The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (7 page)

But
which was it?

Eskil
knew he needed to get the conversation to other matters and away from the fires
of argument, despite feeling he needed to know more about what seemed to be a
hidden division. So he asked, “Nothing more has been seen of their people?”

Thrainn
broke his gaze away from Steinarr, turning to Eskil. “I expect we will see them
soon enough, as the snow melts and the days grow longer.”

“Are
they a threat?”

Thrainn
exchanged glances with his fellows. “No, I think not. I think they are cowardly
and easy to scare. They are a tall and big folk, like us, but timid in their
own way. They do not match the skraelings in the tales we heard back in
Iceland, of what they found in Greenland or even Vinland, for that matter.”

“What
do you mean...in their fierceness?”

“That,
and in how they were described, and spoken of.” He turned to the women and
growled, “Here!”

One
of the women rose, hesitating for a heartbeat as she did. Urged on by the
others, she wrapped her furs about herself and quickly scurried across until
she stood a pace away from Thrainn, at a break in the Norsemen’s circle about
the fire pit.

Her
eyes went to the axe.

Thrainn
nodded that he was pleased, and then rose to stand beside her.

She
shrank away a half step.

He
chuckled at her fear, and then reached out and yanked open her furs.

She
winced at his rough hands, but stood mostly still, trembling before the fire and
the staring eyes of the men. Her body was tall and long, her hips broad, and
her belly swelling with Thrainn’s child. Her ruddy skin was smooth, but sported
the occasional scar, as did her face, with a great bruise sitting on one of her
cheeks. She had black hair and dark eyes that glittered as she tried to hold
back tears.

Thrainn
put a hand to the back of her neck to hold her still, her own hands cupping to
cover her exposed sex. “This is my thrall, not my wife, though I do use her.”
And with his other hand, he reached across and rubbed her belly. “But what we
had heard of skraelings was that they did not bleed when you cut them and that
their wounds went white as if edged by frost. I assure you; they bleed red. The
rumours also said they were a much smaller people and of slighter build, but
you can see she is of a similar height and bulk to us. We may call them
skraelings, but they are not. They are something different...another breed of
this land’s people.”

Eskil
asked, “Are the tales completely wrong?”

“Perhaps,
but I think those stories talked of the skraelings in Greenland on fields of
snow and ice, living by the sea, and of others in Vinland, too. I do not think
either of them spoke of the skraelings to be found here, who seem to be more at
home in the woodlands.”

Eskil’s
men were staring at her round breasts, full and caressed by the dancing light
of the flames.

Irritated
by the show and worried it would not end until one of his men gave into
temptation and tried to touch the woman, Eskil said, “Thrainn, cover her
against the cold; she is with child.”

Thrainn
smirked. “She is warm by the fire and mine to do with as I wish.” He leered and
added, “Besides, I know how to warm her if she is cold.”

Eskil
knew there was no point in pushing the matter. Besides, he had other questions
to ask. “As you will.”

Thrainn
grinned and then slapped the woman on the thigh before pointing back to the
wall where the others watched from the gloom.

She
did not hesitate in her retreat.

Thrainn
soon sat back down.

Steinarr
laughed, breaking the tension.

Eskil
asked, “What of the future? Would you stay here in your own hall with your
thralls and coming kin, or should we all band together, either in Godsland or
at any better site we discover this summer?”

Thrainn
shrugged, falling into a more thoughtful mood. “It is a good question and one
to consider. Living together to best defend ourselves from what may come does
make sense.”

“Wise
words,” Eskil said.

The
lingering tension in the hall faded.

Thrainn
nodded. “Whether a joined settlement should be here in Lakeland, in your
Godsland, or somewhere else, I do not know. We cannot answer that tonight.”

Eskil
agreed. “Let us celebrate finding each other for now. In coming days we can
talk of other matters such as Godsland, our hall there, and the space beside it
for another.”

There
were many murmurs of agreement.

Gudrid
had not slept well. She missed Eskil and a fear that he had crossed the water
and entered a place of anger and blood nagged at her. She knew smoke on the
horizon was not likely to be a good sign.

