Norseman Chief (8 page)

“And . . .?” Ahanu asked.

The woman breathed through her nostrils, calming herself.  “Etleloo, you are right that I should give this man respect.  He is guest in my husband’s home and I owe him more than I have given him.  If you have begun to respect him,” she paused for a short time here, “I will accept that and consider him friend.”

Etleloo smiled and shook his head, turning back into the longhouse, while simultaneously slamming the door behind him.  Ahanu chuckled softly, “Hurit, I think it would be best if you offer your apology to Halldorr, who stands before you, rather than another man.”  He patted her on the shoulder and led Nootau into the longhouse after Etleloo, leaving her and me standing in the cold snow.

“But you are a dense one, Halldorr.  You’ve finally got the woman alone!  Take her behind the house and have her!”

I rolled my eyes and was thankful neither she nor anyone else could understand the Huntsman and his men’s goading.  The two of us stood there a time.  Her arms were hugging her chest for warmth while she rocked back and forth from one leg to the other, like a mother would soothe a crying child.  Hurit must have noticed her motion too, for she said, “I used to cradle Kesegowaase this way.  Ever since I had him, I find myself swaying like this no matter what I am doing.  I find peace in it.”

“You are right to find peace in your son,” I said.  “He will always be your son, even when he is old with white hair and with his skin covered in the tattoos of your people, he will always be your son.”

Hurit looked up to me then and smiled a sad smile, pointing to her head, “In here I know you and Ahanu are right.  I should not fight the boy’s growth.  But here,” now pointing at her chest, “Here I ache when I think of what happens to our men on hunts or in battle.  I know something will happen to the boy and I know that I cannot bear it.”

“Hurit, I hope something
does
happen to the boy.  I know something will happen to the boy, because if something doesn’t happen, then nothing happens.  That is no way for a boy or a man to waste his life.”  Pursing her lips tightly, she nodded again in silence.  “We do not have to come to agreement today on this subject.  Let’s go in and check on Kesegowaase.  You’ll see he is stronger than you think.”

I turned to go into the longhouse when Hurit’s firm grasp stopped me.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  “Thank you for saving my son.”  A tear formed at her eye which she quickly swept away.  Uncomfortable to the point of horror with her emotions, I merely nodded and ducked into the longhouse.

CHAPTER 5

My skraeling hosts were significantly cleaner than I had found the English to be when we invaded their lands years ago.  So too, were Ahanu and his people oceans apart from the filth in which the Scots lived, but I was still ridiculed for insisting on a weekly bath like the rest of my countrymen back in my homelands.  Back home we even named our Saturday, Lordag, which means “washing day.”  I could never understand how a man or woman could go longer than seven days without going mad from the grime which found its way everywhere, from my fingernails to my groin.  But the most amazing part of it all was that they would stand for the unwelcome pests that visited us in the night.  Even in the frigid months, somehow a tiny speck of a flea or blood-fattened tick or pale brown louse would find its way into my beard, atop my head of hair, or worse yet, around my manhood.  During the summer months all of us suffered severely from the constant onslaught from the tiny invaders as they left their bite marks for all to see.  So I bathed weekly and combed my hair daily to reduce my misery.  These cleaning rituals were among my smallest, yet most cherished treasures in life.

I occasionally longed for one of the bath houses we had on farms in Rogaland.  They were a separate outbuilding next to a house, specifically for cleaning, with all the necessary seats and tools and even heat.  I do not know why I still thought of them since it had been years since I ever used one.  They were a luxury not to be found in Greenland so it would be many years before I could expect to find one here in Vinland, unless I built it myself.

So I made due with the mamateek I was granted by Ahanu, using it as my bath house and my laundry area.  I had brought three separate changes of clothes with me when I made my journey in
Sjor Batr
as Right Ear and I crossed the sea in the autumn.  Busyness with my womanly tasks in the village prevented me from properly cleaning them in the past several weeks.  All three now hung from a line over the smoky fire in my small house in order to kill the tiny visitors nestled among the fibers.

I was standing next to the warmth of the fire, quite alone, except for Right Ear who slept on his back, paws up, sprawled over my gear at the edge of the single room.  A flea was pinched between my fingers for I had just snagged it from the fine teeth of my walrus-tusk comb after running the device through my beard.  No matter how many times I have tried I have never been able to kill a flea just by squeezing it.  I had tried that day with no success so I held it over my fire, rolling my fingers so that it could drop to a fiery death.  It fell, but I think the heated air pushed its miniscule body away from the fire and over to the dog.  I shook my head, thinking it would likely find its way back to my beard someday.

