Paths of the Norseman, page 16
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
When I reached the top of the rocks I saw a curious site before me. Our Norsemen were scattered over the descending side of the rocks impotently pointing their weapons in the air while Thorvald, Volundr, and Arnkell led three small groups creeping toward three hide-covered boats that were overturned on the beach. These boats were the only sign of men in our vicinity, but I quickly scanned the area from my vantage point atop the high rocks.
My eyes shot wide when I saw it sitting inland next to a quiet creek. “Thorvald, no! Retreat!”
But it was too late. Volundr was the first to reach his target. He silently reached under the overturned boat then flipped it over to reveal three unarmed skraelings cowering in the sand. They shouted in fear but their fate was written by the norns long ago. Volundr sent his sword straight into the nearest skraeling’s ribs. He tried to scream, but all the air from his chest whooshed out the new hole in his side. The other two men did scream as they clawed their way through the sand away from their attackers. It was no use as the men Volundr led chopped them down with blood spattering all over their beards.
Those three hidden under the second boat died similar deaths at the hands of Arnkell’s men. Only those under the third boat that Thorvald attacked had a somewhat different outcome, two of them living only moments longer. They had heard the death cries of their companions, and so the extra heartbeat it took for Thorvald to reach their boat gave them time to change tactics. When Thorvald hauled the boat over with his powerful arm, the nearest skraeling jumped at him. He punched Thorvald in the face while yanking at his beard. Thorvald was so surprised that he fell backwards. The second skraeling under the boat did likewise to another of our men, pounding his fist into the man’s face again and again while letting out a high pitched shriek.
Both of these skraelings were soon hacked down by neighboring Norsemen, but their sacrifice helped the third man escape in the boat. He ran toward the water dragging the lightweight craft behind him, tossed it into the sea, finally producing a paddle. With his shoulders bulging from the effort, he stabbed the blade into the water which caused the boat to skip over the waves, picking up speed. He steered the small vessel into a small fjord heading to his village – the village no one else had seen.
I ran down to where Thorvald stood dusting himself off and wiping the skraeling blood from his face. “Success Halldorr! We met the enemy and have prevailed. Not a single loss!”
He was more like his father and grandfather than ever. After all, it was murders they had committed that got them exiled first from Norway, then Iceland. I just watched Thorvald and our men commit murder! To be sure the dead were skraelings, but in my life I had seen the unnecessary deaths of skraelings bring undo pain to the Norse. “What are you thinking?”
“What could possibly cause you all this worry?” he said, laughing. Our men rooted through the minimal possessions of the fallen skraelings. One gave a hoot when he stood up holding some type of jewelry he stole from a man’s ears. Others laughed as he danced while holding the dangling rings as if they hung from his own ears. Another waved a hollow tube that had a right angle at the end. The tube was decorated with many colorful designs and had several feathers affixed at the center.
I grabbed Thorvald’s arm, “We need to gather our men and run to the ship! Trouble is coming.”
“Halldorr! Why would I retreat from a victory?” Thorvald now cried so that everyone could hear him, “I came exploring to spread news of the One God! We all came to settle new lands and make ourselves into jarls like my father!” His followers gave a mighty cheer. Nothing inspires men like victory, fleeting as it may have been.
“That man who escaped will gather his village warriors! We will be outnumbered. We will die.”
Thorvald had enough of me. He strode off past the boats, bodies, and blood indicating with a turn of his head for the men to follow. They did. Stubborn ox balls!
Thorhall walked up behind me saying, “He is like his father and for that I love him.” Then the Huntsman looked me in the eyes before walking after Thorvald and said, “Even though he is stubborn like a constipated goat.”
For the third time that day I was left standing on my own while, unbeknownst to them, they all headed toward the skraeling village I had seen from my perch on the rocks. I closed my eyes while taking a deep breath, ready to follow Thorvald. But a terrible scream halted me. A second shriek put my legs in motion over the low ridge where I saw my worst fears realized. Frighteningly red-painted men streamed out from the village. Their leaders had already engaged Thorvald, Volundr, and others at the front.
