'What do you mean?' I asked suspiciously. 'Did my father send you to bring me home, or not?'

'Lord Murdo says that if you leave now, you leave forever. You must never think to see your home again, for the dead do not return.'

'He considers me a dead man, is that it?'

'That is what he told me to say.'

'Well, you have said it. You can go back and tell him that I must do what God has given me to do.'

'My uncle said that is what you would say,' Padraig observed placidly. 'Abbot Emlyn said that if you were determined to carry out your plan, then I was to accompany you.'

'Accompany me? All the way to Jerusalem?'

'Yes, lord,' affirmed the monk. 'I am to be your servant and guide.'

'Thank you, Padraig,' I told him. 'But this is my decision. You are free to go home. Tell the abbot I cannot accept responsibility for any life but my own. I thank him for his kindness, however.'

'Sarn will tell him. I am going with you.' He raised his hand and declared, 'Hear me: pilgrimage is a sacred undertaking. We go on faith, or we do not go at all. But if we travel with hope, trusting in our Great Redeemer, we need have no fear, for we shall meet angels along the way who will befriend us.'

'Look you, as much as I would like your company, I cannot allow you to go to Jerusalem with me,' I said. 'You have no provisions, no cloak, no water skin.' Pointing to his bare feet, I added, 'You do not even have shoes.'

Padraig smiled. 'My cloak and staff are in the boat. If I have need of anything else, God will supply it out of his matchless bounty.'

Sarn, who had been listening to this exchange from his place at the bow rope, spoke up. 'That is the same thing you told me, lord,' he chuckled.

'You stay out of this,' I snapped. I glared at them both. Daylight was quickly fading and twilight gathering; if I sent them back now it would be dark before they reached the estuary. 'Very well,' I relented, 'you can stay here with me tonight, but you must leave in the morning.'

Padraig said nothing, but set about making a fire. Sarn tied the boat to a post driven into the earthen bank that served as part of the harbour wall. That finished, he brought out a bundle and began unwrapping it-loaves of bread, dried fish and pork, and other things to make a meal. 'There is ale in the stoup,' he said. 'Lady Ragna thought you might like a last good drink before going to the Holy Land.'

Stepping over the bow and into the ship, I found the jar.

'How did you know I would still be here?'

The seaman shrugged. 'There were no trading ships when I left you. If any came they would not have departed so soon.'

'So now it is Sarn the Shrewd, I suppose?'

He smiled. 'We would have drunk the ale whether you were here or not.'

'See you do not drink too much,' I warned lightly. 'You are leaving in the morning-both of you. Together.'

We ate our meal, and night gathered around us. Torches were lit along the bank, and we sat drinking ale and watching the flickering light along the quayside. It was quiet; there were few ships in the harbour, and most of the sailors were at one or the other of the town's inns.

'There are not many ships coming here, I think,' Sarn observed. 'How long will you wait?'

'As long as it takes,' I replied, slightly annoyed by the question. 'I talked with a man yesterday who was at Rouen in the spring. He said the Franks are raising men for the Holy Land.'

'Rouen,' repeated Padraig. 'That is where Lord Ranulf and the northern noblemen joined the crusade.'

'It is,' I confirmed.

Then maybe we should go there,' suggested the monk.

'Is that not the very thing I plan to do,' I retorted, my irritation growing, 'as soon as I can get a ship?'

'You already have a ship,' Padraig pointed out. 'Sarn could take us.'

I might have resented the idea if it had not struck me as faintly ridiculous. 'He might,' I agreed haughtily, 'if he had a chart and provisions enough for such a trip.'

Sarn brightened, his smile wide in the dark. 'I have these things.'

I stared at him. Had the two of them conspired in this? 'The boat is too small,' I complained. Truly, I had imagined sailing into Jerusalem aboard a Norse longship like the one my father had journeyed in.

'Small, yes,' Sarn conceded amiably, 'but the boat is sound and the weather good. It could easily be done.'

'Where did you get a chart?' I asked.

'The monastery provided the chart,' Padraig replied, and explained how Abbot Emlyn had personally supervised the copying and preparation.

'And you have provisions?'

These we have also,' confirmed Sarn. 'Enough for three men for several weeks of days-although the abbot does not think it will take so long.'

'We can depart in the morning,' Padraig pointed out. 'If you have no objection, that is.'

'Since you both seem to be determined,' I said, 'then I will allow it. You can accompany me to Rouen, and I shall be glad of the company. Once we reach the port, however,' I continued, raising a finger in warning, 'you will turn around and sail home. Is that understood?'

They both regarded me curiously.

'Is that understood?' I repeated.

'It is a long way to Frankland,' Padraig mused. 'Perhaps it would be best to wait until we see what we find when we get there.'

So, we sailed for Rouen, leaving the next morning as soon as it was light enough to navigate the river estuary. The winds were steady, and the weather stayed fair; we made good speed the first five or six days, keeping the coast in sight by day and night. Sometimes we made camp on land; most often we slept in the boat. We lost sight of land only once when fog stole the coast for a night and part of the next day.

It was only upon crossing the narrows and coming in sight of the prankish coast that the weather soured, and we were lashed by the tail of a thunderous storm. The wind shrieked and hurled stinging waves over the rails time and again. Padraig clung to the mast and prayed; Sarn and I bailed with cup and water stoup. We stood off the coast until the storm had passed; then, almost shaking with relief and singing psalms of thanksgiving, proceeded south to the sea mouth of the river the Franks call Seine.

The city of Rouen lies a fair way up river, and as there was considerable movement to and fro on along the coast we had no difficulty finding the right channel to take us inland. Indeed, we followed a large Flemish trading vessel and arrived two days later. While Sarn tended the boat, Padraig and I talked to the masters and pilots of other vessels to learn who might be heading south. Padraig's Latin was good, and I was pleased to find that mine sharpened quickly as I regained the rhythms of the speech I'd been taught since boyhood.

It seemed that I had arrived at the right place, for the wharf was very busy. As it happened, I was offered passage on no fewer than three ships in exchange for work. After discussing the matter with Padraig, I decided to accept a place aboard a Danish ship sailing for Genoa-one of the places marked on Sam's map. Indeed, we were walking along the wharf to inform the ship's master of my decision when two men appeared on the quay. Their arrival caused such a commotion of excitement that Padraig and I turned aside to see what they were about.

Tall and lean, they walked with the confident authority of kings, their dark-bearded faces haughty and lordly as they scanned the waterfront before them. The long swords at their belts were freshly burnished and gleamed; their high boots were new. They wore simple tunics-one brown, the other white. The one in white, I noticed, also had a broad cross of red cloth sewn upon his chest.

A group of sailors sitting on the wharf stood abruptly. I heard one of them murmur a name. I turned to the man, and asked what he had said. He pointed to the red cross on the man's tunic, and said, 'Templars.'