The iron lance

'Oh, Murdo, of course we did,' his mother informed him with quiet exasperation. 'You forget because it is beneath your regard to remember. You have so little heart for the church, I wonder you go at all, Murdo.'

I would not go, he thought to himself, if I was not forever pestered into going. Adopting a suitably contrite tone, he admitted, 'It is not often uppermost in my thoughts, it is true. But I did enjoy the Saint John's feast, and I would be happy to hear Easter Mass at the cathedral-if that is what you wish.'

Oh, that was well done. He had deftly turned the entire affair into a matter of pleasing his mother. Murdo commended himself on his shrewdness and aplomb.

His exultation was short-lived, however, for his mother downed her needlework to stare at him-as if unable to determine whether it was indeed her son sitting beside her, or a sly impostor. 'As it happens,' she said, 'I have already made other plans. We are to spend Eastertide elsewhere.'

Murdo felt his heart sink. After all his cunning and careful planning, he was not to go to the cathedral at all. In desperation he said, 'Yet the cathedral is a splendid sight on Easter-what with all the gold and finery. Could we not hear the mass, at least, before chasing off somewhere else? I do so like it there.'

Lady Niamh frowned and shook her head. 'You are a wonder. I had no idea you held such strong opinions on the matter.' She paused, considering what to do. After a moment, she said, 'Honestly, I wish you had spoken sooner, Murdo. Lady Ragnhild has invited us to join them, and I have accepted. I do not see how I can tell her that we will not come after all-they will have made many preparations for us.' She paused again. 'But, if you are determined, we might-'

'Lady Ragnhild – wife of Lord Brusi…' Murdo interrupted quickly.

'Yes, the same-and if you tell me you cannot remember them, Murdo, I will thump you with a broom.'

'I remember them right well,' Murdo replied truthfully. 'But I do not recall seeing a messenger hereabouts.'

'Messenger? Whatever do you mean? There was never any messenger.'

'Then how-?'

His mother regarded him with frank exasperation and clucked her tongue. 'Ragnhild herself invited us at the Feast of Saint John. She knew we would be alone-as she would be herself- with the menfolk gone on pilgrimage. I told her we would be honoured and delighted to observe the holy days with them.'

Murdo, adopting a philosophical air, replied, 'Well, I am never one to disappoint a body. In light of all the preparations the good lady will have made on our behalf, it would ill behove us to spurn an invitation already accepted. I fear we shall have to make the best of it.' He sighed heavily to show that, though his sentiments were firmly elsewhere, he was nevertheless capable of sacrificing his own happiness for that of others.

'The things you say, Murdo,' Niamh said, shaking her head slowly. 'One would almost believe you had another purpose in mind.'

'My only wish is to please you, Mother,' Murdo replied, trying to sound hurt and dignified at the same time. 'Is that wrong?'

Lady Niamh rolled a sceptical eye at him and took up her needlework once more. Murdo turned his attention to the knife in his hand with what he considered an attitude of silent forbearance, all the time hoping against hope that his mother would overlook his ill-timed insistence on attending mass in Kirkjuvagr, now the last place he wanted to go.

'Then it is settled,' Niamh mused after a time. 'We shall go to Cnoc Carrach as we have planned.' She paused, thinking of the impending visit. 'It will be good to spend a few days with Ragnhild again; it's a long time since we stayed with one another.'

Murdo, feeling he had said more than enough, wisely kept his mouth shut, as if accepting his mother's final decree. That night he lay awake imagining what he would say to Ragna when he saw her, and wondering whether some sort of gift might be required for the occasion. He determined to give the matter serious consideration, and fell asleep dreaming of her pleasantly surprised reaction to his affection and generosity.

