A Night in the Manx Museum Read online

  Ellen gasped. Gone was the quiet room, with the big screens, that she knew so well. She walked into a huge echoing space, full of raucous screeches and swishing wings. There was a strange moonlit luminescence in the air which was filled with wheeling shapes. Something swooped over their heads and Ellen ducked but Sophie just laughed.

  “It’s always like this. It’s a madhouse.”

  Suddenly something furry wrapped itself around Ellen’s legs and she jumped with fright. Sophie stooped and picked up a purring black and white cat. “This is Rumpy, the Manx Cat.”

  Ellen stroked the silky fur, much softer than the sheep’s. The cat shut his eyes and purred louder. Ellen looked around watching the birds swirling around the ceiling and other shapes moving out in and out of the shadows. She wondered how many other animals were going to surprise her. Most of them seemed to be ignoring the two girls, going about their business or having fun. Then something bounced towards them and Ellen was astonished to see a small white kangaroo.

  “This is Bouncer, the wallaby,” Sophie said, “Hello Bouncer.”

  “What’s a wallaby doing here? I thought that they live in Australia.”

  “This one doesn’t. His mother and father were born in the Wildlife Park. They escaped with a lot of the others, when there was a storm and some fences came down. Bouncer was born in the North of the island. It’s his home as much as it is ours.” She laid a hand on his head but the wallaby kept on bouncing beside her, his head reaching her face until he could touch her with his tongue. Sophie reached into her pocket and came out with an apple, which she fed to the eager creature.

  “He’s my favourite,” she explained, “although I like Billy and Rumpy too. I haven’t brought my skipping rope today. I forgot. You should see him skipping. He’s the best.”

  Another drip fell on Ellen’s hand and she looked up. The ceiling was strangely empty. Something was missing. A huge shape should have been there and was not.

  “Where’s the whale? It’s gone!”

  Sophie smiled. “Jonah’s gone for a swim. We call him Jonah after the man that was swallowed by a whale, although our Jonah says he would do no such thing. Men don’t taste nice. All the sea creatures go out for a swim at night with Manannan. They have lots of fun. Once, Jonah told me, he surfaced under a boat and almost made it tip over. The people screamed so he dived and swam away under water and they never knew what had happened. He likes jumping the waves and exploring the bays. He sometimes chases the Ben my Chree, but he thinks she is slow. The old boats were faster. He’s been here a long time, so he knew them all, the ones that brought the visitors. You should smell him when he comes back, all salty and sea weedy. He drips all over the other animals until they shout at him.”

  “How do they get out of the Museum, with all the beams and everything? Whales can’t walk on dry land to get to the sea.”

  “I don’t really know,” Sophie said thoughtfully, “but some of the animals can get in and out. The whale and the porpoises can, perhaps it is because they are with Manannan and he is a sea god as well as the ruler here. None of the humans can leave, unless Monarch takes them on his back. Monarch can leave, although he isn’t a sea creature at all, but he is very old. He’s the oldest of all of us here. You’ll meet him later,” she paused. “That reminds me, Manannan will be back soon and I’d rather not be here.” She patted the sheep and the wallaby and put the cat back onto the floor. “Goodbye everyone, see you tomorrow.” She waved and Ellen did the same, “Come on, I want you to meet someone very special and she lives next door.”

  Chapter Four: The Pagan Lady’s Tale.

  “Quiet now. I don’t want them to hear. Watch the third step, it creaks.”

  The two girls tiptoed round the wall, holding their breath and trying hard to make no noise. Sophie pointed and Ellen saw an amazing sight. There was a village, with canoes lying on a riverbank, surrounded by tall reeds. A man was paddling a canoe lazily up the stream while another stood in the bow, a spear in his hand, looking into the river.

  “What’s he doing?” Ellen whispered.

  “Fishing.”

