Paths of the Norseman Page 3

  Erik sat on a bench near the door which was situated in the gable end of the longhouse. He used this position to great all the celebrants, but his aging body did not like the cold wind when the door was opened so he clutched a musk ox blanket that was tightly wrapped about his shoulders overtop his brown woolen cloak covering, yet another layer, his tunic. Thorhall now sat next to him with a large cup of ale. I saw that Erik had given him one of his fine silver cups indicating he did indeed like Thorhall very much.

  The curtains which separated the house into multiple rooms were pulled to the sides creating a large hall. From my vantage point across the room, I saw many others come through the door bringing gasps of the blustering snow with them each time. Thorbjorn, Gudrid’s father; Holmgeirr; Anundr; and countless others came.

  Then I saw him. He wore a broad, tooth-filled smile. His finely combed hair appeared perfectly placed despite the wind whistling over the hills. He was adorned in the finery associated with a rich merchant; silver and gold ring pins for his cloak, rings upon several fingers, and an excellent, never-used sword strapped about his waist. Bjarni took Erik’s extended hand, shook it, and greeted the jarl warmly, even giving him a slight bow of the head. I recognized many of his men as they filed in behind him all paying their respects to Erik.

  Bjarni made his way into the crowd acknowledging many by name and slapping numerous backs. When he came to a clearing in the room he snatched a cup of ale from a table and paused for a drink. He then scanned the room with a serious expression partially hidden behind his long beard. His gaze fell upon Leif, who was wrestling with Thorgils and several other boys, visiting from outlying farms. Bjarni gave a menacing stare through Leif’s back then continued to scan the hall. Finally our eyes met and I didn’t wait to receive his loathsome stare, sending him a look of absolute boiling hatred. He was surprised that I was already staring at him so Bjarni tried his best to look relaxed, raising his eyebrows with a nod. I surprised him further when I changed my countenance to a wicked smile and tapped first my saex with one hand then the hilt of my sword with the other. The saex was the very same I had used to repel his blow when he tried to strike down Leif years before. The coward couldn’t take it any longer and returned to a cluster of his men, speaking in hushed tones. They took turns peeking around their master to steal glances at me. In turn, I gave each an overly joyous wave.

  I sat in my corner drinking bits of ale, feeding my anger, letting it simmer inside. I had all winter to exact my revenge and I was not certain how I would kill him yet, but I would.

  Musicians somewhere in the hall played traditional music honoring one of the old gods. Two of them had wind instruments; the first playing a gemshorn, or hollowed out cow horn with a wooden plug in the wide end and five holes bored along one side, the second playing a wooden panpipe. A third musician played a hand-drum, with a quick rumbling beat. The music and ale mixed to stir me. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cold, earthen wall. I could feel the wind tearing outside at the turf wall despite its thickness. Several men began singing in low-pitched growls, almost groans, representing the voices of the gods.

  My mind swam. The small amount of ale on which I sipped warmed my chest and belly, sending tingles out to my limbs. It flooded my head. I sat there in my hlaut-stained clothes and had visions. Not visions like those of Leif where he saw a clear future. My visions were of the past. I saw my true father smiling and singing songs to the old gods as he sowed wheat on our farm long ago. I saw Erik and remembered him singing songs to the old gods as we crossed the sea to Iceland when he and his father were exiled from Norway. He did the same when he sailed to and discovered Greenland after his exile from Iceland. I remembered Erling, the man whose fingers I sawed off in Norway’s first church. Erling sang to Frey as he planted his field of rye on the Isle of Most. I remembered all the songs we sang to the gods as we felled the countless trees around Kaupangen to build Crane and Long Serpent. It was suddenly clear to me that although I was a Christian, owned a trunk with Christian markings upon it, had a sword with the same markings, wore a medallion with a cross, and had a red warrior’s tunic with a white cross emblazoned across the front and back, the moments of perfect clarity in my life were when I honored the old gods. I was a Berserker after all! It was Olaf who made me both a Christian and Berserker. I would stay a Christian to honor my third father. But I would resume my Berserker role to exact my revenge.

