Erik the Red

by Tilman Roehrig

  Guided by Tyrkir, Erik skillfully steered his ship through the shallows between tiny islands and reefs. The water rippled. A light breeze refreshed Thjodhild, catching her hair. “Back there!” From the steering deck, she pointed east over the low side of the ship. “The sun is over Hawk Valley.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Erik touched her shoulder. “You wouldn’t be far from your parents here. They can visit us often.”

  They entered a small bay by the outer island. Erik jumped off the boat and carried his wife to the beach, which was covered with black pebbles. Alongside a gushing stream, they climbed up to a meadow terrace.

  “Here you’ll find enough room for the house and the farm buildings,” he explained to the two. “Just look around! The location couldn’t be better.” The bay would be the only harbor for larger ships and could easily be defended from here. He didn’t forget to point to the rocky step on the other end of the island, which would offer protection from northerly and easterly winds.

  Tyrkir listened to his master, impressed. Not so dumb at all, he thought. Once Erik’s got something in his head, he becomes quite the talker!

  “Come on!” Erik ran more than he walked as he guided his companions. Eider ducks startled and fluttered, circling their nests in a wide arc. At the top of the island, the view stretched over hills and hollows. Thjodhild and Tyrkir breathed deeply the smell of the sea and fresh grass. Erik dug into the ground with his bare hand. “Here, just feel it! The soil is good for onions and leeks, and we can grow grain, too.” He straightened up again. “We can also collect eggs. There are more than enough birds. And yesterday, I saw lots of seals out on the cliffs near the open water. We have meat and lard right in front of our noses.” Full of expectation, he turned to Thjodhild. “Well, what do you think?” Then he growled at his friend, “Say something!”

  Tyrkir watched the blond woman from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t sense disapproval in her expression. The great Tyr be praised, he thought. No, our Viking has not exaggerated. This really is an excellent place.

  Erik thought the silence had stretched too long. “Have you nothing to say?”

  Thjodhild met his gaze. “And where will we put our sheep to pasture?”

  “What?” And then he understood. “You mean . . . ? You think . . . ?”

  “Yes. I could settle here.”

  “Well, I . . .” The giant wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, so, the sheep? Right there in front.” The sister island lay just beyond. It was bigger, rockier, yet there was enough grass to breed wool stock. “We’ll build stables and barns over there, as well. In summer, we can use rowboats, and in winter, we can walk across the ice. We’ll . . .” He was becoming more and more enthusiastic. His inner eye already saw the farm: chickens cackled, and the udders of his cows gave enough to make butter, cheese, and delicious sour milk.

  “Not so fast, dearest!” Thjodhild embraced him. “We don’t own a single cow.”

  “Not yet.” He pressed her tightly to himself. “I know, I’m too impatient. We can’t start until the spring, as soon as the snow has melted. I’ll build you a house for the women, right next to the sauna, I promise. And we’ll spend the winter with your relatives.”

  Since there was no wood for a fire, he had his servants collect stones from the beach, and while Thjodhild explored their new empire on foot, the men erected a landmark on both islands. The solemn ceremony of appropriation would take place the next morning.

  “Bliss, Know-It-All!” he shouted on the way back, pointing at the two islands. “There it lies. Our bliss!”

  “You are my master.” Tyrkir grinned. He’d been infected by Erik’s enthusiasm. “How could I dare contradict you?” And I have no desire to. I, too, feel that this land has been waiting for us.

  Thorgest of Breida Farm laughed a lot, and when he laughed, he pushed the chin forward, exposing only the teeth of his lower jaw. Erik had made his request while he was still in the yard, and Thorgest had nodded and invited the strangers into his living hall. “We must get to know each other.”

  And since then, he’d been entertaining his guests. His throaty laughs were just bearable for Thjodhild. To distract herself from his foul stories, she tried to figure out which animal he resembled. Dog and seal were out of the question, as were horse, ram, and ox. Maybe a predator, but which one? Even that comparison was weak—the farmer’s noises did not fit. Finally, she gave up the search.

