The reason lay beside her, pale as whey and groaning-faintly as the tubby trading ship bucked the waves. Six months before, Bera had won Achtlan's freedom, and taken oath to go with her back to her home in Irland. A week at sea had leached the Irishwoman's high color and gaunted her cheeks, but Achtlan was still a big woman. Bera's compact body had the strength of the bear from whom she got her name, but despite her thirty years, she looked like a cub beside her companion. Yet for all their-differences in appearance, they shared a deeper likeness, for both had walked the ways of the spirit and wielded its power.

Bera straightened, checking, with a concern that had become habit in the two weeks since they had left Norway, the location of the rest of her little band. The twins, Alfhild and Alfhelm, were clinging to the rail at the bow, straining for a sight of land. At least, thought Bera, on board the ship she could keep track of them. She trembled to think of the mischief two eight-year-olds might get into once they were running free on land. But perhaps their high spirits were natural. For the first time in their lives they and then: Irish mother were safe from the malice of their father's wife, from whom Bera had won their freedom.

Taking ship in Nidaros, it had seemed a great adventure, but Achtlan had been sick from the moment they left harbor, and this first sight of the British Isles promised little welcome. Admittedly this was the north of England, and Jorvik, a Norse enclave carved out of the kingdom of Northumbria, not the milder country Achtlan had promised her in Irland - but Bera was not encouraged by her first sight of this new land. She wondered if Devorgilla and her children would still feel so safe once they had encountered the dangers here.

Wood banged and rattled as the long oars were run out and the ship moved into the channel. Achtlan lifted her head as the chop of the sea gave way to the regular surge and pause as the rowers pulled.

"Ja- it is land at last," said the captain, laughing. Anlaf was half Irish himself, and had treated his passengers with courtesy, although, as a good Christian, he tended to avoid Bera's gaze.

It was said that most of the folk in Jorvik followed the White Christ these days. Even Eric Bloodaxe and Queen Gunnhild had accepted baptism, though neither seemed a likely follower for a god whose totem was the lamb. But five years since, Eric had been driven from his high seat in Jorvik and killed at Steinmore, and Jorvik was ruled now by a jarl who answered to the Northumbrian king. Bera supposed that the Christians had their own wisewomen, but perhaps if they had need she could earn her keep as an herbwife. Their god might save souls, but she had heard that their bodies fell sick as easily as those of other men.