Dressing like a Norse trader had been a nightmare for Kieran, he hadn’t the build nor the hair. The men that came in from the North lived under harsher winter conditions. They kept to the sea for most of the year. These showed on their build through hthe lineson their faces, the weak color of their hair and the musce they built from the rowing. Kieran had none of that. Despite the time he spent in Olaf’s company, he wasn’t fluent with their language as well. He had thus been instructed to keep his mouth shut at all times during the trading and to stay at the back of the group where he wouldn’t be seen. 

The rest however, Olaf felt he could work with. He broadened Kieran’s frame by adding several layers of clothing. 

First came the softer off-white linen undershirt followed by a kirtle – a dark wool knee-length tunic with an embroidered neckline and cuffs. A woolen under-trouser was followed by two sets of trousers. Leather straps were crisscrossed over his legs, from shin to mid-thigh. His feet slipped into deliciously warm calfskin boots. These were the luxuries the higher ranking men could afford! 

A leather vest was thrown atop the kirtle and a belt of the same nature followed. It just wouldn't do to have everything fall off right? Further signs of aristocracy were added - a delicate horse-shoe pin. The gold for the pin had been raided from a Christian monastery, something the Norsemen enjoyed doing. They were pagans you see. They worshipped idols and numerous Gods. They didn’t understand or didn’t want to understand the concept of Christanity and its one God. They stubbornly believed that all Gods, regardless of religion, often fought in the heavens (Valhalla) and that decided the fate of the humans on earth (Midgard). To have only one God would mean a life without fighting. And what were the Noresemen? They were fighters! Life without fighting was … boring to them. 

Two thick cloaks were then draped around Kieran’s shoulders, each fastened across his chest with a metal chain and ringed pins. 

Not only was he feeling more and more like an arctic bear in summer, Kieran felt slow and sluggish under all that weight. The torturous part however, was having his hair resemble that of a typical Norseman. In a whirl of sights sounds and peculiar smells, the thralls had bleached his dark hair to some horrid shade of yellow that to Kieran resembled retching’s. Then they proceeded to tint it red with a generous application of henna. The bleached yellowy-red hair felt as rough as straw, its only saving grace was the henna smell that had lingered on. 

When they set their sights on his face... oh no, no, no, no, NO! 

He wasn't having none of that! Since a Norse was rarely clean shaven, Kieran had gone without his blade for well over a week. Even then, the growth on his face had failed to impress Olaf. Grunting under his breath, Olaf cursed the lad for his more ‘feminine’ genes. Fortunately, staying clean shaven was a welcome proposition to having his barely-existing beard bleached and dyed. Kieran closed his eyes as relief flooded over him. 

"Hand me th' blade", he said grinning at having escaped this ordeal. 

The morning before the voyage, Kieran instructed his servants to prepare the longhall for the night’s festivities that would, according to Norse tradition, bring good omen on their long journey. The women scuttled to and fro from the kitchen the entire day carting buckets of warm water to clean the hall with. Furs were lined in front of the hearth and tapestries adorned the wall – each more intricate than the last.

The entire history of the Orcadians were depicted on these beautiful tapestries – including the beautiful marriage of his mother with the Chieftain. A ritual that had started at dusk and ended at dawn, signifying the end of her old life and the beginning of a new one. Kieran felt his fingertips tingle. Sympathy pains he told himself. After all such tedious needlework would have left quite a few fingers sore and bleeding from the constant needle pricks. 

Benches and tables were lined in a U shape and flowers and herbs strewn across the floor – gently filing the hall with their welcoming fragrance. Candles and torches graced the walls of the hall, leaving no room for dark foreboding shadows to seep into the festivities. A dais was set up at the other end of the hall – a raised stand for the musicians and dancers that would keep the festivities light till the wee hours of the morning. Drinking horns littered the table in what seemed like an organized mess. 

