The ground swayed beneath me. The buzzing in my ears had given way to dull, leaden ringing-like that of a poorly-cast bell. My head throbbed with a fiercely hostile ache. I could not feel my legs, nor my hands. The sky was still dark, and all was quiet. I heard the low mutter of whispered voices somewhere nearby, but they sounded like the clucking of ducks and I could make no sense of it. The air was close and warm, and breathing painful.
I made to rise. The sky burst into flaming jagged fragments of searing light. Nausea rolled over me in a wave and I slumped back again, panting with the effort.
A memory fought its way into my sluggish, half-sleeping awareness: a tiny bubble rising in a great black vat-only to burst at the moment of surfacing. What was it? What…what?
I heard a scream. The sound brought me to my senses as memory broke upon me with the force of an ocean wave crashing over a rock. I remembered the attack.
Eyes pressed tight against the pain, I struggled up. My shoulders and arms were swathed in heavy cloths. Shaking my arms, twisting this way and that, I fought free of the bindings-my own cloak and mantle-and threw off my cowl.
Daylight streamed into my eyes; throwing a hand before my face, I found myself gazing into the strong red glare of the rising sun. The scream sounded again and I looked up into a clear blue sky to see a white gull gliding serenely high above me. The ship's mast swayed into view.
The ship's mast! I reached for the rail above me and hauled myself shakily to my feet.
My stomach heaved again, and I vomited over the rail. When I had finished, I dragged my sleeve across my mouth and then slowly raised my eyes-this time with unutterable dread-to my new surroundings: a barbarian ship with Sea Wolves for companions. They were occupied with rowing, and paid me no attention. One brute in brown buskins, belt, and a sleeveless sheepskin mantle stood a pace or two away, his back to me. He seemed intensely interested in the distant eastern horizon where the red-risen sun was gathering its day's strength and filling the sky with light.
One of the rowers, glancing up from his oar, saw me, and called something to the brown-belted one who turned, took one look at my gaping, vomit-flecked mouth, smiled broadly, and went back to his duty. I turned my head to see what he was looking at and saw, far away, the ragged grey coastal hills of Armorica. It took me a moment to work out that we were proceeding in a northerly direction over grey-green billowy waves.
The Sea Wolf ship was long and narrow, with a high-swept prow and stern: a strong, sharp-keeled vessel. There were twenty or so rowers, with small benches for more. Behind the slender mast a platform had been established, and this was overarched with bent poles and the whole framework covered with oxhides to form a sort of enclosed stall or tent. A wisp of smoke emanated from beneath the hides, and flattened on the brisk easterly breeze.
Pain blurred my vision but there was nothing much to see anyway-a dull expanse of slate-grey water to the right of me, a dull featureless coast to the left-so I sat down again, drawing air deep into my lungs to help clear my head. I tried to think. My brain, however, refused to respond to the small demands I made upon it; all that came to me was that I was a captive.
Captive. The word engrossed me for an inordinate time. I savoured each lonely, helpless syllable, repeating them over and over again until the word lost all meaning. What would happen to me? What did Sea Wolves do with their captives? Slaughtered them, most likely, I concluded gloomily.
Regarding my captors, they were a filthy, noisome pack: smeared with mud and blood, and reeking of worse. When the seabreeze gusted, I could smell them and the stench made me gag.
There were twenty and two barbarians in sight; I made an accurate count. They were dressed in skins and leather, and wore broad belts of various kinds-leather mostly, but I saw several with copper and silver discs as well; most had knives or daggers tucked into their belts. Two or three wore short siarcs, or tunics, of close-woven cloth dyed pale yellow or brown. They seemed immoderately proud of their shaggy manes of hair: all wore their moustaches and beards long: some kept their locks in braids; some tied them back with leather thongs; others allowed their tresses to fly loose. More than half of them had some ornament worked into their hair-a bit of gold wire, a carved comb or silver trinket of some kind: a leaf, fish, bird, or hand.
A surprising number wore chains of gold around their thick necks, and everyone, from the greatest to the least, boasted other costly ornaments of various types: gold and silver rings, armbands, bracelets, brooches, and chains.
All were huge men. The smallest among them was taller than me, and the largest were bigger than Dugal.
