Paths of the Norseman, page 26
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
“I’ve had my books to pass any long nights,” I said with pride.
“None of us read, Halldorr. Well, the priest Torleik back at Thjordhildr’s church does it. Sometimes I’ve even seen him writing in a strange looking tongue. It all seems magical to me.”
“Where does he get the vellum?” I asked.
“The what?”
Disregarding his ignorance, I thought of how I should begin to create my own vellum pages to start penning letters or even the beginnings of this journal. I sat quietly wondering how much success I would have using the hides of my wild game rather than that of our domesticated goats or lambs.
“I am reminded that we have a set of items for you,” Torvard said, interrupting my thoughts. He pointed to some hudfats bundled tightly in a pile hidden beneath a red and blue striped blanket at the end of a sleeping platform. After receiving a nod of permission, I leaned over, pulling the nearest sack to me, untying the bag. In an instant I knew what it was.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked with no hidden disgust.
“No, I saw the strange writing. I told you, I don’t read.”
“Why did you not inform me of this earlier?”
He was clearly drunk because his honesty came easily, “Freydis told me to keep the letters a secret. I don’t cross her, you know.”
“I know.”
From the handwriting using our Norse runes, I could tell they were letters written by Leif and Olaf. And just like the package I received some years before, it contained exotic gifts from my third father as he travelled the Holy Land. Why would she want to keep these from me, I wondered?
Breaking the seal from Olaf’s I scanned through the message. It was heartfelt, like the last, imploring me to do good things in the name of the One God, telling many amazing details about the sights and sounds of Jerusalem. He had taken a thrall woman from the poorest section of the city as a wife and was delighted to announce she had a baby. It was a girl, but Olaf’s first and only surviving child. The name of his daughter was Abeer which he said meant fragrant in his wife’s tongue. I smiled as I read of his success while he hid. Beneath the letter in the hudfat was a small box containing empty places for jewels where some greedy captain or crew member clearly pried them loose on the years-long trip to find me. Nothing in the message or gifts explained why Freydis would keep them from me, unless it was just Freydis acting in her typical inexplicable manner.
Torvard sat watching me with a pleasant smile etched in his completely inebriated face. It made him look quite idiotic. He waved his hands, spilling ale on his legs, encouraging me to move onto the next letter. I broke the blue wax seal of Leif’s letter, carefully unfolding it and knew immediately why the woman kept it from me.
The letter began:
Halldorr, Jarl of Vinland, Good Steward of all Properties of Erik and Erik’s sons –
Why did Leif keep referring to me as Jarl of Vinland? When others came, he implored me to serve them. When these Greenlanders left, I ruled Vinland which was a jarldom of one. I controlled no one. I ruled no one. The man could be maddening.
His letter continued:
Dear Brother, I am saddened that so much time has passed since I have laid eyes upon you. You are my only brother yet living, and I miss having you about for counsel. Thorfinn told me of Thorvald’s death which brings me to tears. Be certain that I will see that his wife is well cared for, though marrying the woman off again may prove to be difficult.
Freydis continues to prove herself to be unwilling to exercise even the most basic of our societal norms, preferring to act as a spoiled child. Her anger grows. She brings bitterness to every meeting with every man and woman within the settlement. After an evening of celebration, she brought herself to me, trying to force me to lay with her to plant a child within her womb.
I have had to banish my own sister, but I could not bring myself to send her into the unknown, so I have sent this pack with the thrall before you now, Eoghan. He had explicit instructions to carry the pack to you only after sailing with Freydis. Please reward him accordingly.
Please see that Freydis and her family are cared for. Please lend her my home in Leifsbudir, but have her men build other homes to house them and Helgi and Finnbogi. She is not to exercise any control over this expedition, the brothers are commanders, leading the expedition. You will like them both, especially Helgi.
