Paths of the Norseman, page 17
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
I settled into what I now call my quiet period. While never one of unnecessary speech, now I spoke to no one unless first spoken to. I didn’t feel particularly angry at anyone. Rather, I was confused. The One God continuously spoke to me through my reading that he held mankind in high esteem. Yet he allowed all this death to prevail. Why couldn’t I have stopped Thorvald before he attacked the hide boats? Why couldn’t the skraelings have been followers of the One True God already? Maybe we all could have become brothers in the Word. That’s what Olaf tried to accomplish, but he failed. Didn’t the One God want Olaf to succeed?
In the end I decided that these questions had no answers. Not answers that could come from any man, anyways. So I gave them up and remained quiet.
One cool, foggy morning I left the main longhouse early with my bow to hunt. The house was quiet except for the snoring of several men along the walls and the cooing of little Snorri snuggled next to his mother’s breast, so I thought I snuck away unnoticed. I was mistaken, however, because I was no more than ten paces from the threshold when the broad form of Thorfinn materialized in the fog. He leaned on his own bow, still unstrung like mine.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said with good humor. “Cheese?” asked Thorfinn extending a chunk broken from a piece on which he gnawed.
Taking it, I gave a simple, “Thank you,” then continued on my way past him.
Nonplussed by my disinterest, Thorfinn strode next to me with his cheese and bow. “As I said, I’ve been waiting for you because I want to ask you something.” We walked past a man’s brown and black mottled dog that was rolling in the dung heap. The man called the dog Mead because the beast could keep up with any man in the village after the drinking began around the hearth. This morning he lapped at the edge of the steaming pile which sat downwind from the houses and I thought about how the man often used his eating knife to share his mid-day meal with the animal. Shaking my head I realized that because of this familiarity, the man likely had eaten some of his own manure.
We entered the forest, walking along the brook that bubbled from Black Duck Pond down to the sea. After rounding the small lake I found a rock and sat upon it, pulling out some hard boiled eggs I had packed in my sack. I gave two to Karlsefni who ate of them gladly. We watched those handsome black ducks I had seen my first day in this land as they floated atop, then dove into the water for their own morning meal.
Some water gathered in our hands from the edge of the pond washed the breakfast down, and we set off once again. Thorfinn was quiet this entire time. I think he enjoyed the peace of the woods that morning too even though he was generally a boisterous friend to everyone. Eventually we came to a path where I had frequently taken down nice game. Leading the way step by careful step, I moved along the worn earth toward an overlook above another tiny lake.
We crawled upon our bellies for the last two fadmrs to the edge of the short cliff, sticking our eyes over the rim. Below us, scattered about the fresh water were several deer. Three does and four of their young spread out. Some were nibbling at the succulent grasses that grew nearly to the lake’s border. Others waded in with their forefeet spread wide to drink the steaming, morning water. Two of the young deer had already lost their spots while the other two retained only a faint hint of the characteristic markings.
What wind existed was in our favor that morning, blowing lightly into our faces as we peered down at our prey. None of them had heard us yet as their tails wagged lazily across their backsides, showing no alarm. It would not be that easy, however. Several stout trees stood between us and the deer. The distance was not too far for my arrow to reach, but the range would likely prove difficult to maintain accuracy.
Thorfinn and I sidled back away from our vantage point and, without a word, decided upon our course of action. Before slipping noiselessly back into the woods to make our circle, though, we heaved down on our strong yew bows and restrung them.
We split up – I went to the left, he to the right. That improved the chances of at least one of us dropping our quarry in the event the skittish animals fled. Many minutes passed as I deliberately stepped from place to place – avoiding a cracked branch here or a pile of rustling leaves there. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of the deer. Some of the older mothers sensed something strange was afoot, now holding their heads erect with ears forward. I froze. After an eternity, they resumed consuming their humble breakfasts.
