God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga)

by Heather Day Gilbert

  I speak softly. “Your baby will be early, so we’re staying here.”

  She raises her chin, a determined look coming into those harsh eyes. “I have my knife back, at least.”

  Of course, instead of thinking of her baby’s safety first, she thinks of her ability to protect the camp.

  I feign confidence. “Snorri Thorbrandsson will stay, I’m sure. And Finn will pick some men.”

  “Ref might stay?”

  I look past her eyes, fringed with long red lashes, and try to understand her thoughts. Does she want her husband here? It seems she does, for some reason. How he comforts her when she hardly acknowledges his existence, I don’t understand.

  “I’ll ask Finn.” This means Ref will stay.

  “Thanks for everything.” I know she speaks of her knife—possibly more important to her than Ref. I hope someday she'll tell me if she cut that man’s throat to protect me. But for now I’ll tell myself she’s innocent, just because she said so.

  She begins circling her hut again as I leave, and I hope she doesn’t try to hunt today. It’s one of her favorite pastimes, for good reason. She's faster and quieter than the men, often felling three deer to their one. And sometimes she doesn’t even use her bow, but her knife. No one knows how she gets close enough to slit even the bucks’ throats. I think she falls out of a tree on them, or somehow coaxes them to her.

  Before I check on my baby, I stop at Nerienda’s hut. I’m actually staying away from him longer, in hopes he’ll start drinking from the deerskin bottle we’ve made, or eat more solid food. It’s never good for babies to rely too much on their mothers, especially when their mothers are Vikings.

  Nerienda stands in the small room, strands of wool carelessly wrapped around her spindle. I laugh to myself, because her housekeeping skills are as poor as my own. We both value time with people more than chores. So far, I’ve been able to avoid spinning, since no one ever trained me how to do it. Besides, the women here would laugh me out of the hut.

  “Gudrid!” Nerienda’s smile crinkles her yellowed face. “How’s Freydis today? I haven’t….”

  She tries to unwind some wool, leaving strands hanging all over the place. I would help her, but I’d only make it worse. I pretend not to notice her disgust with her task.

  “I haven’t been able to see her this morning.” She throws the entire pile of wool back into her basket, spindle and all. She sits down on her bench and sighs, rubbing her hands together.

  “She’s better.” I smile. “She walks around and is impertinent with me, as usual.”

  “Does she know?”

  “I told her. She wants Ref to stay behind.”

  Nerienda rubs each of her fingers, working the stiffness out of them. “Of course she does. That man would bring every meal to her bed, if she’d stay in it long enough. He went and bathed her himself, I heard.”

  We both chuckle as we envision this. Freydis hates bathing. Deirdre says it’s the forest child in her.

  Nerienda stops laughing, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she frowns. “If the babe lives to breathe once, I’ll be surprised.”

  I nod, but try to be hopeful, picturing the healthy births of Stena, Thorvald’s wife. She was short and tiny, but she had endless reserves of strength. Though it took an entire day for each of her deliveries, her babies were perfect and chubby, all crying loudly as soon as they were born. We didn’t have to teach them to suckle, either, as they all latched on quickly.

  Thorvald bragged to Eirik, Leif, and anyone else who would listen that reindeer herders were stronger than Nordic women. Leif eventually told him to stop talking about it, because he was insulting his own Norwegian mother.

  But Thorvald couldn’t stop marveling at his children. Everyone else did, too, as they were exceptionally beautiful, with their dark eyes that turned slightly downward and their perfect honey-colored skin.

  Stena left Brattahlid after Thorvald was killed, taking with her my chance to watch her babies grow up. She couldn’t bear to stay near Thjodhild. Her mother-in-law insulted her daily, calling her a Lapp and a Skraeling to her face.

  Nerienda stretches and stands, noticing my attention has wandered. “I’ll go and help with the mid-morning meal.”

  As I start to follow her, Linnea rushes in, gasping for breath. “They’re here—many this time. Karlsefni needs you.” She points to me.

  "Find Snorri and hide him!" I shout at Linnea. Then I run into our hut, grabbing a sword from the wall. By the time I reach him, Finn stands in the middle of the beach. He is completely surrounded by Skraelings.