  Wood smoke spiralled up from holes in some of the round huts that looked just like haystacks to Ellen. The smell was incredible, musty and earthy and horrid. It made her nose tickle and she wanted to sneeze. She gripped her nose and was just able to stop it. A group of men were sitting round a small fire on the shore, talking and holding staves into the flames. One man was rubbing something bright with a stone.

  “They’re hardening lances and sharpening arrowheads.”

  Sophie pointed to a large hut set back from the rest, near to the forest. “There. That’s where Ragna lives. Let’s go.”

  Ellen hesitated, not liking the look of the men round the fire. They looked hairy and uncouth and she could smell them from where she stood.

  Sophie tugged at her sleeve. “Come on. Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you but I don’t want them to see us. They’ll want to talk and they are so boring. All they talk about is hunting and fishing and fighting and they go on and on. We’ll never get away. Ragna is different. Her stories are exciting and you haven’t heard them yet.”

  They made their way carefully around the back of the village, dodging behind bushes whenever any of the men walked past and Sophie knocked softly on the doorpost of the largest hut.

  “Ragna, it’s me, Sophie and I’ve brought a friend,” she called softly.

  “Come in then,” said a voice from inside.

  Ellen thought it sounded strangely like her mother’s friend from Norway. The girls stooped and crawled through the low doorway into the hut. It was dark inside and smoky. A fire was flickering in the centre of the room, its smoke rising through a hole in the roof. Gusts of wind were sending eddies spiralling round and round the thatch. Ellen thought that it smelled like Bonfire Night, although, of course, that hadn’t been invented yet. There was enough light from the fire to make out the shape of chests against the walls and a long low bench beside the fire. A tall woman rose from the bench to greet them, the top of her head just brushing the thatched roof. Her hair was grey and braided and the robes she wore were grey too. The only colour about her was a pretty necklace made of beads, which were red and yellow and blue. She stooped and kissed Sophie’s cheek then turned to Ellen.

  “This is Ellen; she’s come to visit us.” Sophie made the introductions.

  “Welcome.” The lady kissed Ellen too. Her lips felt cold and Ellen felt the same strange tingle as she had felt when she had first taken Sophie’s hand.

  “I’ve told Ellen about your wonderful stories. Have you time to tell us one now, please?”

  The lady laughed and pointed to the bench beside the fire. “I have time. Sit then.” She went to one of the chests and returned carrying two small cups, filled with a liquid the colour of amber, which she handed to the girls.

  Ellen sipped cautiously. The liquid tasted sweet, like sunlight falling onto flowers and it had the same tingle as the lady’s lips. For a moment Ellen wondered if she had been wise to drink it. Perhaps it was magic and would take her away to a strange place, from where she could never return, like in a fairytale. The lady sat down opposite the two girls and the swirling smoke from the fire veiled her, so that she seemed to be unearthly.

  “Which of my stories would you like to hear?”

  “Tell us about how you came to the island,” Sophie answered and the lady smiled.

  “Again?”

  “I love it! Please?”

  “Well then,” her voice took on the singsong lilt of the storyteller. “I was born in a far away place on the shores of the Northern Sea, the first girl child after seven boys. It was foretold at my birth that I should see many strange things and die in a land far from my home. And indeed, so it happened. Although my father and my eldest brother were farmers, each of my other brothers, as soon as they were old enough, left the village and went to sea to join the raiders, who brought home beautiful things from far away places. It was a
common enough happening in the North. The last one, Knut, was not even fourteen when he asked my father for permission to leave. I cried when I heard that he was to go. That night I had a dream that the sea had turned red with Knut’s blood. I was only ten and a girl at that, but I went to my father and begged him not to let Knut go. Although he listened to me, he laughed and dismissed my fears, thinking them only the silliness of a child who did not want to part with her playmate.

