Everyone made Tadhg welcome, for he told wonderful stories. And while the brother never asked for food or fishing line or a length of woolen cloth, he never went home without a full satchel, for folk had not forgotten his feat of navigation. They admired his courage even as they recognized the folly of his voyage.
When he came to the Whaleback, Tadhg would sit in his usual place on a bench near the fire, his half-shaven head shining pink in the glow of the flames. All the brothers adopted the same odd style, with the front part of the skull bald as an egg. This tonsure was the way of their brotherhood, Tadhg had explained, though there was another kind, where just a circle on top of the head was shaved. It had been the cause of much dispute among the adherents to their faith, almost as much as the method of calculating the right day of the year for the holy feast of spring, which he called Easter. There had been great unrest over that issue in his own country. Nessa thought perhaps that was why Brother Tadhg and the others had voyaged so far across the sea: simply for peace and quiet.
When she was smaller, Nessa used to beg Tadhg for stories. Most of them she had loved. There was one about a boy who defeated a giant. There was one about a man who lived inside a whale. There was one about a great flood, and another about a magical coat. Those were good tales, and easy to understand. It was the stories about that fellow called Jesus Christ, who was both man and god, that she’d found difficult. Nobody in the household really followed those. After all, Jesus’ disciples had been sturdy fishermen and farmers, and the ordinary people had followed and supported him. Why hadn’t he fought back, in the end? What sort of man lets himself be captured, tortured, and strung up to die? A sacrifice, Tadhg had explained gravely. To save mankind from wickedness. But there still is wickedness, someone said. Whatever it was meant to do, it didn’t work. Then came the catch: if they wanted it to work, they must lay down their arms and follow this Christ; must put aside the old gods and take the new one, the only one, according to Tadhg. All men must love one another, and if your enemy smite you, turn the other cheek. This was the point at which the audience tended to go off into gales of laughter. If a man acted thus, would not he live a short life indeed? Fail to stand against your foes, and you stood to lose farm and family, stock and land. What about the brothers themselves? Where had this strange faith got them? Adrift on the sea in a vessel more like a child’s toy than a real boat, and washed up far from home.
“We are rich in God’s blessings,” Tadhg would say, smiling.
There were three turnings of the tide before Engus came home to the Whaleback, and when he did, he brought the new arrivals with him. Nessa watched them striding across the causeway, the king of the Folk side by side with a slender, finely dressed man, whose dark hair was drawn back and fastened with a band of ribbon. Engus’s warriors, more accustomed these days to plowing and seeding, harvest and hunting than the bearing of arms, nonetheless walked proudly behind their leader. But it was the other man’s companions who made Nessa’s jaw drop and Brother Tadhg’s hand move before him in the sign of a cross. These were big men, fierce men bearing axe and sword, warriors with cloaks of gray fur, thick and shaggy over their massive shoulders. Some wore helms of iron; some were bare-headed, their hair shining fair as wheat under the midday sun. They were, perhaps, a race of giants come to steal her uncle’s stock and land, or magical beings from the sea, though they were not of the fearsome Seal Tribe; the iron they carried made that plain. The king did not appear to be ill at ease with them, for he stopped halfway across, pointing, as the man by his side watched attentively. Engus was explaining about the tide, perhaps, how treacherous it might be to those who did not know this shore. Maybe he showed the extent of his own holdings: southward beyond the cliffs to the sandy cove, inland past the lakes, north around the coast, and across the water to Holy Island.
There was one among these warriors who caught Nessa’s eye. He seemed young, though he was as tall and broad as the biggest of them; he had hair of butter-yellow that curled around his ears. While the others shifted and moved and fingered their weapons, talking and gesturing, this one stood looking along the shore to the rock shelves where seals basked in the sun, and the great shawls of weed moved purple and green and black in the swell. He was as still as a standing stone, quiet and strong. When Engus walked on, leading his visitors toward the settlement, this man was the last to move, the last to take his eyes from the sea.
