“Who is that?” Erik asked. His hand pointed up to the quarterdeck. A small figure stood with its back to them. The head was covered by a hood, and the simple tunic was made of the same brown fabric. A rope was tied around his hip as a belt. “Who is that?”
“A friend.”
“Why doesn’t he ask for shelter?”
“Because he is my guest. And because I don’t know . . .”
“I won’t ask you again.”
Then the stranger turned. Erik blanched and took a step back. With a faint groan, Thjodhild reached for Tyrkir’s arm. It was not the face that frightened her—it was the silver cross on the man’s chest. “Greetings in the name of the one true God.” He bowed his head. “I am Father Ernestus.”
Suddenly, Erik raised his fist, making incomprehensible threats, then paused, and his face smoothed a bit. “Oh, now I understand.” He gave his son a friendly push. “He’s your prisoner.” He turned to his wife and the guests. “You see? A Christian snuck aboard on the way, and because my son has a soft heart, he didn’t know where to take him.” Again, he prodded Leif. “Why didn’t you say that outright? Don’t worry, boy, this will be done quickly and cleanly. I’ll have him put to sleep up on the edge of the glacier with a nice piece of bacon in his teeth. The wild animals will be pleased.”
“No, Father. Priest Ernestus is my friend, and he enjoys protection and holy hospitality on my ship.” Leif’s sparse goatee shook. “No one is to board the ship without my permission, not even you.”
Struck to the core, Erik gasped and looked across the bay as if the water would rise any moment. But it remained still. He looked up at the sky, but no clouds came. He turned around, shuffled across the gravel, and returned. “Fine. As if I care. The Christian is yours. I won’t touch him.”
“Do you promise?”
“You have my word.” Erik’s smile was tortured. “I trust you. Your parents and your godfather have taught you everything an honorable man needs to know, so you may decide for yourself. Nevertheless, listen to my advice and beware of the Christian’s gossip.”
With shaking fingers, Leif reached for his neck and fidgeted with the chain under his shirt. When he drew it out, there was no Thor’s hammer, but a cross. Slowly, he pressed it against his chest.
Erik staggered, the amber in his eyes dulled, and he sought Tyrkir’s gaze. Wordlessly, his friend pulled out an identical cross.
“You too?” Just one statement, then the lord of Steep Slope pointed to the line of boatmen. “I know the crew would not disobey a captain’s order.”
Tyrkir stepped forward, but Erik raised his hand—“Don’t, Know-It-All”—and went to his horse. His hand brushed across the mane. “Treason. My best friend betrayed me.” He climbed into the saddle.
No one spoke until Erik had left the pebble beach. As he rode up the path to the farm, Thjodhild whispered, “Poor, sad man. And today was to be your big day.” She turned to Tyrkir. “We inaugurated the dam this morning. The wall really seems to be holding this time. He was so proud of his work.”
“I’m sorry. If I’d known about the feast, we’d have come into the bay tomorrow.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She stared over at the priest. “But I must admit, as humbly as he stands there, Father Ernestus leaves me a little perplexed. Have you really converted to the new faith?”
“Leif was baptized in Norway. As for me—”
“No, no long explanations now,” she interrupted. “You’ll be spending a lot of time on those in front of Erik. Just tell me one thing: Was your decision the right one?”
“Yes.” He looked at her openly. “With heart and mind, yes.”
“All right. Then I will join you in the struggle for peace on our slope. I promise you.”
“Thank you.” With that, he felt strengthened as he went over to Leif.
Although I do not know how, Thjodhild thought sadly, we must try. Oh, my friend, how I have missed you. Your face is still pasty and gray from the journey. Your eyes are enough for me.
Ingolf Arnesson took the first load off her shoulders. “My Solveig and I think that you and your family will want to be alone today. We thank you for the invitation, and we’re going home.”
“Understanding neighbors are a blessing. Thank you. But our feast is only postponed. Excuse me.” On foot, Thjodhild moved toward the steep slope, hoping to make sense of everything by the time she reached the farm.