  In the meantime, Thorgest had completed the tale of his wild bachelor years and was now telling about how he’d started a family. “My wife died soon after the birth of my youngest, Odd.” He pointed to the muscle-bound son who squatted to his left at the foot of the high seat. With his chin on his knees, the boy, through half-closed eyes, watched the visitors, who were seated on the bench of honor.

  “Well, she’d already started to waste away after giving birth to my eldest—that splendid fellow there, my Toke. I always wondered how such a thin woman could push out such strong sons.” He pushed his foot into the young blond giant’s side. Toke was lying to his father’s right on the stomped peat floor.

  “The two of you drained your mother from the inside, and then kept at it when you made your way into the world.” The rest was drowned out in chuckles. “Well, she died.” He laughed, but none of the guests joined in. It didn’t bother him. “I didn’t take a new woman, but . . .” His tongue licked over the lower row of teeth. “Well, I always make sure that there are maids on the farm with soft thighs. In the beginning, it was easy, but now the boys also want to go into the hay, and that can sometimes lead to arguments when the old man wants to check the fresh produce first.”

  Toke and Odd grinned while their father on the high seat slipped back and forth, almost choking at his own joke.

  Disgusting, Thjodhild thought. With a side glance, she saw the slight smirk on Erik’s and Tyrkir’s faces. And you two are no better. Wait until we’re alone again!

  The farmer’s laughter stopped abruptly. His face became calm and sober. “Let’s get down to business.” He nodded to Erik. “You’re asking for a storage shed?”

  “Only if you can spare one.”

  “I’ve got plenty of room. That’s how I make my living.” Thorgest owned five barns. Only one, which stood outside the fence in the middle of the house pasture, was used for his own winter fodder. His farm was conveniently located on the road to Thorsness on the next peninsula, which was where the Thing was held twice a year. And so he rented room to anyone who wanted to store goods, horses, or carts during the court days—a convenient and profitable business. “I have a good reputation with the merchants. Everyone knows me and knows that everything is well guarded here. What do you need the barn for? I thought you were on your way to the south.”

  “Yes. But also not, at least since yesterday.” Erik leaned forward. “Yesterday—no, this morning—I lit my fires on two big islands outside in the fjord and took possession of the land for myself. We are neighbors, Thorgest.”

  The farmer and his sons sat up. Toke was the first to get his bearings. “The big one can only be Wiltgrass Island.”

  “Wait until we farm it, then all you’ll see is dark green.” Erik grinned.

  The farmer leaned back. “And you want to settle on Oxens Island? Of course, because from there, it’s easier to take the ship out to the Breidafjord.” He ran his fingers over the backrest. “So far, nobody has come up with this idea.”

  Odd stretched his arms sluggishly. “And everything has to be boated over. That would be too much work for me.”

  “Nobody asked you to help!” Erik snapped.

  The father intervened before a quarrel broke out. “If I understand you correctly, you want to store your household goods in the barn.”

  That, and the lumber, the covered wagon, and the horses, Erik explained. Also, his family’s two valuable high-seat beams. Anything he didn’t have to take to the south during the winter. That way, he and all his household could continue the jou
rney more comfortably on the ship.

  Thorgest looked at him for a long time. “I haven’t heard of you, even though I have cousins in Hawk Valley. You seem to be new to Iceland?”

  Thjodhild trembled and quickly glanced at Tyrkir. He leaned forward, ready to support his friend. So far, Erik hadn’t said anything about himself and his past, only that he had courted the daughter of Hawk Farm.

  “I came over from Norway.” Erik stretched out the sentence. “Because I’d heard that life was better here.”

  “I haven’t heard that, either, but yes, it could be. Never mind, it’s none of my business.” Thorgest flicked his thumb and index finger. “In any case, you are welcome as a neighbor. And since you want to live so far out on the water, we won’t get in each other’s way.”

  Thjodhild breathed out. As greasy as the farmer had seemed so far, these words had earned him some of her affection.

  “My shed is not cheap. And you have to pay in advance, you understand?”

  Erik did not haggle over the sum, immediately agreeing to the price.

