The Snow on the Cross

by Brian Fitts

  I was surprised, for, as I have said, Eirik seemed to have no interest in me, except perhaps leading me into the wastelands and using me as bait for his prey.

  “Hmmm,” I murmured, trying not to seem interested. I simply sat and wrote, “Today Eirik the Red invited me to go with him to the North.”

  I stopped writing. “Why?”

  “The herds are beginning their migrations,” Malyn explained. “Eirik always plans a hunt to store meat for the colder seasons. This is the time the herds are the fattest. When the snows come, they will scatter, and their food will be scarce.”

  “Interesting,” I told her. I wrote down the tale of the beasts’ migratory patterns, and my quill began a rhythmic scratching as I did so.

  “Will you go?” she asked.

  I avoided answering her for the moment and instead asked, “What do you call these herds? Are they deer?”

  “Eirik calls them hreinndyr,” she told me. “Will you go?”

  I wrote the word down on my parchment, but my spelling was probably incorrect. I ended up writing the word down as it sounded to me: reindeer.

  “No,” I finally answered. “Eirik will kill me.”

  “He won’t,” Malyn seemed eager to reply. “He told me he admires you.”

  I refused to discuss the matter with the girl, and I sent her back to Eirik’s house. She left, somewhat dejected, and I stood at my door and watched her leave. I returned to my writing, shutting the door against the cold air wafting in. I still had a hard time believing it was springtime here. My soul ached with cold at the mere thought of winter.

  I wrote for the remainder of the day, but I found that I was running out of ink. There was only enough perhaps for two more pages and then there would be nothing. I sat and wondered how I could possibly get more ink in this wasted land. Perhaps I could meet with the traders at their next arrival. Perhaps Eirik would purchase some on my behalf.

  As it would turn out, Eirik did not buy any ink, and my recordings stopped suddenly as the rest of my ink ran dry. As God has seen, in His wisdom, to allow me to write this now, I will confess the truth to you who reads this. For two years I lived in Eirik’s stone church, and I only wrote about ten pages of records. The rest is based on my good memory of events, for I am still sharp of mind, even locked away as I am now. What follows may not be entirely accurate, but I trust God to guide my hand and refresh my mind.

  Now, listen well. The hunt Eirik had proposed involved two weeks out in the bitter night air away from shelter. The days would be filled with blinding white flashes of snow and ice and the thud of hoofs against the frozen ground. The excited shouts of the men as they hauled down yet another kill would mingle with the battered whine of that beast as the men hacked away at it on the ice, slicing off bits they didn’t need and stacking the slabs they decided to take. Red and white. The color of red never really meant much to me until I saw bright streams of it splattered against the pure white silver-colored ice. After that, I just felt queasy at the thought.

  Eirik came to collect me before sunrise two days after Malyn told me of the hunt. I was startled to see fifteen men standing lined up at my door so early in the morning because I was certain I made my intentions clear to Malyn. Obviously, something was misinterpreted in the translation, for here stood Eirik in person, waiting to carry me away. I stood a bit numb as the large man stared at me. I felt like the deer just before the arrow strikes.

  He said something to me, of course I didn’t understand him, but I assumed he was there to take me with him. I heard a familiar voice, but for a moment I could not process it. Then I understood it was my language I was hearing. Bjarni was standing there behind Eirik, but I didn’t notice him until he spoke up.

  “Are you ready, Bishop?” Bjarni asked. “It is time.”

  “Bjarni,” I said his name to get used to the sound. For a month I had only spoken to Malyn, so Bjarni’s voice was quite a change. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Bjarni stepped up, shaking his head. “Are you ready?”

  Bjarni did not want idle conversation, but he had been at sea for the past month fishing. Now he was here, and he was growing impatient. He sounded if he were speaking to a small child.

  “Are you ready?” he asked again.

  “Ready for what?” I asked, knowing what the answer would be. I felt very angry with Malyn, but I discovered later she had nothing to do with the decision. Eirik was going to take me whether I wanted to go or not. Malyn had told Eirik I didn’t want to go, but it meant nothing.

