Paths of the Norseman, page 10
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
We found a point less forbidding and tied the boat off on a long finger-like rock. In my years since coming ashore that day, I have had the pleasure of listening to several skalds visit my longhouse and tell the story of how we discovered this land. Without variation, the songs these men sing all talk of a dew upon the grass that was sweeter than anything we had ever tasted. Supposedly we scooped our hands into the pale green blades as if they were a lake and brought up handfuls of rich, delicious water. In truth, we scaled the rocky hillside to an empty windblown meadow at the top. We walked around for several minutes, getting our feet wet from the heavy dew, and then returned to our ship.
Leif ordered the men to row Thor’s Treasure around the headland to the west. The sun was high off the port side, much higher than it reached in the northern reaches of Greenland or even in Norway. It reminded me of Dyflin at the same time of year. Entering an area of extensive shallows, we crossed a narrow channel between a small island to the starboard and a cape to port. The tide was rapidly ebbing – so rapidly that the blade of my pine oar struck bottom once, then again. Then other men soon began shouting the same thing. Leif was sitting on the steering deck, chin in his hands, elbows on his knees. Folkvar manned the rudder and called to Leif for direction, but received none. Soon we found that the keel was resting on the muddy bottom and the boat began tipping to one side as the water slid away.
The men pulled in their oars and stacked them in the racks at the ship’s center. They stood around on the slanting deck holding onto the gunwale or mast to steady themselves. When it was clear Leif wasn’t going to respond to their inquiries, for he must have been having one of his visions, they turned to me. At first I shrugged, but then, pointing while clasping my belt and sword about my waist, said, “Tyrkr, pick ten men and come with me. Bring swords and spears. We’ll walk to the nearest shore to the south. The rest of you will stay with the ship and with our sleepy captain.” With that, I jumped over the gunwale. My feet splashed down into a deep sucking mud, not unlike the mud we encountered on Northey Island during our Maldon victory. I was halfway to the shore by the time Tyrkr and the rest of the company began jumping into the slosh. Twice I nearly lost a boot in the mud where a nearby shallow pool held a flopping fish gasping for his sea breath. It felt good to be aggressive again. It felt good to become filthy. It was as if I was campaigning again, if only for a brief time against an invisible, imaginary enemy.
I splashed ashore on a low, flat cape jutting northwest. It was covered in lush grasses which welcomed me with a continual friendly nod. Behind the waving meadow stood an old forest, greeting me with its majestic beauty. Turning about, I surveyed the area. To my rear was the stranded ship, beyond which sat the small island. In the distance, further north was a hazy indication of a large land mass. To the east of the cape was a deep bay, with its wide mouth gaping northward. Past the deep bay was the rocky land we originally set foot upon earlier. A small iceberg slammed against the rocks. I thought that it was possible it had floated all the way from Eriksfjord only to end its life upon these shores. To the west sat a shallow bay, which now consisted of a wide plain of mud from the outflow of the tide. Seagulls shrieked above while taking turns diving into the small, isolated pools of water left behind to capture their mid-day meal of the newly confined fish.
I began to follow the cape southward. To my right sandpipers teetered in pairs along the beach. They ducked their long, narrow beaks into the sand again and again to seize their modest sustenance. A forest of firs, poplars, and larches quickly closed in around me. A small, curious woodpecker with a black head and yellow crown briefly stopped his incessant tapping to look down at me. Rapidly disinterested, he returned to his work on the tree. I came to a tiny brook which wound its way into the shallow bay. Finding a large rock, I perched myself upon it to wait for the men to catch up.
A ray of sunlight fell through the trees onto my rock and so I leaned to the side, closed my eyes, and caught it on my face. The warmth was good. I thought of Kenna, but for the first time, was not immediately saddened. I smiled to myself, remembering our time together as husband and wife as a time of near perfection. A profound happiness swelled in my soul when I thought of the woman and her soft, gentle wit. I then thought of Gudrid. What a good pair she and I would make – a childless widower and a childless widow. We would be able to build a life in these new lands. Patience, I told myself.
