They Came On Viking Ships (19 page)

The house stirred early the next morning. Everyone knew something would be happening today, but no one quite knew what.

Hekja slept next to Snorri now, though not as man and wife. Snorri was too weak for that and, anyway, the wedding was still to come. Hekja wasn’t sure when she had agreed to marry Snorri, if she ever had, but somehow the whole camp assumed the marriage would take place, Snorri included.

Not that it mattered. Sometimes Hekja felt her life and Snorri’s were like two great ropes that finally twined together, stronger than they had been apart. And besides, if Snorri was going to get himself shot by Skraelings again—or in any other of the dangers Vikings seemed to plunge into—she was going to be there. So Freydis had given orders for a wedding feast to be prepared, and Thorvard had explained the marriage contract to Hekja, and how her new parents would give her a share in the expedition’s profits, so she would come to her marriage a rich and respected woman.

And Hekja slept wrapped in her cloak and Snorri slept
wrapped in his, but Hekja was there if he needed anything.

Finally the curtains parted and Freydis emerged. She wore a man’s round metal helmet today and carried a man’s shield and battle-axe. She waited till all were quiet then said, ‘Call the others here.’

Someone ran to summon the other household.

Freydis looked at the faces before her without speaking. And then she said, ‘I ask only one thing this morning. Will you follow me?’

‘Yes!’ cried someone, and another man called, ‘To the gates of Ragnarok
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44—and further!’

Freydis didn’t smile at that. She just said, ‘Not quite so far, perhaps. Each man must arm himself. For those who should have been our companions have betrayed us. They have turned the Skraelings into our enemies. They threaten our very lives in Vinland. And so…’ Freydis gazed out at her followers. ‘And so we must destroy them, like the ship rats that they are.’

Someone cheered then and the others caught it up. Since the Skraeling attack it seemed that every man in camp had behaved as though Freydis could get them to Greenland and back without a ship, or call the clouds to milk the cows.

But the cheers chilled her, nonetheless. Somehow it seemed wrong to cheer killing, even if, as Freydis said, they had no choice. These men cheered like their blood was up. For the first time in months, Hekja felt the horror she had felt at the destruction of her village.

The men began to straggle out, swords, axes and shields in their hands. Snorri tried to struggle to his feet but Hekja pressed his shoulder. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said.

‘But…’ began Snorri.

Hekja shook her head. ‘You will collapse before we leave the fields. And then I would have to stay with you, when Freydis needs me.’ She forced a smile at him. ‘I have my duty, and this is yours—to get well. I will tell you everything that happens later, I promise. We can make our songs together.’

‘Even with a Norseman?’ teased Snorri.

‘Even with a Norseman,’ said Hekja and pressed his hand. ‘Snarf,’ she whispered, ‘stay. You’re on guard.’ Snarf whined, and licked her hand. He knew something was happening. But he obeyed.

Then Snorri said, ‘I want you to have my shield. I’d give you my sword too, but it could be taken from you, and used against you. But take the shield. I wish it could be my arms that shielded you instead.’

Hekja hesitated. Then she nodded. She lifted the shield that lay beside him, and followed Freydis from the hall.

It would only be half a day till she was back again. But forever after the battle it seemed to Hekja that in that one day, she had lived almost half her life.

It was late when they returned, the shadows almost merging with the night, the owls hooting untroubled by human squabbles in this land. The women ran from the stockade to meet them, calling out. But they fell silent when they saw their faces. Freydis was in the lead, carried by two men in her chair. Her arms were bloody. The men were subdued, not cheering and victorious. And none of them would meet Freydis’ eyes.

Hekja walked next to Freydis’ chair. She carried a girl child on her hip, her head buried in Hekja’s hair, as though she was afraid to look beyond. There was blood upon Hekja’s skirt and on her arms, and on the child as well. Thorvard walked behind them. There was a great cut on one arm, and it was roughly bound up in a sling. But he made no sign that he felt the wound.

The women went from man to man, checking that all were there. A few were wounded, but it seemed that Freydis had brought all her army back.

One by one the men slipped away, to wash or think or talk among themselves. Hekja followed Freydis into the house. She handed the girl to one of the women, with instructions to bathe the child, and feed her, then
nodded to Snorri as he lifted his head anxiously. ‘What happened?’ he cried. ‘Are you alright?’

Hekja met his eyes. ‘I’m not hurt. I have to help Freydis, then wash. I’ll tell you about it then.’ Snarf ran to her, sniffing, as though looking for any wounds. But Hekja ordered him back to Snorri. Snarf returned, tail down.

Hekja went with Freydis to her curtained room and helped her take off her blood-stained dress and armour, and beckoned to a woman to bring cloths and water. Then Hekja too walked down to the river bank and knelt and washed and washed and washed.

