"I?" Peter shrugged. "I am getting nothing, Fionnuala. Strong- bow has his own relations to think of, and once King Henry came, Strongbow's power to give was greatly reduced. King Henry scarcely knows me. I've received nothing in Ireland. I'm probably leaving when King Henry does. Strongbow persuaded him to take me on, so perhaps I'll make my fortune in some other land."

Fionnuala took this information in. Then she gave a sad smile.

"We shan't be seeing you again then, Welshman," she said more gently.

"No."

"Well, I hope you enjoyed your time here."

"I did. Very much."

They looked at each other silently for a moment.

Then Fionnuala sighed. "You've no need to escort me to my home, Welshman. I've a few things to do here and then I'll be on my way."

During this little exchange, which she thought rather pointless, Una's mind had focussed on one thing Peter had just said.

"I wonder what has happened to my father's house," she murmured to Fionnuala.

"Welshman," Fionnuala said. "This is Una MacGowan whose family lived in your lodgings.

She's wondering what's to become of them."

"I do know, as it happens," Peter answered.

"There are a number of Bristol merchants coming over and that house, along with others, has been granted to one of them. A man I met, actually. His name's Doyle."

Una had expected Fionnuala to leave almost at once after Peter FitzDavid had gone. Rather to her surprise, half an hour passed and she realised that Fionnuala was still there. When she went to look for her, she found her in the room at the back of the men's dormitory where once she had had her private meeting with the priest. She was kneeling on the floor, silently weeping. Thinking to comfort her, Una sat down beside her.

"It could be worse, Fionnuala," she reminded her. "Your family is still richer than most. I'm sure your brother will be a bishop one day. And there'll be no shortage of fine young men wanting to marry you."

But none of this seemed to help. Fionnuala's shoulders still shook. She murmured, "Brendan's gone. My Welshman's gone. Everyone." This seemed a little beside the point to Una; but wishing to comfort her she suggested: "Perhaps you should see that priest again." This only caused poor Fionnuala to weep the more. At last, however, she raised her head and turned her face, streaked with tears, towards her friend.

"You don't understand, Una, you poor silly creature. You don't understand at all. I'm pregnant."

"You are? In the name of God, Fionnuala, by whose doing is that?"

"By Ruairi O'Byrne. God help me.

By Ruairi."

There were all kinds of people on the ship: potters, carpenters, saddlers, stonemasons, artisans, and small traders. He'd brought many of them from Bristol himself. The ship was his, too, of course.

The April day was breezy but bright as the ship came in from the greenish sea.

Doyle's dark eyes watched the wood quay as Dublin grew nearer.

"Are you ready?" Doyle did not turn round to ask the question.

"As ready as I shall ever be," said the younger man standing behind him. If he had been youthful when he had first come into Doyle's house half a dozen years ago, his close-cut, pointed beard was wiry now; and his face was weather-beaten from the sea voyages on which he had been sent.

"You'll take the consequences for your crime?"

"I'll have to. You gave me no choice." He smiled grimly. "Once I do, you won't have a hold over me anymore."

"You'll be working for me still, don't forget."

"True. But I'll make my fortune in Dublin and then I'll be rid of you.

Doyle did not reply. Who knew, thought the younger man, what resided in the deep, dark passages of that devious brain? And indeed, the Bristol merchant had much to think about. Though he had traded with Dublin, he had not visited the place himself in years. In taking up the new opportunities opened by King Henry, who had just departed, he was going to have to move carefully. It was a compliment to the young man standing behind him that Doyle should have chosen him to run the Dublin operation. When he had first come to his house, he had been a youthful wreck, good for nothing at all. But over six years Doyle had turned him into a competent merchant and a man. If things went well in Dublin, then in due course one of Doyle's grandsons might come and take over; but that would be years away. Before he left this young man in charge, however, Doyle knew he would need to get a good feel of the place and its present trade. Many of the merchants he had dealt with until recently had gone, at least for the time being; but there were a couple he trusted. And then, of course, there was that kindly man with whom, years ago, he had struck up an acquaintance on a previous visit. Ailred the Palmer. He would be going to see him first.

The moment she saw him, Una's heart sank.

When she had discovered earlier that day who Ailred's visitor was to be, she had still hesitated to speak to the Palmer. She was so anxious not to ask him for help which she knew he could no longer give that, even now, she hadn't told him about her father's return. But since he was going to find out anyway in due course, and think it very strange then if she'd never mentioned it, she had plucked up her courage and gone to him that afternoon.

"So this Bristol merchant that wants to see me has your father's house? And you say your father may shortly return." Ailred looked thoughtful. "I shall certainly explain to him the facts of your situation.

