The Ice Path: A Way Forward, page 10
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
Whatever she told him, her words calmed the leader of her tribe, and he smiled, showing filed teeth. She gripped her bone necklace like an amulet, to show status, Thorvald thought. Like the woman, the chieftain’s face was decorated with red dye in swirling shapes and patterns. The Norsemen smiled back. Eirik said, quietly, that if these were a different people from the smaller and darker skraelings, they might think of the Norsemen as being more like themselves. Thorvald agreed. The chieftain led them through his village, showing him which lodges were still used, his tone changing, lower, when they passed ones which were empty. It was too bad they couldn’t understand a single word he said. The whole tribe, mostly red and golden haired, followed behind them, whispering among themselves. There seemed to be about twenty or thirty of them, and most of the few men among them bore scars and halfhealed wounds. The next day, after being given some unknown roasted meat and gourds of water, and shown a lodge they could sleep in, the six Norse crewmen found out why.
It had been an uneasy night of little rest, especially with such a communication gap between them and their hosts. The chief had tried over dinner, at the fire. By motioning to themselves and towards the sea, Thorvald had shown him that they were from a different land. By gesturing to himself and then to three other points to the north and west, the chief demonstrated that there were other tribes like themselves. But when he gestured to the south, his chopping motions were clear enough. These people seemed quick-witted and clever, laughing and joking and eyeing the newcomers with open curiosity. Eirik, Harold, the two Sigurdsson brothers and Halfdan, ate hungrily, but Thorvald was too busy trying to learn as much as he could about where this tribe had come from. It was clear that they weren’t Norse. While their stone blades were cunningly crafted, there was no metal to be seen, anywhere. That struck him as strange.
The Viking shipmaster was still pondering the mystery, tightly rolled in the robe of furs he had been given once the fire had died, when a woman’s scream cut through the early dawn. Used to always being on guard, the half dozen Norse rolled loose and scrambled to their feet, axes and swords ready. More yells came, now, further away from the lake, towards the mountain past the village. A quick look outside into the gray sunrise told them that there was fighting among the empty lodges. Halfdan and Eirik were yelling in confusion, as the rest of the crew stumbled out the door, pushing aside the hide covering. As
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
one, the crew raced towards the sound of battle. Such was the way of their people.
Thorvald reached the nearest burning lodge first, where fires had been set by whomever their hosts were noisily fighting. Two forms lay unmoving on the ground, and another crawled away, though the smoke was too thick to see who they were. A tangle of figures fought, hand to hand, in between the empty buildings. Eirik caught up with him just as Thorvald charged at the side with the lesser height, assuming they were the enemy. He was right. It was hard to join the struggle, except by pulling the darker and shorter forms away and dispatching them. Their swords cut through wooden spear shafts and the arms beneath, their axes smashing skulls like no stone weapon could. The six of them quickly turned the tide, butchering the childlike skraelings nearly soundlessly. The rest turned and fled back into the smoke. Then they helped the tribe drag their wounded and dead clear of the spreading flames. The women and children and old folk were hauling water from the lake in wooden buckets and skins to douse the embers nearest the unburned lodges. Soon, it was all over.
Eleven of the enemy, dressed in cruder skins and with poorer weapons, lay in small brown clumps where they had fallen. They would be gathered and burned, far separate from the three men and two women of their host tribe who had died. It was a lucky thing that the women had been carrying water from the lake, and seen the fires being set. But they had paid the ultimate price for their warning. The crew spent the day helping to clean up the mess, while the mourning began. That night they were treated with great respect. There were only two healthy men left in the tribe who were old enough to fight, and they stared longingly at the steel weapons they had seen wreak such havoc, firsthand. The six or eight women of childbearing age looked at the crew themselves, with similar expressions. The chieftain, though, retired early, wounded in the fight, it seemed. The next day, sore and tired upon waking, the crew began to grumble again. They wanted to leave, and lacked Thorvald’s curiosity about these people. Halfdan had a wife and sons, and the Sigurdsson brothers both missed their parents, at home. They had been too young to make such a voyage, Eirik had warned him. He and Harold didn’t care whether they stayed longer, but the crew was divided. And besides, there was his brother to think of. Thorvald knew he must go.
