Leif Erikson and the Frost Giant
Written and Published by Mark Philipson
Copyright 2017 Mark Philipson
License Notes
Non-Digital Rights publication.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
One
Blown off Course
LEIF Erikson stood at the top of the hill. The Eastern settlement, a scattering of fishing villages close to shore and farms on the inland, lay behind him. When Leif saw the ship docked in the harbor, he felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach. The same one he’d been getting since his first voyage on open water when just a boy. This same feeling still grabbed his gut as a grown man.
Leif stepped onto the stone stairway built into the side of the hill. Down at the bottom, at the dockside, men carried bundles from the shore onto the ship. As Leif got closer he recognized the rough woolen tunics, long braided hair and bushy beards of his crew.
A big man stood on the gunwale near the bow, barking out orders. Ulf, the helmsman and second in command of the Falki class long ship, spotted Leif approaching. He tapped the head of the fierce hawk carved onto the prow of the ship and jumped to the deck.
The crew made way for Leif as he stepped onto the ramp leading up from the dock.
“Skipper,” Ulf said when he saw Leif standing on deck.
“When will we be ready to make sail?” Leif asked. He was eager to begin this voyage.
“The cargo is almost loaded, we have six barrels of salted fish and the cisterns are full of fresh water,” Ulf answered. “We should be ready to sail on the next tide.”
■ ■ ■ ■
Dock-men untied the mooring lines. Oarsman set sea chests in place at rowing stations. The long blades dipped into the waters of the bay. Ulf, manning the rudder, called out a rhythmic chant. Leif stood on the platform. From his vantage point on the roof of the pilot house he could see every inch of the Falki — from the closeness of rippling muscles of men pulling oars to the expanse of waves stretching to the horizon beyond the prow.
In the time it took the sun to travel about a fragment of its journey across the sky, when the Falki was clear of the bay, Leif told Ulf, “Set sail.”
Ulf gave the order to ship oars. The crew lifted the long oars then stowed them next to the gunwale. Leif watched the sail being raised to the top of the mast. A fresh breeze filled it as it unfurled. Leif climbed down the ladder to the lower deck of the pilot house. From a cabinet he removed a square piece of metal. Norse runes etched onto the metal indicated the cardinal points on the compass. Leif removed a spoon-shaped stone from a pocket on his tunic. He returned to the upper deck.
Leif put the piece of metal on the top of a wooden post set directly in front of the helm. The spoon-shaped stone came next. When Leif set in on the metal piece the tip of the stone swung to the port side of the ship. Leif adjusted the base to show the markings for north to line up to port.
Ulf kept the tip of the rudder pointing toward the mark on the base indicating the easterly direction.
Leif’s father, a wild Viking raider turned explorer, had given the lodestone to Leif. It quickly became Leif’s prized possession, enabling him to cross stretches of open water and be reasonably sure where he was when sighting land.
By the way the prow of the ship was aimed toward the markings on the lodestone base-plate; the ship was on a course for the port of Fredikstad in southern Norway.
■ ■ ■ ■
As the day wore on into early evening, a line of dark clouds sat on the horizon. “It looks like we are heading into a heap of shit,” Ulf remarked. He’d lost sight of the sun behind the approaching cloud bank.
“Humph,” Leif grunted in response. If bad weather was a Viking’s worst enemy, Leif and his crew we’re in for one hell of a fight.
Darkness fell. Leif could see shapes of light dancing on the whitecaps of rising waves. Leif looked down to the lower deck.” Standby to strike sail,” he told the sailing master and his crew. The heavy cloth vibrated from gusts of wind. The sailing crew put away the dice they’d been throwing. They jumped to the main deck and stripped the sail from the mast.
“’Sail’s down, skipper,” the sailing master said. He positioned himself halfway up the ladder between the decks of the pilot house.
“Very well,” Leif replied. He watched the towering mast pitching back as the ship climbed to the crest of a wave. It pitched forward as the ship rode down the face. “Set the tarp,” Leif told the sailing master.
The sailing master and his crew finished securing the oilskin tarp covering the main deck just as the rain started coming down. The crew, dry and warm, huddled under the canopy. Leif was satisfied that the ship was ready for rugged weather. The crew were all brave men, but they didn’t need to see the fury of a wind-blown sea right in front of their faces. Captain Leif, Helmsman Ulf, and the sailing master and his crew, were all seasoned veterans with many open water voyages among them. They knew what to expect.
Howling winds and driving rain continued. Leif and the sailing crew lashed the rudder to the deck, keeping the prow pointed into the wind. The storm raged.
By dawn of the next day the rain had gone from angling sheets to a vertical mist. By mid-morning the sound of the winds had gone from a screeching howl to a whistling moan.
The sun broke through the scattering cloud cover. The sailing crew removed the tarp. Oarsmen tossed buckets of seawater over the decks, washing away the vomit, feces, and urine left behind by the crew. With the sail back up the Falki continued toward the east.
By late afternoon the sailor in the lookout’s nest shouted, “Land ho!” As the sun was setting, the high fjords of Norway could be seen rising out of the sea.
