Erik the Red

by Tilman Roehrig

  “But you have to take me with you.”

  “You have my word. And until then, you won’t tell anyone about this new country. I don’t want anyone to beat me to it. Promise?”

  Egil grasped Leif’s wrist, and with firm pressure, they sealed the oath.

  Nobody at the table was talking to Freydis anymore. Her expression revealed what she thought: Horny Thorvald speaks to Sigrid as if he wanted to sell her honey and then eat it with her. And Ingva has had that cow look for some time now. Freydis followed her eyes and the corners of her mouth twitched. The cow’s eyes were on Leif.

  “What are you staring at?” She jerked the girl’s pigtail. “Hey, your eyes are about to fall out.”

  “Sorry. I . . . I was thinking.”

  “Oh, that’s what you call it.” Smoothly, Freydis moved closer. “Want to know a secret? In two weeks, my brother will sail across the sea to the king. Do you know what that means? There, he’ll get to know the good life. There are noblewomen with such tits, the men sit under them when it rains. We can’t compete. Who knows if he’ll want to come back at all, so better get him out of your thoughts.”

  “Why would you say something like that?” Ingva hung her head. “I haven’t told anyone anything.”

  “I’m just smart.”

  After a moment, Ingva collected herself. “No, I don’t believe you. Leif will come back.”

  “And another thing about my brother: He beats women. Even me, his little sister. Be glad if my father doesn’t talk to yours about marriage.”

  “Stop it, please!”

  Before Ingva started to cry, Freydis generously gave her more sour milk. “Come on, drink up! I’m only trying to help because you’re my friend.”

  Later that night, Erik lay down next to Thjodhild, still hazy from the sweet berry wine. He stroked her back. “You’re beautiful. Such soft skin. You’re my beautiful wife.”

  “Not now,” she said. “I’m tired.” And we don’t have to worry about having children anymore. My life would be better now if you could just wait until I also want you.

  When he pulled his hand back, she turned to him. “Today was a long, good day, don’t you think? Let me fall asleep in your arms.”

  He did not push her any further. For a while, he stared into the dark silence of the chamber, then mumbled, “Yes, you’re right. We have a good life.”

  At the beginning of June, the Mount of the Sea was loaded. Six boatmen stood on each side of the boat, holding the long rowing poles upright in their fists like guards. Veils of mist were still wafting over the bay. On the beach, Erik Thorvaldsson had beheaded a live chicken. He offered it to the goddess Ran in the presence of his whole family and the neighbor’s family. Blood was still dripping from the feathered body.

  Leif came and caught some drops with his silver Thor’s hammer. He solemnly sank on his knee and lifted the amulet by the chain. “My good, divine friend! Stand by us with your strength.” He remained silent in worship so that his request could ascend undisturbed into the golden hall.

  Much to his father’s pride, he had not chosen the uncle’s one-armed god, but had named Thor as his protector and dear friend.

  The ceremony was over. Leif kissed Thorstein, then reached out his hand to Thorvald. When he approached Freydis, she fell around his neck, pressed her breasts against his chest, and whispered something into his ear. Astonished, he pushed her away. “Absolutely not!” He stretched out his hand to her. “Wish me a good trip!”

  “I do so gladly.” She grinned and kissed his fingers. “Come back safe, Brother!”

  The farewell from the neighbors was warm. Egil whispered, “Don’t forget our plan.” And Ingva nodded to him, shook her head, and except for a deep sigh, didn’t make a sound.

  Leif had said goodbye to his mother in the house, and now he embraced her and let her stroke his hair.

  “My boy. I am proud of you and will be happy when you return unharmed.” She looked at Tyrkir with silent grief. “My friend, first it was Erik with whom I had to let you go—so often that I cannot count. Now, you accompany my Leif. Take care of him!”

  “Don’t worry.” Tyrkir tried to keep his tone light. “I’ll protect your son as best I can. And our ship will find its way back.”

  Erik had to step aboard himself. On the aft deck, he stood by the tiller. “Come here to me, Son, and relieve me!”

