The Norseman

by Jason Born

  After a time, that woman was kissing my scarred ear and my hand found its way under her dress to her small breasts. They were perfect in my hand and I repressed every natural instinct to compress them in my palm. Instead, I held one gently from below and used my thumb to softly encircle her erect nipple while our lips met. Soon we lay on our blanket, covered in our cloaks from the cool autumn air with nothing between us but the occasional bread crumb. I climbed on top of her, sure to hold most of my weight off of her slender frame, and we made love. It was slow and I knew it was a gift from the gods. Frey and Freya were brother and sister gods from the vanir dynasty, the original dynasty of gods in our world. They produced all things for us – crops and babies, trees and fish; they were fertility gods. With eyes closed, I prayed to them silently for a son. I chose not to pray to the One God because, despite my reading, I didn’t understand if he cared about giving us children or not. I knew he wanted us to worship him, convert others to worship him, be honest and true, but did not know how he controlled a woman’s womb. So I prayed to my old gods.

  Beneath me her back arched, bringing her slim belly up to mine. Her hands left my back to tug on the blanket above her head. We both breathed rapidly and shallowly during the activity of the final moments of love making and soon my eyes clenched tightly as my seed left my body in search of a fertile seed bed. With two or three more muscular throws, like those spontaneous movements of a dying man, we were exhausted. I lowered myself to my elbows and opened my eyes to look at Kenna’s forehead. Several strands of that dark hair lay fixed above her eyes from perspiration. I kissed her there and tasted the sweet, salty sweat. When I looked into her eyes the deep pools were crying with tears running down her temples. Yet she smiled.

  The only thing I could think to ask was, “Are you alright?”

  Kenna sniffed and giggled, “Of course I’m alright. I love you.”

  “But why do you cry?”

  She sniffed again and wiped some of the tears on the back of her hand, “Because I am happy.”

  My real father died when I was too young for advice on women. But since Erik, my second father, and Olaf, my third father, had both said that women can be confusing at times, I imagined that his discussions would have been similar. Kenna lie before me after our love making and cried because she was happy. All I could say was, “I don’t understand.” This made her cry more, so I lay next to her and made sure she was well covered by the cloaks. I touched her cheek with my hand and said, “What is it?”

  Sniffing greatly now and, while I didn’t say it, looking quite adorable, “I cry because I am happy to have you in my life. I thought I would be in a convent and never love a man or receive the love of a man. Yet you love me. I cry because of your love and because I am sad that I can’t give you what you want. Any woman in the city, in Norway, would want to be in your bed as your wife. You are handsome, intelligent, and rich. I don’t have the shape of a woman for you and I can produce neither a son nor daughter for you. We make love and make love and still I am not with child.”

  In a way it was funny to me, her distraught reaction, how she could be so wrong and so certain. At the same time it angered me. I wanted to yell at her and tell her that she was mistaken, that she was beautiful, that it is I who should question why I received her love. Why had she chosen to love me, of all men. I could neither read nor write when she first saw me. I scarcely noticed her existence before that day at the shore when we wrote Olaf’s marriage proposal.

  Patience and wisdom are hard. They are more difficult than entering a shield wall to oppose men bent on killing you. I mastered my massive yew bow before I ever mastered patience and wisdom. Even today as I write this, having lived nearly one hundred years, I have much work to do to develop these attributes. But that day, as we lay naked in the forest and Kenna cried, that day I had both. As I look back, I think the One God was with me that day even though I had sinned by praying to the old gods that same day.

  I kissed her softly on her forehead and my lips lingered. I kissed her cheek and my lips lingered. From above, I looked into her eyes and brushed her hair with my fingers. Then I smiled and said, “Before you came into my life, I never knew what I wanted. Then you came and it was clear. It still is clear, Kenna. I want what you give me.” I had more to say, but she smiled too, behind her reddened, swollen eyes and wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. When she rested again on her back I was going to finish my thoughts, but wisdom intervened and I stayed silent. She only said, “Thank you.” We looked at each other with the smiles of love-struck youth. After a time, she fell asleep and I did too.

  Later in the afternoon she woke me and we made love again. Our second joining was faster and ended without tears. We helped dress one another and held hands back to the village and our home. After the evening meal while our single thrall was cleaning the dishes, she again came to me for love making.

  That night I went to bed more exhausted than if I had fought three Maldons that day. But I went to bed happy.

  It took us a few moments longer than normal to get started on Monday as villagers spent Sunday milling about the worksite to see the grand ship. While they took their tours they or their children invariably moved tools or props or boards. When we had found everything, we set to work on turning Crane from an enormous, empty, hollow row boat into the fine longboat she would become.

  One of Thorberg’s artisans spent the past few days shaping the keelson which would sit in the middle of the boat longitudinally atop the keel. It was a massive piece of wood to provide stability when it received the mast. Tree-Arm and I hefted the lumber into the waiting arms of Thorberg’s men who fastened it in place.