“We’re off the mark for Fredikstad,” Ulf said.
“Indeed,” Leif agreed. There was no mistaking the massive granite walls of the Norwegian coastline. The ragged twin peaks standing on either side of the inlet at Fredikstad were nowhere in sight.
Night fell. The seas laid down. Oarsmen set oars. Ulf pointed the prow toward some lights on the horizon. The Falki approached a feint glow. The glow became a group of lights. The lights became lanterns hanging from dozens of long ships anchored in a harbor.
Leif ordered anchors dropped when the Falki reached the outer edge of the fleet.
■ ■ ■ ■
In the morning Leif was woken from the first full night’s sleep he’d had in two days. “Skipper, we have visitors,” Ulf said.
Leif jumped up from his bunk. He rubbed his eyes and stepped out of the pilot house. A shallow draft long boat, packed with armed men, sat alongside. Archers leveled knocked arrows in Leif’s direction. A man holding an unrolled
scroll spoke: “Are you the captain of this vessel?” He directed the question to Leif. When Leif nodded he continued, “By decree of King Olaf Tryggvason, you and your crew are hereby commanded to appear before his Highness.”
Another long boat pulled up alongside. The entire crew of the Falki stood on the shoreline by mid-morning. By early afternoon, the crew of the Falki stepped off the wooden staircase zig-zagging its way up the sheer face of the cliff overlooking the harbor.
Two
Forced Conversion
LEIF, Ulf, the sailing crew, and the oarsmen walked on the hard packed dirt road. Soldiers, clad in chainmail and carrying spears, marched alongside.
Judging by the stone buildings in the square and from what had Leif heard from other Vikings, they’d landed in Trondheim. Hundreds of eyes stared at Leif’s crew as they walked by a flowing river.
A castle, with high parapets and surrounding moat, stood on a hill at the center of the bustling town.
At the castle gate four soldiers blocked the entrance. “What is this?” one of the soldiers asked.
“These are the men from the ship that arrived in port last night,” the commander of the detail escorting Leif’s crew answered.
“Very well. Which one is the captain?”
“This one,” the commander used the shaft of his spear to separate Leif from the rest of the crew.
Leif and the crew were led down a stone walled corridor opening up into a circular courtyard. Soldiers lined the walls. A throne sat atop a raised platform. A man wearing a winged helmet encrusted with jewels sat on the throne. The man looked at the crew of the Falki. A monk standing next to him leaned closer and whispered. The man on the throne nodded to the monk.
“You are standing before Olaf Tryggvason, King of Norway,” the monk said to Leif and the crew. “He is the founder of Trondheim, designer and builder of this mighty castle, Olafborg. He took control from the pagan King Hakon during a revolt. Olaf tracked down King Hakon to a farm. Olaf’s men searched the farm. When no trace of Hakon could be found, Olaf held a meeting with the owner. He offered the man gold to give up King Hakon. Hakon was found hiding in a hole dug in a pigsty. The pagan king was beheaded.”
The monk turned to face the king.“King Olaf, the first true Christian ruler of Norway, has made a vow to God to spread the word of the Church.”
The storm had blown the ship hundreds of leagues to the north. Leif and the crew were now in the hands of King Olaf. Leif chose that moment to speak up: “King Olaf,” Leif bowed slightly. “We are simple traders blown off course on a crossing from Greenland. We’ve committed no crimes in Norway. Why has our ship been taken from us?”
“Leif Erikson, you and your men are pagans. You have committed a grave crime against the One True God.”
Leif had never thought much about many gods or one true god. He made his living from the sea. He’d heard Christian teachings. He took a chance: “King Olaf, will the One True God accept those who choose to believe in him?”
“Truth,” was Olaf’s one word answer.
“If we accept the word of God will we still be criminals in his eyes?”
“Truth, again,” Olaf nodded. “Do you wish to accept Christianity and be baptized in the waters of the River Nid?”
Leif turned to look at the crew. He shrugged and turned to face the king. “I can’t speak for every man. I am willing to become a Christian. If the crew of the Falki, the ship I command, want to join, they are welcome.”
The crew stepped forward and stood next to Leif.
■ ■ ■ ■
“What happens now?” Ulf asked Leif as the crew were led back out of the entrance to the castle. They lined up against the shore of the moat encircling the hill on which the castle stood.
“Baptism,” Leif shrugged. The only thing he knew about it was it involved water.
A priest looked up at the parapet on the castle wall. “King Olaf,” the priest said when he saw the king standing between the stone ramparts. “Baptism of water awaits the blessed. Baptism of fire awaits the damned.”
Leif hoped his crew fell into the blessed group.
A door opened on the wall of the entrance passage. Three Vikings, bound together and flanked by guards, were led out of the passage. Their clothes hung on them. They looked as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Bones poked through skin. Three logs, stripped of bark and adz finished, were dragged from within the castle by a team of horses. The Viking prisoners were tied to the logs. The logs were raised and set into holes. Workers shoveled gravel into the holes. Carpenters shored up the logs with boards attached to steaks driven into the ground.
