A Bone to Pick (9 page)

“In time Hervor became known far and wide. She even found her way to the court of a great king. Perhaps it was out of fear that he invited her to be his guest. While they were engaged in a game of hnefatl, one of the king's men made the poor decision to touch Tryfing. It took only a moment for Hervor to notice the indiscretion and leap into action. She snatched her sword and —” Thorfinn's story comes to an abrupt end when Snorri pushes past the listeners and climbs into his father's arms.

“Fader,” the boy says. “I talk, I talk.” He looks at the others, smiles, then babbles some more words no one can understand. Everyone finds his antics amusing except Sigrid.

“Snorri,” she growls, “let Uncle finish his story. Go on, Uncle. Tell us what happened.”

Her edgy words make Snorri all the more determined to hold the audience's attention. He kicks his feet and buries his head in his father's shoulder, crying, “I talk, I talk.” Sigrid lifts her hand to pull the child from his father's knee when Gudrid steps in.

“Sigrid,” she says sharply. “Don't forget, he, too, missed his father and wants a little attention.” Right on cue, Snorri smiles up at Thorfinn and utters more babble.

“I'll finish the story later,” Sigrid's uncle promises.

“Fine.” Sigrid takes her leave and storms to the farthest end of the house. Soon after the rest of the group breaks up and goes off to other activities.

I will never be as wicked as Hervor
, Sigrid thinks.
But I shall master the sword, and after that it will be the spear and the axe
. She knows better than to make her ambitions known, especially to Aunt Gudrid. But she cannot help but dream that one day her name, too, will be a legend and children will speak of her.
What will they call me?
she wonders.
How about Sigrid the Fearless?

Suddenly, she remembers her promise to Frigga.

“Uncle, I have a confession to make,” says Sigrid a while later when Snorri is fast asleep on his lap.

“Another confession? I don't think I can manage another one.” Uncle Thorfinn sees that his niece is determined. “All right then, tell me. What have you done now?”

“I made a promise.”

“Yes, go on.”

“It was a silly promise, really. And I made it out of fear when I thought Snorri was lost. But now I want to take it back.”

“I see. And to whom did you make the promise?”

“Frigga,” Sigrid says timidly.

Thorfinn is quiet for what feels like an eternity. Then finally he says, “Once you make a promise, especially to Frigga, you can't go back on your word. It would be dishonourable.”

Sigrid's heart feels as if it will break. “But, Uncle, I promised her I would marry that wrinkled old trader, Bjorni, if she kept Snorri safe. I also promised I would give up my dream to be a shield maiden and instead become a normal wife and mother. But I simply can't do it.”

“And why not? Bjorni is a perfectly good match … and wealthy, too.”

“If I marry him, our children will be homelier than dwarfs from the underworld. And secondly, I would rather die than marry that old man.”

Thorfinn stares for a long time at this most peculiar girl. Soon his shoulders and belly begin to tremble. Then out of his mouth pours laughter so loud that Thor and Odin must think a thunderstorm rages in Midgard.

“And if you're not to marry old Bjorni — who, I might add, is younger than me — then who will you marry?” Thorfinn wipes tears of hilarity from his eyes. “Do you think it will be easy for me to find a man who will take such an impudent and overbearing girl such as you?”

“Easy or difficult — it makes no difference to me, for I don't want the life of a wife and mother. I will be a warrior.” Sigrid folds her arms defiantly to show she is serious.

Thorfinn smiles at her, perhaps realizing for the first time that his beloved Sigrid is no longer a child. “The way of the Norsemen is changing, Sigrid. We are becoming peaceful and settled. There are not so many who want to pillage and battle anymore. And with fewer battles there isn't the need for so many warriors.”

“Maybe so, but, Uncle, we'll always need defending against the skraelings.”

Uncle Thorfinn is quiet as he contemplates his next words. “You're correct about the skraelings, Sigrid. If we stay here, we'll always need warriors to defend the settlement. But many of the elders feel these wild ones will never let us alone. They're stealthy and unshakable. And what happened to Snorri was a warning to us. There are many in the community who don't feel the danger is equal to the fortune this place has to offer. Tonight we shall hold a Thing to discuss it.”

Sigrid juts her chin out defiantly. “What does it matter what they say, Uncle Thorfinn? You're the leader. You'll just have to tell them this is where we live. And they shouldn't worry, for I'll be ready to defend them.”

“It's not so simple, Sigrid. Yes, I'm the head of our tribe, but I must consider the wishes of the others. And a decision will be made at tonight's Thing.”

“A decision? A decision about whether we're to stay or leave?”

