Valknut

CHAPTER|9 Finally Some Fun

Dressing like a Norse trader had been a nightmare for Kieran, he hadn’t the build nor the hair. The men that came in from the North lived under harsher winter conditions. They kept to the sea for most of the year. These showed on their build through hthe lineson their faces, the weak color of their hair and the musce they built from the rowing. Kieran had none of that. Despite the time he spent in Olaf’s company, he wasn’t fluent with their language as well. He had thus been instructed to keep his mouth shut at all times during the trading and to stay at the back of the group where he wouldn’t be seen. 

The rest however, Olaf felt he could work with. He broadened Kieran’s frame by adding several layers of clothing. 

First came the softer off-white linen undershirt followed by a kirtle – a dark wool knee-length tunic with an embroidered neckline and cuffs. A woolen under-trouser was followed by two sets of trousers. Leather straps were crisscrossed over his legs, from shin to mid-thigh. His feet slipped into deliciously warm calfskin boots. These were the luxuries the higher ranking men could afford! 

A leather vest was thrown atop the kirtle and a belt of the same nature followed. It just wouldn't do to have everything fall off right? Further signs of aristocracy were added - a delicate horse-shoe pin. The gold for the pin had been raided from a Christian monastery, something the Norsemen enjoyed doing. They were pagans you see. They worshipped idols and numerous Gods. They didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand the concept of Christanity and its one God. They stubbornly believed that all Gods, regardless of religion, often fought in the heavens (Valhalla) and that decided the fate of the humans on earth (Midgard). To have only one God would mean a life without fighting. And what were the Noresemen? They were fighters! Life without fighting was … boring to them. 

Two thick cloaks were then draped around Kieran’s shoulders, each fastened across his chest with a metal chain and ringed pins. 

Not only was he feeling more and more like an arctic bear in summer, Kieran felt slow and sluggish under all that weight. The torturous part however, was having his hair resemble that of a typical Norseman. In a whirl of sights sounds and peculiar smells, the thralls had bleached his dark hair to some horrid shade of yellow that to Kieran resembled retching’s. Then they proceeded to tint it red with a generous application of henna. The bleached yellowy-red hair felt as rough as straw, its only saving grace was the henna smell that had lingered on. 

When they set their sights on his face... oh no, no, no, no, NO! 

He wasn't having none of that! Since a Norse was rarely clean shaven, Kieran had gone without his blade for well over a week. Even then, the growth on his face had failed to impress Olaf. Grunting under his breath, Olaf cursed the lad for his more ‘feminine’ genes. Fortunately, staying clean shaven was a welcome proposition to having his barely-existing beard bleached and dyed. Kieran closed his eyes as relief flooded over him. 

"Hand me th' blade", he said grinning at having escaped this ordeal. 

The morning before the voyage, Kieran instructed his servants to prepare the longhall for the night’s festivities that would, according to Norse tradition, bring good omen on their long journey. The women scuttled to and fro from the kitchen the entire day carting buckets of warm water to clean the hall with. Furs were lined in front of the hearth and tapestries adorned the wall – each more intricate than the last.

The entire history of the Orcadians were depicted on these beautiful tapestries – including the beautiful marriage of his mother with the Chieftain. A ritual that had started at dusk and ended at dawn, signifying the end of her old life and the beginning of a new one. Kieran felt his fingertips tingle. Sympathy pains he told himself. After all such tedious needlework would have left quite a few fingers sore and bleeding from the constant needle pricks.