The iron lance

seen the blade.

'Indeed, he, like so many of our island sons, is to become a pilgrim,' the bishop continued. 'In view of the upcoming journey, he has availed himself of the pope's decree regarding the guardianship of the land.'

Niamh stared at the bishop. 'You mean…' She faltered, unable to make herself say the words.

'The Holy Church of Christ has pledged protection for the estate,' the bishop replied. 'The pertinent documents have been signed and are now on their way to Jorvik for safekeeping. So you see, it is too late.'

'When did this take place?' Niamh's voice had gone cold.

'Two days ago,' said the abbot, almost gloating with triumph.

'Two days!' shouted Murdo. 'Two days! Yet, you knew we had been here seeking audience every week for five weeks! You knew it and did nothing!'

'Calm yourself, son. Your anger is misplaced. As it happens, the assumption of Prince Sigurd has brought about many sudden and unexpected changes, as you can imagine. We have been kept busy from dawn to dusk merely to keep pace with the demands which, like your own, have arisen in the wake of the jarls' removal. I assure you, we knew nothing of your plight until you told us just now.'

'Hrafnbu is ours!' shouted Murdo; fists balled, he stepped towards the bishop. 'It is ours and you knew it!'

'Yes!' Adalbert snapped, anger flickering to life. 'And I tried to make your father see reason, but he refused. So be it. Now you must live with the consequence of his stupidity.' Glancing at Niamh, he quickly added, 'I am sorry to be so blunt, good lady, but there is nothing I can do.'

Abbot Gerardus moved to the bishop's side. 'If Lord Ranulf had not been so covetous of his rents, the estate would sooner have been under our control, and you would still have a home.'

Murdo gave a strangled cry and started for the abbot, who backed away swiftly.

'Murdo!' his mother shouted, her voice sharp as a slap. She drew him back, saying, 'Come away, son. We will not weary these churchmen further with our trifling grievance. They must have other sheep in their flock to look after-it seems it is the shearing season after all.'

'Lady Niamh,' protested the bishop, 'I fear you have taken my meaning amiss.'

'Have I?' she challenged tartly. 'Covetous of his rents… the estate under our control…' She paused, eyes ablaze. When she spoke again, her voice was low, barely audible. 'I believe I understood your meaning very well, proud priest.'

The bishop frowned. 'Please, you must be patient. No doubt the matter can be disentangled when the claimants have returned from pilgrimage to resume the governance of their estates.'

'What would you have us do until then?' demanded Niamh. 'Beg in the marketplace like paupers?'

'The convent is ever -' began the abbot.

But Niamh was no longer listening. 'Come away, Murdo. There is no justice for us here.'

She turned her back on the churchmen, and walked to the door. Murdo glared at the men with all the hate his soul could muster, and felt the awful impotence of frustrated rage. 'You will curse the day you slandered my father and sided against us,' he said, his voice trembling with fury. 'Hear me! Murdo Ranulfson makes this vow.'

'Come away, Murdo,' his mother called from the door. 'Do not waste your breath on them.'

Murdo, still glaring at the clerics, took a slow step backwards. 'You know well the worth of a vow made on holy ground. Mark me, and remember.'

The abbot made to speak, but the bishop waved him silent, and Murdo and his mother stepped into the anteroom. Murdo saw the table where the abbot had been sitting-two other monks now hovered over the document the abbot had been studying. Murdo strode to the table, snatched up the ink pot and dashed it over the parchment. Black ink splashed everywhere. The horrified monks shrieked, one threw his hands above his head, while the other began pawing at the ruined manuscript in a desperate effort to save it.

Murdo, allowing his anger full rein, raised his foot, put his boot against the table, and shoved with all his might. The sturdy thing tilted and slammed to the floor with a colossal crash, scattering documents and smashing the ink pot.

Other monks, hearing the commotion, rushed into the room, saw the overturned table, and flew at Murdo. He dodged aside, but one of them seized him by the arm, and the others fell on him.

'Remove him!' shouted the abbot from the doorway.

The monks hauled Murdo to his feet and dragged him away.

'Let him go!' cried Niamh, rushing to his aid.

One of the clerics, in his excitement, put out his hand and pushed her aside. Murdo saw her fall and, gripping his captors' arms tightly, swung both feet into the hapless cleric's face. His foot struck the man squarely on the chin. The man's head snapped back on his shoulders and he dropped like a felled tree. Meanwhile, the force of Murdo's kick unbalanced the monks who held him and they all collapsed in a heap on the floor, taking the boy with them.

'Get him out of here!' Abbot Gerardus shouted again, hoarse with rage.

The monks, still clasping their prisoner tightly, jerked him to his feet once more. The abbot stepped swiftly to where they struggled. 'You stupid, insolent little -' He drew back his hand to strike.

'Enough!' shouted the bishop. He stood in the doorway, his face livid, but his manner composed. 'Enough, I say. This is a house of God and you are behaving shamefully.' He thrust his hand towards the door. 'Lady Niamh, I must ask you to leave this place at once.'

'We are going,' Niamh said tersely. 'Come away, Murdo.'

Murdo shook off his captors' grip, and joined his mother. 'You call this a house of God,' Murdo spat, 'but I see only thieves and cowards.'

The monks started for him again, but Niamh took his arm and drew him quickly away. They hastily retraced their steps back through the cloisters and church, and did not stop again until they were standing in the muddy track outside the cathedral. 'Worse than vipers, the lot of them,' Murdo muttered, still shaking with anger.

'We will have our lands back, never fear,' Niamh assured him. 'When your father returns, we will -'

'What are we to do until then?' asked Murdo. 'What if they do not return until next summer-or even the summer after that? How long must we wait to reclaim what is ours?'

'We can stay at Cnoc Carrach. Ragnhild has offered -'

'You stay at Cnoc Carrach with Ragnhild,' Murdo told her harshly. 'I will not spend another day waiting-not while our home is held by thieves and greedy priests.'

Niamh regarded her son silently for a moment. 'What is in your mind, Murdo?'

'If we cannot take back what is ours until Lord Ranulf returns, then I will go and bring him back.'

'No,' Niamh told him firmly. 'Think what you are saying, son; you cannot go to the Holy Land.'

'Why not? Everyone else is going-even Orin Broad-Foot. Perhaps I will go with him!'

In truth, his thoughts had been scattered and confused. Yet, the moment he spoke the words, everything became clear and simple. Murdo knew what he would do.

Niamh saw the light of grim determination come up in his grey eyes, and recognized in the set of his jaw the stubborn resolve of Lord Ranulf himself. 'No, Murdo,' she repeated. Turning, she started down the track to the harbour where Peder was waiting with the boat. 'I will not hear it.'

She walked a dozen paces and, when Murdo made no attempt to follow, she turned back. 'Stop behaving like a child.'

'Fare well, Mother.'

'Murdo, listen to me.' She walked back to where he stood, and Murdo knew he had won his way. 'You cannot go-not like this. It is impossible.'

'I am going.'

'You must have provisions and money-you cannot simply go off as if it was a market fair. You must be prepared.'

Murdo said nothing, but gazed impassively at his mother.

'Please,' Niamh continued, 'come back to Cnoc Carrach at least, and we will make proper preparation for the journey.'

'Very well,' agreed Murdo at last. 'But when Orin Broad-Foot sets sail for Jerusalem, I will be on that boat.'