The Voyage of Freydis

by Tamara Goranson

  Instantaneously I am on guard. “He has not come for me yet,” I say, feeling a sudden chill.

  Logatha comes to sit beside her husband. She frowns when she sees my stricken face.

  “My dear Freydis, are you well?” she asks. I nod my head.

  “I have no tolerance for men who intimidate or mistreat their wives,” Finnbogi continues as he fingers his drinking horn and glances uneasily at his wife. “Mistress Freydis, I advise you to find an acceptable way to distance yourself from Thorvard of Gardar. He will not be pleased that you wintered here. By the gods, he will punish you. I have seen what other men do when their pride is stung. They do not like it when their woman gains the upper hand.”

  My fists ball up. Logatha sees me squirm and she fetches me a flask of water which I gulp down. Afterwards she helps remove my tattered shawl.

  “I have spoken to my brother about divorce,” I mumble uncomfortably, keeping my face downturned. The room is suddenly far too smoky and very warm.

  “It is not the wisest course,” Finnbogi cautions. He takes a sip from his drinking horn before continuing in a solemn voice. “You are a wealthy woman with much to lose. I am guessing that you do not wish to forfeit your inheritance. I understand that you own a lot of land?”

  It is like this vibrant, carefree man has suddenly morphed into someone else – someone sober who clearly knows my status and knows the law. Still, I can’t trust him.

  “Divorce would be to your financial ruin,” Logatha says as she works her hand into the crook of her husband’s arm. “We have thought on it and there is something else that you could do.”

  In front of us the skald suddenly drops his pitch. He plays the audience to build suspense. Beside me Finnbogi clears his throat.

  “You must come with us to Vinland’s shores,” he murmurs, and I glance up. The invitation hangs between us like a sticky cobweb.

  “Vinland is far away,” I finally mutter as I fold my hands in my lap.

  “My brother, Helgi, would approve if he were here,” Finnbogi says, speaking fast. “We need a sponsor to help us out, someone to outfit our longboats with rations and supplies. We own the ships, but we need a wealthy patron. We thought that Leif the Lucky would come with us, but he doesn’t wish to travel.” He flexes his arm, and the tattoo of a seagull pops out. I stare at it in the flickering shadows and it almost seems as if the bird begins to move.

  “Helgi says that having an Eiriksson on board would be wise,” Logatha whispers excitedly. “You could come with us.”

  “If you are wise,” Finnbogi interjects, “you will heed our offer and leave this place.”

  Both of them suddenly stop talking and their offer sweeps me up like a fast-flowing current, spinning me into a whirling eddy of possibilities.

  “Taking a vyking expedition is a perfect way to keep you safe from your husband’s fists,” Logatha breathes as she tosses a glance at Finnbogi.

  “If I should entertain this proposition,” I start to say, trying to squelch the panic leeching into my voice, “I would need to know the cost.”

  “The cost is nothing you can’t afford,” Logatha reassures.

  The skald finishes, and my kinsmen stir. From across the room someone shouts for another round of drinks.

  “It is curious that Leif refused the offer to go back to Leifsbidur,” I say as I scan the room in search of him.

  “He told us that he does not wish to miss the birth of his firstborn son,” Logatha says as she studies the Greenlanders who roam the room.

  “If I go, what type of trading profit could I expect?”

  “On our successful return to Greenland,, we would give you half of any trading profits that we make. The deal works out well for us and well for you. If you provide supplies for the voyage there, we will supply the ships. Think on it. You will escape from Thorvard’s abusive fists in a way that saves your reputation and protects your house.”

  Fingering my drinking horn, I contemplate the offer and keep my face shielded to hide my fear. Oh gods, I need to move; I need to breathe the outdoor air, I think as a rush of panic grips my bones.

  “Prithee, give me some time to think this through,” I finally mumble as I finger the luscious furs that line the bench. “How will I convince Leif to let me go?”

  “You must tell him that he will profit,” Finnbogi grins. “Leif the Lucky is known for taking risks. He might let you go if he thinks that your presence in Leifsbidur will benefit him.”

