"It was the watching-trial," Gunnar explained simply. "It was in my mind to see what you would do when I was not here to guard you."

"You watched me?"

"I watched you."

"You watched to see if I would run away, yes?"

"Yes, and-"

"You did not trust me." The realization that I had been tested-albeit in a gentle and good-natured way-made me feel stupid and disappointed. Of course, I reckoned, a master has every right to test the loyalty of his slaves. Still, I felt ill-used.

Gunnar regarded me with a deeply puzzled expression. "Do not take on so, Aeddan. You have done well," he said. "I am satisfied."

"But I was never out of your sight," I complained.

Gunnar took a deep breath and drew himself up. "I do not understand you," Gunnar said, shaking his head from side to side. "I," he thumped himself on the chest, "I am well pleased."

"I am not well pleased," I told him flatly. "I am angry."

"That is your concern," he replied. "For my part, I am pleased." His expression became haughty. "You think yourself a learned man, heya? Well, if you knew the proper way of things in Skania, you would be pleased too."

With that he strolled away, smug with contentment. Later, as I lay in my straw bed, I repented of my shameful behaviour. Sure, Gunnar was a good master; he fed me well, and since coming to the farm had not raised a hand against me. I had no just cause for my bitterness. I resolved to ask his forgiveness the next day. Alas, I never got the chance.

I heard a noise in the yard and awoke. It was dark yet, but the sun rose as I stepped from the barn. Gunnar was bidding farewell to Karin, who pressed small loaves of bread into little Ulfs hands. Helmuth was already on the trail, stick in hand, waiting with the pigs as they rooted for mushrooms in the undergrowth. Farewells made, Gunnar turned and called Garm, the larger of the two black hounds, to him, and strode from the yard, his son and dog hurrying after him.

"Where has Gunnar gone?" I asked, coming to stand beside Karin.

"Gunnar and Helmuth have gone to the market," she replied. "They would have done this yesterday if not for the watching-trial."

"I understand," I told her, feeling slightly cheated of the chance to make amends.

"Yes," she affirmed, nodding her head. "They will return tomorrow. You bring wood."

So, I began my chores, first bringing wood to the kitchen and then fetching water. Odd appeared with hoe in hand, and shuffled his way to the field, where I soon joined him. We worked together in amiable silence until Karin called us to our first meal of the day. We sat in the yard in the warm sun with our wooden bowls full of steaming porridge which we ate with the aid of hard brown bread.

After breaking fast, Odd returned to the field, and I repaired the handle of his hoe, which had worn loose; I sharpened the blade and Karin's kitchen knife as well. Then I helped Ylva skin three hares she had caught in a snare during the night; we quartered the small carcasses and stretched the pelts on little frames to dry. Then I led the cows down to the pond for water, and spent the rest of the morning watching them.

After the midday meal, I returned to the field where I worked weeding the turnips until the sun began to sink behind the trees. Upon reaching the end of the last row, I straightened and looked back. Though I was a slave, I did my work with as much care as if I had been at the abbey. This I did to please Gunnar, and, more importantly, to please God. For Holy Scripture teaches that a slave is to serve his master well and in this way win him to the Heavenly Kingdom. This I set myself to do.

I was admiring my handiwork when Odd grunted at me from across the field. I turned and looked where he was pointing: two dark figures approached, moving boldly from the cover of the forest and towards the house.

Holding tight to the hoe, I ran to the house as fast as I could. "Karin! Karin!" I shouted. "Someone is coming! Hurry, Karin! Someone is coming!"

She heard me and came running from the house. "What is this great noise you are making?" she demanded, scanning me quickly from head to toe.

"Someone is coming," I repeated. "There!" I pointed behind me to the meadow. "Two men."

Karin squinted her eyes and looked towards the forest.

Her frown deepened. "I do not know them," she said, mostly to herself, and then loosed a stream of speech I could not understand. I looked at her and, having no words for this situation, shrugged.

Karin became urgent. "Ah!" she cried. "Ylva! The pond…fetch her. Hurry!" she said, already dashing for the house. "Bring Surt! Hurry!"

Across the yard and behind the barn, I ran, my feet pounding the bare earth path leading down to the fishpond in the little dell north of the house. It was not far, and I found young Ylva, her mantle raised to her hips, wading in the water. Her back was to me, and she turned as I came sliding down the muddy bank to the water.

"Aeddan, heya!" she called, cheerfully. "Come swimming."

The sight of her pale white thighs, so round and firm, so delicately tapered to her comely knees, brought me up short. For a moment I forgot why I had come there. I stared at her fair flesh, and fought to regain my tongue once more. "I-it is…" I forced myself to take my eyes from her legs. "Someone is coming. We must go. Hurry!"

I turned and started back up the slope. I reached the top and looked back; she still stood in the water and had made no move to follow. "Come, Ylva!" I shouted, glancing around the banks of the pond. "Surt!" I called. "Heya, Surt!"

Understanding me at last, the young woman splashed lightly from the water, lowering her mantle as she came. I had a last glimpse of those lovely legs as she climbed the bank. "Surt!" she called to the dog. "Heya, Surt! Here, Surt!"

There came a crash in the underbrush as the great black hound bounded onto the path behind us and stood looking expectantly, his mouth open, tongue lolling. Ylva ran to him and laid a slender hand on his chain collar. "Home, Surt!"

We three raced back to the house to find Karin, fists on hips, as the strangers entered the yard. Odd appeared around the corner of the house, hoe in hand. Surt took one look at the two men, gave a low, warning rumble deep in his throat, broke from Ylva's grasp and ran to Karin's side where he stood growling. I heard Karin say, "Who are you?"

They ignored her and came ahead a few more steps. Surt snarled, hackles raised like knives. "Stand you there," Karin called again, and added something that I did not catch.

The men stopped, and looked around the holding. One of them was fair, the other dark; both were bearded and both tall, well-muscled fighting men. The dark one had a long braid over his shoulder, and the fair one wore his hair close-cropped. They carried spears and had swords on their hips with long knives tucked into their sword-belts. Neither, I noticed, owned a cloak, but one had a leather tunic, and the other a sleeveless siarc. Their tall leather boots were well worn.

"Greetings, good woman," replied the fair-haired stranger at last, turning his eyes lazily toward us as he spoke. "It is a warm day, heya?"

"There is water in the well," Karin said. The chill in her voice more than matched the barbarian's cool arrogance.

The cold-eyed stranger's gaze flicked onto Ylva, and lingered there. "Where is your husband?" he demanded.

"My husband is about his business."

The men exchanged glances. "Where does your husband's business take him?" asked the dark man, speaking for the first time. His voice, unlike his appearance, was pleasant and inviting. "Far?"

"Not far," Karin said. "He is near."

The stranger said something which I did not understand. He smiled reassuringly, taking a slow step closer as he spoke. Odd shifted uneasily, and Surt growled.