Norseman Chief (2 page)

There was a collective sigh from the group of villagers who obviously wanted to see me killed.  The guard who struck me in the head moments earlier shouted, “Chief Ahanu, if we are to return his goods, which will pay his ransom so that we are certain he will stay?”  I recognized by his voice that he was one of the young men who punished me so upon my landing on the beach.

Ahanu widen his eyes and gave his usual chuckle before answering, “You need not worry about this man fleeing.  Once he says it will be so with him, he will make it so.  Nonetheless, you are correct that he needs a master to claim him while he is in our care.  I claim him.  Don’t test me on this, Etleloo.  I may be old and of good humor, but do not view that as weakness.”

“Never, Ahanu,” answered Etleloo quickly and with strength.  “And the ransom price?”

My friend was laughing again in his musical way, “Young Etleloo you are right a price must be paid for protection.  I will pay Halldorr’s ransom.  It will be an extra hide for every family from my own stores.  You may trade them or use them as you wish.  But he shall not be touched by anyone!  Do you understand, Etleloo?”

Through gritted teeth the young man said, “Yes, I understand, Chief Ahanu.”

Serious now, “And since you have much to learn with regard to how we will treat visitors in the future, I will hold you personally responsible for our guest’s well being for his entire stay with us.”

Etleloo was even angrier now but finished, “Yes, it will be as you say.”

Ahanu gave Nootau a sideways glance and the second man announced an end to the trial.  Etleloo and the other guard walked away immediately while the rest of the crowd lingered, clearly unsatisfied by the outcome.  While they still loitered, Ahanu and Nootau walked to me, studying my pathetic body.

Before either could speak, I rasped, “What became of Megedagik’s father?  How are you chief?”

“My brother is dead, Halldorr.  I am afraid the story is not an exciting tale.  My generation is old; someday soon I too will die.  My brother joined the Earth Mother shortly after he sent our warriors to attack your village across the sea.  His eyes were closed before the men even came back reporting of your fire woman who chopped my nephew to bits on the beach.”

“I am sorry for . . .” I started, but Ahanu cut me off.

“Stop all this talk.  I can barely stand to look at you in such a state.  Nootau, see that he returns to the mamateek.  See to it that Hurit continues to tend to him.  Send Rowtag and his forever shadow Hassun to my home to gather the pelts I must pay for Halldorr’s ransom to the families.”  Ahanu turned to walk away, but paused and then glanced to me saying, “Oh, and I presume you know that I would have been able to free you today had you not openly disparaged our chief.”  He chuckled then, “A man of your age, acting this way.  I shall like to watch you for the coming year.”

With that he walked away to a home only slightly larger than the rest at the end of the village pathway, giggling to himself along the way.  Nootau offered me a strong arm to lean upon as he led me back the way I had come.

CHAPTER 2

Right Ear spent his nights sleeping next to me in the birch house that had become mine, for at least the coming year, while I served out my sentence for offending the tribe.  It was a most graceful punishment, one that I would bear with ease.  Had my friend Ahanu not been chief, my careless words would have brought a slow painful death, I am certain.  I have learned the skraeling prefer simple torture to a quick death.

Nevertheless, Right Ear left me each morning to go adventuring on his own, with the other dogs of the village, or with Kesegowaase.  Each evening I could not only hear his impending return by his cheerful patter or quick yip as he trotted through the low door, but I could also smell the stink of death from some decaying carcass he likely found in the forest, rolling his face and back through the remains with joy.

Hurit was the name of the woman who tended to my bruising each day, as faithful as any woman or beast of burden could be.  The warmth I perceived in her on my first, admittedly foggy, day with the tribe was replaced with a solemn distance as if Hurit merely performed an assigned duty, no more and no less.  She never acted cruel or gave me a vicious face, but we spoke only of the task at hand.  Any other words were rare.  Under her care my wounds healed quickly, I gained strength by the day, even beginning to amble around the village on my own volition without support within a matter of days.

The village was of good size, approximately two hundred inhabitants, perhaps more, but after a day or two, I began to recognize the faces of people as they carried cooking water or stretched hides.  I never received a smile in return for my own greeting in those days as I tottered around, with each member of the tribe preferring to treat me with vast suspicion.

Ahanu and Nootau would individually poke their heads into my home each day to check upon my progress, but did not stay to visit, tending to the other matters of their people.  With so much time to waste and without anyone to talk with and without the strength to work, I observed these skraelings, finding a rock or log to perch upon.

They were a hardy people and when I was able to watch them without them knowing, they were a good-natured people.  Otherwise, when they caught me watching their conversations between one another, the words became stilted and factual as the news quickly spread that I was proficient in their tongue.  On several occasions I wandered quietly, unnoticed to sit in the autumn sun, never in hiding or surreptitiously and watched them in their natural state.

