Paths of the Norseman, page 11
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
Our evening meals were plentiful. Hunting parties brought back all sorts of water fowl. On one occasion a party killed what looked like the large elk that walk all over Norway. This beast, however, had a broad, flat palm-like portion of its rear section of antlers. I have since learned from the native population that they call these beasts, moose, which means twig-eater. Fishing parties brought in herring, smelt, and eel from the salty sea. Trout and some large pike were caught in the lakes and streams of Vinland. Along the way we began to salt or smoke much of the plenty to prepare for the coming winter.
Stumps were cleared. Soon boards were split and frames assembled, stone foundations laid. Turf was cut and placed. We would all share a single longhouse that first winter. This hall was oriented in a north-south direction to follow the raised land on which it sat. Three rooms made up our main living and sleeping area and were structured long-ways like our typical longhouses. Each of these three rooms had its own central hearth. Separate enclosures on the west side included the kitchen and a storage room. Finally to the east was a room we called our workshop which included a forge.
When our shelter was complete we began to harvest timber to take back to Greenland. Each year traders brought logs from Norway, first to Iceland, then if they were adventurous or greedy for a higher price, to Greenland. Leif was eager to transport the trees we cut directly to Eystribyggo. The supply was closer – likely only a three or four day direct sail – and therefore, would be more inexpensive than the previous source. He certainly inherited Erik’s savvy business sense.
The next task was to pull the ship ashore for winter. At high tide we used ropes wrapped around trees to act as pulleys. With all thirty-five men heaving on the tether, the keel slowly inched its way up the beach until at last the steering oar and stern were clear.
Now with the shelter built, the logs harvested, and the boat dry-docked, we awaited the inevitable, wretched winter. It came, but was nothing like the short, frigid days in Greenland. Never once did I have to crack ice from the brook to gather water for cooking, washing, or drinking. We had sleet several evenings and on occasion it snowed, but each time the sun saw to it that the ground was cleared by late morning. It was so mild the grass never withered so that any livestock that we eventually brought to the land would not require oversized stocking of forage for the winter.
One morning many days after our celebration of Christmas and burning of the Yule log, Leif and I set off to the far inland south to hunt. It was a chilly morning as indicated by our breath that led us through the forest. Leif was particularly chatty that morning, more than he had been for most of our time in Vinland so I recall it vividly. We talked in hushed tones so as not to frighten our prey. At first our conversation was harmless bordering on inane. We chuckled about Tyrkr again and marveled at the man’s loyalty to his adopted people, the Norse. We reminisced about strandhoggs in Scotland and Wales – even remembering our taking of Aber Tawe and Leif’s execution of the town’s cowardly leader, Arwel, by the quay.
Eventually, the conversation turned to my third adopted father, Olaf. After a time I asked, “Do you think he ever made it to the Holy Land?”
With confidence Leif answered, “Absolutely, he did.”
“How can you be so certain?” I asked, though I knew Leif always knew the future or what happened elsewhere through his visions.
“I’ve seen it,” he said. We hopped over a winding creek where ankle deep water ran lazily toward the sea. Then we ascended a rise in silence. Finally, he spoke again, “I need to return to Greenland.”
Thinking his timing was odd since we were still some months from when anyone could safely expect to return to the icy fjords of Eystribyggo, I jested, “Perhaps we can shove one of the logs we have stacked at the forest’s edge into the sea for you to paddle home. You’ll certainly have a hard time convincing any of the men to join you.”
Leif smiled noncommittally at my humor then patiently said, “Not now. After the equinox, I mean.”
“We all intend to sail back after the equinox, Leif.” He was being obvious and obtuse, I thought. But it turns out that I was being obtuse, for he had something to tell me.
“Erik will die,” said Leif with some reflection just as a majestic eagle screeched high overhead, working the air currents with its long, outstretched wings and powerful chest. I didn’t know where Leif’s mind was headed, so I said nothing. “I’ve known about it for some time, at least since we were sailing to Vinland, but my vision told me to wait until the winter passed to return.”
