Viking Tribute

Chapter 8: Stormy Night

The hours passed excruciatingly slow, whilst the ship battled her way through the raging waters. The waves were becoming higher and I sat at the edge of the tent, unable to stay on my feet and terrified. The crew seemed unaffected, tending to their tasks as if the bridge wasn’t giving under their feet and becoming perilously slippery from the spray.

We had reached a cluster of islands and the chief was steering expertly amongst them, avoiding the sharp rocks lurking beneath the surface. He seemed very familiar with the area, barking orders and watching the coast closely. The men jumped into action, raising the sail, and we moved ahead at a dangerous speed.

The chilly wind sneaked through the blanket and I shivered. Magge had retrieved my spare smock from my satchel earlier, but my dress was still drenched and I couldn’t wear it. The layer of linen protected my modesty, yet didn’t provide any warmth. I wrapped myself tighter, rubbing my arms and pressing my back against the mast for shelter.

A detail of the coastline caught my attention: a few half burnt buildings surrounded by a large vallum, and three high crosses beside a stone hut. I recognized it at once, having heard it described many times: Iona Abbey. We had reached the Kingdom of the Isles.

The monastery founded by St Columba had been burnt twice during Viking raids, and was now abandoned. The crosses marked the entrance of the saint’s shrine. Such was the sanctity of the place that Kings were still getting buried in the attached cemetery.

I rose to my knees and signed myself, praying God to protect us. If He heard me, He must not have found me worthy. The heavens opened and rain poured on us. I retreated under the tent, my teeth chattering.

My abductor cursed, his landmarks blurred by a watery curtain. Yet, he remained calm, pushing wet strands of hair away from his face. The sail was reduced again, slowing us down.

I don’t know how we made it to Barra alive. The Devil’s luck, I guess.

We entered the quieter waters of the bay soon before dusk, easily avoiding the small islet guarding the access. The second longship was already there, safely hauled to the sandy beach. Ours soon followed, the men jumping happily into the shallow waters to push it.

Ahead was a small village, a wall surrounding its houses and various outbuildings. Tucked at the back in its own enclosure, were a Mead Hall and a vast longhouse: the Lord’s dwellings.

Before I could consider climbing down, a loathed voice commanded behind me:

“Lift your hair!”

Without second thoughts I obeyed, and a cold iron collar was clasped around my neck. I gasped, grasping it. My first instinct was to take it off, but I couldn’t open it. I panicked and pulled repeatedly on the heavy circle, chafing my skin. My heart raced madly, my breath became heavy. Suddenly my arms were locked at my sides, while fingers ran slowly down my tangled and damp mane.

“I wonder how it will feel spread over me… You can keep it long for the moment, I’ll think about it later.”

He let me go and I turned, furious, my fears momentarily forgotten.

“What about Magge? Are you going to try how her hair feels too?”

He frowned:

“Nay, I’ll only keep her as an entertainment for my guests. I don’t like my women so used. Her hair will be cut short tonight, as a slave’s should.”

Poor Magge! Nobody cared for her. I decided I would; if she was to marry soon, she wouldn’t bear the marks of slavery. A collar could be easily removed, but her hair would take long to grow back. I swallowed my pride.

“I beg you, wait until we arrive to your home. It might please your men better.”

“They don’t care.”

“Can’t you do it as a favor to me?”

He laughed.

“You are my slave, why should I do you a favor? Although I’m curious; tell me why you are asking this and I might agree.”

I hesitated; if I revealed what Magge had told me, it might have dire repercussions for her and the man who wanted her. Seducing another man’s slave could qualify as theft. Even if he were true to his word and offered to buy her, he might still be rebuffed, leaving Magge to face her master’s anger for encouraging him. Eventually, I lied.

“She has been through hard times; it would be easier on her.”

He stared at me intensely, clearly not impressed. Then he smiled, slowly.

“What about a bargain? Come to me willingly tonight, and I will let her keep her hair for another month.”

I flinched and bit my lip. This wasn’t fair. Although, what was it costing me? Willing or not, he would take what was his. I couldn’t avoid it, not unless I ran away. Which on a small island packed with his people, would be utter madness.

Reluctantly, I nodded.

“We have an agreement.”

Grinning, he swept me off my feet and lowered me on the firm sand, joining me instantly.

During our exchange, a small crowd had gathered on the beach, and we walked towards it. An older man stepped forward, bowing low.

“Jarl Einarr…”

The rest of the conversation eluded me; I barely understood a few Norse words. I wondered whether this was his friend, yet I doubted it. The man’s clothes were decent, not opulent. The local chieftain, quite likely. His friend must have been away.

The Viking pointed at me, and the chieftain gave a few orders. I wondered what it was about.

After that they ignored me and I lost interest. I tightened the blanket and bit in a yawn. This was going to be a long night.