Women and maidservants worked around the common cooking fire. Some slaves greased the skin of the rain capes, others mended holes in the fur sacks. At the same time, their mistresses bent over chests and packed indispensable household utensils. Tyrkir was greeted with serious, anxious faces. The tension in the tent villages had grown noticeably since the change in the weather. The departure had to be imminent. But when? He answered questions and tried to ease the fear of the unknown with small jokes.
While his task was just about manageable with the women and children, down in the harbor, it soon became a game of chance. Like bees working their hives, the crews swarmed around their knarrs. Barrels and boxes were carried on board, orders and curses flew; they erected mast trees, rolled ropes, or tarred the planks of the outer walls.
Visibly tired, Tyrkir returned to the main tent.
“How plentiful are the people of Greenland?” Erik asked him.
“With all the confusion out there, I must have counted some of them twice.” Tyrkir skimmed the lines on the leather hide. “According to this, however, there are the families of forty-three landowners and one hundred twenty free peasants, plus hundreds of slaves. If I add everything up, then we’ll set sail with about a thousand people.”
“Distributed among twenty-six ships.” Erik wiped the sweat from his forehead. “If we add provisions, weapons, and tools, not to mention the livestock, then our knarrs will lie deeper in the water than I’d like. At the meeting with the captains, remind me that bailers must also be distributed to women and children.”
A voice came in from the lively tangle outside. “Where can I find Erik Thorvaldsson?” The friends paused, then both rushed to the exit.
She’d arrived. Thjodhild stood smiling in front of them, holding a son on each hand.
How beautiful you are, Tyrkir thought. Despite your travel hood, I see your hair. Despite the coarse wool dresses, I see your slender figure. He smiled at himself. Maybe it’s just your eyes that make me see so much more.
Erik walked toward her. “Welcome.” Before he could embrace his wife, Leif stepped between them. “Mother? Is that our father?”
“Yes, boy.” Thjodhild laughed. “This is the great Erik for whom we had to wait so long.”
Leif curled his nose. Finally, he pressed his fists into his sides. “I’m ready,” he reported. “Our luggage is at the ship. We should go out to sea immediately.”
“Slow down, boatswain!” The giant happily played along, pounding him against his chest. “Only the skipper gives the orders.”
“I’m ready, too, Father,” the little one crowed at his mother’s left hand.
“Do we have to take him with us?” Leif made a face. “At the sight of the first monster, he’ll wet his pants.”
“Me too! Me too!”
“Hush now!” Thjodhild pulled her eldest by his hair toward the tent entrance. “Say hello to Uncle Tyrkir.”
The boy approached reverentially. So, this was the other hero from the adventures his grandfather had told him. Leif admired the crooked mouth and the scarred side. “Each troll had five swords, I know, but you killed them all?”
Tyrkir pulled him in. “Since you already seem to know all about it, we don’t have to talk about it anymore.” He looked over at Erik. The friend had the three-year-old Thorvald in his arms. Thjodhild was just delivering greetings from her parents. Thorbjörn had not come with her because he didn’t want to leave his wife alone.
The first servant from Hawk Farm had brought Thjodhild and the children. “And I think it was easier for them to say goodbye to me at home rather than to wave to the ship here.”
“That’s right,” the giant mumbled. “What I wanted to say . . .” His gaze fled to Tyrkir, but the German just took Leif by the shoulder.
“Come here,” he said. “I carved you a stick. Every sign protects you from a different evil spirit.” He quickly disappeared with the boy into the main tent.
Thjodhild frowned. “Erik Thorvaldsson? Why have you suddenly gone silent?”
“See for yourself!” He pointed to the small tent next to his shelter and carried Thorvald over to the sheep.
A little later, she stepped outside again. Her face was pale. “Come here, Erik,” she pleaded quietly, and waited until he stood in front of her. “There is a child there. A girl. I don’t have to ask who the father is. Where is the mother?”
“Katla? Yes, she is not . . . ?”