At last I was perched atop a rock the size of a man hunched over on all fours. I was about three ells deep in the forest, but the rock raised me above some particularly coarse briars for a perfect shot at one of the does. She was a beautiful creature with some fat left on her haunches despite having probably nursed one or more of the fawns nearby.
While watching her I carefully nocked my arrow then patiently waited for Thorfinn to get into place. Many more minutes passed. The fog began to steadily burn off so that I could see all the way to the other side where Thorfinn should be positioned. He was not there yet, so I rolled my eyes and waited more, occasionally rocking from foot to foot, searching for a more comfortable position.
Then my target’s head shot up, looking away from me. Her tail, all the beasts’ tails shot upward, showing the white warning sign beneath. In unison they ran toward my hiding place, gobbling up distance by taking great bounds. Reflexively my bow was up and drawn to my cheek. My eyes took in the scene. My soul felt the deer and their leaping rhythm. For a moment I became a wolf, a bear on the hunt. For a moment I even became the deer. My timing became her timing. Nothing else existed in the world. There was no Gudrid, Snorri, or Olaf. There was neither past nor future – only the present, my present, survived. With one last spontaneous thought offering to both Thor and the One God, I loosed my missile.
The arrow and the doe met in mid air. She was just leaving her back feet for a particularly long bound when the point crushed into her strong, white chest with a loud crunch. Both had such momentum that neither the arrow, nor the deer won over. They hovered there in the air for a moment while the terrific energy from both the living creature and the inanimate object dissipated to nothingness. Then the two became one and fell straight to the ground in a heap.
The other deer and their fawns tore past me, leaving tufts of fur amongst the briars while they quickly melted into the dark forest behind. Then all was quiet.
I hopped down and picked my way through the hide-covered briars and walked the five steps to my prey. She was quiet. Her legs didn’t thrash. Her nose didn’t gurgle with bubbling blood. She was at peace there in the tall grass while I crouched to inspect the arrow. With my fingers I felt that the iron head had found its way between two ribs then immediately pierced the heart. There would be no additional pursuit while following a bloody trail that day. She had died instantly. I gave thanks to the One God.
With my saex, I began field dressing the animal. There was no sign of Thorfinn, but I knew he was about since he must have scared the deer in my direction.
I should have been more vigilant, however, because it was not until I finished my task that I noticed a sound on the breeze. It was a panting sound interrupted occasionally by a low moan. Thorfinn!
Plunging the saex into my belt, I nocked another arrow while running toward the noise with my limping gait, leaving my kill behind. Kitchi and his men were the only skraelings I had ever seen around Leifsbudir, nonetheless, I prepared for the worst as I ran up the gentle slope within the woods on the opposite side of the shore. I saw only Thorfinn’s feet sprawled straight out across the ground behind a tree as another moan told me he yet lived. My eyes were alive with the rest of my senses looking all around for lurking danger. I heard not a sound; I saw nothing.
So I moved closer to Thorfinn, rounding the great tree. From the scratch marks on the ground, I could see that Thorfinn had dragged himself to the tree after receiving a wound from some weapon. The lower right quadrant of his stomach bled, though slowly now. No arrow or spear protruded. His head was also wet with blood, causing his blonde hair to mat to his face so that three or four stray hairs looked as if they formed a crooked hand creeping along Thorfinn’s cheek. His eyes fluttered once or twice, and he moaned some incomprehensible words after sensing my presence.
I scanned the surrounding forest again. Nothing. Thorfinn must have surprised a skraeling who stabbed and hit him, then fled into the trees. Thorfinn’s bow was haphazardly strewn in some bushes to the side with the arrow he had nocked now dislodged and laying nearby. He didn’t even get a shot off.
Decisions needed to be made. I could pick the giant of a man up on my shoulders and carry him back for help. I could leave him and run to get more arms for additional strength. Instead, I chose to build a campfire right there using my jasper stones and tend to his wound with clean water and some bandages. After that was done and while Thorfinn slept, I walked back to my deer. Not wanting to waste my quarry, I set about drying some of the meat that day in the bright, warm sun that eventually outfought the morning fog. I roasted some of the steaks over my fire and ate heartily.
