Saga - Chapter 2
Content - Brokeback AuAu fic taking place in the Viking era (Scandinavia, ca AD 850 and onwards).This chapter rated PG.
Disclaimer - The original Ennis and Jack who inspired this fic do not belong to me, but to Annie Proulx, Diana Ossana, Larry McMurtry and Focus Features. I intend no disrespect and make no profit.
A/Ns- I am posting this as and when I write it. Although I have a rough sketch of where the story goes from here, it hasn’t been mapped out in great detail, and it hasn’t been written. That means I can’t promise that I’ll be posting regularly... or even that I’ll be finishing it.
The prose style of the Norse sagas is very distinct, sparse and to the point without any embellishments. It focuses on what people do and (tersely) say, rarely contains descriptive passages of any kind, and never includes thoughts and inner monologues. The style is extremely difficult to emulate, and my attempt in that direction began and ended with chapter 1. I will try my best to curb my flowery descriptions and inner monologues, though.
Explanation of names and terms in the chapter follow after the chapter.
Warnings - None for this chapter
Link to previous chapter: Chapter 1: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/22271.html
Saga - chapter 2
The Raven’s Wing had gale winds at her back as she turned her tall stem homewards, flying over the seas like a bird crosses the skies. Her crew were lucky in this weather, for it brought them faster over the open stretches of sea, and they had cramped quarters onboard. The longship was built for speed, not space nor comfort, and with close to 200 men onboard there was precious little place to move about or to sleep or rest, especially since they were bringing loot and a goodly number of new thralls back with them.
While the ship sailed along the British coast, the crew went ashore at evening-tide to get fresh water, light fires and prepare hot food. Many of the men chose to sleep on shore near the ship, but their human cargo was kept onboard and guarded at all times.
The captives huddled close together in the middle of the ship, partly sheltered by a piece of tarp fastened at deck level and stretched across to form a sort of rough lean-to. They were pale and wan from seasickness, fear and sorrow as they lost sight of their homely shores. The Norsemen laughed uproariously whenever one of these new thralls crawled over to the ship’s side to feed the fishes, as the saying was. Their miserable state and obvious inability to handle sailing and the ship’s movements found no pity with the rough warriors, accustomed as they themselves were to traveling at sea from a tender age.
Einnis kept his own counsel, but took more than usual interest in the group of captives. He was after all the owner of one young man, who wouldn’t be much worth if he didn’t recover. And the man was having a hard time of it. He had been unconscious for some time after being brought on board. When he finally came to and opened a pair of blurred and unfocused blue eyes, he kept vomiting and showing signs of disorientation even while they were still in shallow coastal waters.
Einnis feared his prize might die. He shunted the other hapless thralls aside in order to personally see to it that his man got some water in him, to feel his pulse and brow and to peer into his half-mast eyes. He shook the inert body to get a reaction, and grunted appreciatively when his charge muttered something and made a movement with one hand as if to ward his tormentor off. Then he seemed to be fainting again.
The young man had dark sweeping brows, very like to two raven wings, Einnis noted. Their longship was called Hrafnavengju, the Raven’s Wing, and she had brought them fortune and fair winds all this summer. He thought it a message from the fates and a good omen that this man’s looks reminded him of the sleek black wings painted on either side of the ship’s tall stem, and so of the ship’s luck that followed her name.
Einnis traced one of the dark eyebrows with a fingertip, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. His own hard features softened as he looked down in that quiet face. His clenched jaws relaxed, and a small smile crossed his lips before they once more pressed sternly shut.
The captive muttered incoherently and twisted in his grip. The voice was soft and the language lilting. His hair was dark and fine, different from that of the Norsemen. Einnis bent close over him and told him to rest and to take food, muttering gruffly that there was no reason for fear, that all would be well. The man didn’t understand him and didn’t respond, but he seemed to react to something in Einnis’s tone of voice and drew a deep breath.
