Erik the Red

by Tilman Roehrig

The dinghy was launched. The surf in front of the dangerous reef demanded bravery and daring. Soon, strong arms were pulling the last of the weary sailors over the Falcon’s gunwale.

  “God is great,” the envoy said on a sigh. He stretched out his hand to the young skipper. “My mission is to visit the gode of Greenland, and now his son rescues me from the sea.” The man fell to his knees. “God is great.”

  Leif cast a fearful look at his uncle, and then asked, “What does the king want with my father?”

  Tired, Thorir waved him off. “I have to find out how Christianity is faring in Greenland. But that’s not important right now.”

  “You’re lucky,” Leif said. “I mean, that you ran into me first.”

  The envoy didn’t understand the implication; he was almost asleep. “Yes, fortune. You are my savior,” he murmured. “You are Leif the Lucky.” And the man’s lids fell shut.

  “Did you hear that, Uncle? He’s coming to check on us. If he finds that Father rejects the new faith, what then? Knowing King Olaf, he will send his berserker hordes.”

  “Wait and see! But I agree with him on one thing.” Tyrkir smiled. “Whoever discovers a country, whoever fishes people out of the water, has earned this name. Yes, Leif the Lucky is returning to Greenland. And may God grant us the mercy of bringing happiness to Steep Slope.”

  The envoy only woke when the Falcon had long since sailed through the narrows of the towering coastal cliffs into the interior of the fjord. Gentle hills and birch woods welcomed them. While Egil cared for the other castaways, Leif brought dried fish and water to the envoy.

  “Thank you!” Thorir ate, drank, and could not get enough of the landscape. “I would never have expected to find this blooming splendor behind the hostile stone crust out there on our skerry.”

  “You haven’t been to Vinland.” With a forced smile, Leif sat with him. He painted pictures of extensive deciduous forests and salmon-rich silver rivers. “There are wheat fields there that no man has sown. Honeyed dew drips from the blades of grass. And even in autumn, the sun burns the skin.” He had saved the best until the end. “We found berries, and in each one was a sip of wine.”

  Thorir sighed. “You rave as if you had discovered paradise.”

  “A fitting name for my Vinland.” Leif sat straighter. “To your task. Last spring, I made a promise to King Olaf to spread Christianity here. Isn’t it too soon to be checking on my progress—”

  “Olaf Tryggvasson is dead,” the envoy interrupted. Before Leif could process the news, Thorir added, “Now Erik Jarl and Sven Jarl rule over Norway. Two kings. They seem to me to be even more intolerant than Olaf was. Right after their coronation, they sent me here. I’m to appear at the June Thing.” His gaze became probing. “You’ve kept your oath, yes?”

  “Certainly.” Leif let the silence stretch between them. “There was some resistance, as was to be expected, but the success was already evident before I left for my trip.”

  “That reassures me. Yes, the new faith is unstoppable. I’m looking forward to meeting the famous Erik Thorvaldsson.”

  “No! Anything but that,” Leif blurted out. “My father has . . . well, he is . . . To tell you the truth, shortly before my departure, he fell and injured himself badly.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes, I’m very worried.” Leif’s voice became surer again. “Since I don’t know how he’s recovered, I must first check on Steep Slope alone. I suggest you stay on the next farm for the time being. It belongs to the father of my friend Egil.”

  The envoy nodded. “I’m sure we can find a way before the Thing. I can’t wait too long.”

  “Certainly,” Leif agreed, “and now I have to relieve my friend at the tiller. You should enjoy the journey after all the fear you’ve endured.”

  He climbed to the afterdeck, explained the circumstances to Egil, and when the neighbor’s son nodded, he embraced him.

  Erik

  A light easterly blew from the glacier down into the fjord. The sail had to be furled. The farmhands pushed the long oar blades through the portholes in the gunwales, and the knarr glided across the water. People stood on the shore waving, and as soon as they heard about the discovered land, they cheered Leif. Half an hour from home, the Falcon anchored below the neighboring farm.

  Ingolf Arnesson proudly greeted his eldest, and mother Solveig wept. Ingolf offered both hands to the skipper and the pilot. “I gave you a boy, and you bring me back a man.”

