Northern Fiction - The Saga of Freydis Eiriksdattir
Chapter 4
“I will look to my soul. I will not fail you Hrolf. Trust me well.”
“If you know Freydis, and it would help me and the Church and God, then find out what you can about her ‘curse’ and what happened years ago in Vineland and now in Norumbega. Will you pledge me that?”
“With all my being. I will find out what I can. I will also tell you what happened last night as soon as it is possible.”
“Very well. I see that must be good enough for now. Love me?”
“Yes.”
“Give me a hug.”
“Like this?” Aran dragged Hrolf down onto the bed. They rolled about playfully, their wrestling more rough-house than erotic in manner. After a while, Aran panted out: “Still friends?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Trust me. I must go to Freydis’ smithy. I must talk with the smith’s son who I met him last night. I will return and tell you what I might.”
“Go. But, be careful. You are sailing in shoaling waters whenever you get near Freydis. I trust you, do right by me.”
“How is the boy Garm?” Freydis asked as she entered the smithy briskly, her black cape thrown back off her shoulders.
“He has awakened. He is eating some porridge now.”
“I will question him.”
Mjollnir drew back the leather hanging and Freydis entered the burrow behind the smithy where the dwarf family lived. Thjodrerir and Aran, who were standing to one side talking in whispers, bowed low and greeted her. Garm was lying in a corner, still wrapped in the skins from the night before, but propped up with the bowl of porridge resting on his belly. He looked up at her as he wiped a grubby sleeve across his sniffling nose, that had run wet over his lips and chin. Tears trickled down his cheeks, but he had regained much of his strength and his normally sallow coloring had returned.
“You look better, not so dead white,” Freydis observed. “Tell me everything, hold nothing back. Your friend died for what you know.”
“I know. I cannot stop crying over Rati. It was all my fault, and so stupid. It was nothing.”
“Let me be the judge. Out with it.”
“Yes, my Lady. When Thjodrerir and the others went to Thorir’s hall, Rati and me went to the nausts. We wanted a look at the ship that had brought Snorri from Iceland and was secured with mooring poles to a rock in the harbor. When we got there the crew was helping put another ship into a naust. We wanted to watch that, so we hid in the roof-thatch, while the men worked below. The crew gathered at the stern of the vessel and the bow rose out of the water. Then the men standing on land drew the vessel onto the rollers. All the men then hauled the ship into the naust and shored the vessel, even on its keel in the ship-shed, on the props. It was really interesting, we were having a great time.”
“Yes, yes, go on. I have not all day, boy.”
“Well the crew from the ship that was put away left. We then hid among some barrels on the shore next to the moored vessel. We could overhear a group of the seamen who got to talking.”
“Yes? What did they say?”
“That’s what I do not understand. I see no importance in their words. Why would they chase us? Why kill Rati? Why shoot me?”
“Let me decide that,” Freydis said. “Go on with your account of this talking that took place.”
“It was about Snorri and the ship captain Gudlaug.”
“What about them, that sounds worth knowing.”
“Gudlaug had come here about an inheritance. He wanted to settle some ‘old scores’ with Thorir.”
“Indeed.”
“Something about an inheritance in Norway. They had come from Norway to Iceland, and then here. If Gudlaug’s talks with Thorir were not settled well, then he and Snorri were to ‘see and tell.’ They all were to ‘see and tell’ about something to someone else. Someone, near to hand, and coming soon.”
“See what? Tell who?”
“The ‘king’s-ship’ captain.”
“Tell the ‘king’s’ ship-captain what?”
“Something about Norumbega. Something about Vineland. It was very confusing and not very interesting. They all spoke at once. Mumbling and laughing so that we could not understand or follow what was said.”
“But it had to do with Thorir and the king?”
“It seemed to be about personal matters. The words ‘vengeance’ and ‘treasure’ were mentioned. The word ‘treasure’ sounded interesting but they did not speak of any buried coins or hack-silver. Then, they laughed about telling someone named ‘Magnus Bishop’ that Vinland was too independent from the king and from the church. How it was time to assert the royal will. Time to bring Norumbega into line with Mother Church. Then Gudlaug could also claim all of Thorir’s wealth in Vinland too. But it seemed a joke to them. It wasn’t very funny sounding to me but they laughed a lot.”
Freydis mused aloud: “Olaf III, called ‘The Peaceful’ by many, is king in Norway. He is the son of Harald Hardrahdi. I therefore doubt he is all that peaceful, the family never was that is for certain. I do not know much of this Olaf though. Gregory III is Pope. That is the man named Hildebrand. It was he who convinced Pope Alexander to authorize William the Bastard to invade England. Authorized a Holy War against an independent English Church. He has driven hard to increase the power of the Church. I would be suspicious of anything he was backing.”
“But then, my father Eirik called them all masters of lies and tricksters, I have no trust for any priest. What could they have cooked up? What have they in mind for my Vineland the Good?”
“Magnus Bishop? ‘Bishopsson’ perhaps? An odd name. I know of no one of importance of that name in Norway.” Freydis considered the matter a moment longer. “Nothing else?”
“Then they saw us, one of them started to yell: “Spies! Spies!”. We ran. We ran like crazy. They screamed ‘Get them,’ and ‘Spies! Stop them,’ and worst of all: ‘Kill them, kill them.’ We ran for home. They followed us. We went a round-about way home. We thought we had lost them, We must have been recognized. Someone was already waiting when we reached the gate.”
“Recognized? No trick. It would not take a genius to figure that any dwarf in these parts would probably be from my house. Your ‘someone’ was ordered to wait for you and then that ‘someone’ went back to the ships. Another ‘someone’ was waiting for him. I suppose the ‘someone’ was a better archer than a secret keeper. Dead men tell no tales.”
