The Norseman

by Jason Born

  The household thralls were cleaning the dishes as the men moved into the entrance hall. Antlers from reindeer slain by Erik, Thorvald, and Leif adorned one side of the hall. Erik’s thoughts quickly shifted to his duties as jarl. Pointing to Leif, Thorvald, and me, Erik said, “You three see that ample mead and ale is brought to the center of the village for the ceremony of the dead tonight. I want everyone in Eystribyggo to have plenty of drink during the festival. Get whatever help you need and see that each household in the fjord contributes a fair share.” He paused and called, “Thjordhildr. Organize the families with the largest homes to prepare areas for visitors travelling from other fjords to stay during Winternights and the Thing.” Without saying anything else he grabbed his cloak, handed a smaller one to Thorstein, and they left.

  We bundled ourselves against the wind and left moments later. But the wind died and failed to drive the fog away so we walked enshrouded. “Let’s split up,” I said getting to business. “I’ll get Tyrkr and we’ll head north around the end of the fjord and curve back south down the other side. We’ll take an ox from Erik and use Sindri’s cart to gather drink.”

  Leif and Thorvald nodded in agreement. Leif said, “Good idea, Halldorr. We’ll use my father’s other ox and his cart to collect ale from this side of the fjord.” He looked at my face in the murk then asked, “Why do you look so miserable? Is a marriage to Freydis that bad? Would you prefer Tofa? I thought you’d be happy.”

  “I’m happy about a wedding. You know I love Freydis.”

  Thorvald peered at me now, “What is it then? You don’t look like a man who will be busy making babies all winter long.” Both Thorvald and Leif laughed at this.

  I finally confessed my concern, “Will we be acquitted at the Thing? Bjarni is rich and we’ve seen he can tell a good yarn when he must. What if there were other skraelings about that day?”

  Leif gave it some thought then said, “I think you’re right to be worried, but not about the Thing. I worry about me, my leadership. You said it yourself that Bjarni is a fool. We will clearly show that we did our best; what any man would have done; against the skraelings.” After a pause he added as if trying to convince himself, “there were no other skraelings in the area that day.”

  “You seemed concerned enough directly following our fight that day,” I protested.

  Leif retorted, “I am still concerned that I reacted without thinking.” He was still plainly angry with himself for not coming up with a better solution when we met the skraeling men.

  Thorvald interjected with upheld hands to cool us down, “No one has even seen Bjarni since that day. He is probably ashamed at all of his actions since his pathetic arrival to the fjord. One of his men, Cnute, hates him. Neither of you should be worrying about this.” Thorvald was a good man about the same age as Freydis. Like his father he was unconcerned with things outside his control, preferring to react to situations as they came. “Here’s Tyrkr,” said Thorvald clearly ending our conversation.

  After informing Tyrkr of his role, the four of us went to the pasture to get the oxen. The stone fence contained a gate made of large driftwood. We led the two beasts out, careful to close the gate behind us. Tyrkr and I assisted Thorvald and Leif in hooking Erik’s large cart to one of the oxen and soon waved as the latter two ambled off to gather mirth for the night’s gathering. Then, together with our ox, we walked to the neighboring farm of Sindri to borrow his cart.

  “Congratulations on the wedding,” Tyrkr said as we stepped off Brattahlid onto land belonging to Sindri. He said it as if he had known for some time and only now had the chance to tell me.

  “How do you know? I only just found out myself.”

  “You’ve stared at that girl since Iceland. It was plain to all you would someday marry her,” he replied matter-of-factly, the Norse words butchered along the way.

  “That doesn’t explain how you knew that I was engaged this morning,” I protested.

  “I guessed. I guessed that it would only be a matter of days from the first time you . . .” he began mumbling in his native tongue searching for the correct Norse word when it finally hit him. “From the first time you plowed her last week,” he said looking triumphant.

  “Wait. How did you know she was in my house and we “plowed” last week?”

