Historical Setting: 793 C.E. The North Sea
A stiffer wind and we are reefing the sail to give the wind less of us to chew on. With the speed of these ships, we can cut across the waves like well-honed blades skinning the vellum from the meat. It seems we are moving very fast, even with a lesser sheet. In all my days I’ve really never traveled this fast by any means, unless I was falling off a mountain. Yet without the landmarks of shore this speed really means nothing. How long will we be at sea? Days? Weeks? No one is asking.
What sets every sailor on edge just now, are the storm clouds billowing low in the southern skies. And with the favorable wind comes rain, sheets of rain, like a fleet of ghost sails, moving faster than our now drenched craft across the surface of the water. It rains for all the rest of the hours of the day. Nightfall comes early with no farewell sun beams in the West; we light lanterns, as best we can in the deluge, to mark our presence for the others of our fleet. We see some of the other ships have lanterns also. Right now, managing the lines and the luffing sail with these random gusts of storm is the best we can do. No one sleeps tonight.
By the time the storm subsides, we are sitting low in the water, or perhaps the sea is sitting higher around us and it is the task of the thrall to bail. We are scooping out the water as fast as we can, and now, even those who aren’t enslaved by men, understand the master of us all is the circumstance, and all are helping us bail out the rain water.
Tarps were spread a little late, and maybe not to shelter our sleeping rather to air the wet weaves of their fabrics.
Those of us who worked through the night weren’t beset with the shivers as were the men who finally had turns to sleep. Everyone is cold and wet and sleep deprived by dawn. The clinging fog even shivers the light of day. There is no warm blanket or dry shirt and the wind is stilled to a whisper.
We see the leaders of the fleet have already called for oars, and our boat is not far behind receiving that order. So, the first crew, slaves included, are at the oars. I’d rather row than try to sleep.
Longing for sun…
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 