The Snow on the Cross

by Brian Fitts

  I grabbed Eirik’s wife by the shoulder and refused to let go. “Make them stop!” I screamed. “You have the power! Look at the girl! For the love of God, stop them!” I was shouting, screaming, I didn’t know what I was saying. All I knew was I had to act and move, and scream at her, berate her for letting this happen. I was wrenched away from her, kicking like an infant, screaming and crying at the same time. I noticed Malyn heard the commotion I was causing, and as she stood in front of her own wood, knowing her remaining life’s minutes were ticking away rapidly, she looked in my direction and saw me, struggling like the old man I was against the barbarians who held me. She smiled at me, and I saw the light flicker in her soul for a brief moment, but then the fire had consumed Eirik’s body, and I watched the thick clouds rolling up into the air. I waited, half expecting to see Eirik’s spirit soar up into the smoke, therefore proving him right and me wrong, but there was nothing but blackness.

  “Malyn!” I shouted. “Run! Fight! Do not let them burn you!”

  “Be quiet, Bishop,” Thordhild hissed. “You disrespect the passage of our leader.”

  I collapsed, weeping, as the hands that held me let me go. I looked up in time to see Malyn being tied down to the platform sitting atop her wood, and I thought I could hear her crying over the roar, but it might have been my imagination.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Snow on the Cross

  The funeral fire consumed Eirik’s body rapidly, and some of the Vikings gathered what was left, mostly scraps of armor and the melted remains of his sword, and set it adrift, still smoking. A new leader would be chosen for these men, and I looked at the six Viking chiefs who had come to the funeral. Yes, any one of them would be a suitable successor to Eirik’s brutality.

  Thordhild did not look at me, did not speak to me for the remainder of my time on Greenland. She stayed at Brattahild, and the endless days began as the sun settled into its usual position for Greenland’s summer. I, however, was not well. I spent many an hour on the beach digging through the pile of charred sticks scooping out ashes where I could find them. I found bones, blackened and crumbling, and I placed them carefully in a wooden bucket I had stolen from Brattahild. Whether or not these bones were Malyn’s, I did not know. It is conceivable that some of them might have been Eirik’s, for when the fires reached their maximum height, the flames overlapped, and the two fires became as one.

  I became obsessed with retrieving what I could from Malyn’s fire. Some would later say I had lost my reason, but I don’t think I did. The endless sunlight allowed me to work many more hours than I normally could have, and my bucket became quite full.

  On the third day after the funeral, the ashes had cooled enough for me to dig deeper. I began searching more on Eirik’s side of the fire, since I had already gathered most of what I could from Malyn’s.

  I found Eirik’s skull and his broken arm, and I sat there on the beach staring at them both. The Vikings would be angry if they saw I was disturbing the fire site, so I was careful to hide what I was finding there. I took Eirik’s skull and bones back to my church, noting that it was the first time Eirik had actually entered the church he had built, except this time it was not of his own free will. I set his skull on the stones next to the fireplace, and I began to pray.

  Each day I would go back with my bucket and collect more of Eirik’s bones. I didn’t know that his remains were supposed to stay undisturbed for seven days, and then they would be taken and either set adrift or buried. Imagine the Vikings’ surprise when, at the end of the seventh day, I watched them scrape through the rubble only to find nothing. They began to scan the sky, as if expecting to see Eirik’s remains floating above them. I almost laughed at their foolishness. Perhaps they thought a miracle had happened. Little did they know, most of Eirik was sitting in my church receiving blessings and the sacrament each day.

  Whether or not I was interfering with Eirik’s soul getting into the afterlife was not my concern. I sat each day and consecrated Eirik’s bones. If he would not convert in life, then I would redirect his soul in the afterlife. At the very least, his soul would be bouncing back and forth between Valhalla and Heaven, and the thought of him eternally in limbo filled me with a wicked delight.

  I took the bones out behind my church and began digging a grave for them. How fitting it would be that Eirik’s mortal remains would find a resting place on holy ground that I had established in the name of my God. I was careful to dig a grave deep enough so time would not erode the dirt from the bones. At the bottom of the grave, I began to assemble the bones in the shape of a man. I placed Eirik’s skull at the top, following by a rough layout of his bones. I put the arms where arms were supposed to go and legs were the legs were supposed to go. I note that one of the legs was broken and in two pieces, so I stuck them together as best I could.

  I hopped out of the grave and began to cover the bones, singing a holy psalm the monks at Tours were fond of and had taught me one night on their passage through Le Mans. When the bones were covered as a final mark of Eirik’s newly found faith, I planted the cross that Leif had given me in the ground at the head of the grave. I began digging a smaller hole for Malyn’s remains, and I assembled them in human form as well. When I had completed my task I took the golden cross the monks at Bayeux had given me and used it to mark her grave. It was appropriate, but I needn’t worry about anyone discovering my work. When the snows came, they covered the graves, and the snow collected on the arms of the cross, barely visible except to those who had faith.

  ***

  The ships came in late winter, when the cold nights were bitter and endless. I barely saw the sails except for a glint of moonlight on the prow of one of them. I looked closer and saw the crest of a king: French ships.

