Paths of the Norseman, page 5
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
A half hour walk brought me to that neighbor. Jormungandr lived on the next farm with his wife and three children. He was Bjarni’s second in command and had profited handsomely over the years. His farm was on a steep hillside facing the fjord. The structures were ill-placed on the northern slope and so didn’t get the benefit of the southern sun and its needed assistance for warmth. It didn’t matter tonight. The traitor would die, cold or not.
I wanted to be quick with dispatching Jormungandr. His oldest son was about eleven years old and would no doubt try to help his father during the attack. I did not want to have to defend against a boy, because I knew only one type of defense, offense. The boy would die if he approached me. Jormungandr was also wealthy enough to have a barn full of sleeping thralls. Although the wind howled that night, too long attacking their screaming master and mistress would bring the slaves into the fight as well.
I went to the longhouse and knelt next to it listening. My lesson was learned last night, I would not approach the door until I had completed at least a basic reconnoiter. Listening for several minutes, I heard no laughter, no conversation, no humping. I nodded to no one and then tossed the polar bear’s head over my own and took on the persona of the vicious redeemer, the Berserker, the crazed warrior.
To prepare myself for what would come, I thought about treachery and lies. My anger boiled again. The rage coursed through my veins and hit my muscles. They tensed and I drew both blades while kicking open the door. Jormungandr’s wife sat up with a start while he sat up with a confused, but benign look on his face. Their bed was at the far end of the hall past the blazing hearth. Shouting, I ran past the children who bunked together for warmth. The oldest was starting to climb up so I thumped his head with the extra large pommel of my sword. He crumpled onto his younger siblings.
By now Jormungandr realized the danger and stood with his sword blocking my path to his plump wife. I halted at the end of the hearth nearest the married couple and sheathed my saex. I grabbed one of the heavy black iron pots that hung from the rafters and hurled it at Jormungandr. He covered his face, blocking it with his forearms. Satisfied by his response, I snatched another heavy pot and heaved it at him while moving forward myself. When he instinctively blocked the pot again, I swung my sword at him with terrific force. It caught his left elbow and then slashed across his chest creating a debilitating gash. He crashed back into a post of the bed. His wife was screaming uncontrollably now. I took the last step to him, feigned a copy of my first sword-strike, and when he moved to block it, snuck my blade between the ribs of his right side. I gave it a sharp twist and felt the scraping of the blade on bone as it withdrew. He fell down onto all fours and I struck the top of his head with the sharpened edge of my sword. Jormungandr slumped to the floor. I spit on him and wiped his blood on his terrified wife’s nightgown. I ran for the door just as three puzzled thralls came into view. I picked up a short three-legged wooden stool then jammed it into the first man’s chest to knock him down. The next two stood in the center of the threshold and I ran at them with full strength. We all fell headlong into the snow, but I jumped to my feet and ran south, up and over the slope so as to confuse the direction of any pursuit.
It never came.
Running, I cut a rounded path back to the first farm with the bleating sheep. I was tired so I invented a new tactic for this killing. After listening at the wall, I pulled out my saex and noiselessly opened the unlocked main door. This man and his family were all sleeping. Their peaceful sounds gave me a tinge of regret for what I was doing. I pushed away those feelings and crept to the back of the house. This man’s two children were younger, both under five. As I snuck past them the youngest opened her wide blue eyes and stared at me. I froze in place and held a single finger up to the polar bear nose indicating she should be quiet. She nodded and then rolled over and closed her eyes.
I stood there for many minutes to be sure she slept. When her breathing was again relaxed and regular, I finished my path to the master’s bed. He lay with his back to me with one arm slung over his wife. Placing one knee on the ground I cupped a hand over his mouth while forcing the saex up into his lung from beneath his ribcage. His arm left his wife and flailed behind to me, but his strength lasted only seconds. When he was completely melted back into the bedding, I withdrew my blade and wiped it on his wife’s clean white nightgown. The touch made her adjust her position, but she returned to a deep sleep immediately.
