The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (24 page)

One
slow stroke through the dark water became two, then three and then four. Ballr
looked back to the shadowed shore, but saw nothing. Quietly, he asked Steinarr,
“Do you think he is alright?”

Steinarr
grunted before clearing his throat. “Who can know?”

The
wind gusted briefly, the noise of the shore’s rustling trees drowning out even
the birds.

––––––––

T
orrador
hurried on, hoping that finding his way back in the dim tunnel he passed
through would not be too hard. He occasionally yelled out Ballr’s name, but he
was so exhausted and out of breath that he doubted he was above the birds and
wind.

Behind
him Seta also called out, her voice loud and commanding, “Ballr!”

And
the path then came to an end.

Torrador
was on the beach, but it was empty.

He
fell to his knees in the gravel and took in a few deep breaths, looking about
as he did so. The boat was gone, that was certain, so his eyes searched the
channel’s waters ahead.

He
could see something – a silhouette!

Torrador
got back to his feet, whispering, “Please Allfather, we need to get home!”

The
birds above had begun to grow quiet now, with the dying of the light, joined by
a stilling of the blustering wind. As Torrador bent down and picked up a rock,
he heard Seta cry, “Ballr, we are here!”

Torrador
drew back his arm and let the stone fly, trying to get Ballr’s attention. Once
it was off and on its way through the night, he took a deep breath and
bellowed:

“Ballr,
come back!”

A
new quiet settled, one even the birds and wind were not prepared to disturb.

Torrador
held his breath.

The
rock splashed as it broke the water’s surface.

Desperate,
he yelled out one last time, “Ballr, come back to us!”

The
sound of hurried oar strokes came to him, splashing and slapping the water as
the blades were enthusiastically redirected and pulled.

Ballr’s
voice came loud and clear a heartbeat later, “Torrador, Seta, we are coming!”

“Thank
Odin!” he whispered, faliing back to his knees.

He
could hear Seta’s exhausted laughter in the distance. Never had he heard
anything so sweet.

Eskil
watched over the beach camp as the colours of sunset faded above.

A
few tents rose from the rough pasture growing between the gravel of the beach
and the first of the low hills, not far to the side of the reed-edged river.
Yet the protective ring created by the small driftwood fires, not the pitched
tents, better defined the camp. Tonight, most would sleep in the open, ready to
react to any sign of a skraeling approach. Likewise, to avoid any risk, any
heavy or unnecessary belongings and livestock remained on the ship.

Amidst
these defensive arrangements, the only things threatening to dampen the Norse’s
tense spirits were the rising buzz of insects and the heavy clouds.

Regardless,
they would manage.

The
number of Norse in Guldale was not as large as Eskil or Alfvin had wished –
around thirty in total. Both of the men would have preferred to handle the
skraelings here, before Faraldr had dropped off his settlers in Lakeland, when
they would have tallied closer to fifty, but it was not to be.

Faraldr’s
settlers were his to do with as he wished.

With
that in mind, as the last of sunset’s hues drained from the sky, both Eskil and
Alfvin were eager to see the return of Ballr and Steinarr, hopefully with
Torrador.

They
needed the extra numbers; even three more could make a difference.

Eskil
worried as he looked over the camp, a position holding only half of the people
they had brought to Guldale. One third of the remainder were on the ship, just
off shore, the other two thirds on the separate hilltop, watching for any
skraeling attempt to approach their camp.

Standing
there, lost in thought, he did not notice Faraldr approach, until the
Greenlander asked, “Ballr should be heading back by now?”

“Yes.
They will not delay.”

Faraldr
nodded, but movement amidst the low hills grabbed his attention.

Eskil
turned to see.

One
of their watches rushed from the hills, the whole group on the move. The lead
man pointed to the river and called out as the gloom of dusk deepened.

Alfvin
scanned the hills and reported, “The other watch is also coming in.”

They
turned to see the men from that hill, the watch closest to the river and the
camp, also racing back.

Faraldr
called out, “Get your arms!”

The
camp burst into activity.

Alfvin
growled out, “Feed the fire closest to the water! Let them see our great ship!”

Eskil
yelled out to the closest of the watches as it neared camp, “How many?”

The
lead man kept running, stumbling on unfamiliar ground, but his answer came
clear, “Two score at least. They are coming along the riverbank, straight for
us!”

Faraldr
cursed.

Alfvin
shook his head. “Frae, where are you?”

The
two groups of watches were nearly back with their fellows, but as of yet, there
was no sign of the skraelings’ approach.

Eskil
said, “We need to be smart about this, to not simply get in a fight. We need to
use all our advantages.”