Next, I crouched to my supply sack and fished for an earspoon.  My fingers fell across the thin implement and I pulled it out, standing to dig out the orange-brown wax from my ears.  The earspoon was not as ornate as my comb; instead it was decidedly utilitarian in design.  One of the rabbits Hurit, Kesegowaase, and I shared for dinner early in my stay donated its leg bone for it.  I carved it in a matter of minutes, worried more that its sharp edges were smooth than the art of the tool.

That is how I stood, over my fire, digging in my ear when Hurit threw the door flap back and ducked into the home.  Right Ear picked up his head, lazily turning and rolling to see who disturbed his slumber.  When he decided she posed no threat he opened his mouth in a gaping yawn, tongue curling out and upwards, before setting his head back down across his front paws.  The woman scanned the room noting my laundry, “You are becoming more like a woman every day.  You’ll make a man a fine wife someday.”  I gave a mocking smile in return, before inspecting the earspoon which carried the contents of one of my ears.  She continued, “But I will say you are among the cleanest men I have ever met.  There are whispers among some of our men that they fear you will steal their wives because of your cleanliness.”

“I doubt the men of your people have much to fear.  Your women, I think, are afraid of me and my size.  I know they ridicule me openly because of my punishment to work with them, but I still think it is because they fear me.”

“As is typical among most men, you do not know what you say.  There are many of the women who have said that they would like to spend time in your mamateek – if nothing more than to see the difference in your race of men compared to ours.”

I was thankful that my face was warmed by the fire and so my blushing at her words was camouflaged.  But I gained composure quickly saying, “And who are these women?  I’d like to give them the chance to have their wishes fulfilled.”

Without pause Hurit answered, “It is mostly Numees who lusts after you.  When she and I are alone gathering water she often comments about you in such a way.”

“Isn’t Numees the woman with the milky white eyes that float in odd directions in her sockets?”

“Yes, certainly, that is her.”

“But she’s never seen me.”

“Yes, exactly,” Hurit nodded.

I scanned her face for mocking but there was none that I could find.  Hurit held my gaze, blinking only occasionally.  She crossed her arms and raised her brow as if waiting for me to speak.  Finally, I returned to burrowing into my second ear, the right one that had been damaged by the skraelings in Greenland.  “What is it you want?”

“I do not want you to think we have become friends.”

I didn’t have that thought, but said, “What do you mean?  I thought we
were
friends.  I am friends with all of Ahanu’s people.”

“Except those you kill.”

I spontaneously drew a sharp breath into my nose with nostril flared.  As I clenched my lips in anger at her words, I withdrew the spoon from my ear so my tightened grip on it didn’t force me to puncture myself.  “I defended my people when forced to do so.  I thought this issue has been settled.”

“Huh!  It seems your people were
forced
to kill many of my people.”

“Woman, you came to me so you will listen to what I say on this.  Just as you cannot control the actions of your people – Segonku, Ahanu, Kesegowaase, Numees, whomever, I cannot control the actions of my people.  The One God gives each of us free will to choose.”

“And you, along with your other men, chose to kill my people.”

“I am telling you woman that I only killed when I was attacked by your men.  Never did I attack your people.  Let’s stop this pretending that I and my kind are always in the wrong.  Your men are warriors precisely because they’ve been to war.  They’ve done battle and lost good men long before my people even came to these shores.  People choose.  Sometimes we, as any people, choose to kill one another.  What would you have me do?”

“And when my son goes through the trials, when the sun makes the length of the day equal the length of the night, what then?  Will you kill him if someone among your men makes that choice for you?”

So she still feared for her son.  “Of course not!  Besides he is swift, strong, and most importantly, intelligent.  He is like his father.”

“And that didn’t save him.  In fact, his intelligence likely got him killed.”

I shook my head in disgust at the conversation, letting out a chuckle at Hurit.  “You are wont to argue tonight, I can see that.”  My muscles relaxed as I thought through what this woman was telling me.  I closed my eyes and twisted my neck until it popped.  “Kitchi was wise, strong, and yes, intelligent.  I think he could see that I meant the man and all your men no harm.  Why can’t you see that?  Why do you let your love for Kesegowaase blind you to what is around you?  You complain about the deaths of two husbands at the hands of my people, yet the first, the good man, was killed by Segonku, son of the previous chief.  The second, the evil one, was killed by the woman Freydis.  Certainly you don’t mourn his death.”