While I passed the hearth toward the door, I saw some cheese and soft bread left over from supper. I put it into my coat pocket for the walk home and silently opened the door. When I was safely outside in the Arctic night, I slammed the door to make a loud crash. As I hiked over a jagged rock toward Brattahlid, I broke out the cheese, and then heard the first shrieks of the man’s horrified woman. Eight more were yet to receive my judgment.
. . .
The next day the sun would likely shine for about five hours and I planned to sleep through all of it. These arrangements were spoiled when a thundering series of knocks sounded at the door. While I still lay curled under a blanket, Erik invited Tofa, along with two men, in from the cold. They had come to see the jarl about the killings. Erik encouraged them all to sit at his table.
The promiscuous woman still wore a shaken countenance. Tofa’s pudgy hands trembled while she sipped a warm broth Thjordhildr served her. Below her disheveled hair, her nose and cheeks were bright red from the trip across the bitter land to Brattahlid. Her eyes looked wild, far away.
Erik asked, “What is going on?”
One of the men, Skari the Seagull, who was a member of Bjarni’s crew and therefore sentenced to death, spoke first. “Three men are dead.” He let it hang for a moment before continuing. “She says she knows who did it.”
I panicked on the inside but remained still. I was certain she did not see my face two nights earlier. Perhaps Tofa recognized something I wore. My sword and saex were both within reach if I needed it to fight the visitors. Erik could be reasoned with, I was sure, if it came to that.
“Well, out with it then. What did you see? And who is dead?”
Tofa set the bowl of steaming broth down onto the heavy wooden table. Her hands bounced quickly which she seemed not to notice. Tofa looked at Erik, then to Skari, then to the second man, Yngvarr, whom I had condemned to death as well. She was uncertain and it appeared that her mind was elsewhere so Yngvarr started her out, “Three of our seafaring crew were killed two nights ago. Torir, Tollakr, and Dagr.” At the mention of the last, Tofa burst into tears from her puffy red eyes. They streamed down her face and joined similarly streaming snot to coalesce above her lip. She paid the mess no attention while her hands continued to quake on the table.
Turning to Yngvarr, Erik asked, “Are those the men who live farther out of the fjord, by the creek?”
“Yes. That’s the group.”
“Skraelings?” asked Erik.
“She says no,” indicated Skari with a thumb. “She came to my wife and me late yesterday with the tale and we let her stay. We picked up Yngvarr on the way here for added protection.”
“Protection from whom?” asked Erik with anger. Greenland was a safe settlement for the most part.
“You mean from what,” spoke Tofa for the first time. Her hands stopped vibrating and she put one on Thjordhildr’s, squeezing.
Erik looked incredulously back and forth between Yngvarr and Skari. He shook his head saying, “Men, you know that if a polar bear got them, the beasts will run from you in daylight if you make enough noise. And if you are scared of a fox or stoat, it would be best if you returned home to your wives for protection.”
“It was a polar bear,” said Tofa.
“There. You see. Nothing to worry about. Thankfully, those men had no families so I don’t have to worry about feeding more mouths,” answered Erik. He rapped his knuckles on the table as if proclaiming the meeting complete, but Thjordhildr cleared her throat and indicated the frazzled Tofa with a nod of her head. Erik considered Tofa for a moment then added, “Yet, it was tragic to witness, I am sure.”
“It was a brown bear,” said Tofa.
“You’re just confused, Tofa. There are no brown bears in Greenland. You just said it was a polar bear,” said Erik in an understanding voice.
“It was a man,” continued Tofa. Now Erik was confused and looked at Yngvarr again, who nodded. Tofa went on, “We were up late enjoying each other’s company when Dagr went out to piss. He returned just a moment later missing part of his arm screaming, “Bear!” Then the creature came in the door after him. It had the head and body of a polar bear, the stomach of a brown bear, and the legs and arms of a man. It carried two swords, one small, one long.” I looked at my belt with its scabbards for my sword and saex and cringed. “The beast killed all three men, then it roared like a bear, and shouted like a man before it left.”