Faraldr
nodded. “The fires will blind our vision–and theirs.”

“We
can still use it.”

The
Greenlander nodded. “We should send a small group to hide out in the dark as
night falls.”

“Do
it...get some of your most trusted. Instruct them to wait until they hear your
command. If it comes to fighting, they can take them from the rear.”

He
grinned. “Hear my command? I shall be with them!”

Eskil
patted him on the shoulder. “Go along the beach and into the river’s reeds.
There you can shield your vision from our fire’s glare and hide in the
shallows, at the skraelings backs.”

He
nodded. “Yes, the reeds.”

Frae
arrived.

Alfvin
said to her, “My wife, we do not desire any blood, but if we must fight, it
will be theirs that flows. You can help us try and avoid that by translating.”

Her
face was grave, but she agreed. “Yes, Alfvin.”

Faraldr
grabbed four of his men and sped off into the gloom.

Alfvin
reached out and gave Frae’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You will do
well; I shall guide you.”

She
smiled at him. “I shall try.”

Eskil
said, “You can only try, but you will need to speak up, loudly and clearly, so
the others can understand what is being said.”

She
nodded.

“This
is important. You will not only be translating for Alfvin and me, but for
Faraldr and those on our ship.”

––––––––

I
t
was some time before the skraelings finally came into view. Dusk was long gone,
and nightfall had settled in the sky.

The
strangers came along the riverbank, at a steady pace, massed together, many of
them carrying axes and spears. They easily doubled the numbers of the Norse.

Eskil
took in the scene with concern. Although he knew the skraeling axes and
spearheads would most likely be of stone, flint or bone, used against Norse
iron, he could not ignore the fact of the size of their force. The Norse on the
beach stood armed with their knives, axes and spears. They also had half a
dozen bows aimed at the new arrivals from the deck of the ship.

The
skraelings continued their advance, nearing the edge of the firelight cast by
the smouldering campfires. The Norse gathered to meet their visitors inside
that ring, but with their backs to the water and the biggest and brightest of
their fires.

The
skraelings came to a stop, leaving a space between the groups.

Eskil
stood next to Alfvin and Frae. “You have spoken to at least one of them before;
see if he is among them. If so, have Frae ask him what they want; try and keep
things open and peaceful.”

Alfvin
nodded.

“If
we have to fight, too many are going to die on both sides. I do not want to win
a battle here, only to lose the increase in strength that Faraldr’s settlers
gives us.”

Alfvin
said, “I understand.”

Frae
began to tremble beside him.

Her
husband did not ignore it or utter reassuring words, but instead, put a firm
hand around her wrist and said, “We shall never see our son again if this does
not go well. We need to be brave.”

She
nodded, licked her lips and stilled her trembling.

––––––––

B
allr’s
boat headed towards Guldale unnoticed, lost in the gloom, and over a hundred
paces from shore. The cramped boat held Ballr, Steinarr, Torrador and Seta, and
was crowded because of the two children and Doroba.

As
they approached, they realised something was happening on the beach. The Norse,
lined up, had put their backs to a blazing fire while facing another group at
the edge of the light. The dark silhouettes they faced were clearly skraelings,
evidenced by their bulky furs. Many of them also carried arms, and their
numbers more than doubled that of the Norse.

Using
a voice strong and firm, Seta told the children to be quiet and asked the Norse
to do the same. She then told Ballr to continue rowing on, behind the longship,
and head around it towards where the river’s flow met the fjord’s waters.

While
the Icelander did not argue, Steinarr whispered, “Why?”

She
hissed at him, “I did not survive the wolf pack to watch my people, old and
new, slaughter each other!”

He
was taken aback by her intensity.

With
a flick of her head, indicating where they were headed, she said, “We will land
where there is cover amidst the reeds.”

Torrador
asked, “What will we do?”

The
boat coasted now, lost in shadow, heading for the nearest stand of greenery.

She
put a hand to his. “Whatever we must.”

––––––––

F
rom
the throng at the edge of the glow, a lone skraeling stepped forward into the
firelight. Behind him stood a solid mass of silhouettes, spiked with spears,
and standing with menace. That lone figure, an older man, levelled his spear
and swung its tip to pass over the gathered Norse standing fifteen paces away.
In his own tongue, he growled, “You should not be here!”

Frae
whispered the words so Eskil and the others beside him could understand.

Eskil
said, “Louder, so all can hear.”

Frae
repeated the skraeling leader’s line.

As
she did, Alfvin whispered, “It is the same man as before.”

Eskil
nodded and with a loud voice told Frae, “Tell him we come to live in peace, to
settle and fish.”