“Yes, Sigrid. Most of the men want to leave this place to the skraelings and make ready to return to our homeland. And I do, too.”

Sigrid is stunned by this news. If she returns home, it most certainly means the end of her dream to be a shield maiden.

The day before, I had tagged the cave entrance with a blue cord off my sweater. The cave was so well disguised that if I hadn't, I might not have found it again on my own. I'd thought about the cave and its paintings all day and was excited to go inside and see them again. I switched on my flashlight and slowly made my way through the narrow entrance. Inside, the air was still and cool and had an earthy scent. It was quiet, too — maybe even a bit eerie.

The idea slowly dawned on me that nobody knew where I'd gone. I could hear Aunt Margaret in the back of my mind nattering at me:
Peggy, you never think before you leap.
She was right, if something were to happen to me … “Oh, Peggy, shut up!” I told myself before my imagination got away on me.

Still, there was no getting around the fact that I was alone in a cave that only I and one other person knew about. And if I was alone, why did I have the feeling of being watched?

I set down my backpack and shone the light onto the cave walls. As it penetrated the cracks and crevices and lit up the paintings, I started to feel more at ease. The pictures were simple but had an artistic elegance about them. Many of the figures were animals. I wasn't sure, but they looked like caribou, foxes, fish, and seals. Others were humans — I could tell that much. But why did some have pointed chins and others didn't?

I read once that early people used fish eggs mixed with red ochre — iron oxide deposits from the earth — to make paint and usually applied it by hand. I let my fingers lightly trace the red lines of the pictures and noticed they were about the same thickness. With just a bit of imagination I pictured the cave lit by firelight and a Beothuk, maybe a shaman, dipping his fingers into a shell filled with the mixture and then applying it to the cave wall.

I took out my sketchpad. I wanted to capture the images so I could study them later. Shading and smudging, I did my best to make my drawings look as elegant as the originals. Soon I was lost in thought as I filled page after page. Since there was no natural light in the cave, I didn't have a clue how much time had passed. Neither did I realize the batteries in my flashlight had worn down — not until I suddenly found myself in total darkness.

The moment the light went out I gasped at the utter blackness. I'd never known what total darkness was really like before. I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face. While it was fascinating, it was also a whole new level of freaky.

I admit that my heart was beating so fast that it started pulsating in my ear. I almost thought it was coming from the cave and not me. Before I hit the panic button I gave myself a pep talk. “Okay, Peggy, don't freak out. Everything is going to be fine. You just have to find your way to the cave wall and follow it to the entrance.” I felt around for my backpack, slid my sketchpad and pencil inside, and zipped it up tight.

Crawling for what seemed like forever, I finally felt the cold, hard wall. Slowly, I stood, careful not to bump my head. Then I shuffled toward where I thought the cave entrance was located. My hand brushed against something wet and slimy — and I admit, I shrieked. “Calm down, Peggy. All you've got to do is get yourself to the entrance where there's sure to be beams of light coming from outside.”

No sooner had the words come out of my mouth than I tripped. Reaching out for something to hold on to, I found only air and fell onto a heap of rocks. Suddenly, I was in a lot of pain. I'd cut myself and was bleeding badly. It was all I could do not to bawl like a baby.

As I lay there wondering what to do, I heard scraping noises. I couldn't see a thing — no matter how wide open my eyes were — but I was sure something was coming through the cave entrance. Was this how it was to end — supper for a hungry wolf?

Then the cave was flooded with light.

“I was afraid I'd find ya here,” said Louise, sighing.

“I'm so glad to see you,” I nearly sobbed, then quickly noticed she wasn't nearly as relieved to see me as I was to see her.

“Do ya realize they're all out lookin' fer ya?” she said crossly.

“Who's looking for me? What are you talking about?”

“It's nearly nine o'clock and dark, Peggy.”

“It is? I had no —”

“You've been away fer so long that friend of yers — the old lady —”

“Eddy?”

“Yah, that one. She formed a search party, and they're all lookin' fer ya now. She tracked me down at home and asked me if I knew where ya might have gone. I had to lie on the spot, and I'm not so good at that. What were ya tinkin' comin' here alone?”

“You come here alone,” I defended.

“Yah, but I'm a local. You're an outsider and a kid at that. People don't take it well when a kid disappears.” Louise waved her hand. “C'mon, let's get goin'. I just hope no one saw me come here.”

As if on cue, a voice came through the cave entrance. “Hello, is someone in there?”

Louise held her finger to her lips and switched off the light. I froze, too, when I recognized the voice.

“If you kids are in there, you'd better speak up now.”

