Across the Sea

Leif sat tensely at the oaken table, clutching his silver drinking cup, the golden mead slopping over the edges. On his trencher was a generous helping of rakfisk, a dish of raw fermented trout. Leif greedily ate the fish with his right hand, his left hand clutching the handle of his long knife, made of whalebone. He was nervous, and for good reason. His father, Erik the Red, was a powerful man, having discovered Greenland and ruling the settlements he founded. But Erik was also an outlaw from a line of outlaws, banished from Iceland at the age of 32 for the murder of 2 men, just as his father was banished from Norway for murder. So Leif’s family had lots of enemies and when he was away from the family estate of Brattahlid, as he was on this night, he had to be careful. Thus, he ate like a hawk, his elbows sticking out at violent angles, protecting his food, sitting near the door. He was the only tense one in the mead hall, the other Norsemen relaxed, drank, quarreled, belched, proposed toasts, and swore oaths. As the revelry reached a climax, the door opened and the action stopped. Men froze with forks in mouth, cups in hand, fists raised, blade partially drawn, all staring towards the open door, frozen, though not from the Greenland air, bitter cold, even in summer. In the doorway, silhouetted against the green and red glow of the Aurora, stood a man. He wore long trousers of wool, a buttoned kaftan, and a long coat, trimmed with the fur of a polar bear. The cloak was fastened with a silver pin. His hair hung to his shoulders, it was a dirty white. His beard spilled over his broad chest and he wore a peaked woolen cap on his head. His eyes were a piercing grey and he had a large axe slung over his shoulder. His name was Bjarni Herjolfsson and he was considered by the men of the Eastern Settlement, known as Estribygd, to be insane.
About ten years prior, Bjarni had come from his native Norway to visit his father in Greenland. On that journey, he claimed to be blown astray by a wind sent by “Odin himself” and reach a strange land to the west, though he never landed there and miraculously found his way to Greenland. From that point on, he had traveled the land, telling anyone who would listen, as well as those who wouldn’t, about a fabled land of rolling green meadows that lay to the west. Most of the men dismissed it as folly, but Leif was sympathetic towards the old man. This put the two on speaking terms, which is why Bjarni decided to take his seat beside the overly tense Leif. He was immediately presented with a plate of seal meat. Leif grimaced as he saw the jiggling blubber.
“Why are you eating that?” he asked, recoiling at the scent of the meat.
“What?” Bjarni asked, spearing a hunk of fat on his knife.
“The seal meat. It’s summer, you don’t need to fatten yourself up, there is plenty of food.” Leif said.
“Tastes good.” Bjarni said, popping the blubber into his mouth and savoring the taste. He chewed, swallowed, and took a swig of mead. He belched, then spoke.
“I have a proposition for you!” Bjarni boomed, his voice like the roar of a great ice bear.
“What?” Leif said, his own slender form dwarfed by that of Bjarni.
“I know you are interested in traveling west.” Bjarni said. Leif looked puzzled, raising one blazing red eyebrow. But he allowed Bjarni to continue.
“Buy my ship. I will give you a discount. Just give me forty furs and you can have my ship, and my crew. All you have to do is sail west. It is a bargain price!” Bjarni said.
“Though the offer is tempting, I have no intention to travel.” Leif said, shaking his head. Bjarni nodded.
“Ah, I see, the blood of your father does not flow in you veins. I should have guessed. Perhaps I should talk to your brother, perhaps he is less of an argr!” Bjarni said, shaking his head sadly. Leif immediately leapt to his feet, knife in hand.
“How dare you compare me to a woman, call me a coward! I should kill you for that, the law allows it!” Leif roared.
“Let us meet at dawn tomorrow then, argr! A duel, single combat!” Bjarni bellowed back. Leif then stormed out of the mead hall, furiously.
The next day, Leif and Bjarni stood face to face on an icy field. Both men were armed to the teeth, Leif clutching a sword in his left hand, his right hand bearing a round shield. His head was covered by a conical helmet with a noseguard. His chainmail hung around his wiry form, stiff in the cold air. Leif looked formidable, but Bjarni was simply terrifying. His helmet had spectacle eyepieces and a long nosepiece. His beard was sparkling with hoarfrost, his mail glistened with ice. He wore his cloak of bear fur and wielded his great battle axe. Leif was tired. He had woken early this morning to travel to the small island on which he now stood.
“Let’s go over the rules.” Leif said.
“We shall fight until one man cedes to the other and then the victor shall have his way with the loser.” Bjarni boomed.