  Then we began the long task of fitting the ribs, crossbeams, and vertical knees which would make the ship durable enough to withstand the beating of waves and the bending action caused by full sail. Many people thought the cross beams served the dual purpose of strengthening the ship as well as acting as seats for the oarsmen. That was not the case for these great ships. Short sea chests functioned as benches for oarsmen. Counting benches was the typical method of measuring a longboat and Crane ended up with twenty-seven rowing benches, considered to be quite large. Reinforcing the boat took another week and since we wanted to be finished by the time Olaf returned, we worked through Sunday mass. No one except Fenris, the morose priest, complained.

  Oar holes were bored. Wooden plugs hung from short cords next to each hole so that the boat could tilt under sail and not take on extra water when the oars were not in use. We fitted the mast-fish and secured the rudder starboard aft. Then the thralls came to work. They covered Crane in pine tar, numerous coatings over numerous days. It was a sticky, awful chore and while they worked, most of the men were released to tend their farms or return to their otherwise normal lives.

  The boat was left alone for a time to allow the pine tar to absorb into the wood, but Thorberg and I continued work, only now with a smaller number of artisans. The smith forged an iron anchor. Feet upon feet of rope were produced and the women began a sail during any spare time they had. The mast and yards were hewn. Oars crafted.

  Finally Thorberg came to me one morning and said, “Let’s launch this Crane of yours.” His crumpled face wore a curly grin while his eyes said that the old shipwright lived for this day. Kenna and I followed him to the riverbank and along the way a host of villagers joined us. Launching such a ship was something everyone wanted to see. Some came for the thrill of the chance to, perhaps, see the boat take on water and sink to the bottom. Most, however, came to see something magnificent that almost the entire city had a hand in building.

  Smooth, round logs were lined up crossways on the shingle fore of the ship so that it could easily slide the short distance to the water. Long, thick ropes led from the prow, the stern, starboard and port to men and horses to guide the boat into the fjord. When the ropes were taut, Thorberg walked around the boat twice to make sure everyone was clear and set. He moved to the stem of the boat and hammer
ed out the chocks that held it back. Thorberg worked his way aft, hammering out prop after prop until finally the ship slowly tilted forward toward the water. Horses and men shuffled their feet to adjust to the changing tension in their ropes. And then it slid toward its new home, the sea. The stem sloshed under, followed by the keel and garboard. Next, the rudder and stern were wet. Some men dropped their ropes to avoid going in themselves while those aft held their ropes tightly. I expected a cheer from the onlookers when she went into the water, but their shouts were delayed as if enough had, in fact, expected it to sink. When it was clearly staying afloat, a murmur began on one side of the crowd then spread to the whole audience with clapping, whistling, and shouting.

  The boat was light and bobbed in the water, turning slightly to port from the river current entering the fjord. Thorberg, who stood next to a great pile of belly-sized rocks, swore at me to finish turning the boat, so I waded in to my waist to grab a rope from the prow and brought the boat the rest of the way around so that it was parallel with the shore. I tied the rope to a tree to port fore and another rope was tied to a tree to port aft. Thorberg stared at the boat. He squinted his eyes and tilted his head. He swore at least twice as he tramped up and down the bank looking at his work. He yelled at some boys who stood nearby with buckets of tar and told them to scamper aboard and patch any leaks. A plank was produced and they went about their work. When it was clear that there would be no speeches, the crowd broke apart one by one until it was just Kenna sitting up on the shore watching us work.

  Thorberg taught us well so the boys had few leaks to fill. When they were finished the plank was pulled down and the shipwright again paced back and forth on the bank. He shouted for us to put the plank back in place and for several us to grab hold of the large rocks where he stood. I bent and wrapped my arms around the first one and trudged up the plank to the bobbing ship. When I wriggled my way into the boat, careful not to drop my rock, Thorberg directed me to the stern, “Take three more steps!” I stepped from one rib to another. “No, take two more!” The ship gently tipped as the weight on board shifted. “Now back one. Perfect! Set your ballast there!” I took my great rock and laid it across two ribs; it would not move again until the ship was taken apart or destroyed. Thorberg had us set only five such rocks that day to steady the ship until he liked how it set in the water.

  Thorberg and his workmen were so excited to see the ship in the water that we worked all day without taking a single break for a mid-day meal. The mast was stepped and a yard secured to it by means of a rakke. Planking was laid, rigging set, and the oars stowed.

  It wasn’t until the sun was falling in the west that I realized how tired I really was so I set myself down on the rock pile and looked at the boat. It was all but finished. It needed a sail and the crane heads that would adorn the prow and stern. They would be finished by spring. As the dusk settled around us, men began to set down their tools and join me sitting on the rock pile. We didn’t talk, but just watched the boat we had built. Most, no doubt thought about its beauty or about the work that went into it. But I thought about it as Kenna had taught me to think about writing and books. To where would she sail? What trade would she do? What kingdoms would she conquer? Looking forward to all the possibilities made me proud and happy. We sat that way for many minutes, each lost in his own thoughts, until Thorberg broke the silence, “Halldorr, you’d better feed that stick over there before she snaps.” The other men chuckled. I looked over to him standing on the bank. He was pointing to the village with his hammer so I turned to the direction he indicated and saw Kenna. She was seated in the very spot on which she stood that morning to watch the launching.

