The Snow on the Cross (17 page)

“Bishop, welcome,” she said, and as I
finally saw her up close, she was indeed quite beautiful.  “Come inside, you
will be our guest.”  She took my hand, and her touch was smooth and icy.  She
drew me past Eirik and into the interiors of their home.  Eirik said nothing,
but followed us inside, shutting the door behind him and leaving Malyn outside.

                                                                           ***

I was seated in the place of honor
nearest the fireplace, and Thordhild drew me some mead, which I accepted
gratefully. 

“I am sorry I was not here when you
arrived, Bishop,” said Thordhild.  “I hope my people treated you according to
your honorable office as a Bishop of Le Mans,” she shot Eirik a reproachful
look.  I thought I saw Eirik’s face actually turn red.

I nodded, but did not speak.  Instead
I sipped my mead and wondered if I was growing a bit too fond of the drink. 

“You were missed,” I finally said,
speaking only God’s truth.  “But I am here for a reason, and that is to spread
God’s truth to your people.”

Thordhild nodded.  Eirik looked
wistfully at the door. 

“There is nothing you can tell me,
Bishop, that I will accept,” said Eirik, his voice echoing around the room.  “I
will not change my faith for you or for my king.”

“Then you will die,” I said flatly. 
“When Olaf’s soldiers come, they will hunt you down and kill you.  If I cannot
get a conversion, then I am ordered to bring your head back to the king.”

God excuses liars when they are lying
for the sake of salvation.  Even though I knew I would never cut off anyone’s
head, I knew King Olaf’s death sentence on Thorvald, Eirik’s father, was for
his head, and I was hoping to scare Eirik with what I knew.  I had not thought
far enough ahead to realize what I would do if Eirik simply got angry enough to
take my head by my saying those words to him.

Eirik actually laughed.  I suddenly
hoped he didn’t think I was challenging him.

“Is that a fact?  Come, little
Bishop, take my head now, because I will save you the trouble of trying to talk
me into your faith.”  He handed me his axe, which I promptly dropped.  It was
unbelievably heavy.  Nevertheless, I managed to pick it up, but I knew I could
not swing it. 

Eirik saw me pick up the axe, and he
nodded.  “I have been watching you, Bishop,” he said as I struggled with the
weapon.  “I am surprised you’ve managed to survive here this long.  How will
you get through the winter?”

“My God will see me through,” I said,
putting the axe down.  “He has saved me this far, and I will not die here on
Greenland
, I have no reason to.”

Those last words seemed to resonate
with Eirik, as if he was suddenly remembering the misplaced axe strike on the
beach and the raid on his hunters during the night.  Both times I had been
spared.  Perhaps Eirik was wondering if I truly was leading a blessed life. 
Perhaps he was realizing his gods were doing nothing to save his men from
countless slaughter.  Maybe I was indeed the messenger sent to deliver him.  I
let Eirik think all these things.

I didn’t hurry to tell him otherwise.

                                                                           ***

As I left Eirik’s house, I saw Malyn
sitting with her back to the stone fence, sobbing.  She had abandoned her
sticks, which lay scattered all around her, and looked as if she had given up. 
I didn’t know if I should go to her and comfort her or not.  I decided since
she had not seen me, I would go on to my church and stay there.  I knew Malyn
would come later that night, or what passed for night in this strange land, and
I would see her then.

I had just gotten my fire roaring
again, and the chill from the stones of my church vanished, leaving me in warm
comfort.  I settled on the bench and began reading over my pages of parchment I
had recorded long ago.  Since I had lost all track of time since my arrival
(and the sun never set to mark the days) I was unaware of how close we were to
the onset of winter.  I knew Leif said it was close, and I assumed he would
know, but I couldn’t help think about Eirik’s next planned raid.  The monks on
the Isle of Kells were noted for their libraries, and I knew they would be
Eirik’s first target.  Absorbed in my reading, I almost didn’t hear the faint
knock that sounded on my door.