When the workers and craftsman cleared away, members of the priesthood piled hundreds of dried branches around the men on the upright logs. Workers poured barrels of pine resin on the branches.
“Well, now we know what happens to the damned,” Leif said to Ulf.
King Olaf gave an order. An archer standing nearby knocked a flaming arrow then loosed. A fiery streak rose then arced into the center of the kindling mound. Fire exploded, enveloping the Vikings in a blast of hot air that melted the clothes and skin off their bodies before they burst into flames and burned like giant candles.
Baptism of the damned over, the baptism of the blessed began. The condemned Vikings still burned as Leif and his crew were led to the water’s edge. A priest waded out shoulder deep into the river. The priest beckoned Leif to come forward. Leif, no idea what was going to happen next, stepped into the water. He moved closer, shuffling across the bottom. Soon, he stood before the priest.
“I’m going to take you into my arms and anoint you, my son,” the priest said. When he saw the look of fear on Leif’s face he added, “No harm will come to you.”
The priest reached out, placing his hands on Leif’s forehead. He pushed Leif’s head under the water. Leif could hear muffled Latin words. The priest lifted Leif’s head out of the water. He blessed him and gave him his Christian name in Latin. A scribe made a note of the name as Leif returned to shore. Leif forgot the name as he stepped on the sand.
One by one, Leif’s crew entered the water, were held under, and given a Christian name. The scribe on the shore recorded each man’s name.
When the last member of Leif’s crew had been baptized and given a Christian name, the scribe made every man verify his new name by making a mark by it. Objects in the sky, animals, fish, and birds dotted the document. Leif, the first Viking to be baptized, was the last to sign.
“What is this,” he hesitated, indicating some Latin letters written above the names. He’d seen written contracts between men before. The Vikings he dealt with believed a man’s word to be stronger than any piece of parchment.
“You and your crew are to fulfill a five year period of servitude to King Olaf,” the scribe answered.
Three
Vikings or Monks
LEIF could hear his men mumbling behind him. Olaf’s face reddened. Leif turned and lifted his finger to his lips. The grumbling and complaining died down.
“King Olaf …” Leif said. Hesitating, he searched for words. “The ways of Christianity are new to my men. Like all men Greenland born, they hold their freedom and independence close to their hearts,” Leif clenched his fist, “like their families and friends.” He tapped his chest.
“Pretty words, Leif Erikson,” King Olaf nodded. “I don’t see how they help me in my quest to spread the word of God.”
King Olaf wanted to spread Christianity, Leif and his crew wanted to be traders. Somehow Leif had to strike a bargain that both sides could benefit from. “I am the son of Erik the Red and Þjóðhildur and the grandson of Thorvaldr Ásvaldsson, distant relative of Naddod, discoverer of Iceland.” Leif decided ancestry was important to King Olaf. He continued: “As a young man, I served on the ship my father sailed on when he discovered and founded Greenland. I worked hard, learning to read the wind and waves and the use of the lodestone. At eighteen winters I became captain of the Falki. The crew, the men yo
u see before you now, where hand-picked by my father. The Falki has made six successful open water crossings from Greenland to Norway.”
“I’m familiar with your legacy.” King Olaf lifted his hand. He was becoming impatient. “As well as your skills.” Olaf looked at the crew of the Falki packing the assembly hall. “I think I know how I can put you to work in the service of your two masters — God and Olaf.”
Leif, surprised Olaf named himself last, waited.
“In the time it has taken you to utter hose words …” King Olaf rose from his throne, “… God has spoken to me.” Olaf paused to let the last part sink in.
Leif braced himself, he knew the next words from King Olaf’s mouth would determine the fate of his crew as well as his own.
“I’m striking a bargain with you, Leif Erikson. If its freedom to roam the seas your crew wants they’ll have it. I’m commissioning one of my ships in the Ormr in langi class to you.”
Ormr in langi. Leif had seen ships with the bronze dragon head built onto the prow in the harbor. He judged them to be about 75 feet long. Two masts with spars crossing at different heights towered above the deck. “I accept your offer,” Leif answered. Enthusiasm faded as Leif wondered what King Olaf desired of his crew. His men were descendants of bloodthirsty raiders and some of the crew, including Ulf, had once plundered churches on the English coast. That way of life was behind them now.
A monk entered the hall. Leif recognized him as the man he saw whispering to King Olaf earlier and the same man who acted as a scribe, writing down the Christian names of the crew and collecting their marks.
Again the monk spoke to King Olaf. He unrolled a scroll and showed it to the king. The king stared at the document, nodding in agreement with what the monk said.
“Bjarte ...” King Olaf motioned to the monk, “... will read the proclamation.” Olaf sat back down on the throne.
Bjarte, the monk and scribe, held the scroll up: “By decree of His Highness Olaf Tryggvason, King of Norway, one ship of the Ormr in langi class will be consigned to Leif Erikson and manned by a crew of twenty oarsman, four sailors, one carpenter, one blacksmith, and one coxswain.” Bjarte went on to cite the Christian names of each man and what his shipboard duties were.
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