and quickly turning an offended red
color. There had to be another way. I had no skill to light a fire on my own,
even if I had managed to get some wood. I watched the smoke rolling out of
Eirik’s stone roof, and I felt envy jab at me. Perhaps Thordhild was inside.
Perhaps she would help me.
I left that little stone church and
began walking back to Eirik’s house. By that time he was gone, and so I
decided he would not mind my visiting Thordhild. I stood in front of Eirik’s
door, wondering how such a large house could be built here. Although it was
not large compared to some of the estates in France , by Greenland ’s standard it was enormous, and it
certainly put the other small stone houses to shame.
I rapped on the door and waited. It
occurred to me that even if someone answered the door, they would probably not
understand what I was trying to say to them, as Bjarni was the only one who
could speak my language. I noted the scratches on my hands had begun to bleed,
which made for an even more pitiful sight. I knocked again, listening to the
sounds within. Yes, someone was home, and as the door opened, I had the
sudden, vivid image of an axe whistling down upon my head. There really was no
telling what these brutes were capable of.
But to my surprise, and relief, there
was only a young girl standing there, mouth dropping open involuntarily as she
looked at me. This was not Thordhild, I assumed, but merely a servant girl of
some kind. Her dress was heavy cloth, and I imagined it was quite warm around
her small frame. Her eyes were dark and round, and her skin had a brown tint
to it. She was from southern Germania , I later
found out, and had been captured on one of the Viking’s raids two years ago.
Since she was from the south, she knew a little of my language, for which I
praised God.
Her name was Malyn, and upon our
first meeting she seemed very afraid of me. I can see why now. My hands were
dripping blood all over the ice, and my haggard appearance did little to
comfort her. Here I stood, a pale old man, worn and sick, bleeding and cold,
staring at the warmth of Eirik’s house like a lunatic. I even had a wild
vision of pushing the girl aside and barging in to huddle by the fireplace.
But I am a man of God, and I have my manners even in a godless place. I stood
there and waited for her to speak, or at least give me a sign that she was not
in shock.
Of course, she eventually let me in,
for she knew who I was. She had heard Thordhild talking with Eirik about me,
and so she was not as surprised as I had imagined when she saw me. She bowed
to me and let me inside where the heat washed over me and made me feel almost
human again.
As I sat down by the fire, she
brought me clean cloths to bandage my hands. As Malyn wrapped them around my
hands, I looked around at the majesty of Eirik’s home. It was simply
decorated, mostly with draped furs and horns mounted on the wall. The stone
fireplace flanked the main room I now sat in, and the table that stretched out
behind me could easily sit twenty men. I had heard of these pagans and their
mead-halls, but I had dismissed them as mere speculative storytelling. The
ceiling was laced with interlocking beams that crossed to a point high above,
giving the smoke from the fireplace ample room to swirl up and out of the
house. Yes, I was impressed. Perhaps a man could live comfortably in this
land, but only if he had the luxuries others were willing to give him or he had
the power to take. Everything in his home, I realized with a cold feeling, had
come from Eirik’s conquests. All of the silver cups and bowls sitting neatly
in a row had been pillaged from ancient churches, and the fine wood of the
table had been stolen from the lands near Rome on the Mediterranean Sea . Everything had a price marked on
it with innocent blood.
I looked at this young girl who was
bandaging my hands. She was
color. There had to be another way. I had no skill to light a fire on my own,
even if I had managed to get some wood. I watched the smoke rolling out of
Eirik’s stone roof, and I felt envy jab at me. Perhaps Thordhild was inside.
Perhaps she would help me.
I left that little stone church and
began walking back to Eirik’s house. By that time he was gone, and so I
decided he would not mind my visiting Thordhild. I stood in front of Eirik’s
door, wondering how such a large house could be built here. Although it was
not large compared to some of the estates in France , by Greenland ’s standard it was enormous, and it
certainly put the other small stone houses to shame.
I rapped on the door and waited. It
occurred to me that even if someone answered the door, they would probably not
understand what I was trying to say to them, as Bjarni was the only one who
could speak my language. I noted the scratches on my hands had begun to bleed,
which made for an even more pitiful sight. I knocked again, listening to the
sounds within. Yes, someone was home, and as the door opened, I had the
sudden, vivid image of an axe whistling down upon my head. There really was no
telling what these brutes were capable of.
But to my surprise, and relief, there
was only a young girl standing there, mouth dropping open involuntarily as she
looked at me. This was not Thordhild, I assumed, but merely a servant girl of
some kind. Her dress was heavy cloth, and I imagined it was quite warm around
her small frame. Her eyes were dark and round, and her skin had a brown tint
to it. She was from southern Germania , I later
found out, and had been captured on one of the Viking’s raids two years ago.
Since she was from the south, she knew a little of my language, for which I
praised God.
Her name was Malyn, and upon our
first meeting she seemed very afraid of me. I can see why now. My hands were
dripping blood all over the ice, and my haggard appearance did little to
comfort her. Here I stood, a pale old man, worn and sick, bleeding and cold,
staring at the warmth of Eirik’s house like a lunatic. I even had a wild
vision of pushing the girl aside and barging in to huddle by the fireplace.
But I am a man of God, and I have my manners even in a godless place. I stood
there and waited for her to speak, or at least give me a sign that she was not
in shock.
Of course, she eventually let me in,
for she knew who I was. She had heard Thordhild talking with Eirik about me,
and so she was not as surprised as I had imagined when she saw me. She bowed
to me and let me inside where the heat washed over me and made me feel almost
human again.
As I sat down by the fire, she
brought me clean cloths to bandage my hands. As Malyn wrapped them around my
hands, I looked around at the majesty of Eirik’s home. It was simply
decorated, mostly with draped furs and horns mounted on the wall. The stone
fireplace flanked the main room I now sat in, and the table that stretched out
behind me could easily sit twenty men. I had heard of these pagans and their
mead-halls, but I had dismissed them as mere speculative storytelling. The
ceiling was laced with interlocking beams that crossed to a point high above,
giving the smoke from the fireplace ample room to swirl up and out of the
house. Yes, I was impressed. Perhaps a man could live comfortably in this
land, but only if he had the luxuries others were willing to give him or he had
the power to take. Everything in his home, I realized with a cold feeling, had
come from Eirik’s conquests. All of the silver cups and bowls sitting neatly
in a row had been pillaged from ancient churches, and the fine wood of the
table had been stolen from the lands near Rome on the Mediterranean Sea . Everything had a price marked on
it with innocent blood.
I looked at this young girl who was
bandaging my hands. She was
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