The ride continued for another hour, and then Galliott finally spoke. 'We are almost at the borders of the Finance's territory,' he said. 'It would appear that we have lost them.'
Mulgrave did not reply. Once they reached the log bridge he would allow Galliott and his men to return to Eldacre. Mulgrave, however, planned to ride on. He would find Bindoe, arrest him and bring him back, no matter what the distance.
Galliott seemed to read his mind. 'We have no jurisdiction beyond the bridge,' he pointed out.
'I have some friends in Scardyke,' said Mulgrave. 'And I am also owed leave time.'
Galliott's handsome face darkened. 'The rule of law should always be maintained, captain. It is not helped by individuals who flout its principles.'
'Indeed it is not, sir. Those who flout its principles should be brought to justice.' His voice became cold as he struggled with his anger. He fixed Galliott with a hard look. 'I am not a great believer in the value of the rack and the screw. However, when Bindoe is brought back I shall question him myself. When I am finished he will have told me every vile thing he has ever done. He will also have told me who has aided him in his iniquities. I shall then see that every person so named is hanged, for, like you, I have no tolerance for those who flout the law.'
Without waiting for a response, he touched heels to his mount and cantered up the short rise. Some fifty feet ahead was the log bridge. Suddenly, Mulgrave reined in. When the other horsemen rode up they too pulled up their mounts and gazed in shock at the bloody scene below. Two heads had been wedged on the bridge posts. Beyond the heads lay the mutilated bodies. Blood had spread across the timbers, and was still dripping through to the river below.
'Sacred heaven!' whispered Galliott. No-one moved for several heartbeats. Then Mulgrave urged his horse on. The gelding was uneasy with the smell of blood, and Mulgrave dismounted, tethering the beast to a bush.
He approached the first of the heads. It was of a man close to middle age. Scratch marks could be seen on the greying skin of his left cheek. His right cheek was torn away, exposing several smashed teeth, and one eye was open. Something had been carved into his brow. Mulgrave looked at it, but flowing blood had obscured it. He could make out a J and an S. Moving to the second head he saw that this was a younger man. He too had the marks of savage cuts on his forehead.
Galliott came alongside the officer. Taking a cloth from his pocket, he wiped away the blood on the youth's brow. Now the word could be seen clearly: JUSTICE.
Galliott threw aside the cloth and stepped out onto the bridge itself. 'Bindoe was gutted like a fish,' he said, 'and castrated. The youth has no marks on his body that I can see. I would imagine his throat was cut.'
Two horses were grazing on the far side of the river. Stepping carefully to avoid the slippery blood, Galliott crossed the bridge and led the horses back before he searched the saddlebags, removing a heavy pouch, which he opened. 'Bindoe was carrying a deal of silver,' he told Mulgrave. 'He was not robbed.'
Mulgrave was lost in thought. He was staring at Bindoe's head. It looked as if he'd been shot in the face before being knifed. The killer - or killers - had been waiting here to exact revenge for the murder of Chara Ward. But why? How could they have known that Bindoe would take this road at this time? He glanced at Galliott. The man seemed infinitely more relaxed now than he had been some moments before.
Did Galliott send men to have Bindoe murdered?
Mulgrave dismissed the idea. Had the Borderer done so then the bodies would have been merely buried somewhere, never to be found. Hacking and mutilating the corpses had been the work of someone filled with fury, and a burning desire for revenge.
The officer moved out across the bridge. There was a bloody footprint on the earth below him, pointing down to the river. Mulgrave climbed down to the water's edge. There were more footprints here, and marks of blood upon the earth. Struck by a sudden realization, Mulgrave looked more closely. The killer had waded into the river in his shoes.
Shoes. Low-heeled shoes. Not a rider, then.
Mulgrave sat back on his heels and thought the evidence through. The killer had been covered in blood and had splashed into the river to clean himself. He had not removed his shoes first, which indicated he was acting instinctively, without conscious thought. He was, therefore, probably in a state of shock.
