`Worst of all, I saw the expression on his face. You'd expect someone who had just witnessed his brother miss death by a few centimetres might look concerned. Ferris looked furious.

`Bear in mind, I had no real proof that he was trying to kill me. And at that time, my mother and father were arguing nonstop – they were never what you might call a happy couple. About the only bright thing in their lives was happy young Ferris. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to spoil that for them by accusing him. The only one who believed me was my younger sister. She could see what was going on.'

Horace and Will exchanged surprised looks. They were learning more about Halt in these few minutes than they had in the past five or six years.

`You have a sister?' Will said. But Halt shook his head sadly.

`I had a sister. She died some years back. I believe she had a son.' He paused a for a few seconds, thinking about her, then he shook himself and went on with his story.

`The final time was a year after the roof incident, when my father was close to death. Ferris knew he had to act quickly. We were salmon fishing and I leaned over the side of our boat to untangle my line. Next thing I felt a shove in the back and I was in the water. When I came up, Ferris was trying to reach me with an oar. At first, I thought hewas trying to help. Then, when the oar hit me, I knew what he was doing.'

Subconsciously, he rubbed his right shoulder, as if he could still feel the pain of that blow, all these years later. Will and Halt were horrified. But neither said anything. Both realised, somehow, that Halt had to finish this story, to purge his soul of the blackness that he had concealed all these years.

`He tried for me again but I ducked underwater and swam for the bank. Nearly didn't make it, but I managed to drag myself ashore. Ferris followed me in the boat, insisting that it had been an accident, asking if I was all right, trying to pretend that he hadn't just tried to kill me.'

He snorted in disgust at the memory. 'I knew then that he'd never let up. If I were to be safe, I had to do one of two things. Kill him or leave the country. Even if I were to simply stand aside, to abdicate, I knew he'd never trust me. He'd expect me to try to seize the throne from him at some time in the future. I guess it was just worth more to him than it was to me. It was worth his brother's life.

`That's what I told him. Then I left.' He smiled at the two concerned young faces opposite him now and added, `And the way things turned out, I'm rather glad I did.'

The two young men shook their heads. There were no words that could express their sympathy for the grim-faced Ranger who meant so much to both of them. Then they realised that Halt didn't need words from them. He knew how much they cared about him.

`You might have noticed,' he said, trying to lighten the mood around the camp fire, 'I've been left with a distinct aversion to royalty and inherited authority. The fact that a person's father is a king doesn't necessarily mean that he will be a good one. All too often he's not. I prefer the Skandian method, where someone like Erak can be elected.'

`But Duncan is a good king,' Horace answered quietly.

Halt looked at him and nodded. 'Yes. There are always exceptions. Duncan is a fine king. And his daughter will make an excellent queen. That's why we all serve them. As for Ferris, I confess I wouldn't be heartbroken if this Tennyson character dragged him screeching off the throne of Clonmel. But then Araluen would be in danger, so we need to prop him up.'

`Unpalatable as that may be,' Will said.

`Sometimes we act for the greater good,' Halt said. Then he stood up, dusting himself off, as if to disperse the cloud of melancholy that had settled over them as he talked. He continued in a brisker tone.

`Speaking of which, it's time we got moving. Will, I want you to go to Duffy's Ford and pick up the trail of these bandits. Track them to their camp and see what you can find out about them: numbers, weapons, that sort of thing. If you can get any inkling of their plans, that'd be good. But be careful. We don't want to have to come and rescue you. Don't underestimate these people. They may look like an untrained rabble but they've been doing this for some years now and they know what they're about.'

Will nodded his understanding. He began to gather his equipment together and whistled to Tug, who walked forward to be resaddled.

`Will I meet you back here?' he asked.

Halt shook his head. 'We'll meet at Mountshannon. Horace and I are going to take a look at this Tennyson character.'

Chapter 18

Duffy's Ford crossed a long, slow curve in the river.

Over hundreds of years, the action of the water running through the curve had cut away the bank, eroding it so that the river gradually became wider. As that happened, the moving water was spread over a larger area, and its speed and depth were both reduced accordingly, providing a crossing point for travellers. There was no logical reason why people on the road shouldn't break their journey at any point along the way but travellers tend to look for landmarks or significant features to sit back, relax and enjoy a meal. Duffy's Ford, with its wide, flat grassy banks, sheltered by willows, provided an ideal location.

As is often the case, the fact that travellers were drawn to a location resulted in the growth of a small settlement designed to serve their needs. The trees had been cleared and there was a small huddle of buildings to one side of the ford.

Or there had been. Will dismounted and walked forward to look around. He studied the blackened remains of what had been a group of buildings, where wisps of smoke still rose in places. The largest, which had provided food and drink to passers-by, had been a rambling, single-storey affair, gradually added to over the years. Will guessed, correctly, that it had provided overnight accommodation to those who wanted it. Now less than half the building remained. The rest was a pile of blackened ashes. The roof had gone, of course, being made of thatch. And the mud and daub walls had cracked in the heat of the fire that had swept through the building and collapsed. But some of the timber framework remained in place – a skeletal structure of blackened beams and uprights that tottered precariously over the charred remains of beds, tables, chairs and other furnishings. There were several half-burnt casks in one room. Will guessed that it must have been the tap room, where thirsty travellers could relax over a glass of ale. Remarkably, demonstrating the capricious nature of a fire like this, one corner had remained relatively untouched and there were several dark bottles still standing on a shelf behind the collapsed charred bench that had been the bar. Gingerly, Will picked his way through the ashes and debris and picked one up. He unstoppered it and sniffed the cork, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the powerful smell of cheap brandy. He re-stoppered it and went to put it back but then a thought struck him. It could come in handy at a later date. So he slipped the bottle into an inner pocket.

He made his way back onto clear ground and walked around the perimeter of the ruined central building, turning his attention to the other three destroyed structures. One had been the stables, placed behind the mainbuilding. There was nothing left there. It had burnt fiercely, the flames not even extinguished by a heavy rainstorm that had saved some of the main building.

`Probably full of straw,' he said to himself. The dried-out hay would have been perfect fuel, defying the efforts of the rain to quell the flames.

Beyond the ruined stable there were two other, smaller buildings. In front of one was a stone fireplace, where an assortment of blacksmith's tools – hammers, awls and pliers – were scattered. It made sense, he realised, for a smithy to set up shop here. There's be plenty of trade from passing travellers needing wagons repaired, horses shoed or tack mended. The other building had probably been a residence – perhaps for the smithy and his family. There was little left of it now. The small settlement had a forlorn feeling to it – deserted and lifeless.