“No,” she said after a second, but she didn’t sound too sure. “Here – have some nice cold breakfast.” She passed over oatcakes and a piece of dried fish.
Loki sat, eyes glued on the food, and Peer broke an oatcake and dropped it into his greedy jaws. “Loki and the Nis made friends last night,” he told Hilde in a lowered voice.
“The poor Nis; how is it?”
“Very upset last night, but it’s fine now. It’s got a new name.” He grinned, wanting to share the joke. “‘Nithing the Seafarer!’”
Hilde’s laugh sounded hollow. He glanced at her. “Is something wrong?”
She nodded, staring out to sea. “I’d better just tell you quickly. You know Gunnar said we’d be coming home next summer? Well, we won’t.” She stopped. “Where’s Astrid? Is anyone listening?”
Peer looked over his shoulder. “I don’t think so. Astrid’s combing her hair. Why? What’s happened?”
She began to whisper. “Oh, Peer, it’s an awful story. The man Harald killed in Westfold was someone Astrid really liked. He was called Erlend, and she wanted to marry him, but he was young and poor, so her father wouldn’t agree. He made her marry Gunnar instead. But Gunnar was jealous of Erlend, and when they met he picked a quarrel with him, and Erlend defended himself, but he was alone and Gunnar had Harald and it was two against one. So Erlend died. Poor, poor Astrid!”
Peer thought of Harald’s long steel sword. Poor, poor Erlend!
“But what’s it got to do with us?” he asked.
“Harald and Gunnar were blamed for the killing. They’ve been outlawed for five years. That’s why they’re running for Vinland. Five years, Peer. And no way of telling Ma and Pa. They’ll think we’re never coming back.”
Peer’s heart dropped like a stone. “I knew Harald and Gunnar couldn’t be trusted. Bjørn even said they were running from justice. He didn’t know they’d been outlawed, though.”
Hilde said miserably, “It’s my own fault. I wanted to come so much; I wouldn’t let anything put me off. Now I keep thinking of that story Sigrid was telling, about the boy who sailed across the sea. Weren’t you there? East of the sun and west of the moon, and he was away for so long his mother and father thought he was dead. And I was mean to Sigrid and wouldn’t let her finish it – and now who knows when I’ll see her again?”
“Hilde, don’t. We’ll get home – we’ll find a way.” Peer scowled suddenly. “But Astrid – she should have told you about this.”
“She wanted a friend. It was selfish of her – like kidnapping the Nis. She wants it to help with the housework in Vinland. But she’s sorry now, Peer. She was crying last night.”
She cried to make you feel sorry for her, thought Peer, but there was no point in saying so. “What about the crew?” he asked. “Are they all in on this?”
“They know about the killing. Everyone does: Harald joked about it, remember? He made it sound funny. It didn’t seem real. But the five years’ exile – well, Arne doesn’t know, Peer, or he’d have said.”
“You’re right.” Peer looked at Hilde’s forlorn face. “I promised Ralf I’d bring you home, and I will, even if I have to build a ship with my own hands,” he swore. Then his eyes opened wide. “Wait, Hilde, there is another ship. The Long Serpent! We’ve forgotten about Thorolf. He’s no outlaw. He’ll help us.”
Hilde’s face cleared. “Thorolf, of course!”
“Thorolf ’s a good man.” Peer stopped and thought. “He’ll be there. He settled in Vinland, why should he leave? Even if he went away for the winter, like Gunnar, he’ll be heading back there for the summer to cut more timber, just like us. One way or the other, we’re bound to meet him.”
“And we could come home on the Long Serpent. On your father’s ship, Peer. Funny to think it might rescue us!” Hilde looked far more cheerful. She added rather shyly, “You always think of a way out.”
It was a beautiful morning. Peer put his arm around her shoulders and said gaily, “You see? Nothing to worry about. On to – where? West of the sun?”
“East of the sun,” Hilde corrected him.
“Ah, but we’re sailing west —”
“Would you like to know where we are, Hilde?”
It was Arne, and Hilde turned, startled. He took her elbow, detaching her from Peer, and pointed to the northwest, where some vague clouds lay above the horizon. “See those clouds? That’s where the Faroe Islands are, the Islands of Sheep. We’ll be passing them later.”
