The only hint of that end is to be found in old Potts's dream or vision,
and what is the worth of dreams and visions?




BOOK I



CHAPTER I

THE SWORD AND THE RING

I, Hubert of Hastings, write this in the land of Tavantinsuyu, far from
England, where I was born, whither I shall never more return, being
a wanderer as the rune upon the sword of my ancestor, Thorgrimmer,
foretold that I should be, which sword my mother gave me on the day of
the burning of Hastings by the French. I write it with a pen that I have
shaped from a wing feather of the great eagle of the mountains, with ink
that I have made from the juices of certain herbs which I discovered,
and on parchment that I have split from the skins of native sheep, with
my own hands, but badly I fear, though I have seen that art practised
when I was a merchant of the Cheap in London Town.

I will begin at the beginning.

I am the son of a fishing-boat owner and was a trader in the ancient
town of Hastings, and my father was drowned while following his trade
at sea. Afterwards, being the only child left of his, I took on his