4 Chapter 4

The royal feasts at King Olaf's court were always something exceptionable, and in the eyes of those who came from the modest households of Greenland, the feast was full of splendour like none that had ever been seen before. After a plentiful summer's harvest, the barns were full of wheat, barley and oats, salted meat and fresh and dried fruit. The trestle tables in the hall were long, made of polished wood and groaning under the weight of roast pork, mutton cooked in its own blood, rows upon rows of fat salmon, and big, fresh loaves of bread that had just been baked and gave off a delicious smell. Servants and slaves walked around the tables and poured beer and mead for all the guests, and close to where the king's family sat - the king himself, the princes, and the princess - they served also excellent wine that was brought from lands far to the south.

Leif was surprised to discover that the king ordered him and his mother and sister to sit so close to the royal end of the table, closer even than some earls who now stared at him with bitter envy. The glance he exchanged with his mother proved to him that she, too, did not expect so great an honor. In their simple garb and few ornaments, Leif and his mother were a striking contrast to most of the Norwegian nobility.

Only Freydis took it all for granted. She took care to bring her finest clothes and costliest jewels, those she got from her father as a gift when she married Thorvard, and now she could be seen in all her glory. The great hall was drafty and rather cold, despite the enormous fire fed by whole tree trunks - and the silk dress Freydis chose for the evening was pretty thin, so she had to cover it with a costly cloak of arctic fox pelts - but be that as it may, she looked impressive. Her lush red hair was pulled away from her face by a ribbon of green silk embroidered in gold, and pearl-studded golden hoops shone in her small delicate ears. Her lips smiled, but the cat-like eyes, one blue and one black, were cold and calculated. She looked at every one of the men who sat at the same table with them, and tried to assess the worth of each, and surmise how much he might be of help or hindrance to them.

The king's two sons sat on his right side, and Thorgunna between them, next to the heir, her intended husband. Through her long, downcast lashes the princess examined Leif Erikson, who sat opposite her. Though he wore clean garb in honor of the feast, his clothes were simple and unadorned, like those any of his men might wear. Just a single golden earring graced his left ear, and inside it two tiny precious stones, one of them ruby and the other sapphire. Thorgunna wondered whether this earring was given by a woman he had loved, or taken by force from a foe he had slain. On his right cheekbone she noticed an old, long-healed scar, no doubt a souvenir from a fight or a hunting trip.

Compared to the other guests who sat this close to the king, Leif looked untamed, although he had had time to trim his hair and beard in the hours before the feast - but the way he held himself and ate was gentler than she had expected to see. His large, toughened hands broke the bread in a cautious, unhurried manner, and he bit into his meat and drank from his cup without the obvious greed that some of the guests displayed.

He had a face which would be called distinguished by most men, or handsome by most women, with a straight nose, strong jaw, and a red halo of hair and beard. But what attracted the eye most of all was the freedom that was so obvious in his countenance, in the way he looked, in the few words he said. His shoulders were wide, his arms powerful, and even while he sat it was easy to tell he was a man of great height.

The noise in the hall ran high, so Thorgunna did not chance to exchange even a word with Leif or his relations, though she had wanted to very much. For a moment, her eyes met his and he inclined his head politely. A moment later, he called the boy who passed by the table with a tray in his hands, and asked him to pour more mead.

At the end of the feast, they were served large wedges of goat cheese, apples baked in honey and blackberry-filled tarts. Another kind of costly, sweet wine was brought for the most distinguished guests. While they ate, they were entertained by the performance of the well-known skald Styr, handsome and impressive and dressed in garb of fine, though simply cut wool. His dark cloak was held in place by a polished silver brooch in the shape of a falcon. He entered with quiet steps, and an expression of light melancholy was upon his handsome face. Despite his youth - he could not have been more than twenty - his glory as a singer and poet was already high. He sat in the place that was prepared for him in the middle of the hall, and gave a long, melodic touch to the strings of the harp he held in his hands, leaning against his knees. When he was convinced he caught the attention of every man in the hall, he began his song.

And those were its words:

The years might have passed, but you daren't step onto the road,

And try as we might, we could not have held on to the dream.

There is a bed for us among the wild herbs of abroad,

But not in the land of harsh snow and locked up, frozen stream.

For us there's a land where the words hold a meaning no more,

Where lilies float upon the surface of moonlight-kissed lakes.

Perhaps we might meet once again, like we have met before,

Or maybe a sweet kiss is no longer ours to take.

