On this expedition, however, they had been relatively free of such difficulty. The weather had been cooperative, and except for a chilly night or two, it had been a comfortable crossing. Nils was gaining confidence, aided by the sage advice of Svenson, who had taken a liking to the young shipmaster.
They steered into the channel from the northeast under full sail, tacked toward the distant harbor, and then furled the sails to approach the dock with the oars.
Three cargo ships wallowed at anchor near the docks, potbellied knarrs, heavy and slow compared to the trim dragon ships. They reminded Nils of three fat sows nosing around a trough. He looked again with a seaman’s eye. They were well built, their massive holds designed to carry livestock and cargo amidships. Fore and aft there would be living quarters. Thorfinn Karlsefni had brought his settlers in these ships, some hundred and sixty men and women, to sink their roots into the soil that Leif Ericson had called Vinland.
At the dock rode a sleek ship with slender lines. It was a thrill to look at her, bright paint glistening in the sunlight. Men moved along her decks, performing the constant tasks required for the maintenance of an ocean-going ship. Nils turned to ask Svenson about her, but the old sailor anticipated his question.
“Ericson’s here,” he grunted.
“Leif Ericson?”
It would be an honor to meet the famous explorer.
“No, Thorwald. You know him?”
“Not really. I met him once.”
“A little crazy,” Svenson commented as he turned his attention to the steering oar.
Crazy or not, Nils told himself, the man is exciting. The very thought of charting unknown coasts made his heart race, and sent a tingle up his spine to prickle the hairs at the back of his neck.
Ahead of them, Norsemaiden completed her turn and headed for an area near the landing. Svenson heaved on his oar and Snowbird followed. People were coming down to the docks, to stand waving as the ships approached. The arrival of ships from home would be a major event for people in such isolation.
Beyond the landing area, he could see the several buildings of the village of Straumfjord. Three of them appeared to be of the common Norse longhouse style, dwellings for a number of families each. These would be temporary, until the colony became better established, he knew. Then each couple would be drawing apart to build their own houses. He wondered in passing if living with fifty or more people in one house inhibited romance. He could hardly imagine making love with the knowledge that dozens of other couples were listening in the darkness. Of course, they would have the same problem.
A familiar sound struck his ears, the ring of a smith’s hammer on an anvil. He spotted the smith’s forge, to one side of the settlement, by the occasional puff of smoke and sparks that rose when someone pumped the bellows. He wondered if they were mining iron here, or bringing it from home. Well, he would find out later.
Sheep grazed on the meadow behind the village, in the care of a handful of young men. Nils noted that they seemed to be herding rather closely. Somewhat more than would be expected, he thought. He wondered if this was because of fear of attack, or threat of wild animals. He knew nothing of what sort of beasts might be found here. Wolves? Probably. Perhaps bears, even some type of the great cats reported elsewhere. Very little was actually known about this new land.
Possibly, even, there was a threat from the natives. What had Helge called them? Skraelings, that was it. Helge had referred to them as barbarians. Further suggestive evidence was seen in a high palisade of poles that encircled the compound. Nils wondered how they compared to the natives in southern Europe, or in the islands of Britannia. Some of them could be quite formidable. Would there be different tribes, as the Scots seemed to have? Ah, well, that too could wait.
Norsemaiden slid smoothly alongside the dock, her sails now furled. Men standing there caught thrown lines fore and aft, dallying expertly around the pilings that formed the support of the structure. There was a cheer from the shore as the ship settled to, rocking slightly and tugging gently at her tethers.
Nils saw that there was no room for the Snowbird at the dock. He turned to call to the steersman, but once more Svenson anticipated him. A pull on the steering oar, and the ship responded eagerly with a slight change in direction. Nils had his doubts about this maneuver, but Sven had, after all, been here before. He should know … ah, yes, there on shore were pillars made of stones piled carefully to indicate the landing area. They must have used this stretch of shore before the dock was built.
Knowing what was needed, Svenson altered his stroke and Snowbird curved forward, running at an angle toward the sandy beach. She turned, easing in parallel to the shore. There was a sliding sound, then a soft hiss as the underbelly of the hull gently brushed on the sandy bottom. The incessant rocking of the sea had ceased, and the heaving deck was still. Nils stood, still swaying. It would take a little while to regain his land legs.
Nils jumped down and splashed ashore, helping drag the bowline, and ran up the beach to a piling to secure the ship. He looked back to check the Snowbird’s position. Yes, good, his eye quickly estimated. Secure now, but at high tide she’d be afloat. He dreaded this maneuver on a strange beach. A hidden rock, even a relatively small one, could disembowel the light dragon ship, ripping the thin shell of her belly from stem to stern. There had probably been no cause for concern. This landing had been used by Karlsefni’s ships since they arrived. The colonists would know every stone. Still, he was glad the mooring was over.
People from the colony swarmed down to the beach, laughing, jostling, and shouting. Nils turned and waved to the crowd. Strange, the affinity of these people for adventure. He had thought of them as the adventurers, carving a colony out of the rugged wilderness. They, in turn, regarded him, as master of an exploring ship, a person of excitement and daring.
