“Any other advice from the esteemed Bjarni?” I put my hands on my hips and step closer to Geisli.
“No, m’lady.” He steps back, looking confused.
“Do you know where my son is?” I thought Geisli was supposed to be guarding Deirdre as she bathed the baby.
“At camp, I suppose. I took them back there for mid-morning meal, before I had to chop. If you don’t mind, m’lady, I have to switch off for guarding now.” His eyes are a piercing blue, matching the sky that peeps through openings in the trees.
“Shall I walk you back, as well?” he asks.
I fight the urge to slip my arm under his. He has a very captivating presence, so much like Leif. I crave a man’s touch—it’s my greatest weakness. The Eastman used to taunt me, saying, “You’re a woman who’d go mad without a man, Gudrid!”
After the events of the past few weeks, I wonder if I already am.
Chapter Nineteen
I spend the next two weeks with my boy. I can’t be near him enough. I had never noticed how much his nose looks like Finn’s. Every time I pick him up, I pray for Finn, knowing only too well he could be sick, lost, or even dead. We wouldn’t know it for months. Unease fills the spaces created by Finn's absence. It seems we are prey, just waiting for the Skraelings to return.
When I feed baby Snorri at meals, I watch the men. It has almost become a game for me. Bjarni’s quite interesting. That skinny old man eats enough for three men. He also never sits still. He probably has worms. I plot sneaky ways to have him drink a fennel and wormwood brew, to rid him of them.
Geisli’s like a light. The men position themselves around him, like rays from the sun. He’s a leader, like Finn or Leif. And the women can’t take their eyes off him—I’ve even caught Nerienda gazing at him like a young girl.
Suka, the Greenlandic Skraeling, spends most of his time glaring at everyone. To my astonishment, Freydis is the only person he seems to find tolerable. Something about her flame of hair seems to draw his attention endlessly. I wonder if Ref notices Suka’s devotion to his wife. But he’s rarely at meals, determined to keep a very personal and constant watch at the stockade. He’s always aware of the babe Freydis carries.
Tyr and Sindri intimidate everyone around them, so they usually have the bottom half of the long table to themselves. Snorri Thorbrandsson’s the only one who dares talk with them. He loves hearing their stories about how weak the king of Norway really is, and how he’s totally dependent on his Viking guards.
The men have bad habits, like eating with mouths wide open and telling stories unfit for a woman’s ears, although Freydis sits there soaking up every gruesome detail. I do fault Eirik for this one thing—he treated Freydis as a son. Brattahlid was filled with women who could have helped her appreciate the strengths of womanhood, but he only nurtured her violence.
At least Halldis taught me to glory in those strengths—the ability to bear children, to tap into our deepest feelings, and to communicate in ways most men can’t. I’ve tried to share these thoughts with Freydis, but she’ll have none of it. She was born with the bloodlust and aggression of a man. She doesn’t see how she angers most men with her superior skills at hunting and killing.
I have to be careful watching Snorri Thorbrandsson, because I can’t help laughing at him sometimes. He has excellent manners, fit for the king’s table. But his left-handedness makes him awkward. He tends to drop things—particularly around me, but I pretend not to notice. He keeps his beard combed out and free from crumbs, unlike the other men, who don’t seem to mind their unkempt looks. His bald head looks soft and sleek, like my son’s cheek.
And yet, despite all his clean habits, he’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever seen with a sword. Even Leif wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Sometimes he practices with two swords. One day, I saw him thrust with one sword and defend with the other in a move that would have sliced a man’s head off. He is very precise. I’m proud that Finn named our son after such a warrior.
I spend as much time as I can with Deirdre. She comforts me, with her idle gossip and her true tenderness toward me and my child. As summer ends and the days start to get colder, we take breaks to sit in the longhouse with mugs of warmed milk. Often, Inger and Linnea join us, asking my opinion on things ranging from herbal cures to marriage. I find myself thinking of them as my own daughters as they share about the families they left behind.
