'Then what a pair of fools we are,' said Wik. The far hills turned to gold for a moment with the last blazing light of the dying sun. 'Ah, but that was pretty,' he said, as darkness fell. 'You know that most of the men who died were newcomers ? They weren't really outlaws, just poor folk who had no food in the winter. Some were Pannone, others Norvii. There was even a Cenii lad. Yet they put on the armour you gave them and they fought like . . . like . . .'

'Heroes,' said Bane.

'Aye, heroes.' Wik hawked and spat through the opening. 'And for what? People who wouldn't have given them a crust of stale bread if they were dying of starvation. I saw Boile go down. They damn near hacked off his arm, and he carried on fighting. He was a stupid man, was Boile. And he was frightened of the dark. Last summer his hut burnt down because he left the fire blazing.' Wik laughed. 'He came running out with his leggings ablaze.' His smile faded. 'What in the name of Taranis was he doing standing his ground like that?'

'Why did you come back?' asked Bane.

Wik shrugged. 'I have no idea whatever. Did you see Grale defending the king's mother? Ah, of course you did. You killed the second of them.' Wik shook his head. 'Part of me wishes I'd never listened to you, Bane. I should have stayed in the forest. I knew who I was there.'

'Who were you?'

Wik thought about the question. 'I was nothing, though I didn't know it. Now I do.'

'So, what will you do? Go back to the forest?'

'I haven't made up my mind.' Wik suddenly shielded his eyes from the glare of the lantern and looked out of the opening. 'Riders coming,' he said. 'Soldiers!' He swore and clambered to his feet. He swayed and almost pitched from the loft, but Bane caught him.

'I don't think they've come to arrest you,' said Bane. 'Sit here. I'll see what they want.' He climbed down the wooden steps and walked from the barn. Some of the other outlaws had seen the soldiers, and Bane saw that they were nervous. He calmed them, and ordered them to continue the preparations for the feast he had arranged.

There were some thirty soldiers, all dressed in the black and silver armour of the Iron Wolves. But at their head rode a man in a patchwork cloak. Bane felt his stomach tighten. Moonlight shone down and Bane stood his ground, his eyes fixed on the king of legend. He was a big man, wide-shouldered, his long red and silver hair unbraided, his white-streaked beard cut close to his chin. He rode easily, sitting tall in the saddle. Bane felt his anger rise, but forced it down.