Kari shrugged. ‘I was thinking the same thing; he said. ‘I wanted to run away same as you. But there was a voice in the back of my head telling me that whatever happened, it couldn’t be worse than being stuck out in the forest on our own, in Meadowland. I guess I was thinking, if something’s going to happen to me, I’d rather it was an axe in the head than dying out there in the woods. I was more afraid of Meadowland than just plain ordinary death, if that makes any sense.
Neither of them said anything for a long time; then Kari carried on with the story.
We stood around in the yard for most of that day (Kari went on). To start with, everybody was talking, but after a bit it got very quiet. There didn’t seem to be anything worth breaking the silence for. All we could do was wait and see what happened.
Sometime around nightfall, the door opened, and Thorvard called us in. We sat round on the benches, in our usual places. Freydis wasn’t there, and the door of the inner room was shut; Thorvard was up at the top table, and there was a chess set in front of him; the way the pieces were set, it looked like he’d stopped in the middle of a game. Time wore on; we ate dinner and got ready for sleep. Thorvard got up a few times to put wood on the fire, but he didn’t say anything to anybody, and nobody had the nerve to go near him.
I can’t imagine that anybody slept much. I lay awake all night, staring up towards a roof I couldn’t see in the dark, until gradually light blurred in through the smoke-hole. I was in a sort of daze, I guess: awake, but not thinking anything in particular; my mind skimmed over a whole lot of things, like someone skating on ice. At times, it was almost as if I was remembering things that hadn’t happened yet; I could remember Freydis leading us down to the beach, where we stowed provisions on board the Icelanders’ ship, then cast off, leaving them behind; or else I was back in the skirmish with the leather-boat people, when Olitar got killed. Other times I thought about being on the ship with Bjarni Herjolfson, catching sight of this place from a long way out - I was back where we’d only just arrived, nobody had set foot on Meadowland yet. My memories were all stirred up together; like when they’re making cheese from the fat milk, and they stir in the cream that’s risen on the top overnight, breaking up the crust and mixing it in till there’s just the smooth, even texture of the milk. All the separate journeys - Bjarni, Leif, Thorvald, Thorfinn Scraps and Freydis - blended together; it was like they’d all happened simultaneously, like I’d only come to this place one time, and each set of events was happening in a different part of the settlement, and I was standing out on the porch, watching each one in turn. I saw a picture once: a painted book, like they make in monasteries. It was supposed to be the different seasons of the year, all jumbled together on the same page. In one corner, they were ploughing; in another, they were scaring birds off the sprouting corn; in another, they’ were cutting and binding, and so on, as if time was flat, and if you got up high enough you could see everything happening together. It was that sort of feeling, lying there in the dark; crazy, I know, but it felt really vivid and lifelike, it made much more sense than the idea that I was lying on a bench in Leif’s Booths on my fifth visit to the same place. I argued to myself, which is more likely: that I’ve come to this same godforsaken place five times, or just the once? I felt like it was that night I swam ashore from the ship, after Bjarni Herjolfson had told us that we weren’t to go ashore, but I had to know better; and then I thought I’d hit on the real explanation - that I’d gone ashore that night and stayed there, never swum back to the ship at all; that, all these years later, I was still here, I’d never left and gone to Greenland, gone back to Greenland, Brattahlid and Herjolfsness. After all, how probable was it that a man’d spend his whole life going round and round in circles, like a tethered goat on the end of its chain, with the stake driven in right here, at Leif’s Booths? I was trying to make some kind of sense of all the stuff I thought I knew; and in the end I realised there was only one thing I knew for certain - that nobody owned Leif’s Booths, because the owner refused to give the place away he’d only ever lend it, and that was why nobody could ever stay here, and nobody could ever really leave.
So I was thinking all this crazy stuff, and daylight kind of crept up on me while I wasn’t looking. The door of Freydis’s room opened, and she came out. It was still very early, and she was barefoot, wearing one of her husband’s cloaks because it was the first thing that came to hand in the dark.
‘Get up,’ she said, to all of us.
