Sisters of The Bruce 1292-1314 (Abridged Version )

Sisters of The Bruce: Part 2; Chapter 4.5

                                                                                         V

Orkney

August 1310

Margaret Bruce was unaccustomed to her role. Her muscles felt as taut as rope. She steered the vessel, moving its rudder this way and that, as she and Maud crossed the sea through a long channel from the largest island of Orkney, the mainland as locals called it, to an isle of sand. A dry wind filled the sails and whipped Margaret's brown locks out of its covering, sending the web of fine silver threads tumbling into the sea. It floated momentarily and, then, was swallowed by a crested wave. Upon a rocky outcrop, long-snouted selkies sunned themselves, ready to mate and, in time, birth their pups. The women's guide, Ottar Comlequoy, a local farmer, informed them that some selkies gave birth in the ocean, and straight away the young ones could swim. It was indeed a miracle, he said. His eyes, just visible beneath spiky, seal-grey tufts, crinkled with delight. Perhaps the wondrous Sea Mither granted this ability to save them from the hunters? As they neared their destination, Ottar began testing his creels for weight in the shallow water, but to no avail. Cursing under his breath, he took the rudder.

They were on their way to a small farm steading on Sanday, to visit Maud's brother who lived there with his wife. Of late, Margretha had been unwell. In a wicker basket was packed enough food for a week or more, though they were not planning a long trip. Sheep dotted the isle, but Alfr's main food source came from fishing the bountiful seas, as well as gathering whelks, limpets, mussels and rock-bound oysters from the long sandy shores. Ottar helped with the pots, catching crabs and lobsters, and shepherded the sheep to the stonewalled shearing pens, gathering waxy clumps of wool caught on spiky tufts along the way. When the herring were running, others came to benefit from the sea's rich harvest. Sometimes, whales cast themselves upon the beach, caught within the furrows of the bay's sand-ridged floor. A leathery-skinned turtle came ashore but once, to lay its eggs.

Treading between furry lengths of weed, Margaret saw brittle-spiked stars and slimy sea slugs. Ottar pointed out blowholes of the spoot, the razor fish with its long, hinged shell. Clusters of these lived in the sand and could be dug out at low tide. "Delicious! Cooked quick in boiling water," he smacked his lips together. Margaret frowned: she had found them tough, like strips of old hide, when cooked by Aodh in the early days of their arrival at Skaill.

A flock of grey gulls hove into view. In the sunlight, their underbellies glimmered stark white. They swooped down to land upon the mirrored sand, their black-tipped wings folded in unison as if to some silent command. Disturbing a pair of oystercatchers, they began to forage along the shoreline, causing an indignant army of tiny, opaque crabs to rise on russet claws and scuttle for cover. The clamour of birds rose as squabbles occurred over succulent, briny treats. Overhead, gannets circled and dived into the clear water, laced here and there with white crests. A cormorant watched their progress – hunched, full of gloom upon his rocky outpost, as if out of sorts with the intrusion.

Damselflies and their mates flitted across the nearby burn, where the occasional otter was known to frolic and feed upon fish and crabs.

"There!" the old man cried, as he pointed out an otter's webbed footprints leading down to the sea. "Perhaps the wily creature raided my pots," he said, shaking his shaggy head. A holt, home to its young, was likely to be close, but Ottar's nemesis was nowhere to be seen.

From a small rise upon which stood several stone buildings, Alfr waved a hearty greeting. Visitors were always welcome to their isolated home. Maud's brother had the rounded, flushed cheeks and broad facial structure of his Norse ancestors. Wiping floured hands upon her smock, Margretha came out of the main cottage, the fragrance of fresh-baked loaves wafting from within. After a tour of the small steading, they moved inside to escape the chill of the rising wind. It would be light for many hours. A simple meal of bannocks with slabs of cod grilled over the fire, and a soft cheese made from ewes' milk sated all appetites. Alfr opened a cog of ale which he had brewed himself.