As Finn shoves his foot out, I slide off the blue blanket with Snorri, wrapping him tightly in his reindeer-skin hide and placing him slowly in his cradle. The beechwood cradle, a gift from Eirik’s men in Greenland, is covered with carvings of dragons, ships, and Viking heroes long dead. I could look at it for hours. But I must grind barley and search for berries before anyone wakes.
I reach below my shift, making sure my seax is secure in its leather sheath. Then I put on my overdress, hoping it will be warm enough for the day. I fix it in place with the large amethyst brooches Finn gave me when we were married. “A man who could buy such brooches must surely be a good husband,” Leif had said, laughing in his low, thunderous way. I had to seek Leif's blessing on the marriage, since he became my caretaker when Eirik died.
Outside the hut, the salty, heavy air presses on me. I turn sharply to the right, heading toward the forest, and away from the men’s huts. We're lucky to have a private hut near the longhouse, since Finn is the leader. The rest of the men share the larger houses, and I stay away from them. They should still be sleeping this early in the morning. I quickly pray they will stay that way as I go about my errands. Men have followed me into the woods before, and I’ve successfully hidden from them every time. Finn does not know of this. It would only add to the strife in camp.
During my walks in the forest, I've discovered which berries we can eat by comparing their seeds with the ones in Greenland and Iceland. Some of my favorites resemble cloudberries, only they are darkest ruby red instead of yellow, with small seeds. I've filled many pastries with these. Also, small trees near the forest’s edge are laden with tiny black fruit in late summer. These are good for making juice and bread pies. We have found no grapes here yet. Summer has blessed us with bounty, but winter will eat up the excess, leaving us with little fresh food.
The still-green forest calls to me, so I plunge into it. The darkness mingles with heavy fog, and I can’t see my own feet. I stumble onto the path our men have made. At its side lies another trail, almost covered with pine straw. We've all seen it, but no one will say it could be an abandoned trail of the native Skraelings. We make ourselves believe it’s an old animal trail.
At a scuffling in the underbrush, I drop to the ground. I imagine myself a stone, slowing my breathing and heartbeat. This ability comes from placing Snorri, barely asleep, in his cradle at night, while I sit quietly behind it to wait for any cries. Finn says he’s never known anyone with my patience.
Thrashing fills the air, and a small whining, like a dog’s. The animal is not aware of me.
I raise up, bit by bit, until I can see the brush ahead. The animal sniffs at the air. It is larger than a dog, light-colored, with a dark stripe down its back. It looks exactly like the wolves we have in Greenland, except for its color. I start to lower myself, but the wolf has seen me.
Its great amber eyes fix on me, wooing me to help. The wolf’s paw is caught in a snare of some kind, attached to a tree behind it—not one of our hunter’s traps. He must have tightened it as he ran.
The wolf whines and raises its other paw toward me. I slowly put my hand under my shift and pull out my knife. We need food. This trapped wolf should be an easy kill. I’m not sure what wolf meat tastes like, but it is meat, and could be cured for winter.
I crawl through the brush. In this position, his side is exposed and I could drive the knife straight through. My long-knife seax is a bit unwieldy, since it belonged to my first husband.
As I come closer, the wolf does a strange thing. Instead of snarling its lip and bristling, as I expect it to do, it stays on the ground. It rolls over, fully exposing its stomach. So it trusts me.
And this wolf is a female. Her teats are somewhat full, as if she gave birth not long ago. Her stomach is small; not round with pups.
My strength of purpose fails me. I won’t take her life, though the meat would make my milk stronger. She probably has pups somewhere. Who am I to take a mother from its baby?
I crawl so close I could touch her fur. It’s shedding in clumps, as the days have become warmer. Using my knife, I slash at the rope in a quick move I usually reserve for gutting animals.
Squatting on the ground, I start to back away. She pulls her foot up and realizes that she’s free. Instead of running, she puts her head down near my feet.
I've made a mistake—squatting to her level, like prey. I stand instead.
When I'm full height, she stands, too, then turns and lopes off into the forest, still lame on her back leg.
The fog has burned off: it is early no longer. I only have a few berries in my basket, and I haven’t even ground the barley.
