Meadowland (43 page)

It blew on the third day By that time, we’d all gone dead quiet. No one called your name, because there wasn’t anything to do. When the wind started to come up we didn’t even notice it to begin with; we were actually moving when I realised what was happening. Even then, all I thought was, it’s too late, a whole day too late; the wind’ll blow, the ship’ll make it to Meadowland and be run aground, but we won’t be there to do anything about it because we’ll all be dead.

But this time it was a good, running wind. It was smooth enough not to shake us apart, but it carried us along much faster than we’d have guessed, all the way to land.

Not, of course, the land we were trying to get to. It was first light, I remember, and Eyvind happened to be looking that way I was facing back, out over the ship, and I saw men sitting up and staring back over my shoulder. Then one of them called out, ‘Well, is this it or isn’t it?’, so I looked round, and I recognised it. Forestland.

‘Fuck that; Freydis said when we told her; she’d been lying on the cargo wrapped up in three blankets. ‘Fuck where we are - is there any water?’

So Bersi and one of the Gardar men launched the boat, and they were gone a very long time. After a bit, Freydis and a couple of her people started arguing - if the boat didn’t come back, should we try and bring the ship itself close in to land so we could swim ashore, or should we cut our losses and try somewhere further down the coast? At some point someone yelled for me - my local knowledge, presumably -but I pretended that I hadn’t heard. If the boat didn’t come back, we were through. Taking the ship in would wreck it, and we’d all drown; if we kept going till we reached somewhere we could beach it, thirst would get us. The boat or nothing; and right then, I didn’t care.

‘Like a berserker I interrupted.

Kari looked at me. ‘What?’

‘Like a berserker,’ I repeated. ‘Those people you just told me about. You said they don’t care if they survive or not, and that’s what gives them their strength. Same with you.’

Eyvind laughed. ‘Not really’ he said. ‘A berserker’s always got something he wants, usually something of yours, or just fame and glory. We didn’t want anything. We just didn’t give a damn.’

I thought about that for a moment. ‘I disagree,’ I said. ‘I think this berserker business answers a question that’s been puzzling me all through this story-‘

‘Don’t you want to hear what happened?’ Kari interrupted.

‘What? Oh, I guessed. The boat came back with water, or else you wouldn’t be here talking to me.

Kari scowled. Eyvind laughed. ‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s the question?’

‘Simple I said. ‘Why’d you do it? Not you two personally; I added. ‘You two never really had any choice in the matter; you got caught up in the action, like bits of thorn in a sheep’s coat. No, I was thinking about the Eiriksons, why they kept going back there; and why Leif would never give away the houses, only lend them.’

‘Fine,’ Kari said after an awkward moment. ‘You’ve thought about it. You Greeks are supposed to be good at thinking. What did you come up with?’

I smiled. ‘It’s the berserker thing; I said. ‘You do these crazy things because you don’t care. I mean, listen to yourselves. You come from a country that’s piss-poor; over here, your earls would be peasants. You’ve got nothing. You live in houses with grass roofs, and everybody’s got to go outside in the cold and the wet and work. Also, by the .sound of it, there’s far too many of you to fit in those funny little countries of yours. I don’t know much about them, but the impression I get is that they’re mountains with little fringes of grass round the edges. Iceland won’t even grow corn, you said. So, because there’s too many of you to stay home, you wander off adventuring. You go all over the place. You get in a ship and sail away not even knowing if there’s a country out where you’re headed, or just open sea and ice. You’d have to be absolutely crazy to do that; either that or you don’t care. Berserkers.’

There was a long silence. Then Eyvind said: ‘Have you finished?’

‘No,’ I answered. ‘Because, surprising as it may seem, you aren’t the only ones. I can think of another race that acted the way you do, many years ago. They lived in a poxy little country, mountains with a few pockets of dirt at the bottom of the folds, and there were way too many of them to fit. So they got on ships and sailed all over the world; they took amazingly stupid risks, and they fought big, powerful enemies and they won. All these years there hasn’t been a word for them, but now I’ve found one: berserkers. Pity that most Greeks couldn’t even pronounce it, because that’s what they were.

