“Nobody, beautiful woman. And by the way, I don’t understand what you mean.” He added mildly, “My godson is healthy again. I am grateful to the gods for that.”
“For a heathen to tamper with my business—” Thorgunna broke off as Leif returned with gifts and his first boatman. “Where would you like to sit?”
She chose a sandy spot close to the water. According to her instructions, the two stools were arranged in such a way that the third stool with the candle jug could be placed between them like a small table. “Let’s say goodbye alone, dearest.”
Before Leif could ask his uncle, Tyrkir moved away, but he remained nearby, full of unrest. New danger was looming. He sensed it, but he couldn’t tell how. He sharply observed every gesture of the pair. First, Leif handed over the gifts. Thorgunna admired the scarlet cloak of finest Greenlandic wool, put it around her shoulders, and turned around. “How does it look on me?”
“You are even more beautiful,” Leif confessed.
With sheer incredulous amazement, she accepted the belt made of walrus tooth. “I never knew you had such great artists up north.”
“There’s only one person who could carve that. My uncle.”
Tyrkir gnawed at his lower lip. He was annoyed that she’d received his best work as a gift; on the other hand, he felt honored by her praise.
“Your godfather? I always told you he’s a valuable person.”
Tyrkir was astonished at how smoothly the lie flew from her lips. This woman truly knew how to keep her sail in the wind.
“A ring!” she cheered. “Oh, dearest, please put it on my finger. I’m sure it was your mother’s.”
“Yes, certainly. Good gold.” While Leif took her hand and chose the right finger, his godfather could not suppress a smile. You understand lying, too, boy. Still a bit awkward, but it serves the purpose. The ring came from the jewelry and silver box on board, from which purchases were made during the voyage.
“May I kiss you in gratitude?”
Tyrkir immediately bent over. Only briefly did she press her lips onto his protégé’s mouth. No, nothing noticeable, he thought. But had Leif swayed a little after the kiss? Who’d be surprised, after the passion he’d experienced with her. No, I was wrong, there’s no reason for my uneasiness. I should be glad that the goodbye is going so smoothly and so peacefully.
“Come now, my star, let us enjoy one last familiar moment.” She asked Leif to sit down on the stool right next to the water and moved her seat so that she could shield the breeze with her coat.
“Though you cause me infinite pain, I will not be angry with you.” She took off her headscarf, checked the fit of the combs and needles in her pinned-up hair, and lifted the candle from the jug. “Look at me, my love, I want you to remember this image of me.”
“I will never forget you,” he murmured.
“I hope so.” With her right hand, she brought the candle closer to his face. “Don’t move! Give me time to see the star shine in the blue of your eyes for the last time.” Slowly, she also raised her left hand to the candle.
A needle! Tyrkir noticed the flashing, and before he realized, Thorgunna pushed the tip into the flame. “I prick the light, I prick the heart that I love.” Leif sat there motionless, his face frozen into a mask. “There is no other woman for you. And if you ever betray me, you will die.”
Tyrkir jumped in. “Bitch . . .”
“Don’t come any closer,” Thorgunna warned him. Between her thumb and forefinger, the needle hovered in front of the flame. “Don’t force me to pierce the light completely, because that would destroy all other happiness for your godson forever. Leif hears only my voice, so be silent until I release the spell!”
She led the silver tip back into the flame. “Dearest, I will raise our son and send him to Greenland as soon as he can walk. And know, my love, you will enjoy the boy as much as you enjoyed me. And I, before it is all over, will be on my way to you.” As if placing a kiss, she bent over the candle and blew it out.
At the same moment, Leif went limp, falling from the stool. His godfather caught him before he hit the ground.
Thorgunna rose calmly. First, she flicked the needle into the water, then she looked at Tyrkir with contempt. “Did you really think you could compete with me? I never give up. Mark my words, Scarface. In the end, I always win.” With her hips swaying, Thorgunna left the beach. The slaves helped her into the saddle and pulled the packhorse behind her.
