'If there is no army, or if a Methven commands, then lead your men as a raiding force: locate the Moidart and harry her flanks.'

Grif laughed. 'Aye, prick her. I have the skill for that, all right. And my men, too.'He became serious. 'But it will take time, weeks possibly, for me to reach her. Unless she already knocks at 'the door.'

'I think not. That must be your course, however long. Travelling by the canny routes, news of her coming would be a full three weeks ahead of her. An army cannot take the hill ways. With speed, we can hope to engage her well before she reaches Viriconium.'

'What of yourself, in these weeks we scatter like minutes.'

'Today, I leave for the city. There I will arrange the backing of Queen Jane for the Methven and also seek Trinor, for he would be an asset. If an army has been sent (and I cannot think the queen as ill-informed as I: there must be one), I will join you, probably at Duirinish, bringing any help I can.'

'Fair enough, Cromis. You will need a couple of men in the unquiet city. I'll detail -'

Cromis held up his hand.

'I'll ride alone, Grif. Am I hard pressed, it will be useful practice. I have grown out of the way of fighting.'

'Always the brooder.'Grif returned to the window and bawled down into the courtyard, 'Go to sleep, you skulkers. Three hours, and we ride north!'

Grif had not changed. However he lived, he lived it full. Cromis stood by him at the window and clapped his meaty shoulder.

'Tell me, Grif: what has been your business all these years?'Grif bellowed with laughter, which seemed to infect his men. They milled about the courtyard, laughing too, although they could not have heard the question.

'Something as befits a Methven in peacetime, brooder. Or as you may have it, nothing as befits a Methven at any time. I have been smuggling distilled wine of low and horrible quality to peasants in the Cladich marshes, whose religion forbids them drink it…'