It was Thordhild, and she entered
without my invitation.  I humbly stepped aside and allowed her to sit.  It
would be good to talk with her alone without Eirik’s presence.

“My husband,” she said, looking
around at my unassuming decor, “built this church for me a year ago.  I wish we
had better accommodations for you, Bishop Arnald.”

Her statement confused me.  There
were a number of buildings near the sea I could have taken up residence in. 
Any one of them would have been better than this drafty structure.  But I
suppose Thordhild still bowed to Eirik’s wishes on certain issues.  I began
wishing she had brought some mead with her on her visit.

“My lady,” I said.  “I don’t think I
can stay here much longer.”  I was hoping to appeal to her weaker side so she
would see my distress at being here.  Perhaps she would take pity on me and let
me see my homeland.  Instead, she merely laughed.

“Where do you want to go?”

I frowned.  “Back to
Le Mans
, madam.  Back to
France
.”

She stopped laughing and looked at
me.  I felt myself falling into the pits of her black eyes.  “We cannot allow that. 
God has blessed your arrival here.  Your presence here is the only thing
keeping Eirik in check.  God is here as long as you are here.”

I shook my head.  “My presence here
has nothing to do with Eirik’s behavior,” I said, trying to get through to her. 
“He’s just waiting.  I don’t know why he is waiting, but he would still act the
same whether I was here or not.”

“No, Bishop,” her voice had changed. 
“There is a change in him.  You did not know him before.  You have no basis for
comparison.”  She sighed.  “I have been with him for many years.  I know he has
changed since you arrived.  Since you have come, God walks these hills.”

I tried not to laugh.  Perhaps I was
the messiah, after all.  “What about his planned raid on the Isle of Kells? 
Surely if God was here, Eirik would not be thinking of going.”

“There is no planned raid.” 
Thordhild said, staring into my fire.  “Especially not on the Isle of Kells.  I
won’t allow it.”

Her words almost echoed my own. 
Maybe she was the appointed one, not me.  “Forgive me, madam,” I said.  “But
Leif said. . .”

“Do not speak to me about Leif,” she
snapped.  “If Leif was talking about the Isle of Kells, it is probably only
because he is planning a raid there himself.  Not my husband.”

I almost hated to bring up her name,
but I had to know about the girl.  “What about Malyn?”

Thordhild’s eyes burned.  “She is a
wench and a whore.  She is only in our household for my husband’s service,
nothing more.”

I was shocked to hear Thordhild speak
about Malyn in such a manner.  Surely a devout Christian would not feel that
way about another, especially about a girl who had been forced to come here
against her will.  The decidedly charitable thing to do would be to give her
freedom to go home.

“I will convert Eirik,” I said.  “Although
I do not know how.”

Thordhild shook her head and smiled
mournfully.  “Alas, Bishop.  You will do many things while you are here, but
converting Eirik will not be one of them.  He will go to his grave clutching to
the old ways.  Him and most of his men.”

“Then why do I stay here?”

Thordhild looked at me blankly. 
“Because, Bishop, Eirik is afraid of you.”

                                                                           ***

I did not believe Thordhild. Unless
Eirik believed I had magic powers, I could not see how such a man would be
frightened of me.  No one in my entire life had ever been afraid of me, and
such a man as Eirik, one who would leave the known world for this island and
carve his home out of the rock here, should not have been frightened either. 
After Thordhild had gone, I trailed after her and stared at the landscape all
around me.  The gray hills, the dull grasslands, and the little scrub bushes:
these were the things I saw.  Not a home.  Not a paradise on earth.  I looked
up at Brattahild.  This was Eirik’s refuge.  Supposedly this was his paradise. 

