They Came On Viking Ships (6 page)

She had seen fog before, of course. Snarf had fought the wolf in fog. But even then the world’s smells had been the same, the mountain grass, the cows. This was a world that smelt of salt and ice, and fog so dense she couldn’t see the ends of the ship.

‘Arf,’ Snarf barked beside her, as though there was a monster that only he could see.

Then someone screamed out, ‘Berg!’

Something loomed beside them, tall as a hill and gleaming, even though there was no sun to light it. The men scrambled to their rowlocks and heaved with their whole bodies at the oars.
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It was as though the iceberg breathed out cold. The air about it was thick with cold. The hair on Hekja’s neck rose at its strangeness, gliding so silently through the water.

Hekja scrabbled at the rope that still held her to the mast and half slid, half staggered over to Hikki. ‘What’s happening?’ she cried.

Hikki’s fingers were white where he clung onto the side of the ship. He shook his head. Terror had stopped
his tongue. His face was almost as white as the fog. ‘It is the end of the world,’ he muttered, through chattering teeth.

Freydis glanced at them, then strode across the ship. She lifted Hekja’s chin with her fingers. ‘You were brave enough last night,’ she commented. ‘I like that. Let’s see how brave you are today.’

‘What is it?’ cried Hekja, gesturing towards the monster in the sea.

‘Just an iceberg,’ said Freydis. She gave the laugh that seemed to challenge fog and ice and sea as well. ‘It wants to crush us. We shall see who wins.’ She glanced back at the iceberg as though amused at its challenge.

Suddenly Snarf barked again. It was a sharp sound in the cold air. He pointed with his nose, as he might do at a hare or deer. ‘Arf! Arf!’

Freydis glanced carelessly in the direction his nose pointed. Then suddenly she caught her breath as a new iceberg drifted into view. ‘Thorvard!’ she yelled. ‘To port! To port!’

Thorvard heaved against the rudder. The ship veered. The iceberg passed, so close that if anyone had reached out of the ship, they might have touched it. Hekja heard a faint scraping, underneath the water, where the ice grazed the ship a bit too close.

The ship lurched. But at least it held.

Even Freydis held her breath at that. She let it out again and its steam added to the fog. ‘Well,’ she said. She looked at Snarf with new interest. ‘Do you think he can smell an iceberg?’

Hekja shook her head. ‘We have never seen an iceberg before. He is a good hunter though.’

‘But can he hunt icebergs too?’ Freydis seemed to make up her mind without waiting for an answer. ‘Come,’ she said to Hekja. ‘The dog talks to you, I think. There is no time to teach him to talk to me. Where there are two icebergs there are more, and any one might kill us.’

She strode back to the mast and untied Snarf. Snarf tried to stand, but his legs collapsed beneath him.

Hekja bent and picked him up. He was as long as she was now, so she had to haul his front, while his back legs trailed behind.

Hekja half carried, half dragged him to the prow of the ship. Snarf struggled to get down, but again his back legs collapsed beneath him, so he sat on his haunches, with as much dignity as he could, and stared out at the fog.

Nothing happened. Freydis shrugged. ‘It was just coincidence,’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard of a dog who—’

‘Arf!’ Snarf interrupted her. He pointed again, to the left this time. ‘Arf arf arf!’

‘Far to starboard!’ yelled Freydis. Another great white shape floated through the fog, though at least this was far enough away not to disturb the ship. She grinned at Hekja. ‘It seems it was worth saving him from the sea! A dog who can smell icebergs!’

The others in the boat were staring at them now. Snarf yipped, as though this was a great new game, and sniffed deep into the fog.

‘Arf!’ Snarf barked, and, ‘Arf arf arf!’

Iceberg after iceberg floated by. They were more blue than white, thought Hekja wonderingly, as though each had trapped a little of the sky. Perhaps that was where the sky had gone—it had been swallowed by the icebergs, leaving only the mist to take its place. Each
time he sensed a new one Snarf warned Thorvard at the helm so he was able to steer away in time.

