They Came On Viking Ships

by Jackie French

  Freydis met his eyes. ‘If any of the men learn how to sniff an iceberg they can come and tell me. Till then this dog gets what we do.’ It was the first time, Hekja thought, that Freydis had openly overruled her husband’s advice.

  Snarf drank his water, then ate the fish from Hekja’s fingers after she’d taken out the bones. Then he dozed, till someone trod on the deck behind them.

  Snarf yipped a welcome. It was Snorri the Skald. He shoved a rolled sleeping bag out of the way, and sat on the deck next to Hekja. It was the first time he had sought her out since mid-winter, though she had sensed him watching her during the voyage.

  Was he waiting for her to misbehave, she wondered, so he could tell Freydis of her rudeness to him at Yule? He puzzled her. Most times he acted like any Norseman would. But at others…

  Snorri looked at Snarf, instead of Hekja, and rubbed his ears, so it almost seemed he had come to talk to the dog rather than to her. ‘Well, noble hound,’ he said half jokingly, ‘can your nose smell out land for us?’

  ‘Arf,’ said Snarf willingly.

  Snorri laughed. ‘So, you understood that, did you? But was that a yes or a no? What do you say?’ he asked Hekja. ‘Can your dog smell land as well as ice?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hekja honestly. ‘I think he might be able to.’

  ‘It will be useful if he can,’ said Snorri lightly, but Hekja could hear the urgency behind his words. ‘Some of the men are saying we’ve reached the endless ocean, with all hope of land behind us.’

  ‘Then you should have stayed safe at home,’ suggested Hekja, then bit her lip. They were harsh words for a thrall to use to a free man, almost like calling him a coward. Somehow she spoke without thinking when Snorri was around.

  But Snorri just raised an eyebrow. Perhaps, thought Hekja suddenly, he doesn’t think I matter enough to be angry at. Then he said, ‘One day I’ll go home again. In a year, perhaps. I’ll sing of this voyage and the settling of the land and the adventures. That is what songs do, tell others of what lies beyond their narrow lives.’

  Hekja said, as though it was no concern of hers, ‘You don’t intend to stay in Vinland then?’

  Snorri looked surprised. ‘No. I never did. I am my father’s heir. One day I must run the estates.’

  Hekja said nothing. Despite what she had said to Freydis, sometimes, in the dreaming moments before sleep, she had wondered if in this new land a free man might ask her to be his wife. But if that happened it would not be Snorri the Skald, heir to Norwegian riches.

  The darkness grew deeper about them. People were unrolling their sleeping bags, and settling for the night. It was time to go up to the prow with Snarf, for their evening watch. There had been no icebergs for days now, but Freydis was still uneasy about what might happen in the dark. ‘What will happen,’ Hekja said at last, ‘if we don’t find land? Do any of your chants tell of sailors who never found a shore?’

  Snorri shook his head. ‘How could they? My songs have to be about the ones who came safely home, to tell their stories.’

  ‘And dead men don’t sing songs,’ said Hekja quietly. ‘Maybe those alive should sing them for them. Men with dry mouths, aching for rain, their eyes longing for a glimpse of land. Bleached bones floating on old ships, with only the sun and waves to see them.’

  Snorri was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘You almost make it sound like a song.’

  ‘No,’ said Hekja. ‘These are your heroes, not mine. Nor my songs neither.’

  ‘You don’t think what we are doing is worth a song?’

  Hekja shrugged. ‘I didn’t say that. But your heroes are not my heroes.’

  ‘And who would your heroes be?’ asked Snorri softly.

  Hekja smiled. She laid her hand on Snarf’s back and scratched him just above the tail. Snarf stretched in ecstasy and laid his head on her lap.

  ‘Snarf is a hero,’ said Hekja. ‘He saved me and my friends from a wolf when he wasn’t even full grown. He must have been scared, but he still went for that wolf’s throat. Our chief was a hero. He took his boat out in the high seas to save three fishermen. My mother was a hero. Even as they were killing her she used her last breath to tell me to run. But what do I know of heroes?’ added Hekja, ‘I am just a thrall.’

