The Greenlanders

Chapter 2

Leif's heart missed a beat as he beheld the fjords his father had described in such detail. This was the outline of a country he felt to be his native land, even though he had never seen if before. Though it was impossible, it seemed to him he recognized every outcropping of rock, every curve of the shore. He shadowed his eyes with his wind-beaten hand and watched the wooded green mountains and their fall into the steely blue of the sea. The buildings of Trondheim and the harbor presented themselves before his eyes. By his side, his mother grabbed his arm in excitement - while Freydis raised her head, prepared to step upon the land of Norway not as an exile come to knock humbly on doors, but as an earl's daughter making her return to the rightful land of her forefathers.

"Look, there is the king himself!" Leif heard his sister's quick, urgent whisper in his ear when the ship came into harbor and they began disembarking.

"Nonsense," he dismissed. "Why would the king come out to meet the likes of us himself? It would be too great an honor."

But a few minutes later he had to acknowledge that Freydis was right. It truly was King Olaf himself, and all his retinue with him, and Leif could only wonder to what he owes this impressive welcome. He did not prepare for this. After such a long journey at sea his clothes were, of course, tattered and covered with salt stains, and he was far from being clean himself. His hair and beard were tangled and he was very much in need of a wash.

The king was a short, rather stout man near the middle of his life, with an almost bald head, a protruding belly, grey hair and very light eyes. Overall, he did not give a very distinct impression. His sons, who stood by his side, were much more prominent in their stature, their dress and their noble countenance, which was without a doubt heritage from their late mother. The group that surrounded the king and the princes moved forward as one man when the king made a few imperious steps in the direction of those who had just landed.

Leif was by far the tallest among all the men. He could not dislike this, and he hid a smile as he inclined his head in a proper welcome. Quite apart from his tall stature, he also radiated a powerful energy - the same unmistakable, unconquerable energy that was a gift bestowed by the gods upon Erik the Red, who could make people leave everything behind and join him on his quest after an unknown land. Leif, his son, had inherited this quality.

King Olaf might not have been very impressive when it came to bravery or heroic deeds or anything very distinguishing, but he was a shrewd man. He understood in that very moment that the man standing in front of him is a natural leader, a man of vision, and capable of making people follow him. He was more than just a sailor, and the king was glad he heeded his instincts and came out to meet the party from Greenland himself. This man, Erikson - one had better see through him as soon as possible. He can be highly useful - and also highly dangerous.

Leif made a courteous bow, by which his height was somehow even better noticed.

His Highness received the newcomers in a cordial, though reserved way.

"Welcome home, Leif Erikson," he said. "Not every day do we see a ship that has made a journey such as yours. We are all eager to hear of the lands you have seen."

"Of course, Your Grace," Leif said politely, but without servility. "If I am permitted, I shall be glad to describe all that might interest you of our journeys and discoveries."

"I appreciate your readiness," the king nodded, "but of course, first of all you will be taken to your quarters, and I expect you will want to refresh yourselves."

Leif gave his polite thanks, and felt dirtier than ever among the king's men in all their finery. He was eagerly anticipating a bath, a trimming of hair and beard, and a change of clothes.

He was about to open his mouth and say something else of insignificant politeness, but at that moment he chanced to look at a young woman who stood quite close to the king, a little behind him. Her slim, willowy, very graceful figure would have made her stand out even if it weren't for the dress she wore - a dress in deep red, made of sleek, shiny and obviously costly fabric. She was blessed with rare beauty. Her hair, lush and thick, the color of dark copper, was put up in a braid that coiled around her head and caught the rays of the autumn sun. Her skin was white as milk and, by the look of it, as soft as a ripe peach. The features of her face were exquisite, as if created with more special care than those of an ordinary human being. The emeralds in her ears and about her neck matched her eyes, which were adorned by long, dark eyelashes.

For a split second her eyes met Leif's, and she inclined her head slightly. He was rendered mute.

He searched for something else to say, but the king already turned around and began distancing himself from them and, following his cue, the princes and the woman in the red dress walked away as well. The retinue continued after the king and those closest to him, except a few servants who stayed behind to show Leif and his men the way to their intended quarters.

"Have you seen Princess Thorgunna?" Leif heard his sister's voice again. "The one who stood on the king's left. It must be her. She is even more beautiful than people say."

"Princess?" Leif finally began to recover. "She is the king's daughter?"

"No, she is his niece, the daughter of his late brother," said Freydis. "The king fostered her from a young age. I heard he loves her as a daughter and intends to marry her to his son and heir soon, even though the prince had more ambitious offers. So it appears Princess Thorgunna is going to be the queen of Norway," she added with a hint of envy.

The emeralds still sparkled and shifted before Leif's eyes, striking in their green like the forests that kissed the sea.

He had almost forgotten what it feels like to immerse his body in hot water, Leif acknowledged when he entered the bathhouse which was prepared and heated for them by the servants. One of them came in to help him trim his hair and beard, but Leif sent him away. He was used to doing that by himself.

When he was done, the well-chiseled features of his face appeared to better advantage. His face was handsome in a rather rough, weather-beaten way. The clothes that were prepared for him were simple, as befits a man of his rank, but properly sewn and clean.

He vigorously scrubbed his body with a stiff brush, and layers of dirt began to dissolve in the water. Soon, the bath water turned black. It took three changes of steaming hot water, a feat which demanded a considerable portion of firewood, until his body was satisfyingly clean.

