The Snow on the Cross

by Brian Fitts

  I knew he was waiting for the right time to make me another offer to go to Greenland, almost as if he was thinking I had the power to stop the raids and was the last hope of France.

  “Does anyone know the origin of the raids?” I asked. “What outpost are they coming from? It’s hard to believe that if Olaf has converted his people in Norway, the attacks are coming from there.”

  “You’re right,” Robert said. “Apparently these raids are coming from the west, either from settlements on Britain or perhaps further west.”

  “West as in originating from Greenland?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Your grace . . .”

  Robert cut me off. “Bishop, I understand your decision. However, I’m afraid I must insist this time. Now I am not asking you as a friend, I am telling you as your king. You will go to Greenland and convert these heathen barbarians. If you can show them the true error of their ways, perhaps the raids will stop.”

  So it was decided, and in early January after the new year, I said goodbye to Le Mans and walked out to my garden for the last time looking fondly at where the new plants would be emerging in the spring. I knelt and clutched a handful of the earth, feeling the texture. Good soil. Rich. I heard the arrival of the wagons coming for me to carry me to the coast. I carried my possessions in a leather sack that had been crafted by the monks. It wasn’t heavy. A supply of parchment and ink, heavy boots for the snow, and a thick fur cloak was all it contained.

  ***

  It took two weeks to travel to the sea. I watched in a kind of awe as we rolled through Le Mans and it was left behind us. The last thing I remember seeing was the topmost tower of my cathedral. It lingered among the treetops, and then vanished. I didn’t know it would be the last time I would ever see it or Le Mans again.

  Along the road to the coast we passed the charred remains of the Viking attacks. Some blackened ruins still gave off heat we could feel as we went by. Most of the villages were abandoned, and the silence of the dead lingered over them. There was no sound other than what we made as we rolled on. My companions were very still and some looked at the devastation with indifference. I, however, had not imagined the destruction was so complete. The monks had told me news, but this was beyond what I pictured. The raiders had left nothing standing, and I could see the flow of the river through the trees near the villages. The pirates had simply coasted down the river, stopped at each village they came to, and burned it down.

  “The worst part is,” one of my traveling companions whispered to me. “Most of these villages had no reason to be attacked. There were no monasteries or churches here.”

  Some lone peasants struggling to dig were raising huge mounds of earth. They were silent and grim in their work, and I knew it was the mass grave for the dead, or what was left of them. These barbarians, the ones who were responsible for this devastation, these were the ones I was going to. How could I not feel a twinge of fear at that? They slaughtered monks and children alike with no regard for mercy.

  I murmured a prayer as we passed the graves. Whether or not it helped, I have no idea, but it seemed to make the men riding with me feel better. We were traveling to the seaport at Bayeux on the northern coast. Robert the Pious had told me there was a ship waiting to take me over the sea. The emissary from Greenland, the one who had presented Robert with the gift of the bear, was waiting to take me with him back to Greenland.

  I had never been on a ship before, and certainly had never traveled as far as they were going to take me. It took us two weeks to travel from Le Mans to Bayeux, and as we drew nearer the city, the air had turned noticeably colder. I half expected to see large pieces of ice floating along the Channel as I saw the water that led out into the ocean. It was dark and choppy, and it sloshed against the docks as if wanting to drag them into the sea. I confess I felt a little sick when I saw the ship that was going to take me away from France.

  It was moored near the rocks on the far side of the port. It was not much to look at upon casual inspection. It was long and narrow and looked not so much a sailing vessel as a long rowboat. There were men there on board, stomping around the deck tying ropes to small hooks and pulleys that were dotted all over the sides of the ship. One of the men saw me standing on the dock, and he waved and shouted. Before I could reply, he had hopped overboard and was taking long strides to meet me. He was a bundle of fur and hair, much like the men I would see upon my first sighting of Greenland.

  “My name is Bjarni,” the man said, his voice thick. “Welcome.”

  I nodded and Bjarni glanced at the sky. “We will leave at daybreak,” he decided. “More favorable winds. Tonight, we will be your guests in Bayeux.”

