Erik the Red

by Tilman Roehrig

  “She’ll calm down,” Thjodhild sighed and asked a maid to take little Thorgils back to the women’s shelter.

  The good mood had been spoiled. Thorvald withdrew, humiliated because his big brother had spoken disparagingly of his skills as a skipper, and Thorstein followed him.

  “You should give him a chance,” Thjodhild scolded. “He’s long since reached manhood, and such a mysterious country whets the appetite for adventure.”

  “Thorvald has to be patient.” Leif took his father’s place again. “First, we must use the Falcon to recover the cargo from the damaged knarr out on the skerry. I owe it to the envoy.”

  Full of admiration for her eldest, Thjodhild listened as her son described the rescue. “Leif the Lucky,” she repeated quietly. “Let this name clothe you like a festive robe, my boy.”

  Meanwhile, her concern grew when she heard about the envoy’s assignment. “Father Ernestus is very popular. Almost all the families on the fjord have now been baptized. Our church can barely hold the faithful on Sundays. The king’s messenger can leave with good news. If only Greenland’s supreme gode would not refuse to accept Christianity.”

  She looked at her friend. “That pigheaded man. His back may be crooked, but when it comes to the gods in Valhalla, he stands tall and firm like a rock in a raging torrent.”

  “And I hardly blame him.” Tyrkir rubbed his scar. “The world has changed around him, then the fall broke not only his body but his soul. Perhaps insisting on the old values still gives Erik some strength. Should we take that from him?” He smiled thinly.

  “But as for the spy of the Norwegian kings, I think we have nothing to fear on that front. Without knowing it, Erik himself has found the solution. Leif will open the Thing of the freemen, and the envoy will see the progress of the Christian faith.” He pulled an oil light closer and shielded it with his hand. “And in the meantime, we hide our beloved heathen from the man.”

  As on every morning, Thjodhild’s first concern was for her grandchild, but today his bed was empty. She asked one of the two old slaves she’d chosen to care for the little one where he was.

  “Your daughter woke him at sunrise,” replied the maid. The weather was fine, Freydis had said, and she wanted to ride with Thorgils into the countryside.

  “Ride?”

  “That’s what I understood. Freydis fed the boy and told him about colorful flowers. He stroked her nose, which he always does when he’s happy, and then they went over to the stable. Have I done something wrong, Mistress?”

  “No, no. It’s fine.” Thjodhild left the shelter. Freydis had often taken Thorgils with her to play in the meadow. But why hadn’t she waited until after their breakfast? And why hadn’t she stayed nearby? Thjodhild accelerated her steps. When she reached the stable, she asked one of the hands if he’d seen them.

  “That’s right. I saddled a bay for the young mistress.”

  “What else? Tell me exactly what happened.”

  He scratched his bald head. “She placed the little one in front of her. Oh, yes, then she asked where the willow slope was where we built the walls for the reindeer trap. I described it to her, and she went off with the boy. The young lady was so cheerful. I’ve never seen her like that. And the boy seemed to be enjoying himself, too.”

  Thjodhild’s heart seized. “How long has it been?”

  “A good hour.” Thjodhild hurried to the house. Leif lay buried deep under a blanket of fur. She shook him awake. “Get up. Hurry!”

  Drowsy, he staggered from his bed.

  “Your sister has taken Thorgils out.”

  “So? After last night, she wants to prove her good intentions.”

  “I don’t think so. Usually, Freydis doesn’t take a horse. She plays with Thorgils in the meadow. But today of all days, she rides with him to your reindeer trap? I may be wrong, but you have to go after them. Please!”

  Leif gaped at his mother. “That steep slope is no playground.” Now he was awake. Just the boots—there was no time for trousers and a belt. As he stormed out, he slipped on a smock shirt, grabbed it over his knees, and jumped onto an unsaddled horse. In a wild tölt he dashed through the blooming meadows, soon reached the juniper bushes, and rushed up into the eastern hills.

  The sun stood high. Above the hillside, Freydis squatted next to the child at the edge of the birch forest. “Now raise your arms, you ugly thing,” she whispered, and pushed Thorgils’s soft woolen doublet up to his neck. Because his head was so huge, she rolled the wool gently over his face. “Your cheese ball has gotten even bigger.”

