“What do you here?”

“I came from Torka in the Orkneys in an open boat, flung down as a chip is thrown upon the tide. The gale took me in her fangs last night – by Crom, I know not why or how I am alive today! I only know that I fought the sea in the boat until the boat sank under my feet, and then fought her in her naked waves until I lost all consciousness. None could have been more surprized than I when I came to myself this dawn lying on the beach like a piece of driftwood, more dead than alive. I have lain in the sun since, trying to warm the cold tang of the sea out of my bones.”

“By the saints, Conn,” said Dunlang, “I like your spirit.”

“I hope King Brian likes it as well,” grunted the kern. “He has sworn to hang me on sight for a matter of blood-feud.”

“Attach yourself to my train,” answered Dunlang. “I will speak for you. King Brian has weightier matters upon his mind than a single man-killing. This very day the opposing hosts lie drawn up for the death-grip.”

“Good,” grunted Conn. “I feared I would not arrive in time – think you the spear-shattering will fall on the morrow?”

“Not by King Brian’s will,” said Dunlang. “He is loath to shed blood on Good Friday. But who knows but the heathen will come down on us?”

Conn laid a hand on Dunlang’s stirrup-leather and strode beside him as the steed moved leisurely along.

“There is a notable gathering of weapon-men?”

“More than twenty thousand warriors on each side; the bay of Dublin is dark with the dragonships from the mouth of the Liffey to Edar. From the Orkneys comes Jarl Sigurd with his raven banner. From the Isle of Man comes Broder with twenty longships. From the Danelagh in England comes Prince Amlaff, son of the king of Norway, with two thousand armed men. From all lands held by the Gall, the hosts have gathered – from the Orkneys, the Shetlands, the Hebrides – from Scotland and England and Germany, as well as from Scandinavia.