Snorri probably cries for my milk, for my shift is wet underneath. Finn must go out with the men, and he won’t be happy with me for returning late.
As I come to the edge of the forest, the dove’s song is muted by the men shouting outside their huts. Already they are up and fighting each other.
Deirdre comes out of our hut to meet me. She has been loyal to me, since the day Hallstein demanded that she and her husband, Magnus, be the first to scout the land here, because they’re only Scottish slaves. I offered to join them, exposing Hallstein’s cowardice. He finally went with them, taking the small ship’s boat inland while the rest of us secured the knarr. Deirdre and Magnus have never forgotten that day, but neither has Hallstein.
Deirdre smiles, her black and white hair curling around her. For a woman twice my age, her face is young and fresh as a girl’s. Only her hair tells of the hardships she’s endured, before she was brought to Brattahlid. Leif and Finn have always treated their slaves fairly. Perhaps this is why she watches over the boy and me as a grandmother would.
“I've checked on young Snorri.” With her thick accent, she tries to make her words sound more like mine. “He woke, and I’ve fed him. Karlsefni refuses to go out until you are back. He worries for you.” She’s always respectful when she speaks of Finn, almost reverent.
I nod and press her hand. “Many thanks, Deirdre.” I pull back the deerskin flap, my eyes adjusting to the dim light from the fire. Finn hasn’t even lit a lamp yet. He sits at our small table, drumming his fingers, while Snorri leans on his leg. When Snorri sees me, he tries to walk, but falls to the floor and crawls instead.
I pick him up and smell the smoke in his hair. It’s cold here in the mornings, even with the straw we stuffed into the walls. I search for more clothing to layer on him, avoiding Finn’s angry glares.
“Where have you been? I couldn’t go out with the men, and Deirdre says they have already taken sides. Some will go with Hallstein, and some with me. I must be out there.”
“I was in the forest.” I drop my eyes, like a scolded child.
“Looking for berries?” He peers into the basket I brought in, nearly empty.
“Yes…and I saw a wolf.”
His eyes focus on my face. “So close to camp?”
“She was in a trap…a Skraeling trap we hadn’t seen.”
The blue of his eyes darkens. The threat of these natives haunts him, since they killed Eirik’s son, Thorvald, on the last expedition to this new land.
He takes my upper arms in his hands, though I’m still holding Snorri. His hands are wide, with shorter fingers. The skin inside them is tough—sailor’s hands. He squeezes them so tightly, it makes Snorri squirm.
“Don’t go out alone.” His voice is low, masking the undercurrent of danger. I understand the meaning behind his words, behind those stormy eyes. He doesn’t want me hurt.
“But who will gather berries?”
“From now on that will be the men’s job. They'll disapprove, but we can’t risk our women.”
True, these Viking men couldn’t survive without women for long, since we're responsible for all the household chores, from spinning wool and making clothing to preparing their every meal.
Without waiting for my response, Finn yanks on his boots, throws aside the deerskin flap, and charges out. Deirdre enters so soon af
ter, I'm sure she was listening outside the door.
“You were long in coming back from the forest.” Her voice is almost a whisper. It’s not her way to ask a bold question. She takes Snorri from my arms and starts playing with him on the floor, her back to me.
Deirdre is the only woman I can tell about the Skraeling trap. I trust her as I would my own grandmother. Even though she likes to talk about others, she keeps her silence about Finn and me—frustrating Freydis to no end.
“I found a trap of the Skraelings, with a wolf in it.”
“Ah.” She nods slightly.
“I didn’t kill the wolf.”
She wipes the dust from Snorri’s hands. “It must have been a special wolf.”
I can’t explain why I didn’t kill it—why I didn’t act like a skorungur, as Finn calls me. A woman who stirs up the fire. A courageous Viking woman should have killed that wolf. But Deirdre explains it for me.
“You do not enjoy killing as Freydis does, for you are a healer.” She claps Snorri’s hands together and smiles at him.
With this, she’ll doubtless begin to gossip about Freydis. She can’t understand how an illegitimate forest child should be treated with any respect. Even if she’s daughter of Eirik the Red, she’s just as surely the daughter of his mistress.
