B0046ZREEU EBOK

by Elphinstone, Margaret

  Horrified, I crossed myself. ‘How could she do that?’ I whispered. ‘What kind of power has she?’

  ‘Leif seems very sure of her power,’ said Thorstein. ‘We talked about it. No man could ever make my brother afraid – he’s not afraid now – you mustn’t think that. But he spoke to me more seriously than he’s ever done before, and said that while this thing hung over him, it would be better for him not to marry. He said he wouldn’t take a wife until this boy came, and then he could see how things were. But if Thorgunna hopes to trap him, she’s gone the wrong way about it. I know Leif. She’s threatened his good luck, and he’ll never forgive her now. I doubt if he’ll ever see her again either.’

  ‘That’s a terrible fate for a young man,’ said my father. ‘And he’s of an age to need a wife.’

  ‘He won’t lack a woman, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ said Thorstein, with a crack of laughter. ‘Not Leif. But he’s angry. He wants an heir. So does my father. It doesn’t help Leif much, but once Eirik had stopped storming at Leif, it occurred to him that he had two other sons.’

  I was thinking about the woman who had made such a curse, and how she must have gone about it. It must have been a more powerful magic than anything I knew of, just to cover such a great distance, for a start, to say nothing of making such a powerful spell. And of course Halldis had never taught me evil, so I didn’t know much about how to do harm. Young as I was, I thought Thorgunna must be a wicked woman. I never met her; I scarcely heard her name spoken again, for it brought no good luck to speak of her at Brattahlid, but now, all these years later, I feel a strange kinship with that woman who must have had so much power, and yet got nothing that she wanted. She must have been desperate, Agnar, don’t you think? I suppose she loved him. Why else would she have done all she could to get him to take her to Greenland? No chieftain’s daughter in her right mind would want to go out of her own world into a strange man’s country, among men who despised her own people and thought of them as slaves. Anyway, her curse came to nothing in the end. She died, I believe, only a few years later, and of course Leif did marry, and Thorkel, who is chieftain at Brattahlid today, was born just nine months after. So Leif’s luck held. Leif was a most attractive man, Agnar. I forgot to tell you that, I think. But my good luck was that I was never his woman. He became my brother, and no other man could have treated a sister better. Leif had every notion of what was due to his family. I would choose any time to be his kin rather than his wife, now that I look back on it. As a girl, I saw a handsome man who’d proved himself, beside two youths who’d done nothing. I would have had Leif, if I could, and I realise now that I would have been wrong.

  ‘How does she know,’ I asked Thorstein, ‘that the child is going to be a boy? If they are indeed betrothed, he should be your father’s heir.’

  ‘They’re not betrothed,’ said Thorstein shortly, ‘And the boy, and she told Leif that it is certainly a boy, will never be our heir.’

  ‘May she not curse you all for that?’

  ‘She has nothing of mine,’ said Thorstein. ‘How can she touch me?’

  That was probably true, I thought. She probably had enough of Leif to reach him even in Greenland. A lock of hair, perhaps, a shirt, a ring, who knows? But as for Thorvald and Thorstein, she might not even know that they existed. Her spells could never reach so far. And yet, now I wonder. I thought then that the world was very large. But now here I am in the very centre of it, and when I wake up in the morning sometimes I feel I have only to stretch out my hand to reach across both space and time. It would not surprise me to find Karlsefni lying beside me, and to hear the icy winds of Vinland roaring inland across the winter ice. I have all that within me, every moment, and sometimes it seems nearer to me than what you call the here and now.

  ‘I’ll be honest with you,’ said Thorstein, and cleared his throat. He didn’t look at my father or at me, but plunged on with what he had to say. ‘I know what you hoped for, Thorbjorn. I know what you negotiated with my father. I know that Eirik wants Gudrid for a daughter-in-law. While you all thought of Leif, I waited. But Leif won’t marry for years now. No woman would risk a curse like that, and no man would wish her to do it.’

  ‘Every woman takes that risk,’ said my father unexpectedly, ‘And every man who marries expects her to do it.’

  Thorstein wasn’t listening. ‘I would never ask it. I haven’t proved myself as Leif has done, but I’m one of Eirik’s sons, and I’ve done nothing to disgrace him, and I’ll do much more to enhance his prestige, I promise you. I’m one of the heirs to this Green Land, and unlike my brother I know Gudrid, and I want her for my wife.’

