by Brian Fitts
Most of the men had already boarded their ships and taken up their oars. I watched as the first few ships slipped off the beach to bob amid the waves. Eirik was ready to board his own ship, which was going to be the last one to depart.
“No,” I said, stepping in front of him. It was a very foolish thing to do, but I was not thinking clearly while standing there. The men who were already on Eirik’s ship began laughing. Eirik even smiled a bit at my courage.
“Move aside,” he said, and his voice again was very low.
“No,” I repeated. The anger that had been welling up inside me for the past few months was spilling over, and I began shaking. I thought about the countless innocents that had died by the hands of not only this man, but also his entire race of people. I thought about Malyn, the poor girl who would die on Eirik’s impulse, and most of all, I thought about myself, never going to see Le Mans again, trapped here in Greenland to face perpetually endless daylight and darkness in alternating seasons.
Eirik reached out and grabbed me, and although I tried to push him away, his grip was too strong, and I almost felt my bones being crushed beneath his hands. I felt myself being lifted off the ground, and as I looked, I saw the ground moving beneath me as I was carried with the Viking towards his ship.
“Now you will see,” said Eirik in a faint hiss. “Now you shall bear witness.”
I was tossed into the bottom of Eirik’s ship as he leaped aboard. He nodded to his men, and I felt the boat moving rapidly off the beach. We floated there for a moment, gentle and peaceful, letting the waves bounce us up and down, then the men took up their oars, and with several giant sweeps, our ship darted out into the ocean.
I sat up in a panic, watching the shoreline drift further and further away. I thought about leaping overboard, but one look at the deathly cold water, and I felt faint. Eirik was looking at me and laughing to himself. Whether I liked it or not, I was to be a part of the raid on the Isle of Kells, and I felt sick at the very thought.
***
Eirik was not laughing for very long. As our ship reached the open sea and began sailing east, I began vomiting. Unlike the first time I had sailed with Bjarni, when I had eaten very lightly, and then had gotten sick into the sea, this time, since I had no reason to believe I would be getting on a ship, I had eaten a good meal of venison, fish, bread, and mead. Now my stomach was boiling, and its contents all spilled forth there on the bottom of the ship.
Eirik began cursing, and for a moment, I thought he was going to pitch me overboard to get rid of me. I continued heaving, unable to catch my breath as he came to me, hoisted me up and held me half over the side of the ship, where the rest of my dinner became a good meal for the fish. When I was able to breathe again, I hoped he would set me back down, but he did not. He continued to hold me, shaking me as if squeezing the rest of it out of me. Then he grabbed my legs and ducked my head under the water.
I would have screamed, but I had no air. A huge swallow of frigid seawater burned its way down my throat and into my lungs and my eyes blazed with pain. I thrashed, but Eirik held me fast, as if he was determined to prove something to me. My head sat down there in the cold blackness; my eyes clinched shut and my mouth fighting not to scream. This was not the way I wanted to die. Chop off my head, pierce me with a spear, even roast me on a spit, but death by drowning was not how I wanted to go. I felt my lungs collapse as my air supply vanished. I thought I felt fish swimming past my head, as if coming to see what they would be feeding on later after my corpse had been disposed of. I tasted the heavy salt of the water, knowing it would probably be my last. Woe to the poor bishop, I thought as my brain went dark. I was going to be a martyr. Perhaps they would saint me after I was gone. The thought gave me no comfort.
Eirik dragged me up, and I gushed a huge volume of water out of my stomach, spraying it back into the water. Then I could breathe, and huge gasps seared my windpipe as my body gulped down the precious air. I was thrown back into the bottom of the boat, unfortunately into the puddle of my own vomit, where I sat, grateful to even be alive. Some of the Vikings were still laughing at me, even though I had made a huge mess of things in the boat.
