Gripping the rail, Murdo leaned over the water and called encouragement to the hound. Jotun paddled with renewed fervor, but it was clear the animal could not overtake the boat. 'Stop rowing, Peder!' called Murdo. 'He cannot reach us.'

So saying, Murdo, rope in hand, plunged over the side once more and swam to meet the dog.

'Murdo!' screamed Niamh, striking the rail with the flats of her hands. 'He'll drag you down, son!'

The invaders, seeing Murdo in the water once more, redoubled their efforts. The stones came thick and fast. One of the foemen dived into the sea and began swimming towards the youth and his dog.

Ignoring his mother and the commotion on the beach, Murdo swam to Jotun, seized a handful of wet fur at the nape of the beast's neck, and shouted, 'Pull us in!'

Upon reaching the boat, Murdo gripped the rail and tried to lift the dog out of the water; the animal was too heavy-it took both Peder and Lady Niamh to drag the soggy hound into the boat. Murdo followed, slithering over the side like an eel. He then had to brave Jotun's wet and happy welcome, while Peder and his mother stood looking on.

As the dog licked his master's face with great lashes of his tongue, Murdo took his head in both hands and tried to hold him back. 'Down! Jotun, down!'

Suddenly, a tremendous splash sent water cascading over the rail. 'They's on the cliff!' shouted Peder, taking up the oars once more.

Murdo raised his eyes to the promontory high above them and saw three Norsemen raising an enormous chunk of stone. They swung it once… twice… and let it go. The rock tumbled slowly as it sank, striking the cliff-face and spinning out into the air to smash into the cove a mere hairsbreadth from the stern.

'Row!' shouted Murdo, leaping to the bench. Settling himself beside Peder, he took an oar and began pulling with all his might.

By the time the third stone struck the water, the boat was moving again, slowly, edging away from the cliff. Two more stones were thrown – each further away than the last, and Murdo knew they were finally out of reach.

They gained the mouth of the cove and Peder, shipping his oar, dashed to the tiller, calling, 'Up sail, boy!'

Murdo leapt to the mast, quickly untied the loosely-secured line, and dragged it towards the prow. The yard rose slowly and came around as the sail unfurled; he then pulled for all he was worth, and when the yard gained the top of the mast, he quickly ran to secure the line once more. For a few agonizing moments, the sail flapped idly, slapping the mast in an uncertain wind. Peder gave a few mighty heaves on the oars, and the boat came clear of the cove. All at once the lank sail snapped smart, filled, and the boat lurched forward, the prow biting deep into the swell.

'Hruha!' cried Peder. 'Hruha-hey!'

Murdo, sweating and exhausted, stood and watched the figures on the shore and sea ridge dwindle away, and even when he could no longer see them, he still watched. Niamh came to stand beside him. Neither one spoke, until Peder, manning the tiller, called out to know what course he should set.

'Hrolfsey,' Niamh told him. 'We will return to Cnoc Carrach, and hope we can warn them in time.'

'They will have taken those lands, too,' Murdo pointed out. 'They have taken everything.'

'Maybe,' allowed his mother. 'But I do not see what else we can do.'

Hugh, Count of Vermandois, arrived in Constantinople well ahead of his army. Owing to a nasty shipwreck, the unfortunate young lord had lost his horse, armour, a few hundred good men, and most of his coin, and was therefore relieved when an imperial escort arrived two days later. While he was borne swiftly to the capital, his army – reprovisioned at the emperor's expense, and led by a regiment of Pecheneg mercenaries-undertook the long march through Macedonia and Thrace.

The excubitori hastened their noble charge along the Egnatian Way, sweeping through the Golden Gate and into the streets of the most magnificent city Count Hugh had ever seen. There were buildings of such size and grandeur as to make the castles of his brother, Philip, King of the Franks, appear little more than cow byres.

He saw men wearing long robes of costly material, and women aglitter with gold and jewels, walking about unattended and unarmed. He saw men astride elegant horses, and beautiful dark-haired women borne through the streets in chairs, their slaves better arrayed than himself. Everywhere he looked a new wonder met the eye: churches with domes of gleaming copper, topped with crosses of silver and gold; basilicas of glazed brick; statues of emperors, some carved in stone, others cast in bronze; victory columns and triumphal arches erected to celebrate commanders and conquests unknown in the west; long, broad avenues paved with stone radiating out from circular plazas in every direction as far as the eye could see.

Count Hugh was given no time to savour these sights, but was conveyed straight away to the emperor's palace, where, still breathless from the relentless chase of the last days, and dazzled by the prodigious wealth and power he saw all around him, he was led stiff-legged with wonder into the imperial throne room. There, seated on an enormous chair of solid gold, he was received by God's Vice-Regent, the Equal of the Apostles and Emperor of All Christendom, Alexius Comnenus.

The magister officiorum indicated that the young count was to prostrate himself before the throne. He did so, pressing his fevered brow to the cool marble floor with a profound sense of relief and thanksgiving.

'Rise, Lord Hugh, and stand before us,' Alexius commanded genially in impeccable Latin. 'Word of your recent misfortune has reached our ears. Perhaps you would allow us to offer you a small expression of our commiseration over your loss.'

Lifting a hand, the emperor summoned a half-dozen Varangi, who stepped forward, each bearing an item of armour, which they placed at the much-impressed Count Hugh's feet. He saw a fine new mail hauberk and steel helm; there was a splendid sword, belt, and scabbard, and a handsome dagger to match, and a long spear with a gleaming new blade. A sturdy round shield with spiked silver boss was laid atop the rest.

.'Lord Emperor, I thank you,' Hugh gushed. 'Indeed, I am overwhelmed by your generosity and thoughtfulness.'

'Perhaps you would bestow on us the inestimable honour of being our guest during your stay in the city,' Alexius said.

'I am your servant, Lord Emperor,' Hugh replied, not quite believing his remarkable good fortune. After a disastrous beginning, it appeared his pilgrimage was at last coming right. 'But, if it please you, lord, a humble bed in a nearby abbey or monastery would suit me. My needs are simple.'

'Come now,' the emperor cajoled gently. 'You are our esteemed guest. We cannot allow you to wander the streets alone. You will, of course, reside here in the palace with us.'

Hugh acquiesced with good grace. 'Nothing would please me more, Lord Emperor.'

'So be it,' Alexius said. 'Magister, conduct our friend to the apartment prepared for him. We will expect to see him at table tonight where we will share wine, and he will relate the tale of his recent adventures.'

Hugh, still overcome by this surprising turn of events, bowed low and backed away from the throne. Upon reaching the carved marble screen before the door, he turned and followed the magister officiorum from the reception hall.

When he had gone and the doors were closed once more, Grand Drungarius Dalassenus stepped beside the throne. 'Do you trust him, Basileus?'

Alexius pressed his fingertips together and leaned back in his great chair. 'I think so, but time will tell,' he replied, tapping his fingers against his lips thoughtfully. 'Still, if I have an ally among the western lords, it will be easier to deal with those who come after. This one is harmless, I think. He is the Prankish king's brother; he has lost everything in the shipwreck and is therefore needy. We will make him beholden to us, and see if he will repay his debt.' Turning to his commander, the emperor asked, 'How many soldiers remain to him?'