“You are not a völva,” Tyrkir whispered. He did not know what Christians called such a woman, but he didn’t care. “At least now I have taken the boy from you. This is my victory.”
After she’d crossed the harbor forecourt and had long disappeared between the houses, Leif awoke from his dazed state. “Where is Thorgunna?”
“Gone, boy. She didn’t want to stay any longer.”
“Uncle . . .” He touched his lips carefully. “When she kissed me, I felt hot. The blood rushed so loud. Then a bolt of lightning went through my eyes and into my chest. The song? I didn’t quite understand the verse. She sang about our child . . . and that it will come to Greenland, and she also wants—”
“Quiet. Never mind.” Tyrkir shook him by the shoulders. “How do you feel?”
“My skull is humming like after bad mead.” Leif grinned slightly. “Other than that, I’m fine.”
“Then let’s go!”
“You mean, right now?”
“Yes, right away.” The sky was clear, the wind came from the southwest, they’d have visibility for several hours, and at night he could keep his course with the help of the North Star. “We shouldn’t stay here in the harbor for another hour.”
“Uncle, you want to run away?”
“More than that, my boy. Who knows what else could happen to us here?” Tyrkir put his hand on the left side of his face. “I’m afraid.”
Leif laughed. “Let’s go. The royal court in Norway awaits.”
Orders startled the crew. The anchor rope was pulled in. Four servants pushed the knarr from the beach deeper into the water and then were hauled aboard. “Take to the oars!”
Slowly, the Mount of the Sea slid through the harbor. Nobody waved goodbye, and as soon as they reached the open sea, Leif set the red sail.
At the bow, Tyrkir stood tall next to the dragon’s head. The wind bit into his scar, and never before had he felt such a pleasant pain.
To Be Read from the Rune Stone of Remembrance:
No Thor’s hammer, no world tree decorates the beginning of the lines. The cross precedes every inscription.
. . . the year 996: Without mercy . . . Norway . . . Olaf Tryggvasson proclaims the new faith: Christ is Emperor! Olav is King! The people must obey. Those who refuse baptism are tortured and murdered. Rebellious landowners and their families are burned to death. The Cross of the Redeemer will become the torture cross to those who doubt . . .
. . . the year 997: King Olaf now wants to convert all the islands of the North Sea. He sends his court chaplain, Dankbrand, to Iceland. The monastic novice Dankbrand has become a proud priest. He is often insulted by the pagans and pays them back with the sword. In the first months alone, the priest slays two mockers.
. . . the year 999: A berserker challenges Dankbrand to a duel. But before that, he wants to intimidate the priest. “I walk through fire with bare feet. I let myself fall on the tip of a sword and remain unharmed.”
“God will decide.” Dankbrand blesses fire and sword. The berserker burns his soles, and the tip of the sword penetrates his chest. Because of this miracle, some Icelanders become baptized. But Dankbrand abandons the attempt to bring Christianity to the heathens and sets sail for Norway. In the past three years, he has killed eleven men . . .
. . . the year 1000: Olaf Tryggvasson is furious about his priest’s failure. He takes Icelandic wholesalers hostage and sends two of them as his ambassadors across the sea to the Allthing of the heathens. War or baptism! The threat keeps the freemen busy, and soon a deep rif
t splits the Thing. The lawman Thorgeir lies down in his hut and pulls the blanket over his head. After two days, he rises again. From the Law Rock, he warns the assembly, “Woe to our Iceland if we no longer follow one faith and one law. If we tear up the law, we tear up peace. Let me mediate!”
Both parties want to comply with his judgment. And Thorgeir announces that all people of Iceland should be baptized and believe in the new god. But according to the old law, children can still be abandoned, and horse meat can still be eaten. The people may continue to offer sacrifices to the gods, but these must be performed in secret. Displeasure brews. The men from the north and the south of the country refuse to go into the cold water. The priest rides with them to a hot spring and baptizes them there.
