The Snow on the Cross

by Brian Fitts

  “Your mission here is ended,” he told me, jarring me so violently I thought my head would detach from my shoulders. “I have no use for you. My gods, not yours, have seen me through my illness. An emissary has come from France with a message for you.”

  Through the rattling, Eirik’s words slipped into my head. “An emissary from France?”

  “Bah!” Eirik apparently grew tired of shaking me and threw me back into the snow. I sat there, ignoring the biting the cold was working on me. Eirik had now hefted his axe, and I feared it was about to come crashing down over me.

  “What is the message?” I shouted, but Eirik was filled with bloodlust, and he was intent on severing me from this world.

  Malyn, standing up at Brattahild, screamed for Eirik to stop. I turned, seeing her looking at Eirik with panic. Would she be a witness to my untimely end? But the axe never came down upon me. Instead, Eirik let it sail down to go past my arm, driving it deep into the snow, where it quivered.

  “Eirik, what did the message say?” I asked, my eagerness to know taking over my common sense. “Tell me now!”

  Eirik picked up his axe again. He turned and began walking back towards Brattahild, apparently satisfied he had made his point. Malyn turned and ran inside the house as she saw Eirik coming back. I sat and let the snow drip into my skin, no longer feeling the cold. Slowly, I got to my feet, brushed off the snow, and went inside the church to pull on my boots. Perhaps the emissary was still here. I decided I would walk down to the beach to see. I hoped they were here to take me home.

  Much to my disappointment, I saw no one at the seashore other than the brutes who had just returned from fishing. There was no French ship, no one to tell me what the message was. It was as if Eirik was the only one who knew, if he wasn’t lying, and he was keeping it from me as part of a game he was playing with me. The effect was what Eirik had hoped for. Not knowing what the message was, if it existed, effectively drove me mad. I stood there, quivering, looking at the empty beach, my mind becoming clouded.

  I began the tedious walk back to Brattahild. There was nothing to do now but wait for Eirik to decide whether or not he was going to kill me. As it turned out, Eirik simply wanted me gone. Apparently, I had worn out my welcome. It was odd that Eirik was so tired of my presence when in the last year he had barely spoken to me. I grumbled all the way back to Brattahild, and I was in no mood to entertain guests, but Malyn was there, waiting for me as I arrived. My feet were hurting from the walk back from the beach, and I decided I didn’t even want Malyn’s company.

  “What’s the matter, Bishop?” She asked. “Did you see the emissary?”

  “What emissary?” I asked. “There was no one there.”

  Malyn sighed. “The emissary was here earlier. Didn’t he come down here to speak with you? I last saw him up at Brattahild a few hours ago.”

  My heart quickened. “So it’s true?” I left Malyn sitting there before she could utter a reply as I raced through the snow up to Brattahild. I decided I would make Eirik tell me the truth.

  I pounded on the door, but when no answer was immediate, I opened it myself. Eirik was sitting there by the fire drinking from a great golden cup. From the other room, I could hear Thordhild weeping. Cautiously, I approached Eirik, who glanced up at me, then stared back into the fire.

  “Eirik,” I asked. “What is going on? Where is the emissary?” My suspicions grew as I heard Thordhild’s weeping rising and falling.

  “He’s out back on the hill,” Eirik said with a slight smile.

  “Why didn’t you send him to me?” I demanded. “Did I not have a right to speak with him?”

  Eirik shrugged and said nothing. A thought occurred to me. “Is he dead?”

  Eirik nodded. My mouth, despite my best efforts, dropped open. “Did you kill him?” I managed. Eirik shook his head no.

  “Alas, Bishop, your emissary grew too cold and sick quite rapidly here in our chilled air. His feeble body could not handle it.”

  “Liar!” I shouted. “God condemns all liars. You will burn for this.”

  “Whose god, Bishop. Mine or yours?”

