by Jason Born
Olaf replied efficiently with icy softly spoken words, “To your oars men, pull hard and bring us alongside the enemy.” The men nearest the oars dropped their weapons and jumped to the wooden blades and pulled with such fervor that it felt like the boat leapt above the waves. So surprised were the Danes by our action, that they stood like scared toads watching us come. We smacked into Sweyn’s flagship, damaging the gold gilding as our prow glanced off the Danish bow. Some of our men set about lashing the two ships together while others jumped into the host. We stood firm around Olaf while our men began to actually take ground, or deck as the case was. They killed and hacked and many bled.
One of Sweyn’s captains came to his senses and pulled alongside our port fore, unleashing a flood of men. The overwhelming numbers quickly turned the tide of the battle as our men fell with terrible screams. The other ships did not attack us but watched as their brethren swept across our deck, mowing men down, approaching Olaf one death at a time. An occasional spear flew over the clattering masses and hit our shields. Vikar fell when one snuck between a gap in our shields and pinned his arm to his ribs. Cnute stepped forward to fill his place and huddled close to Squint-eye and Bersi the Strong.
But then fate tipped the scales. Not in the way you may think. We didn’t miraculously win that day. God didn’t enter the battle on a white horse from the clouds. Nor did Thor bring his hammer. No, fate entered and did the only thing it could do that would compel me to return to Greenland with Leif. An arrow from our left arced over Cnute’s shield and ripped into his collar bone. The force sent him reeling backward to his right, into my waist, and I found myself thrown to the deck with him lying on top of me. I hurried out from underneath him and scrambled to my knees swearing. My friend would die before me, I knew it. Pink blood bubbled from the wound which meant that his lung was punctured. I grabbed his hand and put it on the hilt of his sword so that he could die with his weapon in his hand as he struggled to speak. I told him not to talk, but go to paradise proudly. He groaned an awful groan, “Thirteen are dead because of me.” He panted and gurgled and bled. “Bjarni went to the skraelings and told them when and how to attack us.” The color was draining from his face. “He knew we’d have no weapons at the Thing. He told them he would wear a bright blue cloak, so that they weren’t to attack the men around him.”
And the scene from that wretched day flashed before my eyes. When the skraelings attacked, Bjarni and his men were untouched. When the battle raged Bjarni and his men disappeared, except for Cnute, my friend. Cnute fought and killed that day, as he had every day since then. I then looked at Cnute. His eyes were wide and glassed over with death. I knew what I would do.
Because Leif had seen our future I knew I could not be killed. I would sail to Greenland with him to take revenge for the death and exile caused by Bjarni. I drew my sword with the Christian markings, for it was mine and I had slid it back into my scabbard at Kenna’s passing; I would have no son for her to pass it to. I yelled and ran to the Danes, shoving my own Norse brothers to the side. Behind me, I heard Olaf and his remaining Berserkers following close behind. When I burst into the Danes I sliced the first man’s throat through to his back bone. The Danes around his slumping body were shocked at the sudden surge from our tired line and retreated a step. I took the opportunity to give a great, heroic call of rage and fury and blood. With my cross tunic I must have looked like an avenger of the Lord. Then I brought my shield to my mouth and bit it. No, I gnawed on it like the Berserkers of legend, and screamed again.
Olaf, my lord, my king, my third father used the heavy boss of his gold shield to crush a Dane’s skull and we fought. Olaf’s ornate golden shield lasted only two blows before he discarded it for the wooden shield of a dead man. Squint-eye fell. More men fell. We carved the Danes. Norsemen fell. Bersi the Strong fell. Crevan was hacked with a battle axe while still on his knees. It became so imbedded among his bones that whoever wielded it was forced to leave the axe stuck in his body. More Norsemen fell, but we killed and fought bravely, putting up a stout defense of Norway and her king.
Then there were three of us left: Einar, Olaf and me. Even Vigi lay puckered with at least five arrows in his side. He was receiving more of the gifts, because Danes who were removed from us used him as close range target practice. We gasped, panted, and wheezed for air while there was another pause in the fighting. The Danes jeered at us. Sweyn was just now stumbling over to the Long Serpent and staggered his way toward us through the mass of men, dead and alive.
I had to think of something. Though, in truth, I knew whatever plan got me out of there, was destiny. The sun was beyond the horizon and, such was the carnage, that the dark was killing any light around us for there would be no moon that night. No man cared about our position in the channel and so our boats had all drifted as we fought the battle. Danes were only feet away, with spears pointed in my direction, and Sweyn was getting closer.
I saw no way out, until I did. Under the fading light I saw a current in the channel where there shouldn’t be. It was fifty or sixty feet away to starboard from where we stood. I whispered to Olaf and Einar, “I am not surrendering, but follow my lead. I’ve got a plan to get you safely out of here father.” They said nothing. What could they say?
