Paths of the Norseman, page 9
part #2 of The Norseman Chronicles Series
Leif’s pleasant smile returned while he looked on the land with anticipation. He didn’t even have to call to encourage the men. Their rowing quickened into a sharp clip as everyone looked forward to discovering new worlds.
After one hour of rowing we came close enough to the rocky crags jutting from the ice and water to cast our anchor. Leif, Tyrkr, and I put out a boat with three other men and rowed ashore. After tying the boat off to a spire-like rock we scaled the dangerous shoreline to the highest nearby point. A brief survey told me that this place was no place for men. My initial elation subsided as I scanned over theses glaciers that carried huge boulders in their midst, grinding them to dust as they pushed toward their inevitable deaths in the sea. The only breaks from these lumbering ice packs were the occasional rocky masses such as the one on which we stood. Further inland was even more dreadful. Jagged mountains rose up with sharp peaks leaving no place to hunt or build or plant in between. Rocks and ice. Not that different from Erik’s Greenland, yet more foreboding.
Leif seemed elated though. So much so that he slapped my back and exclaimed, “Look at it, Halldorr! Look at it!” Leif’s extended arm swept out over the land and he shook his head in wonder.
“I am, and all I see is cold and death. Bjarni was wrong about much, but I think he figured this place correctly,” I answered. “I say we row back to the ship and head south to find the other lands he saw.”
Leif chuckled while crossing his arms to brace somewhat from the cold. “We shall, Halldorr. We shall.” Now pointing to Thor’s Treasure he said, “These men are our witnesses so that it may never be said of us as it is of Bjarni that we did not set foot upon this shore.” A shock of his red hair rapped at his face from the wind which he ignored so that he could continue making his speech, “Since the discoverer of a world gets the honor of naming it, I am going to name this land Helluland.” This disappointingly unoriginal name meant Rock Land.
We spent three more days following Helluland’s shoreline and confirmed, as Bjarni had, that it was an island. During this time I spent time at the oar marveling at the harsh landscape and going ashore whenever a party went. Everything we saw confirmed that none of us would get fat or rich off this land. Why did the One God see fit to even construct such a place, good for nothing? With no incidents to share, our time there came to an end and we struck out south for, hopefully, further discoveries, rich, lush, and green.
On this leg of the journey our backs were rested from a warm wind. It was not necessarily a favorable wind, coming at us from the south, but it was wind nonetheless. We stowed the oars atop the T-shaped brackets in the ship’s center and spent the day beating to windward. Leif found that the starboard tack was most favorable so we sailed for quite a time to the southeast before coming about for a short port tack. We then turned for a starboard tack again, repeating the process over and over again.
Since only a handful of men were required to manage the sail in a change in tack, most men found a spot onboard to catch a nap when they were not needed. I slid my whetstone slowly, deliberately over my sword’s edge while watching one man, Folkvar, sleep as peacefully as if he were at home sleeping with his lips upon his mother’s breast. His beard needed to be trimmed above his lip and so he sucked the coarse brown hair into his mouth when he inhaled then blew it out violently when he exhaled. He wore a saex strapped on his dry-rotted leather belt. It was not the quality of my saex blade, made in Frankia. Folkvar’s saex looked like it was something he inherited from his father when he was still a youth without whiskers. Regardless of the quality of the blade, I could see it was in poor condition as it had partially slipped out of its small wooden scabbard. Orange rust blanketed the steel, slowly eating it away while he lounged. I thought of the countless strandhoggs I had been on in Europe. I thought of the many battles I had sailed to and what we did aboard our ships. We used whetstones to sharpen spears, swords, javelins, or axes. Thralls would polish our mail until their muscles were sore, sweating and burning, and the chain sparkled. Commanders would review battles plans. In short, no time was wasted. On this journey, we wasted time.
Late in the long second day, the wind shifted – a header to our starboard tack. So as the old adage goes, “Tack on a header,” we came about for the now more favorable port tack. After sailing southwest for over an hour Tyrkr, one of the few men awake, shouted from the prow, “Land! Starboard!”
