The Snow on the Cross

by Brian Fitts

  I stayed there in Eirik’s house until nightfall, talking with Malyn and helping her if I could. I confess I know little about cooking, so I was not much help in the preparations. She seemed to enjoy my company, however, and the hours flittered away. She began to set the table with bowls and knives. Our meal was going to consist of mostly salted fish and bread with strong honey mead for drink. At that moment I feverishly desired a ripe, red strawberry to accompany the meal.

  “I believe Eirik and his men are returning,” Malyn told me as she glanced out the door. I saw past her shoulder the bright shimmer of fire coming over the hills. I started to grow nervous as the Vikings came to Eirik’s house. Would Eirik be upset that I had entered his house and kept his servant company? I knew he had a bad temper, and he had killed men for much more minor offences. I started to ask Malyn if she thought it was best I return to the church until I was called for, but she waved me to silence as the torchlight approached.

  Chapter Five

  Meetings

  I felt like cowering by the fire as the men grew closer to the house. Malyn propped the door open for them as the first one approached. His face was streaked with blood and grime and he stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring at me. Malyn motioned him over to the side where she was pouring a huge pitcher of water into a bowl. The man plunged his hands into the water, and they turned from bright red to pink. I hoped it was the blood of whatever animal they had tracked down and killed.

  The others stomped into the room, crowding around the bowls of water and barely giving me a second look as they focused on washing their hands. I thought they seemed a little too preoccupied with the scrubbing of their hands. It seemed odd that such men would be overly concerned about the cleanliness of their hands before they ate. There were only seven of them. Eirik, apparently, had not come in with them. Bjarni was also not there, so the men laughed and shouted at one another as they splashed water all around. Malyn stood nearby with more pitchers of water and, at the Vikings’ command, she would pour more into the bowls, sometimes pouring the water over their hands in the process.

  When the men had washed all they were going to, they moved around the large table and sat down, reaching for their cups and happy to find that Malyn had already filled them all. They began their drinking, leaving me sitting by myself near the fire. Not one of them made a motion for me to join them at the table, so I stayed beside the fire, watching. Malyn began her rounds with the pitcher of mead, filling the cups whenever one of the men motioned. They spoke in low tones in their gritty sounding language as Malyn brought out the loaves of bread I had watched her prepare. Before waiting for the bread to be cut, the men simply reached out and began ripping off large chunks of it until all that was left was a sad assortment of crumbs scattered around the table. The men choked down their hunks of bread, laughing and spraying bits of crumb at each other in the process. Still, I waited. Where was the hospitality befitting a man of my office? Where was my share of the bread? Why had I not been invited to sit at the table? I began to fume off by myself, as I watched Malyn make yet another journey around the table with her mead.

  The smoked and salted fish came out on a large platter, and Malyn set it in the center of the table, almost dropping it in the process as the men speared the pieces with their knives. I had seen packs of dogs eat with more civility than these men. They gobbled and grabbed at their food, mostly using their hands, sometimes their knives. Some of the knives they used, I noticed with a sick feeling, were their hunting knives, and I could see bits of blood and hair on the blades as they ate their fish.

  Apparently, it had been a successful hunt, for the men all seemed hungry and in good spirits as they ate. Judging by the amount of blood most of the men still had caked on them, it would seem the hunt had been plentiful, too. The men settled into the meal, and Malyn stepped away from the table to take a deep breath. I could see she was tired, but she looked over at me, and noticed how I was watching these men. She stepped over to me quietly with the pitcher and motioned for my cup. I offered it and she filled it to the brim, smiling at me. A good woman, I always thought. When she went back and brought me a small bowl with some bread and a large piece of smoked fish, I truly felt God’s blessing come down upon us. I began to eat, blocking out the sounds of the men at the table. The fish had a rich, almost bitter taste, but it was warm and good, and it seemed my strength began to return. The bread was good as well, although it had begun to harden just a bit. It crunched as I chewed it, but I noticed most of the men were dipping their pieces of bread down into their mead cups and soaking them. I tried it with a small corner piece. It softened the bread and, as I ate it, the pleasant honey of the mead had mixed with the texture of the dough, giving the bread an unusual, although not unpleasant taste. I ate it all and looked sadly at my bowl as it emptied.

