Powerful Destiny

by Tricia McGill

  “My father was the leader of our clan and a knowledgeable man. He taught me many things, one being the language of the Norsemen,” she said hurriedly. How she wished her dear parent had taught her how to be brave enough to kill herself rather than be captured by these heathens!

  “But how did he learn our language?” He went down on his haunches again and appeared interested in her answer. “I have heard of no Celt before with this knowledge.”

  Brigid shrugged. “I have no notion.”

  Of course, she did. Her beloved mother spent a small part of her early years as a slave of the heathens. Her father rescued her and brought her back to her homeland. How Brigid loved hearing the story of how he found her starving on an island. While out fishing, a storm blew up, forcing them to take refuge on a small rocky isle to wait out the wrath of the weather. After her mother jumped from a Norse longship, the Norsemen presumed her drowned, and did not bother to take time to see if she was dead or alive. However, by good fortune she was a good swimmer and managed to get to the island without being seen. The isle was bare of trees and plants so without nourishment she was very near death when Brigid’s father stumbled across her hiding place.

  One of Rolf's large hands reached toward her, and Brigid shrank back. He muttered something beneath his breath, before saying, “Do not fear me. I will never harm you.”

  “You have already harmed me by killing my father and kinsmen and dragging me onto this ship of yours.” After a wrathful glance about them at the cowering women and children, she glared at him.

  He also looked at the huddled captives but then said, “Men fight battles—it is our way. Some come out victors, some must lose the fight.” His hands lifted in a small gesture of acceptance.

  Did not her dear father say something like that to her years ago, after returning home from one fierce battle? Brigid let out a small sob. How she hated to show her cowardice in front of this Norseman, but the pain of her sorrow was almost too much to bear. Pressing a hand to her chest, she stared down at the now sleeping small boy beside her. Bjorn had also gone to sleep, and he cradled the smaller child in his arms as they both slept fitfully.

  Pointing to her belt, he asked, “What is this talisman you wear?”

  It seemed this man was intent on learning all about her. Much as she had no desire to tell him anything more, Brigid sensed that it was to her advantage to go along with his wishes. She placed the intricately carved wooden cross that was attached to a chain around her middle onto her open palm. “My father gave it to my mother on their wedding day, and it was passed to me upon her death. It is meant to protect me from harm.” She sneered at him. “So, it is useless.”

  “Not so. You are alive, while your kinsmen are dead.” For a brief moment he looked as if he would touch her again but then he rose, stood looking down on her for a moment with a small frown on his brow, before striding back to his lookout spot at the front of his ship.

  As Brigid pondered the strangeness of this Norseman who seemed so different to the stories she had heard most of her life about their vicious and plundering ways, a loud wail startled her. It came from Asa, a woman nearing old age who had not only lost her husband but also two of her sons in the battle that raged earlier. She stood shakily amid the other women, and as two of them tried to restrain her, the vessel pitched about, and she stumbled. Letting out another pitiful howl of despair she pushed the women aside, and once free of their restraining hands, lunged for the ship's side, put one leg over the barrier and, as if time stood still, toppled into the sea.

  Brigid cried, “No!” as she rose swiftly and headed for the ship’s rail. The children awoke and, in their confusion, started to scream along with all the women. Out of the corner of her eye Brigid saw Rolf racing from his position at the front of the ship and he too stared at the sea where Asa had plunged. A few of the men lifted their heads above their sleeping sacks, grunting their disgust before flopping back down just as suddenly, unconcerned. The other men shrugged with disinterest and turned aside.

  Without further thought, Brigid tore off her cloak, pushed two stunned women who had joined her at the rail aside, and in one swift movement climbed onto the chest nearest Rolf and dived into the swirling ocean where Asa disappeared. When Brigid surfaced to drag in a deep breath, she heard one of Rolf's crew clearly shout, “Let her go,” before she dove again beneath the murky waves.