“Agreed!” Leif said. The men nodded to each other, then began to circle. Leif darted in, slashing with his sword, only to be repulsed by a crushing axe blow that smashed his chainmail, bruising him. Bjarni then began a heavy assault, his strength so great he wielded the axe in one hand. Leif dodged the first few blows, taking the rest on his shield. The jarring force of the blows shuddered up his arm, jarring his teeth and knocking him to his knees. Bjarni continued his barrage, bringing down his axe in powerful overhand blow. Leif rolled out of the way and the axe cleaved into the ice, lodging. Leif then rammed at Bjarni’s leg with his shield pushing him back. The shield’s iron boss slammed into Bjarni’s calf drawing blood. Bjarni bellowed in rage, hurling his full weight on Leif, pinning him to the ground and abandoning the axe. Leif gasped for air, slamming his right hand into his opponent’s throat and boxing his ears aggressively. Bjarni bellowed again, this time delivering a sharp sucker punch to Leif’s ribs. But Leif fought back, delivering jabs with his left, while strangling with his right. Bjarni hefted himself off of Leif, while at the same time, kicking away Leif’s sword, which lay discarded on the ground. Leif drew his knife and picked up his shield, while Bjarni dislodged his axe and swung it again. This time, Leif ducked the first blow, slashing violently with his knife. But the blade failed to break the chainmail. Bjarni kicked Leif back and slammed him with the head of the axe, knocking him back, then hit Leif with a savage chop to the stomach, drawing blood. Leif howled in pain, but continued to fight, leaping in once more and jamming his knife into Bjarni’s belly. He withdrew the knife, realizing that he barely pierced the chainmail. So he stabbed again, but was pushed away. Bjarni swung his axe and Leif blocked with his shield. The blow lifted him of his feet. Leif came crashing to the ground beside his sword. Leif quickly flung his knife at the advancing Bjarni. The blade lodged in Bjarni’s arm. Leif then picked up his sword in time to block a two handed blow that would have taken of his head. Instead, the blow ripped the sword from Leif’s hand. Leif leapt at Bjarni, removing his knife from his opponent’s arm and trying to stab Bjarni’s eyes before being thrown the icy ground and kicked. Something snapped in Leif’s ribs and his eyes rolled back in his head. Leif’s rich red blood soaked the ice. He raised his hand.
“I surrender.” Leif said. Bjarni nodded then lifted Leif on his shoulders.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Leif asked, tears streaming down his face.
“No. You are going to buy my boat and sail west. For now, I am taking you to a healer.” Bjarni said. Leif whimpered, then fell unconscious, the blood loss making him faint.
When Leif awoke, he was in a dark house, with a big-boned blonde woman standing above him. She was applying a poultice to his stomach wound. Sprigs of comfrey were pressed to his ribs and to the back of his head, for it was purported to stop infection. Then another woman with dark hair came to him, bearing a cup of mulled wine, spiced with bog myrtle, to help dull the pain. Leif attempted to sit up but the blonde pushed him down.
“Do not move.” the woman said gruffly. So Leif allowed the dark haired woman to pour small amounts of the hot wine down his throat. This was alternated with a soup of mutton and mushrooms. As Leif finished the soup and wine, a change came over him. He immediately fell into a coma, brought on by the bog myrtle. He felt a floating sensation, followed by a pull and suddenly, he was looking at his own sleeping face. He had heard of these experiences, he had met many a shaman that used the herb to enter a trance, to “speak with the gods.” So Leif was not surprised to find himself detached from his body and instead looked at the medical procedure.
A healing rune, carved in a piece of walrus ivory, was placed under his pillow. The blonde woman performed chants and dances, sprinkling herbs over his still form. The dark-haired woman sang in a clear voice:
Phol and Wotan went to the woods;
then Balder's horse had sprained its foot.
So sang Sinthgunt, and Sunna her sister;
so sang Frija, and Folla her sister;
so sang Wotan, as he well could:
Be it bone-sprain,
be it blood-sprain,
be it limb-sprain:
bone to bone,
blood to blood,
limb to limb,
so that they linked be!
As she finished the song and the blonde woman finished her sprinkling of herbs, the dark haired woman opened shoved a cluster of herbs under Leif’s nose. Suddenly, Leif was back within his body, reeling from a burning sensation in his nose. He shook himself, letting the sprinkled herbs fall to the floor and slowly stood. He thanked the healer women and stepped from their smoky longhouse, into the bright sunlight. He found himself on a grassy hill in a small village in Eiriksfjord, near Leif’s home of Brattahlid. A cluster of small farms, dotted with cows, surrounded a village square consisting of a meadhall, trading post, and a small church. Leif spotted Bjarni outside the trading post and walked to him.
“What are you doing here?” Leif asked.
“I was stocking your supplies for the journey. My ship is docked in Brattahlid, we will travel there to receive the blessing of your father. But first, I will buy food and furs for the journey.” Bjarni said, entering the store.