When Freydis entered his room, shortly before nightfall, he was already dressed, bathed and as groomed as he was like to get. His sister, too, looked much better after a refreshing rest and bath. She was wearing a dark embroidered dress, one he had never seen before. It looked very well on her. Her red hair was brushed but not braided, and fell on her shoulders and back in a mass of red waves. A simple white ribbon prevented it from falling across her face, which was smooth and calm, and no innocent onlooker could have guessed that this young woman witnessed the terrible murder of her friends.

"Well, well," said Freydis, "I came to find out whether you had seen Mother, but the words escaped me as I beheld you, Leif. You really are very handsome when you bother to bathe and comb your hair."

He ignored the sting, which was most unjust, of course, as until a few hours ago he and Freydis were each just as dirty as the other.

"Mother probably met some old acquaintance from her youth," he said with an artless smile, "and went with them to discuss marriage options for her headstrong daughter Freydis."

Freydis made a derisive snort, but by the look upon her face he could tell she did not take this threat all too lightly.

"You are the one who needs to marry again, Leif, not I," she said. "It has been five years since Maura. We all loved her, and I know it was a harsh blow for you. But it is time to move on, is it not?"

Leif's expression was inscrutable, as always when the issue came up.

"I have no intention of marrying again," he said succinctly.

"You have no sons," Freydis insisted - more to distract his attention from herself than for any other reason, he knew.

"Of this I cannot be certain," he said with a feeble attempt of a jest. It was in vain.

"You know very well what I mean. You have no son to continue your work after you, and you should know it grieves Father. You are thirty years old, Leif."

"My father has other sons. Thorvald will marry soon, the way things look, and Thorstein will probably follow suit. The family will continue in them."

"We all love Thorvald dearly, but he is not like you. He will always be a poet, full of dreams and tales. And Thorstein... he is so quick-tempered and so hot-blooded it is a wonder that he is still alive. You are Father's heir, Leif. You know it well."

"Thorvald will become more practical, and Thorstein will grow up," insisted Leif.

In his heart he could not deny that he had thought of a second marriage in the past years. There were offers enough, despite the limited size of the Greenland settlement and its distance from other places. He could have taken an innocent virgin girl, or a widow with a steadier mind and more life experience. But he did not hurry to promote a match, and actually, saw no reason to.

There was, of course, the wish and desire of every man to have a son he would raise and bring up, but this need was not very urgent in Leif's eyes. His brothers and friends will continue where he would leave off. Besides, he did not like to think of death and what will come beyond it. He was a man of strong body and mind, active and energetic in thought and deed, and he had certain physical needs which, of course, had to find some outlet - and they did, it must be said. He did not live the life of a hermit and did not limit himself purposely, and knew how to take advantage of the opportunities that had fallen to his lot. But he was no longer the pleasure-seeking youth he had been before he met Maura.

Maura changed him, changed his entire life, and never again would he become what he had once been. After her death he was alone with his thoughts for a long time, driving the pain deep within, and after a while he went on as usual, or so it seemed - but those close to him knew how much he had suffered. It was as if a part of him, the best and most vital part of him, died together with her.

Most of his relations and friends found it best not to speak of Maura, of his grief and the possibility that he might marry again, but Freydis sometimes pressed him to discuss the matter with a glaring inconsideration of how he felt. As usual when that happened, he shrugged her off.

"I suggest you go and look for Mother, Freydis," he said. "If she lost her way, she might be late for the feast."

But Thjodhild did not lose her way. In her wanderings, she found the court church. It was Sunday, and the priest made a spirited, heart-warming sermon. Her eyes brightened as she sat, listening to it. The message of compassion, humility, friendship, loyalty and peace touched her tender heart. She regretted that Erik was not with her, although she presumed that he, in his gruff manner, would have snorted in contempt as he listened to the spirit of gentleness in the priest's speech. If the message should eventually touch his heart, it will demand a long period of cajoling from her side, she knew. After over thirty years of marriage, Thjodhild had no illusions.

Still, she was determined to bring this wonderful new faith to her home land. In the eyes of her mind, she already saw a little chapel, much humbler than this one, serving as a spiritual gathering place for the people of their settlement. She thought of the distant country they managed to turn into a livable place by sheer work and sweat of their brow, an achievement that was now almost entirely attributed to Erik the Red, discoverer of lands, the despised exile who could never step upon the land of his birth again.

All of a sudden she heard someone calling her name, and turned her head back. She recognized the man not by his face, for it was ridden with wrinkles, and not by his hair, which was once chestnut-colored and thick, but had thinned and greyed over the years; nor by his firm and upright figure, for a great kettle-belly now adorned the front of his body - but by the deep, melodic voice which she often heard in her youth, singing songs and telling tales, a voice that did not change even after three decades.

His name was Bergsveinn Snorrason. His father was friendly with hers, and the two of them often visited. Her father once even talked of his plans concerning a match between Bergsveinn and herself - the two were more or less of an age - but Thjodhild exhibited a high degree of indifference to the scheme, and the boy as well, so the match did not take place. Even back than Thjodhild did not doubt that Bergsveinn will eventually find his way to a more prosperous, profitable marriage, and it did not surprise her in the least to meet him after all these years here, at court.