Little
Ulfarr had also noticed his father’s absence.

She
had gotten up well before dawn, letting Ballr sleep, for, as agreed, the three
of them, including the expecting Halla, had taken a watch to look for any sign
of their hall-fellows’ return.

Ballr
overcame his anger at being left behind, courtesy of his fatigue after a long,
middle watch. Like Gudrid and his wife–Halla had taken the first watch–he found
the hall, despite its space and warmth, to be too empty and quiet. He merely
wanted to see the others return safely.

The
previous, tense afternoon gave way to a chilly and restless night, only to
stumble into an awkward morning, as each of the hall-dwellers tried to busy
themselves with tasks. Ballr fished, Halla watched over Ulfarr while weaving a
basket from willow canes, the infant boy wrapped in a skin at her feet, as
Gudrid worked to clear an area for a garden bed. They toiled half-heartedly,
none of them focussed on his or her work, but on the distant shore.

Such
is the way the bulk of the morning passed.

Finally,
they sighted the raft across the water, crewed and returning, with a crowd
behind it on the sound’s stone beach.

Ballr
saw it first. “Gudrid, take the sheep and put it in the hall.” As he spoke, he
gathered up his gear and catch, and put it into a willow basket.

Gudrid
asked, “What is wrong?” But as the words came, she also saw the raft on the
sound’s waters and the others left behind on shore.

Halla
picked up Ulfarr and stood. “The raft!”

Ballr
walked past her as he went to put the fish and basket in the hall while also
fetching the stone and bone blades they had been left with. He called out
behind him, “When they are closer, we will know what is happening and who is
with them.”

Gudrid
nodded and led the crippled sheep across the gully and into the hall.

Ballr
came back to Halla and looked down at young Ulfarr in her arms.

His
wife asked, “Skraelings?”

“I
do not think so. They would be coming at us by themselves if they knew we were
here. I am hoping Eskil and the others are bringing guests. We will just have
to see, and be careful.”

She
agreed.

They
watched as the raft slowly crossed the waters, the ramshackle craft half-way
through the trip when Gudrid returned. Halla offered her Ulfarr back, but she
shook her head, looking to her babe and Halla’s growing belly. “No, you keep
him until we know we are safe.” She reached out to Ballr for one of the stone
blades and clasped it behind her back.

Ballr
nodded.

Soon
they could see Eskil at the front of the raft, waving. Behind him was another
man, though they did not recognise him from such a distance, as well as others,
including some people wrapped in dark furs.

Before
long, with an awed curse, Ballr said, “By Thor, it is Thrainn!”

Halla
and Gudrid both watched in surprise. They realised Ballr was right; it was
Thrainn, although he looked thinner and worn after a long winter.

Despite
such wear, the big man grinned from the raft, and also began to wave.

Ballr
said, “They must have found survivors who came ashore elsewhere.”

“I
hope Leif is amongst them, his high spirits and lore are sorely missed,” Gudrid
said.

Halla
nodded, growing excited, as she asked, “And the others?”

Ballr
answered, “I do not know, but they are not Norse.”

Gudrid
looked to both Halla and Ballr, meeting their gaze, as they considered such a
thing. “We will know more soon enough.”

“Yes,”
Halla whispered.

And,
with each word, the raft drew closer.

The
raft closed the last fifty paces, making the situation much clearer: Thrainn
was indeed on board with Eskil and Torrador, and with them a sheep and two
people who were quite obviously not Norse. Judging from their darker skin, hair
and furs, they could only be skraelings.

Eskil
called out, “We found Thrainn and others and they have four skraeling thralls
and two sheep!”

The
raft moved through the shallows as Eskil and Torrador used the oars to get them
to the beach.

Ballr
and Gudrid came forward as Eskil and Thrainn stepped ashore. Torrador helped
the skraeling women and sheep off the raft as they looked about at the Godsland
settlement, taking in the size of the new hall built into the gully-side.