“Is he dead already?” I asked with real concern. The man took me in, raised me as one of his own. I loved him as my second father.
“No, he is not. I’ll have time to say goodbye when I return in the spring.”
“Maybe we can leave earlier. With the improvements last year, the ship is in terrific shape for such a journey. We need to get back,” I pleaded.
“Aye, that is the case, the ship is in fine condition. But I cannot leave early. I have to rescue more men on the return trip as we did coming from Norway. I used to think these visions came from Odin or Thor, but now I know they come from the One God. The rescue last year helped convince the men and women of Greenland to accept the One God without bloodshed. I think this next rescue will hasten the conversion of the last followers of the old gods.”
At one time I thought Leif’s abilities were a gift, but I now saw them as a curse. He wanted to get to his father who would soon die, but he felt obligated to shipwrecked men who perhaps didn’t even think about leaving on their own voyage yet. Furthermore, he was obligated to them because of his obligation to the One God. “We can leave early for Greenland, then send out a rescue ship. Either way, all will know of the One God’s power in alerting you.”
Leif gave a heavy sighed as he stopped and put a hand on my shoulder. “Halldorr, it must be as I said. I am in no hurry to get home any sooner. The part I am trying to tell you, the part that is weighing heavily on my heart, is that you cannot return with us.”
I blinked in disbelief at what he said. Angrily I retorted, “Leif, I am going back with you!”
“Halldorr,” Leif repeated my name. “Halldorr, I wish it could be so, but it cannot. You must stay here to manage Leifsbudir.” Leifsbudir was the name we gave to our one-halled village on Vinland. He gave a knowing nod and a smile. I could never stay angry at him, but this day I held onto my anger longer than normal.
“No!” I shouted. “I’ll not let another father disappear without a proper goodbye. I’ve lost one to death and another to self-imposed exile. I must see Erik.” I wanted to strike Leif and his surety down with my balled fist crashing into his cheek, but held back.
“I will pass on your feelings to him. But you must stay,” he said with an understanding calm that infuriated me.
“I am a free man. I can come and go as I please!” I added still shouting, not caring if I scattered game from the whole of Vinland.
“Halldorr, you are free to travel as you wish. But if you intend on pushing this, I’ll have to remind you that I own Thor’s Treasure, and I can let whomever I choose board her.”
“I have plans to marry,” I added, now grasping for any reason I could to justify returning.
Leif sat down on a rotting log, indicating I should do likewise. At first I had no intention of listening to the man, but when he sat there silently picking at the ground with a stick, in time I succumbed to his quiet pressure. I sat next to him looking at the side of his bowed head which seemed focused on the earth beneath his feet.
Certainly it was only seconds that went by, but in my anger they seemed like painfully slow hours. At last I asked, “Well, what is it? Why am I now sitting next to you?”
“Halldorr, we all need patience at times when it seems we should not have to have it. Patience would not be patience if it were easy for any man to obtain.”
This was more than I could take, “Leif, I am not a child and don’t speak to me as such. Patience might be easy for you since you see the future, but the rest of us must live in the now. I don’t know what will happen, but if you tell me I cannot go back, I don’t think I can stand for it. I’ll not lose another woman before I even get the chance to marry her.”
He started cracking the stick into ever-smaller pieces then said, “Patience is not easy for me either. I have these visions, but I do not know what I should do about them. I do not know what I should say about them. I do not know if I should allow the future to play out or to try to change things before they happen.”
My sympathy for him that morning was lacking, “Leif, I don’t really care about your plight. I want to return to wed Gudrid.”
He smiled again. A sad smile, but a smile, then Leif said, “You’ll marry again. That is why you must stay here.”
Now he was speaking convoluted goat shit. “How will I be married if I stay here? I suppose you’ll tell me that Gudrid will come here.”
“She is sailing here in the coming years. I’ve seen it as clear as if she stood amongst the trees already,” he confirmed.