So we got up off the benches, reached for our boots and coats and hoods, and our axes. Men were pinching at their eyes to rub the sleep out, yawning, clearing the fog. I heard the milk-can clink on its hook, and the leg of a table dragging on the floor as it was pulled out. I heard someone coughing, an axe-head bumping on the wooden partition, ashes shifting in the hearth as someone poked life into the fire. The start of every day sounded like that in Leif’s Booths, like every day was the same day over and over again; so maybe this day would be just like all the others, where we all wake up, go out to do the early morning chores, and when they’re done we come back in for breakfast. I remember, I prayed, to our Heavenly Father, and Thor too, to be on the safe side: please let today be like all the other days, and if that means having to stay here for ever and ever, well, there are worse places to be and worse ways to spend a life. Only, please don’t let the circle be broken today; if only we can get this day safely over and done with and out of the way maybe everything’ll work out and be just fine.
I was on my feet now, and I looked at Freydis. She was drinking water out of a wooden bowl, and it was dribbling down her chin onto her chest. Thorvard was coming out of the inner room; he had something wrapped in a cloth, and he was peeling the wrapping off. Starkad was watching him too (he was much closer to him than I was) and I heard him say, ‘Thorvard, what’ve you got there?’ Thorvard didn’t answer, but he wound away a turn of cloth, and I saw a sparkle, gold and red, and I recognised that the thing he was holding was a sword.
So I thought: thank you, Thor and our Heavenly Father -thanks for nothing. But it’d been a long shot anyhow, because when did the likes of them ever listen to the likes of me? I noticed that something was missing; something hadn’t happened that should have. Took me a moment to figure out what it was, and then I knew Nobody’d asked what this morning’s jobs were: nobody’d asked, because we all knew.
Freydis put down her bowl and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She looked slowly round at us; maybe she was counting us, I don’t know. Then she nodded, very slightly at Thorvard, and he walked to the door. He had the sword in his hand, no scabbard; maybe it didn’t have one. I’d just put my axe in my belt, it’s second nature first thing in the morning, you aren’t dressed without it; but today it didn’t seem like all the other times; it was like I’d somehow done it on purpose, rather than out of habit. I remembered I’d sharpened it the day before yesterday and hadn’t used it much since, so it probably still had a good edge on it.
We were all on our feet now, except for Eyvind-Kari paused, and looked at his friend for a moment. ‘You want to tell the next bit?’ he asked.
But Eyvind shook his head. ‘You carry on; he said, and looked away.
Well (Kari went on), Freydis noticed him still sitting on the bench. ‘Get up; she said.
But he didn’t stir. ‘I’m not feeling too bright; he said. ‘It’s my head. I think I’ll stay in this morning, if that’s all right.’
Nobody moved or made a sound; the two of them just looked at each other for a bit. Then Freydis said, ‘Get up. I need all of you for this.’
‘You don’t need me; Eyvind said.
‘No, all of you; Freydis replied. ‘Thorvard.’
Thorvard came back down the hall towards Eyvind, and everyone stepped back to let him through. I remember the look on his face; it was blank, like he wasn’t in there. Before Thorvard reached him, Eyvind stood up. ‘It’s all right; he said, ‘I’m coming.’
‘That’s fine, then,’ Freydis said. ‘Come on, we’re wasting time.’
I saw Starkad and Bersi look at each other, then look away like they were both embarrassed at something they’d done, or not done. Their lot, the berserkers’ men, were all up the front end of the hall, with the Gardar men bringing up the rear. I tried to remember if that was how they usually slept in the hall, but now I came to think of it I wasn’t sure, one way or the other. Everything seemed different somehow, and I wasn’t sure that these were the same people I’d come to Meadowland with, this time or any other. Their faces looked the same, but to me they felt like strangers.
When we got outside into the open air, I was surprised by how early it still was. It felt like half a day had passed since Freydis had woken us up; but the dew was still fresh and wet on the grass - the fat, sweet grass of Meadowland that was going to make us all rich, every man a farmer or an earl - and the early sunlight was still straining through the trees, faintly stained with pink and green. Eyvind and me, we tried to stay at the back, as Freydis led the way at a cracking pace, stomping along like a mother who’s angry with the kids; Bersi was up front with Thorvard, but Starkad hung back to talk to us. He looked guilty, no idea why I noticed he had a long knife, what we call a sax, dangling off his belt; it was so long that it was bumping his ankle-bone as he walked, and it was getting on his nerves. I hadn’t seen him with it before.
‘You two,’ he said. ‘I know you were in that thing with the savages, the leather-boat people, but that wasn’t a proper battle. You ever done any real fighting?’
Both of us shook our heads.
