Norseman Chief

by Born, Jason

  Ahanu walked over and was already laughing at something unknown to all but himself. He coughed a time or two into the air, grabbed my arm and led me down the village path, leaning a bit on me. It seems he wasn’t his normal strong self, fighting a small, ill spirit caught on his return trip from dropping me at Leifsbudir. Yet he did indeed try to keep up his normal routines, continuing his chuckling for a long time before speaking.

  “My friend, Enkoodabooaoo. It seems you cannot tear yourself from my people. You kill us. We kill you. We enslave you. You visit us.” Ahanu interrupted his talk with a mighty cough which produced a good slug of phlegm onto the path. To my disgust Right Ear was there to lap it up before I even had a chance to shove him out of the way.

  “You’re right, Chief Ahanu. You may have to call me by a different name since I no longer live alone, but instead live among the al gumna kyn.”

  “So you expect to live here?” he asked. Before I answered he continued, “I anticipated this, so you are welcome to stay with us. Others in the council thought you would be better served with the Huntsman at his isolated outpost, but I disagreed. You will live with us.”

  Kesegowaase still followed us, carrying half of my goods. “Thank you chief,” I said. “Where will I stay? Kesegowaase wrestles his woman all night and I’d rather have some peace than hear his humping.”

  “Ah, that is right; we have a new union in our family.” The old man looked pensive. “I know you speak the truth because we all hear their pawing when the moon is up, or when the sun is up, or when the clouds are out. At all times of the day, really, the village is certain that a new son from my line will arrive.” Kesegowaase lifted his chin a little higher at the mentioning of his lineage. “We will allow you to stay with Hurit.”

  “That will be fine with me. Is that appropriate?”

  “Ask her yourself,” the chief answered. Hurit stood in front of me, blocking our path. I would have walked into her had Ahanu not stopped himself.

  “Ask me what?”

  I answered when it was clear Ahanu had no intention of responding. “Is it appropriate that I reside in your home?” The woman was somewhat surprised by my question, but her features softened as she thought on the subject. Her eyes darted to Ahanu who betrayed no emotion at all then they settled back to me.

  “A strange wording, but the answer is, yes.” She revealed a genuine smile then walked off on whatever her business had been. Hurit called over her shoulder, “I will prepare a meal with Kesegowaase’s woman and we will all eat together tonight.”

  “That is good,” was all I called. I did not think my wording odd, but I still made an occasional mistake with their language.

  But it was good. I was back among people. Not my people, but people nonetheless. I would not be in charge of sewing another man’s tunic or skinning some beast. I would be my own man in their society, an outsider, but a man. I vowed that someday when my Norse brothers and sisters returned to their rightful life of exploration instead of hiding behind the veil of civilization in Greenland, when they returned to Leifsbudir and beyond, that I would march out to them with my new friends and establish the generations-long bond that Kesegowaase envisioned.

  . . .

  It turns out I was married that day on the path with Hurit. Ahanu and Kesegowaase served as witnesses, knowing all along what was happening. Hurit was left to believe I was proposing the union. I, the one asking, had no idea of what I asked.

  Until that point I had never witnessed a wedding ceremony of the al gumna kyn, or Beiuthook as they called themselves. I had seen the ceremonies of my people when we served the old gods. I had been at my own when I wed Kenna among the birches under the watchful eye of Crevan, who followed the One God. My skraeling friends, I found that I was calling them skraeling less and less, had no real marriage rite. A man and woman, who would become man and wife, simply began living together. As the villagers saw them enter and leave the same mamateek together, more and more people would come to understand the couple was husband and wife. So it was with Hurit and me.

  At first I was upset at being fooled in such a way by Ahanu. After eating dinner with Kesegowaase and his wife the night of my wedding, Hurit came to lie with me under my blanket on the packed earth of her mamateek. She had saved my life from brutal torture, nursed me to health, and I had lusted after her on occasion so I did not hesitate as we both sought refuge in one another’s arms. The next morning as we gave adolescent grins back and forth while eating to fulfill our ravenous appetites, the woman asked me if I would like her to mend some of my clothing.