Clattering and laughing shook me from my trance. It seemed that Arnkell was not having a good day. He lost one of his boots in the mud, but was only able to retrieve it after it was filled with muck. Arnkell then carried the boot to shore where he immediately slipped on a sharp stone, creating a bleeding gash on the bottom of his naked foot. Finally, while he sat on a rotting tree trunk to tend to his boot and foot, a curious black and yellow woodpecker swooped down and shit on his head. The telling of this tale brought us all a much needed respite. All but Arnkell laughed until our echoing snorts filled the forest. A stealthy army we were not.
After each of us crouched down and took a long draught from the creek, we split into two groups. I led one set of six following the creek inland, while Tyrkr led a group of five southward along the shoreline. We agreed to meet for an evening meal back at the ship. “Come,” was all I said before plunging deeper into the trees.
The brook made a sharp turn to the south after only about ninety ells. To my left I saw a beautiful cove of mature trees covering a flat, raised expanse that I thought would make an ideal spot for the beginnings of a new settlement. It was a narrow terrace surrounded by soggy bogs that could be efficiently defended from attack. Depending on the density of Norseman who eventually tread upon these lands, we could expand the new colony out onto the cape for maximum landward protection from any skraelings. Perhaps we would build a wall like that which we built at Kaupangen, the new city across the wide sea.
The high-pitched song of a warbler pierced the otherwise quiet forest, pulling me from my military-trained thinking. Half an English-mile later, we came to a small lake where a group of mostly black ducks quacked back and forth to one another. The males had a stubby black tuft jutting out from the backs of their heads so I named the body of water Black Duck Pond – only slightly more original than the names Leif had been giving to his discoveries. Folkvar had brought a small bow with him that he used to bring down three of the fowl for a dinner treat. He tucked them into his rucksack before we struck off inland again.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully as we explored the surroundings. I kept my group away longer than necessary partly out of fear that our return would hasten Leif’s command to move on. By the time we came back to the shore, the tide had lifted Thor’s Treasure free, and Leif saw that she now rested on a more accessible part of the beach rather than stranded out in the muddy shallows. One of the men struck his jasper stones in a fluffy heap of dry grass to start a bonfire on the cape to ward off the coming darkness, and for the first time, I realized that we had come southward enough to make the daylight and nighttime hours more similar in length.
Looking around I asked, “Where’s Tyrkr?”
Leif, who sat upon a gnarled driftwood log that had its origins from some distant shore, piped up, “He hasn’t returned. Was he not with you?”
“We split up into two groups to cover more ground,” I answered.
He stared at the lapping flames for a moment, then stood and slapped my back, “I believe he’s naming this new land for me. I mean to say, that since you make light of the titles I have bestowed thus far, perhaps our friend Tyrkr will devise something more cunning. We’ll wait for his return before we give this fine forest its designation.” Leif flashed his smile then set the men about their tasks of preparing the night’s meal and scheduling the watch.
I wasn’t sure if Leif had a premonition that told him of Tyrkr’s whereabouts or if he was going mad before my eyes. The safest way to interpret his actions of the past few days was to think he had lost his mind and prepare accordingly. So I told the men to double the watch in case Tyrkr had gotten into some sort of trouble that would soon find us. I also prepared to set out in the morning with Folkvar and Arnkell to go out and search for our missing party.
After sharing in the roasted duck with the men I wrapped myself in my cloak at the forest’s edge to sleep. I stared up at the sky looking briefly for the unmarried old maids in the undulating lights of the heavens, but they weren’t there since we travelled too far south. Instead, I watched the stars and thought happily of Gudrid before succumbing to sleep. The fair Gudrid carried herself from my thoughts and into my dreams that night. Time and again in those visions I saw her standing among these very trees carrying a bundled baby in her arms. It was my child, I knew, for he was large and strong with fair hair. In my dream she smiled and waved to me while I broadcasted a crop of wheat onto freshly turned earth. But also time and again Gudrid was carried away in the arms of a fat merchant in a wide-bodied knarr heavily laden with trading goods.
