The barbarian pilot-he of the brown buskins and sheepskin jerkin-bellowed a strange word that sounded like vik to my unaccustomed ear. Whereupon, the sail was instantly struck and the rowers returned to their benches and oars. Though I observed the nearing coastland keenly, I could not see any hint of a settlement, nor indeed, anything at all worthy of attention. Still, as the boat drew swiftly closer, I watched and waited for a chance to make my escape.

This came much sooner than I expected, for as the ship drew close to land, the sea grew rapidly more shallow. Soon, I could see the pebbled bottom showing beneath the waves, though we were still a goodly way off. I would never have a better opportunity.

I drew a deep breath, stood quickly, and, before anyone had noticed, hurled myself over the rail. I struck the water with a splash and regretted my hasty decision at once. The sea was cold and I sank like a stone, quickly touching the bottom with my knee. Gathering my legs beneath me, I pushed away. Unfortunately, I had badly misjudged my ill-advised leap and I surfaced alongside the ship-right between the hull and the oarblades.

Seeing my mistake, I drew a deep breath and dived. Whether my plunge was not deep or quick enough, I do not know, but I felt myself caught and, though I flailed all my arms and legs with utmost effort, I could not get free. I surfaced, gasping, the end of my cloak tight in a Sea Wolf's unrelenting grip. The barbarian had simply leaned over the rail and snagged me by a trailing edge of garment.

He dragged me half-way out of the water, and then held me there-much to the delight of his barbarian friends. They all roared with mirth to see me dangling like a fish from the side of the boat. Their laughter, like their voices, was crude and rough, and it hurt my ears to hear it.

The ship drew into a small, shallow cove and turned as it came in to land. As the ship turned, I saw what the pilot already knew to be there: a river-not wide, but deep enough to admit the keel. Without pause or hesitation, the ship slid across the little bay and into the river mouth. The oarsmen pulled in their oars and used them as poles to push the boat further up the river. Oh, these were canny Sea Wolves, indeed. And strong. Only when the ship had come to rest on a broad pebbled shoal was I released-thrown back into the water like a catch deemed too pathetic to keep.

The Sea Wolf who had prevented my escape leaped into the water with me. Grasping my cloak, he stood me upright in the water, turned me to face him and shaking his head slowly, spoke to me in a warning tone of voice while shaking a dripping finger in my face. Although I could not comprehend a word he said, I understood perfectly from his manner and gesture that he was cautioning me from attempting to escape again.

I nodded, showing him that I did indeed perceive his meaning. He smiled. Then, still holding tight to my cloak, he struck me hard in the face with the back of his hand. My aching head snapped sideways and the force of the blow knocked me into the water. He grabbed my mantle and jerked me to my feet; my mouth stung and I tasted blood on my tongue.

Still smiling his broad, blithe smile, the happy barbarian drew back his hand again.

I closed my eyes in anticipation of the blow, and braced myself. Instead, I heard a sharply uttered growl. The Sea Wolf released me at once, and I opened my eyes to see another barbarian wading towards me, talking in an angry way to his companion. The first one shrugged, shook his finger at me again, released me, and walked away.

The second Sea Wolf strode to where I stood, took me roughly by the arm and led me-half-pushing, half-dragging-onto the shoal where he spun me around to face him, and struck me on the face with his open hand. The slap caught the attention of all those nearby, but it sounded far worse than it felt; and though it brought smiles and laughter from the Sea Wolves looking on-some of these called out to the barbarian, who answered them sternly-I could not help feeling that there was no real anger or malice in the blow.

Strange to say, it was only then that I realized who stood before me: it was my barbarian, the one I had found washed up on the beach, the one we had taken to the settlement with us, the one to whom I had given the bread-loaf. We stood facing one another now, our positions reversed utterly.

I dabbed at my split lip with the heel of my hand, and spat blood onto the strand. The barbarian took my arm again and dragged me to one of the larger rocks on the shore and shoved me down on it. He made a flattening gesture with his hand and spoke a single guttural snarl that gave me to know I was to sit still and not move, much less try to run away.

He need not have bothered; I was content for the moment to sit on the rock and dry my clothes in the sun. I would try to escape again, I told myself, but must wait for a better opportunity to present itself and not simply seize the first foolish chance that happened my way. This thought, added to the fact that we were still in Armorica and not out somewhere in the unknown sea, consoled me and I felt as if I were making the best of a very bad plight.

The Sea Wolves, meanwhile, set about preparing a meal. They made a small fire and brought out food from the ship, which they shared out among themselves with not so much as a glance in my direction.

One huge red-braided barbarian-I recognized him now as the brute with the club from the night raid-climbed back into the ship and seized a cask which he lifted in his arms and was about to heave onto the strand. He was stopped by a quick shout from one of the others: a fair-haired man with long-braided yellow beard and a gold chain around his neck. This man was the one who had stood on the tented platform commanding men to his bidding.

Yellow Hair, I decided, must be the leader of this barbarian band. And although his men paid him some regard, they did not appear overly solicitous of him, nor even very attentive. Even so, he seemed to command some part of their respect, or at least a grudging obedience, for the red giant lowered the cask with a grunt, climbed from the ship and returned to his meal.

After they ate, they slept. Like pigs in the sun, they simply rolled over, closed their eyes and slept.

Any thought of slipping quietly away while they were sleeping vanished when my barbarian suddenly awoke, remembered me, and came and bound my hands and ankles with a length of braided cord. He left me in the shade of the rock, at least, where I could keep watch on my captors. This proved a dismal occupation, however, as they remained inert for the better part of the day, rising only as the shadows stretched long across the pebbled shoal.

They woke, stretched, and relieved themselves in the river. Some availed themselves of the opportunity to wash, standing in the shoals and splashing water over themselves, clothes and all. My barbarian came and untied me, pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the ship. I waded out to the waiting boat, pausing only to gulp down a few handfuls of water. For this I was lashed with the cord-half-heartedly, sure-and unintelligible abuse heaped on my poor uncomprehending head.

This proved entertaining to the Sea Wolves, who laughed to see me in such difficulty, although I did not greatly mind for, again, I sensed no genuine animosity in the exercise. I began to form the opinion that my barbarian was trying to perform a duty expected of him, but one for which he had no heart. Being a monk, I had experience of such behaviour and could recognize it quickly when I saw it.

We clambered up over the ship's rail. Once aboard, I was pushed into my place in the prow with the growled order-as I took it-to stay there. Still, he did not restrain me in any way.

I did not eat that day, nor the next. I was allowed only what water I could get for myself when we stopped. This produced no immediate concern for me; I was used to fasting and so considered this privation simply another tredinus which I happily dedicated to the Saviour God. When the others ate, I prayed: for our poor dead bishop-may God reward him greatly!-for my brothers, whether wounded or dead I knew not, for the safety of the blessed book, and for myself in cruel captivity. I prayed long and earnestly each day, though I soon learned to forego prostration or even kneeling. My captors did not like to see me in a posture of devotion, and kicked me hard if they caught me so. That was no great hardship, I reckoned, for God sees only the contrite spirit, and my reverence was true. Sure, the lack of food did not concern me, but the fact that we pressed a steady pace north filled me with unlimited apprehension. Day by day we drew further and further away from the region of Nantes, and any hope I might have sustained of ever seeing any of my brothers again dwindled accordingly. My prayers became more fervent for this, and I braced myself with endless repetitions of psalms.