Paths of the Norseman, page 23
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
As the winter wore on, Thorfinn and I had to pull apart more and more men from tearing at each others’ eyes with the brave fingers of ale-induced courage. The men became so wicked that the women were clustered together to sleep huddled next to each other in a single tiny longhouse. I was deemed to be the only one old enough to show restraint and not enter while they slept to ravage one or all of them, so I spent many lonely nights guarding their door. No one thought it important to ask that if Gudrid ever gave me the slightest inclination, I would have taken her as my own, fleeing into the forest. But no one asked, and she did not indicate that it was to be.
As a means of occupying my mind during the cold nights, I did entertain my dreams, allowing them to run, that all five of the women would call to me in the night. That fancy did not happen either. None of our men thought it wise to cross me in the night for I wore my blood-stained berserker coat over top of the well-used mail Olaf sent to me in Vinland, reminding them of the countless deaths I had gifted to men who were much better warriors than any of them.
So I sat there, lonely, most of the winter. I hunted by day when the weather broke then hid inside during the worst of days, reading my two books over and again next to a sputtering oil lamp made from a bowled-out stone, when the wind and snow returned.
I talk about all this disagreement within our band because I believe it helped alter Thorfinn’s enthusiasm for developing Hop, Straumsfjord, and Leifsbudir into thriving Norse cities. It was more than altered, actually, for his zeal for the idea disappeared altogether.
He came to the log on which I sat guarding the women from our own men one cloudless night, when the moon shone so brightly that I could hardly see any stars dotting the sky. It was cold, but calm. Our breaths turned into the misty steam of dragons’ breath as we talked, encircling us like the smoke of a bath-house fire.
“But we can make this place safe. We can bring women to make the men happy. These will be great lands,” I protested at his willingness to abandon our plans of profit while his wife slumbered next to little Snorri and the other four women behind the turf walls.
“I don’t think I can take another year of managing the peculiarities of men,” he sighed. “I even had to promise a half pound of silver to a group of men if they would just put their lust away for two more months until we returned to Greenland. Then they’ll be Leif’s problems.”
I shook my head, for paying men to do what they ought for free was not a good leadership strategy, but I said nothing on the matter, preferring a different tack. “Women will come and the men will be happy. Even if they can’t convince any to enter their longhouse, they’ll get to see countless maids as they gather water or scrub clothes in the yard. That will count for something.”
Thorfinn spit to the side before listing another reason, “I’ve thought on this, Halldorr. Straumsfjord and especially Hop are just too far from anyone to profit. Why would I go through all this, travelling for days away from the fjords where we are already welcome?”
“The profits will be ten times those you can earn elsewhere!” I assured him, though in truth I had no way of knowing. I did not really care if the profits were the same or more or even less. I was beginning to think I’d rather not be around other men. Trouble, others just brought trouble.
But Thorfinn wasn’t fooled by my claims, “I can make more in profit in frequently travelled waters.” Then almost as an afterthought, “I need customers to which to sell. Look around you, no one is here.”
I found myself not caring at all about our plan, yet still arguing to maintain it. God, I thought, let me not return to Greenland, surprising even myself for I missed Leif. “They will come. You saw Hop. Settlers came to Greenland in droves and it is frigid, dark, and treeless. What a godforsaken place that is!”
“Well, you weren’t attacked by skraelings numbering in the hundreds over and again those first years. When we return to Greenland, what do you think the empty rowing seats will mean for willing explorers?” I opened my mouth to offer another protest, but Thorfinn continued, “We’ll all be in constant danger here. We are too few, too removed from help, not to invite more attacks.”
After our battle in the fall, he was right. I shook my head in disgust there in the moonlight at what could have been with Ahanu and his people. “What of little Snorri?” I asked.
“Well, what of the boy? He’s growing like wheat that’s been sown next to the dung heap, isn’t he? Soon he’ll pass up his father!”
“Aye, he will,” though I thought of my own height, while Thorfinn thought of his. “Shouldn’t the boy of a fine trader and explorer be raised here to learn to forge his own way in the world? Why should he go seeking the troubles found in civilization?”
He thoughtfully considered this for some time; so long that it seemed as if he would ignore my questions altogether – or perhaps he judged this argument valid. Then Thorfinn sighed again, “That’s it, isn’t it, friend. It’s about my boy, but I want to settle next to Gudrid and keep her safe. I want to keep Snorri safe. I want to trade and not worry that my family will be slaughtered while I sail.” He rested his elbows upon his knees then finished, “I think the woman is with child again. She hasn’t bled in two months.”
And that was it, wasn’t it? He was a good man. He loved Gudrid as I once hoped to do for the rest of my life. He loved Snorri, who would grow to be his boy, never knowing I was his father. I considered returning to Greenland with them when they went, but decided I would just be tortured living so close to them without the chance to live like a family. Leif had his family, was jarl of Greenland, and wouldn’t have time to spend with an aging bachelor. Erik, my second father, was dead. Freydis was married and humping the former thrall, my friend, Tyrkr. What would I do there other than be the cause of trouble? I didn’t even have Bjarni to kill anymore.