  Chapter Eleven

  Skraelings wander around the rocky beach and up toward our huts. Some look through the fence at my sheep, some at the men’s weapons, and many stare at my hair.

  Snorri Thorbrandsson is poised to cut the hand off anyone who gets too close to Finn. All our men are uneasy, gripping their weapons. The sword, cold and solid, rests in my hand, giving me a small measure of comfort.

  A woman with unnaturally huge eyes and reddish hair sits on a pile of furs in one of their narrow boats. She's probably their magic-worker, for she wears an elaborate necklace of shiny, dolphin-colored stones, and is surrounded by young men. She points to me, motioning in a circular movement to the furs.

  Trade. They want to trade.

  I push through the natives and whisper in Finn’s ear. The Skraelings tighten their circle around him, closing us in.

  When a native leans over the fence to touch a sheep, the small flock startles, wildly tearing back and forth. Magnus edges toward them, protective of his favorite animals. Other Skraelings eye our men's axes. It's as if a group of curious, uncontrolled children has been unleashed on the camp.

  Freydis runs out of her hut, carrying a pile of red silk from Leif, which she hands to Finn. As soon as the old woman sees it, she clambers out of the boat, holding onto her men's shoulders. They bring the pile of furs up and present it to Finn, waiting for their valuable reward.

  I can almost hear Snorri Thorbrandsson's aggressive thoughts as I watch the spectacle. We could kill them all now, while they’re weaponless, in such a tight group. A few Skraelings sit in boats waving long sticks in circles, but they would be no match for our swords, axes, and knives.

  A tall man with a long black tail of hair reaches out to take the silk. He has to be their leader, given all the furs he’s wearing.

  Finn places the silk in the man’s hands. Their thin leader pulls out a knife, and Finn’s hand flicks to his thigh. Snorri holds his sword in a double handgrip, stepping in front of Finn. But the Skraeling man begins to cut off a long strip of silk. He wraps it around his head, then turns and speaks to his people. He passes the fabric to the old woman, who takes out her own bone-handled knife and cuts strips for all of them.

  The Skraelings all begin swinging their sticks, which swish loudly as they complete a circle in the air. They like their colorful head-wraps.

  We stand frozen until the woman cuts up all the silk. A few Skraelings continue watching the sheep, but most edge closer to observe our weapons.

  My wolf chooses this moment to begin her patrol of the fenceline. She runs out of the forest, ears high, back hair bristling. I back up toward her, aware that if she wants to attack the men, I can’t stop her. But at least Finn’s men will see I’m with the wolf, and hopefully think before trying to kill her.

  The old woman shouts in their nasal language. The sticks clatter into the boats and their people jump in. How did the woman know the wolf is with me? I turn to see where my wolf is.

  She has come to a dead stop at my side, panting slightly.

  None of our men come closer, afraid the wolf will attack. But as soon as the boats have sailed out of sight, I lean down and tell the wolf to get home. I don’t know why I do this, but somehow she understands, following the fenceline back into the woods.

  Finn walks up, a strange look on his face. His mouth is set, but his eyes are smiling.

  “Your beast saved
us all.” I’m shaking as he puts his arm around me. “Perhaps you’re safer in the woods than I thought,” he whispers. He brushes my ear with his lips.

  Finn turns to his men. “We need to talk—now.”

  They slowly sheath their weapons, following Finn to the longhouse. Inger and Deirdre run ahead of them, in order to get the mid-morning meal started.

  As the men pass me, they give me looks—some respectful, some bordering on hatred. My wolf stole their chance to wreak some havoc on the Skraelings. As Snorri Thorbrandsson passes, he dips his head toward me so slightly, I’m the only one to notice. But it’s a movement that shows his approval, something I’ll need when Finn leaves us.

  Linnea stumbles out of the woods, holding Snorri. She hands him to me, her skirt ripped and her face flushed. Many of the men stare at her in this disheveled state. She’s certainly in the bloom of life. She'll be safer if she gets married as soon as possible. I'll ask Deirdre if she’s interested in anyone. Linnea is probably the age I was when I first married.