I took a breath, thinking about what he said. “But why can I not return in the spring? What harm would occur?”
Another sigh, “Halldorr, you must stay. I wish I could tell you more. But I don’t know more. You must stay here.”
We sat there silently for a long while. The only sound was the echo from the ocean slamming against a distant shore. Minutes went by. I picked up my own stick and scraped at the ground in anger, making a crude cross in the dirt. I already knew that I would accept whatever he asked of me, but at the time I turned the new information in my head over and over just for the satisfaction of feeding my anger. I thought about tumbling on top of my friend and brother to smother the life out of him so that I could command Thor’s Treasure and return to wish my second father farewell and marry Gudrid.
But Leif’s hand slowly rose to touch my arm. Turning to look at him, I saw from his eyes that he gazed down into a small ravine below us. I followed his stare and saw the largest bull-moose I had ever seen or will ever see. My frustration melted away, forgotten in the joy of the hunt. I smiled to Leif, who smiled back, nodding, and we gradually rose to pursue our prey.
. . .
We killed that moose, struggling mightily to drag his gutted carcass back to Leifsbudir. At last we rigged a platform made out of small logs to float across the lakes and ponds we came upon. This, at least, took the burden from our shoulders for a time, until we had to cross land to another lake. I still have those antlers on display in my lodge to this day. In fact, even now, I look up to them as I put my quill to the parchment. They are filthy, carrying heaps of spider webs and dust.
That winter passed by uneventfully. Leif and I never spoke of Erik or Gudrid or my predicament again. The equinox came and Leif set out with the men, leaving me to tend to Leifsbudir on my own, for all the other men were permitted to return to their homes and women. It was the last time I ever saw my dear friend, my brother, my fellow adventurer. Though he is most assuredly dead by now – I’ve come to believe no one has ever lived as long as I – my mind’s eye still sees him in his prime as a wise leader.
CHAPTER 6
I was isolated from Norse contact for greater than a full year. At first, the time crawled by, but eventually I came to appreciate the peace. When I was not felling trees for the dual purpose of firewood and to expand our village, I spent many hours hunting, fishing, and gathering berries and grains from the uncultivated plants growing amongst the wilds. Occasionally I would travel far from my longhouse, even spending a night or two in the forest while on a hunt just to see more of Vinland. These trips helped me realize that Leifsbudir was situated at the northernmost point of a long sliver of land that extended a vast distance to the south. The peninsula was approximately thirty miles across, and on foot, I was never able to ascertain just how far south it went.
As I became more and more comfortable with my surroundings, I even took my book along with me to read by the light of a fire. It was somewhat careless to strike a fire without a proper inspection of the area, but since I had never seen another human being, I allowed myself that carelessness. I would roast a rabbit or some such quarry over the fire and lean back on my elbow paging through the book. I loved reading the psalms. David wrote most of them, Crevan always said. He was a fine writer. They told of a man of God who pleaded for strength and guidance. They told of a man who was a great leader, but was often uncertain and begged for the One God’s help. I often have felt alone or rudderless in my life and wondered if the One God would guide me.
One such night as I lay under the stars, after being alone for just over one year, I prayed to the One God for discernment in my days. I asked him for leadership, a wife, and for children. I think he spoke to me that night, though in my vision he looked like the images of Thor I had seen throughout my life. We stood on opposite sides of a deep blue fjord. I stood at the shingle with smooth round pebbles littering the ground beneath my feet, the soles of my boots wet. The One True God was perched high on a lush, green hill that rose gently from the fjord. He had a deep voice that resonated across the water directly into my ear. He did not need to strain to talk with me, instead it sounded as if he were sitting next to me, speaking at the table of a desolate mead hall.
