation for that fact. Plus he was open and friendly and cheerful and I was ... well, I was me, I suppose.
`When we were sixteen, he tried to poison me. But fortunately, he got the amounts wrong and only succeeded in making me violently ill.' He grinned wryly. 'I still can't face the sight of a plate of shrimp.'
`But didn't your parents ... do something?' Will protested.
Halt shook his head. 'They didn't know. I didn't know. I only found out later. I just thought the food had been spoiled and I was lucky to survive.
`The next time was six months later. I was walking in the castle yard when a pile of roof tiles hit the ground half a metre behind me. They smashed and cut my legs pretty badly. But they didn't land on me, which was the intent. I saw Ferris on the battlements above me. He ducked back out of the way but not quite quickly enough.
`Worst of all, I saw the expression on his face. You'd expect someone who had just witnessed his brother miss death by a few centimetres might look concerned. Ferris looked furious.
`Bear in mind, I had no real proof that he was trying to kill me. And at that time, my mother and father were arguing nonstop — they were never what you might call a happy couple. About the only bright thing in their lives was happy young Ferris. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to spoil that for them by accusing him. The only one who believed me was my younger sister. She could see what was going on.'
Horace and Will exchanged surprised looks. They were learning more about Halt in these few minutes than they had in the past five or six years.
`You have a sister?' Will said. But Halt shook his head sadly.
`I had a sister. She died some years back. I believe she had a son.' He paused a for a few seconds, thinking about her, then he shook himself and went on with his story.
`The final time was a year after the roof incident, when my father was close to death. Ferris knew he had to act quickly. We were salmon fishing and I leaned over the side of our boat to untangle my line. Next thing I felt a shove in the back and I was in the water. When I came up, Ferris was trying to reach me with an oar. At first, I thought hewas trying to help. Then, when the oar hit me, I knew what he was doing.'
Subconsciously, he rubbed his right shoulder, as if he could still feel the pain of that blow, all these years later. Will and Halt were horrified. But neither said anything. Both realised, somehow, that Halt had to finish this story, to purge his soul of the blackness that he had concealed all these years.
`He tried for me again but I ducked underwater and swam for the bank. Nearly didn't make it, but I managed to drag myself ashore. Ferris followed me in the boat, insisting that it had been an accident, asking if I was all right, trying to pretend that he hadn't just tried to kill me.'
He snorted in disgust at the memory. 'I knew then that he'd never let up. If I were to be safe, I had to do one of two things. Kill him or leave the country. Even if I were to simply stand aside, to abdicate, I knew he'd never trust me. He'd expect me to try to seize the throne from him at some time in the future. I guess it was just worth more to him than it was to me. It was worth his brother's life.
`That's what I told him. Then I left.' He smiled at the two concerned young faces opposite him now and added, `And the way things turned out, I'm rather glad I did.'
The two young men shook their heads. There were no words that could express their sympathy for the grim-faced Ranger who meant so much to both of them. Then they realised that Halt didn't need words from them. He knew how much they cared about him.
`You might have noticed,' he said, trying to lighten the mood around the camp fire, 'I've been left with a distinct aversion to royalty and inherited authority. The fact that a person's father is a king doesn't necessarily mean that he
will be a good one. All too often he's not. I prefer the Skandian method, where someone like Erak can be elected.'
`But Duncan is a good king,' Horace answered quietly.
Halt looked at him and nodded. 'Yes. There are always exceptions. Duncan is a fine king. And his daughter will make an excellent queen. That's why we all serve them. As for Ferris, I confess I wouldn't be heartbroken if this Tennyson character dragged him screeching off the throne of Clonmel. But then Araluen would be in danger, so we need to prop him up.'
`Unpalatable as that may be,' Will said.
`Sometimes we act for the greater good,' Halt said. Then he stood up, dusting himself off, as if to dis
perse the cloud of melancholy that had settled over them as he talked. He continued in a brisker tone.
`Speaking of which, it's time we got moving. Will, I want you to go to Duffy's Ford and pick up the trail of these bandits. Track them to their camp and see what you can find out about them: numbers, weapons, that sort of thing. If you can get any inkling of their plans, that'd be good. But be careful. We don't want to have to come and rescue you. Don't underestimate these people. They may look like an untrained rabble but they've been doing this for some years now and they know what they're about.'
