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on you all.”
    Humbled at last, the tattered hermit bowed and accepted his lord’s generosity with simple thanks.
    â€œHere me, Peter of Amiens,” Alexius warned, “you proceed at your peril. Take our advice and turn back. Without protection and supplies, your pilgrimage will fail.”
    â€œAs God wills,” he replied stiffly. “We look to the Almighty for our aid and protection.”
    Alexius, still fuming, glared at the mule-headed cleric and decided there was no point in prolonging the misery; with a flick of the imperial hand, he ended the audience and directed Nicetas to take him away. When they had gone, the emperor turned to Dalassenus. “This is that incompetent Urban’s doing, and he will bitterly regret it. His insufferable interference has brought us nothing but hardship…and now this!”
    The emperor stared at his commander, his brow furrowed inthought. After a moment, he said, “Can it be that he has misunderstood our intentions?”
    â€œI do not see how that could be possible, basileus,” Dalassenus replied. “Your letter was most explicit. He had it read out before his bishops, and you have received his favorable reply.”
    â€œEven so, something has gone wrong,” Alexius declared. “I asked for an army to help fill the ranks and restore the themes. I said nothing about a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.”
    â€œNo, basileus,” agreed Dalassenus firmly.
    The emperor shook his head. “I fear I must ask you to return to Rome, cousin. We must learn what that old meddler has done, and take measures to prevent any more citizens coming to harm. You will leave at once, and may God go with you.”

FIVE
    â€œI have spoken to Guthorm Wry-Neck,” Lord Brusi was saying as Murdo drifted near, “and he said the ship will leave Kirkjuvágr the day after the Feast of Saint James, God willing.”
    â€œThat soon?” His father sounded surprised. “It cannot take so long to reach Lundein.”
    Brusi only nodded. “That is what he said.”
    â€œBut the harvest will not be finished,” Ranulf pointed out.
    â€œAye,” Brusi agreed. “There is no help for it, I fear. We must reach Rouen by mid-August and no later if we are to travel with the king’s men.”
    â€œYes, yes, I see that,” Lord Ranulf agreed. “Still, I had not thought we would be leaving so soon.”
    Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of Bishop Adalbert, who called his guests to table—the women to tables on the right, and men to the left. In the eager, but not undignified, rush which ensued, Murdo found himself squeezed onto a bench between two merchantmen of more than ample girth. The one on his left eyed him disapprovingly—as if he feared that Murdo’s presence might turn feast into fast; but the man on the right winked at him and smiled. “Going to Jerusalem are you, boy?”
    â€œI am not, sir,” replied Murdo in a tone that dared his listener to pursue the matter further.
    â€œAh,” the merchant nodded sagely, and Murdo could nottell whether he thought this a good thing or not. “I am Gundrun,” he said, “and I give you good greeting, young man.”
    â€œGod be good to you, sir,” replied Murdo; he gave his name, and pointed out his father and brothers sitting a few places further down the bench, and identified them to his listener.
    The merchant on the left took this in with a heavy grunt, whereupon Gundurn said, “Do not mind him, Murdo Ranulfson; he is always out of temper—is that not so, Dufnas? Never more so than on a feast-day following mass.” The man on the left grunted again and turned his surly attention elsewhere.
    A monk appeared just then, carrying a tall stack of round, flat loaves of bread. He passed along the bench, placing a loaf before each guest. “Here now,” said Gundrun, “the food