I jumped over the slumbering Folkvar and ran to where the German stood pointing. Tyrkr’s eyes were good, for the land was just a vague darkening of the sea at the horizon, but it was land. Leif ordered that we stay on the port tack much longer so that we would work our way closer to the shores. An hour more brought us to a better vantage point to see the land Tyrkr spied. It was a group of islands each about two miles wide covered in dark green hills and trees. But they were not the only magnificent sight. For behind them lay a great, vast land of fantastic forests and lush gently sloping knolls. This land was much more thrilling to view than Helluland just two days north. This land had possibilities! In a moment, thoughts of settling this land flashed through my mind. This country must be superior to Erik’s Greenland – this land was actually green!
We looped south around the group of islands then sliced north between them and a head on the mainland. A beautiful, wide harbor opened in the mainland north of the cape. We crept into it with sail lowered and our backs at the oars. The harbor was about one mile wide with the land rising smoothly from the still waters. After sailing inland for three miles the harbor turned sharply to port before ending one mile later with two curving beaches. One was scattered with grey pebbles rounded from the constant lapping of the sea. The other had fine sand. As we traversed the harbor, I thought of the Fjord at Agdenes so I instinctively looked to the hills for the mountain goats which stood watch over Agdenes, but there were none. In fact, we saw no wildlife except for several varieties of birds.
Like all areas where land and the sea meet, we saw sea gulls, some with distinct black heads. They floated on air currents above us, following our ship. Two of the boldest landed on the stern and were rewarded with chunks of stale bread from Leif for their bravery. The men laughed as Leif asked questions of the birds such as what this land was called and who led as its jarl. They laughed more when the gulls responded at the proper times with their screeching calls. Higher above the waters, a flock of twenty ducks quacked their way inland from the harbor. They seemed to be descending, so I guessed there was a river or lake nearby.
Leif ordered that we slide the keel into the soft sand of the beach, but I quietly suggested to him otherwise. We would do such a thing if we were a crew of warriors, but since we were not and since we didn’t know what kind of skraeling to expect, I thought we should cast our anchor and row ashore as we had done in Helluland. Leif looked disappointed that he did not think of this action, but agreed with the prudent idea, swiftly countermanding his original order. The men held the oars stiffly so that the blades remained under the water’s surface, slowing our progress. They then pulled up their dripping blades and as we slowed, Tyrkr and I heaved the mighty iron into the harbor. It plunged out of sight, quickly stretching its rope taut. Thor’s Treasure came to a restful stop, tugging on the straining cord.
Our row boat was launched. I joined Leif, Tyrkr, Folkvar, and two other men as we made the short distance to shore. My feet splashed into the rippling water so I could help pull the boat up away from any currents, and then we struck off inland. As we entered the cover of the first set of tall pine trees Leif chuckled, “Twice in one week we have outdone Bjarni.”
“Not hard to do,” was my reply. Sitting in my longhouse today, I still think comparing ourselves to Bjarni was weak, at best.
“Aye, you’re correct. But even so, we’ve now set foot upon two undiscovered lands. No Norseman, no man at all for all we know, has ever been here.” Leif rapped a tree with the face of his sword which rang loudly as he made his point. “This will get us into the sagas for sure.”
With a broad smile to match his immense shoulders, Tyrkr piped up as Leif finished, “Well, hopefully if there are no men here, we have good luck with the women.” We all had a good laugh and marched steadily along a tiny creek. Leif and I walked next to one another and chatted about mostly nonsense. At least I recollect none of the conversation today. After one-half mile the trees opened to a small, deep blue lake. The sun was on the opposite side of the water and reflected sharply off the surface. The ducks I had seen earlier were idly floating near the opposite shore, taking turns diving for the afternoon meal, in between their quacking chatter.
I dreamed of building a longhouse on the side of the hill, next to that unnamed lake. I dreamed of exploring the forests around it for the rest of my days. I dreamed of retrieving Gudrid to my longhouse and raising a family. I silently dreamed all this and more as we walked around the water to head further inland still.
