“Attack of guilt, maybe.”

“Grim.”

“Mm?”

“I’ll be able to ride by tomorrow. We should just go. There’s nothing more to do here. And the longer we leave it, the farther ahead he’ll be. Especially if he’s riding. He could have got a horse from one of the farms.”

“Might be waiting to ambush us along the way.”

“Ambush? Flannan? He’s not exactly a fighter.”

“All the same. Be happier if we had a couple of guards with us. Even a couple of monks would be better than nothing.”

“Well, we don’t,” she says. “It’s just you and me and whatever tricks we can put together between us. Always seemed to be enough in the past.”

• • •

Couple of last things to do before we leave. We bury Geiléis’s guards up near the stables. I do most of the digging. One of the lay brothers says a prayer. Pretty sure Onchú and the others weren’t Christians, but never mind. Blackthorn and me say some words too, how loyal the fellows were to Geiléis and how they did their job well right to the end. Then we do it all over again in the kitchen garden, for Senach and Dau and the others.

We don’t go back to the Tower of Thorns. Seems right to leave Lily and Ash up there, where the little folk laid them out. Brother Galen would have made a lovely picture of that. The two of them lying there side by side, just bones, watching the sun and the moon go past that high window.

We get the horses ready. There’s the three we brought from court, and we take a fourth, a big bay. Ride one, lead one. Next day, switch them over. That way they get a rest from carrying a rider.

We pack up. The monks give us a lot of food. Should last the whole way. Saves us needing to fish and forage, though we still will, most likely. Spare horses can carry the supplies. Bags of fodder for them too. Blackthorn’s got a flask of special mead, gift from Father Tomas. Bit of a surprise. She says it’s because she gave him some sort of brewers’ secret. Passed down through her family. That’s what she told him, anyway.

We sleep one more night in Lady Geiléis’s house. Don’t know what’ll happen to the place now. She was the last one in her family. That’s if the old tale’s all true. Who’d want to live there? House full of sad ghosts.

It’s morning again, the day after Midsummer Day. Lovely weather, fine and sunny. And quiet. Hard to get used to the quiet. I saddle the horses and load the baggage on the two we’re not riding. We thank the fellows who’ve been helping us. I bet they’ll be glad to get back to St. Olcan’s. Then the two of us ride for home.

44

Blackthorn