“Forgive me for disturbing your sleep!”
“You’d be sorry if you hadn’t!” Thjodhild wiped her emotion aside and tightened her shawl around herself. “I already asked Father, but he just mumbled something into his beard. Where’s Erik?”
If I lie now, she will never forgive me. “Farther up in the valley. He’s still outlawed until July—he has to hide. He’s waiting in our old farmyard.”
“Let’s ride!” There was no chance to explain or object; Thjodhild was already going back to the house. Over her shoulder, she ordered, “Saddle the horses! Tyrkir should lead them down the road. I’ll be right behind you.”
On the way to the stable, Thorbjörn chuckled. “Weren’t you sent here on a different mission? I thought my son-in-law didn’t want to see her.” He did not receive a reply.
Thorbjörn brought three horses outside. When they were harnessed, he was still grinning. “I told you, my daughter has a mind of her own.”
Tyrkir looked at him openly as he said goodbye. “We’re both agreed on that.” He wrapped the three reins around his right fist. “I just hope Erik hasn’t forgotten.”
“Good luck,” the old man called after him quietly. “And send him my greetings. Tell him the summer feast should last six days.”
They rode through the semidarkness higher up into the Habichtstal. No matter how hard Thjodhild pressed, Tyrkir wouldn’t tell her anything about the trip. “We are back safe and sound. Erik will tell you more.”
After the silence had stretched on for some time, she tried again. “And I thought you cared about me.”
A hot wave rose in Tyrkir. Despite the dimness, he turned his face away. If you had any idea how many dreams I’ve had about you the past three years, you would be frightened. It cannot be, he admonished himself. The truth would destroy every hope, every chance of happiness. “You’re the mother of my godson, the wife of my friend. I will always care for you.”
“Very wisely spoken,” teased Thjodhild. “You would have made an excellent judge.” She clicked at her horse and rode on silently in front of the German.
There was rubble on the way from the road up the slope. Only the remains of the wall still hinted at the house that had once stood there. Now, in the twilight, it looked hostile.
Thjodhild slipped out of her saddle in the courtyard. “Where is he?”
“Patience!” Tyrkir also dismounted. Through funneled hands, he mimicked the strange flight song of the snipe, sounds that tumbled down like a ladder from high above. The answer came immediately. Once again, Tyrkir let the little bird fall to the ground from a lofty height.
A jump, stones rolling, then quiet steps, and the giant came out of the ruins. “I saw you coming.” With outstretched arms, he walked to meet Thjodhild. She ran toward him, burying her face in his chest. “Finally, I’m right.” She sighed. “It was so cold without you.”
He stroked her hair, inhaling the scent. Just to say something, he finally muttered, “The fire in our old living hall no longer burns.”
She pressed firmly against his body. “Oh, Erik. We’ll light a new one. Somewhere.”
When his hand touched her back, she whispered, “Do you still remember how you showed me our chamber back then? Show it to me again.”
“You mean now? Didn’t our Know-It-All tell you anything?”
“Not a word. Now, come! First, I want to feel you. We can talk later.”
Over Thjodhild’s shoulder, Erik grinned at his friend. “You can’t help me right now, but I’ll need you afterward.”
They left Tyrkir alone in the courtyard. Where the bed used to be, Erik spread out his coat. Thjodhild felt how hard the ground was only after the pain and the much too short heaven. “Stay,” she begged.
But he pulled himself back and redressed.
“Can’t right now!” His voice sounded almost harsh. “By sunrise, I must disappear again with Know-It-All. And since you’re already here, you may as well find out what I am planning.”
Disappointed, she closed her eyes, just for a moment, then rose from the coat. “At least you should know that I am happy to see you.” With a few movements, she arranged her clothes and stroked her hair back. “I’m listening.”
“Don’t be angry!” He put his arm around her. “My head is so full, it will burst soon. Let’s go find Tyrkir. I think you’ll be pleased.”