  “Done!” Thorgest jumped from the high seat, and the men sealed the deal with a handshake. “Here’s to good neighborliness next year! Your belongings are in good hands with me, and I will fatten your nags.” When he saw the worried look, he added. “Just a joke. We know something about horses. You’ll find them strong and without fat bellies.” He pushed his chin forward, showed his teeth, and laughed again.

  The guests were to stay for dinner. They could use his barn starting tomorrow. He didn’t press with other curious questions, instead enjoying his beer, telling dirty stories, slapping the maids on the ass, and raving about the ferocity of his offspring.

  After saying their farewells, Thjodhild was glad to have finally escaped that laughter. “That man! And his sons are no better.” She glared at the Erik and Tyrkir. “But you had your fun, too.”

  Tyrkir shrugged. “That’s the way it is when there is no lady to pay attention to customs and decency.”

  “A men’s household,” Erik said weakly.

  “Shame on you!” Thjodhild punched them both in the sides. “Get behind me! I’ll do without your grinning mugs, thank you very much.”

  The Fishing Haul of the Gods

  Both babies were lying naked on a blanket in front of the house. The girl was playing with a rattle, trying to guide the smooth wooden stick to her mouth. She reluctantly shook the toy and crowed when the little stones inside hit each other. She kicked her legs. The boy lay quietly beside her, sucking on his right fist. By the time the south wind from the sea had reached the top of the hill, the midday sun had turned it into a gentle breeze, caressing the pink skin of the little ones. Gudrid had been born at the beginning of March that year, Leif in May—a white blond and a golden head.

  Their mothers sat next to the blanket in the grass.

  “We have beautiful children,” Thjodhild said with a smile.

  “They are healthy, that is the main thing. Nevertheless, I am proud . . .” Hallweig paused. She struggled for air, her lips turned blue, and she rubbed her chest. “It’s tight again, so tight.”

  Concerned, Thjodhild looked at her. “If my mother were here, she’d know an herb that could help.”

  “I don’t believe it. So often . . . we’ve had a neighbor from Eagle Farm visit. Grima is a wise völva. Her magic . . . has saved many.” Every sentence took effort. “She gives me tea. But it doesn’t help much. Since I had my baby, the trouble just comes, and then . . . I have to wait until it passes.” The small, roundish woman lay back. After some time, her breathing calmed, and fresh red returned to her lips. “Thank you. You’re so patient.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “It’s true.” Hallweig turned to her side and rested her head on her hand. “I’m glad that you and your family are here. Together, we’ll have a beautiful winter. And our husbands get along with each other. That’s important, don’t you think?”

  “It seems almost like a miracle to me.” Thjodhild smiled, sighing. “Erik is not always easy, but one simply has to like your Thorbjörn.”

  “Yes, I am lucky.”

  After they were welcomed a month ago by Thjodhild’s wealthy uncle, he had decided that Erik, Thjodhild, their child, and Tyrkir should go to Warm Spring Slope with his son-in-law. Although the house was very spacious, Thorbjörn Vifilsson could no longer offer accommodation. Many visitors had come through since the Allthing and had named him the goden for the South Island area. Without further ado, Erik’s farmhands and maids were accommodated with Uncle Einar and his second son-in-law. Since the family farms were not far from each other, this was an easy solution for everyone.

  “What’s your Erik like?”

  The question surprised Thjodhild. Although she and Hallweig had developed a deep fondness for each other over the last few weeks, she hesitated. She’d never talked to a woman about her husband. Who would I have to talk to? she thought. My childhood friends have long since become strangers to me, which only leaves my mother, and she’d have only given more well-intentioned advice. Thjodhild looked across the plain down to the water. White spray rippled on the waves.