“Land,” breathed Hilde. “I’m already missing it.”
“We won’t be setting foot there,” Arne laughed. “Just passing by, on our way west.” He gave her one of his wide smiles. His beard was already growing through; the glittering stubble gave him a raffish, attractive air. He put a foot up against the side timbers and leaned there.
Several white gulls with long black-tipped wings had appeared out of nowhere and were flying above the ship. Arne said to Hilde, “See those gulls? That’s a sure sign we’re not far from land. Maybe it was one of those, screaming last night.”
Hilde flicked a glance at Peer – and the grey surface of the sea shattered. Out shot three, four, five dark, curving bodies, and plunged back in wings of spray. Arne’s pose slipped, and he grabbed at the gunwale to steady himself. There was a shout from Magnus at the tiller. Harald raced along the starboard side, shoving Peer out of his way.
“Dolphins!” Hilde leaned out over the side. “Look at them go!”
The dolphins were travelling faster than the ship, springing out of the water again on the starboard quarter.
Something like a long black needle flashed out from Water Snake’s bows and sank into the waves. “Missed,” came a disappointed yell. Harald leaned over the side, hauling in the line and retrieving his dripping harpoon.
“He threw a harpoon!” Hilde cried.
Astrid picked her way over the deck, dainty as a disapproving cat. “He just likes killing things.” She eyed Harald. He was laughing, and his long golden hair hung loose to his waist.
“I’m out of practice,” he said to the two girls.
“Yes, Harald, we noticed,” said Astrid sweetly.
“I think I grazed one, though.”
“Why did you do it?” Hilde demanded. Harald gave her an impertinent grin. “Sweetheart, when I’m at sea, I take every chance to amuse myself.” He examined the tip of his harpoon. “Can you see any blood?” He waved it under her nose, and laughed again as she drew back.
“Fool,” said Peer, not quite under his breath.
Harald jabbed the harpoon at Peer. “Did I hear you speak?” He jabbed again, and Peer had to twist aside to avoid the point. “What did you say to me, Barelegs?”
“If you must know,” began Peer, breathless —
“Yes, I must. I must!” With blank, bright eyes Harald sliced the harpoon towards him. Peer tried to dodge again, but there was nowhere to go. “Stop it!” screamed Hilde, and Arne’s arm flew out to deflect the stroke. A heartbeat later, Arne was gripping his forearm tightly and cursing. Bright blood ran liberally between his fingers and dripped on to the deck.
“Arne!” Hilde gasped.
Harald stepped back one dancing pace, lowering the harpoon. “Sorry, my friend. You shouldn’t have got in the way.”
“Shame on you!” Astrid spat like a wildcat. She raised her voice, “Gunnar, see what Harald’s done! Look what’s he’s done to Arne!”
Harald glared and threw the harpoon down. Gunnar came striding over. His eyebrows curled together in a thick frown, but all he said was, “Can you use the hand? Good. Take him away, Astrid, and tie that up.”
“It’s only a cut.” Arne looked up at Peer, standing shocked by the suddenness of it all. “Get out of my way! Just clear off and keep out of trouble,” he burst out in a hard, exasperated voice, adding softly, “This was a good trip till you came on it.”
Peer went without a word, ducking under the sail. When Hilde came to tell him that Arne’s wound was only a lon
g deep scratch, he turned away in silence. She stared at him. “What’s the matter with you? Arne saved your skin, and you haven’t even thanked him.” She marched off.
Peer was too angry to care. He doesn’t want my thanks. He doesn’t even like me. I was trying to stand up for you… He waited for Hilde to come back, so that they could talk properly, but she didn’t.
In the mid-afternoon, the low shapes of mountains became visible along the northern horizon, greyish scarps and knobs, dark or faint, some near, some further away. Peer began to come out of his self-imposed isolation. He looked around. Floki, Magnus, Halfdan and Big Tjørvi were sitting under the taut arc of the sail, throwing dice and talking.
“Are those the Islands of Sheep?” Peer called.
“That’s right.” Tjørvi got up and leaned on the rail beside Peer, looking northwards. “Bare, bleak places. Nary a tree to shelter under, but good enough for sheep. Narrow waters and dangerous currents.”
“You’ve been there?”