  Exasperation filled me. I left his house and trudged through the knee-deep snow, head bent, murmuring vile curses directly at the intolerable Viking who sat sipping his mead like he was guiltless. I walked around the cattle fence and began to climb the hills behind Brattahild. There, on the top of the white-cloaked hill, was a crimson patch that had carved deep channels through the snow. A cross, my cross, the one Leif had given me, was jutting out of the patch at a crooked angle, the dim light reflecting off of it.

  I fell to my knees, crying bitterly as I removed the stained cross that was marking the poor emissary’s resting place. How could this have happened? What kind of monster was Eirik? I whispered a prayer over the grave and then crawled to my feet. The cross dangled from shaking fingers as I turned to walk home.

  I found out years later what that emissary was there to tell me as I sat in my cell upon my arrest and removal from Greenland, where I sit now telling you this. Robert II the Pious had negotiated a treaty with King Olaf of Norway, who then promptly went on a crusade and was killed in battle. The new Norwegian king honored the agreement between France and Norway, and Christianity was declared the religion of the state. All others would be converted or put to death. I thought it was a harsh measure, but my opinion didn’t really matter to anyone.

  The emissary was there to tell me I had been appointed permanent custodian of the new church that was to be founded on Greenland under my watch. As for Eirik and the others who refused to convert, I was going to be authorized to have them arrested, under the rule of the crown, and sent back to Norway for trial and subsequent execution.

  Eirik, apparently, did not take this news well.

  But at the time, I had no knowledge of this. I simply hoped to go home to Le Mans. I truly craved a good strawberry- and a warm bed. But neither were to be had here, so I journeyed back to my church, where there was a constant, chilled draft coursing through at all times, and hunched by my fire, shivering and praying.

  When the snows finally broke, I was able to mark the end of my first year in Greenland, much to my disappointment. The wind had turned slightly warmer, and many of the Viking men began leaving for fishing trips for weeks at a time, always returning with thousands of fish that the women of Eirik’s village would clean, salt and preserve for later consumption. I noticed some blades of grass emerging from the snow, and I wistfully thought about something to record the occasion on, but I looked sadly at my empty inkbottle, and knew I would simply have to remember on my own.

  Eirik, in the meantime, had taken up riding. The horses he had stolen from the Isle of Kells now served him well as he was seen galloping up and down the hills on a different horse each day. However, Eirik was not a very skilled rider, and he was certainly not skilled enough to ride the horses down the hills at a full gallop, as he so liked to do. Consequently, Eirik’s boldness became the better of him, and one day, as I was out helping Malyn gather sticks from the scrub bushes, I watched as Eirik came screaming down one of the steeper hills around us. The horse was going too fast, even I could see that, and had lost its footing on some of the muddy ground that laced the hills. It began to slide, and Eirik, unskilled as he was, did not know how to control his mount.

  As a result, when the horse slid to one side, scrambling to regain its footing, Eirik went sailing off the back of the horse, flying through the air and crashing hard on the ground, where he began to roll and slide and tumble all the way to the bottom. The horse did not fare much better, for it pitched over on its side and began rolling down the hill to land on top of Eirik where he lay at the bottom. The horse immediately struggled to its feet, stepping all over Eirik in the process. I would have laughed, but I noticed how concerned Malyn was as she watched the entire event.

  Eirik was not moving. I dropped my sticks and took a step forward. Was he dead? Had the fall done what so many other men could not do? I thre
w a frightful look at Malyn, who had turned quite pale. Eirik lay crumpled like a pile of furs carelessly thrown in a heap, and I began to run toward him, watching, hoping he would twitch. Any movement, not matter how minute, would save Malyn’s life.

  I reached him first, and noted quickly he had many broken bones, for his left arm was twisted up behind him in a manner no human could achieve. His right leg was beneath him and crooked, and I could see the wet patches through his clothes. He was broken, but still alive. The horse, meanwhile, had begun grazing off to the side as if nothing had happened. How remarkable.

  I told Malyn to get the others to help me carry him back to Brattahild, and she darted away. I simply sat and watched the man breathe, wondering if this would be the end for him. Certainly, his bones, if they healed properly, would never quite be the same again, and I had heard of men dying from infections caused by their wounds. I didn’t know if Eirik would fall victim to his wounds or not, but it certainly seemed more grim than his illness that carried him through the winter.

