Norseman Chief

by Born, Jason

  After a fitful sleep, we began walking before the sun rose, mostly in silence except for the light crunch of snow beneath our feet and the light panting of men working their muscles. I had borrowed a pair of snowshoes made from rawhide strung between two bent sections of wood. They were excellent despite their obvious, well-worn use and helped me hover over the snow without plunging in. All the other men with us had snowshoes of the same design which I thought was far superior to any I had seen used in Norway or Greenland. As I breathed in the cold air, creating puffs of fog around me from my exertion, I thought I would one day take the idea for the shoes back to my people and sell them. Maybe I would be a cobbler of sorts rather than the farmer I had always longed to become. But I knew even then that such thoughts were hopes and dreams to be dashed against the rocks like the constant beat of the surf. Foolish thoughts.

  I could tell the men with whom I marched knew these woods and valleys like they knew the bodies of their women. Each had most likely spent countless days in their youth running these hills playing battle games in preparation for a day such as this when they would be called as men to defend their people from some formidable threat. A possible threat, I reminded myself, for I truly did not know who Etleloo had found hiding in a secret longhouse.

  Rowtag had sent two groups of scouts ahead despite his knowledge of the terrain. It was a wise choice, I thought, to search for the enemy before they found you at a time and place of their choosing. I walked among Rowtag’s group of kin since it was clear that Etleloo and I would not become fast friends that day. It seemed that Etleloo and I were to become adversaries as can be common among strong willed men. I shrugged to myself while brushing past a snow-covered fir tree branch; Providence would see his way through. We would become friends or not. I did not care.

  Rowtag was a strong young man, perhaps aged twenty-five years. He was not as handsome as Kitchi had been, but nor was he as homely as I thought the Segonku, or Megedagik as his father called him, was. Rowtag was likely considered an average man among his people, but I sensed reflective intelligence. He was of medium height for the skraelings, coming no higher than my shoulder. His shoulders were not as broad as my own people’s, nor were they as broad as Etleloo’s. As I walked silently next to him in the shadow of a deep valley, Rowtag wore an otter skin cap and two layers of a tunic-type shirt made from buckskin. His face was always covered in geometric black tattooed lines, but this day he had painted in some of the figures with a brilliant red paste. All of his people were fond of it and I had seen them make this paste often in my short time with them. They used the red ochre clay dug from nearby hillsides or riverbanks then mixed it with fish oil. His hands were empty at the moment, but appeared ready to spring with killing action to grasp the handle of his axe or the belly of his bow in an eye’s blink.

  Some of the younger men chuckled at the back of the ranks from a joke I did not hear and Rowtag quieted them with a quick glance. I looked at them too and saw that they deferred to his silent reprimand, but still wiggled with laughter under their collective breaths. That’s when I noticed that all the men in our band were adorned in red that day. Many of them had red paste decorating their faces like their leader. Others even carried bits of the red cloth my Norse brethren had traded with them in the years before. It made sense to me then as it does today for even my native people set red shields on the gunwale of our fast longboats when we headed into battle to let all know we would soon let the blood of our enemies. When a mature, stocky warrior punched each of the gigglers in the arm to encourage quiet, I was brought back to my senses. It was wholly satisfying to be among warriors, the bringers of death, again, even if it was with men who may be called to turn their bows toward me depending upon how the day’s action progressed. Just thinking about being with such men drew a smile in the midst of my greying beard.

  Then the scouts were before us, seemingly materializing out of the snow, reporting their findings. The longhouses sat in the next valley and all was quiet according to the barely panting men. They had seen no sentries posted around the settlement. What the scouts had witnessed, was one young Norseman come out to gather wood, toss it in the door, then call to another man. The two left, carelessly ambling along the valley floor, carrying bows, most likely for hunting.

  “Well done,” Rowtag said as Etleloo sidled up behind us to hear. “Go catch up to the hunters and watch them. And don’t let them see you. Do not fight unless attacked.”