Men waded into the surf to examine the lines of the Snowbird, and run hands along the planks of her sleek hull. There was something about a ship or boat that stirred Norse blood. Maybe that was it. He remembered his grandfather, who had told him endless stories of the sea.
As a small child, Nils had been fascinated by his grandfather’s stories. The old man had been well educated, and had contributed much to Nils’s general knowledge. His lifetime had spanned many changes. The new religion, the change from the old runic alphabet to the new … he had attempted to teach both to Nils…and the change in philosophy from Viking raiding and plunder to exploration, settlement, and trade. But most of all, his love of the sea came through to the eager ears of his young listener.
“A man without a boat is a man in chains,” the old man had once said.
Nils recalled his grandfather for a moment as he saw the light of excitement in the eyes of the men who affectionately caressed the flanks of the Snowbird.
He was jolted back to reality by a pair of blue eyes. The girl was standing quietly on the beach, not running excitedly or shouting with the others. She only stood and looked at him, coolly and confidently. She was tall and well formed, almost manly in appearance. There was a suggestion of motion, however, in the way she stood. It was like the energy one feels in a cat, waiting tensely to spring at any moment. The girl moved a step or two, out of the way of someone carrying a burden. Her willowy motion extended his impression of latent agility. He could visualize the lithe body, now concealed by the rough cloak that hung from her well-formed shoulders. Her hair, the color of ripe wheat, curled around her neck and fell across those shoulders in a shining sheaf.
The strongest impression of all, however, was that of her spirit. It reached out to him, through the sky blue of those striking eyes. It was easy for him to believe, at least for the moment, that this woman had come to the beach for the sole purpose of welcoming him, Nils Thorsson.
He pulled his gaze away, realizing that he had been ogling the girl. Thorsson, he told himself, you have been at sea too long.
Still, he answered his own thought, the girl did not seem to object. Perhaps he w
ould encounter her later.
3
There was a celebration that night, with feasting and revelry. The feasting was necessarily restrained because of the obvious shortage of supplies, but the spirit of merriment was apparent. A moderate quantity of wine was consumed, partly from the stores of the travelers. The wine that the colony had fermented from wild grapes harvested the first season was appreciated, even though young. The newcomers pronounced it a success, and admired the musty, robust flavor of the native fruit, not quite like any European grapes.
Dancing continued until far into the night. The women were eager to dance with the visitors, to entertain them royally, and sailors were not hesitant in their participation. Nils noted a few jealous stares from husbands. Even so, there was so little opportunity to stray, in the close confines of the colony, that there seemed to be little danger. Everyone was having a good time, dancing until physically exhausted, which would itself help to preclude any unacceptable trysts.
Additionally, Nils was sure that such a colony would contain mostly, if not entirely, married couples. At least, if he planned it, he would declare it so. It would avoid much trouble. It seemed he had heard, back in Stadt, of two women who had returned with Leif Ericson’s ship. Their husbands had been killed in a fight with the natives, as he recalled.
He finished a dance with a toothsome redheaded wench, who then moved on to another partner. He sat on a bench, breathing hard, warm from the wine and the exertion, and sexually aroused from the fleeting touch of the girl’s soft body. His thoughts and his vision were a trifle blurred, dreamlike, when he saw the blue-eyed girl. She was whirling in the arms of one of the sailors, laughing and showing even white teeth. She tossed her head and the sheen of her hair in the flickering firelight was a glimpse of loveliness.
His first thought was one of jealousy toward the man who held her. The next was that she must have a husband here in the colony, and close on the heels of that, resentment that anyone should share the bed of this beautiful creature. It was a strange emotion, that of resentment and jealousy toward a man he had never seen. To make matters even more confusing, that jealous feeling was over a woman he had never met, with whom he had never even spoken. Ridiculous, he told himself.
Still, as he watched the whirl of the dancers, he could not control his fantasies. He kept visualizing the motion of that lithe young creature in bed. He shook his head to clear it of thoughts that might lead him into trouble. They had been a long time at sea. Human nature could sometimes become quite animal. Some of the sailors would manage a romantic interlude with some of the colonists’ wives, unless Nils missed his estimate of men and women.
What was he thinking? A little disgusted with himself, and more than a little frustrated, he rose to leave the party. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, tired and pleasantly drunk, and went to seek his blankets. Nils had always been something of a loner, and periodically found it pleasant to be alone to think. He took his blankets and his wolfskin cloak, and sought a secluded spot near the log palisade.
Nils was almost asleep, dimly aware of the distant sounds of revelry, when he heard someone approaching. Some other sailor was searching for a place to spread his robes, and he resented the intrusion on his privacy. He turned his back, and drew his cloak up around his ears.
Almost immediately, however, he felt the warming touch of a soft body, as someone lay down next to him. Startled, he turned to face the newcomer. The starlight was dim, but he could see, as well as feel, that it was a woman. Then realization dawned. Not only a woman, but the incredibly beautiful blue-eyed woman he had seen at the shore and again at the dancing. Smoothly, she lifted the edge of his blanket and slid in beside him. Almost simultaneously, she bestowed a kiss squarely on his lips.