  Well, of course it wasn’t quite as easy as that. My father took a long time to make up his mind. He suspected that the tale of Thorgunna’s curse might be a ruse to manipulate him. But when the ice melted, and we could sail across the fjord again, Thorbjorn had long talks with Eirik, with Thjodhild, with Thorstein, and even with Leif. He never entirely made up his mind that Leif’s fears of witchcraft were genuine, but he did make sure that Leif was unattainable as a son-in-law, for whatever reason. Meanwhile, Thorstein haunted our house, until it was time to go north for the hunting. He came back in the autumn, looking thin and tough, with a boatload of bearskins, caribou hides, marten and fox furs, narwhal tusks and walrus ivory, and meat to match it, all of which he brought straight to Stokkanes and laid at my father’s feet. My father feasted him well, and listened to his tales of distant places, and the traces of an uncanny people, who had left their stone cairns along the deserted shores of the uninhabited north. I listened too, and watched Thorstein closely as he talked to my father. I thought he’d grown older during the summer. He spoke little of his family, and the dangerous magic of empty lands still hung about him, like an echo of something new and desirable. I noted all this, and thought of what I would say to my father afterwards, whether Thorbjorn were to ask my opinion or not.

  TEN

  July 21st

  June. Almost high tide. The sea wells over melting ice that lines the beach. Gudrid has come to know this view as well as the view of the glacier from Arnarstapi. Sometimes Brattahlid is invisible, lost in fog or twilight or rain; sometimes the hills are a thin grey line on the horizon. Sometimes the opposite shore is a purple silhouette. And there are days like today when the land across the fjord seems so close that a thrown stone would reach it. Gudrid sees every fold in the hill, every rock and patch of scrub on the pasture, as the morning light throws long shadows over each outcrop. She can see scattered houses, and the cluster of turf roofs which is Eirik’s household, and cattle already grazing between snow patches. She can hear dogs barking, and the shout of a man. Ice lines the shore, but a channel of black water has opened up in the deep water of the fjord, and the way south is clear to the open sea. Below the beach ice has been smashed up to clear a way into the black water.

  Leif’s ship has been dragged down on rollers over broken ice and pebbles, and launched into a sea sluggish with ice that rolls over and grinds in the breakers. Against the ice the ship seems tiny, frail as a child’s toy carved from a scrap of driftwood, with a handful of cast wool for a sail. What it promises seems impossible, against the scale of the distant mountains, and the ocean beyond the fjord. And yet the promise is delivered, year after year. The ship seems fragile, like the dreams of the men who sail her, and yet she makes it. Leif’s ship has drawn an invisible line across the world now, from Iceland to Greenland to Norway to the Hebrides to Vinland to Greenland, a fine thread knitting the separate pieces of the world to one another, so that they become one.

  Leif’s ship is a Norse knarreskip, a good trading ship, high-sided, clinker built, rising to a carved prow at stem and stern. She survives the ocean by adapting to it. Her lines are sinuous, and her timbers are supple, her joints giving against the weight of the swell. When the wind is fair she sails swiftly and cleanly; when the wind is contrary the square sail is not adaptable, and the ship must go with the weather, or wai
t for the weather to go by. Even her smallness is a concession to the elements; she can ride the swell neatly, and shaking the water off her can drive on her invisible way.

  Men’s dreams are shaped like this; the ship and the dream have made one another. This is Leif’s ship, but Leif stays at home this year, to watch over his father’s cattle, and to lead the hunt to the far north. Maybe he has affairs of his own to watch over too. His father is angry with him, about the woman who has bewitched him, and about the priest from Norway who is doing his best to bewitch Leif’s mother. Eirik is set about with domestic problems, and Leif is aware that he needs to stay and make sure of his position at home.

  But Leif is always generous. All winter the household at Brattahlid have discussed the possibilities of Leif’s discovery of Vinland. If the settlements in Greenland could meet their needs from Vinland, and Eirik’s family had control of that whole country, then Greenland would be theirs for ever. If Vinland has wine and timber for Iceland, to add to the profits of the northern hunt, then Eirik’s family will be the richest in the whole world. Everything mortal life has to offer is theirs, but it is vital that they do not quarrel. Leif is always the most generous of men. He has offered to lend his ship and his houses in Vinland – lend, mind, not give – to his brother Thorvald. So Thorvald and his crew sail from Eiriksfjord today. The channel is open and the wind is in their favour.

