The Voyage of Freydis

by Tamara Goranson

  Without warning, the latch rattles and the heavy door swings slowly open, creaking as it scrapes across the warped boards of the lintel. I barely have time to tuck myself into my hiding place.

  “Freydis?” Logatha calls. When she spots me hiding behind the door, she looks at me strangely. “Thank the gods that you are safe. We thought he came for you!”

  I see the worry lines dotting her oily brow. Slowly, I crawl out of my hiding spot. “I’m safe for now, but Thorvard knows our plan. Thorkel’s wife told him about our intention to sail the northern seas. Tomorrow he will come for me.”

  “Tomorrow is a long way off,” Logatha blurts. “Finnbogi is dealing with Thorkel’s wife even now as we speak.” She swipes her face with the corner of her tattered sleeve. “My husband is making that stupid woman believe that you ran off without telling anyone. He said that you went to collect some trading goods from Gudrid’s faðir’s farm across the water from Brattahlíð.”

  I glance at her. “Thorvard will find me. I’m sure of it.”

  “Come with me,” Logatha says, taking charge. “Throw on your heaviest cloak and take the personal items you have packed. We will sneak you out behind the byre and move you to our waiting ships. Hopefully the goði of Greenland – your trusted brother – will know what to say to throw Thorvard off.”

  “What if Thorvard finds me before we can get away?”

  She clucks her tongue. “Thorvard will not succeed in capturing you.” She leans down to retrieve a heavy pack and groans under the weight of it as she lifts it over her shoulder.

  “Make haste, my friend,” she says as her voice eddies into a grunt. “Take your sword and shield and have at the ready your hunting knife in case we have to fight.”

  I follow Logatha into the empty yard, where it is uncannily quiet now that it is supper time. The two of us straddle the fence behind the byre, but once over, I linger briefly to re-tie the leather thongs on my boot. With a vicious hiss, Logatha urges me to hurry up.

  Eventually we reach the beach where two lone vyking longboats are bobbing gently in the cresting waves. There is a large, wide-bodied knörr anchored further out.

  “Freydis, it is best that you stay onboard our ship tonight,” Logatha advises, breathing hard. Behind us, I see a string of footprints zigzagging through the sand. “I should only stay for a little while. I’ll get you settled on the ship, but then I must leave to pack. Finnbogi and Helgi do not even know that I found you in Thorkel’s hut. They are worried sick about you. When I tell them that you are safe, they will be relieved.”

  I stare into her sober face. She looks fatigued with her raccoon eyes. Even though I am afraid, I don’t want her to worry about me anymore. I’ve been enough of a burden to her already.

  “All of us will return at dawn,” Logatha murmurs as she grabs my hand and pulls me forth. “If the weather holds, we will leave at the break of dawn.”

  I nod. Logatha clucks her tongue like a mother hen when she sees my face.

  “Be still, my friend. Already you have beaten the odds. You duped your husband and got away. I am confident that you will fool him again when tomorrow comes.”

  “What if Thorvard comes for me and you aren’t here?”

  “I doubt he will come tonight.”

  “I’ll be too exposed!”

  Logatha reaches out and pulls me into a warm embrace. “Don’t worry until a good reason presents itself.”

  I shiver and half-tune her out. She has not lived through what I’ve endured. She has not felt Thorvard’s hands around her neck.

  In my line of vision, I see the sandpipers on the beach using their long, straight beaks to go in search of food. They remind me that I am not alone. Tonight, I will have the seabirds to comfort me if I am afraid. I will have the fish that swim below me in the sea. I will have my talisman.

  Oh gods! What if that vicious wolf attacks me in the dead of night?

  I shudder like a shedding tree. Logatha stops talking. Her head snaps up. “Tomorrow morning when we sail for Vinland’s shores, you will be free,” she says.

  I nod, listening to the creaking mast, the shrieking birds, the lapping of the gentle waves against the strakes.

  That night when the twinkling stars emerge – those tiny pricks of light that gaze down like living eyes – I crawl beneath my hide coverings and draw the furs around my face. On the open decks, it is chilly. My breath hangs suspended above my head. Shivering, I try to find a comfortable position, but sleep eludes me, and I can’t stop shaking. Eventually I get up, gather all my weapons, and place them next to me in case there is need. Even so, it takes some time for me to fall into a restless sleep.