  He only took his fists off the round wood after Leif had taken hold of it. “Hold your course, shipmaster!”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Tears shone in the corners of the old giant’s eyes. As soon as he stood on shore again, he turned his attention to Tyrkir. “And woe be to you if my knarr even has so much as a scratch.”

  “And woe to you,” Tyrkir returned, laughing, “if your dam still doesn’t hold water when we come home.”

  The oars were pushed through the portholes. They plowed the water. Freydis ran along the shore and shouted, “Brother! Think it over again.”

  Leif didn’t answer.

  “What does your sister mean?” Tyrkir asked while he waved from the back deck.

  “Every normal girl would have wished for an expensive cloth or a gold chain. But not my sister. She wants me to bring her a battle-ax from Norway.”

  Tyrkir let his arms sink. “Freydis has a strange mind, that’s true.”

  “You know her mother, Uncle. Do you think she . . . ?”

  “Katla? No, that woman was completely different. Freydis resembles her only in appearance.”

  High in the east, above the back of the ice giant, the clouds changed color and promised a sunny day.

  Leif headed for the middle of the fjord. “Katla was never spoken of at home, but now we’re alone, Uncle, tell me about Freydis’s mother.”

  “Not now. I have to get to the bow. Our long journey is just beginning, and we will have plenty of time. I’ll tell you about Katla and, if you like, also about your father. How we fared when we arrived in Iceland, how he got to know your mother . . .”

  Tyrkir broke off and went forward to the dragon’s head.

  Thorgunna

  Was the fog really to blame? The turning of the wind? Tyrkir was no longer sure why their ship was anchored here in the port of Drimore on the Outer Hebrides instead of in Norway.

  When they’d arrived ten days ago, he’d said to Leif, “Let’s be grateful to the gods that we found this trading place and didn’t drift into the nothing.”

  Soon after they’d circumnavigated the southern cape from Greenland, the clouds had closed in on them. For a few hours, Tyrkir was still able to determine the origin of the sunlight in the wafting gray through his crystal, and thus roughly determine the course. But in the night, he could not spot the North Star, and in the morning, there was only one direction left for them.

  “Stay before the wind!” he’d shouted from the bow. No storm, no troubled sea pressed the Mount. As if pushed by a steady hand, it glided over the waves with a full cloth. Tyrkir even found time to tell his godson about Iceland.

  Leif was silent during the tales of bloody fights, but when the trial at the Thorsnessthing came up, he interrupted his uncle, wanting to hear the events again before finally saying, “If the number of witnesses, some of whom were bought, can determine the verdict, our holy law does not serve justice. So it is bad.”

  “No, boy, that would be too easy. Our law helps keep order. It should be improved.” Thoughtfully, Tyrkir looked at him. “Maybe that’s a task for you. Yes, I can imagine that one day you’ll become a great speaker at the Thing.”

  Leif waved his uncle off. “First, my beard must reach down to my stomach. Now I am young and have something completely different in mind. Do you know, Uncle, that in the west . . .” He paused and said, “No, I want to complete this journey first.”

  A fog came up, so dense that Tyrkir could no longer see the top of the mast. They sailed at half cloth, and the horn blower gave a warning signal at regular intervals, but no answer came from other ships. Th
en, early on the fifth morning, the fog released them, and before them lay groups of islands in the sunlight, spread out like green, hilly gifts.

  The crew cheered. Leif embraced his uncle as they approached the land where they discovered a small settlement. There they asked, “Where are we?” and immediately afterward, “Where do we find the largest trading place?” They had been sent on and finally moored in the harbor bay of Drimore.

  Receiving a warm welcome, the noblest families of the village had offered them shelter. So as not to offend anyone, and because of their valuable cargo, the merchants preferred to live aboard with the crew. A tarpaulin was stretched out over the long-laid yard tree. They’d promised the wholesalers and noblemen that they’d tell them about Greenland during the banquets in their houses.

  That had been ten days ago. Now Tyrkir sat alone on the aft deck and waited. It was a cloudy morning. Over on the beach, the first curious people were strolling past the merchants’ stalls. But he barely noticed them. His fingertip ran from the corner of his mouth to the ear bulge and back again.