Perhaps one day fears will all vanish and haunt us no more,

And we'll strike a path that no man ever traveled before.

Or maybe the dreams will continue to haunt our minds,

And torment the spirits of weak who had been left behind.

Freydis froze in her place, rendered mute by surprised anger. It was a poem she herself had written once upon a time for Thorvard, and he loved it, though the message of the poem was one of glum reproach. He sang it at quite a few gatherings in the house of her father in Brattahlid, in Greenland, and many people had heard it, some of them winter visitors or traders. But who took these words here, to the shores of Norway? And who passed the song to Styr, who sang the foreboding words of Freydis in her own ears, here at court?

Leif and Thjodhild, too, exchanged surprised looks, recognizing the song they had heard a few times at home. It might have seemed that Freydis was supposed to be flattered by the popularity of her poem, but the expression of her face was bitter and defensive, and Leif understood why. She did not wish to recall anything that had to do with Thorvard.

He could understand her. For him, too, it hurt to remember Maura, though unlike his sister, his loss was not his fault. But despite the pain, he liked to feel she is still with him. Often he brought her image before his mind's eye, and imagined what she would have said of any new experience that fell to his lot - the journey to Norway, the stay at court and the cordial reception they were honored with, the foreign views, the colorful crowd, the luxurious feast and all the prominent people around them - the proud earls; King Olaf himself, who kept stroking his beard as if pondering something; Prince Sigurd, who was an insignificant, dull-looking type; and his bride-to-be, the princess Thorgunna, who was so beautiful she lit up everything around her as if she were the sun - and like the sun, it was difficult to look at her directly.

The skald Styr began singing another song. To Leif's surprise, the singer looked at him directly, and inclined his head respectfully, before he touched his harp and began singing the following:

I came from a land that is far out there,

Where the scent of honey fills the air,

Declaring a summer, respite from cold;

I tasted sea waters throughout the world,

I know all the stars in their skyward ways,

And death has been on my heels many days -

Yes, so many times now I know no fear.

I know thrills of journey from there to here,

And sweet is the sound of a shield that falls...

"Isn't this lovely, now?" said Freydis with biting irony, and Leif felt her elbow in his ribs. "You are already quite famous here."

"I would not flatter myself too much," said Leif. "This song was written about Father when I was still in my swaddling clothes." But he still took a few coins from the leather pouch tied to his belt, and tossed them to the singer.

Thorgunna was impressed by the song much more. Its bold words, and the pleasant voice of the singer, made something within her stir. She always possessed high sensibility, and a combination of a keen mind, together with wishes of her heart that were too vague even for herself to discern, created a fertile soil for fantasy. She knew the song she had just heard was written about Erik the Red, but just as well, she thought, it could have described his son, Leif. Was not he as great a traveler and discoverer of new lands as his father, and perhaps even more? His star will rise and shine brighter yet, she suddenly felt sure. He needs nobody’s help for that.

The king is mistaken in trying to manipulate this man, it became clear to her - and he is doubly mistaken in the way he intends to do it. She was young and inexperienced, but not stupid. The tall, impressive stranger sitting before her, with the sharp eyes of a hawk, a laughing mouth and a stubborn chin - he can understand and appreciate honesty. But since when has honesty been a common feature with kings?

… More sweets and wines were served, but Thjodhild felt the onset of a headache and asked her son to escort her to the chambers she shared with Freydis. Leif got up readily, but Freydis expressed the wish to stay longer. She was immersed in conversation with a man sitting next to her, the earl Ingvar Haraldson, a thin man with a thin, shrewd face and auburn hair that had already begun receding, though he could not be more than thirty.

"I had almost forgotten there are courts, with great halls such as this one, and people dressed so finely," Thjodhild told her son with a tired smile as they began making their way back. "After so many years of missing Norway, I did not think I'd so soon miss Greenland. But now, all I look forward to here is meeting my sister, Ingvild - and then, I will wish for nothing more than a return to Brattahlid, to your father."

"Father will be glad to hear how eager you were to come back," said Leif. "As for me, I do not expect too much enjoyment during our stay here, although some profit might fall to our lot."

And he told his mother of the king's offer to make him one of his personal guards; King Olaf had already broached the subject privately, under cover of the music, during the feast.