  He made a grab for her nose. “Auntie . . . is . . . lovely.”

  “You learned that very well.” Freydis loosened the wraps on his stomach and pulled them through his legs. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled patronizingly. “Keep your sandals on, or you’ll get poked in your spider feet. Auntie doesn’t want to cause you pain.”

  She reached into the pleated pocket of her dress and revealed an arrow. “Well, there you are. I’ve brought us a nice toy.” She stroked his laughing mouth with the feather shaft and held the arrow high above his forehead.

  Thorgils followed it, bending his head to his neck, but the weight made him fall back into the grass, and his big eyes filled with fright.

  Freydis tickled him with the feathers on his neck until he kicked with pleasure again. She stroked his sunken chest.

  Several times, she made the shaft bounce on his round belly. “Yes, we have fattened you up nicely. No telling how fat you may still get, you goblin. And who knows, you might live forever. If your flabby father gives you an inheritance, you’ll get a wife. Oh, yes, the money will make you beautiful. But you mustn’t continue on your legacy. You’re four winters old now, and I think that’s enough. What do you think?”

  Thorgils rolled back and forth. “Auntie . . . is . . . lovely.”

  “Well, there you go. We agree.”

  Humming a tune, Freydis took the naked boy in her arms and carried him down the sloping pasture. As the stones narrowed the trap on either side, the meadow came to a point. She set Thorgils down and pointed forward to the gap in the stones. “Over there, heaven awaits you.”

  The strange light flickered in her eyes, and this time it did not fade away. She tickled his back and Thorgils eagerly stalked in front of her on his spider legs, laughing like a bleating lamb and rowing with his arms. Slowly, but steadily, they approached the narrow opening. When he fell down, Freydis picked him up again, praising how beautifully he walked, and continued to tickle the boy toward the edge of death.

  Then Leif appeared on the stone wall. He spied the pair below him, and with one leap he was in the trap, charging down. “Freydis!”

  She spun around, then she pushed the boy forward. Thorgils fell, rolled over his head, and rolled on pushed by her.

  “Freydis! Freydis! No, don’t!”

  “Get out of here!”

  Leif pushed her aside and threw himself over the naked rolling bundle. He grabbed Thorgils in his arms and stormed back up the slope with him.

  Freydis chased after her brother. “You bastard!” she screamed. “You miserable dog! Give me back the brat!”

  At the edge of the forest, Leif lay his whimpering son in the grass. With clenched fists, he waited for his sister. She was panting, her face twisted, and no sooner had she reached him than she kicked him between his legs. Her boot caught in his long gown.

  Leif grabbed her heel, tore it higher, and Freydis slammed backward into the grass. Immediately, she was back on her feet, hissing and grasping the shaft of the arrow like a dagger.

  “Sister.” He held out his hands defensively. But that’s all he managed to say.

  With a wild curse, she rushed forward and stabbed at his abdomen. At the last moment, he managed to grab the sharp point, deflecting the thrust, and snatched the weapon from her.

  She didn’t give up, attacking again. Leif punched her hard in the stomach.

  Doubled over, Freydis fell to her knee
s, groaned, gasping for breath, and vomited.

  Stunned, Leif stared down at her.

  “S-so you hit women after all,” she stammered between choking and coughing. Freydis raised her head. There was no trace of anger or hate. Only reproach was written in her brown eyes, and her chin trembled. “You shouldn’t treat a woman like that. You know that.”

  Leif crouched by her.

  “Don’t hit me again,” she begged.

  “No, calm down.” He stroked the hair from her forehead. “You’re sick.”

  “Bullshit.” With her sleeve, she wiped her chin. “You didn’t hit me that hard.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Why did you want to kill Thorgils?”

  “Oh, my brother.” She rolled onto her side, leaning her head on her hand. “Because I must help. No, not just you—our family. Until yesterday, I believed you would get rid of that troll right away. All winter long, I was kind to him for Mother’s sake. It’s not his fault that he’s worthless. And it was fun with him, too. But I was only fattening him up for the animals.”