Dugal! Oh, what had happened to him? What had become of my friends? Distracted by my own troubles, I had not spared a single thought for those I had left behind. For all I knew, the entire settlement had been slain in the attack. They might all be lying in their own blood at this very moment, the sun rising on their death-day.
Kyrie eleison, I prayed fervently to myself. Lord have mercy! Spread your loving arms around those who call upon your name in their time of need. Heal their hurt, and protect them from all harm. Please, Lord, be merciful to your people. Forgive my selfishness and pride, Lord. Save your servants…Have mercy, Lord, have mercy…
Someone shouted a gruff command. I broke off my prayer and raised my head. A fair-haired Sea Wolf with a yellow beard was standing on the platform; he shouted again, and three or four barbarians quickly pulled in their oars and hastened to where he stood. The pilot gave out a cry and two others leapt to the ropes and began raising the sail. I thought this meant that we would now be heading further out to sea, and further away from Armorica. Once under sail, the Sea Wolves shipped oars and then gathered around the tented platform. The ship held course mean-while, running parallel to the coast. After a time, however, I saw that my first judgement was not accurate for we were, in fact, heading obliquely towards land, drawing slightly closer with every roll of the waves.
I sat huddled in my place at the prow, watching the shore. It came into my mind that I might throw myself overboard. I had no great wish to drown, but reasoned that if I chose the place carefully I might be able to swim to freedom. I could be over the side and away before anyone stopped me.
The barbarian pilot-he of the brown buskins and sheepskin jerkin-bellowed a strange word that sounded like vik to my unaccustomed ear. Whereupon, the sail was instantly struck and the rowers returned to their benches and oars. Though I observed the nearing coastland keenly, I could not see any hint of a settlement, nor indeed, anything at all worthy of attention. Still, as the boat drew swiftly closer, I watched and waited for a chance to make my escape.
This came much sooner than I expected, for as the ship drew close to land, the sea grew rapidly more shallow. Soon, I could see the pebbled bottom showing beneath the waves, though we were still a goodly way off. I would never have a better opportunity.
I drew a deep breath, stood quickly, and, before anyone had noticed, hurled myself over the rail. I struck the water with a splash and regretted my hasty decision at once. The sea was cold and I sank like a stone, quickly touching the bottom with my knee. Gathering my legs beneath me, I pushed away. Unfortunately, I had badly misjudged my ill-advised leap and I surfaced alongside the ship-right between the hull and the oarblades.
Seeing my mistake, I drew a deep breath and dived. Whether my plunge was not deep or quick enough, I do not know, but I felt myself caught and, though I flailed all my arms and legs with utmost effort, I could not get free. I surfaced, gasping, the end of my cloak tight in a Sea Wolf's unrelenting grip. The barbarian had simply leaned over the rail and snagged me by a trailing edge of garment.
He dragged me half-way out of the water, and then held me there-much to the delight of his barbarian friends. They all roared with mirth to see me dangling like a fish from the side of the boat. Their laughter, like their voices, was crude and rough, and it hurt my ears to hear it.
The ship drew into a small, shallow cove and turned as it came in to land. As the ship turned, I saw what the pilot already knew to be there: a river-not wide, but deep enough to admit the keel. Without pause or hesitation, the ship slid across the little bay and into the river mouth. The oarsmen pulled in their oars and used them as poles to push the boat further up the river. Oh, these were canny Sea Wolves, indeed. And strong. Only when the ship had come to rest on a broad pebbled shoal was I released-thrown back into the water like a catch deemed too pathetic to keep.
The Sea Wolf who had prevented my escape leaped into the water with me. Grasping my cloak, he stood me upright in the water, turned me to face him and shaking his head slowly, spoke to me in a warning tone of voice while shaking a dripping finger in my face. Although I could not comprehend a word he said, I understood perfectly from his manner and gesture that he was cautioning me from attempting to escape again.
I nodded, showing him that I did indeed perceive his meaning. He smiled. Then, still holding tight to my cloak, he struck me hard in the face with the back of his hand. My aching head snapped sideways and the force of the blow knocked me into the water. He grabbed my mantle and jerked me to my feet; my mouth stung and I tasted blood on my tongue.
