The Norseman

by Jason Born

  “What are you smiling at?” demanded Freydis who lay on her left side across one of the sturdy platforms running along the length of the house. Her face was illuminated by an oil lamp that helped her work of braiding colorful woolen yarn that would adorn the trim of a new tunic she was making. The light danced off her lightly freckled cheeks. My gaze moved from her face to her cascading locks to her tunic which was pulled taut due to her reclining position to emphasize her ample breasts beneath. I couldn’t help myself so I drank in her form. I followed the curve of her hips to her legs down to her bare feet which playfully dangled from the platform. And here was the one who so frequently haunted my imagination.

  Freydis knew she controlled my thoughts and liked that very much. She feigned anger at my deep stare by letting out an exasperated huff. Her braid work was complete for now so she set it to the back of the platform. Always ready to fight, she set her feet on the floor to stand and make some accusation when Freydis noticed my blood-stained cloak. She looked at my face and saw that it too carried the same dried splatter. “What happened?” Her genuine surprise told me Bjarni’s account had at least not reached everyone in Eystribyggo.

  I drew a long breath and moved toward the hearth. Freydis followed me waiting for my news. I snatched one of the savory birch bolete mushrooms and received a harsh look from a thrall cook. Tipping my head in return, I turned to face Freydis and leaned on the hearth. The heat from the fire warmed my aching back and helped relax me for the telling of my tale. The adventure piqued the interest of everyone in the room. Freydis peppered me with questions when my explanation was not detailed enough. Even the thrall women, usually held in check by their slave status, felt emboldened enough to listen and occasionally probe my story. During the telling, Freydis watched me with increasing allure. Her look upon me unmistakably changed from the mild contempt it carried for several months to the longing gaze I remember from last year’s summer.

  My version finished just as Leif and his brothers entered the longhouse. Beyond the door behind them we could see that the world outside had become enveloped in darkness. They were laughing at a joke one of them had told. The stone shelves lining the width of the gable end of the house surrounding the door were now heaped with Erik’s sons’ gear. In turn, the three went to a basin of water in the hearth area to clean up for dinner. I followed their lead, not having done so earlier. Erik and Thjordhildr demanded that those sitting at their table be clean in order to eat.

  The kitchen thralls set the meal and wooden dishes on a table that had originated in Norway. Erik’s children and I sat down on low benches just as Thjordhildr came in from behind a curtain. She wore a happy look and her light brown hair in braids as did all married women. I remember thinking that despite her advanced age of roughly thirty-eight she was still a beautiful woman. Just as Thjordhildr dismissed the thralls to their quarters so the family could eat in private, Erik emerged from the back of the longhouse. He put a surprisingly gentle hand across his woman’s waist before they both sat down.

  Once the master and mistress of the house began serving themselves the rest of us began filling our plates. We ate our mutton with our small eating knives. The rest of the preparations were eaten with our hands; one of the reasons that cleanliness around the table was valued. “You two should have washed more thoroughly and changed clothes,” said Erik gesturing with his eating knife. It was a remark to toss away since he immediately followed it up with, “Tell me how you found yourselves surrounded by a mob this evening.”

  I let Leif tell the story since it was his father’s home. Candidly, I was content to listen to Leif who spun a good yarn with his witty intelligence. He gave much detail and gestured often with his hands. At one point he even acted out a portion with a piece of mutton standing in for a deer and a gnawed-on piece of bread representing me. This made the room erupt with laughter. Erik listened and was keen to make inquiries along the way. He betrayed no emotion during the tale, save for the occasional guffaw, but was satisfied at the end saying, “You did well Leif. You both did well. And I thank you, Halldorr, for defending my son.”

  “He saved me from death as well, sir,” I said and pulled my hair back to show my right ear. This brought a gasp from Thjordhildr and a curious fire in Freydis’ eyes.

  “Nonetheless, my family is proud to have you in our household and we are in your debt.” Maybe Leif was right. Becoming a leader also meant being gracious at times even when it wasn’t necessary. Erik was transforming into a great man. Leif was well on his way to the same destination. I loved them both all the more.

  “We will handle Bjarni’s injuries to our family at the Thing at Fridr Rock.” Fridr meant peace and Erik named it such his first year in Greenland when he held the earliest Eriksfjord Thing at its base. “I have decided that another, more impartial man will preside over the assembly with me. We can’t have talk behind our backs that I acted with favoritism in my judgment,” continued Erik. “I also hope that holding the Thing at the end of Wintersnight will cause the assembly to be more sympathetic in their decision-making.”

  Thjordhildr acknowledged his shrewdness with a nod of her head. She followed this by asking, “Do you have someone in mind?” as her slender hand held a torn bit of bread poised at her mouth.

  “I do. I thought Sindri Sindrisson would be good. He is older than I and might bring an aura of experience to the meeting,” answered Erik looking for approval from his wife.