"That is quite an impressive gesture of trust, my son," said Thjodhild with satisfaction. "During the months we are going to stay here, you will be close to the king, and will probably end up knowing more of him than any of us. And there is no knowing - perhaps if the king is very pleased with you, he might consent to remove the taint of exile and outlaw from your father's name, and restore his rights in Norway and Iceland."

"This might be so," said Leif, "though I do not believe Father will be too impressed. He has made his home in Greenland. There, he is the leader, and no one questions that. In Brattahlid, his word is the law - people do not take to heart the laws of Norway, which is many weeks of sailing away - when the season is favorable, that is. Otherwise, it is unreachable. I believe that right now, the king might need the Greenlanders more than the other way around. And more than anything, Mother, I believe we are in a pit of vipers, and I have a feeling that we will have to be very careful so as not to step on one. Did you notice the man Freydis talked to so animatedly this evening?"

"Freydis!" his mother cried in anger. "Yes, I did see. A man who wears a cross on display, as if to show he is a devout Christian, but his face is like that of a fox. I sense that in the following months, I will have to be as close to Freydis as a hound on a track of deer. I intend to take her on a visit to my sister Ingvild, Leif. There, she will not be surrounded by so many people, and she will have less temptation and opportunity to wreck further havoc in her life and ours. Oh, Leif, where is the source of this cold, calculated ambition of hers, of this readiness to step over those who should have been dearest to her, only to get her own way? I grieve for her, and I grieve for Thorvald. If she had truly been my daughter, she would have turned out different."

"Now, it is anger that makes you talk so," said Leif. "Freydis is your daughter just as the rest of us are your sons. She might not be the child of your loins, but you were the one to raise her."

This was a secret only a few knew.

One summer, after an especially successful hunting trip of Erik and Thorbjorn, the latter threw a splendid feast in his house for all the hunters. Thjodhild was not of the party, and there was strong ale aplenty - and one woman, who threw herself into Erik's arms, filled his cup again and again until he was quite drunk, pulled him by the hand to share her sleeping bench and, as turned out a short time later, became pregnant.

Thjodhild's sorrow and fury knew no limits. It was true, of course, that mistresses and bastards were not an uncommon thing, but she was always confident that her husband has no need of other women. He always told her this again and again himself, and so he maintained even after it became known that another woman is carrying his child.

"It wasn't me, my love," he said in shame. "It was Thorbjorn's good drink. I can hardly recall her face. I don't mean to see her ever again, although, of course, I will support the child when it is born. I have no woman but you."

Seemingly, Thjodhild was resigned. She wasn't going to leave Erik, of course. But her disappointment was still strong, especially when she discovered, around that time, that she is with child again herself. She wondered whether their relationship will ever become again what it once was.

By a curious play of destiny, it so happened that the two women were brought to the birthing bed on the same night, and almost at the same time, at midnight, two baby girls were brought into the world. But Thjodhild's daughter was born lifeless - and the other woman, the thought of whom brought her so much grief in the past months, died a short time after giving birth, and left an orphaned child after her. An hour later, Erik took the tiny, snugly wrapped babe in his arms, ran to his home and placed the child in the arms of his tearful wife.

"I knew you were very angry with me, my sweet," he told her, "but this is my daughter, and she is left without anybody in the world - while our daughter was carried off by the gods. Let us adopt this babe and raise her as if she were our own, yours and mine."

Through the tears that blinded her, Thjodhild looked at the babe, who had already begun to look for the warm breasts, full of milk that was meant for another child. The girl's hair was red, like her husband's. Her eyes were closed, so that their color could not be seen, but her features were not unlike those of her son Leif, when he was just born. She was tiny and soft, warm and full of life. How much she had desired a daughter, after giving her husband three sons!

Thjodhild took the child to her breast and adopted her as her own daughter - and their babe, who died, Erik ordered his slaves to lay down next to the woman who died in childbed, and bury them both together. They told no one of the exchange, and the midwives were sworn to secrecy. They raised Freydis as if she was the daughter who had been born to Thjodhild - and so she gained the status of a trueborn daughter, not a bastard; and what is no less important, the girl also had a much better mother than the one who had brought her into the world - a woman of careless behavior and a great fondness for the drink.

Thjodhild, on the other hand, discovered that raising a daughter is not quite what she expected.