The parents mounted their horses and ordered their children with a wave to come along, no grumbling. Even the young people had realized that it was not to be a joy-filled day.
Sigrid quickly said goodbye to Thorvald and he helped her into the saddle. Her sister hesitated, then ran to Leif. The blood rose to her cheeks. “I was waiting for you.”
“Let me look at you, Ingva. You’re beautiful—” His voice choked suddenly, as if an invisible force was closing his throat. He coughed and finally managed to continue. “Better not. I mean, I’m not feeling so good today. But that’s very kind of you.”
“See you soon,” she whispered, and ran to join her family.
Egil led his horse by its halter. He stopped by Leif for a moment. “Hey, a good ship, your Falcon!” Then he whispered, “Are you sticking to our plan? I haven’t told anyone. So far, the country in the west waits only for us.”
“Leave it for now,” Leif murmured. “You see what’s going on. First, I have to sort things out with my father. We will go. I’ll let you know when.”
“That’s all I wanted to know.” Egil swung himself up. “Good to have you back.” And in a fast tölt, he rode after his family.
“Good to be back? I could cry with joy.” With a bitter smile, Leif climbed onto the Falcon.
In the meantime, Tyrkir had ordered the yard tree to be laid lengthwise, and the board tent erected above it. Provisions and water were carried on deck. Father Ernestus wanted to help, but Tyrkir was unusually strict. “Beware, pious man! We’re no longer at sea. If you want to earn respect here, leave the work to the servants.”
“As a servant of God, I am sworn to humility. In my convent, it was the rule to do all work. Even Jesus Christ was not ashamed—”
“Damn it, this isn’t Saxony. You’re in Greenland!” Tyrkir wrung his hands and tempered the tone. “We talked about it often during the journey. The people here do not feel they lack Christ in their lives. They have enough gods and are satisfied with them. Your being here causes trouble, and King Olaf cannot protect you. My godson and I will help you as best we can. Just, please, try to fit in with the old order for now. Do not act as a servant, but as a master who preaches the message of an even greater master.”
Ernestus pulled back his hood and thoughtfully stroked the shaved area at the back of his head. “Hearing you explain it that way, I believe you should be preaching in my place.”
“I still know too little of what the Bible says.” Tyrkir smiled for a moment. “But who knows? I’m a fast learner.”
“My uncle’s right,” Leif interrupted. “We must be smart.” He looked up at the house on the hill. “If not, Thor will jump off the wagon and crush Jesus with his hammer before he even has a chance to open his mouth.”
Ernestus took his cross in both hands. “The ways of the Lord may be tortuous, but they do lead to his will.”
“Amen,” Tyrkir added dryly. “We must go. And this particular road is not tortuous, but steep.”
To protect the priest, Leif sent two more guards aboard. They received orders to prevent any visitor—if necessary, by force of arms—from boarding the ship.
“My prayer accompanies you,” the priest shouted after them.
“That won’t do us much good today,” muttered Tyrkir. From then on, the men remained silent.
No sooner had they reached the courtyard than Freydis ran toward them. “Brother! You haven’t even greeted me properly.” She turned in circles on tiptoe. “Don’t you like me anymore?”
“Yes, of course.”
Tyrkir saw how troubled h
is godson was. “I’ll bathe first. Come along! A little hot water won’t harm you, either.”
“It’s all right, Uncle. I’ll meet you later. But let’s go to the hall.”
With a shrug, Tyrkir disappeared behind the house.
“The old man’s finally gone.” Freydis pushed herself close to her brother. “Well, you Christian, where’s my gift?”
“Tomorrow you can pick out a fabric.”
She moved her mouth, and Leif remembered what he’d brought her. “You’re still going on about that?”
“You idiot. Don’t you dare insult a woman!”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Mollified, she stroked his dirty shirt and played with his cross. “I could help you wash.”
“Leave me alone! You’ll make my head explode.” He stormed after his uncle.
Freydis had her index finger dancing on her lower lip. “I wonder, Brother, how long you’ll get to keep that head. Father won’t need an ax. He’ll just tear it off.”