Erik was restless. As soon as the three were sitting together in the inner courtyard, he jumped up again. “It’s like this—I’ve found my land. I can live there!” He bent over to his wife. “Do you understand? This land belongs to me. You’ll move into a beautiful house. I’ve not only marked out the place. No, the high seat beams are already standing, and the roof is finished.”
“Wait, Erik! Even if we don’t have much time, you’re going too fast. I don’t understand.” She turned to Tyrkir. “Explain it to me. One thing at a time.”
“As Erik said, we’ve discovered habitable land. There are fjords, green pastures—it’s a good life.” Tyrkir calmly replied to the doubt etched across her face. “You can trust me.”
The red one clenched his fist. “Damn it, Know-It-All, the way you talk about my realm, no one would want to go there.” He took a deep breath before painting the scene for his wife. “Fat grass, more than enough. Soft soil—I still have the smell of the earth in my nose. It’s warmer than here. I’ve seen fish, birds, even walruses, and polar bears. We can go hunting—there are whole herds of reindeer. Wait until I’ve assigned the settlers to their farms!”
“Which settlers?” Thjodhild pressed her fists against her temples. “I thought you’d discovered a new land without people.”
Erik kneeled in front of her. “Until next summer, I want to recruit people here. I’ll tell them about how good their life can be, and I’ll choose each of them. You see, the area is big enough. Their families can grow, their children and grandchildren will soon become a new people. My people.” He was carried away by his own enthusiasm. “Come to Greenland, where even the gods are resting in the meadows!”
“Greenland?” Against her will, she had to laugh. Turning to Tyrkir, she asked, “Did he invent the name or did you?”
Tyrkir could not suppress a matching grin. “It was all his idea.”
“Greenland.” Thjodhild sighed. “If only it were true, Erik. Well, I suppose I’ll follow you with my sons to Greenland.” I have no other choice, she thought. I don’t want to be without you anymore.
The giant froze. “I only know of one son.”
She gently patted his hand. “Surprised? Now there are two. Thorvald can be my contribution to the new people. If you want to see him, come to the farm.”
“We have to go,” Tyrkir interrupted. “You can talk about your children later.” The sky over the eastern mountains was already turning. The danger would only grow from hour to hour.
Erik pressed his wife tightly to his chest. “Trust me! I will take care of our happiness.”
“I hope more than anything that we find it this time.”
They reluctantly pulled away.
On the way to the horses, Erik whispered to Tyrkir, “You tell her!”
“Coward,” Tyrkir murmured, but he was glad to be alone with Thjodhild for another moment. He took her hand in both of his own. “You asked me earlier how I felt about you . . .”
“I don’t doubt it now. You’re a good friend to Erik. And the only one I have besides him.”
“We won’t come to Hawk Valley anymore.” He felt her fingers tense. “I know how difficult it is for you.” As soon as Erik had put together the settler fleet, he would send a message. “From the moment you arrive with the children in the harbor, your separation will be over.”
“So, another whole year.”
Tyrkir nodded.
“It’ll pass.” Thjodhild pulled her hand back. “Hurry!”
She stood motionless. The men led their horses up the slope and soon disappeared between the rocks.
Drought. It didn’t
rain in May. It didn’t rain in June. At the Thorness Thing, the free farmers looked worried. The grass could not grow. “Our hay harvest is in danger.” They pressed the chief justice with questions.
“I don’t have any advice.” Animal sacrifices were made in vain. Even in July, only a few drops fell.
“Erik Thorvaldsson, the Red, has returned from his journey. He has served his sentence. Purified and free of all guilt, he once again is one of us.” The news flew from valley to valley. It didn’t matter to most farmers—the thought of the next winter weighed too heavily on them. But a rumor that was spread along with this news made them sit up and take notice. “The Red has found a new land. There are lush meadows where even Odin lets his eight-legged stallion Sleipnir graze, as does Thor, his bucks.”
“Where could that be?” The answer snuffed out any curiosity. “Ride on! You must have misheard.”
“Just wait and see! When he visits you, he will tell you himself about his Greenland.”
