The Norseman Page 2

  Weakly attempting to play his game I asked, “Who should I have wed by now?”

  “There are many maids who would like to marry you. Astrid Grimsdottir, Hild the Lean, or even Freydis.”

  The last elicited a light chortle from me. Freydis was Leif’s sister. And though very fair, with long curling red hair, she would not have me. In fact, I had asked her to be my wife just one year ago at the autumnal equinox. As with all Norse women, she was independent and free to choose a mate as much as any man was free to do so. She, however, had inherited her Norse father’s wild streak. Freydis had other plans and they did not include me. To her credit, she never told anyone she had turned down my offer; not even her family.

  Leif was more like his Icelandic mother, Thjordhildr. Intelligent, inquisitive, strategic. Even now as we walked I could see the sparkle of thought in his green eyes. These too, he had inherited from his mother and I had heard more than one maid mention that they wanted nothing more than those two green orbs to gaze upon them.

  “Maybe Tofa,” I said in jest. Tofa was a round woman of advanced years, nearly thirty, who had never married. She was somewhat infamous in the community for being seen coming from more than one man’s longhouse on many occasions.

  Leif ignored my comment and continued his conversation, “I don’t think you will marry anytime soon. I think you are to be unencumbered by domestic life in order to help me.” This was the first I had heard he had an idea like this, but I never had the chance to ask him what help he thought I was to offer him. Leif had stopped and was now pointing to a large herd of reindeer grazing on the lee side of a hill.

  Thankfully, they ignored us and tugged at the limited sustenance that the infertile soil provided. The herd was slowly eating its way down the hillside to a tributary of the creek we had followed. Leif and I picked our way among the rocks that grew out of the ground. One in particular, as tall as two men and as broad as a knarr, gave excellent cover. We approached the ship-sized boulder on the uneven ground. Leif went to the left, up the hill, and I went to the right. Each of us would pick out a separate reindeer. I looked over my left shoulder and could see that Leif had selected his quarry. Returning my gaze to the herd, I raised my bow and aimed toward a doe that appeared to be in her second or third year. I thanked Thor, Odin’s mighty son, for providing us this bounty and loosed my arrow. Other than the knowledge of a woman, there is nothing in this great world which can compare to the glory of a proper pursuit and kill. Both our targets’ eyes widened with panic when our missiles found their marks and then the herd bolted. My prey made three powerful bounds before succumbing to the iron-tipped shaft lodged deeply in her heart. She collapsed and skidded on the mossy hill. Leif’s aim was true, however, he could not draw the bow as far back as needed because he was not yet muscled like a man. His target spun, ran up, and over the hill with the rest of the herd. We would have more walking to do this day.

  We left my deer where it fell and walked up the hill to follow Leif’s deer. Based upon the blood spattered trail left behind, it would be a short chase.

  “What do you think of Bjarni’s story?” started Leif.

  “Well, we know what you think,” I said smiling with a crossways glance. “He’s a fool with too much trading success under his belt. That makes him think he knows more than he really does.”

  “Surely. But I think I’ll sail to those unknown, wooded lands someday,” Leif declared.

  “Why would you bother? Your father is building himself into jarl of Greenland. That means someday Erik’s son will be jarl if you continue in his path. Most would say that your family is the mark of true success - to move from two successive generations of outlaws and murderers to inheriting a jarldom.”

  “Thank you for speaking your mind. It’s true that both my father and grandfather have killed fellow Norsemen and were exiled, but I think my father is trying to build a respectable village today.”

  “I’m sorry for offending you. You know I dearly love your father for his aid to my family.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Halldorr Olefsson. If we are to go a-Viking, I’ll have you always speak your mind,” said Leif as if he were a wise elder giving advice to a young man. Leif continued, “Just four years ago, my father would have no doubt killed Bjarni for calling him a villain in front of his family and witnesses – in his own home, no less. Before he left last week on his latest hunting expedition with Thorvald and little Thorstein, he was actually discussing the possibility of calling a Thing in order for a public reprimand.” The Thing was an assembly held once or twice a year where all free men and women gathered from their farms along the fjords. We would settle disputes and one of the leaders in the community would recite a portion of the law so that no man could claim ignorance.