  I opened my eyes just as a woman of about thirty, or ten years Bjarni’s junior, came up to him and grasped his hand. I didn’t recognize her from before I left though she must certainly be his wife now for a boy of about nine who looked just like Bjarni followed after her. I was struck by something evil. A thought so wonderfully evil in its symmetry, that it made me shudder. I quickly closed my eyes and thought of the day of the massacre at Fridr Rock. The images came so quickly and exactly, it was like they were painted in my mind. There was Bjarni standing in his bright blue cloak next to Fridr Rock, Peace Rock, surrounded by his men. How many men stood around him that day? One, two, three . . . nine. Plus Bjarni. That’s ten. I opened my eyes again, still sitting in my corner and counted the men standing there. Nine plus Bjarni! I looked at his wife and his son. It all made sense. I had decided how I would obtain revenge for Greenland and for myself.

  Shushing from several women interrupted my thoughts and I turned to see Erik standing at the hearth with the hlaut-filled vessel raised above his head. The blood inside the bowl was kept wet for the past several hours with the occasional addition of water. He shouted as the last of the songs, music, and conversation died away, “We honor the gods tonight!” His face still wore the blood from the sacrifices earlier in the day. He reminded me of men, dead and living, following the carnage of battle. Erik began to stride around the hearth and continued, “We honor them for they provide and will provide. They’ve turned the sun once more so that the days again grow longer so that, in turn, we may plant and reap and eat. The men of my family who are with us tonight have already received the power of the hlaut and I will give the same to all of you.” He overlooked the fact that Leif stood pristine in his clothing next to Thorgunna and Thorgils. Erik brought down the vessel and said, “Odin, mighty father of Thor, inventor of war, we ask for victory over our enemies in the coming year. We ask that King Olaf, who my son Leif and our Halldorr served so honorably, may rise again to claim the throne of Norway. We ask Frey to sail his ship, Skidbladnr, across the skies and bring us sun, rain, and wind to grow our food.” Tyrkr handed Erik the hlautteinar. He dipped it into the bowl and with a flick of his wrist, began sprinkling red droplets of blood on his subjects. We stood silently as he slowly made his way around the room. Freydis and Torvard received their dousing. Thorhall the Huntsman received his spray. The children in the crowd especially loved to have the jarl pay them attention and flip the red liquid across their faces or clothes. However, one baby, in particular, who was held tightly in his mother’s arms, erupted into a mind-splitting wail when the chilly liquid struck his face. The crowd laughed as Erik roughly patted the boy on his belly until the child, at last, ceased his terrorized crying.

  Erik had finally reached Leif and his family. He did not hesitate, but dipped the hlautteinar into the dish for a quick soak then lifted his hand to toss the droplets onto Leif. Nor did Leif hesitate, but caught his father’s hand in his own and asked, “May I, father?” Erik was surprised, but, thinking that Leif was asking for the honor to cover his own family, readily gave the instruments to his son.

  Without a word, the two men switched positions, Leif in the center of the room, Erik in the crowd. Here was Leif’s chance to preach the gospel as he promised Olaf he would. It was his chance to bring Christianity to Greenland; to turn the Yule into Christmas, the spring equinox into Easter.

  “Sacrifice and blood,” Leif called to the gathering. “Our men killed excellent livestock this day so that we may receive their life-blood, their power. Every Yule we cover ourselves in the hlaut. This year Halldorr looks as though he has bathed in it!” A few chuckles came at my expense. “I know men who burn the Yule log. We have all taken a part in eating the Yule goat. Yet amidst all this tradition, I ask questions. Is it not even more excellent when a man, rather than a horse or goat or sheep, will suffer and die to save a friend’s life?” He was quickly losing them, but several grunts and nods from the crowd kept Leif going. “What about a man who is willing to die to save a stranger? How mighty would it be if one sacrifice could provide enough blood for all time?”

  Someone interrupted him, “That’s a lot of blood!” A round of laughter came and the crowd took the opportunity to down ale. Erik looked like he would strangle Leif but let the scene play out, keeping silent and still.

