The Snow on the Cross

by Brian Fitts

  “Bishop Arnald,” Leif called after me. “One more thing.”

  I stopped. “What’s that?”

  “Bring Malyn with you if my father is not keeping her busy.”

  My feeling of gratitude dissolved. Leif had already turned his attention to his men and his ships and unloading their cargo to stack it in piles along the beach. I became aware of the true motive of his invitation, and it left me with a bitter feeling the entire walk back to my church. Perhaps Leif had too much of his father in him, after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Fellowship

  By the time I had walked back to my church, I noticed smoke sputtering faintly from the chimney of Eirik’s home, and I hoped that meant Malyn had managed to beat Eirik back and get the fires started again. I noticed my rags of venison lying where I had dropped them near the door, and I crept over, thinking I was going to pick them up and have a quick meal in the comfort of my church before Leif sent for me. As I neared the door to retrieve the meat, I could hear noises coming from within the house. I picked up my bundle and, curious, I inched closer to listen to what was going on.

  Eirik’s booming voice was unmistakable, and it was clear he was angry about something. I could not hear what his anger was directed at until I heard the faint voice of Malyn speaking to him in reply. There was a hard, slapping sound, and then the sound of a crash, as the metal bowls and cups exploded against the walls and floor of the house. Another voice, unfamiliar. I assumed it was Thordhild’s.

  I could have tried to stop Eirik, I suppose. I stood there wrestling with my decision. How could I stop him? I would merely turn his wrath on me, and this time I was sure he would have killed me. My good fortune, if you could call it that, would have to run out eventually. Still, I could not bear to listen to Malyn’s cries through the walls. So I did the only thing I thought I could under the circumstances.

  I turned away and walked back to my church.

  If I was guilty of the sin of indifference, then only God, not you, has the power to judge me. I knew he would not kill her because he needed her too much. He needed her to cook for him and keep his house in order and to provide for him in the long winter nights when Thordhild was not there. I was not blind to Malyn’s condition. I knew she may have been a servant in Eirik’s household, but her housekeeping skills are not what prompted Eirik to kidnap her from her home and keep her there for two years. I kept asking myself what could I do? The answer was always, nothing. If I had shown myself to be a man of conviction, then it would not have taken the order of a king to send me there. I would have simply gone on my own.

  I trudged back to my church and noticed my own fires were out. It was not as cold as it usually was, so I decided I could do without them for the time being, at least until I could get Malyn to bring me a brand from Eirik’s fire to start mine again. I settled down and chewed on the tough pieces of meat I had taken from Eirik’s home. The thick fragments of meat hurt my teeth and made my jaw tired from the effort, but they had a good flavor, and I kept chewing, trying not to hear the cries of Malyn as they drifted through the openings in my door and walls.

  ***

  My hunger was satisfied, and I still had a good supply of venison I had stashed away. I glanced out my window to see the sun was nearing the strange position in the sky that told me it was supposedly nightfall. I washed my hands and face and sat by the doorway, waiting.

  I looked up at Eirik’s house, and I noticed the tremendous outpouring of smoke from the chimney, as if Lucifer himself were lighting fires within. Good, I thought. I certainly hope Eirik is warm enough now. Two men approached my church, and I knew they were from Leif’s camp.

  I greeted them in their own language, and they seemed impressed. They too, had been to Norway with Leif, and they told me their entire fleet had converted under Leif’s urging.

  “Then I am to take it Leif is Norway’s prime missionary now?” I asked as we walked back to the beach.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” one of the Vikings told me. “This visit is just a brief stopover. Leif is headed further west, to see if there are any new lands he can call his own.”

  It occurred to me that Eirik and his father had come to Greenland, which according to every cartographer I had spoken to in France, was the western boundary of the known world. Anything past it did not exist. If Eirik and Thorvald had the courage to sail this far west, what would Leif be trying to prove to his father by sailing even further west?

  “If God guides you there,” I said. “Then I hope He protects you once you find what you are looking for.”

