They Came On Viking Ships (5 page)

Suddenly his eyes opened. He blinked, and tried to get up.

‘Shh. Don’t move.’ She was afraid that if he tried to jump out they’d hit him again. ‘Stay, boy. Stay.’

Snarf whined. He tried to sit up, then collapsed down again. The tears were blinding her now, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing she wanted to see. Hekja laid her face on Snarf’s fur as the boat bobbed out towards the waiting ships.

They spent the night on board. Driftwood fires lit the darkness back on shore. Hekja had never smelt wood fires before—wood was far too precious to burn. They sparked higher than any fire she’d ever seen, like tiny stars reaching for the sky.

She must have finally dozed from exhaustion, despite the bobbing motion of the ship, and the growing pain in her bound wrists, for it was dawn when she opened her eyes again. Snarf still slept, but his breathing was even, so it seemed he had taken no great harm. Hekja looked around.

Ships, lots of ships, each one far longer than even the chief’s hut and as wide.
⁹

The ships smelt of pine trees. Each had a giant square sail of dripping woollen cloth across the middle that flapped and billowed as the men raised them to catch the
wind, and two platforms either end, with bundles stowed underneath, and a deep middle bit, which was where Hekja sat, filled with bundles too. Oars dangled from the rowlocks at either end.

Gulls screamed above them in the growing light and the clouds skidded across the sky. All around the Vikings were heading back to their ships, folding their tents on shore and splashing through the shallows, their arms full of whatever they had stolen—cooking pots and cheeses, calf skins and dried fish. Someone had even put a ramp down into the shallows from one of the ships and was leading the chief’s bull through the waves.

The poor beast looked terrified and tried to bolt, till the man gave it a whack about the rear with the blunt of his sword.

Hekja knew how the bull was feeling. Where had her life gone, the only life she’d known? Where were the villagers? Were they all dead, except the girls up on the great mountain and the witch?

Hekja looked up the hill, but no smoke hovered up above the witch’s fire. Either she had the sense to put it out, or else they had killed her too.

Men yelled. Two youths chattered in their strangely accented language, on the next ship. A man lumbered past. Hekja shrank back.

It was the man Finnbogi, who had killed Hekja’s ma. He still had Ma’s blood on his shirt, but he didn’t even glance at Hekja as he passed. She was just one more piece of loot among the many.

No one seemed concerned with her at all. They were busy setting sail, stacking goods and settling themselves comfortably against the bundles.

Suddenly Hekja saw the woman Freydis who had captured her the night before. She was the only woman on board, standing amid ships and directing men to stow this here and stow that there. A tall, short-bearded man Hekja hadn’t seen before stood by her side, bellowing orders.

Hekja looked on wide-eyed. What was happening? Where were they going now? To raid another village, or a monastery perhaps? Where did the Vikings live? But there was no one to ask.

Finally the ships began to wallow out from the calm of the bay and plunged into the wild ocean waves. Hekja had lived her life by the sea, but this was the first time she had been on it. In her village, boats were for the men. Hekja stared at the distant shore as the village grew further and further away. But nothing moved there. The shore was still, except for the eagle circling above. Even the gulls seemed to have flown. Then suddenly she saw a figure striding out onto the cliff top above the waves, her cloak wrapped tight about her.

It was the witch. As Hekja watched she lifted her arm and waved, a small woman growing smaller, and smaller still.

One of the men yelled something and pointed. But they would not turn back for an old woman. They had got all that could be stolen from one poor village and had their sport. Now they wanted to be gone.

‘Arf?’ said Snarf softly. Hekja bit her lip. She would not let the Vikings hear her cry.

How much had Tikka guessed, when she named a fat little puppy Riki Snarfari, thought Hekja. How far are we going to travel now?

The sky and sea swallowed the great mountain. Now there were only grey waves and the grey sky above.

Finally Freydis strode across to Hekja. Even on the swaying ship her walk was confident, as though she had been born on one. She carried a dipper of fresh water and some dried fish dangled from her hand. She held the dipper up to Hekja’s mouth and let her drink deeply, and then she let Snarf drink as well.

‘Well?’ she demanded, staring down at Hekja. Even the Viking women, Hekja thought, were taller than a village man. ‘If I untie you, will you scream and jump overboard? It’s too far to swim to shore, you know, even if you can swim, which I doubt.’

