Next to her, Erik held the tiller. At the bow deck in front, Tyrkir was occupied with the small, round wooden board and the vertical needle in the middle, from which notched lines went out like rays. Thjodhild knew that this was an important, almost sacred, task. As soon as the sun rose higher, he would be able to determine their course by the shadow fall of the needle. Or, at least, so the men claimed, and that was enough for her. My two men! Yes, we are finally, finally together again. In the lower hold, she discovered among other children the reddish curls of her sons next to the blond plaits of little Freydis. And far beyond the dragon’s head, still behind the horizon, Greenland was waiting, and perhaps a future in which happiness would no longer elude them.
Greenland
On the second day, the sun turned into a pale disc, and the wind coming from the northeast picked up unexpectedly around noon. Tyrkir would have liked to let his friend sleep longer, but he didn’t hesitate to wake him. “I’m afraid Ran wants to throw her net at us.”
Erik crawled out from under the sealskin. A quick stretch, a short, intense scratching and rummaging in his red mane, and wide awake, he eyed the wobbly, transparent shreds of cloud. His tongue tasted the air, then he took the helmsman’s hand off the tiller. “Hard seas ahead.” An observation. Erik issued his orders just as soberly. The battle shields were to be anchored to the outer rail. They not only raised the ship’s hull but covered the oar ports. The line guards for the square sail were upped to six men, and each had to secure himself with a rope. “You’re to tell only the crew. I don’t want any unrest in the hold yet.” The servant hurried away from the raised helm.
“Now to you, Know-It-All.” He had Tyrkir wave a yellow flag until the warning signal was noticed on the next knarr and passed on to the others. During the storm, each ship was on its own, and could only hope to not lose its bearings. “Prepare our people for the dance with Ran’s wave-daughters! And stow the shadow needle safely. It won’t help us now.”
“How bad will it get?”
“Don’t know.” Erik rubbed his lower lip against his teeth. “I don’t like the color of the water. No blue . . .”
Doubtful, the settlers listened to the pilot. The sun was still shining—what evil could the wind bring? But nobody dared resist his orders.
Together, they stretched a tarpaulin halfway across the hold to the mast tree. Below, the women gathered their children around them. Without being called, dogs, their tail tucked, sought a safe place among them. No barrel, box, or chicken basket was allowed to come free, and the animals’ shackles were carefully checked. Erik positioned two chains of women and older children along the inner wall, equipping them with buckets to fight against any incoming water.
“Now, the storm can come!” Tyrkir showed himself undaunted. “Stay calm. We’re prepared.” But he thought, How miserable our precautions are! A ship was not a manor that could be fortified against an attacking enemy.
Finally, he bent his head under the tarpaulin and searched for Thjodhild. She had settled in close to the left wall with the children and had pulled Freydis and Thorvald closer to her sides. For a moment, their eyes met. With a quick smile, he climbed back up to the half-deck aft.
From the northeast, a large gray—and very soon blackening—cloud wedge approached, covering the sky, swallowing all brightness. The first gusts tore the spray from the waves, hurling it at the Mount.
“Tie me down,” Erik roared. Twice, Tyrkir slipped on the planks. Finally, he managed to wrap the rope around his friend. He fell again, crawled to the spar, and fastened his own safety rope.
“Stay down! I’ll manage—” The voice of the Red broke off. Behind him, a wave rose, sank, and in a renewed surge, forced the ship to dance over her back, spewing her foaming saliva at the front of the bow. Another wave was at her heels, rolling up and gurgling under the stern, making the ribs groan and grate.
No more escape, Tyrkir thought. All we have left is to roll from one danger into the next.
The game was too easy for the daughters of the sea goddess, the melody much too gentle. They were letting the storm draw breath. Erik seized the moment. “Half cloth!” His roar reached the men on the sail lines. He held the tiller with white fists, and although his Mount rolled, falling into valleys, and was thrown up crests, he did not lose the reins.
Full of rage, the storm started howling again. It became a terrible demon. The waves wrestled against each other, slamming together, diving under the keel in pairs, shaking the ship and trying to tear it apart.