I see little Snorri and see you in his eyes. I smile when he says something as you would say it. He grows tall and strong like you and Gudrid both. Know that Thorfinn cares much for the boy. In my regard to my references to your future family, you must stay in Vinland if you ever want the happiness of a woman. She is to be yours. She will be yours until death separates you. I can tell you no more without spoiling the future, for if you know it, it will slip between your fingers as you clasp tightly about it, trying hard to hold on.
Your Brother in Christ, Leif
“Which thrall is Eoghan?” I asked Torvard when I finished the letter.
His eyes were shiny like the waters on a sunny day. My voice awakened him from his wide-eyed slumber to say, “Poor Eoghan, one night on the voyage while we slept, he awoke early to prepare a small morning meal for our crew. A pitch in the sea sent him tumbling to the deck onto his own knife, killing him instantly.”
“How do you know he fell on the knife?”
“What else could it be?” he asked confused.
“Someone could have driven the knife into him while you all slept.”
“No, that’s just not the case. The person at the rudder while we slumbered watched it happen in the waning moonlight, then screamed as his blood quickly spread all over the planking.”
“Which man saw it happen?” I asked, scanning the crowd.
“Huh?” asked the wavering Torvard. “Oh, yes, it was no man. Freydis saw Eoghan fall that night.”
“Freydis ran the rudder?”
“Yes, after we had sailed for a day or two from Greenland, she insisted on taking the rudder. It was hard for her at first, but she did well enough. We’re here, aren’t we?”
“And Eoghan’s body? Did you bury it in Markland on the way?”
“No. Freydis was so upset at the sight that she let go of the rudder while we wiped the sleep crusties from our eyes, causing the boat to turn abruptly. She fought the turn, staying on her feet, while rolling Eoghan’s body up over the gunwale. That woman is powerful when she must be.”
I had my answer. It was obvious to me as it must be to you. She killed the man who was Leif’s messenger.
Clutching the letter in my hand, I rose to my feet and strode to where Freydis stood, leaning heavily on a man I did not recognize. Spinning her around by the shoulder, I shoved the parchment in her face, saying nothing, letting the page be all the accusation I needed.
Her eyes widened in confusion, then darted about it fear, at last narrowing with the hate-filled rage of someone with a complete break with reality. Before I could react, she let out the roar of a bear. “I’ll sleep with neither you nor Helgi! How dare you ask me to commit such heinous acts of depravity!” Her voice rose louder as it spewed more potent venom. The rest of the room grew silent as the once jovial crowd watched with unease, games ceasing. “I should have known that you, all of you, would have another motive to share Christmas together. What shame you wish to bring here!”
“I thought it was the ale talking when Helgi made the proposition last evening while I was helpless outside relieving myself. Yet, now I see that all in your house are doomed. You’ll all die, and I want nothing more to do with you!” Torvard turned his head all about from his stool while she shouted. He was using every fabric of the wits he had left to try to understand the situation. I wanted to strangle her, to cut off her lies before another syllable rolled out, but I remained in control.
Then Freydis seemed to calm herself, speaking at a normal volume, “Halldorr, I’ve ignored all of your advances since we came here because I felt sorry that your weak offspring killed your sickly, weaker woman, but I cannot stand for this insult any longer. You’ll have to leave with the heathens, Finnbogi and Helgi.”
I did not think; my muscles took over, commanding their own actions. In an instant my hands were clutching her neck with my thumbs pushing down on her wind pipe so that her mouth opened, her tongue lolled, her eyes rolling back in her head. It would only take a moment for me to kill her. She needed to die, bitterness followed her everywhere. Freydis fell back to the earthen floor with me on top of her. I did not think of Erik or of Leif or of Freydis, the bastard, nor of her bastard children. I wanted her dead.
But the beatings on the back of my head began in earnest. At first I ignored them, still gripping Freydis by the throat, squeezing tightly. Then many boots, mugs, and dishes and even a hammer, I think, crashed about me, until I collapsed forward into her round pregnant belly in a foggy blackness knowing only that she lived and angry shouts swirled about the party.