  “The thrall shelter is nearby your home,” he answered. Then casually added, “and she screams.” Tyrkr saw the exasperated look on my face and he laughed merrily. At last he couldn’t take torturing me anymore so he said, “Truthfully, Breida, one of the Irish thrall women from the house slipped out this morning while you and the family were eating. When we had finished our . . . plowing,” he said the last word with an immense grin. “When we had finished plowing, she told me the whole story about you and Freydis.”

  I chuckled along with the content German thrall then asked, “How can you even understand what Breida says?”

  “I understand enough. We usually don’t talk so much.” With that we both had a side-splitting laugh, startling the ox, which jerked his head back and stopped walking. We looked at the ox then back to each other which made us laugh even more.

  Sindri must have heard our commotion, because he soon came out to greet us clutching a blanket up around his shoulders. His expression turned from warmth to concern when he saw that our faces were flush and we were panting. “Is everything alright?”

  I burst into another fit of laughter at his concern, this time falling on the rough turf. Tyrkr, who understood what was expected of a thrall, regained his composure quickly and answered, “Yes master Sindri. Everything is fine. Jarl Erik sends his regards.” Then looking over his shoulder to me he added, “Halldorr is merely overjoyed by the plowing that is sure to come in the spring.” My laughing intensified and tears came to my eyes, but, struggling, I climbed to my feet to face Sindri.

  Sindri held a puzzled gaze toward both of us then, totally exasperated, said to me, “I don’t ever understand Tyrkr when he speaks. Furthermore, I don’t understand how you get anything done at Brattahlid with someone so incomprehensible around. Now what can I help you with?”

  Drying my tears, I explained the need for his cart which he gladly offered to us, pointing to an out building at the foot of a rise in his land. Sindri was old. He had probably been walking the earth for more than fifty years. The hair that was left atop his head was white with no traces of its former color, whatever that was. What, in the name of Odin, possessed him to make a move to Greenland at this stage of his life was beyond my understanding.

  When he was satisfied he would get his cart back following Winternights, he turned back for his door. His old wife had come to the door to see what was going on. She, too, held a blanket up around her shoulders, which I noticed had no other covering across them. As Tyrkr and I moved toward the barn, we heard Sindri mutter to himself or to her, “Overjoyed by plowing?” And the laughter started again.

  That evening I led the tired ox, which towed the barrel-laden cart back into the main village. Eystribyggo was actually the larger of two Norse settlements in Greenland. Farms were scattered over several different fjords, but Eriksfjord, specifically Erik’s estate, Brattahlid, served as the anchor to our community. So it’s where those coming for Winternights or the Thing would congregate.

  Since I had farther to travel, I arrived back later than Leif and Thorvald. The sun was already beginning to set and soon the warmth, such as it was, would sink with it. A group of men was lighting a fire to provide light and a small amount of heat for the ceremonies. In truth, the ceremonial portion of Winternights was quite short as it would be tonight. Once the rituals were complete, the community meal and drinking began. After that, residents who came from neighboring fjords or distant farms would retire to local longhouses, barns, or the lone tavern in the settlement. Hours of further drinking and story-telling would follow. Men would sing songs of heroes and our warrior gods. Women would sing of their men and family. Even though most residents of Eystribyggo became farmers
and hunters upon their arrival in Greenland, many also brought skills with them from their lives in Iceland and beyond. Often-times these artisans brought their jewelry or crafts to sell at the festivals. Finally, as the night wore on, travelers would settle wherever they found themselves for a night of sleeping on a floor of packed earth under cloaks or blankets brought from their homes.

  Scattered groups of the travelers had already started congregating around the small, but growing fire. I could see that some drinking began too. This would at least bring warmth to the men, women, and children coming together in Brattahlid this night.