Hekja said nothing. Some of Freydis’ words were strange, so she was not sure what they meant.

Freydis laughed. It seemed she liked laughing, though not everyone might like the things she chose to laugh at. ‘Hikki!’ she called. ‘Come here!’

‘Yes, mistress?’

A young man, with dark hair and eyes the same colour as the villagers’, made his way uncertainly across the boat. His face looked slightly green from the motion
of the ship. He was taller than any village man, even Bran, though he was not as tall as even the shortest of the Vikings.

He glanced at Hekja curiously, then saw the dried fish in Freydis’ hands. He dashed to the side and vomited into the sea.

Freydis laughed even louder. ‘Stop feeding the fish, Hikki!’ she shouted. ‘I ordered you to come over here!’

The man wiped his mouth and staggered back. Freydis pointed to Hekja. ‘You’re from her land originally, are you not?’ she demanded.

‘Yes, mistress, though I have lived in Norway for many years.’

‘And now you no longer live in Norway. You are my brother’s thrall, on my ship, and you will do what I say. Untie her, explain things to her, get her to eat. Teach her our language.’

Hikki stared. ‘She should understand you already, mistress!’

Freydis shrugged. ‘These tiny villages on these islands only use half a dozen words. She probably doesn’t know a loom from a codfish. Tell her what she needs to know.’

‘That will take some time, mistress!’

‘Then the sooner you begin, the better,’ said Freydis without much interest. ‘Feed her too!’ She thrust the dried fish into Hikki’s unwilling hands then strode back to the front of the ship and sat staring at the sea, as though she could understand its waves.

Hikki put the fish down and untied the rope from Hekja’s hands. The rope was wet and the knots hard to undo, but finally he managed it. Hekja gave a small groan as the blood flowed back into her hands and feet,
then bit her lip. She wouldn’t give the Vikings the pleasure of hearing her pain. But none of them were listening; they were chattering to themselves, or pulling ropes about the sail.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Hekja softly, as Snarf sniffed the young man’s feet, rejected them, and took a fish to chew instead.

‘I am Hikki, runner for King Harald the Fair Hair,’
¹⁰
said the young man proudly. ‘Now a gift to Leif Eriksson, the son of the great chief Erik the Red, the founder of Greenland. Leif brought many goods to trade with Norway, and Erik the Red sent his son to the king with gifts of walrus ivory and furs. The king gave me to Leif in return. I am the fastest runner in the whole of Norway. I took messages from one end of the land to the other.’

‘Norway? Greenland? What are these names?’ asked Hekja, bewildered.

‘They are countries, far from your village. Norway is where this ship has sailed from,’ said Hikki patiently. ‘Greenland is where we are going. It’s a new land, found only eighteen years ago. My master and your mistress have holdings there, near their father’s farm at Brattahlid. The Lady Freydis is your mistress now. She is my master’s sister.’

‘We are going to another land?’ Hekja had to force her voice to stay steady.

Hikki nodded. ‘The Norsemen know how to sail far across the sea and find their way even when there is no land to guide them. From Stad in Norway it is seven days’
sailing to eastern Iceland, then four days’ sailing to Brattahlid in Greenland.’

Hekja blinked. It was too much to understand.

‘We were sailing to Brattahlid but the storm blew us off course,’ Hikki continued. ‘The Vikings had to shelter in your bay, so my master says now we will sail well to the south of Iceland and, God willing,
¹¹
see land in eight days’ time.’

Hekja shook her head. ‘Eight? Seven?’

Hikki sighed. ‘They are numbers, for counting. You have a lot to learn.’ He held up his fingers. ‘You see—one, two, three, four, five. Ten are the fingers of two hands. But there are bigger numbers. Erik the Red took four hundred followers with him to Greenland. That is a larger number by far.’

Hikki patted Hekja’s hand, till she drew it back. ‘I was as ignorant as you are when I was taken as a boy,’ he added.

Hekja stared at him. ‘The Vikings captured you too?’

Hikki nodded. ‘I am a slave, a thrall like you.’

‘A slave! Why didn’t you run away then,’ Hekja demanded, ‘when they landed at my village? You said you are the best runner in…in wherever it is!’

Hikki looked superior. ‘And live among the rocks and hares? Greenland is an empty land, my master says. If I serve him well I will be freed and may claim land of my own,
¹²
and have a proper farm, not a hut with a scraping
of barley behind it. Even…’ he looked calculatingly at Hekja, ‘a wife.’