While I sprinted down to the fray, I drew both my sword and saex but left my shield clanging, strapped across my back. Before I was halfway through our men, Volundr was dead from a blow to the head from a blunt rock attached at the end of a skraeling’s staff. His badly misshapen head spilled deep red blood onto the forest floor.
Two more of our men fell with spears jutting from their soft bellies as I finally slammed into my first skraeling, who had been swinging a stone axe at Thorvald. While he was looking to my brother, I lowered my shoulder, knocking him to the ground. His axe fell from his hand and as he desperately reached for it, I drove my beautiful sword into his chest. He heaved up, arching in pain so much so that my sword was briefly stuck. Another skraeling gave a war yell and bore down on me with a long spear. He held it over his head with both hands, apparently confident that my weapon was of no use to me, lodged as it was. However, he did not see my father’s saex held in my left hand. I ducked to one knee so that his strike was high over my head. Then putting my right hand on the earth for leverage, I drove my saex to the hilt into his belly.
After retrieving both blades, I looked for my next kill only to see the unmistakable countenance of the vain skraeling who caused three deaths of his own people and nearly my own the previous year. The pain in my badly scarred leg howled as if to offer its agreement that it was indeed he. The man wore red paint like his companions, but I knew it to be him for the round shape of his face was permanently carved into my mind’s eye. Not five paces from me, he now wildly swung a narrow-bladed axe at one of our men who effortlessly protected himself with a battered shield while jabbing his spear into another skraeling. I decided I would kill the vain one.
“Segonku!” I shouted, remembering the word I had heard Kitchi call him while they walked in Vinland. My strange pronunciation of this familiar word immediately caused him to turn toward me. His eyes told me that he recognized me and was stunned that I yet lived. Furiously I yelled, “You’ll die Segonku!” before taking a step to him.
My prediction was not to be born out that day, however. Folkvar was thrust back into my path so that I had to help prevent him from falling. By the time he was righted and I looked up again, the vain Segonku had melted into the teeming mass.
It was just as well. The pause in my fighting allowed me to scan the battlefield, and what I saw disheartened me. I shouted to Thorvald, “We must retreat now! Look at all of them.” So many more of the skraelings flowed from the village, that they would soon be able to envelope our feeble band of warriors.
Thorvald, swinging his own blade with two hands, cut across a skraeling arm, then repeatedly beat the man on the back of his head with his sword’s heavy pommel. “Yes! To the ship!”
“Take the men! Thorhall and I will stay behind a moment to slow the attackers,” I screamed.
My brother nodded just as another of our men fell at his feet. His orders were welcomed and Norsemen disengaged en masse, running back toward the beach to get their bearings for the return flight to Glorious Discovery. Thorvald was the first over the hill and disappeared from my sight along with the twenty or so others still living. A whiff of air from an arrow past my scarred ear pulled me back to the fight. We needed to give our fleeing companions a few extra heartbeats to safely escape.
The sinewy Huntsman wielded a skraeling spear now for he must have lost his own weapon. He stabbed a man in the neck, tearing out his windpipe. The man’s organ was still stuck on the end of the chiseled stone when the Huntsman buried it deep into another man’s side. The spear became lodged and I heard Thorhall swear to the old gods as he used his foot to push the dead attacker down. It still didn’t come free so he broke the shaft off then started beating a young warrior away with it, quickly bruising the man’s forearms.
It was time to go. The Huntsman grabbed my hair and jerked my head back the direction we had come as he led us over the hill. A brief glance over my shoulder told me that our attackers were not pursuing. A lucky break, I thought.
But as I crested the ridge back to the beach I saw that we were likely already dead. Ten more of their boats, this time covered in bark, had circled around behind us and were now approaching land. Their arrows had already started slapping into Thorvald and the others. Thankfully, most of our men used their shields wisely while they retreated over the rocks. Thorvald stood at the base of the stone slabs roaring at the men to move faster. He did not have a shield. Shit, I thought.
