The Snow on the Cross (22 page)

Eirik, in the meantime, had taken up
riding.  The horses he had stolen from the Isle of Kells now served him well as
he was seen galloping up and down the hills on a different horse each day. 
However, Eirik was not a very skilled rider, and he was certainly not skilled
enough to ride the horses down the hills at a full gallop, as he so liked to do. 
Consequently, Eirik’s boldness became the better of him, and one day, as I was
out helping Malyn gather sticks from the scrub bushes, I watched as Eirik came
screaming down one of the steeper hills around us.  The horse was going too
fast, even I could see that, and had lost its footing on some of the muddy
ground that laced the hills.  It began to slide, and Eirik, unskilled as he
was, did not know how to control his mount.

As a result, when the horse slid to
one side, scrambling to regain its footing, Eirik went sailing off the back of
the horse, flying through the air and crashing hard on the ground, where he
began to roll and slide and tumble all the way to the bottom.  The horse did
not fare much better, for it pitched over on its side and began rolling down
the hill to land on top of Eirik where he lay at the bottom.  The horse
immediately struggled to its feet, stepping all over Eirik in the process.  I
would have laughed, but I noticed how concerned Malyn was as she watched the
entire event.

Eirik was not moving.  I dropped my
sticks and took a step forward.  Was he dead?  Had the fall done what so many
other men could not do?  I threw a frightful look at Malyn, who had turned
quite pale.  Eirik lay crumpled like a pile of furs carelessly thrown in a
heap, and I began to run toward him, watching, hoping he would twitch.  Any
movement, not matter how minute, would save Malyn’s life.

I reached him first, and noted
quickly he had many broken bones, for his left arm was twisted up behind him in
a manner no human could achieve.  His right leg was beneath him and crooked,
and I could see the wet patches through his clothes.  He was broken, but still
alive.  The horse, meanwhile, had begun grazing off to the side as if nothing
had happened.  How remarkable.

I told Malyn to get the others to
help me carry him back to Brattahild, and she darted away.  I simply sat and
watched the man breathe, wondering if this would be the end for him. 
Certainly, his bones, if they healed properly, would never quite be the same
again, and I had heard of men dying from infections caused by their wounds.   I
didn’t know if Eirik would fall victim to his wounds or not, but it certainly
seemed more grim than his illness that carried him through the winter.

Malyn popped over the hills with a
few stout men and together we carried the wounded Viking back to his home. 
Thordhild was horrified to see us bringing in Eirik in our arms.  The men set
him down near the fire, and I wondered if he would regain consciousness.  The
men, all four of them, stood and stared at me.  Malyn stood wringing her hands
helplessly, and Thordhild looked as if she were about to cry.  What were they
waiting for?

“Well?” I asked.  Malyn was shaking
her head.  Thordhild had crouched down beside me and taken Eirik’s hand in her
own.

“What happened?” asked Thordhild.

I glanced at Malyn, who looked on the
edge of tears herself.  “He fell off his horse,” I stated simply.  “He was
riding down a hill too fast, the horse slipped, and it threw him.  He has
several broken bones that need attending to.”  I said it, but I was beginning
to realize it was going to be up to me to set this man’s bones and play nurse
to him.

“A broken bone is a sign,” Thordhild
whispered.  “Two broken bones mean death.”

“According to whom?” I asked,
noticing the four men who had helped me carry Eirik getting ready to leave.  
“It is painful, yes.  I have seen men lose limbs because of broken bones, yes,
but I do not think it necessarily means death.”

But Thordhild had collapsed, weeping
across her unconscious husband’s chest.  The four men nodded to one another and
I heard the word “funeral” whispered as they left.

“No, wait!” I shouted, but the four
had vanished out into the dim light of early spring, and I was torn on whether
or not to run after them or stay with Eirik and try to help him.

The weeping woman was almost
hysterical, and I tried to pry her off her husband, but she clenched his furs
and gripped so tightly I knew if Eirik died, Thordhild would go into the grave
with him. 

