“What is it, Ainvar?” “Nothing.” “I know you too well; you’re absolutely unable to think of nothing. Some can, but not you. Tell me what you’re thinking about.” “You might not like it.” “All the more reason to tell me, then.” She put her little fists on her hips and stood waiting. She would stand like that until I answered, no matter how long it took. “I was just wondering. Both Dara and Gobnat have revealed unexpected gifts since we came to Hibernia. If we had been able to stay in Gaul, would you have become the wise woman you are today?” “I always was a wise woman.” “I’m glad to hear you say so.” She was instantly suspicious. “Are you still trying to persuade me to join the Order of the Wise?” I could reply in all honesty, “There is no Order of the Wise in Hibernia.” On the previous day I had discussed this very subject with Sulis, Keryth, and Dian Cet. We had decided to replace “the Order of the Wise” with a Gaelic term. After much discussion we chose filídh, meaning “poets”: repositories of wisdom.
