4
“What about the Skraelings?” Helge asked. Ericson and Karlsefni nodded and exchanged serious glances.
“Yes, they can be a problem,” admitted the colonist. “We have been attacked.”
Thorwald Ericson was more direct.
“You have to fight them!” he stated positively. “Show them a taste of steel! Any Norseman is worth a dozen of these barbarians.”
“But there are different kinds of Skraelings, different tribes,” protested Karlsefni. “Some are timid, and they run and hide. Some fight. Fierce fighters. You can’t lump them all together, Thorwald.”
“They all bleed and die,” Thorwald retorted. “They must be taught that.”
Karlsefni appeared to have doubts about this approach. He diplomatically changed the subject.
“Where will you go from here?” he asked Ericson.
“South, I think, along the coast. And you, Helge?”
“We had not decided,” Landsverk answered. “What do you think, Nils?”
Nils was looking at a rough map on the table.
“Is this a bay or gulf?” he asked, pointing with a finger.
“Yes,” Karlsefni told him. “The headland across the channel runs southwest. We do not know how far. It may be a large island, but it goes on for as far as we have explored. Odin says it leads to freshwater.”
“Odin?” asked Nils, puzzled.
Karlsefni chuckled.
“Yes, an old Skraeling. He came crawling in last year, half-starved. It seems the other Skraelings were after him. Different tribe, or something. He’s helpful. Has a fair use of our tongue.”
“He speaks Norse?”
“Yes, some. Probably understands more.”
“Why is he called Odin?” Helge wanted to know.
“Oh. Someone called him that because he has only one eye. Like the god Odin, you know? The name stuck.”
“But what is this about freshwater?” Thorwald asked.
“Oh, that. Yes, Odin says this gulf leads to freshwater. A big river, apparently.”
“You see?” exclaimed Thorwald. “A new continent!”
“Have you been to this river, Thorwald?” Helge asked.
“No. I’ve sailed down the west coast of this land, where we are now. But I think that’s the continent, over there. I’m going to see.”
“Then you’ll go south?”
“Yes. And then, west. You might want to look at this river the Skraeling tells about.”
“Perhaps we will,” Helge pondered. “What do you think, Nils?”
“It would help finish this map,” Nils agreed, pointing to vast white areas of unexplored territory on the chart. “Karlsefni, may we take this Skraeling, Odin, with us?”
“No!” snapped the colonist. “I may need him as an interpreter.”
They quickly abandoned that idea. There was some further discussion, of routine sailing plans, supplies, and water. Thorwald Ericson stated his intention to depart on tomorrow’s high tide.
As the meeting broke up, an idea occurred to Nils.
“Karlsefni,” he asked, “who is the tall woman with blue eyes and blond hair?”
The colonist chuckled.
“Ah, you have met Ingrid!”
“Ingrid?”
“Yes. You can take her with you, instead of Odin.”
The others laughed, and Nils felt himself beginning to redden. He wished he had not inquired. The woman was apparently well known. But, he decided, since he had begun this, he might as well play it out to the end.
“But who is she? Does she have a husband?”
“Of course. Olaf, the cooper, poor bastard. A good, hardworking lad, to be treated so.”
“Treated how?”
“Like she treats him. Like dirt. She’s like a bitch in heat. Wanted you to take her away? I thought so. The woman is constant trouble. After a man like a dog on a bone.”
Nils was embarrassed and a bit angry that he had been taken in by this wench. But no, there were two sides to any story. He thought of the tears, the pleading, and the warmth and feeling of those kisses. The girl really did have a problem, and he had promised to help her. He would do so, when the time came. On their return, when they sailed for Norway again, he would keep that promise. He would like to see her again, to talk to her and assure her that he planned to take her away. He would attempt to contact her before their departure. But meanwhile, he must think of other things.
Thorwald and Helge were discussing navigation as Nils turned his attention back toward them. Helge was examining a small object that Thorwald had just handed him.
