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interrupted Eochaid. He laid a hand on Maeloch’s arm. “You’re white and atremble. Slack off, man. I’ll have no fighting under my roof,” as if that were the sky.
    “He lies about—a lady he’s not fit to name,” the Ysan snarled.
    Gunnung sensed rage and clapped hand to hilt. Eochaid gestured him to hold still. “He s told me how a princess lay with him, hoping he would challenge her father and win,” the Scotian said in Gallic. “Was it true, now?”
    “It was nay, and I’ll stop his mouth for him.”
    “Hold! I think the Gods were at work in this. You yourself said we must not judge. Dare you, then? If he lies, sure and They will be punishing him. If he does not lie—I know not what,” Eochaid finished grimly. “But to me he has the look of a man whose luck has run out. Yettoday he is my guest; and I will never spend my men on a bootless quarrel that is none of ours. Heed.”
    Maeloch stared around the circle of warriors. They too had winded wrath and drawn closer. Their spearheads sheened against the sun. Inch by inch, his fingers released the helve of the ax that lay beside him. “I hear,” he said. To Gunnung, in Latin: “I be surprised. Hurt. You understand? Grallon be my King. Bad, bad, to know his daughter be wicked.”
    The Dane smiled more kindly than before. “Truth hurt. I tell truth.” Wariness reawoke. “You no fight, ha?”
    Maeloch waved a hand at the men. “How? If I want to. No fight.”
    “He’s gloated about it,” Eochaid said in Redonic. “That is ill done, and now here to your face. But you told me you have a task of your King’s. Save your blood for that.”
    Maeloch nodded. He had gone impassive. “I will.” He pondered. “Mayhap he can even help. There’d be rich reward.”
    “How?” asked Eochaid instantly.
    Maeloch considered him. “Or mayhap ye can. Or both of ye. My oath binds me to say no more till I have yours. Whatever happens, whatever ye decide, ye must let my men and me go from this island.”
    “If I refuse?”
    Maeloch drew down the neck of his tunic. White hairs curled amidst the black on his breast. “Here be my heart,” he said. “My oath lies in it.”
    That was enough. Barbarians understood what Romans no longer did, save Grallon: a true man will die sooner than break his word. After a pause, Eochaid answered, “I swear you will go freely, unless you harm me or mine.”
    “Vat this?” Gunnung wanted uneasily to know.
    “Scoti help me?” Maeloch replied. “You help me too? Gold. Scoti protect me.”
    “You no fisher?”
    “I travel for the King of Ys. You not fought King. Not his enemy. You like to help? Gold.”
    “I listen.”
    Maeloch passed it on Eochaid. The four sitting men rose. Solemnly, the Scotic chief called his Gods and thespirits of this island to witness that no unprovoked hindrance should come to the Ysans from him.
    “Now I can say this much,” Maeloch told him. “We’re bound for Hivernia … Ériu. The errand’s about your enemy Niall and nay friendly to him. Our craft be just a fishing smack, damaged. We’ve nay yet got her rightly seaworthy, though we can sail in fair weather. This be a tricky season. We’d house at home were the business not pressing. An escort ’ud be a relief. We can pay well and … get ye past Ys without trouble.”
    Fogartach explained to Gunnung. “Haa!” the Dane bellowed in Latin. “You pay, you got us.”
    “It may be best that the men of Ériu guide you,” Eochaid said.
    “Yours and his together?” Maeloch suggested. “Well, settle that ’twixt yourselves. First ye’ll want to see what we can offer ye.” He paused. “Wisest might be that none but ye twain have that sight. Too often gold’s drawn men to treachery.”
    Eochaid took a certain umbrage at that. Gunnung, however, nodded when it was rendered for him; he must know what ruffians fared under his banner. “He be not afraid to go alone with me,” Maeloch stated in Gallic, leaving Eochaid no choice but to