Erik the Red

by Tilman Roehrig

  “Where’s he going to come from?” Tyrkir showed him his open palms. “I’m not your enemy. Nor is your son. Who do you want to fight? The little priest?” Tyrkir paused. When Erik did not reply, he went a step further. “No man fights women, even if they wear white christening robes.”

  “She’s left my bed.”

  “So what? She’ll get back in.”

  “What do you know? First, I’m supposed to let that hypocrite bathe me in the stream, too.”

  “So? Water can’t hurt you.” Immediately, Tyrkir knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

  “Go away, Know-It-All.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tyrkir retreated a few steps, then turned back. “Where did we go wrong? Friends that no one could separate?”

  Erik’s shoulders dropped. “I . . . I don’t know, either.” He wiped his sleeve across his face. “Damn it, I don’t know.”

  “Let’s find a new beginning. We need to talk.”

  “I can’t do it while the hypocrite is down there.”

  “I won’t mention him. You have my word.” Tyrkir touched Erik’s calloused hand, and Erik didn’t pull it away. “I have a proposition for you. I think we should go away for a while!”

  “What?”

  “You and me and Leif.”

  Before Erik grew suspicious, Tyrkir quickly told him about the planned journey west, that Leif and Egil had prepared the Falcon for departure. “We don’t need to worry about anything. We just need to board the ship tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow?” Erik’s eyes darkened again. “Did Leif put you up to this? Did he send you to ask me?”

  Tyrkir recognized his friend’s need, and never before had a lie come to him so easily. “Would I be here otherwise? He needs us old men, our experience. You at the helm and me at the front of the ship. Without us, the search for new land is too daunting for him after all. Your son needs your help.”

  Erik lifted his spear and pushed the sharpened tip deep into the ground. “Then all is not lost.” Almost shyly, he put his arm around Tyrkir’s shoulder, drawing him to his side. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

  “And I, you.” Tyrkir looked at him from the side. “Come on!”

  Together they went to the grazing horses, and Tyrkir pulled the mead tube out of the saddlebag. “I’ve brought another good friend with me.”

  Later, on the ride home, they laughed a lot and were still laughing when they stumbled into the living hall. “Hungry!” Erik bellowed.

  “Where’s the food?” Tyrkir clapped his hands.

  Thjodhild chased her sons and Freydis out and told a maid to bring bowls in. It took her a moment to realize that the men weren’t fighting. All she heard from the babble of words was:

  “. . . and who knows if there’s anything there at all.”

  “Never mind, we’ll find something.”

  “Even if there’s no land.”

  “You’re right, Know-It-All, as usual. And now I’m tired.” Erik staggered toward the bed chamber, then suddenly stopped. “No, I don’t want to sleep alone.” He turned around, discovered his wife at the passage to the kitchen, and drew in a sharp breath. His eyes softened. “All right, so no farewell. But I won’t forget my love. You needn’t worry about that.” And he shuffled into the bedroom with a yawn.

  Immediately, Thjodhild was at Tyrkir’s side. She pulled his arm hard. “What’s going on?”

  “How beautiful you are.”

  She immediately took a step back. “And you’re drunk.” She grabbed a fire bucket beside the great fire and poured its contents over his head. “Now I want clarity.”

  The shock brought back some sobriety. “We’re leaving—Erik, Leif, and I. Together. Tomorrow morning.” He brushed his fingers through his wet hair. “And don’t think we were drunk. It’s true, beautiful woman. And all will be peaceful for you here. Thank God, that’s all I wanted.”

  When he threatened to tip over backward, Thjodhild held him up. “It’s all happening so fast.”

  “We can’t miss the boat tomorrow.”

  He managed to get back on his feet on his own. Raising his hand, he said, “And I will bring your son back to you. Because I—because I always come back to you. That’s the way it is.” And with that, he walked stiffly through the hall, almost missing the doorway.

  Thjodhild sank onto a stool. “You dear, good friend,” she whispered. She felt new hope rising in her. “Yes, go ahead. I’ll wait for you. For all three of you.”