I don’t enjoy gossip, but it has a purpose. In this way, Deirdre keeps me aware of what’s going on in the camp.
Deirdre lowers her voice. “Freydis attacked Ref and called him a coward to his face last night.”
No Viking husband should put up with this behavior in his wife. But Ref is fearful of Eirik’s family and friends. He knows there will be retaliation if he treats Freydis badly. Besides, he's loved her for a long time, regardless of her fiery words.
“She runs all over him,” Deirdre says. “She is always—”
Freydis charges in the door, her red curls flying like flames. Both Eirik the Red and her brother Thorstein shared her hair color. “Uncanny” is what Deirdre calls it, declaring it comes from the otherworld.
“Aha, I heard you, you old hag.” Freydis’ hands rest on her narrow hips.
Deirdre carries Snorri to the table, where she slowly and deliberately turns her back on Freydis.
“Pouring out lies about me, as usual. You know me better than that, Gudrid.” Freydis’ eyes cut through me like steel, waiting for my response.
I ask her a question to change her thoughts, using my talent for bringing peace to angry situations.
“And how are you feeling? You’re now six months with child, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I feel wonderful.” She smiles. “I'm not groaning around with my weight as most Viking women do at this point! I’m healthy and strong. I know my child will be a great warrior.”
“Of course, Eirik’s grandchild could be nothing but a warrior.” I know she’s flattered at this thought.
“Ah, how he loved you, Gudrid! That old man would've married you, if he could have!”
Her wide blue eyes sparkle like gems. Freydis doesn’t shock me with the way she speaks of her father. He would have done no such thing. But I understand she’s trying, in her own way, to compliment me.
“Well, Thjodhild was more than enough woman for him.” We laugh at my joke. Freydis hates her stepmother. We’ve both seen how Thjodhild spent most of Eirik’s life discovering new ways to drive him mad with rage.
“My Ref wastes time arguing with the men this morning.” Freydis drops her full lower lip. “That old troll Hallstein wants to go north in a week’s time.”
“Are you following Hallstein or Finn?” I know Freydis will decide, and not her husband.
“Of course we’ll be with Thorfinn.” She’s intentionally disrespectful, using his given name, instead of his surname, Karlsefni. “He is such a good leader.” Her lips curl upward.
Freydis has been enamored with Finn since the first time he came to Brattahlid. She was only a child then, easily impressed with the fine wares he showed her father. Thankfully, Finn has no time for Freydis. “She doesn’t listen,” he’s told me. “And her hair’s so red. She’s too thin and tall. She has no curves, as you do.”
“I must go and talk to Ref.” Freydis sighs as if the weight of the camp's strife rests on her shoulders. “I will come back to do the weaving later.”
She nods to me and ignores Deirdre as she sweeps out, her small stomach sticking straight out with her child. It hasn’t dropped yet.
Snorri drifts to sleep again as Deirdre balances him on her hip. I motion toward the door and go out. The men have scattered. Several practice with weapons near their huts. Snorri Thorbrandsson bashes Hallstein’s sword to the ground, with only an axe. The way he brings his axe up to Hallstein’s face, with no hint of a smile, says more than any threatening words.
I pray silently that my child won’t have to grow up in this land. The ground is easy to work, true, and there are plenty of fish. We haven’t seen any Skraelings yet. But there is no peace here for me, and no family. Only Freydis—a sister who isn’t really my sister.
I stop abruptly, feeling someone watching me from the woods. I've always had a sense about spiritual things, things no one else sees. Deirdre calls it “the sight”—high praise in Scotland.
I sweep my gaze along the forest. The wolf stands toward the outer edge, head aloft, eyes focused. I feel the strangest urge to name her, like a child. She looks toward me again, then out to sea. I follow her line of vision, and my heart stops. Skraeling skin boats glide straight toward our shore—too many to count.
Chapter Three
Before I can think, I throw my skirts over my arm and push through the door covering. Deirdre takes one look at me and thrusts Snorri into my arms. The boats slide up on the sand. Our men rush past us, gripping axes. We run the other direction, toward the forest.
