“Because otherwise . . .” He smiled thinly. “Well, I thought when people heard a nice name, they’d want to go there.”
Stunned, she stared at him, tears running down her face. “Even without this deception, I would have followed you and Tyrkir, because we are a family. And if we have to perish there, it would have been the end of Erik Thorvaldsson’s clan. But now . . . a whole people? No one should take such guilt upon himself.”
“Come closer,” Erik said, his voice gentle, “because I cannot leave this place.” As well as he could, he wiped the tears from her cheek. “You really would have gone with me no matter what?” He sighed deeply. “Then, the effort was not in vain.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I told you the truth. Maybe not quite all of it, I admit, but in a week, I’ll show you our green meadows.”
“You mean . . .” She clasped her hands and looked into his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t lie like that. Or . . . ?”
Thjodhild left him the rudder, looking indecisively toward the bow. Tyrkir was telling his godson something. He rolled his eyes, crumpled his face, and Leif laughed brightly, beaming at him. Not now, she decided. I’ll ask him later. If the green country takes too long to reach.
The storm had driven the settlers’ fleet far off course, that much soon became clear to the two friends. On their first trip, there’d been many more icebergs lurking near the coast.
“We are much farther south than I expected,” Tyrkir said after one day had passed, and the following noon, Erik came to him on the bow deck. He shielded his eyes from the sun, grinning. “I knew it. Fate is with us.”
Before them, the sea was free of ice. “Full sail!”
Their journey turned into a wild rushing party. Driven by a stiff wind, the Mount rode around the southern tip and pulled the formation behind it, leading it safely into the mouth of a fjord.
The sails dropped with the yard beams, and no more spray splashed up at the dragon’s heads. But before the last cloth was recovered, Erik was already delivering his instructions through the funnel of his hands. All skippers were forbidden to drop anchor. No dinghy was allowed to go to the rocky shore. “We are not at our destination!”
This was a short respite, nothing more. Erik took the onslaught of curses and threats stone-faced. “I have command! Without me, you’ll never see green land.”
He had his ship row alongside Herjulf’s knarr. “Remember this entrance, friend!”
Not much farther down the fjord, there was a protected harbor. On its shore, he had marked out a settlement for Herjulf, who was an experienced trader. They’d already agreed back in Iceland that Herjulf was to erect large storage halls there in addition to his dwelling house. “You will lead the most important trading post in my Greenland. And believe me, I have chosen this place well!”
No matter where the merchants came from, whether from England, the Hebrides, Denmark, or Norway, they would first go ashore here, and they’d be able to store their goods. Herjulf was instantly thrilled by this offer. His only son, Bjarne, had long been sailing the seas as a wholesaler in his stead, and Herjulf felt too old for a new beginning with just a few cattle. But the prospect of being able to set up a new business here in Greenland gave him a fresh surge of strength.
“Set the sails!”
The future master of the trade settlement rejoined the formation. He would return to his Herjulfsfjord only after he’d set down the families entrusted to him and his knarr.
Although no more icy winds were driving the ships north along the west side, the hopes of the emigrants froze from hour to hour. As much as they searched the coast between craggy rocks and scree beaches, they had not yet discovered usable land to provide a living for even three families.
Leif climbed the bow deck. “Should we set the course?”
“No longer necessary,” his uncle replied without turning to him. “The shore shows us the way now.”
“Even the water below us is greener than the rocks over there.”
“Quiet! Even the son of the leader is forbidden to grumble.” Tyrkir suppressed a smile and pulled Leif closer to his side. “But I promise you, soon it will be time, and then you’ll be amazed.”
“Oh, Uncle, you can tell that to Thorvald and Freydis.” Indulgently he patted his godfather’s hand. “I’m not angry with you, even if you don’t know.”
“Very kind, my boy.”
The steep shore receded into a wide bay, and they sailed past many fjord mouths. Yet not much changed. It was still all lichen-covered reefs and skerries in front of dead rock faces. For a long time, the emigrants sat in the cargo hold silently without looking at each other. Even their dogs no longer raised their muzzles.