Hour after hour they sailed through the fog. Hekja found her eyes were closing. She forced them open, and tried to stare into the white. If she slept Snarf might sleep too. ‘Good boy,’ she whispered. ‘Good, brave dog.’

‘Arf,’ said Snarf happily, as though this was a game, like catching cow pats.

Finally Thorvard gave up the helm, and wound his way towards them. ‘Any sign of the other ships?’ Freydis spoke quietly to her husband.

He shook his head. ‘Either we have drifted too far apart, or they were lost in the storm.’

Freydis nodded. Even she did not laugh at that.

Suddenly Snarf stiffened. He howled, a sound of fear and wonder. Freydis glanced at the way that he’d been looking.

‘Iceberg to starboard!’ she yelled. ‘Put your backs into it! Row, you sons of cow barns! Row!’

The men leant against the rudder, so hard it creaked in protest. The ship swerved once again and only just in time.

It
was
a mountain. It loomed up higher than Hekja could see, its edges sharp and glistening. Even the islands in the bay at home had not been as large as this, she thought.

On and on it came, till it seemed the ship would never pass it. The rowers strained till they dropped, exhausted. Others took their places, their eyes bulging with the strain. Freydis rowed among them, yelling out the beat.

And then it was gone, slipping silently into the mist. Suddenly a crack ripped the air, so loud it seemed the sky had torn apart.

No, not the sky, thought Hekja. It was the iceberg mountain. It had broken in two! One side slipped slowly down, then slap! It banged into the water, sucking the ship closer and closer to the half that still remained.

Hikki shrieked. Freydis caught him an absent-minded blow across the face and he subsided, whimpering like a puppy.

Hekja held Snarf tight.

‘Hold on!’ hissed Freydis urgently to Hekja.

Suddenly a wave welled up below. It bore the ship up, higher and higher still, then down again, with a slap almost as loud as the sound of ice crashing back into the water.

The ship shuddered, till Hekja was sure it was going to break apart. Then suddenly the world was still again, except for the new small waves that slapped the ship back and forth, the flap of the sail above and the creaking of the timbers of the ship.

Hekja stared back at the giant berg, as the remaining side rolled slowly over, then bobbed in the waves made by its companion. Then it vanished behind them into the mist.

That was the worst of it. Hour upon hour Snarf watched for more icebergs, with Hekja and Freydis by his side. Day became night. Night was worse, the black and fog combined. But darkness made no difference. Snarf could smell an iceberg, even if he couldn’t see one.

Slowly though there were fewer bergs, and fewer still. And, finally, Hekja slept, with Snarf curled around her. When she woke she found someone had covered them both with a sealskin rug, a proper sleeping sack that kept off the salt spray, unlike the cowhide blankets Freydis had given her before.

Snarf was a hero. This was a ship of heroes, Hekja thought, who faced storms and endless oceans and beat them both. But at least now they had gained some respect.

‘I will call him Ice Nose,’ announced Freydis, as she handed Hekja their breakfast. The fog still wisped about the ship, but there was a drift of wind in the sails now and no more smell of ice.

Hekja shook her head. ‘His name is Riki Snarfari,’ she said firmly, meeting Freydis’ gaze.

‘His name is Ice Nose,’ said Freydis. Her eyes were as
cool as an iceberg, and as blue. ‘He can be my dog, or he can be fish food. You choose.’

Hekja gasped. Was this how she rewarded them? Then she remembered the village, how Freydis had laughed even with the smell of blood sharp in the salt air.

Hekja bowed her head. ‘He is your dog,’ she said. ‘His name is Ice Nose.’

‘Good,’ said Freydis. ‘I said you’d learn.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll tell Leif you were worth saving, if the storm did not swallow him and his ship.’ She strode back to talk to her husband and the rowers.

Snarf sat his bottom on Hekja’s feet, and she shared the food with him. It was better than they’d had before—dried beef as well as fish, though the beef was as tough as a bone. Hekja’s face was wet, but she refused to wipe her eyes, lest others notice she was crying.

They were killers, despite their bravery in the storm. And Freydis was as bad.