Hekja ran her hands across Snarf’s ears. They at least were familiar and comforting. ‘So I am a slave,’ she said slowly. ‘What does a slave do?’

‘What her mistress tells her to do. What did you do back in your village?’

Hekja shrugged. ‘I herded the cows, paddled the butter, made the cheese, dug the turfs…what everybody does.’

‘Then doubtless you will make cheese in Greenland. It sounds a fine, green place,’ said Hikki enthusiastically. ‘There must be mountains of grass all year round, to have a name like that.’

‘And the father of your master and my mistress, you said he is a chief there?’

Hikki nodded. ‘His name is Erik. They call him Erik the Red. A great man, by all accounts. A hero. My master Leif Eriksson is a hero too,’ he added proudly. ‘Leif made a voyage to yet another new land, Vinland, just last year. That is where he traded for the fine furs he took to Norway this summer, to trade for other things.’

‘What things?’ asked Hekja. She picked up one of the dried fish and began to pull it apart, nibbling some of it and feeding the rest to Snarf with her fingers.

‘Flour for bread and malt for beer, iron, linen, wax and tin, weapons, cooking pots, glass beads for the women, a good horse to ride and one to pull the plough. Many things,’ said Hikki. He looked at Snarf, as the big dog chewed the second fish. ‘That is a fine hound,’ he added.

‘He is mine,’ said Hekja proudly.

Hikki shook his head. ‘You are a thrall, a slave. He is Freydis’ dog now.’ He gave a shrug. ‘A good dog like him is worth more than a thrall, though not as much as a runner like me.’

‘He is mine!’ flared Hekja.

Hikki looked at her consideringly. ‘You will learn,’ he said at last. ‘Now, you must study the Norse words, as your mistress ordered.’

For a moment Hekja wanted to argue. She didn’t want to learn the strange new words. She didn’t want Hikki’s company either.

But at least he wasn’t a Viking. And perhaps he could tell her something that might be useful. Somehow…somehow, she had to get away.

The day dragged on. Hikki droned more words. Some she knew, and some she didn’t, but she repeated them anyway, even the ones she knew, just to pass the time. The wind lashed at the boat and the salt spray splattered them. The bottom of the boat where Snarf slept slowly became a puddle.

There was no land, though Hekja searched the skyline. The world was featureless, grey, and grey and more grey. How could the Vikings know which way to go in a world like this? Maybe, thought Hekja, they would sail like this forever, and the world would never change. She was too numb now to even care.

Someone handed Hekja a dipper and told her to bail out the water. The ship was heavy loaded, and already rode low among the waves. Hekja dipped, and threw, and dipped, and Snarf rested his face on her lap as though to say, ‘I’d help you if I could.’

There was dried fish to eat that night. Hekja had eaten dried fish all her life, either smoked by the fire or just hung in the wind outdoors till it was too hard and dry to rot, but in the village dried fish was soaked in milk or water to soften it. Here on the ship the fish were so hard
you had to gnaw at them. Hekja shredded some of hers, and took the bones out for Snarf to eat. Some of the Vikings also ate long strips of hard dried meat. But they didn’t offer it to Hekja, or Hikki either.

‘I am a slave,’ she thought. ‘I am a slave.’ The words kept pounding through her. She knew what slaves were, but had never really thought about it before. No matter what I do, how well I make the butter or how well I guard the cows, I will be worthless, a slave.

She and Snarf slept among the bundles. The Vikings had sleeping bags with fur inside, but no one offered Hekja any covering at all. It was dawn when she woke, the sun a red gleam on the horizon. It rose slowly in the sky till it hung high above the ship. Even through the cloud it seemed hotter than the sun over the great mountain. And there was no shade. The sail flapped and people yelled and the sea lashed and muttered over the side.

The sun sank again. The Vikings crawled into their sleeping bags once more, two to each sack, except the men who watched the sail. Even Hikki had a cloak to wrap himself in.

Hekja held Snarf to her, for comfort as well as warmth. All around them were the noises of the ship, the snores of many people, water lapping against the hull, the creak of the sail and someone farting in their sleep.

Then a voice came from the darkness. ‘Here.’

It was Freydis. She threw a couple of rough, cured cowskins down to Hekja, then made her way unerringly through the bundles, back to her sleeping bag and husband at the front of the boat.