  “And a rich man to boot.” Leif beamed. “A third of our cargo is his.” He skillfully combined this generosity with the request to provide food and shelter for the envoy and his flock.

  “You are most welcome,” Ingolf said, but a deep wrinkle furrowed his forehead. “I, too, think it would be appropriate for you to return home without guests for the time being.”

  “How’s Father?”

  Ingolf shook his head and finally sighed. “Maybe he’ll come alive again when he sees you and his old friend.”

  “He has to get better.” Leif clenched his fist. “He will be fine.” The freedom of the past months was now tinged with bitterness.

  The distribution and unloading of the cargo could wait, Tyrkir suggested. “Let’s go right away!”

  He’d noticed that Ingva had been missing at the welcome. Leif hadn’t asked about her, either. They were both all the more surprised to see the young woman waiting on the beach. She stood there in a deep green skirt, wrestling with her silver brooches, hastily straightening her comb.

  Tyrkir smiled. How in love she is. She quickly threw herself into her Sunday best. But he feared Thorgunna’s power. What will happen to Leif? Should he intervene?

  Too late. With a bright red face, Ingva took a few steps toward Erik’s son, then stopped again. He beamed at her. “I have thought of you sometimes.”

  “Me too. Very often.”

  “You’ve become even more beautiful.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Oh, yes. You’re beautiful, Ingva.”

  Her blush deepened. “My father thinks I should leave the house soon. I wanted to tell you that.”

  Leif grabbed his throat. Tyrkir’s breath faltered, but his godson only scratched his chin beard. “That’s good to know. I’ll see you soon, Ingva.”

  Then she sighed and ran over to her family.

  The spell seemed to be broken. Tyrkir was so relieved that he barely managed to climb over the side of the ship on his own. Leif had to drag him up on deck. “Are you all right, Uncle?”

  “Yes, it’s nothing.” Tyrkir cast his eye over his godson. “Wipe that grin off your face, boy! Be grateful, for only now are you truly Leif the Lucky!”

  Horn calls, low and long, then chopped off, and long again. They sounded across the bay and made their way up to the farm. Everyday life dropped out of its routine. Erik’s younger sons stormed toward the skipper and his pilot. “Have you found the land?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Is there enough grass?”

  “What about water?”

  At the edge of the meadow, Thjodhild stroked her son’s forehead. “I prayed for you.”

  And he put his arm around her slender shoulders like a boy. “Your prayers worked, Mother.”

  She broke away and stepped toward Tyrkir. “I feel as if I had to wait years for you this time, but it was only months—long months.”

  “Your son is back,” he said, noticing how the worries of the past months had carved themselves into her face. “Forgive me for not coming back sooner.”

  “It was my will.” She raised her chin. “And on Steep Slope, the mistress found little time to brood. Come. You must meet Erik in the hall.”

  Freydis greeted the returnees in the farmyard, giving Tyrkir only the briefest of welcomes.

  She beamed at Leif. “At last . . . Our womanizer is back. Brother.” She threw herself at his chest. “How I’ve missed you. And I can’t wait to see the look in your eyes.” />
  Leif hugged his sister. “Has a miracle come over you?”

  “Yes, right! I’ve fed it for you—”

  “Silence!” Thjodhild sharply said to her daughter. “Not another word! Go to your brothers.”

  Right at the entrance, she stopped and pointed to the center of the hall. “He knows you’re back.”

  The flames crackled in the great fire. Light twitched on the wood-paneled walls. It smelled of freshly laid birch logs. The returnees approached the high bench with firm steps. There, Erik crouched bent over, his left hand clasping a long pole.

  “Father.”

  Erik raised his head. Joy lit the amber of his eyes, and a smile greeted his son and his friend. Slowly, he put one foot on the step, pushed himself forward, felt for the stamped ground with his other foot, gasped, and with great effort, left the seat. At last, the giant stood half-erect in front of them, a tree, broken in half by the storm, its mighty crown supported by a stick, its right branch hanging limply down as if it no longer belonged to him.

  Since Erik said nothing, Tyrkir nudged the young skipper in the side.

