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with short dark hair and a lively, clever face which appreciated everything she saw. While poaching an egg her frown of concentration left a small smile at the corners of the mouth, a humorous look which had been inherited by her daughters. Nearby was a loom where she wove rugs, door curtains, pillows with patterns that made this room different from any other, also the screen she used to design new patterns or play music. She had a talent for every worthwhile art, handling utensils with swift ease which soothed Wat’s mind as much as her fingers had soothed the rest of him the night before. He said, “I want to stay with you, here, in this room, till all the seas run dry, my dear, and the rocks melt in the sun. Can I do it for a week or two?”
    â€œWar fatigue?” she said, looking hard at him.
    â€œNo. I’m afraid of news from Geneva.”
    â€œAre you feart they’ll disqualify the draw with Northumbria?”
    â€œNo. I hope they disqualify that draw. It will discourage suicidal heroics that have become the bane of honest warfare, especially in Scotland.”
    â€œThen what are you afraid of?”
    â€œDid ye see our last battle?”
    â€œCertainly not. No decent woman who’s borne a son watches battles.”
    Slowly, almost unwillingly, Wat told her that someone he knew had struck a blow which had the appearance of being foul and might be condemned as such.
    â€œWho was that?” said Nan, looking at Wat more closely still.
    â€œIf Geneva condemns him you’ll soon know,” said Wat drearily, “If it doesnae I’ll try to forget about it. Let me stay here for a fortnight Nan.” She said firmly, “Not possible. An hour from now I become mother and I cannae mother a whole household with you waiting round to be served. Sit up.”
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    She placed a closed mug of coffee where his mouth could reach a tube sticking from the top, then she sat on the bedside with a plate on her lap and fed him slices of poached-egg-on-toast. She said, “Go to Annie’s room — she’s mad about you and has no responsibilities. Stay there as long as you like. It will teach her something. Craig Douglas needs more bairns now and I don’t want to carry another.”
    He groaned and said, “I think of Annie as a wee sister.”
    â€œAye, because you never look at her. Do it. DickMegget was her dad. The Meggets havenae fucked with Dryhopes for three generations, there’s no fear of incest.”
    He said wistfully, “With you, in this room, I feel better, more sure of myself than anywhere else in the world.”
    â€œI doubt it. Annie says you looked bloody sure of yourself in that last battle. She plays it six times a day. She says you’re magnificent. Why are you no magnificent with me?” He scowled. She said, “Cheer up! You were my favourite soldier long before the rest got chopped. I liked you most because you didnae act the big hero. Yet in battle you’re better than others. Why?”
    â€œEasy told,” said Wat drearily, “I’m usually clumsier than other men because I don’t like life as much, so danger speeds this body without upsetting this brain. Most soldiers only enjoy battles when looking back on them — while fighting they’re too excited to think so do it automatically. I think cooler and hit faster while fighting so I enjoy it at the time. Afterward the memory depresses me. I wish I had another talent.”
    â€œI remember you six years ago as a queer lanky clever lad who wanted to seed the stars and got accepted for it. Were you useless there?”
    â€œNo, I could do the work but I hated the narrowplaces in the satellites, hated that every gramme of air we breathed or green thing we looked on had been contrived by human skill. I didnae hate it all, of course. A good thing about satellites is their lack of nourishment for our kind of powerplant, so men and women earn