In the Shadow of the Wall by Gordon Anthony Page A

sitting with Gartnait and the men of Peart, one of them by birth yet not one of them. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
    He went back to studying his surroundings. There was a trackway of sorts but he decided to avoid that. The plain was very fertile, good farm land, with several farmsteads and isolated houses scattered across it, all the way from Peart to the hills west of Broch Tava. He was not in the mood to meet any of the locals because he wanted peace to savour his journey home, so he led his laden mule through the scattered woodland, leaving the trackway to the south. Knowing the dangers for any lone traveller, whether following a track or not, he unwrapped his gladius and looped the strap over his left shoulder so that the sword hung at his right hip. It felt comfortable and reassuring.
    He stopped at mid-day, making a cold camp in a wide clearing beside a shallow stream, which burbled its way cheerily through the trees. He left the mule to graze, knowing it was unlikely to wander off, and sat down, leaning against a birch tree to eat some of the bread and honey. The sun was warm now so he took off his cloak, laying it on the ground beside him. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the woodland surrounding him. Soon, he drifted off to sleep.
    He woke with a start, unsure what had roused him. The sun had not moved far; it was still early afternoon so he must have only dozed for a short time. The mule was still nearby, stripping some leaves from a small bush. Rising to his feet, he went to fetch it, looping the halter rope round a branch to make sure it did not run off. He looked around carefully, eyes and ears straining for signs of what had woken him, some sound that was out of place. It could have been a passing deer or fox, he thought, or even a wolf though that was unlikely. He was not bothered by that, for wolves rarely attacked people, especially in the springtime when other food was plentiful. A bear would be a different matter entirely. If it was a bear, he would have no option but to flee. He glanced at the mule. Whatever it was had not spooked it. He checked the wind, little more than a slight breeze wafting from the west. So if there was something approaching he guessed it was coming from the east otherwise the mule would have been more concerned.
    He decided to fetch his cloak and staff and set off again, chiding himself for being scared of shadows but he had barely taken two steps when he saw movement as some men came out of the trees on the far side of the stream. He stopped and looked at them. There were three of them, long-haired and painted with blue dye, dressed in wool and leather. They were carrying spears and the leading man also had a sword, a symbol of high status, strapped to his waist, but they wore no helmets and carried no shields. They had seen him, so came out of the trees cautiously, checking to see whether he was alone. As they walked into the sunlight, he saw that one of them, a short, dark-haired man, was leading a bull, a magnificent long-haired beast with wide, sweeping horns and a ring through its nose. The third man was also leading a rope. At the end of it, hands tied together, was a young boy of around ten or twelve years of age.
    He knew them now. They had been on a cattle raid and had stolen someone’s prime bull. And, for some reason, they had taken the boy as well.
    Satisfied that he was alone, the three men splashed across the shallow stream. The leader, a man in his early twenties, stopped a few paces away and looked sneeringly at Brude. “What have we here? A stranger in the lands of the Boresti?”
    Brude smiled as pleasantly as he could. “My name is Brude.”
    “And where are you from, stranger?” Brude saw that the man was eyeing the sword that hung at Brude’s right hip, greed clear in his expression.
    “Many places,” Brude replied cautiously. He had no desire to get involved in a fight, especially against three armed men, but the young man’s