“God guard us,” muttered Brother Tadhg. “I have lived among men of this kind, long ago. They have little respect for what they cannot understand.”
“Who are they?” asked Kinart, who stood beside them, squinting into the sun to watch the travelers approach.
“Killers and spoilers. They follow a barbarous faith. They are Norsemen from the snow lands, far east. We have scarcely begun to feel the ferocity of their touch.”
“They do look fierce,” observed Nessa gravely, watching as Engus ushered his visitors up the steps cut in the rock, from causeway to safe ground and the start of the settlement. Then after a moment, she asked, “Aren’t you supposed to love your enemy?”
“I am too quick to judge, perhaps,” Tadhg said with a sigh. “Come, I think your uncle may need my help here. It would surprise me greatly if these barbarians understand the tongue of the Folk.”
But Nessa did not follow them. She slipped away as unobtrusively as she could to join her mother and sisters inside, where rapid preparations were being made to receive guests. Who knew how long these wild-looking men might intend to stay? Blankets must be found, bracken for bedding, clean straw. They’d need eggs, cheeses, more bread. Fortunately, a sheep was already roasting on the spit, and there was a plentiful supply of ale.
Nessa combed and re-plaited her hair, and returned to the cooking hut to make herself useful, perhaps basting the meat or cutting cheese. But her mother would have none of that.
“There are plenty of folk to perform these duties, daughter. Sometimes I think you forget what you are.”
Nessa smiled. “I never forget that, Mother. But even a priestess should wash dishes or draw water once in a while, I think. There’s wisdom to be found in such tasks. Here, let me carry those. Where do you want them taken?”
“Slip quietly into the hall and put them on the shelf by the door. Don’t linger; Engus will call when he wants food. Your uncle will not wish you or your sisters to be seen, not until he knows what these men expect from us.”
The king’s hall stood proudly on its own. It was for gatherings and celebrations, for observance of ritual and the higher festivals. The people of the Whaleback lived in the other houses, which were like many-lobed leaves with a central chamber for eating and talking and indoor work, and smaller spaces opening off it for sleep and storage. The houses were cozy. The hall was grand, its central pillars tall timbers bleached by long sea journeys, travelers from a far land washed up, like Tadhg, on the sweet shores of the Light Isles. The ribs of a great whale stretched across to support the roof thatch, thick bracken held down by stone-weighted ropes. The walls of this building were of red sandstone, but the inside was softened by skins laid on the floor and across the benches, and there were fine woolen hangings on the walls, embroidered with the symbols of the family: the rod and crescent, the mirror, the eagle and sea-beast which were the signs of the royal line—her own line. The eagle had a noble look to it. The sea-beast was different. When you didn’t really know if a creature was a seal or a horse or some sort of monster, it was hard to make it seem real. The one on the hanging was copied from the only model there was, the picture on the Kin Stone, which stood at the top of the Whaleback overlooking their settlement, establishing this tidal island as the heart of the Folk’s dominion.
The Kin Stone was ancient. It had stood there since the very first of their kind had dwelt in the Light Isles, and would stand until the day the last of them perished. Three mighty warriors, a king and his sons perhaps, strode across its carven face with noble purpose. Above them were the signs of family, including
the sea-beast. That creature looked no less odd than the version in colored wools which stirred now in the draft as Nessa slipped in the doorway of the hall to set her platters ready for later feasting.
It seemed important to know what was being said here. Nessa stood very still; surely if she kept silent nobody would notice her in the shadows by the door. The talk was animated, with two different tongues in use. The chieftain of the giant-people would say something, and Tadhg would translate it for Engus and the men of the household in their own tongue. Then the whole process happened in reverse. It was laborious, and not made any easier by people’s tendency to speak all at once. Tadhg was calm. He was always calm; sitting among men he had described as barbarians did not alter the serenity of the mild, gray eyes, the composure of the pale features. The ale was flowing freely. Engus would wish to appear generous, Nessa thought, until he found out just what these visitors wanted. At least it seemed they had not come in war.