When
both women were on shore, Eskil pushed the raft back out, letting Torrador
return to the other side of the sound to collect the rest of their party.

The
Norse were excited to be reunited, and Ballr, Halla and Gudrid could not help
but stare with curiosity at the skraelings. The thralls, in turn, looked
wide-eyed at what lay about them.

Thrainn
announced, “So this is Godsland, and with Gudrid, Halla and young Ulfarr, too.
Ah, and I see Ballr, also here at home with the women!”

Ballr’s
smile faltered at such words, but he held himself.

Into
the awkward silence, Eskil said, “Our home and hall, and families, too. We are
making a start, as the gods have willed it.”

Gudrid
asked, “And who else is with you? Was it your smoke we spotted yesterday
morning?”

“Yes,
it would have been smoke from our fires. We were smoking fish, although I can
barely stomach such food after such a long and bleak winter. More importantly,
we also set again to work at smelting bog iron.”

“And
who else?”

Thrainn’s
smile faltered. “Only five: me, Thoromr and Trion, and also Ari and Alfvin. We
did have Katla and Herdis, but they did not survive the first night after our
landing. It was the cold and all the seawater they swallowed that finally took
them. We do not speak of the others.”

News
was swapped as the raft reached the other shore.

Torrador
reloaded, and then returned with Steinarr and Erik, a sheep, and two more
skraeling thralls.

Gudrid
noted that all the women were pregnant.

Grinning
at all the use the raft he had built was getting, Torrador took it back across
before returning, this time with the remainder of the Norse.

And
then, in Godsland, they were all finally reunited.

While
it might have been spring, the air still had a chill to it, and the horizon a
threat of worse weather to come. After a long afternoon of talk in the meagre
warmth of the sun, they retreated into the hall, well before dusk.

Their
guests marvelled at what they had built over the previous year’s summer and
autumn. For the Godsland Norse, it had been a time of promise and rising
happiness, with just enough eager hands to see their work through. That and
their belief in what they were doing.

Thrainn
looked over the Godsland hall, inspecting it with a critical eye; the stone of
the hill’s over hang, the cut turf making up the main wall, the timbers and
style of build. He also checked over anything else of interest, whether it be
salvage, such as the raven banner hanging by the inside of the door, or
anything forged anew.

After
showing their guests the hall, the Godslanders led them to sit around the fire
pit.

Thrainn
sat opposite Eskil, the low flames between them, the Lakelander beside a cut
log the Godslanders used as a chopping block. The timber held the small and
only axe the hall had, the tool more suited for cutting kindling and dwarfed by
the much heavier axe Thrainn carried. Needless to say, the quaint chopper
caught his eye. Looking upon it, the big man laughed. “That is no axe for a
hall!”

Eskil
smiled at the comment, as the axe was indeed a small thing. He offered, “The
axe may be small, but when wielded with determination, we were able to use it
more than anything else to not only build our hall, but to finish the woodwork
within. Only our muscles have been worked harder.”

Thrainn
chuckled, shaking his head. “Your axe might be good for chopping wood, but I
would bet you need four blows to cleave a skraeling’s neck!”

Thoromr
laughed at his father’s comment, and then said, “Tell them again of how we took
our hall, as they have not all heard the tale of our bloody conquest.”

Trion
smirked and agreed, as he looked at the small axe. He seemed to be
contemplating how many blows might indeed be needed to separate a head from its
neck. “Yes, speak of our hall-taking!”

Eskil
listened patiently again to the tale of the Lakeland landing and the hardships
faced. As a group, he knew the Lakelanders had done well to survive, but he now
also sat with them in growing discomfort, suspecting Thrainn did not tell the
whole truth.

The
longer the tale went on, the more certain Eskil was that there was more to the
story than merely the luck of winning the hall and the skraeling women after a
quick fight. He watched as Alfvin and Ari grew restless at the retelling, as if
it threatened to turn their guts to water.

Eskil
only watched and listened, for now.

Of
the Lakelanders, only Thrainn’s kin, Thoromr and Trion, offered their leader
loud backing for the tale being told, a tale that seemed to be growing more
dramatic and bloody with its retelling. It was as if the story was coming into
a life of its own.