“I’m from there,” said Tjørvi quietly. “That’s home. Got a wife there, and a little daughter. Haven’t been back for years. Always meaning to; never make it. Maybe next time…”
Many more seabirds were now flying alongside the ship. One of them swooped past and scanned Peer with its fierce, yellow-rimmed eye. “How they stare,” said Halfdan, looking up at the gracefully wheeling birds.
“Gulls are strange things,” Tjørvi rumbled. “Have you seen them turning and circling over the place where a boat’s gone down? And that’s because they’re tracking the drift of drowned corpses on the seabed.”
“Is that so?” Halfdan shivered. Floki said, “I’ve heard how the souls of dead sailors put on the form of seagulls, and go flying after their shipmates, a-crying and a-calling…” They all turned their heads to look at Peer.
“Was that really a gull last night?” Tjørvi asked.
Peer hesitated. He didn’t want to reinforce the fears about ghosts. But he couldn’t afford to have news of the Nis reaching Harald. “It seemed just an ordinary bird,” he said lamely.
“Ordinary?” Magnus growled. “It didn’t sound like one.” Remembering the Nis’s screams, Peer couldn’t blame him for thinking so.
“It’ll be back, you’ll see,” said Floki with a mournful shudder. “The skipper knows. Did you see the look on his face?”
“Will you shut up, Floki,” said Magnus. “I’ve told you before.” But he sounded irresolute, as if his heart wasn’t in it, and this time Floki was unabashed.
“Now wait a minute, boys.” Tjørvi glanced around and put the question Peer was longing to ask. “If there’s really a ghost, whose is it?”
Magnus got to his feet. “I’m out of this.” He glanced at Floki, who sat stubbornly where he was. Halfdan looked at his feet.
“Don’t tell ’em,” said Magnus. “I’m warning you, all right? Just don’t say.” He marched off. Floki licked his lips. “I’ll name no names,” he muttered. “It’d be asking for trouble, naming a ghost. But there was a man the skipper killed…”
“It was young Harald finished him off,” Halfdan put in sombrely.
Erlend, thought Peer.
“And he cursed him as he lay dying. I wasn’t close enough to hear him myself, but Magnus was. Magnus heard the curse. He said —” Floki’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper: “‘A cold life and a cold death to you, Gunnar. A cold wife and a cold bed. Look out for me when you close your eyes. For I’ll follow you wherever you go and bring you to a cold grave.’ And he’d have cursed Harald too, Magnus says, but Harald was too quick for him. He dealt him the death blow.”
Though he knew that what they’d heard last night was no ghost, but only the Nis, Peer was glad of the sunlight on his face, and the bright spray blowing.
“And it’s working, isn’t it?” added Floki. “That Astrid – she’s a cold piece, all right.”
“If I’d ha’ thought a ghost was following this ship, I’d never have joined,” said Tjørvi heavily, chewing at his thumb.
Peer said guiltily, “Where did you join the ship, Tjørvi?”
“In Hammerhaven, lad, like your friend Arne.”
Peer couldn’t help himself. “He’s not my friend. Not any more.”
The three men stared at him. “Arne stopped a harpoon on its way to you,” said Halfdan. “And you say he’s not your friend?”
“Yes, but —” Peer went hot to his ears.
“Anyone’s a friend that stands up for you against Harald,” said Tjørvi decisively. “He’s not one to cross.”
“Right,” Halfdan agreed. “You never know where you are with Harald.”
“He’s a natural-born fighter,” Floki said with pride.
Peer was quiet. The men went on talking about Harald with a mixture of horror and admiration. As usual, Floki’s tongue chattered most freely, dropping Magnus says into almost every sentence. Magnus had started out as one of Gunnar’s farmhands in Westfold, and knew lots about Harald. At nine years old Harald had almost killed another boy, a playfellow who’d tripped him in a ball game, by pounding his head with a rock. At twelve years his mother, Vardis, had given him his first sword. He’d killed a man with it before his thirteenth birthday. Since his mother died, he’d accompanied his father on all his voyages. It was said he was a berserker, who lost all control when he fought.
“A berserker?” Peer’s skin crawled.
Berserkers could fall into a kind of mad fury. They would howl like wild beasts and hurl themselves screaming at anyone in their way. A warrior who went berserk would have terrible strength.
