He heard a movement and looked round. Kaelin's aunt was coming into the room. She was an imposing woman, tall and fierce-eyed. Banny was a little frightened of her. Back in the summer, when he and Kaelin had come running into the house, she had grabbed him by the shoulder and marched him outside. 'You will play out here,' she told him. ‘I’ll have no fleas on my furnishings, if you please!' It had been a shaming experience.
As Maev leaned over the bed and laid her hand on Shula's brow Banny turned his gaze back to his mother. She would not die, he decided. It would be too unfair. A trembling began in his stomach and he felt his throat tighten. Tears spilled from his eyes. Fighting for control Banny sat very still, making no sound. He squeezed his eyes shut to prevent more tears from shaming him. Then he felt Aunt Maev's hand upon his shoulder. 'Sleep is good. Sleep is healing,' she told him. 'Now you come with me. You need to eat again - and then to bathe. You have both lice and fleas and there is no room for either in my house. Come now.'
Banny rose on trembling legs and followed her into the kitchen. It seemed like a palace to the twelve-year-old. He sat down at the pine table and stared at the golden sheen upon the wood. Aunt Maev placed a deep bowl of beef gravy soup before him and a hunk of bread.
'Do not chew on the bread,' she said. 'Your teeth are already loose, and we don't want them falling out. Just dip it into the soup.'
'She won't die, will she?' whispered Banny.
'Not if I have a say in it,' said Aunt Maev. 'Now eat your soup, Banny. Take it slow.'
It was almost a week since Banny had eaten solid food, and that had been a gnarled root his mother had dug from the edge of the forest. It had been bitter, and had made him nauseous. His stomach was still queasy and, when he gazed down at the soup, he felt suddenly sick and dizzy.
'Be strong now,' said Aunt Maev, moving swiftly alongside him. She tore off a small hunk of bread and dipped it in the warm soup. 'Here. Just hold it in your mouth and let the juices run.' Banny opened his mouth, allowing her to feed him like a babe. The juices of the meat flowed on his tongue, awakening his hunger. His stomach cramped and he almost choked on the bread. Carefully he chewed the morsel, then swallowed it. It tasted divine. 'That's good, Banny,' whispered Aunt Maev. 'Take a little more now.'
Banny sat very still, staring down at the soup bowl. It was white-glazed, but only on the inside - the outer was the golden brown of lowlands clay. It was a pretty bowl. His mind swam and he felt himself falling. He didn't care. Maev's arms held him close, and when he opened his eyes he found, to his surprise, that he was still sitting at the table. It seemed to Banny that he had fallen from the world, spinning down and down into a blessed darkness, where there was no hunger, no pain, no fear. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I have fleas.'
Maev said nothing, but she dipped more bread into the now cold soup and lifted it to his lips. Banny ate until both the soup and the bread were gone. 'I think we'll forget about the bath for now,' said Maev. 'Let's get you to bed.'
Banny's legs were unsteady, but Maev helped him up the stairs to a small room. The window shutters were closed, but thin lines of golden light could be seen between the slats. They shone on a patchwork blanket which covered the single bed of pine that nestled against the far wall. Maev drew back the coverlet and the two thick blankets beneath. 'Let's get you out of these clothes,' she said. She took hold of the torn and filthy shirt he was wearing. Banny raised his arms and she lifted it clear. His ragged trews were held up by a length of string. He fumbled with the knot. Maev gently moved his hands aside and swiftly undid it. Banny stepped out of the garment, too weary to feel shame at being naked before a woman.
He sat down upon the white undersheet, and became aware of the ingrained dirt on his arms and hands, and the red flea bites on his belly and thighs. 'I should bathe,' he said.
'Later, Banny. Lay your head upon the pillow, there's a good boy.'
He had no strength to refuse. The pillow yielded beneath him, soft and inviting, and he felt the blankets and a soft oversheet being drawn up around his thin shoulders.
Once more the world spun away, and Banny's mind cried out in the joy of it.
