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return,” Edgar said. “No one could have warned me that I could feel so intensely about a being so small, useless and smelly. Every time I look at him, I want …”
    “I know.” Catherine leaned against his shoulder. “I do, too. I’m sorry I’m acting so oddly. I don’t really fear you’ll want to abandon us for some woman of your own race.”
    “That’s good,” he said and put his arm around her, steadying them both.
    “But, Edgar.” She kept her eyes on the cradle and his rough hand, so huge next to the baby’s. “I do sense something very wrong
about all this, and although I intend to see it through, I’m still very frightened.”
    Edgar didn’t respond. She had no idea of what they were running away from or what they were heading into. He did.
    And he was terrified.

Three

    The North Sea, a day out of Niewpoort, Flanders. Saturday, 2 ides of June
(June 12), 1143. The feast of Saints Basilidus, Cyrini, Nabor and Nazar.
Roman soldiers martyred under Diocletian.
     
     
    Cernens autem Edgarus Ethlinge … ascensa navi cum matre et sororibus in
patriam reverti, qua natus fuerat, conabatur. Sed summus imperator, qui
ventis imperat et mari, mare commovet, et spiritu procellarum exalti sunt
fluctus ejus. Saeviente vero tempestate, omnes in desperatione vitœ positi,
sese Deo commendant, et puppim pelago committunt. Igitur post plurima
pericula … coacti sunt in Scociam applicare.
     
     
    Edgar Atheling … with his sisters and mother, boarded a ship,
attempting to return to the country where he was born. But the Lord
above all, who rules the winds and seas, disturbed its waters. The
waves rose with the force of the tempest. In the raging storm, with
everyone despairing for their lives, they commended themselves
to God, and entrusted the boat to the sea. Therefore, after many
dangers … they were compelled to land in Scotland.
     
    —Johannes de Fordun,
Chronica Gentis Scottorum,
Liber V Captitulum xiv

     
     
    “ I ’m dying,” Catherine moaned. “Edgar, for mercy’s sake, please don’t take a second wife who will be cruel to my son!”
    Edgar looked down at her and laughed heartlessly.
    “You’re not dying,” he informed her. “You’ll be fine soon. It’s a beautiful day. The winds are with us. We should see the coast of Northumbria by tomorrow.”
    Catherine lifted her head an inch off the deck and regretted the movement immediately.
    “I hate you,” she croaked. “Go away.”
    She turned her face back to the wall of the canvas shelter and tried vainly to pretend the world was still.
    Edgar bent to give Catherine a comforting pat, but decided it was better simply to obey her and leave. He stopped at the doorway to check that Willa was not suffering as badly as Catherine and that James was content in his sling, which had been nailed to a frame on the deck so that he would stay steady as the boat rolled. The baby was sleeping soundly. Edgar went over to the windward rail where Solomon was leaning out, his black curls blown into Gordian knots by the breeze.
    “Is she any better?” Solomon asked.
    “She’s able to speak,” Edgar said. “Though I’d almost rather she weren’t.”
    “Perhaps we should have taken the risk and gone through Normandy to Calais,” Solomon said. “We could have made the crossing in just a few hours.”
    Edgar shook his head. “Absolutely not. That would mean another week going north on dangerous roads, with robbers at every turn and no guarantee of a safe place to rest the night. I wish we could sail even farther north and land at Berwick.”
    “It’s that bad in England? What does your brother say? How did he make his way to France?”
    “He came through York and out the Humber,” Edgar told him. “He says the journey is better now than when I was last there, but still not worth the risk. No, the water is friendlier. Well, it is for most of us. Poor Catherine! I never thought she’d have such trouble with seasickness.”
    “Neither did