  Looking at her face from across the table I could see she disapproved of his choice. But like her son, Leif, she had an uncanny ability and intelligence. Thjordhildr paused as if she were really considering Erik’s suggestion then said, “Well I have heard some of the wealthiest in the village say that Sindri, though elderly and experienced, can be foolish at times.” It was true. I had heard worse and in more blunt terms. Again after a short pause she finished her thoughts, “You might consider Mjolnir Geirsson. He has the confidence of the young men in our settlement, was proven wise in the Icelandic Althing, and is much more attractive than Sindri.” She said the last with a smile and raised eyebrows and then popped the bit of bread in her mouth.

  Erik, too, smiled at the way his wife indirectly poked fun at him, his infidelities, and insecurities. “I will. He’s an excellent choice. In fact, I’ll go over to his farm in the morning to make the arrangements. I might ask him to recite some of the Icelandic law that we need to put into place here.”

  The remainder of the meal passed uneventfully with more entertaining conversation around the table and hearth. At one point Thorstein stood on his head in the middle of the smooth dirt floor sharing a story about his brother Thorvald getting tangled in a rope on the recent hunting trip. Somehow the manner of his telling caught Erik in such a mood that he nearly laughed up his dinner. Seeing Erik react thus spurred us all to raucous laughter. It was a good end to the day.

  When our evening was done and the servants returned to clean up from the meal, I stood and stretched. The family began to file to their sleeping rooms so I said my good-byes to the Thorvaldsson clan then went out into the cold night. In the faint moonlight I made my way to the corner of the stone-lined pasture to retrieve a bucket that usually sat there for watering the livestock. Tonight it was in the right place, so I grabbed the rope handle and walked the short distance to the water of the fjord. Ankle deep in the miniature breakers I bent over and filled the bucket with ice cold water.

  Carrying the bucket in my right hand, I turned and retraced my steps, this time rounding the pasture toward my home. The smith had retired to his quarters behind his workshop so all was quiet. A few coals still glowed hot in his furnace. Since I wanted to jumpstart my hearth for quicker warmth, I selected those coals I deemed best with long iron tongs and placed them into a pot from the smith’s shop. I would return it in the morning, but right now I wanted to clean up and get warm for the night. A light breeze stirred up stench from the sewage pit at the far end of the estate.

  I entered my dark house and set
about rekindling the hearth. I used the smith’s coals and my store of driftwood to efficiently build the blaze. While the flames lapped the dry wood and climbed further along the branches, I poured the water from the bucket into a cooking pot to heat. I needed to clean my wound. I hung the pot from an iron chain hanging from the roof timbers over the hearth. The fire was already crackling beneath the suspended reservoir. My clothes could wait until tomorrow when the household thralls did laundry at the shingle.

  I lifted my shirt up and over my head to discover a large bruise on my left side where I landed when Leif pushed me out of harm’s way. I heard footsteps approaching outside and turned to see the door burst open by Freydis carrying a small wooden bowl in one hand. “May I come in?” she asked.

  I could never refuse Freydis. She was between Leif’s age and my own, and we had known each other for most of our lives. Yet since she’d grown into an enchantingly beautiful woman I thought of her as a childhood friend no longer. I nodded for her to enter and turned back to the fire trying to banish my palpable, lustful thoughts. She had rejected me pointedly last year. She had also spent much of the last few months at best ignoring me and at worst being openly hostile. Now here she stood in my home with a gift and a warm smile.

  Freydis lightly stepped over to me and said enthusiastically, “I brought blackberries and blueberries for dessert.”

  I looked at her face then the bowl of fruit. Fresh fruit and dessert were rare in Greenland, this was a treat. Without asking I reached over to the dish and selected several off the top. They were sweet indeed. Freydis set the bowl on the edge of my small stone hearth, taking a plump blueberry for herself.

  As I took another berry, Freydis stood and went to the nearby shelf where I stored cloths. She sorted through them, selecting the one she judged to be the softest. I was content to watch her without speaking. She moved to the water warming on the fire, dipped the cloth into the water, and wrung it out with her strong, graceful hands. These hands, like her face, carried light freckles. I made no effort to pull away as she gently moved my hair and dabbed at my wounded ear. Carefully, she repeated this process until my ear and face were renewed.

  Finally, she reached her free hand for a fat blackberry and thrust it into my mouth. I ate greedily. She leaned her lips to my ear and softly whispered, “Today you showed yourself capable of killing another man. But do you know how to slay a woman?”

  “I’d like to try,” I answered.

  “Then kill me now.” Her lips curled around my ear while her hands explored my chest and back. When she lifted her right leg to straddle me, I took hold of the fine ass hidden under her dress and carried her to my bed.

  Fifteen minutes later I lay on my back, my head resting on my right arm, looking out through the smoke vent at the apex of the gable. The northern lights danced their eternal dance in the distance. I had been told by my father that those lights were the resting place of dead, unmarried women. Freydis slept with her head on my chest, my left arm wrapped around her warm naked body. Would Freydis end up in the northern lights someday? I wanted to prevent that, but she remained unpredictable. Odin knew. Maybe Freydis knew. I did not. Fate, destiny. Despite my confusion, I knew it was a better end to the day.

