“What is your name?” Leif asked the woman. He had the feeling he’d be speaking to her and through her for some time to come.
“Draskawindit,” she answered.
“Draskawindit, tell Sakawaduit I am grateful for his hospitality. ”
Draskawindit spoke to Sakawaduit. The chief pointed to the deck of the ship and the bronzed dragon on the prow.
“Sakawaduit will pay 20 war canoes and warriors and fifty virgins for the boat.”
“Tell the chief the boat is not mine to sell, it belongs to King Olaf.”
Draskawindit told the chief what Leif said.
“Sakawaduit wants to talk to King Olaf,” Draskawindit said.
“King Olaf is far away, in another land, beyond the great water.” Leif pointed to the east and the open sea.
While Leif talked to the chief and the woman speaking for him, he noticed something in the detail of the quill work on their shirts. In amongst the polished stones sat rough, eight-sided stones shining with a sparkling silvery brilliance.
Sakawaduit spoke to Draskawindit. “If the boat cannot be traded, Chief Sakawaduit will return to his long house. Skipper Leif, you and your men are welcome to come to my village.”
When the chief and the woman left Leif spoke to Ulf: “Did you see the stones the woman wore on her dress?”
“Aye, that and other things,” Ulf grinned.
“Truth,” Leif agreed. Draskawindit, with her raven black hair and dark skin, looked like a woman of the east.
“I may be wrong about this. Those stones I’m talking about, the ones that shine like silver, look like rough diamonds.”
“Yes, from what I’ve heard,” Ulf said.
“If we can get our hands on one of those stones we could show it to Bjarte,” Leif said. The learned monk had proven to be a fountain of knowledge. Leif was sure Bjarte would know more about raw diamonds than Lief ever would know. The next step would be getting a stone from the Beothuk and showing it to Bjarte.
Seven
Draskawindit’s Story
LEIF spoke to Draskawindit every day: from day to day actions between the crew of the Ormr in langi and the Beothuk people to the constant stream of questions put forth by Sakawaduit.
During one of these meetings, when business was concluded, Leif asked, “How did you come to learn to speak Norse?”
Draskawindit rolled her eyes at this. She stretched her hands apart, meaning a long story lay behind the answer.
Leif shrugged. He didn’t want Draskawindit to leave. He’d grown used to seeing her and talking to her. Every morning he looked forward to watching her arrive in a boat and climb aboard the ship. “I want to know more about you,” Leif blurted it out.
Draskawindit’s face reddened. “It is a custom of the Beothuk that a man is the first to speak when he wishes to know more about a woman.”
“Very well,” Leif nodded. “My father was Erik Thorvaldsson, known as Erik the Red. He was a Viking, a man of the sea. He came from the faraway land that the king I serve lives in, Norway. My grandfather, Thorvald Asvaldsson, killed a man in Norway and was banished from that country. He took his family and sailed west, settling in Iceland.
“My father built a farm. One day, as the stories goes, three of my father’s workers’ caused a mudslide on the fields of the neighboring farm. The farm owner took a broadax and spit the skulls of the workers. My father, in a fit of rage, took the ax from the farmer and strangled him. For this he was exiled from Iceland for three years.
“My mother, my brother and myself were cared for by some of his friends. He spent three years exploring a land to the west he called Greenland. Upon this return to Iceland he told many people that Greenland had more plentiful land suitable for farming. He sold the idea. He put together a expedition of 25 ships to sail to this land. The family went along with him.
“I grew up in the Eastern settlement, soon I was serving on trading ships to Iceland and Norway. At the age of eighteen, my father won a ship in a game of dice. He gave the ship to me. I put together a crew, culled from the ships I’d sailed on and began running the trade routes.”
Leif hesitated when he reached this part of the story. What he thought was a good roll of the dice was the reason he stood before this woman and gazed into her dark eyes. He continued: “On our last voyage, we were beset by a storm, the ship was blown off course. My men were forced to become Christians and put into the service of King Olaf.”
“That is what brought you to the shores of the land of the Beothuk?” Draskawindit, seeing Leif had finished, asked.