But things changed after the storm. Before it had been as though Hekja and Snarf were simply cargo, like bales of cloth or barrels. Now at least the crew nodded as they passed.

And then one morning, as Hekja crossed the ship to throw one of Snarf’s droppings overboard (a sailor had kicked him on the first day, when he had trodden in one) Freydis beckoned her to sit up by the prow.

Hekja settled herself on the damp boards, with Snarf at her feet. At first Freydis was silent, staring out at the sea, so Hekja wondered why Freydis had bothered to
call her over. Finally Freydis pointed at a bird, high overhead.

Hekja squinted upwards, into the bright light. ‘Does that mean we are near to land again?’

Freydis shook her head. ‘No. It’s an albatross. That bird will fly further than any ship can sail.’ She smiled, ‘My father asked Leif once, when we were children, what bird he’d like to be. Leif said a raven, and my father clapped him on the back, and gave him a new sword the next time the traders called.’

Hekja frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why was he pleased that Leif wanted to be a raven?’

‘I forget you don’t know our stories.’ Freydis gazed at the horizon. ‘Floki Vilgerdson discovered Iceland with his ravens. He carried them on his boat and when he was past the Faroe Islands, he let one go. It flew straight back to the islands and so he kept on sailing.’

Freydis looked at Hekja, to see if she understood. Hekja frowned. ‘You mean, the nearest land was there, so that’s where they flew?’

‘Exactly,’ said Freydis, pleased. ‘Floki sailed on. Then he let another raven go. It flew high, up into the sky, as high as a bird could fly. But it saw no land, so it flew back down onto his boat. And Floki sailed on. Finally he let a third bird go. This one flew on and on and it was not flying in the direction of the islands. So Floki knew there must be land that way. He followed the raven, and found Iceland.’

‘And that is why Leif wanted to be a raven,’ said Hekja slowly.

Freydis nodded. ‘My father never asked me what bird I’d like to be. Why bother with a girl? But I told him anyway.’

‘An albatross?’ asked Hekja.

‘Good girl,’ said Freydis briefly.

Freydis was silent after that. Finally Hekja said, ‘I’d like to be an eagle.’

‘Would you? Why?’

‘Because they see everything,’ said Hekja slowly. ‘No matter what happens below, an eagle can fly high above it all.’

‘But eagles hunt as well,’ said Freydis, amused. ‘Yes, an eagle would suit you. You didn’t scream, back in the storm, as a woman is supposed to do at danger. You didn’t even shriek when the iceberg nearly dragged us down.’

The albatross was just a speck now, riding the wind far beyond them. There was a new expression on Freydis’ face as she watched it go, an almost wistful look.

At last she said, ‘Every time I look out at the ocean, I wonder what land there is beyond it, somewhere past the line where the sky meets the sea. My father found a new land and so did my brother. But I am a woman. I had to argue even to accompany my brother and my husband back to Norway, to trade the furs that Leif found in his new land. But one day…’

Hekja said curiously, ‘One day you will what?’

Freydis smiled at her. It was a different smile from all that she had given before. Those were smiles as Freydis challenged the world, and laughed at it. But this was a real smile for Hekja.

‘One day,’ she said softly, ‘I will follow the albatross, not the raven. I will find another land, just like my father did.’

Day swallowed day. The storm had blown the ship off course, so the voyage was longer than anyone had planned. Hikki shivered in his furs, sure that the ship had lost its way, and would float forever on the sea. But Freydis laughed at him, as she passed on her way to Thorvard at the rudder. ‘I could find my way to land in a blizzard,’ she declared. ‘I can sniff out land, like my father.’ She grinned at Hekja. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

‘No,’ said Hekja truthfully. Surely, she thought, she still felt too much pain for terror to take hold. Nothing she could do could change things now.

Freydis patted her arm. It was the first gesture of comfort or approval Hekja had ever seen her give. ‘Good girl,’ she said.

Hekja gazed out at the clouds on the horizon. What if those clouds were land, not cloud? A new land, just like Freydis dreamt of. Or an island, like her father’s song, where jewels hung on trees. Suddenly Hekja realised something else was clouding out her grief.