The afternoon went by quickly while we walked in the abundant lowland in the valley. We came to another lake then climbed a large knoll nearby only to see that we were still on an island. We were not on the mainland as we thought. That didn’t stop Leif from claiming his right as discoverer of all these lands to again name them. Looking more like his father, Erik, than the Leif I knew, he made a little show of sweeping his sword over the land and seas, saying, “I will name these lands . . .” But he was interrupted by my snorts and giggles. The whole of the group looked at me, mostly out of the corners of their eyes. Leif looked honestly confused, “What is it Halldorr?”
I chuckled out the words, “It’s nothing.” Leif’s face said to go ahead and say what I had to say, so I spit out, “It’s just that I had one of your premonitions that you so often have.”
Leif became genuinely excited and said, “Then share it with us. It must be humorous, whatever it is.”
“I don’t know how funny it is, but I felt as if I knew you would name this land Markland.” When I finished, I laughed and laughed and laughed. I laughed so much that I leaned up against a tree while tears ran down my cheeks, wetting my beard. When I finally regained my composure, I noticed that not a single man had joined me in my fit. Only Tyrkr had a smile on his face, but his was probably from not understanding my joke more than any understanding.
Finally Leif finished, “Halldorr, you are an enigma. And you’re right. We don’t know how funny it is. But you’re also right that this land shall be called Markland, after the forests that it offers to us.” He was quite serious in this proclamation. In fact, this was likely the most obtuse I ever witnessed Leif to be in my life. But even the wise and moderate among us are occasionally at a loss. When he finished speaking, I again laughed by myself. The men grew tired of watching me so the group began its descent down to the creek to find its way back to the ship.
When they were gone several minutes, I eventually regained my composure. Being alone for the first time in days, I stood surveying Markland. I thought that we should immediately go back to Eystribyggo and tell all of Greenland that we must resettle to these new lands. Plentiful timber; harbors; game, no doubt; and the likely warmer climate made Markland a place where our displaced, fortune-seeking Norsemen could excel. I would talk to Leif about it when I went back to the ship.
As I turned to face east and the direction of the harbor, I noticed a waft of smoke some miles inland on the mainland. At first I thought it was just fog or low hanging clouds in the distance. Then I saw that the waft of smoke was quite large and was being fed by at least a dozen small fires somewhere beneath the forest canopy. Skraelings. I ran to report my findings to my companions.
. . .
Folkvar was urinating into the harbor while the rest of the men were loitering in the row boat when I burst from the forest onto the beach. Only Leif took notice of me when I slid to a stop in the sand.
“Get in Halldorr,” he said without a care in the world.
“Skraelings!” I panted while pointing back in the direction from which I had come.
“I suspected we would find some. But we’re leaving when Folkvar is done defiling the seas, so I suspect wherever they are, they can’t cause us much harm,” replied Leif. Then with a little mockery he added, “Unless an entire tribe is chasing you.”
I ignored his gibe. It took a moment for me to comprehend the rest of what Leif said, “So we’re returning to Greenland already?” We spent more time rowing around the frozen Helluland than we were going to spend in this paradise? But at least I would be able to retrieve Gudrid sooner than I thought, be wed, and return here to build a life!
But Leif shook his head, “No, we’re going on south. Remember, Bjarni’s men spoke of a third land.”
The skraelings now completely forgotten, I opened my mouth to protest, but Folkvar turned at that moment, showing me more of him than I cared to see. He cinched his trousers, took three broad steps across the sand to step into the rowboat, then all the men looked at me in anticipation. After deciding it wasn’t much of a letdown, that the lands to the south may be better on which to explore and whelp children, and that Gudrid could wait, I walked to the boat and took my turn at the oar until we reached the ship. With our stern to the creek, we captured a small breeze in our cloth, and sailed out of the harbor.
