Erik the Red
Page 28
The maid brought in the soup. Thorgunna scooped out the soup herself and added a different spice to each steaming bowl. “I leave the cooking and roasting of the food to the maids in the kitchen. My passion is to find the right flavors for every single guest.”
Leif slurped with evident pleasure, while Tyrkir first tasted cautiously. But when unexpected warmth spread out in his stomach, he kept putting the bowl to his mouth.
Over the edge of her own bowl, Thorgunna winked at him, sipped, and laughed darkly. “These fruits, roots, and herbs come from far away, some even from the Far East.” She raised her bare shoulders. “I don’t even know where that is. I bought the ingredients in York in the market. I use them to make powders, honey-sugar bites, and brews. But my skill is in mixing them. This is the only way to give them their mysterious effect.”
According to our faith, you would be a sorceress, Tyrkir thought. But he failed to ask because the Christians probably had a different word for their knowledgeable women.
He was thirsty—very thirsty—and he gladly had his cup refilled.
Cooked fish was served with the main course. Thorgunna sprinkled it with her ingredients, giving Leif a portion seasoned from different pots than the ones she used for his godfather. She entertained her guests without pause. “I love fine English fabrics. I sleep only on silk cushions stuffed with the fluff of eider ducks.”
“You should see the bed,” Leif chuckled and wanted to throw his head back with laughter.
“Don’t, dearest,” she admonished sternly. “Why should your uncle be interested in my bedchamber?” Her green eyes rested on Tyrkir again. “I heard you were curious about the recipe I use to prepare my mead.”
“Wine,” Tyrkir corrected. In an instant, his tongue was heavy in his mouth, and yet he felt no drunkenness. “Wine, that’s why I’m here. Because of my berry wine . . .”
“Take a knife tip from this powder. Whether beer, mead, or wine, no matter what drink you add it to”—Thorgunna stirred a stick in Tyrkir’s mug—“this drug causes a wonderful intoxication. But before I tell you the secret, you should taste it yourself. Here, take it.”
It was not a command, and yet he obeyed without hesitation. The bitter sweetness did not run down his throat; it stayed and stretched his head. I’m sitting in a grand hall, he thought, and because it was more comfortable, he leaned back.
Her fingers played on his thigh. “Would you like another sip?”
Tyrkir tried in vain to open his mouth, wanting to nod, but it didn’t work, wanting to hand her the cup, but his hand no longer obeyed.
“Your godfather must rest, my love.”
“So early? I don’t understand.” Leif hit the table with his fist. “I am a man.”
“But not big enough yet.”
Tyrkir heard their voices loudly, then quietly, and immediately loud again. The room also changed, from small to expansive to close again. He watched helplessly as she put a yellowish powder into Leif’s mead and held the cup to his lips. “You are already prepared for our feast, my stallion. Drink, this will break the last fetter. And then you may prove to me what power you have.”
She poured the brew into him in one go. Leif froze, then a tremor went through his body. He jumped up, threw off his cape, and pulled his shirt over his head. “Faster, my love, faster.” He snorted through the nostrils, pulling off pants, stockings, and leather boots. Slowly, he bent his upper body backward and pushed his stomach and loins forward.
Thorgunna looked down, pleased, and touched the arrowhead with her finger. “Stay like that,” she cooed, “until I call for you!” With a dancing step, she disappeared through the curtain into her bedroom.
When the hall shrank again, Tyrkir saw, much to his horror, that the snakes had curled up and were pushing their glowing heads through the tapestries. Their tongues were flickering at his naked protégé. I must warn the boy. But it was impossible. Leif couldn’t understand his gurgling and babbling.
Both halves of the curtain moved to the side. Tyrkir closed his eyes and opened them only to slits. There’s no danger, he thought. My intoxication is confusing me. There’s Thorgunna. Or is it just white skin with a golden shimmer? No, she’s smiling at me. Her hair spreads over her shoulders like a cloth. Her breasts are attentive guards with dark eyes. They protect navel and hips, as well as the fleece between her thighs. Now the beautiful one stretches out her hand to me.
“Come, my strong stallion!”