It was a long room with a high ceiling, filled with smoked fish and seal meat hanging from the rafters, barrels of ale, mead, and water stacked in against one wall, and furs piled on long tables throughout the shop. Bjarni walked among the furs, with Leif close behind, grabbing samples of sable fur, polar bear fur, seal fur, wolf fur, and squirrel fur. He brought them to the shopkeeper, a thin old man with a pinched face and stern features named Thorolf, and placed a string of smoked herring on the counter.
“I’ll also need food for a long journey, about 3 weeks worth, as well as drink.” Bjarni said.
“Then you must give me more goods. Herring is as common as mud, barely worth anything.” Thorolf sneered. Bjarni grimaced, before reaching within his robes and removing a handful of amber beads. Thorolf laughed.
“Those are not worth much. I might be able to give you a fur for the lot.” Thorolf said. Leif stepped forward, and Thorolf’s face brightened as Leif removed a silver torc from his neck and placed it on the counter. But then the man frowned.
“This is good silver, but still not enough. This will fetch a week of food and water, no ale.” Thorolf said. Bjarni cursed.
“Swindler! That silver is finer than any you’ve set your unworthy eye on!” Bjarni howled. He reached for the hilt of his knife. Leif put his hand on Bjarni’s shoulder and stepped forward, appraising the storeowner with his cold blue eyes.
“Do you know who my father is?” Leif said coolly.
“Yes!” the shopkeeper blanched at the mention of the ruler of Greenland.
“I do not think he would take kindly to you trying to cheat his son. So I ask you once more, what can I get for this silver?” Leif said. The shopkeeper, terrified by the reputation of Erik the Red, gave in.
“Let me see, three weeks of food and beverage as well as the furs.” Thorolf said. The innkeeper snapped his fingers and immediately, a young slave boy, with lank blond hair, began to pull down the requested dry meats while Thorolf selected barrels of ale, wine, water, and mead.
“Store it for us. We shall return in a few days.” Leif said. He did not worry about being robbed, as his father would punish anyone who dared to steal from his son. Leif and Bjarni also purchased horses. Leif’s horse was small and sturdy, a bay with white markings on the head and legs and a thick mane. He was named Grani, after the steed of the hero Sigurd. Bjarni’s horse was of the same breed, but an all black mare, named Freyja, after the goddess of beauty. Leif, being a Christian, had objected to the name, but Bjarni shrugged, pointing out that Leif’s own sister, named Freydis, was named for the goddess. The pair spurred their horses, shooting across the icy tundra.
A full day later, they arrived in Brattahlid. The compound consisted of a long hall on a small hill, used to hold audiences, as well as being a mead hall, next to which was a small chapel, founded by Leif’s mother, and a larger longhouse, where Leif’s family lived. Around it was a small town, complete with a well and a collection of farm building. Leif and Bjarni rode quickly toward the long house. They stopped on the grassy field in front of it. A tall, thin woman with flaming red hair to match Leif’s stood outside the hall boiling whey in a cauldron. She glared at Leif as he walked by, her angular blue eyes spewing disproval.
“Greetings, coward!” she called.
“Greetings, Freydis.” Leif replied. He was used to such insults from his only sister, who since his boyhood mocked him for his lack of bravado. Leif and Bjarni entered the hall, as Freydis led their horses to the stables.
Within the hall were three long oaken tables with benches cushioned with velvet. Each seat was placed with a drinking horn. The tables were set with trenchers, though they were bare. At the head of the central table was a gilded throne, in it sat a middle aged man. The man’s flame red hair had gained him his name, Erik the Red! His blue eyes were like the sea ice, his skin was the white of a cloud. He wore all red, from his cape to his trousers, with black boots trimmed with seal fur. His cape was fastened with the pagan valknut and he wore a red woolen cap on his head. He also wore a sword on his belt. Leif and Bjarni bowed when they saw him but Erik waved it off, gesturing for them to sit. So they, did, Leif on his left, Bjarni on his right. A serving maid appeared, filling Erik’s drinking horn with mead. Erik swigged the honey wine, flavored with strawberries.
“Would you like refreshments?” Erik asked.
“Akvavit.” Bjarni said.
“I’ll take elderberry wine.” Leif said. The serving maid scurried off to get the drinks. Erik gulped the mead down quickly. The serving maid returned, giving each man the requested beverage. Leif made a point of saying grace before sipping the wine, earning a glare from his pagan father.
“You drink like a nun!” Erik said.
“How so?”
“You say grace before you daintily sip your wine.” Erik laughed.
“As opposed to swilling it like a pig?” Leif countered.
“At least I can hold my wine!” Erik snapped.
“I can out drink you any day, old man!” Leif bragged. Bjarni took a deep swig of his Akvavit.
“I can out drink the lot of you!” he said.
