After him went Dalfin, laughing.
"Father," he cried in his own tongue, "father! Stay--we are Irish--at least some of us are.

I am.

We are friends." The man stopped at that and turned round, and without more ado Dalfin the Prince unhelmed and bent his knee before him, saying something which I did not catch.

Whereon the man lifted his hand and made the sign of the Cross over him, repeating some words in a tongue which was strange to me.

I could not catch them.
Dalfin rose up and called to me, and I went toward them, leaving Gerda and Bertric to wait for what might happen.
"This is Malcolm of Caithness, a good Scot," said he.
"Malcolm, we are in luck again, for it seems that we have fallen into the hands of some good fathers, which is more than I expected, for I never heard that there was a monastery here." I made some answer in the Gaelic, more for the comfort of the Irish stranger than for the sense of what I spoke.