  “How civilized,” I said.

  This comment brought a genuine laugh from Leif, who shrugged saying, “The life of a jarl, always important to live with respect.”

  And then blood. Rounding a curve while following the animal’s path, we came face-to-face with a group of five skraeling men. Two of them were crouched over Leif’s now dead reindeer and looked as though they were ready to start the butchering process. The other three were scattered about what seemed to be their camp. They looked thin and hungry. Given our less-than-friendly past encounters, both sides reacted quickly. The nearest skraeling threw a stone-tipped spear. Leif responded swiftly, shoving me to my left. I felt searing pain as the spear removed my right ear lobe. I landed in a heap with my blood pouring into my right eye.

  By the time I clamored to my feet and drew my saex, Leif already had parted the spear thrower with his right arm. Blood sprayed onto Leif’s cloak. The other four were quickly closing in on Leif, their spears held firmly in both hands. When fighting men with spears, experience taught me it’s best to get close so as to mitigate the advantage they have in reach. We further had the advantage of steel to their sharpened stone.

  Running from behind Leif, I touched his right shoulder with my left hand and moved past him to directly engage the men. My aggressive move surprised them so that I had the upper hand. One man took a step back and tripped over the deer carcass. While tumbling back, his spear caught between the legs of another who also went down. The second man who fell was closer and I crashed my blade into his chest with a hacking move. I could feel ribs shattering as I created a deep gash. Thankfully, my blade did not become trapped in the skraeling’s body, so I pulled it free to move on the man who fell over the deer. He had rolled over on all fours and was rapidly crawling for his spear which landed a few paces to the right. With both hands, I plunged the saex into his back, severing his spine with a pop.

  Turning, I saw that Leif was fighting one of the others. I ignored them and looked for the last opponent. The final skraeling had a look of fright upon his face. Our eyes met and my face, bloodied with my own and two other men’s blood, convinced him to run. I started to pursue, but within several steps remembered my bow. I slipped the saex into my belt and pulled my bow off my back. In one motion I set the arrow’s notch on the bow cord, drew, and released. The arrow penetrated the man’s back, burst his left lung, and was buried up to the feather fletching. He went down, splitting his forehead open on a sharp rock as light colored blood bubbled from his back.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around, drawing and raising my knife to eliminate the threat. There stood a sweating Leif with a bloody sword in his hand. Behind him lay a head no longer attached to the skraeling he had been fighting.

  Now it was time to work efficiently for there may have been more skraelings in the area. Still holding my saex, I turned to the reindeer and finished slitting the animal’s neck so that I could drain the blood. While I lightened the deer’s weight, Leif searched the small amount of baggage the skraelings brought with them. The only item of value was a small bundle of lemming and hare hides which Leif placed on his back after fashioning shoulder straps from sinew cords the men had with them. I finished draining the blood, removed the le
ast desirable organs from the deer, and we then hefted it onto my shoulders for the trip back to Eystribyggo. My own blood had stopped flowing from my ear, but with each step the rubbing of the deer’s belly served to aggravate the wound.

  We quickly began the short trek back to the reindeer I felled when Leif said, “That carnage could come back to us with ill many times over.”

  “Yes, but what could we do?” I protested. “No one can blame us for our actions.”

  “You’re wrong, Halldorr. They attacked first, but we could have made peaceful overtures, even then.” Leif paused and then added, “I long to distance myself from my father and his past, not repeat it.”

