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now. They wanted their treasures back, and they would pay for them dearly because they were terrified of Erek’s displeasure.

      ‘Erek is their name for Slaol,’ Valan told Hengall.

      Hengall, pleased to have forced the admission from the strangers, stood. ‘We shall think on this matter,’ he announced.

      Food was fetched from the settlement. There was cold pork, flat bread, smoked fish, and bowls of chickweed and sorrel. The strangers ate warily, fearful of being poisoned, but afraid to give offence by rejecting the food. Only their priest did not eat, but just lay staring into the sky. Gilan and Ratharryn’s priests huddled together, whispering fiercely, while Lengar and his friends formed another small group at the circle’s far side. Folk came to inspect the offered gifts, though none crossed the charm-ringed circle to touch them for the gifts had still not been cleansed of Outfolk sorcery by Ratharryn’s priests. Hengall talked with the elders and sometimes asked questions of the priests, though it was mainly with Gilan that he talked. The priest had now made two visits to Cathallo and he spoke urgently with Hengall who listened, nodded and finally seemed convinced by whatever Gilan urged on him.

      The sun was sliding down to its western home when Hengall resumed his place, but custom demanded that any man in the tribe could have his opinion heard before Hengall pronounced a decision. A few men did stand and most advised accepting the Outfolk’s payment. ‘The gold is not ours,’ Galeth said, ‘but was stolen from a god. How can it bring us good luck? Let the strangers have their treasures.’ Voices murmured in support, then Lengar beat the ground with his spear staff and the murmurs died as Hengall’s son stood to address the crowd.

      ‘Galeth is right!’ Lengar said, causing surprise among those who thought that the two men could never agree. ‘The Outfolk should have their treasures back. But we should demand a higher price than these scourings from their huts.’ He gestured at the goods piled in front of the strangers. ‘If the Outfolk want their treasures returned, then let them come from their far country with all their spears and all their bows and offer themselves to our service for a year.’

      Haragg, the Outfolk interpreter, whispered to his companions, who looked worried, but Hengall shook his head. ‘And how are we to feed this horde of armed Outfolk?’ he asked his son.

      ‘They will feed from the crops and cattle that they capture with their weapons.’

      ‘And what crops and cattle are they?’ Hengall asked.

      ‘Those that grow and graze to the north of us,’ Lengar answered defiantly, and many in the tribe voiced their agreement. The tribe of Sarmennyn was famous for its warriors. They were lean, hungry men from a bare land and they took with their spears what their country could not provide. Such feared warriors would surely make brief work of Cathallo and more of Hengall’s folk raised their voices in Lengar’s support.

      Hengall raised his vast club for silence. ‘The army of Sarmennyn,’ he said, ‘has never reached this far into the heartland. Yet now you would invite them? And if they do come with their spears and their bows and their axes, how do we rid ourselves of them? What is to stop them turning on us?’

      ‘We shall outnumber them!’ Lengar declared confidently.

      Hengall looked scornful. ‘You know how many spears they muster?’ he demanded, pointing to the strangers.

      ‘I know that with their help we can destroy our enemies,’ Lengar retorted.

      Hengall stood, a sign that Lengar’s time of talking was over. Lengar stayed on his feet for a few heartbeats, then reluctantly squatted. Hengall spoke in a loud voice that reached the outermost part of the crowd. ‘Cathallo is not our enemy! Cathallo is powerful, yes, but so are we! The two of us are like dogs. We can fight and maim each other, but the wounds we would inflict would be so deep that neither of us might live. But if we hunt together we shall feed well.’ The tribe stared at him in silent surprise. They had expected a decision about the gold lozenges and instead the chief was talking of the problem of Cathallo.

      ‘Together!’ Hengall shouted. ‘Together, Cathallo and Ratharryn will be as strong as any land in this earth. So we shall bind ourselves in a marriage of tribes.’ That news caused a loud gasp from the crowd. ‘On midsummer’s eve we shall go to Cathallo and dance with their people.’ The crowd thought about that, then a slow-growing murmur of agreement spread among them. Only a moment before they had been eagerly supporting Lengar’s idea of conquering Cathallo, now they were seduced by Hengall’s vision of peace. ‘Gilan has talked with their chief and he has agreed that we shall not be one tribe,’ Hengall declared, ‘but two tribes united like a man and a woman in marriage.’

      ‘And which tribe is the man?’ Lengar dared to shout.

      Hengall ignored him. ‘There will be no war,’ he said flatly, then he looked down at the strangers. ‘And there will be no exchange,’ he went on. ‘Your god was given the treasures, but you lost them, and they were brought to us. They came to our Old Temple, which tells me they are meant to stay here. If we give back the gold, we insult the gods who sent the treasures to our keeping. Their coming is a sign that the temple must be restored, and so it shall be! It will be rebuilt!’ Gilan, who had been urging that course, looked pleased.

      The one-eyed man protested, threatening to bring war to Ratharryn.

      ‘War?’ Hengall brandished his great club. ‘War!’ he shouted. ‘I will give you war if you come to Ratharryn. I will piss on your souls, enslave your children, make playthings of your women and grind your bones to powder. That is war as we know it!’ He spat towards the strangers. ‘Take your belongings and go,’ he ordered.

      The strangers’ priest howled at the sky and their leader tried a last appeal, but Hengall would not listen. He had rejected the exchange and the Outfolk had no choice but to pick up their gifts and return to their horses.

      But that evening, when the sun was tangled among the western trees like a fish caught in a woven-willow trap, Lengar and a dozen of his closest supporters left Ratharryn. They carried bows and spears and had their hounds leashed on long leather ropes, and they claimed they were going back to their hunting grounds. But it was noted that Lengar also took an Outfolk slave, a woman, and that shocked the tribe for women were not taken on hunting expeditions. And that night a half-dozen more young women slipped out of Ratharryn, so next morning the horrified tribe realized that Lengar had not gone hunting at all, but had fled, and that the women had followed their warrior lovers. Hengall’s anger overflowed like the river flooding with storm water. He raged at the malign fate that had sent him such an elder son, then he sent warriors on Lengar’s trail, though none expected to catch up with the fugitives who had too long a start. Then Hengall heard that Jegar, who was reckoned Lengar’s closest friend, was still in Ratharryn and the chief summoned Jegar to his hut door and there ordered him to abase himself.

      Jegar lay flat on the ground while Hengall raised his war club over the young man’s head. ‘Where has my son gone?’ he demanded coldly.

      ‘To Sarmennyn,’ Jegar answered, ‘to the Outfolk.’

      ‘You knew they planned this,’ Hengall asked, his rage mounting again, ‘and did not tell me?’

      ‘Your son put a curse on my life if I betrayed him,’ Jegar said.

      Hengall kept the club poised. ‘And why did you not go with him? Are you not his soul’s friend?’

      ‘I did not go,’ Jegar answered humbly, ‘because you are my chief and this is my home and I would not live in a far country beside the sea.’

      Hengall hesitated. He plainly wanted to slam the club down and spatter the earth with blood, but he was a fair man and he controlled his anger and so lowered the weapon. Jegar had answered his questions well and though Hengall had no liking for the young man, he still raised him to his feet, embraced him, and gave him a small bronze knife as a reward for his loyalty.

      But Lengar had gone to the Outfolk. So Hengall burned his son’s hut and pounded his pots to dust. He killed Lengar’s mother, who had been his own first wife, and he ordered Gilan to use

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