I and my companions were at a full gallop before we reached the gate.
Our first destination was the village of Streanashalch. We asked for and got news of a man and a horse, who had galloped straight through the village and taken the road to the west. They’d passed through more than two hours before. We set off up the hill in pursuit but I called a halt before we’d gone five miles. We were still in open country but the woods were closing in.
“We’ll stop here. There’s something I must do.”
“He has a head start on us, Magister. I’d rather we made all speed to overtake him,” Godwin argued.
“I want to find out which way he went. Charging about the country with no certainty won’t serve our cause.” He agreed reluctantly and I slid off my horse. I sat against a rock and forced myself to be calm while the others stood guard.
The velvet darkness enfolded me. I communicated my urgency and the sparks searched, hither and thither, covering the whole world in a moment. They could not find him but they showed me where he was not. He had hidden himself but he could not hide from me. I sensed a deeper darkness and turned towards it. It was heading for the setting sun and not far away. In the woods, looking for shelter as a hunted beast seeks its den. It was shielded but it could not hide. The river flowed nearby. The ford and the bridge were downstream, passed some minutes since.
“I know where he’s gone,” I said as I remounted. I took a short draught of my medicine and turned my horse towards the south-west, following the course of the river.
28
The Hunt
There was a village, down in the valley, by the river. He reined his horse in to a halt, sat, and looked down on the scene. A small village; little more than a hamlet. A few houses. A pen for animals. Chickens clucked and fussed their way about the place, scavenging in the dirt. The folk went about their business, without thought of anything save where the next meal was coming from.
The chickens squawked with outrage and fluttered out of the way of a trio of young children who tore through the muddy street. The smallest, a boy, tripped and fell flat on his face. He howled in pain and the other two turned back. They hauled him to his feet and encouraged him to join them again but he was tearful and out of the mood for games. One of the others, a girl, held him and helped him back the way they had come. Back to his hearth and home, back to his mother, presumably. The third, a sturdy young boy, kicked irritably at a stone and shuffled aimlessly off.
His stomach tightened and his mouth was dry. He licked his lips. The boy was leaving the village, walking out along the edge of a cultivated area and heading for the woods to the left as he watched. The hunger stirred and tightened the knot in his stomach. His head swam, briefly. He recovered his balance. The boy was approaching the woods. He had picked up speed and purpose and was running to wherever he had been intent on previously. He would soon be out of sight. He wanted to go after him and take him, ready for the night. He would soon be out of sight. He could see his Power glowing faintly, pulsating through his clothes as he ran off to the woods. He could almost hear the heartbeat. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
- He wanted to leave, to go round the village and away. He wouldn’t take this one.
He wanted it so much.
- There would be others. He could find another.
Maybe none so ready, so isolated, so alone.
- He would have to take it, hide it, stifle any cries so he wouldn’t be heard. He wanted to go away, go round, leave it.
When then.
- Never! No more!
This was cowardice. Where was his courage?
- No, no, no. No more.
What would happen to Strathclyde and his people? Someone has to have the courage to take the extreme action. Has your courage failed you?
- No. No. No. It isn’t… It hasn’t.
It’s only an English brat. Do what must be done. Only the great can make the sacrifice necessary to protect their people.
He breathed in deeply and decided. He looked all around, at the village and where he had ridden from. It was too early in the day. He would be delayed: they would catch him.
He needed more Power. He could hear the heart pumping. He could see it, pulsing, glowing red and full of life. Beating the age-old rhythm against the boy’s chest.
His hands tightened into knots on the reins. He pulled fiercely on them and directed the horse to his will: Ieuan rode around the village to the east, away from the woods where the boy had gone.
There will be others.
The heartbeat faded and he kicked his horse to a dangerous gallop. His face was set and there was the hint of a tear in his eyes. Maybe from the wind that scraped and stretched the thin skin of his face, pulling the fabric into a mockery of a smile.
*
Godwin, our companion and I had been riding as hard as possible and without pause until he called a halt. I wanted to continue but, this time, it was the Englishman’s turn to insist on a halt. The horses needed rest.
“If we ride them into the ground then we will never catch him, Magister.” I had to agree, but reluctantly. I had been so focused on our prey that I had abandoned consideration of our mounts. “And we need refreshment as well. We’ll stop here for half an hour and then continue.”
We dismounted and took a light meal. The two soldiers washed it down with the beer that was all the drink they had thought to bring. The horses and I refreshed ourselves at the river.
I felt a slight touch on my mind. It was tentative, or maybe attempting stealth, and it had a hint of fear in it. I pictured a hound rushing along a scent, excited and eager at the hunt. The touch seemed alarmed and withdrew hastily. I felt that we had gained some ground. Godwin came over.
“Well, Magister. How goes our pursuit?” I looked up, a little surprised, and smiled. “Aye,” he continued, “I’m beginning to recognise the signs in you. Are we still on his trail?”
“Oh, yes,” I nodded, “we’re still on the trail. And I think we’ve caught up some distance on him.”
“Your thoughts are as good as proof to me, Magister,” the bear laughed, and I smiled again. I liked Godwin. It was impossible not to.
“You still call me Magister, Godwin. Yet the effect of your master’s decree is that we be styled ‘brother’ or ‘father’, in the Roman manner. Why’s that?” He squatted awkwardly beside me, a skin of beer in his great right hand. The other was curled up in a claw.
“You said yourself that you wouldn’t accept his ruling and would return to Iona, so Magister you remain, in your own eyes at least. Anyway,” he took a slug of beer, “I can’t really be bothered with it. Oh, I’ll observe the niceties when I’m near my King, but in my heart I’ll remain true to St Michael and the way of Aidan and Finan, who taught me.”