I awoke several moments later being carried roughly by four men, one on each arm, one at each leg. We fled through the snowy woods, the unnamed dog barking at our heels. I saw the moonlight reflecting off the ice-covered pond ahead. Vaguely familiar voices hurriedly called all around. I heard Finnbogi barking orders to others, but could not understand his words in my murk, then my head bobbed loosely, and I passed out again.
. . .
Neither party attempted any more interaction for the rest of the winter. To avoid bloodshed, our men hunted and fished in the forest, never crossing an unspoken, unwritten, un-agreed-upon line drawn half-way between our houses. The traitorous dog, that I now called Right Ear, decided to stay with us, and we let him for it seemed as if that simple act could be viewed as a small victory in our dispute.
The men and women of my new house said nothing to me, not a single complaint, about causing all this potential harm with my impulsive action. In a short time, they too had interacted with Freydis enough to know the evil of which she was capable. They treated me as if I had been a brother or cousin, raised on the decking planks of Leidarstjarna by their father, traveling from kingdom to kingdom on the open seas, trading as one of them, while bringing wares to those in need. Maybe someday I would be a captain in a fleet of their trading knarrs.
I had to be told the details of the fight that ensued from my wild attack upon Freydis, of course. The man on whom Freydis had been leaning so familiarly at the celebration was called Thorbrand Snorrason. He was the one inflicting all the harm to my head and back when I fell upon Freydis. Thorbrand had grabbed a heavy black kettle, using it repeatedly to strike me down. His action brought an immediate response from Finnbogi who started fighting his way toward me, using his balled fist against any nose or cheek that came into his path. He reached me just as I dropped to the floor, dragging me back toward the door by one leg. The end result was that none of our company was seriously wounded, for which I thanked the One God mightily. Three men received shallow knife wounds on their forearms, before Helgi called for a general retreat.
But all this had been just over three months ago. The days grew steadily longer now so that the sun actually created a bit of warmth by late day. I took this opportunity to flee to the woods, away from the people I had grown to love. These people, my own people, brought love, kindness, laughter, joy, beauty, talents – all gifts that make life worth enduring. Yet people, my people, all peoples, especially those like Freydis, bring anger, jealousy, strife, boredom, irritations – I wanted a respite from this for I felt the burning from her acidic bitterness as if it had settled into the very water we drank.
Helgi offered to come along on my trip, and I thought of bringing him, but only for a moment. He would have livened the trip such that I would need a physician to tend to my sore belly from my fits of laughter. But I declined in a friendly way, saying I would be back to retrieve him for a follow-up journey in a week or two. He heartily accepted my proposal, burying his nose in Lifa’s chest beneath their covers before I even stepped out the door on that crisp spring morning.
Right Ear had sneaked behind me to tag along, yelping when I caught his tail in the slamming door. After releasing him, I softly scolded the dog to return to his place beside the hearth inside, but he would have none of my direction, so I let him be. Together we set off along the eastern shore of Black Duck Pond, walking south down the length of the thinner arm of water which pointed almost due north. We walked at an idle pace. I stayed close to the pond, Right Ear darted in and out of the wet grass, gathering burrs in his coat.
For two weeks I was gone, walking farther and farther away from Leifsbudir, taking in the wonder that is Vinland. On the first evening, as a red sun shone in the western sky, I saw a glorious bull-moose traipsing in the cold water of a swampy lake. His antlers were as wide as I was tall, having several plants with bright red berries hanging from them. While he chomped on something, his long brown-grey beard danced beneath his chin. I looked at my own blonde-grey beard and chuckled silently. Right Ear and I chose to sit quietly, watching him for a long while until at last he stomped his way up and out of the lake into the dense forest sitting on the opposite shore. I could have stalked the beast, bringing him down with one of my true, iron-tipped arrows, but I chose not to.