“Magnus says Harald’s mother fed him raw wolf-meat, to make him strong,” Floki whispered, wriggling with gruesome delight. “So when the fit’s on him, he’s as wild as a wolf. We’ve seen it, haven’t we, Halfdan? We’ve heard him howling. Enough to scare you to death!” He laughed suddenly, stupidly. “Didn’t they all run!”
“Shut up.” Halfdan looked half angry, half sick. “Magnus is right, Floki. You talk too much.” He got up and moved restlessly away. Floki stuck out his bottom lip like a child.
“I’d follow Harald anywhere,” he said defiantly. “Magnus is Gunnar’s man, but I’m Harald’s. I’d like to put my hands between his and swear to serve him. That’s what real warriors do!”
“Floki, Floki!” Tjørvi suddenly burst out laughing. He put out a big hand and ruffled Floki’s tight curls. “You don’t want to be a warrior, son, believe me. Stick to being a sailor.” Floki’s rough, red face flushed even redder. He went off in a huff, leaving Tjørvi and Peer alone.
“I’d better be more careful,” said Peer gloomily. “Gunnar doesn’t think much of me. Harald hates me, and he’s a berserker. Floki thinks Harald’s wonderful. Arne’s angry with me…”
“Angry?” said Tjørvi. “Angry’s nothing.”
“I used to like Arne,” Peer cried, out of a sore heart. “I —” He remembered how he’d admired Arne when he first met him years ago. Arne and Bjørn had seemed like heroes to him, brave enough to stand up to his bullying uncles when no one else dared. “If he won’t be friends with me, what can I do?”
Tjørvi looked shrewdly at Peer. “No wonder they say women on board ships is unlucky. It’s that young lass that’s causing all the trouble, isn’t it? And is she fond of you?”
“I don’t think she knows,” said Peer.
“Ask her and be done with it,” said Tjørvi.
Chapter 49
Lost at Sea
BUT PEER DIDN’T take Tjørvi’s advice. Hilde’s sunny nature made her a favourite with the entire crew. If ever he found himself alone with her, someone always pushed in, and it wasn’t just Arne. Everyone wanted to talk to Hilde, or sit beside her. And so he put it off. When the voyage is over, he thought, when we strike land. That’s when I’ll tell her how I feel.
Days passed, and the crew of the Water Snake grew used to the hard boards under them, the cold air always around them, the long waves rolling under the ship. They were re
signed to eating cold food and drinking stale water. On bright days they were grateful for the strength of the sun warming their aching limbs. On wet days, the lucky ones donned supple capes of fine oiled leather. Those who had none wrapped themselves up in double layers of wool, and blew on their cold red hands.
There were no more fights. Peer didn’t speak to Harald and Arne, even at mealtimes. Once or twice he saw Arne watching him with an odd expression, half sorry, half annoyed. But if Arne wanted to say something, he could. Peer wouldn’t be the one to begin.
The Nis adapted surprisingly well to life on board. The mast and rigging became its playground, and there were all sorts of nooks and crannies where it could hide. The apple barrel in the hold was one of its favourites, but it often curled up with Loki in a patch of sunshine, hidden from view behind the coil of the anchor rope. If anyone approached, it shot for cover. The men thought there was a big rat on board.
Late one evening, Peer was in the bows, keeping ice watch. They’d passed a big iceberg at around sunset – a scary thing like a chunk of white mountain that remained in sight for an hour or more, turning to warm amber and blue shadow, and finally to a dark tooth against the south-eastern horizon.
It was a warning they couldn’t ignore. So Peer stood through the long twilight, straining for the tell-tale gleam of looming ice-castles, and listening to the Nis bouncing about in the shrouds. Now it was sitting in the cross trees at the top of the mast, thin legs dangling, wispy hair blowing in the north wind – just visible against a patch of sky where a few stars burned.
Peer was hungry. He hoped Hilde would bring him his evening meal, but was disappointed to see Astrid. She handed over his food, and then didn’t go, but leaned against the steep curve of the prow and looked up at the masthead.
“There it sits,” she said, and her fingers drummed on the rail. “There it sits, and it won’t speak to me.”
“The Nis?” Peer asked through a mouthful of crumbling oatcake. He’d forgotten that Astrid could see it. “Why should it speak to you? You’re lucky it hasn’t tried to pay you back.”
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