“Of course you would. You are a Healer; you wouldn’t have been in the front line of the battle.”
“Yes,” he replied, sharply. “Just a Healer. I would have been kept out of harm’s way.”
“Ieuan, being a Healer is a great thing – greater than my own Gift, I think. I was needed for a day; long after I had gone and been forgotten, people would have been praising you. I might have gained some respect – probably fearful; you would have gained their love.” A thought seemed to occur to me but it danced, tantalisingly, just out of my reach; I couldn’t quite bring it into focus. Ieuan spoke again and I stopped bothering about it.
“It took you some time to recover – longer than you thought? What did it do to your character?” I squirmed a little at this, in embarrassment.
“Not much good. Once I recovered I began to think of myself as invincible. I wasn’t the best swordsman but no-one could beat me. I wasn’t a king but no opposing army could overcome the forces I helped. If I wanted a woman I could have one. I killed for the slightest offence. I lost empathy. I became very arrogant, and my arrogance led to my defeat. It nearly killed me.”
“I thought it had killed you. I thought you were dead, long since. It was only yesterday that I learned you were still alive. The troop came to the castle to tell us you were on your way and I realised that it was you.” He paused and then went on. “I heard that you’d died years ago. At that battle when Northumbria beat Mercia and got itself domination over the English – the Winwaed.” He looked away momentarily, and rubbed his neck again. I wondered for the briefest of moments and then told him how I was nearly killed but instead went mad and ran off into the hills.
“When I came out of my madness I had no idea where I had been.” He asked where I had emerged and what had brought me round. “In the mountains of Rheged[16], more than a hundred miles from Winwaed. It was Padhraig who brought me out – my friend who died last night. I mentioned it, I think? No matter if I didn’t. It was he who managed it. He tempted me out with food, like the savage beast I had become.”
“But you survived the madness. Most people don’t. Most people are paralysed with fear.” Something bothered me. Something about what he’d just said. Before I could think about it he asked me what had happened at the Winwaed, how I had been beaten.
“The Northumbrians – Oswy’s army – had three Seers with it. I think they were Seers, because they were able to attack me in the Otherworld. And they were able to keep themselves hidden.” I explained that I had been shot at by an archer I couldn’t even see, while I was inhabiting a pigeon and spying on Oswy’s camp. “I confronted two of them and beat them. They weren’t very skilled. What I do know is…” I took a breath. “They were using human sacrifice. I could feel the impact, every time a life was snuffed out, and they grew in power whenever it happened. It was shocking. Truly shocking. I think that gave them a Seer’s power. But it was, in the end, no match for mine.”
“How did you beat them?”
“I cut one adrift in the Otherworld – I ripped his psychic umbilicus. He couldn’t find his way back. The other one –“ I took another deep breath. I didn’t like to remember this. “He starved to death. I locked him in an unjointed, adamantine box. He didn’t have the skill to get out. When I won I forgot about him. I would have remembered in time but I underestimated the third one. Then I went mad and didn’t remember the one in the box until a year or so later.”
“What about the third?”
“He very nearly beat me. Something called the Blood Red Game. It was like a tidal wave of blood, charging at me in the Otherworld. It was intended to make me flee – it was quite terrifying.” He asked why I hadn’t run. The answer was: arrogance. I thought I was invincible.
“Rather than run, I dived through it, though it burned my flesh like acid. I came through the other side and was able to cut my assailant in his neck, through the artery. The attack ended, but he wasn’t dead. He got me a few minutes later – turned me against myself, threw me into madness, with a last burst of effort.” He asked if I recognised those attackers. I told him I had never seen them before in my life.
“But what about the third one? Had you ever seen him before?”
The answer was no – or rather, that I didn’t know if I recognised him or not. His face was hooded and obscured by shadow. He obviously didn’t want to be seen.
“So you have no idea who beat you?” I shook my head. “Doesn’t that worry you? It could be anyone.”
“But why would whoever it was be looking for me? I’m not looking for him. What threat do I present? A monk of the Community in Iona?” I smiled, a little ruefully. In my previous life, Prince Ciaran the Damned had been a name to frighten children and to make even the strongest warrior take more care and set an extra guard if there was the slightest whisper that I was in the vicinity. But that was a long time ago. These days, I often had to borrow a knife to cut my meat. “Anyway, he only just managed to get to me. He is probably dead, himself.”
“How long have you been at Iona?”
“Eight years. It’s nine years since Winwaed – nearly ten. It took me a year to come out of my madness and then I had to Iona. So eight years on the island.”
“Nearly ten years since Winwaed. That’s almost as long as -”
“Your exile?” I interrupted him. He nodded. “What a coincidence!” I smiled but his expression barely changed. “I hope you don’t hold it against me any more? Have the scales of justice not been balanced?”
“No, of course I don’t hold it against you,” he replied, but without a smile. “I made my decision. If I was presented with the same situation again – a fleeing fugitive, one who had been my friend – I think I would do the same again. I expect so. We make our choices and bear the consequences.” He leaned his head on his right hand, resting his elbow on the table, and lightly massaged his neck. A bit of tension, or maybe tiredness. It had been a late night and early morning and he was old and frail before his time. I felt something in the pit of my stomach but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I knew my feelings well enough to pay them attention but I could bring nothing to mind that I should be worried about. But there was something.