  Malyn popped over the hills with a few stout men and together we carried the wounded Viking back to his home. Thordhild was horrified to see us bringing in Eirik in our arms. The men set him down near the fire, and I wondered if he would regain consciousness. The men, all four of them, stood and stared at me. Malyn stood wringing her hands helplessly, and Thordhild looked as if she were about to cry. What were they waiting for?

  “Well?” I asked. Malyn was shaking her head. Thordhild had crouched down beside me and taken Eirik’s hand in her own.

  “What happened?” asked Thordhild.

  I glanced at Malyn, who looked on the edge of tears herself. “He fell off his horse,” I stated simply. “He was riding down a hill too fast, the horse slipped, and it threw him. He has several broken bones that need attending to.” I said it, but I was beginning to realize it was going to be up to me to set this man’s bones and play nurse to him.

  “A broken bone is a sign,” Thordhild whispered. “Two broken bones mean death.”

  “According to whom?” I asked, noticing the four men who had helped me carry Eirik getting ready to leave. “It is painful, yes. I have seen men lose limbs because of broken bones, yes, but I do not think it necessarily means death.”

  But Thordhild had collapsed, weeping across her unconscious husband’s chest. The four men nodded to one another and I heard the word “funeral” whispered as they left.

  “No, wait!” I shouted, but the four had vanished out into the dim light of early spring, and I was torn on whether or not to run after them or stay with Eirik and try to help him.

  The weeping woman was almost hysterical, and I tried to pry her off her husband, but she clenched his furs and gripped so tightly I knew if Eirik died, Thordhild would go into the grave with him.

  “Get up and help me, woman,” I said, my voice growing harsh. “If you want him to live you have to help me!”

  Thordhild sniffed and looked at me with red eyes. I sighed and motioned to Malyn. “We need hot water and some cloth for bandages. Hurry!” Malyn began to scurry around the house, grabbing a bucket to fill with snow. Thordhild seemed in a trance.

  I contemplated giving up. Thordhild crawled over into a corner, rocking back and forth like a small child. Where was her great strength Bjarni had always talked about? Now she seemed as helpless as an infant, and her weeping continued, although I note it was much quieter when she resumed.

  When Malyn came back in and set the bucket on the fire to melt the snow, I grabbed her arm and pulled her down to the floor with me. “You will help me,” I told her. “If he dies, you die, understand?” She nodded.

  My knowledge of medicine was not quite so learned. Most of my knowledge came from stories the monks told me, and some of the monks had seen battle on their pilgrimages. I tried to remember what they told me about broken limbs. Move the bone back in place and straighten it out, then tie a rod around it to keep it straight. I think Brother Jonah told me that one evening.

  “Help me take these furs off of him,” I told Malyn. Together we rolled and rocked Eirik from side to side, wrestling with the heavy cloaks he wore. We peeled them off, one by one, until we reached bare flesh. I moved his arm, which was a sharp purple color and turning black, until it was lying out beside him. If the man had not been unconscious, I think I would have sealed my fate by his hands with my manipulation of his limb. I felt it and could feel the bone out of its proper place. I began to slowly move it back, praying Eirik would not wake up and throw me headfirst into the fire. The arm was swelling quickly, and I worked faster. I worked the bone until I felt it scraping the fractured end and I lined it up the best I could. It might have healed crookedly, but it was the best I could do with no help. I took one of the sticks near the fire and broke off a length as long as Eirik’s arm. I bound the entire thing tightly with cloth Malyn handed me. I was not a physician, but God must have been giving me a greater power as I worked. We set his leg much the same way and bound it tightly. He would not walk for a long time, so I was comforted by the fact that when he awoke, I could easily outrun him if he came after me.