  “I thank you for the offer,” I said, feeling light-hearted. “But you do not have to do that for me. I’ve become handy with such tasks myself.”

  Hurit thought about that for a moment, “Yes, but I cannot have my husband known among the men as someone who patches his own makizins.” And that is how I learned. To be sure I had many questions following that exchange. My questions quickly caused misunderstanding, then anger between us. Then I turned angrier and she cried. I could not bear the weight of her tears and so I softened my words and tone. It was work to do so, but I meant what I said, nonetheless.

  “Hurit, I am honored to be your husband. No, I would not need to be tricked into the union if I ever thought marriage to you was possible.” I tried to explain that my whole life I sought a good woman. I searched for a woman to warm me, to please me, to bear sons. I wanted a woman whom I could lead and provide for with my bow, my sword.

  And then it was as obvious as an axe cleaving a skull. Leif was correct. I had to stay behind in Leifsbudir, in Vinland, in these lands in order to meet my woman. I sat here in front of her. This woman who was everything all of my other loves had been, but she was all of them at the same time. She had the strength of Freydis, without the obvious insanity. Hurit had the quick intelligence of Kenna, with her mind constantly working. I saw Gudrid too, in her acceptance of her place in the world. Situations outside her control overwhelmed the woman at times, yet she was confident and continued on. Hurit, yes Hurit, was my wife. And she was always to be my wife!

  When these thoughts hit me, I leaped over the fire like a child playing games. I pounced onto Hurit who fell back onto her sleeping mat, frightened and surprised. But I was laughing, “It is truly amazing.” My head was spinning, “This fate, these norns, this Providence, by Hel, this Glooskap has such a sense of humor! I love you, Hurit.”

  The woman looked truly panicked, fearing I was mad. Then her temper flared, “Get off me. Stop mocking me.”

  What followed was more arguing, more explaining, more anger, more tears, and at last more love making. We moaned and sweated in each others’ company throughout the day. I ignored Etleloo when he called for me to hunt with him. I placed my hand over Hurit’s mouth when Kesegowaase called for his mother. She tried to answer, but still I clutched her chin, continuing to grind her like a stone grinds grain. It was a warm day before the icy chills of winter. We should have been making preparations for the coming cold, but we did not. That afternoon, I stirred to find Right Ear who barked at something far away, but my woman, Hurit, my wife, she did her best to wrestle me back to the ground. We fell in a mess of naked arms and legs onto soft pelts and laughed ourselves to sleep.

  I had aged forty-three years since my birth. I was married to a good woman who was still young enough to give me sons. I was happy.

  . . .

  No one in the village showed any interest in learning the art of making parchment. Not even those I considered the wisest among them. Ahanu did not care. Kesegowaase did not care, nor did Rowtag. I had hoped Hurit would care to at least explore the art with me so that the mechanical task could bring her mind closer somehow to appreciating writing or at the least reading. It was not to be, however. Written word was too much a foreign concept to them. And I should not be too harsh because there are many among my own people who neither read nor write. I did not learn the skills until I was far into adulthood. Some of Ahanu’s people actually scoffed a
t the thought of recording something on the page. Ahanu told me he thought that doing so would dull the mind for building memories, a fate he was unwilling to allow for his village. But an exception could be made for me and my peculiarities.

  That winter with my new woman, we made love. I suppose we were like Kesegowaase and his woman, full of wonder as we explored each others’ bodies. The feelings brought a new lift to my attitude and even made me feel younger for a time. I could barely contain my enthusiasm to return to our home and find her each night. Many times we found ourselves far too occupied to eat dinner until darkness had long seeped into the forest, our noises of love much faster than the distant pulse of the ocean’s waves. I would mope for the three or four days Hurit would withdraw herself from me for her time of bleeding. She took it well, patting me on the head as she handed me a simple clay bowl with dinner before repeating the gesture for Right Ear, my faithful companion.