“I don’t care where she is. When the woman comes, she should immediately disappear with the brat. And now, give my son here!” She tore Thorvald out of his arm.
“That won’t be possible.” Erik hesitated, then added, “I recognized the girl as my daughter. Freydis belongs to the family.”
“Very clever of Katla. At least you chose a nice name.” The anger burned in Thjodhild’s eyes. “All right, you stud. Now your sons have a sister, but this mare is not going to Greenland.”
“I promised her.”
“And I said no.” Thjodhild knew how little power she had in the decision, so she left him and went into the main tent with Thorvald. Without even acknowledging Tyrkir, she hissed, “Coward! Now I finally know why you wouldn’t tell me anything about the trip.”
That evening, Thorbjörn Vifilsson arrived with Gudrid. “Save your mead and the supplies for Greenland!” The judge waved at his heavily laden slaves. “I invite you to a farewell feast.” He’d brought beer, dried fish, and two slaughtered mutton from Warm Spring Slope.
Thjodhild suppressed her grief and greeted her friend warmly. She kissed his daughter and introduced her to Leif. “You two used to play naked on a blanket.”
The boy and the girl looked at each other with embarrassment. “I don’t think so,” Leif said. “What am I supposed to have played with her?”
Gudrid stuck out her tongue. “You’re too stupid for me.”
“Stop it!” Thjodhild sighed. You have no idea what plans Hallweig and I made for you. But that’s not going to happen now, unless fate brings you together again sometime in the future.
Later, the red night sun swam in the sea. The meal was over. Erik was camped with Tyrkir, the judge, and some skippers around the smoldering embers. They discussed little more than the course, hoping for a steady easterly wind, and above all, that the sky should remain clear.
The noblewomen sat together at a neighboring fire, peppering Thjodhild with questions:
“How far will the families live from each other?”
“Will grain grow there for our bread?”
“Will every farm have enough water?”
“I don’t know. Although, I am the wife of the Red One, he’s told me even less than you already know.”
Her back went rigid. Katla slowly approached the fire with the child. Immediately, the women fell silent. Everyone already knew about the dispute between the leader of the settlers and his landlady.
The maid had reached Thjodhild. “Won’t you have a look at my Freydis?” She glowered with a combination of defiance and pride. “She’s two years old. A beautiful child.”
“Your Freydis?” Thjodhild lifted her brows. “A slave doesn’t own anything, have you forgotten that? Not the rag you wear on your body, not even your life belongs to you.”
“But I am the mother.”
And you did nothing wrong, Thjodhild thought bitterly. At the same time, she felt tense curiosity pressing in from all sides. How could you have argued with Erik in front of strangers? Forget this jealousy! Every wrong word damages your reputation and the dignity of your family.
“Katla, you have been an efficient maid to Erik. You prepared food for him, carried his child, and gave birth to her.” She gently stroked Freydis’s hair. “As is the rule, you would have to raise the little one so that she would serve us later.”
The joke made the housewives smile. They agreed with Thjodhild. “But your child will live as a daughter in my family. Be grateful. You couldn’t have achieved more happiness for Freydis.”
&nbs
p; Katla kneeled before her mistress. “I always want to serve on your farm.”
If only I could prevent it, Thjodhild thought, but said, “That is for Erik to decide.”
There was noise and screaming in the harbor. The women listened, the maid and her child forgotten. At the neighboring fire, the skippers lowered their cups. Even a small dispute between the crews so shortly before departure could become a dangerous nuisance on the high seas.
The roar quickly approached the lava hill. With curses and blows, five servants drove a man before them. He fell, so they pulled him up by the collar and pushed him forward. The gaunt figure looked familiar to Thjodhild, but the blood-drenched face offered no way to identify it more clearly.
“Take your daughter and go to sleep,” she quietly ordered Katla. “Tomorrow, we’ll discuss this more.”
Only a few steps away from the men’s campsite, the beaten man was thrown in front of the fire by his tormentors like a doll.