We talked for a long while about my life’s actions. He nodded often and laughed. He laughed at me like I was his child who had just discovered something for the first time. But in his face, I knew he loved me, and I felt no resentment toward his laughter. Eventually, he turned to walk down the far side of the hill. The One God who looked like Thor, or maybe it was King Olaf, stopped in his tracks and pivoted on unseen feet. When he wheeled around to face me, he gave me a wink saying, “Whatever you ask of me in my name, I will do, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son.” I thought of this as he disappeared beyond the green grasses. Both Crevan and Olaf had said that many times as they led prayers. I too had read it in my book in the portion written by John, only it wasn’t the One God who spoke these words, but his Son, the Christ.
My eyes opened to see the rabbit was fully roasted, a bit too blackened on the bottom side. I ate of it joyfully, knowing that I asked the One God for gifts and that he would answer my prayers through his Son. Gudrid and our many future sons came to my mind. I was in my thirty-seventh year, hardly a young man to begin having sons. The now elderly Erik was my age when Leif and I were first exiled, though my age didn’t bother me as I lay on a musk ox hide tearing at the succulent meat with my teeth. I still felt fit and able to hew any man who would give me trouble. Certainly I would be able to rut with my new woman and stand up to the onslaught of my own children. I would tell them stories of my adventures with the man who was once king of our homeland an ocean away. I would laugh with them about Fife, my Scottish thrall and brief friend, they would marvel at his miraculous counting ability, they would be enthralled while I told them how he helped me kill the mighty Lord Byrhtnoth. In short, my long life thus far had been filled with adventure and would bring countless hours of delight around the hearth on cold winter nights.
The rhythmic pulse of the nearby sea lulled me as a mother’s beating heart soothes her infant. I went to sleep thinking pleasant thoughts. My belly was full and I slept deeply. The entire night passed as if it were but a moment.
It was such a deep slumber that the sun was quite high by the time I awakened to the sound of men’s voices. Despite my lack of consciousness, I instantly knew it was an unfamiliar tongue. My hand had pulled my beautiful sword from the fleece-lined, leather scabbard before I even thought about performing the act. Momentarily the voices ceased. I took the opportunity to quickly check my fire. It had died during the night and so did not betray my position with any smoke. I rose to my feet, leaving the safety and shade of my spruce grove, silently stepping over the thick bed of needles these trees and their ancestors had shed for eons.
The spruce grew in the shape of stunted, disfigured creatures from harsh storms brought to these shores by the ruthless westerly wind. I descended a gentle slope toward the sound. Because they were more sparsely spaced than trees deeper in the forest, I crept slowly and then lightly trod, not without haste, to the next bit of cover. From the echoes, I guessed the men were on the shore, but it was still obscured by the scrubby trees. A clear voice immediately to my right froze me in my tracks.
Two men walked right past me without taking notice of me as I hid among some tall native grasses. They talked in a tongue I could not understand. They used no words from the many languages Kenna and Crevan had taught me. But my ear had been honed by their patient instruction so I listened intently.
I guessed that both men were over ten years younger than I at the time. They wore nearly identical tan clothes made from animal hides, but each had his own ornaments to designate rank or status or preference. The taller of the two men was handsome. Around his neck he wore a string necklace decorated with carved bone pendants and an enormous animal tooth that all clanged together as he walked. The shorter one did not have a necklace, but he had a distinct red paint smeared on the lower half of his face. It made him rather stern looking, though in truth, I cannot say because so obscured was his expression.
Both men had long, coal-black hair that hung midway down their backs. It was straight like a carpenter’s ruler, and the sun shone off it like a jewel. The shorter one tugged at his and said something with the words “niminisisan” and “nashoqua.”
The handsome one thought this was funny and laughed while he used the words “ikwe” and “segonku.” Then he reached below his tunic, producing a comb made of bone. He gave it to the stern one who started passing it through his long locks while they walked. The tall one just chuckled and shook his head at his companion while he mumbled “nashoqua” several times. They rounded a tree and walked out of sight, beyond a hill. From the friendly greetings they received at the shore, it sounded as if there were a total of four men – the two companions I had seen and two more.