  One bright winter day, sometime after the Yule and Christmas, of which I celebrated neither, I stood atop the snow wearing a set of snowshoes Hurit had strung for me. The sky was clear so that the sun, low in the sky, glittered off the snow creating a blinding light that no amount of squinting could shut out. The air was very cold, but I worked myself to a sweat under my full battle gear. Kesegowaase, who just parried another blow from my sword, wore a deer hide tunic lined with soft furs on the inside for insulation. He had already received another tattoo from successfully leading a band to steal from the untended traps of the Mi’kmaq. This marking was of a fox that looked as if it were sneaking up on its prey, though it could as easily been sneaking up on the tribe’s nearby small garbage dump ready to snatch an unused bit of meat that had hidden itself too well from the women. Occasionally, as we trained I could catch a glimpse of the fox whenever his tunic pulled aside to reveal more of his chest.

  We trained. Many of the other men had gone out with Rowtag and Etleloo on a great winter hunt. The weather had settled of late and these men yearned for movement, their wives yearned for a little more freedom, and we all craved some fresh meat in our dinner bowls. So it served everyone’s purpose when Ahanu decided to send them out. Kesegowaase and some of the other men stayed behind to protect the village, though I am not sure what five or ten young men could do along with another batch of their aged fathers should a real threat materialize.

  Ahanu, who had been suffering of late from his persistent cough, discovered a little more bounce in his step for the past week. He chuckled in his musical laugh as he leaned on Nootau, while they watched his remaining men train with bows, spears, clubs, and axes. Both Nootau and Ahanu clutched their pipes in their hands, intent on retreating to the warmth of shelter to share a smoke and call the spirits down upon them. Hassun was busy in his father’s mamateek mixing a fresh paste from Nootau’s stash of herbs and dried animal remains.

  It became clear that these people of Ahanu had a great prowess for strength and ferocity in battle, but they had no real tradition of training. They relied on their daily lives to prepare them for combat. Stalking a moose would teach them the stealth necessary to surprise an enemy. Shooting a hare with a stone-tipped arrow at thirty paces would prepare them to halt an attacking intruder.

  The young men grumbled for the first three days when, each morning I threw the flaps of their mamateeks back at first light, revealing them comfortably lounging with their families. But eventually they began to see some value in the camaraderie, making our training into a set of games. Some of the women even took a few moments out of their toiling around the village to stop and watch their strong warriors dance.

  Kesegowaase swung down with his right hand which held a stone axe, sharpened to a startling edge. I was slower than I remember myself being in battle. My muscles had long ago acquired their own minds, not wasting time waiting for my head to direct them. But that day as I was building my fifth decade of life, I noticed that they just did not move with the crisp attention with which they used to snap. I would have to train all the more, I thought, to keep the ravages of age at bay, to prevent the extra layer of flesh that comes with a happy wife and a warm longhouse. Yet do not think I was so slow that this young man, who was quickly making a name for himself among his people, would get the best of me.

  I side-stepped his downward thrust and saw that he opened his back to me, something I had told him many times to avoid. Perhaps another knot from my sword’s pommel would help the lesson sink in. I gripped the sword hilt tightly, turning my knuckles white and drove that heavy pommel into his ribs. He gave a gasp, spun around, but managed to stay on his feet. I opened my mouth to taunt the man, but he beat me too it. “Perhaps you should stop dancing with me and actually make a move to attack, owoosika.” In calling me his adopted father, I think, he called me old.

  He wanted me to lunge in anger, feeling the swiftness of his youth could work to his advantage, but I had been fighting and killing for well over twenty years. His goading would not work. We circled one another for a short time, each hoping the other would show a possible entry point for attack. I toyed with him. I pretended that my foot caught, causing me to wobble and lower my sword. The bait was great and Kesegowaase latched on it like a bear snatching meat in a deadfall trap.