  I had forgotten about Malyn, and we had walked past Eirik’s home until it was out of sight behind us. I didn’t know whether or not I should go back and ask for her, especially since I had heard what had been going on there earlier that afternoon.

  “How long does Leif plan to stay?” I asked, thinking I should stop and go back.

  One of the Vikings shrugged. “Two days, perhaps three. Since his father shows no signs of love for his son, we will probably depart tomorrow. Thordhild is home now, so Leif’s primary obligation of seeing his mother home safely is completed.”

  I thought about Malyn. If she came with me to the celebration tonight, would she be tempted to sail with Leif in the morning? Would she allow herself to be seduced by him only to have him never return? More importantly, I thought as I quickened my pace, if Malyn was talked into running away with Leif in the morning, I would be alone on the island, but she would no longer be condemned to die when Eirik died.

  One of the Vikings was talking to me, but I was only half hearing what he was saying. My mind was too involved in whether or not to go back for Malyn. I glanced back at Brattahild, saw the great clouds of smoke roaring into the air, and kept walking. I needed her, I decided. I needed her more than Leif did.

  Once again, it is not up to you to judge me. If my selfish motives are a sin, then only God can judge me. I would not go back and get Malyn. She would never know Leif had requested her and therefore, she would never know she had an opportunity for escaping Eirik’s home. It may have been the stab of jealousy I felt when I first saw them look at one another. However, I felt trapped here also, and there would be no ship to offer to take me away from here. If Malyn left, who would help me and bring me food and fire? Who would teach me more of the Vikings’ language? There would be no one, and I doubted I could count on Thordhild for any support.

  We kept walking, and the Vikings began to tell me news of the world, which I longed to hear. The raids along the northern European coast had all but stopped. Every now and then news of an isolated attack would emerge, but it was mainly brigands, not Vikings, who were responsible. I felt some comfort in this. Perhaps Robert the Pious would think I had completed my mission and send for me to return to France, but it never happened.

  Leif greeted us at the beach where his celebration was going to take place, and I noticed he looked disappointed Malyn was not with us, but he said nothing about it, as if he knew his father would have not allowed her to come anyway. They led me down the beach to where great tables were set up along with shimmering fires where entire pigs were roasting on spits, turned ever so slowly by the watchful eye of the cooks. It had been a long time since I had tasted pork, and the sight of the pigs slowly cooking filled me with hunger, even though I had eaten a large stock of venison hours before. Leif’s men were already well into the mead by the time I got there, and they all seemed glad to see me. Apparently, word of my arrival here had spread, and some simply had to come see for themselves the man who was single-handedly preventing the great Eirik the Red from completing his raids. I was humbled, but I knew pride was a sin. I almost did not have the heart to tell them I really had done nothing to prevent Eirik from doing anything, but they simply drank more mead and eyed the roasting pigs with watering mouths. Leif sat me down and poured me a cup of mead before he sat across from me. He had the look of a serious conversationalist, and I hoped he knew enough of my language to understand if my
grasp of his language ran out midway through the conversation.

  “Bishop,” he began, and I noticed some of the men were crowding near us to eavesdrop, join in, or listen carefully. “You are from Le Mans. I have heard the story about your king. Robert the Pious has often been in talks with King Olaf, but I don’t think they are productive meetings.”

  “Partly the reason I am here,” I said, and the mead was good and strong. I was careful not to overindulge in the thick drink.

  Leif laughed. “If you think you can convert my father to our faith, then you have gained my admiration. He will go to his grave clutching his pagan ways. If my mother cannot convince him, how do you think you are going to?”

  I shrugged. “I do not claim to be the messiah. I am here to do what I can, nothing more. If Eirik is convinced he is right and I am wrong, then I won’t be able to change that. Unless I can turn water into wine in front of his eyes.”

  Leif laughed again and filled my cup. “But I heard you did not want to come, yes? You are not setting a good example for our faith.”