The skins smelt like home. Hekja wrapped one about her shoulders, and the other about her legs and Snarf, and they curled up together in the damp of the ship.

Three more days passed, each one like the one before. Only the colours changed, a sea and sky of grey or green or blue. The swaying ship didn’t seem so strange now. Hekja knew its smells and movements. She even knew how to relieve herself over the swaying rail, though unlike the Vikings she waited for darkness.

Sometimes the other ships sailed close enough for the Vikings to yell at each other across the sea, cheery insults that Hekja couldn’t understand. But mostly each ship was a floating world of its own.

The sun glared on the waves. The sky was blue now, bluer than it had ever been on shore, so bright it seemed to shatter on the sea. Hekja sat with Hikki and pretended to learn more words. She knew all he had to teach her now, but at least it was something to do.

Suddenly Freydis’ husband, Thorvard, gave a yell, and pointed high up in the sky.

Hekja followed his gaze. It was a bird.

Someone cheered, and clapped Thorvard on the back. Freydis strode down from her spot on the prow, and they began to confer, gazing at the sky and sea.

Hekja looked back at Hikki. ‘What is all the fuss? It’s just a bird.’

‘It’s a land bird,’ said Hikki, looking superior. ‘It means that we are close to land.’

‘Greenland?’

Hikki shook his head. ‘Iceland.’

Hekja shivered. The name sounded cold and strange. ‘Are we going to land there? Kill the people like the Vikings did back home?’

‘Of course not!’ Hikki looked scornful. ‘The Greenlanders came from Iceland. Remember? I told you so! Why would they attack their friends? No, we won’t land on Iceland. The cargo boats are full already. We shall keep sailing to Brattahlid.’

Hekja nodded. What did it matter? If there were Vikings in Iceland she couldn’t escape there. But Greenland…it sounded different. Hikki had said it was an empty land. There would be places for her and Snarf to hide…and then…Hekja bit her lip. What then?

Snarf smelt it first. He lifted his nose and whined.

‘What is it?’ Hekja bent towards him. Snarf whined again.

Now the Vikings seemed to sense it too. Thorvard yelled an order, and waved his arm at the sail, sagging now the wind had dropped. Freydis strode about the ship, gesturing to the store piles. Men began to tighten ropes.

‘I said pull in the sail!’ bellowed Thorvard. ‘Are none of you fools listening to me?’

‘What is it?’ cried Hekja.

Hikki shook his head. He mostly sat with Hekja these days. Hekja supposed it made him feel important, having someone who knew less than him. Suddenly the sail flopped down behind them. The ship stopped its onward pace, and rolled a little in the waves.

Hekja gazed around. ‘Why are we stopping? There is no land here!’

One of the Vikings heard her. He grinned. ‘Storm coming!’

Thorvard clambered to the rear of the boat, and hailed the ship behind.

‘Leif!’ he shouted. ‘What do you think? A bad one?’

The ship behind came closer. ‘Better lighten the ship!’ yelled Leif. He grinned. ‘You can throw my sister overboard for a start!’

‘I heard that, brother mine!’ Freydis shouted at him. ‘Lighten your own ship, if you want. This ship has sailors on it, not sit-at-homes, frightened of a tiny wind!’

‘This storm will have even more breath than you!’ yelled Leif cheerfully. ‘See you at home, dear sister! I’ll bet you a nice new shawl we beat you back!’

‘Keep your shawls to warm your feet!’ shouted Freydis.

Leif grinned in return, then turned and bellowed orders to his crew.

The first gust hit. The ship lurched wildly, one side dipping deep into the water, so the waves sloshed in. Hikki yelled, then grabbed the side.

The next gust was even stronger. Then the wind bit, and didn’t let them go.

Hekja had thought the boat shuddered before. Now it lashed from side to side. Snarf whined, and crawled into the middle of the ship. Hekja followed, till they were wedged between two bundles, but they slithered too, and dragged her with them.

Finally she grabbed one of the struts and held it with one hand, her knuckles white, while the other arm was stretched around Snarf. Now the rain came like a curtain, each drop so cold and sharp it bit into her skin. It was
impossible to see across the ship in all the rain and spray. Where Hikki was she neither knew nor cared. Hekja held Snarf close, his warmth the only familiar thing in the world of noise and fury.