  I must act. But how? Should I simply command the boy? He immediately rejected the thought. No, not a boy. He’s old enough, and a man. And yet I am responsible for him.

  Leif had not returned to the ship’s tent the night before but had spent the fourth night in the house of the widow Thorgunna. As beautiful and cosmopolitan as she may be, Tyrkir thought, and even though she is the daughter of the wealthiest landowner in the area, I sense that this woman is dangerous. Perhaps some evil force brought us to the Hebrides?

  Leif! Tyrkir immediately spotted the golden-blond head in the harbor crowd; the fifteen-year-old swayed slightly as he approached. He struggled over the ship’s gunwale. Without noticing his uncle, he first groped his way to the water tub, dipping the ladle twice with trembling hands before drinking.

  He was about to climb into the covered cargo hold.

  “Was there roast mutton?” Tyrkir asked loudly.

  “I’m tired.”

  “Hard to believe, as fresh as you look.”

  Leif shuffled to him, yawned, and stretched out beside the stool. “Oh, Uncle. Last night was the lightest night ever for me, and on the way back, my feet were high above the ground. Believe me, I didn’t touch the earth with my boots. I still feel that way. Even as my back lies here, you see, like it’s raised above the planks.”

  “Amazing,” Tyrkir remarked dryly. “Was the mead lovely?”

  “Everything that Thorgunna offers me tastes and smells good. The honey bread. The fingers, the skin, even her voice.”

  “I knew that a voice could sound. But that it can smell or taste, that I did not know.”

  Leif sat up with great effort and embraced his knees. “Yes, Uncle, that’s it exactly. Everything changes with her.”

  “You rouse my curiosity. I’d love to try her mead. Maybe she even knows a recipe to improve my wine.”

  “Certainly. We can look for berries together in autumn, and then she can help you.”

  Autumn? Although the prospect frightened him, Tyrkir continued cautiously, “In the winter, it gets too cold onboard for the crew.”

  “Didn’t I say?” Leif looked at him with a glassy gaze. “The farm is big enough. Don’t worry! Thorgunna will give you your own chamber, and our people will have room with the servants.” His eyelids drifted shut.

  Tyrkir gently shook Leif’s shoulder. “I can’t wait that long, boy.”

  Leif opened his eyes again. “For what?”

  “I need to know the recipe for the berry wine as soon as possible. Do you think Thorgunna would invite me?”

  “Of course.” Leif swayed back and forth. “Tonight, I’ll tell her that you want to visit us tomorrow evening. She has little cat skins, Uncle, and she wraps them around . . . Oh, you’ll be amazed . . .” His head sank forward and hung over his knees, and Leif was fast asleep.

  Tyrkir gently tilted the tired body to the side and covered him with a sealskin. He looked at the face of his protégé: black-edged eye sockets, pale, sunken cheeks, half-open lips bitten to pieces, and blood stuck in the corners of his mouth. As much as I’d like you to have your first adventure in love, you don’t seem to be a match for this woman.

  Late the next morning, Leif had been resting for hours in the tent when a slave came to the harbor and asked for Tyrkir. “My mistress lets you know that it would be an honor for her . . . No, she would be overjoyed if you . . .” The servant had forgotten the words and looked up at the sky. “Well, my mistress Thorgunna is glad for you to come to our farm tonight. And by the Virgin Mary, there is damn good food.”

  Tyrkir threw him a piece of silver. “Give your mistress my thanks. I will gladly accept the invitation with Leif, the son of Gode Erik Thorvaldsson.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We are coming tonight,” Tyrkir translated, then he frowned. “What did you just say? Virgin Mary?”

  Fearfully, the servant held out the silver piece again. “Here. Take it back. But don’t tell that I cursed her by name. My mistress has strictly forbidden it because the priest has also forbidden it.”

  “It’s all right. Keep the money.” Tyrkir looked after the servant as he hastily climbed onto his horse. “That, too? What else will I have to contend with?”