  Gudrid sees the ship as a black speck anchored in a murky ice-patched sea. She strains her eyes as the boats go to and fro, loading and unloading. She can’t recognise anyone from here, but Thorvald will surely be aboard already, and Thorstein and Leif will be there with the boats, and Eirik will be directing them from the shore. The women will be watching from the settlement, making believe to go about their daily work as if nothing were happening. Even a Christian woman like Thjodhild knows to keep her prayers to herself on a day like this. The launching of a ship is no place for new gods. If Gudrid has prayers for Thorvald she does not say them out loud. She is unsure of her power: all she can offer is a wish, that is not quite a prayer or a spell. He is the only one of Eirik’s sons that she has not thought of as a possible husband, but he is to be her brother, and he and Thorstein once watched her hungrily when she could not tell one from another. She wishes him well.

  The tide turns. Fragments of ice break away from the beach and flow with it. The current begins to drain southward, out of the fjord. The sun is high. On Leif’s ship the square sail is slowly hoisted. Gudrid screws up her eyes to see. The ship moves out through the broken ice, and into the black water. The current catches it. The breeze coming down from the glaciers fills the sail. The ship turns south, and gathers way.

  It’s so hot today, Agnar, I can’t even sit out in the shade of the cloister. At least it’s a bit cooler in here. It reminds me of Vinland. It was hot there in the summer too, and the insects were terrible. I can remember throwing myself into the sea – into sea water, can you believe it? – to get away from the heat and the insects. They were even worse than Roman mosquitoes. It hurts to open my eyes, out there; the walls glare at me as I go by. I walk a little way in the evening, but even then as I pass each building it throws out the day’s heat at me. Under the trees it’s cooler, only the soil is so white and dry. How does anything grow in it? I complain too much, you’re thinking. And I must admit the food makes up for it. Peaches and apricots – have you tasted them, Agnar? You have? So life in the monastery isn’t so austere? Far from it? Really? Tell me what you have to eat.

  * * * * *

  And wine too? What kinds of wine do they give you?

  * * * * *

  Yes, we have Tuscan wines in the guest house here. Are they the best? I’m told the vineyards here in Rome aren’t very good. Of course, the first wine I ever drank was from Vinland, where the grapes are different. I don’t think it’s given me a discriminating palate. These things are so much more important here than they seem to be in Iceland. Would you miss such luxuries, if you went back? You’d miss the sun more? I suppose one might. Today I’ve been sitting here imagining cool water, white rivers and the clean northern air, and a sky rinsed with rain, not this parched pale blue. But when I’m home again I’ll remember that there were days when I was much too hot, and I’ll try to recall what that can possibly have been like. I’ll tell you one thing about this climate. It stops my bones aching. I suppose they do get the rheumatics here. The old people seem to shrivel up like raisins, but I don’t see as many cripples. Do you think that’s true?

  * * * * *

  Yes, and the young ones are so beautiful. It must be difficult for you, Agnar, seeing these lovely brown-eyed girls in the street, and not being able to go to bed with any of them. Or do you?

  * * * * *

  True, it’s none of my business. But I watched one yesterday evening, going home with a pot of water. She showed more flesh than a Norse girl would ever dare to do, but she looked young and brown and healthy, and with the pot on her shoulder she moved like a queen. It made me wish for a moment that my own youth had been sunnier. I’m not given to self-pity, but since I came here there have been moments when I’ve thought that my own girlhood was hard.

  * * * * *

  My dear, I don’t want you to be sorry for me! God forbid! I’ve always been able to look after myself. And then I had Karlsefni. I don’t know if I can make you understand what that meant. Can I make you see him in your mind? I don’t know. He was all Norse, as much an Icelander as ever a man was, but he had a look one sees here in Rome. Was it his smile? He could be subtle, and not everyone trusted him. He had a way of looking at me that made my skin prickle with desire. Thorvald and Thorstein were lustful and predatory, but Karlsefni was different. He liked women. I don’t mean sex, I mean women. Do you understand what I’m saying?

