Swords From the Sea (76 page)

That day Brana heard oars in the firth. She dropped her rake and ran barelegged across the clover fields to her lookout. Here was the place, high up, where she liked to lie and dream and watch the gulls circling over the mist that often hid the bleak coast of Norway.

In this high seat of her own the girl Brana could not easily be found by the people of the homestead. Hiding out here, she could look down at the women of the homestead working among the cattle pens or picking wool, she could listen to the sound of the axes where the men chopped interminably at the timbers in the forest.

For the forest Brana had no love. It was dark, and bears snuffled through it, and in the dimness of the northern nights werewolves might be heard howling there.

She was a Viking's girl, with the colors of gold and fire in her long hair, and the blue of deep water in her eyes. Moreover, she was now fifteen winters of age, and many girls of the coast had gone to their bride bowers after fourteen winters. But she thought that the youths who came in to Orn's Firth had thin beards and a small way of doing things. They brought hewn timbers down from the forest to the water of the inlet, or they fetched in fish from Lofoten.

It pleased her better when warfarers came in from the long ways of the sea, to shelter themselves at the homestead and drink beer with her uncle Orn. These warfarers often gave her bits of bright silk for her garments, and carved ivory, and they had tales to tell, while she poured their beer, of raiding and burning. Although her uncle Orn would shake his head in his stubborn way, saying that she would not be so pleased when she knew more of war or the men who went forth to it. Wait and learn, he would say to her, blinking wisely. Orn, being old, did not know that Brana was waiting for the day when a tall man might come into their gray inlet, to refit his longship, and would look upon her and demand her for his bride to carry off to his homestead, wherever that might be ...

That morning she saw a dragon ship coming out of the mist, into Orn's Firth.

No ordinary Viking longship this. Painted war shields lined its rails. The dragon's head above its prow gleamed with silver. A good ship, she thought, and it must have on it a man of mark. The blood throbbed in her body when she ran to tell Orn.

"Ho, redhead," he laughed at her, "you have been dreaming again."

"It is you who sleep, Orn," she cried, "here in the hay when you have a great guest to greet."

She ran by the cattle pens to the women's sleeping room of the homestead. She put on the blue cape that matched her eyes, in such a way that the mends did not show. Clasping it with the silver clasp, she wished that she had at least one gold ring for her slender arms. And she persuaded Ingiald the maid to comb her hair smooth, without braiding it. After this, in her excitement, Brana forgot to put on her shoes and ran barelegged down to the landing place.

There she saw that the strangers had come for trading.

The homestead men were carrying down piles of wool, and casks of honey, and bearskins for trading. Brana had eyes only for the man from the dragon ship. Tall he was, with a bold swing to his shoulders, and laughing eyes. Edging closer, she heard his name spoken, Hrolf the Gautlander, the earl's man, who had made the voyage over from Gothland. His weapon men looked hard as broken ice, coming down the landing plank in their gray iron shirts and wolfskins. Yet their landfall had been friendly enough, with the peace flag flying over them.

Now Hrolf stood on the shore examining the trade goods Orn set before him. "Have you no wine?" he asked, looking for more than he saw.

"We make only beer," said Orn placidly, as his homesteaders set down more goods-wood carvings and piles of dried Lofoten fish.

"My followers are thirsty for wine," Hrolf smiled. Then he looked at Brana, and looked at her again. When she lowered her head modestly, she discovered that she had not put on her shoes-she, a woman of fifteen winters stood before a mighty seafarer like a barelegged child. Her face felt hot with shame.

"We make only beer," he said, proudly. "And it is good enough."

Brana thought otherwise. Beer and bearskins, honey and wool, these of the homestead did not seem to her good enough to lay before seafarers.

The smile went out of Hrolf's face. He stared at Orn.

"If you do not like it, Gautlander," Orn rubbed his beard, "I cannot help that. You can drink with me or not, as seems best to you."

"Do you think yourself," Hrolf demanded quickly, "as good a man as me, homesteader?"

"Certainly," said Orn, who was stubborn about such matters.

Hrolf grew pale in the face, and the gold rune ring moved on his arm. "That is had to hear," he said.

His arm pulled the sword from the sheath at his hip, and he stepped toward Orn. His arm thrust hard, and the point came through the shirt at Orn's back. Orn laid hold of the sword in front of him, and dropped down to his knees. A man howled like a wolf.

The homesteader nearest dropped the wool he was carrying. "Berserksgang!" he cried.

Berserk rage. Brana saw Hrolf's followers leap high in their wolfskins. They caught at their weapons and struck at the startled men in front of them. They howled and they struck. Brana could not stop looking, nor could she move her legs.

Running forward, the gray men from the ship grasped at the homesteaders with their hands. They panted like animals in fury. Some of Orn's followers swung up their weapons, and iron crashed hard. Those who fought were killed; the others, seeing Orn fall, ran up toward the forest.

Brana found that she was running back into the house. Now she knew that the gray men were Berserks, who went wild with rage when anything angered them.

Inside the house Ingiald was not to be seen. The serving women who ordinarily obeyed Brana were running out, past the cattle pens. Looking for Ingiald, the girl went to her sleeping alcove. But it was empty. When she ran back to the hall, Hrolf stood there, without his sword. Brana pulled a skinning knife from the wall, and threw it at him, trying to slip past him.

