Three years later, Rollo sat beside his older brother Gurim, pulling on the same oar, while their father Kettil manned the rudder. Both brothers had crossed over to their father’s longboat for the last day of travel to the Western Isles. The long ship had entered the mouth of the river at the end of a long narrow bay. A small fishing village along the north shore of the river was ignored as they moved further west to reach a larger settlement, a Pict settlement.

It was at this settlement that Kettil had his great hall as king. Kettil’s longboat was the first of more than twenty such boats that would make up the bulk of his next viking expedition. Another eleven longboats would be arriving the next day. Kettil had installed a trusted Pict named Brest as the village headman, a necessity with so much of Kettil’s time spent away, either for viking or for travels to Norway and Danmǫrk. Rollo had reverted to his real name, Hrólfr. Only Derelie used his new name. 

Kettil noticed a pair of longboats docked next to five smaller sea vessels that belonged to the Pict settlement. The two boats displayed the banner of Eric Haraldsson.

“When did Haraldsson arrive?” Kettil asked Brest, the man he had assigned as his village headman.

“Haraldsson isn’t here. He sent his son, Aethelred. He arrived with the morning tide, my Lord.”

Kettil nodded and spoke to his youngest son, “Be careful, Hrólfr. Aethelred Ericsson is a jealous young man. He’s as treacherous as his father.”

“Yes, father. I will be careful.”

~

This was the second time Rollo had been able to return to the village in the Western Isles of Scotland since he had brought Derelie there three years earlier. Most of his time was spent in Danmǫrk when they weren’t out viking. Danmǫrk was his mother’s homeland. The last time Rollo had been to see Derelie and his two children, had been the previous autumn. It was then that he had first met his son Lugos, a baby who had his mother’s dark hair. Though he now had a son, Rollo had no attachment to the baby boy. There was no time or room in his life for either a wife or children. The return to the village was only to last for a few days, as Kettil had promised his men a full season of viking along the Frisian and Frankish coast.

Walking beside his father and brother, Rollo already stood taller than them though he had only just turned sixteen. A group of children ran ahead of the three, shrieking with excitement. The older boys were using sticks as swords while pretending they were fighting the Irish and the Saxons. The headman’s stone house was perched on a small hill surrounded by a palisade of wooden logs which had been sharpened at the tops. Inside the palisade, a collection of crofts and sheds were teeming with both human and animal activity. The smell was rank after the clean smell of the sea. As with all such villages, the stench was most noticeable closest to the palisade.

~

The headman, Brest, son of Ferath, was a very minor noble in the Pictish realm of King Domnall, son of Alpín. The village was near the southwestern edge of the Pictish kingdom. The lands of the Angles and Saxons were on the mainland, and the Irish were constant invaders contesting ownership of the islands. Like all Picts, Brest had the dark complexion that was common to the Basques of the Pyrenees. The Picts were an anomaly in the northern countries with their black hair and dark olive complexions. They preferred to be called Keltis rather than Picts. The Romans had called them Picts, a derogatory term which named them as wild, blue-painted savages.

The Kingdom of the Western Isles was predominantly settled by these Picts. Kettil had brought others to the scattered settlements. Norse families of his warriors who had relocated because of constant civil wars in their homelands. Added to their numbers were the women and children who had been taken as bounty during viking raids. The children were adopted into the Norse and Pict families. The women either found new mates or were kept as slaves. Already, Kettil’s kingdom was becoming a melting pot of cultures.

The only exception for his kingdom was the exclusion of Christians. The Celtic and the Nordic religions were able to peacefully co-exist without the need to force beliefs on each other. Kettil was a Norseman who had carved out a kingdom of sorts out of these Western Islands. Kettil and his men stood between the Irish who wanted the islands and the highlands on the mainland of Scotland for themselves. The Kingdom of the Picts which was also being encroached by the Saxons from the south.

~

Several young men stood beside Brest, all but one of them were his sons. Like their father, they wore intricate designs tattooed on their faces and bodies. Though it was early spring, they wore only half skirts. There was no doubt that they were Brest’s sons, like their father. 