  In the dead of night, I bolt awake when I hear a thump. In the shadows, all is still. The longboat shivers, and I reluctantly extract myself from my bed of furs, moving silently across the deck, checking to see if I am alone. Just as I am making my final sweep, I look across the sea and see an eerie glow – a burst of light in iridescent rainbow hues. The swirling pools of greenish-blues and purples create dazzling patterns that dance underneath the glassy surface in twinkling sparkles that mesmerize.

  It is as if the ocean is celebrating, exploding in whispered shimmers, proclaiming that I am soon to have a different life.

  Shivering awake at the break of dawn, I yawn and push strands of frizzy red hair out of my face as I listen to the wind slamming waves against the prow. In my haste to leave Thorkel’s farm, I forgot to bring Mother’s comb, an ornately carved treasure made from antler bone. It used to mean so much to me and now all I want is to be rid of it, to find a different life – a life of peace.

  In the distance, I hear voices. Men’s voices. Springing up, I scan the shoreline before my eyes flit across the rocky ridges that surround the bay. Seeing nothing, I snag a breath and then let it out, but the voices grow louder. When I realize that there are men directly underneath the ship,, I glance around as my stomach drops and my heart begins to thunk. I can feel it pounding heavily in my neck.

  I hear a shout, a gruff male voice. In an instant, I am scrambling to mould myself against a pile of furs.

  The voices of heckling men and the jingle of a rattling cart make me paw the hides apart. Squinting, I can just make out a group of familiar-looking Norsemen carrying packs and shields and swords and spears with axes hanging from their leather belts.

  The icy wind whistles past my ears, whipping my unruly red hair into my face as I clamber out of my hiding spot, panting heavily. It has taken months to plot a course to freedom. It could take only moments to lose it if my husband finds me here.

  He won’t now that they have come for me.

  Savoring the moment, I scan the seashore, and my heart skips a beat and then slowly settles when all I see is a group of Icelanders wandering down the beach. No one is hiding amongst the rocks. No horse is galloping down the vast stretch of sedge meadows full of tundra browns and saxifrage purples and lichen-covered mossy greens. Truly, I have managed to escape.

  Even the screeching wind cheers for me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Water melding into sky

  It seems to take forever to load the ship. The animals are agitated and the men have difficulty hoisting the barrels full of salted meat, which causes Finnbogi to curse and yell. Even Logatha loses patience with a thrall. The poor woman hangs her head as she pulls on the tether of a stubborn cow. Asta, Groa, and Grelod, the three other women who will take the journey across the sea, call up to me, and I wave to them. The relief I feel is palpable.

  By midday it is hot and sunny and impatience licks my weary bones as I watch the oarsmen crawl into place.

  “We will follow Eiriksfjord out to the open sea,” Finnbogi says. “Somewhere further up the coast, we will tuck the longboats into a more northern bay and wait it out while the ice clears up and summer comes. I pray to Loki that this plan will work. The trickster god is fickle and he revels in plotting against the honorable.”

  “There is no need to worry. I am i
n league with Óðinn,” I say quickly. “I have pledged myself loyal and I trust that he will be the architect of my victory.”

  Finnbogi shoots me a tired smile.

  “My husband has pledged to fight a duel against Thorvard if he should come for you,” Logatha says, her voice chipped and slivered. “Finnbogi will make Thorvard cower in fear like a pale man forced to bite his shield rim. Finnbogi’s spear will be dewed in blood. Now, still your heart. I know my husband to be a feeder of wolves.”

  Finnbogi throws another mischievous smile. “The duel would be fun enough, but I would much prefer to sail away so that you can find your peace,” he says as he makes his way to the helm and gives the orders to set sail.

  We have just nicely lifted the wadmal sail when we see a group of riders racing their steeds over the ridge of hills that line the bank. Thorvard’s black stallion is in the lead. Without hesitating, I lodge myself between sacs and crates and animal pens where the stink is bad. A moment later, I hear Thorvard’s men hollering at us, their voices echoing in the wind.

