24 |
24 |North Sea 989 AD
Magnus stood at the prow of his ship, Fatima at his side, his arm over her shoulders, holding her tight against him. Her warmth was welcome on this chilly morning, though nothing could warm him like the thought of what lay ahead. They were together, their ruse apparently successful, and all six ships were reunited, heading along the blustery coast toward their homeland.
Laden with valuable cargo, the men were in a good mood at the prospect of seeing their families, and his future appeared bright. They had been traveling for what felt like months but was merely weeks, the wind filling their sails the entire way, with the men supplementing their speed with the oars. He was still nervous that their deception might yet be discovered, and the safest place to be would be home, under the protection of his father and the brothers and sisters of the clan.
“How long before we reach your home?”
He smiled at Fatima, squeezing her tighter. “Our home.”
She returned his smile. “Our home.”
“Two days, three at most. You’re going to love it, though you’ll find it colder than you’re used to.”
She rested her head against his chest. “You’ll keep me warm.”
“We’ll keep each other warm. Once we’re wed, we’re never leaving the bed chamber until you’re with child.”
She inhaled deeply, pressing tighter against him. “I can’t wait to have children. I hope they have your hair and eyes.”
Magnus chuckled. “And I hope they have yours.”
She stared up at him. “If it’s a boy, then your coloring. If it’s a girl, then mine?”
He laughed. “May Odin make it so!”
“Sir! Sails on the horizon!”
Magnus’ chest tightened and he let go of Fatima, following his second-in-command, Olav, to the stern of the boat.
“Look!”
He followed the direction Olav indicated and frowned at the crest emblazoned on the sails.
They were trading vessels from the Caliphate.
Fatima joined them. “What is it?”
“It looks like our efforts have been discovered. Those are Caliphate ships.”
She gripped his hand tightly, peering into the distance. “Can you be sure?”
“Their markings are unmistakable.” Magnus spun toward his crew. “To the oars! We must reach home before they catch up to us!”
The crew immediately manned their stations, the orders relayed to the other vessels, the rhythmic surge of each stroke underway within moments.
Olav stepped closer, lowering his voice. “How did they catch up to us? We’ve had full sails the entire way, and what I thought was a healthy head start.”
Magnus stared at the ships, frowning. “You’ve forgotten one thing, my friend. We’re laden with cargo, they likely are not.”
Olav frowned. “Should we dump the cargo?”
Magnus shook his head. “No, I will not have this voyage be for naught because of my foolish heart.”
“Then what shall we do?”
“Pray to Odin for a strong wind in our sails and sturdier men than they have at the oars.”
Olav smiled. “Then we have nothing to fear, for none are sturdier than our brothers.”
Magnus patted his friend on the back, concealing the fear he barely held at bay. “From your lips to Odin’s ears, my friend.” He turned to face the ships in pursuit, gripped by worry, as their empty holds gave them the edge on speed.
Please, Odin, carry us safely home, and let me alone face the wrath of those I have wronged.