'What offer?' demanded Murdo, suspicion making his voice shrill. 'The same offer you gave \\imV He pointed to poor dead Fossi nailed to the door.

'Aye, he had his chance, but took it into his head to fight,' the dark-haired intruder replied. 'Do not make the same mistake. Swear fealty to King Magnus, and you will live.'

'And if we should refuse?' sneered Murdo.

'Then, like the man on yonder door, you will die,' Bjorn answered indifferently. 'Now, it does not have to be that way. Lord Orin needs workers; vassals are no good to him dead.'

Stung by the cruel injustice of the demand, Murdo could not speak. To become vassals on the land they rightly owned and ruled-the thing was unthinkable.

'It is the land he wants, not blood, boy,' Bjorn said. 'Just you come with us, and we will see you are treated right.'

'We mean you no harm,' insisted Arn, holding tight to Jotun's collar. 'Come along peaceful and quiet now. We will go see Lord Orin and you can talk to him about it.'

'To the devil with you all,' growled Murdo.

Bjorn, having narrowed the distance between himself and his prey, leaped forward with an agility that surprised Murdo. But the younger man was the quicker, and Murdo ducked, driving his shoulder into the intruder's stomach as he lunged. To Murdo's amazement, the dark-haired man was lifted off his feet and thrown backward. 'Get him!' he screamed at his comrades, who stood looking on in flat-footed wonder.

The one called Kali ran at Murdo and made a clumsy grab, which the young man easily eluded. Murdo dodged aside and made to run between Kali and the fallen warrior, but Bjorn kicked out as he darted past, sweeping Murdo's legs from under him. Murdo landed on his side in the dirt, and Kali was on him instantly.

Hard hands seized him and he was jerked roughly to his feet. Bjorn rose up before him, drew back his arm and struck Murdo on the face with the back of his hand. Murdo's teeth rattled with the force of the blow and red-and-black fireballs spun before his eyes. His legs lost strength and he slumped to his knees.

Bjorn, cursing the boy's audacity, raised his arm to strike again. Kali, gripping his arms, hauled him upright, and Murdo braced himself for the blow. The hand started forward, but faltered halfway to the mark as Jotun, seeing his master in trouble, pulled free from his captor's grasp. Arn darted after him, but the great wolfhound took two bounds, leapt, and seized the offending arm in his teeth.

Murdo heard a shriek of pain as Bjorn was yanked sideways and down. Kali, in his haste to help his companion, abandoned his charge and shoved Murdo aside; he drew his sword and ran to where the hound was doing his best to wrest the dark-haired intruder's arm from his shoulder.

'Jotun!' shouted Murdo, desperate to draw the dog away before Kali could strike. 'Here, Jotun!' But the fair-haired warrior stepped in and the sword, clutched tight in both hands, swung up over his head.

Then, even as the sword descended, Kali was struck from behind and thrown forward, losing his balance. The blow fell awry, striking the big dog a glancing stroke on the shoulder.

Murdo sensed a rush of motion towards him. Suddenly Hin was there, lifting him to his feet. 'Run, Master Murdo! Run!'

His ears still ringing from the blow to his face, Murdo shook his head to clear it. 'This way!' he said, dashing for the barn. 'Jotun, come!'

The hound obeyed and all three ran for the gap in the door, leaving the three intruders stumbling in momentary confusion. Bjorn quickly came to his senses, however; clutching his bleeding arm he shouted for Kali and Arn to give chase. Then, turning towards the house, Bjorn bellowed for help.

Murdo glanced back over his shoulder as they disappeared into the darkened interior of the barn, and his heart sank to see four more Norsemen emerge from the house. Without a quiver of hesitation Murdo made for the far wall of the huge barn, dodging around the grain wagons and carefully stacked bundles of straw.

He reached the back wall and crouched down, searching for a small door-little more than a flap of wood hinged with leather -cut in the back wall of the barn some time in the past to allow pigs to get in out of the rain. It was unused now, but Murdo remembered it, and thought that if they could reach it before the warriors saw them, they might gain a few precious moments to make their escape. He ran along the wall for a few paces, found the door, and pushed it open.

'This way,' he said, shoving Hin through ahead of him.

Murdo ducked through next and held the flap for Jotun. Shouts from inside the barn told him their secret would soon be discovered. 'Run for the boat,' said Hin, breathless with fear.

'No,' Murdo warned, 'they would see us and follow us to the bay. Even if we outran them, we would never cast off in time.'

'What, then?' whispered Hin desperately.

'This way.' Murdo dashed for the corner of the barn, reached it, and slid around to the other side. He then ran along the side of the barn to the yard. As he expected, all the warriors had joined the pursuit and were now inside the barn. He and Hin darted across the yard to the side of the house and disappeared around the corner, Jotun following at their heels.

'Listen, to me now,' Murdo said. 'The old barrow-south of the bay-do you know it?'

Hin nodded. 'I know it, yes. I think so.'

'Make for it. You can hide there and they will never find you.'

'Inside the grave mound?'

'There is nothing to fear,' Murdo told him, thinking of the hunting game he and his brothers had played for years. 'I have done it a hundred times.' He slapped Hin on the shoulder to awaken his courage. 'Go now. Take Jotun with you and wait for me. I will meet you there.'

'Meet me?' wondered Hin worriedly. 'But where are you going?'

'I must lead them a false trail or they will go directly to the bay,' Murdo explained. 'Go now. I will join you at the barrow, and we will take the cliff trail to the bay. Hurry! before they see you.'

Hin, shaking with fear, spoke a command to the hound and, putting his hand to the dog's heavy collar, started off across the field behind the house at a run. Murdo waited until he was well away, then crept back along the side of the house and peered around the corner. The yard was empty, so he started across-as if he meant to escape down the track leading to the house.

He reached the entrance to the yard and heard Bjorn's voice cry out behind him. Without so much as a backward glance, Murdo started off, smiling to himself. The chase was on.

The old grave mound had been raised by the first inhabitants of Dyrness in times past remembering. It was a single long chamber marked out and roofed over with great slabs of stone and covered with earth. Its low entrance opened onto the sea, and from any distance its shallow hump appeared as nothing more than a hillock of grassy turf.

There was an old tale that the People of the Otter had built the mound as a tomb for their revered dead; there might have been something in this, so far as Murdo knew, for some men near Orphir had once found skulls and leg bones, beads, and carved stones in a similar mound; even so, he had never found anything but bits of shell and a few otter teeth, and he had been inside many times.

By the time he reached the tumulus, Murdo was out of breath. He had led the intruders a furious chase, allowing them tantalizing glimpses of him as he drew them further and further away from the coast, before losing them in the bracken of the valley. He then doubled back to the hill and, when he was certain he was not followed any longer, raced along the cliff track to the barrow.

'Hin,' he called softly, kneeling at the small dark entrance. 'Jotun.'