  He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, almost knocking me off the dock. The other bundles were making their way off the ship. I counted six as they crowded around me and introduced themselves with names I forgot as quickly as I heard them.

  Although the Vikings invited me to stay with them, I declined and sought out the monastery of Bayeux as night fell. The monks welcomed me and gave me restful accommodations, certainly better than the Vikings, who were content to camp out near the ocean.

  I lay there that night before we left, but I could not sleep, even though I was tired from the long trip from Le Mans. I kept thinking about the vast contradiction between the two sides of the men I had heard. They were cruel enough to burn and slaughter villages for no other reason than their own wantonness, but they seemed hospitable enough to welcome a man of God to come to their island. My mind turned to thoughts of the woman named Thordhild. She must have been a strong woman to insist to her husband they needed a man of God at their home. If she was serious in her faith, then I would have at least one ally there.

  I fell asleep after a long while, and I dreamed about Le Mans.

  ***

  In the morning I joined the monks of Bayeux in prayer, and we broke fast together. The morning meal was somber and cold, and I sat and stared at the brothers all around me. Most had vowed silence, and my mood was not allowing me to make conversation with those who could speak. There was the sound of the rustle of cloth, and the occasional slurp of the gruel by some of the monks, but that was all. I ate lightly, as my stomach kept turning at the thought of boarding the North Men’s ship.

  The monastery at Bayeux sat atop a hill overlooking the sea, and after the morning meal, when the brothers went out to tend to their chores, I left them and climbed to the top tower. From high above, I could see the seaport and the expanse beyond. An endless sea. It looked frigid and shadowy as it refused to reflect even the slightest bit of color from the sky. I did not want to look at the water. I would see it close enough too soon. My gaze traveled from the sea to the land, and there I could barely make out the Vikings’ encampment at the base of a hill. The men were gathered around a cheerfully blazing fire, and I imagined I could hear their laughter as they ate their morning meal, passing the cups around to each man. For a brief moment, I envied them and wished I had decided to join them at their camp the night before. Their boisterousness was certainly a contrast from the dreary silence that shrouded the monastery.

  I descended the tower and expressed my blessings and thanks to the brothers before I left. They touched my head and prayed with me once more before my final goodbye. One of them presented me with a small gold cross on an iron chain. I thanked them all again and left for the seashore.

  I found the ship as I had left it the night before: creaking uneasily and bobbing wildly against the waves. The Vikings had not descended from their camp yet, but I could see the smoke from the fire. I knelt by the sea and took a handful of the sand as I waited. A wave splashed against my hand, and I was stunned at how cold the water actually was. I looked again at the ship. It threatened to capsize simply being tied up near the rocks. How would it survive the journey over the sea? I had never even learned to swim, and I kept imagining myself pitched overboard into the deathly icy water. Perhaps the Vikings would save me, perhaps not. What if th
e entire ship sank? What if we were all thrown overboard in a storm? Who would save me then? Le Mans was in the interior of the country, so I never thought much about traveling on the sea. Why should I? I had everything I needed from land. I would leave the sea to the sailors. I would work the earth and plant my garden. The earth was something you could hold. The water would slip through your fingers. Put your trust in the land. It is stable.

  I turned and saw the Vikings descending from the hill where they had camped. Bjarni was laughing at something and seemed to be pointing at me. They must have been looking at my face, which I imagine had turned quite white from looking at the ship. My fear was obvious. You cannot throw an old man into a ship and expect everything to be fine.

  “Ah, Bishop,” remarked Bjarni as they drew closer. “A fine day to sail, don’t you think?” H e looked up at the sky, which had turned quite gray since the dawn. “A good day, indeed.”

  I was sure he was telling me this to put me at ease. I did not think it was a good day to sail. I thought it was a good day to go home. Bjarni motioned at the others, and they boarded their ship. It was long and narrow enough to rest directly on the beach and Bjarni and one other man was pulling on the ropes to drag it up. When they had secured it, Bjarni stepped aside and gave me invitation to board.

