Runestone (6 page)

The other emotion that Nils felt, though more slowly, was an appreciation for the artistry of the cooper’s work. He watched the shavings of oak curl from the knife’s keen edge like living creatures, to drop to the ground in a fragrant-scented pile around Olaf’s feet. He watched the staves fitted
together, the hoops hammered into place, skillfully and accurately. There was no doubt, the man was an artisan at his craft.

By the time he had finished his business with the cooper, Nils saw him in a new light. There was respect for his skills, yet pity for the man. Undoubtedly Olaf knew that everyone laughed at him because of his wife’s promiscuous ways. He did not look like a man who would beat her because of it. No, he had instead withdrawn into his work.

This meeting had entirely changed Nils’s attitude toward the cooper. Previously, he had envied the man whose bed Ingrid shared. Now he pitied him. There could be nothing but frustration in the life of this unkempt, hardworking man of great skill. His bed, far from being the paradise Nils had first imagined, was undoubtedly as cold and frustrating as any man’s bed had ever been. Worse, most likely. To have that magnificent body within reach yet unattainable would be torture beyond belief.

He saw the girl, Ingrid, occasionally during the remaining days at Straumfjord. Usually it was at a distance. He could not help but admire the movement of her body, the swing of her hips as she walked. He resented her, because it seemed certain that she had attempted to use him. Perhaps the resentment was directed more toward himself. If truth were known, he was embarrassed that he had been so completely fooled by this woman whose reputation was legend in the colony.

That was most of the time. But sometimes their eyes met, and he experienced emotions of an entirely different sort. The blue eyes looked deep into his, wordlessly pleading for help. At these times, he could not believe that there was any truth in the rumors of her indiscretion. As he looked into that angelic face, he saw only a frightened, helpless child, of unquestionable purity, who needed help badly. It was only a short step to the conclusion that he, Nils Thorsson, was the only one who could help her. And he had promised to do so. The memory of the implied reward was still strong. He recalled vividly the feel of her warm body and long legs against him in his bed.

His frustration continued, however. Only once was there an opportunity to speak to her. It was after dark when he
encountered her as he walked around the corner of a long-house. She had apparently planned it. She stepped out of the shadows and into his arms, softly yet with a certain urgency. There was no one else in sight. He kissed her warmly, and she returned his eagerness, then pushed him away in the frustrating manner he remembered.

“You have heard bad things of me,” she suggested sadly.

“No, I … it does not matter,” he stammered.

“You will still take me away? Now, when you go?”

“Not now.”

Their departure would be two days hence, at high tide. Thorwald Ericson’s ship had departed already, and the
Snowbird
had been moved to its place at the dock for easier loading.

“Not this trip,” Nils repeated. “We will sail up the headland there, explore this bay, and return here. I will come for you then.”

“But I can cook for you,” she pleaded, pressing against him enticingly.

It was plain that she offered more than a cook’s services. With difficulty, he reminded himself of the old seaman’s adage, that a woman on board ship brings bad luck.

“No,” he said firmly. “I have said I will come for you.”

She kissed him again before she faded into the darkness, and it was as exciting as before. Even so, he sensed that she was irked at him for postponing her promised release.

“Until later,” she whispered, her hands caressing him even as she turned away.

He wondered how long Helge Landsverk wished to explore.

   When the longships prepared to leave with the tide two days later, a large proportion of the colony turned out to bid farewell. The sun was just emerging from the sea on the eastern horizon when the
Norsemaiden
cast loose her moorings and the oarsmen maneuvered out into the channel. The sail was unfurled and she began to run before the wind, cleaving the water and leaving a wisp of foam in her wake. The crowd cheered from shore.

Nils allowed the other ship to clear the mouth of the cove
and begin to run before he cast off. He was searching the faces of the people on shore, searching for a pair of clear blue eyes. Somehow he expected that Ingrid would manage to give him a meaningful look, perhaps even blow him an unseen kiss as he headed off into the unknown. Instead, she had not even seen fit to come to the dock. Even though he realized that this was quite sensible, it rankled him. He was irritated again when it dawned on him that he was actually expecting, perhaps hoping, that she would behave irrationally. Could it be that part of her attraction was the thrill of danger in her behavior?

He tried to put the girl out of his mind. The ship swung out of the cove and into the channel, with Svenson skillfully bearing on the steering oar. The bright red-and-white sail was unfurled and the canvas filled with a loud snap. The
Snowbird
seemed to leap forward. There was a slight shudder in the timbers, as if she were awakening and ready for the run.

Nils looked back at Svenson, smiling broadly as he plied the steering oar. He was glad to be afloat again.

Landsverk set his course to follow the coast, but far enough out in the bay to avoid shallow water. The two dragon ships settled into the day’s run. The shore slid past on their right, rocky palisades and level beaches, forested slopes and meadows. Twice, in the distance, Nils thought he saw a plume of smoke. Each time it quickly vanished, but it was enough to indicate human presence. He could not help but think of the Skraelings, and wonder whether they would encounter any.

“If you don’t see any Skraelings,” Karlsefni had advised, “that is when they are watching.”

The thought made Nils a little uneasy. Were there dark eyes even now, peering from hiding, watching the dragon ships race up the bay?

They made fast time, an excellent day’s travel on a good sea. Late in the afternoon, the wind began to moderate. It was time to look for a place to stop for the night, so Helge pulled closer to land, slowing speed as he evaluated the shoreline. Finally he signaled and pointed to a sheltered cove with rock formations that hinted of deep water. There they would spend the night.