  Where was Erik? Perplexed, Tyrkir stood next to the saddled horses. The slaves had already made their way down to the dock at the first light of dawn. In the meantime, Thjodhild had ridden ahead with the children. She wanted to have time to say goodbye to her eldest.

  When the friend did not show up for the early meal, Tyrkir had tried to wake him, but his bed had been empty. Could he have changed his mind? A horn signal came up from the Falcon. “Yes, damn it! You wait!”

  Just as he was about to send a servant to search for him, Erik approached with big steps from the direction of the barns. “Let’s go, Know-It-All,” he shouted, and obviously had trouble getting into the saddle.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Before the head of a family leaves his estate, there are important things to do.”

  They rode across the meadow and reached the steep path.

  “Even though my head is bursting, Norwegian mead tastes better than your brew.”

  “Too bad.” Tyrkir shook his head. “I was about to admit that you really did create a work of art up there with that dam, but now I wonder if you designed it all by yourself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, if you’re going to talk nonsense, I’m entitled to doubt your wits.”

  “Must you always have the last word?”

  They looked at each other from the corners of their eyes and both grinned.

  We’ll have time on the ship, Tyrkir thought. I won’t torment you with talk of Christianity, but who knows? You might even ask about it yourself.

  They’d reached the bottom of the escarpment. In single file, they rode through a hollow to the pebble beach. Suddenly, a wild goose fluttered up in front of Erik. His stallion rose, neighing and bucking. Erik’s reins were too loose in his fist; he fell and hit his back hard on a boulder.

  At first, Tyrkir shouted, “Can’t you be more careful?” Then he heard the moaning, jumped off, and was by his friend’s side. “Get up! No, don’t move! Damn it, we don’t have time for jokes. Say something!”

  Despite his pain, the giant managed to grin. “I’ve had a bit of a fall, Know-It-All.” He coughed, then vomited. “We’re not going on this trip after all. And I’d been looking forward to it.”

  “Stay there.” Tyrkir cried over to the ship, waving until his calls for help were heard. “Where does it hurt?”

  Erik’s right arm hung limp. “In the shoulder. And something stings when I catch my breath.”

  “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “No, you go with the boy. One of us old folks has to be there. I know why I fell off my horse, and I’ll pay for it.”

  Leif was the first to reach the scene of the accident. “Father!” He threw himself on his knees.

  Erik felt for his son’s cheek with his left hand. “Thank you, my son. I just wanted to say that. Now set the sail. Good luck!”

  Pale, Thjodhild crouched beside her husband and wiped the vomit from his lips.

  “You just can’t get rid of me, woman.” Ashamed, he looked into her eyes. “I buried our silver. Behind the main barn. This is what I get.”

  “All right. We’ll get you back in the house, and then we’ll get the money box back.” She smiled at him. “And with my care, you’ll be fine. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Erik asked Leif and Tyrkir to help him up. “I want to know what else has been broken.” His feet and legs obeyed, and he stood half bent before them. “I’ve discovered one country. That’
s enough for one man. Get out of here! The wind won’t wait.”

  Tyrkir hesitated, then looked at Thjodhild.

  “Go on, my friend!” Her voice grew stronger. “It’s fine.”

  On the way to the ship, Tyrkir kept looking back, but Thjodhild was busy with Erik and didn’t wave.

  Vinland

  The green hills stayed behind; rock faces approached from either side. For two days, the glacial wind had driven the Falcon through the Eriksfjord, and now the gloomy gate to the sea rose before them.

  In spite of their good progress, Tyrkir ordered to have the sail reeled in.

  Leif obeyed reluctantly and came with Egil to the fore. “Why, Uncle? It’s only noon.”

  “By the time we get out there, it may be too late.” Tyrkir pointed to his sketch, which he had carved into a wooden plank. “So, from the beginning once more: What route did old Herjulf’s son take? Show me.”

  The young men exchanged furtive looks. This was the fifth time the pilot had questioned them, and almost indulgently, Leif gave him the information again. He drove with his finger from the south cape of Greenland southwest across the sea to the lowest of the three circles marked.