  “Do not worry,” said Bjarni as I hesitated. “I have sailed many years, and I would know the way home blindfolded. Go aboard. The others will help you.”

  That being said, I took one more glance at the land, felt the solidness beneath my feet, and climbed aboard the creaking little ship.

  ***

  It was well that I had eaten a light morning meal, for God, in His wisdom, made me lose it before we had left sight of land. After the Vikings pushed off the beach and began their rowing into the channel, Bjarni gave the command, and a large square sail flapped down from its ties and puffed into its full form. The sail was adorned with the bright red image of an axe, but before I could ask what the crest represented, as I looked up at the sky, an overwhelming dizziness swept over me, and I found myself lying on the deck trying not to let my head roll off the side. My stomach pulsed, and I knew I was going to be sick.

  After I had heaved all of my gruel into the sea, I could only lie there helplessly and listen to the Vikings’ laughter. The ship kept leaning further and further to one side, and I kept wondering if I should move to the other side to balance the ship upright again. But I couldn’t move, and all I could do was stare at the dark sea as my chin rested on the edge of the ship’s side.

  We seemed to catch a good wind, and I could tell we were sailing west because the sun was behind us. If the wind died, the Vikings would take up their oars and row. We slowed a bit from time to time, but we never stopped. Bjarni steered the ship effortlessly, and I found myself trusting him. As long as we didn’t hit rough waters or a storm, I remember thinking, we should arrive safely.

  I lost count of the minutes as I stared at the sea. Bjarni came over and sat beside me on the deck and patted my shoulder.

  “The first time I sailed,” he began. “I was six. I stayed below deck with the cattle because I was so afraid of the water. My father found me hiding there and took me by the shirt. He dragged me up onto the deck and made me look out at the water. I had never seen anything so beautiful and terrible at the same time. He held me there until my fear had subsided. Then, he pitched me overboard.”

  I suppose Bjarni’s story was meant to make me feel better. I suddenly hoped he wasn’t going to do the same thing to me.

  “I floundered in the water,” Bjarni continued. “I almost drowned. I only remember the coldness. My entire body was numb. Then my father pulled me out with a fish spear he had hooked onto my belt. He tossed me back onto the deck. I was freezing and crying, and he knelt down and looked at me. He told me I should never lose my fear of the water. And I never have. If you lose your fear, it will drag you under. You have to stay afraid of it, then you can learn how to manipulate it.”

  Bjarni laughed again and walked away. I would spend the next several hours motionless and lying down on the deck with my eyes closed. If I opened them, the dizziness returned, and I would heave up dry air. One of the men shouted that they had land to the north, and I heard Bjarni remark it was the southern coast of Britain. I had never seen Britain, so I rolled over and cracked my eyes open.

  Some trees. Some rocks. It looked remarkably like France. I closed my eyes again. By noon I was feeling a little better: enough to open my eyes anyway. I sat up and noticed the Vikings sharing some dried venison as they sat together at the far end of the ship. They saw me sitting up and motioned me to come over. I shook my head, and Bjarni came over to me.

  “Bishop, you will feel better if you eat. It will keep the sickness away.”

  He handed me a strip of dried venison. My stomach rolled as I looked at it. “I can’t.” I told him.

  Bjarni shrugged and left the meat sitting next to me on the deck. I stared at it for a long time. Britain had drifted away on the horizon, and there was now only open sea ahead of us. I noticed Bjarni had changed our course north. Now there was nothing left in front of us except the open sea and Greenland.

  ***

  Night floated over us, and we drifted.

  Some of the men were asleep, and their snores complemented the hush of the waves. Bjarni was not asleep, however, and he sat by himself staring at the sky. I was a bit overwhelmed of how complete the darkness was when night fell. There was no flicker of flame, no moon to shine down. It was a complete darkness, and it wrapped us tightly. I crawled over to sit beside Bjarni. I found that I could not stand, for I was still a bit queasy.

  “Ah, Bishop,” Bjarni seemed glad for the company. “The sea agrees with you.”