Apothecary Ramus was a small man. Round-shouldered and stooping, he rarely looked into the eyes of his customers. He would nod continuously as he listened to their requests and, when they had finished, mutter: 'Good, yes, very good,' as if complimenting them. His movements were quick and sure, his judgement of weight uncanny. He would tip powder, or shredded leaf, into small bags of muslin and rarely weigh them. Occasionally a new customer would ask to see the item weighed on his small brass scales. He would nod and smile and say: 'Good, yes, very good.' The scales would then show the exact weight in ounces they had asked for.
But then the silver-haired Ramus had been an apothecary for twenty-nine years. Judgement to the quarter ounce, he considered, was a small enough skill to acquire in almost three decades, and certainly not one to cause undue pride. Ramus was not wealthy, nor was he poor. He lived in a small house with a slate roof and a half acre of ground, on which he grew many herbs. Other plants and fungi were gathered for him by women who lived in the barren empty areas of the high hills. Apothecary Ramus had no friends and no wife, for he was not a man comfortable with intimacy of any kind. Neither did he have enemies. He was not even disliked -which was unusual for a Varlish living among clan folk. Ramus was punctiliously polite to all, Varlish or Keltoi, and never offered an opinion, save on matters herbal, and never entered into debate with anyone. It was, he had long ago decided, safer that way.
Ramus cast a quick, nervous glance at the black-haired youth standing at his counter. He felt uneasy around Kaelin Ring, though in truth he could not think why. 'Fever, you say? What is the nature of the fever, Master Ring?' He listened intently as the young man told him of finding Shula Achbain and her son on the verge of death from starvation and cold.
'Aunt Maev said to ask you to select herbs to heal them. She told me to ask also for fat hen and something for a festering wound.'
'Good, yes, very good,' said Ramus. 'Please take a seat, Master Ring, while I prepare the necessary ingredients.' Ramus was anxious to please Maev Ring. She had become a powerful personality in Old Hills, and, truth be told, in Eldacre itself. More than sixty women were now employed by her in the making of dresses, shirts, blouses, and other articles of clothing. It was said that she was a shareholder in three other ventures, though Ramus knew of only two. Maev Ring now had minority interests in the businesses of Gillam Pearce the bootmaker and Parsis Feld, owner of the forge and armoury in Eldacre town. Both men had been in danger of bankruptcy and debtor's prison, but Maev Ring had settled their debts. As soon as she acquired her stake in the businesses their fortunes changed. Orders came in and prosperity followed. Other merchants talked of Maev Ring's being lucky. It was easy to see why they would think that, but Ramus was not fooled. Once might be luck, not twice. No. Maev Ring was a clever woman, with a sharp eye for opportunity.
The apothecary stood for a moment surveying the scores of earthenware jars upon his shelves. Each jar was marked with a symbol, or a series of letters. The first he chose bore the legend DHS in black. Uncorking the jar he scooped out a portion of the contents, then, with his left hand, opened a small bag of muslin, into which he tipped the powder.
'What is that?' asked Kaelin Ring. Ramus jerked. He had not heard the young man leave his seat and move once more to the counter. It unnerved him a little. Had it been anyone else he would have asked them, politely, to return to their seat. But this boy was the nephew of Maev Ring, and therefore to be treated with a little more respect.
'It is the leaf of the dwarf honey suckle,' said Ramus. 'I shall give you four half-ounce bags. The powders must be boiled with sugar to make a jelly. It will help dispel the fever. For the festering wound I shall make up a potion with honey wort and saffron. Your aunt will know what to do with it. You may expect some immoderate movements of the bowels in the early stages of their recovery. To alleviate this I recommend myrt
le berry extract. This is, however, expensive. It is six daens a bottle and you will need two bottles.'
'A whole chailling?' said Kaelin Ring, astonished.
'Aye, Master Ring. The myrtle tree does not grow in the highlands. Indeed no-one has successfully grown it on this side of the sea. The extract needs to be shipped from Goriasa, and then brought overland. It is, however, as effective as it is costly.'
‘I’ll take the one bottle,' said Kaelin. 'But I'll have to owe you.'
'Not a problem, Master Ring. I trust you implicitly.' Ramus carefully gathered all the herbs and powders, then took up a swan feather quill and dipped it into a small pot of ink. In immaculate copperplate script he wrote out details of the purchase, and the sums required, sanded the finished receipt, and, when he was sure the ink had dried, folded the paper and handed it to Kaelin. The young man pocketed it, then heaved a large canvas shoulder bag to the worktop. It was already half full. Ramus opened the flap at the top and packed his powders and potions among the contents. The bottle of myrtle extract he placed within a wooden box half filled with straw. 'Be careful with this, Master Ring.'
