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said that we had teased the slave and called him
names and that was why he was angry, but I did not. I kept silent and just
nodded my head and I let Aedann be punished. Now, so many years later, I still
regret the choice I made.
    Father's face darkened as he
turned to Aedann. “On your feet!” he hissed.
    Aedann did not try to defend
himself. He stood sullenly, not speaking or saying a word, his dark gaze fixed
on me.
    A slave hitting a free man could
expect death but, after his temper had died down, it was Eduard who stepped in
and actually defended the boy, saying perhaps he had spoken harshly. So,
instead of being hung, Aedann was thrashed by Grettir. Our tutor used a birch
branch and with every swing you could see Aedann wince in agony, but he never
cried or yelled out, not even once. He just kept on looking at me as if all of it
was my fault.
    He was right of course ... which
only made things worse.

Chapter Four
    Lilla Returns
    That incident happened
in the autumn of my sixteenth year and soon afterwards it was time to pay the Feorm
again. I was strong enough to go with my father alone this time, leaving
Cuthwine at the Villa. Wicstun was familiar territory by now and once the work
was done, knowing that Father and Wallace would spend some considerable time
talking about gossip and news, I wandered around the town in the rain stopping
at the blacksmith, as I always did, to look at his swords and axes.
    Grothir, the blacksmith, nodded
as I entered and let me examine a blade. Whenever I visited, it was always one
sword above all that attracted me: the same one, in fact, on which I had once
burnt my fingers. He had used the finest metals and ores and taken the greatest
of care in its creation; forging a weapon of dark-coloured steel with highlights
of bright gold and bronze on its guard and grip, which made it a thing of
beauty. As such, it was expensive and even though years had passed since its
making, he had not yet sold it and I hoped he never would; not until I was
ready for it. Narrower, but longer than my uncle’s sword, its balance and
elegance were perfect. Grothir let me take a few practice swings all the time
wishing, as I always did, that I could afford to buy it and longing for the day
when I might use it in battle.
    I was just putting the sword back
on its rack, when I felt the hairs prickle on the back of my neck and I sensed
that I was being watched. Turning round I saw, lurking in an alleyway across
the road, the dark-haired lad who had watched me from the shadows each time we
visited Eanfled. He had grown since last year, but not quite as much as I. His
hair was more a dark chestnut brown. His shoulders were not as broad and his
arms not as muscular as mine, yet there was something of the wolf about him as
he stood lightly on his feet, seemingly ready to pounce. I took a step towards
him, wanting to ask who he was and what he wanted, when my father stuck his
head out of Wallace’s hall and called me over. As I ran across the street, I
glanced back at the alleyway − but the boy had gone.
    My father and Wallace had been
drinking and Wallace offered me some ale as I came in. The hall was dimly lit
from what little light penetrated from the door or the smoke hole in the high
roof, but the gloom was made more cheerful by a welcoming fire burning in the
central hearth. The air outside was damp and I happily took the offered drink
then sat close to the fire to dry off.
    “Well, that’s the last of those
Welsh rabble we’ll hear about, you mark my words,” Wallace was saying, as he
topped up my father’s goblet and then mine from a jug of ale. I sipped some of
the strong brew and sat staring absently into the flames. I was sullen and
quiet, still bothered by what had happened to Aedann a few days before and also
wondering what problem this brown-haired lad seemed to have with me.
    “This is good beer, Lord Wallace,”
my father said. “What’s that you were saying, Lord?”
    “It’s just what I