Valknut

CHAPTER|12 Goodbyes

As mid-day approached, the already bustling keep buzzed even more. Hundreds thronged to the shores. Trading supplies were being checked on, the last of their armor was being hidden in empty food storage crates, food and water rations were being re-calculated and warriors began lining up at the longhall for their mid-day meal of bread and cheese, servings of salted herring and cod along with small handfuls of walnuts and elderberries. 

Only three ships would be undertaking this journey – one each captained by Olaf, Agnar, and Sverting. Each ship would hold 30 Norse warriors and 20 of Kieran’s men – all dressed as traders. Olaf instructed the remainder of his trading fleet to return to Iceland. This had been their longest stay at Rognvaldsey, and the men were ready to return to their families. Olaf stopped to take in the sight of his fleet - 20 ships in total. What magnificent ships they were! Instead of sailing on Norse merchant ships (knarrs), Olaf had ordered his men to use their warships, longships. The key difference between the two would be in their length and the armor that graced the longships.  

Built 54 feet in length and 15 feet across, these beauties were capable of carrying up to about 60 men. Overlapping planks of wood were expertly beveled down at angles to fit snugly with the underlying plank. All copper and iron rivets (screws with washers) were hammered through the wood, sawed off at the ends and then waterproofed with a mixture of white lead and grease. At the center of the ship stood a long and proud mast with a square sail. The brilliance in the ships’ design lay in their slender and flexible shape that allowed them swifter travels over longer distances. Not only were they light in the ocean, they were shallow enough to navigate through rivers giving them the advantage of traveling further into the mainland than bulkier Anglo-Saxon ships. 

Intricately hand carved dragon heads graced both the bow and stern. Varnished to perfection, the exterior of the longships reflected the perfect dazzling blue of the waters they gently floated on. 

The sun was high in the sky with not a cloud in sight to mar the beauty of the day. The wind was beginning to pick up and the tide was slowly ebbing in. Soon they would leave, atop the high tide, the wind directing their sails pushing them quickly towards their destination. 

The last half hour saw the shore fill with more men, women and children of all ages; each tearfully hugging and whispering their goodbyes to the warriors of both clans. The more cheerful folk raised ale filled mugs and shouted well wishes. Lady MacShane and Catriona took turns bidding Kieran and Olaf tearful farewells before the men boarded. For the longest time there, Lady MacShane held on to her son’s face with both her hands, memorizing every feature and blemish. Her eyes glittered with tears she refused to shed. 

“Return tae me” is all she whispered to Kieran as he turned to face Catriona. She tugged at his hair before giving him a huge bear hug. “Ah wish ye would tak' me along”, she whispered in his ears. “Th' keep 'n' mither will need yer hulp, he said shaking his head. “I will travel easier knowing yer here tae care for what’s ours”. As ever, Kie lay at Kieran’s feet. Instead of whistling, she barked pitifully. 

“I will miss ye too ye smelly beast” he said to Kie before patting her on her nose. 

With Lady MacShane done smothering Olaf, Catriona chose to simply curtsey before him. Olaf grunted in return before beating on his shield with his battle axe once. Silly oaf she thought to herself as she turned to Agnar and Sverting to bid them farewell. At least she could converse with them. The big oaf wouldn’t mutter even a word in front of her. She simply couldn’t understand him. Infuriating indeed! No wonder they called him Olaf the grunt. 

As the ships sailed out, peasants banged empty ale mugs together, warriors beat their swords and axes on their shields. The noise carried with the wind as the ships became smaller and smaller before disappearing from sight. With one last look, Lady MacShane and Catriona turned back towards the longhall. Peasants trudged back to their homes and warriors saddled up for their late afternoon hunt. Come evening, they would pray again for the safe journey of all the men aboard the ships – a festivity that would carry on till their safe return. Two weeks of dancing, feasting and sacrificing to please Njord. 

Lady MacShane informed Catriona of Sir Connors expected arrival later that evening. The Chieftain’s and Kieran’s forces would be divided equally between the two settlements so that both were protected well and neither left defenseless. Instructions were given to build a pyre atop the hill North West to the Rognvaldsey Island. A beacon to be lit if the settlement faced danger and needed the assistance of the Meginland. Ships were ferried from the South Eastern shore and anchored at the North Western shore to provide for quick transport of folk between the two islands. 

As the day carried on, people returned to their tasks. Warriors that didn’t leave on the hunt, sparred. Peasants continued with caring for their farms and livestock. Old maids embroidered rich tapestries while the younger women went about their chores under watchful eyes. Food was plenty, thanks to the numerous hunts.  All spare meat was to be salted or pickled, preserved for later use or trade. As evening bore, sounds of hooves filled the quiet bailey. Sir Connor and his men had arrived. Stable hands were called for to take away and tend to the horses. Lady MacShane and Catriona welcomed their arrival at the footsteps of the longhall. With pleasantries exchanged and hugs passed around, everyone settled down for the night’s festivities. 

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As the three ships sailed into the horizon, Kieran and Olaf stood at the bow speaking at lengths about their scouting mission. Before long, the sun began to set and torches were light. Ropes were flung across and men grabbed them quickly, tying the ships together. A night watch was set up. While some slept, others rowed. With the moon and stars playing hide-and-seek with the clouds that had rolled in, men were stationed at both, the bow and stern, to search the waters for other passing vessels. 

As the darkness of the night continued to embrace them, chatter between the men died down and a kind of silence engulfed them. A chill set in, bringing with it a gentle mist making it harder to see. Oars disappeared into the white wisps only their quiet splashing disturbing the peace, as the ships continued to cut through the water at great speed. A gentle tapping at the mast of the ships kept the rowers in time with the other.  

The ships continued to sail forward, huddled together like cold children under a thickening blanket of wispy fog. The wind and currents were tested frequently to keep the ships on course while eyes sought familiar land formations. Before long, the fog thickened. Olaf looked concerned with the change in the weather. While a thin mist was expected this time of the year, such thick fog could not possibly bring good omen. He muttered a silent prayer to Njord, wondering if they had offended the God. 

As the night drew on and eyes became weary of an endless and hopeless search, a low sound caught Olaf’s attention. He strained to catch the sound again, but with no luck. A low whistle snapped the weary men to attention. All eyes sought the source of the sound. Oars were extended horizontally from the ships, like feelers hoping to brush that which they couldn’t see. The fog and darkness masking the ships that quietly floated past Olaf and his men.