“Maid! Bring more mead!” Erik howled. And the drinking began. The drinking horns were emptied in rapid succession. The maid continually poured drinks for the men, who swigged their mead in a frenzied fashion. Finally, Leif collapsed, heaving, in his chair, sprawling across the ground. His father sneered.
“Can’t hold your mead?” Erik sneered. Leif was too sick to answer, everything was blurred. Bjarni slumped beside him, thoroughly drunk. Erik sat smugly in his chair, still sitting, though his face was pale and drawn and he was drooling slightly.
Leif awoke the next day, exactly where he fell, his clothes soaked with vomit and with a splitting headache. He groaned, staggering to his feet slowly. He was alone in the mead hall. He slowly stood, staggering from the hall, sore in his joints. He left the mead hall, bathing in the freezing fjord. Then he washed the vomit out of his clothes, putting them back on and walking over the snowy fields to his home.
He found his father in a hall with Bjarni. A slave girl bore a bowl of fresh water. Erik was in the process of washing his brilliant red hair in the bowl. He combed it with a silver comb, removing the scraggly knots and dirt. When he was finished, his hair shone like burnished copper. He then cleaned his ears with a silver ear-spoon and waxed his thick red mustache until it curled upwards at the tips. Erik spit and blew his nose into the bowl, then dried off with a towel. The slave girl then emptied the bowl and refilled it from a bucket and offered it to Bjarni, who carefully groomed his thick white hair until it shone, then waxed his beard into two distinct sections. He also brushed his thick muttonchops and heavy moustache. He was even more imposing when clean, looking for all the world like a great ice bear. The slave girl refilled the bowl, offering it to Leif, who washed his hair and combed it, then scrubbed his face until it shone. He shaved his stubble with a razor blade and thinned his mustache with tweezers. He parted his hair and tweezed his eyebrows. Erik laughed as he saw Leif’s pruning.
“You dress as a lady, tweezing your brows, thinning your mustache. Are you not capable of acting as a man?” Erik asked. Leif was about to respond, Erik’s steward entered. Erik immediately began giving orders.
“Ready our horses. Then prepare a feast for this evening. Bring it to the mead hall.” Erik said. Then he headed to the stables. Erik and Bjarni followed. The stableboy brought them their horses. Leif mounted Grani and rode ahead, tearing over the icy tundra. Soon, Erik stopped. Leif and Bjarni stopped as well. Erik pointed over the ice. Leif squinted after him.
“Look, an ice bear!” Erik said. Leif peered again, and this time he saw it. It was difficult to see, a great white splotch moving through the snow. But once Leif saw the black nose, he knew how to find it.
“Let’s hunt.” Erik said, a manic glint in his eye. He drew his sword, causing his horse to rear and whinny. Leif looked at Bjarni and their eyes met.
“Father, this is a foolish idea. We have no spears, only our swords and knives.”Leif said.
“Nonsense! Bjarni had his axe!” Erik said, spurring his mount. And that was the end of the discussion. Leif and Bjarni reluctantly followed. As the bear saw the small hunting party, it wathed impassively. But as Erik neared, it reared up on his hind legs. Leif expected his father to slow as he neared the bear, but he simply sped past it, slashing with his sword. The bear roared and swiped with his paw, but Erik leapt to the ground and stabbed upwards, drawing blood. The bear bellowed and threw itself down at Erik, who rolled away at the last second. Leif rode up beside the bear, stabbing it in the shoulder. The bear lunged at him, but Grani trotted out of the way, while Bjarni, on Freyja, struck the bear with his axe. Erik lunged in on foot as the bear reared to attack its mounted enemies, stabbing it in the gut, then quickly dodging the bear’s buffeting blows. But this time, the bear followed Erik, bearing down on him. Erik stood still, sword leveled. Bjarni roared and rode towards the bear, but he was too far away to reach Erik in time. Leif was the only one close enough. So he dug his heels into Grani’s side, racing across the ice. The bear closed the distance rapidly, it was nearly as fast as the horse. Leif leaned in, kneading his fingers through Grani’s mane. He and the bear were neck and neck. Leif drew his sword and leapt from his horse, colliding with the charging bear. The blade pierced the bear’s skin, stabbing it in the heart. The bear collapsed at Erik’s feet, gasping and heaving on the ice, its blood staining the white expanse a rich red as it gushed from the deep wound. Leif lay beside him, bruised but not seriously injured, the bear having cushioned his fall. Bjarni arrived quickly, decapitating the brute with his heavy axe.
“Someone gut it.” Erik said, unperturbed by his close brush with death. Leif rolled over as Bjarni went to work with his knife. He cut it open, preserving some of the rich red meat of the paws and thighs. He then skinned it. Meanwhile, Erik had reached his horse and was unpacking a toboggan from the back of his horse. He tethered the toboggan to the horse and placed the meat and skin on it. Leif snarled at him, outraged.
