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mother was not yet fifty, but she looked like an old woman, having aged decades since his departure and the death of her husband.  Several small pots containing evil-smelling potions sat on a stool by the bed, but they seemed to be doing little to heal his mother.  If not for the barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest, she might have appeared dead.  Brendan bent down and kissed her brow, making a sign of the cross over her in silent blessing.  She never opened her eyes, but grabbed his hand with her bony fingers, holding his palm to her shriveled cheek, which was cold to the touch despite the blankets heaped on the bed.  “I love you too, Mam,” he whispered in her ear before taking his leave.
    “Brendan, wait,” Meg called out as he came down the stairs.  “I packed you some food for the journey.” She handed him a small bundle and a bottle of ale, which he accepted gratefully.
    “Meg, take care of yourself.  You are a young woman still; you must see to your own life.”  Meg shook her head in dismay.
    “Brendan, men see to their own lives; women take care of others.  I can’t leave Mother in her condition, and I have two little ones to raise.  ‘Myself’ is not a word that often comes to mind these days.”  She kissed Brendan’s cheek and smiled up at him in that way that often hides a desire to cry.  “I wish you didn’t have to go, Brendan.  You’re the only one I trust these days.”
    “I will come back,” he promised.
    “Do.”
     
    Jasper was outside, leaning against the stable wall, his lips stretched into a smile that was brimming with smugness.  Brendan stopped a few feet away, surveying his brother.  He knew Jasper wouldn’t tell him the truth, but he had to ask all the same.  He knew his brother well enough to spot a lie.  “Did father really die of an apoplexy, Jasper?” he asked conversationally, studying Jasper’s face closely, his head cocked to the side like a watchful hound ready to pounce on its prey.
    “Aye, but I can’t say as I’m sorry.  Chose a very opportune moment, he did,” Jasper replied, the smile never leaving his face.  “I’m as strong, as smart, and as ambitious as you are, but being the younger son that’d never have mattered, would it?  You sealed your fate when you rode out of this yard bent on your heroic quest to fight for liberty and equality.  Fortune doesn’t always favor the brave, does it?  Sometimes it favors the ones who are there at the right time.”
    “Thank you for your honesty, Jasper,” Brendan replied caustically.  He couldn’t tell if Jasper had anything to do with their father’s death, but he could hear the threat in Jasper’s words.  Jasper would see Brendan dead before he gave up what he perceived to be rightfully his, and whether he got it by an act of violence or by sheer cunning, he was here to stay.
    Brendan vaulted onto his horse, ready to depart.  The way things stood, he wasn’t coming back home anytime soon, so he took a last longing look at the house where he was born and lived most of his life.  It was solid and gray, its twin-peaked roof a stark contrast to the brightening sky, the windows alight with the rosy glow of the morning sun.  The morning was filled with birdsong and the sound of restless animals in the barn; cows and goats needing to be milked and horses eager for their oats.  A few chickens pecked in the dirt in search of juicy worms and a gray cat snuggled against the wall, its fur indistinguishable from the color of the stone until the cat opened its green eyes and gave Brendan a hard stare.  He’d miss this place, now even more than when he was away fighting, for now he knew there was no going back. 
    “Go with God, Brendan,” Jasper called out, waving a half-hearted goodbye as he stood in the center of the yard, the master of his domain.     
    Brendan cantered out of the yard. He never looked back, having no desire to see the self-satisfied expression on Jasper’s