  So Knut went with the others, but the long ship returned without him. They had sailed into a little creek to raid a village. They had been seen and they were ambushed as they came ashore. Knut never even got to dry land. One of the villagers attacked him as he waded through the surf, and stabbed him with a sword. He fell into the water and his blood turned it red, just as I had seen in my dream. My father grieved deeply and, in his grief, he remembered and sent for me. I was afraid, because I thought I had done something wrong, yet I tried to stand up straight and not let my fear show, because my father admired bravery and had no time for cowards.

  ‘Tell me, girl, why did you ask me to stop Knut from leaving?’

  ‘On the night he was to go, I had a dream…’ I faltered, as the memory came back with all its seething horror. I did not know it myself, but someone told me that I went sheet white and they thought I would faint.

  My father stopped that. ‘Tell me!’ he ordered in the tone that all the village knew had to be obeyed and I told him.

  ‘The sea was all red,’ I said, living it again, ‘and it was red with blood. There were hazy figures wading through the surf and they were fighting with swords and axes. I could see Knut fighting a man almost twice his size. He was fighting well, just as you had taught him, but another man came and stabbed him from behind. I saw the blade pass through his chest. He fell into the waves and they turned red with his blood. I knew I would never see him again if he went. That is why I asked you not to let him go on this voyage.’ I shivered with the memory.

  My father sighed and beckoned a man who was standing in the shadows at the side of the hall. It was Sven, the captain of the boat.

  ‘Is that how it was?’ my father asked him.

  ‘That is how it was,’ Sven confirmed.

  My father turned to me. ‘Have you had other dreams like that?’

  ‘I dream often,’ I said, ‘but many times I cannot remember the dreams when I wake up. Only once, I saw Erik falling from the hill and breaking his leg. I saw where he was lying and went to tell my mother. By the time I found her, they were carrying him down, so I never told anyone about my dream.’

  ‘Thank you, child,’ my father said, dismissing me, ‘send your mother to me.’

  After that, my father sent me to the wise woman to be trained to understand the meaning of my dreams and how to use them for the good of the village. I came to realise that when the dream was clear and I remembered it fully, it was a true vision of the future. As I grew older, word spread among the people and voyagers came to tell me about their plans and to ask me what would happen to them. Sometimes I saw nothing, and that was often a good sign. Sometimes I saw great riches and sometimes I saw disaster. If that happened, they usually changed their plans. But one captain, Snorri, did not believe me and took his crew out into the White Sea. They never returned.

  Many years later, I had a dream so startling and so exact that I cried out in my sleep and woke the household. For three nights I dreamed the same dream and it frightened me so much that I began to try to stay awake, so I should not dream it again. I saw my brother, Brodir, being tortured by foreigners. But, although I tried hard, I could not stay awake. The fourth time, I dreamed that a long ship was coming up the coast, to bring me to my brothers in the land where I should die, as had been foretold at my birth.

  In the morning, I told my daughter and grandson about my dream and my journey but not yet the reason for it. Both of them asked to come with me, although they knew how hard and uncomfortable the voyage would be and how uncertain their lives would be in the strange place where I was going. That night, I dreamed of the ship again but this time I saw all three of us going aboard. So the following day we packed and were waiting when the ship reached the shore.

  The journey was as hard and uncomfortable as we had thought. It was rough and very cold, although we were used to cold and the crew did their best to protect us. The wind was strong and we scudded along under half a sail, passing rocky islands seen dimly through spray and hearing the roar of the waves on the pebbles. There were days when ice had to be chipped from the rigging. Everyone took a turn and my hands turned red from the cold. Only the men who were rowing were warm. But my grandson thrived, in spite of his youth or because of it. I taught him the patterns of the waves and the stars, as I had been taught long ago by Astrior, the wise woman for whom I named my daughter. My daughter and I suffered much from the cold. When we awoke, our limbs were feeble but I insisted that we work as hard as we could. It warmed us and we ended the voyage with all our fingers and toes and the ends of our noses.