Thjodhild could no longer endure the silent accusations of the mothers around her. Whatever misfortune awaits us, she thought, I must have clarity, and I must have it now. She would only hear new excuses from Erik, so she climbed up to Tyrkir.
“I was just hoping that you would be here next to me,” he told her. “We’re about to heave to.”
Thjodhild waited until the dragon’s head was directly pointing toward the mouth of a wide fjord and Tyrkir had signaled the knarr behind them. Then she said to Leif, “Go watch your brother and sister.”
“I can’t do that.” Her eldest tore the wool cap off his head. “Uncle needs me.”
She was too tired for a fight. “Never mind, then, but squat down and cover your ears. I want to talk to your godfather.”
As he sat on the planks with his back to them, his legs dangling into the cargo hold, she began quietly. “Which demon met you on the first journey and took possession of you? Only those possessed by Loki would dare to lead so many people into misery.”
The scar turned bloodred. “Have faith! Just for a little while longer.”
“Tyrkir!”
He pointed to the flat shore to the right and left of the entrance. “There—look closely. Those are tree trunks, the best hard driftwood for building houses. Just over there is more than we found on the whole coast of Hawk Valley in one summer. And believe me, every fjord . . .”
“No more!” she warned, staring into his eyes. “I never imagined you could lie like this.” After a pause, she added, “And this from you, my best friend.”
“Please don’t say that.” His lips trembled. “Words can hurt more than any knife, and the wounds heal badly.” He quickly turned away, put his hand on the neck of the dragon, and fixed his gaze ahead.
Thjodhild sat down close to her son. Even if it hurts me, yes, I wanted to hurt you because I hoped I could shake you awake, she thought. Now, I’m more helpless than before.
With the wind of the open sea still behind it, the knarr rushed deeper and deeper into the interior. Shortly before a sharp turn to the right, Tyrkir gave the signal aft to slow down, but Erik waved back angrily, and the servants on the lines were ordered to hoist the full cloth.
His ship flew away from the convoy, leaned low over port, and with foamy spray in front of the dragon’s mouth, it rose up again after the bend.
In an instant, the wind was gone. Thjodhild had pressed Leif firmly to her side. Now that the maneuver seemed to be over, she cursed her husband at the tiller, and she was already on her knees, turning angrily to Tyrkir.
Her raised fist froze as she felt a sting. The pain in her chest didn’t want to stop. Tyrkir was no longer standing amid dark rock walls. He was now surrounded by brightness. A hilly landscape opened in front of the bow stem, an expanse of green pastures.
Thjodhild let her arm drop. Are those forests, there, on the left bank? Birches, yes, they must be birches, she thought. But they were taller than in Hawk Valley. She felt hot and slowly opened her greasy rain cape. It is not my blood, she noticed. It’s the sun.
“Mother?” Leif gently shook her arm. “Why don’t you get up?”
“Because I . . .” She kissed the boy on his forehead, nose, mouth, and cheeks. “Because I can get to you better this way.”
Outraged, he tore himself away. “I’m no longer a child.”
“All right, all right.” She looked up at her friend. “And because I was so stupid.” She grabbed his hand and let herself be helped up. “You asked for blind faith. Do you know how hard that is? I just couldn’t bear the uncertainty anymore. Forgive me!”
Before Tyrkir could answer, Leif pushed himself between the two and put his fists on his hips. “Uncle, I think we did well. Our course was right.”
“Thanks to the great Tyr and, of course, to you. Without you, we would certainly have gotten lost at sea.”
In the meantime, the settlers were also beginning to take in the new surroundings. Some rubbed their eyes. Others groped for their neighbors. Finally, cheers gradually blossomed from their silent amazement, soon to be drowned out by the deep, long calls of the horns. Like an echo, they were answered by the next knarr and were quickly multiplied by the ships that followed.
“Our green land! Our Greenland!” The emigrants greeted their new homeland with laughter and tears, waving at the lush meadows as if invisible relatives had gathered there for their arrival.
Thjodhild climbed onto the steering deck. “A free arm is not enough for me. Call the boatman to relieve you.”