“You intended to hunt this whole time, didn’t you? You could have gotten yourself killed!” Leif shouted.
“No. The god of the hunt, Ullr, was protecting me! I sacrificed to him at blot, as should you.” Erik said, his blue eyes growing colder as he spoke.
“Blasphemy! The fires of Hell shall be your hearth if you do not repent your paganism.” Leif hissed. Erik laughed.
“Repent! Fool, I should not repent for worshipping the Gods who created this Earth. You should repent for forsaking them. You, like all Christians, are imbeciles to forsake the old ways” Erik said “King Olaf is a Christian!” Leif said.
“A prime example of an imbecile!” Erik said.
“It is unwise to call King Olaf an imbecile, old man.” Leif said.
“Olaf is not here, he is in Norway. He cannot hear me, I can say what I want to him, nothing will happen.” Erik said. “Look! Olaf, you pig-faced, womanish, argr! See, he cannot hear what I say. He is far away. And anyway, I do not fear a man who was used as a chamber pot.” Erik said.
“How dare you insult a Christian?” Leif hissed.
“Easily.” Erik said.
“I’ve finished.” Bjarni said, loading the toboggan. Leif could only glare as Erik hooked up his own horse, and Freyja to the toboggan. As he mounted his horse, Erik delivered a scathing remark to his son.
“I wouldn’t want to burden you with men’s work.” Erik said, spurring his horse. He and Bjarni rode away with the toboggan dragging behind them. Leif cursed, then sped up his horse.
When the three returned to Brattahlid, Leif was greeted by Freydis, dressed in an apron over her white dress. Her red hair was tied in two coiling braids and she wore a grey woolen cap. Behind her was a small army of serving girls.
“Come inside, the food is ready.” Freydis said gruffly. The men entered the living quarters and sat a small, intimate table. Freydis carried three trenchers of smoked mutton, rutabaga, and dried codfish. Leif ate heartily, swigging a cup of ale after each bite. Freydis was a diligent server, making sure that no cup ran dry, that the trenchers were piled high with food. As the meal was halfway through, Freydis brought out a wheel of cheese, slicing out chunks with a knife and handing them to the men.
“Geitost, from our own farm. I made it myself.” Freydis said proudly. Leif ate the sweet cheese heartily, savoring the sweet caramel flavor. Freydis, for all her faults, could make cheese. Once the meal was finished, Erik began to speak.
“Bjarni, Leif, what brings you here?” Erik asked.
“Leif is going west in my ship. We request your blessing.” Bjarni said.
“Leif, you never informed me of these plans, in fact you seemed set against exploration. I am what convinced you to go.” Erik asked.
“I challenged Bjarni to holmgang and lost.” Leif said quietly, his head hung in shame. He had dreaded telling his father of his failure more than he dreaded travelling west. Since childhood, Leif had cultivated a healthy fear of his father’s displeasure.
“What?” Erik asked.
“I challenged Bjarni to holmgang and lost! His terms were for me to travel west in his ship.” Leif said. There was a heavy silence. Then Freydis sniggered.
“I knew you were a weakling! Defeated by an old man!” Freydis laughed. Erik said nothing, eyes cold.
“I’m sorry, Father!” Leif said. He knew that by losing, he had tarnished the honor of his family, and that Erik would not tolerate it.
“You are not fit to lead this voyage.” Erik said, leaving the room. Leif began to cry, and Bjarni cuffed him over the head.
“Hold back your tears, I’ll handle Erik.” he said. Leif nodded. Bjarni left the kitchen, leaving Leif alone with his sister, who shook her head in shame.
“I have never felt particularly honored to have you as a brother. But I have never been dishonored until now.” Freydis said, leaving the room. Leif left as well, heading to his childhood room.
Hours later, a slave appeared at the door, bearing clothes.
“You father requests you for at sundown. These clothes are for you.” the slave said, looking at him with disdain. Leif accepted the clothes and waved the slave away. He took the clothes and put on first a bright red short sleeved woolen tunic, then dark plaid full length trousers. He then donned the blue cloak, fastened with a valknut pin. The edge of the cloak was trimmed with sailing ships. His hat was slightly conical and trimmed with silver metalwork of the same ships on the cloak. His belt was constructed of leather, fastened with a burnished bronze buckle. He then put on his golden armring, his golden necklace that displayed a fine golden cross, and his boots, made from calfskin. He belted his sword, the pummel decorated with an amber bead, and his knife. He freshly waxed his mustache then stepped from the room, moving to the mead hall. When he entered, it was to a much different sight than before. The hall was lit with torches, mounted in wall brackets, giving the scene a more solemn flavor. The tables were full, many men, the most powerful in Greenland, were sitting at the tables. Erik sat at the head of the longest table, with Bjarni at his left. Leif sat in the empty seat at his right, head down in shame, but Erik grinned at him. Leif thought his father’s mood odd considering the events of the morning. Behind Erik stood his skald, Grimr, and behind the skald stood musicians, playing horns, harps, and drums. Erik clapped his hands loudly and Freydis and several serving maids, entered, bearing plates of roasted bear meat, spinach and leek soup, flatbread, and Geitost cheese. The men were served, then given small cups of ale. Leif dug into the meal heartily, the bear meat was delicious and rich. When the meal was finished, Erik raised his hand.
