The Snow on the Cross (16 page)

“How long does Leif plan to stay?” I
asked, thinking I should stop and go back.

One of the Vikings shrugged.  “Two
days, perhaps three.  Since his father shows no signs of love for his son, we
will probably depart tomorrow.  Thordhild is home now, so Leif’s primary
obligation of seeing his mother home safely is completed.”

I thought about Malyn.  If she came
with me to the celebration tonight, would she be tempted to sail with Leif in
the morning?  Would she allow herself to be seduced by him only to have him
never return?  More importantly, I thought as I quickened my pace, if Malyn was
talked into running away with Leif in the morning, I would be alone on the
island, but she would no longer be condemned to die when Eirik died.

One of the Vikings was talking to me,
but I was only half hearing what he was saying.  My mind was too involved in
whether or not to go back for Malyn.  I glanced back at Brattahild, saw the
great clouds of smoke roaring into the air, and kept walking.  I needed her, I
decided.  I needed her more than Leif did.

Once again, it is not up to you to
judge me.  If my selfish motives are a sin, then only God can judge me.  I
would not go back and get Malyn.  She would never know Leif had requested her
and therefore, she would never know she had an opportunity for escaping Eirik’s
home.  It may have been the stab of jealousy I felt when I first saw them look
at one another.  However, I felt trapped here also, and there would be no ship
to offer to take me away from here.  If Malyn left, who would help me and bring
me food and fire?  Who would teach me more of the Vikings’ language?  There
would be no one, and I doubted I could count on Thordhild for any support.

We kept walking, and the Vikings
began to tell me news of the world, which I longed to hear.  The raids along
the northern European coast had all but stopped.  Every now and then news of an
isolated attack would emerge, but it was mainly brigands, not Vikings, who were
responsible.  I felt some comfort in this.  Perhaps Robert the Pious would
think I had completed my mission and send for me to return to
France
, but it never happened.

Leif greeted us at the beach where
his celebration was going to take place, and I noticed he looked disappointed
Malyn was not with us, but he said nothing about it, as if he knew his father
would have not allowed her to come anyway.  They led me down the beach to where
great tables were set up along with shimmering fires where entire pigs were
roasting on spits, turned ever so slowly by the watchful eye of the cooks.  It
had been a long time since I had tasted pork, and the sight of the pigs slowly
cooking filled me with hunger, even though I had eaten a large stock of venison
hours before.  Leif’s men were already well into the mead by the time I got
there, and they all seemed glad to see me.  Apparently, word of my arrival here
had spread, and some simply had to come see for themselves the man who was single-handedly
preventing the great Eirik the Red from completing his raids.  I was humbled,
but I knew pride was a sin.  I almost did not have the heart to tell them I
really had done nothing to prevent Eirik from doing anything, but they simply
drank more mead and eyed the roasting pigs with watering mouths.  Leif sat me
down and poured me a cup of mead before he sat across from me.  He had the look
of a serious conversationalist, and I hoped he knew enough of my language to
understand if my grasp of his language ran out midway through the conversation.

“Bishop,” he began, and I noticed
some of the men were crowding near us to eavesdrop, join in, or listen
carefully.  “You are from
Le Mans
.  I have
heard the story about your king.  Robert the Pious has often been in talks with
King Olaf, but I don’t think they are productive meetings.”

“Partly the reason I am here,” I
said, and the mead was good and strong.  I was careful not to overindulge in
the thick drink.

Leif laughed.  “If you think you can
convert my father to our faith, then you have gained my admiration.  He will go
to his grave clutching his pagan ways.  If my mother cannot convince him, how
do you think you are going to?”

I shrugged.  “I do not claim to be
the messiah.  I am here to do what I can, nothing more.  If Eirik is convinced
he is right and I am wrong, then I won’t be able to change that.  Unless I can
turn water into wine in front of his eyes.”

Leif laughed again and filled my
cup.  “But I heard you did not want to come, yes?  You are not setting a good
example for our faith.”

It was almost as if Leif was making a
reference to my father, whose good deeds and works had been well documented. 
But here was sitting proof that a son does not always follow the father in his
craft, just as Leif did not fall victim to his father’s bloody raiding habits. 
The boy was an explorer, not a barbarian, not a fighter, and definitely not a
conqueror.

“I see your mother has returned,” I
commented.

“Yes, she had gone to
Norway
to speak to the King about my father. 
I was sent after her, upon request of my father.”

“And when you arrived, you were
converted, yes?  Like your mother?”

Leif nodded.  “She had converted long
ago.  I fear she did it only because Olaf had become a zealot of sorts, and she
was afraid of him.”

The news chilled me.  “Thordhild,
your mother, converted because of fear?”

“Possibly,” the boy shrugged.  “What
does it matter?  She’s still a follower of our one true faith.  One God, one
salvation.”

I wanted to pull my hair out in
frustration.  “Did your mother not request a missionary to come here?”

Leif laughed.  “Why would she do
that?  If she did, it’s only because she doesn’t want my father to be killed by
the righteous as a pagan.  Both your king and mine are rooting out the
followers of the old ways in our countries.  Your Robert the Pious, I hear, had
some heretics burned because of their ways.  He gained the favor of the Pope,
as did my king when he began hanging those who didn’t convert to Christianity.”

“That can’t be true,” I said.  “My king
is a good man.  A righteous man.  He destroyed some pagan strongholds, but
nothing more.  He certainly would not have been cruel enough to burn people at
the stake.”

“Open your eyes, Bishop.  You have
been sheltered for too long, and you are too quick to believe what others tell
you.  But I am telling you the truth.  I saw it with my own eyes.  My mother
converted because she did not want to die, and my father is holding out because
he despises Olaf.  I converted because I believe what the scriptures say, as do
my men, as do you.”