Heavily loaded packhorses trotted west along the shore of the Breidafjord. Two armed men rode along for protection. The goods train stopped at the height of Sharpcliff. The leader ordered a short rest and drove his horse up the path, through the hills to the Breida farm. It didn’t take long, and he returned accompanied by Thorgest, the two dogs panting beside them. Without hesitation, the men sat down.
“Hides and jewelry, you say?” The squat farmer pushed his chin forward. “Let me see.”
The leader calmly opened a basket lid. “The neighbors along the fjord assured me I could store our goods safely with you. You are an honest man.”
Thorgest rummaged through the treasures with an expert touch. “That’s true, by Loki.” He exposed the teeth of his lower jaw and snickered. “If the price is right, your goods are safe in my barn.”
From the side, he leered at the simply dressed man. “You travel around with furs and don’t even have a silver fox around your neck. Be honest, is all this yours?”
As if caught, the leader took a few steps back.
“Did you steal it?” the Breida farmer urged. “You can tell me.” He patted the bulging purse on his belt. “Maybe we’ll even be good partners in this business.”
“You’ve miscalculated!”
Thorgest flinched at the sound of the voice. On the stony embankment stood Erik the Red, and next to him, Tyrkir the German, both fully armed, both holding a battle-ax in their right fists. One breath later, armed servants appeared on either side of them. They pulled the arrow shafts up to their ears.
In a panic, the Breida farmer tried to flee, but riders blocked his way with stretched bows. Only now did Thorgest remember his dogs. But before he could give them an order, they dropped to the ground next to his feet, pierced with arrows.
Horror paralyzed the Breida farmer. “W-we can talk,” he stammered. “About everything.”
“You have defiled my honor.” Erik’s voice was cold. “The god in me demands atonement.”
With a mighty leap, Erik landed in front of the farmer. He set the ax edge across Thorgest’s neck, took measure, and swung it back.
There was no escape. Thorgest spluttered, fearing his imminent death. The flashing blade hung in the air, ready for the blow. Panting, he babbled, “My fault. I cheated . . . you. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”
“Fight!” Erik looked at the ax in the farmer’s belt. “I’ll give you time. Come!”
With the last courage of despair, Thorgest reached for his hip and succeeded in pulling out the short ax. He didn’t get any further. The giant jumped up, his boot tips hitting the farmer’s arm and wrist in a double strike, and the weapon whirled into the ditch beyond the path. Disarmed, Thorgest sank to the ground. “Kill me,” he whimpered. “End it! Kill me!”
“Now, now. What are you asking of me?” Erik placed the massive ax head in front of him and rested both hands on the handle. “You were beating me. Every one of my servants will testify to that.”
It took Thorgest a long time to raise his head, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. “Don’t toy with me!”
“No, you filth, I’m serious. I must offer you a settlement.” He waved to Tyrkir. “You handle the rest. I can no longer stand the sight of him.”
“My friend demands all the silver you carry as compensation for his stolen household effects.” Tyrkir snapped his fingers.
The farmer immediately untied the pouch.
“Very good. And now, return to your farm. Tell all your neighbors that there was a fight between you and Erik, and because you pressed him hard, he had to abandon his revenge. You have made peace. Understand? Good. Then don’t hold us up any longer, peasant!”
Thorgest scrambled up. “Peace.” He stumbled up the path to his farm. “Peace. Yes, that’s it.”
Slowly, Erik let his ax swing back and forth. “Well, Know-It-All, what do you think?”
“Not bad for the future gode of Greenland.”
“I think your idea was good.”
How proud I am of you, Tyrkir thought. But I’d better not tell you that. He turned the right corner of his mouth into a grin, hiding his scarred side under his hand.
The rain only came at the beginning of September—too late, much too late. Cows and horses had not found enough grass to fatten them up. Even the sheep brought back lean lambs from the high pastures, and there was hardly any hay in the barns.
The scrawny animals were slaughtered, making the endless night of the winter months on the farms even darker. “Greenland!” Like a spell of light, the word took root in the hearts of the desperate. The stories at the great fires grew; the pastures there became even greener, the harvests even more productive. “Greenland!” All across Iceland, be it deep in the southwest or high in the north, the rumor about this promised land was fueled by the impending famine. And there was only one man who possessed the key: Erik Thorvaldsson, the Red.
