Disclaimers in part 1

"The Rus loved to sing and tell stories. Roneth was their best storyteller, but he could no longer sing. His throat had been damaged in a battle, so sometimes they would call on Ahmed to sing. Their hunger for music was so strong, they would even listen attentively when he sang in his own language, for he didn't know any of their songs.

"As they traveled, Ahmed kept a journal. Whenever he would write in it, the Rus would move away from him or avoid him. Except for Herger, and sometimes, Buliwyf. Ahmed began to have trouble keeping it dry. This had never been a difficulty in his land, but the rivers and the weather meant they all spent a lot of time drenched. Herger found him a sealskin and showed him how to wrap his journal against the wet.

"'What are they afraid of?' Ahmed asked Herger.

"'Sorcery,' said Herger. 'Our writing is magical.' He used the Greek word for writing, as if even saying the word in the Rus language had power. Which might be the case, Ahmed reflected. He had nothing but contempt for these men's superstitions. A good Muslim had only Allah to fear, and belief in magic charms was prohibited. 'Buliwyf is interested in your writing,' Herger said. 'Think what you will say to him when he asks you. And, a word of warning -- he's smart. Don't try to bullshit him.'"

"He didn't say that," Richie said.

Methos shrugged with a grin. "Something like that."

"Buliwyf stopped Ahmed one evening in the forest where Ahmed had been gathering firewood. Startled to see him there, Ahmed almost dropped his armful of wood.

"'You can draw sounds,' Buliwyf said. Buliwyf rarely spoke directly to Ahmed. Ahmed had to consider for a moment what the man meant. Even Buliwyf avoided using the word for writing, he realized, which was just as well, since Herger hadn't taught it to him.

"'Yes, I can,' Ahmed said. He set his armful of wood down. Herger had warned him that this would be an important conversation, so it seemed disrespectful to clutch at the wood during it.

"'And you can speak them back again,' Buliwyf said, his brooding countenance unreadable.

"'Yes.'

"'Show me.'

"So Ahmed found a stick and drew in the sand. Buliwyf watched him, aloof and superior, but with one hand he held the pendant he wore around his neck.

"'There is no god but Allah,' Ahmed read to him, 'and Mohammed is His prophet.'

"Buliwyf studied the letters carefully, then rubbed them out with his foot. 'Your words mean nothing,' he said, and left.

"Ahmed shrugged and gathered the wood again. It was almost dark, and he had no desire to be caught in the inky northern forests by himself away from the light and laughter of his companions.

"A week or so later, Buliwyf stopped him on a beachy river bank. 'Ahrab, say what I draw,' he said. With the tip of his dagger he carved the curved letters Ahmed had shown him. He did this in full view of the others, some of whom made furtive warding off spells with their hands when they saw what he did.

"Buliwyf seemed in a cheerful, almost playful mood, but something glinted in his deep set eyes as he regarded Ahmed, and Ahmed remembered Herger's warning. He looked at the letters. From one example, Buliwyf had recreated the letters almost perfectly. Almost. He wondered if he dared insult this giant of a man by correcting him.

"'There is no god but . . .' Ahmed couldn't bear it. The imperfect letters were in the name of God. He reached down with his finger and corrected the name. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Skeld, the superstitious, beat a retreat to the boat, trying to look unconcerned. Herger approached, but stayed back, watching. '. . .Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.' The words in the Rus language sounded harsh, and Ahmed bowed his head under a wave of homesickness.

"When he could look up at Buliwyf, he saw the man look satisfied with something. He smiled and walked away. Herger came up and regarded the letters. He, at least, did not look afraid of the writing. 'Why does he ask me this?' Ahmed asked him.

"Herger shrugged, smiling. 'Perhaps he has found a use for you, little brother. The songs of a man's heroic deeds live after he has departed, but writing could live forever, or so he thinks.' This time Herger used the word which meant writing in the Rus language.

"Eventually, they reached the sea. Ahmed had been at sea before, but this sea he had only heard stories about."

"The Atlantic," Joe said.

"Uh huh. The Baltic, anyway. What really unnerved Ibn Fahdlan was that the Rus were willing to sail out of sight of shore, sometimes for days. He wasn't used to that. And he got seasick, too."

"Can you really get to Sweden from the steppes on rivers?" Joe asked.

Methos nodded. "If you know the way.

"They approached Hrothgar's land from the sea. It was very misty, so Ahmed couldn't see much, but he knew the danger of sailing shallows in poor visibility. The men with him grew quiet, and some of them began to work their magic charms in knotted ropes. Ahmed had almost forgotten how spooked their company had been, back on that first day when they heard about the "ancient evil" that threatened Hrothgar. Nowhere on the journey had he heard them discuss the journey's end.

"Edgtho, Buliwyf's lieutenant of sorts, hailed the land, calling into the mist. Rethel shot flaming arrows into the mist and some of them hit land and burned as a beacon so they didn't steer too near the rocky shore.