It was curiosity, a sharp longing to know more about the new green land she was headed for. And despite her hatred there was almost admiration for the people who guided this small boat among the waves, far from any land to guide them, following the tides and winds, the sun and stars, the chants of those who had gone before.

Something in Freydis’ words had lit something in Hekja’s soul that burnt, as nothing had before. Even as she grieved and angered, Hekja too was dreaming of new lands and of wonders past the wall of the horizon.

And then one day the clouds on the horizon glittered in the sun, and Hekja realised they weren’t clouds at all. It was land. Hekja waited for the grey to turn to green. Instead the land grew whiter the closer they sailed.

Freydis was up in her usual place, by the prow. Hekja plucked up her courage and made her way over to her.

‘Excuse me, mistress,’ she said. The word felt strange on her tongue. But that was the way Hikki spoke to Freydis, so Hekja supposed it was the way she should talk too.

Freydis glanced at her. ‘What is it?’

Hekja pointed out at the white land on the horizon. ‘Where is the green?’

Freydis grinned. ‘That was my father’s trick,’ she said. There was pride in her voice. ‘He knew settlers wouldn’t come to a place called Snowland. So he called his new land “Greenland” and four hundred followed him, in twenty-five ships. Fourteen of those ships made it to shore.’

‘What happened to the other ships?’

Freydis shrugged. ‘They were lost in a storm, or turned back.’

‘What happened to the people?’

Freydis still gazed out at the distant land. Hekja thought she would have been happy to see land so close, but she was frowning. ‘They drowned.’

‘Do…do you think the people on the other ships who were with us drowned too?’

Freydis gave her laugh. ‘Perhaps. I doubt Leif has drowned though. The fish would spit him out. Besides, they call him Leif the Lucky.’

The wind freshened suddenly. It came from the shore. It was warmer than the ocean wind, but it still smelt of ice, old ice, that had sat frozen perhaps since the world was made.

‘Is the land all snow then?’ demanded Hekja. She felt her hopes of escape begin to wither. If Greenland was a land of snow in summer, what must it be like in winter? How could she and Snarf survive by themselves in a land like this?

‘There is snow and ice all year to the north, and in the high country. But in summer there is enough grass for sheep and goats and cattle.’

Hekja frowned. She had never heard the words ‘sheep’ and ‘goats’ before. She would have to ask Hikki what they meant, later. Freydis had a closed look, as though she no longer wished to talk.

By mid-day the coast itself was visible, with deep bays the Vikings called fiords slashed into the high, fierce cliffs. Now Hekja could finally see some green, a thin rim around the shore, but the inland was high and white, with only the steep cliffs free of ice.

The land looked fierce, thought Hekja, a fitting place for Vikings. Snarf barked beside her, excited by the smells of land.

Hekja had assumed they’d sail into the first harbour. But somehow the Vikings knew which part of the land they had come to, though it all looked and smelt the same to her, and it seemed there were no people here. Instead they sailed down the coast, past cliffs and fiords. Icebergs drifted by, the size of huts back home, and sometimes Hekja could hear them grinding when they came to shore.

Finally the ship turned in towards one of the fiords. Hekja gazed about, trying to see some sign of life. But still all there was to see were cliffs and ice. Where were all the people? She gazed about the ship, trying to find Freydis. Yes, there she was, deep in conversation with Thorvard. It was not the time to bother her with questions.

Hikki caught Hekja’s eye, and patted the seat beside him, but she shook her head. Hikki knew no more than she did of this strange new land. Besides, she realised, she was too excited to talk. A moon ago she had never even thought of any land beyond their village and its mountain. But now…

Suddenly she smelt it. Smoke! So there were people in this frozen land! She peered up at the cliffs, trying to see what lay beyond, but whatever lay above them was hidden from view.

Closer, closer. The cliffs rose even higher now. The sea was suddenly smooth, after so many days out in the ocean.

Snarf sniffed the air, and yipped again, excited by the smells. Hekja too felt excitement tremble through her stomach. Even smoke smelt different here. And stronger than everything was the bitter smell of ice.

