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

by Heather Day Gilbert

  “I’ll teach you more once we’re in Greenland, my child.” But I know we might not meet again. It is risky, sailing in the fall, and Bjarni isn’t as skilled a sailor as Finn. I pray we will all arrive safe in Greenland before winter.

  Inger hugs the baby, then wipes her eyes as Geisli comes over, his arm around a barrel. His hair shines in the sunlight, and Snorri almost falls out of my arms, reaching for it. Geisli laughs and lets him touch it. What lovely children Inger will have with him.

  Nerienda runs to join us, which is a sight to behold. She lifts her skirts, showing her worn reindeer-leather shoes, her thin knees knocking together. She drapes a small blanket over my arm.

  “I made this for the child,” she says.

  The soft brown blanket is edged with complicated red embroidery. As Nerienda hugs me, I can’t hold back my tears. I know how she hates handiwork of all kinds.

  “Keep the men healthy.” I pull out of her embrace, giving a command to regain some control.

  She nods her gray head. “And you’ll do the same.” She gives me a knowing look which brings back all the darkness of the day Freydis’ child was born dead. “You’re a healer—don’t doubt that.”

  Bjarni comes over and walks Nerienda to the small ship’s boat. I found more mushrooms and hid them in a locked box for him, giving Nerienda the key to keep on her belt. He’s gaining strength and eating better with our approach of taking the mushrooms away slowly, instead of all at once.

  Ref walks up, carrying what looks like a large carved block with a leather strap on it. He hands it to me, smiling as if it’s a rare treasure. I smile back, uncertain, until Finn sees us from the shore and runs to my side.

  “It’s a seat for our boy. I knew you would worry about him on the open sea. He’ll be able to sit under the crossbeams in this seat, safe and sound.”

  Of course I’ll worry anyway, because I’m his mother. But it will help to have a secure place to put our child. I hug both men and thank them. The carvings alone must have taken hours. I recognize the Midgard serpent and a dragon head, as well as roughly-carved Skraelings. The light, honey-colored wood must be pine from Straumsfjord. It will be a good reminder for Snorri when he’s older, although I’d rather he never knew about the Skraelings.

  I check through our herb box as more crew members board Bjarni’s small ship, ready to be ferried over to the knarr. Suka hasn’t appeared yet. As far as I’ve heard, he plans to stay here. Freydis needs to get on board before she realizes he’s not coming.

  I don’t have to imagine the kind of fit Freydis could throw, because I’ve witnessed several at Brattahlid. She’s prone to having them any time she’s thwarted in getting her way. It’s how she secured her place on our trip to this new land. She'd fumed and shouted and forced Eirik to let her sail with Finn, so she would be equal with her brothers. All three had sailed for Vinland before, Thorstein the Red being the only brother who never arrived in the new world.

  Most of the animals have been loaded onto Finn’s ship, because they belong to me. I’ve given one of my cows and two of our remaining sheep to Bjarni for their crew.

  Deirdre walks up, wrapped in her clean, rosy smell. She smoothes my hair and kisses Snorri on his little curls.

  “Are you ready?” She is calmer these days, now that Magnus has returned.

  “Are you with our ship?” I hardly dare ask, fearing she might not be.

  “Surely, did Karlsefni not tell you?” Her voice is full of scolding. Deirdre doesn’t understand why Finn shares so little with me. Not that her Magnus talks much at all, since Deirdre does enough talking for both of them. “He would not separate Magnus and me.”

  “Who else is with us?” I can’t stop myself from asking, like a curious child.

  “Freydis and Ref, of course. Snorri Thorbrandsson and Linnea….” The way she links those two together, I know there must be something between them. Why do I care so much? I gave up any rights to Snorri Thorbrandsson’s devotion, misplaced though it was.

  Finn stands on the shore, deep in conversation with Bjarni and Geisli. Their crew has already boarded the ship. I wave to Inger, knowing her insecurity as the only young woman in the group. Women who sail with the Viking men have to be wary at all times. Geisli will protect her, though. Their time in Straumsfjord has drawn them together. And most of the men are too superstitious about her abilities with animals to lay a hand on her—at least, I hope so.