When her knarr sank below the horizon for the last time my eyes opened to the new day just before the cresting of the sun. I shook away my confused uncertainty from the nightmares, getting my head into the tasks before me. Our fire smoldered since our watch had not seen to it that it was properly fed that night. A lone orange coal sat in the midst of blackened wood remains. I pulled my chain mail from the baggage on the ship. It felt good to feel its pronounced weight on my shoulders after I slid it into place. Then, after rousing Folkvar and Arnkell with a swift kick in their asses, clasping our weapons about our waists, and informing the sleepy watch of our plan, we left.
. . .
We quickly passed by Arnkell’s shitting woodpecker, waking from its slumber and returning to its incessant tapping. Neither Folkvar nor I said a word about yesterday’s incident, but a quiet chuckle from Folkvar and a grumble from Arnkell brought a smile to my lips.
I jumped over the brook where our two parties split up the day before and so began our hunt. They likely stayed several ells into the forest to avoid the briars growing near the edge in search of nourishing sunlight. Within just a moment, Arnkell announced that he found signs of Tyrkr’s passing. We followed the path quickly as they had discovered a track used by animals which was worn, free from undergrowth. In no time we came to a steep sandstone ridge. Standing at the base of the ridge, the brook had curled around and was to our left. We decided that since we did not see any signs of them on our return trip yesterday, they must have scaled the bald crest.
We did likewise and used the vantage point to survey the area. Behind us we saw the cape where the ship was now hidden. Inland we saw that the wooded landscape was broken by countless lakes with no sign of humanity. We should move the whole of Greenland here, I thought at the time. Ahead, the shore curved several times making many small coves. We descended the southwest side of the ridge and again picked up their trail.
It was like that all day. We followed their sloppy trail through the forest, climbed ridges, found creeks, bogs, and ponds. Nothing. No sign of trouble. No spent arrows. Neither blood, nor bodies.
We stopped for a very late mid-day meal of smoked herring and water from another winding creek. The three of us were in the middle of throwing out rampant speculation as to what became of our friends when the unmistakable, accented shout of Tyrkr echoed through the forest.
Without a word we unsheathed our swords and plunged toward the sound. Again a high-pitched howl came. This time it was from another man in the group and ended abruptly with a sharp cracking sound. As we came closer, laughter roared, then a belch.
The three of us, Viking heroes all, emerged with a burst from the forest’s undergrowth prepared to hew down any miserable skraelings who tortured our crew. Before us was a secluded meadow with wild grapes growing nearly as dense as if cultivated, their vines pulling down on the branches of nearby trees. Four of Tyrkr’s men with mouths stuffed with grapes looked alarmed at our arrival. Behind them a small pond had large boulders protruding toward the sky at its shoreline. Just then a naked Tyrkr ran across the top of one of the rocks, hanging onto a grapevine he had tied to an overhanging tree. With a scream of boyish joy he swung out over the water and let go, landing with a loud crack as his white belly met the surface.
. . .
So Leif was correct. Tyrkr would end up naming the new land on which we now strode. “Vinland!” Tyrkr exclaimed when asked back at the ship. “After the vines we found,” he added for unneeded justification, shoveling more grapes into his face.
Leif gave a joyous nod saying, “Excellent!” Then turning to me with a twinkle in his eye he added, “All your worries for nothing, Halldorr. Tyrkr and our men were in good health.”
“Aye, that is so, but I can’t say the same thing for me and my men after seeing Tyrkr’s white, fleshy ass flapping over our heads like a wounded albatross. It might take a man like our old priest Crevan to drive that image from my mind.” This response, of course, brought the expected laughter at Tyrkr. For his part the former thrall smiled broadly, clearly not understanding my good-hearted slight against him.
