Erik the Red

by Tilman Roehrig

  Already, there was hardly any room, and the animals snorted and collided with one another. Antlers broke as they pushed forward wanting to reach the narrow opening first. And one after the other, they disappeared! There was no escape: the stone funnel ended at a cliff, and in their fear, all the animals jumped over the edge.

  By the time Tyrkir reached the prey area below the stone wall, the carcasses were lying next to each other, horns removed, and guts broken open. Ravens were already squatting nearby, hungrily waiting for the bloody intestines.

  “Uncle! I knew why I wanted you with me.” Leif beamed. “So many skins in one day. Not to mention the meat. Mother will be amazed.”

  “As long as you don’t plan to put reindeer ham on the goods list for Norway now, I’m happy about your hunting success.”

  Leif briefly scratched his reddish chin fluff. “It might be worth considering.”

  “By the great Tyr, forget it immediately!”

  “Just kidding.” Leif waved it off, making sure that the liver, heart, and lungs were put back into the reindeers’ bellies. “I’m ready, Uncle. Let’s ride ahead to the escarpment.” The slaves had to drag the booty home on foot via wooden racks, and that would surely take until the afternoon.

  No more Erikshof. Because the house and the farm buildings were erected high above the bay on a broad plane, the property of the Gode Erik Thorvaldsson had been named Steep Slope.

  During the ride home, Leif raved about the Norwegian trip at the end of May, and Tyrkir limited himself to simple yeses or nos. Even that was enough to make the young man’s plans grow ever bigger.

  You are so like your father, Tyrkir thought, troubled. And if your hopes do not come true, you’ll ask me how to carry on. He looked at Leif from the corner of his eye. No, you are not just the son of my Viking. You have his strength, too. Perhaps even the hair. But your eyes, your bearing, and above all, your movements, remind me of Thjodhild. Besides, you don’t share your father’s temper and sense of honor. Instead, you weigh the possibilities before you act. Maybe—Tyrkir smiled at himself—perhaps you’ve gotten that quality from me?

  Shortly after they’d ridden down to the pastures, Leif fell silent and bridled his horse. “Do you hear that?”

  Tyrkir frowned and nodded. Strange clapping was coming from the nearby juniper bushes. A child howled, immediately followed by giggling, and again they heard the clapping.

  “I know those voices.” Both men were already dismounted, creeping to the first bush and peering through the branches. Freydis stood in front of her younger brother. She held out the folded palms of her hands to him. “Now you.”

  “I don’t want to play anymore,” Thorstein cursed.

  “You have to, or I’ll beat you up.” With red glowing cheeks, the boy obeyed, pressed his hands together, and bravely held them up to his sister’s fingertips. After a short sniff, he struck out at Freydis’s hand, but caught nothing more than air.

  “You silly!” She giggled cheerfully. “I’ll show you again.” Freydis won her game. Before Thorstein could avoid it, she slapped him in the face from the right and left so that his head flew back and forth. The seven-year-old howled more from anger than from pain.

  “It’s your turn,” demanded the sister.

  Even the bravest should not fight against a superior power. Sobbing, Thorstein hid his arms behind his back. “I don’t like this game!”

  “I’ll show you how good this game is.” Freydis struck out, but someone grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  She tore her head around.

  “Let me play, half sister!” Leif strengthened his grip, and without losing his smile, forced her to her knees. “Come on, get up!”

  “Ouch! You’re breaking my arm.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” He half pulled her up and released her with a light push. Freydis fell into the grass on her belly. “Sorry.”

  Immediately, Freydis was on her feet again. “No, you liked it because I’m weaker. And don’t you dare call me half sister again. I’m worth as much in our family as you and Thorvald and that little runt there!” Trembling with anger, she pushed the blond curls from her face. “He who strikes a woman is a coward. A mangy dog. One, one . . .”

  Before she could come up with her next curse, Leif said, “Too bad.”

  “What?” She paused, bewildered.