“Get up and help me, woman,” I said,
my voice growing harsh.  “If you want him to live you have to help me!”

Thordhild sniffed and looked at me
with red eyes.  I sighed and motioned to Malyn.  “We need hot water and some
cloth for bandages.  Hurry!”  Malyn began to scurry around the house, grabbing
a bucket to fill with snow.  Thordhild seemed in a trance.

I contemplated giving up.  Thordhild
crawled over into a corner, rocking back and forth like a small child.  Where
was her great strength Bjarni had always talked about?  Now she seemed as
helpless as an infant, and her weeping continued, although I note it was much
quieter when she resumed.

When Malyn came back in and set the
bucket on the fire to melt the snow, I grabbed her arm and pulled her down to
the floor with me.  “You will help me,” I told her.  “If he dies, you die,
understand?”  She nodded.

My knowledge of medicine was not
quite so learned.  Most of my knowledge came from stories the monks told me,
and some of the monks had seen battle on their pilgrimages.  I tried to
remember what they told me about broken limbs.  Move the bone back in place and
straighten it out, then tie a rod around it to keep it straight.  I think
Brother Jonah told me that one evening.

“Help me take these furs off of him,”
I told Malyn.  Together we rolled and rocked Eirik from side to side, wrestling
with the heavy cloaks he wore.  We peeled them off, one by one, until we
reached bare flesh.  I moved his arm, which was a sharp purple color and
turning black, until it was lying out beside him.  If the man had not been
unconscious, I think I would have sealed my fate by his hands with my
manipulation of his limb.  I felt it and could feel the bone out of its proper
place.  I began to slowly move it back, praying Eirik would not wake up and throw
me headfirst into the fire.  The arm was swelling quickly, and I worked
faster.  I worked the bone until I felt it scraping the fractured end and I
lined it up the best I could.  It might have healed crookedly, but it was the
best I could do with no help.  I took one of the sticks near the fire and broke
off a length as long as Eirik’s arm.  I bound the entire thing tightly with
cloth Malyn handed me.  I was not a physician, but God must have been giving me
a greater power as I worked.  We set his leg much the same way and bound it
tightly.  He would not walk for a long time, so I was comforted by the fact
that when he awoke, I could easily outrun him if he came after me.

I drank two cups of cold mead after I
finished.  Malyn cleaned Eirik’s minor scraps and cuts, and we covered him with
a fur to keep him warm.  Thordhild was still staring at her husband and us. 
Her weeping had stopped, and now she merely sat with a cold, dazed look.  I
couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.   I waited for a thank you, but
none ever came.  It would seem Thordhild didn’t want her husband to survive as
much as I thought she did.

***

When Eirik did finally awake from his
fall, I was at my church trying to figure out new ways to record information
when I heard his screaming bellow ricochet over the hills and into my walls. 
The man was in constant pain, and the honey mead he drank to numb himself could
not be brought fast enough to him.  Eventually, he would drink himself into a
hazy slumber, and his bellows would stop until he awoke again, screaming for
more mead.  The mead was very potent (I never drank more than two cups at a
sitting, and even that was a bit strong) but Eirik needed more and more to ease
his suffering.  I left Eirik in the hands of his gods and decided to intervene
no longer.

However, Eirik’s gods had apparently
taken a sabbatical, for the man seemed to be in worse shape than ever, and
Malyn had told me he had developed infections in both his arm and leg.  She was
afraid they were going to have to remove them.

I nodded, but refused to
participate.  I decided I had done enough.   No one could blame me for not
being a good Christian and doing good deeds.  Since Eirik refused to convert, I
was going to let him suffer and then count the days I could get off this rock
and back to
Le Mans
.

When I ventured to the seaside to
gather fish from the Vikings there, I overheard the talk of a great funeral
they were planning.  Already, I could see the stacks of wood that had been
gathered in preparation, one large one for Eirik and his possessions, a smaller
one for Malyn.  The two stacks were there on the beach, side by side.  I didn’t
know if Malyn had seen what the others were doing, but I knew she could not
avoid coming to the seashore from time to time on one errand or another.  It
was chilling to look at, and I did not linger at the seaside for any longer
than I had to.