I wanted to say something, but I could feel Louise squeeze my arm. Then came the sounds of grunting and scraping and finally the beam from a flashlight was glaring in my eyes.

“Peggy! Thank goodness!” Eddy puffed. “My dear, you're bleeding.”

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I looked down and saw my sleeves were as red as the paint on the walls.

“And, Louise, I figured you knew something. That's why I followed you. For the record, Peggy would never go off to town to get her nails done. Nor would she slink off to some private place to read a romance novel.”

I frowned and glanced at Louise.

She glared back. “I told ya I don't lie well when put on the spot. And tanks to you the cat's out of the bag.” For once I had nothing to say. “And by the way — good job on the rock cairn. Ya saved us all the effort of dismantlin' it carefully.”

“Wha-what?” I stuttered, looking down at where I had fallen. The stones that had once formed a small rock cairn were now a messed-up pile of rocks.
“Noooo!”
I cried out loud.

Eddy shone her flashlight at the messed-up cairn, back to me for a second, and then beamed her light onto the cave wall. I watched her shudder. “Oh, my goodness,” she said in a hushed voice. It was nearly the same reaction I'd had when I saw the cave paintings for the first time. All three of us stood in silence.

Then Eddy glanced at me. I felt as if I would shrivel up on the spot. Now I knew what people meant when they said, “If looks could kill.”

“I wanted to —”

“Save it, Peggy. We need to get you out of here and back to camp where we can tend to those wounds,” Eddy said. Her voice wasn't angry — more like she was regretful. “Besides, there are a lot of people who will want to know that you're safe.”

I somehow doubted that.

Louise grabbed my pack. “C'mon, ya heard her.”

As I followed them out of the cave, I turned back to see the pictographs one last time. I was pretty sure I'd never see them again.

“There's no use arguin' the matter, Princess. Ya were in the wrong, and now you're payin' the price. Don't be tinkin' I'm glad about it, either. Now, instead of ya bein' my helper, I've got to be yer babysitter.” Bertha set down a tray of eggs. “Now get crackin'. We're havin' French toast fer breakfast — and there'll be none of yer funny business. Just follow the recipe.”

I didn't have much to say, so I grabbed the eggs and bowl and started preparing the egg mixture. Try as I might, I couldn't stop having flashbacks about the night before.

When we got back to L'Anse aux Meadows, Eddy took me to the cook tent where she'd set up an emergency search headquarters. That was when I had to face all the students and professors who had been out looking for me. While Eddy attended to my cuts, Professor Brant raked me over the coals for putting myself in danger and inconveniencing everyone else. That was humiliating enough, but what was worse was how he lit into Eddy.

“Dr. McKay, I'm very disappointed in you. After all, hiring this girl was your idea. She's a terrible cook's assistant and has no common sense, either. The entire evening was wasted because we had to search for her when our first obligation was to these students.”

I hated to see Eddy being talked to like that. But the professor was right. She should have known better than to let me come.

After Professor Brant was finished his performance, the students left for their own tents. It wasn't until then that Eddy told him about the cave. Anyone else would have been happy about it, but not him.

“Is this true? And you didn't tell us about it? All I can say is you better not have done anything to disturb the site.”

Louise had gone home, so I figured I was getting her share of the blame, too. I was surprised that Eddy didn't say anything about how I'd knocked over the cairn.

When I was finally allowed to go to bed, I arrived to find Bertha sound asleep and there was already a parade of noises coming out of both ends of her. In a strange way it was comforting. I mean, I couldn't exactly sleep, anyway. Better to listen to Bertha's butt than the noise in my head.

That next morning, when the students began filing into the cook tent, it was clear the word was out about the cave and the place was humming with excitement. I knew that I'd be banned from going anywhere near it. Now I could only hope to overhear tidbits of information during meals.

Eddy didn't show up for breakfast, so I got worried. When Robbie came to get seconds on French toast, I asked about her. Any hope that she'd take pity on me was dashed by the look on her face.

“Stop talking to me, kid. People might think we're friends.” That went right to the heart.

“Now that wasn't a nice thing to say even if ya did make a big mistake,” said Bertha after Robbie was gone.

“I just want to know if Eddy's all right,” I said quietly.

Later that morning Bertha brought me news about Eddy. “She's takin' her meals at the cave site today. Apparently, she's got a lot to do — something about doing a site assessment and then creatin' an excavation plan. But don't feel too bad. Only a few of the students get to help her.”

Was she kidding? Don't feel bad? It should be Louise and me helping Eddy.