  Hekja stood without waiting for Snorri to reply, and made her way up to the prow, with Snarf following her. Freydis and Thorvard were there already in their sleeping bag. Freydis nodded to her, and closed her eyes. The only sounds now were creaks and snores and the slapping of the sail and waves. Hekja rolled herself in her cloak and sat with Snarf as he stretched out and smelt the darkness.

  One bark would wake Freydis and warn the man on the tiller there was ice ahead. But for now Snarf seemed to smell nothing, except the sea.

  Or did he smell fear as well, wondered Hekja, as the ship quietened about her. These men were brave. Fighting was their joy and even death at sea was an adventure. But even they were frightened of a slow death, their sides shrinking from lack of water, their bellies screaming for some food. Soon they would demand that the ship turn back, rather than keep sailing into the unknown.

  The waves washed at the ship. The mast creaked, the sails flapped. A hen squawked, awake for a second, and then was quiet. Snarf seemed to sleep, but his ears were pricked, and his nostrils twitched as well, and Hekja knew he would fully wake at any hint of danger. And so she dozed.

  Suddenly Snarf leapt to his feet and pointed, as he might at an iceberg or a deer.

  ‘Arf!’ he barked. ‘Arf!’

  Hekja rubbed sleep from her eyes. Freydis threw off her sleeping bag, then stood and peered out into the darkness. In a heartbeat Thorvard was at her side.

  ‘He is pointing west,’ he muttered. ‘The iceberg must be far on our right side. There is no need to worry about it.’ Thorvard slipped into his sleeping bag again.

  ‘Arf!’ Snarf barked louder than ever.

  ‘Good dog,’ said Freydis, absently rubbing his ears. ‘We’ve heard you, now go to sleep.’

  Snarf sat and growled, deep in his throat, then stood and barked again.

  Freydis sighed. ‘Some of us need to sleep. Can’t you get him to be quiet, Hekja?’

  ‘No!’ urged Hekja. ‘Please. It’s something different. It’s not his iceberg bark.’

  ‘Arf!’ Snarf strained his body towards the west, then looked back as though willing them to understand.

  ‘Please!’ Hekja pleaded. ‘Listen to him!’

  Freydis laid her hand on Snarf’s head, and gazed into the darkness. Suddenly she seemed to understand. ‘Land?’ asked Freydis softly. ‘Do you smell land?’

  ‘Woof! Woof! Woof!’ Now the other dogs were barking too.

  ‘Hard aport!’ yelled Freydis suddenly. ‘You at the tiller! Move!’

  The ship slowly swerved, till it faced the wind. Snarf’s nostrils flared, as though whatever he smelt became stronger now. As the ship moved he moved with it, and he kept pointing in the same direction—west.

  All over the ship men woke up, and rubbed their eyes. And still he pointed into the darkness. It was only when he was sure that they were headed in the right direction that Snarf sat and rested his nose on Hekja’s lap, while all about him the people waited for the day.

  Dawn came behind them, the sun rising out of the sea. But even in the faint light before sunrise they had all seen it, like a line of clouds on the horizon.

  But these clouds were land.

  Years later Hekja would make a song of how her dog discovered Vinland. Their ship had been headed too far east. If it hadn’t been for Snarf’s nose they would never have come to land at all.

  Of course others had discovered Vinland before Snarf. Hekja would make songs about them too, the Skraelings and Bjarnin Herolfsson then Leif.

  But for Hekja, Snarf would always be the true discoverer of Vinland. What did it matter that he was not the first?

  * * *

  30 This was the method the Vikings used to tell how fast their s
hip was going.

  Chapter 31

  LAND!

  The land came closer and closer still. The sea changed colour, brighter, greener, till Hekja could see waves, all white-tipped about this shore. The wind smelt of soil and trees. The land was bright with them, more trees than Hekja had thought possible for a land to grow. It was a strangely flat land too, with green hills instead of proper mountains, like the other lands she’d seen.

  By the time the sun was high they had come in close enough to see the beach. Here was another strangeness—sand that glowed the same colour as the sun, not stones or rock, great beaches that stretched to the horizon, instead of coves and fiords where a ship could rest. The ship sailed for a whole day, and all they saw were trees and sand.

  But this, it seemed, was what Leif had described. No one minded the lack of water now.

