Sigurd comes to sit by me. He is the only man from Snake’s expedition to be sailing out on this voyage. He was chosen, I imagine, for his fluent Norse. Besides, he has neither wife nor children. He is about Johnny’s age, fair-skinned, blunt-featured, with the short-cropped hair favored by many of the Inis Eala warriors. The markings that decorate his brow and cheek put me in mind of a seal. “You’re from Armorica, yes?” he asks. “Which part?”

This is the warrior who had a countryman of mine as a friend. I remember the name: Corentin. “The region of Finistère,” I tell him. “In the far west.”

“Mm. Strange tales in those parts. Corentin was full of them. Monsters and transformations. You going back, after this?”

I shake my head. “I doubt it.”

“Got family there?”

“My parents.”

“Corentin and I used to talk about it.” Sigurd lies down with his hands behind his head, but he seems in the mood for conversation, not sleep. “We made plans, not that either of us thought we’d leave Johnny’s band, but there’s no harm in plans. I’d take him to see the north, snow and ice, bears and wolves. He’d take me to that realm of strange stones left by the ancients and islands that appear and disappear. Have you heard of that? There’s a bay he used to talk about, where there are over three hundred islands. He said that when folk try to count them, they always come up with a different number. We thought we’d get a little boat and keep exploring until we found every last one.” Sigurd grins. “Imagine what you might discover in a place like that. But Corentin had to go home in a hurry, and I couldn’t walk out on Johnny. I wish I knew how he got on; whether he managed to save his family holdings. He could be a big landowner now. He could have a wife and children. He could be dead.” The smile is gone.

I thought I did not want to talk about home. After all, this man is almost a stranger. But his manner disarms me. “Do you know where his family lives? What region?”

“Near that bay I mentioned, if that’s any help.”

I nod. It is close to home. “I know the place,” I tell him. “I hope your friend was able to secure his land. The region is beset by territorial disputes. In that, it is not unlike Erin. It is possible Corentin’s holdings lie within the overlordship of a certain nobleman, a person with much influence and little conscience. I hope he managed to stand up for what was rightly his.”

“Oh, he’d stand up for it all right,” says Sigurd grimly. “It’s whether he was cut down afterward that troubles me. There are moments when I wish for the gift of Sight.” He glances over at Sibeal, who is bent double, gasping, while Gull presses a cloth to her forehead. “But when I think about it, I wouldn’t want that. Could be more curse than blessing. A man wants to be free to make his own choices. That’s what I think, anyway.”