'You pray,' suggested the seaman, drawing a spear from the bundle at the rail. 'I will carry this-should his welcome be less than he expects.'

Murdo heard Jon Wing's call behind him as he entered the yard, but refused to wait for the Norseman to catch up with him. He strode towards the house and called out loudly. 'Ragna! Niamh! I have returned!' He paused, and when his cry produced no effect, he shouted again, more loudly. 'Ragna! Niamh! It is Murdo! I have returned!'

Receiving no answer, he started for the house.

'Wait!' shouted Jon Wing, puffing up behind him. He looked at the house and empty yard. 'Is there no one here?'

'Most likely they are busy inside,' Murdo replied, trying to convince himself.

They moved to the door, but found it barred. Murdo stood on the step and shouted again. He beat on the door with the flat of his hand. There came no answer.

'It is very quiet for such a big steading,' observed Jon.

'Perhaps they have gone to the market,' suggested Murdo, frowning now. 'Or, maybe they are in the fields.'

'Everyone?' The Norseman shook his head. 'The sun is up and a farm this size should be busy.'

They moved quickly across the yard between the barn and the granary and past empty livestock pens; the pigsty was empty, too. The fields, however, were well planted and neatly tended, the early greens bright against the rich black earth. Still, they saw no one at work anywhere, and Murdo, fighting down his desperation, started back to the house. They were crossing the yard when they heard someone sneeze. 'Listen!' Murdo turned this way and that. 'It came from the kitchens.'

Murdo darted off on the run. Jon Wing followed at a slight distance, the spear ready in his hand. Upon reaching the squat building behind the house, Murdo started for the door. Jon's shout brought him up short. 'Wait!'

Murdo hesitated, his hand reaching for the door.

'Come out!' called Jon Wing sharply. 'No harm will come to you if you show yourself now.'

Silence. Nothing moved. Murdo started forward again, but Jon shook his head. Instead, he called, 'We are not robbers, or raiders. We only wish to speak to you. Come out and answer our questions, and then we will be on our way.' He paused. 'But if I must come in after you, it will be with a spear in my hand.'

In a moment, the door cracked open, and a small, wrinkled face appeared in the narrow gap. 'Please, we want no trouble,' said a shaky voice. 'We are afraid. Go away. I have a dog with me, so do not try to rob us.'

'Come out where we can see you,' commanded Jon Wing in his seaman's voice. 'If you do as we say, and do it quickly, there will be no trouble. We have not come to rob anyone.'

The door swung a little wider and a small, white-haired old woman stepped out quickly; she was slightly hunched, and wizened, and Murdo was certain he had never set eyes on her before. A big grey dog pushed out beside her and stood looking warily at the newcomers.

'Jotun!' said Murdo. 'Come, Jotun.'

The dog cocked his head to one side, but remained steadfastly beside the old woman. Murdo realized the dog no longer recognized him. Everything was changed, he thought, including himself.

'That is better,' said Jon Wing to the woman, resting his spear. 'Now then, old mother, who else is with you?'

'No one,' she said, 'just my Jarn-and the dog here.'

'Where is Jarn?' asked the sea lord. 'We did not see him. Where is he?'

Pointing vaguely towards the fields, she replied, 'With the cows, I suppose. He was tending the cows.'

'We saw no cows,' said Jon mildly.

'Where is everyone?' demanded Murdo, starting forward, his fists clenched. 'The people who live here-where have they gone? Where is Ragna?' The old woman's eyes grew wide, she whirled on her heels, and scuttled back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

'Perhaps it would be best if just one of us asked the questions,' Jon proposed.

'You were asking about cows!' Murdo blurted angrily. 'What do we care about cows? Ask her what happened here-where is everyone?'

'Calm yourself,' soothed Jon. 'We will not leave until we have heard all there is to tell.' A voice called out from the yard just then. 'There now, Brother Emlyn has arrived. You go and bring him here while I coax the old one into giving us something to eat.' Murdo stared at the door. 'Go fetch the priest, Murdo.'

Murdo moved off reluctantly, and Jon turned his attention to persuading the old woman to come out once more. By the time Murdo returned, the Norseman was sitting on a stump beside the kitchen door with half a loaf of buttered black bread in his hand. 'She makes good bread,' he said, chewing contentedly. He passed the loaf to Murdo, who tore off a chunk and passed the remaining portion to Emlyn.

'Is there any ale?' wondered the monk.

The old woman appeared just then with a dripping jar in her hand. 'Bless you, good woman!' exclaimed Emlyn, rushing to relieve her of the burden. He raised the jar to his lips and drank deeply, then passed the jar to Murdo, proclaiming the brew divine, and its maker a very angel. This pleased the old woman, who chuckled to herself. 'It is the best beer I have tasted in many months,' he told her. 'Your good husband is certainly a very fortunate man to have you to cook. But is it only yourselves you have to feed?'

'I was just about telling this one here that my Jarn and me are all that's left. Everyone is gone-the lord and lady, the vassals, too -all of them gone.'

'Where did they go?' asked Murdo impatiently.

The old woman eyed him suspiciously. 'Do I know?' she snapped. 'No, I do not! I was never told. We were brought here to keep the cows for the bishop -'

'The bishop!'

'Aye, Bishop Adalbert,' answered the woman. 'Is there another hereabouts?'

'But why-' began Murdo. The old woman drew back.

Jon Wing reached out with the jar and shoved it into Murdo's hands. 'Fill the jug, Murdo, and stop pestering the good wife.' Murdo took the jar and disappeared into the kitchen. 'My young friend is anxious about his mother,' Jon explained. 'We have been on crusade with King Magnus, you see.'

'And his mother was the lady here,' deduced the woman incorrectly. 'Then his father must be the lord. But I never heard what happened to any of them. We were just told that the property here was under the care of the church, and the bishop was loath to let the fields fall idle. Nor is it meet to let a good house suffer neglect.'

'Indeed,' agreed Emlyn, 'and I am certain the house is well in hand with you and Jarn here. But the fields are too much for the two of you, I think. You must have help with those.'

'Oh, aye,' answered the woman quickly. 'The vassals take care of the crops still.'

'Where are the vassals?' inquired Murdo, stepping from the doorway with the jar. 'They would know what happened here, but we saw no one in the fields.'

'They are working on the other island today, are they not?' answered the woman smugly. 'The bishop has many such estates he must care for now. So many of the men went away on the crusade, you see, and left him with all the work-fields to plough, cattle to raise, crops to be harvested, and what all.'

'A shame that,' observed the monk, taking up the jar once more. He drank a long, noisy draught. 'Ahh, yes, a very joy and a blessing to restore the inner man!'

'You have travelled far then,' the old woman said.

'All the way from the Holy Land,' answered the monk.

'As far as that…" the old mother shook her head and clucked her tongue. 'Well, you can stay here the night, I expect. The bishop would not refuse you hospitality, nor will I.'

'We thank you, good woman,' agreed Jon, much to Murdo's annoyance. 'It would be fine indeed to spend a night on solid ground. We accept your kind offer.'