Standing off to the side, behind Brest was Rollo’s young bride, Derelie who held the boy Lugos, in her arms while her daughter, Apadeva stood fiercely beside her. Like the Picts, she wore blue tattoos on her arms. She had different designs which reflected her Ambiani parentage and culture. And like Brest’s sons she was a warrior. Few women in the village weren’t warriors. Rollo gave Derelie a smile before turning to listen to Brest and his father.

Standing near the welcoming party, was a young man a few years older than Rollo, named Aethelred Ericsson, the son of Eric Haraldsson. Aethelred was Rollo’s distant cousin. Aethelred Ericsson was a Norseman. Aethelred’s father had stolen Kettil’s sister in a raid just over twenty years earlier. Though Aethelred was kin, there was no familial bond.

“Brest, good to see you again, old friend,” Kettil began. “All is well?”

“As good as can be expected, Kettil” Brest answered with a grin.

“I see that the village is prosperous.”

“I’m not counting on it, Kettil. With your permission, I want to move some of my people across the sea to our ancestral lands along the Somme River. Our cousins, the Ambiani could use our help there. That’s the reason for the five boats at the dock. As well, I’m getting too old for constant warfare here against the Irish and the Saxons. I’ll leave my eldest son as Jarl, with your permission of course,” Brest added with a deferring nod to Kettil.

“Do you think it will be any more peaceful in Picardy?” Kettil asked with a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“With your help, I have no doubt about it. Together we could build a more peaceful sanctuary for some of our grandchildren. In time, Gurim will become King, and his sons and daughters will stand beside my oldest sons and their offspring, here in the Western Isles. I would take my youngest children, and my wife with me.”

“We’ll talk on this later, Brest. For now, let’s eat and drink. I hope you still have some of that excellent ale your wife makes.”

~

It wasn’t long before most of the company sat at long tables set in front of the main house. Brest and his council of both Pict and Norse elders had Kettil and his sons, along with two other Norsemen arranged themselves around two long tables in the main hall. Kettil sat at the head of the table as King. Brest sat at Kettil’s right and Gurim sat at his left side. Women sat at the table as well, Brest’s wife and daughters, as well as the wives of Brest’s community leaders.

Other tables were set up as well to fit in a good portion of the community. For the rest of the community and for the warriors who had joined Kettil for the season of viking to come, tables were set up in nearby buildings.  Derelie had taken her rightful place beside her husband, Rollo. Aethelred sat on the other side of Derelie, casting a look of defiance at Rollo, which Rollo dismissed.

After more than a few mugs of ale, Rollo pulled his young wife onto his lap. Derelie smiled at him, a real smile. She had plans for later in the evening, plans that would hopefully have Rollo impregnate her once again. A woman’s power increased with motherhood. The more children a woman had, the greater her power over her husband.  Her smile caused him to look more carefully at her. Seeing the glint in her eyes, he grinned in anticipation of pleasure to follow the feast.

Aethelred spoke out just as Rollo prepared to take Derelie to her bedchamber.

“Your father stole this land from my father.”

“What in the name of the gods are you talking about?” roared Rollo as he turned to confront his cousin. “You dare slander my father, the true King of the Western Isles?”

“True king? Seriously? You don’t become a king by declaring yourself a king. The Western Isles still belong to my father.

Aethelred’s words shocked both Brest and Kettil whose attention had been drawn to the clash of words further down the table. Before either of them could say a word, Aethelred stood and challenged Rollo.

“You might be taller, but you are still a child, cousin. You don’t deserve such a fine woman. If she’d only known better, she’d have refused to have you in her bed. She deserves a better man, a real man, like me.”

At those words, Rollo lost his temper. Moments later, Aethelred lay on the dirt, stunned that he had been so easily knocked down. Getting up, still rubbing his jaw, Aethelred swore an oath, “You will pay for that, Hrólfr.” Then turning to face the rest at the table, he added, “You will all pay for this insult,” before he left the table.

Kettil gave Brest and angry look.

“Why is Aethelred here anyway? You know that his father and I are mortal enemies. What are you up to, Brest?”

“I swear, Kettil, I am not up to anything. He arrived here several days ago. He told me that he had a message to give to you from his father. At the time, it sounded to me as if the message was to sue for peace.”

“So, he didn’t tell you the message?”

“No, Kettil, not yet. Perhaps we have both just received that message.”