The further east we sailed, the lighter the sky became, and it was as if we had sailed out from beneath a huge shadow. I looked up and finally saw a normal sky, complete with a sunrise that looked to rise higher as the day progressed. Eirik kept staring at me, probably waiting to see if I was going to be sick again. I inched away from where I was sitting and tried to find a better seat, but the benches were occupied by the Vikings, who kept rowing, letting our ship cut through the water seamlessly. I saw the other ships around us on the water, keeping pace. I noticed one of them was larger than the others, but it still cut through the water at the same speed.
I closed my eyes and prayed for deliverance. Whether I would be executed on the Isle of Kells was something I was exceedingly worried about. As it turned out, the trip to the island took less time than I or even Eirik thought. When the wind gusted, the huge sails would roll down and puff out, sending us skimming over the waves. It was as if God was pushing us along with His breeze, and I wondered if it was a sign.
We were still a few miles from the shore of the island when Eirik ordered the ships to stop. They were going to wait until sunrise, then attack. I strained my eyes at the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the little green island, but there was only more water. I began to wonder how Eirik knew how far we were from the island. Malyn told me he was a master sailor, as was his son, and so he kept glancing at the stars, waiting. I waited, too.
I couldn’t sleep on the boat with the others. I sat miserably near the remains of my dinner from the previous day and tried not to think about what was going to happen once we landed. Finally I would see the reason I was sent to Greenland. I would see firsthand what the Vikings would do when confronted with resistance. I felt the dagger still hidden in the folds of my robes.
Eirik was asleep. His roaring snores sounded loudly over the water, and I began to think that the snores would be heard by the monks on the island, and that would serve as a warning to them. But it was naive thinking, and I clutched the dagger and watched Eirik sleep.
I could kill him, I remember thinking. Slit his throat and save my brothers on the island. I looked at the others on the ship. Thirty men on this one, two hundred men combined on the other ships. It would mean my death when they awoke, and I could not swim to safety because I could not swim at all. I sat and held the dagger, almost slicing into my finger as I did. I kept looking at the men who had brought so much pain into not only France, but also England, and Spain, and almost every other country I knew of. I could have killed them all. Sliced their throats one by one until all thirty of them were dead. I could have then taken the boat to the Isle of the Kells and sought refuge there.
But instead I sat and watched the darkness of the water lap against the side of the ship. I wept for the slaughter that was coming: the one I knew I couldn’t stop. I wanted a sign, but being on the ship was enough. I knew I was there for a reason. Thordhild knew it, Leif knew it, and I was just beginning to realize it.
I watched the sky begin to lighten as I sat with my thoughts. The dagger remained in my robe, even as the Vikings took up their oars and slowly began their journey to the island.
***
The monastery on the Isle of Kell was not much to look at: a series of small square buildings in a semi-circle. In the center of the circle of buildings was a tower that could see over the entire island. I knew in the bottom levels of that tower were the sacred books the monks treasured over all other things. The top levels of the tower served as an observation post, and as we drew nearer to the island, I could see movement there. Yes, I wanted to shout. Run, for the North Men are upon you.
There was the sharp, harsh clanging of the bell, and I could see gray robed figures darting around the buildings. The warning had gone up. The North Men have arrived. The North Men are coming. Save the books, retreat to the cav
es beneath the monastery. Above all, just run.
The Vikings ships ran aground, and the men were over the sides of the ship in a blink. I stayed behind, cringing, not able to watch. Two hundred men, roaring hellishly, stormed over the rocks and onto the grasslands where the first buildings were. Ahead of them all ran Eirik the Red, slashing at a poor monk who had gotten too close. I watched the monk fall, but apparently his death did not satisfy Eirik. As if retaliating against my entire faith and for the betrayal of his wife and son, Eirik pounded the poor monk into the ground, and I saw streaks of red jet across the bright green grass. The other Vikings had begun their slaughter in earnest as well, and although a few of the monks tried to fight back, their knives were useless against the heavy spears of the North Men. The bell ceased its ringing, and I saw the first flickers of flame erupt on the outer ring of buildings.