  There was a loud, abrupt bashing against the outside door, and the men paused and turned simultaneously. Another thump, and the door crashed open. There stood Eirik the Red, covered with blood, holding a large animal’s head in his arms. The head was still dripping in large puddles on the floor, and, God knows the truth, I think the eyes on that severed head blinked at me as I stared at it. I was half in shock, half nauseated. It was a horned beast, vaguely resembling a deer, for Eirik held it by two large antlers that jutted out of either side of the poor creature’s head. He was laughing as it held it up, and the men cheered him, thumping against the table and hooting some strange words. The head was almost as half as big as Eirik, and I could see the cut he had made: a ragged slice of fur that turned impossibly dark around the bottom edge. The creature had been matted with its own blood, which, I might add, Eirik was splattering all around him in a crimson rain as he hoisted the head up and around, making sure everyone could see it. I felt the fish I had eaten threaten to come back up, but I found the strength to keep it down.

  Eirik was speaking in that loud voice of his that rumbled through the room. He seemed quite proud of his kill, and I knew he was scanning his home, looking for the best place to hang the wretched corpse on the wall. Malyn’s face held no expression. She simply clutched the mead pitcher as she looked at the mess Eirik was making. I pitied the poor girl for the cleaning she would be undertaking shortly. Eirik dropped the head against the wall by the door and walked over to the table, still grinning, still listening to the excited shouts of his men. I make a note that he bypassed the bowls of water to clean his hands before he sat down. He reached for his mug, and took a deep drink. Trickles of mead crept out of the side of his cup and down into his beard. He drained the cup with two more gulps and slammed his mug down. Malyn was there in a flash, filling it up again. Eirik seemed pleased. His hands left red smears around his mug. I felt very ill for noticing such things.

  It would seem Eirik had not acknowledged my presence. He was too wrapped up in consuming as much mead as he could in as little time possible. He reached for the bread, tearing off half the loaf and chewing on it. He began to launch into a loud conversation about whatever it was he had killed and dragged back to the house with him. He used his hands a lot when he talked, waving them around in grand gestures indicating the size of the rest of the beast, and how, with a couple of swift axe strokes, he had made short work of the head.

  At least this is what I assumed Eirik was talking about. It could have been about anything. He could have been talking about me, for instance. I could be made quick work of with an axe as well, I suppose. I was beginning to feel quite unseen in my spot sitting beside the fire, almost too comfortable as I watched these men tell their tales to one another. Eirik seemed like a natural leader, and it was obvious the men looked on him with a great admiration. Yes, I could see how with Eirik leading these men, they could be capable of just about anything.

  Their talking continued, and Malyn slipped me some more fish as she escaped from the confines of the table. When she looked at me with those sad, dark eyes, I felt truly sorry for her and her dismal fate. Perhaps if Eirik converted before his death
, this girl could be spared from her sacrifice. I remember thinking that even Thordhild could probably never sway Eirik in his opinions. He was too strong.

  When Eirik took notice of me, I had finished the second slice of fish Malyn had given me and was in the process of finishing my last cup of mead. Eirik shouted something, and the men fell suddenly silent. Eight pairs of shining eyes turned to ogle at me, and the quiet that loomed over us was quite disturbing. I paused in mid-drink, and looked at those men. They would have taken as much pleasure in a fine meal as they would rampaging through a church, and they seemed to be waiting for me to speak. Eirik pulled a small stool over from the wall and slid it over next to him at the table. He waited and stared. I swallowed my mouthful of drink and dabbed at my mouth with a cloth Malyn had given me.

