Finally, with a nod, one of the old women settled in a crouch by her side, and the others moved away, walking in silence now down to the place where the tilt of the Whaleback was lowest. They looked across the causeway to the point, and on the point, now, a group of horsemen waited, the sun touching their weapons to glittering brightness, the stirring breeze fluttering the fringes of their helms and rippling through the thick, shining fur of their strange cloaks. It had not taken Eirik so long, then, to track him down. Thord and Grim flanked his brother, and the fourth man, the one who did not wear a wolfskin, was Magnus of Freyrsfjord. The women froze in their tracks; the boys whispered to one another, reaching for their little knives.

“It’s all right,” Eyvind said, trying to reassure them with his tone, his hands. “I’ll protect you, I promise. I will make sure no harm comes to any of you. I give you my word.” It came to him, as he moved to the front of the line, as he led them forward on the narrow pathway between pools now filling and spilling over, their shawls of weed moving lazily on the flow of the incoming tide, that he could do precisely that. He could guard these folk, he could ensure their farms and their fishing boats were safe, their boundaries secure. He could make it his job to see that these bright-eyed children, who still had laughter somewhere within them after so much terror, grew up strong and brave, wise and glad as their lost fathers and brothers had been. He could teach them to fight. Engus’s warriors had fought bravely, but not well enough. An island people needed to learn how to win even when the enemy had greater numbers. They had to know how to prevail by stealth and skill when the invader had superior weapons. He could teach them that. All they needed was time. All they needed was another chance.

“I will protect you,” Eyvind said again, and although they could not understand his words it seemed they recognized the meaning, for they followed him across, young women in bright tunics now stained with the marks of their slain men’s wounds, children unnaturally quiet, staring at the broad-shouldered figures, who sat so still on their horses there where the spears had fringed the shore. The old women walked more steadily, age perhaps giving them a quicker understanding. They reached the shore. The islanders halted close-grouped by the water’s edge; memory held them in check here where they had been herded like animals under the goading of the Norsemen’s spears. Somerled’s hand still stretched like a dark shadow over this place. It was Eyvind who climbed from the flat stones by the causeway, where he had fallen to Grim’s hammer blow, up to the higher ground, and stood as straight and tall as he could by Jarl Magnus’s horse.