In April he moored the Mount of the Sea in a storm-protected bay out on the cape of the snowy peninsula and pitched his tents. A rugged area of lava stretched over the headland. The meeting place for the emigrants had been chosen well. “You shall see, Know-It-All. Soon, there will be more ships in our harbor than we can take with us.” He stroked back his mane. “And here, around my camp, the people will crowd as they would crowd around a gode hut on the Thing.”
“Do your boots still fit you?” Tyrkir asked dryly.
“Why?” The giant looked down at his feet.
“I mean, if your head swells, your feet will have grown as well.”
“Are you trying to insult me, Lord?”
“No.” The weedy one also added a lord and waited until Erik grinned before continuing. “Without question, success is surely yours. I knew that if you ever got into it, you would have no trouble finding the words to crow about it. But I didn’t expect that you’d advertise our Greenland as cleverly as a fishmonger his catch.”
“Not one word was a lie.”
Tyrkir raised his shoulders. My Viking. In your enthusiasm, you kept some truth to yourself. We’ll deal with that in Greenland. First, I worry about your wife. “How will you tell Thjodhild?”
Erik looked at the small tent next to his spacious dwelling. “It’s simple,” he murmured. “Her father will bring her here shortly before we depart. And as soon as she arrives, I’ll send her over there.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Well, three years of exploring seems easier now.”
Like a hero, Erik was admired and courted at the June Thing. He sat with Tyrkir in the tented stone hut of his friend from Warm Spring Slope and received new applicants every day. The Breida farmer’s witnesses from the trial four years ago were turned away without a thought. And from the men who were willing to give up their farms in Iceland because of the lack of pasture or the severe famine, he chose carefully, selecting men with hard hands and honest eyes. He didn’t even examine the ships of the vainly dressed farmers who talked big. “You’ve come too late. There are twenty seaworthy kn
arrs, already loaded, lying outside at the top of Snow Rock. I’ve chosen five more. That’s enough.”
As soon as he was alone with Tyrkir and the judge from Warm Spring Slope, he urged Thorbjörn again, “Come with us! Your Sea Bird will sail beside me at the fore. We can have a good life in Greenland.”
“The idea is tempting.” Thorbjörn thoughtfully stroked the bridge of his nose. “But I want and must be considerate.” After Hallweig’s death, he’d given his daughter Gudrid into the care of the seer of Wagle Farm. “The little one only counts five winters. She has uncles and aunts. Her grandparents are still alive. With her mother already gone, I would like Gudrid to grow up under the protection of my whole clan. Who knows? Maybe I’ll follow you with her later.”
“Whenever that may be, you will always be welcome.”
Thorbjörn Vifilsson promised to come to the cape with his daughter before the fleet left.
On the ride back to the settler camp, Erik kept looking up at the sky. The clouds quickly drifted inland from the west. The wind was not yet allowed to turn; the rain was now welcome. The weather was not supposed to change until August. Only then would the easterlies be stable for at least two weeks in clear skies.
I will order sacrifices, he resolved. Each clan had to slaughter an animal to appease Ran, the cruel wife of the sea god. He clenched his fist. Ran, who threw her net at ships, who sent her nine wave-daughters to perform the Death Dance with the seafarers before stretching out her claws to the unlucky ones herself. Only this goddess could now ruin his grand plan, his happiness.
Tyrkir had been trudging through the lava scree since early morning, going from one tent village to the next, counting and filling his leather-covered writing board with strokes. Wherever he went, he was greeted first by dogs barking, then by the smell of meat soup. Each wealthy shipowner had been assigned two or three families for the journey. The strangers had already moved closer together. The children played and quarreled in front of the makeshift accommodations. Yes, run and rave as much as you can now, he thought. Who knows how long you’ll be crammed onboard next to the cattle? Cows stared at him. Horses shuffled and snorted, pegged sheep and goats chewed on tufts of hay, and chickens excitedly cackled in their pasture cages.
Erik the Red Page 22
