I felt secure in this belief, reasoning that if the book had been found, it would certainly have been taken; and if it had been taken, I would have seen it shared out among the barbarians as payment for their hateful deeds. I had not seen it, so I considered it had not been stolen. This gave me hope that perhaps the pilgrimage would proceed-without me, it is true, but it would continue.

I made this my prayer, as I walked along, that however many of our company yet survived, be they many or few, would yet journey on and reach Byzantium with the emperor's gift. This produced in me a peculiar feeling: a curious mingling of remorse and relief: remorse for the lives so suddenly required in the Red Martyrdom of this pilgrimage, and relief that I would not now have to join them.

For, despite my current enslavement-which would seem to thwart the fulfillment of my dream-I still did not doubt that I would die in Byzantium. Even so, I will not tempt heaven by denying that relief may have outweighed remorse in my heart. I was ever a contrary creature, I do freely confess it.

As dusk fell on the fourth day, I noticed that the forest thinned somewhat and, as the first stars began glowing in the sky, we stepped out from the wood and into a wide meadow clearing. In the centre of the clearing stood a huge timber house with a barn and cattle enclosure hard by. Two neatly-ploughed fields lay west and south of the house, green shoots showing golden in the lowering light.

Gunnar took one look at the house and loosed a wild whoop that resounded across the meadow. Dogs began barking, and within the space of three heartbeats I could see two black canine shapes racing towards us; a moment later, these were joined by three human figures-two of which were women, judging by their dress.

The dogs reached us first and Gunnar greeted them as happily as if they had been children long lost to him and given up for dead. He hugged them to him and kissed their muzzles time and again, calling their names and stroking their glossy coats. They were big dogs, with large heads and powerful jaws. I was heartily glad that I was with Gunnar just then, for I did not doubt these same creatures would joyfully rip the throat from any intruder.

My master met his kinfolk with as much zeal as he had shown in greeting the dogs. The women-though one, I now saw was little more than a girl-were clearly glad to see him, embracing him many times, pressing kisses on his face and neck, clutching at his hands and arms. The elder of the two, I soon learned, was Karin, his wife; the younger was called Ylva, and was a kinswoman of his wife, and helped them as a serving maid.

The third figure was a lad, tall and slender, and younger than he first appeared. At the boy's approach, Gunnar left off kissing his wife and gathered the youngster into a fierce embrace. I feared the boy would be crushed, but he survived, laughing and hugging his father. After another round of kissing and embracing, the boy turned to gawk at me.

His father saw his wide-eyed stare and, clapping a heavy hand to my shoulder, said, "Aeddan."

The boy dutifully repeated the name, whereupon his father placed his hand on the boy and said, "Ulf."

He presented the women next, calling each by name, which I repeated until he was satisfied that I could utter them properly. Karin, his wife, was a sturdy woman with a broad, kindly face; her hair was light brown and her eyes green as the sea. Her movements were deft and, I quickly learned, perfectly matched to her purposeful manner. She was a most practical woman, accomplished in all the craft of her kind. And sure, no tyrant ever ruled with more aplomb; her authority in her house was absolute.

Ylva, her young kinswoman, was a sylph of a girl, bright as sunbeams, slender and fair as a woodland flower. Her hair was pale yellow and her brow was straight; her arms and breasts were shapely, her hands long-fingered. She was as much a joy to the eye as to the mind, for as I came to know her better, I found her quiet, thoughtful, and easy in her manner.

Ulf was a boy through and through, a happy lad, fond of fishing and hunting and berry picking, and full of youthful high spirits. He adored his father, and if not for the fishpond would rarely have left Gunnar's side.

These, then, were presented to me one by one, and all welcomed me, not as a conquered enemy, but as a guest or kinsman. I felt, in spite of the harsh treatment I had received on the journey, that having now arrived at Gunnar's holding, I had been admitted into the warm embrace of this family. Perhaps life in the cold northern forests is harsh enough as it is without adding to its bitterness unnecessarily.

With a clap of his hands and a shout, Gunnar sent the hounds racing back across the meadow to the house. He laughed to see how they ran to his command. Ulf, unable to contain himself any longer, gave a whoop and dashed after the dogs, as Gunnar, throwing his arm around Karin's shoulders, gathered his wife to him and proceeded to the house, his stride long and swift. He threw back his head and began singing loudly, to the amusement of the ladies, who laughed and joined him in song.

Gunnar's leather bag, forgotten for the moment, lay on the ground at my feet. Like a good slave, I slung it onto my back and followed my master home.

I stayed that night in the barn with Gunnar's ox and cows. He did not bother to chain or restrain me in any way, and I soon learned why. As the moon rose in the tall pines, the wolves began to howl. Sure, I had heard wolves before, but never so many or so close. From the sound of their mournful wailing, I reckoned they must be swarming on the very edges of the forest. The barn was secure enough-a very fortress, for Gunnar had no wish to lose his valuable animals; but the howling kept me awake long into the night, and I fell asleep with the sound in my ears.

In the morning, the maid Ylva came to rouse me and bring me to the kitchen. The Danefolk build their dwellings in such a way as to make the kitchen part of the house itself, and no small part, either. Indeed, Gunnar's house was a fair likeness of Ragnar's hall, save that he had made a sleeping loft among the rooftrees above the table. This loft was reached by a ladder and overlooked the hearth below. Adjacent to the hearth was a nook where the ale and water tubs were kept, and a low door leading to a small storeroom. At the end of the hall, there was a place where animals could be kept in bad weather; this was strewn with straw and had a manger for feeding them.

I broke fast with the family, and began what was to become our custom: Gunnar and his son sitting on the bench at the hearth-end of the board, and myself at the stable-end perched on a three-legged stool with a wooden bowl balanced on my knee, while Karin and Ylva fluttered from hearth to board, cooing over the preparations. The Danefolk, I learned, liked their meals unbearably hot, and began almost every meal with a thick barley gruel which they slurped down from big wooden bowls, sometimes with wooden spoons, but most often without.

When the gruel had been eaten and the bowls collected, then bread, meat, and pale white cheese was served. If fruit was in season, that was offered, too; Gunnar especially loved the bitter blue currants, and a puckery little red berry they called lingon, which Karin prepared in a boiled compote Gunnar poured on his bread. This sauce was so tart I could never get it down without honey.

There was sometimes fish-fresh when they could get it, though usually salted or preserved in a solution of brine and vinegar, or lye. The lyefish, or lutfisk, stank to heaven with a stench to bring tears to the eye. They ate this abomination boiled in milk, and professed to like it; but the stink alone made the gorge rise in my throat and I could in no way abide it.