  Leif stood taller and reported as custom demanded. “Our journey was accompanied by good fortune. We lost no men. Your son returns from the edge of the world and brings you a new, fertile land. It will bring honor and glory to our family.”

  “Welcome, Son, in the name of . . .” Erik coughed and continued hesitantly, “Yes, in the name of the great god Thor. Welcome under the roof of your father.” The cough became stronger, pain and joy fighting in the gray-bearded face, but finally the smile prevailed. “I am proud of you because, like your father, you have discovered a new shore. Tell me its name!”

  “We landed on three foreign shores, but only one of them is worth mentioning. I christened the area Vinland.”

  “Very resourceful.” Erik glanced at his friend. “I’m sure you helped with the idea, Know-It-All.”

  “Your son was not as vain as you,” Tyrkir replied. “Across the sea, there is not one Leif Hill and no Leiffjord.” At least we can still jest, he thought sadly, realizing that for the first time, he didn’t have to look up when they talked to each other. “Besides, you’ll soon taste why this country deserves the name.”

  “Now I know you’re back.” Erik closed his eyes and when he opened them again, his gaze was tired and lost. “I’ve been waiting, Know-It-All,” he murmured. “Waiting for you.”

  His tone increased in strength. “Leif, your return relieves me of a great worry. No gode can speak in this state before a gathering of freemen. Therefore, you shall lead the Thing of my Greenland for me in June.”

  “Father, you will—”

  “No, don’t say anything. I’ve had long enough to think about this. It is my firm will.” Another cough shook him. “And now I must rest.” With that, Erik turned and walked carefully step by step to the sleeping chamber.

  Leif had tears in his eyes. Tyrkir wiped his face with the back of his hand. “My proud, strong friend,” he whispered.

  Thjodhild had come to their side. “Even if the sight frightens you, you must not pity Erik. He despises all pity. And he’s not as bad as he was. I give him a daily dose of willow bark dissolved in herbal tea for the pain.”

  “But, Mother, I see him suffering!”

  She touched the arm of her eldest. “I’m not blind. When your father has come to terms with his mind, his body will be restored. Believe me, there’s nothing I long for more, for him and for those who have to live here with him. But to free him from his inner prison, for that there is no potion. He must find that strength himself. He’s achieved so much in his life. Now he could sit happily in front of the house and play with the little one—” She broke off and laughed. “Oh, what am I saying?”

  Freydis giggled and only stopped when her mother shot her a pleading look.

  “There will be a feast in your honor this evening,” Thjodhild said, turning back to the men. “Until then, you should rid yourselves of the stench of travel. I’d also be glad if no lumps of dirt or vermin from your hair and beard fell into the bowl. From now on, all your food will be seasoned only in my kitchen.”

  Grinning, the voyagers went outside. Freydis made to follow them, but her mother held her back. “You’ll stay by my side. I’ll decide the time. Now, do as I say.”

  Oil lamps bathed the hall in a warm yellow glow. Erik couldn’t be convinced to join the celebration. He didn’t want to disturb the joy with his appearance and had stayed in bed. Thjodhild ordered her eldest to sit at the head of the table and asked Tyrkir to sit by her side.

  Leif lifted his cup. He was about to open the meal when Thjodhild knocked on the edge of the table with her spoon.

  “Patience!” She put her hands together, as did Freydis and the brothers, and now finally the men understood and followed their example. In a low voice, she thanked God, the Lord, inviting him to the table as a guest. The amen was spoken by all. Thjodhild winked at her friend and said, “It seems to me that you may not have followed the customs of our Christian faith during your journey.”

  “Yes, I did,” he assured her, but couldn’t suppress a smile.

  “To our homecoming!” Although it was only sour milk, Leif emptied his cup in one go.

  With the chicken broth, the men told of the crossing and the discovery of Rockland. With the fragrant seal roast, Leif served his mother and siblings the white sandy wastes of Woodland. With the fresh salad of leaves and stems of angelica, Leif and Tyrkir took turns approaching the shores of Vinland. And as soon as they’d entered it, they tumbled over each other’s words.

  Only after many questions and interjections did the family manage to get an idea of the paradise they’d discovered. During dessert, Thorvald stuck his spoon into his brother’s berry-sweetened soft cheese.

