Vinland

Two among the skraelings carried rough packs and these they placed on the earth in front of us and opened to reveal a wealth of peltries. By gesture they intimated that they wished to trade these furs with us and Snorri sent me back to the camp with orders to bring any spare tools. We had started a small forge in the steading to smelt bog-iron and we had made some poor axe-heads, more by way of experiment than of necessity. I gathered up some half dozen of these and a badly made knife or two and returned to the barter. The skraelings were struck with great wonder by these meagre tools. It seemed they had no iron nor knew the working of metal at all for they gasped and exclaimed and then bowed deeply to us before withdrawing, leaving the bundles of furs for us. They melted back into the woods like ghosts and were gone before we knew it.

This became the manner of our dealings with the skraelings. They would appear when they chose bearing bundles of peltries and take from us axe heads and cheap knives and even ingots of the rough bog-iron that was really too soft to make a serious tool or weapon. Sometimes they would bring a haunch of deer or a woven basket of fruit and, best of all, some kind of large yellow grain that was a welcome addition to our larder. There was no pattern to it. Sometimes they would come two days running and at other times seven or more days would pass without us seeing them at all. After a while we became convinced that, though only four or five would approach, many more hid within the trees to observe proceedings and view the hairy strangers from across the ocean.

It fell out this way: I had gone a little way from the steading to bathe in the lake and wash my smallclothes. I finished my washing and spread it all out over some low bushes to dry and whiled away the time with a little swimming. I had though myself entirely alone and will confess, I was somewhat playing the fool, as young men will when their elders aren’t present to correct them. So I splashed and dived and whooped with the joy of a few moments’ stolen freedom. It was then I heard a giggle. I cast about but could see no one and decided I was imagining things, when the skraeling girl appeared. She approached me quite gaily, without a trace of fear. She wore some kind of shift of animal skins and her hair was dark and straight and hung nearly to her waist. Her face was broad with high cheekbones and large dark eyes regarded me from under finely arched brows. Naked though I was, her gaze was fixed on my hair. It is very light in colour and, with the bleaching of the sun, was almost white. It is not for nothing men call me Thorfinn Fairhair. The hair on my chin and body is of a pale red hue and it must have looked strange to this dark girl with her fine copper skin and black hair.

I made to cover my private parts with my hands and she giggled anew. She stood on the shore between me and my trews and laughed at me. One leg was thrust out in front and her hand was on her hip. She looked at me with her head to one side, like a farmer might appraise cattle and laughed aloud, not a giggle this time, but a full-blown laugh. White hair brings also white skin but I felt myself flush scarlet under her gaze. I mustered what dignity I could and splashed out of the shallows, still covering my manliness with one hand. I grabbed a shirt and dried myself as swiftly as I could before struggling into my trews. It must have been quite a performance for the skraeling girl was near tears with her mirth at my expense. It made me very angry and I shouted at her but that made her laugh all the more and she put her hands over her face and peered at me between her fingers. She looked so comical I started to laugh as well and soon the pair of us were whooping and cackling like magpies.

Just at that moment, a noise came from within the woods. It sounded to me like a birdcall but she stiffened suddenly and a scared look came over her. She fluttered her hands by way of farewell and fled back into the forest. I was left alone to pick up my washing and amble back to the steading. I couldn’t get the picture of her out of my head. It was only as she was leaving, fleeing for the edge of the clearing, that I really noticed her long legs and lithe body. She moved with the grace of a deer, her flying feet silent on the grass. It made me feel strange inside to think of it, warm but unsettled at the same time. I found myself praying to the Gods that I would see her again.

I didn’t get my wish for almost another week. I was at the river this time and netting some salmon. They really were huge fish, bigger even than the codfish I caught around the skerries back home. I didn’t see her arrive; she was suddenly at my side and watched me working with an intent look on her face. I hauled the net and spilled the silvery catch onto the bank. I took my hand-axe and knocked each one on the head with the back of it. I’d lost a few on an earlier trip when they had flopped and flapped their way back into the water and wasn’t taking that chance again. Once I had enough, I strung them together in bunches of four or five with twine through the gills and cut myself a carrying pole of birch to hang them from. The girl watched all the while, big-eyed. On an impulse, I gave her one of the bundles of salmon. I had plenty and they were easy enough to net if we needed more. She backed away at first when I held the fish out to her but, eyes on me all the while, she approached me carefully and took them, keeping as far away as she possibly could and still be able to reach the fish.

