Her name was Ronnat and she was Irish, a slave in Vík-ló. She was dressed poorly and in the Norse fashion. The woman had a great shock of red hair, bound behind, just visible in the moonlight. He heard the sound of soft leather shoes on the grass and once again the watchmen appeared out of the dark, this time leading a young woman behind him. His decree had inconvenienced them and no more. As long as they had their ships, their cursed, cursed longships, they would not be starved out. He had put a stop to all trade with the dubh-gall, hoping to starve them out, but it was a futile gesture he had known from the start it would be.
“I’ll fetch her.” He disappeared into the dark and Lorcan continued to stare hatefully at Vík-ló spread out below him. The more they plundered, the richer they became and the more they altered the landscape of power. The more entrenched the dubh-gall became in their ship forts the more they interfered with the politics of Ireland.
#Danish longphort tips mac
With Ruarc mac Brain spending so much of his time at Tara, Grimarr Giant and his heathen Northmen followers were becoming more of a problem for Lorcan than was the Irish rí ruirech. The moon had been a help on Lorcan’s journey from Ráth Naoi, but he had made that ride so often now that he felt certain he could do it even on the darkest of nights. The light from the moon shining on the River Leitrim made a bright pattern in the rippling water that reminded Lorcan of well-polished chainmail in fire light. The cloud cover had broken up and a quarter moon threw just enough light for Lorcan to make out the shapes of the houses of Cill Mhantáin, what the dubh-gall called Vík-ló, angular and unnatural looking, scattered around the space within the earthen walls. Lorcan grunted and climbed down from the horse and the watchman took the reins. He stepped out of the shadows as Lorcan rode up, said softly, “My Lord Lorcan?” But the watchman must have guessed Lorcan would return with the messenger, and he was waiting. He thought he might catch the man sleeping, and if he did he would cut his throat. Lorcan half expected his arrival would take the watchman by surprise. Lorcan’s horse climbed the gentle slope of the hill overlooking Vík-ló, its hooves making barely a sound on the still-wet sod. It was a few hours past midnight, the time when vigilance was at its lowest ebb. And then the girl began to talk.Ĭongalach son of Mael Mithig…king of Laigin, plundered Áth Cliath, and took away valuables, and treasure, and much booty. She nodded, she said something, a single word. Harald nodded and he squatted down again, and again he spoke softly to the girl, and though Thorgrim could not understand the words he could hear the tone in his son’s voice, friendly and with no threat of violence in it.
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