“It has come to my attention that my eldest son will be undertaking a journey west, to the land that Bjarni Herjolfsson saw, some ten years ago.” Erik said. The men were silent as Erik surveyed them.
“I will lead this expedition for did I not find this land in which we live? Am I not your King?” Erik shouted. As the men cheered, Leif gasped. How could he do this? The expedition was Leif’s, he was honor bound to undertake it. Leif shot a glance at Bjarni who shrugged, then stood.
“My lord, I was under the impression that Leif will be leading this journey. It was part of our agreement.” Bjarni said. Erik stood as well, his blue eyes boring into Bjarni’s black ones.
“I am afraid that as a father, I cannot allow Leif to take this journey, and as a king, my will supersedes yours.” Erik replied coldly.
“But-”
“Silence! Do not challenge me!” Erik hissed. Bjarni sat. Then Erik called on his personal guard.
“Hirdmenn, I summon thee, swear your oaths upon my sword, that you shall be loyal to me even to the ends of the Earth, in Odin’s name!” Erik said. The Hirdmenn stepped forward, all muscled and donning chainmail, swords at their waists, axes on their backs. One by one they walked to Erik, placing their hands on the hilt of his sword. Each swore fealty to him and his line in Odin’s name. Then Erik spoke his own oath.
“Hirdmenn, I accept your oaths and give one of mine own in return. I, Erik Thorvaldsson, from the line of Naddoddr, swear upon Gungnir, mighty spear of Odin, that I shall lead you on this voyage, unless the gods will it not to be” Erik said.
Then Grimr the skald stepped forward, speaking in a loud clear voice.
“Listen thee, to the tale of might Erik
Red in hair and bold in nature,
And of his voyage in the swan of the sea,
Across the icy whale road,
To this land of bounty,
Who shall lead us with princely virtue
To a new land across the swan road
To again raise his icicle of war
In battle against new foe.
So come, feeders of ravens,
Come with the breaker of rings
To a new land,
For you are bound by oath
To serve until your flamed farewell,
The king who brings the sleep of the sword
To fields before unknown and unseen!”

The Hirdmenn cheered, drawing their swords and brandishing them chanting:
“Long Live Erik the Red, King of the Greenlanders!”
Leif cursed at the cheers, eyes clouded by red mist as the skald broke into another poem, speaking of the bravery of Erik the Red. Bjarni also brooded, not to be drawn into the festivities.
“How could he do this to me?” Leif asked. Bjarni shrugged.
“We can do nothing about it, oaths have been sworn. Without the presence of an omen, Erik will lead the voyage.” Bjarni said. Leif thought for a second, then spoke.
“We can give him the omen.” Leif said.
“I’ll have no part in this! You would make your father an oath breaker? Silence, and lets not speak of this again.” Bjarni said. Bjarni stood and walked away.
That night, at midnight, Leif rose, dressed, and mounted Grani. He rode over fields and tundra, silently through the night. Soon he arrived at a strange house made from turf. He tied his horse to an wooden railing, then entered the house.
The interior was hazy and smoky, yet damp, for the house was part of the earth. Fire burned in the center, tended by a dark haired woman whom Leif had known from his childhood. Her name was Disa and she was a witch. She was currently sifting through herbs while chanting over them, waving a birch rod about. When Leif entered, she paused.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“I need advice. I must fake an omen to cause my father to give up his westerly voyage, to allow me to take it instead.” Leif said. The woman nodded.
“You have come to the right place, for I know many omens.” Disa said, her voice like the two bolts of silk rubbing together. She grabbed a distaff from the wall, covered in silver brocade. Beating upon a drum and waving the staff she began to sing in a beautiful voice, her pale features illuminated by the firelight.
“Many omens I know,
Given to me by Freyja,
Through loom and sacred staff,
I know the secrets of future.”
Disa then spread her herbs along the ground, praying and shaking the staff and beating it upon the floor rhythmically. She moaned, eyes rolled back in her head. Then she righted herself, plucking a few herbs from the floor and flinging them into a cauldron, singing another song.
“In Freyja’s name these herbs I mix
Shall cause illusion of the mind,
To slay the greatest warrior,
And place the mind fetter on Odin himself.
Henbane, Banewort, Mandrake, and Thorn Apple,
Give the speech of gods to poisoner’s hand.”
