The Black Rood by Stephen R. Lawhead Page B

Daylight was quickly fading and twilight gathering; if I sent them back now it would be dark before they reached the estuary. “Very well,” I relented, “you can stay here with me tonight, but you must leave in the morning.”
    Padraig said nothing, but set about making a fire. Sarn tied the boat to a post driven into the earthen bank that served as part of the harbor wall. That finished, he brought out a bundle and began unwrapping it—loaves of bread, dried fish and pork, and other things to make a meal. “There is ale in the stoup,” he said. “Lady Ragna thought you might like a last good drink before going to the Holy Land.”
    Stepping over the bow and into the ship, I found the jar.
    â€œHow did you know I would still be here?”
    The seaman shrugged. “There were no trading ships when I left you. If any came they would not have departed so soon.”
    â€œSo now it is Sarn the Shrewd, I suppose?”
    He smiled. “We would have drunk the ale whether you were here or not.”
    â€œSee you do not drink too much,” I warned lightly. “You are leaving in the morning— both of you. Together.”
    We ate our meal, and night gathered around us. Torches were lit along the bank, and we sat drinking ale and watching the flickering light along the quayside. It was quiet; there were few ships in the harbor, and most of the sailors were at one or the other of the town’s inns.
    â€œThere are not many ships coming here, I think,” Sarn observed. “How long will you wait?”
    â€œAs long as it takes,” I replied, slightly annoyed by the question. “I talked with a man yesterday who was at Rouen in the spring. He said the Franks are raising men for the Holy Land.”
    â€œRouen,” repeated Padraig. “That is where Lord Ranulf and the northern noblemen joined the crusade.”
    â€œIt is,” I confirmed.
    â€œThen maybe we should go there,” suggested the monk.
    â€œIs that not the very thing I plan to do,” I retorted, my irritation growing, “as soon as I can get a ship?”
    â€œYou already have a ship,” Padraig pointed out. “Sarn could take us.”
    I might have resented the idea if it had not struck me as faintly ridiculous. “He might,” I agreed haughtily, “if he had a chart and provisions enough for such a trip.”
    Sarn brightened, his smile wide in the dark. “I have these things.”
    I stared at him. Had the two of them conspired in this? “The boat is too small,” I complained. Truly, I had imagined sailing into Jerusalem aboard a Norse longship like the one my father had journeyed in.
    â€œSmall, yes,” Sarn conceded amiably, “but the boat is sound and the weather good. It could easily be done.”
    â€œWhere did you get a chart?” I asked.
    â€œThe monastery provided the chart,” Padraig replied, and explained how Abbot Emlyn had personally supervised the copying and preparation.
    â€œAnd you have provisions?”
    â€œThese we have also,” confirmed Sarn. “Enough for threemen for several weeks of days—although the abbot does not think it will take so long.”
    â€œWe can depart in the morning,” Padraig pointed out. “If you have no objection, that is.”
    â€œSince you both seem to be determined,” I said, “then I will allow it. You can accompany me to Rouen, and I shall be glad of the company. Once we reach the port, however,” I continued, raising a finger in warning, “you will turn around and sail home. Is that understood?”
    They both regarded me curiously.
    â€œIs that understood?” I repeated.
    â€œIt is a long way to Frankland,” Padraig mused. “Perhaps it would be best to wait until we see what we find when we get there.”
    So, we sailed for Rouen, leaving the next morning as soon as it was light enough to navigate the river estuary.