from me by force.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Bohemond. 'Your tale fascinates me, I confess. I would hear the whole of it. Pray, continue.'
'I will, my lord, and gladly,' Murdo replied. 'Give me but space enough and time, and I will tell you all you wish to hear. Nor will you call me thief when I am done.'
'Good man,' answered the Count of Antioch. 'You speak well for yourself. Indeed, I would suggest that you speak very like a certain nobleman who has earned my highest regard in these last weeks. Can it be that you and he are kinsmen?'
'I cannot think it likely, lord count,' Murdo replied. 'There are few pilgrims from the northern isles, and fewer still from Orkneyjar.'
'But he is the king of the northern isles,' the prince declared. 'I am speaking of my vassal, King Magnus-do you know him?'
'I know him-that is to say, I made the pilgrimage with some of his men,' Murdo answered.
Bohemond smiled broadly at this. Raising himself in his stirrups, he turned and called out, 'Here! Magnus! I have found one of your countrymen!'
There was a shifting movement of the crowd behind Bohemond's horse, and the familiar figure of King Magnus stepped out from among his bodyguard. Crowding in behind him, Murdo recognized the round figure of Brother Emlyn, trying desperately to squeeze through the tight-pressed throng.
'Hey-hey,' said Magnus by way of greeting. 'What have we here?'
'This fellow tells me he came to the Holy Land on one of your ships. Do you know him?'
Magnus cocked his head to one side and studied Murdo for a moment. 'He does appear familiar. If he says he sailed with me, I take him at his word and claim him as one of my own.'
'I sailed with Jon Wing, my lord,' Murdo told the king. 'It was his ship that brought your priests-one of whom came to Jaffa with me.' Murdo pointed into the crowd below. 'He is here now; you can ask him if you do not believe me.'
At that moment, the foremost of Count Baldwin's knights interrupted with a shout. 'Enough of this! Serious business lies before us, and you prattle away like spinsters over a pie.' Flinging out a hand to point at Murdo, he said, 'This man is a liar and a thief. He has stolen the Holy Lance, and we will see it returned to its rightful place.'
Bohemond looked at the man, his expression placid and good-natured. 'Why do you call him liar? He has freely admitted possessing the sacred relic; where is the lie?'
The nobleman glowered at Bohemond. 'The lance belongs to Lord Godfrey, and you know it.'
'The Holy Lance belongs to the Holy Church and her people. But, leaving that aside, do you deny that it was taken from your comrades in the battle?'
'You know well that it was,' the soldier spat. 'Godfrey's troops were attacked within sight of the walls and the lance carried off.'
'Are you saying that this unarmed youth defeated Godfrey's army all by himself and stole the relic for himself? Is that what you imagined happened?' Bohemond inquired innocently.
'You twist my words,' the knight growled. 'You know it was the Turks.'
'That is the first true word you have spoken,' Bohemond said. 'Yes, it was the Turks. We have laboured long against them this night, and have come fresh from the battlefield.' Raising his hand to Murdo, the count concluded, 'If this fellow has risked his life to recover the lance which was lost at your comrades' hands, it seems to me that instead of seeking his skin, you ought rather to be thanking him and heaping rewards and praise upon his head.'
The knight grumbled at Bohemond's assessment, but made no outright challenge to the count's version of affairs. He and his companions glared their displeasure, but held their tongues. Turning once more to Murdo, the Count of Antioch said, 'It would be my pleasure to sit with you and King Magnus, and discuss this matter with the propriety it deserves. If you would allow us to come aboard, I give you my word nothing ill will befall you.'
'Very well,' agreed Murdo, 'only allow the priest to join us, and I will tell you all I know.'
The count dismounted and placed his men along the quayside to guard the ship; meanwhile, Gorm quickly produced the plank to allow the lords and their noblemen to board the vessel more easily. Murdo soon found himself clutching the lance and standing face to face with his unanticipated defender, and a dozen or more noblemen including Orin Broad-Foot, and the ever-suspicious Bayard. Brother Emlyn bustled up the plank and came to stand breathlessly beside him.