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
The chieftain could not rise to clasp hands with him as they left, and his face was drawn and pale. Soon he would go to Valhalla, along that cold road of bifrost. The worried looks on the faces of the women told him they feared for their future, and their children’s. Later that morning, the one they had met first followed them back to the shore, walking beside him, rubbing thoughtfully at the smooth, long tooth she wore. She reached out and touched Thorvald’s sleeve, toying with the strange cloth material, and smiled at him, hopefully. He didn’t know if she wanted to go with them, or wanted him to stay. The ship sitting loaded at the beach’s edge beckoned to him, though. Torn, he decided to fulfill his responsibility to his brother and his crew, before he thought of himself.
Three weeks later, their cargo of timber had been sold for a fair profit, enough to pay the blood price to excuse Sven from his feud debt. The crew swore each other to secrecy about the tribe they had found. Thorvald stayed in Greenland, sending the weregild silver by Halfdan, on the way back to his Irish wife and half-Celt brood. After drinking it over with Eirik and Harold, they pooled the rest of their shares into buying ten swords, ten shields, and as many spearheads, knifeblades, nails, tools, pots, kettles, and arrowheads of steel as they could load into the knarr. Before the winter closed in, they ground ashore onto the beach of flattened round stones, once again. The chilling north winds had already frozen the seas near to Greenland, forcing Thorvald to follow the ice path. He had imagined, in his mind on the way over, that she would be there, waiting for him. Of course, that was folly, but he would see her soon enough. Their new tribe might not know it, yet, but they were coming home.
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
Chapter Thirteen
Not Fade Away
The new world, 500 years ago…
Captain John Wolfe had once met the Virgin Queen herself. At least, he had seen her, from his position several rows back. His sponsor, a wealthy millwright, but a commoner, had needed some fool with a drop of noble blood as his front
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
man, and that was just about how much the Captain’s family still held. Her Highness had been pleased to grant the noblesse of her own backing for the exploratory voyage. At the time he had expected her to be prettier. Or something. Even in the vastness of the hall where she held court, she seemed gangly. She must be blessed by the Almighty in some other way. But the charter he had carefully locked in the wooden chest aboard the ‘Stalwart’ at least bore her royal seal, and that was the next best thing to having stray red hairs on his lace collar, in the New World.
The Spaniards were nosing about, planting their flags and building monastaries to convert the red Indios. That was why Wolfe and his armored men were struggling through this snowy northern coastline, instead of in warmer and more welcoming climes further down the coast. They weren’t here to stay, or even to explore too deeply, just to plant their own flag and claim the region for the crown. At least, that was as far as the monarch herself knew. His sponsor was more interested in what profit might come from the new land. And not from building mills, though there were rivers enough, and more. The Spaniards were looking for their own ‘El Dorado’. Some back in England wondered if there might be cities of gold in unclaimed areas, too. Or at least enough to fill a ship’s hold and pay for the men and horses it had brought to the unsearched shores.
His mount snorted at the heavy frost covering the grass, which otherwise was the same in shape and taste as she was accustomed to back home in Kent. He said a silent prayer for divine aid in his quest. The three other mounted men behind him spurred to catch up. Their horses weren’t happy, either. They stumbled coming down the hill into the clearing. The clank of steel on steel and the creak of leather were the only sounds to compete with the call of birds too dense to migrate for the winter. Two dozen more men, and half again as many seamen, waited back aboard the Stalwart, warmed by their braziers. Yes, he chuckled to himself, the three hired soldiers who’d coldly splashed ashore with him this noon were as disgruntled as the beasts they stiffly rode.