  “It’s actually no more blood than any man carries in his body. I know of such a man. A man who gave his life while in its prime so that others, all of us really, may live. His blood was sacrifice enough for all time, so that we never have to offer a sacrifice again. And remember the story of Thor’s goats, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjostr? Thor killed then cooked them for sustenance for himself and his guests. You know what happened next! Thor used his hammer to raise the goats from the dead so they could again pull his chariot. The man of whom I speak, was dead for three days, yet had the power to resurrect himself. He needed neither Thor nor his hammer. All that is required of us is to believe!”

  “Who is this man?” asked Thjordhildr, Leif’s mother. Erik looked aghast at his wife, then back to Leif.

  Thorhall the Huntsman shouted, “He talks of the Christian god. We let him spend too much time with the Europeans so that we must deal with a convert!”

  Leif tried to swing the discussion in his favor, “Aye, Thorhall, I am a convert to the One True God. So is your rightful king, Olaf.
”

  Thorhall wouldn’t be beaten that easily, “Yes, but you said so yourself that Olaf was beaten. What kind of super god is that, who cannot save his righteous follower?”

  “He is the kind of God who gives his people true freedom. He is the kind of God that allows you your own choices to fail or succeed. To lose or to triumph. To love or to hate. It’s up to you. Halldorr will tell you that it was man’s betrayal that brought about Olaf’s defeat, not God. But I’ve let a dour man cause me to avoid answering my mother’s question. I speak of Jesus, the son of God. You see, God gave his only son as a sacrifice to the Romans, the gods of this earth in their time. God allowed them to kill Jesus so that for all time and throughout the world we would no longer be required to shed blood to satisfy God’s bloodlust. Look at me today. Pure and clean! No blood! Look at my family, pure and clean, no blood. We are atoned for – without the blood of a horse. We are strong because of our faith in the man-God, not because of a horse!” The crowd was completely confused, fidgeting while looking around the great hall.

  Torleik stepped forward taking up the charge, “I am a stranger to most of you, but I need to share something about this man, Leif. I will call him Leif the Lucky from now on.” Then the priest pointed his young hand to the six men we rescued from the rock. “Certainly, these men will call him Leif the Lucky because he saved them from a certain icy death in the sea. But I stand here tonight to tell you that the One God gave Leif power and vision to cross the wide sea without pause in order to save these men so that they can be a further testimony to God’s power!” Nods from the six shipwreck survivors told the crowd that the strange priest told the truth.

  Leif continued, “Olaf sent two Scottish thralls who were gifted with swift feet to spread this good news. I will send them to Vestribyggo in the spring, but their conversions of our brothers and sisters will be much easier when they can say all of Eystribyggo has already done so.” I didn’t think mass conversions likely, given the rather poor reception to his speech. He was a gifted leader and good speechmaker, but he missed the mark that night. He finally ended with, “Mother, would you please be the first in all of Greenland to receive the One God?”

  There was a brief pause and so Erik opened his mouth to stop Leif, but Thjordhildr beat him to it with a simple, “Yes.” Erik’s mouth gaped open without uttering a sound and he stared in disbelief at his wife who crouched to her knees and bowed her head. Torleik sent Thorgils to get a snowball from outside. When he returned with it, the young priest tossed it into an empty pot, melted it over the hearth, and used it to baptize Thjordhildr on the spot. What happened next reminded me of the mass conversions I had seen while working with Olaf in the fjords and islands of Norway. Only now there was no threat of violence for not converting. Over the next several heartbeats a full three-quarters of the hall converted to the One True God. Notably absent from converting were Erik, Thorhall, Bjarni, and several other men and women. I was surprised to see both Freydis and her husband Torvard converted as did Thorvald and Gro.

  When all who wanted to receive the Christ had done so, Leif announced, “Now sing songs, make music, dance, and drink ale because tonight we do not celebrate the Yule, but the birth of the man-God, Jesus. It’s Christmas and we will rejoice in it every year at this time. We can burn the log and feast on goat and be merry!”