I thought about Eirik clutching to
the old ways, as Thordhild had said.  If he was afraid, he was only afraid
because I represented something new to him, and he was a man who did not deal
well with change.  Eirik was not afraid of me.  He was afraid of what I
represented: the new faith.  I thought this would be a good stepping stone to
begin with if I was going to talk to him about his conversion, but my thoughts
were disrupted by the crack of a stick.  I saw Malyn, still breaking sticks in
half, crying while she did so.

“Malyn!” I called to her.  “Come
here, child.”

She looked up and shook her head,
going back to pick up more sticks.  I prayed for her, and began to wish I had
put her on that ship with Leif.

The Request

Eirik the Red was a social man.  He
often gathered with his men at Brattahild to tell boastful tales and drink lots
of mead.  I watched these celebrations without cause almost on a nightly
basis.  I would sit outside my door and watch the procession of men come and
go, and I would hear the laughter bounce through the hills.  I was never
invited to any of Eirik’s gatherings, but I assumed I was not missing anything
but insults thrown in my direction.

The key to conversion was to convert
those around Eirik, I decided.  Start with the others.  I estimated Eirik’s
settlement at approximately three hundred at the time.  Not an impossible
number, certainly not overwhelming, but daunting, nonetheless.  I would go to
the others first and convince them.  I would show them Thordhild and Leif, two
people highly respected among Eirik’s community, as examples of the one true
faith.  I made careful plans, and I made most of them in my head as I watched
the men come and go from Brattahild.

After the nightly revel had subsided,
I saw Malyn slipping out of Eirik’s house to come toward my church.  She held
something in her hand, but I could not see what it was.  It was the first time
Malyn had come to see me in a while, and I truly felt glad of her company.

We went inside, and I shut the door
behind me.  I shouldn’t have ever worried about any of the Vikings disturbing
us.  Only Malyn and Thordhild had ever actually entered the church while I had
been here, but I could tell Malyn was still upset over something, and I wanted
her to feel safe as she talked.

“Bishop, you’ve got to help me.”

“Of course, child.”

She shook her head, brushing the hair
away from her face where it was sticking to her tears.  I saw what she had
brought with her.  A large silver dagger with an ornately carved handle,
probably, if I remember the emblem correctly, taken from the monastery at
Abbeville.  But Malyn had not come to give me a gift.  She pushed the handle of
the blade into my hand and closed my fingers around it.

“Kill me,” she whispered.  “Let me
die before I have to die with Eirik.  Please, Bishop.  I can’t do it.  I’ve
tried.  See?”  I saw the marks on her arms, now turning into thick scars.  “If
Eirik dies, I will be burned alive.  I’ve seen it before.”  She broke down,
almost collapsing on the floor, her voice drowned out by her wails.

Tears of my own welled up at the
display.  How could I not feel pity for this poor creature?  I looked at the
knife.  Eirik was fond of his weapons, and I noticed the edge on the blade was
filed to infinity.  It would do a good job if used properly.  There would
probably even be little pain because the blade was so sharp. 

I set the knife down and knelt beside
the girl.  As much as she wanted me to, I found I could not.  It was a mortal
sin, even for the right reasons, I could not take a life. 

“Please, Bishop,” she asked again. 
“Please.”

I shook my head.  “I will convert
Eirik,” I tried to explain to her.  “Once he is converted this funeral rite
will be no more.  You will not have to die with him.”

“No!” she sobbed.  “Eirik will not
convert!  Don’t you understand that yet?  He will not convert for his wife or
child, why would he convert for you?  He will die in the old ways, and I will
die with him.  Please, help me.”

“Taking your own life is premature,”
I said, helping her sit up on the bench.  Her sobs had subsided quite a bit,
and now she was thinking more rationally.  “Do you honestly think Thordhild
will allow Eirik to do this to you?”

As I said those last words, I
remembered Thordhild’s words about Malyn:
She is a wench and a whore
. .
. No, it was unlikely that Thordhild would stop it, especially if it was the
death request of her dying husband.  She would see it through, even if it was
barbaric.