The Isle Beyond Time by L. Warren Douglas

Author:L. Warren Douglas
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Baen Publishing Enterprises
Published: 2003-02-28T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21 — An Improbable Encounter

A shout echoed off the rocks. Ibn Saul had climbed the tallest one he could find, and had set up his instruments, hoping to gain some clue as to their whereabouts. Now he was jumping up and down, and pointing. "A ship! People!"

Pierrette and Lovi scrambled up beside him. When Gregorius joined them, he put an instant damper on their elation. "That," he said, "is a Viking vessel."

"But there's no dragon-head at the prow," Lovi protested. And the boat was not long and skinny, like the ones they had seen drawn up on the Liger's banks.

"That's because it is a knorr, a workaday vessel, not a drakkar, which is a warship. But a Norseman is a Norseman, whatever deck he treads."

"But who are those men wearing brown robes?" asked Lovi. "Isn't that a cross hanging from the tall one's neck? They must be Christians, but they are far too well dressed to be slaves."

"Those are Thuleans," said the boatman, just joining them on the high rock. "They are Christian Norsemen from a remote island, who trade widely. They are only distantly related to the Danes, Jutes, and Frisians who raid and pillage."

"Christians? Traders? Then surely we can get some water from them," said Lovi.

"And what would you trade for it?" said an unfamiliar voice behind them and below. They spun around as one, almost knocking each other off the rock. The brown-robed man, they realized by the contents of his basket, had been collecting mussels. Hearing ibn Saul's shouts, he had come to investigate.

"I have never heard of Christian Vikings," said Gregorius. "You don't look like a Viking at all, with your dark hair. You look more like a Hibernian."

The fellow laughed. "They are Christian Vikings," he said, "and yes, I am Hibernian. I am a priest, and they are my flock—just as I assume these people are yours." Gregorius had long since abandoned his priestly garments, but he still maintained his tonsure—the Roman cut, which was only a bald patch at the crown of his head. The brown-robed one affected the "Celtic" tonsure, his head entirely shaved forward of a line from one ear over the top of his head to the other ear. It was, Pierrette reflected, actually a druidic tonsure, out of favor in all but the most remote Christian lands. The transition from pagan druid (or Pythagorean philosopher) in the Celtic lands had been almost seamless, as had that of Brigantia to Saint Brigid, and Madron, the goddess, to Mary, Mother of Jesus.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," the Irish priest said, taking Gregorius's silence for negation. "Still, come down to our camp and be welcome. You look like people who have a tale to tell—a fair trade for ale and steamed mussels—or water, if you really prefer it."

The "Thuleans" had made the most of their makeshift camp amid the rocks, stacking many small stones between the larger ones as a windbreak, over which they had spread a large square sail. A cheery fire blazed in front of the shelter.

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