Hurit sighed, heavily, dropping her hands to her side.  A loud crackle from the fire caused the dog to stir.  Right Ear stood up with his back legs and stretched with his front legs extending far to his front.  After shaking his head so his one good ear slapped loudly against his head, he trotted over to the woman, his tongue lolling.  Hurit bent down and ruffled his fur.  “I will be alone if my son is killed.”

She smiled sadly at Right Ear, even allowing him to lick her chin a time or two.  I will repeat myself from past writings here.  I have said that women confuse me – I often have no idea what to think or say to them.  Since she entered my house that evening Hurit did nothing but attack me and even my own countrymen.  She insulted me and angered me.  But then, how is it that as I looked at her crouching toward Right Ear, that I felt affection toward her.  Hurit was a beautiful woman among her people that much was certain.  Not as young as she once was, but neither was I.  She saved my life from torture when I came to her village for the sake of her chief’s law, not because of me.  Yet I grew fond of her in that moment while I watched her.  Don’t even try to understand this feeling.  I have long given up on such nonsense.  I could not understand Kenna.  I did not understand Freydis.  I did not understand Gudrid.  Why would I now understand this woman or my own feelings toward her?

“You will not be alone,” I said softly, cooling my anger and seeing her for the frustrated woman she was.  “You will always have your people; they are your family.  Soon, when Ahanu gives his blessing, you will again be wed.”

Hurit tussled Right Ear’s coat one last time then stood with a half smile.  “I have no doubt you will be proven correct.  I will be wed to some man, even though there are no men among my people I would have.”

“Well then another neighboring tribe.  There must be a man you would have among them.”

“Even so, it is not the way of our nation and it won’t be the way for me.  I have heard that in the tribes a moon or more journey to the south that the women control the order, the marriages.  I cannot imagine such things, but I have heard it.”

I didn’t believe it either.  No matter what the race, I could not see men allowing their women to set rules by which they must live.  Not thinking, I took a step toward Hurit.  It must have surprised her for her eyes widened, but she did not move.  Emboldened, though not entirely confident, I place a hand upon her shoulder, but then I did not know what to say.  I thought of telling her she was beautiful, wise, strong, and the best mother I had ever seen.  But I thought that she would be angry with me for doing so.  She would just tell me all those compliments, true or not, would not prevent Glooskap from allowing her son to be killed.  It would certainly not thwart their god from forcing her to marry again at the direction of the chief.  So like a dim-witted dolt, I gave a weak smile and nodded.

Her dark eyes looked into mine while a genuine smile swelled beneath her strong nose.  After what seemed like a long time, Hurit said, “Perhaps the husbands of our village do need to worry about you and their wives.  You are clean, you listen, and do not try to solve a woman’s problems.  You are handsome, and a mere touch can bring a rise to your manhood.”

With that she nodded and ducked out the way she had come.  I stood there, speechless and naked, with my manhood indeed aroused while Right Ear tore off after her.

. . .

Etleloo was in his element.  “You are weak!” he shouted.  “How can you ever expect to be among the al gon kin with small arms and slow wits?”  He taunted Kesegowaase and the other boys who would stand for the trials that would determine which if any would become men.  Most of the other young warriors – themselves newly hatched men in just the past year or two – poked fun at all the boys, but Kesegowaase received the brunt of their abuse.  He was older than all of the others, standing two heads taller than the boy nearest his height.  At that time, I knew neither what to expect nor what would happen if any of them failed the trials.  I understood only that these tests were a rite of passage for the men of the tribe.  Ahanu, Right Ear, and I walked toward the assembled village on a windy morning on a day near the equinox.

“It seems like only yesterday I stood for the trials.”  Ahanu giggled and clicked his tongue while reminiscing.  “Though it must be more than fifty summers have passed since then.  From what I recall, Etleloo’s great-grandfather shouted similar insults to me as the tribe saw us off.  He said that I was so dull that a segonku could outwit me.  He told me that I was so small that when we next went to do battle with the Mi’kmaq tribe, I would be mistaken for a woman and taken as a wife.  It made me angry then, but now I laugh at it and think it humbled me enough to survive the trials.”  In fact, he did laugh again as he sprang over a log that lay in our path.

“What do you remember about the trials themselves?” I asked.

“Thankfully, not much at all.  But that’s the point, isn’t it!”

“I wouldn’t think so.  Shouldn’t the day you become a man be something to savor, to recall for all time?” I speculated as Right Ear raised his leg for the fourth time on our short walk, marking over some scent that reminded him he could manufacture urine like a river makes water.