  This was the response from Thordhild’s new inquiry to the King of Norway. France knew its emissary had never come back, and I could have told them Eirik the Red killed the poor man, but I would never get the chance. Now, Norway was sending its own ships to take care of the problem of Greenland. The monks from the Isle of Kells, the ones who survived, had told the story that the raid came from the west, which meant it could have only come from one place: Greenland.

  Which meant I had been ineffective in the past year of my inhabitation of this land.

  The new missionary to Greenland was going to be none other than Leif himself. Leif had been chosen by the king of Norway to bring the faith to Greenland after the report of Eirik’s death and my utter failure to do anything remotely productive there. I heard all the stories upon my return, and the insinuations left me bristling.

  So, instead of my overjoy at being returned to Le Mans, I was greeted with chains. The ships docked and I greeted the men who disembarked, but they had no kind words for me. I had been relieved not only of my position here in Greenland, but also in Le Mans. The Pope had excommunicated me based on several reports he had heard. While I protested and lamented (I couldn’t help but think I would never grow a strawberry again) in the end there was nothing I could do.

  I walked back up to the church to collect my meager belongings before departing from Greenland forever. As I walked around the church, I noticed the graves. The snow had collected over the crosses, and it gave a hint of what was to come. These were the first Christian graves on Greenland, and I was responsible. I couldn’t help but smile as my escorts kept me walking. I glanced up at Brattahild as we passed, and I thought I saw Thordhild watching through the window and I shook my head at my own gullibility. To think I once held that woman in such high esteem and thought she would help me was utter nonsense on my part.

  I said goodbye to Brattahild, and the church and whispered a small goodbye to Malyn, and we boarded the ship. In the distance I thought I saw small square sails that denoted Viking longships. As they grew closer I saw the mark of Leif, Eirik’s son, and I knew he would be the chosen one, not me. I was just an insignificant man. Our ships passed, and the Vikings waved and shouted greetings toward me. I caught Leif’s
eye and he nodded. Leif and two hundred strong followers would convert Greenland. Even if the ones on Greenland didn’t convert, at least Leif had the power to force them.

  We sailed off into the night, but I no longer had any fear of the water or of drowning. In fact, I was secretly hoping for a shipwreck so I would not have to face my subsequent arrest. But, as luck would have it, we had smooth, calm waters the entire trip back to France, and I was never so excited as when we approached the northern coast, and I saw some trees again. I had almost forgotten what they looked like. The air was cold on the Channel, but it was not nearly as cold as it had been on Greenland.

  The king’s soldiers were there waiting for me, and I had barely set foot on dry ground before they whisked me away.

  I was taken to the palace, but Robert the Pious was not there. Instead, his council had assembled, and they would act swiftly as my judge and executioner. I explained to them what had happened, and told them every last detail. I told them of the utter indifference of Eirik the Red and how, despite my best efforts, he had refused to convert. I told them of the brutality of Eirik’s funeral and what they had done to Malyn. I told them of Thordhild’s indifference, almost a rival to my own, I suppose. I gave them great detail about the attack on the Isle of Kells, and about how I had been kidnapped and forced to accompany the Vikings. The council listened to my stories for the better part of the afternoon, and when I was finished, I awaited my sentence.

  They knew I had been on the Isle of Kells. Perhaps they assumed I was a willing participant, and that my time with the Vikings, especially Eirik the Red, led to my corruption.

  “No,” I said, trying to make them understand. “But the raid on the Isle of Kells was a blessing. It was part of God’s plan.”

  “The slaughter of hundreds of your brother monks, and you call it a blessing? Explain yourself.”

  “If Eirik had not gone on that invasion, he would have not taken the horses from the Isle of Kells. Consequently, he would not have fallen off the horse, which led to his death from the infections of his broken bones. Since Eirik’s death, I am assured that the true faith will take over his land in his absence. The King of Norway has appointed Leif to spread the faith across the land. Eirik represented the last of the old ways. Now we can begin again with the new faith.”

  The council passed my sentence, which was quite merciful, I guess, given the circumstances.

  Epilogue

  Two sounds are evident as I write this: One is the sound of water dripping endlessly; the other is the incessant laughter that echoes off this stone. Now my parchment scraps are full, and my quill is a mere stub with which I can barely scratch. I toss it aside. I will need it no longer. My tale of Eirik the Red is finished, but as I said before, I will not die.

  I have no reason to.

  Some are saying I am crazy, that my days of endless sun and darkness drove my reason away and that is why I am here in this cell. The council did not believe most of my tale, but that is why I am telling it to you. You can decide to believe if what I wrote is the truth. God wills it. God guided my hand, and so I speak only God’s truth.

  I often think about Eirik the Red, even now after many years have drifted by, but mostly I think about Malyn. I heard the stories of the conversion of Greenland after my arrest and my being brought down here. Apparently Leif was quite successful, and the name of Eirik the Red has merely been passed along as a reference to his son, which is how it should be, for I believe the accomplishments of the son have outweighed that of the father.

  I will sleep now, but the laughter still echoes off this rock. Sometimes I cannot tell if it is coming from outside or coming from within.

  (Shame to him who finds evil here)