  The sea heaved around her, and her limbs felt as heavy as rocks, her movements slow and restricted. The water was icily cold, and she realised that she could not feel her hands or feet. Her shift and kirtle were dragging her down, as were her water-filled leather boots. Frantic now, Brigid swam as best she could, thankful her mother taught her when young how to swim. Although she could stay afloat for a long time there was never a reason to swim in seas such as this, and she would never possess her mother’s skill in the water. She surfaced, drew in another deep breath and mumbled a short prayer before going under again.

  Asa was nowhere to be seen. The water was so dark it was like swimming in mud and Brigid doubted she would see the old woman even if she were nearby. Perhaps Asa was right, and this would be the best way. It would be so easy to just give in and let the sea take her to join her beloved parents and her baby brother who died soon after his birth.

  As Brigid made the decision to let herself sink, a pair of arms clamped about her, and then she was being dragged to the surface. She fought for a moment but then allowed the foolhardy rescuer to drag her upwards. As they surfaced, gulping in air, she realised it was Rolf. Of course, it was the leader—none of the others would spare a thought for a drowning Celtic woman. So why did he? His hair and beard clung to his skull and neck. Dragging in great mouthfuls of air Brigid clung to his shoulders.

  “Fool of a woman!” He sounded annoyed but not angry.

  Between gasps for breath, Brigid managed to cry, “Asa?”

  “Gone. The woman was too frail and old to survive.”

  His arms were about her middle still and he supported them both while moving his legs about in the water. Brigid could feel his hard chest beneath the wet shirt that was his only top covering. He must have discarded his armoured vest. Which was a good thing—surely, he would have sunk like a rock to the bottom of the ocean had he not thought to abandon it before diving in after her. Still puzzled, she stared at him. Would she ever understand this man?

  Brigid let out a moan of sadness for the old woman. Forced to rest her head against his jaw while she struggled to gain her breath, she thumped at his shoulder, crying, “Why did you save me?”

  His large hands about her waist tightened as he gave her a small shake. The waves were now tossing them about as if they were sea kelp. Brigid could see over his shoulder that the longship was now a fair distance from them. The sails had been lowered which meant that his crew would be using the oars to turn the ship around and come back for their master.

  “Do you not know?” he asked. If she did not know better, she would suspect him to be clearly surprised that she asked such a question of him.

  “Because you are a fool,” she muttered. Now he would probably let her go, let her sink to the bottom of the ocean.

  “Perhaps I am.” A deep frown creased his brow. “But from the moment I set eyes on you I knew that it was our destiny to be together.”

  Startled, Brigid pushed back far enough to get a clear look into his face. Yes, he surely was a fool, talking a fool’s gibberish. “I did not think Norse warriors gave thought to destiny and fate,” she spluttered.

  “You truly do not know anything about us. We believe in the Norns. The Three Fates of Destiny are more powerful than our gods and goddesses, and likely more powerful than your Celtic gods.”

  The moon rode high in the sky now and she could clearly see his eyes. Was that puzzlement she read there in their depths? Well, she was surely just as puzzled. And more than that—so stunned was she by his words she knew not what to say.

  Then he did the strangest thing. He cover
ed her mouth with his. The waves washed over them, and Brigid clung to his shoulders. With his arms about her, he pressed her body to his, and the strength of him kept them both lifted above the water.

  Although sure his mouth would be hard and ruthless, it was not so. His lips were soft, gently enticing her to open to him. Brigid knew in that instant that she would be tied to this man for the rest of her days—would follow him willingly into the gates of hell if he so bid her.

  Brigid heard a shout and vaguely registered that it must be from one of his crew. Rolf drew back slowly and the smile that curved his mouth contained promise, joy and utter satisfaction—the satisfaction of a male who had found immense treasure. Bewildered, Brigid pushed at him. What foolishness was she thinking now? Because he saved her life and took one kiss, it did not mean that she was somehow tied to him forever. Perhaps she was suffering some sort of ague from swallowing seawater. She could not give her heart to one such as he. “You are wrong,” she spat.

