I had been seasick only for the first day or two. After that I kept myself busy helping Gull tend to Thorgrim. Indeed, I kept myself very busy. I managed to present an outer shell of calm, lending a hand wherever I might, sitting in silent prayer, keeping myself to myself. Under that still exterior I was a stew of raw feelings, and every day they bubbled closer to the surface. There was, in truth, no silent prayer. When I sat cross-legged with my eyes closed, I could neither pray nor meditate. All I could think about was Felix. The passages of lore that had once come so easily, the patterns of breathing I had been able to summon in the most difficult situations had slipped away; they were beyond me. When Felix was up on deck, fishing with Sigurd or talking to Cathal, I longed for him to come back so I could look at him. When he was close by, the merest glance brought back the thrilling sensation of his lips on mine, and the desolation of stepping out of his embrace. I could hardly bring myself to speak to him, lest I break down completely. Ciarán would have been horrified.

I was not too preoccupied to feel pleasure at our survivors’ progress. Thorgrim was managing to keep his food down, and looked better by the day. Though weakened by his ordeal, Donn had from the first been eager to work. Gareth had asked him to join the crew, allocating him tasks that were within his reduced capacity. As for Colm, little ailed him physically that rest and good food would not quickly mend. His mind was a different matter. Felix listened patiently to the boy’s endless recounting of what had happened, what he had seen, what he had felt, and reassured him that his old life waited for him back in Munster, and that in time the nightmare would fade.

As Thorgrim’s condition improved, we learned that he had known Knut in Dublin. “Knut had a wife and children there,” Sigurd translated, to our astonishment. “But he was in trouble twice over. He owed money, a lot of money. Although he was a fit, able sort of man, there never seemed to be any funds to mend the house or clothe the little ones. Too keen on a wager, Knut was, and on women other than the one he was wed to. Things came to a head with his wife, and he took to her with his fists. Seems he forgot that she had five brothers. He left Dublin in a hurry, with no intention of going back, and headed for Ulfricsfjord in the hope of getting a place on a ship. He was almost lucky. He would have stepped off Freyja in the Orcades and made a new start, if the boat hadn’t been swept off course.”