I smiled at her then and stabbed a thumb against my chest.

“Thorfinn,” I told her my name, “Thorfinn.”

I gave her a quizzical look and indicated her with the same hand. She looked confused for a second and then brightened as she realised. She pointed at me and said “Torfi.” Then she repeated it and gestured to herself. It sounded like “Meera – ha - nhee.” I repeated it to her and she shook her head.

“Meera – ha – NHEE.”

I tried again and got closer to her way of saying it and she smiled. She put out a hand then and made as if to touch my hair. I smiled back and bent my head slightly so she could reach. The touch of her fingers sent tingles through me. She had a wondering look on her face and muttered something I couldn’t understand or even guess at. I put my hand towards her hair but she shrank away with a nervous look and then laughed. She stooped swiftly to gather up the tied salmon I had given her and sped away. Once more she made that fluttering gesture of farewell and I waved at her retreating back, admiring the way her taut buttocks moved under her shift as she trotted off.

I don’t really know why, but I never told any of my companions about my encounters with the skraeling girl. They were something special, to be kept to myself and pulled from memory to pick over by the firelight when other men talked of their families or boasted of the voyages they’d made. I had no family and this was my first summer voyage. All I had was the image of a skraeling girl to remember. But it was enough.

The skraeling men still appeared occasionally to trade but there was little real contact between us. Leif spoke several tongues, even the language of the Lapps, who most closely resembled the skraelings with their broad faces and high cheekbones, but he wasn’t understood and there was nothing even remotely familiar or recognisable in the sounds they made. Still, the language of barter is universal and we made them understand that we particularly wished for the large yellow grain, our store of oats being long since exhausted. For their part, they most coveted our long knives, but Leif gave it out that none should be given to the skraelings and would only offer axe-heads or belt knives. They accepted this with difficulty. We couldn’t explain that the long knife is both our tool and our main weapon. The bog-iron was too poor a stuff to make a good long blade and most weren’t rich enough to own a sword. Only Leif and Snorri owned swords with runes carved deep into the blades. Leif’s sword was called ‘Widow-maker’ when first he had it but, when he had taken the White Christ, he changed its name to ‘Wise Judgement.’ Snorri’s was an older piece and bore the name ‘Leg-Biter,’ a good name for a Viking’s sword, and Snorri was one of the old band of summer pirates.

Greenland is not a rich place so most of the men went a-viking in the season. They would descend on Orkney or the coast of Hibernia and take cattle and slaves and such gold or silver as they might find. The priests of the White Christ housed many treasures and were a favourite target for some but, as more and more of the men abandoned the old Gods and became Christian, so fewer were prepared to raid the churches and monasteries. I still followed Odin in those days, having no family to lead me elsewhere, though, in later life, I, too, became a convert to the White Christ. All that lay ahead of me then and I dreamt myself of becoming a Viking and amassing my fortune through the summer voyages. It is a young man’s dream, of course, but it sparkles like gold when the sap is rising and you know no better.

The next time I saw Meera – ha – nhee was a couple of days after the incident with the salmon. This time, I know, she sought me out. I was sent to gather more of the grapes that were ripe by then and she appeared at my side as though she had fallen from the heavens, so silent was her coming. She greeted me solemnly.

“Torfi.”

“Meera – ha – NHEE.”

She smiled and clapped her hands, either because I had remembered or because I said it right, I had no way of telling. She began to talk to me then. I couldn’t make out a word of it, of course, but I pretended in my head that she was telling me the things I wanted her to say. Most likely she was saying that the salmon had been delicious and she’d like some more the next time I went fishing. My translation was more along the lines of her admiring my shoulders and my broad, manly chest. I will never know which version was closer, but I have my suspicions that mine was wide of the mark!