“I’ll not be going back with you,” I said with a made up mind.
“I knew that already,” answered Thorfinn. He saw my confusion so he added, “You’re meant to be here among the savages, I think. Leif told me you’d be a jarl, and I suppose you’ll be jarl of Vinland, though I don’t know who you’d rule. You’re really too dangerous to take among the towns.”
I ignored his last comment, spent that night and the rest of those winter nights guarding the women, then saw that they dropped me off in Leifsbudir when the days were long enough for them to safely sail back to Greenland. There was no sign of my old friend Thorhall the Huntsman and his nine men who were to sail here earlier. In fact, the longhouses looked the same as the day we left with the exception of additional weathering.
Alone like a hermit for several months I was quite happy. In only one or two weeks I had fixed all that had fallen apart at Leifsbudir in the years since we left. My first task involved killing a family of small hairy beasts who had taken up residence in the main longhouse. Despite their size, they were ferocious, as I rapidly discovered when I marched into the abandoned home upon my return. I quickly noticed several sets of eyes staring back at me perched atop the sleeping platform in the back corner. Shrugging I marched over with my sword to swat them out, but the two largest beasts, with grey-black fur and a prominent black stripe across their eyes, sprang over my sword. Together they clawed and bit at me with more power than I thought they should exhibit. I was so surprised that I fell back into the long-cold ash of the hearth while they tore at me. Thankfully I wore a thick leather jerkin that day because of the chill remaining in the springtime air. It saved me from many painful cuts and scratches. When I finally discovered my wits and footing, I pulled my saex and chased the two creatures all over the longhouse, like an active boy running in the yard. At last, swinging both blades I killed one, then the other. Then I rummaged through the old storehouse, found an old dusty sack, swept the babies into it along with a heavy rock, and tossed it into the creek so that they did not grow up thinking we would share a bunk. I made two very nice hats from the two parents I killed, wearing them with their fancy ringed tails hanging to the side or back for many years.
After the initial excitement and mundane chores, I settled into a steady routine while waiting for word from Leif giving me some type of orders. Most mornings were spent fishing or hunting, while the afternoons were occupied with smoking or salting the meat I did not immediately consume. Within a few short weeks I had much more meat put away for the next winter than I could ever use, but I did not know when relief or others would arrive so I over-prepared. I also gathered grapes and ate of them until my bowels screamed for me to stop. When they did this, I began to dry the grapes for use in winter. Several varieties of wild berries came in and out of season so I never wanted for sweet delights. I should also tell you that Thorfinn saw fit to leave a basket of the delicious walnuts from Hop with me so that I ate better than many a king.
In the evenings, which were short because of the summer sun, I read next to the hearth. Eventually, it got too hot for me to endure sitting so close to a flame, so I began quitting my tasks earlier, while the sun yet shone, in order to get more reading time by daylight. It was on those nights when I was studying the Latin words spread before me on the vellum when I missed Kenna, my wife, most. I missed her company, of course, as well as her body next to mine in our bed. However, that year I remember missing her learned conversation on topics covering an immeasurable number of subjects. Ideas, concepts, thoughts, jokes, politics – anything that used language was commonly discussed around our old hearth. I missed her use of many different languages and realized that some of them were slipping from my memory from lack of practice. Upon realizing this, I vowed to read aloud to at least retain my speaking and pronunciation knowledge of the universal tongue found in my books.
So that is what I was doing one late-summer warm afternoon as I sat next to the seashore to catch a cool, salty breeze, leaning idly beneath a tree while my mind raced, interpreted, and studied the text. A stray gust of wind picked up one of the pages, flipping the leather cord I used for a bookmark off the book into the grass around the gnarled tree roots. When I absent-mindedly leaned down to retrieve it, a curious flash in my peripheral vision caused me to look up with a start.
There on the horizon was the unmistakable sail of a longboat coming from the north on course to enter the shallows around Leifsbudir. My grand silence would soon end, but I was not all that distressed by such a change. It would be enjoyable to see what adventure I would find myself taking when the boat arrived. Dropping my eyes to the page, I took my last few moments of peace to finish reading a passage to myself before carefully setting my bookmark back in its place then gently setting the book closed.
I extended my legs for a moment and realized they had become stiff. In my mind I thought I was nineteen, ready to kill any man or beast in my way. Yet my body was beginning to tell another yarn altogether for I was forty-one years old. I wondered how men of Ahanu’s age remain so limber. Now in my winnowing years, I know they just fool themselves into thinking they feel well. Or, the alternative is that they are just fools. When my limbs came back to life, I stood, tucking the book beneath my arm and patiently waited for my friends, whoever they would be, to arrive.
I waved the boat toward me, guiding them with an extended arm around the particularly shallow spot where Leif and I had become beached on our first visit. The sail and men standing in the prow, I did not recognize, but had no reason to fear them. I did not even run to gather my weapons, which still lay leaning against my reading tree.
As they slid the strong keel into the sand, I noticed for the first time that another sail rose far off behind them. “Afternoon friend, how many do you lead to Vinland?”
