In the Shadow of the Wall by Gordon Anthony Page B

arrogance annoyed him and he felt his own anger rising. He masked it with his practised blank expression. He looked at the other two men. The short one leading the bull was young as well, probably under twenty, and had the look of a born follower. The other man was taller, well muscled with strong arms bearing many painted designs, his long hair braided, his eyes sharp and watching carefully. He, Brude thought, was probably the most dangerous of the three if it came to a fight though he seemed willing to take his lead from the man with the sword who was probably his lord. Brude looked back at the swordsman. “And who are you?”
    The man glared at him as if Brude should have known him. “I am Oengus, son of Gartnait,” he replied. “I expect you have heard of me.” His eyes blazed a challenge.
    “Not until yesterday,” Brude said. “Your father said you were out hunting.” He looked pointedly at the bull and the young boy. “Successfully, it seems. Who’s the boy?”
    “Nobody,” snapped Oengus but the boy lifted his gaze to look at Brude. Defiantly, he said, “I am Castatin, son of Colm of Broch Tava.”
    Oengus rounded on the boy, snapping at him to be silent. To the tall man holding the boy’s tether, he said, “Fothair, if he speaks again, hit him. Hard.”
    The man named Fothair nodded in acknowledgement but without enthusiasm. He turned to glare at the boy, jerking the rope to make the lad stumble and nearly fall.
    Brude stared at the boy as he struggled to regain his balance. Castatin, son of Colm. The son of his friend. The son of the head man of Broch Tava. He tore his gaze away and looked Oengus in the eyes. “Let the boy go,” he said firmly.
    Oengus laughed at him. “Are you mad? He is a hostage for his father’s behaviour. And I do not take orders from wanderers like you.”
    Brude held his arms at his side, his palms open and facing Oengus. “Then let us trade. You can take the mule and all that is on him except my personal gear. You can even keep the bull. Give the boy to me.”
    Oengus did not even consider the offer. “I have a better idea,” he said. “You give me the mule and your sword and I’ll let you live.” He hefted his spear, holding it in two hands, the point an arm’s length from Brude’s chest.
    Brude glanced at the others. The short man was grinning in anticipation, the tall Fothair was watching carefully, his face expressionless but his eyes alert, while the boy Castatin was staring, eyes wide, at Oengus. Brude looked at Oengus again, his arms still at his side, ignoring the threat of the spear. “I do not want to fight you,” he said.
    The short man laughed while Oengus grinned mockingly. “If you are afraid, then give me your sword and I will let you go.”
    Brude looked at him calmly. “I am afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of breaking my oath.”
    Oengus frowned. “Oath? What oath?”
    “I made a promise not to kill any more. So release the boy and we’ll all go our separate ways.”
    Fothair said, “Oengus, we have no time for this. Leave him and let us go home.”
    “Do you think I am afraid of this wandering merchant?” Oengus snapped, his eyes never leaving Brude’s face.
    “No,” Fothair said, “but he does not seem afraid of you either. Come, we have what we wanted.”
    “I want his sword,” Oengus hissed between gritted teeth. “Last chance, merchant.”
    “You are a fool,” spat Brude. “Your friend has more sense than you.”
    Without warning, Oengus roared a challenge and lunged with his spear, aiming for a quick killing blow that would drive the point of the blade into Brude’s chest. Brude, ready for the attack, swayed back, twisting his body and moving lightly on his feet. With his left hand, he grabbed the shaft of the spear just behind the blade as it shot past where his chest had been only a moment before. He pulled, dragging Oengus towards him and crashed his own right shoulder into Oengus’ chest. Oengus gasped as the blow