  Thorgils came crawling toward them. “Aunt.”

  “Yes, yes, you bug.” With her finger, Freydis caressed his curls and sighed. “Look at the brat. I know that Mother’s consulted the priest, and he persuaded her that God forbids it, but what does he know about our customs?” Freydis sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Such a creature is a disgrace to us. And since Father won’t say anything and you’re backing down, I’m the only one left. Our clan must be full of strong, healthy people. If we’re not careful, we’ll soon have a whole horde of cheese balls like this.”

  Horrified, Leif shook his head. “Only a man can decide whether a child should be expelled. It is the custom. And I have decided.” He waved the arrow at her. “This boy will live with us as my son. He may be weak, but it is God alone who will determine his fate, not you. Do you understand me?”

  Freydis raised her eyebrows and grinned.

  Angrily, Leif broke the arrow over his knee. He hadn’t noticed until that moment, but he’d nicked his hand on the sharp tip of the arrow while defending himself earlier. Now he watched the blood drip, and he looked at his sister, stunned. “When we returned from Norway last year, a servant was lying behind the barn the following morning. He’d fallen onto a hay rake, but he also had a broken arrowhead in his belly. Do you know anything about that?”

  “That horny goat.” As the memory returned, the tip of her tongue quickly slid over her lower lip. “It was quite easy. He came out of the shed to pee. All I had to do was wink, and he followed me into the barn. Upstairs, I showed him my tits, and he wanted to prove himself. I stabbed him for that. He didn’t scream. Just looked stupid. I put two fingers against his forehead, and he was gone.” Freydis giggled.

  “Why, damn it? Tell me!”

  “Because I wanted to do Father a favor.” She batted her eyelashes disarmingly. “You had arrived with the priest, and he was so sad, so I gave him a Christian.”

  Leif tugged at his hair with both hands. “You killed a man.”

  “It was just a slave.”

  He jumped up, stomped to the edge of the forest, and kicked at a bush, sending leaves and branches flying. Behind him, Freydis made the boy laugh with her cooing voice.

  Finally, Leif returned. He was no longer just her brother; his face showed that he was the heir to the clan of Erik Thorvaldsson. “Listen carefully. When a woman kills a man with vile intention, she, too, is subject to the law. She will be decapitated or stoned. This sentence can be passed by the Thing court.”

  His cold tone sucked the blood from Freydis’s cheeks.

  “You’re a vicious murderer, and I’ll be the chief justice at the Thing instead of Father.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. I’m your sister.”

  “Don’t count on it, half sister. You are ‘only the daughter of a slave.’ The fact that you were adopted by my father may just move me to keep your deed from the assembly. But then I must hold a House Thing. You may be cast out of our family, or at the very least, lose your claim to a dowry.” He smiled. “And I can already see our proud Freydis living with a poor peasant and giving birth to her children in a smoke-filled hut.”

  “No, no!” she cried, and struck her own face in horror. Her eyes filled with tears. “Please!” On her knees, she slipped in front of her brother. “You can’t do this to me. Please, brother!”

  “Unless . . .” He let the silence stretch.

  She immediately reached for the straw. “Ask it. Ask for whatever you want. I’ll do it!”

  Leif took his naked son and pressed him into the sister’s arms. “From now on, you are responsible for Thorgils. Until a man marries you, you will guard the boy like your own life, for if something happens to him or if he dies by some accident, you will not receive a bride-price. I swear it.”

  Freydis could only nod. She pressed the boy to her, caressed him, and kissed the laughing mouth. “Come on, let’s get dressed.” Carefully, she slipped the wool jerkin over his head.

  “Auntie . . . is . . . nice.”

  Meek as a lamb, she asked the brother, “Shall I carry Thorgils to your horse?”

  “Why?” The sudden change in his sister surprised Leif, and despite everything, a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t jump over your heart, Sister! You won’t last long, anyway. But we have a firm understanding with each other.”

  She dared to bat her eyes. “And you won’t say a word to Mother or Uncle, not even to Father?”

