There was a little silence around me as my family considered this, while at the other tables the clank of spoons on platters, the chink of goblets and the convivial talk went on. In fact, the place was not as noisy as usual; on the night of my arrival it had been hard to make oneself heard. Tonight was different. We were consuming the food that had been prepared to feed shipwreck survivors. It would be some days, I thought, before the community returned to its nightly round of after-supper songs and tales.

“Ardal,” mused Gareth. “Means exceptional courage, doesn’t it? A man couldn’t complain about a name like that. He might have some trouble living up to it.”

“It’s a good choice,” Johnny said. “Better a name to aspire to than one that means little. We would all hope to be strong in adversity.”

The talk turned to practical matters, as the men discussed the impending arrival of their visitors and how arrangements for training and for security would be handled. Even invited guests on the island, it seemed, were more or less constantly watched.

“It’s done with some subtlety, Sibeal,” Gareth said, seeing my expression. “They won’t know there’s a guard over them.”

“Not unless someone steps beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior,” added Johnny. “On the day our guests arrive, we set out the rules for them. And we generally give a display, an introduction to the kind of work we do here. It’s as much entertainment as education. We open up the training area to everyone for that.”

“Even druids are expected to come along and scream encouragement, Sibeal,” said Clodagh with a grin. It was good to see her smile. I had noticed how pale and tired she looked. Cathal was hardly better. There were dark smudges under his eyes.

“Sibeal’s hardly the screaming kind,” observed Sam. He was the island blacksmith and took after Biddy in looks, being big, solid and fair. His brother Clem had wed a mainland girl and now lived and worked in the settlement on the other side, looking after the transport of goods and men across the water.

“Ah, well,” I said, “I have seen your combat bouts at Sevenwaters, so I have an idea of what’s expected. But if you want an enthusiastic shouter, it’s a shame I didn’t bring my little sister with me.” Eilis, now twelve years old, had long been intensely interested in all matters of warcraft, and indeed had persuaded one or two of Johnny’s men to teach her various techniques when they were in our household on their yearly visits. Eilis did not so much scream as offer an expert commentary, complete with helpful suggestions.