But what he will do is another matter." He sighed.

"I've never had to beg before, Una, but I must learn how to do it." How her heart went out to him when he said that.

But when Una saw the merchant come through the hospital gate and disappear into the small hall at the back with the Palmer and his wife, any hope she might have harboured in her heart had sunk. Tall, hard, swarthy, with a fearful dark-eyed stare: one look at Doyle and she knew she was lost. A man like that does no kindnesses, she thought. A man like that takes what he wants and strikes down anyone in his path. She could see her father being left to die at his own door, and her mother forced to beg in the street, at least until the Palmer gave her shelter.

So what would she do when Doyle turned the Palmer down?

This was the question she brooded on while the Bristol merchant ate alone with Ailred and his wife that evening. The case seemed hopeless, but she couldn't let it go at that. If necessary, she decided she would seek the man out and plead with him herself. She had no choice.

She tried to imagine it. Merely begging for charity was obviously a waste of time; but what could she possibly offer him? To work free for him as a servant? That would hardly be enough to get the house back. Sell herself as a slave? Probably no better. What else?

There was only one thing she could think of. Her body.

What if she were his servant and gave him that as well? She supposed a man like Doyle would want some such condition. If he even found her attractive: she had no idea as to that. She thought of his tall, swarthy form, and his hard face, and shuddered. To give her body, like a harlot, to a man like that: could she bring herself to do it? For a girl like Fionnuala, she imagined, it mightn't be so difficult. She almost wished she were like that herself. But she wasn't, and she knew she never could be. Then the thought of her poor little father came to her, and biting her lip she told herself, Yes, if I must, for him I will do it.

Ailred the Palmer remembered Doyle well enough, although their business dealings, which had taken place six or seven years ago, had not been extensive. He was aware of the man's importance in Bristol and somewhat flattered that Doyle should have come to seek his counsel at such a time.

"Since I started this hospital," he informed the merchant, "I have hardly taken any part in the trade of the port, and so I'm not sure I shall be able to help you much."

As Doyle looked at the fine old Norseman and his kindly wife, he felt sorry that the man should have fallen on such evil times and wondered whether, as an incomer, the Palmer might somewhat resent him.

However, he had his own mission to accomplish and he was not a man to be deflected from his purpose.

Politely but firmly, therefore, he plied Ailred with questions about the city, what craftsmen it contained, what was bought and sold, which merchants were to be trusted.

And as he had expected, the Palmer in fact knew a great deal. By the time they had finished their meat, and fruit pies and cheeses were brought in, the Bristol merchant could relax, drink his wine, turn to more general subjects, and answer some of the questions which Ailred had for him.

In particular the Palmer wanted to know about the city of Bristol and its organisation-its aldermen, its trading privileges, and what taxes it paid the king. "For this, I suppose," he said, "is what we must now expect in Dublin." On these and other points, Doyle was able to satisfy him.

While they were talking, Ailred had also been observing the Bristol merchant carefully. He was not sure exactly what he was looking for: something perhaps to give him an insight into his visitor's mind; some clue as to his character that he might be able to use, for instance, to persuade him to do a kindness to Una and her family. Doyle's name suggested an Irish origin, and Ailred thought he had heard the man had family in Ireland. Perhaps that might provide a way in.

"Will you be moving to Dublin yourself, to live?" he enquired.

"Not at present," Doyle replied. "I've a young partner who'll be looking after things for me here, for the time being. He's very competent."

"You've no family in Dublin, then?" the Palmer ventured.

"Waterford's where we came from. I have a few relations there," Doyle answered. Then, for the first time, he smiled. "The last of my family that was in Dublin left his body here. At the battle of Clontarf. A Norseman like yourself, but Danish. One of the old sea rovers."

"There were many brave men died in that battle,"

Ailred agreed. "I might have heard of him."

"You might. To tell you the truth," Doyle continued, "the family in Waterford never knew a great deal about him except that he was a tremendous fighter. He was one of those that attacked the camp of Brian Boru.

He may have struck a blow at the king himself for all I know."

It was evident that the swarthy Bristol merchant, dour though he was, felt pride in this ancestor.

"And what happened to him?" the Palmer asked.

"We never discovered. They say he went off in pursuit of the enemy and was never seen again. Killed by the guards of Brian Boru, I dare say."

"And what was his name?"

"Sigurd," the merchant said proudly. "The same as mine. Sigurd."

"Ah," said Ailred.

"You have heard of him?" Doyle was almost eager.

"I might have," said Ailred. "I would have to think, but I might have."