  “Not as long as Thorgils is doing well, no.” He hurled the arrowhead and feather shaft far away. “I’ll ride ahead. You better pick some flowers before you follow, or else no one will believe you went on an outing with your darling.”

  A drinking horn filled with the best Norwegian mead, maybe two. Erik had asked for it, and Tyrkir had climbed into his storage cellar. He’d sat by the sick man’s bed all night engaged in long, intimate conversations in which the mead was their only companion until the first light of dawn.

  “And you will help me?” Erik asked. The amber in his eyes gleamed.

  “I won’t leave you alone.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Erik smiled, knocked the blanket aside, and slowly put his feet on the floor. He stretched his left arm out to Tyrkir. “Now prove that your strength isn’t just in your head and pull me up!”

  After a few vain attempts, Tyrkir managed to help the stooped giant to a secure footing. “You’d better take it easy,” Erik chided, coughing. After he’d regained his breath, he added, “Call two servants to dress me.”

  When Erik entered the living hall in a fur-trimmed cape, belted with his sword, and demanding a hearty breakfast, Thjodhild looked at Tyrkir in surprise. “Did the mead not agree with you?”

  “It was worth every sip,” he assured her in a low voice.

  The master of Steep Slope ate sparingly, and with great pleasure. His wife had to cut the bacon into bite-size pieces. Again and again, he asked for a newly filled cup of sour milk.

  The strange cheerfulness between the friends worried Thjodhild. “What are you going to do?”

  “I haven’t been up there for a long time.” With his left hand, Erik pushed the cutting board into the middle of the brightly scrubbed tabletop. “It’s high time. It’s time I checked my dam.”

  “No! I forbid it,” she said quickly, but his reproachful look made her relent. “Forgive me. It’s your decision. But in your condition, how will you get up there?”

  “Know-It-All will lead the horse.” Erik frowned. “Wake my son! He must come with us.”

  “Even for two men, it will still be hard, especially on the way back.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Outside, in front of the living hall, the saddled horses stood ready. The sun had risen over the glacier, and its rays laid a golden ribbon across the bay. Leaning on his cane, Erik looked at the scene. He crossed to Thjodhild, and with his face close to hers said, “I have not said
it for a long time, but thank you. You nursed me. You’ve always been good to me. Even recently. I simply wanted to say it.”

  “My proud Erik.” She smiled. “I don’t want to complain. Not anymore.”

  “That’s good.”

  With the help of a bench, and pushed by Leif and Tyrkir, Erik got into the saddle. Despite the pain, he cried out, “Today will be a good day!” Then he quickly touched the flanks of his pied stallion and rode ahead, bent over the mane. Leif stayed close to his father’s side.

  When Tyrkir mounted, Thjodhild reached for the halter of his horse. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  His head shook slightly. “Erik wants to find his happiness.”

  “So, farewell?”

  There was nothing more he could say. Slowly, Tyrkir began to move.

  “Wait a little longer. Come back!”

  But without turning around, he allowed the horse to fall into a light trot until he’d caught up with his friend.

  “What do you think, Know-It-All?” Erik didn’t wait for an answer. He spoke to his son of the fresh sprouting grass, thought aloud how wet or dry the summer might be. And in between, he kept saying, “What do you think, Know-It-All?” It’s as if he wanted to savor the sentence.

  At noon, they’d crossed the vast pastures. In front of them stretched the hills and high up between the rocks stood the dam wall. On its left side, the waterfall sprayed down to the valley. “My work is done!” Erik laughed, though it turned into a fit of coughing. “Know-It-All, I completed my task before you managed even one drinkable swill of wine.”

  “Wine is not pressed from stones,” Tyrkir retorted. “But the berries from the new land . . .”

  “Oh, leave it. We don’t want to get into that again.” Erik turned to his son. “Before I forget, boy, you shall be my successor. You will lead our family.”

  “There’s still time.”

  “Don’t you dare interrupt your old father,” Erik joked, then grew serious again. “I gave your godfather precise instructions last night. Ask him if you don’t know what to do. As for the farm, you’ll have to come to an agreement with your mother, and we know how strong-willed she is. Be on good terms with her. She’ll decide when you can come into your inheritance. Do you understand me?”