  Baby Snorri runs around on the beach, picking up small rocks and throwing them into the air. A pebble falls on his head. He looks at me and scrunches up his face, ready to cry. I don’t run to him, though. It’s not the Viking way. To show I hurt for him is to make him weak. I watch to see if he’ll cry or run to me, but he doesn’t. He stoops to pick up more pebbles, only this time, he throws them away from himself.

  Finally, everyone is loaded and Bjarni’s ship slides into the gray water. I watch until Inger’s dark head and Geisli’s light one look small as specks. I go back in my mind, remembering the freshness of feeling I had when Thorir the Eastman and I shipped out. We were just married, and my head was still full of dreams.

  At first, I had noticed his strong arms, his long, light hair, and his humorous ways. These were The Eastman’s obvious features. But I came to discover he was very aware of his good looks, and his humor always came at someone else’s expense.

  I also discovered the cold hatred he had for the Vikings who’d left Norway. Vikings like Eirik the Red, and even my own father. It was actually better that The Eastman died only a few weeks after Leif rescued our ship. He wouldn’t have survived the winter with Eirik and his sons. He would have mocked Thorvald’s Sami wife and Thjodhild’s faith and Eirik’s temper.

  I try to let these feelings pass. Perhaps Inger’s young love is different. Besides, if I hadn’t married The Eastman and Thorstein the Red, I wouldn’t have known I wanted to marry Finn. He was the one husband I chose for myself, because I knew him. We had often played King’s Table on Finn’s walrus ivory board, talking until all the embers died in the longhouse. I never worried about him taking advantage of me. He was far too well-bred for that. And he was careful with me. He treated me with gentleness, like Orm and Eirik had. It was a gentleness born of respect.

  Such are my thoughts as I watch my boy digging a hole in the sand with a little stick. Suka’s black hair flashes by as he runs up to our ship, making me hold my breath until he returns. He must have run an errand for Finn.

  He smiles as he runs up to me, skin glowing. He unlaces the bottom of his sleeve, showing me how his arm heals. He’s been applying the paste, and the wound has begun to scab over. I clap out loud, because the scar won’t be as terrible as I’d feared. We stand and beam at each other, neither of us knowing what to say. Yes, we tried to kill each other. But now, somehow, we’re friends.

  “Tyr’s agreed to stay on,” he says.

  “Just the two of you? It’s not enough, against the hordes of Skraelings!”

  “I must stay. I would rather die protecting myself than live serving someone.”

  “But where will you hide if they return? The caves?”

  He shrugs, looking toward the forest. “We’ll guard the camp, and we’ll do whatever it takes to survive.”

  There are so many obstacles for him. They have no boats. We’re taking the animals. They have no women to cook for them or make new clothes. I have to help him somehow.

  “Watch the boy.” I walk to the shoreline and talk with Finn. He does what I ask, though he doesn’t approve, because he’ll never forgive Suka for attacking Freydis and me. Finn and Magnus take a small boat over, and load one of our calves and a barrel of dried mutton into it.

  Once Suka sees what they bring to shore, he starts shaking his head. But I run and grab the calf’s rope, walking her to him. “This is for you. A sign of my forgiveness.”

  “You have already healed my arm. Why are you being so kind to me?”

  “I think…” I struggle to put it into words. “Maybe
because I’m God’s daughter now, not just Thorbjorn's daughter or Eirik’s daughter. God forgave me, so I want to forgive you.”

  Suka smiles, the widest part of his face. “Thank you, Gottesdottir. I’ll take my calf and meat and stay away from Freydis, but please get her on the ship soon. I’ve spent this whole day avoiding her.”

  “Thank you for hiding.” I clasp his hand. “I’ll bring her to the ship. And I’ll pray for you and Tyr.”

  Suka walks off, and just in time. Finn shouts to me, “Everyone needs to come aboard now. Could you get them together?”

  “I will.” I brush off Snorri’s clothes, which are covered with dark sand. I think he has tried to eat some, given the dirt smeared all around his puckered mouth. I can't resist kissing his face, gritty as it is. We walk into our camp for the very last time.

  I lean over as a wave of nausea hits me. Snorri runs ahead. I’d tell him to stop, but Linnea stands nearby, arms open for my boy. She gathers him up, then quickly comes to my side.

