," he answered. "There will be ships who will be
glad of a pilot into English ports, if none happen to want a
master. That is easy for me. What of yourself?"

"A Norse king is always glad of a courtman," I said. "Or the Orkney
earl will not let me be idle if I go to him."

"Aye," he said, "a man can always find a place. I do not think you
will have to seek far."

We found Gerda up the glen, watching Fergus milk the little black
and white kine which had their byres in that sheltered place. Among
the trees wandered half a score of goats, and the ground was white
with the wind flowers everywhere. She was bright, and seemed very
fair that morning, rejoicing in rest and the peace that was all
around.

"See," she said, after our greeting, "even the birds are not feared
of us here. They are the little brothers and sisters of the
hermits."

So indeed it seemed, for the wood birds flew to us, seeking the
food which the brethren never failed to bring them. Gerda stretched
out her hand with some crumbs of bread, and they perched thereon,
fearless, while Fergus looked up at us and smiled a good morning.

"Have you found your breakfast, my sons?" he asked. "We set it in
your cell; but the prince slept still, and we did not wake him."

We had not looked into the hut, and so went back slowly, Gerda with
us. And on the way we asked how we might try to plan for her.

"Oh, if you will but do so," she said eagerly. "In any case, let me
go back to Norway as soon as I may. Yet I do not know where to look
for a friend who can help me to my own there."

"We had thought of Harald Harfager, the king," I said. "He was
Thorwald's friend, as you told us. He will act as your guardian."

She looked at us in some surprise.

"Have you heard naught from Norway of late?" she asked.

Bertric had heard none, and we in Caithness were out of the way of
news.

"Harald has been dead these six months and more," she said sadly.
"Now his son, Eric Bloodaxe, reigns unquietly. Men hate him, and
with reason. That terrible name of his may tell you why. Arnkel,
who tried to burn me, is hand in glove with him."

Then Bertric said:

"Have you heard naught of Hakon, that son of Harald, whom our king,
Athelstane, has brought up in England?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "We have heard naught. We
would that we had, for all men speak well of him, and it was hoped
that he would be back rather than that this terrible half-brother
of his should