How do you woo a maid when you cannot talk to her and tell her those sweet lies that women love to hear? Not possible, you say? Untrue, it’s possible, right enough, but devilish difficult. What was more, I had no experience of women to know how better to further my cause. None of the well-bred maids of Heriulfsness or Brattahlid would look twice at a landless fisher-boy. My fortunes had sunk with my father’s drakkr and both lay deep and lost as could be. So, while I thought myself the man, I was, in truth, a callow youth, and clay under any young female fingers. It started as a game but I was hooked. I was certain that she knew and played along. I spent my idle hours carving a model of our ship. I even made a sail out of a scrap of cloth. I produced this offering now from out of my shirt and placed it her hands. She stared at in wonder. I don’t think the skraelings set much store by carving, but I was skilled enough and it was a very recognisable likeness of the knarr that lay at anchor on the lake.

I made to take a kiss of her in payment but she jumped away, divining my intention. She touched her hand to my lips and shook her head in denial. I grinned at her and nodded and she leapt away, laughing. There was something of the wild about her, that same quality you see in a young wolf. I wanted her badly and this, she had guessed. Even so, she sought my company and walked easy beside me, even if a little apart. So it was for the remainder of that summer. We learned a little of each other’s language. In all truth, she learned better and faster than I did. I was still saying simple words like ‘tree’ and ‘river’ in the skraeling tongue when she was starting to put together phrases in ours. But it is one thing to point at an object and repeat its name and quite another to say the words that are in your heart. This latter art I never mastered. As to what was in her heart, I couldn’t guess.

As the days shortened and the nights drew in, a change came over her. I got the feeling that she was telling me she was going away. I pointed to the south and asked her:

“You go?”

She nodded vigorously.

“People go there.” She held up the fingers of one hand. “This many times the new moon. You come?”

I shook my head. “ We stay lake,” I told her. She looked a little sad and sighed.

So that was the way of it. We didn’t use words. I reached her for to try a kiss and, this time, she came, all uncomplaining, and matched her lips to mine. I cannot say what she intended but I told her with my kiss that spring would be a long time coming. I dare to think she felt the same.

I was kept busy over the next week or so. The salmon were few in number now and mostly I took the after-boat down river to the sea and fished the waters round the cape for pollack and bloghan and whatever else I might find. I thought the codfish would come back as winter approached but, in case they didn’t, we were laying up a stock of smoked and salted fish against the cold weather. We had smoked deer meat as well and had a good supply of the skraeling corn besides a variety of grapes and sweet berries so none would go hungry. Leif was cautious though and reminded us that we did not know how severe the winter might be in this land. When I was next free to take some time for myself, the skraelings had gone. I went to all the places that I was wont to meet Meera – ha – nhee but there was never a sign of her.

As matters turned the winter was mild with few hard frosts and little snow compared with Greenland. The grass, we noted, seemed to stay lush all year and the farmers among us were greatly encouraged, saying there would be little need for winter fodder for cattle in Vinland. The days and nights were of more equal length than we were used to for the season and, on the shortest day of the year, the sun was up between eykarstad and dagmalastad! This was indeed a fair land. We spent the winter cutting timber for the cargo home, stripping the bark and setting it to dry in stacks along the lakeshore. There were codfish aplenty to be caught and in the early spring, the river ran with sweet brown trout. Truly, this was Vinland the Good and the land provided everything a man might need for an ordered life; timber for building, fish and game, fruits and berries and lush pastureland for kine. Yet I was not content.

We passed the winter nights in the smoky great hall. Rush lights were lit and the men would take into turns to entertain with songs and sagas and stories. Sometimes, a man would remark on how we had never seen any skraeling villages and then another would pipe up and say we had seen no women either. That would usually give the conversation a more ribald turn as the boasting would start. Leif was not fond of such talk and would draw a little apart but he did not forbid it. Some of the tales were fantastical; of women in Russia who grew three teats and of a tribe on the Black Sea where the women’s private parts ran east to west, not north to south, as, they said, is proper.