At this point in the battle a shield was more important than a sword, so as I dashed toward the rocks, I slid my blade into its resting place at my waist while pulling my shield from my back. We ran directly past the first of the small boats just as it scratched into the shore. In short order two loud thuds cracked into my heavy wood and iron defense nearly knocking me off my feet. Thorhall was there beside me and used his powerful grip to steady me.
When we made it to Thorvald, arrows were already slapping off the rocks around us. I held my shield in front of my brother to protect him from his own stubbornness or stupidity or both, while indicating that Thorhall should scramble over and follow the men. Then fate or Providence or both rang out. Fortuna or Deum.
An arrow struck at the very top of the iron rim which encircled my shield. It made a musical ringing sound as the stone met the metal then harmlessly careened off. But the force of the blow caused the shield to tip upward for just one brief moment. As fate often does, fate took advantage of the time it was given and assailed us. A second arrow that may have been loosed at the same time as the first, slipped just beneath the lifted shield and buried itself under Thorvald’s left arm. He fell to his right against the rock face howling in pain, disbelief in his eyes.
Again I thought, shit. Thorhall was now out of sight so it would be up to me to carry Thorvald out of this mess.
Working as fast as I could now, I slammed my saex home into its short scabbard, tossed my shield across my back, and hoisted Thorvald onto my shoulder. My healed leg wound felt compelled to remind me of its presence with each arduous step up the rock formation with Thorvald’s extra weight. Despite my fears of what chased after us, I did not take any time to look back at my pursuers. Their arrows hammered around me. At least two more sent splinters flying from my shield.
Then we made it over the stones. Thorhall was halfway to the trees waiting for us and swore when he saw us coming. The rest of the men had already disappeared into the forest toward our ship.
Thankfully the skraelings had enough of killing that day. They chose not to follow us past the rocks. But despite that luck, we ran with all haste to Glorious Discovery. With each footfall, Thorvald bounced on my shoulder, letting out a shallow, pain-filled gasp each time. During the run, I convinced myself that because he still breathed he would live.
Fate had other plans.
. . .
I was soaking wet with sweat when I finally made it back to the ship. We slapped Thorvald onto the deck just as the men used the oars to pull us free from the beach. The boat bobbed in the sea as the surf rolled into shore, and I slumped to my ass against the gunwale to catch my breath. While looking down at my waist, I saw that I was soaking wet not just from sweat, but also blood, Thorvald’s blood.
Based upon the volume covering my clothes, the man couldn’t have much left. It was a miracle of Jesus that he even yet lived. I knew now that he would die.
While we buffeted in the seas, I crawled over to Thorvald where Thorhall and others surrounded him. I roughly pushed them out of the way and hung my face above his own, saying, “I’ll speak to my brother now!” Upon seeing his face, I gasped audibly for he was white – white like the new snow falling in winter – white like the feathers of the gull – white like the face of a dead man. “You stupid bastard,” I yelled then closed my eyes as my first tear smacked into Thorvald’s cheek.
The tear temporarily revived him and he weakly raised his arm toward me. His flittering eyes were glossy like those of a blind man. He looked in the wrong direction then spoke with a feeble smile, “No, Halldorr, you are the bastard.” Then he gave a frail laugh. “I love you, my brother. I join my grandfather, my father, and my brother Thorstein with the One God in his hall now.” More of my tears streamed onto him. “Find a fine point of land near Kjalarnes. Bury me there and put a cross at my head. Then set a cross at my feet and forever call the place Krossanes after that.”
Then he died.
I rose to my feet and grabbed items from the hold, throwing them all over the ship. No one else said anything. Njordr watched silently from his place at the rudder. Thorhall leaned on the gunwale staring out to sea; he spit something from his mouth. I swore, I screamed, I swore again. I cried and cried like I was but a child. When I at last looked around the ship at the men pulling on the oars they all wept as well. We lost our commander that day, and we lost ten good men.
. . .
