Eyvind threw back his head and roared. He thundered the name of the god in a great outcry of fury and frustration, and under his grip the grilled door began to break from its hinges, half falling outward. He clung to it, struggling to gain steady footing in his shackles. Quick as the slice of a butcher’s cleaver, several pairs of hands gripped his arms, closing iron rings about his wrists, joined by a length of chain which fastened him, firmly and neatly, to the grille itself. The last hinge gave; the door fell to the ground with Eyvind sprawled upon it, neatly bound in place, arms held firm by the manacles, face pressed against cold metal. A trap, it had been, a lure to bring him within reach. Clever. Too clever by far for any of these oafs. He thought he knew who had devised it.

“Are you all right?” Eyvind called out, and heard a gasping “Yes” before the first blow fell across his back. He fought as well as he might, twisting and writhing, wrenching at his bonds, flailing up and back with his bound feet. At least they had left the priest now, in order to concentrate on him. There was a kind of pattern in the way they went about it, as if they were under instructions to minimize visible damage while ensuring the result, eventually, would be as Somerled had requested. Somewhere not too far away the prayer went on.

“Thy house is a place where all paths run straight, Lord. If I walk forward in truth and courage, then in the end, that will be my one sure shelter…”

A stunning impact on the temple brought the headache back to throbbing life. There seemed to be blood in his eye. The opportunity to do as Brother Tadhg recommended and fight back was somewhat limited, with the wrist bonds holding him face down on the collapsed grille, and the shackles restricting the freedom of his legs. Fight for Nessa. Think of her. Think of life and a future. All paths run straight…truth and courage… Fight for her, and fight for truth. And when he could not fight anymore, make noise, a lot of noise, for they’d said someone was coming, someone whose arrival gave Somerled pause, and if he could just hold on long enough…

“Thor!” Eyvind yelled. “Thor be my strength! Odin be my guard and shield! Freyr give me the power of your manhood! Beat me, would you, you cowards?” A club caught him a glancing blow on the left ear; his head buzzed as if a swarm of angry bees had lodged behind his eyes. “Somerled!” He shouted with all the power left in his lungs. “Somerled, come down and fight your own battles! Kill me in the darkness, would you? Coward! Call yourself a king? Come down and fight!”