She had imagined a little girl to be a gentle, charming creature of naturally pleasant habits. A daughter is supposed to stay close to her mother, observing and learning all the household chores, spinning and weaving, sewing and embroidery. But little Freydis knew how to get her own way, and insisted on full independence since about the age of one year, when one of her blue eyes turned blacker than black, to her mother's sorrow. Soon, she learned to insist that her place is together with her brothers, in their play of war, their weapon training, and their hunting. While other girls played with rag dolls and took their first lessons with the needle, Freydis would not part from the wooden sword Leif carved for her, and insisted on her hair being cut short.

"Do not let this bother you too much, my dear," Erik advised his wife when she complained to him about Freydis's inappropriate behavior. "Every child will have its tricks, and Freydis is a very spirited girl. She has no sister to play with, only brothers, so why should it surprise you she tries her best to become just like them? When she grows a little, she will understand what is expected of her as a maid."

Erik was right only in part. True, after a few years had elapsed Freydis stopped hacking her hair short and began paying more attention to her dress, but she didn't stop training with Leif, Thorvald and Thorstein, and even joined them at seal-hunting. Moreover, she began interesting herself in learning how to read and write - something that even made Thjodhild happy at first, because it meant Freydis spent more time indoors. She learned not only the Norse runes, but also the Latin writing, which was just beginning to become widespread then. The runes were carved into stone, mostly, and parchment was costly and hard to come by - and so Freydis practiced her letters by writing with a piece of coal over a slate of wood.

During one trip to Iceland on which she accompanied her father - who by then had authority enough to dare being seen in Iceland, if not in Norway - Freydis laid her hands on some scrolls which she read greedily; later, it turned out they contained accounts of witchcraft, something that was highly irritating to her mother, who never supported things like fortune-telling or spells for bringing the wrath of gods upon a neighbour one crossed paths with.

"Nonsene," insisted Erik in the face of his wife's excessive anger. "Many girls of Freydis's age tend to become interested in things that are, shall we say, out of the ordinary. That is the nature of youth."

"You don't understand, Erik," said Thjodhild, shaking her head. "In Freydis's case, it goes much further beyond simple curiousity. Yesterday I caught her looking through one of the scrolls she brought from Iceland. She looked at me in a way that plainly said she did not expect me - a surprised way, my dear, and a guilty one. At that very moment, my ears were filled with a whisper that gradually subsided, as if distancing itself, until it was impossible to distinguish a few moments later. Those were spirits she invited into the house by her sorcery, Erik - spirits that left when I entered. She truly has powers, and I don't like it at all. She is only twelve."

"It will pass, you'll see," promised Erik, but he attempted to convey the confidence he did not truly feel himself.

A short time after that, Freydis angered her father in earnest. She began communicating with the locals and learned their tongue, during market days that were held outside Brattahlid. After that, she began disappearing time and time again, and her father discovered she visits the temporary dwellings of the Skraelings, the tents those nomads made from sealskins.

"I don't like this," he told her openly after catching her red-handed, "I really don't like this, Freydis. The Skraelings are no friends to us. It is true that we trade with them rather than fight them, but does it mean they are glad to see us settling a land that until not long ago was their alone? Of course not."

"They wouldn't hurt me," replied Freydis, proudly raising her red head. "They know who you are, and they know who I am. I am learning a lot from them, Father. You make light of the Skraelings, but they have much knowledge about everything in Greenland, and the seas and lands beyond it, the animals who live here and the resources that are buried deep inside the earth. They also know to tell the fortune, and to find out what lies in the heart of every man," she added off-handedly.

"And I understand these last details are what interests you the most," remarked Erik.

"Be that as it may," Freydis said elusively, "I believe Leif should consult them before he sets out to his next journey around the coast."

"Be that as it may," Erik cut her off, "I forbid you to fraternize with them."

"Do not underestimate the Skraelings, Father," Freydis said again, in a voice so serious that Erik felt a shiver run down his spine as he heard his daughter's words. "They know of us much more than we know of them. Yesterday, in their camp, I met a man who was born among them, and knew no tongue but theirs, a man about forty years old, and he had narrow eyes with a thick fold of skin, like theirs, and wide cheekbones, like theirs - but the color of his eyes was blue, and his hair fair, like that of many men of ours. Who is this man? Is it possible that men from our home land have lived here before, and they mixed with the Skraelings and were lost? Who were they, and how did they disappear?"

"This I cannot tell," said Erik, "but I have no doubt we must take care when we deal with them, and you will not go to their camps again."