The large young man she had noticed before was not joining in the talk. He stood behind the strangers’ leader, and she saw now that he was hung about with weapons: a great gleaming axe, a sheathed sword, more than one knife in the belt. He was some sort of guard, then. His fearsome armory somehow disappointed her; it sat at odds with his quietness. His eyes were very blue: blue as summer speedwell.
“It is not easy to believe,” Engus was saying now, his eyes shrewd as they scrutinized the chieftain who sat opposite him, “that your purpose in coming here is solely curiosity: a young man’s desire for adventure. You have journeyed a long way; they say your ships are strong, well made for ocean voyages. Forgive me, but a man must be careful. I’ve heard you bring women and children with you, and yet you are a company of warriors wellmettled. You do not seem to come as the brothers came, driven by the strong tempests of the spirit. What, then, do you seek here among the Folk?”
“Do you speak for all?” asked the leader of the voyagers. “When we deal with you, do we deal with the ruler of these islands?”
“You do, traveler. I am Engus, king of the Light Isles. I have ruled here a long time, and while there are other leaders, for our isles are many, mine is the voice of the Folk. You say you have sailed from Rogaland in the east. What sort of land is that? Are you king there?”
The other man smiled; his companions grinned as these words were translated for them.
“No such thing, nor even a Jarl, which is second to a king in our homeland. But I am a man of standing, close kin to Jarl Magnus of Freyrsfjord, and the ships that bore us here are my own. My wife travels with me, and many worthy men of that far country. A man might indeed question why I made such a journey as this. My father heard tell of these isles once, and dreamed of seeing them one day. This dream he passed to me. I have long wanted to come here and discover if the place matched the telling. A wondrous realm; the fairest in the world, so it was said.”
Engus regarded him gravely. “That much is true; the longer a man remains here, the deeper the spell the islands weave over him. Still, we have few visitors.” There was a question in his tone.
“I would welcome the opportunity to travel more widely,” said the other man. “Perhaps to visit other islands, and to fish and hunt, if that is permitted. We would hope to remain here over the summer. In our homeland, a man must perforce be warrior and farmer, voyager and herdsman. There are those among my company who must be home for harvest.”
Engus was stroking his neat, gray beard and furrowing his brow. Nessa recognized those signs well; they meant he was pondering a dilemma. He spoke quietly to the men beside him, and this time Tadhg did not translate.
“Of course,” the stranger added hastily, “we would build shelter for ourselves, and not expect to be provisioned from your own supplies, though we have fine goods to trade and can pay well. We would seek your approval to build a hall, at a place of your choosing. We offer an assurance of peace and friendship if your people will give the same.”
It sounded harmless, Nessa thought. The man seemed well spoken and well intentioned. It was those giants with the axes who worried her, and it seemed Engus, too, was not altogether convinced.
“This is a serious matter,” he said, “and I must have time to consider it. You have come a long way; you’ll be hungry. A feast is being prepared even as we speak.” He rose to his feet. “Follow me. I will show you the cornerstone of my realm, the foundation of this kingdom; meanwhile let the board be prepared.” Engus glanced across to the doorway, but instead of the serving man he doubtless expected, there stood Nessa in her blue tunic and her skirt with the ribboned hem, her hair plaited demurely down her back, observing them in grave silence. “Go, child; bid your mother bring what food is prepared, for these men will have hearty appetites, and we must show them the fine fare our islands can offer. Go on, now.”
She lingered long enough to hear one of the strangers inquire, “Your daughter?” and Engus reply curtly that he had no daughters, only nieces, of whom this was the youngest. The man with the axe and the blue eyes was watching his leader, and did not seem to notice her. But the others were looking her up and down in a well-practiced sort of way, and one pale-skinned fellow with sleek dark hair gave her a little smile she did not like at all. As Nessa fled to the cooking hut, her uncle led the party of strangers up the long, grassy slope of the Whaleback to the point where the Kin Stone stood high and proud between isle and ocean. He would explain the symbols, reinforce his own status here, warn them, perhaps, against expecting too much. They had not really said what they wanted. It had to be more than a summer camp and the right to trap a few rabbits. Still, these things took time, gifts, flattery; it was almost like a courtship. She watched them walking up, smaller and smaller against the immense sweep of the brough. A big fellow with a bushy yellow beard looked back over his shoulder and grinned at her. She made no response. You couldn’t trust men with so much iron hung around them. Beside these warriors, her uncle’s retainers seemed like boys, dark, slight, and small. Nessa frowned. Her uncle was no longer young. She hoped he knew what he was doing.