One night, the men decide to make a bonfire, to burn the smaller, scraggly limbs they’ve chopped. After Snorri eats a good meal, I put him down in his cradle, praying over him as I always do. It’s so good to have my son healthy again. Everyone remarks on how sure his steps are and how plump he looks.
Nerienda offers to stay in the hut with my boy. For the first time in two weeks, I agree to let someone else watch him. But I firmly tell her that she must find me right away if anything goes wrong. The old woman has fallen out of my good graces, but I must give her the chance to make it right again.
The sharp evening air pulls me into it, invigorating me with promises of fall. I could look at the stars and sing rune songs the whole night through. I miss the northern lights of Greenland, with their bright heather purples and apple greens. So far, we haven’t seen any here.
The men carry out benches and circle them around the fire. Geisli and Inger share a bench. Freydis sits on the ground, with her long legs crossed. Ref is nowhere in sight. Suka sits across from Freydis, but as the evening wears on, he moves to the bench behind her. This isn’t a good thing, but I take comfort in the fact that Freydis seems oblivious to him.
Deirdre sits by me in the deepening dusk, confiding how much she misses Magnus. As she describes his loving gestures over the years, I recite rune songs in my head to distract myself. I can’t think of Finn right now, or I might fall back into the sadness that threatened to overtake me before he left. I have to be strong for whatever comes next. And Snorri Thorbrandsson was right, the Skraelings will be coming. It doesn’t take the gift of foresight to see that.
As I become quieter, so does Deirdre. Finally, she yawns, muttering about how she’s too old to stay up so late. I hug her and wish her good sleep.
My bench isn’t empty long. Snorri Thorbrandsson straddles it like a horse, so close I can smell the spice oil he uses. The masculine scent makes it hard for me to think. He’s like my brother, I tell myself. He’s only here to protect me.
I look up at the constellations and name the familiar Icelandic ones for him. I feel his eyes on me, instead of the stars. I pause in my lesson.
“Are you well?” he asks.
“Why do you ask?”
The peeping frogs call loudly tonight, and smoke laces the air. My boots press into the rain-softened dirt. The fire is nearly white-hot, like the fire in a blacksmith's forge.
Snorri’s hand covers mine. He doesn’t answer me, but asks another question.
“Can I help you, Gudrid?”
I need touch so badly. But not from Snorri Thorbrandsson.
My eyes fill with tears and I can't give him an answer. Shame and anger rush through me. I hate this loneliness that makes me weak.
I almost run back to my hut. But I want to be outside this breathtaking night. I use my long sleeve to brush my eyes, trying to laugh.
“No one can help me, Snorri Thorbrandsson, except Thorfinn. You know this.”
He falls silent, but he doesn’t remove his hand. He is not so bold with me as Leif has been. He knows Finn too well, and respects him too much.
I keep my mind busy, thinking of the things I love about Finn. His tattoo, his eyes, his chin, his smell….
But right now all I can smell and feel is Snorri.
So I pull my hand out from under his, placing it on my lap. I look around, half-expecting my wolf to sense my unease and show up on the edge of the woods.
Snorri gives me a long, measuring look, then walks over and talks with Bjarni, who pokes around at the already roaring fire. The old man can’t sit still for two moments.
I look around for Freydis. She sits on the bench, wrapped in a man's cloak. And Suka sits right next to her. If Ref came back from guarding right now, I don’t want to think of what could happen. I walk over to her, extending my hand to pull her up. “Freydis, you shouldn’t sit on that hard bench too long. It’s not good for your babe.”
She seems to wake from a deep sleep. “You know, you’re right, my fairest Gudrid.” She pulls herself up. “I’m stiff all over. I think the baby’s gone to sleep before I have tonight!”
She sheds her borrowed cloak like water, dropping it carelessly on the bench. I can’t avoid Suka’s angry glare as he gathers it up.
“Should I walk you back?” I rub her lower back.
“No.” She drops her voice. “Perhaps you want to stay here?”
“I don’t. I’ve had my fill of sky and smoke.”
“Good.” She looks at me proudly, like I’ve passed some kind of test. “You’re a better wife than I, and a true chieftain’s daughter.”