As night fell and still the man slept, I am ashamed to say that evil thoughts slithered into my mind. Terribly wounded next to me was the only man who stood between me and Gudrid and my son, Snorri. My son! I could let Thorfinn expire, or, I thought, I could help him expire. A bag over his face or my saex to his belly would end his marriage, letting me raise my own boy. I could find my way next to Gudrid’s body and run my hands down her smooth, naked skin.
In the end I did what I always did, accepted my fate and helped Thorfinn restore his health.
. . .
Thorfinn was at the helm today, standing as tall and strong as ever. His fat knarr, simply called The Merchant, was billowing with passengers while the cloth above our heads captured ample wind, causing the ship beneath us to skip across the salty waters. The northerly wind pushed us southward with my home of nearly three years, Leifsbudir, off our port stern, shrinking in the distance.
Back in the forest one month ago, Thorfinn awakened groggily the morning after receiving his injuries. Thirst was foremost upon his lips, so he drank heavily of both water and ale. He vomited when he tried to eat small bites of the venison steaks, so we didn’t try that again for some time.
It turns out that my imagination had been running wild for there were no skraelings.
“A furtive stag,” was what he first said, while laying on his left side, looking at me with eyes scrunched in pain, his bit of braided beard dragging in the dirt.
“What are you talking about?”
“I was coming down to shoot one of those doe we spotted from the ridge, when an irritated snort caught me by surprise. Before I even looked to my right, antlers from the biggest deer I have ever seen were plunging into my belly. Apparently he wanted all the women for himself,” Thorfinn added with a wincing chuckle.
“Why didn’t you shout for help?” I asked.
“I tried, but the beast threw me down on my back and knocked the wind from me. I swung the bow to scare him off, but he caught it with his snout. I lost my grip, watching him toss it away. Angry now, he lowered his head again for another strike, but I seized his antlers in my hands to prevent another goring from the bastard. The force of his blow pushed me back again and I felt a terrific pain on the back of my head and saw flashing lights. Then the world went dark. Seeing you this morning was the next thing I remember.”
I nursed him for another day before carrying him and the dried, butchered meat back to Leifsbudir. We came back to the main hall where I was welcomed as a hero by Gudrid and the rest of the village. I had also endeared myself to Thorfinn who proclaimed loudly one night around a large fire in the village, “Had it been any other man out there, I would be dead! Halldorr, as his father, Erik told me, as his brother Leif told me, as everyone says of him, is as true as a man as you could meet.” I thought that most all men I knew would have done the same as I since all I did was tend to his wounds. Yet he continued, “I have heard that Halldorr even fancied himself to be married to my Gudrid. What an opportunity he had to find himself thus wed! And he took it not!”
The men around the fire that night cheered for me and my mediocrity, not knowing the very wicked thoughts that swirled in my head when Thorfinn was injured. Snorri the Elder, the man whose nose I bloodied earlier that summer, shouted “Yes, he took it not because the old man must remain celibate so that his shriveled nuts aren’t scared back into his belly at the sight of a woman.” This brought a lot of laughter from the others. I merely smiled while looking into my cup of ale while wishing the elder Snorri would attack me so I could just kill him and get it over with. My silence goaded this Snorri, with his now misshapen nose, to continue badgering me most of the night. The other men took this as a further sign of our friendship, that our scrap earlier in the year was forgotten. I took it as the insult he intended.
Several days after returning to the encampment I was told why Thorfinn waited for me that foggy morning. He was planning another expedition away from Leifsbudir this very year and wanted me to come with him, even though I was not beholden to him in any way, even though Leif wanted me to oversee the camp. Somehow, now after coming to his rescue, I was assured that I would travel with the man for Thorfinn saw fit to elevate me to captain of his own ship to prevent me from saying no. This rapid elevation among Thorfinn’s men, of course, did nothing to enhance my already imperfect relationship with his one-time favored confidant, Snorri the Elder.