Njordr guided the boat south, following the land, until we were far enough from the skraeling village to be free from immediate further attacks. Unceremoniously, we crept onto a cape with a soft, sandy beach. Several of us carried Thorvald into the forest where we found a small, grassy meadow hemmed in by trees.
Using wood-bladed shovels we dug a grave for him. Carefully we lowered him with his head pointed west so that he could see Christ’s return from the east. I fashioned two crosses from small pieces of wood left from the repair of our keel and, like Thorvald asked, drove them into the earth at both his head and feet.
No one wanted to say any words, but I knew we must. Without much thought I began, “The One God has seen fit to take many of his warriors to him in recent years. Of late, he has been most fond of Erik and Erik’s sons.” I paused, not knowing where to go with my eulogy next. While he waited for me to speak, Thorhall spat upon the cross nearest him. I cannot say I took offense, though many men would have. Faith in the One True God had brought no particular favor in the eyes of the norns. Fate looked just as capricious as it had before my conversion.
I continued, “The One God’s Providence brought us to these lands where we gave and received death. But our men’s and our leader’s death this day do not reduce the One True God’s power. His Son gave himself up for other men. Thorvald gave himself up for us.” Not exactly true, but we often say things when friends die to make us all feel better. “So in that way Thorvald is like the Christ. And if he is like the Son of God then that means perhaps we can be that way too.” I was rolling now. “Like the first followers of the Christ when they received the power of the Holy Spirit, we can become powerful if we ask that part of the One God to live in the longhouse of our hearts.” I am still not certain what I meant by that. I then finished, “We pray as powerful warriors for you One God; that you make our hearts strong, make our swords blazing, and make our tongues full of praise so that we may become all-powerful in you.”
When I finished giving my speech, the men gave a round of applause. Even Thorhall smiled while nodding his head in my direction. Truthfully, it was the most celebratory funeral I had attended since converting to the One God. Heretofore, most of them had been melancholy to say the least.
We slowly made our way back to the beach and Glorious Discovery. Without hesitation, the boat was pulled out to sea, and we limped back to Leifsbudir the way we had come. The unhappy air set in like the fogs of Greenland, and I can honestly say that I have never had such a quiet sea voyage for so many days. Most of my time was spent at the steering oar with vague, indescribable thoughts. In a daze, I watched the ocean stream past our hull, not often making eye contact with the men. When I did look into their faces, without words they told me their feelings. Almost universally, enthusiasm for exploration had waned after witnessing so much death.
CHAPTER 8
Karlsefni was becoming a good father to my son, Snorri. He spoke of him often as we talked around the hearth at night now that we were back in Leifsbudir. As much as it pained me to admit, he was a good husband too. While he opined over and over again how his wife and son would see the world from the planks of a trading knarr standing next to him, Gudrid often stole fond glances at him. She was growing closer to the man; they would be good together. I would listen to Thorfinn telling the stories of little Snorri as if they already happened, but found myself watching Gudrid, wondering what might have been if I had returned to Greenland with Leif.
Usually finding no purpose in such thoughts, my mind wandered – sometimes to my own father. What had been his hopes or dreams for me? Did he want me to grow to be a Berserker? Likely not. Did he hope to watch his grandchildren grow and take brides for themselves? I do not know. Sometimes my thoughts went to Bjarni’s treachery, sometimes to Olaf’s defeat. I’d sip from a wooden mug of ale absent-mindedly, only laughing at the correct parts of the tales when outbursts from everyone else cued me.
Glorious Discovery was back to the banks of Leifsbudir after a voyage of just three weeks. Members of the miniature settlement were bustling about the forests when our repaired keel settled to the sand in the shallows, so no one welcomed us as we sloshed through the muck to the drier beach. When the residents did return, they could tell by our countenances that Floating Louse would have been a more appropriate name for the ship and expedition. Our story was told by the survivors and quickly wound its way through our camp. Several men who had remained behind had lost a brother in our battle with the skraelings. Melancholy sunk about the lot of us.