  “Your brother is your closest ally, or so you mentioned when I asked,” Logatha says in a careful voice. “ Tell him that you wish to check to see if Leifsbidur still stands. Tell him that it would be best if a Greenlander was present – an Eiriksson. Offer to bring back timber and pelts for him to trade. As we said, we will split the trading profits. I think he might go for that.”

  “It is a far-fetched plan,” I say quietly.

  “But one that will save your life.”

  In the women’s room, Mother is speaking with Bork, one of Faðir’s closest advisers. Their heads are bent close together and Mother is laughing. She is widowed and laughing in the company of another man. Shame on her. She is no protector. I will never be able to rely on her.

  How is it that these Icelanders have offered to rescue me from Thorvard’s hands, and Mother has done nothing? How can I trust them to do well by me? By the gods, I have been known to give away trust too easily, and I can’t afford to do that again. I wrap my arms around myself.

  Finnbogi astutely reads my mind. “Fear not, Freydis. We only wish to do well by you. Come sail with us. We will protect you from your husband’s fists.”

  Easing my back against the wall, I catch sight of a flittering bat that is trapped and agitated as it swoops up high into the longhouse beams where it is dark. Watching it struggle, I release a heavy sigh. Just as I am lowering my head, Logatha leans in closely. Her jaw is set.

  “Please come with us,” she pleads. “It is the only way to guarantee your safety. In Vinland, Thorvard won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”

  Finnbogi coughs to clear his throat, and I study him through a misty fog that clouds my vision.

  “Crying will only drench the problem further and we don’t need that,” the Icelander says practically as he throws me a gentle smile.

  “May the gods bless our vyking voyage to the north,” Logatha announces as she stands. She uses the bottom of her apron dress to dab her cheeks.

  “As I said, I’ll need more time to contemplate whether the benefits outweigh the costs,” I say, glancing between the two of them.

  Finnbogi shakes his head before he downs the remainder of his drink.

  “Let’s give her time to think,” is all he says.

  When I retire to bed, the memories of what Thorvard did to me come as fast as a waterfall tumbling over a hillside cliff. I try not to give in to the wall of grief, but I can’t manage in my wretchedness. Soon I am moaning like an injured dog and rocking back and forth and stuffing my crumpled shift into my mouth, dreading what Thorvard will do to me, knowing that I can’t go back. Then the shivers come as the darkness closes in and suffocates.

  In the wee morning hours, my thoughts are a muddled pool of muck, my bones are sore, a headache throbs, and my eyes sting. Logatha and Finnbogi are Icelanders. I would be a fool to trust them. Icelander. Greenlander. It matters not. By Óðinn’s beard, I am on borrowed time! Thorvard will come for me. I know the law. It is within his right to take me away from the safety of my brother’s farm. Though I try to tell myself that I will be safe, everything feels dark and bleak.

  When the sun begins to spill purple light across the eastern sky, I get up and wrap my sealskins around my shoulders, trying to still the shivers and stop the fear. My heart is cracked and bruised and bleeding still, and I feel bone-tired after suffering another restless night. Massaging my neck, I make my way into the dark passageway on the opposite end of the longhouse that leads to the bedchamber where Logatha and Finnbogi are sleeping. It
is so dark that I can hardly see.

  Thrice I tap at their door, but no one comes. As I wait, I shiver in the chilly air; my shoulders slump forwards and I rub my arms to generate a little warmth. Finally, someone cracks the door.

  “Freydis, what do you want at such an early hour?” Finnbogi asks. His voice is still thick with sleep.

  “I want you to get up and come outside,” I state simply. “I have to talk with you alone.”

  To my surprise, Finnbogi does as I ask. As we make our way through the snow towards the well, he says nothing. In the frigid air, his breath emits a stream of icy fog-mist.

  “I think I’ll come with you to Leifsbidur,” I finally say as soon as I feel that we are at a safe enough distance away from the longhouse. Finnbogi flicks a glance my way before he stomps his feet to get the blood moving back into his toes. I take another breath of the cold, crisp air. “Please, Finnbogi. Can you speak with my brother and tell him about the arrangement? He will have to give his approval. After all, he is the goði of Greenland and I’ll need his permission to leave.”

  “Of course,” Finnbogi says in such a gravelly voice that I almost fold.