For the next couple of days Bertha kept me on a short leash. The only news I got was what I overheard at mealtime. When Bertha got sick of having me underfoot, she said I could wander around L'Anse aux Meadows as long as I stayed far from the field school students and the cave. By then everyone knew me and what I looked like, so there was no chance I'd sneak up for a peek without some kind of intervention.

I drifted into the settlement where lots of tourists were enjoying the Viking guides and sod buildings.

“My husband's a saga freak and we've visited all the important Viking sites in Norway, Denmark, Iceland, Greenland, even the Faroe Islands,” a lady was telling John.

I waved at him as I passed by and heard him say, “With all yer travellin' I bet you've never heard how the Vikings were able to make fire when they were out at sea.” Then he began telling the tourists about the stinky pee-soaked fungus mats the Vikings used to take fire with them. I snickered when someone shrieked in disgust.

I wondered if I'd see Louise around. We hadn't had a chance to talk since the night Eddy had found us in the cave. She was probably feeling as miserable as me. When the crowd cleared off, I'd see if she was in the longhouse.

When I heard a clanking noise, I followed it to the forge. A man with long silver hair tied back was forging a metal nail. I was the only one there to watch him heat the iron until it was nearly white-hot, then use some kind of ancient pliers to shape it. It took him quite a while to make that one nail. Finally, he dipped it into a pail of cold water and it hissed as it cooled down.

“Here, a present fer the young lady.”

I took it in my hand, noticing it was still warm. “Thank you,” I said, admiring how something as simple as a nail could be so much work to make.

“You're awfully young to have such a long face,” he said. “What's yer problem?”

He was a kind-looking man, but I didn't feel like spilling my guts about what was bugging me to a stranger. “It's a long story, but the short version is I made a real mess of things and now my best friend's reputation is ruined.”

“I see. Well, at least ya haven't had to face the pole of scorn.”

“Pole of scorn? What's that?” I asked.

“To the Vikings, a man's reputation and honour during his life determined his fortune after death. Any offence in word or deed, or anything that might mar his reputation or honour, had to be avenged. It was the only way to repair the wrong. Sometimes it was a duel, or the one wronged had to hurt the other equally or worse. But sometimes the wronged man erected a pole of scorn with carvings of the wrongdoer's head and a curse in runes along the pole. One such fellow by the name of Jokull killed the mare of his wrongdoer and mounted it on the pole, too.”

“Nasty!”

“Quite nasty, indeed. But the Norsemen were a sensitive lot and tolerated no threat against their name and person. But I doubt yer misdeed was so bad ya deserved the pole of scorn.”

“It's kind of a long story, and I don't really feel like talking about it.”

“That's a pity, fer I love a good story.” He patted the seat beside him, encouraging me to sit. “Maybe ya don't care to tell yer story, but how do ya feel about hearin' one? I've got ones that'll make ya laugh and others that'll curl yer hair.”

I sat next to the man. “Sure, I could use the distraction.”

“Well, good. What's yer name, girl?”

“Peggy.”

“That's a good name. I'm Niko Ekstrom.”

“Hey, you're the expert on Viking sagas,” I observed.

He chuckled. “I suppose some call me an expert. After a lifetime learnin' about the Norse, it's more like an obsession. My wife, Ava, says it's a curse. Instead of bein' called a saga expert I prefer the title storyteller. If I'd been around in the old days, people would've paid me to recite the sagas of the gods and heroes, or tell about the great battles and family feuds.”

“How about stories about Leif Eriksson and how he and his men came to North America?”

“Sure, there's lots of stories about Lucky Leif. But which of the stories is true isn't so easy to tell,” Niko explained. “There are two versions of the Vinland Sagas. One is called
Saga of the Greenlanders
and the other
Saga of Erik the Red
. In one Leif is credited with all the glory fer discoverin' Vinland, and in the other his role is played down and Thorfinn Karlsefni and his wife, Gudrid, are the heroes.”

I'd learned about Leif Eriksson in school, but I'd never heard about the other guy before.

“She wants to hear stories about the shield maidens, Niko. That's what she's really interested in.”

I turned to see Louise in her Viking costume. She smiled at me.

“Shield maidens? Well, then fer sure you'll be wantin' to hear about Thorfinn Karlsefni. He sailed here with three ships and about a hundred and fifty men, a handful of women, and some young folk, too. We know from the sagas that Gudrid gave birth right here to her first child, a lad they called Snorri. He became the first European born in North America.”

“Snorri?” I snickered. “That's even worse than my friend's name — Thorbert.”

“Why Thorbert's a perfectly respectable name. Don't you agree, Miss Runa?”