As if from thin air, a gray-black wall rose on the right side of the ship. It grew higher, standing there for an awful moment, then collapsed with a thunderous roar. The water hit the sail, poured into the cargo hold, and washed over the bow and stern. The next wave threw the Mount forward into a trough and threw it up again like a nutshell. Rain whipped the sailors hard; the yard beam crashed more and more violently against the mast, and the sail kept flapping and rattling.
Time had lost its measure. At some point, Tyrkir noticed a servant lying motionless on the planks in front of him. The crew on the halyard was weakened! Without hesitation, he freed the injured man from the safety rope, pushed him toward the settlers in the cargo hold, and took his place himself. Only the shield on the railing stood between him and the daughters of Ran. They screamed, laughed, and spat spray over his head, relentlessly hammering and kicking at his ribs.
Was that a streak on the horizon, or was hope tricking him? Tyrkir closed his eyes, then opened them again. “The storm is clearing!” he shouted to the men next to him. They didn’t understand. For them, there had only been the struggle for hours. “There! Behind us!” Finally, the servants understood. “We’ll make it!” The call rang out through the roar, reaching every man on board. “Yes, we’ll make it,” and with new courage, they leaned into the ropes.
Little by little, the storm calmed, driving the mass of clouds before it. No matter which power gave the orders, Tyrkir thought with relief, now that it has wreaked its havoc, it must also clear. Soon, a wide sky stretched over the Mount, and it rode across the waves as through a hilly landscape.
“Know-It-All.” Erik was teetering with exhaustion. “I need to be relieved!” The friend was to check on the people in the hold. “I have to get blood in my arms first.”
The salty, cold broth sloshed knee-high in the trenches to the right and left of the keel beam. The assigned farmers and slaves were still scooping tirelessly. Buckets wandered from hand to hand and were emptied over the gunwale. The men’s faces were drawn, but they nodded to the pilot as if the rescue had been his doing. He called some maidservants to him: “First, take care of the wounded. Then tend to the cattle!”
Half bent, he pushed himself under the tarpaulin. There he was struck by a sour smell, a mixture of shit and vomit. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Women crawled around collecting blankets and fur sacks, trying to restore order as best they could. Children cried, and the more soothingly their mothers spoke to them, the louder the sobbing became. Tyrkir questioned one family after another and was grateful to find that no one had been seriously harmed, only suffering a few bumps and scrapes.
He found Thjodhild in the same place he’d last seen her. Pale and exhausted, she leaned against the wall. “Can I help you?” The two little ones lay head-to-head in her lap. Leif crouched next to her, holding a dog in his arms. Despite a bloody scratch across his forehead, he smiled bravely. “How many dragons were there?”
“I didn’t count them.”
“I saved this one.” The five-year-old scratched the dog’s shaggy fur. “Me, alone.”
“That was very brave of you.”
“But we are the winners, aren’t we?”
“Don’t say it out loud, my boy! You’ll call back the ogres.”
Thjodhild reached for her friend’s hand and held it. “I’ve never been so afraid.”
“It’s over for today.” To cheer her, he added, “As long as Erik is leading this ship, no sto
rm can harm us. Be proud of your Viking!” Someone called for him. “You and the children should try to get some sleep. Who knows how long the sea will stay calm.”
Happy, he returned to the aft deck. Along the way, he announced, “The women and children are safe!”
Erik stood with his back to him, broad-legged, high on the curved sternpost. He was staring east across the sea.
“Crew and passengers, all well. Only one injured. I think he’ll be on his feet again tomorrow.”
No answer came.
“Hey, aren’t you glad? Luck was with us. We should be grateful.”
The giant did not even turn his head. Tyrkir came closer and looked at him from the side. “What’s happened?”
“Luck? Grateful?” With a sweep of his arm, Erik pointed to the sails of his torn fleet. “You can count, can’t you? Tell me, how many knarrs do you see heading for us?” His voice became brittle. “Then tell me I’m lucky. Say it!”