'I will, sir.'
A commotion began outside and they could hear voices being raised. The outside door was thrust open and a young man pushed inside. He was red-faced, his eyes wide with excitement. 'There's been an attempt on the Moidart's life,' he said. 'Assassins broke into his home last night. There are soldiers all over Eldacre, and there have been many arrests.'
'Was the Moidart injured?' enquired Ramus.
'No-one is saying, sir.'
'Thank you, Master Lane. Most kind of you to let me know.' The young man nodded excitedly and moved back to the street and entered the bakery next door. His voice could just be heard through the thick walls, but only the occasional word sounded clearly. 'Moidart . . . assassins . . . arrests . . .'
'We live in perilous times, Master Ring,' said Ramus with a sigh. Kaelin Ring lifted the canvas bag to his shoulder, offered a short bow to the apothecary and walked out to the cobbled street.
Ramus could see people gathering in the street, and wandered back into his store room, sitting himself down in an old wicker chair. Leaning back against the embroidered cushions he closed his eyes. So much violence in the world, he thought sadly.
On the table beside his chair was a package of herbs and ointments he had prepared for the Moidart only this morning, soothing balms for the old burns on the skin of the lord's arms and neck. These had come from yet another act of violence, when assassins had set fire to the old Winter House. Eleven people had died in the blaze - all of them servants. Before that, some fourteen years ago, there had been the murder attempt that had seen the Moidart's wife strangled, and the Moidart himself stabbed in the groin while trying to save her. He had almost died from that wound. It had been the Moidart's good fortune that Ramus had been summoned. There was much internal bleeding, but the apothecary had managed to stem the flow, and halt the onset of infection. Even so it was a full four months before the wounded man recovered sufficient strength to walk unaided. Years later the angry scar was still occasionally leaking pus, and causing the Moidart bouts of fever.
Ramus sighed. Acts of violence were beyond his imagination. Never in his life had he desired to hurt anyone. This latest attempt on the Moidart's life would cause great anger among the Varlish. It was likely there would be riots and bloodshed in Eldacre, followed by more arrests and hangings. Ramus felt the weight of sadness heavy upon him.
Thirty-two years ago his own father had been hanged for stealing a sheep. He had not stolen the sheep, and the true culprit was discovered later. The Lord of Goriasa had sent five pounds in gold coin as recompense for the mistake. The family had used part of the money to pay for Ramus's tuition at the Apothecary College. His mother had spent her remaining years hating the lord, her soul corroded by bitterness and resentment. Ramus's brother, Aborain, had taken to the hills for a life of outlawry and murder, culminating in his execution on the same scaffold which claimed his father.
On the night of Aborain's hanging armed soldiers had come for Ramus, taking him before the lord. 'Do you wish revenge?' the Lord of Goriasa had asked.
'No, sir.'
'Yet you hate me?'
'I hate no-one, sir. My brother deserved to die for the sins of his life. My father did not deserve to die. But his killing was an error, and not born of malice.'
'You know why you are here?'
'You are considering whether it would be prudent to kill me.'
'You seem very calm, young man.'
'I cannot prevent you killing me, sir, if that be your will.'
The lord had sat silently for a while, watching the young apothecary. Then he had drawn in a deep breath. ‘I will not kill you. Equally I cannot have you living within my realm. It would concern me that you might one day discover hatred in your heart. I shall give you coin, and you will travel far from here. There is always a need for apothecaries. So where will you journey?'
'I have always liked mountains, sir.'
'Then cross the sea, Master Ramus. Travel to the north and find a home in the Druagh mountains. I am told it is very beautiful there.'
‘I will, sir. Thank you.'
'A man should not be thanked for resisting evil. I wish you well, Master Ramus.'
'And I you, lord.'
The sound of shouting cut through the old man's memories. Angry voices could be heard. Ramus rose from his chair, pushing shut the heavy store-room door.
Now there was silence.
