But Leif has killed many men. What happened to Leif?
I stand, almost tripping over Hellir. All three boys sleep on the floor, Hol’s arm draped over Snorri. Deirdre must have returned the boys late in the night.
A steady, persistent knocking on our door grows louder. I get up, dreading to see who is on the other side. Probably one of the slaves, come to tell me Leif’s body was found in the path. Finn sleeps like a dead man.
I open the door, not to dreaded tidings, but to a miracle. Inger. Sunburned and filthy, she says nothing. I pull her inside and hold her. She finally asks for tea. I prepare the hot water over our fire and dig into my herb box for something to restore her.
“Where is Geisli?” I fear her answer. There have been so many deaths; it’s all I expect now.
“Good...he is good. He’s here.” Her smile wavers. “But Bjarni isn’t. And most of the men. And Nerienda…” She focuses on the fire, seeing something that isn’t there. So Nerienda is gone from us, too.
Inger continues, her voice hoarse from days onboard the ship. “We couldn’t get out of the Sea of Worms. The shipworms were destroying Leif’s ship. There was only one escape boat, smeared with the whale blubber worms won’t eat. Bjarni wanted to draw lots. Bjarni and I drew long straws, so we got into the escape boat. Nerienda drew a short straw, so she had to stay on the ship. She didn’t care. She told me she was an old woman, and ready to meet her Maker.”
Inger pauses, drinking the tea and watching the slow smolder of the fire. “Then Geisli drew a short straw. He told Bjarni he hadn’t gone all the way to the new lands and back, only to die at the end. Bjarni asked him what he wanted to do about it."
She hugs her tattered cape closer. "Geisli suggested trading places. Bjarni thought about it for some time, then said, ‘We might as well, since it seems you value life far more than I ever have.’ So Geisli came with us. We rowed into Eiriksfjord late last night.”
She takes a deep breath. “Gudrid, you wouldn’t believe the things I saw on that ship. I thought our time at Straumsfjord was bad, but the men lived like animals. If not for Geisli, I would be with child even now.”
I had feared as much. No women should have traveled to the new world in the first place. But Freydis and I had been so determined.
I look deep into her eyes, puffy from too much sun. “You need rest.”
“I have already seen Deirdre. She wanted me to visit you first.” Inger puts her hand on my arm. “I’ll stay in their house for now.”
“Of course.” I let her finish her tea, then we walk back to Deirdre’s. Magnus comes out stretching, preparing to go to the sheepcote.
As he passes by me, Magnus slows, sensing who I am. “Leif lives." His words are low and quiet, but they hit true, like one of Freydis' arrows.
I clutch my chest. Neither man was killed. How Magnus knew what was in my heart, I can’t understand. His blindness is his strength.
“What’s this about Leif?” Inger asks.
“It is nothing.” I cannot say more, but Inger understands my need for silence.
Deirdre steps outside, promising to make sure Inger bathes and eats. I tell her I plan to watch Snorri today, so she doesn’t have to worry about him.
Stena closes Thjodhild's door, joining us. “She still sleeps. I used all the meadowsweet yesterday, so she could go out to Snorri’s funeral. She wanted to.”
“We’ll find more for her." I point to Inger as she stumbles into Deirdre's house. “Inger is also a healer. She will help once she has rested.”
Stena nods, her dark eyes welling with tears. “It was a good funeral. But I am not ready for another one.”
Affection for this compassionate woman fills me. I pat her arm. “Nor am I, sister. But together, we’ll make Thjodhild’s passing easy.”
As Stena turns back to Thjodhild's house, I stand in the middle of the farm, wondering which way to turn. Left, to Leif’s house, or right, and back to ours? Snorri's cries pierce the air. I go to my children, rousing the older boys with a light touch.
“Good morning," Hellir says. I hesitantly give him a light kiss on the cheek, which brings a fleeting smile to both boys' faces. They pull on clothing, then leave for the longhouse and sheepcote.