Ahanu and his band had just returned from the hunt and the fallen beasts with which they returned would feed them for much of the winter.  They did not use salt to preserve their meats, rather stripping it from bones, hanging the ribbons of flesh from cords over low fires, frequently fed with damp grass or leaves to create much smoke.  They smoked the meat for days and often bragged they could keep the resulting smoked delicacy for years if necessary.  Hurit was among the women who worked at such tasks over these days.  Her stern face was softened as I watched unnoticed.  A joke from another of the women would often bring a bright smile to her full lips while she used a knife of made of bone to peel the muscle into narrow bits.

When one of the older women went into the birch smoke house to hang more cords, the other women snuck behind her and carefully laid the door closed, propping a planted foot at its base to prevent the older woman’s escape.  They giggled when the old woman began coughing and cursing them from within.  Hurit giggled as well, but was the first to insist they let the trapped woman out.  When her companions complained Hurit shoved them back, jolting the door wide for the old woman, who thanked Hurit with much animation, not knowing of her involvement in the prank in the first place.

Another day I sat on a log watching some of the young warriors practice with their bows.  The men were strong, especially their right shoulders from the constant motion of drawing the cord back past their mouths, the fletching rubbing their cheeks.  They reminded me of myself twenty years earlier, hunting with Leif amongst the reindeer herds near the glaciers of Greenland.  I was confident that no one could stop me then, and I suppose I was correct for none had.

Etleloo led them.  He reminded me of my fellow Berserker, or body guard to King Olaf, Einar Tambarskelver who was large and good with a bow.  Etleloo was not as tall as Einar, but had broad, well muscled shoulders.  He had tattoos similar to those Ahanu wore, wrapping from one arm over his chest to his other arm.  I would have to learn of their significance someday.  Etleloo’s bow was larger than the others’, longer by at least a hand, because of his longer arm span.  It also carried a much heavier draw weight.  I had not pulled on it myself, but his arrows buried themselves deeper into the poplar wood targets set up across the clearing.

Hassun and Rowtag were there too, giving each other sharp-witted barbs whenever the other was off his mark.  I felt as if I knew these two men better than the rest, though in truth I only talked with them briefly on previous occasions when Ahanu and Nootau visited our Norse village at Straumsfjord.  Rowtag was the quick-witted of the two, but Hassun ably followed in his friend’s footsteps.

Kesegowaase was among the youngest of the practicing warriors that day, perhaps having just passed into manhood via some ritual.  His bow was that of a smaller man and I smiled as he struggled to draw the cord back.  Kesegowaase’s weakness was apparent to all because he had to lift the bow above his head, locking his left elbow as he pulled the cord and missile back with his rail-thin, tattoo-free right arm.  The young man’s arms quivered while he brought the bow back down to aim.  He loosed the arrow which went wide, missing the target entirely, rapping and tearing the leaves loudly in the forest beyond.

Laughter came from the other warriors, some even rumbling their disapproval at the young man’s lack of skill.  Undeterred, Kesegowaase nocked another arrow and repeated the motion, bringing the bow back down steadily, breathing out slowly.  He knew what he must do, that much was evident, but lacked the strength to accomplish it.  At the last second before he released the arrow, Etleloo reached his bow behind the boy to tap his bent right elbow.  The arrow flew into a nearby white pine with a sharp smack.

Kesegowaase threw his bow down into the grasses of the target range and sprang onto Etleloo without warning.  It would be a short fight.  Etleloo threw the smaller man away like he threw a light cloak to the corner of his house.  Kesegowaase landed on his side, quickly rolling back to his feet.  He had the instincts to be a good fighter if he would only grow, but he would have to survive first.  Right Ear, sniffing at my side, barked at the excitement, causing the other men to look in my direction for the first time.  I watched, unmoving, while the young man, Kesegowaase, ran at the broad, tattooed warrior who met him with a balled fist upon the nose and a rapid second punch to his temple.  Kesegowaase crumpled to the dust unceremoniously as Etleloo dropped a knee onto the boy’s chest, simultaneously clawing at his face.  Still, Kesegowaase returned to his feet.  I liked his spirit, but questioned his sense.  I wondered to myself if I should say something, to hobble over and intervene, but decided against it.  Defending the lad would result in him losing face in almost any culture, especially among these warriors.

Thankfully, it was Etleloo who had the sense to speak, “Kesegowaase, you ought to consider your actions.  They are likely to bring you in the same weak state of the tall stranger.  Soon you too may require care from your mother.”

Another man, short and squat, but powerful like the musk ox of Greenland said, “I was hoping to require care from your mother too, Kesegowaase.  Perhaps in your own mamateek while you watch.”