“We found him on our knarr, Master.” They did not turn to Erik but to Herjulf, the gray-haired merchant from Smoke Bay in the southwest of Iceland. “He was hiding among the weapon coffers.”
“You are brave lads. But why, my gods, why do you have to make such a racket about him?” Herjulf didn’t waste a single glance on the moaning man at his feet. “Get him deeper into the rubble. Foxes and ravens will do the rest. And then calm down.”
“There’s something else.” The speaker shrugged. “We would have drowned him right away, but he says he is a Christian, and his god punishes anyone who kills another. And since we’re going out soon, I thought, better ask first, in case the wrath of this god sends us a storm.”
“Christian!” Erik had jumped up. Even before he’d reached the beaten man, Tyrkir and the judge were already bent over the figure and had rolled him onto his back. “It is Askel the Lean.”
“Damn it!” Erik smacked his forehead. “We chose only healthy settlers and young, healthy cattle, and then this Christian creeps in among us.”
“My Savior . . .” The Lean One opened his eyes. “He brings the light . . .”
“Shut up! Greenland is bright in summer and dark in winter, just like here. We don’t need your god there.” Erik turned to Herjulf. “Let your men take him out of our sight!”
The merchant hesitated. There was doubt in the faces of the other gentlemen, as well. “What’s the matter? You don’t want—” Erik nudged Tyrkir. “You tell them!”
“Maybe it isn’t wise to upset the alien god.”
“Know-It-All!” The giant slammed his fists together. “Only Ran is dangerous to us. And we offered her sacrifice. That’s enough.”
“Damn it! You wanted my advice.”
“Don’t you dare! I alone give the orders here!”
Quickly, Thorbjörn Vifilsson placed himself between the friends. “Hey, no need to quarrel! Let me help.” Turning to Herjulf, he said, “The Lean One was found on your ship. According to the law, the skipper has the highest judicial power onboard, so you decide: Should this Christian be delivered to certain death?”
“Before we . . . ? No, better not.”
“The problem is solved.” The gode smiled disarmingly. “Askel belongs to my court district. You go to Greenland and leave it to me!” Without waiting, he had the skinny man tied by his hands and feet and put him with the pigs.
The women were relieved to see their husbands’ faces relax. They all praised the clever goden. Herjulf sent his servants back to the ship, and the masters sat down by the fire again. Fresh beer was served. It took some time for Erik to calm down, but then he put his arm around Tyrkir’s shoulders. “What the hell, Know-It-All,” he muttered. “The main thing is the Christian isn’t coming to our country with us.”
He emptied his cup with big gulps. “Tomorrow, we’ll break down the tents,” Erik told the group. The settlers and slaves were to board only after the livestock had been safely stored in the holds. “And don’t take anyone you don’t know with you!” His broad grin proved to all that the incident was over. Erik the Red, their leader, gave the final orders. “From this point on, no one may leave the ship without your permission, and you have one night to settle life onboard with the crew and passengers still in port. At sunrise, we set sail.”
He waited until the maids had filled every jug again. “Let’s go to Greenland, our green country!” The slogan blossomed in their hearts; it meant hope and promise and was, above all, reason enough to drink and continue drinking.
Tyrkir didn’t try to keep up. He looked stealthily over at the women. Coward. Not just the word itself but Thjodhild’s contempt had hit him hard. At first, he’d been determined to explain himself and to ask for her forgiveness. But now that Askel the Lean was lying with the pigs, he’d come up with a plan. No, I am not ashamed, he calmed his conscience. It’s only a small trick, and if it’s successful, it will help us all.
Finally, the women said their goodbyes. At the feast, nobody noticed when Tyrkir stood up and swayed slightly. Everybody had to relieve himself from the pressure of the beer. In front of the main tent, he stood in Thjodhild’s way.
“Not now. I’m tired,” she said.
“Please, listen,” he whispered. “It’s about our peace in Greenland.”