"Finally a voice called back, answering Edgtho. It sounded eerie and disembodied, but the Rus on the ship set about preparing to beach the ship. The voice in the mist gave them instructions and led them to a safe harbor. With the ship safely moored, the owner of the voice appeared. An old man on an old horse, carrying a standard. He was unarmed and addressed them imperiously. 'What is your name and purpose?' he demanded.

"Skeld and Edgtho reached reflexively for their weapons, muttering. But Buliwyf answered calmly. 'I am Buliwyf, son of Hygiliak. We send greetings to your noble lord. We come in the name of Wulfgar, his son.' At this, the herald turned his horse to show them his back and rode away.

"The twelve warriors and Ahmed gathered their things and led their horses off the ship. They had been at sea for three days, and the horses were ill. The Rus rode their unhappy mounts away from the shore anyway, but Ahmed led Arifah on foot. 'Why do you not ride, Arab?' asked Roneth. Ahmed gave him no answer. Most of the other Rus ignored him, but their sick mounts could go no faster than Ahmed could walk, so he kept up without difficulty. Most of the Rus, he observed, watched the woods warily and there was little talking.

"Ahmed, ever curious, asked Herger, 'Who is Wulfgar?'

"Herger responded irritably, 'Are you never silent? Tell me why you walk by your horse like a slave and I will answer your question.'

"Ahmed shrugged, 'The Prophet, peace be upon him, requires his followers to be not cruel to animals. My horse is ill, as yours is. Who is Wulfgar?'

"'Wulfgar was the son of Hrothgar who came to ask Buliwyf's help. You saw him.'

"Indeed, Ahmed remembered the scene well, but it had happened before he understood the Rus language. 'Why did he not return with us?' he asked.

"'He is a hostage,' Herger replied. 'When Buliwyf sends word that our mission here is no trap, the boy will be freed. Now ask me no more questions.'

"Ahmed reflected that the Rus, for all their talk of heroes and filial loyalty, must have some -- trust issues.

"Herger moved ahead, where the warriors were discussing something in low tones. They were observing the condition of the fences and buildings that now came into view. The mist had lifted as they left the seashore, and Ahmed could see some fields, stock yards and wooden hovels with turf for roofs.

"The people in the fields looked bedraggled and poor, to Ahmed's eyes, but even peasants where he was from had cloth to wear. These people wore skins and wool.

"'Old men,' Edgtho muttered to Buliwyf, 'and women.'

"'Children,' Buliwyf added, regarding the somber faces and frightened eyes of the children who stopped working to watch the warriors pass. All the Rus warriors took in the shambled fences and unguarded peasants with unease.

"'Where are the men?' asked Ahmed.

"His question heightened the tension among the others. No one answered, so Ahmed looked at Herger. Herger rolled his eyes at him.

"They found the old man, the herald who had challenged them in the fjord, waiting for them at the bottom of the steps to Hrothgar's hall. This building dominated the side of a steep hill, almost a crag, and the fields and flocks they had passed were spread at its stone feet. The Hall, though worn and in need of some cosmetic repairs, was grand, and to Ahmed, who had seen no imposing structures built by the hand of man in many months, it looked quite magnificent. But Buliwyf and the others scowled at the grounds, and Ahmed realized they were unhappy with the timber palisade, the Hall's only fortification, that stood broken and rotten around the building.

"The herald led them into Hrothgar's hall, a large stone vault with a fire pit running lengthwise down the middle. Long wood tables flanked this pit, and at the end of the room, on a raised dais, sat the king on a stone throne. Hrothgar was an old gray man, long past the heroic deeds of his youth. He sat, bent over even on his throne, a dusty cloak of fur weighing down his shoulders. On his head he wore a gold circlet. Beside him, hovering protectively, stood his daughter Weilow, as straight as he was bent. Her dark hair above her white woolen dress made her look like the thin stake of a burnt ash tree, after the forest fire had passed.

"'Buliwyf, son of Hygiliak,' the herald announced, his gray moustache vibrating with importance.

"'I know the man,' said Hrothgar, before the herald could continue. 'Knew him as a boy. Now he is grown to a man, a great hero.'

"Now as Ahmed's eyes adjusted to the gloom in the cavernous hall, he saw other figures to the sides of the dais and arrayed along the outside walls. The men in the shadows behind Hrothgar, stirred and murmured at the king's announcement. One of them, a blond man with a slighter build than many of the Rus and a weak chin, made a derisive snort as he whispered to a companion.

"Buliwyf clapped his sword hand over his heart and knelt, though his manner managed to be anything but servile. 'My sword is in your service, great king. Our fathers were fast friends.'

"'A feast then,' declared Hrothgar. 'In honor of Hygiliak and his son, Buliwyf.'

"With that, the people around them approached, offering the warriors drink and soft furs while others bustled to lay the long tables with a feast. Ahmed accepted the furs, but declined the drink. It was mead, of course.

