The Endless Circle - Chapter 15: The Feasting-Hall

"In the middle place sat the Baron, champing on his food
as spit and juices dribbled down his chin."

As the soldiers rode away from the hollow in the forest Father’s only thought was of Banac. He was proud of his boy, proud that he had found him, that he had dared to come after him in the first place. But mingled with the pride was fear, and shame: he should never have allowed Banac to get involved in this.

He tried to comfort himself. Haemel was there, Haemel would be with him. If there was anyone in the world he would trust with Banac’s life it was Haemel.

He offered up a prayer to Cafan that they would be kept safe and brought out alive. But even as he formed the words in his mind he felt the same doubt that had come to him when he had seen the soldiers on the beach and the look of fear in his wife’s eyes. When the test had come, when the world had intruded on his faith, his faith had wavered, and now he trusted more in Haemel than he ever had in Cafan.



He squirmed against his bonds, trying to find a more comfortable position. As he moved the ropes cut into his wrists and he grunted in pain.

“Quiet there,” said a rough voice nearby. A heavy hand came down sharply on his head, knocking it to one side. He lay still, ignoring the pain, and tried to pray some more.

They rode for some time in silence. The only sounds were the snorting of the horses and the jingling of the harnesses and the steady beat of hooves on dry earth. Out of the corner of his eye Father saw shadowed trees passing by, illuminated by the light of the soldiers’ torches. After a while the trees gave way to open air, and the column took a right turn onto a gravelled road and picked up the pace, the men urging their horses into a canter.

It was still dark, but the moon was out and shining brightly. Between the jarring hoofbeats Father managed to raise his head a little. He saw a hillside falling away into the distance, and a wide vale where shadowed clumps of trees slept beneath the stars. They were riding westwards, away from the Sea, towards the Baron’s house on Craec Annwn. As for what lay there, Father did not want to think about it.

The next hour was one of the longest of his life. He was jerked and pounded by the cantering horse beneath him until his body felt like it was one big bruise and he struggled to catch his breath. When at last the pace slowed and the jolting eased he was tender all over, and his wrists burned where the ropes had rubbed and broken the skin.

The column halted. Up ahead voices called to each other in question and answer. After a minute there came the rumbling and creaking of a great gate being opened, and the horses started forward again, under an archway of stone and into a sleeping town. They passed by houses on either side of the road: square, whitewashed buildings standing two storeys high, far removed from the simple thatched structures of the village. Every house had a door of solid wood secured with a heavy metal lock, and the windows had sturdy shutters on them. There were no door-curtains here. The folk of this town knew what it meant to be afraid.

A few minutes later the column turned a corner and the road sloped uphill, growing gradually steeper as they ascended and left the houses behind. At the top of the hill the road levelled out, and they passed through another arch, smaller than the last, lit on both sides by burning iron braziers. Through the arch was a broad courtyard surrounded by wooden out-buildings on three sides, and on the fourth side a dark hulking structure rising up and up into the night sky, all battlements and austere stonework. Here and there a window-slit glowed yellow or red, but apart from those small signs of life the castle was silent.

As the men fanned out in the courtyard a pair of huge oak doors swung open and the fattest man Father had ever seen emerged. He was swathed in acres of silk and velvet, his massive arms stretched out on either side of his bulky torso, fat fingers glittering with countless rings, his dark hair falling in oiled curls over his shoulders. Father needed no introduction to know who he was.

“Welcome! Welcome!” the Baron boomed, his red face split by a wide grin. “My returning heroes!”

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