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Gunnar nodded. It made some sort of sense, he acknowledged.

Not particularly accustomed to putting himself in the position of those they attacked, it did not take an enormous leap of imagination to comprehend their point of view.

As far as the Celts were concerned none of them were supposed to be forced at sword point onto a Viking dragon ship and taken into slavery.

One small boy cowering among the captives would not have seemed particularly out of place.

"But why run off again now?"

Steinn shrugged. "Perhaps he believed his mother to be ill, dying. I was with you, and no one else would be able to explain to him what was happening, even had he asked."

Gunnar was at a loss, but one on point he was quite certain.

The boy must be found. Mairead would never forgive him if he lost her child.

And he had paid an exorbitant price for the lad.

His brother had used the opportunity to make Gunnar return the purse of fine silver he had won from him at dice the previous night. Ulfric was ever a poor loser.

"Erik, Sven, you will remain here and guard our camp, and the woman.

The rest of you, with me. We will scour the area.

The boy was not trying to conceal his tracks, I doubt he even knows how.

We will pick up his trail easily enough and find him.

He can't be that far away if he was seen close to the horses just two hours ago. "

His men were quick to obey, and within minutes the shout went up from one who had discovered a set of small footprints heading out of their makeshift camp and in the direction of the coast.

Surely the lad does not think to swim home? Gunnar had a bad feeling suddenly, and broke into a sprint.

The trail was distinct enough, and soon the Vikings following emerged onto a narrow cliff path. They followed it for a few yards until the path petered out and they came to a halt.

"He must have doubled back," suggested one of the men.

"Or fallen," offered another, peering dubiously down the cliff face.

Gunnar shook his head. The tracks definitely led along the path as far as the point where they now stood, then the trail just disappeared.

There had been no prints heading back the other way, and if the lad had fallen, his battered remains would be plain to see on the rocks below.

It was low tide, the body would still be visible if there had been one.

He cupped his mouth in his hands and called out. "Donald. Donald!" If the lad was hiding then of course he would not answer, but Gunnar had to try.

They stood in silence to listen, but the only sounds were the calls of seabirds, the whistle of the wind and the crash of the waves a hundred feet below them.

"Donald, where are you?" Gunnar called out again, louder this time. He signalled his men to join in. If the lad was within earshot they would make sure he heard them.

"Where are you, lad? Show yourself, you will not be harmed." Steinn called out in Gaelic. "Your mother is worried, she wants to see you. You have a new sister."

Gunnar nodded his approval. This news might bring the lad to his senses.

The Vikings went silent again, listening for any sound that might betray the boy's whereabouts. Gunnar was about to start shouting again when they heard it. A small, tentative voice, and coming from somewhere below them.

"What was that? Did you hear?"

Steinn nodded, already dropping to his knees to lay on the edge of the cliff and gaze down the sheer face.

"There! Look, down there."

Gunnar dropped to the ground and lay beside Steinn, his chin over the edge of the precipice. He directed his gaze to where Steinn pointed. Donald's tear-streaked features peered back up at him.

"By Thor's fucking hammer, how did he get there?" breathed Gunnar. More to the point, how were they to get him back? The boy perched on a narrow ledge perhaps twenty feet below them.

"I think he was probably trying to climb down and got stuck.

" Steinn pointed to several rocky lumps protruding from the flat cliff wall.

"There are places to cling on, but he must have run out of hand-holds and taken refuge on the ledge.

One of us could probably get down there, but there's no way anyone could climb back up with the boy. "

Gunnar got to his feet. "Yngvarr, go back to the camp and bring rope, and a couple of horses." The man took off at a sprint.

Grim-faced, Gunnar quickly shed his sword and cloak. "I'll climb down. You talk to him, tell him to remain still."

"But Jarl..."

"We can't take the risk of him falling, not now.

" Gunnar eased himself over the edge of the cliff, feeling with his booted feet for any outcrop sturdy enough to take his weight.

He found what he sought and inched lower.

His fingers burned from the effort of clinging to the unforgiving rock, but he was determined to reach the boy.

Little by little he worked his way down the cliff face, jabbing his fingers into the tiniest crannies, balancing his feet where he could.

Dust and small stones became dislodged and tumbled down onto the rocks below.

Gunnar prayed to Frey and to any other gods he could call to mind for their aid in seeing him safe through this.

His fervent entreaties were answered when his toe at last encountered the solid sanctuary of the ledge where Donald huddled.

Gunnar eased himself onto the narrow space. It was perhaps two feet wide, just enough room for him to turn around and face the cowering child.

With no words to offer that would make sense to the boy Gunnar settled for the more direct approach. He crouched, held out his hands to the boy, smiled at him, and beckoned with the fingers of both hands.

Donald eyed him warily. The lad was fighting not to cry, but his pale grey eyes glittered with tears. His hands shook, his lip trembled, he was on the point of giving in. Gunnar recognised abject fear when he saw it, and crushing despair.

"Come to me, Donald," he crooned, even knowing the boy would not comprehend his words. Perhaps though he would recognise the tone of his voice, draw courage from that. "I can help you. I can keep you safe."

Slowly, uncertainly, Donald moved forward.

One foot, then another, he closed the gap between them.

When the boy came within touching distance Gunnar moved forward too, just as the boy launched himself into his arms. Gunnar clasped the lad to his chest and rolled back, pinning the pair of them against the cliff face.

"Okay, lad, I have you."

Back on the springy grass at the top of the cliff Gunnar loosened the rope he had tied about his waist. Yngvarr led away the two horses who had dragged the pair of them up the cliff as Gunnar worked to release the boy who remained clamped to his side.

He had tied a rope about the boy's waist too and secured the pair of them to the rope attached to the horses' harnesses.

From that point they were in no real danger, but the boy had not known that and had clung to Gunnar the entire time they were inching their way back up the rock.

He seemed disinclined to ever let go, but Steinn produced a hunk of bread and some of the roast pork, and this seemed to offer sufficient temptation.

As the boy gobbled down the food Gunnar decided he really did need to have a proper word with Donald about the dubious merits of running away and hiding whenever he felt threatened, but now was not the time.

And in any case, would he have perhaps done the same had he experienced such an ordeal?

No, he reflected, as they made their way back to the camp.

No, he and Ulfric had been brought up as Viking warriors, trained from childhood to meet an enemy head on and to never back down.

Their father had expected no less, and neither boy would have wished to disappoint Osvald Freysson.

Perhaps Donald had had no such influences to shape his young life, but that had changed now.

A Viking took his responsibilities seriously.

Gunnar would be no exception. So he flinched, but did not comment or pull away when the small boy inserted his hand into Gunnar's as they paced along side by side.

He did, however, glower with unconcealed menace at the warrior behind them who actually chuckled.

The man was seized by a sudden fit of coughing.

Serves him right. Gunnar bent to swing the lad up onto his shoulders and picked up the pace, He was keen to restore the boy to his mother, and to see her radiant smile when he did so.