The Snow on the Cross (19 page)

Eirik was asleep.  His roaring snores
sounded loudly over the water, and I began to think that the snores would be
heard by the monks on the island, and that would serve as a warning to them. 
But it was naive thinking, and I clutched the dagger and watched Eirik sleep.

I could kill him, I remember
thinking.  Slit his throat and save my brothers on the island.  I looked at the
others on the ship.  Thirty men on this one, two hundred men combined on the
other ships.  It would mean my death when they awoke, and I could not swim to
safety because I could not swim at all.  I sat and held the dagger, almost
slicing into my finger as I did.  I kept looking at the men who had brought so
much pain into not only
France
, but also
England
, and
Spain
, and almost every other country I knew of.  I could have
killed them all.  Sliced their throats one by one until all thirty of them were
dead.  I could have then taken the boat to the Isle of the Kells and sought
refuge there.

But instead I sat and watched the
darkness of the water lap against the side of the ship.  I wept for the
slaughter that was coming: the one I knew I couldn’t stop.  I wanted a sign,
but being on the ship was enough.  I knew I was there for a reason.  Thordhild
knew it, Leif knew it, and I was just beginning to realize it.

I watched the sky begin to lighten as
I sat with my thoughts.  The dagger remained in my robe, even as the Vikings
took up their oars and slowly began their journey to the island.

                                                                           ***

The monastery on the Isle of Kell was
not much to look at:  a series of small square buildings in a semi-circle.  In
the center of the circle of buildings was a tower that could see over the
entire island.  I knew in the bottom levels of that tower were the sacred books
the monks treasured over all other things.  The top levels of the tower served
as an observation post, and as we drew nearer to the island, I could see
movement there.  Yes, I wanted to shout.  Run, for the North Men are upon you.

There was the sharp, harsh clanging
of the bell, and I could see gray robed figures darting around the buildings. 
The warning had gone up.  The North Men have arrived.  The North Men are
coming.  Save the books, retreat to the caves beneath the monastery.  Above
all, just run.

The Vikings ships ran aground, and
the men were over the sides of the ship in a blink.  I stayed behind, cringing,
not able to watch.  Two hundred men, roaring hellishly, stormed over the rocks
and onto the grasslands where the first buildings were.  Ahead of them all ran
Eirik the Red, slashing at a poor monk who had gotten too close.  I watched the
monk fall, but apparently his death did not satisfy Eirik.  As if retaliating
against my entire faith and for the betrayal of his wife and son, Eirik pounded
the poor monk into the ground, and I saw streaks of red jet across the bright
green grass.  The other Vikings had begun their slaughter in earnest as well,
and although a few of the monks tried to fight back, their knives were useless
against the heavy spears of the North Men.  The bell ceased its ringing, and I
saw the first flickers of flame erupt on the outer ring of buildings.

I stepped out of the boat, walking up
the rocks until I, too, was standing on the grounds of the monastery.  I saw
Eirik enter the lower levels of the tower, and I began running after him.  A
few frightened monks ran past me, and some of them looked at me, knowing I
wasn’t a Viking, asking me wordlessly why I was letting this happen.  But they
kept running, and they seemed to be heading for their own boats not far from
where we had landed.  A hiss of arrows stopped me, and I looked up to see
archers in the top tower, aiming carefully at their invaders.  One of the
arrows almost hit me.

Several arrows found their home and
some Vikings fell, their leather armor pierced by the heavy lead point of the
missiles.  But it was not enough.  Thick, black smoke swelled from the burning
buildings, blocking out the sun and casting us all into darkness.  I reached
the tower, only to be pushed back by the severe waves of heat rolling out of
the doorway.  Eirik had set fire to the library.  It was too late to save the
books.  I saw Eirik at the top of the tower, and I heard the screams as one of
the archers came flying out of the top of the tower to crash into the ground.