A little later, she snuggled into her husband’s chest, and Erik held her tight. “Even if it was hard,” he muttered, “it was worth this.”
“Don’t let go,” she whispered. “At least, until I stop crying.”
The wind calmed more and more. The oars were pushed through the portholes. As if driven by long caterpillar legs, the dragon boats ventured deeper into the heart of the summer landscape. Groups of islands appeared, tributaries branched off, and Erik gave them one after the other to the rich skippers. “Ketil, this fjord shall bear your name. Establish your farm and live in peace with your neighbors.” He would recognize the borders of his lands by the stone markings that the Red had already erected with Tyrkir on their first journey.
They had also provided for every free farmer. There were no big farewells. The settlers left one by one after a brief plea to the gods to accompany the new venture with benevolence, and the firm promise to come to the Eriksfarm next June for the first Thing of the Greenlanders.
Around noon the next day, only the knarr of Ingolf Arnesson was still following the Mount. The last smallholders had been set down along the way with their household goods and cattle; people beaming with happiness waved from the shore after the two ships. And the water turned blue green, the hills became gentler. Far to the east, the mighty back of the endless ice giants glittered and glistened.
Erik had chosen the family of the black-bearded Ingolf as his closest neighbors. He hoped to get along with this open, warm man. His wife, Solveig, had a son and two pigtailed girls the ages of Thjodhild’s children. Surely, the women would soon become close.
“I thought of everything. And my realm is in order,” said Erik proudly. He left the tiller and led Thjodhild forward to Tyrkir. Together, they stood close while the knarr entered the sun-drenched, wide bay at the end of the fjord. With a sweeping gesture, the giant pointed up to a hill on their left. “Up there! It’s not ready, but soon.”
She saw a long, stretched roof overgrown with deep green grass, and because she couldn’t speak, she just smiled.
The ship went alongside the shore, the anchor fell, and Thjodhild and the two little ones were rowed to land through the shallow water. “I will greet our home alone,” she said. She took Freydis in her arms, and Thorvald stomped behind her across the vast pebble beach.
The ascent was slow. I have time, from now on time no longer runs from me. Later, Thjodhild wanted to visit the house with the men. She discovered a brook and sat down in the grass. The children crawled around, giggling and picking bellflowers. Thjodhild took in the blue bay, the sky. She closed her eyes, but the smell of freshness and summer continued to paint the picture in her mind. Happiness. She sighed. Come sit with me and hold me tight!
To Be Read from the Rune Stone of Remembrance:
As if hastily etched, the symbols stand close together.
. . . the year 986: . . . Death . . . Denmark. Prince Sven Forkbeard doesn’t want to wait for his inheritance. He demands half the empire and power from his father immediately. King Harald Blue Tooth rejects the demand of his unloved son. Sven prepares to rise up against the eighty-year-old. An agonizing battle breaks out. More and more people run to the king, and finally, the son has to seek salvation in flight. But an arrow has pierced the old ruler’s chest. Harald dies . . . Long live King Sven Forkbeard . . .
. . . the year 994: A hundred longships emerge from the morning fog off London. Sven Forkbeard and Olaf Tryggvasson command the fleet. They do not attack but make the king and his people tremble. A raid by the barbaric hordes must be expected. The reckoning works. To spare London, the English king pays the Vikings the incredible sum of 10,000 pounds of silver. No blood has flowed, and yet the treasure chests overflow.
. . . the year 994: Olaf Tryggvasson enjoys his success. He hears about a fortune-teller and visits him in his hermitage. “You will become a famous king . . . You will bring the Christian faith to many men . . .” The wise man closes his eyes. “So that you do not doubt, pay attention to the signs: When you return to the ship, some of the crew will rebel against you. You will receive a deep wound. But after seven days, you’ll be able to leave your bed, once again healthy, and will then be baptized.”
The prophecy comes true. In battle, Olaf is struck, and after a week, the wound is healed. The prince asks where the soothsayer had gotten his gift.