I change Snorri’s clothes, then put him in bed next to Finn, hoping he’ll go back to sleep. Instead, he flails around and wakes Finn by hitting him right in the face. Finn looks at me, curls tumbling over his half-opened blue eyes.
“What happened?” I ask.
“What? Oh, that.” He shoves his hair aside. Snorri grabs at his father’s fingers. “When Leif tried to pull his knife on me, I knocked it out of his hand and took him by the throat. He begged for mercy—said he was drunk, had been all day. That was nothing new to me. Men like him don’t think before they act. That’s how I knew where he was going after the funeral. He’s drawn to you like…like a seal to water.”
He yawns and lies back, strong arms above his head. Snorri slides off the bed and starts running around the house.
“So, that was it?” I hold my breath.
“Were you hoping we’d killed each other, woman?” He laughs. “When he started talking about how perfect you were, I sliced his cheek—not deep—just to scare some humility into him. He seemed shocked I actually drew blood. And to make my point, I told him he'd have none of my goods if he couldn't keep his eyes and hands off my wife. I think he'll leave you alone now."
I laugh, the first real laugh I’ve had in years. “Thorfinn Karlsefni, you’re the only man I know who could make Leif Eiriksson shake in his big boots.”
When we walk to the longhouse for our mid-morning meal, we go together. I place Snorri next to me at the table, and Finn sits on his other side. Leif stalks in, trying to look proud, but he covers his cheek with his hand and shoots hidden glances at Finn.
Inger isn’t awake, but Geisli is. He sits at the other end of the table, the men circling him. Between his huge bites of food and his quick talking, no one can understand what he says. Bjarni did the right thing, letting this young leader take his place and live. Geisli and Inger are needed at Brattahlid.
Throughout the entire meal, Stena remains silent, her eyes shadowed. I know she misses her own children, tired of caring for her mother-in-law. I picture her little round-faced Gudrid, with her dark eyes and sweet ways. May God grant her peace, and not the sort of trials I have had. I want to be a good auntie to her, like Stena has been for my boys. Tonight, I will sit with Thjodhild to relieve Stena.
Freydis and Ref don’t come to eat. Maybe they traveled with Finnbogi and Helgi back up the coastline today.
After a rich meal of mutton, peas, and milk, I take Snorri with me, hoping to find some eggs in the chicken house. But Freydis finds me first. Her hand shakes as she puts it on my arm, all her fingernails bitten down. She doesn’t bring good news.
“Did Stena say anything to you?” Her words, like her movements, are abrupt.
“No, but I have a feeling you want to tell me something."
Her voice bounces like choppy waves. “I’m leaving—I’ve borrowed a ship. It’s a small one, but it will do. I’m getting a crew together. Don’t look at me that way. I will take some of Leif’s slaves with me. They want freedom, just like Suka did. I am going to find him and pile my ship with grapevines and wood. Then I can come back and have my own farm, away from my drunk, unreasonable brother."
“You sail with Finnbogi and Helgi?” I ask.
“Oh, those two. Yes, I have to. It’s their friend who loaned the ships, so we have to go together. Of course, they took the biggest ship. We’re supposed to take equal numbers on the crews. I didn’t want another mutiny, like Hallstein’s, so I’m bringing a few extra men.”
When she says mutiny, she sets her chin and her blue eyes turn icy. She is planning for one, then. After all, if she’s willing to take Leif’s slaves out from under his nose, what more is she capable of? Where is the Freydis who prowled behind huts to protect me from Hallstein’s man? Where is
the pregnant warrior who dropped from the trees, ready to risk two lives for ours? Where is the helpless girl I led like a lamb back to camp, after fighting Suka at the caves?
There is much I need to say to her. She is so lost. It’s like her baby carved a hole into her soul when he was born. She can’t believe God could love her and still take her child. But how many women in Iceland and Greenland have lost children—perfectly healthy children—to the hand of Thor? Yet now those women are ready to accept the love of the Christian God, because he offers healing...and perhaps because his son died, as well.
Snorri pulls on my hand. “Chickie, chickie!”