. . . from the settlers in Greenland: Two months after Leif’s departure, the dam above the waterfall is completed. Satisfied with his efforts, Erik walks across his farm. But the first winter storms bring more rain than snow, and the structure cannot withstand the pressure of the overflowing stream. The following summer, the work starts all over again, but in vain. Whatever is put between the rock-cut is washed away the next morning. “I will win,” growls the giant. Though his hair is almost gray, he hasn’t lost the will to fight.
Not far from the embankment, on the shore of the fjord, his servants discover a dilapidated hut, a stone ax, and a rotten fur boat. “We are not alone.” Judging by the condition of the dwelling, it must have been abandoned long before the Icelandic settlers arrived, but Erik doesn’t care. “Even if they have long since died, maybe it’s their ghosts that are tearing down my wall.” From then on, he has the ruin guarded. Apparently, with success . . .
. . . the year 1000: The newly constructed dam resists the spring floods, and the stream is dammed in the narrow high valley above the waterfall . . .
Father Ernestus
The first weekend in August! His big day had come. Erik had asked Thjodhild; Freydis and her two brothers had to obey, and he would not be talked out of inviting neighbor Ingolf Arnesson and his family to the outing. After a ride past the half-mown meadows, through the middle of high grass to the end of the pastures of Steep Slope, the horses finally trotted with loud snorts up the narrow path.
To perform the sacred ceremony, the builder climbed up a boulder next to the dam, crossed his arms, and received congratulations and praise. Even the weather celebrated him—the sun was shining down on his little reservoir from a cloudless sky. “Let us thank the gods!” He raised his eyes and began to greet the community in Valhalla with a powerful voice.
Stealthily, Freydis turned and grimaced until both of the neighbors’ daughters started giggling. Ingva and Sigrid were immediately reprimanded by their mother with short, hard slaps. At the same time, the actual guilty party was listening, full of devotion, to her father’s ceremony.
Thjodhild had watched Freydis’s little game. What a creature you are, she thought. Four years ago, soon after Leif and Tyrkir had sailed, the daughter had begun to ingratiate herself with the father. She groomed his brown-and-white pied stallion, brought his cup without being asked. Even on the day of the sauna, she regularly managed to cross Erik’s path, as if by chance, and then happened to drop her bath towel. She didn’t pick it up immediately and disappear in the women’s shelter, no. First, her hair was straightened with an innocent look, then a twist, and finally, while bending down, her bottom was stretched.
Thjodhild shook her head. Erik had never encouraged his daughter to do so, but this young woman actually tried to ensnare her father. She also had sat at his feet when he talked about the dam and asked for details when everyone else had stopped listening. And today? On his day of honor, of all days, she disrupted the ceremony.
“. . . and may the strong hand of Thor protect the dam from now on so that our meadows will always have enough water, and we can bring rich hay to the barns in autumn!” No sooner had Erik finished than he pointed to the sky again. “A sign. There, you see!”
High in the blue, a white falcon was circling over the lake. “Goddess Freya herself has come to our feast. What great joy.”
Thorstein did not share the amazement of the adults. He’d found a stone and was challenging his sister.
“Very well,” she whispered. “But you first. Show what you can do!” The eleven-year-old bent his arm back and hurled the bullet far across the lake. The stone finally splashed into the water almost on the other side.
The noise destroyed the reverence of the moment. Before Thorstein could flee, his father jumped down from the boulder and gave him a resounding slap to the face. “How dare you!” he snorted. The anger in his gaze flickered briefly. Then, calm again, the master builder invited his guests to join him to inspect the wall up close.
“I must show you where we drain the water in dry weather without dragging the dam down.”
During the walk, Freydis pushed herself behind her younger brother. “You dope. You let me fool you. You’re still the same dumb shit you were before.”
On the right side of the dam wall, a narrow branch canal led to the wooden lock.
“So, let’s assume it hasn’t rained for a long time.” Erik stood with his legs apart and pointed to the water dispenser. “Four farmhands can lift the individual beams with a winch, as needed.”