Mulgrave saw where the killer had walked back up to the bridge. He followed the prints and saw that the man had walked away to the north-east. Towards Old Hills.
'This is the work of a clansman,' said Galliott, as Mulgrave returned to his horse.
'What brings you to that conclusion?'
'Look around you, man. Would any civilized man commit such a barbarous act?'
'Let us not get into a debate about civilized behaviour,' said Mulgrave. 'How civilized was it to rape a young virgin then hang her from a tree?'
'That too was appalling,' said Galliott, 'but since Sergeant Bindoe was offered no opportunity to explain his scratches there is no evidence to convict his memory. He died innocent according to the law.'
'Aye, he did,' admitted Mulgrave. 'More's the pity.'
Excitement mounted in the week that followed. Eldacre had not known such a turbulent period for a great many years. An assassination attempt on the Moidart, the drama of the fixed fight between Gorain and the highlander, then the murder of a young girl and the savage slaying of two Varlish travellers. These events were discussed endlessly in the bars, taverns and meeting places. And there was the continuing hunt for Chain Shada. Stories and theories abounded. Did Chain kill the girl? Was the murder of the (now) well-loved Sergeant Bindoe the first hint of a new clan uprising?
Beetlebacks rode through the highland settlements, questioning men as to their whereabouts on the day Bindoe was killed. The interrogation was often harsh, and if a man could not adequately answer the questions he was taken in chains to Eldacre Castle. One man died there, apparently of heart failure.
Jaim Grymauch recovered swiftly, though the bruises on his face lingered for some time. He had gone into Eldacre to retrieve his prize money, only to be told that, since the fight was fixed, no moneys would be forthcoming. On the surface Jaim shrugged off the loss, but Kaelin knew he was seething inside.
Maev Ring was subdued. She had seen her nephew come home just after dawn on the day after Chara's murder. She was making her bed and watched him emerge from the old barn that now served as a workshop for Maev's spinners. They had not yet arrived for work and Kaelin had no reason to be in the empty building. Maev had waited until the end of the day, when the twelve workers had gone back to their homes. Then she had searched the workshop's upper loft. Here she found the two pistols and a cavalry sabre, hidden beneath an old rug. Returning the pistols to their original hiding place in the cabinet she had carried the sabre into the woods and buried it. In normal circumstances Maev liked to bring problems out into the open. Not this time. Least said, soonest mended, she decided.
When the ten beetlebacks came to the house the following day she greeted them courteously, offering them water for their horses, and some bread and cheese. Galliott led them, and the men behaved with cold civility in his presence. Kaelin, Jaim and Banny stood by while the soldiers moved through the house, searching for weapons. When they crossed to the old barn Maev glanced at Kaelin. If he was tense or frightened he did not show it. When the soldiers returned empty-handed Maev saw the surprise register briefly.
'I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, Maev,' said Galliott. 'But we are obliged to search everywhere.’
‘Of course, captain.'
He approached Jaim. 'I see your bruises are healing, Grymauch. I want you to know that no-one holds you to account for the vile behaviour of Gorain. You fought well and honestly.'
'Aye, that's true,' said Grymauch. 'He was a talented man, that Gorain.'
'In what way?'
'When I registered to fight I made my mark and I saw his. Just like mine, a large X. Though his did have a little flourish a
bove it. Like Gorain I never did learn to read and write, captain. But one must surely admire a man who learns to do so in a single night, just so he can write a farewell note before he hangs himself.'
Galliott sighed. 'You will talk yourself into a noose one of these days, Grymauch. I will be sad to see it.'
'Aye, captain. Without rogues there'd be no need of beetlebacks, I guess.'
Galliott laughed. 'Quite so. Well I must be leaving. We have another thirty homes to visit today.'
'Have you found Chain Shada yet, sir?' asked Maev.
'No, Maev, but we will. He will be cold and hungry by now. The Moidart has sent for Huntsekker and his trackers. They will find him.'
'I do not like the man,' said Maev. 'He is a killer. What has Chain Shada been convicted of that he should be hunted by the Harvester?'