The longships were of shallow draught, requiring much less depth than the potbellied
knarrs
, but it was wise to be cautious. With sails furled, they carefully rowed into the cove, watching for submerged rocks and sounding depth occasionally.

“Are we going ashore?” someone asked.

“I think not,” Nils answered. “We do not know the area. But we will see what the commander decides.”

There was no further mention of going ashore. Another time, maybe, but this run was to cover distance, chart the shoreline, not to explore the land mass. They had been traveling only one day. This would be merely a stop for the night.

When the ships had been moored, the sailors began to haul out their blankets and sleeping gear, to be settled before darkness fell. A few hardy souls were swimming in the chilly water, and Nils was watching their antics with amusement.

“Captain!” a sailor called from the storage area, where he had been retrieving his blankets. “Here is a stowaway!”

Anger flooded over Nils. He whirled and made his way forward, muttering to himself as he did so. Now he knew why the girl had not turned out at dawn to see the ships off. She had been already on board. He could not forgive her for this. The men would think he had encouraged her to do so. Worse, he must protect and support her, and this would result in unrest and damage to discipline. It could threaten the entire expedition. Damn her, how could she expect him to tolerate such a stupid move? A woman…bad luck!

He swung down from the walkway into the hold, ready to loose a tirade at the girl. Several men stood staring in the fading light at the huddled figure, half hiding among the supplies. Crouching, fearful, half expecting a blow, the stowaway peered anxiously from one to another, seeming to be searching for a friendly face.

Nils’s jaw dropped in astonishment. The stowaway, huddled behind a water cask, was not Ingrid. It was not even a woman at all. It was Odin, the one-eyed Skraeling.

N
ils Thorsson was furious.

“Why? What in the name of Odin…” he yelled at the man.

He paused, trying to control his temper. He realized the ridiculous contradiction in the question he had started. Still tight with emotion, he tried to steady his voice.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” he demanded.

There was no answer. The Skraeling simply sat and stared at him with the one baleful eye. He seemed to have no fear, only resignation.

“Is there any reason,” Nils shouted, “why I should not cut your throat and feed you to the fishes?”

A couple of sailors laid hands on the Skraeling to drag him out of the hold, but Nils stopped them.

“Is there?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Odin stated calmly.

“Then what is it? Your time is short, Skraeling, damn your soul!”

The man spread his hands in his characteristic gesture of resignation.

“If I am dead, I cannot help you.”

Nils began to calm now.

“How can you help me?”

“I can take you where you wish to go. I can speak the tongues of many tribes.”

Yes. Nils had all but forgotten that he had previously tried to borrow the Skraeling to use as a guide. But, worse luck, now Karlsefni would think that they had stolen the man. Why, Nils wondered, why had he been so stupid as to request the loan of the Skraeling, thus calling attention to his disappearance?
Would Karlsefni ever believe on their return that Odin had stowed away? Well, that was in the future. For now, it would be enough just to keep the man out of harm’s way. It was only that a stowaway represented an intrusion, a violation of ship’s security. It could be a serious breach.

“Let him go,” he said more calmly. “Find him some food and a place to sleep.”

“I have my own,” Odin said simply.

Damn, it was difficult to stay angry at this man!

“Tell me,” Nils asked, “you said you speak several tongues?”

“Yes.”

So
, Nils told himself,
I was right. This is no ignorant savage
. One other thing bothered him. Now that the exchange had calmed a little, he repeated a previous question.

“But why, Odin? Why choose my ship? What do you have to gain?”

Odin stared for a moment.

“I wished to go home. You were the first to understand.”

“Understand what?”

Again came the quizzical palm-spread gesture.

“That I am a man.”

Nils was embarrassed. In truth he had not understood. He had thought of this Skraeling as lesser, a savage, nonhuman. He had been kind, perhaps, but only to gain more and better information. His actions had been misinterpreted. Well, he saw no need to correct that misunderstanding. One caught more flies with honey than with vinegar. He turned away.

The next time he saw the Skraeling, Odin was squatting and visiting comfortably with Svenson. In a way, those two reminded Nils of each other. Good. He would ask Sven later about his impressions.

Helge Landsverk was angry, of course. At first he blamed Nils for the security breach. He ranted and yelled and made threats, but soon realized the potential benefits of the Skraeling’s presence. Helge subsided into withdrawn muttering.

“Remember, he is your responsibility,” Helge called across the water, to indicate that he reserved the right to the last word.

Nils nodded and waved. By this time he was beginning to feel that this could be a fortunate situation.

By the next morning, Odin was moving unobtrusively about the ship, showing intelligent interest in its operation. He watched, fascinated, as the oarsmen maneuvered the ships out of the cove. He peered closely at the oarlocks, seeming to try to understand the leverage gained by such an arrangement. When the great sail was unfurled in its red and white glory, the Skraeling was enthralled. He grinned broadly and nodded to Svenson as the
Snowbird
settled forward into her run.

Odin went aft and watched the steersman at his oar for a while, until Nils finally beckoned him forward. They stood in the bows, watching the shore on the right slip past.

“What is ahead?” Nils asked.

The Skraeling shrugged.

“More like this. Five, six sleeps.”

“And then what?”

“The river.”

“Yes, you told me of that. It runs into this sea?”

Odin nodded.

“You can sail up the river.”

“Sail? The dragon ships? The river is big, then?”

“Yes. You could go five, six more sleeps.”

“
After
we reach the river?”

The Skraeling nodded again.

“As far as Talking Water.”

Nils missed the implication of that name.