Bergsveinn looked at her and smiled a wide, uninhibited smile of an old childhood friend. His eyes went over her face, looking for traces made by time. He noticed the wrinkles on her brow, at the corners of her mouth and eyes, and saw the grey that wove itself into her dark hair. But the blue eyes that looked at him bravely belonged to that same Thjodhild of many years ago, a sixteen-year-old girl who followed her heart where it led her, perhaps unwisely. Her figure was slim, upright and handsome as before.

When she was cut off from her family and her home land, he did not think he would ever see her again, and the rumours that reached his ears about the ship from Greenland rendered him highly curious. He approached, taking advantage of his right as an old acquaintance to strike an informal conversation with her.

"Thjodhild," he said, "Is it truly you? I heard of your arrival. You had been through a long journey."

"Longer than you can imagine, Bergsveinn," she agreed.

The sermon had already ended, and they went out of the church together. He matched his stride to hers, unhurried and leisurely. So many years have passed that there was no more fear of losing time and no reason to hurry.

"I can hardly believe you are here. So much time has gone by. Your father passed away a few years ago, did you know that?" Bergsveinn asked after a few silent minutes.

"Yes," she said, "I got notice of that from my sister Ingvild. Ingvild kept in contact with me throughout all these years. We both learned our letters with the purpose of writing to each other. I look forward to seeing her sometime during our stay."

"How long do you think you will stay?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

"It does not depend on me," she said. "I am only accompanying my son, Leif. You will probably see him soon. He is a good-looking, brave and clever man, like his father. I do have a lot to be proud of, Bergsveinn."

"I have no doubt of that," he nodded. "The rumours about Leif Erikson have already turned, in part, into splendid tales. No wonder the king himself asked to see him... and we, the commenrs, are wild with curiousity."

"I am certain you are not one of the commoners, Bergsveinn. You could tell of splendid deeds and great advancement, could you not?"

"There isn't much to tell about me," he said humbly. "I lived a regular, reasonably prosperous life, a quiet life. Unlike you, Thjodhild, I did not go into exile; I did not wander through strange lands."

"Is that a hint of compassion I hear in your voice, Bergsveinn? There is no need of that. I chose my path."

"I know. That is precisely the point. Do you have no regrets?"

She hesitated a little. She thought of all the long years of estrangement from her family, about her father, who refused to hear her name mentioned until his last day, about the exile from her home land. She recalled the wanderings, the insecurity, the dangers and poverty and shame and sometimes hunger. She thought of the man for whose sake she chose that path. A slight smile curved her mouth upward.

"No, Bergsveinn," she said sincerely. "I do not regret. I had a good life with my Erik."

She remembered how she first met Erik as if it were only yesterday. It was a winter day of rare beauty, on which the sky brightened and the snow shone in the sunlight, so sparkling white it hurt to look at it. Thjodhild, who was terribly bored by being shut up at home during many weeks of harsh Norwegian winter, danced with joy when she saw the bright sun. Her older sisters have already left home to get married, and throughout the long cold weeks there had been no guest, no visitor in their home to dispel the unvarying loneliness of winter. Now, she just had to take advantage of so fine a day. Her father warned her, of course, that the pleasant weather might not last long, but Thjodhild still decided to dress in her warmest furs and go out in the big sledge, accompanied by two servants.

Her father's fears proved to be right. Soon, the sky darkened with clouds and snow began to fall thickly. The winds threatened to overturn the sledge, and the reindeer, shaking with cold and fear, were stuck in the snow. They no longer could pull the sledge together with its people against the frozen, harsh wind, and Thjodhild decided to set them free. She hoped that the clever animals will find their own way back to her father's house, and someone will understand that they got into trouble, and will send men to look after them. Otherwise, she feared, her father might decide she managed to reach Ingvild's house in time, and simply decided to wait there until the end of the storm.

The short winter day was nearing its end, and the cold was growing bitter. The two serving men were frightened, and so was Thjodhild, though she attempted to hide it. She tried to look braver than she was, to lift the spirits of the men. Her only hope was that someone would pass by and notice them - someone with enough resources to rescue them or at least to call for help, but the chances of that seemed slim. They offered fearful prayers to their gods.

Suddenly, they heard sounds which were like music to their ears - sounds of men talking, and sledges sliding upon snow - great, strong sledges, pulled by many mighty reindeer who had strength enough to beat the weather. Thjodhild and the two servants began to shout, though their voices were soon muffled in the wind, and waved their hands to ensure these unknown men will not miss them. Of course, the strangers might have been brigands, but in their situation they had no choice but to trust their good fortune - if they continued outside in the storm, it would mean almost certain death, and they knew it well.

Their pleas for help were not fruitless. One, two, three, four, five sledges approached, carrying in them almost twenty men, all young, most of them dressed in a modest but respectable way; they could have been warriors or sailors. One of them, who looked not much different from the rest but seemed to be the leader of the party, jumped down from his sledge into the snow.

"I will not ask what a maid like you is doing outside on a day like this," he said easily, "but you are sure lucky to have encountered us."

Their eyes met, hers blue as the sky and his blue as the sea, and the intensity of his gaze threw color into Thjodhild's face. Still, she made herself look at him. His face was broad and pleasing to the eye, despite being thickly covered with freckles. He had a straight nose and a strong jaw. His wavy red hair got out from beneath the fur cap on his head. He was broad-shouldered and well-muscled, but not very tall - not much taller than Thjodhild, who was rather on the short side - and only a few years older than her, by the look of him.