  I shall never forget the end of our journey. A green island grew slowly out of the sea mist, with rocky cliffs and a round bay, not long and thin like the fjords at home. Houses were grouped on a small islet at the Southern end of the bay. We entered just at sunset. Red and gold clouds streamed across the sky, like banners welcoming us. I knew that this was the land where I should spend the last years of my life and which would become my last home.

  ‘Your brother is waiting for you,’ Olaf, son of Sven, captain of the ship, pointed to the shore just below a fine longhouse.

  I shaded my eyes and saw my brother, Ospak, among the group of men waiting on the strand.

  ‘My family and I thank you for your care,’ I said to Olaf, who had indeed done as much as he could to make our journey pleasant.

  Ospak met us as we left the ship and embraced me. It was many years since I had seen him. The stocky youth had become a strong fearsome warrior. His dark beard and flowing hair were touched with grey. Yet, when I looked into his eyes, it was as if I saw the boy he had been, when he was filled with anxiety and fear. My daughter and grandson were kneeling before him and I suddenly remembered that this was no longer just my brother.

  ‘Should I kneel to you now, my brother, since you have become a mighty warrior and the leader of many men?’ I asked.

  He smiled his old smile, the smile of the lad who had sailed from his home never to return and found his fortune in a strange land.

  ‘No need,’ he laughed, ‘your fame is the equal of my own and I have need of you.’

  ‘That is why I am here,’ I said and he led me into his house.

  That night, Ospak laid his problem before me. King Siggtrygg Silkbeard was mounting an attack on the Irish, who, for once, were united under their king, Brian Boru, to drive the Viking forces from the land that they had settled around Dublin. Ospak and our brother, Brodir, had been asked to take part in the fight. Ospak had some skill in foretelling the future and, although he had given his word to the king, he knew that the omens were unfavourable. He was unsure whether to join the Viking forces and fulfil his oath. All during the voyage, my dreams had continued and they were dreams of disaster, but not for Ospak. The face that I saw was always that of our brother, Brodir. But I was concerned that the rough seas and the cold of our journey might have caused my dreams to be untrue. I asked my brother when he needed to make his decision and he told me that Brodir was due to return in two days time. They would then set sail for Ireland. I said that I would use the time to see if my dreams changed, now that we had landed.

  Comfortable quarters were found for us and I retired early. Each night I dreamed, but I told no one what I had seen until Brodir returned. Then I asked to see each of my brothers alone and without any of their servants or fighting men.

  ‘Your fates are different,’ I told them, ‘and the decisions you make may be different too. But those decisions should be your own and not influenced by each other.’ I spoke to Ospak first.

&n
bsp; ‘If you accept my dreams for truth, you will leave King Siggtrygg and join forces with the Irish King Brian. There will be a great battle at a place outside Dublin called Clontarf and the Irish will win this battle with your help. They will be grateful. You will return to this island with much silver and renown and rule here for a long time in peace.’

  ‘And if I continue in my alliance with the King?’

  ‘You will die at the very beginning of the battle and most of your followers will die also. Few will return to tell the tale.’

  Ospak nodded. ‘Your words confirm the signs that I and others have seen.’ He sat looking into the fire, deep in thought.

  ‘What will you do?’ I asked.

  ‘I must think further. It is no light thing to cast aside my allegiance.’ It was indeed a terrible choice, to join with foreigners against your own people. But the dream had been so clear.

  ‘No harm will come to you if you do so,’ I comforted him.

  ‘Not even to my fame?’ he asked ruefully, ‘I would be fighting with strangers against my own kin and that is a fearsome thing to do.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but the bravery of all those who will fight at Clontarf will be remembered no matter on which side they fight. Should you join King Brian, you will be fighting with the people of the land against the invader and it will not be forgotten.’

  ‘Is this the path you would have me take?’ he asked.

  I shook my head, knowing that now my work was done and I must leave him to make the choice for himself. ‘I cannot make the decision for you; I can only describe the outcome of my dreams. I would wish that both my brothers survive the coming battle, but that decision is not mine and I can only wish you well.’