'As you will, lord,5 I replied, yielding to Ragna's gentle entreaty. 'We will speak later.'

The feast resumed, but slowly, and I felt like a rowdy cub that had just been slapped down by an annoyed bear. I sat for a while, trying to shrug off my reproof, but it was no use. The rebuke rankled, and I could not easily stifle my resentment. After awhile, I found a chance to slink away and left the hall unnoticed.

I went out into the freezing night and felt the sting of the icy wind on my hot face. What, I asked myself, had I expected? Did I really think Murdo would clap his hands and extol my pilgrimage with high words and praises?

No. What had happened was what I feared would happen, nothing more. The trouble was my own making. If there was any consolation, it was this: at least, I had announced my intention; come what may, my plan was no longer a secret.

All the next day I waited to be summoned to my lord's chamber to receive the reprimand I knew was coming. But it did not come. The day passed and nothing was said; we bade farewell to our guests, and saw them away. Out of consideration for me, no mention was made of my announcement of the previous night. The day turned foul so I stayed in with little Cait, and took supper with my mother in the evening.

'He is that angry with you, Duncan,' she said, pursing her lips in her vexation. 'He has snapped and snarled like a wolf with a toothache all |day, and refuses to come to the table.' She stopped ladling the soup into the bowl, and looked at me. 'You must go to him and tell him it was a mistake."

'How so?' I asked. 'He may not like it, but it was no mistake. I mean to go to Jerusalem just as I said. True, I would go with a better heart if I had his blessing, but with his approval or without it, I will go.'

She frowned. 'Duncan, please, you do not know what you are saying.'

'Do I not, my lady?' I said. 'Have I lived so long in this house that I know nothing of such things?'|

'That is not what I meant,' she replied, placing the bowl before me. She sat down and, folding her hands, leaned towards me across the board. 'When he returned from the pilgrimage,' she said, 'your father vowed that neither he nor any of his family would ever again journey to the Holy Land. You have gone against him in this, and I fear the outcome.'

'I am sorry, mother,' I replied. 'But I knew nothing of this vow.'

'I wish you had said something, son. I could have told you.' She regarded me with sad eyes. 'Is it so important, this pilgrimage?'

'My lady, it is,' I replied earnestly. 'It is all I have thought about since Rhona died. I believe God has put the desire in my heart, and he alone can take it away.'

'And if you go, it will kill your father,' Ragna pointed out. She frowned again and reached out to squeeze my hand. 'Believe me, Murdo could not stand the torment of your leaving.'

'The torment would be mine,' I said sharply, 'not his.'

Lady Ragna shook her head gently. 'No,' she said, 'because he knows – even if you do not-what lies before you. He has been there, Duncan, and he knows the dangers you will face. He could not live with the hardship and suffering that would befall you.'

'If God has put it in my heart to go, and I do not go,' I replied, 'what am I to do then? How am I to live with that?'

I left Banvard without speaking to my father again, and the regret of that bitter leaving pains me still. Believe me, Cait, I would give the world and all its treasures to have departed with a blessing from the one person in the world whose approval alone would have sustained me through the trials I have faced. But Murdo was implacable in his opposition. He refused to speak to me until I repented of my plan. This I could not do.

I have since had many occasions to wonder what he would have said if he had known the true purpose of my pilgrimage? Would it have made a difference?

Who can say?

Know this, my soul, and remember it always: I have no fear of death. For me to leave this life is to enter the next in triumph. But the thought that I will die in this foreign land without ever seeing the faces of those I have loved best in life fills me with grief so strong it does take my breath away.

Even so, I bear my lot patiently for your sake, and pray the caliph tarries yet awhile so that I may finish what I have begun.

It is a most curious captivity, I declare. I am given the best of food and drink; my modest needs are met without the humiliation that so often accompanies captivity. I even have a servant to attend me and, in many ways, I am treated as an honoured guest with all courtesy and respect. Even so, I accept all I am given with gratitude, knowing it could so easily be otherwise.

The Muhammedans are a noble people, never doubt it. If peace were ever possible, I think we should find ourselves brothers under the skin. Alas, too much blood has been shed on both sides of the battle line for it to be forgiven. There will never be peace between our peoples until our Lord Christ brings it at his return. This I most heartily believe.

Now I will tell how I came to Marseilles.

On the morning I took the boat, I asked Sarn to accompany me. I did not tell him where I was going. I had made my farewells the night before-not that anyone knew it-and rose at dawn and went down to the bay to rouse Sarn out of his nest of oars and sailcloth. In warm weather he always slept in the hut beneath the cliff on the strand.

I let him think we were going fishing, until we had made the headland, and then I told him to sail for Inbhir Ness. It was then he looked at the pack I had brought aboard. 'Where are you going, lord?' he asked.

'I am going away for a while,' I told him.

'It is the pilgrimage, so?' A sly expression passed over his open, honest features, giving him a look of mild imbecility.

Of course, everyone in the realm knew about my desire to undertake the pilgrimage-and my father's unyielding opposition to it. The entire settlement had discussed it at length, and most had taken sides.

'Have you made a wager on me?'

He smiled readily. 'Yes, lord,' he admitted without guile. 'You are your father's son. Some of the others said you would stay, but I knew you would go.'

'Once you have seen me to Inbhir Ness, you can go back and collect your winnings,' I told him.

'The wind is good. We will be there before dusk,' he announced, looking at the sky. Indicating my small bundle of belongings, he said, 'Are you certain you have enough food to see you to Jerusalem? The abbot says it is very far away.'

'I have enough,' I allowed, 'to see me three or four days. After that, I am in God's hands. It is for him to provide.'

'Do you have a sword?' he asked, regarding my sad bundle doubtfully.

'If I need a sword, I will get one,' I told him. 'True pilgrims carry no weapons.'

He frowned at this, but returned to his tiller, and I to the contemplation of the task ahead of me. It was my intention to follow my father's example by going to Inbhir Ness and begging passage as a crewman for any ship sailing south. I did not think it would be more than two or three days before I found a ship to take me on. Certainly, when I bade farewell to Sarn and sent him home, I did not think to see him again.

But, two days later, I was still waiting at the quayside when he returned. I saw the ship as it came into the harbour and recognized it; my heart sank. I imagined my lord had come to take me back. But it was not Murdo he had brought with him, it was Padraig.

'If you have come to talk me out of leaving, you can turn around and go home,' I told him bluntly. 'My mind is made up. I am on pilgrimage.'

The tall, soft-eyed monk regarded me mildly. 'Then I am a pilgrim, too,' he replied.