  I drank two cups of cold mead after I finished. Malyn cleaned Eirik’s minor scraps and cuts, and we covered him with a fur to keep him warm. Thordhild was still staring at her husband and us. Her weeping had stopped, and now she merely sat with a cold, dazed look. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. I waited for a thank you, but none ever came. It would seem Thordhild didn’t want her husband to survive as much as I thought she did.

  ***

  When Eirik did finally awake from his fall, I was at my church trying to figure out new ways to record information when I heard his screaming bellow ricochet over the hills and into my walls. The man was in constant pain, and the honey mead he drank to numb himself could not be brought fast enough to him. Eventually, he would drink himself into a hazy slumber, and his bellows would stop until he awoke again, screaming for more mead. The mead was very potent (I never drank more than two cups at a sitting, and even that was a bit strong) but Eirik needed more and more to ease his suffering. I left Eirik in the hands of his gods and decided to intervene no longer.

  However, Eirik’s gods had apparently taken a sabbatical, for the man seemed to be in worse shape than ever, and Malyn had told me he had developed infections in both his arm and leg. She was afraid they were going to have to remove them.

  I nodded, but refused to participate. I decided I had done enough. No one could blame me for not being a good Christian and doing good deeds. Since Eirik refused to convert, I was going to let him suffer and then count the days I could get off this rock and back to Le Mans.

  When I ventured to the seaside to gather fish from the Vikings there, I overheard the talk of a great funeral they were planning. Already, I could see the stacks of wood that had been gathered in preparation, one large one for Eirik and his possessions, a smaller one for Malyn. The two stacks were there on the beach, side by side. I didn’t know if Malyn had seen what the others were doing, but I knew she could not avoid coming to the seashore from time to time on one errand or another. It was chilling to look at, and I did not linger at the seaside for any longer than I had to.

  I went to Brattahild and Thordhild allowed me to enter. She had changed much since I saw her last. She had not been eating, and her face was shallow and pale, but she welcomed me nonetheless, but I couldn’t tell if she was truly grateful to see me or not.

  Eirik was bundled by the fire, cursing and shivering. His wounded arm was a wrapped lump, and his leg jutted out straight and stiff, like the wood tied around it. He glared at me upon my entry. Apparently, no one had told him about my saving his life- again.

  “Go away, Bishop,” the Viking winced as he spoke. “I have no need for your sermons.”

  “I didn’t come to give any, Eirik,” I responded. Eirik had a large cup of mead beside him that was almost empty.

  “Then why are you here?”

  I decided the truth was the
best course. “The Vikings by the sea are preparing your funeral,” I told him. “Two large pyres are being prepared. They have no faith that your gods will let you live. Tell me, are you ready to die?”

  Eirik seemed amazed by this news, as if Thordhild was deliberately not telling him how bad off he truly was. I suppose my telling him was a kind of retaliation on my part for Eirik not telling me about the emissary. I wanted to watch the Viking’s reaction, and it did not disappoint.

  “How is your arm and leg?” I asked casually. “The serving girl told me you have an infection.”

  “It is not your business,” Eirik said tersely. He drained his mead then threw his goblet at Thordhild. It clattered off the walls and rattled around the floor before the woman went to fetch it. I remained calm.

  “Let me see your arm,” I ordered, and I believe Eirik was surprised at my boldness. “Perhaps I can help.”

  Thordhild nodded at Eirik, but Eirik turned away. “Do not touch me,” he said.

  “I will attend your funeral, Eirik,” I told him, hoping my point would be made. “And I will bless your grave with the prayers of my God. I could trap your soul and not let you go to Valhalla. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “You are lying,” he said.

  “Ah, yes, indeed. I am lying,” I told him. “But, are you so sure? I mean, after all, here you are lying broken and beaten, and I am still here without a scratch. Whose god is seeing after whom? When will you believe the power of my god is greater than all yours put together? If my god can see me through here for over a year, why can’t your gods pull together and save their mighty chieftain?”

  “You are full of evil magic,” Eirik finally decided. “It is the only way to explain your curses upon me.”

  “Very well,” I said, knowing that to speak further with this man was in vain. “Believe what you want, but I will be there at your end.”