  The man stepped toward me with his left leg to strike while pulling his axe back. As his weight began to settle onto his front-most foot, I drove my left palm into the inside of his knee. He crumpled toward me, the swing of his axe losing all power and control. I lowered my shoulder while driving it into his belly. Soon he was aloft, turning end over end behind me, tumbling in the cold, crystalline snow.

  By the time I turned to face him, Kesegowaase was up, charging. He waved his axe wildly in the air in his right hand. Beneath my helmet, I shook my head. The boy would have to learn control or else his enemies would have his scalp displayed at the ends of their spears. I sighed and thought that maybe his flaring anger would serve as a good lesson to all the men fighting and sparing nearby, once I was able to beat it out of him with another slap or rapping from the sword.

  The axe over his head looked ridiculous as it spun. There would be no way he could control where its blow landed, but even an undisciplined stroke could dent my helmet, so I kept my eyes fixed on it. I planned to again allow him a riotous strike downward so that I could add another lump on top of the last. However, just as he should have begun his downward blow, I felt a crashing thud on my chest. The breath escaped my mouth while I tumbled backward, plunging deeply into the snow. In battle I would have had to stand immediately or else possibly find a spear buried into my groin. That day I just gasped for air while counting the number of broken ribs by sliding my fingers under my mail coat. One. Two. Three. I winced while Kesegowaase walked to stand over me holding both his axe and his club. I laughed, but the pain it brought caused me to stop breathing altogether. The man smiled while looking down at me. “That was good, young warrior,” I rasped. “I thought only a fool would wave his weapon like that. Yet, it was the right move. I never saw you pull the club from your belt and so I would be the dead fool.”

  That is when I heard two voices calling in my native tongue. “Halldorr! Ahanu!” they called.

  The other young men who were training nearby were already running toward the excited voices, while Kesegowaase shoved the weapons back into his belt and roughly pulled me upright. I fought every urge not to let out a string of curses on him and his people and anyone else I could think of. Kesegowaase quickly joined his brothers-in-arms.

  Nootau offered me his arm to lean on, but I slapped it away in frustration, “I don’t think a man so fresh from the trials can make me need an older man as a crutch.” He shook his head and walked next to Ahanu who also wanted to walk on his own, despite another coughing fit which forced him to double over twice while he made his way back to the heart of the village. During the second fit, my old friend snorted out bits of bright red spittle onto the snow. It stood out markedly against the frozen pale landscape. Ahanu seemed not to take note or care, jog
ging to catch up to the young warriors after gaining his composure. I hobbled behind.

  As I came toward Ahanu’s grand mamateek, I saw two of my countrymen who had come to live with the Huntsman. Their faces were flushed from obvious exertion. They and my neighbors spoke in agitated tones, neither group exactly understanding what the other said. The Huntsman and his band had learned a small number of words in the al gumna kyn tongue, and the al gumna kyn knew some pleasantries in Norse. Both groups of men were getting frustrated and had attracted a gaggle of spectators including Hurit and many other women.

  They all looked to me struggling to make my way to them. Hurit saw me favoring my ribs, and by the One God I loved the woman, but then she screamed and ran to me in worry. Her hands tried to peel my own away from my chest so I hissed, “Woman, do not disrespect me with these men about.” I took a step to move past her toward the commotion, but she slid into my path.

  Thankfully her words were quiet, even though they were harsh. “A man and his pride,” she snorted. “You told me that it was pride that killed this Lord Byrhtnoth at Maldon. I will be pleased with a husband with less pride and more life.” I looked at her speechless until she finished with a smile. “Oh, I’ll take care of you later. I do not think you’ll die from some injury from this training. Now get going to see what these young men are stirred up about.”

  I snagged her upper arm and pulled Hurit to me, whispering in her ear, “Providence has seen fit to grant me all my dreams in you.” Then a little louder to save what miniscule pride I had left, “See to my house, woman.” She gave me a wink and went about her business.

  Ahanu was wheezing from laughter as I approached. His illness caused him to sound more than a little mad while he wiggled underneath his warm wraps. Nootau spoke, “Halldorr, make your talk so that we may understand one another.”