Clodagh was looking tired again, despite her afternoon sleep. She sat at the far table with Cathal, her head resting on his shoulder. The music continued, but folk with children were beginning to extricate them from the crowd and shepherd them off to bed. Johnny was deep in conversation with the leader of the Connacht men, perhaps mapping out the next day’s activities. They were moving objects about on the table as if to indicate a battle plan: this spoon is the bridge over the stream, and this bowl the lake . . .

I realized that one of the men had just asked me a question, and I had no idea what it was. Which of them was Brendan and which Fergus? As I floundered for something to say, the tall figure of Kalev loomed before me.

“That was a fine story, Sibeal. If you wish, I will escort you back to the infirmary—I need to speak to Evan. When you are ready.”

A savior in unlikely form. “Thank you,” I said, rising to my feet. “I’ll bid you good night,” I said to the two Connacht men, smiling at each of them and allowing Kalev to take my arm. “Thank you,” I murmured again as we moved away between the tables. “I did need rescuing.”

Kalev flushed. “They expect much of you. More than is reasonable.”

“I’m happy to contribute a tale or two. It’s part of a druid’s job.”

He said nothing until we were out of doors and walking across to the infirmary. The wind was rising; the torches made long flaming banners, lighting the way.

“You tell tales, you tend to the sick, you speak prayers for the dead, you bestow your smile on the man who fights and on the man who passes you the basket of bread,” Kalev said, surprising me. “You are young.”

I thought about this awhile. “I started down this path when I was much younger,” I told him. “It’s a calling. It doesn’t seem unreasonable. Only when—” I stopped myself. After all, I did not know this man very well.

“When your thoughts take you elsewhere, and men expect you to show fascination at their own small tales?”

Kalev had come uncomfortably close to the mark. “It was discourteous of me,” I said. “I let my mind wander.”

“Here, let me open the door for you.” We were at the infirmary. Through the cracks between the shutters, lamplight shone, and smoke rose from the chimney.

“Thank you, Kalev,” I said before we went in. “You’re very thoughtful. And perceptive.”

No reply to that save a familiar reddening of the cheeks, visible even in the half-light.