On Engus’s own orders, the girls did not sit at table that night. This suited Nessa very well. One could not expect such men to understand what she was; one could not expect them to refrain from looking at her and making comments to one another, since to them she was just another woman. That did not mean one had to endure such inappropriate behavior. She remained out of sight, and so did her sisters. All the same, as priestess of the Folk she had a certain responsibility. She needed to know what they were saying: to understand why they had really come. There was a significance to their presence that went far beyond what was visible; Nessa had sensed that the moment she saw these men marching across the causeway with such confidence. So she lingered by the entry, half-hidden behind the wall hangings, watching.
It was a good feast, and their guests appeared well pleased. The lack of a common tongue stemmed the flow of conversation somewhat, but it did not stop the travelers from exchanging a smile or a wink with one or other of the women of Engus’s household, nor their enjoyment of the excellent food and fine ale on offer. Nessa listened intently and began to learn names. Ulf: that was the leader. There were two frightening-looking men who shadowed him closely: Hakon and Eirik, some sort of bodyguards. A brother, the man who had smiled and made her flesh crawl: Somerled. That was too fair a name for such a man. There were more warriors, Grim, Holgar, Erlend, too many to remember. A fine company. The big, quiet one had an odd little name, she was not sure she had heard it right: Eyvi? There were more of them at Silver Bay, where their ships were now hauled up safe out of the sea’s grasp. The leader’s wife had been left in charge while he traveled to Engus’s court. She must be a woman of some authority.
They had brought gifts taken from their cargo, skins of bear and white fox, beads of glass and of amber, blue and green, sun-yellow and water-clear, and they also had gold: an arm-ring wrought very fair with a pattern of interwoven leaves and fruit, and a fine chain suitable for a lady to wear
.
“I thank you,” Engus said, unsmiling. “We will return your gesture in due course, and handsomely. I do not know you yet, and so I cannot judge what you may need most.”
Ulf nodded, his eyes shrewd. “You are both prudent and generous, my lord,” he said. “We, in our turn, may offer you more. And I will not be slow in guessing where your own needs lie.”
Engus frowned. The clatter of knives and bowls died suddenly. “You read us so quickly? What are you, a soothsayer? A magician?”
Ulf smiled. “No such thing. But I can observe as well as the next man. If I were the king of a fair land such as this, I would wake every day with a prayer of gratitude on my lips that the gods had set me in this corner of the earth. And if I were such a king, and a voyager offered to bring me gifts, I would ask him for two things.”
“Go on.” Engus’s tone was cool.
“Firstly, a cargo of fine timber for building. These isles are strangely lacking in trees. Such a cargo, a farmer in Rogaland could fell in twice seven days, with men to help him. That is a land of forests. It could be loaded and brought back in next summer’s sailing.”
“And the second gift?” Despite himself, the king of the Light Isles was showing interest now.
“I’d ask for help in building a ship. Not just any ship, but a fine ocean-going longship, the equal of my own vessel, the Golden Dragon. With such a craft, a man could move from isle to isle on the breath of the wind, and he could, I think, reach the coast of his southern neighbors rather quickly, certainly before the local chieftains were ready for him.”
Now there was a silence of rapt attention. Such a game is good entertainment, even when each man’s speech must be translated before the other understands it. The knowledge of tongues gave great power, Nessa realized, as she watched Tadhg take a deep draft of his ale. His throat would be dry as chaff by now. Great power and great danger: in such an exchange, errors could prove costly indeed.