The iron lance

'Nay,' Lady Ragnhild softened. 'How could he? Lord Ranulf is a nobleman of rank, and a longtime friend. Your father respects him, and values his friendship. Anyway, the deed is done and we must all make the best of it.' The trimmer neatly lopped the stalk into her basket. 'Bishop Adalbert should be your greatest worry. He can refuse to acknowledge the hand-fasting, you know, and your children would be born into perdition.'

'We have time yet.' Ragna bent her head. Her eyes filled with tears. 'Until the Christ Mass, at least.'

Ragnhild paused and regarded her daughter thoughtfully. She put down the basket and opened her arms. Ragna stepped into her mother's embrace and the two women stood for a time without speaking.

'Oh, Ragna, if you could have waited…' she sighed, leaving the thought unfinished.

'He will be a good husband, Mother,' Ragna said after a while; she sniffed and rubbed the tears from her cheeks. 'He has never been anything but kind to me, and I love him for it-I think I always have. We will confirm our vows in our own chapel when he returns.'

'And if he does not return?'

'Mother! I will not hear you speak so.'

'I do speak so. Daughter, they are at war. You know as well as I, that men who go away to war do not always come home again. Of all those who leave home and family, only a few will return. Men die in battle and there is nothing we can do about it. That is hard, but that is the truth.'

'Murdo did not go to fight,' Ragna pointed out. 'He went only to bring Lord Ranulf home, not to fight.'

'That is something, at least,' her mother allowed, tenderness and pity mingled in her gaze. 'Oh, Ragna, I would that it were different for you.' After a moment she said, 'We must tell Niamh, of course; she will want to know soon.'

'Tonight, I thought,' Ragna replied. 'I will not be able to keep it from her much longer in any event.'

Lady Ragnhild raised a hand to her daughter's head, and touched it gently.

'Crusade will end long before winter comes,' Ragna told her, forcing conviction to her voice. 'The men will have returned, and we will be married before the baby is born.'

'Pray that is so,' Ragnhild said, stroking her daughter's long golden hair. 'Pray your Murdo returns soon. Pray they all return soon… hale and unharmed.'

After supper that night, Ragnhild suggested that Niamh join them for a walk in the long-lingering twilight. 'These few fine days at the last of summer almost repay winter's dark and cold,' she said as they strolled the path behind the house. The sky was flushed with pink and purple, and the few low clouds were red and orange against a sky of deepening blue. The sea breeze was warm out of the south, and the evening star gleamed just above the line of the hills beyond the ripening fields.

'It has always been my favourite time of year,' Niamh agreed placidly. 'The cattle have calved and the young are growing. It is nicest before the tumult of harvest.'

'Ragna was saying that she hoped the men would be home for the harvest,' Ragnhild said.

'I hope so, too,' Niamh replied. 'But I think we must not expect it. Whatever the next months bring, I fear we must prepare to face it without our menfolk.'

One of the servingmaids called Lady Ragnhild away just then, leaving Ragna and Niamh together for a moment. They walked a while, enjoying the mild evening. 'You have been quiet tonight,' Niamh observed. 'It is not like you. Are you feeling well?'

'Very well, indeed,' Ragna answered. 'If I am quiet, it is that I have been trying to find the right words to say what I must tell you.'

'Just say what is in your mind,' Niamh suggested amiably. 'I am certain there is nothing you could say that I would not like to hear.'

Ragna nodded. 'You are kind, Lady Niamh -'

'Let it be Nia between us,' she replied quickly. 'We are friends enough for that, I think.'

'We are,' agreed Ragna, 'and it is that very friendship I fear losing.'

'Whyever should you lose it?' Niamh stopped walking and turned to Ragna. 'My heart, what is wrong?'

The young woman lifted her head. 'Murdo and I are hand-fasted. I am carrying his child.'

'I see,' replied Niamh quietly.

When no further reaction seemed forthcoming, Ragna accepted her reproach. 'I do not blame you for withholding your blessing,' she said, bending her head. 'No doubt you hoped to make a better match for your son.'

In two steps, Niamh was beside Ragna, gathering the young woman to her breast. 'Never say it,' she soothed. 'Ah, Ragna… Ragna. I chose you for him the first day ever I saw you. I have made the match a thousand times in my heart. I have never breathed a word of this to Murdo, mind; but I prayed he would one day see for himself what I saw in you.' She held Ragna at arm's length. 'I am happy for you, and for him, too. If I hold any sadness at all, it is for the fact that I fear for your future together-'

'Because of the church? I thought of that. We can confirm -'

Niamh shook her head. 'No, the church will be the least of your worries. Rather it is because we have lost our lands, child. Murdo will have nothing, and that is a sorry way to begin a life together.'

'But you will get your lands back,' Ragna said. 'When Lord Ranulf and your sons return-you will reclaim Hrafnbu. I know it.'

'I wish I could be so certain. The truth is, there is much against us, and even if Lord Ranulf were here now, it might go ill with us.' Niamh paused. 'We must not trust too highly in our hopes, for the whims of kings thwart all desires but their own.'

'Would you forbid our marriage for lack of land?' Ragna asked, not unkindly.

'My heart, I would forbid you nothing,' Niamh replied. 'I wish you the world, and my dear son with it. And if he were standing here before you now, Ranulf would say the same. Your own father might take a different view. He might consider a landless match beneath his only daughter; he might feel he could do better for you elsewhere. And it would be his right.'

'I want nothing else,' Ragna declared, anger flaring instantly. 'And I will have the father of my child to husband, or I will have no one. They will put me in my grave before I wed another.'

'Shh,' soothed Niamh gently. 'To speak so is to arouse the Devil's regard. Let us pray instead that the Good Lord will grant you your heart's desire.'

Ragna smiled. 'Despite those selfish kings.'

'Of course,' agreed Niamh, 'despite all those selfish kings. They are but flesh and blood, and not angels after all.'

She took Ragna's arm, and they strolled on. 'Now then, we must begin to prepare for the infant's arrival. We have clothes to make -

'Warm clothes,' added Ragna, 'for it will be midwinter.'

They walked arm-in-arm in the gathering dusk, and talked of the preparations to be made in the next months. That night Ragna went to her empty bed with her soul more settled than it had been for a very long time. She fell asleep with a prayer on her lips. 'Lord of Hosts,' she whispered, 'send seventy angels to guard my Murdo, and bring him home to me with all speed. If you but do this for me, you shall never lack for a more faithful servant.'

TWENTY-FOUR

Skidbladnir passed between the Pillars of Hercules and entered the warm blue waters of what the monks called the Mare Mediterraneus. The Sea of Middle Earth?' wondered Murdo, thinking he must have heard it wrong.

'Exactly,' Fionn told him. 'We have come to the sea in the centre of the Earth. Of all the seas in the world, this is the best. It is the most peaceful and tranquil, and the fishing here is better than anywhere else.'

This boast was put to the test at once, and as the days went by Fionn's assertion did gather substance. Several places they coved for the night provided remarkable catches of fine-tasting fish of several kinds-some of which no one had ever seen before; one time they even caught crabs, which Murdo enjoyed, as they reminded him of Orkney.