Twilight distorted the landmarks as Óttar’s longship neared the harbour of Dorestad.
“Jarl, I beg you not to enter the port this evening,” Ishaq said mysteriously.
“Whyever not?”
“It will become clear when I return on the morrow.”
The Norseman stared, perplexed, at the Arab, but he had grown to trust the man.
“Find a mooring nearby, Lord, where you can set me ashore, and I’ll try to be back for noon tomorrow when I’ll explain everything, and we can enter the harbour.”
In the fading light, Óttar discerned a sandy beach and, assuring himself from the prow that the seabed was not rocky, he had the steersman run the ship onto the strand.
“Be back when you said, Ishaq, or I’ll send Talib to hunt for you!”
“That won’t be necessary. Bkhatrak.” With this solemn farewell, Ishaq bowed deeply