I stepped out of the boat, walking up the rocks until I, too, was standing on the grounds of the monastery. I saw Eirik enter the lower levels of the tower, and I began running after him. A few frightened monks ran past me, and some of them looked at me, knowing I wasn’t a Viking, asking me wordlessly why I was letting this happen. But they kept running, and they seemed to be heading for their own boats not far from where we had landed. A hiss of arrows stopped me, and I looked up to see archers in the top tower, aiming carefully at their invaders. One of the arrows almost hit me.
Several arrows found their home and some Vikings fell, their leather armor pierced by the heavy lead point of the missiles. But it was not enough. Thick, black smoke swelled from the burning buildings, blocking out the sun and casting us all into darkness. I reached the tower, only to be pushed back by the severe waves of heat rolling out of the doorway. Eirik had set fire to the library. It was too late to save the books. I saw Eirik at the top of the tower, and I heard the screams as one of the archers came flying out of the top of the tower to crash into the ground.
I shook my head. The monks were lying on the ground, some bleeding, most missing an arm or a leg; some were missing their heads. How could so much slaughter happen in so little time? I backed away from the tower, and the cool air felt good to me. Some of the monks had escaped, I noticed. They rowed their boats frantically to the east, toward the mainland. They had seen the futility of defending their faith. Unlike these others, whom I sadly watched die. I looked up at Eirik, who had finished killing the archers and was making his way back down through the flames.
In defense of the faith I ran back over to the bottom of the tower and slammed the door shut. I decided I was not killing Eirik. I was letting the smoke and the fire do it. God makes exceptions for all things, including killing. Since it was not my hand that lowered the blade, it was not exactly killing anyone. It was nature, and it was Eirik’s own stupidity that put him in danger anyway. If Eirik had been thinking, he would have set the fire on the way out, not in.
I wedged the dagger Malyn had given me through the latch hole in the door, effectively locking it. One of the Vikings saw me trapping Eirik in the tower, and he began running over to me, intent on freeing his chieftain.
I heard the crash, and I saw the wooden door splinter into pieces as Eirik, accompanied by great clouds of white smoke, shot out of the bottom of the tower. My dagger spun out and stuck itself, blade first, into the bloody ground. Eirik didn’t seem phased by the incident. In fact, I do not think he even knew the door was locked. He coughed once, then looked around to survey the complete destruction of the monastery of Kell. I had retrieved my dagger, and I watched as the Vikings finished their rampage through the buildings. They had released the horses from the monastery stables and were leading the beasts toward the ships. Some of the monks had been tied up and they sat, sad and small against the bloodstained ground. These would be the ones Eirik would take with him, if nothing else than to row their ships.
I held my dagger and entertained, not for the last time, the thought of running and plunging it deep into Eirik’s chest. Did the Lord not also say “an eye for an eye” in the most Holy Scriptures? Did these monks not deserve to be revenged? I stood there as the fires roared all around me and the Vikings took their spears and ended the cries of the wounded with one swift gouge. Had it been like this at Tours? Paris? Abbeville? All that would be left here would be charred rubble. It was as if Eirik was single handedly trying to wipe out every outpost of my faith. It wasn’t enough just to take the gold, although I noticed the Vikings were carting out sack loads of precious trinkets and ornaments ripped down from the cathedral walls, it was only complete when there was nothing left.
The three monks who had been captured stared at me with harrowed eyes, and I felt my shame begin to grind away at me. It was as if they could see my sins. How could I have taken part in such a massacre, they seemed to say to me. But they remained silent, even when Eirik demanded to know where they stored their wine.
“They don’t understand you,” I spoke up, my voice fluttering. Eirik didn’t turn to me. I began walking toward him, dagger in hand. “Did you hear me, you cowardly heathen?” My voice became stronger. “They don’t understand what you are saying to them!” I was practically screaming at Eirik, trying to make him listen.
Eirik did turn to me then, and I knew he was going to strike. With a quick jab, the dagger was ripped from my hand, and I was left with a ragged tear across my hand, which began to bleed heavily. I didn’t feel the pain, and even if I did, it would not have been the pain of my brothers who had been butchered here.
