Norseman Chief (6 page)

I spun to meet and extinguish whatever the next threat would be, but instead was greeted with laughter.  “By that frozen bitch, Hel!  Halldorr Olefsson?  What do you think gives you the right to come to my camp and maim one of my men?”

“Huntsman?” I asked.

“Who else would it be you brainless ox?  Now get in here so that we don’t all get killed by the skraeling beasts.  Drag my fingerless man in with you.”

Slowly my breathing returned to normal.  I looked over my shoulder to where Etleloo dragged the pale Kesegowaase back to the tree line.  Shouts from the surrounding forest told me that Rowtag and his men were getting close.  What happened next would determine how many would die at the foot of that rugged hill.  I threw my sword into the snow, “You do not need to worry, Thorhall.  There will be no killing today.”

Raising my hands I stood between the two forming groups of men and began detailing the reasons for peace.

. . .

Needless to say the man, Halfdanr, whose fingers I cut off, never warmed to me.  I shrugged saying that at least they came from his left hand so that he could still draw the cord of his bow back with the fingers of his right, though his accuracy would never be what it was in the past.  And when he let the cord snap, there was a good chance the bow itself would chase after the arrow in the air since he would have difficulty holding its belly.  So I suppose he did have a reason to be angry.  But he would not have to rely on other men to bring home prey for his stomach.  He would not starve.

Interestingly though, Etleloo did begin to warm to me, only to a degree, after that day’s events.  He must have liked what he saw in my spontaneous reaction to Kesegowaase being cut down, though he was certainly not a friend of the boy either, instead preferring to ridicule him incessantly about his delay in coming to the trials.  However, whatever their blood tie to one another was, it would always be more secure than one between a skraeling and my people, I was sure.

I had quickly convinced Etleloo and Rowtag to let me bring Kesegowaase into Thorhall the Huntsman’s home so that we could tend to the bleeding wound.  It was not deep but sprayed blood all over the snow and turf walls of the nearest longhouse.  When received in battle, these wounds usually kill men very quickly as they lie on the field, turning pale, awaiting help that never comes.  Thankfully, my peace talk was rapid enough that we bound the wound in short order.

The boy was weak and pallid when his eyes fluttered open after many moments.  Kesegowaase reached and tore at the bandages reflexively when he woke, but Etleloo slapped his hands back sharply, “You fool.  I will not let you die this way, at the hands of the giant sea people in something that these men will say was a battle.  I’d rather you live so that I can whip you outside the homes of our people.  Whip you like the boy you are!”

“What does he say, Halldorr?” asked Thorhall, hand ready to snatch his sword.

“He’s upset with the boy for nearly getting us killed when we were coming on a mission of peace,” I said, stretching the truth.

“These men, with their warrior paint making them red, don’t look like they were preparing for peace,” he said gesturing to the handful of fit, scowling men in furs, holding spears and hatchets.

I merely said, “Nonetheless, that was our mission.”

“What does he want?” asked Etleloo.  “Speaking his strange talk makes me think you conspire with him.”

Rowtag answered for me and I was thankful, “Etleloo, perhaps you should listen more and then you may learn the talk so you would know for yourself.  I’ve understood a handful of their words.  In the meantime, close your mouth and listen to Halldorr.”

“They know your name?” asked Thorhall after hearing the one word he understood from Rowtag.

“Of course they know my name.  I live with them.”

“What?  How?”

“I am bound to their chief for saving me from my own stupidity.  I have many months to go before I may leave.”

“So you are a prisoner?”

“Of sorts.”

“Stay with us and fight then.  We will see you free!”

“It is not like that, at all,” I said.  “These are good people.”  Then I pointed to Rowtag and Etleloo saying, “These warriors are brave and true, as any of our men are for their own families.  I live with them and will fight for them if I must, though I don’t desire to see any more bloodshed.”

“Huh!  No more bloodshed for Halldorr Olefsson?  Blood will follow you for all your days, boy.”

“Why are you here, Huntsman?”  I asked, turning the conversation.  “These al gumna kyn are here to talk with you through me and to find out your intentions.”

“Why do you talk to me like I am an enemy?  I am about the only friend you have in the world, you swollen cow teat.” he asked, hurt and more than a little angry.

“That is true, Huntsman.  You are a dear friend.  I love you like a member of my family, but I owe these people much.  Just tell me you haven’t been sent here by Leif or someone else to attack these people.”

“Huh!  That much is true.  I am done being sent anywhere by anyone.  I brought these men here to live in peace.  Why do you think I am isolated away from the sea?  I can hunt and do not need to talk to the gossips in the towns.  I hope to die here.”  But thinking of what he just said, Thorhall added, “But not at the hands of these men in their red paint ready to make a name for themselves.”

“And you won’t die in such a way.  I can assure it if you do not bring them any harm.”  The others all looked on.  Kesegowaase fell back asleep.  “But where is your ship then?”

“After bringing our supplies onshore some miles to the north, I took
Valhalla
out into the deep waters and saw her scuttled!”

That struck me as funny and I laughed out loud to the confusion of Norse and skraeling alike.  “So you are more of a prisoner here than I will ever be,” I said at last.

Thorhall shook his head in disgust while I began to translate my discussion with him to Rowtag and Etleloo.  I ended that translation by lying, “And this man, whom we call the Huntsman for his prowess in the forest, has invited a group of you to stay behind and enjoy his hospitality for as long as it takes for Kesegowaase to heal.”

Rowtag smiled slightly, nodding his head, “We ought to accept the invitation, don’t you think, Etleloo?”