Her curiosity was awakened by his looks. He seemed to be someone who had just come back from a long journey, and his companions likewise. But of course, if it weren't for the unusual circumstances, she would not have allowed such a stranger to accompany her. It would not be deemed proper for someone of her birth and station

As it was, though, she had no choice but to climb into the sledge and place herself by his side. The servants were crowded into a corner of another sledge, and together the procession began the slow careful drive towards her father's.

At first Thjodhild was determined to say nothing, but soon she found herself stealing shy, curious glances at the young man by her side. And when she looked away, she felt his eyes studying her face, which she lowered into the hood of her fur-trimmed cloak against the wind. A rather silly thought occurred to her - that if it weren't for the wind, she could have lowered the hood, and then her dark, shiny hair would be seen in all its glory.

He began to tell her of himself, though she did not recall asking. His name was Erik Thorvaldson, and all called him, as he said, Erik the Red - it was not hard to see why, when she looked at his red hair, and the young beard that adorned his chin and jaw. He was not exactly handsome, but something about him drew the eye, so that she found herself looking again and again.

She asked him where he was from, and it turned out he came upon the shores of Norway from Iceland, not too long ago.

"My parents were banished to Iceland," he told her in a tone of most flattering trust, "because of a conflict my father had with someone who invaded his grazing lands. My father was a farmer, not a Viking, a peaceful man really, but in this case he insisted to stand upon his rights in ways that, ah, weren't ways of peace. So, that man insisted he was in the right, and there was a fight which my father won - and in which the other man was killed. It was self-defense, of course, but his late enemy had been rich and powerful, and his relations appealed straight to the king, which determined my father's fate. He passed away in Iceland a few years ago and never saw Norway again, but I was allowed to come back - for a trial period. I always thought of Norway as my home, not Iceland, though I was just a boy when we left."

By pure chance, Thjodhild was familiar with the story, and was not at all certain Erik's father was such an innocent victim of circumstances, but she preferred not to correct him, so much she was fascinated. This was the first time she had met someone who did not come from the area where she was born and raised, let alone someone who had lived in exile in Iceland. She ventured to mention it.

"The time in which Iceland was the home of exiles and outlaws alone has long passed," Erik told her. "Today it is a beautiful, settled country... though the pick of good farming land is pretty slim, I'll grant that. Anyway, Iceland can expect independence from Norwegian rule one of these days."

"Such talk is treason, is it not?" said Thjodhild with a hesitant half-smile. He shrugged.

"If there is rebellion in Iceland, I will not be the one to lead it," he said. "I never meant to stay there for the rest of my life - nor here, for that matter. No, my eyes look west."

"West?" Thjodhild was surprised. "What do you mean? I heard that beyond Iceland there is nothing but a frozen, empty sea, as far as the edge of the world."

Erik laughed. "The opposite is true, Thjodhild," he said, and so she discovered that she must have told him her name, though she did not remember doing that. "Experienced sailors tell, and I have every reason to believe them, that after many days of journey in the western sea you can reach a land upon which men had never trod. It is said that this land is cursed, that it devours all who step upon it, and woe betide those who reach its shores."

"And is this true?" Thjodhild asked tremulously.

"That is just what I mean to discover," he assured her cheerfully.

"I heard such tales once," she remembered. "That distant shore is called the Black Land."

"But of course. Such tales, meant to frighten children and fools, are told by men who have no hope of reaching Valhalla," Erik said confidently. "It might just be a good, fertile land, with wide rolling meadows for grazing, and who knows what treasures hidden in the earth. But what is most important in my eyes, this land is uninhabited, and not under the rule of Norway, and in it a free man can live safely, without fear of injustice."

"Live?" repeated Thjodhild. "Do you mean to say you intend to stay there all alone?"

"Not alone, of course," Erik hastened to explain. "I did not mean to say I am planning to raise a tent of sealskins and live in it by the side of a lonely fire on the shore. I will need men to sail with me, brave and loyal men, and I also need money and resources for the journey - enough to start a settlement."

"That is why you came to Norway, then?" asked Thjodhild. "To look for coin and men?"

"Yes," said Erik, "and a wife, too," he added.

These last words surprised even himself, she learned later. The truth was that he had not thought of marrying just yet, but as he looked into the pretty face of the girl by his side, colored rosy pink with cold and shyness, he suddenly understood that was indeed his true purpose. In Viking trips, there is no place for women except in the way of loot. He had no desire for such conquests, though. His journey would be of another kind, and yes, he needed a wife who would be ready to share this path with him - a faithful, strong woman, one who would not fear to tie her destiny to the unknown and leave everything behind.

"It must be a fascinating venture, to settle an unknown land," said Thjodhild with a hint of longing. "If you are successful, tales will be written of you, and you shall be remembered even after hundreds and hundreds of years."

The tone of her voice conveyed a simple, serious belief in his success, and he raised his head with boyish pride.

They approached the place that had been her home ever since she was born, and Thjodhild felt a faint stab of regret that surprised her, when she recalled that in a few minutes she will say goodbye forever to this young man, who was unlike anyone she had ever met. His conversation was like fresh wind blowing in one's face after a long time of being shut within four walls. And before she was able to stop herself, she invited him to come in together with her - there can be no doubt, so she told Erik, that her father will be grateful and will wish to express his gratitude to him personally.

