'Pay him no heed,' Gundrun advised. 'He has been to Jerusalem.'

'Twice,' grumbled Dufnas.

'Twice,' confirmed his friend. 'He was robbed by Saracens the last time, and he has never forgiven them.'

Murdo turned wondering eyes upon the moody merchantman. He did not appear a likely pilgrim; but then, Murdo had never known anyone who had been as far as Lundein, much less Rome or Jerusalem. 'They say,' he ventured, 'that the Holy Land is surrounded by a desert, and that the sand burns with a fire that cannot be quenched. Is this so?'

Gundrun passed the question to Dumas, saying, 'Well, my friend, you heard him – what about the desert?'

'Aye,' he agreed between bites, 'there is a desert right enough.'

'And does it burn?' persisted Murdo.

'Worse – it boils,' answered Dufnas, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. 'No one can cross it during the day. You must wait until the night when it freezes like ice.'

Murdo nodded, as if he had long suspected this to be the case. He tucked this nugget of information into his memory to bring out later and impress Torf and Skuli. He was about to ask Dufnas whether it was also true that the Saracens could take as many wives as they pleased, but the serving monks arrived with pitchers and beakers of wine just then, and everyone began filling their cups and drinking one another's health. Murdo joined in, and found that he liked wine, and the way it made him feel as if he were glowing inside.

All around the green, the feast took on a more convivial mood, as everyone awaited the appearance of the Saint John's bread, sweet little barley cakes taken with wine. When at last they arrived, the cakes brought gasps of delight from the celebrants, for, baked into each small round loaf was a silver coin. Murdo plucked the coin from his cake and cupped it in his palm. Though it was but a tiny coin, it was more money than he had ever held at once. He gazed at the coin and marvelled at the Bishop's generosity.

'The pilgrim's coin,' Gundrun told him. 'It is to pay the gattage.'

'The what?'

'The tax which the gatemen of Jerusalem demand of all pilgrims who enter the Holy City.'

'To carry it with you means that you will live to see the city of the Blessed Saviour.'

Dufnas grunted at this, and pressed his coin into Murdo's hand. 'There,' he said, 'now you can pay my tax, too, when you get there.'

Murdo thought to remind the disagreeable merchant that, in fact, he was not going to Jerusalem at all, but Dufnas was already draining his second beaker of wine and Murdo thought it best not to disturb him with such trifling matters. He tucked the coins into his belt, and turned his attention to the Saint John's bread and wine.

The wine, sweetened with honey and lightly spiced, quickly disappeared-most of it down Dufnas' gullet, it had to be said-so Murdo sipped his cautiously, fearing he would get no more. Yet, no sooner had the empty pitcher touched the board than it was refilled from one of the two tuns of wine the bishop had established at either end of the green. One glance at the broad oak vats supported on their iron stanchions, and Murdo drained his beaker and then thrust it out for Gundrun to refill.

'Thirsty, boy, eh?' he laughed. 'Well done!'

Dufnas nudged him with an elbow and nodded his grudging approval. 'We shall make a trencherman of you yet,' he declared.

There followed more barley cakes and spiced wine, and some time later a dish made from ground almonds, honey, eggs and milk all boiled together to produce a thick sweet confection which was eaten from bowls with spoons as if it were soup. Murdo had never tasted anything so sweet, and did not think he could finish his, until, following Dumas' example, he alternated each spoonful with a healthy swig of wine, and found the combination produced a delectable flavour.

When Murdo at last looked up from his third bowlful, he was astonished to find that the day was fading; shadows were stealing across the green. Many of the celebrants had left the board-some to stroll arm in arm around the cloisters, others to be received by the bishop before making their way home. He looked for Ragna and her family, but could not see them anywhere.

He was still searching when he heard someone call his name; he turned and saw Skuli motioning to him to come, and then saw his father and mother among those awaiting a word with Bishop Adalbert. Murdo reluctantly rose to join them.

'Leaving us so soon?' inquired Gundrun, placing his hand affectionately on Murdo's shoulder.

'Alas,' replied Murdo, 'I must go, or get left behind.' He bade his dining companions farewell and thanked them for telling him about the Holy Land. Upon receiving their compliments, he turned and walked, on slightly wobbly legs, to where his father was just then stepping before the bishop.

Murdo arrived in time to hear the cleric say, '- so I have been informed. However, I had hoped, Lord Ranulf, that you might be persuaded to see the matter in a different light. It is a long journey and far from safe at the best of times. I am certain you would travel in better peace were your lands and possessions secure in our care.'

Ranulf smiled with genuine warmth. 'Your concern shows much to your favour, bishop. Yet, the matter is settled. My lady wife is well able to look after the ordering of the farm. Indeed, she has been so accustomed these last twenty years.'

'Even the most accomplished overseers require help,' the bishop pointed out, nodding slightly towards the lady in question. Niamh smiled, but Murdo recognized the cat-like smile as that which usually preceded a stinging reply.

Before she drew breath, Lord Ranulf interposed swiftly, saying, 'Of course, bishop, that is why my son Murdo is staying behind. He is a steady young man, and knows his work. Also, our tenants will continue to provide their share of labour.' The lord glanced approvingly at his lady. 'I have given the matter a great deal of thought, as you can see,' he concluded. 'And, I am certain you will agree that since Jarl Erlend is to remain in Orkneyjar, my short absence will occasion but little remark. Also, I would not like to cause anyone the slightest hardship. I know you will have care enough to look after all the lands which will be delivered to your keeping. I could not rest easy in the thought that my affairs had become a burden on anyone.'

So saying, the lord bade the bishop good day; Lady Niamh added her farewell and thanks for a magnificent feast worthy of the namesake saint. Bishop Adalbert delivered a benediction of parting, and, even as they turned to leave, added that should anything occur to change his mind, the lord would find him ready and willing to shoulder the responsibility of looking after his lands.

Torf and Skuli made their farewells, Murdo muttered his regards, and then they were escorted once more through the cathedral and outside the church wall. They made their way to the bay below the low church hill and boarded the boat for the homeward voyage. The wind was light, but steady out of the northeast and the seas calm; the sailing would be pleasant, and they would be home in no time at all.

Ranulf woke Peder, his boatman, who was asleep on the tiller bench, and ordered Torf and Skuli to ready the sail, while he and Murdo untied the boat and, taking up two long oars, pushed away from the quay. Then all four men rowed until, once clear of the other boats, they could turn around, whereupon Ranulf gave the command to raise the sail. The heavy fabric shook itself and puffed out nicely, and the small ship glided from the wide, shallow bay and proceeded on an easterly course to clear the headland, before turning south and coasting home.

Once past the headland, there was nothing for Murdo to do, so he propped himself up on the rail and watched the low hills and cliffs, the dark rocks glowing red and purple in the westering sun. Murdo settled to bask in the warm, long-lingering sunset. Perched on the rail, he could not help thinking that, all in all, it was a splendid end to a fine day.