The Viking Storm

It’s June 8th in the year 793 AD. A monk strolls along the beach of Lindisfarne off the coast of Northumberland. This is Holy Island, the spiritual heart of the Kingdom of Northumbria. The air is thick with fog and the churchman’s woollen robe grows damp and heavy. It’s been a strange year, one full of ill omens. The brothers have witnessed whirlwinds, lightning storms and the shapes of dragons in the clouds. Some believe it is a sign of God’s wrath and the echoes of impending doom. 

Something makes the monk pause. He thinks he can hear voices in the mist. He squints into the gloom that shrouds the North Sea. He listens to the strange cries and shouts ringing out in the distance. Terns and guillemots shriek overhead, muddling the sounds. The monk’s eyes may be dim from working on manuscripts late into the night, but he senses something is out there. A rhythmic thunder of drums grows nearer and nearer. Then the fog swirls and a monster appears. A fearsome head, a serpent or a dragon, with bared teeth. The monk cannot move for fear. As the beast tears through the vale of mist, he sees it is not a monster, but the carved prow of a ship… 

Read the full story in This Is Northumberland 2024