Amidst the jeering I slowly stepped forward and lowered my sword and shield. The shield, I set by my feet. The sword I slid home in its scabbard and thick blood pooled at the opening. I made a show of unfastening my belt and setting it down on the deck next to my friend Cnute’s body. I slid the red tunic that was wet from blood over my head and set it on my belt. I heard the rattle of Olaf and Einar copying my moves behind. The Danes just laughed at my strange way of surrendering and Sweyn tripped over a body. Celebration ale was already flowing on the other ships.
Next my mail coat came off and I tossed it to one of the men brandishing a spear in front of me. He looked surprised, then thrilled at the new wealth which fell into his grasp. The men around him were arguing over it when Einar’s and Olaf’s mail flew into the crowd. We were down to our light jerkins, trousers, and boots. One by one I took my boots off and set them on the heap of bodies. Olaf and Einar were certainly confused, as were the Danes. The Danes, however, laughed harder at us removing our boots. Laughter rose from all the ships around us, though many farther away could no longer see us in the dark. Sweyn began to stir and was on all fours now, his drunk head wavering with the rocking of the ship.
Again, making no sudden moves, I bent down and retrieved my tunic and put it back on. My belt carrying my weapons was beneath the tunic and I picked it up and slowly, deliberately strapped it around my waist. Sweyn’s men laughed like they had been drinking in the mead hall for days. I stood quietly and silently perused the mayhem that stretched out before me. I found what I was looking for and took three broad steps to retrieve three of the lightest wooden shields I could find. Their iron rims were knocked free and the iron bosses were loose. My movement caused the men nearest me to again point their spears, but the rest of the fleet laughed and continued to celebrate.
I carried the shields, handing one to Einar and one to Olaf. They looked at me like I was crazy, but I gave them a wink, which, in hindsight, probably confirmed to them I was crazy. I whispered, “Be ready to hold your breath and swim. Fifty feet to starboard, is a sandbar. Wait, and we’ll go at the same time.” I turned to face our attackers again and tugged and tugged on the boss until it broke free from the shield. Olaf and Einar banged theirs on the deck and also broke the bosses of their shields free. We threw them in the water and held our ironless, wooden shields as if we were again prepared for battle. I have never seen warriors laugh so hard. Two or three of the Danes fell over from fits, they laughed so hard.
Then Olaf, who had caught my drift, shouted, “A Norsemen will never surrender to the likes of Forkbeard and his heathen allies! Now!” The three of us plunged into the cold sea water and held the shields above us to help us float. They protected us from the one or two arrows that hit
them as well. Within in one minute all three of us had our bare feet planted on the sandbar. Where we stood, the water came to Olaf’s chin and Einar’s chest. It was completely dark now and no one would see us. The celebration continued on the other ships which surrounded our position. After a few moments we heard Sweyn shouting at his men, “Olaf jumped overboard? He held his shield above his head?”
One of his men answered meekly, “Yes, lord.”
Sweyn’s laugh echoed across the water, “Then he is already dead! A man full of armor and mail cannot swim. He is already dead! Norway is ours!”
Out of embarrassment or greed for the mail he held in his hands, I don’t know which, but the same man spoke again to Sweyn, “Yes, lord, his mail pulled him to the bottom.” Others quickly piped up to agree.
The finest men and ships of Norway were gone.
That night, as we listened to the celebrations aboard the fleet, we gently paddled on our shields toward a light we saw to the west. When we were clear of the enemies’ ears, we still said very little. Our friends had been hacked down that day and Olaf lost his kingdom. What could we say?
After two hours of paddling, we trudged ashore and stole the feeble horse of a man living in a squalid hovel. We killed him and ate what limited food he had. Since the man’s boots fit Olaf, he led the horse while Einar and I rode together. By first light we were many miles inland.
We spent weeks working our way north, travelling by night, stealing food and clothes, killing only when we had to. For the most part we kept to the grasses and swamps of Denmark and avoided civilization. Eventually we found a fishing village with lax security and slipped out one night with a small fishing boat. We hugged Denmark’s coast except for the one hundred mile open sea journey to Norway. We then retraced a path we had taken countless times back to Olaf’s capital city, this time making a broad semicircle around the Isle of Most.
Over six weeks of travelling brought us home. We slunk into Kaupangen at night. When we reached the quay, I was surprised to find Leif aboard Dragon Skull making preparations to leave the following morning. The Skull’s hull was full of provisions for his voyage to Greenland and he handed us some dry cakes when he saw how hungry we looked. I saw my chest and luggage packed neatly between several bags. We whispered our story to him and he fell silent out of respect for the loss of good men. I said nothing about Cnute’s revelation. When we finished he said that a trader came two weeks ago and told of Olaf’s defeat, but few people believed it.
He then asked what we would do, but he already knew my answer. I said I would go to Greenland with him. During our arduous trip back following the defeat, we never told each other our plans and now I hoped that both Einar and my third father would join Leif and me on our journey home. But it wasn’t to be. Einar said he would gather Thordis and his children and leave for Ladir where he had family. He did not want to suffer the wrath of Sweyn if he came to the city. His days of fighting were over. The giant, haggard man wanted only to raise his family and tend the land. Olaf sighed in the dark aboard Dragon Skull. He was tired and defeated. He had been a great sea king, but the seer was right after all. At last he said, “I hope to go to live out my days in the Holy Land, walking in the land where the One God once walked. I am done fighting.”