The young Norseman sat up to study the other captives. They were a sorry-looking seasick bunch, but there was a stout and capable-looking woman among them. She was eyeing him impassively while patting the arm of a younger woman who clung to her fearfully. The younger of the two was slim and pale and sobbing quietly, hiding a pretty face behind a long thick braid of reddish-brown hair. Whatever had happened to her before she was brought onboard, while she was on the ship she’d be left alone. Chieftain Harald Jarnhand kept strict and unrelenting discipline and would not tolerate any sort of unrest or fighting over women. The men had to keep order and see to their duties, and there was neither time nor place for more.
Einnis turned his attention back to the older one and motioned to her to take over handling the young man, demonstrating how to keep him awake and check on his consciousness. She made a shushing motion, her mouth pulling slightly askew and her eyebrows lifting in exasperated indication that she knew more about healing than he did, and so Einnis left the man to her care. She moved over to sit next to the prone shape, the younger woman scrambling after her and clinging to her arm, silent tears still rolling down her cheeks.
Einnis returned to his place near the stern and spent the rest of the day next to Eirik and Torgeirr and some of the other men going over ribald memories of conquests and swordfights during their campaign. They were in high spirits now they were returning home, uninjured and bringing riches, and their exploits became more impressive and daring with each tale told. Einnis listened, but said little, as was his wont.
--
They crossed the northern point of the isles and set sail eastwards across open seas. Ennis took his time managing the sail, but had fewer duties and could take his time looking after his new thrall. The man had showed signs of improving, and had even accepted some food, but once they got out into open waters his misery increased. He had little resistance by now and got violently seasick, once more refusing to eat.
Einnis saw to him and ensured that the woman, who now spoke up and gestured to name herself Bronagh, continued to take care of him. She also informed him of the young man’s name. This brief exchange was as far as they got. He didn’t speak the Irish captives’ language and none of them spoke any Norse.
By the time they got the west coast in view, Eoin was weak and cold and tired, but finally shot of his seasickness. He thanked Bronagh for her care the first time he managed to get up and stand to feel the refreshingly salty air against his face. Wordlessly and carefully he studied the Norse and their ship, his eyes drawn to Einnis among the men by the stern. Then his gaze turned away out over the gunwale, seeking the distant rocky shore. He tightened the old piece of blanket he had wrapped around his thin body and swayed in time with the ship’s even movements. In this manner he could be seen standing for long hours.
--
The Raven’s Wing followed the coast south and then turned towards their final destination. The crew members were glad enough to be under land and to hear the gulls crying in welcome, but constant chill rainsqualls made the journey tiresome. Everyone was cold, and by now they stank. Tempers flared. Unkempt beards and hair made the warrior crew look like wild men or famed berserker fighters .
A loud cheer and more than one word of praise to Tor and Njord went up as they rounded the promontory to travel the last stretch up to Kaupang. The sea had turned dull and the wind had calmed to a mere occasional puff of air, by no means enough to fill the big square sail. Eager as they all were to get to shore, they set twenty pairs of oars in use, many strong arms making up for the limp sail’s failure. They were nearly home.
Einnis took his turn at his assigned oar, his powerful strokes splitting the sea in time with the others’ to get them into the harbor.
The captives however stared towards the wooden quays and the low buildings of Kaupang with mixed emotions visible on their tired faces. The hustle and bustle along the waterfront, the many vessels of different forms and sizes, the loading and unloading of cargo and crews, all of it seemed both familiar and foreign. They were getting off the ship at last, and their new lives were beginning. But in their current circumstances they were out of luck, and neither the fates nor the foreign gods were likely to prove kind....
tbc
Comments;
- Tor is the Norse god responsible for fighting the forces of chaos surrounding the world
- Njord is the god ruling the ocean
- Jarnhand means "Iron hand"
- Thrall is closer to the equivalent Norse word - "trell" - and I use thrall in lieu of "slave", since there are distinctions, though these people were slaves for all intents and purposes and could be bought and sold.
- Longship: Sleek open wooden ship that could carry well over 300 men. The largest ones were called Drakkar (serpents) and had a carved dragon’s head at the stem.