'It has always been my favourite time of year,' Niamh agreed placidly. 'The cattle have calved and the young are growing. It is nicest before the tumult of harvest.'

'Ragna was saying that she hoped the men would be home for the harvest,' Ragnhild said.

'I hope so, too,' Niamh replied. 'But I think we must not expect it. Whatever the next months bring, I fear we must prepare to face it without our menfolk.'

One of the servingmaids called Lady Ragnhild away just then, leaving Ragna and Niamh together for a moment. They walked a while, enjoying the mild evening. 'You have been quiet tonight,' Niamh observed. 'It is not like you. Are you feeling well?'

'Very well, indeed,' Ragna answered. 'If I am quiet, it is that I have been trying to find the right words to say what I must tell you.'

'Just say what is in your mind,' Niamh suggested amiably. 'I am certain there is nothing you could say that I would not like to hear.'

Ragna nodded. 'You are kind, Lady Niamh -'

'Let it be Nia between us,' she replied quickly. 'We are friends enough for that, I think.'

'We are,' agreed Ragna, 'and it is that very friendship I fear losing.'

'Whyever should you lose it?' Niamh stopped walking and turned to Ragna. 'My heart, what is wrong?'

The young woman lifted her head. 'Murdo and I are hand-fasted. I am carrying his child.'

'I see,' replied Niamh quietly.

When no further reaction seemed forthcoming, Ragna accepted her reproach. 'I do not blame you for withholding your blessing,' she said, bending her head. 'No doubt you hoped to make a better match for your son.'

In two steps, Niamh was beside Ragna, gathering the young woman to her breast. 'Never say it,' she soothed. 'Ah, Ragna… Ragna. I chose you for him the first day ever I saw you. I have made the match a thousand times in my heart. I have never breathed a word of this to Murdo, mind; but I prayed he would one day see for himself what I saw in you.' She held Ragna at arm's length. 'I am happy for you, and for him, too. If I hold any sadness at all, it is for the fact that I fear for your future together-'

'Because of the church? I thought of that. We can confirm -'

Niamh shook her head. 'No, the church will be the least of your worries. Rather it is because we have lost our lands, child. Murdo will have nothing, and that is a sorry way to begin a life together.'

'But you will get your lands back,' Ragna said. 'When Lord Ranulf and your sons return-you will reclaim Hrafnbu. I know it.'

'I wish I could be so certain. The truth is, there is much against us, and even if Lord Ranulf were here now, it might go ill with us.' Niamh paused. 'We must not trust too highly in our hopes, for the whims of kings thwart all desires but their own.'

'Would you forbid our marriage for lack of land?' Ragna asked, not unkindly.

'My heart, I would forbid you nothing,' Niamh replied. 'I wish you the world, and my dear son with it. And if he were standing here before you now, Ranulf would say the same. Your own father might take a different view. He might consider a landless match beneath his only daughter; he might feel he could do better for you elsewhere. And it would be his right.'

'I want nothing else,' Ragna declared, anger flaring instantly. 'And I will have the father of my child to husband, or I will have no one. They will put me in my grave before I wed another.'

'Shh,' soothed Niamh gently. 'To speak so is to arouse the Devil's regard. Let us pray instead that the Good Lord will grant you your heart's desire.'

Ragna smiled. 'Despite those selfish kings.'

'Of course,' agreed Niamh, 'despite all those selfish kings. They are but flesh and blood, and not angels after all.'

She took Ragna's arm, and they strolled on. 'Now then, we must begin to prepare for the infant's arrival. We have clothes to make -

'Warm clothes,' added Ragna, 'for it will be midwinter.'

They walked arm-in-arm in the gathering dusk, and talked of the preparations to be made in the next months. That night Ragna went to her empty bed with her soul more settled than it had been for a very long time. She fell asleep with a prayer on her lips. 'Lord of Hosts,' she whispered, 'send seventy angels to guard my Murdo, and bring him home to me with all speed. If you but do this for me, you shall never lack for a more faithful servant.'

Skidbladnir passed between the Pillars of Hercules and entered the warm blue waters of what the monks called the Mare Mediterraneus. The Sea of Middle Earth?' wondered Murdo, thinking he must have heard it wrong.

'Exactly,' Fionn told him. 'We have come to the sea in the centre of the Earth. Of all the seas in the world, this is the best. It is the most peaceful and tranquil, and the fishing here is better than anywhere else.'

This boast was put to the test at once, and as the days went by Fionn's assertion did gather substance. Several places they coved for the night provided remarkable catches of fine-tasting fish of several kinds-some of which no one had ever seen before; one time they even caught crabs, which Murdo enjoyed, as they reminded him of Orkney.

A scant three weeks after entering this calm sea, however, the season changed; the good weather deserted them. The days grew colder and the winds increasingly harsh and fickle, and Jon Wing decided it was time to begin searching for winter harbourage. Accordingly, they searched the coastline for a suitable port, eventually settling on the small inland town of Aries, an ancient walled settlement on the southern coast of Gaul in the Kingdom of Burgundy. Jon Wing chose the town especially-rejecting larger port towns like Toulon and Narbonne, which were too big, he said: 'Too many people, too many ships, also too many snares for unwary sailors.' He liked Aries, however, because it was small and quiet; moreover, it was a much cheaper place to stay. Little Aries lay upriver a short distance from the sea, yet possessed a bay and harbour large enough to serve many sea-going trading vessels-a fair number of which had also chosen the inland town for their wintering.

The monks were pleased with the choice; they were more than happy to spend the cold, rainy days in prayer and discussion with the local clerics at the Cathedral and Priory of Saint Trophime. Their mighty disputations were enhanced with the liberal application of the region's good red wine, which they praised and consumed with equal ardour. The rest of the crew divided their time between the several drinking halls and brothels of the harbour precinct, indulging one desire while contemplating the other.

The enforced idleness hung heavily on Murdo, however; he found little in the town to interest him. Having no itch to enrich the whores of the town, nor thirst enough to keep the brewers busy-neither did the allure of learned debate with Gaulish monks tempt him -he instead occupied himself with climbing the hills beyond the town, or tramping along the quiet river. The hills were green with winter rain, and he liked the scent given off by the low-growing shrubs, but there was little else to recommend them, and he soon turned to exploring the ancient town.

The streets of Aries were narrow and the houses close and crabbed, and shut against the wind gusting chilly and damp out of the north and west. When the sun shone, Murdo strolled the twisting pathways. There were many peculiar-looking buildings: some had been built by the Romans, Brother Fionn told him; the rest were made by the Moors. The Moorish buildings were strange to the eye; with their white walls, and tall, slender columns, curious onion-shaped arches, bulbous towers, and high narrow windows covered with hundreds of squares of glass, Murdo always thought they looked like palaces out of a dream.