Disa then ladled a liquid from the pot and strained it into a small vial. She then took a golden ring and pushed up the amber gem, pouring a small amount of the poison into the ring.
“Put that in his drink right before the journey. He will receive omen from the gods soon after he drinks it. The omen will last for a few moments, then he shall be sane once more.” Disa said. Leif donned the ring, then placed a golden neck ring in Disa’s hand. He left the turf house and returned home.
The next day, Leif, Erik, and Bjarni sat at a small table. Leif and Erik played a game of Fox and Hounds on an ivory board. Erik, being the better player, played as the fox, easily maneuvering among Leif’s hounds. Erik was so at ease, he spoke to Bjarni as he played.
“Tell me of your travels.” Erik asked, maneuvering the single fox expertly from among a cluster of the hounds trying to capture it.
“I started in Norway, ten years ago, to visit my father in Iceland. I set out in a knorr, with 35 men. Upon reaching Iceland, I discovered that my father did not live there anymore, he had sailed with you on an expedition to Greenland. So I followed him across the sea, but a storm hit my ship, strong winds sending me west ward. The storm continued for days, and when it subsided, I did not know where I was and I was low on food and water. The skies were cloudy day and night, I had no way of finding my way to Greenland. So I took my best guess and sailed, not knowing that I had gone even further west. Soon I reached a land covered in trees, and fertile low hills, uninhabited. My men begged to stop but I felt compelled to leave, for I did not know of the peoples of this land, or what dangers existed. So we drifted away from the land and soon the skies cleared up and I was able to find my way east to Greenland. To this day, I regret my decision not to stop in that western land. But this voyage will end my regrets.” Bjarni said. Erik turned back the game, stroking his mustache. Leif was also thinking hard, eyes drawn to the amber ring on his finger. He quickly played, moving one of his hounds to encircle the fox upon the checked board. Erik laughed, moving backwards.
“Father, what role am I to play in your journey?” Leif asked.
“My lieutenant. You will be second in command, taking orders from none but me. You shall also pay for the ship, as is your debt to Bjarni.” Erik said. Leif pushed another hound forward, backing the fox into a corner.
“I should lead this expedition. As a way of redeeming my honor.” Leif said. Erik backed the fox away, grimacing.
“I am leading the expedition. Your honor will be judged by your conduct on the journey.” Erik said. Then Leif pushed another hound forward, cornering the fox.
“I won. And I should lead the expedition, for holmgang is an ancient rite and I am bound to follow its dictates by law. It is a form of oath.” Leif said. Erik smiled, moving the fox past the row of hounds, escaping them.
“You did not win, I won. And an oath to a king from his vassal, or from a king to his vassals, is the highest form of oath between men, superseding all others. I swore I should lead this voyage, and I shall.” Erik said. Leif cursed. His father had outwitted him. But then he remembered the ring.
“When do you intend to set out?” Leif asked.
“Midwinter at the Yule festival. Thus, we shall enough time to prepare. It shall happen immediately after Odin’s Blot festival.” Erik said.
“I cannot attend. I will pray in church for safe travel.” Leif said.
“You shall not! The ship leaves at the culmination of Blot, I require you to attend, though I cannot force you to pray.” Erik said.
“Then I shall pray earlier.” Leif said.
“Fine.” Erik said.
“May I play?” Bjarni asked. Leif nodded and switched seats with Bjarni, plotting his poisoning of Erik. The Blot ritual involved the passing around of a drinking horn of mead. The cup would start at the hands of the priest, having consecrated it and end up in the hands of Erik. The cup would then have to be poisoned right after Leif himself drank, so that Erik would be the only one to drink it before it was offered to the gods to “drink”. It must be done secretly, so after the game was finished, Leif returned to his room, practicing discretely turning his ring above a drinking horn smuggled from the kitchen. In a month, he confident that he could dispense the poison without the knowledge of anyone else.
One morning, before the sun had risen in the sky, Erik called on Leif to meet him down at the port, to see Bjarni’s ship and prepare it for the journey. Leif had paid Bjarni for the boat the week before, giving him an ornate sword and a pile of gold armrings.
When Leif arrived at the port, he immediately picked out Bjarni’s ship from the rest. It was dingy and decrepit, covered in barnacles and algae, unused and untouched for a decade. Erik immediately set Leif to work.
“This ship needs a new hull. You are good at shipbuilding, direct the craftsmen in construction.” Erik said. He waved his hand and a group of men walked over to him. A short, stout man with immense hands bowed to Leif.
“What should we do, lord?” the man asked. Leif grinned, for this was an area in which he excelled.