I stared back at Markland, letting its image burn into my mind. I hoped to return here one day, I told myself. I hoped to bring my fine woman, Gudrid, to live in these gentle slopes, drink of the tumbling waters, fish in the sea, and, of course, furrow her like the plow does supple soil.
But that was hope. My fate has not seen fit to consider my hopes. In fact, it often seemed thoroughly opposed to my hopes, preferring to counteract whatever my wishes dreamed to be.
. . .
We spent the rest of that day and night slowly angling away from the shore headed in a generally southeast direction. I was bored with our journey so far. While I certainly didn’t miss the killings that went along with the mass conversions on my expeditions with Olaf, I did miss the excitement inherent in any and all of his endeavors. For years, Olaf had led me and even Leif for a time, across the seas, conquering and subduing. Now Leif seemed to be content with briefly setting foot on new land then leaving it behind, wholly unexplored.
Leif was slowly changing, maybe maturing into a jarl while his father yet lived, before my eyes. He seemed less inquisitive, less willing to explore – even though this was an exploratory voyage – as our too-brief walk in Markland demonstrated. That night while I pushed against the quiet sea with the rudder of Thor’s Treasure, Leif lay on the steering deck near my feet fast asleep. Early in that cloudless night, he reminded me of Vigi, Olaf’s old dog, so soundly did he sleep. Yet as the night aged, his sleep became fitful. He spoke out loud incomprehensively at times. He turned over and over, nearly rolling onto the main deck below.
As the sun rose off the port bow, Leif, too, awakened. He rolled over onto his back across my feet, and I could see his hair and beard were matted with sweat despite the chilly sea air. He wore a grave expression, not unlike he did the day of the Thing at Fridr Rock all those years ago. I asked him about it at the time, but he put me off, focusing instead on the dragon-ordained, bronze wind vane which swirled at the top of the mast. “Wind shift coming,” he said.
I followed his line of sight and saw that, yes, the vane seemed to be settling on a new direction, even though the square sail just below it still plumped with the breeze we had used since leaving Markland.
“Looks like we’ll get a northeasterly in a few moments,” I said.
“Aye,” groaned Leif as he pulled himself up from his erratic rest.
Tyrkr lounged nearby, scraping the mold from our very hard bread which would serve as a breakfast for the men. We would likely have to soak it for some time in ale or seawater so that our teeth would not shatter. He finished one fist-sized loaf and carelessly tossed it back into a dark wicker basket, retrieved another, then looked out across the waves while his knife flitted across the sustenance in his hand. He tilted his head to the northeast observing, “The ripples look like the shift will be fairly strong. Should I wake the men?”
Leif and I smiled at one another. Tyrkr was not much of a sailor. A crewman I would want on any voyage, to be sure, but never captaining a ship. He was looking into the direction of the new wind and saw growing ripples atop the waves. Somewhere, someone had told him that the size of the ripples indicated the coming wind’s power. It was a common misconception. But ripples always appear enormous when facing wind, new or not and always appear miniscule when facing away.
Leif just nodded saying, “That may be Tyrkr. I thank you for noticing. I think we’ll just have Halldorr turn to starboard and use the full force of the gale.” He said the last word with a little sarcasm that was lost on the still-smiling Tyrkr. The former thrall went back to his scraping while I changed our heading to the southwest.
I don’t have anything at all to report on the next two full days and nights. The weather was ideal. The breeze was steady. We sliced through miles of water without incident, though the men began to grumble that we sailed far enough to reach the Midgard Serpent which would swallow our small ship whole.
. . .
And then I laid eyes on the land that would become my home for many years. I would know joy and sorrow, elation and depression, friends and isolation, peace and war. I would even fancy myself as jarl of this land someday, but I am getting ahead of myself in the story.
On the morning of the third day one of the men saw land and we made our way toward it, coming ashore by way of our rowboat. Like Iceland or Greenland, it was a rocky landscape with tufts of scrub grass bobbing in that day’s intermittent wind. I saw no trees to speak of from my vantage point sitting in the stern of the small boat. The jagged cliffs above the sea grew while we closed in, looking for a place to land.