  There was no safe harbour where the ship could rest that night—the waves rolled into the shore and the wind was strong and, besides, there seemed to be no streams or rivers where there would be fresh water anyway.

  Freydis ordered the sails lowered, though, so the ship didn’t drift far in the night. There might be rocks or sandbars, where the ship might run aground, and in any case she was looking for the island that Leif described, that led to Vinland’s harbour. It would be easy to miss it sailing on at night.

  Dawn saw the ship not much further than they’d been the night before, but the wind was still strong. By midmorning they discovered Leif’s island, sitting like a fat blue whale on the outer edge of a great harbour.

  Everyone cheered and clapped each other on the back, as though no one had ever doubted they’d land safely.

  Freydis ordered Thorvard to steer to the landward side of the island, and told the lookout to watch for sandbanks and rocks. Now they could see a headland, with twisted trees blown out of shape by the wind, and below the headland a great beach of rippling sand and a river, wider than Hekja had dreamt that any stream could be. Far up the river something gleamed among the trees—the lake that Leif had also described.

  Vinland!

  The wind was behind them now, fresh and gusty so everyone had to yell above its howling and the flapping of the ship’s sail. Thorvard shouted, ‘Look at the colour of the water! Best wait till high tide before we travel up the river, or we might run aground, as Leif did!’

  Freydis grinned. ‘Leif the Lucky, stuck in the mud.’ But she gave the order to pull around, and Thorvard steered the ship back to the island till the tide rose higher.

  Finally it was safe to cross the sandbanks into the mouth of the river.

  Hekja peered down into the water. It was so shallow still she could see the sand, all rippled like the waves had carved it, and a few fish too, with silver scales that glistened in the shallows. Hekja leant down and lowered a dipper into the river water and tasted it. ‘It’s salty!’ she spluttered, spitting it out.

  Freydis grinned. ‘It’s too near the sea. Don’t worry, there’ll be fresh water further up.’

  People were shouting now. You could smell the excitement, so strong it could carry the ship to shore without the wind.

  ‘The trees!’ cried someone. ‘Look at the size of the trees!’

  ‘And the ducks! Enough feathers to bed an army!’

  ‘A land of plenty,’ breathed someone else. It was Hikki. Hekja could almost hear his dreams: land here, and far richer than any he had known.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said a voice behind her. It was Snorri.

  Hekja nodded. ‘The colours—it is all gold and green and blue. Like every colour has been dyed twice to make it glow.’

  Suddenly the men gave a cheer. There on the river banks, in a clearing among the tall, tall trees, were the two big long houses that Leif had built and promised to his sister, and smaller huts for smelting iron and carpentry and storerooms. Smoke sifted into the sky above the green sod roofs and there was another boat pulled up in the shallows.

  We’re here, thought Hekja. And Finnbogi has arrived before us.

  Chapter 32

  THE FIRST NIGHT IN VINLAND

  Finnbogi’s men came running out of the long houses and in from the forest, where they had been cutting timber, and stared at the ship as it came up the river. Thorvard pulled it close enough to the bank to cast a rope ashore, and one of Finnbogi’s men tied it around a tree, while another shoved out a plank so the passengers could come ashore.

  Freydis’ men and women clambered onto the dry land. There was more back-slapping; men gulped river water and splashed their faces to wash off the salt, and paced around the trees, exclaiming at their size. The women marvelled at the lush grass and what milk and cheese the cows would give on such a pasture.

  But Freydis stood back as the others rushed to shore. Even now she stared down the coast, past the great river, as though wondering what new lands might be there. She caught Hekja watching her, and smiled slightly.

  Hekja stood back to let her pass, holding Snarf by the scruff of the neck to stop him bounding out, and let the others climb out first. She watched as Freydis stepped across the gangplank and narrowed her eyes at the smoke coming from the long house’s smoke hole.

  ‘Men,’ she muttered. ‘That’s all that Finnbogi has brought, it seems. Where are the women, hey? Thorvard!’

  Thorvard had been staring around the clearing. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Tell the men to fetch their weapons,’ said Freydis in a low voice. ‘One by one, so no one notices.’

  Thorvard stared. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Where are Finnbogi’s cattle? His sheep?’

  ‘Perhaps he thought he would share ours,’ said Thorvard.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Freydis quietly. ‘Whether we agreed or not.’

