Dag Ahlgren forced his sore feet to a swift pace as he moved toward Råå's docks. A soft breeze of Ponente caressed his whitening hair and pushed back the woolen hood that covered it. He cursed under his sour breath, pulled it back in place and fastened the chain of his cloak. Then he walked on, booted feet stomping on the hard ground, cursing louder. His mood was not to be toyed with that day. If anything, these foul winds were ominous.
That was a special day, thus demanding a special outfit. Beneath a black woolen cloak, Dag wore his good grey doublet, beautifully adorned with twisting, interwining lines of cloth-of-silver. He also wore a new pair of sturdy black breeches, purchased from a red-haired Gotlander. Around his scorny neck hang a thin silver chain, a piece of loot from some long-forgotten raid. Of long-forgotten raids there were many in Dag's past, and he much craved for a new one that'd be remembered, yet the winds didn't seem willing to do him the favor.
He walked along the coast, eyeing the ships that rocked sweetly beside the stone docks. He recognized much of his own work among them, though only three held his wandering attention. His gaze fixed on the one he owned.
GUNNVÖR was an astounding eighty-feet long Busse, one of the biggest and most graceful ships in the docks. It was a rather narrow, double ended vessel with a shallow draft hull, bearing the majestic semblance of a sea snake on both its prow and poop. It had space for sixty oarsmen, and needed sixty more men to be fully manned. Considering all aspects, this would be the longship of choice for any man willing to brave the vast western seas.
Dag made his way through a bustling ruckus of sailors and laborers carrying crates of fish, cloth, wool, fruit and other trade goods and boarded GUNNVÖR. Ecgberht Hult waited on the deck. He threw him an apple, and Dag caught it mid-air.
"So, how's recruiting going?", he asked the young oarsmaster, taking a bite off the apple. It was sweet and crispy, and he approved.
"Like it?", responded Ecgberht, leading him to the captain's cabin. "They were brought with FRÍÐA from some southron germanic port."
"It's not apples I came to discuss with you, oarsmaster", Dag scolded him. Ecgberht let a disappointed sigh.
"We're good to go, Dag Ahlgren. But the gods are not. The winds have been blowing east for weeks, surely you have noticed!".
"I've never needed divine consent before, have I?", said Dag, all the while devouring the apple. "Anyway, call a priest. Gods is their job as ships is mine".
"True enough", agreed Ecgberht. "I shall see to it".
"Good. In the meanwhile, how's recruiting going?".
The dark-haired youth remained silent for a while, carefully weighing his thoughts before he spoke.
"Egil Mattson has joined us with his SONJA".
"That makes two".
"And two is all there'll be".
Dag flung the bare core to the sea.
"And why is that?", he asked, though he knew the answer well enough.
"None of the great captains and shipwrights care to take part in this venture of yours, Dag. Dangerous they call it, and madness! And even if we convinced some of the fisherfolk to come, you know they wouldn't be much help, so I didn't bother with them in the first place! Well, that's all I could do, if you can exert some power to gather us ships, then do it, dammit!".
All of a sudden, Ecgberht lost his composure and became again a sweating, trembling boy. Dag could now see the long days of negotiation taking their toll on his protegé.
"All right", he said in a calm, reassuring voice. "Have some rest, boy. I'll take over from here on".
A sigh of relief escaped Ecgberht's lips, yet his face still held a good amount of worry.
"They won't come, Dag", he said, "we're alone".
"I'll see that they do, son".
Dag stood up and left the cabin, a thousand worries swarming in his mind.
He had just set foot on ground when he heard Ecgberht calling from behind.
"When are they announcing it?", asked the boy. Ægir's grace, how long has he been at the docks?, thought Dag Alhgren.
"Today", he answered, yelling over the rising zephyr.