Except for kitchen thralls preparing the next meal, all was quiet in the hall as Erik digested the story. At last he said, “And you two believe this story? How much ale have you been drinking?”
The men never had a chance to respond because another series of forceful knocks came at the door. Erik huffed and yelled to one of the thralls, “Alverad, see to the door!” Without hesitation the slave woman ran to the door and let in the two widows I created last night. They brought their children with them and two more men who served on Bjarni’s ship, Thor’s Treasure. The men wore serious expressions, while the women looked like Tofa – crazed, fearful. Erik was exasperated, “What’s this emergency about?” Then in partial jest, “I suppose you have seen a bear-man too!”
Eyes widened in shock that the jarl knew of their problem. The young girl I had shushed the night before was bundled in hides and toddled over to Erik. He picked her up to place her on his lap. While tugging his red and white beard she said, “Yes, I saw the bear-man. He helped put me to sleep; then I think he killed my father. When do you think papa will wake again?”
Jormungandr’s widow, Nessa, described the horrific scene she had witness the night before, ending with how I cleaned my blade across the nightgown she wore. Then she said, “And the sword was unique.” Nessa searched for words to describe it. “It had intricate pictures running the entire length of the blade.”
“Pictures?” asked Thjordhildr.
“Yes. They were pictures of fish and men. One of the men on the sword was a giant compared to the rest,” answered Nessa. Thankfully, I had not had the occasion to show my sword to anyone since I left Norway. Neither Leif nor Tyrkr had seen it and so I thought I was safe from discovery for, at least, a time.
“Is this punishment from the gods?” asked Erik.
“For what?” asked Yngvarr.
Shrugs all around gave me the chance to sit up where I lay and address the group. Most hadn’t even noticed I was there so they turned in surprise when I spoke. “I think Erik is right. We must assume it is punishment. But it is not punishment for all of us.”
“What do you mean?” asked Erik.
“Ask yourself who is dead. Dagr, Jormungandr, Torir, Tollakr, and this woman’s husband were killed by a bear-man carrying a distinctive sword. They are all members of the same merchant’s crew; they are Bjarni’s men. It sounds like all the gods and the One God are conspiring against them for something they harbor, some evil they’ve done. Think about it. The old gods send a Berserker to exact retribution, but he uses a sword with fish, men, and a giant emblazoned across it. These are clearly stories from the word of the One God.” I paused for effect. “Bjarni’s men are condemned to death.”
Angry shouts erupted around the room. Bjarni’s men shouting at me and one another while Erik tried to calm them down, waving his hands in the air. “We must consider what Halldorr says is true!” exclaimed Erik above the rest. The room settled, and so Erik continued, “We must make certain that we protect ourselves. Families should group together for protection until we can kill this beast.”
“Or until it satisfies its bloodlust,” I added matter-of-factly to the displeasure of all in the house.
Erik gave me a reproving look and continued, “Sick or not, Halldorr will go out with the remaining daylight and gather houses together. Stay with them if you must, Halldorr. I’ll also send Leif, Thorvald, Tyrkr, and others to spread the word.” Then he indicated to Bjarni’s men, “And you men, I want you to boil the dead down to the bones so that we have something to bury in the spring. I don’t want bloated bodies in my village for months at a time.”
. . .
I spent three weeks sleeping in various longhouses throughout Eriksfjord, careful not to alarm the populace, making my announcements with relaxed conversation that the gods had sent a beast to carry out revenge on Bjarni’s men. I assured my hosts and their neighbors they were safe. And, of course, they were. It happened that for those three weeks even Bjarni’s men were safe, for the beast did not return in all that time.
But human beings are forgetful. We soon find ourselves occupied with the drudgery of daily life. At first, men would return to their farms while the sun shone in order to tend livestock by breaking the layer of ice from their water troughs. Then some men spent an evening at home. By the end of the third week, with no trouble reported anywhere in the fjord, men were inviting their families back home. The panic was over; except for the widows and their families, normal life resumed. And I was happy because the darkness of the new moon returned.
