The man spoke to them in a tongue which none of them could understand. When he received no reply, he spoke again, in Latin this time. 'What is your purpose here?' he demanded, hand on the knife in his belt.
'We have come to join Magnus, King of the Norsemen,' replied Brother Ronan crisply. 'Is the king to be found here?'
Before the guard could answer, one of the men behind him pushed forward suddenly. 'Jon Wing!' cried the man in loud Norsespeak. 'So! You come dragging in at last.'
'Hey-hey!' replied Jon happily. 'Here we are. And who is the first person we should meet?' Turning to the others just behind him, Jon called, 'See here! If they are letting a skull-breaker like Hakon Fork-Beard prowl the streets in broad daylight, I know we have come to the right place.'
The two men clapped one another on the back and embraced like kinsmen. They began talking loudly together. More men were staggering out of the stables to join them; the priests, and some of the other crewmen gathered around, happily exchanging greetings with the others like long-lost kinsmen. Murdo stood looking on, suddenly very aware that the moment he had long awaited was upon him, and that his carefully nurtured resolve was swiftly deserting him.
'Come, wayward Sea Wolves!' said the man, his voice booming in the quiet square. 'The king will be glad to know his priests and pirates have arrived. Follow me!'
He led them to the door of the stables where he was met on the threshold by another Norseman-taller, younger, and dressed in breecs of brown leather, and a fine new linen siarc. His hair was long and fair, his braid thick. The two exchanged a word, and the one called Hakon motioned them inside, while the stranger stepped aside to greet the newcomers as they passed.
Murdo took his place behind Oski and Ymir at the end of the line. He hung his head and tried to creep by, hoping he would not be noticed. This hope died in vain, for as he came to the doorway, the fair-haired Norseman saw him, and put a hand to his chest and stopped him. 'Here now!' he said. 'Who is this with his bold glance?' He moved the hand to Murdo's chin and raised his face. 'Where did these Sea Wolves get you, boy?'
Since he had no other choice, Murdo squared his shoulders, raised his head, and looked the man straight in the eye. 'My name is Murdo Ranulfson,’ he answered forthrightly. 'I came aboard with the priests at Inbhir Ness.'
'Did you now!' The man eyed him up and down. 'Why would you do that?'
Brother Ronan appeared at the Norseman's shoulder. 'Murdo here has taken the cross and has come to join his father and brothers who are also on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.'
The fair-haired man accepted this with a nod. 'Where is your home, boy?'
'Orkneyjar, my lord,' Murdo answered, and inwardly cringed. Why had he said that?
'Orkneyjar!' repeated the man, much impressed. 'I have lands in the Dark Isles, too. It seems we are fellow countrymen, you and I. Greetings and welcome, Murdo Bold-Eye.' He offered his hand in friendship.
Murdo grasped the offered hand, and grinned at his new name: Murdo Bold-Eye. He liked that very much.
'We Orkneyingar should watch out for one another, hey?'
'Just so,' agreed Murdo readily, forgetting his wariness.
'If you find yourself in trouble, just sing out for Orin Broad-Foot, and you will have a stout sword at your side before you can turn around.' The lord slapped him on the back, and bade him enter and partake of the welcome cup.
Murdo stumbled forward into the cool darkness of the room, feeling lost and confused. He had just accepted the friendship and protection of his avowed and hated enemy.
TWENTY-SIX
In the short time King Magnus had been in residence, the main room of the citadel's stables had been turned into something which at first sight more closely resembled a drinking hall than a horse barn. Seven long boards with benches either side had been erected in the centre of the great room, and the former stalls were filled with fresh straw to serve as sleeping places for the warriors.
Murdo sat at the end of the long board by himself, his head in his hands, his cup untouched. The realization that he had just pledged friendship to his worst enemy plunged Murdo into a sulky dejection. It would have been far easier to hate him if Orin Broad-Foot had revealed himself to be the pig-eyed, greedy, hump-backed brute Murdo had so often imagined him. That Lord Orin was a friendly and gracious-perhaps even honourable and trustworthy-nobleman would make it that much harder to betray him when the time came.
I have lands in Orkneyjar, too, Orin had said. Murdo groaned at his own stupidity. How could he have missed that? He knew he was coming into the enemy's lair. He had foreseen this day a thousand times since leaving home. He should have been on his guard; he should have been ready. Stupid, stupid, boy! Why, oh why, had he allowed himself to be taken in by the amiable lord?
It took all Murdo's considerable stubbornness and determination to rekindle some small remnant of his enmity. It was only when he reminded himself that he was now at long last among the very men who had conspired to steal his family's lands and deprive him of his birthright-it was only when he remembered Ragna, and the unthinkably barren future without her, that he was able to regain some portion of his former animosity.
Beware, Murdo! he told himself. These men are not your friends. They have robbed you and your family. Do not be distracted by their winsome ways. They would destroy you without a thought. Guard yourself against them. Remain vigilant. Your chance to avenge the wrong will come.
Still, he felt ill-used and vaguely cheated-as if he had been offered a boon of considerable comfort and value, but forced on principle to refuse it. He sat glumly by himself and watched the rest of the company as glad welcome turned into revel. He felt alone and angry with himself, and his hard circumstance.
The fact that his father and brothers were no longer in Antioch did not help improve his spirits. That hope had been dashed the very moment he set foot in the citadel stable, for Jon Wing, turning to Lord Orin entering behind him, had asked, 'Where are all the people? Is the city deserted then?'
'Almost,' replied Orin. 'Those who did not die in the battle were killed by the plague which followed the siege. We saw nothing of this, mind you – it was some months ago. The fighting and sickness was long over by the time we got here. The pilgrims were gone, too.'
'All of them?' wondered Jon. 'Who holds the city now? King Magnus?'
'Nay,' Orin replied, 'it belongs to one called Bohemond-a Prankish prince.' He then went on to explain how the crusaders had marched on to Jerusalem only a day or two before their arrival, and how this Bohemond had hired King Magnus and his men to help guard the city.
Murdo, hearing enough, had then slunk away to the end of the furthest bench where he now sat, gazing into his shallow cup as if it were the end of the world he saw glimmering dully within. He sat aloof from the others, and hardened himself against those he must now deceive for the sake of his vow. Brother Emlyn, seeing his friend sitting alone, begged him to come and join them. Murdo declined, saying that he was tired from the long walk, and wished only to rest.
'Come now, Murdo!' Fionn called, lofting the bowl. 'A wee sip of wine before lying down.'
Still, Murdo refused. Placing his spear beside the others lined against the wall, he dragged himself off to a quiet corner and collapsed into it. He closed his eyes and pressed his hot back and shoulders against the cool stone, feeling the delicious shock of the chill against his skin.