Will nodded his understanding. He began to gather his equipment together and whistled to Tug, who walked forward to be resaddled.
`Will I meet you back here?' he asked.
Halt shook his head. 'We'll meet at Mountshannon. Horace and I are going to take a look at this Tennyson character.'
* * *
Chapter 18
* * *
Duffy's Ford crossed a long, slow curve in the river.
Over hundreds of years, the action of the water running through the curve had cut away the bank, eroding it so that the river gradually became wider. As that happened, the moving water was spread over a larger area, and its speed and depth were both reduced accordingly, providing a crossing point for travellers. There was no logical reason why people on the road shouldn't break their journey at any point along the way but travellers tend to look for landmarks or significant features to sit back, relax and enjoy a meal. Duffy's Ford, with its wide, flat grassy banks, sheltered by willows, provided an ideal location.
As is often the case, the fact that travellers were drawn to a location resulted in the growth of a small settlement designed to serve their needs. The trees had been cleared and there was a small huddle of buildings to one side of the ford.
Or there had been. Will dismounted and walked forward to look around. He studied the blackened remains
of what had been a group of buildings, where wisps of smoke still rose in places. The largest, which had provided food and drink to passers-by, had been a rambling, single-storey affair, gradually added to over the years. Will guessed, correctly, that it had provided overnight accommodation to those who wanted it. Now less than half the building remained. The rest was a pile of blackened ashes. The roof had gone, of course, being made of thatch. And the mud and daub walls had cracked in the heat of the fire that had swept through the building and collapsed. But some of the timber framework remained in place — a skeletal structure of blackened beams and uprights that tottered precariously over the charred remains of beds, tables, chairs and other furnishings. There were several half-burnt casks in one room. Will guessed that it must have been the tap room, where thirsty travellers could relax over a glass of ale. Remarkably, demonstrating the capricious nature of a fire like this, one corner had remained relatively untouched and there were several dark bottles still standing on a shelf behind the collapsed charred bench that had been the bar. Gingerly, Will picked his way through the ashes and debris and picked one up. He unstoppered it and sniffed the cork, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the powerful smell of cheap brandy. He re-stoppered it and went to put it back but then a thought struck him. It could come in handy at a later date. So he slipped the bottle into an inner pocket.
He made his way back onto clear ground and walked around the perimeter of the ruined central building, turning his attention to the other three destroyed structures. One had been the stables, placed behind the mainbuilding. There was nothing left there. It had burnt fiercely, the flames not even extinguished by a heavy rainstorm that had saved some of the main building.
`Probably full of straw,' he said to himself. The dried-out hay would have been perfect fuel, defying the efforts of the rain to quell the flames.
Beyond the ruined stable there were two other, smaller buildings. In front of one was a stone fireplace, where an assortment of blacksmith's tools — hammers, awls and pliers — were scattered. It made sense, he realised, for a smithy to set up shop here. There's be plenty of trade from passing travellers needing wagons repaired, horses shoed or tack mended. The other building had probably been a residence — perhaps for the smithy and his family. There was little left of it now. The small settlement had a forlorn feeling to it — deserted and lifeless.
As the last word came to his mind he became conscious of something else — the by now familiar nauseatingly sweet smell of rotting bodies. As he walked further to the back of the smithy, he made out the shapes of several carcasses in the small meadow behind it. Sheep, most of them. But there was also one huddled furry body that had been the dog that guarded them.
The survivors of the attack must have buried or carried away the bodies of the four human victims. But they had no time or inclination to dispose of the remains of the animals.
`Can't say I blame them,' he said, and moved back to the main building, where the strong smell of charred wood and ashes masked the unpleasant smell of corruption. He began to cast around the site for tracks, stopping
almost immediately at the sight of a large red-brown stain on the grass on the shallow slope leading to the river. Blood.