Etleloo mumbled, “An invitation to stay on our own chief’s land.”  But my angry friend could see the decision was already made and so nodded his agreement.  Rowtag quickly sent runners to retrieve the two men stalking the Norse hunters and dispatched most of his warriors back to the village, holding back enough to keep the odds even should a fight erupt.  Several of the released men grumbled that they had yet to bloody their spears with the giant seafarers’ blood, but ambled away in their snow shoes all the same.

“I have plenty of meat for these al gumna kyn, but how do you propose that we sleep?  I don’t want to be cut open by some skraeling who is scared of his own shadow when I get up to piss in the night,” grumbled Thorhall when he found out that he had offered them his home and food.

“They will sleep in this longhouse.  You and your men will huddle in the other.  Bar the door if you must.”

“Of course I must.”

. . .

Apparently Thorhall had found a good supply of honey in the previous two years for all the men, except me, in both homes lay sleeping or passed out from too much mead.  Of course, I had given up drinking myself into oblivion years before – following Kenna’s passing and my wild drunkenness that ensued.

A part of me missed the joyous revelry that comes with drinking incessantly around the mead table.  We had all told lies which grew larger and more encompassing throughout the night as the drink flowed in the past.  But that piece of me was slowly fading, or dying – I didn’t know which.  Was it the wisdom of age?  Unlikely.  I did not feel wise.  Was it distance from my lifelong friendships?  Maybe.  Or was it complete indifference?  Likely.  I had grown so used to accepting the whims of fate or Providence that most activities I once attacked with such vigor had lost all their sheen, becoming lost in the constant blur and fog of daily survival.  Nothing was new to me.  I had become like the son of King David, Solomon, but without the immense wealth and countless wives.  There was nothing new under the sun.  Much of life appeared meaningless – menial tasks to check off a list like a quartermaster does with his army’s supplies.  At the very least I had helped save Kesegowaase and prevented unnecessary death on both sides – for now.

After our first night of drinking together, suspicion apparent in every glance, I kicked my skraeling companions awake.  Adding to Thorhall’s negative disposition, I slept in the skraeling longhouse.  The Huntsman complained of brotherhood and blood, I countered with citations to duty and honor and even hospitality.  Bleary-eyed, my bunkmates rubbed their temples, shaking the cobwebs from the free flowing drink of the night before as they sat up from their sleeping mats on the earthen floor.  I had a wild idea that I wanted to share with them.

I had seen a small heap of bones lying, snow-covered, against our longhouse.  They would soon be put to use for making needles and other household tools, but apparently Thorhall didn’t have the immediate need.  I would change that.  While my skraeling comrades stumbled from the door, squinting and blinking, grinding their eyes like children waking from a nap, I led them to the disorganized mess of bones.  I whisked snow out of the way to pour through the pile – a sternum from a bear, ribs from a deer, then the narrow lower leg bones of the same deer.  I grabbed two of these last bones and threw two more to Etleloo, who caught one while the other bounced harmlessly off his broad shoulder.  Then I strapped two long shovels to my back with rope and began moving into the trees.

“What are you doing?” asked my angry companion.

“Follow me.  You’ll see.”  I led them over the hill into the next valley.  It took much longer than any march over such a short distance should have taken.  They complained again and again about throbbing headaches.  At least three men crumpled into the snow, spilling the acidic contents of their bellies into the footprints of those before them.  Seeing them vomit caused more general moaning and groaning from the young warriors.  Etleloo too, wanted to release the illness in his stomach, but was much too proud to do so.  He belched and swallowed hard over and again as we walked.  I laughed at him and his men while thinking men are the same the world over, especially young men set on making a name in battle for themselves.  They simply moaned all the louder at my mirth.

At last we came to the stream in the next valley.  It was relatively flat land and I could see that the brook would flow gently in the summer, though now its waters were frozen, covered in mounds of drifting snow.  I made my way to the widest portion of the stream and pulled the wooden shovels from my back, tossing one to Etleloo who now had to drop the two bones to catch it.

“Have your men gather up those bones so you don’t lose them.  Then they should rest so that we don’t have to send for their mothers to nurse them back to health.”  Two of them tried to cry foul at my badgering but their outburst quickly gave way to their swirling heads and they settled.  “You can help me with that shovel and you’ll be rewarded!”

Without a nod or other acknowledgement the men all plopped into the snow, littering the snow-covered stream’s bank.  A group of them dug a shallow cave into a large snow drift using their hands or weapons, crawled inside, and promptly returned to the bliss of sleep, huddled together like piglets in a sty.

Etleloo remained relatively out of character, accepting his new chore with a lazy shrug.  No doubt the numbing effects of the drink persisted.  I plunged my shovel into the snow, tossed its contents over my shoulder, and shoved the wooden blade back again for another bite at the pristine white drift.  My angry friend, muttering to himself, saw my basic intent and slowly started clearing the frozen brook.

For a short while we worked in relative silence.  Occasionally our ears were treated to the sound of a burst of wind rustling snow from nearby branches.  Sometimes the gust would also bring the melody of the very creek on which we stood gurgling or babbling some ells downstream where the water’s movement was too swift to readily freeze.  A hawk screeched its call while gliding on waves of unseen air.  So stiff was the wind at its height that the bird of prey seemed to make no forward progress as it held its wings steady with powerful muscles, scanning the forest floor for a movement of what would become its next meal.

The men who did not immediately fall asleep lounged in the snow, sitting on their fur cloaks, chatting in hushed tones, with long swaths of time passing between responses.  Each of them seemed to be experiencing the effects of drink for the first time.  I would have to ask about that someday for I realized I had not noticed any prized drink among their people.