Abu, however, was rapidly becoming an unwanted problem. Since the confrontation in Iria, he had grown increasingly truculent. Allowing him to join them had been a mistake; there was no denying it. With every mile further from the Holy Land, his usefulness dwindled that much more; and unless she could think of something for him to do, he would soon be far more trouble than he was worth. She was just thinking it might be best to send him back to Bilbao with the hostler, when she heard Rognvald hail them from across the square.

Cait opened her eyes and saw the tall knight striding towards them. He paused to lave water over his head and face before turning to her. 'I have no good news, my lady,' he said, his face and hair dripping. 'I was able to speak to the magistrate, who confirmed that a writ must be obtained. However, he refused to help us. He said that he could not allow us to travel until the bandits had been eradicated and the roads secured once more.

'It seems the Archbishop of Castile has requested the formation of a holy order of knights to guard the roads-the Knights of Calatrava, he called them. They have sent an embassy to Rome to secure the church's authorization -'

'But that could take months,' Yngvar pointed out.

If not years,' said Svein.

'Too true,' agreed Rognvald. 'But until the new order receives the blessing of the pope, the magistrate insists no one is to be allowed to use the roads.'

'If we cannot secure the king's permission, we will simply go without it.'

'Even that may not be so easy,' Rognvald went on to explain, 'for, without the writ, none of the tradesmen in this place will sell to us. They risk confiscation of their goods and, perhaps, imprisonment into the bargain.'

Cait, unable to fathom the idiocy of the Spanish authorities, was not of a mood to comply. 'Good!' She stood, making up her mind at once. 'I want nothing more to do with this flyblown dirt clod of a town anyway.' The others sat looking on. 'To your horses,' she told them, 'we go on to Palencia.'

Despite the extravagant protestations of the ostler, who received the rumour of bandits with, Cait thought, exaggerated emotion, he nevertheless seemed happy enough to permit the company to purchase his animals. 'Seven horses and five pack mules,' he said, tapping the side of his nose thoughtfully. 'I could let you have them for…' His eyes narrowed as he calculated the figure. 'Five gold marks each for the horses, and one for each mule-forty gold marks in all!' he proclaimed triumphantly.

'A moment,' said Cait, and summoned Abu, who seemed to know the trade value of everything. 'He says forty gold marks-what do you think?'

'Not a bad price,' granted Abu, 'but not a good one.'

'The horses are in good condition,' Rognvald said, stepping near, 'but one is blind in one eye, and two of them will need shoeing soon. I cannot say about the mules.'

'They are fair,' said Abu, 'for mules. Offer him thirty.'

'Do you have that much left?' asked Rognvald.

She nodded and turned back to the ostler. 'Master Miguel,' said Cait reasonably, 'you have us at your mercy. We need the animals in order to continue, and there is no one else who can sell to us.' She removed the coin bag from beneath her girdle and untied it. 'Therefore, I will give you thirty gold coins.'

'My lady,' replied Miguel with his toothless grin and shaking his head, 'if it was my decision alone, I would do it. But I have a wife and children to feed, and without my animals I cannot earn my crust. Forty gold marks, please.'

'Since you put it that way, I will give you what you ask,' she said, but before he could reply, she raised an admonitory finger. 'But I make one condition.'

'Yes?' The eagerness faded from the ostler's face.

'As you know, we will be returning to Bilbao where the ship is waiting. Therefore, once our business is completed and we have no further use for the horses, we will sell them back to you for, say…' she glanced at Abu who showed three fingers, 'thirty gold marks. Agreed?'

'Twenty-five gold marks,' countered Miguel.

'Done.' Cait counted the gold coins into the ostler's hands, and bade him farewell. By way of thanks, Master Miguel accompanied them a fair distance from the town to see them well on their way to Palencia before turning back to make his way home.

The ride through the long, lush Nervion valley proved peaceful and wholly agreeable. Never did they see any sign of the fearful bandits; the countryside appeared quiet and serene as the last of the fierce summer's heat dissipated, leaving behind a beautiful, mellow autumn which settled over the countryside like a warm, comfortable cloak. Apart from a few sudden showers which sent the party galloping for the shelter of overhanging chestnut boughs, the days remained bright and clear. Occasionally, they awoke to a crisp nip to the morning air which Cait found both refreshing and exhilarating, but for the most part the days remained warm from early morning to well after dark.

Every now and then, Cait would look up from her solitary meditations to discover a silent partner beside her: sometimes Abu, or one of the knights, but more often Lord Rognvald. He seemed content merely to ride with her, never speaking until she invited his conversation, which she usually did, and in this way Cait began to discover the depths of the man she had redeemed from a slow death in a Muhammedan prison.

'What is it like where you were born?' she asked him one day. The morning air was cool, and the sun warm on her face; the leaves on the birch and ash trees were just beginning to turn and she felt like talking.

Rognvald cocked his head to one side and looked at her with a quizzical expression. 'My home?' he said after a moment. 'Or the place where I was born?'

'Most people are born at home,' she said. 'Were you not?'

'My home is in Haukeland, near Bj0rgvin in the south, but I was born at Kaupangr, where Olav the Holy is buried. It is a most sacred place and a great many people make pilgrimages there. My mother was a very devout lady.'

'Your mother was on pilgrimage at the time of your birth,' Cait assumed, curiously delighted by the notion.

'In truth…' replied Rognvald, shaking his head, 'no.' He smiled, and Cait caught the cheerful gleam of his eyes, blue as the cloud-scoured Spanish skies above, as he said, 'You see, the king also had hunting lodges there, and he would invite noblemen to come hunting with him. It came about that my father was summoned to attend one of the king's great winter hunts.

'Well, one of the old vassals-a wise woman with uncanny powers-had foretold bad luck for a winter birth, and that doubled for a child without a father. My mother took this to heart, so naturally my father was loath to leave her alone.'

'Naturally,' echoed Cait, staunch in her conviction that childbirth ought to take precedence over trivialities like hunting.

'Yet even so, the hunt was to take place during the Yuletide celebrations, and fortunate indeed were those allowed to observe the Christ Mass with the king-a rare and singular honour, and one not to be spurned, for otherwise it would certainly never come again. So, my father did what anyone in his position would do.'

'Heaven forbid it!' said Cait.

'He took their bed from the house and lashed it to the deck of his ship and covered it with a tent. Then he wrapped my mother warm in his huge bearskin cloak, tucked her safely in bed, and sailed off to Kaupangr to visit the king.'

Cait laughed out loud, her voice falling rich and warm on the leaf-covered trail. Rognvald thrilled to hear it, and several of the others riding along behind raised their heads and smiled. 'So, you were born at the king's hunting lodge,' she guessed.