  Leif looked down at her, sighed, and shook his head slightly.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Those slender legs. Nobody would believe that you count only twelve winters. Oh, and those brown eyes. You really are already a beautiful woman.”

  His flattery softened her expression.

  “Only, Sister, as soon as you open your pretty mouth, every suitor will tuck his tail and run.”

  He quickly moved aside, and her punches missed their mark. “You! You damn dog!” Freydis turned away, stomping, and finally burst into tears.

  Tyrkir had taken little Thorstein aside and was now stroking his head. “Well, how about it? Do you want to go with me on my horse?” The boy nodded, and they both went ahead.

  “Peace?” Leif cleared his throat audibly. “My horse also carries two. We had a great hunt today. It would be a pity if you missed the arrival of the servants.”

  Without answering, Freydis ran off, Leif hurrying behind her. However, when she reached the horses, she stopped before Tyrkir and her little brother. Then, gathering her smock dress, she swung herself into the saddle and took off. Leif shouted after her. She laughed, making a wide arc through the meadow before returning. “What is it, Brother? Shall I take you with me?”

  “Bitch!”

  He climbed up behind her and took the reins. After a while, she leaned against his chest. “And yet I’ll find a husband. With my dowry, maybe even a rich one. Wait and see. When you come back from your trip, I might already have one.”

  “So how many years do I have to be away so that—” When she stiffened and pressed the tip of her knife against his thigh, he wisely chose not to continue.

  The news spread like wildfire through the stables, barns, and workshops. “Leif killed a whole herd!” And when the sweat-drenched drivers came dragging the loaded racks to the yard, the servants gathered around to admire the haul. Even Thjodhild came with Thorstein and the kitchen maids from the house to see. Though the little boy’s cheeks were still red from the slaps in the face, he now had cream around his mouth. His mother had sweetened his defeat.

  “I’m proud of you.” She touched the arm of her eldest, and he stroked her hand gently. This small gesture was silent proof of how deeply son and mother understood each other. Leif looked around the clearing. “Where’s Father?”

  “Where do you think?” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder toward the heights far behind the yard. “He’s building his dam.”

  “Too bad. I would have liked him to see today’s success. But we can’t wait that long.”

  Friendly but determined, Leif sent the servants back to work, ordered his drivers to bring the loot to the slaughterhouse, and followed after them. Thjodhild stayed behind with Tyrkir. “He’s become a strong man,” she said thoughtfully. “Yet, he is still so young. It’s good that you’re accompanying him on his journey.”

  “Don’t worry. When you and I met, I was only two winters older than he is now.”

  “Yes, do you remember? At the market by the Hvammsfjord? I can still see you right in front of me. Weedy, shaved head, and all those freckles. At first, I was outraged that a slave was looking at me from the side. That look . . .”

  “Weedy? Even in comparison to Erik, I wouldn’t have called myself that, not even then. Slender, maybe?” Tyrkir smiled. “And today, so many years later, I’ve gained a belly and lost half my face.”

  “Hard to believe you’re still vain.” She reached for her forehead and pulled a strand from under her cap. “And who am I to criticize? Here, you see? They’re turning gray.”

  “Silver,” he co
rrected. “Silver streaks. And with them, you’ve grown even more valuable.”

  They looked at each other. Thjodhild masked her awkwardness with a laugh. “We’re chatting here as if there’s nothing to do. Tonight, there must be a small feast in Leif’s honor. I’ll send Thorvald over to Ingolf. He should invite his family. How about it? You could put some of your brew on the table.”

  Tyrkir crossed his arms. “It’s wine. I admit that it doesn’t taste as good as the one made from grapes, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “Don’t be offended!” she scolded. “You men are such sensitive creatures. Erik’s trying to dam our stream so that we have enough water for the house pastures, even in dry weather, but every winter, the melting snow washes away his dam, and every summer he starts anew. Yet cursed be anyone who dares to say even one word against his plan. And you? The wise and indulgent Tyrkir? As soon as it’s about your wine, you can’t stand even the slightest criticism.”