We camped at night wherever we found a soft patch of pine needles on a slight rise of dry land. These places were sparse since I was moving through an area densely packed with lakes, bogs, swamps, and ponds. Water fowl was prevalent, with large, black-necked geese flying in nearly constant motion over our heads, searching for the perfect lake to skid into for a landing. Many nights we shared one of these succulent birds for dinner.
Soon after eating, I would pull my books out from their leather purses to read in the firelight. Right Ear would often grow bored at this point and escape into the night. I would read until my eyes were heavy, eventually laying my head down on the books. When I awoke the next morning, Right Ear was always next to me, sprawled out, in dire need of rest from whatever adventure he had been on during the dark hours.
But one of the nights was different from the rest. I had felt we were watched all day while we hunted, however, I could never put so much as an eye on who stalked us. Ignoring the feeling while being secure in my skill with my father’s saex and my sword, I allowed Right Ear to lead us deeper into the wilderness. That evening when I made camp, I chose a spot next to a large, lonely boulder with faces climbing straight up from the ground. This would prevent my retreat if it became necessary, but would allow me to survey only one entry path for attack.
After a dinner of tree nuts and roasted rabbit, I propped my back against the great stone, watching into the night. Sleep did not come to me; I listened, certain I heard the footfall of a man a time or two. Strange birds began calling to one another with a soft coo. I had heard these calls before, but these had the characteristics of a man’s voice, coming from a little too close to the ground. Still I did not see anything.
In moments Right Ear was fast asleep, dreaming of some wild hunt as his legs ran at his side. He yipped occasionally, making me smile despite the potential for trouble during the night. But soon even he settled to a peaceful rest with his chest rising and falling with a slow steadiness. He was so rested that in a short time I smelled one of his stale farts wafting around our campsite. It was so foul I was certain my eyes would water and I punished him with a nudge from my boot with just enough force to awaken him from his slumber.
The dog raised his head to see what I wanted, decided he would rather sleep, and so rested his head back on the ground. But then it was raised again and Right Ear was on his feet growling into the blackness. The scruffy brown hair atop his shoulders rose slowly, standing at attention.
I patted his backside gently, while still reclining and said loudly enough for our visitors to hear, “There, there Right Ear. They are friends out playing wood elves in the forest. They mean us no harm.” Then I called even more loudly, “Anamikaage Ahanu!”
His soft chuckle told me I was right in my guess of who spied upon us. Then I heard other men grumbling as I saw their faces by the light of the fire while they emerged from the night. There were four men in all. My friends Ahanu and Nootau led the way, ahead of two younger men, Hassun and Rowtag, who struck Hassun on the shoulder, blaming him for giving their party away.
“Young Hassun, don’t let your friend lay the blame upon you for letting me discover your band,” I called. “I have been on this earth for many years, seen many battles, with many men keen to kill me. I know when someone stalks me.” I did not add that I was really not sure if my imagination ran wild that night. However, once Right Ear noticed their approach, I knew that it must be Ahanu, for a single arrow could have killed me if they meant harm toward me.
I stood and shook hands with all of them, indicating they ought to take a seat around my fire. Nootau and Ahanu did so, but the young men walked some distance off standing guard against something or someone.
“Ale?” I asked, passing them the pot of brew I had stowed within my rucksack.
“Yes, thank you,” the men said, with Nootau, then Ahanu taking a sip. It must have been awful to them because they both squinted while swallowing hard. The pot quickly came back to me with no requests for another taste that evening.
“What brings you to me out here in the woods? I have a home, you know. You are welcome there, though I know you’ve never been.”
Ahanu seemed bashful at the moment, but his friend Nootau did not delay, “We wanted to speak to Enkoodabooaoo directly, for you are moderate and fair. We did not want to encounter any of your people and were fortunate to find you out here alone.”
“Enkoodabooaoo?” I stumbled.
My friends exchanged smiling glances at their obscure, wickedly-difficult to pronounce word. “It means, ‘One who lives alone,’” answered Nootau. “It is what we have come to call you.”