The man had been smiling at me, lost his smile for a moment when he looked back, but then found it when he faced me again. He sprung over the gunwale with another man who was taller, thinner, but had the same nose and eyes. They were brothers, I could see. The stockier one approached, shaking my hand vigorously as if we were old friends. He had a well groomed beard that was trimmed shorter than mine with dusty blonde hair. I looked down at my own beard for some reason and saw that I now had many white hairs beginning to win the battle for territory upon my face. His brother, who looked to be the older of the two, though at least ten years younger than I, wore a serious expression, not of anger, but rather from stoicism. His beard was longer and darker than the short man’s, but groomed nicely.
“Don’t fear, Halldorr, friend, we are few,” the man answered finally, while grasping my hand. “It is only my brother and me and our small troupe.”
“And the other longboat?” I asked.
“Oh, but you are becoming a hermit,” he said laughing after finally releasing my hand. “Leif said you’d be a loner.” Then he leaned in as if there were listening ears and he had a secret to share, “That man, he knows things. I can’t explain it, but he knows things.”
I nodded, for I knew that to be the case, “And the other longboat?” I asked again good-naturedly.
“Oh, yes. They are small in number too.” He looked to his older brother asking, “Perhaps thirty? At least that’s the number we all agreed upon for each boat.”
The thin one nodded, then grew tired of our conversation and began to help unload baggage from the boat onto the shore with the help of the others. There were about twenty men plus the brothers plus five women on board. At least four of the men were dressed like thralls, but seemed to be reasonably well treated, for they were not grossly thin.
The boat itself was older, but very well kept. In the past year, she had received several new strakes and a fresh coat of pine tar. The rigging too, was new, with ropes looking unblemished from the weather. Other than these items, she was certainly old, but taken care of as a woman cares for her child. She was clean and strong with a simple serpentine design on her prow.
The stout one saw me looking past him to the boat so he proclaimed, “She was our father’s ship. Built in Norway about the time Finnbogi was born. My father loved her before he died, and now we treat her like he would want us to. My brother and I were raised on her.”
“What do you call her?”
“Leidarstjarna! My father was a master at navigation and would sail on through the night, unafraid of what may come. Ol’ Finny and I kept the name,” he answered with much deserved pride. Even now most sailors still found a safe cove to tuck in for the night before continuing on.
“Your father sounds like he was a great sailor. He taught you well.” He smiled while nodding at my compliment before I continued. “So your brother is Finnbogi. What should I call you?”
“Oh, by God, I forgot!” He extended his arm and we again shook hands vigorously as if we had not done so just a moment earlier. “I’m Helgi. We heard about all the wealth and fortune accumulating to those who went to Greenland, so we left our current homes in Iceland. But when we arrived at Brattahlid, all of Eystribyggo was talking about the riches of Vinland. Sure Thorfinn said he was worried about the skraelings, but I’ve got good men.” Then he added, “And now I’ve got you!”
I shrugged, for I wasn’t sure anyone other than God and the norns “had” me, then bent down, grabbing one of their tightly packed hudfats to lead them to the collection of longhouses. My book was still tucked under my other arm and I was ten or so paces up the beach when I turned to ask, “Who commands your other ship?”
“Why do you ask?” he asked with a change in tone that said more than his words.
“I thought that if the captain is unfamiliar with these waters, I’ll have to wave them around the sandbars as I did you and Finnbogi,” was my honest reply.
“She’s not our boat,” he said with a bit of disgust, placing his hands on his hips while facing the sea to watch the approaching vessel. “Truthfully, I did not want to come with her but Leif insisted, so she comes.”
I am a fool. You ought to be certain of that by now. When Helgi said that Leif insisted she come, I thought at first that he sent Thorhall who commanded his boat, Valhalla, back to Vinland. I was happy for a moment. Then my mind took another step and thought that perhaps Helgi spoke of a woman and not the boat when he said “she” comes. I thought that by some miracle or working of the norns that Gudrid decided to come back to me, bringing our son for a life of bliss for all my days.
I squinted in the afternoon sun reflecting off the sea, but could not clearly view the ship or the passengers, so I asked my new friend, “Leif insisted she come? What do you mean?”
“Oh, that woman. Halldorr, I don’t want to speak any more on the subject. Just know I did not want that woman coming here with us.” It must be Gudrid, I thought at the time. I could not figure out Helgi’s dislike of so fine a woman, though. Then he finished, “You know after what she did to her husband, she’s got a reputation, and I didn’t want that kind of trouble following my trading.”
So it was Gudrid! I found myself bouncing with happiness like a dog ready to go on the hunt. “Helgi, I believe you’ll grow to like the woman for she is upstanding, intelligent, and proud, though not too proud.”
He laughed at that or at me, I don’t know which, saying, “Lord knows I will try to like her. Just like the Lord knows she is proud, but I think he also knows she is too proud. So proud that it’s like she’s ready to claw at any man for even a sideways glance. Can you believe she is Leif’s sister? They are so very different.”
“Sister?” I mumbled. “The captain of that boat is Freydis, Leif’s sister?”
“Of course it is. What other woman would be commanding a vessel?”