Eyvind sighed through his teeth. ‘Now have you finished?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. You’re wrong. You’ve sat there all this time, we thought you were paying attention, but you’ve completely missed the point. And, I’m sorry to say you don’t understand us worth pigshit.’

I’d offended him; which was odd, because I thought I was paying him an enormous compliment, comparing him and his tribes of barbarians to us, the Greeks, rulers of the world, the greatest and wisest people ever. But either he’d missed the point or he had a different view of the world.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘What’s the real answer?’

He shook his head. ‘Just asking the question shows you don’t really understand. Maybe you don’t want to, I don’t know. Look, do you want to hear about what happened, or don’t you?’

The boat came back (Eyvind said) and they’d found water. It’d taken them a long time because the water was a little spring deep in the woods; they’d had to lug the empty barrel out there, fill it with nothing more than their cupped hands and their hats, and finally fetch the barrel back and get it into the boat without spilling it all. It must’ve been an exciting story, how they managed all that, but nobody was in the mood to listen. They were thirsty, and they wanted a drink.

We sailed on; and nothing much happened till we reached Meadowland, and Leif’s Booths. It was mid-afternoon when we rounded the point and I saw the place again. Mixed feelings. Yes, I was delighted I was still alive, after I’d quite definitely given up hope, and yes it’d be bloody marvellous to get off the ship and onto dry land. But I had to tell myself to be happy it didn’t come of its own accord. That place, again: I kept asking myself, why here, why does everything

I do wind up with me here, of all the bloody awful places? Just for once, couldn’t it be somewhere else?

I was whining happily to myself in this vein, when I noticed something different, or something odd; something that wasn’t as it should have been, anyhow. Took me a moment to figure out what it was, and I realised it wasn’t because it was anything out of the ordinary. Quite the opposite, in fact. It looked so very familiar, which was why I overlooked it for a long time.

There was smoke coming from the chimney-hole of the main house. Somebody was at home.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

When Freydis saw it, of course, she did her block. She jumped up, staggered her way to the rail (there was a bit of a surge blowing up) and stared for a while. Then she started yelling, ‘Bring us in, quickly now!’

By the time we were all the way round the point, so that we could see the whole of the bay we had an answer to the mystery. There was a ship dragged up on the beach, and Freydis recognised it. Nothing to panic about; Helgi and Finnbogi had beaten us to it and got there first.

Well, you’d have thought Freydis’d have been pleased; they’d arrived before us and laid a fire in, so at the very least we could go ashore, warm and dry ourselves, and quite likely they’d have some dinner cooking; all chores we wouldn’t have to deal with ourselves. Good.

But Freydis was absolutely livid. You know how, when they’re really upset about something, some people stop yelling and go dead quiet. I’d never seen Freydis go like that before, and I guessed it was because this was the first time I’d ever seen her get properly angry. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure what it could be that’d got to her so badly

But her face was white, with little red spots in the middle of her cheeks, and she wasn’t saying a word.

Freydis went ashore - couldn’t wait for the boat to get in tight. She hopped over the side and waded, with her skirts floating up round her waist. Soon as she was on the beach she tripped on something and when she got up she was grinning, because what she’d fallen over was a canopy strut. Trouble was, it wasn’t one of hers, though she’d done the usual business as soon as we were in sight of land. But hers were all carved and fancy, imported, and the one she’d gone arse over tip on was just plain oiled wood with a few twiddly bits top and bottom. That really hacked her off; no need to ask whose struts they were.

Anyhow, she set off marching up to the main hall, wet skirts flopping round her knees like the flap of a netted fish drowning in air. Starkad and another of the berserkers’ men went after her, but they couldn’t catch her up except by running. Kari and I followed on at a safe distance, just to be nosy

She stormed up to the house door and shoved it open, and went right on in. You know, she reminded me a lot of Bjarni Herjolfson, that time he came back from Norway and found his dad had buggered off to Greenland. Anyhow, in she went, and there were some women there, fixing dinner.

‘What the fuck are you doing in my house?’ Freydis yelled.

Naturally they looked at her like she was a frost-troll or something. Most of them didn’t even know who she was. I don’t remember any of them screaming, but probably that was just shock.

‘Where’s Finnbogi?’ she snapped. ‘I want a word with him. And you can leave that and get packing. I want all this slit out of here now.’