Some of the tales, I knew, were meant to gull me, but I held my peace and kept my own counsel until they grew tired of the sport. It was a relief to us all when the warmer weather returned. Men aren’t meant to be so long in their own company, unless it is for warfare. Harsh words were spoken and more than one received a bloody nose from another’s fist before the spring came again. It owed much to Leif that nothing worse happened. He swore he would kill the first to draw a knife in a quarrel and none doubted but he would do so. It was Leif who held the band together with the force of his will and the strength of his hold was never seriously tested. We still trusted his luck. We lost but one man all winter and that was hairy Bjorn. He had it in his mind to search for wind-berries and strayed too far. We did not find him for three days. He had fallen and broken a leg. The wild beasts, whether wolves or bears I cannot say, had done for him then. We buried him in the way of the White Christ, for he was a follower, and Leif caused a stone cross to be carved and marked the runes himself – he was an educated man.

When the fifth new moon had waxed and waned since the skraelings departed southwards, I went again in my free hours to seek for Meera – ha – nhee. However, it was she found me as I was cutting reeds in the marshes. Leif had ordered us to repair the great hall after the winter and we needed fresh thatch here and there where the storms had damaged it. She was suddenly beside me. My hearing is as sharp as any man’s but I did not catch so much as a footfall of her coming. We were shy with each other at first and I had lost much of the skraeling tongue that I had learned. Not so her. She must have practiced each day through the winter and her voice, though soft, was confident.

“Torfi!”

“Meera – ha – nhee”

“ I come back. Stay this place for this many times new moon.”

She held up one hand and two fingers of the other.

“Good,” I said. “Thorfinn happy Meera – ha – nhee will stay.”

“Happy, Torfi? What happy?”

I couldn’t explain so I whooped and did a little dance for her. She grinned so broadly her eyes almost disappeared in the creases of her face.

“Ah, happy! Meera – ha – nhee happy Torfi happy.”

Then she kissed me, a gentle brush of her lips against my cheeks. I blushed scarlet and grinned stupidly at her. She watched me working for a while and sang a little song, the only words I recognised were ‘birch tree.’ I bound up a great bundle of reeds and headed back to the steading. I was covered in mud and sweat and I pointed further along the lakeshore.

“Go there! Torfi swim.”

She nodded her understanding and melted into the woods as I lugged my burden back to the builders. I muttered to the men that I was off to get cleaned up and one look at my spattered face and rat’s-tail hair was enough for them to ask no questions. I ran from the camp as fast as I could. There was no sign of her when I reached my swimming spot. I had come to expect this. She always watched a while before venturing into the open. I stripped off my shirt and trews and plunged into the water. It was cold and made me gasp but I soon got used to it and set to washing my clothes. I caught a flash of movement from the corner of my eye and looked up in time to see a pair of long, brown legs disappearing into the water. She dived almost without a splash. I searched the lake, waiting for her to break surface but could see no sign.

Then something grabbed my ankle and pulled me over and I fell backwards into the water leaving my washing floating on the surface. I came up spluttering with laughter to see her watching me with huge eyes. I ducked under the water and slicked back my hair, for it had fallen over my face. This time I saw her properly and realised she was naked under the water. Only her head and shoulders showed but the lake was clear and I could see her teats quite clearly. She caught the direction of my eyes and laughed at me.

“Torfi happy?”

“Thorfinn happy, happy, happy!”

She slowly rose and stood. The water came up to her waist. I was thunderstruck. Her teats were high and rounded, the tips prominent from the cold water. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. She was beautiful in the way that a young deer is beautiful. You know it has these few scant moments in time before age and decay, that is the lot of all upon the Earth, will claim this beauty for its own. But then, in the sunlit Vinland morning, such things were far off and I could only stare in wonder at the flawless symmetry of her. I was paralysed. I couldn’t lift an arm nor take a step. It was left to her to close the space between us. She slid back under the water and… vanished! I searched the clear lake for her but could see no trace. Then I heard her laughter from the bank behind me. She stood for a moment in all her naked glory and then, slipping the shift back over her head in one easy motion, she disappeared back into the trees. I slumped to my knees in the water, thinking that my heart would burst, so full it was.