During the meal, Erik remained monosyllabic, his gaze occasionally settling on his friend. He didn’t even acknowledge Leif. It was difficult for the young skipper to respond to his brothers’ curiosity, so his tales of travel and adventure, even the royal court, remained lifeless and without color.
“It must have been boring,” Thorstein complained. “Did you at least see a whale?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
In order not to let the mood sink even further, Thjodhild intervened with a smile. “As soon as Leif has rested, he will gladly tell about his journey. Now, go!” She banged her spoon on the tabletop. “Freydis, that goes for you, too. The men want to talk alone.”
Outraged, the young woman threw back her braids. “Every time it gets exciting, you chase me away.”
Erik raised his hand, and that was enough. Freydis strolled slowly through the hall. At the weapons rack, her fingers stroked some spear and ax shafts and plucked the feathers in the arrow quiver. And then, all of a sudden, she ran out of the room.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. At some point, Tyrkir offered to have a jug of Norwegian mead brought by the maids. “I’m sure a welcoming drink will do us all good.”
“I’ve lost my thirst.” Determined, Erik stood up. The stool toppled, but he didn’t care. His back stiffened with every step, and by the time he’d settled on his high bench, cold dignity surrounded the lord of Steep Slope. “I am waiting.”
One more look passed between uncle and godson, then they went together to the center of the living hall. Thjodhild rested her forehead in her hand; she wanted to follow the conversation from the table.
No, the two were not allowed to sit. “Whoever violates the sacred law of the family shall stand before the chief until the sentence is pronounced.”
“Why do you judge before you hear us, Father?” Leif clenched his fists behind his back. “Or are we here at the gates of a court?”
“Were you expecting anything else, Son? This is a clan Thing. My position and the holy law allow me to condemn you and the German.”
“You hide behind the law, you of all people, Erik the Red? I can’t believe it. Was everything Uncle told me wrong? That trial against you in Iceland? It was then that the holy law tore our family apart.” The attack had an effect, and Leif looked up. “Are you so old that you’ve forgotten the injustice against you? No, I can’t believe it because I respect you, Father.”
Erik looked up at the wind-eye for a long time. When he returned his attention to his son, his voice had lost some of its coldness. “It was a hard time, boy, and I thought I’d left it behind me for good. Until you and Tyrkir showed me the cross . . .” He ran his fingers through his hair. “No, I will not pass judgment until I’ve listened. But how could this tragedy have happened?”
At the table, Thjodhild sighed in relief. It was a small step. Perhaps a way could be found after all.
“First, we were forced to the Hebrides. It took several weeks before we reached the southwest and could sail on.” Leif did not reveal more about his stay there, and since his godfather didn’t interrupt, he continued on. “We arrived in Norway at the end of August and anchored in Trondheim Harbor. Soon, King Olaf Tryggvasson summoned us. Father, it was as if we had entered another world. . . .”
“Save it for later. Right now, I just want to know how this god caught you.”
“But the royal court’s involved. Olaf Tryggvasson has converted to the Christian faith.”
Leif didn’t give his father any time to recover from the news. As he continued, Erik clawed his hand into his beard as if he had to hold on to it. Close to the king, there was no one left who had not been baptized. Olaf did his own missionary work and had set himself the goal of eradicating the old belief in the gods. With his bodyguard, he traveled from one district to the next. Anyone who resisted was forced by sword to be baptized, or else they would lose their lives most cruelly.
“Father, we had to watch how a man who disobeyed was tortured. He wouldn’t let go of Odin and Thor. A stone was wedged between his teeth so that a snake could crawl into his mouth. Even the snake refused. By order of the king, the executioner tied a red-hot iron to the tail of the beast. And the serpent crawled into the mouth cavity and down the throat where it ate the man’s soft parts.”
Thjodhild froze. What kind of god is that? If he forces people to believe in him with such cruelty?
Erik leaned back. “Fear. Now I’m beginning to understand.” He looked at his son and his friend. “You became Christians out of fear because Olaf would have killed you. Very clever. Don’t worry. You’re safe from him here, so you can take down that cross again.”