  “After his wanderings in the fog, Bjarne saw the flat coast with the hills and forests about here. Then he sailed northward in clear weather two days. And here he saw land again. It was also flat, and there were a lot of forests. He sailed on before a good southwesterly.” Leif tapped on the top circle. “After three days, he approached this island. There are mountains and glaciers, nothing more. Bjarne heaved to and made it across in four days from there to the southern tip of Greenland, where he reached the trading post.” He flashed a boyish smile for his godfather. “We’re taking the same route. Happy?”

  “No. Bjarne never went ashore, right?”

  “He wanted to return to his father before winter.”

  Tyrkir stared at the board. Since they’d left Steep Slope, and he had seriously committed himself to this daring project, he’d been tormented by restlessness. “What if these shores were only illusions?”

  “Oh, Uncle.”

  This time, Tyrkir noticed the look between the skipper and the first boatman. “I don’t care what you think,” he grumbled. “There’s no leisurely cruising on these seas. Never. I am the pilot and am responsible for the course. If you don’t like it, then take me ashore in the dinghy and go on your own.”

  Egil turned pale. “Please don’t, my lord!”

  Leif also recanted. “Sorry, Uncle. We don’t mean to interfere.”

  Satisfied, Tyrkir nodded. His sharp tone had served its purpose. Any recklessness had to be driven out of these young lads from the start.

  “Listen carefully!” Since Bjarne reached the lowest circle only by chance but sailed from the third coast high in the north to Greenland by his own reckoning, there was only one option. “We follow his route, but in the opposite direction. We’ll sail first to the land he saw last.”

  Without hesitation, Leif agreed and gave Egil the order to raise the sail again. As the wind pressed into the red-and-yellow-striped cloth, the skipper shouted to the crew from the helm: “New land is waiting! Ran, you cruel one, spare us!” He quickly corrected himself: “God Almighty, may God protect us!”

  The pilot did not, as expected, chart a direct course to the northwest. Instead, he led the ship past the fjords of the western settlement and farther up along the Greenland coast.

  On the evening of the second day, the Falcon anchored in a bay. Soon, a fire flickered on the beach, and the servants were chewing their dried meat. Nobody spoke, but the expressions on their faces clearly showed what everyone thought: This was the journey to new shores?

  A little way from the camp, Tyrkir stood on a rock, his gaze fixed on the water. Finally, Leif couldn’t stand it any longer. He stomped over and asked from below, “Why are you hesitating? The spirits of the crew are dropping by the hour.”

  “Tomorrow.” Tyrkir nodded to himself. “Tomorrow, we go.” He climbed down slowly.

  “What’s on your mind, Uncle?”

  “The frontier, boy.” After a long pause, he quietly added, “Heaven and earth are floating in empty space—I explained this to you when you were a child. And the world is surrounded by water. Venture too far across the sea, and you either reach the realm of the giants or you fall over the edge into the yawning abyss.”

  Leif looked at him, concerned. “But, Uncle, I thought since we are now Christians, there’s no more world serpent and giant. God has driven them all away, hasn’t he?”

  “From Midgard, yes. Let’s just hope he also took care of those across the water.”

  “I trust him, Uncle.”

  “There’s not much more we can do. You asked, and now you know why I’m being so careful.” Tyrkir forced himself to smile. “Tomorrow, we set sail. Let’s see what’s on the border.”

  Neither the daughters of Ran nor a lull of the wind stopped the Falcon. They chased over the wave crests in a steady northeast breeze, and after three days and nights, Tyrkir called from the bow, “Land! Land ahead!”

  As they drew closer, their last worries fell away. They saw a flat stone desert. Beyond it, high glaciers reached into a cloudy sky.

  They anchored off the coast, and Leif ordered the crew to stay on board. He only had himself, Egil, and his godfather rowed to the beach.

  They were still sitting in the dinghy. Undecided, Leif scratched at his goatee. “What now, Uncle?”

  “Your father never asked such stupid questions.” Tyrkir waved his hand. “Come on! You wanted to discover new shores, so be the first to set foot on them!”