  Eirik patted the stool, and I felt as if I was the center of the world. I made my next move very deliberately and very slowly. I set my bowl down next to the hearth, took my cup, and slowly stood. Whether or not Eirik was going to kill me and serve me as dessert to his men was not far from my mind as I stepped over toward the table. Malyn nodded at me, and I felt comfort in her look. It was as if she was giving me her approval and her assurance that I was going to survive the night. I wished Bjarni were around, not for the last time.

  So, I sat at the table with the Vikings: the men who had sacked a great portion of my country, the men who showed no mercy or quarter for any of their captives. I was going to break bread with them. I immediately knew how Christ felt at his last supper, looking around at his table companions. I placed my cup on the table, and Malyn filled it. Eirik began speaking, and his voice rang in my ears. I had no idea what he was telling his men, but he seemed to be talking about me because every exaggerated gesture Eirik made was greeted with raucous laughter, presumably at my expense.

  Eirik’s tale grew louder, and he became more invigorated as he kept speaking. With a wild yell, he jumped up from the table and began moving around the room, as if performing on a stage. His men were growing bright red from the exertion of their laughter, and Eirik continued to dance around. He pointed at my direction, then suddenly flung his arms out wide to either side, and I knew with a sad, sinking feeling that he was imitating Christ on the cross. Eirik let his head roll around limply, as if dead, and he sagged the center of his body. He suddenly had the appearance of a dying puppet on strings, and he fell silent.

  His men were still laughing. Eirik looked up and winked. His face turned suddenly serious, and he gazed at me as if I was the poor beast he had just slaughtered hours before. I peeked down at where he was looking and saw the little golden cross the monks at Bayeux had given me the morning we left France. I forgot I had put it on, and now it hung, glittering like a piece of sunlight in the firelight, down the center of my chest. Eirik was reaching for it before I could move. With a jerk, he snatched it from around my neck, snapping the chain and sending sharp little stings through my flesh.

  He was speaking as he held it up for his men to see. He flapped his arms to either side again and pointed to the cross, as if to emphasize his demonstration. I felt the horror sweep through me at this man’s blasphemy. I saw Eirik marching through the city of Tours, leading his men with their torches as they set peasant houses ablaze, and I saw the defiance in his eyes as it must have been when he came face to face with the poor monks who tried to defend their home, only to be met with the sharp edge of his axe. What could I do? Eirik would have surely killed me if I tried to stop him. I thought of the martyrs and how they died defending their faith, and I decided martyrdom was not for me.

  Instead, I watched sadly as Eirik continued his little show. Presumably, this was a test of my character, for Eirik was trying to upset me, and he continued his mocking ways while he watched for my reaction. I gave him none, save for a hard glance I hoped he would take as stern disapproval. When Eirik grew tired of his charade, he sat back down and drank his mead. I noticed he still had my cross in his hand and showed no signs of returning it to me.

  With one last cheer, Eirik lifted the cross, letting it catch the glint of the fire for a moment, then tossed it into the heart of the fireplace. Satisfied, he let the cheers of his men sweep around him in approval. I, however, watched as my chain with the cross on it slowly scorched in the heat of the fire. Soon it would be an unrecognizable lump, and I would have nothing to show Thordhild if she arrived.

  The remainder of the meal was nothing notable, and I was careful when I returned to the cold church that I was to sleep in later, to note that very thing. When I left the house of Eirik, I did it with jeers jabbing me in the back. One clay mug even sailed near my head as I walked out, shattering against the wall in a spray of sharp pieces. I stepped out into the coolness of the darkening air, leaving the smoke and noise behind me. I noticed the darkness of the night, and it confused me. All the stories my brothers the monks had told me said the lands to the north were never dark. I wrote it down anyway, thinking that perhaps they were mistaken. It would not have been the first time.