It astonished Tyrkir that it wasn’t he who let out the whoop, but Leif, that he wasn’t the naked young man who embraced Thorgunna and kissed her and pulled her into her bedchamber. His eyes widened and Tyrkir floated up, he was so light. There is no Leif, no Thorgunna. Everything that happens here is not real. The sweet mead only conjures up pictures, and why shouldn’t you enjoy them? A high bed with a blue sky, silky fabrics piled up on the posts. The woman climbed in, lured with a beautiful white bottom, crawling on her hands and knees into the middle and letting herself be caught up by the man. Tyrkir thought he heard giggles, laughter, even neighing, then screams rose, again and again, casting an eerie silence when they stopped abruptly.
In the distance, the woman appeared and turned into Thorgunna as she stood before him. “You are still awake, godfather. Do you like it so much that my powder won’t work immediately?” She put the fingertip on his ear bulge and drove along the scar to his mouth. “You shall sleep, you hear, and forget!”
For a long while, her breasts rocked back and forth like sails in front of his face. A glowing scent rose into his nose, and he thought, The weather is clearing up, and I can finally set our course again with the shadow needle. . . . Only I don’t know where Leif put it. . . . I have to ask. . . .
His arm stretched long and longer, and finally, Tyrkir managed to follow it with his body. “Be careful, Uncle!”
His knees threatened to buckle; still half-asleep, he leaned on his godson. “Wait, boy.” He wheezed and coughed. His mouth was parched, his limbs hurt like he’d been in a long fight. Tyrkir opened his eyes and was startled by Leif’s scratched face, his broken lips. “What happened to you?”
“I’m so happy, Uncle. Only a little tired.” The glassy expression in his godson’s eyes woke Tyrkir completely. We’re still in the house of Thorgunna, he noticed. Strangely, the tabletop was empty and shiny, and none of the snake creatures in the tapestries were moving. Carefully, he looked at the closed curtain. What was behind it? He tried to remember. We ate. There was soup, then fish, and we drank. Right. Thorgunna said she’d set up her bedroom behind the curtain, and that I wouldn’t be interested.
“Where is our hostess?”
“I don’t know.” Leif shrugged. “When I woke up, I was alone in the canopy bed. She’s never there in the morning when I leave.”
“Canopy bed?”
“That’s what she calls it. You have no idea how beautiful it is to lie among pillows and look into the blue silk cloud. Oh, Uncle.”
“What are you talking about? Come on, let’s go.”
One foot in front of the other, they blundered out of the room. At the door, a maid stopped them. “My mistress sends greetings and apologizes. I am to tell you that she would like the young gentleman to pay her his respects again tonight. . . . Oh, I can’t say it like that. You should visit her.”
“I’ll be on time. Tell her that.” Leif grinned to himself. “I will always visit her.”
“We’ll discuss that,” Tyrkir mumbled, and pushed him ahead.
Outside, the rain stung their faces. With every step, they sank ankle-deep into the soaked ground. “Do you float today, too?”
“Yes, look here.” Leif performed a small bounce and fell into the mud but didn’t appear to care. When he picked himself up, he jumped again. “See how I dance?”
“Even the stupidest mutton can do better.”
From that point on, Tyrkir was silent. Every clear thought was lost immediately somewhere in his head. Later, he thought, I will come up with something later.
Water—the cup sat too tight in the leather loop. The ladle slipped out of Leif’s hand, and because the bucket was too heavy, they drank from it like thirsty horses. In the onboard tent, they stretched out next to each other. “Oh, Uncle,” Leif mumbled. “This woman—I will never leave her.”
“Quiet, boy. Be quiet.” Tyrkir put his hand over his scar.
Even before the end of his dream, he woke and saw snakeheads turning on fleshy balls that became smaller and disappeared behind a blue silk scarf. He tried to understand the image, and although his mind obeyed him again, he found no interpretation except that the dream must somehow be connected to the evening before.
He reached out for his protégé, but the sealskin sleeping bag was empty. He couldn’t find Leif on deck, either, only the guards squatting together rolling dice. “Where is Leif Eriksson?”