“We are on a mission to colonize new lands in the name of the king and spread the word of God.”
“This king wishes to take our land and bend us to his will?” Draskawindit lowered her head.
“It’s not like that. Olaf wants to find new lands for his subjects to live. I’m sure he wants to live in peace with people already living there …” Leif trailed off, he didn’t believe the words coming out his mouth and it showed.
“I was captured by the Innuit tribe, you would know them as Skraelings, as a child,” Draskawindit began. “The Innuit brought me to their home, a great island in the Sea of Ice you call Greenland. I was traded to a Viking for an iron tipped spear. I grew up on a farm. Over the passing of the seasons, I learned to speak the tongue of the Vikings.
“At the age of twelve seasons, my master sold me to a farmer for three goats. I was to work on the farm and bear children for the new master.
“The day came when my new master came to take me away. We made our way to the southern settlement. During our journey great rains came down from the sky. The river we followed swelled beyond its banks. My master cut me from the ropes binding me to the other slaves just before the water rushed over us.
“The next thing I knew I was being carried along, being thrown from the ground to catch a breath of air on the surface. I ended up face down in wet dirt. The raging flood had subsided. The waters drew back. My master and the other slaves where nowhere in sight.
“I remembered what I’d learned from the Vikings. They seemed to know how to get from one place to another by looking at the sun. They called the land from where the sun rose every morning East. The setting land West. If I faced the rising and setting and turned in a great circle, I could find the other members of the tribe, North and South.
“I knew that I’d come from lands to the south and to the west. Not knowing what else to do, I turned my body to my homeland and walked until I reached the water’s edge.
“Three seasons passed and I reached my home. Chief Sakawaduit heard of my tales of the Green Land and the Vikings. He summoned me. I’ve been at his side ever since.”
Leif couldn’t help himself. “Are you Sakawaduit’s woman?” He had to know.
“No,” Draskawindit smiled. “The chief has many women, I am not one of them. The men of the village fear me because of my power to speak the Viking tongue.”
Leif was glad to hear that. He sensed that Draskawindit had grown eager to leave. “What are those bright stones the Beothuk wear?” Leif asked.
“These …” Draskawindit touched one of the stones on her shirt. She pulled it off the quill. Handing it to Leif, she said, “These are gifts from the people of the Ice Field.”
Eight
Bjarte Looks at the Stone
LEIF waited until Ulf finished giving orders to three crewmen. When the crewmen left the deck of the pilothouse and got to work at the bow of the ship, Leif said, “I have one of those stones we spoke of earlier.”
“Where did you get that, Skipper?” Ulf asked.
“From Draskawindit, the woman who speaks for Sakawaduit.”
“That was quick work,” Ulf grinned and winked. He slapped Leif on the back.
“The only thing that passed between us was words,” Leif said, still feeling the sting of Ulf’s big hand.
“Hmm,” Ulf grunted. He wouldn’t be able to hear how it felt to lay with one of the Beothuk. “The women of
this tribe make the scrawny Skraelings back home look like sticks.” Ulf traced an hourglass in the air. “Let me see this stone, Skipper?”
Leif reached into a pocket in his tunic. He handed Ulf the stone.
“On first look, it appears to be silver,” Ulf said as he set the stone on the gunwale, dragging the blade of his knife across one of the facets. “It’s hard, indeed.” Ulf placed the knife back in the sheath. “I don’t think I’ll give it a bite. I’d lose a tooth for sure.”
“Looks like silver from far away,” Leif agreed. “Up close, the shine fades and you can see light passing through the stone,” Leif said.
Ulf held the stone close to his eye. He turned it in his fingers. “I have heard that one way to make sure a stone is a diamond is to run it across a piece of glass. Only a real diamond will cut glass.”
“I’ve heard the same thing,” Leif nodded. There was no glass on the ship. With the right materials — sand and metals — the blacksmith could make some by melting the sand then adding and mixing molten metal to the sand. The sand and metal cooled and hardened into glass. Leif didn’t know if the blacksmith had ever made glass. He was fairly sure the answer would be no if asked.