  “I’m scared,” I say.

  “What you are about to do is wise.”

  “If Thorvard of Gardar should find out that I am gone…”

  “We will leave before he comes for you,” he says grimly. He glances at the first rays of morning light piercing through the low-lying fog that hugs the ground. “Tell me, Freydis, why should I be the one to plead your case with Leif the Lucky? Your brother has been good to you, has he not? Surely he will allow you to go abroad if he knows that Thorvard has been abusing you.”

  A sliver of light splatters Finnbogi in shades of yellow and reddish orange. He shifts his weight and yawns, and I look away. The doubt comes again, and I shudder.

  “If Thorvard learns that I have sailed away,” I begin, “he will attempt to follow me all the way to Vinland’s shores. My brute of a husband loves to live on carrion flesh. He will kill my brother and his goodly wife before sniffing me out with his bloodhound nose. Then, when he finds you, he will punish you for helping me.”

  “Don’t worry so much,” Finnbogi sighs.

  “He will try to kill you.”

  Finnbogi’s eyes search my face. “Ill-feelings we can all expect.”

  “I want to bring thirty-five fighting men on board your ship to offer us protection in case Thorvard finds a ship and follows us,” I continue in a rush. “I think this might be best. If Thorvard attempts to harm me in a foreign land where there is no goði and no Althing to hear my case, my men can battle him with their swords and shields.”

  “It won’t come to that, but I suppose I can agree to what you ask,” Finnbogi replies in a measured tone, “if that will set your mind at ease.”

  “I am grateful, Finnbogi,” I whisper. He rubs his eyes with his fist before releasing another tired yawn.

  “We must remember Logatha in all of this,” he sputters. “I don’t want her to worry. She will be concerned if she thinks that we are sailing into an ambush, and she will want to avoid doing battle with a group of Greenlanders.”

  “Delay speaking to Logatha about me taking my own men,” I say quickly.

  “Be still, Freydis,” Finnbogi reassures. There is kindness in his tired eyes. “Does Logatha not see what you’ve endured? Is she not wise to Thorvard’s ways? Will she not protect you in any way she can? Fear not, good lady. You don’t need to warn us about Thorvard and his abusive ways. With Óðinn’s help, we can dupe him. You must remember that Logatha and I have hatred of our own. If I know my woman, she would willingly take up her sword and cleave your bastard husband in half, but she would be reluctant to engage a group of his men in battle. She is a peaceful woman who prefers to avoid conflict.” His dimple pops. “However, she can’t tolerate ill-bred men who harm their wives.”

  “I worry that Thorvard will do her harm.”

  “Chopped logic,” Finnbogi retorts. “Thorvard would turn on me instead. I know his type.”

  “How my fingers itch to have Thorvard’s throat.”

  “He has harmed you and I am sorry for that,” Finnbogi says as the rooster crows. “If Thorvard so much as touches you again, he will bear the wrath of my ancestral sword. By the gods, I will smite him down. I swear this to you.”

  “I am thankful for your hatred, Finnbogi,” I whisper as I snuff my runny nose with my sleeve.

  “Peace! My hatred of your husband has forged this friendship that we share.” He gives a little shrug and cracks another dimpled grin as an awkwardness suddenly floats between us like a giant chunk of ocean ice. “With the gods on our side we will sail out with thirty-five of your men on board and thirty of my own as well. Think on it. When I build another ship on Vinland’s shores, the extra hands can man the oars.”

  I push fearful thoughts to the back of my mind and let a wave of gratitude dismiss my doubt. Finnbogi comforts me with his reassurances and escorts me back to the door of the longhouse. As soon as I disappear inside, I tiptoe barefooted across the cold, drafty room to the shrine that I have erected to the gods. After lifting my arms in salutation, I bow my head and set fire to a bundle of herbs before offering words of praise, petitioning the gods to keep me safe. No one is up, and in the silence of the longhouse my mind strays to the Icelanders. I can’t help but think that Logatha is lucky to be able to cuddle up next to a good man who protects and honors her, who knows her thoughts and fears, who always considers her wellbeing before his own.