‘Didn’t think so,’ Starkad said. ‘You don’t look like you have. You can always tell, if you know what to look for. It’s a sort of flinching, very quick, when anyone moves.
‘You must’ve done a lot of fighting when you were with the berserkers,’ Eyvind said.
‘Me?’ Starkad shrugged. ‘A bit. More than I’d have liked, that’s‘ for sure.’ He frowned, like he was carrying on another conversation at the same time with someone we couldn’t see. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘really it’s pretty simple. Always keep your eyes fixed on the other man, right? Got to pay attention, that’s the main thing. When someone hits out at you, use your feet, get out of the way; don’t try blocking or parrying unless you’ve got absolutely nowhere to go. When you want to hit, feint high and cut low; go for the kneecap, the shin, the inside of the knee if you can; it’s the oldest trick in the world, but it always works. Don’t try and hit too hard, you’re only wasting strength and slowing yourself down. Basically that’s it, all there is to it. You got all that?’
I nodded. ‘You think there’ll be a fight?’ I said.
‘Hope not.’ Starkad shook his head. ‘Yes, I can’t see how it’s to be avoided, if we’re going to try and steal their ship. I don’t think Freydis’ll be happy till she’s forced them to fight us. You know, I used to think it was bad when I was shipping with the berserkers; but she makes them look like kittens. Just remember; he went on, ‘feint high, cut low and whatever you do, don’t just stand there rooted to the spot. Got to keep moving, or you’re dead.’
He pulled a tight little smile, like he was letting us know how sorry he was to hear we hadn’t made’ it; then he hurried up and went forward to talk to Bersi. ‘So that’s that, then; Eyvind said to me. ‘We’re going to pick a fight with Finnbogi’s lot. That’s so stupid.’
Couldn’t argue with that, but what was I supposed to do about it? So I nodded, and we carried on walking. Nobody else was talking much, except us.
When we got to the edge of the lake, Freydis stopped and went ‘Shhh!’, loud enough to be heard back at the Booths. I guess that was her idea of being a military leader. Past her I could see the Icelanders’ house in the distance, all blurry and grey in the morning haze. I couldn’t see anybody about. Maybe they’re all still in bed, I thought; or maybe they saw us coming long since, and they’re lurking in ambush, and we’ll all be killed. Fact is, I was just starting to feel scared.
Now I’d been scared before, obviously, but this time was different. It’s like when it’s your turn to get up early and go and feed the calves, and it’s so bitter cold out, soon you can’t feel your fingers or your toes. Usually I feel fear in my stomach, like a finger twisted in my guts; my knees go, and my bowels and bladder, and it’s like there’s something stuck in my throat so I can’t breathe right; all I want to do is drop to the ground and curl up in a ball, like a hedgehog, with all my spikes facing out. This was different: maybe it was more horror than fear, like I was walking right up to something so nasty that I couldn’t bear to be near it. Maybe it wasn’t going to kill me, or else I’d have felt the other kind of fear, but that wasn’t the issue, really I was cold, and sweating at the same time, and if I’d had any feeling in my legs I’d have run away, and the hell with what happened to me afterwards.
We went round the lake and came to the door of the Icelanders’ house. They’d worked hard on it, like they meant to be there a while. They’d stripped a wide patch of turf to build the walls and the roof-a few wisps of grass were just beginning to show on the bare earth - and the house itself sparkled all over, with drops of dew caught in the grass. I’m used to it, of course, but people from other places always take a while to get accustomed to the fact that we make our houses out of turf, that they’re growing things, alive. I met a German once, who’d been to Scotland and seen the turf houses there, and he said they gave him the creeps, because who wanted to live inside a living house? It was like being inside a burial mound, or a grave. I look at it the other way: who wants to live in something brittle and dead, something piled up on top of the ground instead of shaped out of it? But Meadowland was different, as always. We’d come there for the rich, fat grass - grass that dripped with butter, as Leif said once - we walked on it and lived under it, and it grew so well, so fast and rich; but it hated us, and I hated it right back. It couldn’t wait to close over us for good. There’s all those stories about sailors who land on a small island in the middle of the sea, and when they light a fire the island starts to move, and they realise it’s not land, it’s the back of a whale or a sea-dragon. I’d laughed at those stories, I thought they were just plain dumb, till I came to Meadowland; because that place was alive, a big, broad-backed monster; and the houses there, Leif’s Booths, were its mouth, and if you stayed inside too long it’d digest you.