She would never feel really clean, she thought. But finally she knew that there was no point scrubbing any more. Nor could she stay away from the long house any longer.

She walked back slowly, feeling the night wind cold on her wet skin. The women were serving food and hot ale to the men. Hekja shook her head when someone offered her a plate. She checked on the child, but she was sleeping. Then Hekja sat by Snorri and took his hand, and only then did she begin to shake and tears ran down her cheeks, till he struggled up beside her and took her in his arms.

Snarf whined and licked her face, on the side that wasn’t pressed to Snorri. Finally she stopped crying. She put an arm around Snarf, while Snorri called a woman to bring her ale and fish, and made her drink and eat.

Finally, when the cup was empty, he said, ‘Tell me what happened?’

‘So you can make a song?’ whispered Hekja.

‘So I can understand,’ said Snorri softly.

Hekja shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. At times I think I do, but then I think…’

‘Tell me,’ said Snorri again.

Hekja tightened her arms around Snarf. And then she said without expression, ‘We marched to Finnbogi’s camp. Most of our men hid in the trees. Then Freydis called out to Finnbogi that we were leaving Vinland, and wanted to hire his ship to take our goods back, in return for half our furs. Finnbogi believed her. He came out, with some of his men, and came down to our ship to sail up here to inspect our storerooms.’

‘And then?’

‘And then we killed them,’ said Hekja.

Snorri stared. ‘Without a legal challenge?’
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‘Yes,’ said Hekja simply. ‘We just killed them. They suspected nothing, so they were easily killed. Then we went back, and killed the others. They didn’t have their swords, or shields, and there were many more of us.’

‘I see,’ said Snorri softly.

‘Do you?’ whispered Hekja. ‘There was so much blood. The whole place stank of blood and so did we. Sometimes I think I will smell it for the rest of my life.’

‘I should have been there,’ said Snorri. ‘For good or evil I wish I had been there to bear this thing with you.’

‘No. It is enough that one of us…’ Hekja said no more. And then she said, ‘Then there was Finnbogi’s wife too.’

Snorri frowned. ‘What about her?’

‘The Skraeling women ran off, into the forest, and so did Finnbogi’s thralls. I let the people in the cage out too. I hope they keep running till they are safe. I hope they run and…’ Hekja bit her lip, and continued more quietly. ‘Finnbogi’s wife struck one of them when she tried to run away. She broke the Skraeling’s arm, I think, but the Skraeling was still able to run. When all the men were dead Finnbogi’s wife waited in the house with her daughter, as though defying us to touch her. And no man would. So Freydis took Thorvard’s axe,’ said Hekja calmly. ‘She killed her with two blows. And Finnbogi’s baby daughter saw it all.’

Snorri said nothing, just tightened his arm about Hekja’s shoulders.

‘Snorri?’

‘Yes?’

‘I never asked you before. I think I was afraid of what you might say. Have you ever gone a-Viking? Raided lands and killed?’

‘I have fought,’ said Snorri simply. ‘In battle with enemies of my father. I have killed as well. But no, I have never gone a-Viking. Those I have killed have always been armed. I have never fought a man unlawfully.’

‘But you sing of heroes…’ began Hekja.

‘You’ve heard my songs. Have I ever sung of killing?’

Hekja shook her head. They sat in silence for a while.

‘The worst is,’ said Hekja at last, ‘I don’t know what I should feel. Those men had to die, so we might live in peace—and the Skraelings too. Finnbogi and his wife were evil. But then I remember what I felt this morning. It was as though Finnbogi’s camp weren’t people at all,
just enemies to kill. And I realise that is how my village was destroyed. We were simply enemies, no longer people. I will always see the blood and hear the screams. I will see Freydis’ face as it looked today forever in my dreams.’

‘Time,’ said Snorri softly, into her hair.

‘What about time?’ Hekja’s face was buried in his shoulder now.

‘Time will make it clearer. Easier. When we are far from here.’

Hekja took her face from his shoulder. ‘Are we going far from here?’

‘Yes,’ said Snorri. ‘When spring comes, when the ice clears up in the north. We will go with the trading ship, to Greenland then to Iceland then to my home.’

‘But your family—what will they think when you bring home a thrall?’

‘I will be bringing home a wife to be proud of, Erik the Red’s granddaughter, a heroine, a Valkyrie.’

‘Who was once a thrall,’ insisted Hekja.

‘Who was once a thrall, as my grandmother was.’

‘Your grandmother?’

‘An Irish thrall. Daughter of a chieftain, but still a thrall. Besides,’ said Snorri lightly, ‘You will be rich.’

‘Will I?’

‘I imagine we all will be,’ said Snorri gently. ‘From the proceeds of this voyage.’