  The wiry men both nodded their understanding and disappeared as fast as they arrived, heading up the hill deeper into the cold forest. Rowtag said, “Halldorr, Etleloo come with me.” Etleloo bristled at the smaller, younger man’s command, but held his tongue. The rest of the men melted into the trees without a word, awaiting our return.

  Except for the creaking of our snowshoes and the snow, the three of us worked in silence up and over the hill. At first I did not see the two longhouses, even with the leaves gone from many of the trees in the grip of winter. It was Etleloo who saw them in the distance, tucked at the foot of the opposite hill, likely in a near constant shadow regardless of the season. Someone had chosen the isolated spot well – if the goal was to go undiscovered by all but the most vigilant eyes. They were certainly homes built in the style of my people, sitting in a single line with the doors tucked in the gable end facing one another.

  “They must be scouts for more of his sea people to come,” surmised Etleloo.

  Rowtag considered that thought a moment, “Then why are they so far inland, away from the sea and easy reinforcements, away from the larger fresh water brook just one valley away?”

  Etleloo shrugged, “Maybe they have no sense. This one has none. Maybe they want to be secret in their movement.”

  I pursed my lips while shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”

  Etleloo gave an incredulous look, “I don’t think we care to hear your thoughts. It is your people we are going to deal with today.”

  But Rowtag was temperate, holding up a hand to steady his fiery distant cousin. “Etleloo, we do need to hear his thoughts. He likely knows these men. He speaks their language. Halldorr knows their thoughts, motives. He is older and has seen more battle than you or I combined.” I then understood why Ahanu had placed the young man in command of the mission, he was wise and moderate, not unlike my friend Leif. “What do you have to say, Halldorr?”

  Etleloo breathed noisily while he controlled his anger to at least a small degree. I gave him a nod, knowing the anger of youth, understanding that he did not trust me. “Our comrade Etleloo is correct that whoever built this compound wanted it to be secret, but they are no fools. Whoever they are must be hearty, canny men to have made the long, difficult journey without prior notice by your people.” I pointed at the homes, “The thickness of the growth on the roof and the wear of the walls tell me that these homes are two or three years old. If they meant your people harm, why sit in silence in this valley so long?”

  “And so what do you propose?” asked Rowtag before Etleloo could interrupt.

  “I don’t know. Why shouldn’t I just go down to see who it is?”

  “And have you warn them of our presence?” snorted Etleloo.

  “At some point they will know of our presence unless you plan to burn them out and then cut them down.”

  “That is exactly what we should do! I shouldn’t even have to discuss this with the likes of you.”

  Rowtag waved his hands while simultaneously shushing us, “And yet that is exactly what me must do, Etleloo. Ahanu, our chief, your chief, trusts this man and therefore I trust him, even though he comes from another people. Now, both of you should stop bickering like our women at the river.”

  “Have you forgotten all the good men who have died by this man’s hand? I cannot just forget them.”

  “Stop it, Etleloo! Of course, I haven’t forgotten them. You insult me by asking the question. They were my blood too. How many of his people did you kill when we attacked them? Do you not think he
grieves for them?” In fact, I didn’t grieve as I had learned the hard lesson of death many years before on the battlefields of Europe, but Rowtag was wise for one so young. “Now will you please end this whining?”

  “Etleloo, I have killed many in my life. I have killed Irishmen, Scotsmen, Englishmen, Swedes, Danes, and even some of my own countrymen. My life has been filled with mayhem since I was a young boy. I do not wish it on you. I don’t pretend that we will be friends, but you must know that my intentions are nothing but good. I will work to protect your people as I am bound to your chief.”

  He shook his head as if he dismissed my words, but I could see in his eyes that those same words worked on him as we stood having the dispute when we should have been creeping on our bellies toward the longhouses.

  In the end none of our plans would have mattered, which was a familiar predicament for me. As I looked again toward the homes in the distance I saw a flash of red come from under the green fir trees that skirted the yard. It was a man or boy of Ahanu’s people wearing a swatch of red cloth tied into his dark hair. He crouched at his waist while jumping gingerly from foot to foot, piercing the snow noisily as he approached the nearest house.