I shook my head.  The monks were
lying on the ground, some bleeding, most missing an arm or a leg; some were missing
their heads.  How could so much slaughter happen in so little time?  I backed
away from the tower, and the cool air felt good to me.  Some of the monks had
escaped, I noticed.  They rowed their boats frantically to the east, toward the
mainland.  They had seen the futility of defending their faith.  Unlike these
others, whom I sadly watched die.  I looked up at Eirik, who had finished
killing the archers and was making his way back down through the flames.

In defense of the faith I ran back
over to the bottom of the tower and slammed the door shut.  I decided I was not
killing Eirik.  I was letting the smoke and the fire do it.  God makes
exceptions for all things, including killing.  Since it was not my hand that
lowered the blade, it was not exactly killing anyone.  It was nature, and it
was Eirik’s own stupidity that put him in danger anyway.  If Eirik had been
thinking, he would have set the fire on the way out, not in.

I wedged the dagger Malyn had given
me through the latch hole in the door, effectively locking it.  One of the
Vikings saw me trapping Eirik in the tower, and he began running over to me,
intent on freeing his chieftain.

I heard the crash, and I saw the
wooden door splinter into pieces as Eirik, accompanied by great clouds of white
smoke, shot out of the bottom of the tower.  My dagger spun out and stuck
itself, blade first, into the bloody ground.  Eirik didn’t seem phased by the
incident.  In fact, I do not think he even knew the door was locked.  He
coughed once, then looked around to survey the complete destruction of the
monastery of Kell.  I had retrieved my dagger, and I watched as the Vikings
finished their rampage through the buildings.  They had released the horses
from the monastery stables and were leading the beasts toward the ships.  Some
of the monks had been tied up and they sat, sad and small against the
bloodstained ground.  These would be the ones Eirik would take with him, if
nothing else than to row their ships.

I held my dagger and entertained, not
for the last time, the thought of running and plunging it deep into Eirik’s
chest.  Did the Lord not also say “an eye for an eye” in the most Holy
Scriptures?  Did these monks not deserve to be revenged?  I stood there as the
fires roared all around me and the Vikings took their spears and ended the
cries of the wounded with one swift gouge.  Had it been like this at
Tours
? 
Paris
?  Abbeville? 
All that would be left here would be charred rubble.  It was as if Eirik was
single handedly trying to wipe out every outpost of my faith.  It wasn’t enough
just to take the gold, although I noticed the Vikings were carting out sack
loads of precious trinkets and ornaments ripped down from the cathedral walls,
it was only complete when there was nothing left.

The three monks who had been captured
stared at me with harrowed eyes, and I felt my shame begin to grind away at
me.  It was as if they could see my sins.  How could I have taken part in such
a massacre, they seemed to say to me.  But they remained silent, even when
Eirik demanded to know where they stored their wine.

“They don’t understand you,” I spoke
up, my voice fluttering.  Eirik didn’t turn to me.  I began walking toward him,
dagger in hand.  “Did you hear me, you cowardly heathen?” My voice became
stronger.  “They don’t understand what you are saying to them!”  I was
practically screaming at Eirik, trying to make him listen. 

Eirik did turn to me then, and I knew
he was going to strike.  With a quick jab, the dagger was ripped from my hand,
and I was left with a ragged tear across my hand, which began to bleed
heavily.  I didn’t feel the pain, and even if I did, it would not have been the
pain of my brothers who had been butchered here. 

“This is a mendicant order,” I
explained to Eirik, wondering how thick the man could be.  “There is no wine
here.  Do you hear me?  There is no wine here!  Go back to your ship and leave
these men.”

Eirik looked up at the sky where the
dark clouds of smoke sailed through us.  “We are wiping clean this upstart
faith,” he whispered.  “Odin has blessed us here.”