  “I can if it is from you.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” she teased, then became serious. “But maybe I’m being unfair. This is where I gave birth to Thorstein, my little Greenlander, and we live in peace with our neighbors. If I think back to all the terrible fights and fears in Iceland, I should really be grateful that a dam is being built and wine is being produced.”

  Tyrkir watched her as she walked back to the house with a spring in her step. It’s true, he thought. Happiness is finally with us. It has been for a while now. “And besides, my wine is good,” he murmured. He started walking to the cellar he’d dug out for its storage. “At least there’s none better in Greenland.”

  Tyrkir had worked hard trying to make an intoxicating drink over the past years. In the beginning, it was just out of pride. Erik was always in his ears: “Know-It-All, you have to keep your word. Sour milk and water dry out my throat. You came before my father and claimed that you had learned something about winemaking as a child down on the Rhine. That’s the only reason the old man didn’t kick you off the farm. Now, prove it!”

  There was no barley for beer, unless it was bought at a high price from the merchants. There was not enough honey to ferment mead. So Tyrkir had first tried his hand at using roots and the juice of the birch trees, producing a bittersweet swill that barely gave a buzz but kept the head in a fog for days. These failures awakened his passion. Black crowberries—there were enough of them in the mountain meadows, and with only a little goodwill, his berry wine even tasted decent.

  From the slaughterhouse wafted the smell of blood and raw meat. The innards were steaming in vats. Leif had assigned only the most experienced servants to cut up the meat. They worked hand in hand—two separated the heads, the next tied each carcass by its hind legs to the top of the wooden rack. Quick, safe cuts, and starting at the hooves, the valuable fur was pulled down slowly. Then the body was divided, and the halves delivered to the servants at the long meat bench. There was no cheering, despite their delight over the successful hunt. To slaughter an animal demanded quiet reverence.

  Freydis followed Leif as he oversaw the work. Whether he went looking for hooks in the smokehouse, brought salt pots, or was giving instructions to the servants, Freydis stayed close behind him. Finally, she pulled Leif aside. “Let me, please. Just once, me alone. Please!”

  Astonished, he looked into her flushed face. “Let you what?”

  Her voice trembled. “Just one of the young animals.”

  “Tell me exactly what you want.”

  A strange light flickered in her eyes. Freydis moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and pulled out her little dagger. “Cut off a head.”

  “You are—” Leif started again. “Why, by Loki? Our people do the work, and they do it better.”

  “How do you know if you don’t let me try?” She puffed out her chest. “You can watch, and if I make a mistake, you can help me.”

  He scratched his chin fluff, then found his confidence again. “Well, okay. But not with this toy. You need a dagger with a long blade.”

  “You are the dearest brother I have.” Freydis ran ahead and selected the smallest of the deer. After Leif handed her the sharp tool, she squatted astride the animal and took the body firmly between her thighs. She stroked her free hand up the neck. Her brother was forgotten, his advice did not reach her, as she pricked under the ear. During the cut, she grunted as the blade met with resistance; she had to hack several times until the head was finally off.

  Freydis remained bent over the corpse, and abruptly her shoulders relaxed. As she stood up, the strange light in her dark eyes had gone out. She looked at her brother with a soft smile. “Thank you. Did I do it right?”

  “Not bad for the first time.” He carefully took the knife out of her hand. “Now bring the bucket with the liver into the kitchen. Mother must be waiting for it.”

  “I’d love to.”

  Leif stared after her. She happily let the tub swing back and forth by the carrying strap. “I can’t figure you out,” he whispered. “Such a beautiful girl, but whoever marries you, I don’t envy him. He’d better be on his guard all the time.”

  Grilled liver had been prepared on the griddle over the cooking pit. Before the rare delicacy was brought in, it tickled noses and made mouths water. Guests and hosts had enjoyed the smell like an appetizer. When the steaming pieces were finally placed in front of them, there was no sound but the rattling of knives and the pleasurable smacking of lips, until only the smell of grilled liver remained.