'It is not for me to question the orders of the Moidart, Maev,' said Galliott. 'I share your dislike of Huntsekker. It must be said, however, that he rarely fails to find those he tracks.'
'And then he scythes off their heads,' snapped Maev. 'It is vile.'
'Why should you be concerned for Shada?'
'He helped Jaim. He could have destroyed him. That is what the mob were baying for. Tnat he did not does him credit.'
'Helped me!' muttered Grymauch. 'The man cost me thirty-eight chaillings. Did you know they refused me the prize money?'
'Aye, that was unfair,' agreed Galliott, with a smile. ‘I’ll speak with the bishop. Maybe with a little money in your pocket you'll be less likely to go roguing.' He walked to his horse and mounted. The beetlebacks rode from the house and turned towards the south.
Kaelin strolled towards the old barn. Maev called out to him: 'There's nothing there for you. Let the girls get on with their work.' Then she walked up to Jaim, and linked arms. 'Come walk with me awhile,' she said.
'You want something from me, lass?'
'Why do you say that? Why should I not want to walk with an old friend?'
He laughed. 'Now you are scaring me. Scolding I understand. Hell, I even enjoy it. But I'm not comfortable with this strange softness.' Maev forced a smile and the two of them walked out into the calf meadow. Once there she released his arm, and sat down on a split log. 'Where do you think Chain Shada might have gone?'
'How would I know?'
'We owe him, Grymauch.'
'For what?'
'You didn't see him grab the Keeper of the Sands. He forced the man to give you extra time after the foul blow. More important -as you just heard me say to Galliott - he did not rip your stupid head from your shoulders as the crowd urged him to.'
'Stupid head? Now that's the Maev I know and love.'
'Be serious, will you? He knew that by not crushing you he would be in trouble. I doubt he realized his life depended on it, but even so. It was - though I hate to admit it - a noble and selfless act. He risked himself for you, Grymauch. Now he is alone and hunted. Find him.'
'Just like that? An army is seeking him, but old one-eyed Grymauch can just walk into the mountains and the big Varlish will emerge from behind a bush? I don't think so, Maev.'
'You'll not do this thing?' she asked, surprise in her voice.
'No.'
'This is not like you, Grymauch,' she said, staring at him intently. He was suddenly uneasy under her green-eyed gaze.
'Maybe it isn't like me,' he admitted. 'But then maybe it's time old Grymauch started looking out for himself. You heard what he said. Huntsekker is on his trail. I don't want that scythe on my neck.'
Maev rose from the log, still holding his gaze. 'I know you, Grymauch. I know you better than you know yourself.'
'Obviously not,' he retorted, taking a step back.
'You are not frightened of Huntsekker.'
'All men are frightened of something. Shada will either escape or he won't. No sense in us getting involved.'
Maev was about to speak, then Grymauch saw her relax. She smiled and stepped close. 'Damn, but you already have him, don't you? Where is he? In that cave of yours?'
'Whisht, woman. Have you taken leave of your senses?'
'You went out three nights ago and only came back this morning. I thought you were whoring with Parsha Willets. But you weren't, were you, Grymauch? You went into the mountains and you found Chain Shada. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't have him.'
'I don't. . .' He paused. 'Dammit, woman, but I think you're a witch.' He glanced round to see if anyone was in earshot. 'Yes, I have him, but I didn't want to put you in peril by sharing the secret. I'll get him across the river tomorrow night.'
'That's my Grymauch,' she said fondly. 'He'll need coin once you bring him to the Finance's territory. I'll give you two pounds for him.'
'Two pounds, is it? You've never given me two pounds.'
'You're not worth two pounds,' she snapped. 'Now there is something else we must discuss. How does Kaelin seem to you?'
Grymauch shrugged. 'He's a mite withdrawn since they killed the lass. He'll get over it.'
'He has not spoken to you, then?'
'About what?'
'The murders of Bindoe and the boy.'
'No. Why would he?'
'The killer is said to have shot Bindoe in the face and then stolen his sabre.'
'So I heard.'
