Chapter 1
The boat came in with the morning tide. Two women in travelling cloaks stepped onto the shore and requested an audience with Thorfinn Sigurdsson, the mighty Jarl of Orkney.
To anyone else they looked like simple nuns. But Thorfinn, who had been watching for their arrival, knew better. They were women of the cloth, but they were also part of one of the highest secret orders in Christendom, and only a fool would treat their visit lightly.
He recognized the first as Abbess Murdina of Saddell Abbey.
His cousin, King Macbeth mac Findláech, had once described Murdina's life as one long chessboard, the pieces forever moving, the woman always several steps ahead.
Thorfinn had known her long enough never to underestimate her.
He also knew that a woman who crossed the Pentland Firth in winter did not do so without good reason.
***
JARL THORFINN RECEIVED the Abbess in his private council chamber, because whatever she had come to say was not for other ears. Sister Eithne took her post outside the door, a quarterstaff strapped to her back and her eyes scanning the corridor. Thorfinn knew a bodyguard when he saw one.
Murdina sat without being asked and folded her hands on the table. "You look well, Jarl Thorfinn."
"As do ye, Abbess. Though I can tell ye have come in person because what ye have to say could not be put in a missive."
She smiled slightly. "As always, nothing escapes your attention. I hear you plan to make your pilgrimage to Rome soon."
"Aye. I journey with Macbeth."
"That is why I came now rather than later. I need to contact an old friend in Fez. A merchant trader named Dawud ibn Yusuf al-Idrissi. He has something that must come north. A parcel that has waited a long time for the right escort."
"What manner of parcel?"
"The kind that requires discretion, and someone ye trust, with a legitimate reason to be in Fez. Trade goods. A scouting mission. Something that does not invite suspicion."
"And if I were to ask what it is?"
She took a breath. "An ancient relic. Of great power. The Brotherhood are searching for it, and they are closer than I would like. It cannot fall into their hands."
Thorfinn stiffened. He had heard of the Brotherhood, and of their strange hunger for old relics.
He turned his cup slowly on the table. He was a strategist, and he knew there was more to this than the Abbess was saying.
Someone had forced her hand, or she would not have crossed the firth in the dead of winter.
"Ye have come yourself, rather than sending a letter," he said. "That tells me ye move because ye must, not because ye choose. So my question is this. Who else is looking for it?"
Murdina smiled. "You always did see the whole board, Thorfinn Sigurdsson."
"I see what a person does, not what they say. Macbeth speaks well of your Order, and so do I. I am a man of practical arrangement, Abbess. Ye ken this."
"I do."
"Then I shall send my best man south. He will make contact with your merchant and bring your parcel north safely. But when I have need of the abbey's assistance, at a time of my choosing, ye will not refuse me."
Murdina was quiet a long moment. Then she inclined her head. "Agreed."
"Then I'll have my men on the water come the thaw."
She reached into her boist and drew out a small square of vellum, folded twice, and smoothed it open on the table. The sketch showed a pendant, a disc no larger than a man's palm, carved with a design like outstretched arms beneath a crescent moon, the whole of it ringed by a plain border.
"This is what your man will escort north," she said.
"The merchant will provide proof of my seal, and my letters will tell your man all he needs.
But he must learn the tongue before he sails, and the customs with it.
Latin will carry him through the Christian ports, but south of them it is worth little.
From Lisbon to Salé the harbours are held by Muslim lords, and your man will be speaking Arabic long before he reaches Fez.
I have arranged a tutor, a scholar named Brother Aiden, well traveled and adept in the tongues and customs of the region.
He will teach your man Arabic, and what courtesies one winter allows. "
Thorfinn leaned forward to study the sketch. Then he went still.
"I have seen this carving before," he said slowly. "Or its likeness. Not far from here. In Maeshowe. Carved into the stone, among the runes."
Murdina sat up. "This design has no cause being anywhere near these isles."
"And yet."
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
"Then it is even more important your man is on the water before the thaw closes on us," she said.
She laid the remaining parchments and a cube of sealed clay on the table. "The merchant's family seal. Proof that I am the sender. Whoever you send presents this with my letter."
The Abbess rose, collected her cloak, and moved to the door. She paused with her hand on the frame.
"Your man will ken what he is looking for when he finds it," she said. "Of that I am certain."
She left.
Thorfinn sat alone. After a long moment he rose, crossed to the shelf, and picked up the ancient stone he had found buried beneath the fort when the wall collapsed.
Dark. Carved. Warm, as it had always been.
A seer had once told him it was a ward against evil.
He had never quite believed it, but he kept it there regardless.
He held it a while longer. Then he set it back on the shelf, and sent for the only man he could trust with the task.
He sent for Torstein Hagansson.
***