1: The Red and the Black

With an involuntary scream, Inghen rose from an endless series of dreams crammed with confused glimpses of roaring waves, howling winds and crashing timbers, followed by an eternity of drowning in the dark waters of the ocean, to find herself lying in a soft bed in a whitewashed room. The sun beamed in warmly through a small, parchment-hung window, and a gentle silence hung over the chamber. She glared around her in confusion. A bed? On land? She hadn't slept on land for ten years! And what was this? She was naked!

She lay there, furious. Who had dared to strip her? She, the woman the Irish called the Red Daughter - partly from the tempestuous auburn curls that coiled halfway down her back, and partly from the blood that splattered her armoured form whenever they had the misfortune to encounter her! Whoever had done this was going to suffer...

She heard a series of soft footsteps from the curtained door.

'Who's that?' she barked in her deep voice. The footsteps paused briefly, and then Inghen heard a scampering that receded hurriedly into the distance. 'Come back here, Odin curse you!' she bellowed. But there was no answer.

Inghen lay rigid with wrath in the soft bed, the coverlet wrapped around her, cursing softly. Whoever had perpetuated this outrage would soon be seeking employment as a harem guard in the land of the Saracens, she told herself. Whoever had stripped the Red Daughter, taken her to bed - and what else? She shuddered to think.

Whoever it was would pray for merciful death by the time she'd finished with them.

Then an authoritative tread came from the other side of the curtain, and it swished open. About to throw herself at her visitor and tear out his throat with her bare hands, Inghen stopped when she saw a woman dressed in a nun's habit.

'You're awake at last, then,' said the nun in a calm but haughty voice. 'It'll doubtless please you to know that your men have almost repaired your longship and you will be able to leave at noon.'

'What?' muttered the Red Daughter in confusion. 'Who are you? What are you talking about?'

The nun adjusted her habit and gave her a look that lacked much of the humility these Christians spoke of.

'I am the Abbess Aillinn,' she said proudly. 'And this is the island of Innis Cotrice.'

'Innis Cotrice?' Inghen repeated vapidly. She frowned. 'Were we... we were shipwrecked?'

'One of my nuns found you and your men scattered along the shoreline at dawn. Your ship had capsized and was bobbing in a bay a short way down the coast. We took you all back to the nunnery to care for you here. You are the last to awake.'

'You cared for us?' demanded Inghen. 'Why?'

The Abbess allowed a trace of shock to cross her plain, undistinguished features.

'It is our Christian duty!' she replied. 'Surely even pagans can understand that.'

'Nonsense!' Inghen replied. 'In Ireland the people are only too happy when we raid monasteries - it means less taxes if we kill the monks - but they wouldn't do anything more than stab us in the back if they found us shipwrecked. And if our ship had been wrecked on the coast of England, the locals would nail our flayed hides to a church door as soon as look at us! Why did you help us?'

'Here on Innis Cotrice we are far enough away from the temptations of the world for corruption to have tainted few of us,' replied the Abbess. 'We cared for you - we would care for anyone here, as long as they did not threaten us.'

'Is that so? Well let me tell you, woman,' said Inghen, in a low, dangerous voice, 'if you don't give me my clothes back, I'll do more than threaten you.'

'Those men's clothes you were wearing when we found you?' asked the Abbess. 'Surely you would prefer something more fitting to your station?'

Inghen's reply sent a flush to the Abbess' face and had her rushing from the room with far less dignity than she might have hoped for. A few seconds later she returned with another nun in tow, carrying a bundle of garments.

'Here are your clothes,' the Abbess said coldly.

Inghen reached out and grabbed them. 'And my weapons? My armour?'

'Your men have taken care of them,' replied the Abbess with a shudder.

'Good,' replied Inghen. She scowled, as the Abbess continued to stand there. 'Now get out!'

Again, the Abbess left the room, the other nun following quickly, with a frightened glance at the spitting wildcat in the bed.

As soon as they had departed, Inghen leapt out of bed onto the cold flagstones and dressed herself hurriedly. The humiliation of it! At least her men hadn't seen her in this state - she hoped! She pushed back the curtain and hurried into the area beyond.

Outside her bedchamber she found a larger area resembling the inside of any Irish roundhouse, although it was cleaner than most. The Abbess stood waiting in the centre of the space, flanked by other nuns. Inghen marched up to them.

'Where are my men?' she demanded.

'Most of them are down by the shore,' came a voice from the other side of the room. 'I came up here a few minutes ago to take a look at you, see how you were getting on.'

Inghen turned to see her right-hand man Thorir, a shock-headed little Dane, lounging against the mud wall. He grinned at her.

'Sleeping like a babe, you were,' he added. 'Not surprising, after getting the mast in your face.'

She drew a hand across her brow. He'd seen her naked? She felt suddenly ill.

'I don't remember the shipwreck too well,' she admitted, ignoring her nausea. 'What happened?'

'We were caught in a storm.' Thorir shrugged. 'The Abbess here tells me they get a lot of them round here, off the west coast. In fact...'

'When's the ship going to be ready?' Inghen demanded harshly. 'I don't want to stay in this place any longer.' She gave the nuns a look of loathing. 'These tight-cracked vixens give me the creeps.'

'We should be ready for the off around noon,' Thorir replied. 'There was surprisingly little damage, and I left Bjorn to oversee the repairs. Even he could co-ordinate them.'

Inghen nodded. 'Right. We'll be going, then.' She turned to stride out of the building.

'Ah, just one second,' said Thorir. 'The Abbess has a request to make...'

Inghen turned to the nun, and glared at her.

'What is it?' she demanded. 'If any of our loot survived the wreck, I'll pay you back for your time and trouble. Never let it be said that Inghen the Red ever robbed anyone.'

The Abbess raised an eyebrow, evidently startled by this claim.

'A Viking, never robbed anyone?' she replied haughtily. 'We're a little sheltered out here, as you know, but we know your reputation! When do Vikings not rob? You rob churches, your rob traders, you rob virgins of their maidenhood... Your kind are church-breaking pirates and rapists!' Her cool, haughty facade was beginning to crumble.

Thorir tried to get between the two women.

'Ah, that's not the way to enlist the Red Daughter's help,' he said diplomatically. 'I - awk!'

Inghen had pushed him out of the way and was facing her foe.

'Lies! All of it lies,' she replied venomously.

'Is that so?' said the Abbess tartly. 'I suppose your reign of terror over Ireland and the rest of Christendom was a well-intentioned attempt to win yourself friends and spread a message of peace and goodwill?'