They were silent for a moment. Then Snorri said, ‘I would like you to see my home. But we do not have to stay there. It is your choice. But I would like us to sing together. To the king, perhaps, and to other kings. To sing of heroes we have known, and what we’ve seen.’

‘Even of this day?’ whispered Hekja.

‘Perhaps,’ said Snorri quietly. ‘Perhaps one day, when we have found the words and thought how best to say them.’

They sat quietly after that, perhaps hoping that the other one had dozed, while about them the men and women went quietly to their attic or sleeping closets. Finally Snorri moved his arm, as it was going to sleep. Hekja whispered, ‘Perhaps it will be worth it. Perhaps we will have peace, and the Skraelings will be our friends.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Snorri.

It was a mild winter, as Leif had said it would be. There was no snow, and the grass continued to grow almost through the season. The cows stayed in their fields and the sheep were fat. Hekja and Snorri were married, and Hekja and Snorri sang together at their wedding feast, a song of love and happiness, and Snarf joined in the chorus with his howl.

But in late winter the Skraelings came again, this time with flaming arrows, to burn the palisade. They did not break through this time—there was water enough to put out the flames. But everyone knew there would be a next time…and a next…

Snorri offered to lead a party to the Skraeling village, to try to negotiate a peace. But when they reached the place the houses had been burnt, and the fields were bare. Finnbogi’s men had been there long before, leaving a bitter legacy.

There would be no more trading with the Skraelings. And now the seas were open. It was time for Snorri to go home, with the trading goods that would bring the colony wealth and with his new wife.

Hekja stood with Freydis for the last time, while the
final bales of furs were loaded onto the ships. They were taking Finnbogi’s store boats, as well as Freydis’, for as Freydis said, no one else would use them now.

Freydis had made every person swear they would never tell what had happened, that everyone would say that Finnbogi’s party had decided to stay behind, and that Finnbogi had sold his ships to Freydis. But no man quite trusted that someone wouldn’t let the true story slip.

Freydis was still the leader. The men obeyed her, but they didn’t love her as before. The slaughter of Finnbogi’s men and women had gained them nothing, except riches. Perhaps for some of them, that was enough. Others would remember a fight that had no honour, how they killed their countrymen without a legal challenge, and a free Norse woman slain as well.

Hekja could not forget either. Vinland had given her more than she had ever dreamt. But there were memories of blood and hatred now as well, and Freydis’ face as she wielded the axe against Finnbogi’s widow. Perhaps, as Snorri said, it was best that the songs of heroes always happened a long way away.

Over by the long house the wet nurse was feeding baby Erik, while Finnbogi’s daughter looked on. Freydis had adopted the child, though the demands of defending the colony had left her little time for motherhood.

Hekja glanced at Freydis, to find her smiling at her. ‘You have come a long way from the little thrall from the island village,’ she said, ‘and now you are going even further.’

‘It’s Snarf’s fault,’ said Hekja lightly. ‘Did I ever tell you how the witch gave him his name, and said he’d be a Mighty Rover? I accompanied him, that’s all.’

‘Arf,’ agreed Riki Snarfari, sitting to scratch a flea.

‘Maybe,’ said Hekja tentatively, ‘you will come to Norway one day. To trade next year’s furs, perhaps.’

Freydis shook her head. ‘No, my dear. Wherever I go from here, it won’t be back to Norway. This is goodbye.’ She hesitated. ‘Even if we never meet again, you will always be my daughter. I will never forget that when the men ran from the Skraelings you stood with me. You are a daughter to be proud of.’

Freydis paused, then added, ‘There is a song, not one of Snorri’s. It says the life of a man is only what people remember. Perhaps that is true of a woman too. If you ever sing of me…’

‘It will be a good song,’ promised Hekja. And she thought, but didn’t say: But it may take years to find the words. If heroes weren’t careless of life—their own or other people’s—would they ever be heroes? Who could understand, who wasn’t there?

She embraced Freydis then. For a moment Freydis clung to her, as though she might ask her not to go. Then she stepped back, and gave a laugh, almost like before.

‘Good journey!’ she called. ‘And if you see a cloud like a new land on the horizon, think of me, and all your family here!’ Then she was gone, striding back to the long house, without waiting to see the ship sail.

‘Hekja!’ It was Snorri, striding down the path from the long house, a final bundle under his arm. He held out his hand, and Hekja took it, and they climbed into the boat together while the men uncoiled the ropes from the deck.

The wind filled the big woollen sail, and sent it flapping. The ship creaked, the oars splashed deep into
the water, all the familiar sounds that Hekja had thought she would never hear again.

She stood with Snorri at the ship’s rail and watched the land recede, the golden beaches where she and Snarf had run with Hikki, with their white-tipped waves, the long house where she had found love and family, the tall trees on the hill where Hikki lay. And slowly Vinland turned to clouds, then vanished from the horizon.