Catching the knife in the air, he gripped the girl's loose hair with his other hand, and held her, turning her face up to him. Now he seemed to be quiet.

"Girl," he said, "do not take iron in your hand. Do not anger me."

With her throat choking, Brana stood still. His blue eyes shone down at her. "I searched far for gold," he chanted, "and now I find red gold in my hand." He nodded his head. "It is lovely you are, girl."

His hand stroked down her hair, and he smiled. "Red have I made the ground where I stepped," he chanted, making a song, "and rain have I drawn from women's eyes. Far have I followed the paths of the sea, to find this gold that holds me fast."

Brana thought, too, that she was held fast by the blue fire in his eyes, and the music of his voice. "Soft as your words are," she said, her voice trembling, "you shall not put your hand on my hair. You have shed Orn's blood, and for that you shall soon make atonement."

"Was his name Orn?" The fit seemed to have left him. "He angered me. As for atonement, you are more beautiful than any maid of these firths. I shall let no harm come to you. Ask for what you wish, and you shall have it."

"Until this hour," Brana cried, "I wanted a bride's bower, with flowers."

Hrolf laughed, taking his hand from her. "A bower, or the jewels of a queen, it is all one to me. But you shall stay with me."

He seemed sure of his words and of himself. That day he kept her close to him, while his men killed an ox and prepared to feast on the fresh meat. Carefully they gathered up the trade goods of the homestead, carrying them into the ship. Seeing this, Brana wondered that Berserks should be so careful of small things. Hrolf understood that she was beginning to be perplexed.

"These matters that you find strange now," he said, "you will understand later." He told her this much: he was the earl's man, and the earl had given command that the unruly Vikings along this Norse coast must be disciplined with fire and sword. And Brana remembered that there had been many outlaws among the Vikings of her coast.

She could not get away while the ox meat was cooking because the Berserks were all about the homestead. When she heard oars in the firth, she went to look at the landing, but saw only a dragon ship, deeply laden, coming in.

This new ship had no shield wall. Its timbers were gray with salt, and the few men in it wore animals hides. Sighting the smoke from the cook fire, they turned in to the shore above the landing, flying no peace flag or flag of any kind.

"What have you come for, seafarers?" the Berserks hailed them.

"For meat," answered one from the weathered ship. For two summers and winters, he added, they had tasted no cattle meat.

"I find that hard to believe," said Hrolf, "but come you in anyway."

When these newcomers walked along the shore toward the cook fire, Brana saw that their hair had not been cut; their faces were dark and thin. The one of them who carried an ax gripped in his hand bent over the bloodstains on the ground and sniffed like a dog. "More than an ox," he said, "has been slain here."

And when he stepped inside the hall of the homestead, he trod carefully, staring up at the beams overhead. Lank and restless, he was, with scars on his thin hands.

"You act," observed Hrolf, watching him, "as if a house was something strange to you."

"Strange indeed it seems," the dark seafarer agreed, "since I have not entered one for four years."

Hrolf sat down beside him in the high seat, while their followers scattered along the long table below, and he called to Brana to fetch beer in horns for them. As the girl set down the drinking horn by the stranger, he put his fingers on her arm, smiling at her.

"I suppose," said Hrolf, who missed nothing of this, "you have not seen a woman, either, for four years."

"Five." The dark man drank greedily, and coughed. He made Brana sit beside him, and he looked at her slender arms and long hair with great satisfaction, while he tore and swallowed the half-cooked beef hungrily. Sweat came out on his bony face, and muscles worked in his temples as he chewed. But he kept looking at Brana, or down at the long table where his few men were gorging among the Berserks. The girl was surprised to see by his eyes and teeth that this guzzler could not be as old as she thought. His skin seemed lined as an older man's, but something within him was fresh and youthful.

Voiceless she sat, not daring to speak, for fear of Hrolf's anger. The stranger kept his ax between his knees even while he ate.

"All that you say," observed Hrolf, watching out of the corner of his eye, "sounds like a lie to me. I do not believe that man lives who has not seen a woman for five years."

"Well, I live," said the owner of the ax calmly. "It was because of the new land," he explained.

"What new land?"

"I call it Vine-land, and it lies beyond the West voyage."

"Ice-land we know," Brana put in, "and Vikings tell of the Green-land beyond, where the glaciers are. Beyond that, the sea runs over the edge of this world into He]."

Although she made her voice sharp with disdain, the stranger did not appear to be disturbed. Stretching his long arms, he smiled up at the carved heads of Wotan and Thor on the pillars of the high seat. "So most people think," he said, "and I can't help that. But you two have set good beer and meat before me, so I shall tell you a marvelous thing."

His dark eyes shone with a boy's happiness. "From that same Green-land my father, Eric, was once driven by a northeast wind, and instead of going over the edge of the world he sighted a new land, covered with mist."

"A mist of magic, no doubt," quoth Hrolf, "Eric's son."

"Leif is my name. I was young in Ice-land, and I begged my father Eric to take me to this new land of his, that the eyes of common men had not seen. And now I tell you of a strange happening. My father says well enough, but when he rides his horse down to the sea to take ship his horse stumbles and he stops, saying that evidently he is not meant to go farther. So I fare on alone with these shipmates, until a northeast wind carries us on beyond the end of the voyages."