There seemed little doubt of it. This must be the Sigurd who had come out to his ancestor Harold's farmstead and been killed by the priest. Who would know of him now, he wondered? Probably only himself, and the family of Fionnuala, no doubt. Evidently Doyle had no idea of his ancestor's evil reputation.

And here the Palmer was, his honest fortune lost, about to beg a favour from this descendant of a vicious murderer, who thought his ancestor a hero. For a moment, just for a moment, he was tempted to humiliate this man who had gained power over him; but then he thought of poor little Una, and his own good nature prevailed.

"I think I heard," he said without lying, "that he was a devil of a man."

"That would be him," said Doyle, with satisfaction.

In the slight lull that followed, it seemed that the Bristol merchant might be about to introduce another topic of conversation, but seeing that the discussion about his ancestor had brought him so much pleasure, Ailred now seized the opportunity to raise the delicate subject of Una.

"I have," he proceeded, "a small kindness to ask of you." He saw Doyle's eyes grow wary, but he pressed on and briefly explained the sad case of Una and her father. "You see my situation here," Ailred continued. "I could give the family temporary shelter buta Could you see your way to helping them?"

Doyle looked at him steadily. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but somewhere in his dark eyes Ailred thought he saw a faint gleam of amusement.

He didn't know the reason, unless perhaps the Bristol man was reflecting on the irony of his own fall from prosperity and his having to beg like this. But those who ask favours cannot afford resentments, so he waited patiently for Doyle's response.

"I was going to put my young partner in there," Doyle remarked. "He mightn't like to lose his lodgings.

I am not in the habit," he added quietly, "of doing favours for people I don't know and to whom I owe nothing."

If this was a warning to the Palmer not to presume too far, Ailred took it and said nothing in reply. But his wife, ever kindly, went on.

"We have always felt," she said sweetly, "that we gained more happiness from the work we do in this hospital than we ever did from our former good fortune. I am sure," she smiled at him gently, "that you have given and received kindnesses before in your life."

Ailred had glanced at Doyle rather nervously while she made this little speech, afraid that their visitor might not like it. But whether it was her innocent manner, or something else in her words, the Bristol man did not seem to mind.

"It is true," he acknowledged, "that I have received kindnesses once or twice in my life." He gave her a wry look. "Whether I've returned them is another matter." Then he fell silent and it seemed he had no further wish to discuss the issue. But Ailred's wife was not to be so easily put off.

"Tell me," she pressed him, "what is the greatest kindness you ever received?"

Doyle gazed at her thoughtfully for a few moments, as if he were considering something else; then, having apparently reached a conclusion of some kind, he spoke again.

"I could tell you of one. It happened many years ago." He nodded slowly, as if to himself. "I've two sons. My eldest has always been steady, but my second, when he was young, fell into bad company.

I never worried about it, because I thought, being my son, he'd have too much sense to do anything stupid." He sighed. "That shows you how much I know.

So one day, he disappeared. Just like that. Days went by and I'd no idea where he was. Then I found out that he'd been stealing money from me, for gambling, mostly, and other things. A large sum, too. He couldn't repay it, of course. He was so afraid of me-with reason-and so ashamed, he'd run away.

Left Bristol. Not even his brother knew where he'd gone. Months went by. Years." He stopped.

"What did you do?" Ailred's wife asked.

"Actually," Doyle confessed, "I lied. I wanted to protect his name, but my own pride, too, I dare say. So I gave out that he'd gone to France on family business. But as we never heard from him, I thought he might be dead.

"Finally, we did hear. He'd been taken in by a London merchant. Funnily enough, I only knew the man slightly. But he'd taken my son into his house, acted as a father to him-quite a stern one-and helped him set up in business so he could start to pay me back. Then this merchant had made him come to me and ask my forgiveness. That was a kindness, if you like." He paused. "You can't really repay a thing like that. You just have to accept it."

"And did you forgive your son?" asked Ailred's wife.

"I did," the dark Bristol merchant replied.

"To tell the truth, I was just grateful he was alive."

"He returned to live with you?"

"I made two conditions. He was to let me forgive him the rest of what he owed me. It was my own guilt which made me do that, I should think. I blamed myself, you see, for being such a stern father. I drove him away."

"And the other condition?"

"He was to marry a wife I chose for him. Nothing unusual in that. I found him a good, steady girl.

They're happy." He rose abruptly. "It's getting late. I thank you for your hospitality."

He turned to Ailred's wife. "One good turn deserves another, I dare say. I'll think about this girl and her family and let you know in the morning."

When he had departed, the Palmer and his wife sat alone in their hall.

"I'm sure he will help her," she said.