  A wave of sadness comes, and I feel my chest heaving as I try to squash a breaking sob. I can’t seem to take my power back. I can’t seem to regain control. As the envy leaks inside of me, pooling like dark octopus ink, I pinch myself, hating the woman I have become, hating everything about myself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Raven starver

  As soon as the sun fully rises, Finnbogi comes to find me in the company of his wife and we begin to plan our vyking expedition across the northern sea. In addition to needing supplies to restock their ships, the Icelanders hope to use the longhouse that Leif abandoned on Vinland’s shores. They want me to talk to Leif. They want to know how to contact the skraelings so that they can trade for furs.

  I name my price for acting as their spokeswoman. In addition to paying me out in trading goods, I ask to be made the honorary helmsman of the ship and to be given a say in all decisions that are made. To my surprise, the Icelanders agree.

  I find my brother in his counting chamber tallying coils of hemp rope. He barely looks up when I approach.

  “I have come to ask for your blessing, brother,” I begin. A dark shadow passes across my brother’s face.

  “I am busy, Freydis,” he responds in a voice as dry as autumn twigs. “Speak quickly, sister. I have work to do.”

  He is so grumpy and irritable that for a moment I wonder if Thorgunna is being difficult. They say that his wife is accustomed to being spoiled. Apparently, the best isn’t good enough for her here on Greenland’s shores.

  “Freydis, you vex me when you stare at me like that. Now speak your mind and leave me be.”

  “I wish to sail with Finnbogi and Logatha on a vyking expedition to Vinland. The Icelanders want me to supply the food and to take thirty-five fighting men. In exchange, they agreed to grant us half their trading profits. This arrangement seems fair to me. Faðir would be proud of my attempt to advance our family wealth by exploring a far-off land.” I stop abruptly when I see my brother clench his jaw.

  “By Óðinn’s beard, what are you proposing now?” Leif snaps. “Another expedition to Vinland’s shores? With the Icelanders, did I hear you say?” He pushes back his chair and stands up before flicking his hands at me dismissively. “Freydis, this is ill-advised. Just look around. I still haven’t traded all the goods I brought back from my last trip there.”

  I feel my spirits fall. “Indeed, good brother. I see your goods, but please know this: I shall never be s
atisfied until I am free. Thorvard of Gardar is an abusive man. If I sail away, I can escape his fists.”

  My brother huffs. Emboldened, I begin to speak in earnest, to tell him how it really is for me, to tell him that Thorvard hits me hard, that he belittles me, that he shames me openly in front of all his thralls. I cannot stop the waterfall of words that tumble out, the gush of feeling, the spray of anger mixed in with fear.

  “As long as my husband lives, he will try to usurp my lands and squeeze us out of the most profitable deals,” I snarl. I think of all the injustice that I have faced, and my anger sparks like a piece of flint. “By the gods, don’t you see that Thorvard must be stopped? If he obtains more trading goods, he’ll overpower you politically. You’ll lose your place and your influence. Already Thorvard has duped our clansmen. Many see him as worthy of the highest Althing seat.”

  “Come again?” Leif interjects. His face turns purple. His eyes grow cold. “What nonsense do you speak of now?”

  “As long as my husband, the villain, lives,” I say, “he will try to make you pay a price for harboring me all winter long. You outsmarted him, brother. He will seek revenge. Only the gods know what his fists will do to your fine-bridged nose. As for me, I’m sure he’ll break my jaw. I might even lose a tooth.”

  “Come now, Freydis,” Leif says dismissively.

  “Brother, please be reasonable. Thorvard is an evil man. He marks his territory like a dog and slithers into the best positions like a snake. Watch him carefully or he will rob you of the goði title you so well deserve. Think on it. This land is ours. Faðir was the first to settle it. He built a colony here in Greenland. Thorvard wants to rule these shores, but he doesn’t deserve to take over. He has no blood ties.”

  “He’ll never convince the clan that he is the best man to rule Greenland,” Leif fumes. “No one will grant him the goði title.”

  “Paw! Thorvard played his goði games while you were away. He will do the same thing now. He will find a way. As for me, I must sail away on that vyking expedition bound for Leifsbidur. If I don’t, Thorvard will find me, and then I am dead.”