New Found Land by John Christopher

cheerful, with one exception. That was Lundiga, who seemed preoccupied and withdrawn.
    Brad commented on it. “She’s unhappy about something.”
    â€œDo you think so?”
    Simon had been hoping the preoccupation might be connected with him. She no longer greeted hiscompliments with amused smiles, but with worried looks. It might represent progress. He felt there had been a change in her attitude altogether. It would be easier if he could talk to her without having Brad along, but she remained adamant about that.
    Brad said: “I’m sure so.”
    They were on their way to join her. There had been a good fall of snow, and she had said she would take them to a tobogganing slope outside the village.
    She was waiting with the toboggan at her parents’ hut, and walked quietly beside them as Simon carried it out of the village. She really was very quiet this morning, barely responding to his attempts to strike up conversation; yet he did not feel the silence was a hostile one. She was looking very beautiful, her cheeks pinker than ever in the crisp air.
    She led them to a ridge half a mile from the village, overlooking a saucer-shaped hollow. The toboggan was meant for two but would take three. They made several runs, producing a progressively faster track as the snow compacted.
    Suddenly Lundiga said she would not go on the next run, and before Brad could say anything, Simon said he would skip it, too. Brad shrugged and gotdown on the sled, immediately launching himself down the slope. He wound up with a fancy twist at the bottom, scattering a cloud of snow. He started back up with the sled.
    Simon said: “You’re looking prettier than ever today, Lundiga.”
    It wasn’t a particularly stylish compliment, but his command of Latin did not extend to stylishness, and if it had, Lundiga, speaking only the barbarous Latin of the Vikings, probably wouldn’t have appreciated it. He did his best to improve things by gazing earnestly into her eyes, and was disconcerted to find them brimming with tears. He was even more taken aback when she burst into loud sobs. He put a comforting arm round her, and she did not shake it off.
    Brad, hauling the toboggan up the last bit of slope, said accusingly: “What have you been doing to her?”
    â€œNothing.”
    Brad’s look was sceptical.
    â€œNo, really, nothing!”
    Lundiga detached herself but did not move away. Surveying them through tears, she said: “You must go.”
    â€œGo?” Simon stared at her. “Go where?”
    â€œAway from here. From the island.”
    â€œBut why?”
    Simon’s acquaintance with the opposite sex was a limited one, but it had taught him that avowals need not always be taken at face value. Go away might mean come closer. He took her hand, and said: “I’m not going anywhere.”
    She looked at him, then turned to Brad.
    â€œYou asked me once about how it was my people came here, and I said I did not know. That was not true, Bradus.”
    He said: “I wondered at the time. There’s always some story or legend, even if it’s not very accurate.”
    â€œIt was because of you Romans. A long time ago—more than thirty generations.”
    She paused. “My people were part of the empire. We spoke the language of the empire, obeyed the emperor’s commands. But in the northern mountains there were those of our race who had not submitted to the Romans. They had many children and not enough food. They came south, and called on my people to rise against the Romans. Our ancestors joined with them, and together they won a greatbattle against the Roman army. But the emperor had other armies. In the next battle, our ancestors were defeated, with great slaughter.”
    She paused again, and Brad said to Simon in English: “More than thirty generations. That would make it about the time the Viking expeditions started in our world. In this one, the Danes