to teach them a craft, Tad and Zane were growing up without skills. They were becoming wild and feckless.
He knew them both to be bright, able young men, but without a direction to their lives, they were in danger of becoming lost. More than one younger son without a craft had ended up as a bandit, or working hand-to-mouth in the city.
Caleb was pondering the matter when Marie reappeared. He nodded to her and moved away from where Zane was anxiously awaiting Ellie’s favour. He kept his voice low so that the boy couldn’t overhear, and said to Marie, ‘I mistook your meaning, before. I thought you meant that you were worried about the boys today. I see what you mean now.’
She studied his face, then said, ‘Do you?’
He nodded. ‘Let’s keep an eye on them for now and try to have some fun. We’ll speak of this later, tonight.’
She nodded, then forced a smile. ‘Dance?’
He took her by the hand and said, ‘It would be my pleasure.’
They danced to several tunes then fell upon the heavily laden tables. After filling their platters with food, they found a quiet corner on the steps of a shop closed for the festival. Caleb set down the platters and left Marie for a moment to fetch two flagons of ale. When he returned, she said, ‘Where are the boys?’
‘Over there,’ he said, pointing to a spot on the other side of the town square. ‘I’ve not let them out of my sight.’
‘How do you do that?’
He smiled. ‘I’m a hunter. Besides, they’re hard to miss.’
She nodded, and spoke with a mouth full of food. ‘I know, just look for the trouble.’
He laughed. ‘No, just those two tunics.’
They ate quietly, with little conversation, and for the next hour the festivities continued uneventfully. Then a stout man mounted one of the wagons being used to dispense ale and started shouting, ‘My friends!’
Marie said, ‘Here comes trouble.’
Caleb said, ‘Yup,’ and put aside his plate to move towards the wagon. Marie followed.
The man was Miller Hodover, and standing next to him was a young man, roughly twenty years old. The resemblance was obvious, though the man had run to fat years ago and the boy was young and fit, his shoulders still broader than his belt.
Grame Hodover was a sturdy lad, and seemed thoughtful and bright – it was often thought a miracle that his parents could have produced such a well-liked young man.
Caleb made straight for Tad and Zane who were standing on either side of Ellie. She looked at Caleb with relief in her eyes – she knew what was coming next.
‘My friends,’ repeated Miller Hodover, ‘I have an announcement to make. Today, I am a very happy man.’ He positively beamed as he looked around the crowd.
One of the townsmen – under the influence of too much ale – shouted, ‘Why, you raising prices again, Miller?’
There was a ripple of laughter, and Hodover looked irked for a moment, but let his smile return. ‘No, Bram Connor, I’m not … yet.’
Another round of laughter followed his retort and everyone relaxed as they realized that the miller was in a particularly good mood. His well-known parsimony and love of gold were constant subjects of ridicule.
‘No, my friends,’ said the miller. ‘I have an announcement to make. This day, after one of the most bountiful harvests in memory, at a time when everyone seems to be doing so well, I wish to add to the joy of the moment by sharing wonderful news with you all.’
‘Out with it, then,’ shouted another voice from the crowd. ‘You’re making me thirsty!’
Throwing the speaker a black look, the miller smiled again. ‘I would like you all to know that this year my son, Grame, will be wed to Ellie Rankin.’
He motioned to where Ellie stood between the two boys, who looked as if they had just been poleaxed. Zane stood with a furrowed brow, as if he couldn’t quite understand what had just been said, and Tad stood open-mouthed, obviously unwilling to believe it.
Ellie was halfway to the wagon when the boys started after her. Caleb reached out and grabbed each by their collar and hauled them back. ‘Don’t go making a fuss now,’ he said in a low, menacing tone.
Tad threw him an angry look and Zane drew back his fist, but Caleb merely pulled upwards, lifting the boys onto their toes. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
Zane reconsidered, and let his hand fall to his side. Marie said, ‘If you stoneheads really care about Ellie, you’ll be happy for her. Now, the first one to start a fight will have to answer to me. Is that clear?’
Both lads said, ‘Yes, Ma,’ nodded and Caleb let them go.
The townsfolk had gathered to congratulate the engaged couple, while Tad and Zane continued to pout. Caleb indicated that Marie should join the throng, and said, ‘Come with me, boys. I’ve got something special for an occasion such as this.’
The boys looked like they were about to argue, but one glance from their mother caused them to nod and follow Caleb obediently.
He led them to a wagon behind the one which had carried the ale casks. Night was fast approaching and the festival was becoming more raucous. One of the teamsters sat on a buckboard, watching the town bestow its best wishes on the newly betrothed. The man was not a local, so he felt no need to join in, and remained contented with eating and drinking ale.
‘Thomas,’ said Caleb, greeting him.
‘Evening,’ said the wagoner.
‘You have that box up there?’
‘It’s under that tarp, Caleb.’
Caleb found the box and pulled it towards the rear of the wagon. Drawing out his large hunting knife, he used the stout blade to pry open the lid, exposing a dozen bottles of amber liquid. He picked one out and held it up to the lantern light.
‘What is it?’ asked Tad.
‘Something I discovered on my travels down in Kinnoch Country.’
‘Looks like brandy,’ said Zane. ‘The colour, I mean.’
‘Not brandy, but you’ve a good eye.’ Caleb turned, and sat on the back of the wagon, letting his feet dangle. ‘Brandy’s just boiled wine, this is something else.
‘In Kinnoch they have a way to distil a mash of grain, slowly cooking it over fires fed by peat, and then the brew is aged in casks. When it’s made badly, it can peel the paint off a warship’s hull, but when it’s made well—’ He bit the cork and pulled it out.
With his free hand he felt around in the box and produced a small cup of glass. ‘You can’t drink this out of clay or metal, boys. It’ll foul the taste.’
‘What is it?’ asked Tad.
‘They call it whiskey,’ said Caleb, filling the small glass to the top.
‘That’s not very much.’ Zane’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the tiny vessel which held no more than two or three ounces of liquid.
‘A little is more than enough,’ said Caleb, tipping the contents of the glass into his mouth and swallowing. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You try it.’
He produced another glass and filled them both. ‘You can learn to sip this later, boys. Just toss it back and swallow for now.’
The boys did as instructed, and an instant later both were coughing furiously, with their eyes watering. Zane said in a hoarse voice, ‘Damn me, Caleb, are you trying to poison us?’
‘It takes a little getting used to, Zane, but you’ll grow to love it.’
‘It burns