  “Are you ill, m’lady?”

  I can’t answer as my stomach clenches again. Snorri Thorbrandsson follows Linnea, concern in his eyes. He doesn’t know I’d noticed them talking together in the longhouse doorway. The answer to Linnea’s question flies out before I can shut my mouth.

  “No, Linnea, I’m not ill. I’m with child.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I haven’t told Finn about his baby yet, and I don’t plan to until we’re underway on the ship. I won’t give him any reason to delay. I would rather vomit half the trip than stay here, dreading what the next day holds. The Skraelings put an arrow through my wolf, and if they decide to raid the forest, nothing could stop them.

  I pray they won’t come back, so that Suka and Tyr can stay here. But something tells me Tyr will go looking for revenge. I can’t blame him. Maybe they’ll take Skraeling wives for themselves.

  When everything is finally loaded, including Freydis, I distract her with questions. “Did you remember Eirik’s helmet? Have you seen my herb box? Can you strap Snorri into his new seat?” She rushes around to help me. Her sense of family runs deep. It’s enough to keep her mind from Suka, until our knarr is finally out to sea.

  I spend most of my first day enduring sea-sickness. Finn is always amused at my ability to feel the slightest shifts of the boat. “You have some mainlander blood in you, wife.”

  When I was younger, Orm would never take me on the fishing boats, because I always ended up with my head over the side, instead of helping with the nets.

  Freydis stays quiet, watching the waves and prowling around the ship like a caged animal. She’s as much a seaman as her father was, but she prefers forests and high trees. For this reason, Finn puts her in charge of the mast. She does any climbing involved in bringing the walrus-skin sail down or hoisting it up. As leader, Finn handles the steering-board, but he has to work closely with Freydis to keep the sail where he needs it. To my surprise, they work well together. Both Finn and Freydis have grown up around ships. The ocean rhythms fill their blood.

  I tend to my cows, and Linnea and Deirdre see to the food for the crew. The men always have huge appetites from the fresh sea air. Magnus is in charge of the handful of sheep, because he loves looking after them.

  Any time baby Snorri isn’t strapped in his seat, I hold his hand or carry him. I won’t risk having him fall over the side. From his post at the oars, Snorri Thorbrandsson keeps watch over him, as well.

  Traveling along the coastline, sometimes we weigh anchor off the beaches. Finn hopes to find where Hallstein docked Leif’s other ship. As yet, there have been no signs of our boorish mutineer. Finn follows a river farther inland, to a place so thick with forests, it must be the Markland Leif described to us.

  We take our sleep-sacks ashore overnight, sleeping near the treeline. Evergreen branches give us cover, so we can see anyone who comes to the river bed before they notice us. My boy doesn’t like having to breathe under the poky tree needles, but it is necessary for all of us. Snorri Thorbrandsson stands guard during the night.

  As the pale morning light trickles through the needles, we hear a whoop. I push the branches aside, only to see Finn and Snorri chasing a man and two women up the shallow riverbed. Two children huddle together by the water. They have no swords or arrows, and they look harmless enough. One of our men gets up to approach them, none too gracefully. When the children see him, they run upstream, toward their parents. By this time, Finn and Snorri are returning, so they catch the children and pull them up to our group.

  We have to leave quickly, in case the adult natives return with others. The children’s hair and clothing are filthy. “What sort of parents are they, leaving these children behind?” I ask.

  They must be boys, because they have nothing on their chests but bruises. I clasp my growing stomach and become nauseous again, wondering how parents could care so little for their children. They ran and left these boys to fend for themselves. Cowards.

  I compose myself, stepping closer to them. They don’t flinch. “They’ll come with us—but not as slaves. They’ll come as my own children.”

  Finn raises his eyebrows, ready to contest my decision. I fix him with a meaningful stare. “Very well,” he says.

  Snorri Thorbrandsson chuckles, struggling to be respectful. “I’ve never seen green eyes shoot fire before, Thorfinn, but I believe Gudrid’s just did.”

  Finn smiles, a welcome gesture in the face of my open demand. “Yes, I’d hate to be the man standing in the way of those sparks.”