Tyrkir pulled up a stool. Even without permission, he took a seat in front of Erik. “No, no. It’s not that simple. The king’s arm reaches far.”
“What do I care about Norway. I’m the lord here.”
Tyrkir rubbed his ear. “Let’s talk about that later. So far, you only know one reason why it would be wise to convert to the Christian faith. Let’s talk reason. I’m thinking about our business. We would not have been able to sell even one skin in Trondheim if Leif had not been baptized, or at least accepted the cross. Christians don’t like to deal with heathens.”
“Heathens?”
“Yes, that’s what they call all those who still worship the gods in Valhalla. We must change our ways, my friend, and quickly, or soon no one will buy our goods. We’ll lose our business connections, and with them our wealth.”
“I don’t think so. We can sell our woven fabrics, furs, and ivory anywhere.”
“Father.” Leif moved closer. Beseeching him, he raised his hands. “A new era has long since dawned, only we in Greenland have not noticed it.”
Erik ran his fingers through his hair. “Since I can remember, I’ve lived with my Thor. I’ll never give him up. I’ve taken every vow in his name and kept my word.” He leaned toward Tyrkir. “And what about you? Did you throw your Tyr into the garbage with your baptism, just like that?”
“No.” Tyrkir hesitated. He’d feared this answer for weeks. “I was not baptized in Norway.”
“You want to tell me . . .” The giant rubbed his knuckles together violently. “There, there, my son and the crew run into trouble, and our Mr. Know-It-All stays out of it.”
Thjodhild could no longer stay at the table; she came to the great fire and sat next to Erik. “I, too, thought that you and Leif had converted to the new faith.” Her tone carried a bitter reproach.
“Not out of cowardice,” Tyrkir assured her. “I didn’t have to put on the white shirt because I was baptized right after I was born.” He looked at her sternly. “I have always been a Christian.”
Erik’s hand went to his belt and drew out his knife. “Cheater!”
Thjodhild fell onto his arm. “Don’t you dare! This is my house!”
“Let go, woman!” Erik pushed her aside, and instead of throwing the dagger at his friend, he threw it over the fire. The blade struck the bench of h
onor hard.
Thjodhild touched her aching shoulder. Frightened at his own reaction, Erik paused. “It’s all right. Forgive me.” He looked at Leif. “I did not want . . . I would never hit your mother.” He narrowed his eyes at Tyrkir. “You’re to blame, damn it! Why would you say that? We grew up together, shared our lives together. It was through you that I learned the stories of our gods. And now my best friend claims that he’s been lying to me all these years.”
“No, that’s not true. Let me finish, and you’ll understand.” Cautiously Tyrkir tried to untie the knot. “Leif can testify that I was ready to be baptized in Norway.”
But before that, the king’s bishop, who himself had come from Germany, had had a conversation with him. When he’d heard about the village on the Rhine, he recalled that the people in that area had been Christians, even then. Tyrkir had been held over the baptismal font as a newborn child and a second time would be against God’s will.
“So, I am a Christian, only I had forgotten it. I had also forgotten my Christian name, Thomas. Now and then, I remembered the church in our village, an image, nothing more.” Tyrkir looked at his hands. “To make my slave life with the Vikings easier, my mother named me after God Tyr and gave me the firm trust in the Aesir in Valhalla. As well as I got along with the gods later, the true faith never let go of me. I know that now.” He raised his head. “Even in this house, there is proof.”
“Those crosses on your neck,” growled Erik.
“You’ll be surprised.” A smile played at the corners of Tyrkir’s mouth. He asked Thjodhild to get the soapstone lamp that Erik had given her out of joy over her first pregnancy. He showed them both the carved picture. “This woman is nursing her child. I didn’t think about it then, but it is Mary who is holding Jesus in her arms. Christians pray to the Virgin Mary when they are in need.”
Thjodhild carefully followed the lines. So this is the mother of the son of God, she thought. How often have I looked at them with love?
“Let me see!” Erik grabbed the lamp and growled. “I, of all people, have something like that in my house?” And he threw it into the embers.
Erik the Red Page 31