Erik seemed surprised and gratified to be thus invited, and it took no difficulty to persuade him. He entered alone, after exchanging a few quick words with his companions. Thjodhild, who looked at them fleetingly, thought that they seem devoted to him, or perhaps to the promise of new, unknown lands. Some of them will probably abandon him soon after the beginning of his journey; others will follow him through thick and thin.

Her father, as she had predicted, was very grateful. He ordered that food be spread before them. He was a bountiful host. Bread and meat, beer and hard, smelly cheese, and also dried apples and honey were served. The older man thanked Erik profusely again and again for bringing his daughter home safely, and made his guest promise that if he is ever in need of something, he would not hesitate to ask him for any favor. Nevertheless, the expression of cool suspicion did not leave his eyes. The visit was formal and not too long, and Erik got up from his seat, brushed the crumbs off his clothes, looked at Thjodhild one last time, exchanged a few insignificant courtesies with her father - and was gone.

In the privacy of her chamber, Thjodhild sternly told herself that the sense of loss she felt when the door was closed behind the young man was completely unreasonable. It was a fleeting encounter, she told herself. This youth has a wonderful dream, which might or might not come true. But something in her heart told her that she will hear of Erik Thorvaldson again - perhaps in many years, when she will be a wizened wrinkled crone with a dozen children and two dozen grandchildren. Then she will remember that distant winter day, when she was sixteen and met a young sailor who told her something of his heart's desires and his aspirations.

It turned out, though, that things were not meant to happen exactly that way.

Two days after Erik rescued her from the snow storm, the day was bright and clear, with no remembrance of the weather's fury. And Thjodhild, whose heart was not at peace ever since she returned home, asked her father's leave to go and visit her sister Ingvild. The permission was granted, and Thjodhild passed her time pleasantly, though she experienced a faint, irrational stab of regret when she failed to encounter Erik once more on her way home. People like him, she knew, do not tend to frequent the same paths over and over again, and yet she had hoped.

When she returned home, the expression on her father's face was murderous. Thjodhild wondered whether it was one of the servants that irked him so. But to her surprise, he sent everyone away, so that she remained alone with her father. She looked at him expectantly.

"I need to speak to you," he said abruptly.

"What is it, father?"

He cleared his throat. "It is about the boy who helped you on your way home two days ago," he said, "that Erik Thorvaldson."

"What about him?" said Thjodhild, trying her best to seem indifferent.

"What did you speak of on your way here?" her father's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He told me of his dreams, thought Thjodhild - and I let him grasp a hint of mine in one unguarded look. But of course, she didn't intend to say this aloud, and made her best effort to look innocent.

"We spoke of nothing significant. Why do you ask?"

"He was here," her father declared, and after a pregnant pause went on, "he asked me for your hand."

A deep blush flooded Thjodhild's face, and to her good fortune, her expression of astonishment was not fake. Her father noticed that.

"I promise you, Father," began Thjodhild, "that I had never met him before that storm, and there was not the least hint of - "

Her father raised his wide palm, stopping her, and she fell silent.

"That will do," he said. "Of course, I did not think otherwise. It is obvious that you could not encourage the fellow to form ideas of something like it. A boy who does not even come close to you in rank, the son of an exiled murderer... I have no idea what he was thinking. Of course, I told him so at once."

"I don't understand what he was thinking either," said Thjodhild serenely, while her heart pounded furiously. "Do I have your leave to go and rest for a while, Father? I am rather tired."

She hurried to her room and sat down on her bed. Her head was spinning. What is the meaning of this? Does this mean, then, that their brief meeting was not wholly unimportant in Erik's eyes? But does he really wish to marry her on so short an acquaintance? Why did he not ask to see her? Did he really hope her father would give him a favorable answer? And what does he intend to do now that her father has refused? Will he give up?

All these questions burned in her heart, and more than anything she wished to meet Erik again and clarify the matter, but she had no idea where to look for him or how to contact him.

The days passed, and her life went on as usual. It was a fleeting fit of madness, she told herself, resigned. Erik must have understood that only being possessed by some confusing spirit could prompt him to ask for the hand of a maid whose social standing alone would put her quite out of his reach - even if he had met her more than just once. He was refused, as he should have known he would be, and now she will never see him or hear from him again.

A short time after that, there was a market day in the nearby village. Thjodhild went there, and, while she was examining some wool, a tall, lean, flaxen-haired boy two or three years younger than herself approached her.

"Are you Thjodhild, the earl's daughter?" he asked, looking at her with big, frightened eyes.

"Yes," she said, wondering. Almost every face in the village was familiar to her, yet she did not know this boy.

"I have a message for you," said the boy quickly and quietly, "you must have light in your window tonight at midnight. And I was also asked to tell you that it's tonight or never."

"Who? How?! When?.." The questions bubbled up on Thjodhild's tongue and pushed one another aside with their urgency, but the boy already began walking away, shaking his head.

"I can tell you nothing else," he said, "this is the message I was asked to give, and if I didn't get good pay for it, I wouldn't dare to do even that. It's more than my hide's worth."

And he disappeared among the market crowd.

Thjodhild stood rooted to the spot, and all color drained off her face. Her father and sister tried to talk to her, the salesmen tried to catch her interest, but she could not look at anything and asked her father to allow her to return home, under the pretext of a headache. When her father noticed her paleness, he easily believed that she was unwell. And indeed, the blood beat against her temples just as it pumped through her fluttering heart. She could speak to no one, and fled to her bed a short time after returning home.