  I pointed down the hill, “Rowtag, I think one of your men is trying to be a hero this day.”

  All three of us craned our necks to see a little better, “That is not one of my men. He is just a scrawny boy.”

  It was Kesegowaase! “By the One God, he’s going to get himself killed!” I exclaimed, running down the hill, drawing my sword. “He’ll get us all killed and then his mother will kill us all again!” I was already ten or fifteen paces away when I shouted back, “Rowtag, get your men, bring them over the hill and get them ready, but keep them hidden. Etleloo, come!”

  I didn’t look back to see if they obeyed my order – I just ran. In moments I was at the bottom of the hill, running across the bottom of the valley. My snowshoes caught here and there on the dead wood that jutted from the snow in places, but I managed to keep them on. Without them, I would have plunged into the snow with each step. As it was, I quickly found myself winded. There was a time when I could run forever, never even thinking of fatigue. That day I had run less than a half English mile and was sucking in the cold, dry air deeply, burning my lungs in the process.

  At last I made it to the edge of the clearing around the longhouses and paused. While I breathed heavily and swallowed, I heard loud footfalls behind me. I hoped it was Etleloo.

  When I had enough breath to call out I hissed, “Kesegowaase! Get back here.”

  When he jerked his head in my direction, the boy looked surprised to see me. Just then the door to the far longhouse burst open and an arrow sprung from the darkness, catching the boy on the side of the neck, ripping across the flesh and landing harmlessly between my legs. Blood spurt from the wound, splattering the nearby longhouse and Kesegowaase yelped, instantly falling over in the snow.

  I heard gruff cursing in my native tongue coming from the darkness within. Men were shouting at one another about stringing another arrow or coming out to attack. Without thinking I bound over a log, ran across the yard, leaped over the boy, and ran straight at the open door. I shouted the whole way; I don’t even know what language I used, I was so upset that one more misunderstanding in my life would likely bring about more deaths, more killing of my people and the people of Ahanu.

  A surprised shout from the longhouse, “Halldorr?” should have stopped me, but like a wolf with blood in his nostrils, I ran. I reached in the door, grabbing the bow and hauled it out into the snow. The man who had fired the missile held fast and fell headlong into my path. I vaguely recognized him, but the haze of anger made only one thing clear. The edge of my beautiful sword, the one with the Christian symbols adorning its entire length was quickly brought down on the fat belly of the bow. Three of the man’s fingers sprung from his hand as he screamed horridly, immediately cradling the bleeding mess in his right hand. The bow was broken in two.

  I spun to meet and extinguish whatever the next threat would be, but instead was greeted with laughter. “By that frozen bitch, Hel! Halldorr Olefsson? What do you think gives you the right to come to my camp and maim one of my men?”

  “Huntsman?” I asked.

  “Who else would it be you brainless ox? Now get in here so that we don’t all get killed by the skraeling beasts. Drag my fingerless man in with you.”

  Slowly my breathing returned to normal. I looked over my shoulder to where Etleloo dragged the pale Kesegowaase back to the tree line. Shouts from the surrounding forest told me that Rowtag and his men were getting close. What happened next would determine how many would die at the foot of that rugged hill. I threw my sword into the snow, “You do not need to worry, Thorhall. There will be no killing today.”

  Raising my hands I stood between the two forming groups of men and began detailing the reasons for peace.

  . . .

  Needless to say the man, Halfdanr, whose fingers I cut off, never warmed to me. I shrugged saying that at least they came from his left hand so that he could still draw the cord of his bow back with the fingers of his right, though his accuracy would never be what it was in the past. And when he let the cord snap, there was a good chance the bow itself would chase after the arrow in the air since he would have difficulty holding its belly. So I suppose he did have a reason to be angry. But he would not have to rely on other men to bring home prey for his stomach. He would not starve.