Still smiling his broad, blithe smile, the happy barbarian drew back his hand again.
I closed my eyes in anticipation of the blow, and braced myself. Instead, I heard a sharply uttered growl. The Sea Wolf released me at once, and I opened my eyes to see another barbarian wading towards me, talking in an angry way to his companion. The first one shrugged, shook his finger at me again, released me, and walked away.
The second Sea Wolf strode to where I stood, took me roughly by the arm and led me-half-pushing, half-dragging-onto the shoal where he spun me around to face him, and struck me on the face with his open hand. The slap caught the attention of all those nearby, but it sounded far worse than it felt; and though it brought smiles and laughter from the Sea Wolves looking on-some of these called out to the barbarian, who answered them sternly-I could not help feeling that there was no real anger or malice in the blow.
Strange to say, it was only then that I realized who stood before me: it was my barbarian, the one I had found washed up on the beach, the one we had taken to the settlement with us, the one to whom I had given the bread-loaf. We stood facing one another now, our positions reversed utterly.
I dabbed at my split lip with the heel of my hand, and spat blood onto the strand. The barbarian took my arm again and dragged me to one of the larger rocks on the shore and shoved me down on it. He made a flattening gesture with his hand and spoke a single guttural snarl that gave me to know I was to sit still and not move, much less try to run away.
He need not have bothered; I was content for the moment to sit on the rock and dry my clothes in the sun. I would try to escape again, I told myself, but must wait for a better opportunity to present itself and not simply seize the first foolish chance that happened my way. This thought, added to the fact that we were still in Armorica and not out somewhere in the unknown sea, consoled me and I felt as if I were making the best of a very bad plight.
The Sea Wolves, meanwhile, set about preparing a meal. They made a small fire and brought out food from the ship, which they shared out among themselves with not so much as a glance in my direction.
One huge red-braided barbarian-I recognized him now as the brute with the club from the night raid-climbed back into the ship and seized a cask which he lifted in his arms and was about to heave onto the strand. He was stopped by a quick shout from one of the others: a fair-haired man with long-braided yellow beard and a gold chain around his neck. This man was the one who had stood on the tented platform commanding men to his bidding.
Yellow Hair, I decided, must be the leader of this barbarian band. And although his men paid him some regard, they did not appear overly solicitous of him, nor even very attentive. Even so, he seemed to command some part of their respect, or at least a grudging obedience, for the red giant lowered the cask with a grunt, climbed from the ship and returned to his meal.
After they ate, they slept. Like pigs in the sun, they simply rolled over, closed their eyes and slept.
Any thought of slipping quietly away while they were sleeping vanished when my barbarian suddenly awoke, remembered me, and came and bound my hands and ankles with a length of braided cord. He left me in the shade of the rock, at least, where I could keep watch on my captors. This proved a dismal occupation, however, as they remained inert for the better part of the day, rising only as the shadows stretched long across the pebbled shoal.
They woke, stretched, and relieved themselves in the river. Some availed themselves of the opportunity to wash, standing in the shoals and splashing water over themselves, clothes and all. My barbarian came and untied me, pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the ship. I waded out to the waiting boat, pausing only to gulp down a few handfuls of water. For this I was lashed with the cord-half-heartedly, sure-and unintelligible abuse heaped on my poor uncomprehending head.
This proved entertaining to the Sea Wolves, who laughed to see me in such difficulty, although I did not greatly mind for, again, I sensed no genuine animosity in the exercise. I began to form the opinion that my barbarian was trying to perform a duty expected of him, but one for which he had no heart. Being a monk, I had experience of such behaviour and could recognize it quickly when I saw it.
We clambered up over the ship's rail. Once aboard, I was pushed into my place in the prow with the growled order-as I took it-to stay there. Still, he did not restrain me in any way.