"Buliwyf and his companions were seated in places of honor at the head of the two tables, and were well feasted. Ahmed excused himself before the host settled in for the meal. He had done his best to observe the times of prayer dictated by his faith, and if he was now to be in Hrothgar's land, he needed to find a private place where he would not become the butt of any more jokes. Assuming he needed to relieve himself, some of Hrothgar's people directed him to the back of the Hall.

"Behind the Hall of Hrothgar, Ahmed found kitchens and waterworks. The water used by the cooks, he was disappointed to see, came from a natural reservoir farther upslope. It was easily accessible from the surrounding forest by wildlife. The water there would not be considered pure for purposes of performing his ablutions."

"Ablutions?" asked Richie.

"It's a ritual washing Muslims perform before praying," MacLeod told him, only barely taking his gaze from the storyteller.

But Richie wasn't ready for the continuation of the story just yet. "Why wasn't the water pure?"

Methos put down the beer glass he'd taken a drink from. "If animals can use a stagnant water source, it's not considered pure enough for ablutions. You know, if they can piss in it." Methos grinned.

"But," Richie was still mulling this information over, "what about on the ship? They didn't let him wash with the drinking water, did they?"

"He used sea water. It's automatically pure. So, anyway, Ahmed --"

"But," interrupted Richie. Everyone looked at him expectantly and with a touch of irritation. "Don't the fish piss in it? The sea water?"

The other men laughed at his expression of embarrassed confusion. Richie blushed deeply.

"We need more beer," said the chuckling host, who went to draw another pitcher.

"I don't know, Rich," said Methos, his eyes twinkling. "It's just a rule. Sea water is okay, otherwise you need running water or water the animals can't get at. Ahmed had to climb up into the crags above the reservoir. He filled his flasks, performed his ablutions, and said his prayers. The point is, while he was up there, he looked around.

"He saw the ocean in the fjord, the coast beyond the fjord, and stretching behind Hrothgar's shining hall, to the east, the uplands and the forests beyond the tundra. To the west the rocky crags he clambered in became sheer cliffs with tiny round birds swooping in and out of their nests. Although the hour was very late, the sun still shone. It seemed to Ahmed that the sun moved around the sky, but remained always about the same height above the horizon. This he had only noticed since they left the dense forests for the northern sea. He found it very remarkable.

"As he descended back down to the hall, he met Edgtho and Herger coming out of the cooking stockyards. This surprised him. All of his companions loved merrymaking. He didn't expect any of them to miss a minute of it. These two looked serious, and Edgtho carried a sheathed sword in one hand in addition to his own on his back.

"'You were on the crag?' Edgtho asked.

"At Ahmed's assent, Herger asked, 'Will there be mist?'

"'Mist?' Ahmed repeated, puzzled.

"'Did you see any mist?' Herger urged. 'It would start about now if the night will be foggy.'

"'No,' Ahmed said. 'The evening looks fair.'

"The other two relaxed slightly, and Herger smiled. Edgtho, held out the sword in his hand to Ahmed. 'You'll need this,' he said. Then he brushed by Ahmed, heading up the crag to look for himself.

"Ahmed struggled to draw the sword. To him it was enormous. It stood as high as his shoulder from point to pommel. It was broad and flat, with edge on both sides and a faint pattern welding design -- an excellent Rus broadsword."

"What did the hilt look like?" MacLeod asked.

Methos smiled a knowing smile. "Oh, I don't know, MacLeod, let's say it looked just like the one in the picture."

"Did it?"

"For the sake of the story, we'll say it did."

MacLeod leaned back in his chair with a resigned expression. Joe and Richie watched the exchange with interest.

"Ahmed looked at Herger in dismay. 'I cannot lift this!' he exclaimed.

"Herger, his normal good spirits revived by the news that there would be no mist, clapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Grow stronger! Come, let us tell Buliwyf the night will be clear.'

"'Why?' Ahmed demanded, hauling the sword and trying to keep up with Herger. 'Why do you fear the mist?'

"'Fear? We do not fear the mist, little brother. Choose your words more carefully. There are those here who question our bravery as it is. The Bear People only attack under cover of the mist. We need at least another day to rebuild the defenses here.'

"'Who are the Bear People?' Ahmed was excited to finally get some real information.

'Half man, half bear, they say,' Herger answered diffidently. 'They have always dwelt on the land. Sometimes near here, sometimes they plague others. They have been stealing Hrothgar's men away in raids in the night.'

"'What do they do with them?'

"'They eat them, little brother. Men are their favorite food.'

"'You cannot be serious!'

"'Oh but I am.'

"'Then this is the evil that you warriors feared? The evil that has returned?'

"'No,' said Herger, 'the Bear People are known throughout these lands. They can be fought.'

"'Then what was it? What could be worse than eaters of flesh?'

"'The curse,' said Herger, and left Ahmed standing just inside the Hall as he went to seek out Buliwyf.