You could’ve heard a mouse cough. Then one of the women - I think she must’ve known Freydis from Brattahlid or somewhere - mumbled, ‘They’re all up the woods, I think they’re marking trees for felling. If you like, I can take you up there.’

Freydis didn’t bother answering. She was chalk-white now, like a dead body She turned on her heel and marched out, saw me, grabbed me by the arm and said, ‘In the woods. Where are they likely to be?’

Actually, I could answer that. There was a ride; Leif had started it, and Thorvald and Bits had carried on with it, quite some way into the forest, for hauling out felled lumber. Chances were that Helgi and Finnbogi would’ve seen it and gone there, if they were choosing what to fell to start making up a cargo. I tried to tell her where it was, point to it, but either she wasn’t taking it in or I wasn’t explaining clearly ‘Shut up and take me there; she said.

So I led the way; Freydis followed, and Kari tagged along behind like the pedlar’s dog. Freydis walked quick when she was in a mood; I was supposed to be leading her, but I could only just keep up. Days of sitting around on a boat, see; your legs get stiff. Anyhow, we toiled up the hill into the wood, following the ride. Someone had been using it; there were footmarks everywhere, and ruts where logs had been dragged out.

We came on them quite suddenly; the track curved a bit, and there they were. I saw the brothers, Helgi and Finnbogi, and four or so other men; Finnbogi was cutting a cross in the bark of a tree, marking it for felling. Soon as Freydis saw him, she shot past me, nearly knocked me over, and bounded up to Helgi so fast that she was on him before he looked round. He opened his mouth to say something but never got the chance.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’ she yelled. ‘Stealing my houses.’

It was like Helgi’d walked into a wall in the dark; he never saw it coming till it hit him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, ‘I don’t know what you’re-‘

‘My houses; Freydis repeated. ‘And now you’re up here felling my trees. You thought I’d drowned, you arsehole, and now you’re robbing me.’

Helgi stepped back a bit, because she really did look like she was going to go for him. Then Finnbogi came over and stood between them. ‘They aren’t your houses; he said. ‘Leif only lent them to you. And besides, you weren’t here, we were cold and wet and the houses were empty. What were we supposed to do?’

A moment later, he’d shrunk back as well; Freydis spun round and shoved right up close to him, so he’d either have to push her back or get out of her way ‘What you were supposed to do,’ Freydis said,. ‘was keep the hell out of my houses. And instead, they’re stuffed full of your junk.’

Finnbogi pulled a puzzled face. ‘I don’t see the problem,’ he said. ‘I mean, the house is big enough for all of us, and we’re partners, aren’t we? But since you feel so strongly about it,’ he added quickly, ‘we’ll clear out, you can have them back. Give us a couple of days-‘

‘Not a couple of days,’ Freydis growled at him. ‘Tonight. Come morning, anything I find in there belongs to me. You understand?’

‘Well, yes; Helgi said. ‘But what’s your problem? And what you said about the trees. I really can’t follow that. The whole point is, we fell timber and ship it back home. But now you’re saying-‘

Freydis lunged at him. I never saw a man skip so fast; he jumped backwards and dodged behind the tree that his brother had just marked. I think that ended the debate, because the Icelanders sort of faded away among the trees, like elves in a story. A few heartbeats later, we were on our own, just the three of us.

‘Bastards,’ Freydis said. ‘I never ought to have trusted them. We’re going to have to watch them very close, very close indeed.’

You get moments like that sometimes. It’s when you’ve sort of resigned yourself to things going badly, but deep down inside you still believe it’ll all come out right in the end; and then something happens, and that little light in your heart goes out, and you know you were right all along. It’s a cold, lonely feeling, and I’m sick to death of it.

Well, neither of us said anything; there wasn’t anything to say, and Freydis didn’t really seem to know we were there, she was more talking to herself, preoccupied. Kari and me, we followed her back to the houses at a distance, just in case she started off again. We didn’t talk; I was thinking, surely she knows Leif only lent her the houses; but that didn’t seem to matter. Some people see the world the way they want it to be, and anything different is someone else’s mistake. I felt sorry for the Icelanders, and even sorrier for me.