  My baby nuzzles into me. I touch the cleft in his chin that matches Finn’s. I've only seen Finn once without a beard, when he first arrived in Greenland. It had been the fashion to be clean-shaven in Norway, where he traded. His strong chin seemed to contradict his genuine compassion, and I'd been enchanted.

  I turn into our hut to feed Snorri.

  “I just fed him!” Linnea immediately looks ashamed at her outburst.

  “You did?” I ask. “How?”

  “I put cow’s milk in the deerskin bottle—to keep him quieter for the Skraelings.” Again, I’m pleased to see she's careful with her duties.

  “Thank you.” I marvel that my son finally eats from someone other than me. This gives me freedom, along with a strange sadness.

  Snorri squirms in my arms, reaching for the grass. I put him down, holding his hand. As he tries to walk, I can tell he’s getting stronger, his thin legs straightening up.

  Linnea stands too, watching him with a motherly smile. Deirdre comes out of the longhouse.

  “We are needing the two of you.” She holds Snorri’s other hand, and we try walking him to the house.

  Deirdre whispers, “When Linnea smiles, you have a twin.”

  Perhaps this is why I worry about the girl. She looks much as I did, when I was younger. No wonder my baby loves her. Did Leif love her too? Does Finn notice her youth, wishing I looked more like her? Such thoughts are poison to me. But perhaps our similarities caused Hallstein’s attack. He was drunk, and could have easily mistaken Linnea for me in the dark.

  This radiant girl, full of the youth I’ve lost, must be protected from future attacks. We’ll have to watch over her closely when the men sail for Vinland.

  My Snorri stumbles in the doorway, then looks up at me and grins. His eyes are bright green today, like the northern lights in Greenland. He’s so determined to succeed, just like his father. Or perhaps like me.

  Finn stops talking when his son comes into the longhouse. He quickly starts again, but his pause makes me happy. Though I know he loves us, loving words don’t come easily for him. I’m learning to watch for these small gestures that show his affection.

  Deirdre sits next to Magnus, and not with the other women. She’s determined to be with him as much as possible before the trip. Those two are joined at the hip.

  They have the strangest relationship. Magnus barely talks at all, while Deirdre chatters all the time. Somehow, they balance each other. Halldis would have said it’s like Thor and the Midgard serpent—Thor destroys the serpent, but before it's over, the serpent’s poison also destroys Thor. Thus, they’re equal in strength, with differing abilities.

  I pick up Snorri, carrying him over to the women standing around the kettle. I scoop out a bowl of soup, made with deer jerky. It’s a colorless dish, with no vegetables, save cabbage. Perhaps, if we could talk with the Skraelings, they’d show us other plants to grow, and how to thrive here. We can’t survive another lean winter.

  The old Skraeling woman may be the key. We communicated when she was motioning about trading. If I could spend time with her, I could learn to speak their language. Languages are easy for me, perhaps because I had to memorize so many chants and runes as a girl. And my grandmother was Scottish, so I learned that language early.

  As the men discuss the trip, I know Finn’s thoughts. He won’t want to go, with the Skraelings returning more often. And what could we trade next?

  Bjarni, an old man with a shock of white hair, speaks. “It’s time to head south. Leif expects a haul of goods. Besides, I know Vinland’s south of here. Hallstein was a fool to go north.” Bjarni was the first sailor to spot this new land, so many years ago. He didn't explore it then; he just told Leif about it and sailed with him on the first voyage to Vinland.

  “But how long will it take to find this legendary place?” A light-haired man talks around a mouthful of cheese.

  “Tell me why we should we risk our lives just to repay a chieftain’s son?” A slave shouts from the corner. His dark eyes, hair, and skin set him apart from the rest of us. He’s probably some kind of native Sami or northern Greenlander. Of course he feels no allegiance to Leif, a rich chieftain.

  Freydis listens from the back bench. She gives a loud huff and pulls the hair off her eyes, glaring at the bold slave.

  “We promised to bring back a shipload for Leif,” Finn says. “And I keep my word.”

  “Hear, hear.” Several of the men bang their cups.