This is not the time or place to talk, because Freydis won’t listen. I hug her, stroking her long red hair one more time. Who knows when I will see her again? Her blue eyes sparkle like her hair in the soft morning sun.
I manage a whisper. "I love you, sister. Come back soon.”
Her lip turns downward as she struggles not to cry. Snorri tugs at me again, and Freydis pats his head, one rogue tear falling on his curls. Her wet eyes barely meet mine before she turns and runs to the horses.
If she tries to steal more mushrooms, she won’t find them. I have burned the rest. Bjarni doesn’t need them anymore.
The gold and blue light of day slowly turns to night, and at our evening meal, everyone speaks at once. Freydis and Ref have gone, taking half the slaves. News has it that Finnbogi and Helgi have borrowed ships to sail to Vinland. Leif shouts and rants like a child. But when Linnea joins us at the table, he crosses his arms and sulks quietly.
This day is a turning point for us. I must stay here, with my family, and help Thjodhild to the end. It is my duty as Thorstein’s wife; Eirik’s daughter. But after that, God can raise up another woman to run the farm, even though I have always felt I’d be the next matriarch of Brattahlid.
Leif won’t understand this. He will stay at Brattahlid for the rest of his life. He hoped I would, too.
But there is a tree, on a hill in Iceland, that beckons to me endlessly. I have felt its pull my whole life, even when I traveled across the ocean. I can’t escape it. Even now, I can almost see a young, carrot-haired boy standing under it, watching me, waiting for me to say goodbye. I will live to tell my children about this tree and its story.
And here ends this saga.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I’ll never pretend to be an expert on Viking history. However, I have spent quite a lot of time poring over The Sagas of Icelanders, and that’s what I’ve based God’s Daughter upon. I operated on the assumption that the sagas were not mere fairy tales, since archeology and dendrology consistently line up to support the truth in the Viking stories.
I also operated under the assumption that the climate was different in AD 1000. Global warming wasn’t a theory then—it was a reality, and it allowed the Vikings to settle in Greenland in the first place. In fact, global cooling is why they had to leave, around AD 1350.
Thus, we find self-sown wheat in Vinland (North America), long before regular history books tell us it was there. But the Vikings saw it, and took some with them. The warmer climate would also explain the grapes they found, as well as a nine-day ship’s journey from Greenland to the North American coastline.
I’ve also changed the names of many of the lesser characters in this story, due to confusion over all the recorded Thor names. You will notice I did keep the two Snorris. I felt this was significant—Finn and Gudrid named their child the same name as Finn’s business partner. And baby Snorri was the first European baby to be born in the new world. I also kept Eirik the Red’s sons' names—Leif, Thorvald, and Thorstein. This is purely sentimental, since I’m supposedly related to Thorvald Eiriksson. The central women—Gudrid, Freydis, and Thjodhild, also kept their names.
In the sagas, characters and timelines overlap strangely, so I melded the facts in a way that seemed logical to me. But if you study them, you will see that the bare bones of this story are there. Gudrid was lovely and kind and wise. She was also a Christian, in a time when pagan volva ruled Iceland and Greenland. The pagan rituals (hanging, exposure of babies, eating horse meat, the Prophetess’ ceremony) have also been documented.
As far as the map, experts don't agree on where Vinland was located. I placed it south of Straumsfjord (which was also an educated guess), since according to the sagas, Thorfinn went south and Hallstein (Thorhall) went north to find it. Hopefully, it helps you picture what I envisioned as I wrote this novel. I also have a glossary of Norse terms used in God's Daughter here: http://heatherdaygilbert.com/gods-daughter-glossary/.
To lend authenticity to the writing, I researched nouns, adjectives, and adverbs that would’ve been used around that time. I frequently consulted the Old Norse dictionary. However, I did insert occasional words that may have developed later—only because I assumed Vikings would have had similar descriptors we aren’t aware of. That’s the same reason I incorporated contractions. I’m sure they shortened things as they spoke, just as we do today.
I would love it if you, too, got the Viking “bug” and did further reading on the subject. To that end, I’m happy to share my list of resources I consulted every step of the way.