No Spanish sail had been seen in weeks, and the time set aside for their exploration was drawing quickly to an end. If they found nothing hopeful in the next week, he would have to go back empty-handed. The Queen might accept him declaring it a success, but his sponsor would snort like his horse if he returned without a nugget of gold or silver. Then, his family honor would never
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
be polished back into semi-respectability, regardless of his inherited Baronet title. Looking past the end of the meadow, the Captain resolved that he would push further. As far as he had to, until he found something. Anything. God willing, he would return a hero of the realm.
Every other day for two weeks he had come ashore, forcing two or three of the men-at-arms to come with him. In each place he planted a cross, and claimed the land for as far as he could see on behalf of Her Royal Majesty. He was not an unreasonable leader, Wolfe thought. He never asked his soldiers to do anything that he wasn’t willing to do himself, and he never asked the same ones to make two trips in a row, before others took their turns. On the intervening days, finding nothing half a day’s ride inland and back, they sailed up the coast, trying new areas to explore. The scenery shifted, with the landscape changing, but they found few signs of any Indios, and certainly no riches or treasures to report. Save the land itself.
The first indication that today would be any different than the dozen days before were the trails cutting through the old growth trees. Where there were clearings, such as here, the tall hardwoods could be seen on all sides, but around the edges of their borders well-beaten paths snaked, broad enough to indicate frequent use. The Captain had done enough poaching to tell that no deer had made them. As the meadow narrowed again, he sent Fitzgerald to the left and Robbins to the right, to follow the serpentine foot trails until they intersected. He wanted to miss nothing. This much sign of regular activity must mean something.
The edge of the meadow faced an inclined ridge a man’s height on all sides, as if it had formed the bed of an ancient body of water, long dried out. Only a sullen trickle still ran, from sudden hidden spring, around the edge nearest Robbins. Half frozen, it made the going more treacherous. Robbins shook his head in dismay at his bad luck, at having been sent along the ice path. The others laughed at his discomfiture. The trees hung over the embankment on each side, shading the perimeter from Wolfe’s eyes. Fitzgerald and Robbins disappeared under the boughs, urging their mounts up the less steep slope. Wolfe and Shropshire saw them again when they lashed their reluctant chargers up the sandy earth, and ran into the back of the other two men’s horses. John cursed floridly, demanding to know why they had stopped like dolts just at the very top of the low rise. Robbins, the gaunt one, just pointed. There before
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
them, surrounding half the old lake bed, the trees opened up to reveal one side of a tall earthwork. Although sections of the palisade had crumbled, it had clearly been a formidable wall at one time. Straight ahead lay a squared opening, wide enough for one rider at the time to enter. Ever cautious, Captain Wolfe ordered Shropshire to clamber up to the top of the remains, to see what lay within. Fitzgerald, who up until then had contended himself with drawing the more unusual native flora they’d collected and fauna they had glimpsed during the exploration, unbound his sheets of vellum and charcoal, sketching away. Robbins and John both asked the same question, almost in the same heartbeat. “Is this it, at last?” Embarrassed, Robbins covered by calling up to Shropshire, who had found his footing and a handhold to lever himself over the lip of the steep escarpment. From there, twice the height of a man, he could see all within, he answered, and it was safe for them to follow. Forgetting his conversion, Shropshire crossed himself. The Captain pretended not to notice. Instead, he smiled and waved up at him.
Wolfe wanted to flay the man. What was that supposed to mean? Could Shropshire see streets of gold and heaps of red rubies? Was there nothing but more woods beyond the wall? Such an open-ended, meaningless gesture. Well, he’d waste no more time not seeing for himself. The landless Baronet slung himself back into the saddle, to his horse’s dismay, and kicked her in the flanks. For a moment he dared to hope, and almost closed his eyes in the instant it took to trot through the opening in the walls. Then, he saw ruin before him. A most unChristian utterance sprang forth, unbidden.