  * * * * *

  I think you would have liked Karlsefni best of all of them. And Karlsefni would have enjoyed Rome. He would have appreciated what you told me about the wine. I think he might even have liked the heat. He was never lazy, but when there was nothing to do he was happy to do nothing. In the afternoons in Vinland we used to sleep sometimes, just as everyone does here. Leif would never have let his men sleep in the daytime, but Karlsefni did, and he always achieved everything he set out to do.

  I wish I could just skip ahead and tell you about those days, but the other part must come first. It’s a hard story, Agnar. Maybe it’s just as well that blade of sun strikes in at the door there. Maybe it’s a good thing I can smell dust and cypress, and hear the flies buzzing against the ceiling. It’s a comfort to me to hear soft Italian voices across the cloister yard. Soon we’ll smell cooking, when they start to make dinner. Olive oil and onions, that’s how it always begins. I’m glad of all these things around me, Agnar, because the place we must now go back to is very terrible to me.

  I was married to Thorstein at Lammas, the summer that Thorvald went away. He came to live with my father and me at Stokkanes. You may wonder that we didn’t stay at Brattahlid, but there was always a large household there, whereas my father had no child but me, and, if I’d left him, there would have been no woman to look after the house and farm. In fact I’d run the place from the day that we moved there. I don’t just mean the women’s work; I mean the whole management of the farm. The thralls came to me for orders as soon as it was clear that I knew what I was doing. I wouldn’t have been happy if Thorstein and I had gone to live at Brattahlid. Over there, Thjodhild was in charge of the women’s work, and I’d have had to deal with Freydis too. In fact at Brattahlid there were too many strong-minded people altogether. Thorbjorn had grown easygoing with age, and I knew how to manage him. Also, I loved the place.

  Stokkanes suited Thorstein too. Married to me, he assumed he’d inherit it one day, and so he took an interest in the farm. I think he was glad to be away from his family too. Being the youngest can mean waiting all your life for what may never come, at least, that’s how it seemed to be in Eirik’s family. Thorstein still dreamed of a long voyage, b
ut meanwhile he was content, I think, to live with us in the winter, and to go hunting up north every summer.

  The northern hunt was the key to Thorstein’s soul, and it was out of my reach, far from women or the domestic world. I once asked him what it was about the north that drew him, and he thought for a long time, and then he said, ‘It’s the space.’ That was strange, coming from a man who never talked about anything but the hunt, and whose idea of a winter night’s entertainment was to swap stories with other men about the incredible hunts that had happened during all the years in Greenland.

  He wanted a wife because he wanted an heir and a place of his own. I didn’t bring him either, but he was happy in his own way, I think, during the three years we lived at Stokannes. Afterwards it seemed to me that I never really knew him, and even now, it’s a struggle to tell you what he was like. We were young, and hot-blooded, and attractive to one another. For a while I was satisfied, and my restless body no longer kept me awake at night. Nothing happened between us that sex could not solve; and it was only later that I understood that there’s no security in lust. At the time it seemed that to be in his arms was to be in a safe place, even though in my mind I knew that I was in a whole other world from him, and hundreds of years older than he was. But he was brave and active, and very strong. He used to win all the wrestling matches at Brattahlid. I think he would have beaten Leif, even, because Leif would not fight with him, and I can’t think of any other reason why he shouldn’t.

  I felt closest to him when we worked together on the farm. That was mostly in spring, before he went away, when the flocks were lambing, and the cows had their calves. We were good midwives, between us. I loved him more then, I think, than when we were in bed. In bed he could have been anybody; but when we were in the fields together, in daylight, I could see that it was Thorstein, and I can remember his frowning look, whenever he was busy with some job. He wasn’t a talker, but he was practical, and handled the animals well. I’ve always liked that quality in a man. I can remember when he saved one of our best milking cows by sheer strength. The calf was lying sideways inside her, and he reached in and turned the calf and pulled it out by the forelegs. I’ve done that myself. It takes some strength, if the cow can’t help you. But Thorstein was tough, though he still looked young for his age. His hair never darkened but stayed fair as a child’s, and he still had round cheeks like a boy’s. I’m told he was one of the best hunters in Greenland, and that means the best in the world.