I did not eat that day, nor the next. I was allowed only what water I could get for myself when we stopped. This produced no immediate concern for me; I was used to fasting and so considered this privation simply another tredinus which I happily dedicated to the Saviour God. When the others ate, I prayed: for our poor dead bishop-may God reward him greatly!-for my brothers, whether wounded or dead I knew not, for the safety of the blessed book, and for myself in cruel captivity. I prayed long and earnestly each day, though I soon learned to forego prostration or even kneeling. My captors did not like to see me in a posture of devotion, and kicked me hard if they caught me so. That was no great hardship, I reckoned, for God sees only the contrite spirit, and my reverence was true. Sure, the lack of food did not concern me, but the fact that we pressed a steady pace north filled me with unlimited apprehension. Day by day we drew further and further away from the region of Nantes, and any hope I might have sustained of ever seeing any of my brothers again dwindled accordingly. My prayers became more fervent for this, and I braced myself with endless repetitions of psalms.
One day I looked out from my perch in the prow to see that the familiar grey coast had disappeared altogether. It was not to be seen again for two days. I ceaselessly scanned the barren horizon for any sign of land, and when at last that longed-for glimpse appeared again, the land had changed entirely: low, flat, brown and featureless. Nor did the Sea Wolves sail so close to the shore as before; they ceased searching out the viks for rest and water and took to keeping watch both day and night.
One result of this change was that I was given a little food-the same as they ate, though far less. It was rough fare: tough and tasteless meat, unseasoned and inexpertly dried. Still, it served its humble purpose: keeping this captive alive until he should be reconciled to his eventual destiny-whether death or some worse fate, I did not know.
I stood or sat at my accustomed place, looking out at the strange, unnamed land and, whether sitting or standing, I prayed most fervently for God's Swift Sure Hand to reach down and pluck me from my onerous plight. Well, that did not happen. Instead, the sharp-keeled ship flew swiftly over the sea. North and ever north, we sailed. Only once did we see any other vessel, and this we fled.
On sighting the ship, Brown Buskins called out to Yellow Hair, who joined him at the mast. The two stood shoulder to shoulder in close scrutiny of the stranger vessel for a moment, whereupon Yellow Hair began shouting commands which sent the supine sailors scurrying to their oars. All rowed with unmatched vigour, even though the sail remained full and the wind fair. It soon became clear that we were outdistancing the stranger. After a time, the other ship gave up the chase, and the Sea Wolves cheered.
Their joy at eluding a potential rival transformed their spirits. I felt their elation, and smiled in spite of myself. So like children, I thought, in the greedy zeal of all their appetites. And, like children, only the moment concerned them. They had escaped an unwanted confrontation and their joy knew no bounds; leaping from bench to rail, they shook their spears and rattled their shields, brimming with bravado now that their supposed enemy had turned tail.
In all, it was a most instructive lesson. Nor was it wasted on me.
After that, I no longer looked to return to Armorica. The barbarians, as it seemed to me, were making for safe harbour. Turning my eyes to the north I searched those cold, black waters for any likely destination. The weather turned foul again; the wind blew hard, raising the waves. Low cloud hung over the sea, and heavy fog obscured the shore. We did not make landfall, however; the Sea Wolves apparently enjoyed the heavy weather.
When, at the end of the second day, the sun returned, the land changed again: deep bays fronting hard shingles of stone, with dark green forests rising on steep slopes behind. The hills were not high, but their upper reaches were often lost in the thick fogs of mist and cloud that festered in that inhospitable clime. I saw no settlements of any size; even single habitations were few enough. Even so, the Sea Wolves feared unchallenged passage. This I knew because, upon entering those dark seas, we took to sailing only at night, a feat the barbarians had mastered well.
The fact that they, too, might have enemies had simply never occurred to me before. But seeing how wary and trepid they became as they neared home, gave me to know that though they preyed on any they deemed weaker, they were themselves prey to others stronger than themselves and feared them with as great a fear as any they inspired. Truly, they were wolves: savagely wild, brutal, with all men's hands raised against them at each and every turn.
Thus, I kept my wits about me and learned all I could of their uncouth ways. The more I learned, the more I pitied them, for they were without redemption and not even the merest hope of salvation clung to them. God help me, I began to feel superior to them for my learning and civilization. Arrogance seized me in its gaping jaws and shook me hard; my pride swelled. I imagined that, given the chance, I might do some mighty work among them by bringing the Good News of Jesu to them. For I had heard of such things.
Indeed, had not sainted Patraic accomplished this very feat among his former captors? This, I determined, I would do. I would become Patraic to these Sea Wolves and earn everlasting glory.