The water looked strange too, more like milk than sea and at times it sparkled, like stars that floated in the ripples.
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Even here deep in the fiord there were icebergs, the same colour as the sky, like frozen whales nosing at the shore.

The wind had died down as they glided further into the fiord. The sails fell slack. The men pushed and pulled at the oars at either end of the ship. Hekja hadn’t realised a fiord could be so big, or cliffs so high, great slabs of rock that looked about to slide into the milky sea.

Finally she glimpsed a break in the cliffs, a tiny beach of tumbled rocks with green hills above it. There was even a pier—a stone track out into the water, where a ship could sit and unload its goods without the people getting wet.

At the other end of the ship Thorvard gave a yell. ‘Home!’

‘Home,’ repeated Freydis. But her face had lost its brightness.

Still there were no people. ‘What have we come to, Snarf?’ whispered Hekja. ‘An empty land of ice? Perhaps the ice has killed them all while the ships have been away.’

Snarf wagged his tail. ‘Arf,’ he said reassuringly.

‘Hold her steady!’ bellowed Thorvard. He threw one of the ropes, thick as a man’s arm, around a big rock on the pier. The big ship drew close, as gently as a calf
nudging its mother. Thorvard pulled the rope tighter, then looped it round some more.

The ship was home.

Two of the men shoved a thick plank across to the pier. Everyone was cheering, or chattering, hauling belongings from the pile. Hekja and Snarf sat forgotten. Freydis stepped onto the land first, then Thorvard, and then the others, till only Hekja and Snarf were left.

‘Arf?’ asked Snarf enquiringly.

Hekja shrugged. She had been waiting for someone to give her orders, but it seemed no one could be bothered. A new thrall and a dog were of little importance now. She stood up, and tried to ignore the pounding of her heart.

Suddenly there were voices from the hill above them, shouts and laughter. People raced down to the shore. Children first, running down the grassy hill and onto the stone pier, yelling and hugging the new arrivals and peering into the ship and asking questions.

One young boy caught sight of Snarf and nudged his friend. Snarf gave a friendly woof, and looked around, as though hoping there might be bones in this new land, or at least a dried cow pat for him to play with. Hekja grabbed the scruff of his neck, and held on tight, in case he ran on shore without her.

Now the adults came, giant men with flowing hair or plaits, and shaggy beards, with woollen caps instead of helmets. There were women too, strong-shouldered women in long dresses, like Freydis wore, though these women wore hoods or scarves. Most wore aprons too and some had bracelets of gold or bronze or silver.

Still no one paid them any attention. Then Hikki beckoned from the pier. ‘Come,’ he said impatiently.

Snarf bounded off first. Suddenly he staggered.

‘Snarf!’ Hekja darted onto the pier—and staggered just as he had. Her legs were waiting for the ground to go up and down after so many days at sea.

Now the crowd parted. A man strode down the hill. His hair hung like snow down to his shoulders and his beard was snowy as well. Once he must have been a giant man, big even for these Vikings. Now his skin hung about him, as though he had shrunk. He walked with the aid of a great stick that was carved like a dragon at the top, embellished with eyes of green stone and all inlaid with brass.

The chief back in the village was not like this. You knew this was a chief without being told.

The others all moved aside for him, except for Freydis. And suddenly Hekja saw her eyes were like the man’s, though his were faded, as though all that they had seen had worn them out; the shape of her face was his too.

‘This must be Erik the Red,’ Hikki whispered to Hekja. ‘Though he is red no longer.’

Hekja ignored him, staring at the man.

‘Well, daughter?’ Hekja had expected a great roar, but the big man’s voice was hoarse, like it too had worn out from yelling above the wind and sea.

‘It is very well, Father,’ said Freydis calmly. ‘A good voyage, and much profit.’

‘I know. Your brother landed two days before you.’

Freydis’ eyes narrowed, but she kept her face steady. ‘Always Leif the Lucky,’ she said. ‘It seems I owe him a shawl. Did the other ships arrive safe as well?’