I sat in stunned silence as the
Vikings began carving the thick pieces of pork off the bones of the pigs.  Some
was served to me, but I had lost my appetite.  Leif and the others were having
a good time, and I thought about running back to Brattahild and taking Malyn,
throwing her on the ship to leave with Leif.  But I sat there as the meat in
front of me smoked, and my mead cup was never empty.

                                                                           ***

The celebration lasted for many more
hours, and it was not over until most of Leif’s men were snoring loudly on the
sand, their mead cups emptied many times over beside them.  I sat morosely
watching the bitterly cold sea dash against the rocks.  I looked at the sun and
cursed it, hoping it would go away.  It sat and shone, and the sea took on an
angry orange color with the unremitting light dancing over it. 

Leif was still awake.  He was chewing
on a leg bone with a few strands of meat hanging off it and watching me.  I
scratched some words in the sand, and it was almost as if I could record my
words again.  Leif finished his meat and brought his cup to sit beside me.

“Bishop,” he nodded, offering me his
cup.  I refused.

“When do you depart?”

“Tomorrow,” Leif said, draining his
mead.  “I have to give my men some time to sleep off their drink.  Otherwise,
they won’t be worth anything except bait for the sharks.”  He laughed, and I
managed a weak smile.

“I can’t stay here,” I said.  “It’s
hopeless for me to stay here.  I was not trained as a missionary, and I don’t
know how to convert anybody if they’ve already got a perfectly serviceable god
in their minds.”

“My father is planning a raid,” Leif
suddenly said.  “To the Isle of Kells, off the coast of
Ireland
.”

“Then I will have to stop him. 
That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“He will kill you,” Leif told me.  I
knew what he was talking about.  “The end of the summer season is near, and
soon winter will be upon us.  Eirik must go before the ice traps his ships, as
do I.”

“Then why don’t you stay?” I asked,
suddenly angry that Leif was going to leave me here to face his father.  “Won’t
he listen to you?”

The youth laughed.  “My father no
longer has a son.  I am exiled.  Tomorrow I shall leave and never return, or I
will be put to death.  That is the law.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked,
and desperation crept into my voice.  “Kill Eirik?”

“Don’t kill him, convert him.”

“I can’t even talk to him.”

“How hard have you tried?  Speak with
my mother first.  She should be able to help you.”

I put my head in my hands.  “No. 
Take me off this island.”  I looked up at the boy.  “Take me to
France
.  Let me go home.  Please.  I can’t
do anything here.”

Leif shook his head.  “God has put
you here for a reason.  I won’t interfere with that.”  The boy stood up,
brushing the sand away.  “Go to my mother and speak with her.  Ask her if she
will come to say goodbye.  As for my father . . . if he comes, then I will
count it as God’s miracle.”

He left me sitting there on the
beach, and I thought about how hard it would be to swim back to
France
.

                                                                           ***

I went to the coast to see Leif and
his men depart, and it was a hard thing to watch.  The Vikings loaded their
ships with fresh water and set about rigging their sails to cast off.  I
briefly thought about Bjarni, and what he said about the sea as they pushed off
from the beach and began to drift.  I noticed Malyn was not there; apparently
Eirik had been keeping her under lock since Thordhild had returned.  I waved
and looked at the cross Leif had given me.  It was the one King Olaf had given
him to give to Eirik, and now Leif had given it to me in the hopes that I would
be able to finish what he couldn’t do.  

“If nothing else,” Leif told me. 
“After my father’s death, use it to mark his grave.”

I watched as his ships sank under the
horizon, and I desperately wished I were on one of those ships.  After the last
ship’s sail disappeared, I began walking back to Brattahild, thinking about
what Leif had told me.  I decided even a forced conversion was better than no
conversion at all, and so I forgave Thordhild for converting under such
conditions.  As I approached Eirik’s home, I noticed Malyn outside gathering
sticks.  It was the first time I had seen her since she left the beach after
Leif’s arrival.

Her face was swollen and had grown
into a mass of purple as her eyes, barely visible, peeked out from behind the
rolls of puffed flesh.  She kept clutching her arm, and even from the distance
I was at, I could see the tears shining on her cheeks.  She was struggling to
carry an armload of wood, but she kept favoring her left arm over her right,
which itself looked puffed up and bruised as well.

I wanted to help her, but as I drew
closer to Eirik’s home, I noticed the large man standing at the doorway,
keeping a sharp eye on the girl as she collected the sticks.  His arms were
folded across his chest, and he looked over at me, almost challenging me to say
something to him.  I knew Malyn’s arm was broken, and it was impossible for her
to carry her load without dropping it.  I clutched the cross in my hand, and
stepped up and through Eirik’s fence.  The large Viking raised himself up a
little higher when he saw I had set foot on his land.

Malyn saw me, and I saw fear sweep
over her.  She looked as if she wanted to run, but she continued her job of
picking up sticks, half watching me the entire time.

“Greetings, Eirik,” I said to the
large man, and I saw Malyn smile a little as she heard me use the language she
had taught me.

Eirik the Red blinked at me, then he
saw the cross in my hand.  “What do you need, Bishop?” he grumbled.  “As you
can see, I am quite busy here.”

It took me a moment to process what
he had said to me, as my translation skills were slow.  “I need to speak with
you,” I said.  “It’s important.”

Eirik shook his head no.  “Then I
need to speak with Thordhild.” I said firmly.

Eirik bristled as I mentioned his
wife’s name.  “No.”

I glanced over at Malyn, who had
stopped working and was watching me.  She quickly went back to work.  I thought
Eirik was going to say something and then I noticed Thordhild coming up behind
him, placing a cold hand on his arm and gently moving him aside.  Eirik
sidestepped a few inches, enough to let Thordhild pass.