  The men and women cheered with random shouts until one man began to chant, “Leif the Lucky! Leif the Lucky!” It was infectious. Leif had been given a new nickname.

  Leif held his hands to quiet us saying, “One last item before we return to our winter revelry. I want Halldorr, who, with Olaf, spent more time converting men and women to the One God than anyone, to share a few stories of the miracles he witnessed.”

  Shit, I thought. I was more concerned with plotting deaths than with sharing stories. The men and women gathered here wanted to drink lots of ale and nestle next to someone under blankets before falling asleep for the long night. But I soon found my legs and rose to my full height in front of the crowd. I cleared my throat to delay for time but it didn’t help, so I just started, “Thank you, Leif. He’s right, while he was busying furrowing Thorgunna and then raising the resulting spring calf,” this time I got a laugh at Leif’s expense, which simply delighted Leif, “I was fighting and killing for the King of Norway.” I paused and looked down for a moment and saw the tattoo of the charging boar on my left forearm and it inspired my speech. Holding up my arm I said, “What Leif talks about is represented by this boar. You see I met a man who was a stranger to me at first. But he fought for me and protected me and then he died next to me while in my arms, blood pouring from his wounds. He had the same tattoo on his forearm, for though we were once strangers, we became brothers. Some of you knew the man of whom I speak. Bjarni, I believe the man, Cnute, was a part of your crew when you first arrived here in Greenland on your successful journey.” Bjarni scowled at the last for his first journey was anything but successful. I continued, “This man embodies what it is to give a life and sacrifice for another, more noble, man or more noble cause. Cnute died in my arms, but before he did, and Bjarni you’ll find this amazing, he spoke to me about you. He mentioned you by name and confessed that he thought of you and your leadership every day. The rest of what he confessed is not appropriate for the whole of Eystribyggo, but I shall share it with you in private.” Bjarni grabbed his wife’s hand and dragged her to the back of the hall away from prying, confused glances. Everyone else, including Leif, was bewildered from my rambling talk, waiting expectantly for me to continue. When I did not they slowly resumed their merriment. I shrugged to myself and returned to my lonely seat, pleased that I had at last threatened Bjarni.

  CHAPTER 2

  The rest of the three-day festival I sat, sang, and visited with old friends. I had a genuinely good time that Yule, or Christmas as I would now call it, but I worked the entire time. Whenever I could, I prodded the Greenlanders for information about Bjarni and his men, where they lived, when they may leave for trading in the spring, and many other general questions, still careful not to arouse suspicion.

  On the last night, after countless toasts to the One God in place of all those for Odin or Frey, the hall lay quiet. Men and women crowded as close as possible to the hearth and each other for warmth, nearly piling on top of one another likes pigs in a sty. Children and dogs lay scattered about in ale-induced sleep seemingly oblivious to the cold which stealthily crawled into the longhouse like a burglar in the night. The blankets of the children were haphazardly covering a foot here or an arm there.

  I was awake staring at the smoke-blackened rafters which were illuminated by the flicker of light from the dying central fire. The cold penetrated to my soul since I did not claim a spot near the hearth early enough in the evening by passing out as most of the party-goers had done. Pulling my wool blanket up a little higher, I thought of the life I had for a time. My wife Kenna was a slight woman who generated almost no heat for our bed in winter, but I missed her dearly that night, her demure smile, her discerning, piercing intellect, her tiny breasts in my hand.

  Nearby, a figure rose from the huddled throng between the stone hearth and me. Though I could not see her face in the dark, from her mass of curls and her still shapely body, I knew it was Freydis stirring. Like Freya, our Norse goddess of love and beauty, she raised, almost levitated, to her feet. Silently, Freydis stepped away from her slumbering husband, Torvard. He took advantage of the additional room under their blanket, by pulling more of it over himself. Other than that slight movement, the ale kept him sedated. She stood over me with her feet next to my arm. Her face was still obscured by the dark because the fire was at her back, but she could certainly see mine, though I am not sure what my expression portrayed other than the confusion I felt. For an uncomfortable moment we looked at each other before I asked quietly, “What is it you want?”