  CHAPTER 3

  The long, cloudless night conspired with the morning wind to create a fitting start to the Winternights or Vetrnaetr Festival. Winternights was a week-long celebration that marked the end of summer and beginning of winter. Before my people adopted the Christian calendar, it was also the start of our New Year. I had celebrated it each year since I was a child in Rogaland, enjoying it thoroughly. The festival started out subdued and built with further merriment each day. Tonight we would honor our dead from the past year.

  I stood in the threshold of my house. Today the wind was particularly biting so I wore a cloak fashioned from the coat of a musk ox. It was the earliest in the season I had ever begun wearing it since arriving in Greenland four years ago. I set off across Brattahlid and remembered the hunt in which I brought the beast down. I had gone out with Erik and his oldest son, Thorvald, to see what wildlife we could find. When we saw enormous, fierce-looking beasts with long curving horns eating among the scrubby vegetation we thought we were in for an exciting hunt. As it turned out, the beasts were anything but ferocious. We were able to walk directly up to them and plunge a spear into their side before they even seemed to notice our presence. Nevertheless, I now had a soft warm cloak as a result.

  I stepped through the door to Erik’s longhouse and unfastened the silver ring-pin I used to close my cloak at the shoulder. It was one of the few fine pieces of jewelry I owned, a gift from Erik for loyalty. The cloak went to its place on the gable wall and I turned toward the kitchen hearth. Today the curtain separating the entrance hall from the kitchen area was pulled closed. It would be closed for most of the winter now in an effort to keep the fire’s heat concentrated on the family members. Poking my head around the shroud I saw the family finishing their morning meal.

  “Sleepy Halldorr?” asked Erik in a humorous tone. The other family members giggled around the table.

  So they knew. Freydis and I had spent more time together in the days since she came to my bed than we had the entire last year. I often found excuses to come across her path during the short daylight hours and I was glad that Freydis found reasons to come to my house during the long nights. She looked rested and happy. I felt exhausted from lack of sleep.

  “Yes,” I answered honestly. “Nothing eggs and bread can’t fix, though.” I sat across from Freydis, next to Thorstein and Leif. After serving myself from the bowls in the center of the table, Thjordhildr set her wooden eating spoon down, stood, and stepped over the bench away from the table. She looked at Freydis who then did likewise leaving Thorvald alone on that side of the table. The women moved past the curtain to the back of the house. The men were finished eating but remained seated while I ate ravenously. An unspoken anxiety built.

  “She’s not Thjordhildr’s daughter, you know,” Erik stated bluntly.

  I didn’t know. I stopped eating while still holding my spoon in my mouth, giving a confused look to Erik. He said no more and would wait for me to answer. I withdrew the spoon and slowly chewed the eggs in my mouth. Both Leif and Thorvald watched me silently and I watched them back. The room was still except for Thorstein, who hummed a famous tune about a warrior king and fidgeted his hands under the table. Swallowing the mouthful I shrugged and said, “So?”

  Any tension in the room melted immediately. A broad, tooth-filled grin swelled on Erik’s weathered face. He rose and slapped my back with so much force my chest smacked into the top edge of the table. The other men in the room smiled too. I didn’t understand the reason for the swiftly changing mood in the room.

  “Excellent!” boomed Erik striding behind me. “This is excellent news! You are right, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  Unsure, I smiled too answering, “No, it doesn’t matter if Freydis has a different mother than the boys.”

  Pacing now and gesturing excitedly with his hands Erik replied, “It’s settled then, we will announce the wedding at the Thing on the last day of Winternights. You’ll be married by the Yule.”

  So this was their game. I didn’t want to believe what he was saying because I feared a certain let down. I asked her to be my wife over a year ago, but Freydis flatly denied me. Sharing my bed with me as she had in recent days was evidence of a change in her feelings, but I didn’t want to fool myself either.

  “You don’t look pleased, Halldorr,” said Thorvald.

  “Just confused. I didn’t know Freydis would have me,” I told him.

  “She talks of nothing else!” exclaimed Erik.

  “Then I want nothing else.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. My whole body warmed with excitement. “Freydis is a beautiful woman, smart and fiery. I have loved her for some time and desperately want her as my wife. Any man would have her.”

  “Good. We’ll work out th
e bride-price and dowry in the coming days. Then when you and Leif are acquitted of Bjarni’s ridiculous accusations, I will announce the wedding feast from atop Fridr Rock,” Erik announced confidently.

  And a shadow descended upon me at the mention of Bjarni and the assembly.

  The shadow remained over me while I finished my morning meal. It went unnoticed by the other men because of their excitement of the wedding, Winternights, and the Thing. The marriage of the jarl’s daughter would be a time of celebration in our otherwise bleak existences. Ale would flow and maids would make it known they were ready to marry. When the curtain to the back of the house moved aside, Thjordhildr entered the kitchen brightly smiling. The women were obviously listening to our conversation because she looked at me and said, “Congratulations,” with sincere joy. Looking at her more closely with today’s revelation, I saw for the first time the lack of similarity between her and Freydis. Yet, I had never suspected anything. Thjordhildr raised Freydis just as any mother would have. Looking to the curtain behind the mistress of the house I hoped Freydis would soon follow. She did not.