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  “No, it’s fine. My Erik . . .” Thjodhild wrapped her arms around her knees. “How can I describe him? You know, he has all the good qualities you could wish for as a woman, but somehow, they have not yet made peace with each other, perhaps because he has too much of everything. First, there is his pride, which almost cost him his life. Diligence and perseverance. He proves he can work every morning when he’s out fishing with your Thorbjörn. Add to that his strength. Also, as a fighter, I know no better. And he is loving to me. And he knows how to run a farm. Oh, I could list many more traits. Of course, he has a Viking skull that often makes me furious. Sometimes, I wonder about his wits, but then he behaves like a boy again, and I gladly forgive him. You see, Erik is still full of edges, not smooth. He is still searching. But now we have our islands. When the house is built and we have settled in, then maybe he will . . .”

  Hallweig nodded. “Being settled, that’s it. A man must have a place so that he can come to rest. Even if he travels by ship over the summer to do business, he finds peace with his family when he comes back.”

  “Maybe.” Thjodhild swayed back and forth. “It would be better if my Erik stayed at home and managed the farm. You know, he gets angry easily, and I wouldn’t be there with him in a foreign country to soothe him. We’ve had enough misfortune already.”

  “And your steward, this German, are you satisfied with him?”

  Satisfied? Thjodhild closed her eyes. I think about Tyrkir far too often. I know it’s not fitting for a respectable housewife. But it helps my heart through the more difficult hours. And since I will never betray this secret, it cannot do any harm. As lightly as she could, she said, “He simply belongs to us, and it is good that Erik has him as a friend.”

  The women were startled by a moan. Gudrid had lost her wooden rattles. She struggled and began to scream. Leif immediately joined in.

  For two weeks, the farmhands and farmers of the south had been roaming the mountains and gorges. They had searched on horseback for the free-range sheep and driven them from the summer pastures into the valleys. Little by little, they filled up the large, fenced-in gathering place in Warm Spring Valley, and by mid-September, the bleating drowned out even the cries of the kittiwakes above the cliffs.

  Each owner recognized his own animals by their differently cut ears and pulled, dragged, and chased them from the inner circle through a gate into his compartment.

  Days of slaughter followed, a lot of beer was drunk, and in the evening, the men lay naked in the hot spring pond, chatting and stretching and drinking on.

  Erik enjoyed the carefree time with Tyrkir. By the side of Judge Thorbjörn, they were no strangers to the neighbors.

  “Soon, we’ll have that much meat in our own stores,” Erik assured his friend as they strolled from the
bath to the house, crimson red and soft-skinned. “And on my island, it’ll be easier for us to catch the sheep.”

  Tyrkir looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Easier, yes. But also lonelier.”

  “I don’t need neighbors—” Erik stopped. “If they were like these, maybe. But I can do without the ones we’ve had so far. Leave it alone, Know-It-All. We’ll build our domain alone, and if we want to see people, we’ll go to them by ship. That way, we choose. I prefer that.”

  How much have you suffered? Tyrkir shook his head. My strong friend, I wish so much that the gods will be kind, and that this time, our hopes will be fulfilled.

  The last light of autumn passed and then the beginning of winter. The new judge wanted to give his first big feast on Warm Spring Slope.

  Thorbjörn Vifilsson walked up and down in the courtyard, his high forehead wrinkled. Deep in thought, he stroked the strong bridge of his nose. For each guest, he had Tyrkir push a glowing needle into the tanned cowhide. Relatives and friends had long filled the first column, and the names of the influential lords of his district had not caused any difficulty, either. Still, now the gode tortured his brain to remember the small farmers of the remote areas. “Write down Geirrod of Bird River and Sindri, the Flatstone Collector.” He shrugged. “There are getting to be more and more—I’m afraid those who can’t find a bench or stool will have to sit on the floor.”

  “Don’t worry! There may be angry faces at the beginning of the feast.” Tyrkir pushed the needle into the embers. “Once everyone’s had enough beer, the close quarters won’t bother them, even if your hall bursts apart like an overstocked wicker basket.”

  “Stop your mockery!” Immediately friendly again, the judge explained, “I must not forget one single man. Otherwise, he will feel offended, and who knows when I may need his vote. I have to be able to count on everyone. You see, my office forces me to run an open, generous house. That’s how it is—hospitality for everyone. But between us, hardly any of those characters really please me.”