It was perfectly clear who sent the boy. Erik did not know his letters, probably, so all he could do was pass her a simple message through someone else. She did not know exactly what he was planning, but it was clear to her that whatever it is will be completely against her father's wishes. The choice is hers. A light in her window will mean "yes" - while a dark window at midnight will say "no".

It is madness, I don't even know him, I don't understand why I am doing this, Thjodhild thought while she lit the candle and placed it close to her window, which she opened a c***k. The flickering candle was a single light in a moonless, starless night.

Thjodhild wore her outer clothes, a warm fur cloak and thick leather boots, but still she shivered uncontrollably. What will happen? What will come to pass? She thought constantly.

She heard a brief knock on her window, and when she opened it, she saw a ladder propped against the windowsill. She looked down, to the darkness of the yard below, and as much as she strained her eyes she could see nothing.

And then she stopped thinking and began acting. She placed her foot on the windowsill and started the precarious descent down the ladder. To her surprise, her heart stopped fluttering and she concentrated now on one thing alone - how to place her foot on every step without falling.

It was over, and there she stood, in the empty yard behind her father's house - and there he was, the strange young man from the snow storm, standing before her and smiling; his mouth laughed confidently, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety. She looked at him in amazement. She still found it hard to believe this isn't a dream.

"I apologize for how it all played out," said Erik. "If I knew my letters, perhaps I could send you a proper message and explain everything, but since I never learned to read and write, my only hope was to meet you face to face. So I had no choice but to send that fool, Bjorn - and he, of course, can hardly string two words together."

"My father told me you came to him and asked for my hand," said Thjodhild. "I found it hard to believe... although, of course, it did not occur to me he is less than truthful."

"Your father also told you, naturally, what his response was," remarked Erik.

"Why?" asked Thjodhild, studying his face. "We only met once and talked briefly. What would you do if my father had given his consent?"

"That would have allowed me to court you and get to know you better before the marriage took place," said Erik, and laughter hid in the corners of his wide mouth, "but taking everything into account, it probably won't be possible after all."

"What won't be possible?" Thjodhild was determined to make his meaning clear.

"To get to know you better before we are married. Because that is how things stand, lovely Thjodhild," he added, "either we become man and wife tonight, or not at all."

Thjodhild looked at him, and a strange peace flooded her soul. After all, deep inside her she knew it would come to this, ever since Bjorn approached her at the market and gave her his jumbled message. Tonight she must decide: will she run away from home with Erik Thorvaldson and tie her destiny to his for as long as they both live - or will she never see him again?

Erik noticed the quick glance she stole in the direction of her window, and said apologetically:

"I am truly sorry it has to be this way. If I could have warned you of the plan ahead of time, I would tell you to take what you might wish to keep. Now it is impossible, though. If you go back up to your room, we might not be able to escape. We don't have that much time."

He didn't elaborate, and didn't mention just then which mouths in the house of her father were silent because of a bribe, and which by fear of a sharp blade.

"But wait a moment," said Thjodhild, attempting to squeeze a bit of rational sanity into the entire business, "who says I agree?"

She looked directly into his eyes. She liked the fact that he was not much taller than her. She will feel comfortable with him, protected but not crushed, not repressed... he will never try to control her in the same way her father always had.

Does this mean she agrees?

"Well," Erik paused, and his voice was softer than usual, "it is time to decide, then."

"You don't know me," said Thjodhild, "I don't know you."

"It is not exactly true," said Erik. "Sometimes, it does not take very long to understand the essence of the person standing before you." He did not elaborate, but she knew he is right. At the very moment their eyes first met, her heart sensed unmistakable closeness.

A smile began to spread across her face, and simultaneously across his - a smile of relief. In her case, the relief of having made a decision. In his case, the relief of receiving a positive reply, though he assured himself he didn't doubt very much that he would.

"Well, if we must escape tonight, it is a good thing I have my thickest boots on," said Thjodhild. "Do we need to walk far?"

"You will not need to walk tonight," said Erik.

He lifted her off the ground in one swift motion of his arms. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, and upon her face appeared an expression of giddy happiness that was mirrored by him.

That was how Thjodhild took the first, and most important, independent decision of her life.

Looking back, that night always seemed to her like a dream - the jump into the arms which were good and warm, but so foreign, the escape into the snowy, frozen darkness, the humble, secret wedding - when she thought of it, she always told herself that if she had been given enough time to consider her decision, she probably wouldn't agree to such an insane offer - and every time, she told herself how good it is that she wasn't given time to think too much.

If she had known all the difficulties that awaited her and Erik, would she choose to walk this entire path alongside him? This she could not say. But she was definitely happy that it was her, and not any other woman, whom he had chosen as a companion of his life.

Erik, too, failed to explain how come he did not think that a rich, spoiled sixteen-year-old girl might be a burden to him in his long journey and a life wrought with complications and difficulties. But an inexplicable feeling attracted him to this maid, in a way that would not allow doubt or mistake - and indeed, it turned out he had gained himself a loyal wife, one who encouraged him even through the hardest times.

At first, Thjodhild still entertained the hope that once she arrives on her father's doorstep, married, and asks his forgiveness for acting against his wishes, her father's heart will be softened, and he will take pity on her and receive her and Erik into his household. But this hope was soon gone. Not only did her father refuse to see her, he spoke against Erik to the authorities, and it soon turned out that Erik, too, has no place in Norway, like his father. Erik was now the second generation in his family to be exiled.