  The firelight streaming out of Eirik’s small windows showed me the way back to my stone church, and I thought about carving a little path up to my door. I would dismiss that idea later as too much work for too little reward. No one would be coming to visit me there, so why would I give them an invitation? The wind was gusting, and I dismally noted that I still had no firewood for my home when I returned. In all of the light and heat and good food, I had forgotten what was waiting for me here. I sat on the crude bench that would serve as my bed and stared at the ice-gray ashes. I slept little that night, shivering violently and waking up to vicious dreams. I would dream of Le Mans, and my warm feather bed, only to have images of burnings jar me awake.

  In the end, it was the blessedness of Malyn who would come to my salvation that night. That poor child who was marked for death by the hands of a madman was pure, and I was certain God had sent her to me as a sign to keep hope in the goodness of humanity, for in between one of my nightmares, she came to the door of my church with a large blanket in her hands and a sparkling brand of fire.

  It would be Malyn, not Bjarni, who would serve as my guide for the next few days. She knew enough of my language to communicate, and having lived with Eirik for two years, she knew his almost as well as her native tongue. She was a bright girl, and God, in His wisdom, saw fit to reserve a place in Heaven for her when she met her doom. Between the blanket and the fire I soon had burning, I knew I would be protected no matter what happened. God delivered me to Greenland, and He saw to my comfort there. I write only God’s truth, friends, as you see here. The signs were telling me to survive here, and so I did.

  My fire burned brightly that night, and I was able to write on the parchment I had brought with me. I wrote about my impressions of Eirik, much the same as I am doing now. I could still see the blood on him. Animal or human, it didn’t seem to matter to the man. If he slaughtered his fellow men as quickly and easily as he had slaughtered his hunt, then he would see no reason to keep me alive.

  He did not kill me. If he had, I would not be imprisoned where I am now. I would have joined Malyn in the afterlife in God’s good glory. Instead, he seemed to take cruel delight in making me fear that he would kill me every day I was there. At night he would play bizarre tricks on me, such as rattling against my windows to awaken me, or throwing stones at my door. Once I returned to my church to find the wooden cross that had been hanging down from the rafters flipped over and around, so that the top was pointing down. Although I never saw Eirik do these things, I knew he was responsible. I scratched every detail onto my page, and the sound of the quill soothed me and reminded me of Le Mans.

  Chapter Six

  The Hunt

  Malyn began visiting me often in my church. I think I reminded her of her homeland, and she felt a kinship with me. I welcomed her company, for I was growing tired of my solitude. For the first month of my stay in Greenland, she was the only person who seemed to desire any contact with me. The men, Eirik included, left
me in peace, for which I was thankful to God. I would watch them coming to and from Brattahild, sometimes carrying large sacks, sometimes wheeling large carts back and forth. The carts held goods the traders had left along the docks, and the men would always trek up the hills to show Eirik their wares. Sometimes, the carts were rolled down to where the other homes were and the spoils were divided out among the men there.

  This was fairly uninteresting activity, but I recorded it as I watched. The simple act of recording things I saw gave me a familiar feeling of my old life, and Malyn would sometimes sit and look at my pages and pages of marks. She admired my strong handwriting, and sometimes I would read to her what I had written that day. Since I had arrived here, I had lost track of the days, so the pages were simply numbered. This is what I read to Malyn one day after Eirik had left his home and she had come down to see me and bring me breakfast.

  “Midday. Today four carts were brought into the fenced area of Brattahild. Five men, whom I had not recognized, began taking the large sacks off the carts and throwing the seed on the ground. I believe it was corn they were pouring out, for the beasts who lumbered in the fields ambled towards them, snorting and huffing.”

  I wrote many pages of these observations that are best not to be repeated here among this writing. I tell this now only to show the mundane that occupied my day. It was an accurate record of events, and God allows me to write the truth then as now. Malyn seemed more interested when I read to her than reading it herself. I was reminded of a child who delights in stories before bedtime to fill them with fantastical dreams.

  “Eirik is going to the north,” Malyn told me one day as I sat and wrote. She was sitting by the fire and casually throwing bits of twigs into the flame. “He is taking fifteen men with him. He told me he wants you to go with him as well.”