The Snow on the Cross (14 page)

Even with my eyes shut, I could still
see the light.  I would lie down, face covered, trying to not let the light
into my head.  It was hopeless.  Everywhere I turned, there was more daylight. 
I began to pray for darkness.  To see a single star or a darkened sky now would
truly be a blessing.  But it was a matter of geography, and in the land of the
Vikings, the sun would not go down for another five months or so.  I began to
wonder if I truly would go insane before the onset of winter.  Malyn did not
come to see me the next day, and I grew hungrier with each passing hour, like a
dog waiting for its master to feed it.  I began to not sleep.  How could I
sleep with the daylight always burning a path across the ice to blind me?  As a
result, my mind turned with the restlessness of insomnia.  Woe to the poor
bishop, indeed.

A Visitor

Since I had decided not to leave my
church, the next few days were spent simply watching the fire and hoping it
would not burn itself completely out.  I would not go outside to gather wood,
nor would I go to Eirik’s house to steal some of his cache.  I watched my fire
burn and began to wonder if anyone was asking about me.  “Where’s the bishop
these days?” they would ask Eirik.  Eirik probably just shrugged and grunted
some sort of reply of “he’s in the church,” or “I don’t know.”  It was this
kind of total unrecognition that drove me to truly despise these men I lived
with.  I entertained thoughts of stealing down to the beach one cold and clear
night to take a boat, shove it in the water, and set sail for whatever land I
happened to drift into.

In the end, I decided it was not
worth it, for my fear of drowning persuaded me it would not be a good course of
action.  My head was hurting all the time now for lack of food, but Malyn still
did not come.

When my fire finally burned itself
out and the ashes were nothing but a warm soot, I decided I would at least go
up to Brattahild to see what Malyn was doing, and to ask her why she had not
been to see me in the last few days.  It was as good as reason as any, but the
truth was I was starving, and I knew Eirik was well stockpiled, even if he
continually turned away from me.  Many a friar in my order and other churches
made a good living begging off the charity of others.  I should not see why my
position was any different.

I stepped outside into the dim light,
for I gathered it was supposed to be night based on the position of the sun: it
squatted, an orange ball, just atop the hills.  The sky was bright and clear,
and no snow drifted over me.  There was no smoke coming from Eirik’s chimney,
which worried me a bit.  It was unlikely they would let their fires go out,
even if it was almost summer here.  I took a few more steps toward Eirik’s
home.  No signs of life came from within.  No indication anyone was home.

I thought I heard voices cascading
over the hills.  Perhaps there was a gathering at the seashore I was not aware
of.  I looked back at Eirik’s house.  If there was no one home, would it have
been a sin to enter his abode and take what I needed?  I had long advocated
that stealing, if you could call it that, was appropriate if one was starving. 
God understands these things, I am sure.  God would not want His children and
His holy men to starve while they are doing the Lord’s good work, would He? 
This argument gelled in my mind, and I decided since Eirik had most of his
wealth because he took it from defenseless peasants and monks, it would be
justified to take some of it back.

But first, I would see if Malyn was
there.  If she was there, she would help me.  I crossed Eirik’s stone fence and
went up to his door, listening all the while.  I waited for the faintest sound,
a creak of a chair, a clink of a cup or bowl, even the sound of breathing
itself.  There was nothing, even as I pressed my ear against the door.  I
looked around the pasture.  The cattle were still there, always grazing.  They
would not report me to Eirik.  I quietly knocked on the door and waited.  No
footsteps.  No sounds at all.

I pushed on the door, letting it open
a little.  The room was cool, but not entirely cold.  There had not been anyone
here for a few days.  I pushed the door open more and went inside. 

Surprisingly, the main room looked
much like it had the first time I saw it, save there was no fires burning. 

“Malyn?” I called out.  There was no
answer.  If Eirik came back and found me in his house, what would he have done
to me?  Killed me as a thief?  I would just get a little food and then I would
leave.  I hurried through the house, looking for dried meat or breads.  I found
a pitcher of mead, sitting in a pool of cool water that had once been ice.  I
opened one of the chests near the wall.   The pungent scent of dried venison wrapped
in cloth permeated the room.  My mouth began to water at the sight.  I helped
myself, taking more than I knew I could possibly eat.  I wrapped my bundles up
in the rags I found and began to walk back to the door.

As I walked back, something shining
in the fireplace caught my attention.  As I looked closer I saw my gold cross
the monks at
Bayeux
had given me still there, twinkling
brightly amid the warm ashes.  It had not melted entirely, as apparently it had
fallen into a pocket of fire that had not burned as hotly as the rest.  I
picked it up, and the blackness flaked off. 

So, Eirik had not been able to
destroy the icon of my God.  If I took this to be a sign, then I knew God had
led me here to find my cross again.  I clutched the cross tightly, and hurried
out of Eirik’s home. 

As I darted out of the house, I saw
Malyn in the distance.  Although she was far away, it was obvious she was
calling to me and running toward Eirik’s house.  I stood there in the pasture,
trying to listen to what the girl was shouting at me.  She kept running, and I
began to be worried for the poor girl, for she looked like she was in
distress.  I dropped my venison (but kept the cross) and raced to meet the girl
halfway. 

When I met her at the crest of one of
the larger hills, she was gasping, as if trying to clutch the air with her
lungs.  She looked panicked, and I tried to calm her as she struggled to wheeze
her words to me.  As she tried to compose herself, I looked to the south and
saw the sea in the distance, endless, shimmering water stretching out and
reflecting the eternal sun.  But it was not the beauty of the sea that captured
my attention mostly.  It was the fleet of ships I saw out there.

“Malyn, what’s going on?  Where’s
Eirik?”