  Thorvard’s eyes widened. ‘I will tell the men,’ he said softly.

  Hekja shivered. Was their new life to begin with killing?

  Freydis beckoned to her. ‘Come with me,’ she ordered. She started for the long house, Hekja hurrying after her, with Snarf sniffing at the new scents along the way.

  They reached the long house just as Finnbogi stepped out.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said, grinning. ‘We made it here before you!’ He waved a hand at the giant trees, the grass that looked like it had never known the snow of winter. ‘It is just as Leif described! Even the grapes, great bunches of them on thick vines, hanging from the trees.’

  Freydis ignored the talk of grapes. ‘Why didn’t you call at Brattahlid, as we agreed?’

  Finnbogi’s grin grew wider. ‘Is that what we agreed? I must have forgotten.’

  ‘It was,’ said Freydis coldly. She looked around. ‘I see your men, Finnbogi, but no women. No cattle either. How can you settle a new land with neither cows nor women?’

  Finnbogi looked down on her from his great height. He looked like he was enjoying himself. ‘A man can make riches with neither cows nor women. Besides, my wife is here, and her thralls. That is enough for me.’

  ‘And for your men?’

  Finnbogi shrugged, and glanced at Hekja. ‘If you have brought women then perhaps we’ll have to share.’

  Hekja felt her skin prickle. But she gave no sign that she had understood.

  ‘We will share profits,’ said Freydis crisply, ‘and that is all. Why have you put your belongings here?’

  ‘Where else?’ Finnbogi looked her up and down lazily.

  ‘These houses are my brother’s,’ said Freydis. ‘He said that I could use them—me and my people.’

  Finnbogi shrugged, his grin even wider. ‘Then you should have set out earlier. You can build your own houses. I am here now, me and my men.’

  ‘I have men of my own,’ said Freydis evenly.

  ‘Men who follow a woman,’ snorted Finnbogi.

  ‘My men followed me to Vinland. They will follow me now,’ said Freydis quietly.

  ‘Then perhaps you should have brought them with you,’ said Finnbogi.

  ‘We are partners, Finnbogi,’ said Freydis, still in tha
t too quiet voice. ‘Do I need men with me for you to honour your word?’

  The two stood there. If they had been dogs they would have growled, thought Hekja, their hackles raised. But these two only stared.

  ‘Do not cross me, Finnbogi,’ said Freydis finally. ‘My men have their swords and axes and are waiting for my word. Where are your men’s weapons? Hanging up inside the houses? You have a choice. We can start this colony with your men’s blood upon the ground. Or you can leave my long houses, according to the law.’

  Finnbogi stared at her for a moment without speaking. Then he pushed past her, out onto the path down to the river. Hekja heard him shouting at his men to leave the unloading and come and take their things from the long house.

  Freydis smiled, but her eyes were worried.

  Finnbogi and his brother and their men, and the five women who were with them, loaded their belongings back onto their ship.

  ‘Watch them,’ Freydis told Hekja. ‘I want to know exactly where they go.’

  Hekja ran out to the bend of the river and watched Finnbogi sail further down the shore then into the lake. The trees were too tall to see where they headed after that, but soon smoke rose up into the air. It seemed Finnbogi had set up camp on the lake shore. Hekja ran back to tell Freydis.

  The cattle had been unloaded now, their legs unsteady after the voyage. Freydis ordered the bull tethered to a tree, while young branches were stripped from the trees Finnbogi’s men had cut to make a rough fence to keep the cattle and sheep in. The hen boxes were placed on a platform of big rocks, and the hens let loose to scratch around. They would roost in the trees at night and come back to their boxes to lay.

  ‘Come,’ said Freydis to Hekja again. They left the others to their unloading, and entered the biggest of the long houses.

  It was far larger than the farmhouse in Greenland, and twice as high, with a framework of great tree trunks, and wooden walls as well. There was a big attic room where the men could sleep, as well as the storerooms and the hall below, and bed closets each closed off by wooden walls, for the couples, the first that Hekja had ever seen, and a big room at the end of the great hall for Freydis and Thorvard. All along the hall there were benches of rough wood to sit on and big tables, just half-round slabs of wood resting on tree trunks.