“It can find north even in an overcast,” Thorwald insisted.
“But how? How does it work?” asked the puzzled Helge.
The object, which Thorwald had just taken from a soft leather pouch, was a flat stone, oval in shape and very thin. Its color was a dull gray, but it was almost translucent as Helge held it up to the light between thumb and forefinger.
“What is it? I do not understand,” Nils asked, puzzled.
“A solarstein,” Thorwald explained. “It sees the sun when we cannot. Come, I will show you.”
The four men trooped outside.
“Now,” announced Ericson, “it is easier to show with clouds overhead, but watch the sun-stone.”
He held the stone above his face at arm’s length, the flat surface exposed to the sun’s rays. There was nothing special in evidence, except that it was apparent that the translucent stone allowed some of those rays to pass through. Then Thorwald began to rotate the disc slowly, the flat surface still facing upward. As the long axis of the oval began to approach the north-south position, Thorwald spoke again, his voice eager with excitement.
“Now watch!”
There was a subtle change in the color of the stone, a bluish tint that seemed to grow in intensity as he continued to rotate it, ever so slowly. When the stone pointed due north, the blue color had actually become a glow, an exciting, living thing that caused Nils to gasp in astonishment. Karlsefni crossed himself.
“Magic!” he muttered.
“No,” insisted Thorwald Ericson, “not magic. The stone is aligned to the north, just as the Polestar is. The sun tells when it is right. When it is not, the stone is gray.”
“But it works even in cloudy weather?” Helge asked.
“Yes. It is better then, because there are no shadows. It takes only enough daylight to light the stone.”
Thorwald was elated at the success of his demonstration.
“See how this will aid navigation?”
Helge, too, was becoming enthusiastic.
“Where can I get one?” he demanded.
Thorwald chuckled.
“Helge, I give you this one, in honor of your first voyage to the continent of Vinland. Use it well!”
Helge was overcome by the generosity of the gift.
“But, I…you…” he stammered.
Thorwald waved him aside.
“No, no, this is yours. I have another.”
Nils, too, was impressed by the gift. He resolved that on his return to Stadt he would investigate the possibilities of acquiring such a sun-stone for his own use.
Helge carefully replaced the stone in its leather pouch, and the four men parted to attend to various tasks. Nils called after Karlsefni.
“Could I talk to this Odin of yours?” he asked.
The colonist looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and then smiled.
“Of course. Come.”
He led the way around and between the longhouses, and pointed to a rude hut, not large enough for a man to stand upright. It huddled against the outside wall of a sheepfold. Nils did not see how a man could survive the winter there.
“Go ahead, talk to him,” Karlsefni offered. “But you can’t take him.”
Nils walked over, to find the Skraeling sitting on the sunny side of the structure with his back to the wall. He was carving on a piece of bone or ivory with a small pointed knif
e. He looked up.
Odin was not really old, Nils saw in a moment. He was leathery and wrinkled from a hard life of exposure to the elements. But his one eye held a gleam, an interest in his surroundings, and a curiosity. More than that, the gaze of the Skraeling bored right into his very soul. Nils was caught off guard, not expecting so powerful a spirit in this beggarly fugitive. Here was a man of some intelligence and insight, despite his ragged appearance and strange garments of ill-fitted skins.
“You are Odin?” Nils asked.
There was a long silence, and finally the barbarian nodded.
“So they call me. How are you called?”
“I am Nils Thorsson. I would ask you about the bay, the other end.”
“Yes?” the one-eyed man asked, rather patiently.
“Well, I…you have been there?”
“Of course. That is my home.”
“Not here?”
“No. I was captured and brought here, many winters ago. I escaped.”
“These Skraelings, here, are your enemies?”
Odin spread his palms in unresolved question.
“What is an enemy? Maybe a friend you have never met. There are many tribes.”
“But, they held you captive?”