  As I hoisted a barrel to my shoulder from Sindri’s cart, Tyrkr at last caught up. I asked, “Why did you stay behind at Herjolf’s farm so long?” Herjolf was, of course, Bjarni Herjolfsson’s father. That morning we had taken the empty cart to the farthest farm on our list and worked our way back. This way the ox only had to take the heaviest part of the load the shortest distance. Herjolf’s homestead was the closest to Brattahlid on our return trip. I set the barrel down next to the stack started by Thorvald and Leif.

  “Herjolf’s thralls had gossip to share. Since it was our last stop, I thought it was alright to listen for a time. I am sorry if I should not have stayed,” Tyrkr answered sincerely, grabbing a barrel himself.

  Sliding another cask toward me, I said, “It’s fine. I just arrived back here myself. What did they have to say?”

  “I know why no one has seen Bjarni for so long,” Tyrkr started out with a bit of mystery in his voice. “Two of Herjolf’s Greenlander thralls, who were originally captured in a fjord to the north two years ago, escaped last week. Herjolf thinks the two headed toward their village which is about a two day sail from the mouth of Eriksfjord so he sent his son, Bjarni, and several of his men after them.”

  I digested the new information. “Maybe that’s good news. Bjarni and his men might not make it back in time for the Thing to plead their case,” I said with a new found hope. If they were not there to plead their case, then Leif and I would triumph by default.

  “. . . Olav Kettilsson, Helgi Flatnose, Bjorn Gudredsson, Sitric the Thoughtful, Eyvind Sigurdsdottir, and Arne the Helmsman,” spoke Erik as he finished listing the names of those who died since last Winternights. The final name, I recalled, was the navigator on Bjarni’s expedition from Iceland to Greenland. Erik walked to the fire, which now resembled a pyre, and pulled a large bone from a sac. “This bone is from among the dead we remember tonight.” In truth it was a bone from a lame sheep butchered this morning. “We offer it as a sacrifice to the elves for all our departed ancestors.” Thjordhildr’s face beamed with pride in the firelight as her husband threw the bone into the fire with the flourish of a travelling entertainer. The firelight danced in the eyes of those gathered as they sat enraptured by the spectacle.

  The hot fire immediately consumed the bone and Erik continued to his finish, “These have gone to the great hall before us; they stand and raise a cup with Odin. Let us stand and raise a cup of ale to them.”

  The crowd, which was strewn about the slopes of Brattahlid stood in unison to join their jarl. Giving a loud cheer, we each raised our drinking mugs or horns, then raced to drain their contents. As our cups came back down to reveal our smiling faces, men ended the draught with wet beards while the women usually ended with wet chests. We all sat again, as thralls bearing pitchers immediately set about making sure no one was empty for long.

  I sat between Leif and Freydis, both of whom stared with awe at their father. He was something to behold. It was Erik’s fate to lead men. He did it well and was learning from past mistakes to perform the task even better. Leif’s motivation to be a leader was clear. His intelligence was superior to that of his father and I had no fear that he would not lead well. Someday I would be proud to serve Leif.

  Freydis too looked up to her father. She had an extreme passion for power, especially when wielded; the rawer that power the better. And we all just witnessed a small amount of Erik’s influence as he controlled his people with his talk. Her intensely fixed stare toward the figure illuminated by the pyre stirred my most basic emotions.

  With the end of Erik’s speech, Thjordhildr began supervising household thralls from all over the fjord as they served the feast. Several kinds of meat, including the mutton from the lame sheep, and wild leeks were served. I saw some cod and shrimp being passed out as well. We were served quickly and ate hungrily. Thorstein and two friends ran amongst our group, apparently engaged in a great battle. They toppled Freydis’ full mug of ale into my lap. She noticed and reached into a basket to retrieve a cloth to dab up any excess. Her hand lingered longer than necessary and gave a firm squeeze. “I see you have plans for the night,” she said grinning and turned back to her meal.

