I grew weary, and angry, so that I understood when one day Diarmid announced suddenly that he was off to seek the sorceress and bring her to justice, and if nobody was prepared to go with him, that was not his problem. Someone must be bold, and have the courage to do the right thing, he said. He took his sword and his bow, and he rode off alone. A little later Cormack, mouth set tight, saddled up and went after him, for as he said, Diarmid was like an arrow loosed at random, which might find the right target or the wrong one, and he had better make sure no more ill was done than had been already.

“I’ll bring him back safe,” said Cormack as his horse fidgeted and stamped, eager to be away. “There’s a child to be found. Our brother. Diarmid forgets that, in his passion. I’ll stay by him until he comes to his senses. We’ll be home by spring.” Conor reached up from where he stood by the horse, to clasp his twin’s hand.

“Go safe on your journey, Brother,” he said quietly.

“And you,” Cormack replied with a crooked smile. “I think it is your journey that will be the longer one.”

Seamus Redbeard came to visit Liam. They spent two days conferring, and reached an agreement to share men and arms and the duty of defending borders. They talked of Eamonn of the Marshes, who had wed Eilis. Their faces were grim and their manner purposeful. Seamus left behind a small troop of his own men, and assurances of help. But before his departure, Seamus sat with Lord Colum all one afternoon, speaking quietly, and I thought there was a glimmer of recognition in my father’s eye.

With Diarmid and Cormack gone, the rest of us drew closer together. It was a fierce winter, and it became harder to keep the village supplied and the outposts manned. We worked each day until we were dropping with exhaustion. In the evenings, there was little ceremony. The household would gather, lord, servant, and man-at-arms together, in the kitchens where a fire was kept burning. Janis would provide what she could, usually a soup and loaves of dark bread. We ate together, as we worked together. The hall was deserted, too big to keep warm with our carefully rationed stocks of dry wood. When the simple meal was over, tales would be told by one or another, as Janis passed around mugs of mulled wine, seasoned from what I knew to be her diminishing stocks of spices and dried fruits.

And slowly, as dark, still night followed night, my father’s eyes began to lose their dead, frozen expression and wake to the tales of heroic battle or star-crossed lovers. He gave a little smile as I told the tale of the warrior queen with a raging appetite for young men. He nodded gravely as Padriac related the old saga of Culhan’s routing of three giants, each bigger than the last. Even Donal, reluctantly, was persuaded one night to join in, telling of the great voyage of Maeldun and the wondrous things he found, such as an island where the ants were as large as horses, or a grove of apple trees that bore fruit all year round, or a fountain that gushed forth fresh milk. Once this story was begun, everyone had a bit to add, and it took many nights before all was told. My father sat close by Finbar, listening to this story, and once or twice he would lean toward his son, making quiet comment, and Finbar would give the smallest of nods. Then there came a day when, instead of making his way to the garden to sit in silence, Father went in search of Liam, where he watched the men schooling their horses. He stayed there through the afternoon, and what they said to each other, I did not ask. But that evening, there was a new warmth in his eyes.