  “But our wives?” Magnus puts his arm around Deirdre. She hasn’t even gotten up once to refill the soup bowls.

  Snorri Thorbrandsson speaks up. “I’ll stay behind. I’ll keep ten of you with me. The Skraelings probably won’t come back, after Gudrid’s wolf—”

  The dark-eyed slave interrupts. “That beast is unpredictable. Who’s to say it won’t kill us all in our sleep?”

  Finn says, “That beast has been patrolling our camp. It’s protected our cows; maybe even our sheep. And now, our people. It’s harmless for us.”

  I could jump up and hug him, but I stay on my stool near the fire, watching Snorri play with a large wooden spoon. He’s easy to please—a blessing in this sparse place. If he were at Brattahlid, he’d have his choice of wooden horses, ivory figurines, or golden rattles to play with.

  “Which ten men?” The red-haired man who speaks is someone I've barely noticed. I should know all the men’s names, but I don’t. I deliberately avoid their side of camp and don’t make conversation with them. On our voyage from Greenland we were so packed on the ships, I learned not to smile at any man. These Vikings take a woman’s smile as an open advance.

  Finn points out the ten, naming them, including the dark-eyed slave, Suka. Why my husband would choose him to protect us, I can’t imagine. Perhaps he’s skilled in some way.

  Suka’s eyes narrow and a sour look crosses his face, until Snorri Thorbrandsson returns the glare, his eyes bright with all the violence he’s capable of.

  Most of the men who have been chosen to stay behind are eager to protect us. Some even say “Good-night” to women for the first time, after the meal. I don’t like their familiarity, and I don’t know what’s going to happen when Finn is not here to control them.

  Finn pours most of his soup out on the midden pile, a sure sign he's anxious.

  I touch his shoulder. “Could we talk?”

  He nods, picking up Snorri on our way out. The boy squeals, and even says something like far, calling for his father.

  It’s my chance to voice all my fears. The tall pines along the forest form a dense barrier, making me feel trapped without a full view of the ocean. Iceland had no trees on its rough cliffs. I’d sit on those desolate ledges as a child, watching the waves for hours. Even inland, on Eiriksfjord at Brattahlid, we could see the ocean and sky meet in a perfect blue line.

  Finn notices the faraway look in my eyes. “We won’t be gone for long, Gudrid. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I know, my sweet
husband. But I was wondering about your choice of men. Suka has no respect for position. He’s even worse than Hallstein.”

  “Snorri chose Suka. He’s our fastest runner.”

  Runner? Why would we want to run? I thought we needed men who could stand and destroy huge groups of Skraelings.

  “You saw those larger men, Sindri and Tyr?” His voice is calm and soothing. “They were King Olafsson’s guards. There are no better men with swords. They’re also close to Leif and want to prove their loyalty to him by protecting his family here.”

  Not wanting to scorn Finn’s comfort, I take his hand. “Thanks for choosing them.”

  “I promise to come back in at least four months.” He’s determined to make me feel better.

  So much can happen in four months. But he’s right, he needs time to explore the coastlines further south, to go ashore and look for grapes and wheat when they’re ripe.

  He kisses me on the forehead. “You’ll be safe.” Snorri kicks at his father’s side with his tiny boots. “You know I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t feel sure of that.”

  His rough beard brushes against my face as he kisses my forehead again, longer this time. I take his face in my hands, moving his mouth to mine, willing myself to believe I’ll survive these four months without him.

  Snorri grabs at Finn’s beard, jabbering away at us. I’d do anything for this child. I certainly would have killed that yellow-haired man. Chill bumps spread up my arms to my neck, because even if our ten men can handle the Skraelings, what if Hallstein and his crew decide to come back?

  Chapter Twelve

  Lately, I’ve been exhausted just trying to survive at Straumsfjord. I don’t even care to wake some mornings. In Greenland, family surrounded me, like a protective circle. On the farmstead, we all lived so close, knowing when to amuse or when to console.

  Here, I wonder if the women are kind to me only because of my position. Deirdre will always be loyal to me, and to my baby—it’s her nature. But the slave women were chosen by Leif, and might harbor hatred for me, as Suka does for those in power.