I went to Brattahild and Thordhild
allowed me to enter.  She had changed much since I saw her last.  She had not
been eating, and her face was shallow and pale, but she welcomed me
nonetheless, but I couldn’t tell if she was truly grateful to see me or not.

Eirik was bundled by the fire,
cursing and shivering.  His wounded arm was a wrapped lump, and his leg jutted
out straight and stiff, like the wood tied around it.  He glared at me upon my
entry.  Apparently, no one had told him about my saving his life- again.

“Go away, Bishop,” the Viking winced
as he spoke.  “I have no need for your sermons.”

“I didn’t come to give any, Eirik,” I
responded.  Eirik had a large cup of mead beside him that was almost empty. 

“Then why are you here?”

I decided the truth was the best
course.  “The Vikings by the sea are preparing your funeral,” I told him.  “Two
large pyres are being prepared.  They have no faith that your gods will let you
live.  Tell me, are you ready to die?”

Eirik seemed amazed by this news, as
if Thordhild was deliberately not telling him how bad off he truly was.  I
suppose my telling him was a kind of retaliation on my part for Eirik not telling
me about the emissary.  I wanted to watch the Viking’s reaction, and it did not
disappoint.

“How is your arm and leg?” I asked
casually.  “The serving girl told me you have an infection.”

“It is not your business,” Eirik said
tersely.  He drained his mead then threw his goblet at Thordhild.  It clattered
off the walls and rattled around the floor before the woman went to fetch it. 
I remained calm.

“Let me see your arm,” I ordered, and
I believe Eirik was surprised at my boldness.  “Perhaps I can help.”

Thordhild nodded at Eirik, but Eirik
turned away.  “Do not touch me,” he said.

“I will attend your funeral, Eirik,”
I told him, hoping my point would be made.  “And I will bless your grave with
the prayers of my God.  I could trap your soul and not let you go to
Valhalla
.  Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“You are lying,” he said.

“Ah, yes, indeed.  I am lying,” I
told him.  “But, are you so sure?  I mean, after all, here you are lying broken
and beaten, and I am still here without a scratch.  Whose god is seeing after
whom?  When will you believe the power of my god is greater than all yours put
together?  If my god can see me through here for over a year, why can’t your
gods pull together and save their mighty chieftain?”

“You are full of evil magic,” Eirik
finally decided.  “It is the only way to explain your curses upon me.”

“Very well,” I said, knowing that to
speak further with this man was in vain.  “Believe what you want, but I will be
there at your end.”

I ducked as Eirik took the goblet
that Thordhild had just brought to him and sent it sailing at me.  The mead
splashed as it hit my shoulder, the cup bouncing away. 

Dying or not, Eirik was still an
excellent shot.

Smoke and Spirits

Malyn kept me informed of Eirik’s
progress which, more often than not, was not good news.  The infection seemed
to be spreading throughout his body and he began suffering from great fevers,
in which he was seeing strange visions.

“He keeps saying over and over that
he sees his death, and the following funeral,” she told me sadly one evening. 
“And I will go with him.”

The endless darkness had broken into
a blistering white springtime and foliage was springing up everywhere.  I was
grateful at some semblance of normality as the sun rose and fell like it was
suppose to.  I knew it was short lived, and it was only a matter of weeks
before we settled into the endless days of summer again, but for the time, I
was in bliss, and I felt my sanity coming back to me in the process.

At least I could mark the days again,
which I had started to do by scraping lines across the stone walls of my
church.  According to what Malyn told me, we had only twelve days of sunrise
and sunset before the summer settled in, and we would have no darkness for many
months.  The stacks of wood on the beach were growing steadily with each
passing day, and each day Thordhild reported on Eirik’s health, more wood was
added.  The Vikings were determined to burn Eirik quickly with the hottest fire
they could muster.  The faster Eirik burned, the faster his soul would rise
with the smoke to get to
Valhalla
.