“Yes, and gouged out my eye. But sometimes they were good to me, too.”
Nils was finding the easygoing philosophy hard to understand, so he changed the subject.
“I am told that there is freshwater, a river, maybe, at the head of this inlet.”
“Yes.”
“How many days there, to the river’s mouth?”
“How fast do you travel?”
Nils’s anger flared at the impertinent remark. Then he cooled a bit, realizing that the other man had asked a legitimate question. He smiled.
“I do not know how to tell you. Faster than some boats.”
The Skraeling nodded, understanding.
“Maybe this many sleeps,” he said, holding up his hands with fingers extended.
Ten days, thought Nils. A very deep gulf.
“Is it a big river?” he asked.
The man nodded slowly, seemingly in deep thought. Finally he spoke.
“It flows out of the freshwater sea.”
Nils was startled. Karlsefni had said nothing about such a sea. Surely he had misunderstood the meaning of the man’s remark. A large body of freshwater? Big enough to be called a sea? A lake, maybe? Interested, he asked more questions, but gained little information. The Skraeling persisted in referring to an inland sea, and repeatedly insisted that it was freshwater. Nils disregarded as a language problem the distinction between lake and sea, and as exaggeration one statement that this inland sea was only one of several.
“You go there?” Odin asked, his one eye bright with interest.
Nils shrugged.
“Maybe. Who knows?”
He had seated himself during the conversation, but now he rose to depart.
“Thank you,” he said uncertainly.
Odin only nodded.
Nils turned away, uncomfortable over the conversation. He had been seeking information, and had learned much. Or had he? A crazy legend about two seas, one fresh and one salt, connected by a river? Probably a native myth, he decided.
But the encounter with the Skraeling had affected him deeply. He had been so impressed by the spirit of this man, and the uneasy feeling that Odin could tell what he was thinking. The feeling became stronger the more he thought about it. Before long he was convinced that of the two, the Skraeling had learned far more from the conversation than he had.
5
Nils had met Olaf Knutson, the cooper, on their second day in Straumfjord. The Snowbird needed another cask or two for water, and he had gone to make the purchase. Partly, he had to admit, he was curious about the girl’s husband. His first impression was one of wonder that such a man could ever have acquired such a woman as the blue-eyed Ingrid. The man’s nondescript reddish hair and beard stood out in all directions, brushy and matted, like the hair of an un-groomed horse in winter. Somehow, his thin body, his clothing, all reflected the same impression. There were even flecks and chips of sawdust in his hair and beard, as well as on his tunic and trousers. Of course, the man was working at his trade. Yet, Nils had the strong feeling that some of the larger chips in his hair and beard had resided there for some time. It was doubtful if there had ever been a time when Olaf the cooper had not appeared disheveled. Again, the jealous resentment surfaced, resentment that such a man would be permitted to share the bed of such a woman of quality.
The other emotion that Nils felt, though more slowly, was an appreciation for the artistry of the cooper’s work. He watched the shavings of oak curl from the knife’s keen edge like living creatures, to drop to the ground in a fragrant-scented pile around Olaf’s feet. He watched the staves fitted together, the hoops hammered into place, skillfully and accurately. There was no doubt, the man was an artisan at his craft.
By the time he had finished his business with the cooper, Nils saw him in a new light. There was respect for his skills, yet pity for the man. Undoubtedly Olaf knew that everyone laughed at him because of his wife’s promiscuous ways. He did not look like a man who would beat her because of it. No, he had instead withdrawn into his work.
This meeting had entirely changed Nils’s attitude toward the cooper. Previously, he had envied the man whose bed Ingrid shared. Now he pitied him. There could be nothing but frustration in the life of this unkempt, hardworking man of great skill. His bed, far from being the paradise Nils had first imagined, was undoubtedly as cold and frustrating as any man’s bed had ever been. Worse, most likely. To have that magnificent body within reach yet unattainable would be torture beyond belief.