Leif had heard from Norwegian traders about something called “obsidian.” This was a type of glass formed in nature. Great heat coming out of the bowels of the earth melted rocks into sand. Maybe the Beothuk had some of this obsidian. If Leif could get a piece of it they could try running the stone against the glass. He wondered if Draskawindit wore any on her long shirt. He wondered if the Beothuk placed more value on a stone born out of the fire of the earth than one that was a gift from another tribe.
The chances of the Beothuk having some of this glass were good. They lived on a mountainous island. Growing up in Iceland and Greenland, Leif knew where there were islands with mountains on them there was bound to be holes leading countless feet into the fiery hearts of those mountains.
“We should ask the monk,” Ulf said. “Knowledge is his life. He may know the answer.”
“Indeed.”
■ ■ ■ ■
Leif set the stone on Bjarte’s writing table. The monk looked up from the piece of vellum. He was drawing a map of the island Sakawaduit and the Beothuk called home. “And what do we have here.” Bjarte tapped the clean end of the stylus on the table. He seemed eager to get back to work.
“This ...” Leif balanced the stone on one faceted side, “... could it be a raw diamond?”
“At first glance the stone appears to be pure silver.” Bjarte held the stone closer. “The silvery appearance fades on closer inspection. The stone has the double pyramid shape and the translucent properties that are commonly attributed to raw diamonds.”
“If we had some glass we could see if the stone cuts it,” Leif suggested.
“Actually, Captain Erikson,” Bjarte said. “There are a number of minerals capable of cutting glass. What you speak of is not an accurate method of determining origin.”
“What are the methods?” Leif asked. He was wrong about the glass and so were many other people.
“You have to take into consideration the location from where the stone was mined,” Bjarte nodded. “Has the same region produced real diamonds in the past? If so, what size and color are those real stones?”
“We have no way of knowing the history of the stone,” Leif shook his head. “It was giving to me by one of the Beothuk.”
“Did this Beothuk say where the stone came from?” Bjarte, interest peeked, asked.
“She said it was a gift from the people of the ice field.”
“That’s not very helpful,” Bjarte rubbed his neck and threw his shoulders back.
“I understand,” Leif agreed. “All that by the side, what do you make of the stone?” Leif asked Bjarte. “Do you think it is real.”
Bjarte picked up the stone. He held it in place over the piece of vellum. Leaning in, Bjarte peered through the facets of the stone. He ran the stone along the coastline. Bjarte looked up. He handed the stone to Leif. “Look closely at the drawing under the stone,” he said.
Leif held the stone near his eye. The edges of the drawing looked sharp and clear. No colored lights bounced through the stone blurring the edges of the map. Leif moved the stone over the notes in the margin. Bjarte’s precise handwriting rolled by. “What does this tell me?” Leif asked.
“The real diamonds I have seen, raw and cut, bend light without distortion, in the same manner as the purest glass. It is my opinion the stone you have may be a real diamond.”
“May be is not good enough,” Leif protested. “I need to be certain if the stone is real.”
“The only thing I could say is to have other people with knowledge of precious gemstones conduct a thorough examination,” Bjarte shrugged.
Leif had learned much from Bjarte about diamonds in a short time. Whether or not the stone given to him by Draskawindit was a true diamond was still a question left unanswered.
Nine
White Bear-man
THE next day, not long after daybreak, Draskawindit came aboard the Ormr in langi. She approached the deck of the pilot house. “Sakawaduit is holding a feast for his people when the sun has risen and fallen twice. He wishes you and your men join him,” she said to Leif.
“Tell the chief we will be glad to join in the feast,” Leif replied. He decided to get right to the point. “Draskawindit, I wanted to ask you more questions about the stone you gave me yesterday.”
“More of the stones,” Draskawindit smiled. “All the Vikings I’ve known set a high value on stones and metal. Are you cut in the same shape as those men, Leif?”
“This is true, Vikings prize gems and iron, as most men do,” Leif nodded. He wondered if he’d made a mistake in asking about the stones. It was too late now, he couldn’t take it back.