  “How long until we reach Greenland?”

  Bjarni studied the sky for a moment. “Two days. Perhaps three. You can never really know for sure.”

  “And Eirik will be glad to see me?”

  Bjarni looked at me, as if memorizing my face in the darkness. “He may. He is not an easy man to know, but he is honorable.”

  “Tell me about Thordhild.”

  Bjarni grew quiet for a moment. “Beautiful. Proud. Almost as strong as her husband. She was a peasant in Iceland when Eirik landed there. He told me once she was the only woman that could match him. But he never said in what. She is the one who asked for you.”

  “Not for me, Bjarni. She simply wanted anyone who would come. I could have been anybody.”

  “No,” Bjarni said. “I think she knew. And I also think your god has a plan for you. She had a dream about a missionary coming to her land. Eirik was tamed. His temper was quenched.”

  “This was in her dream?”

  Bjarni nodded. “Eirik had a church built for her, you know, even though he’ll have nothing to do with it. He wants to make her happy, and if it means bringing you to his island, then he will do it. God or no god. Eirik is a hard man. He has killed many men. He came to Greenland as a criminal, and he can never return to his homeland.”

  “And his men?”

  “They follow him. He is their leader. It is as simple as that. He promised them a new land with new prosperity, and they followed him. Thordhild is his wife, and she obeys him in most aspects, except her faith.”

  “What about your faith, Bjarni? Have you any?”

  Bjarni laughed again, and his eyes glimmered. “Some. I put my trust in the axe and the sea. Thor watches over us, and if my time comes with honor, I will ascend into Valhalla.”

  “Valhalla’s not real,” I murmured. “It’s a heathen story.”

  Bjarni’s laughter died, and I knew I had said the wrong thing. He grew somber as he stared at the black water. “Some men would have slit your throat for uttering those words,” he said in a very low voice. “Eirik would have you burned alive.”

  “I am sorry,” I said. “I did not mean to offend you.”

  Bjarni’s face cracked into a smile. “What do you expect to find in Greenla
nd, Bishop? We are mere savages. We slaughter women and children and drink the blood of monks while we steal their gold. If your monasteries represent your most holy relics, why does your god not save them?”

  “That’s not the way. It’s not my god’s plan.”

  “Your god’s plan is to allow foreigners to pillage your temples and churches? To bathe in the holy water and wine we find there? Do you expect Eirik’s men to listen to you? What is your proof?”

  “Thordhild, if she is the woman you say, will help me.”

  Bjarni did laugh at that. “So the choice is to either listen to a bishop from another country, or a woman? That’s not a wise decision. Thordhild may have some strength, but it will only come if her husband allows it.”

  “But you said . . .”

  “It does not matter what I say. Thordhild is a strong woman, yes, but she is still a woman. Her faith means nothing to her husband and his men.”

  Suddenly I felt sick again. Why would they listen to me? They would not even listen to one of their own. Bjarni gave me one last look of barely concealed contempt and stretched out on the deck. He threw a large blanket over him and was snoring in a matter of minutes. I sat there and looked at the dark all around me. I could feel it closing in.

  Chapter Three

  The Watchers

  Bjarni did not speak to me for the remainder of the voyage. I assumed he still bristled over my remarks concerning Valhalla. Two days after we left France, I could see the outline of the mountains against the sky. The Vikings on the ship seem to grow excited as we drew closer to the land. It was my first glimpse of Greenland, and I saw no green anywhere.

  After we had landed, and I said my prayers of thanks, the Vikings led me beside the fire on the beach. Its warmth was soothing, and the numbness left my body. I did not see Bjarni anywhere, but I assumed he was with his men securing the boat. My legs began shaking as they grew accustomed to land again, and for a moment I felt as if I would faint. Strong hands gripped my shoulders to steady me. I found I could not lift my head to look these men in their eyes. The heavy bundles surrounded me, and I could smell the musty odor of mud and sweat trapped in their fur. After the days at sea, I was suddenly grateful I had not allowed myself to eat anything, for it surely would have come up there on the beach.