In the days to follow, it took all of Murdo's cunning to appear indifferent to the impending visit. He contrived to help Peder ready the boat; after wintering on the shore, there was always a deal of work to get the craft seaworthy once more, and the old sailor was most exacting about how the various chores were done. Peder had collected a supply of pitch to be mixed together with a little wool, the compound to be pressed into the seams and any cracks which had opened during the cold months. Then, the hull would be scraped with pumice stone and a fresh layer of pitch applied. Also, during the long winter, Peder fashioned lengths of rope from twisted hemp; these would have to be stretched and soaked, stretched and soaked again, and then spliced together to make good stout seaworthy lines-an arduous process, but, as Peder never tired of pointing out, at sea a man's life hung by each and every strand of seaman's thread.

Save for the smell of hot pitch, Murdo did not mind the work. He preferred the sailing to farming anyway, and Peder's rambling talk took his mind off the aching anticipation of seeing Ragna again. The thought tormented him like an inflamed itch, and he could not wait for the day. Easter had gradually assumed a towering significance for Murdo, and he began to fear he would not live to see it. The incomparable day hung over him like doom itself, and he even considered praying that God would allow him the blessing of beholding the lovely Ragna once more. If I can but see her dressed in her Easter finery before I die, he thought, I can depart this world a contented soul. And if, by some miracle, he was granted the favour of a kiss, he would meet judgement day a happy, happy man.

Despite his feelings, however, Murdo made no prayers. He felt it beneath his dignity to honour that distant tyrant with his reverence, and he certainly did not care to enter into any bargains which might require him to atone in some disagreeable way, or attend church more often than he already did. He bore his affliction as best he could, working hard and taking long walks at dusk when his thoughts inevitably turned towards the forthcoming journey… and the ineffable delight which lay at the end of it.

When the day of their departure finally dawned, Murdo was awake and ready before the cock had finished crowing. For the life of him, he could not understand why, this day of all days, everyone had suddenly become so sluggish and slow. It was not as if they were taking the entire holding with them; besides his mother, Murdo was the only other person going, along with Peder, of course, and Hin, one of the younger servingmen, who was to help with the boat. But there were numerous baskets and bundles of food, and several chests of clothing and other belongings to be loaded onto the wagon and carried down to the boat, and stowed aboard.

'We are not settling unknown territory,' Murdo observed tartly. 'Why do we need all this-this tack?'

'Is it impatient you are?' his mother cooed sweetly. 'Ah, heart of my heart, you will see your Ragna again soon enough.'

Murdo gaped at his mother. All this time he had been so careful-how did she know? How could she know?

He could feel his cheeks burning, and turned away quickly. 'I was only thinking of the weather,' he said vehemently. 'Peder says we will have a good wind to begin, but it will grow tassy by midday.'

'Listen to you now,’ Niamh said, her eyes glinting mischievously as she stepped near, 'going on about the weather, when the merest mention of her name brings the colour to your cheeks… or was that the wind as well?'

He glared at his mother, but held his tongue lest he make the thing worse.

'Murdo,' she coaxed, 'you have been stalking around here like a caged bear ever since we decided to go to Cnoc Carrach-did you really think I would not guess the reason? I have been the mother of sons for a fair few years; there is very little I do not ken of menfolk.'

Murdo softened under her gentle reproof. He shrugged, and said, 'Well, we have been shut up here all winter, after all. I know how eager you are to see your friend again.'

Lady Niamh put her hand on her son's shoulder. 'Hear me, my soul,' she said, 'Ragna is a splendid young woman, and nothing would make me happier than seeing you take her to wife. Your father feels the same, I know. We are both noble families, and there is a great deal to be said for binding our houses together. I have good reason to believe Lord Brusi would welcome the match.'

'Mother,' he said, mystified, 'why are you telling me this?'

She smiled. 'So that you will feel free to follow your heart in the matter.' She lifted her hand and lightly touched his cheek. 'I have seen the way you look at her. Truly, a love match is a rare thing, my light. Your father and I have been fortunate, but many-nay most – are not so blessed.' She paused. 'As it happens, I have also seen the way Ragna looks at you.'

Murdo jerked his head back in disbelief.