  Erik burped, licked his dripping fingers, and lifted the drinking horn. “Blessed is the lord who has such a housewife!” The adults joined in his toast. Erik did not yet put the vessel to his lips but looked sharply over to the young people.

  Freydis and Thorvald were chatting happily with the blond daughters of his neighbor. They hadn’t met for a long time and were bubbling over with news. Ingva counted fourteen winters, and Sigrid had just celebrated her thirteenth birthday—two lively, freckled girls who liked to laugh too much.

  “Silence!”

  Heads spun around.

  “Thank Thor!” Erik nodded with relief. “At least now I know you’re not completely deaf. Now, from the beginning, so you may learn.” He rose from his seat. His beard was reddish gray, as was his hair. His figure had become even fuller, granting the giant the necessary respect, even without words.

  The young people jumped up obediently. The girls’ parents exchanged an appreciative look with the hostess and followed his example. Leif blinked at Egil, who was the same age as him. Both stood next to Tyrkir and tried not to interrupt the landowner again.

  “Thanks be to the gods for loving our land and for providing enough food for man and beast.” He called Thor, Odin, and Baldur, and praised their merits at length.

  Tyrkir thought, How you have changed, my Viking. The older you get, the longer your eulogies get.

  “But my thanks go not only to the Aesir in Valhalla. They also go to the cook who prepared this tasty meal for us.” Finally, he lifted the drinking horn again. “Blessed is the lord who has such a housewife by his side. A toast to my beloved Thjodhild.”

  Young and old joined in. Together, they emptied their drinking horns and cups. Erik looked to the neighboring table. The adolescents had sat down quickly and were whispering with each other again. “You must be taught some discipline,” he grumbled, then made a face. “A toast with sour milk does not work. How about it, Know-It-All? I think we should try that again with wine.”

  “But only if you don’t start with the gods again.”

  “Don’t you dare . . .”

  “Peace,” Tyrkir interrupted him sharply, “or there won’t be a drop of my berry wine, sir!”

  “Be glad we have guests, sir!”

  Ingolf and Solveig held their breath. Only when the two friends grinned, and Thjodhild shook her head, smiling with raised eyebrows, did the neighbors relax. There was no quarrel, only friends teasing each other.

  After the seco
nd sip, Erik brought the conversation to his dam construction and the dream of soon being able to water the meadows throughout the summer. Ingolf Arnesson listened to him with great interest. “If you succeed, then I’ll try to dam up my stream. But I don’t understand how—”

  “Patience! At the next Thing, I’ll ask all the landowners to look at my first dam.”

  Tyrkir raised his eyebrows. “So soon? You really think you’ll have the wall finished by then?”

  “You take the boy to Norway, and when you come back, you’ll be amazed!” Erik turned to Ingolf. “This is how it works.” He dunked his finger in the drinking horn and painted the stream and dam on the wooden plate for him. “The water comes from above and here between the rocks . . .”

  Thjodhild discreetly moved away with the neighbor’s wife. Erik had found a willing victim, and his explanations would fill the evening as always. The two young men also slowly moved their stools away from the table and turned their backs to the old men.

  “Have you heard,” Egil whispered. “Farther to the west, there is supposed to be more land.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A merchant, and he was told by Bjarne, the son of old Herjulf down in the trading post. Bjarne has seen the land.”

  “Only seen?” They stuck their heads closer together.

  “That’s it. He didn’t step on it.” Egil rubbed his hands. “It can’t be far, maybe three days. Well, how about it? Don’t you want to look for it? You now have the knarr from your father.”

  “For one trip, that’s all. And I’m going to Norway with my uncle.” Before Leif continued, he looked around stealthily. “I’m curious all right, though. Imagine if I discovered a new country like my father. Maybe I could . . .” He grabbed Egil’s wrist. “Let’s assume my business at the royal court is successful and Father is happy with me. Why shouldn’t he give me his ship for a second voyage? And if the wind then drives me west, what can I do about it? Do you understand?”