Malyn shook her head, still trying to
gain enough air to speak.  I gripped my cross and felt it sting my hand.  Were
we under attack?  Were Eirik and the others assembled on the beaches to prepare
to fight?  I looked again at the ships.  Small and lithe, they were pointed
like arrows cutting through the water, and the sails were square and full.  North
Men.

Malyn pointed to the sea; she had
gained enough breath to speak now.

“Who is coming?” I asked her.

She took one more deep breath, and
looked at me directly.  “Leif is coming.”

“Who?”  I had not heard this name
before.

“It’s Leif,” Malyn repeated.  “Eirik’s
son.”

                                                                           ***

I had not known Eirik even had a son,
and I wondered if he was cut from the same cloth as his father.  Leif was tall,
and he bore a striking resemblance to Eirik.  Leif’s hair and beard were not
quite as red, more of an auburn color that set off his dark face, tanned from
many months at sea, well.  He was young, perhaps only in his teens.  I never
quite found out more about him, except in the absence of Thordhild, he would be
a strong ally in faith to me, for he had just returned from
Norway
, where he had been converted to the
one true faith.

It was obvious this new event did not
sit well with Eirik, for as I walked down to the hills that overlooked the
beaches, I could see him standing out from the crowd of others, pacing
restlessly to the waves and back as he watched Leif’s fleet approaching.  Malyn
stood by my side as she watched with me.

“Eirik will kill him,” Malyn
whispered to me.  “He will not accept Leif’s faith.”

If Eirik was a strong man, he was at
a moment of severe weakness.  First his wife, now his son, had turned against
his faith and converted to Christianity.  Eirik had his axe drawn, and he
impatiently cut the air with it, almost as if signaling the ships approaching
to turn back and leave his island.  My heart began to flip over, and I thought
about returning to my church, but the cool touch of Malyn on my arm kept me
steady.  I would see how this event played out. 

Leif’s ship, the largest of the small
fleet, hit the shore first, and I saw the youth standing at the bow of the ship
looking noble.  The other Vikings assembled on the beach had backed away,
leaving Eirik isolated where he stood.  As soon as Leif’s ship ground against
the rocks, the boy leapt out, splashing through the water.  He was in seemingly
no hurry to reach the shore, as most men would after such a long trip on the
sea.  I remembered how I had fallen to the ground and clutched it upon my first
arrival.

Father and son stood staring at one
another as Leif reached the bank.  There was no joyful reunion.  No embracing
or tears of welcome.  There was merely the cold silence, broken by the faint
hiss of the waves as they bumped against the shore.  Leif was Eirik’s equal in
height, but he was not as broad across the shoulders.  His beard was not as
long as his father’s, but it framed a face that held the same look of anger.  I
saw Eirik’s hand tighten on his axe, and I waited for the first strike.

Leif said something, but I couldn’t
understand the words.  I asked Malyn to translate for me, but she waved me to
silence, apparently intent on hearing it for herself first.

Whatever it was Leif said, it was met
with more silence.  The other ships began to line up against the beach, but
Leif’s men hesitated before jumping out.  All eyes were on the two men standing
face to face there on the shores of
Greenland
, and all eyes were waiting.

Leif then did something that
surprised me.  He pulled from around his neck a cross, one that looked
remarkably like my own, and held it out to his father. 

“Look,” whispered Malyn.  “He’s
telling Eirik it’s a gift from King Olaf.”

Ah, yes.  King Olaf.  The king Robert
the Pious was trying to desperately to form an alliance with.  The reason I was
standing there in a green land that wasn’t green.

Eirik reached out and took the cross
from his son.  He stared at it for a moment, then stared at Leif, then threw
the cross down on the sand and spat on it.

Leif’s face showed no anger, no
outrage at his father’s blasphemy.  Instead, Leif picked up the cross and
touched it to one of the waves sweeping by, washing it off.  He held it up
again and offered it back to his father.  Eirik began shouting at his son,
pointing back to the sea.  Leif did not move.

“Eirik is disowning his son,” Malyn
told me as she watched.  “He is putting him out to sea in exile. 
Greenland
will no longer be Leif’s home.”

“Then I have to stop him,” I said,
surprised at my own words.  It was indeed if God was pushing me to action.  How
long would I stand by and let Eirik abuse me and my faith in such a manner?  It
was time.  The cross in my hand was a comfort, and as I tightened my grasp
around it, I found myself walking down the hill toward the beach as if in a
dream state.  This must have been what Christ felt emerging from his wanderings
in the wilderness after he had been tempted by Satan himself.

The Vikings saw me descending from
the hill, and they looked shocked at my approach.  It was almost as if they
were watching me float down perched atop a cloud.  Eirik turned to look in my
direction, and I saw the rage storm across his face.  I knew then I was marked
for death in Eirik’s eyes and I would probably die there on the beach.  But I
had not died yet, even with all I had been through, and I saw no reason to die
there and then, so I had no fear, and the confidence I had was my strength.

I stopped just before I reached
Eirik, but I was aware that I was well out of reach of his axe swing.

“Stop!” I said in the Viking tongue. 
Eirik looked amazed, then even angrier at my interruption.

He said something to me, and although
my grasp of his language was crude, I assume he told me to go away, for I
distinctly heard the word “go.”

Malyn was still on the hill, and I
looked back at her, but she would not dare come down to where I was.  I was on
my own.

Leif was looking at me in wonder, and
he held up his cross.  I held mine up in reply.  Leif nodded and came over to
me, embracing me and almost squeezing the breath out of me.  I coughed and
pushed him away so I could breathe.  Eirik seemed incensed by this display.  He
stepped over to me and pushed me aside, knocking me back down onto the cold,
wet sand.  He then turned to his son, the son who had betrayed him, and said in
a harsh voice, “you are no son of mine.”  At least that is what Malyn told me
later after I had fled to the refuge of my church.