  It was almost as if Leif was making a reference to my father, whose good deeds and works had been well documented. But here was sitting proof that a son does not always follow the father in his craft, just as Leif did not fall victim to his father’s bloody raiding habits. The boy was an explorer, not a barbarian, not a fighter, and definitely not a conqueror.

  “I see your mother has returned,” I commented.

  “Yes, she had gone to Norway to speak to the King about my father. I was sent after her, upon request of my father.”

  “And when you arrived, you were converted, yes? Like your mother?”

  Leif nodded. “She had converted long ago. I fear she did it only because Olaf had become a zealot of sorts, and she was afraid of him.”

  The news chilled me. “Thordhild, your mother, converted because of fear?”

  “Possibly,” the boy shrugged. “What does it matter? She’s still a follower of our one true faith. One God, one salvation.”

  I wanted to pull my hair out in frustration. “Did your mother not request a missionary to come here?”

  Leif laughed. “Why would she do that? If she did, it’s only because she doesn’t want my father to be killed by the righteous as a pagan. Both your king and mine are rooting out the followers of the old ways in our countries. Your Robert the Pious, I hear, had some heretics burned because of their ways. He gained the favor of the Pope, as did my king when he began hanging those who didn’t convert to Christianity.”

  “That can’t be true,” I said. “My king is a good man. A righteous man. He destroyed some pagan strongholds, but nothing more. He certainly would not have been cruel enough to burn people at the stake.”

  “Open your eyes, Bishop. You have been sheltered for too long, and you are too quick to believe what others tell you. But I am telling you the truth. I saw it with my own eyes. My mother converted because she did not want to die, and my father is holding out because he despises Olaf. I converted because I believe what the scriptures say, as do my men, as do you.”

  I sat in stunned silence as the Vikings began carving the thick pieces of pork off the bones of the pigs. Some was served to me, but I had lost my appetite. Leif and the others were having a good time, and I thought about running back to Brattahild and taking Malyn, throwing her on the ship to leave with Leif. But I sat there as the meat in front of me smoked, and my mead cup was never empty.

  ***

  The celebration lasted for many more hours, and it was not over until most of Leif’s men were snoring loudly on the sand, their mead cups emptied many times over beside them. I sat morosely watching the bitterly cold sea dash against the rocks. I looked at the sun and cursed it, hoping it would go away. It sat and shone, and the sea took on an angry orange color with the unremitting light dancing over it.

  Leif was still awake. He was chewing on a leg bone with a few strands of meat hanging off it and watching me. I scratched some words in the sand, and it was almost as if I could record my words again. Leif finished his meat and brought his cup to sit beside me.

  “Bishop,” he nodded, offering me his cup. I refused.

  “When do you depart?”

  “Tomorrow,” Leif said, draining his mead. “I have to give my men some time to sleep off their drink. Otherwise, they won’t be worth anything except bait for the sharks.” He laughed, and I managed a weak smile.

  “I can’t stay here,” I said. “It’s hopeless for me to stay here. I was not trained as a missionary, and I don’t know how to convert anybody if they’ve already got a perfectly serviceable god in their minds.”

  “My father is planning a raid,” Leif suddenly said. “To the Isle of Kells, off the coast of Ireland.”

  “Then I will have to stop him. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  “He will kill you,” Leif told me. I knew what he was talking about. “The end of the summer season is near, and soon winter will be upon us. Eirik must go before the ice traps his ships, as do I.”

  “Then why don’t you stay?” I asked, suddenly angry that Leif was going to leave me here to face his father. “Won’t he listen to you?”

  The youth laughed. “My father no longer has a son. I am exiled. Tomorrow I shall leave and never return, or I will be put to death. That is the law.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I asked, and desperation crept into my voice. “Kill Eirik?”

  “Don’t kill him, convert him.”

  “I can’t even talk to him.”

  “How hard have you tried? Speak with my mother first. She should be able to help you.”