Perhaps it was the surprise, the wine, or the long weeks at sea, but this was a kiss like no other. It was warm, moist, urgent yet yielding, lingering on his lips, with just a tantalizing hint of an exploring tongue before she pulled away.
“Nils Thorsson,” she said.
It was not a question, merely a statement of fact. Her voice was deep and seductively husky.
“Yes,” he blurted, his breath coming in excited gasps. “What?”
“Would you do something for me?” she whispered in his ear.
He wanted to shout “Anything!” but managed to control himself.
“What is it?”
She snuggled against him, rubbing her knee against his thighs, encircling his chest with her arm. She breathed tantalizingly into his ear.
“Will you take me with you?”
She kissed him again, before he could answer. A longer, deeper kiss, filled with promise of things to come. His hands were caressing her body, pulling her closer to him, but she gently pushed him away.
“Will you?”
He paused, confused. The girl was giving him mixed messages, enticing him while she held him off. This helped to bring him back to reality.
“You have no husband?” he asked pointedly.
The girl shrugged.
“He is nothing. As interesting as a sack of flour.”
She snuggled closer to him again.
“He does not know how to treat a woman.”
Resentment flared in Nils. He could not imagine a man who would fail to treat this woman like a goddess. He cradled her in his arms and rocked her gently.
“I would leave him for you!” she whispered.
Tears were wet on her cheeks.
“But,” Nils protested, “I am just starting on this exploration.”
“Then take me with you!”
“No, no, it would not be possible.”
“You do not like me,” she pouted, pretending to turn away from him. “If you really loved me, you would take me away.”
“But I hardly know you!”
She cuddled closer and kissed him again, making his heart race and his breath come in short, excited gasps once more. This girl could turn hot and cold as quickly as…She was nibbling on his earlobe now, driving him crazy with desire.
“You could know me better,” she whispered. “Better than my clod of a husband. Please help me.”
Nils was beside himself with a mixture of sympathy and desire. He genuinely wanted to help this desperate young woman, who appeared to be trapped in an unfortunate marriage. Why did she not simply leave her husband, he wondered. It was quite permissible under Norse custom.
Except, he reminded himself, there would be nowhere for her to go, unless she left the colony. And, of course, there was no way to do that, except on one of the infrequent ships that stopped at Straumfjord. And what could she offer in exchange for help? She had nothing. Nothing, that is, except herself. Her body. The exquisite, desirable body that now snuggled against him under the wolfskin cloak.
Nils was of a sympathetic nature anyway, and the plight of this woman tugged at his heartstrings. Of all the men here at Straumfjord tonight, she had chosen him to ask for assistance. It was a tremendously uplifting, flattering thing to be the one she felt she could approach. He felt that he must help her. Besides, the promised rewards were so desirable. He gathered her to him and kissed her, trying hard to control his breathing.
“I cannot take you with me now,” he whispered, “but when I come back—”
She pushed him away.
“You will never come back!” she sobbed, tears starting again.
“Yes, yes, I will. When we finish the exploration, we will stop here on the way home.”
“Really? You will come for me?”
She was happy in an instant.
“Yes,” Nils promised.
He was trying to ignore the faint warnings in the back of his mind, to go slow, be careful. He kissed her again, long and passionately, and she responded with equal fervor. Gently, he stroked her body, reaching down for the hem of her skirt. He had just succeeded in touching the smooth skin of a shapely leg when she suddenly pushed his hand away and sat up.
“No!” she said huskily. “Not now. Th
e risk is too great. Later, it will be better.”
She kissed him, warmly but briefly, and sprang to her feet, smoothing her skirt as she turned.
“Later,” she promised.
She blew him a kiss and was gone.
Nils lay in the dim starlight, staring after her gracefully retreating figure. He was completely frustrated, still breathing heavily, and with the dull ache of unfulfilled desire in his groin. An even worse ache was that of doubt. Had she been only toying with him? Was it a game with her, to see how far she could go with her torment and then give nothing? He was angry, disappointed.
As his anger cooled, he began to rationalize. He wanted badly to justify the girl’s behavior. She was desperate, he assumed, or she would never have approached a stranger with this sort of proposition. And, since she had only one thing to offer, it must be held in reserve until she was certain of the bargain. Seen in this light, her behavior was at least understandable, if not totally acceptable to him. His sympathy for her plight began to return. He hoped he could prove worthy of her trust.
The ache of frustrated desire still remained, and he thought for some time of her promise. “Later.” How much later, and under what circumstances, he wondered. There were many unanswered questions here. He thought again of the warmth of her kiss, the feel of her body against his, and the seductive thrill of her breath in his ear.
Restless, he rose and went back to the area near the fires, where the thinning crowd still laughed and sang, and wine still flowed. He did not see the girl, and the revelry was not the same. Even the wine had lost its savor. Disappointed, he turned away.
Back in his blankets, he was almost asleep when an odd thought struck him. He did not even know her name, the name of the blue-eyed goddess who had offered to share his bed.
Runestone Page 3