  I looked at the spear Eirik was holding. It was as tall as he was, and a bright metal point glittered at the top. Eirik was meticulous about his weapons. After each kill he carefully removed every drop of blood, whether animal or human. Now his spear looked ready to pierce directly through me, and I felt a little weak. The wood grain around the top was stained with dark specks. It is harder to clean blood after it has soaked into the wood. Eirik tapped his spear on the ground as if to send me a message to hurry up.

  He murmured something. Bjarni spoke up.

  “The hunt awaits,” Bjarni told me. “And it will not wait for you, so come on.”

  I looked behind me in confusion, as if seeking help from an unknown source. There were no answers. Finally, I replied.

  “What should I bring?”

  Bjarni touched Eirik on the shoulder and whispered something to him. I watched as Eirik pointed to the large packs they had stacked beside them and said something back to Bjarni.

  “Bishop,” said Bjarni. “We have prepared you a pack. You need nothing else. Come on.”

  His tone suggested they had lost patience with me. The other men grinned at my distress. “Very well,” I said. “Let’s go.” I put my boots on as they watched, looked around at my

  little stone church, and wondered if it was to be the last time I would see it. It had nothing to compare it to my cathedral at Le Mans, save that I called it home, but it seemed a sanctuary while I was here.

  Eirik seemed satisfied, and I didn’t feel as lost with Bjarni coming with us. At least I would have a translator. I stepped outside, wrapping the fur Malyn had given me around my shoulders. Eirik hoisted one of the packs and thrust it at me. I caught it, nearly bowled over by the weight.

  I shut my door behind me, and we began the walk.

  * * *

  Some of the men were dragging large sleds behind them. The sleds traveled a bit rough over the grasslands, but with enough yanking and grunting, the men pulled them through. I almost thought about asking why I could not place my pack on the sled, for it was weighing down my shoulders and causing my lower back to throb, but instead I kept my silence. I knew Eirik was judging me, and I did not want to seem too weak in his presence. Those sleds could just as easily carry a human body back from the hunt.

  We walked single file, and I found myself jostled behind Bjarni and another man behind me. I could not pronounce these men’s names, so I sorted them by the color of the furs they wore. Grey and Black were walking behind me.

  Eirik took the lead, and it was apparent he knew exactly where we were headed, for he climbed the hills like he had been born here. The men never questioned their direction, and just as I began to wonder when we would take a break from the walking, we stopped. Eirik had crested the next hill and stood gazing over the lands beyond. The air was quite colder here than by the sea, and I half expected to see snow at any moment. I watched as Eirik, half silhouetted against the horizon, raised his arms. He gave a wild shout in his own language and pointed. I, along with the others, finished the climb and looked down at the plains below.

  A pure ice field stretched before us, dotted with dark patches of what I would later find out was lichen, but it was not the lucidity of the land or the shimmering of the sunlight that skated along the surface that truly amazed me. A dark mass, moving ever so slowly, was swarming along the plain. Shaggy brown beasts bellowed and moaned as the entire herd, thousands of animals, traveled across the ice field. They swar
med as insects, thick and black, and although they moved as one entity, it was still difficult to distinguish where one ended and the next beast began. The ground was shaking as the slow moving river of what Malyn had called reindeer coursed in front of us. If this was Eirik’s idea of a skillful hunt, then his skill must have been poor, for even I could have shot and arrow into the midst of those creatures and struck down two or three, and I have never shot an arrow before.

  Eirik hoisted his spear and pointed out several of the herd to Bjarni, who had moved up beside him. The others gathered, their eyes glowing with excitement. I would have felt relieved if Eirik had decided he wanted to stop here for the time being and camp, for we had been walking for hours, and my back ached. My legs began to quiver, and I knew I was going to have to sit for a few moments to regain my strength.

  Bjarni noticed my trembling as I slowly sat in the chilly grass. Eirik, it seemed, was ready to move on. This herd was not the one he was looking for. In fact, Eirik sought better game further north, where the snow fell in thick flakes and clumped in huge drifts along the hills. The Vikings began their descent down the other side of the hill, and I was left with no choice but to follow. I pulled myself up and waited to see if I would fall back again. My legs seemed to gain a little more strength as I realized the others were leaving me behind. I note that they seemingly didn’t care if I came with them or not, for not a single one of them wasted a backwards glance in my direction. Bitter at this, I trailed after them, forcing my legs to move despite the stinging of my back.