  I put my head in my hands. “No. Take me off this island.” I looked up at the boy. “Take me to France. Let me go home. Please. I can’t do anything here.”

  Leif shook his head. “God has put you here for a reason. I won’t interfere with that.” The boy stood up, brushing the sand away. “Go to my mother and speak with her. Ask her if she will come to say goodbye. As for my father . . . if he comes, then I will count it as God’s miracle.”

  He left me sitting there on the beach, and I thought about how hard it would be to swim back to France.

  ***

  I went to the coast to see Leif and his men depart, and it was a hard thing to watch. The Vikings loaded their ships with fresh water and set about rigging their sails to cast off. I briefly thought about Bjarni, and what he said about the sea as they pushed off from the beach and began to drift. I noticed Malyn was not there; apparently Eirik had been keeping her under lock since Thordhild had returned. I waved and looked at the cross Leif had given me. It was the one King Olaf had given him to give to Eirik, and now Leif had given it to me in the hopes that I would be able to finish what he couldn’t do.

  “If nothing else,” Leif told me. “After my father’s death, use it to mark his grave.”

  I watched as his ships sank under the horizon, and I desperately wished I were on one of those ships. After the last ship’s sail disappeared, I began walking back to Brattahild, thinking about what Leif had told me. I decided even a forced conversion was better than no conversion at all, and so I forgave Thordhild for converting under such conditions. As I approached Eirik’s home, I noticed Malyn outside gathering sticks. It was the first time I had seen her since she left the beach after Leif’s arrival.

  Her face was swollen and had grown into a mass of purple as her eyes, barely visible, peeked out from behind the rolls of puffed flesh. She kept clutching her arm, and even from the distance I was at, I could see the tears shining on her cheeks. She was struggling to carry an armload of wood, but she kept favoring her left arm over her right, which itself looked puffed up and bruised as well.

  I wanted to help her, but as I drew closer to Eirik’s home, I noticed the large man standing at the doorway, keeping a sharp eye on the girl as she collected the sticks. His arms were folded across his chest, and he looked over at me, almost challenging me to say something to him. I knew Malyn’s a
rm was broken, and it was impossible for her to carry her load without dropping it. I clutched the cross in my hand, and stepped up and through Eirik’s fence. The large Viking raised himself up a little higher when he saw I had set foot on his land.

  Malyn saw me, and I saw fear sweep over her. She looked as if she wanted to run, but she continued her job of picking up sticks, half watching me the entire time.

  “Greetings, Eirik,” I said to the large man, and I saw Malyn smile a little as she heard me use the language she had taught me.

  Eirik the Red blinked at me, then he saw the cross in my hand. “What do you need, Bishop?” he grumbled. “As you can see, I am quite busy here.”

  It took me a moment to process what he had said to me, as my translation skills were slow. “I need to speak with you,” I said. “It’s important.”

  Eirik shook his head no. “Then I need to speak with Thordhild.” I said firmly.

  Eirik bristled as I mentioned his wife’s name. “No.”

  I glanced over at Malyn, who had stopped working and was watching me. She quickly went back to work. I thought Eirik was going to say something and then I noticed Thordhild coming up behind him, placing a cold hand on his arm and gently moving him aside. Eirik sidestepped a few inches, enough to let Thordhild pass.

  “Bishop, welcome,” she said, and as I finally saw her up close, she was indeed quite beautiful. “Come inside, you will be our guest.” She took my hand, and her touch was smooth and icy. She drew me past Eirik and into the interiors of their home. Eirik said nothing, but followed us inside, shutting the door behind him and leaving Malyn outside.

  ***

  I was seated in the place of honor nearest the fireplace, and Thordhild drew me some mead, which I accepted gratefully.

  “I am sorry I was not here when you arrived, Bishop,” said Thordhild. “I hope my people treated you according to your honorable office as a Bishop of Le Mans,” she shot Eirik a reproachful look. I thought I saw Eirik’s face actually turn red.