Mulgrave reined in the chestnut and sat gazing out over Old Hills Lake. The water was shimmering in the afternoon sunshine, the jagged lines of the western mountains reflected upon the still surface. The sight of the lake calmed him. 'We are such fleeting creatures,' he told Gaise Macon. 'Here for a heartbeat and then gone for ever.'
'Why do you say that with a smile?' asked the young noble, drawing his own palomino gelding alongside Mulgrave's mount.
'It makes the evil of men more bearable to know that it is largely of no account,' replied Mulgrave.
'If that be the truth,' said Gaise, 'then the good that men do is also of no account.'
Mulgrave chuckled. 'Now there is something worth debating, sir.' The smile faded. A cold wind blew off the lake, a gust billowing Mulgrave's grey cloak. The sudden movement caused the palomino to rear. Gaise fought for control, calming the horse. A lesser rider would have been thrown. 'You handle him well, sir.'
'He is a skittish beast,' said Gaise, leaning forward to stroke the palomino's golden neck. For a moment the two riders sat silently, as Mulgrave once more turned his attention to the glittering water.
'Why did you want me to ride with you to the apothecary?' asked Gaise.
Mulgrave sighed. He was entering unknown territory here. 'I wanted to tell you that your actions last night filled me with pride, sir. You tackled armed men. You did not run. You saved your father's life. Of that there is no doubt.'
Gaise Macon reddened. 'I was stealing coal,' he said.
Mulgrave swore suddenly, and swung in the saddle to face the younger man. 'You are a fine man, Gaise. You have it in you to be a great one. Do not let the man's malice change you.'
'It would be a help to know why he hates me,' replied Gaise. 'But we should not speak like this, Mulgrave. The Moidart is the law. Your words could see you hanged if reported to him.'
'Aye, sir, that is true.' He chuckled. 'You are not the first to offer such a warning. The truth will be the death of me yet. Come, let us find the apothecary.' Mulgrave gently heeled the chestnut forward.
Time to ride!' shouted Gaise Macon. The palomino surged into a run, thundering along the shores of the lake. Mulgrave's chestnut followed, and for the remainder of the short gallop the swordsman's burdens fell away.
Gaise cut to the left, racing towards a fallen tree. Fear touched Mulgrave. It was not that the palomino couldn't jump the obstacle, but that Gaise could not possibly know what lay beyond it. There could be jagg
ed rocks, or rabbit holes, or twisted roots. The palomino could snap a leg. Mulgrave had seen riders crippled or , killed by such falls, their backs snapped, their limbs flopping. The palomino rose majestically. Mulgrave's breath caught in his throat. It seemed as if the golden horse hung in the air for an eternity. Then it sailed over the fallen tree, landed smoothly and ran on. Mulgrave's chestnut followed. As Mulgrave leaned into the jump he saw that the falling tree had broken several saplings, which now jutted from the earth like spears. The chestnut - as had the palomino - just missed them. Furious now, Mulgrave rode to where; Gaise waited. 'Did you see the broken trees?' he raged.
'Yes,' said Gaise.
'That was monumentally stupid! You could have been killed.'
'Aye, I could.' The young man shrugged. 'Did you not say that our lives were fleeting and of little account? So what would it have; mattered?'
'Your life is of great account to me, sir. I do not like to see you. risk it for so small a matter as a moment of recklessness.'
Gaise shrugged. 'It was not a small matter, Mulgrave,' he said. 'I needed that jump.'
'Why?'
Gaise did not reply instantly. Instead he leaned forward and ran. his fingers through the palomino's white mane. Mulgrave sensed the sadness in the young man. Gaise looked up. 'Last night, as I returned to my bed, I could not sleep. I began to tremble. I felt feax~ as I have never felt it before. You complimented me for saving my father. Yes, I did that. I did it through instinct, not through any con — sidered courage. You understand? The fear came later, and with it a terrible doubt. I came close to death. If I was faced with the same situation again, would I react differently? Would the fear unmain. me? Would I run? Would I cower and cry like a babe?' He fell silent.
'So, with the tree, you were facing your fears?' Mulgrave prompted.
'Aye, even so.' Gaise smiled. "He either fears his fate too much, or his desires are small, that dares not put it to the touch, to gain or lose it all.'
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