So we sailed. Leifsbudir was abandoned for now, its doors securely fastened. Not even a stray chicken remained behind; instead they pecked away in their makeshift cages made from loose kindling. The cages were stacked neatly and tied securely in the hold so that they wouldn’t topple over from the boat’s motion. Three curious cows sniffed at the chickens at head level, occasionally snaking a long tongue between the thin wood rails, only to be vigorously pecked for their uninvited presence.
Two of Thorfinn’s knarrs sped with the wind gage that day. Like sturdy horses galloping, they strode nearly abreast of one another with the sea spray finding its way over the gunwale to thoroughly douse our passengers. We made it a game to see who could take the lead.
Thorhall the Huntsman took command of Glorious Discovery, though he changed the name to Valhalla, and she followed closely behind.
We were settlers looking for new, fertile land to explore. Thorfinn was looking for new peoples with which to trade. He had gold and silver in his eyes, but he did not expect to find the soft metals tumbling from the side of a hill. No, he expected that he would work, hunt, or trade for the stuff. His willingness to earn riches was some comfort, at least. Thorfinn did not want success handed to him, nor did he expect us to convert the skraelings to the One God. I thought about how simple life would be on this adventure without the added burden of proselytizing to whomever we met as we had to do with Olaf. This would be simple – settle, farm, hunt, and trade.
Our small flotilla camped each night along the west coast of Vinland. The second night was only a short distance south of where my fight with Kitchi and his men occurred. These nights were uneventful except for the usual stories, lies, and ale-induced fights.
During the third day, we left sight of the southwestern coast of Vinland, confirming that it was truly a large island. In short order, we passed the point of land Thorvald named Kjalarnes with the stark, broken keel from Glorious Discovery jutting from the sand at a sad angle acting like a solemn mark of our less than triumphant first pass at the land. I looked back to Thorhall the Huntsman to point out the marker with a wave, but he was already staring toward it as he leaned on Valhalla’s gunwale.
Some of the other men noticed it too, but thought it best to say nothing. They again perked up their heads as we passed where Thorvald was buried. We could not see the grave or the crosses, but the landmarks of several tipping trees and the beach told me that was where we entered the forest to place his drained body into the earth to be devoured by her. If Thorfinn noticed any change in the emotions of some of us, he did not mention it. Gudrid, however, sensed something was amiss and set her hand gently atop mine as I stood in a trance, thinking of the constant death brought on in this life. Little Snorri was nestled next her chest with his eyes closed in a deep sleep aided by warm milk from his mother and the rocking motion of the ship. What will his life, my son little Snorri’s, be like. Will it be harsh? Will it be peaceful? Will he love a woman? Will he serve the One God for all time? My gaze met hers, and we shared a sad smile of wonder of what was or what could have been until Thorfinn bellowed, “Halldorr, what shall we do here?”
We were passing several fingers of land extending out into the sea which created what would either be sea water fjords or perhaps even freshwater river outlets. Thorfinn was pointing to them asking me if we should enter or continue on. I thought about all the Norseman deaths just weeks ago in those forests. “There’s no trading in there,” I advised. “Norsemen have already been here without much luck. You want to move further for trading riches.” He looked at me, thinking intently for a moment then nodded with satisfaction.
With the passing of two or three more hours the land turned abruptly to the southwest so we turned our ships to shadow it. A night of camping on the shore was uneventful. I willed myself to spend it in a dreamless sleep so that I could stop questioning the point of all my service to others, the blind acceptance of my destiny. Except for the brief moment when I took revenge upon Bjarni by taking hold of the rudder of my life, fate continually poured over me, drowning me beneath its might. I was unsuccessful directing my will power, however, and tossed the whole night through.