  I did indeed, but they would have to wait. I turned to Leif who sat quietly staring at the fire turning something over in his mind. I said, “Tyrkr says that Bjarni is out chasing two of his father’s thralls who escaped.”

  “I was thinking of Bjarni just now. How could he not have gone ashore?”

  “Leif, are you going to ask me that question until I have an answer? Did you hear what I just said? If his escaped thralls are swift, as I hope they are, he may not make it back in time for the Thing. We will not have a witness to speak against us.”

  Leif’s face turned to controlled anger, “Halldorr, I want to face him! He is a liar and weak. I will face any man to prove my honor and deserve my place in the sagas! I hope his thralls travel as swiftly as a whale on land so Bjarni can capture them and get back here soon!” With that Leif turned back to the fire. I too, slowly turned to stare into the flames, hoping to divine what to make of the slim young man who wished above all to be honored in song for the next thousand years.

  The fire outside had died and so we had moved into Erik’s house with a group of the most respected families in Eystribyggo. The curtains between the entrance hall, kitchen, and the family’s seating room were pulled back to expose a single great room centered on the large hearth. Only the master room at the far end of the longhouse was still hidden. Some children lay sleeping in the corners with their dogs and blankets to keep warm. The ale continued to flow freely.

  Several groups of men and women had broken off and were all carrying on their own conversations, making the hall loud and cheery. Erik and Thjordhildr were in the party closest to their bedroom. I watched as Erik laughed with pure joy at a tall thin man acting out a joke. Erik had a teetering mug in one hand and the leg of Ingridr Alfsdottir in the other. The two had become close over the past several months and the friendship seemed endorsed by Thjordhildr. For her part in the evening, Thjordhildr made good use of the time and told stories with many of the married women while sewing clothing.

  My attention was drawn back to our group when a metal-working artisan stood before Freydis and me asking, “Do you care to buy a silver neck ring for your woman? Or how about this pair of oval brooches made from the finest gold?” Brooches were worn at the shoulders to fasten a tunic over a woman’s dress. The man leaned over a board displaying the items he had for sale. He carried a tooth-filled smile among his well-cared for beard.

  As a sign of my devotion I had planned to make a purchase for Freydis this night. Before coming into Erik’s home, I had gone to the hiding place under the stones of my hearth and retrieved the collection of coins in my locked chest. I reached under my jerkin and held the bag of coins, now trying to decide what to buy. I looked to Freydis who was excited that I considered a purchase.

  “She’ll have the brooches,” I said confidently. They were the most unique brooches I had ever seen. They were detailed with small versions of the Midgard Serpent coiled around the earth. Beneath the earth was a tree whose roots stretched down to end at images of the three Norns who wove our threads of destiny. These brooches were worthy of a queen, but there were no queens in Greenland so they would be bought by an orphan for his woman. The purchase would surely deplete most of my savings, but I needed to m
ake sure Erik was confident in his acceptance of me for his daughter’s husband. I also wanted Freydis to know that we were to be an exceptional match. She was my fate, my destiny.

  We exchanged coins for the brooches and the now quite wealthy salesman moved on to his next victim. I set the new brooches down on the padded platform. With both hands I reached out to Freydis’ left shoulder and unfastened the modest brooch which held her brightly colored tunic over her gray dress. She waited patiently, almost stoically, as I stumbled with the clasp. When I had freed the brooch entirely I set it down and replaced it with the new gold brooch and repeated the process with the brooch at her right shoulder.

  Now finished, I sat back and looked at Freydis with her new jewelry. They took on a different aura when they were worn. I could see that I had spent more than anyone in Greenland ever would have spent. The brooches were so brilliant; they overshadowed everything Freydis wore, even the small gold earrings which hung loosely from her ear lobes. The artisan would likely have had to wait to sell them to a travelling merchant from Iceland or Norway next year. The brooches would make more sense in the halls of kings in Europe, instead the craftsman found me and more than likely could not believe his good fortune.