“Nobody. You know as well as I do, we’re the only ones who hunt up here. I wish you would tell me—”

“That would serve no purpose. As I said, you boys are not to discuss this. Now, you’d best bring in what you’ve caught for the day and make up the fire, for we still have to eat. I have not got to the bottom of this, for you all tell the same tale of innocence, and there’s not a shred of evidence. I don’t like it; but I’ve enough work on the farms, and cannot take more time now to delve further for the truth. Call the other lads in, do what you can for supper.”

“Are the girls coming back?” Eyvind ventured.

There was a brief silence.

“No,” said Karl heavily. “We’ll send a couple of women up to do the milking and prepare the cheeses. You’ll have a particular job here, Eyvind, one you’re well suited to, and that’s keeping your friends out of trouble. Some of us will come up before harvest and help you bring the stock down. Perhaps this matter is best left to sort itself out.”

They all had an idea what had happened. But as to who had done it, that remained a mystery. The boys obeyed Karl’s orders; nobody put the thing into words. Without evidence there is no crime. No man accuses another without witnesses and without proof, for such a charge cannot stand when it is brought before worthy men for consideration. Indeed, if one tried to bring such a charge, one might well attract talk of vexatious litigation. You didn’t have to be a law speaker to know that. But the matter that was unspoken hung heavy among them. It was in Sigurd’s sudden, violent rages, and in Eyvind’s dark dreams. It was in Somerled’s crooked smiles and narrowed eyes, and it was there every evening when they sat by the fire and felt the absence of the girls, of shapely Halla and giggling Thorgerd and sweet, blushing Ragna with her hair like ripe corn. One day Eyvind found Sigurd with his hands around Somerled’s neck, and the other boy backed against a tree trunk, purple-faced and gasping. Eyvind wrenched them apart, gripping the wild-eyed Sigurd by the arms, forcing him away.

“In Thor’s name, what do you think you’re doing? You could have killed him!”

“I’m all right,” Somerled croaked, fingers gingerly exploring the red collar of bruising on the pale skin of his throat. “Leave it, will you?”

“Leave it? How can I leave it? What if he tries it again? Sigurd, I don’t know what’s come over you. Now come on, walk with me to the hut and tell me what the trouble is. And promise me you’ll leave Somerled alone. He’s no warrior, and he’s a guest here. Besides, you’re twice his size.”

Sigurd spat in the dirt at Somerled’s feet.

“If you’ve got something to say, best say it plainly.” Eyvind kept his voice calm.