I was glad to traipse into the frigid night again. I felt alone and liked it. My thoughts could wander wherever they wished and no one would know by my expression. Memories of love, lust, revenge, hatred could stir from within and follow whatever path they wished. In one recurring thought I saw my dead wife’s sister, Thordis. She had been married to my close friend and fellow Berserker, Einar, but in my retelling of history, she had chosen me, and I was next to her now in Norway making baby after baby to go out and see the world. I sighed because I didn’t really want any of that anymore. I wanted Kenna. I wanted my woman with her big thoughts and small breasts. My blood-fueled frenzy against Bjarni’s men would not bring her back. It would not bring Cnute back. What would come of it?
But it didn’t matter what came of my actions, I thought. These men had the blood of thirteen Norsemen and women on their hands and I would see that justice was served. Bjarni manipulated the shocked elders fourteen years ago. I would not let any of my own thoughts manipulate me into forgoing what must be. As I hopped atop a large boulder typical of the Greenland landscape and peered down at the quiet longhouse of Bjarni, I once again resolved to see that he meet his end tonight.
About one hour would bring with it the dawn; I was exhausted. I had traversed much of the hills surrounding Eriksfjord and I had already killed five more men that night. Skari the Seagull, Yngvarr, and the final three crew members who were complicit in Bjarni’s treachery met the One God with blood-soiled clothes, piss in their breeches. They died in similar fashion to their brethren; at the hands of a bear-man in complete view of their horrified families. I needed to complete my work that night because my victims’ homes would certainly be reinforced once news of more deaths spread.
Bjarni Herjolfsson was to be the last to die in my feud. With purpose I jumped off my perch on the rock and ran down the slope across the snow. I tried the door, but it was barred so I just thumped hard with the side of my fist. Nothing. I pounded again. This time a groggy voice, yelled, “What is it?”
“Halldorr Olefsson,” I said with no need to hide it anymore. “I’m here with a message of grave importance. Please let me in.”
“Give me your message and be gone!” shouted Bjarni from the opposite side of his sturdy door.
Thinking quickly I said, “I must see you for the message is long and it’s frigid this morning.”
“Well then come back later! Why are you out so early?” shouted an increasingly distrusting Bjarni.
“I already told you that the message is literally of grave importance.” Then I added the first thing I thought of, “It’s from Sindri Sindrisson and his wife; the message comes from the grave.” Sindri’s wife had been killed at Fridr Rock in the skraeling attack. A long, long pause came in the conversation until I asked, “Did you hear me?”
At last Bjarni’s voice indicated interest. Quieter, this time, he asked, “Are you alone?”
“I am.”
“Then back your bastard self away from my door and shout back when you are at least twenty ells away.”
I did so, and the door opened just enough for Bjarni to emerge. It slammed shut again and I heard a heavy bar crashed home by his wife or son. He had put on a coat of mail in pristine condition. Obviously, he purchased it on a trip to Europe, but never had the need to use it in battle. In his right hand he carried a finely decorated sword, though it looked like the blade’s weight was too large for the pommel. He stood there letting his eyes adjust to the dark. At last he must have noticed the polar bear hide strapped around my shoulders was splattered in various shades of red from fresh, dried, and frozen blood because he gave a start. I said nothing.
“So you are the bear-man, come to exact revenge on me for the exile of you and that confident son of a bitch, Leif?” mocked Bjarni.
“I am, indeed, a Berserker to the king! I have come seeking revenge, but not for my exile. Bjarni, the One God, whom you did not accept at Christmas, has a saying that goes like this; what you intended for evil, he can work out for good, for his purposes. You meant for us to be killed in the skraeling attack. Then when that didn’t work, you meant for us to disappear forever, maybe killed in faraway lands. But Leif found love, as did I. I found the fatherly love of a man who converted thousands to the One God. I also found the love of a woman. For these things, I am grateful to you.”
“My life has never been my own. Fate rules me. But today, for this moment, I am seizing my destiny as the dispenser of justice, not for my wrongful exile, but for the thirteen deaths directly caused by your treachery.”