Grinning, the first boatman pointed over the harbor square up to the noble houses of the merchants. “Where you both came from this morning.”
“Slave!” Tyrkir was already looming above the man. “Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone. I’ll sell you to some Christian. And I swear to you, their money is just as good to me. I can find a new helmsman on every corner in Drimore. Do you understand me?”
“But, Lord.” The man blanched and rose. His comrades quietly stepped back. Nobody onboard had ever seen the prudent pilot so upset before. “I thought . . .”
“Silence! You only think if I tell you to!”
“Forgive me, Lord!”
“You will keep your mouth shut!” Tyrkir hit his forehead with his flat hand. “Damn, why didn’t any of you fools wake me?” He stomped to the railing, exhaled, shook his head, then returned to the men, calmer. “Let’s start over again. Speak!”
“I don’t know what you want to hear, sir.”
“Don’t tempt me—” Tyrkir immediately caught himself. “No, you aren’t to blame. When did the skipper leave the ship?”
“The rain had stopped, and the sun was still quite high above the west.”
“So early? And how was he? I mean, what did he look like?”
The boatman hesitated. When Tyrkir raised his finger, he confessed, “Not so good, sir. Two men had to wipe the dirt off his shirt and trousers and his face. I don’t know where he fell. But don’t worry, sir. He was in good spirits. The woman must cook well for him. Oh yes, and then he told me something about a stallion.”
“A stallion?”
“Must be a special breed. Perhaps the master wants to buy it from the woman?”
“Impossible. Our cargo hold is full, he knows that.”
Tyrkir pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and climbed down the outer ladder.
The boatman bent over the side of the ship. “Forgive me, sir! One more thing. A merchant came to the knarr during the day. He asked about reindeer skins. He wants to drop by again in the evening. What should I tell him?”
“Today, I have no time for business. Put him off until tomorrow or the day after.”
At first, the servant hesitated. “Forgive me, sir, but it is only because of the guard. Will you stay the night again?”
“Sit down, throw the dice, and wait for me. I’m looking for a woman. And if I’m lucky, I may even be back soon.”
Tyrkir quickly walked across the harbor square. A little off the beaten track, he found fishermen mending their nets. He greeted them, chatted about the weather, and talked about how urgently he had to renew his stock of fish. Finally, he casually asked, “Is there a sorceress in Drimore? A clever völva?”
Immediately, all the heads bent deeper over the nets. “We are Christians.”
Even if his first attempt had failed, Tyrkir could not give up. He waited for a time and then tried again. “One who knows how to heal? We come from Greenland, and my friend is sick. There must be a wisewoman living in these parts.”
The fishermen remained silent. Finally, one of them grumbled, “Go to Thorgunna!”
“She won’t help him if he has no money,” his neighbor spat.
Again, the men were quiet. After a while, a man, weathered by age, lowered his needle. “Trude. Even if the priest does not like her, our Trude knows her stuff.”
“Where can I find her?”
Tyrkir was directed to the other side of the settlement. He followed the path through hilly pastures, and as he braced himself against the stiff breeze from the north, he asked God Tyr for help. I need double luck. The boy must be brought to his senses and the sou’wester needs to hold steady so that we can leave this unfortunate spot for Norway.
He reached a hilltop and smelled a hearth fire. He saw no dwelling in the twilight, but it couldn’t be far.
Then he noticed two sheep, just down the meadow slope and around the grazing animals, ravens squatted like a black fence. Strange, he thought as he descended.
Immediately, the ravens broke their circle, forming a double row against him. They croaked while the sheep at their backs did not even raise their heads. The closer he came, the more threatening the ravens’ calls became. “Give me peace!” Tyrkir deviated slightly from the path and waved his arms. “It’s all right. I don’t want anything from you!”
When he was almost past them, he saw the stone house. It lay tucked in the hillside, not visible from above because the meadow formed its roof. And it was there that the sheep grazed and the scouts of Hugin and Munin croaked.
“Here I am.” He smiled.
The masonry was cracked and crumbling; the door consisted of badly tied sticks and driftwood. Tyrkir carefully pulled it open.