When Freydis was thirteen, she experienced a complete turnaround in her feelings. Actually, perhaps a turnaround is not the correct term. It was a quiet process that had taken some time, but as her transition into womanhood was in full bloom, it bubbled above the surface. It had to do with Thorvard.

Freydis had known Thorvard ever since she was born. He was the son of Thorbjorn, her father's friend, and they played together as children. When the boys had grown somewhat, Leif and Thorvard became especially close, like their fathers have always been. At first glance it was difficult to understand why. Leif was reckless, Thorvard pensive. Leif was sharp-tongued, Thorvard was silent. Leif sought pleasures and Thorvard shunned pleasure for its own sake; Leif's temper was easy, while Thorvard, even as a boy, was fearsome in his fury.

Even in their looks they were quite the opposite. While Leif was red-haired and blue-eyed, Thorvard had dark eyes, and his raven-black hair was tied back in a long braid. His appearance was striking among the rest of the lads. His face was less handsome than that of Leif, who was remarkably good looking as a young boy, but there was a deep, quiet power in his eyes. Both boys were of a fine build, but Thorvard was a veritable giant, extraordinarily tall, and his shoulders were so wide he found it troublesome to pass through some doors in the settlement.

While Leif had already enjoyed success with some local women, Thorvard was unusually timid on this score and lowered his eyes whenever a woman talked to him, something that was completely at odds with his usual bravery.

But the two friends had something in common deep within their soul, and that caused the great closeness between them. Both had a high sense of inner integrity and courage, both were decisive and clever much beyond their years, and both sincerely cared for the people in their responsibility, be it a few children playing at sticks, some huntsmen on a hunting trip near Brattahlid, or the crew of a ship that would sail to unknown lands. These qualities made men eager to follow them, and would eventually turn them into well-known leaders.

Freydis and Thorvard failed to understand exactly when, how and where was gone the childhood ease with which they played together ever since Freydis was a babe; when they began blushing as their hands chanced to meet, and when a love bloomed between them, a love so strong that none of them could know where one ends and the other begins, so strong that even a short separation became unbearable to two hearts that beat as one. It was a most eligible, desirable union as far as both families were concerned, and all who knew the young people were happy with their attachment. It was clear to everybody that a feeling so powerful cannot be repressed for long, and that the two will marry quite young.

"You will see," Erik told his wife with great satisfaction, "now she will stop her nonsense. Now she will have a proper occupation - taking care of a husband and a household, and of children later on. There isn't and cannot be anyone better than Thorvard for her. Now she will lose her taste for rebellion and sorcery."

But he was wrong.

A day before the wedding, Freydis disappeared, and later came home pale and tearful. She refused to eat and acted like someone who had been given terrible news. Thjodhild knew then that her daughter visited once more the Skraeling camp, despite Erik’s prohibition, and saw the old witch she had mentioned several times before. But what was it that she heard? What can bring such misery to a maid so young and beautiful, just a day before being wed to her beloved? Thodjhild prodded and inquired, but Freydis said nothing. She wiped away her tears, put on her wedding clothes and smiled, but the shadow of haunted fear still flickered in her eyes.

Ever since that day, her interest in sorcery only increased, and she continued to meet and converse with the Skraelings more than ever, to Thorvard's great dismay. He did not know how to stop her, and after periods of ignoring what she did always came accusations and outbreaks of anger. So things went on until that cursed journey to Vinland, after which the life of Freydis was never the same as before.

Thjodhild's heart ached for this beautiful young woman, whom she considered, after so many years, to be truly her own daughter, as if she were her own flesh and blood, just like the rest of her children. If only she knew how to bring peace to her tormented heart! What grieved her most of all, she thought, was that even now she didn't understand why the things had to happen the way they had.

"Leif," she told her son, "you know, I met a friend from old times today and talked to him for a while. His name is Bergsveinn Snorrason, and he told me some things which might be of interest, and among them... Thorvard is here, in Norway."

"Here?" Leif was surprised. "I was certain he is in Iceland. He sent me a message through one of his men saying that he intends to return to Greenland next year. And who knows what this decision cost him, the poor fellow."

"He is visiting with his father's relations," said Thjodhild, "and, it can be surmised, is recruiting more people who would join him in the Western settlement."

"Are you going to tell Freydis?" asked Leif.

"No, son, I don't think I would dare. Thorvard has been through enough. But you and I, perhaps we can see him and Sygni. She had turned three already, you know. I am certain Thorvard will not object to seeing us. Erik and I have always loved him as our own son."