Horn calls interrupted him. Distant horn calls, dark and long, then chopped off and long again. They blew from the fjord up over the plain.
Both families listened. Finally, Thjodhild broke the silence. “Leif!” She could hardly believe it. “It’s Leif and Tyrkir.”
Erik pulled at his beard. “Today of all days.” He wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Truly. The gods love us.”
The dam was forgotten. The young people raced to the horses. Egil, the neighbor’s eldest son, got there before Thorvald and Thorstein. The young men were the first to lead their nags down the path, much to the annoyance of Freydis, who had to wait above with Ingva and Sigrid. “You cheating morons,” she shouted after them. “I’ll catch up with you!”
The descent was slower for the adults, and as she watched children chasing across the meadows, Thjodhild wished she could be with them. No, not with them. Ahead of them, she thought. She felt her heart beating. I would like to greet my boy and Tyrkir before anyone else. How is my friend? Oh, beloved Frigg, highest of all goddesses, give me both back safe and sound!
The beach below the embankment was in a state of excitement. While the servants were already unloading baskets and leather bags, the young people surrounded the captain and his pilot. Questions, laughter, embraces, and again, questions. Neither Leif nor Tyrkir managed to give clear answers except for yes and good.
Nobody had even noticed that there was a second ship anchored a little way from the Mount of the Sea.
“Father!” Thorvald warned. At once, the cries subsided. Order returned, as custom demanded. Man after man, the ship’s crew took up their positions; the sons and daughters who had stayed at home left the returning men behind and formed a semicircle at an appropriate distance. Solemnly and slowly, the lord of Steep Slope rode across the gravel with his wife, followed by Ingolf Arnesson and his wife, Solveig.
Only after Erik had straightened in the saddle did his eldest bend his knee. “The journey was accompanied by good fortune. We only lost three of our servants in a storm off Norway. I return your ship to you safe and sound.”
“Welcome, Son, in the name of Thor, our dear friend. Welcome to your father’s roof.” Although Erik had the second knarr in his sights, he didn’t mention it. “You may now greet your mother.”
With quick steps, Leif was at Thjodhild’s side and lifted her out of the saddle. She hugged him, wanted to kiss him, but didn’t. She stroked his hair lightly. “My boy. I’m so happy.”
Erik looked down at Tyrkir, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Welcome, Know-It-All. Why so late? Did you lose your bearings?”
“Is that how a gentleman greets a gentleman? I won’t say anything until you dismount.”
>
“I missed that sound.” Laughing, the giant swung himself off his horse and laid both hands on his friend’s shoulders. “Except for all the work, it was almost boring without you. And we drank all your brew.”
“Those who despise my berry wine are not worthy of tasting the best mead. I brought ten skins from Norway—don’t even think I’ll share this good wine with you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Enough, you two!” Thjodhild interrupted. “Before you start where you left off, I demand my rights.” She reached out her hand to Tyrkir. “My house was empty without you.”
He felt the trembling, took in the warmth of her gaze, and said, “I bring your son back to you.” After a short time making sure that Erik wasn’t listening, he quickly, almost imploringly, added, “Whatever happens in a moment, you must know that I will never let you down.”
She looked at him, concerned, but there was no time to ask for an explanation. Leif joined them, accompanied by the neighbors. Meanwhile, Erik had been staring at the second ship. “Not a bad knarr. Whose is it, Son? Yours or ours?”
“I am the owner. My business in Norway went even better than I had hoped.” Leif’s words flowed faster. “It’s like this, Father. Returning, we rested for two nights at the trading post down at the south cape, and there, with some of the silver, I bought this knarr from the son of old Herjulf. I named the ship Falcon, a beautiful name. Do you like it?”
Erik was only half listening to his son. “Strange,” he murmured to himself as he started toward the new knarr.
Leif stayed close by his side. “Let’s take our time tomorrow to inspect the ship! Tomorrow, not now.”
But Erik would not be stopped. Slowly, Tyrkir followed them with Thjodhild and the neighbors.
Erik the Red Page 30