  Deirdre takes the older boy’s arm and I put my arm around the younger, then we lead them onto our small ship’s boat. Their eyes seem to drink in my light hair, as if they’ve never seen the like before. They follow my hand signals easily, showing they are quick-minded. If I could talk with them, we could learn more about this part of the land. I have to try to learn their language.

  Finn announces our search for Hallstein is over. We have to make headway toward Greenland before winter storms hit.

  Back on the knarr, baby Snorri chafes under my ceaseless watchcare. He longs to run and climb all over the cross-beams. I finally allow Freydis to walk him the length of the boat, but I regret it soon after. As I’m milking my cow, Freydis holds my son’s small body over the prow, like a figurehead for the ship. Finn actually leaves the steering-board to pull them back. He scolds Freydis, shouting curses I’ve never heard him use before. Linnea takes hold of Snorri before I can make my way through the men. She cradles him all the way back to me, for which I kiss her cheek. Freydis’ carelessness with my child won’t be forgotten.

  The past couple of days, Freydis has been more heedless in her actions. Not only has she been changing her clothing out in the open like a man, with no blanket to hide her, but Deirdre caught her trying to break the lock on my herb box. I wondered what would drive her to do this, and finally divined that she was looking for mushrooms. She was very accepting of Bjarni’s dependence on them, almost too accepting.

  Sea-travel brings out the best and worst in everyone. Freydis isn’t bothered by the cramped quarters or limited food supplies, since she’s grown up at sea. But something deeper torments her. I hope it is the loss of her son, and not Suka's absence.

  Tonight, Finn pulls his sleep-sack near my own, joining them together so he can hold me before relieving Snorri Thorbrandsson at the steering-board. Snug in Finn’s arms, I tell him we’re having another child. He stays quiet, and I can’t see his face under the dark, starless sky. Then I hear the smile in his voice. “I knew you looked pale, but I thought it was the sea-sickness.”

  Finn is not like many Viking husbands, who whoop and tell everyone when their wife is expecting. He’s always quietly happy, waiting to see how things develop. He’s probably already thinking it’s a boy—a brother for Snorri. I hope he’ll be as happy if it’s a girl.

  In Iceland, girls weren’t always welcome, because of the old pagan superstitions. In fact, the only reason I was allowed to live w
as because three brothers before me died.

  Part of the volva’s work was to see that the Vikings had plenty of male heirs to continue managing farms and maintaining borders. Many baby girls were left out to die. I saw this happen once, when Halldis and I were called to a small sod hut in Iceland. The father had taken one look at the babe, a plump, red-headed girl, and he’d turned his back on her. It was such a small gesture, but one that declared the child must die. Her mother, a mistress and not a wife, screamed with all the pain of a woman who’d carried a healthy baby for nine months—a mother whose breasts ached for her newborn babe. Instead, she’d have to begin working and the child would be exposed in the cold.

  Halldis, decked in her purple cape, hair shining like bronze, took that baby up in her arms. I was sure she wouldn't kill a girl, because a girl could become a volva. Stern as she was, Halldis had a loving, protective streak in her. It was against her nature to doom a helpless child. This wasn’t a sacrifice to the gods. It was a man, refusing to overcome his pride and claim his child. Surely Halldis saw that?

  She did not. She placed the lovely white baby on a tall rock outside the house, where doubtless the child would roll off. The moment I saw that, I knew I would never be a volva. I didn’t even wait until Halldis was on her horse to turn back, not caring if she tried to stop me. Before I reached the rock, I could see the babe was gone. She hadn’t rolled off, she had just vanished. Perhaps the mother had a friend hiding outside, waiting to save the baby. If that was true, the mistress would no longer be a mistress, but an outlaw to the village, because she went against the father’s will.

  Or perhaps the father had gotten to the rock first. Exposure to the elements didn’t slake the bloodlust of some Viking men. They were fed stories of selfish gods like Odin, who sacrificed himself only for himself on the Yggdrasil tree. Viking men followed Odin’s example. He was a god who was willing to destroy both his own family and humans to get what he wanted—wisdom. The sad truth was that in sacrificing their families, these Viking men sacrificed any wisdom they had along with it.