“God himself has given it to me . . .” The hermit tells him of the omnipotence of the Lord. Deeply impressed, Olaf Tryggvasson has himself and his entourage baptized that same day.
. . . the year 994: Messengers from Norway come to Olaf. They implore him to wrest power from the smug Jarl Hakon. “You come from the old blood. You are entitled to the crown. Be our king!”
After a night of prayer, Olaf sets sail. With five ships, one hundred and twenty warriors, and a considerable number of priests and learned men, he lands on the coast of his ancestral homeland in late summer.
. . . the year 994: Jarl Hakon is on the run, not only from Olaf but from the raging farmers from whom he has taken women. He hides with his servant in a pit under a pigsty. Plagued by nightmares, the servant pushes a knife through his master’s throat. Jarl Hakon is dead. Without a fight, Olaf Tryggvasson is proclaimed king over Norway by the Thing . . .
. . . from the settlers in Greenland: After the first hard years, life blossoms. The warm summer compensates for the harsh winter when ice winds descend from the glacier and freeze the fjords. More and more emigrants from Iceland and Norway are looking for a new home in the green land of Gode Erik Thorvaldsson. But from the fifth year on, the Red rejects them. “There is no place for you to settle down here in the south.” He sends the ships two days farther north. There he’d already discovered a second habitable fjord area on his first trip with Tyrkir the German. “Take land in my western settlement and keep peace with your neighbors!”
. . . the year 996: Already at the beginning of April the hot foehn winds come, break the ice cover in the Erik’s Bay, and melt the snow on the heights. In mid-May, the grass, green birches, and pastures sprout.
Freydis
The ravens had fallen silent and were no longer croaking from their clutches in the rocky mountain. They’d become accustomed to the men deep down between the bushes and birches. Tyrkir crouched behind a bush, hardly daring to breathe.
At last. The waiting had been worth it. As Leif had predicted, a reindeer stag stepped up to the clearing. His ears twitching, he checked the weather with his head back, and after he had chosen the juiciest spot of grass for himself, his herd was allowed to follow him.
Neither hunting nor fishing were Tyrkir’s favorite pastimes, and he was happy to let others go through the trouble. Still, today he had been urged by his godson: “Come w
ith me, Uncle. You’ll bring me luck!” Tyrkir rubbed his scar. I can’t refuse anything to this young lad, he thought. And since Erik has promised Leif his knarr for his first trading trip, my peace is utterly ruined.
For two years, Leif had been buying polar bear pelts, seal skins, and walrus tusks from the fishing troops when they returned with their hauls from the far north. He had even been able to acquire three of the long, white, miraculously twisted skewers of the narwhal. His godfather always had to be present at the conclusion of every deal. “You bring me luck.”
What’s more, Leif admired his godfather’s carving. “We can find you plenty of soapstone. How about you . . . ?”
And Tyrkir started making pots, cups, and lamps in his workshop. Because this work soon became too dull for him, he’d recruited skillful slaves who learned to handle the soft stone under his guidance. Tyrkir went on carving artfully decorated brooches and figures from ivory or bone. But a walrus-tooth belt became his showpiece.
“Uncle, we’ll make a fortune at the royal court in Norway.”
Tyrkir admired the scene in front of him in the clearing: the reindeers silently lowering and lifting their heads, their branched antlers resembling a forest in winter. Next to the stag, he could see fourteen cows with some young animals. So there are fifteen strong deer, as many winters as my Leif has now, he noted. Perhaps it’s a good omen for today.
“Hej! Yes! Hej!” The call tore through the peace. “Hej! Yay! Hej!” Servants broke out of the bushes from three sides. Dogs barked. The herd was startled, and with only one direction unobstructed, they fled down the valley.
Tyrkir ran after the drivers and the pack without hurrying. Leif had prepared the hunting trap. He’d positioned servants on both sides of the sloping escape lane at regular intervals. They were all screaming loudly, swinging their clubs. The herd didn’t dare to break out. Rushed by the high-legged hunting dogs, they fled from the woods into a steeply sloping pasture. Rows of stones closed in on them from both sides.
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