That day and for the next several months, Leif was back to his old self – moderate, strong, decisive, and good natured. He seemed to leave the moody despondency from our time on the ship behind. Today, as an old man many years and miles removed from our adventures there, I look back with fondness at the months that followed our landing at Vinland – though the first bit of news Leif shared following our return from retrieving Tyrkr initially made me quite frustrated.
We were only a few weeks removed from the summer solstice and had plenty of time to make a return trip to Greenland, but Leif announced we would be wintering here in Vinland. The men with families grumbled quietly with sideways glances at one another. I stewed to myself thinking of another year away from the woman whom I would wed. But then Leif’s enthusiasm for his own idea became infectious. Soon I and the men warmed to the plan, perhaps thinking that we had a chance to seize countless acres of the choicest land on which to set up their own estates such as Erik had done at Brattahlid. Some of them may have even fancied themselves in some leadership capacity in the new colony.
Leif championed his proposal, “This land will be an important stop as more and more Norsemen come to settle this new world. You saw the treasures in Markland, just as I had seen them. You see the lands off the horizon to the northwest. You see that this land, Vinland, extends far to the south. Who knows how far? But we will find out!”
One man asked, “What of skraelings?”
“What of them?” retorted Leif. “We need to build this camp to support us and supply us as we spread over the area. If we find skraelings, so what? We trade with them. We convert them to the One God and then by definition we become brothers in Christ! It worked with Olaf and Aethelred in England. It will work here. We will be successful, and this journey will be recited by the skalds for millennia!” Looking back and knowing the history of what occurred after, I am not so sure that our travels that year warrant history, oral or written, but as I am now isolated in my old age, I do not pretend to know what others are saying.
Regardless of my doubts about whether we made history, Leif’s talk persuaded me to be an enthusiastic supporter of the idea. After all, I was kept away from Kenna on a voyage with Olaf for a full year when I had intentions to marry her. In hindsight, that absence went quickly and did not reduce my passion for the woman. It worked once, it would work again. So I put my mind into the task at hand.
“Since we are few, we’ll want to select a spot that can be defended from attack. I saw such a place when my group explored the surrounding terrain. It’s just south of where we stand today at the base of this cape, close to the cove to the west,” I piped up to support Leif.
“Excellent!” Leif exclaimed again. “Take twenty men and axes and begin clearing the area. The rest of us will bring the ship around to the western cove.”
. . .
A sentry watched the unfamiliar surroundings for us as our axes sang in the forest for days. We worked shirtless in the warm summer as we brought down the tall straight fir trees from where they had stood watch for decades. The steel ax heads created flashes in the air while we heaved them toward the wood, stabbing the tree, belching out chunks of timber, only to repeat the movement again and again. Not a single one of these men were with me when we built Long Serpent and The Crane in Norway, yet the songs began spontaneously in the same fashion and were, in fact, the same songs. We sang to the old gods, the gods of my youth. I think it bothered Leif that we did this, but neither he nor we knew any working songs for the One God, so away we sang.
Since Odin had made the first man, Ask, and the first woman, Embla, from the trunks of trees like those we harvested, we started the mornings singing to him. A portion of my favorite song follows:
Odin who is wisdom and knowledge
Asgard is your home.
The trees you felled which became Norse
Provide for us still.
Our king, he is your son
As is your mighty Thor.
Thunderbolts, lightning, wind, rainstorms.
Your strength is now in us
To keep the giants at bay.
The dwarves you keep beneath us
Holding the land on which we stand.
Odin you favor us in war
And will forever more.
We snacked on grapes that Tyrkr volunteered to gather and bring to the work area each day. Two of the men had so many grapes those first days that they had to frequently drop their axes and run into the forest while they tugged down their trousers before they soiled their clothes. On one occasion one of these men and his loose bowels did not make it to the trees, fouling his breeches before he took a single step, creating an eye-watering stench that attacked us all. He never did live that down, I am sure. For the rest of my time with him, he was constantly ridiculed, often called Seeping Man.