  Leif was no coward but talk like this was not expected of a Norseman. Most certainly not one who would lead men someday, as Leif clearly aimed to do. How would he inspire loyalty with such moderation? I feared that circumstances or fate would force Leif to accept a cloak of violence in his life. I tried to shift the subject in a more positive direction, “Your father is becoming a good and fair man toward others. Since my father’s death he has been nothing if not kind to me. And remember, some of his victims in Norway were the men who killed my father. I will always respect Erik for avenging my family and finishing the blood feud.”

  Leif finished the turn in the conversation, “I am lucky to have you with me. My father is lucky to have a man like you in his household. Without you, I would not have survived that fight.”

  He was giving a speech again. I quipped, “Your father is lucky that my father Olef thought so highly of him that he saved his life twice.” Kicking at a stone in our path I said, “At this rate, Olef’s son will be forced to save Erik’s son as many times as there are rocks in Greenland.”

  Leif slapped my back and smiled, “I am proud to have you in my adopted family. You know, I have never really taken any time to understand you or my brothers before.”

  “You’re complicated Leif. I am simple. I long for a good woman in my bed, many children, and some modest adventure in the summers. That’s it. You talk of understanding others and of leadership,” I said shaking my head. “You worry about who you are. I know of no man who talks as you do.”

  Shrugging Leif said, “I want to be named in the sagas as a leader without flaw; as someone who cared for his men first and led the Norse to new discoveries. I want to be in the songs of the skalds a thousand years from now - mentioned only after the exploits of the gods.”

  Taking our first steps over the hill to my deer I said, “Here before us is another chance for you to show your restraint and leadership.” Leif’s glance followed my outstretched hand pointing to Bjarni and several of his men hoisting my deer from the ground with the intent to take her as their own. Bjarni waved to us while smiling. My anger burned and the only thing that kept me from attacking down the hill was Leif’s surprisingly firm grip on my left arm. I looked to Leif who wore the same knowing smile he flashed in Brattahlid on the day of Bjarni’s arrival.

  News of our brief battle with the skraelings arrived in the village before we did. Bjarni had been tracking us all morning and hurried ahead because he thought spreading the news would cause a stir against Erik’s family. For reasons I did not understand, he hated Erik. And now for reasons I did understand, he also hated Leif and me.

  The two of us tromped through a flock of puffins along the rocks outside Eystribyggo, scattering them out into the fjord. Like the birds, a large group of men and women awaited our return. Unfortunately they did not scatter, encircling us instead. Bjarni stood on the edge of the group, carrying the hide from my reindeer, eager to cause trouble. He shouted his version of the day’s events above the noise of the clamoring villagers, “My men and I set about hunting reindeer when we came upon Olefsson and the young trouble-maker Eriksson stalking a group of skraelings. They surprised the hunters immediately, killing most. Unfortunately, they let many escape. Those fugitives will surely rally more of their kinsmen against us. I fear these two,” said Bjarni, pointing an accusing finger to Leif and me, vitriol spouting, “will bring nothing but the wrath of Odin on us all!”

  The crowd was energized by Bjarni’s story and the small collection of villagers was steadily growing larger. My shoulders were on fire from the weight of the deer and yet I stood with it yet perched, dumbfounded by the attention. My ear throbbed. Leif looked around as if he were surveying a landscape, taking in the sights.

  When he judged that the crowd had enough time for their say, Leif’s mouth opened to form a retort, but another familiar voice boomed from the shingle. “Two hundred men and women! Have you decided to begin the Eriksfjord Thing without Erik?” Erik stood tall in the prow of his longship, his flaming red hair capturing the wind and looking like fire from the frightening dragon carving. The crowd silenced and each turned to face their leader. Erik gestured behind him into the hold, “Narwhal, seal, and walrus fill my ship to feed and enrich my family and my people. Yet I, your jarl, return to find those same people gaping at two young men.” Pointing to the fading sun low in the sky he shouted, “Winternights is nearly upon us and you think we have the luxury of time?” he reprimanded. “We shall gather at Fridr Rock following the full moon.” With that, he leapt onto the land and strode into the awaiting arms of Thjordhildr and his beloved Brattahlid.