“Oh gods,” he whispered, hiding the wide scar under his hand as if to be protected from the truth.
Fourteen ships—as hard as he searched the horizon, there were no more. Fourteen, and before the storm, twenty-five had been sailing in the wake of the Mount. Even without asking, he knew what had upset Erik. Ran had stolen almost three hundred people with her net, along with cattle and provisions. “Perhaps they didn’t all sink. Maybe some of them survived the storm and only drifted so far that we can’t see them.”
“If only it were so.” The red one pressed his fists against his forehead. “It was I who promised them Greenland. A good life.”
“Stop!” Tyrkir hissed. “It’s a tragedy, yes, but it wasn’t your fault. Focus on the survivors, nothing else! They trust you, I know it. If you doubt now, you take away their courage, and they need it as long as we’re at sea. Once we’ve reached the coast, you’ll have to prove all the more how firmly you believe in our happiness.”
Erik took in a sharp breath. “And you, Know-It-All? How about you?”
“Well . . .” Tyrkir shrugged and forced a grin onto his face. “I already know what I have in you.”
“Don’t.” Erik raised his fist, then gave the order to pull up the yard tree. Forward! The red sail inflated and drove the Mount farther west.
Yesterday had already been replaced three times by a new today. “When will Greenland finally come?” Leif put his fists on his hips.
“Tomorrow. But wait, I’ll take a good look.” To please his godson, Tyrkir pinched his left eye and squinted across his thumb at the horizon. “That’s right. Maybe we’ll discover land tomorrow.”
“Uncle! That’s what you said yesterday.” The boy snorted and spat over the railing. With the wind, as he’d learned from the men. He spent most of his time here on the bow deck. His godfather had initiated him into the secret of the shadow needle. Much was still too difficult for him, but Tyrkir was amazed at the boy’s curiosity and how quickly he learned. “Why don’t you help me?”
Leif immediately kneeled beside the sun board. The sharp shadow had advanced in the circle of lines up to the north notch. He scratched his finger through his nonexistent beard. Finally, he was certain. “The sun almost stands in the south. Soon we have lunch.”
“Very good. Off with you to your mother. When you’ve eaten, bring me some dried meat. But hurry!” With his teeth bared, Tyrkir approached the carved bow stem. “Otherwise, I’ll have to bite off a piece of our dragon.”
“Oh, Uncle.” Leif waved him off. “You say that every time.”
“That’s right. It’s about time I thought of something else.” Smiling, the pilot looked after the boy as he jumped down into the cargo hold with an effortless leap.
“Land!” No one knew who had called it. Settlers and crew startled. Heads turned. “Land!” Some women grabbed their chests, then picked up their children and pushed to the bow. The flickering of joy was quickly snuffed out. “Land? This is supposed to be our land?”
“No, don’t be fooled! We are still far from the coast.” Tyrkir waved his arms. “Back! Get to work!” He pointed to the towering, blue-white rock formations. “Icebergs. You see? They float in the sea. They are the guardians of Greenland. Be patient!”
Patience? They’d been sailing for ten long days and bright nights, crowded together, the stench of men and cattle hardly bearable. Their disgust with salted meat grew with every meal; the same went for the softened bread and dried fish. And for a long time now, only the children had been given the tasty sour milk. Ten days in, fear and danger had gnawed away at even the strongest of spirits. The pilot heard the fearful questions murmured from every side: Why was it taking so long? Had the storm drifted them too far off course? Why else would there be icebergs?
“People, have confidence! We’re on the right course.” His tone became impatient. “And now, go!” The settlers obeyed without grumbling, but he knew the doubts were there, and no command could dispel them.
Leif had already given up two days ago. He no longer asked when they would arrive. Now, with a wrinkled nose, he stared at the icebergs on either side of the knarr. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t understand. They are so far away and very quiet. I’m not afraid of them.”
Tyrkir stood tall next to the dragon’s head. Before he answered, he gave a signal to his friend astern to change course.