Louise shrugged. “If you're a Viking. If you're a kid from the twenty-first century, it's like wearin' a sign —
DORK HERE
.”

“So you know stories about shield maidens?” I asked, changing the subject. “I'd like to hear some.”

“The first thing ya have to understand is how the Norsemen mixed their myths and history together in the sagas. Scholars have been tryin' to unravel fact from fiction fer centuries.”

“Were shield maidens fiction?”

“No, I tink there really were some female warriors, though some scholars tink they were only Norse fantasy. Have ya heard about Hervor and Brynhildr?” I shook my head. “In that case ya fer sure won't know about a young warrior who came to this very settlement with Karlsefni and his crew. In the stories she was known as Sigrid the Brave. Like all shield maidens, she rejected the traditional role and expectation of young women of her time. She refused to learn to cook or weave and showed no desire to be a wife or mother. Then along came baby Snorri, and despite her objections, Sigrid became his main caregiver. In fact, it was while he was in her care that she earned the name Sigrid the Brave.”

“Sounds like my kind of girl. Will you tell us about her?” I asked.

Old Niko smiled. “There's an old Norse saying — ‘A man listens thus he learns.' So make yerself comfortable, girls, and I'll tell ya all about the brave young Sigrid.”

I scooted over, and Louise sat next to me. Then Niko began. His voice was just how a storyteller's should be — deep and soothing. I could feel him take us into the past to a time long ago.

“Now it came to pass that there was a young orphan girl by the name of Sigrid Thorbjornsdottir …”

As soon as Sigrid hears Snorri's gentle, rhythmic breathing, she slips out of the bed and tucks him in tightly. When she is sure he is fast asleep, she sneaks out of the longhouse and slyly makes her way to the firepit. Hiding in the shadow of the forge, she has a perfect view of the lively meeting. As chief, Uncle Thorfinn sits prominently on his chair while the men debate the issue at hand. Aunt Gudrid sits at his side. To some she might appear calm, but Sigrid notices she is wringing her hands.

“It is too soon to give up on the venture, Thorfinn,” booms Ellandar. “If we're the kind of men who could be frightened by some wild-haired skraelings, we would never have left Greenland in the first place.”

“It doesn't make a man a coward to respect his opponent. These savages may be wild, but they're stealthy,” argues Ingerson. “And if they're so harmless, why do you sleep so lightly at night? Could it be that you're like the rest of us and don't want to die in your sleep?” Many on both sides of the issue groan or grumble.

Uncle Thorfinn interjects. “Come now, Ingerson, we all know it isn't a question of whether we die here or die at home. The important thing is to live and die in honour. Now don't question Ellandar's courage. Stick to the issue. Everyone can see that the best lumber has been depleted already, and over the past two years the hunting has become more difficult with fewer game animals around.”

As she watches, Sigrid's chest heaves with pride. Her uncle is a wise man and speaks confidently. That is why the other men listen.

“Ouch!” she cries out when something hard hits her head. Fortunately, the debate is now lively and no one hears her.

“Shh,” Gunnar whispers. “What do you think Thorfinn will do if he catches you here?” He sidles up to his cousin.

“You brat. What did you throw at my head?”

Gunnar bends down and picks up a piece of slag left from the day's forging.

She snatches it from his fingers and flicks it at him. “Now shut up. I'm trying to hear the debate. They may be close to a decision.”

“My father says there's no way a hundred and fifty Norsemen will come to an agreement in one night.”

“Then, if he must, Uncle Thorfinn will decide the matter. He's the leader, after all — hand-picked by Erik the Red himself.”

“We all know what Thorfinn wants to do — he'd have us tuck our tails like frightened dogs and let the skraelings have this land.”

“Careful with your words, Gunnar. You already know I can best you with the sword and in arm wrestling. Want to find out what I can do with my knuckles?”

Gunnar frowns. “You know, one day I'll be a full-grown man. I'd like to see you take me then.”

Sigrid leaps onto her cousin and pins him to the ground. “Do you think I want to return to Greenland? I assure you, nothing awaits me there but a very old man who wants me for his bride. But Uncle Thorfinn is wise, and if he says we must leave, then so be it.” She frees the boy and sits on the ground next to him. “He says our best chance to get home before winter sets in means we'll have to leave within the next two fimmts, perhaps on Odin's day or Thor's day.”

As the two watch silently from their hiding place, Sigrid cannot help think what her future offers. Her uncle said that the ways of the Norsemen have changed and many warriors had turned their hand to farming instead. If there is no chance for her to fight in battles, then what is left for the likes of her?