The iron lance

Niamh, overcoming her reluctance, joined her son. 'Yes, I think we have waited long enough,' she told the monk. To her son, she whispered, 'Be careful, Murdo,' and gave him a sharp warning glance as she passed.

They entered a long dark cell. A single narrow window high up in the wall allowed a little sunlight into the room; otherwise, the few candles scattered here and there provided the only light. Five or six clerics toiled at a large table beneath the window; they looked up as the visitors entered, but then resumed their work. To Murdo, the scratching of their quills sounded like rats scrabbling hi the dry husks in the barn; and there was something decidedly vermin-like about the brown-robed clerics and their bristly, half-shaven heads and narrow eyes held close to their work.

'Where is the bishop?' asked Murdo, his voice loud in the thick silence of the room. 'We want to see him now.'

The monk made no reply, but his eyes shifted towards one of the two doors at the farther end of the room. 'In there, is he?' asked Murdo, already moving towards the door. He lifted the latch and pushed it open even as the monk hurried to stop him. Stepping into the room, he saw a cleric sitting at a table piled high with loose scrolls. The man was hunched over his work, and looked up as Murdo walked quickly to the table.

'Ah, young Ranulfson-is it not?' Abbot Gerardus said, his voice flat, expressing neither surprise nor concern.

Murdo frowned. The smarmy abbot was the last person Murdo wanted to meet. 'We have come to see the bishop,' he told the abbot coldly. 'Where is he?'

'We?' the abbot asked, his smile thin and self-amused.

'My mother and I -' began Murdo, gesturing behind him as Lady Niamh entered the room, the ineffectual monk darting in behind her.

'I am sorry, abbot-they would not wait,’ the monk began, but the abbot silenced him.

'Never mind, Brother Gerald,' said the abbot, rising from his chair. 'They are here now; I will see them myself.'

'It is the bishop we have come to see,' Murdo repeated.

'That is not convenient,' the abbot said, turning to Murdo, his eyes hard. 'Perhaps if you had made proper application -

'We have been coming here for five weeks!' Murdo snapped. 'Each time we make proper application, and each time we wait and wait, and we go away without seeing anyone! This time, we will see the bishop. I do not care whether it is convenient or not!'

The abbot bristled. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at the young man before him, his mouth tight with unexpressed loathing.

'Abbot Gerardus,' Niamh said, stepping briskly forward, 'I will ask you to forgive my son's bad manners. He seems to have forgotten himself in his impatience.'

'Of course, Lady Niamh,' said the abbot, inclining his head in a modest bow, instantly the self-effacing cleric once more. 'I am your servant. How may I help you?'

'It is as my son has said: we have come to see the bishop, and in light of our previous attempts, I must insist we see him today.'

'Then I fear you will be disappointed yet again,' the abbot replied with a small gesture of helplessness-as if to say that the matter was in the hands of an authority much greater than his own. 'You see, the bishop has given instruction that he is not to be disturbed for any reason. Perhaps you will allow me to help you in his stead.'

'Show us where he is,' Murdo demanded. 'That will help us best.'

Laying a hand on her son's arm, Niamh said, 'Peace, Murdo. It may be that once we have explained our purpose, the abbot will intercede for us.' She turned to the abbot for confirmation of this assertion, but the abbot merely smiled wanly back.

Murdo wanted nothing more than to shove his fist into the abbot's smirking face, but refrained for his mother's sake, and for the sake of Hrafnbu.

'As you will know,' Lady Niamh began, moving a step nearer the table, 'the rule of the islands has passed from Jarls Erlend and Paul, to Prince Sigurd, son of Magnus, King of Norway.'

'Certainly,' Abbot Gerardus replied, 'we are only too aware of the upheaval this has caused. This is precisely the reason why you have found it so difficult to gain audience with the bishop these last weeks.'

'In consequence,' Niamh continued, 'our lands have been taken from us. Two of my servants were killed, and we have escaped with only our lives.'

The abbot pressed his mouth into a firm line. After a moment, he said, 'Most distressing, to be sure. Yet, I cannot see what you expect the church to do about it.'

Niamh stared at him in amazement. 'This injustice must be remedied as swiftly as possible,' she said. 'Our estate has been seized and given to one called Orin Broad-Foot, a nobleman said to be an advisor to Prince Sigurd. The bishop must intercede for us with the prince. He must demand the return of our lands-on pain of excommunication, if need be.'

'Would that we could wield such power as you imagine us to possess,' Abbot Gerardus said with a show of weary resignation. 'In truth, we have no such authority. The bishop would tell you the same.'

'Then let him tell us face to face,' growled Murdo.

'If only that were possible,' replied the abbot.

'Do you refuse to allow us an audience?' demanded Niamh.

'Alas, it is not within my sway to allow or refuse,' the churchman said. 'It is the bishop's command. We all must obey.'

'My husband is on pilgrimage,' Niamh said pointedly. 'He is fighting for the church-and you ask me to believe that the bishop, at whose insistence he took the cross, cannot now find the time to address a wicked violation of the peace which he himself upholds.'

'Again,' the abbot replied, 'you think us more powerful than we are. The church has no authority to compel the compliance with -'

The abbot broke off suddenly as the door behind him opened and all turned to see the bishop himself emerge from his audience chamber. 'It is well, abbot,' Adalbert said in a kindly voice. 'I heard voices and thought to interrupt my meditations if I might be of service.' He smiled benevolently and, turning to his visitors, said, 'Lady Niamh, it is so good to see you. Tell me now, daughter, how may I help you?'

While the abbot stood frowning, Niamh stepped to the bishop and quickly explained the theft of their land and the predicament forced upon them. Murdo watched in growing disbelief as the bishop, nodding in heartfelt sympathy replied, 'It is most distressing. Yes, most distressing. Believe me, I wish there was something we could do.'

'But you can intercede for us,' Niamh insisted. 'You are the sole authority of the church in Orkneyjar. There has been a dire mistake. On pain of excommunication, you can force them to relinquish the land they have stolen.'

The bishop, still sympathetic, replied, 'Lady, I cannot.' He seemed to reconsider his reply then; raising a finger, he asked, 'What was the name of the man who has assumed ownership of your estate?'

'He is one of Prince Sigurd's house carles-a nobleman called Orin.' Niamh glanced at Murdo for confirmation; he nodded curtly, suspicion swarming around him like wasps.

The bishop appeared to hesitate, as if drawn up short by the name. 'Lord Orin Broad-Foot?'

'The same, yes,' Niamh answered. 'Do you know him?'

'Alas,' sighed the bishop, 'would that you had said any name but that. Was I not holding audience with that man in this very room, Gerardus?'

'Indeed, yes, Bishop Adalbert,' replied the abbot, who seemed to Murdo to have become curiously complacent about the proceedings.

'Then you know that what I have said is true,' Lady Niamh declared.

'Dear lady,' rejoined the bishop, 'I have never doubted you for a moment.'

'Then you will help us.'

'I have already told you that I would if I could,' Adalbert maintained. 'But Lord Orin has followed his king's leading and has taken the cross.'

Murdo felt a sick dread stealing over him. He could feel the knife sliding into his gut, though he had not yet