'Maybe he has been unforeseeably detained,' the fat one was saying. He spoke his Latin in an odd lilting tongue, strangely accented -more like singing than speaking. 'That is exactly what I said: "He has been detained"-did I not?'

'And I replied, "I fear your hope is mistaken, brother," remember?' answered the thin one in a fine, faintly accented intonation. 'It was, if you will reconsider, precisely explained to us that the king had been there already. The master of the harbour was most emphatic about that.'

'Ah, but there was no harbour,' pointed out the tall one; his speech danced, too, but in a way slightly different to the others. 'Unless the rudimentary timber mooring on the river could in some way be considered a harbour.'

'Of course there was no harbour,' replied the thin-faced monk. 'I merely meant that which serves in place of a harbour for the good folk of Inbhir Ness.'

'If there was no harbour, there could not be a harbour master,' the tall monk rejoined. 'Ergo, the man you spoke to may not, in fact, have possessed the necessary authority to provide satisfactory answer to our inquiry.'

'There may be something in what you say,' allowed the fat priest. 'Yet, I feel duty bound to point out that the man's authority was never at issue. Rather, it was his perspicacity. Any man with wit enough -'

Murdo, astonished that they should recount in word-for-word detail their inane argument of two days ago, shook his head in disbelief. 'But how else were we to get to Jerusalem?' wondered the round-shouldered one. 'That is the question before us, brothers.'

'How indeed?' mused the tall monk. 'If not for the Great King's providential intervention, we might yet be pondering that very question.'

'We might have walked,' suggested the thin-faced monk. 'Many illustrious persons have done so in the past, much to their spiritual improvement. After all,' he added, 'it is the means of conveyance our Lord Christ himself chose when travelling abroad the land.'

'Verily, brother, verily,' agreed the elder cleric amiably. 'Well said.'

'I have no objection to it whatever,' said the fat one. 'I would only offer the observation that Jerusalem may be, according to many and various accounts, rather a great distance from our own green and pleasant shores. Therefore, a journey by foot could conceivably take somewhat longer than we anticipate. The crusade might indeed have achieved its end long before we reached the Holy Land, it must be said.'

'Alas, I fear you may be right,' sighed the thin one, suddenly disheartened by the thought.

Murdo, annoyed by their vaunted blather, decided they were harmless enough, if somewhat tedious. He was about to leave them to their pointless debate when the fat one looked up and grinned at him, his round face shining with simple good will. 'Brothers, see here! We are forgetting ourselves. Our young friend has no interest in our trifling suppositions.' The monk inclined his head in acknowledgement of Murdo's patience. 'Like you, we are on pilgrimage. It was arranged for us to join King Magnus' fleet at Inbhir Ness and take passage with him.' Smiling happily, he cheerfully confided, 'We are to be his advisors-in spiritual matters, that is-for the duration of the pilgrimage.'

'My brothers,' announced the tall monk suddenly, 'this is a most auspicious meeting, and one deserving of proper-and, I dare suggest, hallowed-recognition. The Good Lord has placed this young man in our path as a friend for the journey. Let us acknowledge this glad meeting with a drink!'

'Ale!' cried the fat monk. 'We must have ale!'

'The very cry of my heart,' remarked the tall cleric. 'Yes, yes, you and Fionn fetch us all some ale. We will celebrate the Almighty's wondrous providence.'

The two clerics tottered off along the rail, returning from their tent a few moments later bearing jars of frothy brown ale which they handed around.

'Hail, Brave Wanderer!' proclaimed the fat monk, thrusting a jar into Murdo's hands. 'May the Lord of Hosts be good to you; may the Lord of Peace richly bless you; may the Lord of Grace grant you your heart's desire.' Raising his jar in salute, he cried, 'Slainte!'

'Slainte!' echoed the other two, eagerly raising their jars.

Murdo recognized the word as Gaelic, a language many of Orkneyjar's older families still maintained, and one his mother often employed when more mundane words failed her. Consequently, Murdo knew enough of it to make himself understood. 'Slainte mor!' he said, which brought smiles and nods of approval from the clerics.

'A man blessed of Heaven's own tongue!' declared the thin-faced monk. 'It is myself, Brother Fionn mac Enda, at your service. May I know your name, my friend?'

'I am Murdo Ranulfson of Dyrness in Orkneyjar,' he answered, straightening himself and squaring his shoulders so as to be worthy of his father's name.

'We drink to you, Murdo Ranulfson!' said the monk called Fionn, and all three raised their cups and began slurping noisily. Murdo followed their example, and for a moment they occupied themselves wholly with their cups.

When the clerics finally came up for a breath, the fat one, beaming like a happy cherub, announced, 'I am called Emlyn ap Hygwyd, and I am pleased to meet you, Murdo. I believe we shall be good friends, you and I.'

Although the prospect seemed unlikely in light of Murdo's avowed enmity toward priests, the rotund cleric spoke with such sincerity, Murdo could not bring himself to openly disagree.

'If you please, good Murdo,' Emlyn continued, 'allow me to present our esteemed superior, Brother Ronan macDiarmuid.'

The tallest monk bowed his head humbly. 'Superior in years only,' he replied with gentle dignity, 'not, I hasten to assure you, in zeal for our Lord, devotion, or holiness.'

Murdo repeated the monks names, whereupon they all drank again, and declared the ale a blessing of the highest virtue-in consideration of which they would all be guilty of gross impiety if they did not instantly avail themselves of a second helping. Accordingly, they drained the cups quickly, and Emlyn and Fionn hastened to refill them, returning in a short while, loudly praising the brewer's remarkable skill and generosity.

After they had guzzled from their jars, Ronan said, 'Now then, if I may be so bold as to suggest, I find it astonishing that a man of your tender years should be undertaking pilgrimage alone -commendable to be sure, even laudable-but astonishing nonetheless.'

'Many people from Orkneyjar have taken the cross,' Murdo assured him quickly. 'My father and brothers have gone before me-they travel in company with Duke Robert of Normandy, and many other noblemen. I am going to join them.'

'Ah, yes,' remarked the monk, as if Murdo had supplied the solution to a longstanding mystery.

'Extraordinary!' the other two declared.

Eager to avoid further questions, Murdo said, 'How is it that you come to follow King Magnus?'

'As it happens,' Ronan answered, 'our abbey occupies lands granted to Lord Magnus by Malcolm, High King of the Scots some years ago-near Thorsa. Do you know it?'

Before Murdo could answer, Fionn broke in, saying, 'When we learned that the good king had taken the cross and intended following the crusade, we made entreaty for the privilege of accompanying our monarch and benefactor on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.'

'Our bishop kindly granted our petition,' explained Emlyn, 'and it was arranged that we should accompany King Magnus to Jerusalem. I can only think that something must have gone amiss, otherwise he would not have sailed without us.'

'We were,' offered Ronan, resuming his story, 'to be the king's guides and counsellors in all matters pertaining to the Holy Land and its environs-leaving, of course, any actual combat to the more militarily inclined among the king's retinue.'