excerpt
Cargo
The black eagle flew down again. This time it held a writhing snake between beak
and claw. The snake’s tail rattled loudly against Rordan’s ear. Then the snake bit his
shoulder.
Brother Rordan awoke and bounded to his feet with a yelp of panic. His cry awoke
the others. Everyone stood trembling to face fierce Viking warriors. The sleeping
pilgrims had not heard the Norse knarr come close to shore, nor the ten who had
waded through the surf and now surrounded their encampment – tall men with
long fair hair and trimmed beards.
Ten Norsemen loomed massive beneath leather and metal helmets. They were all
taller by almost a foot than the tallest Irishman; some almost six feet. The protective
pieces covering the bridges of their noses made them look all the more threatening.
Some bore axes, others broadswords. Several carried bows and arrows. Each held a
brightly painted shield on his left arm, emblazoned with flaring suns, crosses, fiery
dragons. They wore coloured wool and leather tunics and pants over-laced with strips
of leather binding. The most elaborately decorated of the pirates had a jagged scar
across his cheek, producing a perpetual grin. It was he who had poked the sleeping
Rordan with the tip of his sword. His leather tunic bore the image of a black eagle.
Not one of them spoke or made a move. None of the Viking pirates Finten had
ever known had been so silent. They had always killed, raped, and enslaved with
much shouting, as if loud noise gave them courage to slaughter. Perhaps these were
merely Norse traders. If so, they might be swayed with promise of reward.
Father Finten addressed the scar-faced leader in the Norse he’d so unhappily
learned during his slavery. “We have prayed for you to come to rescue us from this
desolate island. Our God has heard our prayer. If you will kindly bring us to our
monastery at Daire Kildaigh on Éirinn’s shore, our Brothers there will pay you well
for our return.”
Scarface turned to his men and raised both hands, rubbing thumbs against fingers
and nodding as if to say “These are very wealthy men”. The Norsemen roared
with laughter as they stepped in closer around the monks. Unlike his men, Scarface
spoke in a quiet, almost pleasant voice.
“We will take you from this sand hill in the sea, and you will be honoured guests
aboard my knarr, until we say farewell in frosty Thulé, where, I have been told, your
papish priests have lived and even served us well.”
Though he didn’t trust their leader, Finten knew they had no choice but to travel
with the Norsemen. How else could they ever leave the island? At a signal from Father
Finten, the Brothers walked out with their hosts. None of the Brothers dared say
a word but followed in silence, even the little “scrapper”, Brother Lorcan.
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