  “Lower yourself further or he will see,” Logatha hisses in my ear. My legs are cramped and squished, but I slither down so that my face is flush against that of a hairy-chinned goat and my hips are pressed tightly against a sack of grain. On my right, Groa leans forwards to cover me with another heavy fur. I am stifling hot, but I dare not move. Our vyking longboat creaks and groans before lunging forwards in the wind.

  Suddenly, Thorvard’s booming voice rips through the air and mixes in with the sound of the screeching gulls. “Hail, Finnbogi of Iceland!”

  “Stay still,” Groa warns as Thorvard’s voice comes to us in wind shouts.

  “I hear that you are departing for Vinland’s shores. Why leave before the ice is gone?”

  The longboat surges forwards and the livestock pens half drag me across the deck. When all calms down, the only thing I hear is the water thumping against the strakes.

  “Heave ho! Heave ho!” Finnbogi mutters desperately to the oarsmen.

  From the shore Thorvard shouts again: “I am looking for my wife, Freydis Eiriksdöttir – Freydis of Brattahlíð.”

  “She is not with me,” Finnbogi replies. His booming voice shudders the air as he leans over me.

  “Is that Helgi’s longboat I see? Perhaps your brother…?”

  There is another surge of wind. Amidst the flapping sails, the shifting cargo, the crying gulls, and the baby goat bleating loudly in my ear, I lose some of the exchange. When I turn my face to better hear, a rough tongue tries to lick my face. Jiggling myself away from the ewe, I jump when I hear my name.

  “Freydis isn’t here, man! Neinn, she isn’t on this ship,” Finnbogi shouts in a baritone voice that slaps the air. A moment later, the longboat pitches forwards and I am thrown into the furthest corner where I narrowly avoid getting hit by sliding crates.

  “Far vel! I wish you well. Travel safely, my good men.” Thorvard’s voice trails off. Beside me Logatha releases a heavy sigh, but Groa groans. Finnbogi cautions me not to move.

  “Heave away!” he orders the oarsmen from somewhere high above my head. “The wind is picking up even more. You lot, there! Get ready to hoist the final sail!”

  There is chaos and movement on the deck. Still I keep my head down low. My body is hidden amidst furs and barrels, crates and pens.

  “Even now, Thorvard continues to run his horse up and down the beach. He is tracking the direction in which we sail,” Groa announces as she makes her way over, trying to find her sea legs.

  “Freydis, what do you want to do?” Finnbogi asks. He sounds annoyed as his words float down to where I am lying on the deck. Tentatively I lower the hide that covers my face to gulp in the cold, fresh air.

  “Cover up! Don’t be a fool,” Groa orders. Glancing up, I see her panicked face.

  “I can hardly breathe,” I moan. Finnbogi shoots me a warning look.

  “You’re not safe yet,” Logatha says, glancing down. From this angle, it looks as though she is a giantess. The seagulls swarm around her head.

  “Considering that Thorvard is tracking us, we can’t turn the longboats around and follow Ulf out to where we planned to meet,” Finnbogi announces as he shields his eyes and looks out to sea.

  “By Óðinn’s missing eye, it is still too risky at this time of year. There is too much ice,” Logatha frets. I catch a glimpse of Finnbogi scratching his neck as he scans the shore.

  “If we hug the coast like Ulf’s ship does, Thorvard will surely follow us,” Gunnar, my most loyal Greenlander, says. He has the voice of a foghorn and a thick tree-trunk shadow.

  “In truth, we have no choice but to follow Eiriksfjord directly out to sea instead of following Ulf,” Finnbogi says as he chews his whiskered cheeks. “We can set down anchor before we hit open water, if need be. I’ll send a runner ashore tonight to send word to Leif to track down Ulf. Someone needs to inform him of our change of plans.”

  “Finding Ulf will be very hard if we don’t track his course,” I say. My stomach is already sick from the rocking ship, and it seems as though I’ve pulled a muscle in my back.

  “If the gods are on our side, we will be able to sail far up the coast and then head into shore where we can regroup. Hopefully Ulf will receive my message and find our ships.”

