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about Rollo. His will is strong.” Cleve paused but a moment, flicked a speck of dirt from his sleeve and added, “I have no reason to wish your daughter’s company.” He left the king’s presence, neither saying more.
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    Malverne farmstead
    One month later
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    â€œPapa.”
    â€œAye, sweeting,” he said, lifting Kiri up above his head, then lowering her and holding her close.”
    â€œYou were gone far too long. I don’t like it.”
    â€œI don’t either. I had to travel from Dublin back to Rouen before I could come home to Malverne. But I told you how many days it would be. I am home three days early.”
    â€œThat’s true,” she said, and frowned. “Sometimes I think you add days just to try to fool me. Did all go well?”
    He was silent for a very long time, his long fingers lightly stroking down his daughter’s back. She wiggled and he scratched her left shoulder. “Everything went as Duke Rollo wished,” he said finally. “Now, go to bed, Kiri. I’ll tell you all about Taby on the morrow. Your uncle Merrik is right. Taby is a golden child, strong and kind. Ah, here is Irek, come to sleep with you.” Irek was fat now, nearlyfull grown, black and white save for a gray spot on his nose. What sort of dog he was, no one could begin to guess. He was ferociously protective of Kiri, barking wildly if he believed anyone wanted to harm her. Harald, Merrik’s eldest son, kept his distance when Irek began to growl.
    In the full darkness of the night, he dreamed again the vivid dream that hadn’t come to him in nearly three months. He was tossed into the dream just as a man could be tossed overboard into a storm-maddened sea, with no warning, no portent. It was real and he was there and the scent of those purple and yellow flowers filled him, just as he seemed to feel the lightly falling mist against his face. This time he didn’t begin on the cliff edge looking down into that ravine that was filled with boulders and crashing cold water. No, this time, he was there, at the door of that house with its sod and shingle roof, with the thin trail of smoke that came from the single hole in the roof. He was shaking. He didn’t want to go into that fortress. He heard that deep, compelling voice. He knew she would scream soon. He tried to run. Where was the pony? He reached out his hand and lifted the single iron latch. The huge wooden door swung open. Suddenly the voice was quiet. She wasn’t screaming. There was dead silence. The room was long and wide, and at the end of it there was a high dais, behind it huge square-cut shutters. The floor was hard-packed earth. One end of the huge hall was curtained off. He knew there were small sleeping chambers behind that curtain, four of them. There were benches all along the walls. Hanging from thick chains over the fire pit was a huge iron pot, steam rising out of it, thickening the air with white mist. Silence still reigned even though the hall held many men, women, and children. Even the three dogs sitting there on their haunches were as silent as the people. He hated it. He feared it. He took another step into the hall. He saw a woman standing over the fire pit stirring something in a huge iron pot. There was a man drinking from an ornately carved wooden cup. He sat in the only chair in the room, its back high, its arms exquisitely carved to display a scene showing Thordefeating his enemies, his sword raised, the look of triumph ferocious on his thick wooden face. The chair looked to be very old, but the man was young, his hair black and thick, his face lean, his hands long and white and narrow. He was garbed all in black. His sleeves were so loose they would billow out in a wind. Other men were sitting along the bench where several women served them wooden plates of food.
    The man in the chair looked to be brooding, his chin resting on his white slender hand. But he