  Interestingly though, Etleloo did begin to warm to me, only to a degree, after that day’s events. He must have liked what he saw in my spontaneous reaction to Kesegowaase being cut down, though he was certainly not a friend of the boy either, instead preferring to ridicule him incessantly about his delay in coming to the trials. However, whatever their blood tie to one another was, it would always be more secure than one between a skraeling and my people, I was sure.

  I had quickly convinced Etleloo and Rowtag to let me bring Kesegowaase into Thorhall the Huntsman’s home so that we could tend to the bleeding wound. It was not deep but sprayed blood all over the snow and turf walls of the nearest longhouse. When received in battle, these wounds usually kill men very quickly as they lie on the field, turning pale, awaiting help that never comes. Thankfully, my peace talk was rapid enough that we bound the wound in short order.

  The boy was weak and pallid when his eyes fluttered open after many moments. Kesegowaase reached and tore at the bandages reflexively when he woke, but Etleloo slapped his hands back sharply, “You fool. I will not let you die this way, at the hands of the giant sea people in something that these men will say was a battle. I’d rather you live so that I can whip you outside the homes of our people. Whip you like the boy you are!”

  “What does he say, Halldorr?” asked Thorhall, hand ready to snatch his sword.

  “He’s upset with the boy for nearly getting us killed when we were coming on a mission of peace,” I said, stretching the truth.

  “These men, with their warrior paint making them red, don’t look like they were preparing for peace,” he said gesturing to the handful of fit, scowling men in furs, holding spears and hatchets.

  I merely said, “Nonetheless, that was our mission.”

  “What does he want?” asked Etleloo. “Speaking his strange talk makes me think you conspire with him.”

  Rowtag answered for me and I was thankful, “Etleloo, perhaps you should listen more and then you may learn the talk so you would know for yourself. I’ve understood a handful of their words. In the meantime, close your mouth and listen to Halldorr.”

  “They know your name?” asked Thorhall after hearing the one word he understood from Rowtag.

  “Of course they know my name. I live with them.”

  “What? How?”

  “I am bound to their chief for saving me from my own stupidity. I have many months to go before I may leave.”

  “So you are a prisoner?”

  “Of sorts.”

  �
�Stay with us and fight then. We will see you free!”

  “It is not like that, at all,” I said. “These are good people.” Then I pointed to Rowtag and Etleloo saying, “These warriors are brave and true, as any of our men are for their own families. I live with them and will fight for them if I must, though I don’t desire to see any more bloodshed.”

  “Huh! No more bloodshed for Halldorr Olefsson? Blood will follow you for all your days, boy.”

  “Why are you here, Huntsman?” I asked, turning the conversation. “These al gumna kyn are here to talk with you through me and to find out your intentions.”

  “Why do you talk to me like I am an enemy? I am about the only friend you have in the world, you swollen cow teat.” he asked, hurt and more than a little angry.

  “That is true, Huntsman. You are a dear friend. I love you like a member of my family, but I owe these people much. Just tell me you haven’t been sent here by Leif or someone else to attack these people.”

  “Huh! That much is true. I am done being sent anywhere by anyone. I brought these men here to live in peace. Why do you think I am isolated away from the sea? I can hunt and do not need to talk to the gossips in the towns. I hope to die here.” But thinking of what he just said, Thorhall added, “But not at the hands of these men in their red paint ready to make a name for themselves.”

  “And you won’t die in such a way. I can assure it if you do not bring them any harm.” The others all looked on. Kesegowaase fell back asleep. “But where is your ship then?”

  “After bringing our supplies onshore some miles to the north, I took Valhalla out into the deep waters and saw her scuttled!”

  That struck me as funny and I laughed out loud to the confusion of Norse and skraeling alike. “So you are more of a prisoner here than I will ever be,” I said at last.

  Thorhall shook his head in disgust while I began to translate my discussion with him to Rowtag and Etleloo. I ended that translation by lying, “And this man, whom we call the Huntsman for his prowess in the forest, has invited a group of you to stay behind and enjoy his hospitality for as long as it takes for Kesegowaase to heal.”