“Half of you go to Erik’s lumber stores, bring me the best oak you can find, as much as possible. The other half, dismantle everything but the keel of Bjarni’s ship. Clean the keel and bring it here.” Leif said. The craftsmen scurried off to do his bidding. The lumber fetching group returned first and Leif instructed them to cut long planks from the wood. Another piece of oak was taken for the mast. Leif himself received a knob of ash wood, which he began to carve with a carving knife. This was to be the ornamental prow head, inlaid with gold and silver. It began to take the shape of a dragon’s head, with great empty eye sockets that would be set with glass beads. Leif worked on this all day long, pausing only for brief meals and to give instructions to the craftsmen, who had at this time begun to build the inside of the ship, timbering it with steam bent ash lumber. They were fastened with copper pins. In the next month, the longship was almost complete, it had oar holes and slots to hang shields. Leif’s prow head had been set with red glass beads and gilded with gold and attached to the ship, the mast was carved with intricate designed and the rigging was set up. All that was left to put on was a sail, flag, and finish. Leif had already commission Freydis to make the sail, it was almost done. The flag motif was ancient, the Raven Banner, speaking to the bygone days of war and glory. The background of the quarter circular banner was red, the raven done in black. In the wind it appeared to fly. The sail was to be placed on the ship along with the flag before the Blot ceremony, that would happen in the next month. The ship was stocked and to Leif, the entire Greenland settlement seemed to be awaiting the Blot festival.
The morning of the Blot, Leif knelt in the chapel built by his mother, beside Erik’s longhouse. The single circular window allowed a beam of harsh white light to shine on Leif as he prayed alone.
“Lord, let this voyage be successful, let me lead it to glory, and let my name be known forever! Let me emerge from my father’s shadow, to be known for what I’ve done, not what my father has done. Let him bow to me, be proud of me, grateful for me. This I pray. Amen.” Leif prayed. He then left the chapel and returned to his room.
He washed his face, grooming in the manner in which he was accustomed, his hair shining like flame. His mustache was waxed and grown thicker than usual. He wore a red short tunic over a yellow tighter fitting long sleeved shirt that hung to his knees. His trousers were black. He wore burnished mail that hung to his thighs and had long sleeves. Over it he wore a red and yellow cloak, trimmed with heavy bear fur. He wore his sword and knife at his sides, his helmet on his head, a new shield on his back, and his cross around his neck. He stepped out into the sunlight, heading to the sacred space at the top of a hill, where a great ash tree stood. Leif took his seat beside Erik, across from Bjarni, at the head of a table. Directly across from Erik was a priest. The priest sacrificed pigs, horses, and slaves, hanging them from the branches of the tree. He chanted, sanctifying the journey as he spoke, his red robes fluttering in the light breeze, contrasting with his black beard. He stabbed the victims with spears, while beginning to speak.
“I sacrifice these victims to thee, O All Father, in the manner that you sacrificed thyself to thyself, wounded by your own spear and hanging from Yggdrasil, that you may look kindly upon us, granting a good harvest and good health for our people, as well as a safe journey west for the company of Erik the Red.”
Then the priest received a drinking horn of mead, sipping from it.
“We share this consecrated mead with thee in hopes of cementing this relationship.” the priest said. He passed the cup to a sitting man who sipped it. It was passed up the table. As the drinking horn neared him, Leif twisted the amber bead on his ring, his hands under the table. When the horn reached him, he drank slowly then passed his hand over the rim of the horn, pouring the poison into the cup. Erik took the horn and slurped heartily from the cup, then handed it to the priest who poured it on an altar.
“We give this drink unto thee, cementing the pact, sealing it.” the priest said. Then Erik and Leif mounted their horses and rode to the port. Just as Erik was about to board the ship, he fell from his horse, howling in pain. He hit the rock with a thud and Leif’s heart jumped in his chest as his father thrashed about on the ground. Erik’s eyes were rolled back in his head, he foamed at the mouth. But suddenly, he stopped. Slowly he stood, Leif and Bjarni helping him to his feet. He shook unsteadily, but spoke loudly and clearly.
“I have had a vision! Upon reaching here, I felt a pain in my head and fell to the ground. Once I hit, I saw Odin before me, enthroned. He took my hands and my whole form felt afire, I thrashed about as all my skin burned away. I was drowning in a pool of blood. Odin lifted me from the bloody pool and the fire was put out. He pulled me aboard his ship, made from bones. As we reached the middle of the blood sea, he cast me overboard. I believe Odin was telling me not to go on this voyage, for it would be my death. Thus, as king, I confer the oaths sworn by me to the Hirdmenn and by the Hirdmenn to me, to my eldest son and Lieutenant, Leif.” Erik said. Leif clasped arms with his father, then boarded the ship. As the Hirdmenn rowed the ship away, Leif shouted to his shorebound father:
“God bless you!” Erik simply scoffed, then grinned.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.04.2010

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This book is dedicated to Odin