What a difference in my third father. His shoulders sunk forward and his scraggly hair and beard were matted to his face. I wanted to shout that I would go with him and serve him, but I had revenge to carry out. My fighting would continue. Instead, I said, “Father, lord, please assemble a crew and take the Charging Boar, she’s yours.” A tear formed in his eye and crawled down his cheek only to get lost among the tangle of his beard.
“Thank you son, I’ll cherish the leaky wreck,” was all he said.
Those were the last words we spoke to one another, though I have had correspondence from him as I’ll bring up in its proper order. Leif rousted Tyrkr; Thorgunna; Thorgils; Haki and Haekja, the Scottish thralls; the priest Olaf bestowed upon Greenland; and the rest of his crew. Einar retrieved his family and Auda, Thordis’ mother. She wept when we told her that Meili was killed. Olaf gathered about twenty-five men and his treasure store and left that night. We all left that night, Einar and his family in the small fishing boat, I on the Skull with Leif, and Olaf on the Boar. To my knowledge we left the quiet, sleeping city without alerting a soul. To the entire world Olaf was dead; every Norseman in the battle was killed all those weeks ago. And because of his effective death, I was released from my bond of service to him, able to pursue my fate elsewhere.
We parted ways at the mouth of the Fjord at Agdenes. None of my mountain goats saw us off. They had the sense to sleep at night and not make war. But we were humans and we made war and we skulked about at night. Einar and Olaf turned their ships south, while Leif piloted the Skull westward toward the long fallen sun.
I whispered a goodbye to Olaf into the empty darkness that night. The goodbye served as a fitting resolution to a part of my life that shaped me forever. I faced the partial moon to the west and steeled my resolve for the next chapter of my life, a chapter where I would kill and avenge. Bjarni Herjolfsson and his men would die by my hand.
To Greenland. To Revenge.
THE END
(Dear Reader, See Historical Remarks section to help separate fact from fiction.)
HISTORICAL REMARKS
Many of the characters and events of this book are true and in the main come to us from the various sagas. There are many sagas in written form today which were penned sometimes hundreds of years after the events they chronicle. Since the Vikings, which is a catchall term for the raiding seafarers from Norway, Denmark, and Sweden, had no tradition of written language, most of the stories were handed down around the hearth or kept in the hearts and minds of the skalds, or poets. However, despite the time lag, archeological evidence from the last century has confirmed that some of the sagas appear to be historically accurate.
In particular, I borrowed heavily from The Greenlander Sagas and from The Erik the Red Saga. For historical verification I used many sources, but the most helpful were The Vikings: Voyagers of Discovery and Plunder, by Chartrand, Durham, Harrison, and Heath; The Vikings: A History, by Robert Ferguson; and The Vikings: A North Atlantic Saga, edited by William W. Fitzhugh and Elisabeth I. Ward. The characters and their exploits included in this story who are described in those histories and sagas include: Erik Thorvaldsson and all those mentioned of his family; Tyrkr, the thrall; Bjarni Herjolfsson; Kvaran, Dyflin’s king; Olaf Tryggvason; Sweyn Forkbeard; the seer; Byrhtnoth; Einar Tambarskelver; Thorberg Skaffhog, the shipwright; Burizlaf; Thyre; the Thorkels; among others. Sigrid the Haughty is mentioned in the sagas as the queen of Sweden, but historians argue whether or not she existed or was invented by the writers of the sagas. I included her because she was a strong character and the scene when Olaf slapped her and the queen’s subsequent marriage to Forkbeard are compelling drama directly from the sagas. The following discussion follows roughly with the chronology in the story and should help to guide the reader to understand fact versus fiction.
Erik the Red (Erik Thorvaldsson) was banished from Iceland for three years for murder as his father was banished from Rogaland in Norway for murder years earlier. During Erik’s three years of exile he explored and began settling Greenland. The sagas say that a sailor named Gunnbjorn Ulfsson actually saw the land some years earlier, but never landed or settled so Erik is credited in history as the discoverer of Greenland. Because the climate was considerably warmer in Greenland then, his settlements were able to grow to the thousands of individuals over the years. Historians debate the cause for the decline in the European population of Greenland, but I choose to accept that three reasons worked together: the Little Ice Age which began in the 1300’s, political disruptions in Europe, and wars with the Inuit.
The Norse peoples in Norway and abroad in Iceland and Greenland were free compared to their English counterparts. It took much longer for kings to consolidate their power o
ver the large stretches of difficult terrain in the mountains and fjords and independent peoples. Under these conditions one of the governing mechanisms that evolved was the Thing, or local assembly. The Thing was called occasionally to settle disputes between participants in the open. The specifics of the Thing related in my story are fiction, but the general themes are correct. Weapons were forbidden and in Iceland they did throw axes into a nearby river, now called the Axe River, to begin the discussions and to symbolize that peace was expected at the meeting.