The Sagas of Icelanders, forward by Jane Smiley, Penguin Classics, 1997. Particularly, I used the chapters Eirik the Red’s Saga and The Saga of the Greenlanders.
Http://www.vikinganswerlady.com. This resource was critical to me, for immediate answers on foods, customs and clothing of Vikings.
The Far Traveler, by Nancy Marie Brown, Harcourt Books, 2007. Nonfiction story of Gudrid.
An Illustrated Viking Voyage, by W. Hodding Carter, Pocket Books/Simon & Schuster, 2000. Photos of a Viking knarr.
English-Old Norse Dictionary, compiled by Ross G. Arthur, In Parentheses Publications, Linguistics Series, 2002. (http://www.yorku.ca/inpar/language/English-Old_Norse.pdf) Online resource to which I constantly referred, to keep my wording authentic to the period.
The Vikings, forward by Magnus Magnusson, Osprey Publishing, 2006.
Viking, by Susan M. Margeson, DK Publishing, 1994. Great visuals.
Norse Mythology, by John Lindow, Oxford University Press, 2001.
Women in Old Norse Society, by Jenny Jochens, Cornell University Press, 1995.
And one of my favorite films, Vikings: Journey to new Worlds, by Sky High Entertainment. I’ve watched it several times, and it just never gets old.
Finally, I want to thank those who have helped with God’s Daughter. My husband, who believed in this novel, even though he’d never read it. Thanks for picking up countless last-minute frozen meals and groceries for us, and for listening to my writerly rants.
And more thanks…to my family, for putting up with my erratic writing hours. The agent/editor I had for this novel, Andy Scheer, who believed it had great potential, and who also informed me that sweet potatoes would not be part of a Viking meal circa AD 1000 (what was I thinking!?). My Married...with Fiction cohorts—Jennifer Major and Becky Doughty—you were there for me through the unpredictable highs and lows of getting this (and all my novels) published. My family and my in-laws…two sets of parents and siblings who never let me give up. My brothers—Jon, who designed my cover, and Stefan, who provided all kinds of techie support. Grandparents who have supported me in my writing dreams—in particular, Grandma Wilcox, Grandma Day, and Grandma Gilbert. My special friends who are always willing to pray for me as I hit writerly hurdles and who've anxiously awaited my first published novel—I started naming you and realized the list would go on for pages. One of my earliest supporters, Diane Austin, who begged to read my first completed novel and helped me find my first agent. My historical crit group—I wasn’t in it long, but it shaped this story. My blog and FB author page followers, who’ve cheered me every step of the way. My current agent, Ruth Samsel, a tireless advocate for my writing, who encouraged me to go ahead and self-publish God's Daughter. My formatting/critique partner guru, Becky Doughty, who helped me polish this story and manuscr
ipt, not to mention made sure the right emotional tones shone through my words. Much love to every one of you.
And the One true I AM, Who was, and is, and is to come. Thank you for bringing Gudrid into my life. She didn’t have much moral support in her Christianity, yet she went down in history for her integrity and wisdom. Someday I hope I’ll meet her, in the same heaven she had hope of.
CONTACT THE AUTHOR
I would love to hear your thoughts on Gudrid and the Vikings in God's Daughter. You can find me all over the web. Here are the links:
Blog: http://www.heatherdaygilbert.com
E-mail: http://heatherdaygilbert.com/contact-me/
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/heatherdaygilbert
Pinterest (loads of visuals for God's Daughter, as well as the upcoming sequel, Forest Child): http://pinterest.com/heatherdgilbert/boards/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/heatherdgilbert
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/heatherdaygilbert
About the Author:
Heather Day Gilbert writes character-driven novels that go beyond the vows, capturing the triumphs and heartaches unique to married couples. Both she and her husband graduated from Bob Jones University, and she's a staunch supporter of homeschooling, having taught her own children for ten years. Born and raised in the West Virginia mountains, she believes that bittersweet, generational stories are in her blood.
Table of Contents
Map
Prologue
Part One: Straumsfjord
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 25