  We reached the level plain of the ice field, and it was good to walk on flat ground again. The herd was rumbling ahead of us to the left, but they ignored us as we trekked across the shining ice. The sky had turned a cold gray, and wisps of snow began to sail down as we walked. The Vikings paid this no mind, so I simply followed. The hills were left behind us and began to shrink in the distance. Ahead of us was only flat whiteness ringed by more hills an impossible distance away. Eirik, as he walked, began to string his bow. It was a simple device, looking no more than a mere stick with a string attached. He popped the string on and flicked it a few times. His bow made a sharp hum as the bowstring pulsed. Never breaking stride and hardly turning to face his target, Eirik fit an arrow to the string and with a sharp sting, let the arrow fly.

  I watched as the arrow zipped directly into the herd of beasts. The mindless brutes watched dumbly as the arrow sank deeply into one of their own. The shot was clean, and I believe the animal was slain instantly as it crumpled to the ice. Even from where I stood, I could see the feathers sticking out of the chest of the animal. The rest of the herd kept moving on as if nothing at all had happened. The men were busy shouting and praising the skill of Eirik’s casual shot. I stood amazed at the sheer indifference of the animals.

  The two men with the sleds began their approach to the felled beast, and it was only at their advance did the herd scatter, splitting off in countless directions like cracks along a mirror. In a mere second the plain was empty, and we were alone. There was only the crumpled deer lying on the bloodstained ice, and the men who approached it with axes in hand.

  Bjarni was speaking to Eirik as he took the string off his bow. Eirik seemed detached from his kill, as if he was acting out of a natural instinct. His fluid motion with the bowshot was nothing more to him than drawing his next breath, and I wondered, not for the last time, how fast he could sink an arrow through me.

  The men had loaded their prey onto the sled and had started to drag it back to where we stood. Eirik seemed to be debating with Bjarni on whether or not we should continue north. The snow was still floating by, and I longed for nothing more than the heat of a good fire and the warmth of my bed. I prayed Eirik had made his decision to stop. I was sure if he had decided to press on, I would break down. I had stated before I was not used to walking great distances, and now the journey seemed without end. You cannot throw an old man up and down the hills for very long before there are consequences, and I began to feel the pain seeping into my very bones. I wondered how far we had come, and how long it would take if I began walking back to reach the church.

  Bjarni, perhaps out of compassion, was still talking to Eirik and I noticed him steal a glance in my direction. Good. Let him see me, weak and tired and ready for bed. Let Eirik know why this old bishop longed to stay by the safety of his fireplace.

  Perhaps it was God’s will that Eirik relented. I think Bjarni took a bit of pity on me and convinced Eirik to stop and rest for the night. For all I knew, the other men may have been as tired as I.

  Eirik ordered the camp to be made there on the edge of that impossibly huge ice plain, and the men began to unload their packs. Now I saw why some of the packs were so large. Bundles of sticks were packed inside, and the Vikings were highly skilled at the art of making fire. I watched in pure relief as a fire soon erupted seemingly out of thin air thanks to the skill of these men. The heat sizzled the frozen ground around it, and the steam rose like a small fog around us. The two men who had gone to retrieve the deer were off to the side dressing it. They were carving, ripping, and tearing apart that animal until they stood in a pool of red and shining entrails tapered out in all directions, like marks on a map.

  “Look, Bishop,” said Bjarni, who had come over to stand beside me. “We will have meat tonight. What do you think?”

  I saw the glistening on the ice where the animal was sprawled out. Suddenly, my hunger vanished. “Meat’s fine,” I said finally, choking a little.

  Bjarni smiled, clapped me on the shoulder. “You are doing well, Bishop,” he said in a very low voice. “Eirik is watching you. Make him proud.”

  I frowned. “I am not here to make Eirik proud,” I told Bjarni. “I am not his son, and he is not my father. I do not care if Eirik is proud of me.”

