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.”

In the semidark I find myself smiling. There is no lamp down here; the risk from fire is too great. But the nights are never quite dark in summer, and we are heading northward. A lantern up on deck casts a slanting beam down into the hold, picking out Knut’s inimical eyes, Sibeal’s ghost-white face. “Sibeal would say she still has choices, even though she has a window on a possible future,” I tell him. “The Sight helps a person choose right. It doesn’t tell what will happen, only what could happen.”

“Mm.” Sigurd closes his eyes. “Fond of her, are you?”

I say what I must say. “She’s a druid. Destined for the life of the spirit.”

“That’s no answer.”

“It’s the best one I have,” I say.

Sigurd does not reply. Liadan’s progress has slowed; the wind has died down. Manannán, the sea god, cradles this frail vessel and its human cargo: the sure and the brave, the uncertain and the doubtful, the resentful and the furious. It is time to sleep. You would like that plan, I tell my brother. A quest to find every last island. A little boat, the two of us rowing, a fantastic, crazy mission . . . Sweet dreams, Paul. Sigurd’s breathing slows; he is already asleep. In the shadows Knut lies still, watching me through narrowed eyes.

The second night. Our progress has been slow, the conditions calm all day. Now it is overcast. The stars are in hiding, and we cannot go on. The sail comes down. We trail a sea anchor. Gareth orders most of the crew to rest. It is cold, wet and cramped in the hold, and my joints ache.