We stumble toward a brush hedge in the forest’s border and lie down. I place Snorri beneath my skirt, his head barely uncovered. Deirdre keeps watch, since her hair blends with the forest better than mine.
“Karlsefni talks with Snorri. Our men are putting down their axes.” She strips the leaves off a branch as we wait. “The leader is tall—he waves his hands about.” More leaves fall to the ground beneath her. “Now Snorri holds the white shield.” Only Snorri Thorbrandsson can hold the shield, as Finn’s trading partner and second in command.
Do they really believe the Skraelings mean no harm?
“They have such large, dark eyes. Their hair is so ugly and uncombed.” Deirdre speaks under her breath, but I fear they will hear.
She says nothing for several minutes. Her skin is white as alabaster, and she doesn’t sweat. I lie completely still over my son, trying to quiet my breathing. The trees rustle deeper in the forest, where someone else hides.
Finally, she sighs. “They’re leaving...taking their boats around the point. Stay down.”
We curl in the leaves, waiting for what seems like hours. I pull Snorri closer, putting my finger in his mouth so he can suck it.
“Gudrid!” Finn’s voice reaches us, and I struggle to get up. Snorri begins to cry.
Deirdre motions him to us. Finn cocks his eyebrow at me. “You hid in the forest? I said to stay away from the wolf.”
“The wolf won’t hurt me. You choose to scold me now?” I challenge his look with one of my own. This is no time for arguing.
Finn returns my stare, but says no more. He embraces us, thanking Deirdre for her help. She half-nods at Finn before running to find Magnus.
All the men huddle near the shore. I hear Hallstein before I see him, his harsh voice filling the air.
“I ship out in two days,” he says. “This isn’t the Viking way. We don’t sit and wait to be attacked—we attack first! Every raider among us knows this!”
Finn leaves my side, striding into the group. “No, it’s not the Viking way. But I have been on the seas all my life. Going north is too dangerous, with winter only five moons away. We will leave in two days, but to go south, toward
Vinland.”
A large, very yellow-haired man in the middle shouts, “How do we even know this Vinland exists? What if Leif was lying? His father certainly did.”
My heart speeds up, blood throbbing in my hands. Before I can speak up to vouch for Eirik’s good name, Finn speaks again.
“Leif is no liar. He lost his own brother on these shores. That was no fool’s imagining. And some of you saw that arrow fly into Thorvald’s chest.” He points to Hallstein.
No one can contest this, for Hallstein himself was on that trip.
“Leif gave me the larger ship.” Hallstein loves to brag of this. “I’ll take this ship and go north, where I’m sure we’ll find Vinland. We can camp in the houses Leif built there. No longer will we sit in this cove, waiting for trouble, with no women of our own to comfort us!”
Several men shout their approval. “Then let’s choose now,” Finn says. I wonder if I’m the only one who sees his hand resting on his sword hilt. Finn is fast with his weapon, but not as fast as Hallstein, who cut a man down in Greenland before he could turn around.
Freydis shoves Ref. Her hair looks like a bird’s nest, with leaves scattered through it. She hid from the Skraelings in a tree.
Ref shouts, “We’re with Karlsefni! And if you have any hope of surviving, you’ll join us.”
Hallstein draws his brows together and his heavy jaw clamps shut. He walks over to Ref, so he can tower over him. The spit comes out of his mouth as he talks.
“Coward, you let your own wife rule you. You—”
Freydis draws her husband’s sword from its sheath, pointing its tip under Hallstein’s chin before anyone could notice the movement.
“One more word, coward, and I will show you what fear is.” Her voice is low as a man’s. The fire in her eyes matches her hair.
Even Hallstein isn’t such a fool as to harm Leif’s sister. He wheels back to the men. “If you join me, you join Thor! He alone will save us!”
Slowly, a group of twenty-two men join Hallstein. The women leave to prepare the mid-morning meal, and I trail after them to the longhouse. The rosemary, mint, and lavender drying in the beams lend a comforting smell to the room. Its constant bright fires and rough-hewn long tables remind me of Brattahlid.
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 2