“Nay, you are too.” I wrap my arm around her, walking her toward the huts. Ref strides toward us, holding up a lamp. It’s a good thing I pulled Freydis away from the fire, no matter how much Suka hates me for it. Freydis links her arm in Ref’s. At least one of us sleeps with her husband tonight.
Chapter Twenty
The ocean is black as my lava-bead necklace when I wake the next morning. I can only see part of the flame-red sky from my hut.
I take Snorri to Nerienda’s hut after I feed him, so I can again feel useful and do chores. Last night’s fire still smolders a bit, and the smoke hangs in the air.
There’s a rocky outcropping deep in the woods where I often go to pray. I feel driven to visit it before milking. The small overhang drops off to the ocean, almost like Iceland, except the trees crowd it here. I settle myself there, thanking God again for Snorri’s health and asking for Finn’s protection as I watch the dark waves. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a movement in the forest.
Bjarni picks mushrooms near a fallen log, not far from me. He hasn’t seen me yet, because his eyes are fixed on the ground. I don’t remember good mushrooms growing there, and I know most of the forest plants. He smells one, then brings it to his lips.
“No!” I shout. I run to save him from poisoning himself.
“Gudrid?” He looks at me strangely. Wild, unwashed hair strings down his back.
“Wrong mushrooms.” I step closer.
“What? No, these are right.” He opens his hand, picking one to eat.
I knock his mushroom to the ground, only to pick it up again so I can examine it. It’s a bright red puffed mushroom, covered in white spots. Suddenly, everything becomes clear—the cause of Bjarni’s jumpiness, his perpetual disheveled state, and the reason he was left behind. Bjarni is valuable to us for only one reason. He’s a berserker. Only berserkers dare to eat these mushrooms all the time.
“Sorry.” I return his mushroom, because it won’t poison him. He eats a couple bites, and his teeth start chattering.
I’m torn between thanking him for doing this and telling him to stop for the sake of his health. But from the looks of him, he doesn’t have much longer on earth, even if he is a mighty berserker. They’re supposed to be impenetrable by sword or spear, killing everything in sight. They also wear skin hides, usually of bear or wolf.
Wolf. I hope he remembered to bring his own hide, or I just might have to kill him myself. I know he wouldn’t hesitate to slay my wolf. Which do we need more, the wolf or the berserker?
The old man’s entire body shakes, and I do feel sorry for him. After so many years, he’s probably unable to stop eating the mushrooms. He is lucky they grow in this land, as well as Iceland and Greenland.
“Bjarni, come with me and have some gruel. Linnea makes the best.”
He looks at me with watery eyes, not understanding.
I hesitate before taking his arm. I’ve heard stories of what these men can do in battle. Some have been so crazed, they’ve torn off their own friends’ arms.
But Bjarni seems worn out, not full of energy. He’s just an old man, who happens to be shivering on this sun-warmed morning.
“We’re going back.” I use my volva voice and put my hand firmly on his arm. My command should work on him, since he grew up in the days when priestesses ruled the Viking lands.
He says nothing, but trails along with me as I start walking. My wolf has found me again, because she’s standing where I sat on the overhang. I try not to look at her, so she won’t think I need her.
In the longhouse, Inger, Deirdre, and Nerienda sit at the table, drinking warmed milk. The bright fire crackles, and the comforting smell of warm gruel fills the air. Deirdre’s mug hits the table when she sees what I’m bringing into this calm house.
“Bjarni needs something warm.” I stop any possible comments by giving her a meaningful look.
“Yes, m’lady.” Inger jumps up for a mug of fresh milk.
I try not to look at Bjarni, but I’m sure he’s quite a sight. He’s skinny and shaking, his white hair so filthy it sticks out everywhere. And his unwashed body gives off a sweet, rotten smell that must be the mushrooms. It’s so strong, I might have to vomit if I don’t get away from it. I sit down and take Deirdre’s mug, burying my nose in the rich smell of the milk. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t utter a word. I pull Bjarni’s arm until he sits in a chair.
Freydis comes in, holding her stomach. She takes a long look at Bjarni, then sits next to me.