She
did.

His
answer came in a harsh tone, loud and rough-edged.

Frae
translated, repeating his message clearly, “He says we cannot stay, that this
is their land.”

The
skraeling barked something, showing his anger at her.

“He
says we are bad, that we kill, and that our presence is sickly.” Her voice
broke with the last words, her nerves shaken by the man’s growing animosity.

Eskil
looked at the skraelings arrayed in a line several deep. They numbered at least
forty, perhaps as many as fifty.

Eskil
said, “Tell him they have met and heard of a different people, that we live in
health and in peace.”

She
called the words out, but her shadowed audience tensed, as if only needing some
kind of spark to launch an attack.

The
man growled back, something Frae barely needed to translate. “You lie!”

Eskil
felt the anger building. He spoke loudly, wanting Faraldr, positioned in the
reeds, as well as the people on the ship behind them, to hear every word. They
hopefully had their bows at the ready. “We did not make them sick. Frae, tell
them you live well with us, that you have a son, and that your sister was well
enough to have twins.”

She
did.

The
skraeling did not answer immediately.

The
Norse heard hissed exchanges, but they were soft and unclear.

Eskil
grabbed the chance and said, “Frae, tell them the truth; you choose to live
with us.”

She
nodded and did.

The
old man listened, as did those behind him, some of them pestering with advice.
He hushed them, frustrated. Finally, after a long moment of consideration, he
barked, “You are nothing but their pet. We have heard how they take women and
use them. We have heard that not all sicken!”

Frae’s
translation was wrecked by her breaking voice as she relayed the accusation.

She
was giving into her fear.

Alfvin
put a hand to her shoulder, trying to reassure her.

The
old man saw it and accused, “You are his, you are beaten! Your body may be
well, but your spirit is defeated!”

Alfvin
understood enough to withdraw his hand in shock, as if burnt, but only for a
moment. His anger stirred a heartbeat later.

Frae
kept translating even though she was now succumbing to tears.

Eskil
shook his head, a hand sliding to his knife.

The
atmosphere moved beyond tense, ready to spark and snap with fury.

The
old man dared her, “Show me a sign that you or your sister have any worth and
that you are not just their slaves!”

Frae
did not know how to answer the man, who fed by his anger, then encouraged by
those who stood behind him, did not want to listen. How could she say or offer
anything that would be acceptable or get through to him?

She
knew the truth of it; she could not.

A
silence fell across the beach as everyone waited for her to answer his charge,
but she had nothing to offer, nothing he would understand. Even if he could comprehend
her answer, she knew he did not want to hear of her love for Alfvin, or his
kindness, or the beautiful son they had made together.

Or
of how he had sheltered her from the worst of the violence in Lakeland.

No,
he did not want to hear it.

She
stood there, with everyone watching, and then opened her mouth to speak.

But
no sound came.

She
had no answer.

Nothing
he would believe.

Not
now, while he was so worked up and angry.

––––––––

T
he
man lifted his spear and yelled a fresh threat.

The
skraelings behind him also raised their spears and added their voices to back
him with a roar.

Shaking
his spear, he again called out, challenging the Norse.

Those
behind him echoed him and took a step forward.

––––––––

S
eta
stood in the shallows, amongst the reeds, with Torrador at her side. Doroba,
Ballr and Steinarr remained in the boat with the children. Beside them were
Faraldr and his men, who intercepted them as they drifted into the reed-cloaked
shoreline.

Faraldr
had been surprised to see skraelings on a Norse boat but, in the gloom, was
quick enough to discover Ballr and Steinarr, and ordered his men to stay their
blades.

Seta
listened to the failing negotiation on the beach, the skraeling side poisoned
by anger and grief. She felt for her sister, a gentle spirit, as Frae struggled
to dispute the skraeling leader and then failed to answer and defend herself,
opening the way for a challenge.

The
challenge came and thundered through the night.

But
Seta would not have it.

She
hissed to Steinarr and Ballr, “Quick, give me the pelts...all of them.” With a
look to Torrador, she then put her arm about him and drew him close. “Give me
your blade.”

He
handed it to her without hesitation, ignoring the startled looks from the Norse
about him.

She
tucked it into her belt.

A
moment later, the bloody wolfskins were handed across.

Torrador
took them and passed them on to her.

She
grabbed them under one arm and hefted the weighty things up on her shoulder,
holding them there. With a last look, she turned and faced Torrador, a smile on
her lips. “You will be my husband for this.” And then she turned and strode
off, trying to maintain both her quiet and her balance as she climbed up the
beach.