“This is a mendicant order,” I explained to Eirik, wondering how thick the man could be. “There is no wine here. Do you hear me? There is no wine here! Go back to your ship and leave these men.”
Eirik looked up at the sky where the dark clouds of smoke sailed through us. “We are wiping clean this upstart faith,” he whispered. “Odin has blessed us here.”
Wrath surged through me. “There is no Odin,” I declared. “There is only one most holy God whose son is Christ. Not your gods. Your gods have done nothing for you. But look at me. Here I stand. By all counts I should have died, but I am blessed and protected. You cannot kill me, no matter how hard you try.” These were harsh words, and in the back of my mind I worried that Eirik would run me through to test my theory, but he didn’t. He merely scrutinized me with those indignant eyes of his.
“Get those horses on the ship!” Eirik called to his men. “We’re leaving.”
He started to walk past me, but I reached out and touched his arm, stopping him. “Olaf is going to kill you,” I murmured in a voice only he could hear. “I will tell him all about your wicked ways.”
Eirik pushed past me, but I could tell there was a hint of fear on his face. No one, apparently, had ever spoken to him like that. No one had ever dared threaten Eirik the Red and lived to tell others. At least not all of him. I walked around the ruined monastery and tried to help those wounded who had not been killed off. I sat and prayed with some of them before they passed. Others asked me why and I had no answer for them. I looked through a murk of watering eyes at the Vikings as they loaded their loot, but whether or not my eyes were watering from the smoke or my own self-pity, I could not tell. My only comfort was the first snow of the winter season had begun to fall as I sat there next to one young monk, probably fifteen years at the oldest, the same age I was when I entered the church, and whispered to him Psalms of our Lord. The snow would cover these men and their blood would be bleached away from the grass, and the only reminder that someone had been here would be the silence.
Chapter Ten
Winter
We descended into the darkness as we sailed back to Greenland. I felt the shadow sweep over me once again as we entered that land of endless night. I sat, trying to block out the sights I saw on the Isle of Kells, trying to forget the cries of the monks. The Vikings seemed unusually somber under such circumstances. I assumed they would have been celebrating their easy gathering of loot, but all were quiet, and I knew it was because I had come with them, and I had seen the car
nage. Were they all wondering if my god would strike them down for such pillage? Eirik especially seemed morose. He stared at the sea all around him, and I could tell he was thinking about something.
Finally, he turned to me and picked up a knife. Dear God, I thought, what is he going to do? He took my arm, and I offered no resistance.
“Can your god truly protect you?” he asked. I didn’t know how to answer the man. If I said yes, then that dagger he held would be plunged into me. If I said no, then I would lose all of my credibility, not that I had much to begin with.
“Faith, Eirik,” I told him, my eyes never leaving the dagger. “Faith is what brought me here.”
“If I were to cut your throat here,” asked Eirik. “What would happen?”
“I would bleed and die,” I said, matter-of-factly.
“And you would not be saved?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I said, wishing he would put the knife down. I began to feel my heart escalate.
Eirik laughed and flipped the knife out into the sea where it landed with a small splash. “Did you enjoy what you saw on the Isle of Kells? You should come with us more often on our raids. I think you are good luck for the men.”
I didn’t want to talk to Eirik. He still made me nervous, and I wished he would go back to the front of the ship. “You are a savage,” I told him. “My God will not help you. He will damn you for your sacrilege.”
“Ha!” shouted Eirik. “We are from different worlds, you and I, Bishop. You are too sheltered in the ways of your church. My church is the church of the spear and claw, and my cathedral is my island. Do not be so quick to damn me, when it is my gods who just might punish you.”
My mind kept going back to the first victim of Eirik on the Isle of the Kells: the poor monk who got too close. The one Eirik relentlessly drove into the ground. He had started his day like any other, I assumed. He awoke, said his morning prayers, broke fast, and had set out to do his chores until the midday mass. Only this day his routine had been interrupted.
