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moment.”
    â€œTreasure?” he asked, puzzled. “I do not know this word.”
    â€œThe word
treasure
means items of great importance. Some are beautiful works of art made to glorify God, or the Great Manitou, as you call him. Others are important pieces that have been created by hand to partake in worshipping the greatest of all Teachers. And one piece,the most important one of all, was created by the Hand of God himself.”
    Na’gu’set stared into the smiling blue eyes of the prince, trying to comprehend what he had just been told. “The treasure, The Great Manitou’s treasure . . . is it out there, on your whale?”
    Confused, Prince Henry followed the young man’s eyes out into the bay. “Whale? Ah . . . no, ’tis not on the ships. It is back in the Land of the Teachers. You must understand, the reason we are here, and surely the reason God brought us to you, is to help us find a safe resting place for our treasure. There are many people in other lands who desire our treasure, and because of their greed, the holy relics will soon be in grave danger. We need to find a place where the treasure can rest until the divided, sinful world we left behind is once again worthy enough to possess such holy objects.”
    Na’gu’set looked out to the ships. “I will do whatever I can to help you. I am honoured to be in your service, Teacher.”
    â€œNo, not Teacher. Brother.” Prince Henry grabbed him by the shoulders. “I am your brother, Na’gu’set.”
    Na’gu’set smiled and locked his gaze upon the blue-eyed stranger. “I am honoured to be of service, my brother.”

Three
    Roslin Castle, July, 1399
    Connor spun and ducked as the weapon sizzled through the air, brushing his long wavy hair as it arched past his skull. He stepped to his right, taking his eye off of his attacker for just a second. That was a mistake.
    He didn’t see the reverse thrust of the weapon as it now came towards him from a new direction. As Connor straightened to counter-attack, his shoulder exploded in pain. Instinctively, he rolled with the blow, somehow managing to hold on to his only weapon, a long thin pole, with the injured arm. Despite the slippery hay beneath him, he managed to once again spring to his feet like a cat. He deftly switched the pole to his other, uninjured hand. The corner of his eye caught the next approaching blow. He twisted and parried the assault, causing the attacker to send his weapon high.
    Connor would not waste the split-second advantage he had created, and ignoring the white-hot fire erupting from his shoulder, smacked the side of his pole into the attacker’s exposed ribs. His attacker grunted and lowered his arm slightly to protect his damaged ribs. Connor swung around again, and raising the trajectory, glanced his weapon off theback of the attacker’s skull. The attacker keeled over in pain. Connor took full advantage. Spinning into a crouch, he swung his weapon low and cracked it against his attacker’s calves. Feet flew up in the air, and his attacker landed hard on his back. Connor sprung forward, placed a foot on the attacker’s chest and raised the weapon up, dagger-like, above his chest for a final blow. The cold stare in Connor’s eyes showed no emotion. This would end quickly.
    â€œOch, aye, Connor,” confessed the attacker. “I give up. You bettered me again.”
    Connor’s face transformed from stony concentration to a broad smile. He lowered the long wooden pole hovering above his head, brought it to his side and extended a hand. Angus Gunn, sprawled on the straw, lay defeated. He grabbed hold of Connor’s offered hand and heaved himself up, shaking the straw out of his thick, red hair.
    â€œActually, you had me, Angus,” Connor replied, brushing the straw off his back while avoiding the soft glob of horse dung that clung to his left