Up, up, up…Hekja had thought the sea was flat, but the ship seemed to climb a great mountain. Then down the other side, the wave crashing white around them. The ship shuddered further down into the trough, then up again…

The world had gone insane. How could waves climb as high as that? It was like mountains had risen all across the sea.

Someone screeched in Hekja’s ear. ‘Bail!’

Hekja nodded. She held Snarf by the scruff of the neck in one hand and used a water jar to scoop out the icy water with the other. The ship was low in the water, even when the sea was calm. Now it seemed they were only inches from the water.

The ship lurched down again. A giant wave crashed behind them. Its foam lashed across the ship, carrying Snarf with it. The big dog tried frantically to paddle. Hekja caught one glimpse of his terrified face, then he was gone.

‘No!’ Hekja dived after him, reaching through the foam. Yes…yes…her fingers touched his fur. Suddenly she had him, but it was too late. The water closed over her, and spat her out over the rail of the ship.

Down, down, down…the world was cold and water, green and grey and white. Almost instinctively she kept hold of Snarf’s fur. Was this what it was like to drown, she wondered. Had her brothers felt this cold confusion before they died? Then suddenly her mind took over. No,
she wouldn’t die! She wouldn’t let Snarf die, either! Hekja pushed downwards with her free arm and legs, forcing her body upwards, so it dragged Snarf up too. Was he still alive, wondered Hekja desperately. He was so limp, so still…

Suddenly her face met air. She gulped it in, but only for a moment. Then she was lost again, in the wild fury of the waves.

Her breath was gone. The world had gone, the sunlight and the air, gone like her father and ma, like Bran and all her village. Even Snarf had gone now, wrenched away from her grasp. Gone, gone, gone…

Then something hauled her up. No, not up. Up had no meaning in this world of waves. Something dragged her through the water and dropped her on the heaving deck. Arms reached down again, hauled Snarf up by his legs and dropped him sprawling on top of her.

Hekja gasped, though even that hurt. She rolled out from under Snarf to see Freydis still holding the hem of her dress. She must have grabbed it, Hekja realised, and kept hold while Hekja sank in the waves. Even now, amidst the wind and waves, Freydis was laughing, as though the storm and all its fury was an enemy she had conquered.

‘A mermaid!’ she cried. ‘And a hairy fish!’ Hekja reached for Snarf, just as he coughed and tried to struggle to his feet. Hekja grabbed him again, but her hands felt cold and weak.

‘Thorvard!’ yelled Freydis. ‘We need rope! Bring it here!’

Thorvard clambered across the ship. Even in this weather his step was firm, as though his body moved with the ship. ‘Tie the girl to the mast, and the dog as well,’ Freydis shouted.

‘The dog?’

‘I didn’t fish him out to lose him overboard again!’ yelled Freydis.

Thorvard grinned. His beard was flecked with foam. He grabbed Snarf by the scruff of the neck and dragged him over to the mast. Snarf whined and tried to get away. But at least, thought Hekja, he was still alive.

She tried to stand, then crawled instead through the water at the bottom of the ship, till she reached the mast too. It was a relief to feel the rope about her waist, tying her securely. Snarf was already tied about his neck and chest.

‘Bail!’ yelled Thorvard, forcing a bucket into Hekja’s limp hands.

Hekja bailed. Her throat hurt, her body ached. It even hurt to breathe. But if bailing helped them survive then she’d keep on going. Half the time it seemed the waves just lashed the water back. But at least a little reached over the rail.

Waves, and more waves, and waves again, some so high it seemed the ship could never climb them, or would be crashed to pieces by their weight. In between the crash of waves Hekja could see Thorvard at the rudder, forcing the ship through the storm. Even Freydis worked with the rowers now, heaving the great oars back and forth to give the ship what little power they could to ride the waves.

No, it would never end, thought Hekja. Then suddenly she thought, the wind was worse than this a while ago. And slowly the wind died down, and the rain stopped. But the seas stayed as high as ever.

The waves crashed around them all that night, and no one slept. Black sky, black air, black sea. Only the
frothing wave tops showed any white at all. But with the first grey light of dawn the worst was over.

Hekja hung limply from the rope, asleep from sheer exhaustion. When she woke the sea was calm, and men were yelling, trying to find the ships that had accompanied them before. But there was no answer except the lap of waves, and everything was white.