Thjodhild frowned. As he continued, she wondered, and when he’d finished, a smile twitched in the corners of her mouth. “Do you remember what you said to me at our wedding? Only after Erik do I hold a place of honor in your heart. Maybe the order’s changed?” She slipped into the tent without waiting for an answer.
“Don’t torture me.” He sighed.
In the early hours of the morning, Erik lay down with his wife. Cheered by the beer, he felt the warmth of her skin, and soon the desire for more grew. She tolerated the touching of her breasts, even the bearded kisses. But when he pressed on, Thjodhild slipped away and sat up.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I can’t sleep with you?”
Again, he reached for her, but she crossed her arms around her knees. “No, leave me alone.”
With effort, he arranged his thoughts. “You’re angry because I brought you a daughter. I can’t do anything about that now.”
“No, that’s not it. Freydis should belong to us.” Her hand gently circled around his navel.
He lolled there comfortably, and his voice became dark. “Come here!”
“Maybe. But first you have to grant me a favor.”
“By my honor, anything you want. I swear.”
“Take him with you!”
“Who?”
Thjodhild bent to his ear. “That poor Christian out there.”
Like a spring, Erik’s upper body shot up. All lust was forgotten. He stared at her like a ghost. “I shall . . . No, never.”
“Erik Thorvaldsson, you gave me your word.”
He buried his face in both hands and sat there for a long time.
“Why?” he finally whispered without looking up. “What did I do to you? Give me back my word, demand everything for it. The Lean One and his god must not poison my Greenland.”
Thjodhild let the silence between them stretch. “Who’s to say that you won’t break this new oath as well?”
The question offended him, but he tried invoking the Viking honor and respect he owed to the dignity of his housewife. “Peace in our family is sacred to me.”
“I trust you, Erik.” She grabbed her nightgown and let it slide through her fingers. “I offer a simple exchange: Askel the Lean doesn’t sail with us, but Katla stays here, too.” Without savoring her victory, she added, “Thorbjörn’s taking the Christian back with him, anyway. Give the maid to your friend. As a widower, I think he can certainly use such an efficient maid.”
“Now I understand.” Erik scratched his beard. “Yes, I agree.” Half admiringly, half warily, he looked at her. “What a woman I have! By Thor, you know how to get what you want.”
Sighing, Thjodhild lay back. “Thank you. And now . . .” She st
roked his broad back until he also fulfilled her next wish.
A horn call from the Mount of the Sea, long and almost lamenting. It echoed across the bay and the beach. A swarm of gray geese rose from the lava scree with excited flaps. The second horn call frightened the seal families on the archipelago, and they silently slipped into the black water. As soon as the third signal had faded, twenty-five ships responded with a seemingly endless cry of joy. “Greenland! Our green land!”
The yard beams were pulled halfway up the masts, and at the same time, the rudder blades dipped in and furrowed through the rippling water.
On the shore, relatives and friends laughed, called out advice and promises, as if this was just a temporary separation. Soon, however, their words could no longer reach each other, and all that remained was for them to wave and shed their tears.
Thorbjörn Vifilsson and Gudrid watched the ships depart, though he’d forbidden Katla to do so. The day before, she’d been allowed to dress her daughter for the last time—no goodbye, just a kiss. Freydis had gladly gone aboard with little Thorvald to play, and there were so many new things there that sister and brother had later fallen asleep rolled into a blanket.
When the fleet reached the open sea, the easterly pushed into the colorfully striped, angular sails. Thjodhild stood at the high curved stern and looked back. The headland quickly became smaller, but the snow-covered glacier had not yet lost any of its size. It wore a veil of clouds around its shoulders, its head crowned with gold from the morning sun.
She had paid him a visit with Hallweig. At that time, we wanted happiness. But you sent us the ball of fog, which stretched its black arms toward us. And today? What are you giving us for the ride? No! She abruptly tore herself away from the sight. I don’t want anything more from you. The glacier has no power over the sea and ships. She calmed her heart.
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