There were more signs in that spot. Footprints, faint now after a few days had passed, and the marks where several horses had ridden up from the river. The hoofprints were deep and easily visible in the softened ground — far deeper than a walking animal would have left. These horses had been galloping. And one of them had galloped right past the spot where the large blood stain still marked the grass.
He looked around, from the river to the main building, picturing what had happened.
The raiders had crossed the river then, led by several mounted men, had charged up the shallow slope, across the open grassy meadow. One of the men from Duffy's Ford had run forward to stop them — or perhaps delay them while the others tried to escape. And he'd been cut down here.
Will searched around the immediate area and soon found a sickle lying a few metres away, almost hidden by the long grass. He turned it over with the toe of his boot. Already, a few rust stains were showing on the curved blade. He shook his head. The makeshift weapon would have given its owner little chance against the determined raiders. He had been cut down without a second thought. Probably a sword or spear thrust, Will thought, a weapon that would have given its owner a longer reach than the short-handled sickle. The desperate and brave defender had never really had a hope of defending himself.
He followed the hoofprints back up the slope for a few metres. One horse had diverted to the right and he followed it to another drying brown blood stain. He dropped to one knee to study the ground more closely and made out the faint trace of footprints in the grass and mud. Small footprints, he saw. A child.
He closed his eyes briefly. He could see the scene in his mind's eye. A boy or girl, terrified by the galloping, screaming men, had tried to run for the shelter of the trees. One of the raiders had swung out of line to pursue the little running figure. Then he'd cut his victim down from behind. Without pity. Without mercy. He could have let the child escape. What harm could a child have done them? But he hadn't. Will's lips set in a hard line as he realised that this atrocity had been committed, at least ostensibly, in the name of religion.
`You'd better pray that your god will protect you,' he said quietly. Then he rose from the crouching position he'd assumed to view the tracks. There was no point studying further on events that had taken place here. He knew the general outline and he could picture some of the details as well.
Now it was time to track these murderers back to their lair, wherever that might be.
He remounted Tug and urged the little horse into the river. The raiders had come from the other side. Presumably they had returned there as well. The water came no higher than Tug's belly and there was little current to contend with. The small horse splashed easily across the sandy bottom to the far bank. Leaning out of the saddle, Will searched for the party's return tracks.
It didn't take him long to find the
m. It had been a large party, perhaps twenty or thirty men, he estimated. It was certainly the largest group to have crossed the ford in the preceding few days, so the tracks were easy to follow. Added to that, they'd made no attempt to cover the sign of their passing, although perhaps a person without a Ranger's skill at tracking wouldn't have been able to follow them.
Or perhaps the raiders simply didn't expect anybody to dare make the attempt.
That was more likely the case, Will thought. They'd been raiding and killing and burning throughout Hibernia, virtually unopposed, for months now. It was logical that they would have begun to believe that there was no one who could be a threat to them. Will smiled grimly to himself as he followed the trail of hoofprints and footprints to the south-west.
`Just keep believing that,' he said. Tug swung his head curiously at the unexpected sound of his master's voice. Will patted the coarse-maned neck reassuringly.
`Nothing,' he said. 'Just ignore me.'
Tug tossed his head briefly. Fine. Let me know if you want to talk.
The raiding party had moved onto a narrow trail now and there was less need to search for every heel print, every indentation in the damp ground. Time enough for that when he reached a fork in the track. For the moment, Will could simply follow the track, noting the occasional sign that a group of people had passed by — broken branches, threads of cloth caught on twigs and at one point, a dried pile of horse droppings. This sort of tracking he could do in his sleep, he thought.
Eventually, the trail forked and he saw that the band had diverged to the left, taking the smaller of the two trails. The ground began to gradually rise and the tree cover, although still substantial, was thinning out as they climbed higher. In the middle distance, Will could make out the steep cliffs of an escarpment. He had the sense that they were nearing the end of their search. He doubted that the raiders would have climbed the escarpment. Their disregard for the possibility that they might be followed dictated against it. If they hadn't taken any steps to cover their tracks, he doubted that they'd bother with the difficulty of climbing that forbidding line of black granite cliffs, although to do so would have given a virtually unassailable sanctuary.
THE KINGS OF CLONMEL Page 12