  He had already followed the sound of ringing bells a few days earlier and had found the small church outside the village. He had known for some time that most families in Drimore preferred the new god to the magnificent crowd of gods in Valhalla. That fact had been irrelevant to him. But now? Thorgunna, a Christian! Was that how she’d been able to fascinate Leif so quickly? How she’d made him forget his every duty so that he no longer wanted to sail to Norway, let alone bring the ship back to his father? Did the new faith give Thorgunna this power over the boy?

  Tyrkir closed his eyes and returned to his village on the Rhine. The crouched stone church. The picture above the flickering candles. How tenderly Maria held her son in her arms. No, he thought. As far as I can remember, no evil powers emanated from the mother and the son of God. But who knows? After all, I was still a boy myself and forgot everything except this image. Or has this Jesus changed over the years? It’s possible. A son does not always follow his parents.

  The fireplace crackled. Oil lamps flickered all around, their glow scurrying restlessly over the two tapestries, bringing their woven, multiheaded snake creatures to life. As soon as Tyrkir entered the semidark room, he had the impression that their intertwined bodies were moving imperceptibly. A sweet smell made it difficult for him to breathe. Between the wall hangings, he discovered a wooden cross, but only for a moment before Thorgunna captured his gaze.

  She conjured her smile from bloodstained lips and teeth reminiscent of a carved ivory chain. “God be with you! How fortunate I am to finally be able to welcome the godfather of my beloved as a guest in my humble home.”

  There were no drinking horns—the welcome drink was offered by a maid in clay cups. It tasted sweet on Tyrkir’s tongue and burned its way down his throat. Rings flashed as Thorgunna’s hands moved elegantly while she spoke. “After the death of my husband, I divided our living quarters into two. The narrowness pleases me more. Here, near the kitchen, I entertain my guests, and behind the curtain, I rest. Two fires, and the smoke goes through one and the same eye. Very imaginative, isn’t it?”

  Before Tyrkir could grasp his senses, she led her guests to the table. At its center, small and large bowls were arranged to form a circular, fragrant focus. She gently pinched Leif’s cheek. “You, my star, shall sit beside me. Your godfather may take a seat opposite us on the armchair so that he can always see for himself how happy we are.”

  Thorgunna turned to the kitchen, clapped her hands, and immediately a maid appeared.

  While Thorgunna gave whispered orders, Tyrkir exhaled and used the moment to watch the hostess calmly. Even her back was impressive. Her brown plait was triple looped and held in place by two silver combs. How long that hair m
ust be when she lets it fall. She doesn’t wear a high-necked shift—only a pearl necklace—while gold bracelets adorn her neck and arms. And, why not? It’s warm enough in her house. The dark green straps accentuate the white of her shoulders, and how her hips curve below the tight velvet apron skirt . . .

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Leif reached across the table for his uncle’s hand.

  Tyrkir pulled his fingers away. “Quiet!”

  Thorgunna returned to the table with a slightly swaying gait. “First, there is a soup of—” She noticed the glances of the men and playfully scolded them. “This reminds me of what I learned on our trade trips. Do you know how the ladies greet their guests at noble Christian courts?” She put one foot back and bent her knee, leaning far to allow Tyrkir to take an in-depth look at her lush breasts.

  “You have traveled far,” he said, and felt his tongue stick to his palate.

  “My husband was a merchant, and because he couldn’t refuse me anything, I was allowed to accompany him on a few trips.”

  She looked up at the wooden cross between the snake creatures and lingered for a moment, calmly leading her hand to her forehead, under her breasts, and to both shoulders. Almost apologetically, she said, “I have invited my Lord Jesus to bless our meal.”

  She sat next to Leif, took a candied root from one of the pots, smiled, and shoved it into his mouth. “This will do you good.” She chose another one for Tyrkir. “Take it! Every man likes this spice.”

  While Tyrkir chewed, his mouth suddenly filled with saliva, Thorgunna chatted about her travels. “As a little girl, I got to know the noble customs of foreign peoples.”

  “That’s why she talks so beautifully, Uncle,” Leif said with an enraptured look.

  She immediately took another sweet root, but this time did not put it in his mouth. “Wait, my love!” She dunked her finger in another bowl and greased his cracked lips. “Carnation and nutmeg oil. You’ll like it better with that.”