Thick smoke struck him, stinging his eyes. He coughed, and before he could grow used to the weak light, something stroked across his face. Frightened, he looked up. Cat skins with heads and paws dangled from the ceiling. “Trude?”
There was no answer. Slowly, Tyrkir felt his way between baskets and jugs to the fireplace. A foul-smelling brew simmered in the kettle. “Trude?”
Nothing.
He wiped his eyes, and through the smoke, he discovered a sleeping mat on the floor by the back wall. There were no blankets, just a pile of rags. The völva’s probably gone out, he thought. I’ll wait. And he sat down on a stool next to the embers. Every niche in the wall was used to store bones and roots and pots. He even found skulls of goats. Dried tufts of herbs and a sieve of human ribs hung on the long string across the room next to the cat skins.
Tyrkir nodded. Even though everything here seemed dirty and threadbare, the remedies and magic reminded him of the grand parlor of the seeress from Eagle Farm in Iceland.
“Who comes to visit Trude?”
He whipped around. Nobody had entered the room.
“If he will not answer, let him disappear, and let me rest.” The voice was slightly muffled, and yet very close.
“Tyrkir. I come to you from Greenland. They call me the German.”
“Are you a Christian?”
“The great Tyr dwells in me.”
“Strange. Because my black shepherds croaked so loudly, I was afraid that Father Rufius wanted to convert me to his faith again. They sense every Christian, you know, but with this priest, they get particularly angry. All right, I want to believe you. What can I do for you?”
Meanwhile, Tyrkir was sure that the völva was speaking to him from the back wall. “My friend is sick. Can you save him?”
He heard giggling. “From afar? That will cost you more silver, and I cannot vouch for success. Has he broken anything or got pain in his body?”
“No. It’s something in the head.” Tyrkir looked helplessly at the back wall and raised his shoulders.
“Either you explain to me exactly what’s wrong with him or get out!”
“No, don’t send me away! A woman’s captured Leif with her magic.”
“Oh, oh,” mocked Trude. “Does the pain o
f love torment him?”
“It’s more me who suffers while he floats above the ground.”
“By the three Norns, don’t waste my time! Or were you sent by Rufius?”
“No, I don’t know him at all.” As briefly as possible, Tyrkir described the situation. When he told of the previous night’s meal and the mysterious ingredients, the völva interrupted him sharply: “What is the name of this woman?”
“Thorgunna.”
He was shocked to see how the rags moved on the mat. Fingers grew out of the heap; arms, and then a face appeared, framed by stringy pale-yellow hair. Trude stared at him from bright, watchful eyes.
“This slut has ruined my business. The sick used to go to my mother. Thorgunna and I learned the art from her. After her death, we were both the völvas of Drimore. But almost everyone came to me, even the richest merchants, because I am more skilled. But then she became a Christian and is now in cahoots with the priest. First, the cross is waved around, then there are the little remedies of Thorgunna, and then they pray vigorously to the mother of this Jesus.” Trude stuck out her tongue for a long time. “Just a new scam, nothing more. The medicinal herbs are still the old ones. But the clientele stays away from me.” She laughed. “It was good that you came. Now I can prove to this poisoner how quickly I can disperse her concoctions.”
Tyrkir didn’t want to spark a fight between the wisewomen of Drimore in which Leif could quickly become their victim. “The only thing that matters to me is that the boy has a clear head again.”
“By Odin and his three Norns, I swear he will.”
Trude peeled all the way out of the mountain of rags and jumped up. She was a wiry little woman, not old, yet not young, either. Her long robe had undoubtedly not been washed for months. It hung down, fraying around her thick woolen stockings. “Sit there and don’t you make a sound.”
Armed with a silver bowl, she dashed back and forth between the nooks in her walls, took an herb here, a bone there, added brownish little chunks, and while she was crushing the mixture with a pestle, Tyrkir heard her humming.
“That would be the base,” she whispered with satisfaction, setting the bowl down on a wooden block. “Now, three eyes from the salmon.” As she prepared her remedy, she spoke the recipe to herself in a low voice. “Some urine from the rabbit.” She giggled and added a dark powder from a little bag. “A pinch of dried monthly blood, that it may frighten the love-crazed boy.”