  I scrambled to my feet, dusting off my trousers with my hands, and went to her. I offered her my hand and pulled her up to her feet. She curled her thin lips into a big smile and showed her teeth. “I am so proud of you. That ship will go on for years to lands we may see and others we may not. What a marvelous show!” Kenna flung her arms up around my neck and gave a big hug. I hugged her back, picking her feet off the ground. At last, I put my hands about her waist and set her down. We held both hands together.

  “Did you stay here all day?” I asked.

  Another broad smile and nod, “I did.”

  “But why? You should have gone back for a meal,” I chastised.

  Kenna looked very confused and shook her head from side to side slowly and gently and then said in a tone like explaining something to a dull child, “Te amo, Halldorr, te amo.”

  I looked at her eyes. They were truthful eyes. Eyes which knew no deceit. I loved her too and I opened my mouth to state it when a shout from the shore interrupted me. “Olaf returns! I see the serpent sail! It’s Olaf and his new ship is in the water just in time.” Kenna and I both looked into the dwindling light across the fjord and saw the sail of Olaf’s ship approaching.

  Thorberg swore, “By Thor, it’s back to the One God again! I suppose Olaf will want to take Crane out tomorrow already. Impatient kings! Well, he’ll just have to steal a sail from somebody else.” Then he paced the bank again, this time picking up tools, making the place look respectable for the return of the king. When the other workers still sat idly on the rocks he shouted, “I’m twice as old as you yet I can seem to gather the strength to clean this place up!” They took his meaning and scattered about the shore to help him collect the tools.

  Kenna and I still held hands, remaining up from the shoreline. Thorberg then shouted to me, “Well Berserker, you’ll want to be standing on Crane when Olaf sidles into shore. Best way to get the glory of a completed ship. He’ll probably even let you command her if he sees how handsome you look standing in the prow. Now get your ass onboard!”

  I looked to Kenna and smiled, “Te amo, Kenna, te amo.” I put my arm around her shoulders and we walked back through the village and into our home. We ate a simple supper of cheese, hard bread, and ale and found our way into bed. I didn’t go back to check on Crane or Olaf that night.

  The following spring was a time of calving. Great icebergs calved from the vast glaciers which stretched down to our fjords from distant mountains. The heifers and cows of Kaupangen gave birth to over one hundred calves that spring. Most survived. Gudrod, the master shepherd, had seventy-five new lambkins skipping after their mothers. Ten sets of lamb twins were born in the city that year. Bitches had pups suckling at their breasts. The mountain goats that stood watch over the fjord, indifferently chewing on the wild grasses between the rocks, had kids following them on their steep paths. The residents of the city, too, gave birth. Twenty-one new healthy babies were born within thirty days of the spring equinox; boys and girls with thick blonde, brown, black, or red hair; others with smooth bald heads. Olaf, my third father, my king, had a son, stillborn. Olaf wept. Kenna wept. I wept as the boy was buried inside the casket with his mother in our graveyard by the church.

  When I first saw Olaf upon his return the previous autumn, he beamed with pride announcing the great news that Thyre was with child. I looked at him that day across the hole in which we lowered his dead son and dead wife. The pride was replaced with absolute sadness. His men and his Berserkers felt his sadness, for we all loved the man and desperately wanted him to have the happiness of a wife and family. Now he watched as we buried his third wife. Three dead wives. Enough for three lifetimes of sadness.

  Einar, Cnute, and I stood on one side of the grave across from Ox-foot, Vikar, and Kolbjorn; all six of us, his Berserkers. All six of us held ropes and slowly lowered the casket into the hole. When, at last, the box reached the bottom, the men on the other side let their ropes drop and we drew them toward us, down their side, under the casket, and up. Crevan said a few words in both Latin and Norse. His white hair fluttered in the breeze and when it whisked away from his face, I saw genuine tears running down his cheeks. He had buried many people in his days as a priest, old and young, and so I knew his heart was generally hardened to death. He told me many times how he was confident in a better place
for saved individuals when they met death. Of all people, Thyre was certainly saved, such was her faith. And the baby – the One God had to give the gift of heaven to one so young so why did Crevan cry? It had to be for Olaf, he grew to love our king as well.

  My tears continued to stream as we shoveled dirt onto the casket. My vision was blurred with tears as I threw one shovel full after another for many minutes. I cried for Olaf, for my third father, the man who led me and rewarded me so much for over ten years. I also cried out of fear. Fear for my own Kenna and what would be my own family. Kenna had not bled for two months, so we expected a baby sometime in the next six months or so. No one knew but the two of us and as I threw another shovel full of dirt and pebbles into the pit, I looked over to where she waited. Her tears were drying into streaks across her bony cheeks and she stood with her chin held high in defiance. I think it was positioned there in defiance of death and defiance of the fate that Providence or the Norns, those spirits living under the Yggdrasill tree, spun. I took heart from her bold insolence in the face of doom and sniffed my tears away. I tightened my jaw and clenched my hands around the shovel’s handle. For the first time in my life I decided to will my own fate. I would not let the Norns weave my family’s path as I had allowed them to do thus far.