  Bjarni seemed satisfied for whatever reason, I do not know, and he left me there to inch closer to the fire. I sat down and stuck my hands out, almost burning them in the process with my eagerness. I had no interest in the deer the men were busily hacking apart a few feet to my left, and I tried not to hear the wet sounds as they ripped and tore the creature apart. Eirik stepped over to the fire and gazed at me through the flames that made his face ripple. He was challenging me, but in his silent way. He spoke sharply to the men dressing the reindeer, and there was a moist splitting sound. I looked over to see the dripping heart yanked out of the chest of the animal. Steam rose off it in tiny puffs as one of the men held it up. Eirik looked satisfied.

  Before I knew it the heart was brought over to me. Blood ran off it in great streams that pooled around my feet. I noticed Bjarni smirking a bit as I was handed the heart. I would not touch it. I could smell the rich, coppery scent of it, and my stomach closed up. Not ten minutes ago, this heart was pumping lifeblood through the beast that lay spread across the ice fifteen feet away. It had not even cooled off, and the steam continued to rise from it.

  “Bishop Arnald, it is a great honor among our people to be the first to taste the animal that will provide nourishment for us,” Bjarni’s voice, drifting over the crackle of the fire.

  So, they wanted me to eat this reindeer’s heart. I would not do it. I didn’t care if it was a great honor or not. These men had done nothing for me, and I decided I would not give them the satisfaction of being their entertainment. I shook my head and pushed the arm away that held the heart out to me without actually touching the dribbling mass it held.

  The man holding the heart looked over at Eirik, whose face had turned from slight interest to dark anger. Eirik said something to Bjarni, and the tone in his voice was abrupt. Bjarni looked back at me, and the look on his face told me that I was being difficult. So be it. If they didn’t want me here, they should have left me at Brattahild. Eirik spat into the fire and looked as if I had insulted him greatly. I met his gaze and tried not to look away, even though the strain of staring at those stormy eyes buried deep within that ragged face made me begin to tremble.

  Eirik spat away
and uttered something that may have been a curse in my direction. He grabbed the heart from the man who held it. Streaks of blood ran down Eirik’s arm leaving red rivers that snaked a path over his skin. I decided one of two things would happen. Either Eirik would keep the heart and eat it himself, or he would ram it into my mouth and force me to swallow. The look on his face told me he was leaning toward the latter option.

  Eirik took a step around the fire, and the others backed away suddenly leaving me isolated. They knew whatever he was about to do was not going to be pleasant.

  He said Bjarni’s name, and it came out as a bark. Bjarni, face turning pale, stepped forward, and Eirik began growling at him and then pointing at me. Bjarni looked afraid of Eirik, and with good reason. Eirik was yelling now, his face turning bright red and flushed. Bjarni replied in a much lower, softer voice. I do not know what exactly Bjarni said to Eirik, but it did not make Eirik happy.

  With a quick lash, Eirik’s fist lashed out. Bjarni fell backwards on the ice, barely missing landing in the fire. He rolled over and I saw the welt rising on Bjarni’s face that would later turn into an ugly purple and green bruise that would eventually cover half his face. That would come later. For now, Bjarni was dazed, trying to gather himself as Eirik stepped over him. The blood from the heart rained down upon the poor man, and suddenly the blood from his smashed face became mingled with the blood that dripped over him. Eirik glared at me, and I realized he had caught me watching the entire incident like a small child marveling at some magical wonder. Eirik’s gaze was smoking, and he practically dared me with his eyes to stand up and come to the fallen Viking’s aid. I didn’t move. I sat calmly by the fire, trying not to shake too violently.

  The others avoided Eirik’s smoldering look as they immediately found something else to look at, either at the slain deer or the twirling flakes of snow, anything but the simmering rage that had settled over Eirik the Red. As Eirik left Bjarni moaning on the ice, he took a giant step in my direction, and suddenly he was on top of me, standing over and looking down as Goliath must have looked at David right before the stone hit. His impossibly large hand, the one without the heart, was reaching down for me, and before I could move, had hooked onto my sleeve.