Turning from Garm, Freydis looked to where Thjodrerir and Aran stood listening and whispering between themselves. “Last night, Thjodrerir, you told you father that Aran and the church-boys helped to save you at Thorir’s hall. You said you had to get home to see your papa. You had to ‘tell’ him something important. But, Mjollnir tells me you only told him of your rescue and how this boy Aran saved you. You never got around to telling him what was so ‘important’ at all. Your father says that with all the excitement you must have forgotten what brought you home in such a hurry.”
“Not so Lady Freydis. I did not ‘forget’ it at all. Its just that things got so confusing.”
“Well?”
“I had to get home to Papa because I heard Snorri speaking with the ship captain, I think his name is Gudlaug. Gudlaug said to Snorri that he had spoken with Thorir of the ‘inheritance’ and they had not agreed. Snorri said that a crewman had come to warn him that there had been trouble at the nausts and it involved dwarfs. He said that only you, actually he said the ‘witch bitch’ but I knew he had meant you, would keep dwarfs. Snorri then said that he was going to deal with the witch’s dwarf himself. He trusted that any ‘tales’ had got no further. Gudlaug said that he wanted no trouble with you, but Snorri said then he would do alone what they should do together. Gudlaug then said that they would act together as planned and deal with Thorir as he deserved.”
“Old scores. I’ll keep my counsels to myself on that matter, for now I’ll let Thorir deal with his personal family issues as he will. Still, I must speak with Thorir about this at a later time, I don’t like it when I’m dragged into Another’s business. At least this Gudlaug knows better than to try his luck with me. Snorri is a different matter. He would go after me and my household. I think scald Snorri has bit off a bit more than he will easily chew. Thank you my little henchmen. I am sorry you paid the price of a friend Garm, but you did well. I will not forget this. Nor will I forget you either, Thjodereir.”
Freydis threw her cloak about her and strode back to her hall. Summoning Vali she told the houndsman to request Thorir to attend upon Freydis. He was to come well after sundown, without making his visit public knowledge. Vali returned to say that Thorir expected trouble and would attend her when it was safe to leave Vikholm.
“Ever alert!” Freydis though. “You have to get up early to be ahead of Thorir.”
Thjodrerir and Aran went to Saint Olaf’s church to talk with Hrolf, just as Aran had promised. The young dwarf was not sure whether it was wise to risk Freydis’ displeasure, but he agreed that Hrolf was wise and trustworthy. Hopefully, he could advise them what need be done. But, they dared not include the other dwarfs, for as Freydis said, too many people make a “secret” common knowledge.
When they had told Hrolf all that had passed since the night before, he was confounded. He was at odds with Freydis over the funeral of Agdi; and, as a priest, concerned about the effect of the curse on her immortal soul. Nevertheless, she was the Landtaker and what affected her affected them all. As a Vinelander, he was loyal to Freydis, even if she was a pastoral dilemma. What was afoot? If the king and pope had designs on Norumbega where did his loyalty lie? An Icelander by birth, he was suspicious of any designs by Norway’s kings. Yet, as a priest, he was subject to the pope. But, the pope was far away and he was not inclined to allow Gregory, pope or not, any say in the affairs of Norumbega.
In some confusion Hrolf turned to Father Jon for advice. This made matters worse. Father Jon was a Saxon who had fled William’s conquest and gone to Norway. After a while he sensed a Christian calling to the wilds of Vinland and eventually responded by coming to Norumberg. As a Saxon Jon had few good words for that man Hildebrand who now styled himself Gregory VII. Hildebrand had backed William the Bastard, urged Pope Alexander II to support the Norman upstart’s English pretensions, and looked to punish the Saxon clergy for being too independent of Rome. Now, somehow, these same forces were coming to bear upon Norumbega. Yesterday the world was all so far away, now it was a just bow-shot off.
Two ships came to Hop under the cover of darkest night and noiselessly entered the harbor. Their stafnbuis guided them to the beach, the prow men seeing that the ships grounded without a sound. Crewmen ran to Gudlaug and Snorri’s ship moored at the rock by the naust. After several minutes of heated discussion that vessel was push clear and rowed far out across the cove. A raiding party of warriors then moved stealthily to the stockade wall, silently dispatched the gate guards, and entered the town. With the guidance of one of Snorri’s men they and ran through the streets directly to Thorir’s hall. At Vikholm warning shouts from Thorir’s posted henchmen prevented the raiders from breaking into the main house fire-hall, but the outer guardians were chopped down to the last man.
A single raider, Thorgrim the Easterling, quickly scaled the wall, gained the roof, and tried to enter by the smoke hole. He grunted loudly, tumbled back to the ground in a heap, then rising staggered to his leader.
“Well?” Aunund of Witchwood asked, “Is Thorir within?”
“That I cannot say,” replied Thorgrim, his shield hand pressed to his side: “Find that out for yourselves. Only this I can tell you for certain: His spear is most certainly within.” Releasing his left hand’s grip his intestines tumbled out in a mass that snaked about entangling his feet. Thorgrim stumbled and he fell dead upon the ground.
A shower of arrows, the iron tipped sleet of battle, descended on the raiders, who stood grouped together about Thorgrim in the yard. Several men fell impaled by the feathered shafts of death. Cursing their failure to breach the hall on the initial rush, the raiders scattered behind a hay stack and several sheds for cover. “Fire the hall,” shouted Aunund. Several torches were hurled at the thatched roof. It had been raining earlier and the wet reeds did not ignite. Then Aunund called to Mord Valgardsson and Geir the Priest: “Take a few men around to the rear of the hall. Draw off the archer who sends shaft after shaft down upon our heads!”
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