They sailed the Iceland, but there, too, they were unlucky. In a way very similar to what happened with Erik's father, an argument over a piece of land turned into violent conflict, in the course of which one man was killed, and Erik declared as the culprit. It was obvious that there would be no peace for them in Iceland, either.

Where would they go, then? Thjodhild never thought she would be destined to live her entire life in Iceland, a poor outskirt of Norway that gathered in it all the exiles, thieves, murderers, sorcerers, seekers of freedom and betrayers of the throne - she knew her husband's eyes are looking out there, into the unknown, into the land in the west that might exist or might not - and Erik was convinced that it does exist. Now all he had to do was collect about him enough men who would believe him, and prepare to make the journey.

Thjodhild nearly fainted away when he presented before her the men he had recruited. They were daring adventurers, some of them desperate, some but half-sane, and most with very little to lose. All were exiled to Iceland, which meant they all broke some law or other - and though it has been a while since Thjodhild saw every law-breaker as a criminal, her heart skipped a beat when she heard the locals speak of her husband's new companions. She was especially afraid of one man, by the name of Harald Bjornson. He was one-eyed, and scars too numerous to count adorned his face and arms. It was told his wife cheated on him - and he strangled her, and his wife's lover, who was a man of high rank, and all his family. He used no weapon but his own deadly hands to kill all these men and women. He stood a trial and was doomed to execution, but eventually succeeded to soften the punishment by using all his life's savings as bribe.

"I don't care," Erik said stubbornly when his wife told him of her concerns, "even if he is a descendant of Loki the trickster. Bjornson is an excellent navigator and a bold warrior, and this is what will matter on our journey and in the new land. I do not fear betrayal, I do not fear lies, I do not fear murder - my fear is of weakness in the people next to me. That is precisely why I am concerned that some of them insist on taking their wives along."

"But Erik," said Thjodhild, "I thought our goal is to found a settlement in the new land, far from the Norwegian rule, where we can begin our lives afresh as decent men, not despised outlaws."

"That is true," her husband confirmed, "but what if I am mistaken? What if nothing awaits us in the west? What if that land exists - and I am fairly certain it does, I must say - but it isn't fit to be settled? What if it's one enormous glacier throughout most of the year? Such a journey into the unknown is an adventure for men, not women. I would prefer for everyone to leave their wives here, but the women fear that if their husbands are gone for too long, people will take advantage of their helplessness. Actually, my sweet, I would prefer you to be left behind as well."

"No," Thjodhild said firmly. "We already spoke of it, my love. I will go wherever you go."

"Think of little Leif," he begged, "how would such a sea journey affect a child?"

"The journey will do him no harm," declared Thjodhild. "Our son is stronger than any other boy I know, Erik. You will see, a day will come and he will be a great man, surpassing even his father."

They began preparing for the journey, and did their best to get ready in time, so as not to miss the period when the winds and currents are favorable. They stocked up on food, water and various supplies, and every man procured himself warm and sturdy traveling gear and any weapon he could get, in case they were to meet non-compliant local population.

Thjodhild did not like to remember the challenges of that journey, by the end of which she was heartily sorry for leaving Iceland, and feared for her life, and that of little Leif's. But Erik's hopes did not fail, and a land of striking beauty appeared before them, a land of magnificent mountains and fjords and meadows who looked promising enough for grazing and planting, and forests - not too numerous, that was true, but enough to supply the wood they would need to begin a settlement. The expedition, in short, was a success. The people who came with Erik now saw him as a leader, not just a guide who chanced to take them overseas.

The land was wide but, as very few exploring parties sufficed to find out, there was no sense in going much further north, for the northern areas were mostly covered with glaciers. It was decided, then, that the settlement will be founded at the southernmost point of the new land, which Erik had called Greenland. The climate in the area they had chosen was very much like the northern parts of Norway or Iceland.

"Judging from the plants, spring and summer here should be long enough to make good grazing," Erik said in satisfaction. "We must send a ship back to Iceland, to tell people the news, bring more settlers here, and also cows and horses, goats and sheep and pigs. Then we can be truly well-off, and not depend only on fish and game."

Erik feared for his life if he should ever be seen in any area of Norway or Iceland again, so the man chosen to recruit new settlers was Thorbjorn Olafsson, Erik's loyal friend. Thorbjorn was not an outlaw, but decided to go together with Erik into exile, because his noble spirit rebelled against what he called glaring injustice. To the sorrow of his elderly parents, he left the family farm in Norway to his young, reckless brother, who was to have everything in Thorbjorn's absence - although officially, the property would belong to Thorbjorn, and to his children after him, if and when he should return to Norway.

When Throbjorn and his crew left, and only a handful of people remained in the settlement - there was but one longhouse in all of Greenland then - Thjodhild felt terribly lonely. It was as if they had been left alone on the very edge of the world - and actually, it was just so. She pressed her little son to her heart, and he wriggled in her arms. Leif felt he has already outgrown such excessive attention from his mother, and preferred to go on in his play. Thjodhild kissed him and sent him off.

"Erik," she turned to her husband hesitantly, "could it truly be that all this wide land is unsettled?"

A nervous crease appeared between his brows. He feared that just as they had discovered Greenland, someone else might have discovered it before them - and though no sign of human habitat was discovered so far, the land was wide and, despite the parties they sent, mostly unexplored. What if there are local nomadic tribes that might invade their vulnerable settlement, just as they are waiting for the reinforcement that is due to come with Thorbjorn?

