In the two hundred years since Alba and Gyr journeyed to the sacred stone, fewer and fewer young couples made the journey from scattered villages. The Church wisely folded local folklore into their attempts to convert the pagans who held fast to the old ways. In Inverugie, the village where Alba and Gyr returned and raised a family, had become prosperous enough that it allowed the Church to accumulate a small fortune in treasures. The priest had been joined by a few more monks, including two young men from the village. Word of the church’s riches spread along the coastal region, reaching the Western Isles, a group of islands claimed as a small kingdom by Kettil Bjornsson, the Flatnose.

Kettil’s youngest son, Hrólfr, had just turned thirteen and was already as big as most of his men. His older son, Gurim was old enough to captain his own longboat. The pull of treasures was all that was needed for a season of viking. Hrólfr needed to be blooded if he was to become a captain of his own longboat. Their mother was a Dane from Heiðabýr, Danmǫrk. Hrólfr took after his mother’s family in size and stature while Gurim was obviously Kettil’s son in appearance and temperament.

“You sail with me,” Kettil told Hrólfr.

~

The flotilla of longboats entered the mouth of the River Ugie. Seeing their approach, many of the villagers disappeared into the peat bogs carrying their most prized possessions, their children. It had been years since the last raid which had seen their young women taken as captives.

Hrólfr had shown ferocity as he wielded a long sword. Kettil had his trusted second in command, Thórólfr, and Gurim to fight alongside Hrólfr. Despite his size, Hrólfr was just a youth. As the men rushed to the shore, Hrólfr held back, waiting to see the bigger scene. He saw a villager disappear down a back lane, away from the charge. Hrólfr waited a few moments to see the warriors commit to their targets, then he turned to follow the villager.

He found the villager standing in front of a rough-looking shed, holding a sharpened pitchfork. With him were two other men. They glared at Hrólfr as though daring him to make a stupid move. With a burst of unexpected speed, turning to avoid the pitchfork, Hrólfr struck with his sword. The villager was left holding his stomach as his entrails began to escape the wound inflicted.

Not stopping to finish off the villager, Hrólfr felled the most dangerous of the two remaining men, with a mighty swing which removed the arm holding a staff with a knotted club. The third man took off at a run. It was just then that Thórólfr emerged from behind a wagon. He had watched the scene unfold, ready to save the youth if needed.

“You risked yourself needlessly, Hrólfr,” he said with a seriousness that surprised Hrólfr. “You know full well that we fight together, protecting each other.”

Hrólfr stopped smiling at his easy victory. Thórólfr had spoken truth. There was a code for the warriors. It was his first turn at viking, and he had already broken that code. 

~

Children and elders were left alone, while men were slain defending their homes. Once victory had been claimed with the looting of the church, Kettil’s men took their pleasure with the surviving women. With so many of the village men felled, some of the women were claimed by the Norsemen. Life with a man was hard enough, but not to have a man to protect her and provide for her and her children would have been a fate worse than death. Being claimed by a Norseman was a chance to survive. Few protested. Those that did were slain. Those not claimed were left to live in the village when the warriors left.

Kettil didn’t engage in the celebratory activities nor did Thórólfr who brought Hrólfr to his father. Gurim was with the rest of the men.

“Kettil, your son has something to tell you.”

Kettil had seen Hrólfr leave the group. He had also seen Thórólfr follow the lad into the village. Thórólfr moved silently like a wolf tracking prey. Hrólfr was too intent on his own prey to sense being followed.

“Faðir, I took a needless risk in leaving the other men. I was curious about a villager who appeared to be going to his own small treasures to perhaps hide them.”

“And?”

“He was met by two other men who were armed. When the man I was following turned to attack me, I gutted him. Then as one of the other two moved to strike me with a long-shafted club, I cleaved off his arm. The third man fled.”

“What about the treasure? You said you followed him in search of more treasure.”

“I … I didn’t think of treasure at that point. When Thórólfr appeared, I realised that I had not followed your instructions. I have shamed you and myself.”

~

The next morning, Kettil and his small flotilla left Inverugie behind. Kettil had an unspoken objective somewhere on River Samara. With hard sailing, it was a journey that would take seven days. Kettil was in no rush as he wanted to give his men another opportunity to viking before reaching the river. He planned on pushing for three days to reach a place called Grimr’s village. There they would enjoy Danish hospitality and replenish their water and food supplies.  A night of conviviality with compatriots would do his men good. Kettil used the opportunity to learn more about what had been happening in the wider world. Information was vital.

Another two days took them to Gipeswic, at the mouth of a large bay which split into three rivers.  The coastal village provided an opportunity to gather more treasure and satisfy the hunger of viking. 

The speed and surprise of their attack had the haul of treasure exceed the riches gathered at Inverugie. Kettil wasted no time in pulling away from the coastline following the raid. It was time to cross to reach the River Samara.