Kieran had never seen a more fabulous collection of drinking horns. More oft than not, they had drunk from mugs, carved from wood. There was nothing spectacular about a mug. But these horns, oh my, they were beautiful. Some carved from wood, others made of actual horns from goats and cattle. Kieran’s eyes then landed on Olaf’s personal drinking horn. Envy reflected in his eyes. Carved from imported elephant ivory, it was a sight to behold.

Gold trimmings around the mouth of the horn and the elaborate patterns etched into the outer sheath. It was also the longest horn on the table. While most held about half a liter of ale, Olaf’s could hold over double that quantity. The man certainly liked his ale! 

The process of making such horns was quite as tedious as that of the tapestries. The cleaning of the core, the drawing of patterns on the outer sheath, the painting and/or gold trimmings added to it. Then of course the ‘taste test’ before the final smoothing’s, polishing and varnishing process. Kieran sighed, his eyes still stuck on Olaf’s drinking horn. One day… one day he shall have his own horn of such beauty. 

Another dais was constructed outside the longhall as makeshift sacrificial altars for Njord, the Norse God of wind, fertility, the sea and merchants at sea. 

Thralls (slave girls) were brought to the bathing chambers for a quick cleaning before they were adorned in festive attire as well. A light linen ankle-length dress followed by an under arm level over-dress held up by two shoulder straps and turtle brooches. While the wooly dress itself was simply dyed various dark colors, hem lines and shoulder straps were of a bright red material with animal motifs embroidered on them in gold thread. 

Their hair was freed from its kerchief captive and brushed with walrus ivory combs till they shone in the candle light. Their feet were covered in simple sandals, and stockings were left out – a luxury that would only be torn apart by the drunken men after their celebration.  With eyes, lips and cheeks colored with red berry paste, and metal collars slapped back on around their necks, the girls were deemed ready for the evening and ushered into a chamber till they were needed. 

As the sun began setting into the evening sky, already a deep orange sprinkled with dark clouds, men began trickling into the longhall, welcomed by the warmth of the fire roaring within and the delicious smells from the deer’s roasting over it. By the time the sun had set completely, the hall was full and more people were still gathering outside. With the arrival of Kieran, Catriona and Olaf, the Volvo (Norse witch) was called for. To her makeshift altar, she lovingly carried the Njord deity and placed it firmly above the several offerings meant to please the God. People from both – Kieran’s and Olaf’s clans – assembled outside, making a large circle around the sacrificial altar, each carrying a brightly lit torch.  

Some watched in awe and some with cynicsm, as the Volvo began her rituals – she first sprinkled several unknown powders into the fire burning on the altar before proceeding to chant. That done, she then proceeded to offer a deer as a sacrifice to Njord. The deity and offerings she then carried to the shore, followed by onlookers. Dipping the deity in the water, she chanted some more while continuing to sprinkle more of her unknown powders. 

Father Njord, 

Warlord of the Vanir, 

Hostage of Peace, Diplomat, Sea-farer 

Master of Ships 

Lord of the boat-yard. 

I hail You.

Father of Freya, 

Father of Frey, 

Husband of Nerthus, 

Husband of Skadhi, 

Peaceloving Master of Noatun 

May this offering be pleasing to You, 

 Oh my Lord. 

With the offerings released into the water, they waited with baited breaths for it to sink or float away with the ebbing tide. Olaf explained to Kieran that an unacceptable offering would surely sink indicating bad omen for the merchants travelling the following day. Cheers and laughter rose in the quiet of the night as the onlookers watched the offerings float out to sea, pleased with Njord’s blessing for their upcoming journey. With the deity returned to the altar, the men trickled back into the hall where the thralls had been hailed to serve their meal and mead. 

The festivities began officially when Olaf, Kieran and Catriona took their place at the head of the table, while the designated seafarers for the journey sat around them. The pleasant sound of flutes, panpipes and harps filled the air. The chatter at the table sounded like an assorted mess of adventurous tales, each becoming more daring than the previous with the intake of mead. Halfway through the meal, a scout stumbled into the longhall, his eyes desperately seeking Kieran.