Father God, defend me, I thought. It would be a sorry shame to let your servant drown in beer!

Even as I loosed this prayer, I was yanked backwards, overturning the tub and spilling all the ale. I rolled onto my back, gasping for breath, squirming on the ground and shielding my head with my hands and arms against the heavy blows falling on me.

I glimpsed a red face swaying over me and heard an outraged cry. The Sea Wolf seemed to grow another head, for another face appeared on his shoulder, and it was Gunnar's. All at once the teetering barbarian toppled, sprawling over me with my master on his back.

The two rolled like snakes entwined, thrashing and sliding in the beer. I squirmed free of the fight and drew myself up a little apart. The hall's inhabitants, roused from their various stupors, quickly formed a ring around the combatants and goaded them on with taunts and cheers.

"Hrothgar!" shouted some. "Gunnar!" cried others.

Ragnar leaped up on the seat of his throne, clattering a spear against a shield, drawing the crowd's notice long enough to make himself heard. He shouted a command and the rabble surged forward, gathering up the fighting men and sweeping them out of the hall and into the yard where, cheering and shouting, they quickly reformed the ring.

Though the Dane called Hrothgar was larger, Gunnar was quicker and fearless: he stood head-to-head against the big barbarian taking each terrible blow and giving the same-again, again, again, the fists struck, face and neck and shoulder and stomach. Blood flowed from noses and mouths, and still they traded blows, any one of which would have stunned a horse.

Hrothgar, unable to find any advantage over his opponent, broke off abruptly. He stepped back, lowered his head and charged like a bull, bellowing as he came. Gunnar remained motionless, his feet firmly planted. Hrothgar closed on him and appeared to whelm him over, but the barbarian's arms closed on empty air. For, quick as a flick, Gunnar dropped to his knees, seizing Hrothgar around the neck in the same swift motion. The startled barbarian gave out a strangled cry and followed his head to the ground.

Hrothgar made to rise, but my master was on his back. Gunnar joined both hands together, raised them over his head and brought them sharply down on the back of his adversary's neck between the shoulderblades. Hrothgar gave out a grunt like that of a killed ox, and put his face to the ground; he tried once to rise, but his legs collapsed and he hugged the earth in a wide embrace.

Gunnar stood, wiping blood from his eyes and mouth, while the crowd clamoured out his name. He cast his gaze around the ring and raised his arm in triumph. All at once the throng rushed forward, seized Gunnar, raised him up, and carried him into the hall to celebrate his victory.

I watched them go, but made no move to follow. For the sun was shining on a fine bright day and I had no wish to return to that dark, stinking hall.

"They were fighting about you, Irish."

I turned. "Scop!" The sight of him surprised and alarmed me. He stood red-eyed and haggard; sweat ran from him in rivulets down his neck. "Why would they fight about me?" I asked. "What did I do?"

"You drank from Jarl Ragnar's ale vat, and then offered the cup to Hrothgar." He shook his head in mock disapproval. "Most impolite that was."

He turned and began shuffling away. I called him back. "Stay. Please, Scop. I have been looking for you. I thought you would sing again."

The shabby skald slowly turned his head and gave me a sly wink and smile. "I throw my pearls to these swine only with greatest reluctance," he replied. "I sing when it suits me."

"Does this not displease Ragnar, your lord and master?"

Scop frowned and thrust out his chin. "Jarl Ragnar is my lord, but he is no master to me. I sing when I choose."

"But are you not a slave?"

"I was once. No longer. It took twenty years, but I am a free man now."

"Forgive me, brother, but if you are free, why do you stay? Why not go back to your people?"

The ignoble bard shrugged and shook back his rags. "This is my home. These are my people."

"That I can scarce believe," I told him.

"Believe it, boy; it is the truth," he spat, flaring suddenly. "God abandoned me here and left me to die. But I did not die. I lived, and while I live, I am my own man and I serve no one but myself alone."

"Then tell me, if nothing prevents you, how do you know Latin?"

Scop turned and began hobbling away. I fell into step a pace behind him. "Please," I insisted, "I would know how it is that you speak the cleric's tongue."

I thought he would not answer, for he limped on without heed. But after a dozen or so paces, he stopped abruptly and turned. "How think you I came by it?" he demanded. "Think you I found it at the bottom of my mead bowl? Or perhaps you imagined I went a-viking with the Sea Wolves and plundered it from some poor defenceless priest?"

"I thought no ill, brother," I soothed. "But it seems a very mystery to me, that is all."

"A mystery?" he wondered, rubbing his blackened neck with a dirty hand. "Dost speak to me of mysteries, Irish?" He glared at me. "Ah, mayhap you think your own speech mysterious."

"Nothing could be less so," I answered. "I am a priest. I was taught in the abbey."

"Well, I likewise learned my tongue that way."

"Indeed?" I could not keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Why amazed?" he countered defiantly. "Is that so unchancy? Do you find it beyond your narrow ability to believe?"

"I find it," I confessed, "most unlikely."

"Then tell me," he challenged, "which is the more unlikely: that you should find yourself a slave of the Danes, or that I should be sent out a priest among them?"

So saying, he gathered himself in his rags and stumped off, tatters flapping like the bedraggled feathers of a great, ungainly bird.

I did not see him again for, after more eating and drinking, and sport-the throwing of hammers and axes and, heaven forbid it! even pigs, which they caught and hefted into the air to the loud acclamation of their fellows-Gunnar took his leave of his lord, bade farewell to all his kinsmen, gathered his weapons and plunder in a leather bag, and departed the settlement, taking me with him-tied to him by a long rope around my waist.

We walked through close-grown forest all the day, moving exceedingly slow, for Gunnar's head hurt him and he stopped often to lie down. During one such rest, I made a meal from the fragments of bread and meat he had in his bag. My master could stomach no food, but raised no objection when I ate. Thus, I broke my long fast on hard bread and rancid meat-poor fare, but welcome nonetheless. After my meal, I untied myself and searched among the forest plants and found some ffa'r gos, which I crushed and mixed with clear-running water from a nearby stream. Upon straining out the pulp I gave it to Gunnar to drink-which he did, but not before I drank some first. He slept again and upon waking seemed in much better spirit.

At night we camped on the trail; Gunnar made a fire and we slept on either side of it, moving on again when the birds woke us at dawn. Once the bread and meat were gone, we had nothing to eat; still, we stopped often to drink from the sweet streams that abounded in that land. I looked for berries, and found some, but they were unripe.

We walked by day, Gunnar striding ahead, the bag on his shoulder, and myself trailing after. Though the bag was weighty, Gunnar would not allow me to touch it, preferring to tote it himself. We must have made an unusual sight, I reflected: master labouring under his load while the slave sauntered along empty-handed behind. But he would have it no other way.

As my master did not deign to speak to me-not that I would have understood him if he had-I had ample time to think. Mostly, I thought about my brother monks, and wondered if any had survived, and if so, what had become of them. Would they return to the abbey? Would they continue on to Constantinople? Since the blessed book had not turned up with the plunder, I reckoned some of the brothers may have escaped, and that our treasure had not been discovered.