But he knew he must not show even a hint of fear. All the courage of his men, who trusted him, depended on his own.

"All the facts point to this land being uninhabited," he told his wife in make-believe confidence. "It is very difficult to reach, and most likely no one had done that before us."

He was wrong, but back then it didn't matter very much yet. Sooner than anyone expected, Thorbjorn returned from his successful journey, and brought with him fourteen ships full of men, farm animals and tools. Thjodhild was relieved when she saw that many women came with their husbands, and even some children appeared, to become Leif's playmates. She knew how dangerous it might be when there are much fewer women than men in a settlement, and what strife it may cause. Thorbjorn himself had married during his short stay in Norway and brought with him his new bride, Aslaug, a healthy, hearty, cheerful girl who did not fear the rough life that awaited her, far from anything she had known before.

The settlement began to grow, and sealskins and pelts of white bears that were exported to Iceland and Norway were the first step towards financial well-being. The merchants who traded with them did not care that Erik the Red, the leader of the Eriksfjord settlement, is an outlaw. They bought the skins and pelts and later sold them at triple price in Norway.

Thjodhild was very proud of her husband, who was now the ruler and the rule, the undisputed leader and head authority of the settlement. Unlike Vikings, who lived for pillage and plunder, Erik saw the battle-axe as nothing but a step towards something different. What gladdened his heart most of all was exploring new areas in Greenland and the expansion of the settlement he founded. Thjodhild, on her part, was busy running the household and raising the children - Leif, and after him two younger sons, Thorvald and Thorstein, and Freydis, the only daughter.

One day, when Erik, Thorbjorn and a few other men set out to hunt seals, something unexpected occurred.

"Wait, Erik," Thorbjorn touched his shoulder as they were going through the forest towards the shore. By that time, Thorbjorn was a father as well. His son, a big, strong, clever boy, was called Thorvard, and was a good friend of Leif and his brothers.

The group of people who appeared before them unexpectedly was about as numerous as their own party, and its members, too, were armed hunters. Upon the faces of the two leaders appeared a very similar expression - that of suspicion and fear; the balance of strength between the two parties was such that none dared to attack. The locals, who existed after all, were wide-boned, of short stature, with coal-black hair and dark, narrow eyes. They wore furs and skins, and looked hardy, as if they were used to traveling long distances by foot.

At the end of a very pregnant silence, the leader of the locals raised his arm and said a few words in his own tongue. Erik and his men did not understand him, of course, but the tone of his voice was pacifying, and plainly indicated he had no wish to attack. Then he placed upon the ground a sack he carried on his shoulder, and gestured at Erik, who understood the contents of the sack are meant for him.

The group of locals made a few steps back, and Erik opened the sack, which was made of supple skin. It contained long polished walrus tusks.

"Listen, Erik," said Thorbjorn thoughtfully, "we never gave much importance to the walrus, but these tusks can compete with ivory, and that is dearer than gold in Norway!"

Erik, through various gestures, did his best to express his gratitude - and so as not to be outdone, took off his long cloak, which was made of very fine white bear pelt, and this offering was accepted with equal graciousness by the leader of the locals. After that, Erik ordered his men to go back to the settlement. He decided to forgo hunting that day.

"It turns out we are not alone in Greenland after all," he said to Thorbjorn. His friend looked at him, surprised by the heavy foreboding he heard in Erik's voice.

"It doesn't look like those hunters frequent the same paths we do," he said. "They came here by chance, and didn't seem to be interested in confronting us."

"Not today, because they did not outnumber us," said Erik. "How do you know they will not recruit enough men to wipe our entire settlement at once?"

From that day onward, Erik started to post guards each night, but time proved his fears unfounded. The locals did not attack, and even a certain kind of trade with them had developed, though nothing more. They were too different from the new settlers, in both looks and ways. But Erik, who was a shrewd man, made an effort to observe their way of life, because he knew that if they wish to fit into the harsh climate and long winters of Greenland, they need to study those who had already done so. He learned from the locals the methods they used to hunt seals and whales, and following them, the settlers began to base their food more and more on what came from their surroundings - fish and seal meat.

"There is only so much land we can use for planting and grazing," said Erik, "if we don't want to exhaust the land, we must eat less of what we were used to at home, and consume much more fish. The locals do so, and they enjoy excellent health."

Freydis, when she was grown enough, took this one step further. She managed to learn the local tongue, and talked with those who came to the settlement to trade. Some of the things she learned shocked her mother.

"Erik, my love," Thjodhild said to her husband, "I beg you, you must make her stop. I always abhorred rituals of sorcery, and from what people tell about the practices of these local tribes... I do not wish to see such morbid curiosity in Freydis."

"You know why this is happening," said Erik. "Freydis is a quick, clever girl. She grows bored. You encouraged her to learn her letters, something that was completely unnecessary, in my opinion. Now no ordinary pursuit is interesting enough for her... but there is a solution, my dear. Thorvard and Freydis are madly in love, you know that. Stop saying she is too young, she is almost as old as you were when we married. Let us get them married, let Thorvard take her to a new home, and all will fall into place, you will see."

All did fall into place, but alas, for too short a time - Thjodhild thought sadly a few years later, at the Norwegian court. Freydis and her doings were, as far as she was concerned, her own most prominent failure as a mother.