  Her defiance did not seem to worry him. “Did I not say it is our destiny to be together?” Before she could retort to that he turned her about and with his hands on her waist hoisted her high so that the man named Ragnar could haul her aboard the longship.

  Once back aboard, the other women crowded round, sadness filling their features. Brigid rigidly went back to sit with the children. The crew were sending their leader odd glances, no doubt wondering at his sanity to waste time and energy saving a couple of slaves. He silenced the few comments with a slice of the hand and a reprimand, and they hastily prepared the ship’s sails once more and were soon again threading their way through the waves as if none of the past few events took place.

  Soon after, the Norse leader brought Brigid a pair of breeches and a shirt, plus a woollen cape, of which she was grateful. These he handed to her silently before going back to his position at the front of the ship. Brigid was shaking as if with the ague now, no doubt with the cold, but she knew that it was also likely shock at what happened in the sea.

  The women did their best to shield her from the eyes of the crewmen as she stripped off her sodden clothes and pulled on the garments. They were very large, and obviously belonged to Rolf, the strange leader. Doubtless no member of his crew would be so charitable towards her. She rolled the bottom of the breeches up, and also the sleeves of the shirt, and by the time she was clothed her wild shivers had not ceased so she lay down beside the children. Pulling the cloak over her in the hope that she would sleep for a while, she snuggled down with the boys held close, taking comfort from their little bodies.

  Her last thought before she fell into a deep sleep was that perhaps Rolf was right and her God or his Norse gods surely did smile on them this day. Or, could his powerful Three Fates of Destiny have intervened.

  Chapter Three

  Roused from the doze brought on by distress, discomfort and hunger Brigid sat up and rubbed at her aching head. A shout from one of the crew had brought her out of her stupor of sickness. Last time she woke, he and two others were surveying the horizon while their leader took a rest. It was not long after sunrise, she judged.

  Long ago during this horror voyage, all thought of the passage of time was forgotten. Whether it took them a sennight or a few days to reach their destination she knew not and cared less. Even the fear of their fate once they hit land faded beneath the urgent longing to feel dry unmoving land beneath her feet once again. If she survived the next period of her life, she swore to her gods that she would never set foot on a sea-going vessel again and would surely kill herself rather than endure a repeat of this voyage.

  The Norse leader, Rolf, now climbed onto the side of his ship and shouted in jubilation, and soon all his crew were yelling and punching each other like excited children. It seemed they had arrived in their homeland. Wearily Brigid stood and stared across the expanse of sea ahead of the ship.

  Tall jagged cliffs reared up from the land and it seemed they were heading straight for them. With a hand above her eyes to shield them from the weak sun that was at last peeking through the clouds she realised that they were heading unerringly toward the rocky headland.

  The other captives were now stirring, and due to their weakened state took their time rising to see what all the fuss was about. Bjorn and one of the girls were explaining to the smaller children that land was ahead, and they would soon be off this dreadful vessel.

  The thought uppermost in Brigid’s mind was that she hoped they would be fed something other than fish or the dried meat that tasted very much like leather straight off the cow’s back. Although hungry, her stomach reeled at the food that one of the crew doled out carefully around the middle of each day. It was clearly rationed, due to the extra passengers aboard the craft. At least they had been fed, even if the food was vile, and thankfully were given fresh water, which was also strictly measured out. The crew drank what Brigid guessed was a potent brew to quench their thirst. After it they were always more jovial and noisy which frightened her and the other women. Brigid sent thanks to her god that no one had so far tried to set a hand on any of them. Likely that was because their leader was always watching them, and they dared not disobey his orders.

  Now she had time to steady her shaky legs and take in the scenery as they neared the shore the old fear of what lay ahead deepened. They were heading to an inlet between the cliffs, and now she could see figures on the clifftop jumping up and down and yelling, and a few waved flaming torches above their heads.

  The sails were lowered and stowed and then the crew were back to rowing. It did not take long to reach a jetty jutting out from the land. This jetty and also the surrounding area along a small beach was filled with a throng of people of all shapes and sizes excitedly cheering their greetings.