'I waited all night, and when you did not return, I thought to go to the gate to see -
'Never mind,' said Murdo. 'Where is the treasure?'
'You recovered the lance, praise God!' He swallowed a gulp of air. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, 'There are too many nobles here for my liking. What are we to do about them?'
'Trust me,' replied Murdo. 'Now tell me-my father's treasure, where is it?'
The priest leaned nearer. 'It's here, aboard this very ship-where else should it be?' Glancing around, he said, 'Maybe you should give the lance to me. I could -'
'Hear me, Emlyn,' warned Murdo, 'say nothing. Whatever happens, hold your tongue.'
'Be careful, Murdo. These men will stop at nothing to have their way. Do not give in to them.'
'I mean it!' Murdo growled sharply. Grasping the priest by the wrist, he squeezed hard. 'Whatever I say or do, just keep quiet and stand aside. Understand?'
Stunned, Emlyn nodded and stepped away, rubbing his wrist.
Turning from the monk, Murdo faced Bohemond. 'Thank you for saving me,' he said, lowering his head in dutiful respect. 'I fear I would be drowned now if you had not arrived when you did.'
'And that would have been a great pity,' Bohemond told him. 'To lose both the Holy Lance and its most ardent protector at a stroke it does not bear thinking about. Therefore, let us pass on to happier fields of discussion.' He put out his hands to Magnus and Murdo. 'Sit with me, friends, and let us decide what is best to do.' They settled themselves on rowing benches. Indicating the silk-wrapped object in Murdo's lap, the count said, 'Now then, I would hear how the Sacred Lance came into your possession.'
Murdo nodded, and began his tale; he described how, after Count Bohemond and his troops had departed to engage the Turks, he had followed and heard the clash on the strand. He told how, upon climbing the hills for a better look, he had discovered the tent hidden among the dunes. 'The amir's treasure was inside the tent,' he concluded simply. 'I found the Holy Lance and came away with it. The Turks returned before I could get more.'
'Remarkable,' said Bohemond, shaking his head slowly. 'You have rescued the holy relic from its enemies-both Turk and Christian. I commend you…' he hesitated. 'Please, I still do not know your name.'
'I am Murdo, son of Lord Ranulf of Dyrness,' he answered, glancing at Magnus, who regarded him thoughtfully, but showed no recognition of the name.
Bohemond received the name with a gracious nod, and continued, 'I commend you, Murdo, Son of Ranulf of Dyrness. Your bravery shall be rewarded. I pledge a thousand pieces of silver for the return of the lance.' So saying, he extended his hand to take possession of the weapon.
'Murdo, no!' cried Emlyn, unable to help himself. 'Please, for the love of God, you must not -'
Murdo silenced him with a single sharp look, and turned once more to Bohemond. 'Again, lord, you have my thanks,' he replied, maintaining his grip on the iron lance. 'Forgive me, but I will take nothing from your hand for the return of the relic. I have my own reasons for what I did, and it is not right that anyone should amass profit upon the sacrifice of Christian lives. It will be enough for me to see the lance returned to its rightful place.'
Bohemond's expression became shrewd. 'More remarkable still,' he murmured.
King Magnus, who had taken in everything in silence, now leaned forward and, speaking in Norse, addressed Murdo directly, 'Son, think carefully about what you are saying. Jarl Bohemond here is a powerful man, and here he stands ready to give you anything you ask. Only give us the spear, and I will see you live to enjoy your reward.'
Murdo perceived the implied threat, but had already decided to brazen out his plan come what may. 'I thank you for your concern, lord,' he replied in polite Latin. 'Pray, do not think me disrespectful if I refuse your kind reward. For, what good is silver when a man's land has been stolen, and his family turned out of their rightful home?'