  Defeated, Bjarni silently turned and walked toward the northeast where his men were building a rock and sod longhouse on his father’s new Greenland farm to survive the winter. The rest of the host recognized the need to get back to their homes and business for the evening and dispersed leaving Leif and me, covered in dried blood standing by ourselves. For a short time we watched as Thorvald Eriksson, Leif’s older brother, supervised the unloading of the hunting spoils listed by Erik. Leif’s youngest brother, Thorstein, alternated between skipping stones into the fjord and pretending to battle several other boys who he imagined were Irish skraelings.

  I turned wearily to Brattahlid and entered the growing, impressive compound while Leif set down his baggage and went to help his brother at the ship. At the center of the estate was the largest longhouse in Greenland – nearly one hundred feet long by sixteen feet wide – for Erik’s family. There were several other less substantial buildings surrounding it for livestock and storage. I had my own modest longhouse on the property which was separated from the main house by a small pasture for sheep, pigs, goats, and cattle. Chickens roamed freely throughout the farm until winter weather forced them to be brought inside. The smallest structures on the estate were for the expanding population of thralls owned by Erik.

  I finally set my deer down outside the main house stretching my sore arms. I looked out over the fjord. The still water carried icebergs which reflected the waning sun. Despite the harshness of Greenland, Erik had indeed selected the most beautiful spot when the outcast, his family, and his men arrived here just over four years ago. It was at the innermost tip of Eriksfjord where we were somewhat protected from the arctic wind. Outlaw to jarl. It was an amazing story how the twice-exiled Erik and a handful of followers turned this remote outpost into a growing civilization. Norsemen and women in Greenland numbered almost nine hundred by this time.

  Crouching down I made quick work of the deer in the waning light. Tyrkr approached with a bucket of milk from Erik’s goats. Tyrkr was a thrall who the Danes had taken from one of the Germanic Tribes to their south. He was sold into slavery as a boy and found his way to Norway some years ago where Erik acquired him. He was a stout man of modest height and dedicated without question to his master. Tyrkr made up for his lack of cleverness with that utter devotion but also incredible strength. He was highly valued among Erik’s men. I called to him “Did you find yourself a woman with big tits to give you that milk?”

  “I did. Your mother is very pleasant to milk and seems to appreciate my company,” he answered in his heavily accented Norse. Typically, a thrall would not be allowed to speak in such familiar terms to a free man, but I liked Tyrkr. Because of Erik’s appreciation of him, too, he certainly
got away with more than any other slave I had ever seen. “Is that blood?” he asked.

  “Skraeling blood,” I answered with not a little derision. The German did not even bristle at the potential slight. All foreigners were potentially skraeling to a Norseman. Most would have used that term to describe Tyrkr as well. But his simplistic loyalty overlooked my mistake. “Take this meat and see that it is properly salted; prepare the hide for future use too.”

  “Certainly Halldorr,” and he was off again to do the work of Brattahlid.

  I usually ate my meals in the main house with the family, so I took the five steps to the door and entered the welcome hall. The curtain which separated the entrance hall from the kitchen hearth area was pulled back allowing the scent from the evening meal to reach my hungry lips. Two household thralls worked on a dinner of boiled mutton seasoned with birch bolete mushrooms and imported onions. Another of the thralls prepared fresh bread. The bread eaten in Erik’s house was the finest available. He could afford to trade for wheat as opposed to the barley bread consumed by most. The burning hearth created warmth to fight off the chill that came with the dropping of the sun.

  Several curtained rooms separated this end of the house from the far end of the longhouse which served as the master bedroom. From that end I heard the pleasure-filled moans of Thjordhildr as Erik had missed the companionship of his wife while he hunted. No one else paid the sounds of passion any attention, but in me they stirred images of a young and naked, red-headed woman joined with me under a soft linen blanket. Groaning to myself I gave a wicked grin to no one in particular.