“I will tell you what it means,” said Eyvind quietly. “When I was forced to cut this buckle away in order to free Ulf, I thought only to preserve it for my friend, for I knew it to be a family heirloom of some value. I thought it would please Somerled to keep this remembrance of his brother. I did forget it for a long time; my mind was taken up by other matters. Then I had cause to examine the buckle anew, to look at the cords, which you can still see tangled and twisted about it, cords knotted so tightly I could not free the dead man’s body without cutting the buckle itself away from his clothing. Look closely, my lord. Have you seen such a knot before, a decorative, neat construction resembling a close-furled flower? It is a difficult knot to make, one that tightens quickly at first, and then more slowly: a knot no living creature can escape. Ulf fought against it so fiercely that he came close to severing his own wrist; your chieftain bled to death from that self-inflicted wound. Whether the gulls came at him while he still clung to life, or later, there is no telling, but his body was still warm when I cut him free. No man deserves such a death, whether it is foretold or no. No man inflicts such torture on another, save one driven by the deepest of hatreds, the most carefully nurtured of resentments. My lords, this knot is a thing of beauty and horror, to be employed only in the cruellest trap, for a creature caught thus dies painfully, by slow degrees. I have never used it in a snare myself, for I have always believed in a clean kill, a sharp, merciful ending. But I do know how to make this knot; Somerled taught me long ago when we were children. It was his invention, his secret. There are only two I know of who can do it: your new king there, and myself.”

Now the silence was profound. Harald Silvertongue had picked up the buckle; his fingers touched the little knots gingerly, his mouth was tight with distaste. Olaf had his chin in his hand, as if thinking deeply. Now, Eyvind thought, now they must believe me. Somerled was a fool to keep this, and think not to be damaged by it. Now they must at least feel some doubt about his motives. But Somerled was smiling.