Wrath surged through me.  “There is
no Odin,” I declared.  “There is only one most holy God whose son is Christ. 
Not your gods.  Your gods have done nothing for you.  But look at me.  Here I
stand.  By all counts I should have died, but I am blessed and protected.  You
cannot kill me, no matter how hard you try.”  These were harsh words, and in
the back of my mind I worried that Eirik would run me through to test my
theory, but he didn’t.  He merely scrutinized me with those indignant eyes of
his. 

“Get those horses on the ship!” Eirik
called to his men.  “We’re leaving.”

He started to walk past me, but I
reached out and touched his arm, stopping him.  “Olaf is going to kill you,” I
murmured in a voice only he could hear.  “I will tell him all about your wicked
ways.”

Eirik pushed past me, but I could
tell there was a hint of fear on his face.  No one, apparently, had ever spoken
to him like that.  No one had ever dared threaten Eirik the Red and lived to
tell others.  At least not all of him.  I walked around the ruined monastery
and tried to help those wounded who had not been killed off.  I sat and prayed
with some of them before they passed.  Others asked me why and I had no answer
for them.  I looked through a murk of watering eyes at the Vikings as they
loaded their loot, but whether or not my eyes were watering from the smoke or
my own self-pity, I could not tell.  My only comfort was the first snow of the
winter season had begun to fall as I sat there next to one young monk, probably
fifteen years at the oldest, the same age I was when I entered the church, and
whispered to him Psalms of our Lord.  The snow would cover these men and their
blood would be bleached away from the grass, and the only reminder that someone
had been here would be the silence.

Winter

We descended into the darkness as we
sailed back to
Greenland
.  I felt the shadow sweep over me
once again as we entered that land of endless night.  I sat, trying to block
out the sights I saw on the Isle of Kells, trying to forget the cries of the
monks.  The Vikings seemed unusually somber under such circumstances.  I
assumed they would have been celebrating their easy gathering of loot, but all
were quiet, and I knew it was because I had come with them, and I had seen the
carnage.  Were they all wondering if my god would strike them down for such
pillage?  Eirik especially seemed morose.  He stared at the sea all around him,
and I could tell he was thinking about something.

Finally, he turned to me and picked
up a knife.  Dear God, I thought, what is he going to do?  He took my arm, and
I offered no resistance.

“Can your god truly protect you?” he
asked.  I didn’t know how to answer the man.  If I said yes, then that dagger
he held would be plunged into me.  If I said no, then I would lose all of my
credibility, not that I had much to begin with. 

“Faith, Eirik,” I told him, my eyes
never leaving the dagger.  “Faith is what brought me here.”

“If I were to cut your throat here,”
asked Eirik.  “What would happen?”

“I would bleed and die,” I said,
matter-of-factly. 

“And you would not be saved?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” I said,
wishing he would put the knife down.  I began to feel my heart escalate. 

Eirik laughed and flipped the knife
out into the sea where it landed with a small splash.    “Did you enjoy what
you saw on the Isle of Kells?  You should come with us more often on our
raids.  I think you are good luck for the men.”

I didn’t want to talk to Eirik.  He
still made me nervous, and I wished he would go back to the front of the ship. 
“You are a savage,” I told him.  “My God will not help you.  He will damn you
for your sacrilege.”

“Ha!” shouted Eirik.  “We are from
different worlds, you and I, Bishop.  You are too sheltered in the ways of your
church.  My church is the church of the spear and claw, and my cathedral is my
island.  Do not be so quick to damn me, when it is my gods who just might
punish you.”

My mind kept going back to the first
victim of Eirik on the Isle of the Kells: the poor monk who got too close.  The
one Eirik relentlessly drove into the ground.  He had started his day like any
other, I assumed.  He awoke, said his morning prayers, broke fast, and had set
out to do his chores until the
midday
mass. 
Only this day his routine had been interrupted. 

I thought about the raid the entire
trip back to
Greenland
, and even to this day I still think
about it.  I had never forgotten those shrieks, or smelled the scent of wood
smoke without thinking back to those burning buildings.