  I feel helpless as I stare up into the clear blue sky. Finnbogi is a practical man. It is his gift. I do not know him very well, but I sense that he will rely on no one but himself to safely navigate a route out to sea. Just then, the last wadmal sail flaps open in a sudden gust of wind, and I spot the great auk soaring high. Its presence is a good omen.

  By suppertime my insides roll. I succumb to seasickness as the longboat rides the waves before dropping down into the rolling sea. Despite my queasiness, I revel in the fact that Thorvard of Gardar can’t touch me anymore. There is no more panic, no more fear.

  With a sudden surge of unbridled joy, I lift my face and drink in the air, listening to the poetry of the waves and allowing my spirit to sense the thumping of the war-god’s heart, knowing that this is the beginning of a brand-new life. This oaken craft will take me to a distant shore. There has been no clashing of swords plinking off the edges of battle shields, no need to feed flesh to wolves. Thoughts of Faðir flint into flames.

  He would be pleased to know that his only döttir is Vinland bound.

  Part Two

  She stole it back

  Chapter Fourteen

  The endless blue of it

  In the days that follow, my stomach learns to tolerate the pitching waves, creaming as they stir up a frothy foam. The weather turns warmer and the ice breaks up into floating pans that allow for safe passage up the fjords. Each night the oarsmen take us into shore where we sit around a fire eating roasted fish or game depending on what the crew can catch. Despite the uncertainty that lies ahead, there is a feeling of carefree living that lifts my spirits and banishes the worries from my head.

  The Greenlanders speak highly of Faðir. Pledging fealty to my house, they promise to protect me because I am an Eiriksson. I am profoundly thankful, but I refuse to tell them what truly motivates me to leave Greenland’s shores. Memories of the abuse I endured at Thorvard’s hands and his veiled threats are like shards of ice that pierce my heart and cut off air. Even now, I will not defame his name to the Icelanders. Neinn. I don’t dare.

  One night after we have set up camp on a patch of tundra carpeted by wild flowers overlooking a stretch of sea where the migrating birds are nesting on the backs of a pod of humpback whales, I invite some of the men from Finnbogi’s crew to spar with me. I use my shield in a quick succession of defensive moves and the rowdy men begin to cheer. Afterwards Logatha takes me aside.

  “Energetic, feisty women who know how to fight can easily arouse the men. Sparring with them is ill-advised,” she tells me with a heavy sigh. When I see her worried face, I heed her words and withdraw from everyone.

  When we reach the western settlement of Lysufjo
rd, we go ashore and visit the fishermen. We tell them all about our plan to travel in a northwesterly direction to Vinland. They caution us about the whereabouts of the heavy ice floes and candidly warn us to avoid the skraelings at all costs.

  “Leif told me something similar,” is all I say. “I am not afraid to meet up with the Red Men, but I understand the need to be wary.”

  After one moon cycle has come and gone, our impatience builds. Ulf and his crew are still missing and they have not sent word. Finnbogi and Helgi begin to wonder if Ulf misunderstood the message and set sail for Vinland’s shores without waiting for our ship. One night, as we are lounging around an outdoor fire that emits little warmth, Logatha and Finnbogi begin talking earnestly about what we should do.

  “Summer is passing,” Finnbogi says as he untangles himself from his wife’s embrace. He sits up tall and stretches out his muscled legs as I poke the fire with my roasting stick. “We’ve waited long enough for Ulf’s ship to come. It may be best to collect our things and leave this place so that we arrive in Leifsbidur in time to prepare for winter.”

  Logatha inches closer to Finnbogi so that she can lean her head against his shoulder. I watch their display of tenderness through the hazy campfire smoke that snakes into the sky, trying to touch the midnight sun.

  “What say you, Freydis? Should we continue on to Vinland without Ulf?” Finnbogi asks. I stare into the blazing fire that pops and sizzles and throws out sparks.

  “It seems strange that he has been delayed so long.”

  “That scoundrel abandoned us,” Logatha laughs uneasily.

  “I hate the thought that Ulf’s ship may be lost,” I sigh. For a moment Finnbogi is silent as he fingers Logatha’s fine-boned hand.

  “I’ll tell the others that the wait is done. Tomorrow will be our last day here on Greenland’s shores.” He looks troubled by the decision, as if he is loath to think about abandoning his people and making the wrong choice.