  “Me too!”

  Stunned, Leif cut off his tale.

  “I want to go to Vinland.” The excitement gleamed in Thorvald’s eyes. “You could lend me your knarr.”

  “That’s all we need. How far do you think you’ll get?” mocked the explorer. “Before you even leave the fjord, you’ll have my Falcon lying at the bottom with a broken mast.”

  “You think I couldn’t run a ship? I’ve been at the tiller as far as the trading post.” Thorvald grabbed his spoon and waved it threateningly. “If you won’t give me your knarr, I’ll ask Father.”

  “And then I get to fish you out of the water as I did with the envoy from the king’s court.”

  “Enough!” Thjodhild snapped. “We’ll talk about it later. Today . . .” She paused, frowning at the great fire.

  Tyrkir and Leif also turned.

  Freydis stood there, gracious as an angel. She held the child by the hand. The boy’s big head wobbled above his shoulders. He was dressed in a white smock, and he was smiling.

  “Come on, you gorgeous creature!”

  “Aunt.” The spider feet set themselves in motion.

  “That’s a good boy.” Freydis led him to the table.

  As they approached Leif, he moved his stool back a little. “Who are you bringing?”

  Freydis briefly pulled at the boy’s curly locks. “Go on!”

  The smiling mouth opened, and between each word, he gasped for breath. “I . . . am . . . Thorgils.”

  Again, she tugged his hair. “Go on, little one!”

  “Father . . . is . . . Leif.”

  Leif grabbed at his throat as his sister purred on mercilessly. “Doesn’t the sweet one look like a miracle? You have put a fine thing in our nest. Yes, this freak is yours.”

  Leif gasped for breath, jumped up, and backed away to the wall. He turned and pressed his forehead against the wood paneling.

  At first, Tyrkir wanted to follow him, but then he realized that it was not Thorgunna’s invisible power again. He looked at Thjodhild helplessly.

  She came to him. “Although I’d hoped for a gentler encounter, you know what transpired. I must know the truth. No details, please, only clear answers.
Did Leif meet a woman in the Hebrides?”

  “I couldn’t stop it.”

  “Did he get her with child?”

  Tyrkir felt his scar redden. “Against this Thorgunna—” He saw Thjodhild’s stern look. “Yes. That’s what happened. She said that she’d send the child to Greenland.”

  “So, my son is the father. Why did you keep silent? I would have liked to have been prepared to become a grandmother.”

  Tyrkir wanted to answer, but Thjodhild shook her head. “Later. For the moment, I’m asking for your help. No, I demand it of you. Leif must accept this child, if only out of Christian duty.”

  Tyrkir immediately agreed, and both crossed the room to him. The conversation lasted only a short time—it required little persuasion—and Thjodhild’s brow smoothed. “I’m glad that you’ve discovered a country, but that you want to grant your protection to this poor mite fills me with pride.”

  Maybe he’s taken on something of me after all, Tyrkir thought.

  Leif returned to the table, both hands extended to Thorgils. “Come!”

  The boy stumbled confidently into his arms. “Father . . . is . . . Leif.”

  “Yes, you’ve found him.” He lifted the little body and held him high above his head. “By baptism, you are already a member of our Christian faith. But today, you shall also be accepted according to the customs of our fathers: Thorgils, I recognize you as my flesh and blood. Great God, I swear before you that this son will be a full member of our family from now on.”

  Thorgils wagged his thin arms; he liked the game and laughed like a bleating lamb.

  No sooner had his father put him down than Freydis tore her brother around. “You idiot!” Her lips trembled. “What have you done? Is it not enough that this freak has been polluting our air for months? Do you think I fed him so he’d stay with us forever?”

  Thjodhild wanted to intervene, but Tyrkir held her back.

  Leif looked calmly into his sister’s face. “Get used to it, Sister. This child will be safe with us.”

  The strange light flickered in her eyes, then quickly disappeared again, and she smiled softly. “As you command, big brother.” Without another word, she turned around and danced past the great fire. Her fingers ran over the ax shafts next to the exit, played with the feather tufts of the arrows, and then she was gone.