“Come here! What you see over there are just the hats of the giants. But down there in the water, their shoulders are seven times as wide. They turn, and sometimes even rub against each other. And gods forbid if a ship gets in between them. They also clench their fists just below the surface. And believe me, they don’t have just two fists.”
At that moment, an enormous thundering wall broke off the iceberg on the right and collapsed.
“Danger! Hold on tight! Danger!” Tyrkir shouted his warning across the ship until his throat was hoarse. “Lie down! Danger! Hang on!” He had already torn the boy away from the bow, pressing him onto the planks and throwing himself over him.
The ice wall had dipped into the sea, and after a seething suction, a flood wave rose. Erik managed to turn the Mount halfway before it was hit. The ribs screamed and groaned, and the mast and sail swayed. For one breath, they all saw death. Then the knarr righted herself again.
Without letting go of Leif, Tyrkir raised his head. They’d come dangerously close to the iceberg on the other side. “To starboard!” His signal to Erik came too late; he’d already changed course again.
“Thanks to the great Tyr,” the German gasped.
“I wasn’t afraid.” Leif snorted but forgot to spit.
“Is that true?”
The boy nodded. “I couldn’t be. You were lying on top of me, so I couldn’t see anything.”
Around midnight, the horizon before them turned into a vast gray mountain. Tyrkir refrained from tearing the settlers from their sleep with the call of “Land!” and forbade the sail guards to scream. Discreetly, he signaled Erik to join him on the bow deck.
“There’s your green land. This is the most difficult part of our journey: What do you want to tell the people?”
“Not a word.”
“But you can’t hide it from them any longer.”
“Damn it, I know that. We’re not there yet. They’ll see soon enough.” Red grabbed Tyrkir hard by the shoulders. “From now on, I won’t give people the chance to think. I will suffocate even the slightest sign of unrest. So be afraid of me. After all, you’re my friend.”
Even before sunrise, every settler family onboard knew—land was in sight. They stared silently at the endless white wall with its countless snowcapped peaks. Even when the mountains gleamed in the morning light, there was no cheering.
Erik gathered the landowners and the free farmers under the mast tree. “One thing you should know: we are now safe from Ran and her daughters.”
Without any enthusiasm, the men looked across to the jagged, dark coastal strip. The closer they came, the more inhospitable it appeared.
“
Yes, this all belongs to our country, but it is not my Greenland. That is only the backside, you understand? We will sail southward, and on the other side, you’ll see its beautiful face. That’s where you’ll find the green meadows I promised you.”
His wooing was not heard by the frustrated farmers. Erik straightened to his full height, a cold light in the amber of his eyes. “Until then, I demand obedience. No restlessness. No whispering among you. If you have any questions, go to the pilot or come to me. Swear it!” Some raised their hands immediately—they knew the law onboard. The others were prompted by another hard look from the skipper. “And now, be grateful that you live.” Erik left them standing there and walked back onto the steering deck.
Though his comments had not been addressed to the women, his words soon reached them. Thjodhild tore at Tyrkir’s arm. “How dare you?” she said, teeth clenched. “You’ve already lied to me once. Now . . .”
“I can explain, but not now. Please. Talk to Erik first. I have to set a new course.” He quickly climbed onto the bow deck and bent over the sun board.
With her fists hidden in the pleats of her skirt, Thjodhild approached her husband. “I have to talk to you. Alone.” Her expression allowed no objection. He immediately sent the helmsman away and took the tiller himself. “Where are you taking me?”
“To our new home.”
“The land there . . .” She heaved a deep sigh. “Erik, I see only stones, rocks, and reefs—and nothing above but ice and snow. This coast looks even more hostile than the steep beach you lured me to after our marriage with false promises!”
“This is different.”
“Erik Thorvaldsson, you have not told the truth. Again. And this time, it’s not just me.” Angry, she pointed to the following sails. “This time is different, and much worse. All the dead are accusing you. How will you stand before the settlers?”
“Silence!”
“No, Erik!” She put her hand in front of her mouth, and barely controlling herself, she whispered, “Why Greenland? Why did you call this icy wilderness that?”
Erik the Red Page 24