He saw the girl, Ingrid, occasionally during the remaining days at Straumfjord. Usually it was at a distance. He could not help but admire the movement of her body, the swing of her hips as she walked. He resented her, because it seemed certain that she had attempted to use him. Perhaps the resentment was directed more toward himself. If truth were known, he was embarrassed that he had been so completely fooled by this woman whose reputation was legend in the colony.
That was most of the time. But sometimes their eyes met, and he experienced emotions of an entirely different sort. The blue eyes looked deep into his, wordlessly pleading for help. At these times, he could not believe that there was any truth in the rumors of her indiscretion. As he looked into that angelic face, he saw only a frightened, helpless child, of unquestionable purity, who needed help badly. It was only a short step to the conclusion that he, Nils Thorsson, was the only one who could help her. And he had promised to do so. The memory of the implied reward was still strong. He recalled vividly the feel of her warm body and long legs against him in his bed.
His frustration continued, however. Only once was there an opportunity to speak to her. It was after dark when he encountered her as he walked around the corner of a long-house. She had apparently planned it. She stepped out of the shadows and into his arms, softly yet with a certain urgency. There was no one else in sight. He kissed her warmly, and she returned his eagerness, then pushed him away in the frustrating manner he remembered.
“You have heard bad things of me,” she suggested sadly.
“No, I … it does not matter,” he stammered.
“You will still take me away? Now, when you go?”
“Not now.”
Their departure would be two days hence, at high tide. Thorwald Ericson’s ship had departed already, and the Snowbird had been moved to its place at the dock for easier loading.
“Not this trip,” Nils repeated. “We will sail up the headland there, explore this bay, and return here. I will come for you then.”
“But I can cook for you,” she pleaded, pressing against him enticingly.
It was plain that she offered more than a cook’s services. With difficulty, he reminded himself of the old seaman’s adage, that a woman on board ship brings bad
luck.
“No,” he said firmly. “I have said I will come for you.”
She kissed him again before she faded into the darkness, and it was as exciting as before. Even so, he sensed that she was irked at him for postponing her promised release.
“Until later,” she whispered, her hands caressing him even as she turned away.
He wondered how long Helge Landsverk wished to explore.
When the longships prepared to leave with the tide two days later, a large proportion of the colony turned out to bid farewell. The sun was just emerging from the sea on the eastern horizon when the Norsemaiden cast loose her moorings and the oarsmen maneuvered out into the channel. The sail was unfurled and she began to run before the wind, cleaving the water and leaving a wisp of foam in her wake. The crowd cheered from shore.
Nils allowed the other ship to clear the mouth of the cove and begin to run before he cast off. He was searching the faces of the people on shore, searching for a pair of clear blue eyes. Somehow he expected that Ingrid would manage to give him a meaningful look, perhaps even blow him an unseen kiss as he headed off into the unknown. Instead, she had not even seen fit to come to the dock. Even though he realized that this was quite sensible, it rankled him. He was irritated again when it dawned on him that he was actually expecting, perhaps hoping, that she would behave irrationally. Could it be that part of her attraction was the thrill of danger in her behavior?
He tried to put the girl out of his mind. The ship swung out of the cove and into the channel, with Svenson skillfully bearing on the steering oar. The bright red-and-white sail was unfurled and the canvas filled with a loud snap. The Snowbird seemed to leap forward. There was a slight shudder in the timbers, as if she were awakening and ready for the run.
Nils looked back at Svenson, smiling broadly as he plied the steering oar. He was glad to be afloat again.
Landsverk set his course to follow the coast, but far enough out in the bay to avoid shallow water. The two dragon ships settled into the day’s run. The shore slid past on their right, rocky palisades and level beaches, forested slopes and meadows. Twice, in the distance, Nils thought he saw a plume of smoke. Each time it quickly vanished, but it was enough to indicate human presence. He could not help but think of the Skraelings, and wonder whether they would encounter any.
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