'Kaelin came back that morning and hid Lanovar's pistols and a sabre in the old barn.'
Jaim Grymauch stood silently for a moment. 'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said at last. 'Not that they didn't deserve to die, you understand.'
Maev nodded. She knew he was thinking about the manner of their deaths, and trying to come to terms with the fact that his beloved Kaelin was capable of such crazed behaviour. 'He liked the girl, you know,' he said. 'His mind must have been . . . unhinged.'
'Yes,' agreed Maev. 'A killing frenzy.' Jaim turned away from her for a moment, staring out over the mountains. Maev could see the sadness in him. He stood silently for a while.
'Why did the soldiers not find the weapons?' he asked finally.
'I put the pistols back, and I buried the sabre. My guess is that you showed Kaelin the pistols when I was away at some time. It doesn't matter now. What does matter is that he has killed two Varlish. He is just like Lanovar and I fear for his life. As he grows oider he will resent the Varlish dominance more and more. He will not endure within it like you or me. He will resist it. He will oppose it. And they will kill him as they killed his father.'
Jaim sighed. 'Is there anything I can do, Maev? You have but to name it.'
‘I have purchased property far away in the north-west, a farm that borders the Black Rigante country. You have friends among them. Come summer I want you to take Kaelin north. I want him far from the Moidart and his beetlebacks. I want him to find a life away from the Varlish.'
'Come summer he will be a man, Maev. He may choose not to go-'
'That's why I need you, Jaim. He admires you, and I think he would travel with you if you asked him.'
'Why wait until the summer?'
'Life in Eldacre will be calmer then. There is too much excitement and suspicion now. Let Kaelin finish his schooling and then you can go.'
'Will you want me to come back?' he asked her.
'What kind of question is that?' she countered. He stood silently, watching her, his expression grave. Maev felt uncomfortable. 'Of course I will, you lummox,' she told him. 'I'd have no-one to scold. Now you be careful tomorrow. Huntsekker will be close. Vile the man may be, but he's no fool.'
‘I’ll avoid him - and don't you worry. I'll not take Kaelin with me.'
'Yes you will, Jaim,' she said sadly. 'He has killed now and he is a man, with all the sorrow that brings. I want him close to you from now on. There is much he needs to learn from you. You were a killer once, and you changed. Help Kaelin to change.'
‘I’ll do my best, Maev.'
'Aye, I know. You're a good man, Grymauch.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FEELING OF SADNESS DID NOT FADE AS THE WYRD
MOVED ACROSS the countryside towards the old log bridge. Rather it deepened. There was no pulsating magic in the ground below her feet, no silent music in the trees. Here and there she could sense tiny fragments of what once had radiated from the land: a glint of golden light on the surface of a stream, a shard of harmony in the shadow of a great oak, a whisper of past glory on the gentle breeze; but even this faded as, leaning heavily on her sycamore staff, she reached the bridge. Death hung in the air. Recent rains had washed away most of the blood, and the bodies had been removed, yet the horror remained, swirling unseen over the river, tainting the trees and the grass.
To restore harmony to the scene would take days; days of mind-numbing toil, endless prayers and fasting. It was ever thus, she thought. The sculptor labours for years to carve the perfect statue from marble, every muscle shaped with precise beauty. Then one talentless man with a hammer destroys it in a moment. Creation takes time and love, destruction merely a heartbeat of madness.
The Wyrd had spent half her life becoming one with the land, sacrificing all that most humans hold dear: love, children, family. At times like this she could almost regret it.
'Oh, Ravenheart,' she whispered, 'what have you done to yourself?'
Dusk was approaching and the Wyrd settled down to rest, drawing her tattered cloak around her. The first of her labours would take place when the moon was high, and she needed to be strong. From a small canvas pouch she took a pinch of shredded leaves, placing them under her tongue. The taste was bitter and she felt her heartbeat quicken. The scents of the forest sharpened, the musty earth, the damp fur of the nearby rabbits, the harsh, pungent fox urine, the soft, heady perfume of the spring flowers by the river.