Etleloo and the others laughed, but Kesegowaase turned his anger to the squat man, jumping at him, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and his legs around the waist.  It may have worked because it was entirely unexpected if only Kesegowaase had begun rapidly striking the squat one.  Instead he gave the man time to wiggle his strong arms between their bodies and then launch the boy into nearby thorn bushes.  Kesegowaase let out a scream as he tumbled into the mangled mess, arching his back as he crashed onto a stick jutting from the ground.

He tried to scramble out, but each move brought more cuts so he just settled back to lie in its midst, catching his breath.  The warriors laughed to one another, shaking their heads in disbelief at the wild boy, and walked to retrieve their spent arrows before returning to their houses.

When the others were gone, Right Ear sprang from his haunches and jogged over to sniff at the boy’s foot which was the only part of his body not surrounded by briars.  The dog poked his nose at the bushes again and again, marching around it, looking for a way through, but was sent back yelping each time with a sharp stick in the nose.

I sighed, grunting while rising, and shuffled over to where the boy lay sprawled.  I looked down at him, noticing for the first time that I looked with two eyes rather than one.  I was healing.  The boy met my gaze for just a moment then looked away, humiliated.  The cuts and bruising on my arms still ached so I used my feet and legs, covered in their boots and trousers, respectively, to sweep away or step on the briars to make a path for Kesegowaase.

I stood there quietly for a moment waiting for him, but his young pride was hurt and he would neither look at me nor move.  “You’re very quick,” I said at last, breaking the tension.  “I’ve fought in battles with thousands of men, killed perhaps hundreds myself, and I see you have good instincts for battle.  You just need some strength, which will come.  You should also use some sense, which may come if you let it.”

At first I thought he would continue to ignore me, but then he swallowed hard and quietly said, “Thousands of men?  There aren’t that many men in the entire world!”

“Oh, young Kesegowaase, you are wrong.  I’ve seen them.  I’ve seen their cities.  Built two of the cities myself.  Now come.  Get out of there and I will tell you some of my tales as your mother tends to both of us.”

He gritted his teeth, but slowly turned to look at me again.  Then he used my leg to get leverage, pulling himself up, grunting a time or two as a thorn jabbed him or cut across his skin.  We gathered his small bow and then the two of us hobbled together like white-haired old women to my mamateek to await the faithful aid of his mother.

“There is a place called Greenland . . .” I began.

. . .

Kesegowaase learned to enjoy listening to the tales of my life throughout my time of service with the tribe.  Hurit, his mother, openly scoffed when I told of the immense walled cities and forts to which I had laid siege.  I would only smile and continue on with the story to the wide-eyed boy.

I was partially wrong when I first watched him shoot his bow with the men.  He was at the fringes of manhood and boyhood, but he remained on the boyhood side.  Most others his age had already undergone some sort of test of their abilities and proudly wore the marks of their men.  But Hurit kept him back, which chaffed on the boy’s dignity.

I had spent many meals eating with the two of them as the winter set in around us and my wounds became a memory.  One evening Right Ear, Kesegowaase, Ahanu, and I sat cross-legged in the shadowy mamateek with smoke from the low-burning fire choking the top half of the interior.  While Hurit spooned out a meal, a break in the conversation came so I filled it by asking, “Why do you not let the boy stand for the trials, Hurit?”

Kesegowaase’s eyes brightened at the prospect of moving his case forward and gave me a wink indicating his approval that I pushed the subject.  I looked away hurriedly, trying to not let on that the boy and I arranged the conversation ahead of time, but the quick-witted woman noticed.  “Enkoodabooaoo!” for they had begun using the name Ahanu gave to me while my people were yet exploring the region.  “Kesegowaase!  Do you think aligning yourself with this foreigner will help strengthen your case?  If anything, it demonstrates that you still think like a child and do not deserve to undergo the trials which lead to manhood!”

The boy’s shoulders slumped, already sensing total defeat, having fought this battle many times before.  It was a first for me and so I was more ignorant than brave, wading into the deeper parts of the murky lake that was his mother’s mind, “But you have not answered my question, Hurit.  You are a fine mother to be sure, but why not let him become a man like the rest of the boys his age?”

Ahanu chose to study a burr that was lodged fast in Right Ear’s fur while the strong woman continued her work, answering, “You are a mere guest of my people.  I do not owe you any answers to any of your questions.”  The chief quietly picked at the hair wrapped tightly around the burr so that Right Ear rolled back to chew gently on the old man’s trespassing hand.  Ahanu’s eyes did not betray his thoughts, but his actions said he was familiar with the woman’s response and cared not to become engaged.

I pushed further with words, “I don’t pretend to deserve a response from you.  You have been most kind to me and I may never be able to repay it.  Your words saved me from a certain death.  Your knowledge brought you the ability to heal me, keeping my wounds from turning foul.  Your hands brought kindness when your words and countenance did not.  Your hands also nursed me to health by providing me with nourishment when your people would have preferred I starved.  I am in your debt and you do not owe me an answer.”