  With a shout of joy, Leif jumped out of the boat. After he’d run a little way over the flat stone blocks, he waved. “Is that far enough?”

  His joy was infectious, and Egil ran over. They slapped each other on the shoulders and romped around like young horses new from the winter stable. Tyrkir followed them more slowly.

  They both stopped short. The godson smacked his forehead. “Why are we laughing?” He pointed at the beach wasteland. “Not a blade of grass. Every sheep would starve here in a few days. This place isn’t even worth talking about. Come on. I want to find a country I can be proud of!”

  He was already heading back to the boat, but Tyrkir stopped him. “Not so fast, you great explorer. No matter what it looks like, think of the sailors who may find their way here after us. You must give this island a name.”

  “All right.” Leif bent down briefly and hit the hard floor with his hand. “Because you’re so dull, you shall be called Helluland . . . Rockland!”

  While the dinghy was rowed back to the ship, Leif touched his godfather’s arm. “What was it like? Did Father parse out names, as well?”

  “Erik?” Tyrkir quietly laughed to himself. “He wasn’t as resourceful as you. No matter where we anchored or pitched our tent, he named every spot after himself. Except for Greenland. He came up with that idea just before we left.”

  Even though the first stop had been disappointing, the success lifted their spirits. With shining eyes, Leif stood at the tiller, and with a full canvas, he sailed south, often sending Egil forward to the dragon’s head to check their course. Finally, after another two days, Tyrkir announced again, “Land!”

  Although they walked on a white sandy beach and saw endless forests in the distance, nothing invited the explorer. “This land shall be called Markland . . . Woodland! It doesn’t deserve a better name.”

  The haste with which Leif set sail again, not even giving the line guards enough rest, neither at night nor during the day, concerned Tyrkir. The expression on his godson’s face reminded him of how he’d come aboard in the Hebrides in the morning. No, no danger, he thought, reassuring himself. There are no lecherous sorceresses or giants here.

  From one hour to the next, Tyrkir felt a strange heat rising. Stealthily, he looked around. The crew were pulling at the collars of their seal coats. Then he realized, this was no disease that had a
ttacked the ship—no, the air had become warmer. And at the next sunrise, a coast gleamed far off to starboard.

  While the knarr aimed for it, the men gradually got rid of their thick-weather clothing. Spray splashed up the bow, but that was not the only reason Tyrkir kept wiping his eyes. A headland—green meadows and hills. And then the pilot saw that there was an island off the tip of the coast. He sent Egil to the quarterdeck with the request to drop anchor there first. Leif handed over the tiller to his helmsman and came forward himself. “We have found our land, Uncle.”

  “Nevertheless, I think we should approach it carefully.”

  Leif agreed. “If we need to get to safety, we need a base of operations. First, we explore the island.”

  The explorers reached the beach in the dinghy. At first, they hardly dared to breathe. Almost devoutly, they walked through high, untouched grass, seeing flowers without knowing their names. Leif stroked across the still-dewy stalks, then licked his fingers. “Uncle!” Again, he tasted some dew. “Uncle!”

  Tyrkir moistened his hand and brought it to his mouth—a sweet taste. He tasted again. There was no doubt about it. “I don’t know how it can be, but the dew tastes like honey.”

  From the highest point, they quickly realized that the island was untouched, and so they dared to sail between it and the headland. A wide bay beckoned with white, elongated sandbanks. The water quickly became shallower. In their wonderment, neither pilot nor skipper had expected the onset of low tide, and soon the Falcon’s keel was stuck.

  “I won’t wait for the tide to turn while I’m this close to my goal!” Leif called out. He gave orders for ten armed men to follow him, and he and Egil jumped off the ship, not even waiting for his godfather.

  “Welcome to my land,” Leif said to Tyrkir a little later. He laughed and proudly spread his arms. “Here we will—” All of a sudden, he grabbed his throat as if an invisible force were choking him. His eyes became wide. “Uncle. I see . . . there is a child—” He staggered, then he fell.