The increasing wind had made Groot quiet and ill-tempered. His ship was tacking due north in a stiff westerly and his large hands and forearms worked hard on the heavy rudder. Heinrich noticed the man’s obsession with the sky and he could see concern in the man’s tight, sun-etched face. Groot motioned for his passenger to come close and Heinrich lurched his way to the stern. “Go below,” Groot bellowed.
“Aye, sir. Is all well?”
“Ja. We’ve nearly a hundred leagues to the tip of Jutland. With a heavy cargo and light winds we would’ve made about ten leagues a day. With this wind well be doubling that, but if it blows harder well begin to slow. She tacks good in strong wind, but poorly in high.”
Heinrich nodded politely. He knew nothing of the sea. He did know, however, that he could walk more than one league in an hour so he was surprised to learn the ship normally only traveled ten leagues from dawn to dawn. “I thought the ship might go faster.”
Groot shook his head. “Not these merchants. The old Vikings could travel six or seven times what we do, but their fighting ships were sleek and made for speed. Now, you needs get below; the wind’s up.”
Heinrich ducked beneath the deck and found a comfortable corner atop a few baskets of oats. There he lay the rest of that day and all of the night following, but he awakened as sick and miserable as any man could be. His belly rolled and his skin turned a clammy white. He scrambled to the deck frequently to vomit into the water, believing for all the world that he might die. By midday and all the night next he lay and wished that he had been slain in the battle. “If God has mercy, let Him take m’soul from this cursed boat!” he groaned.
On the fourth day the winds eased and Groot permitted his passenger to crawl onto the deck once more. The crew greeted the baker of Weyer with howls of laughter as the poor wretch dragged himself to the high wedge of the bow. There he let a cool wind soothe his haggard face. A kind oarsman handed Heinrich a tankard of beer and a strip of salted fish.
“Oh, dear God above,” groaned Heinrich weakly, “I cannot! Methinks I shall surely die.”
The sailor laughed and slapped him on the back. “Goed man, je leven!”
On the sixth day, Groot navigated his ship around the point of Denmark and steered his ship east-southeast toward the Swedish town of Götheborg in the lands of West Gothland. He was relieved to have seen no pirates but was surprised to find that only a handful of merchantmen were on the sea. September was usually safe, and the first to get a harvest to dock earned the highest profits. “Heinrich, we’ve but five days to port. Can you live a bit longer?” He laughed.
Heinrich was feeling a little better and smiled halfheartedly. “Aye, sir, methinks so, but can y’not keep the sea still for me?” He leaned across the smooth rail of the rolling ship and stared at the blue horizon. Somewhere in the distance the sky and the sea merged into one and the man marveled. He scanned the distant view and watched the water shimmer, reflecting all the colors of the rainbow. “Ah, Frau Emma,” he sighed, “if only you could see this!”
The ship rose and fell rhythmically on the North Sea’s waves and Heinrich sat comfortably with his back against the salt-worn walls of the ship’s deck. He closed his eye to enjoy the music of the groaning hull, the sailcloth in the wind, and the rub of ropes. But thoughts began to creep over him like an army of shadows consuming a fragile light. His mind began to fill with the images of Weyer and his past. He suddenly saw Baldric’s face and he chilled. He saw the stern faces of abbots and monks, priests, stewards—and Marta, staring at him with contempt and cruelty. It was as if he could hear them shaming him for his betrayal. The man felt sick. He was so very confused, so very disoriented that he did not know which world was real and which was not.
He opened his eye with a start. Sins and penance, he groaned inwardly. I’ve yet to know how to save m’lads or Marta from m’wicked past. Oh, dear saints! I’ve truly forfeited all I’ve come for. My soul and theirs may he in greater jeopardy now than when I left! A nervous flutter tickled his empty belly and his mouth went dry. I raised m’arm against the army of the Church! I am a runaway; I have coveted the freedom of the Stedingers, filled my heart with pride; I’ve indulged m’self with joy… Oh wicked man that I am! Surely, I must find a great penance. A grumble from Groot distracted Heinrich from his internal diatribe.
The captain’s face was turned to the west; his round nose was lifted like that of a hound scenting the air. Heinrich climbed to his feet and followed the captain’s gaze to a menacing bank of clouds mounting in the western horizon. What he did not see, however, was what only a seaworthy Frisian could see. Some distance behind the ship a darting wedge of wind had ruffled the sea’s surface. To port another patch was stirred, then another. A pocket of cold air swelled the sail and the ship lurched a little.