‘All but one. Njal Thorbjorgsson’s ship was lost and all it carried. Except for him the crew were saved.’

In Hekja’s village the loss of any man at sea would cause an outcry, with women weeping. But Freydis only nodded. ‘It was a good voyage,’ she said. ‘And a safe one.’

Hekja waited for her to tell her father about the storm and Snarf barking at the icebergs. But she didn’t.

The men were unloading the ship now, with Thorvard bellowing orders. Freydis began to climb the hill with her father. Had she forgotten them?

‘Woof!’ Snarf’s bark was louder than Thorvard’s yells. Freydis looked around, and spied Hekja still standing on the pier.

‘Follow me,’ she said absently. Somehow she looked smaller here on land, especially next to her father.

Erik the Red raised an eyebrow at her. ‘A new thrall?’

‘Leif didn’t tell you?’ Freydis grinned suddenly. ‘A storm drove us to shelter, and there was a village. Leif tried to catch this girl, but she outran him.’

‘Outran Leif!’ The old man gave a shout of laughter. ‘A girl like that!’

‘And now she is mine. I stopped her with the flat of my sword.’

‘Your sword?’ The old man glared at her. ‘By thunder, your mother never wielded a sword in her life!’

‘Nor did she ever go a-Viking. Mother died bearing your sons. Her only journey was following you here.’

‘As it should be,’ grumbled the man, and for the first time he sounded truly old. ‘And when will you have sons?’

‘When I am ready,’ said Freydis coolly. ‘And that is a matter for my husband and myself, not for my father.’

‘If Thorvard were half a man…’ Erik broke off, as Thorvard came up behind them, his arms burdened with a bale of wool, almost as large as he was, though he
carried it easily. Hekja wondered what Erik meant by ‘half a man’. Thorvard was almost twice the size of any villager.

It was impossible to tell if he had heard what his father-in-law had said. He just nodded, and said, ‘Sir. I’m glad to see you well.’

Erik snorted. ‘Only one leg that works properly and breath that gives out if I so much as climb a hill, and he calls me well. I’m well enough, I suppose.’

They had reached the top of the hill above the fiord now. Hekja caught her breath, for there was Erik’s farm.

Farm? Hekja had never dreamt that even a village could be so big. There was Erik’s great long house, as big as all the village huts put together, made of stone with a roof of turf. Smaller buildings clustered about it, each one bigger than anything she’d known. There were fields with fences of twined wattles
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filled with strange new animals. There were grain fields too, and gardens filled with greens, familiar plants like kale and garlic, but others she had never seen before.

And there were lines of dried fish flapping, cods’ tongues and whale liver, and other meat and hides hanging up to dry as well, and still more people. And the smells, so strong after the many days at sea, the familiar smells of drying fish, dunny holes and sweat, the stranger scents of boiling whale blubber and sealskins.

And above all this were the heights of blinding snow and blue-white ice, and lower hills of green, with stunted trees with dappled leaves.
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The sun hung on the horizon, bathing it all in a golden glow.

‘Arf arf!’ For a moment Hekja thought Snarf was barking at the strangeness. Then she noticed a dog, almost as large as him, bounding their way. Snarf wagged his tail.

‘Bright Eyes!’ cried Erik. The dog bounded up to him.

‘Arf,’ barked Snarf again. Hekja grabbed him. She wasn’t sure how Erik would feel if Snarf sniffed his dog.

The dog ignored Snarf, and the other humans too, and crouched down by her master.

Erik bent and fondled her ears. ‘Good dog,’ he said absently. ‘Well, daughter, will you come to the big house?’

She shook her head. ‘We will go to our own, Father.’

‘But a feast tonight!’ ordered Erik. ‘There has to be a feast.’

Freydis gave a laugh like his. ‘A feast tonight,’ she agreed. ‘I thought you would have done your feasting when Leif arrived.’

‘We waited for your coming,’ said Erik gruffly, and Hekja saw that for all his disapproval Erik loved her.

Freydis smiled suddenly. ‘Come,’ she said to Hekja. She and Snarf followed Freydis across the fields.