“As I said, the stones are a gift from the people of the Ice Field.”
“Who are these people?” Leif pressed for an answer. Draskawindit had a deep knowledge of the Beothuk and their customs. If anybody knew the answer to this question she would.
“They are called in the Beothuk tongue, Wobee Giwishuet Pushaman. This means in the tongue of the Greenlanders, White Bear-man.” Draskawindit paused to make sure Leif understood her words.
She went on, “The old tales say, many winters ago, long before the oldest Beothuk alive now was born, a man with white hair on his face and white fur on his body, gave a Beothuk chieftain the shining stones. The White Bear-man used the tongue of the hands to tell the chieftain the stones were to be used as tools. The chieftain accepted the gift. He passed them onto the craftsman of his tribe. The Beothuk craftsmen, try as they may, could never fasten the stones into usable tools. The best they could do was make striking and sharpening tools from the shining stones. These have been used by craftsmen over many winters to cut and hone the stone tools we use now.”
“Where is this land of the Ice Field? The land where the White Bear-man lives?” Leif continued.
“Tell me Leif Erikson, why do you want these stones?” Draskawindit looked Leif in the eye. She’d been answering all his questions. She felt justified in asking Leif this question. It was time for Leif to give back.
“The honest answer ...” Leif hesitated. This was something he’d been keeping to himself since leaving Norway. “... Is that with these stones I may be able to buy back freedom from King Olaf for my crew and myself.”
“That’s not the answer I saw coming out of your mouth,” Draskawindit instantly looked at Leif with different eyes. “What I saw with my ears was the answer most Vikings would say, ‘With these stones I can become a rich man.’”
“That’s not me,” Leif shook his head. “What more can a man ask for. A pitching deck beneath his feet, water under the keel, wind in the sails, and free men to share it with.”
At that moment Draskawindit decided to reveal all she knew about the White Bear-man. “The Wobee Giwishuet Pushaman lives on the Ice Field far to the direc
tion the Vikings call north.” Draskawindit motioned to the rugged coastline stretching to the horizon off the starboard side of the ship.
“How many leagues, Draskawindit?”
“I don’t know how far one of these leegs you speak of are,” Draskawindit shrugged. “Is it farther than a strong man can throw a spear?”
Leif was at a loss for words. He remembered something Bjarte had told him. “Draskawindit, do you see how long the ship you’re standing on is?”
Draskawindit looked at the deck. She looked at the shoreline. “I see this,” she answered.
“Bjarte tells me it would take 200 ships laid end to end to reach one league.”
Draskawindit tried to imagine this amount. It was beyond the grasp of her counting abilities. “Is that as much as leaves on a tree?” She asked.
Leif thought about it. He looked at the log boats in the harbor and the encampment on the beach. “That amount is closer to the boats in the water and the camps on the shore.”
Leif opened the lodestone cabinet. He removed a map Bjarte had drawn. The monk had given him a copy. Leif laid the map out on the top of the cabinet. “Greenland,” he said, tapping the southern end of the big island on the west edge of the map. “Beothuk.” He moved his finger across to the island drawn on the western edge of the massive inlet.
Draskawindit looked at the map. “Greenland,” she said. She ran her finger across the vellum. “Beothuk,” she repeated.
“White Bear-man?” Leif asked. He looked at the map, glancing toward the top, where the northern needle on the compass rose pointed.
Draskawindit stared at the map. Stories told to her by hunters and fisherman ran through her mind. “The Ice Fields lay beyond the map. This way.” She tapped the section at the top of the map were the lines ended. “The hunters say the Ice Field where the White Bear-man lives, lies on top of the Ice Wall far to the north. No Beothuk has ever climbed this wall. The stories say one day Wobee Giwishuet Pushaman climbed down the Ice Wall. He rode a sled drawn by great white wolves to the land of the Beothuk. He left the gift of the shining stone with the chieftain. He left and was never seen again. He lives on in the tales of the Beothuk.”
Leif Erikson and the Frost Giant Page 3