  Brigid’s stomach lurched as she surveyed the Norse people, who now seemed menacing. It had come to her and the other women with force during the voyage that they would never see their beloved homeland again. Looks passed between the other female captives, who now all stood to stare in varying forms of fear and awe. The children whispered to each other, likely unable to take in what was happening. Perhaps they were the better off as they were mostly too young to understand that they were prisoners in another land far from their home. For all they knew they could have been on a journey along the coastline of their homeland.

  The people on the jetty looked so different to any she had ever seen before. The women all seemed large and the men even larger. Their long hair was a light colour like Rolf’s, and their odd clothing made of animal hide gave them the appearance of wild creatures. All waved some sort of stick or weapon as they shouted in their guttural language. Some of their faces bore painted patterns and some men had symbols on their shaven heads.

  Once the longship was brought alongside the jetty and made secure the crew jumped ashore. There followed much rejoicing and thumping of backs as they were greeted by their fellow countrymen. A few of the crew were pulled into the arms of women, perhaps their wives, but in the throng, it appeared that the crew were passed from one woman to another as if they were the property of all.

  Their leader was hailed and welcomed by each and every one of the welcome party. The captives on the vessel seemed to have been forgotten in the rejoicing. Brigid and the other women exchanged wary glances. They all knew that short of jumping over the side to inevitable drowning as Asa did, they had no hope of escape and these strangers no doubt knew this.

  Margret approached Brigid, her son in her arms, and whispered in her ear, “Whatever the future holds, I will never forget you, Brigid, or our homeland, and my Celtic heritage.”

  Brigid nodded and took her hand to squeeze it. They had already discussed the likelihood of some of them, especially the children who were unable to work, ending up at the slave market. Whether the long hard journey forced them to face their inevitable future, or all fight left them because of their sickness and weakness, she was not sure, but all seemed to have accepted whatever fate befell them. It disheartened her tha
t some now looked as meek as cattle going to the axe of the slaughterman.

  Brigid was still determined to fight to her last breath rather than submit to the Norse leader. Never once since their time in the sea did he mention again that he was sure Fate secured them a future together. Whether that was because of the lack of privacy on the ship or perhaps his change of mind, she could not be sure, and cared not.

  As Margret turned away, Brigid dragged in a startled breath when the Norse leader appeared at her shoulder, saying, “Come, it is time for you to set foot on my homeland.” With a wave of his hand, he surveyed the other women and the huddled children. “Tell your Celtic women that they are to each ensure they have a child in their care and to understand that should they try to do anything as foolish as run, they will be slain.”

  Brigid nodded and shrugged her shoulders. There was little need to explain anything to the women. Most were only too eager to at last feel the solid earth beneath their feet, and were too weak and filthy anyway, to do anything other than obey like sheep. Like obedient children, they climbed onto the jetty, some stumbling, as their legs grew accustomed once again to a floor that did not move continually.

  Some of the Norse women jeered and shook their fist in a threatening manner. A few reached out to touch their garments, and Brigid was relieved that the others did not understand the shouted threats of the Norsewomen, some promising death by torture. The Celtic women cringed away as if they were being attacked by wild animals. Brigid was thankful that she did not still wear the oversized garments of their leader, as that would surely have aroused the curiosity and no doubt anger of some of his countrywomen.

  Blocking out the loud taunting comments, Brigid took in the surroundings. This was surely a large settlement with many huts scattered about, some large some small. Most were not a lot different to some of the wooden farmhouses back home, but some had grass or moss on their roofs and a few even had window openings. Smoke drifted up from most of the roofs and the smell of cooking meat mingled with the aroma coming off the goats, fowl and other creatures penned in small enclosures away from the dwellings. All the animals looked well fed and cared for, which lightened Brigid’s heart a little. Her father always told her that any man or woman who cared for the creatures of this world did not possess a wholly black heart. She sent a prayer up to her God that her father was right.