Oh, it was an impressive ruin, to be sure. It looked like there was the base of a pyramid in the center square. A long crushed rock dam diverted the creek to the lake. Fitzgerald could spend all day drawing rectangular foundations laid out in squares of four and then into several streets between them, until his hand cramped. The walls turned inward at sharp corners fifty yards in either direction, and went twice as long before squaring off again at the far side. Some of the squares had collapsed wooden beams and other rubbish piled within, but few reached higher than his nag’s knees. Whatever this place had been, once, it had rotted away. Disappointed beyond measure, Wolfe nonetheless continued forward as Robbins and Shropshire joined him, each taking a different street.
The avenues all converged on a central square, where a larger ruin dominated the others. Being most shielded here from the weather, it had fared
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
better, but only by comparison. The four men searched within it thoroughly, finding some broken clay pots of strange design, some almost whole, first. In a corner not quite collapsed in age, Robbins found a woven basket crafted from strips of wood. Inside it lay a clump of rusted iron, many small bits fused together by the dampness. Everything else was further gone. Wolfe kicked at a cracked wooden tray, sending small bones flying, in frustration. Scattering out again, their search continued. Fitzgerald sat atop a mound of dry-rotted timbers on top of the central pile, and drew like a man possessed.
It was Shropshire who found the graveyard, for that is what it turned out to be. Lines of low barrows topped with stones, not unlike those to be seen in Northumbria, stood behind the central square, as they would behind a church, back home. Later, Captain Wolfe would recount that he never hesitated in violating the burial mounds. Seizing the end of a timber to use as a spade, he attacked the tallest grave with vigor. Robbins, a man of stout faith, waited not long before he joined in. If it would take graverobbing, they would take back something of value. A whispered blessing over the bodies would suffice to take the curse off of it.
As they dug, the earth kept collapsing back in, until finally they had scraped away the edge and come to a differently colored section of small round rocks, underneath the soil. At least the ground was not quite frozen, but it was cold digging. They pulled the smooth stones away with their hands, after examining them to make sure that they weren’t diamonds in the rough, or tarnished gems. Beneath the rocks, they found a layer of half-decayed timbers. Prying the wood away, it splintered and cracked and came up in sodden sections. By this time their activities had attracted Fitzgerald and his sketchbook, so he was present to record the moment when they pulled back the layers of bleached skins wrapping the body within, to reveal the face of a woman who might have just gone to sleep that morning.
The timbers and her shroud of skins had saved much of her shrunken beauty, hardly diminished though dried as it might be. Long blonde hair streaked with gray hung in braids to either side of a tattooed face which still showed red sunwheels on the cheeks. Her arms, folded over her chest, bore two armrings each of dull metal which Wolfe’s eyes immediately gauged as silver. Around her neck a yellowed tusk had hung, deeply carved with the image of some beast like a horse, but fat and with huge ears and a long nose. All of that jewelry he took,
The Ice Path: A Way Forward
removing one of her arms in the process. Fitzgerald wondered at how little she looked like the Indios, and how much like his own grandmother. “Does your grand-dam paint her face, then, lad?” Robbins joked gruffly. Fitzgerald just sketched away.
Since there were no living Indios around, Wolfe felt safe enough sending Shropshire back alone to the beach to signal the men aboardship that his party would be staying ashore for the night. There were more barrows to open. They made camp right beside them, posting no guard. John firmly believed that it was the living he had to worry about, not the dead, and no man lived here. Dinner was dried beef and hard bread, choked down with water, but the small group had hopes for the remaining graves that enlivened their banquet with dreams of wealth and fame. It was late into the night and the fire burned low when Shropshire returned. He had waited until a boat came out from the anchored Stalwart to see what he wanted, and shared the news that they were staying on the dry land overnight. Then, he had gotten lost in the dark finding his way back, twice, and had only found his way back by remembering to follow the ice path. He was in a foul mood. More foul than usual, even. The four settled down to sleep for a few hours, until daylight would let them dig again.