Eskil
pondered things as Thrainn’s tale droned on.

The
Lakelanders had not seen anyone else in Markland, aside from a few skraelings,
although it seemed Greenlanders came often enough to have bothered with the
carving of the runestone and the building of a hall. That Norse had been to
Markland was plain. But what of it? Did that mean there were other workings
about, halls or places for smelting bog iron perhaps, or maybe even a permanent
settlement deeper in the fjord, where the land should be better and more
sheltered from the fury of the sea?

It
was a possibility, one that led to others.

Eskil
asked, “Thrainn, how did you survive the winter? When did you begin to store
foods?”

“Not
long after we found our hall. In truth, if we had not found it, I think we
would have died. But having it and its shelter and warmth–and also the gaining
of our thralls–left us so few other things to worry about that we were able to
concentrate on gathering food for the winter. It was a great gift.”

Eskil
nodded, as did the others. They could all see the truth in that, in the labour
such a discovery saved. As Thrainn had suggested, it was probably a great
enough thing to have been the difference between surviving winter or not.

The
newcomer continued, “We will survive the next winters to come. I know I can say
that now, after having just come through one, but I have no wish to do it in
the same style. I am sick to death of dried fish and stewed roots. I wish to
make sure we have not only more variety in what we take into our winter larder,
but that there is also much more of it.”

Eskil’s
own also agreed with such a thing, most sharing wry smiles and a rueful laugh.
“We were lucky to survive, but it was only barely, and more through good
fortune and the wishes of the gods. I also hope for a much better prepared
larder, and I am sure this time we will manage such a thing.”

Steinarr
moaned as he dramatically clutched his stomach. “Let us hope so!”

Gudrid
laughed. “You could have tried wolf stew for a change?”

“Ah,
the same wolf I heard you faced off on the beach?” Thrainn asked.

“Yes,
though it met its fate when it came to watch Ulfarr’s birth. The beast broke
into our hall during the first bad winter storm and was killed by our menfolk.”

Steinarr
laughed. “Not Eskil, though, for he was helping with the birthing!”

Eskil
smiled at the memory, for taking part in such a thing had opened his eyes to a
great wonder.

Thrainn
cursed with wide eyes. “By Thor, that is of women, not that of a man!”

Ballr
offered, “Halla did what she could as a midwife, but needed aid. In truth, I do
not think Eskil regrets it. In fact, I think he would do it again without the
need for asking.”

Thrainn
shook his head and grimaced. “It is no work for a man, that is certain. When it
comes time for our thralls to give birth, I will be having no part of it. I am
not even sure I will be allowing them to keep what they will be birthing.”

Gudrid
shifted uncomfortably at his words. “They will be your kin nonetheless, and
half-Norse at that. I think you should keep them if Freya sees fit to deliver
them alive and healthy to you. Besides, think of the work you will be able to
put them to.”

Thrainn
grimaced as he leaned back. “Eskil, your woman has always had things to say,
but I cannot help but notice how much more she wishes to offer them up now!”

Eskil
forced a smile at that, for they all knew it to be true. “She has wisdom in her
words, and I would advise you to listen.”

“Only
my wife can try and tell me what to do, but the sea stole her away,” he then
added with a hiss, “May Odin take better care of her dead than he did when she
lived.”

“Without
Gudrid’s counsel and preparations for winter, we would all be dead. The gods
favour her.”

“I
shall not be taking orders from any woman – your wife or a thrall – regardless
of whether you think she is an instrument of the gods.”

Gudrid,
unable to stay quiet, spoke up, “Whether you want to listen or not, I would
suggest you do so. If any of us makes a bad decision in the coming year, it
could well mean doom for all of us. We came to this new world to start again,
maybe not heading for this exact shore, but here we are in Markland, building
the world we want, as it should be. We need to make the right decisions in the
choices that lay ahead. Until we number in the hundreds, we will not be safe,
either from something as simple as a bad winter or from the skraelings.”