“You know?” she asks. So she’s been hiding this from me.
“I do now. I found him with the mushrooms.”
“He’s one of the fiercest old Vikings I’ve ever seen.” She’s awestruck with the old man. “He’s a weapon for us, you know.” She wants to convince me that berserking is acceptable.
“I’m sure he is. And how are you feeling today, Freydis? Have some milk to warm you.” Even as I say this, Inger brings over another mug.
Out in the camp, a bell starts ringing. It must be that huge, rusty bell Magnus was trying to hoist onto a pole before the men shipped out.
Everything happens at once. Bjarni knocks over his milk, grabbing the rest of his mushrooms from somewhere and cramming them in his mouth. Freydis jumps up and runs out the back of the longhouse. The other women circle around me, waiting for instructions.
“Linnea has Snorri?” I look at Nerienda, who’s been strangely quiet since I came in.
She nods. “They’re in my hut.”
“I’m going to get them,” I say. “You go to the woods—deep into them. We’ll meet you.” At least I hope we will.
Bjarni’s entire body is having tremors. He bites a piece off his mug, then roars. I run out the back door as he charges out the front.
The dreaded bull stands at the top of the hill, bellowing and slamming against the fence. Finn and Snorri Thorbrandsson discussed this bull in Greenland. As they’d talked about the possibility of a Skraeling attack, Snorri had said, “We could just let that hard-headed bull of Gudrid’s go in front of us, and it would kill every Skraeling in sight. Of course, when it turned back on us, we’d have to kill it ourselves!”
Maybe I could do that—hide nearby in the woods until the Skraelings are in the camp, then let my bull out. It would truly run over any people in the way. But first I have to know my son is safe.
I run behind the huts until I get to Nerienda’s. No Skraelings climb over the stockade yet, and I don’t see our men, so the fighting must be near the shoreline. I value every second I have to retrieve Snorri and Linnea.
Inside the door, I see nothing but darkness. “Linnea?” I shout. “Linnea!” Oh, please, God, let her be here.
She crawls out from under a bed in the back, pulling Snorri out by the arms. I grab him, motioning toward the door. Linnea grabs an axe from under the bed first. I move Snorri to my left arm, then pull out my seax and wield it in front of us.
We run to the woods, not looking left or right. Fre
ydis has positioned herself in a tree on the outer edge of the forest, with her sword and spear and that shield strapped on her back again. I doubt this would protect the baby, but I don’t have anything better to offer.
I take us through the trees, slowing as we near the outcropping. I’ll have Linnea climb down and hide under it with my baby. Even if the Skraelings do get that far, it’s protected from their arrows and completely hidden from view. Reaching the edge, I hold Snorri while Linnea shins down the rock face, knocking small rocks loose. Once she reaches the ground, I kiss Snorri and drop my boy the short distance into Linnea’s outstretched arms.
I place all my trust in this slave, knowing this isn’t the first time she’s had to hide for her life. She knows how to stay quiet and calm, like a true Viking woman. But now, also like a Viking, I must do my part to protect our camp.
I pull up my skirts and tuck them in my belt, not caring that my legs are exposed. Now is the time for speed. I race toward the camp and up the hill. The fighting has moved behind the stockade. Bjarni, his white hair streaming wild, jumps on Skraelings like a mad animal. I can see the blood from here.
The bull stops its ruthless banging at the fence as I approach. I don’t dare look in its eyes, giving it a challenge to kill me. Once I open the gate, there will be no turning back. I wish I had a way to warn Snorri Thorbrandsson. I must do this at just the right moment.
Suddenly, a heavy flaming object flies into the camp, then another, and another. The natives shoot them with some kind of catapult, right over our stockade. If those land on the sod roofs, the whole camp could burn to the ground.
Slain Skraelings litter the ground near the stockade, but our men fall back, toward the woods. The only way to stop the fireball attack is to move the battle far from the shoreline.
Now is my moment, while our men retreat into the woods. If the bull does what I expect, charging toward the Skraelings at the bottom of the hill, I should be able to escape up a tree. If it doesn’t do what I expect…I will die.
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 12