B0046ZREEU EBOK (9 page)

I hated Thorbjorg. She compromised me, using me as she did, and it affected the whole of my life afterwards. I was young, remember; I didn’t realise how serious it was. I thought she was an old fool, and I hated her because she pretended to be what my foster mother had been. Remember too, I’d only just lost Halldis. Nothing was said about that. My father didn’t talk to me, and no one at Herjolfsnes had known her or Orm. Death in Greenland is too commonplace to make a fuss about. Sometimes I wonder if I have ever got over that voyage, those deaths. They were my fault, you see. Halldis came for love of me, and Orm came because he loved her. It’s been dangerous for people, loving me.

I was bewitched, I know that now. That’s a strong word, and I see you flinch. Don’t be afraid of me, Agnar. There’s nothing to fear now. Karlsefni broke the spell over forty years ago, and that’s why I still thank God for him every day. Every day I thank God for him. He took me out of hell, but I’m running ahead of my story. Where was I …? Oh yes, the witch at Herjolfsnes. I hated her, Agnar, I hated her.

Sorry, what did you say? Was I dreaming? I am sorry. Yes, all that winter she pursued me. That’s what it felt like. She actually lived at the far side of the settlement from Herjolf’s hall. But after the spell was cast, she kept coming back to see me. I didn’t realise then what
she’d done to me. She never mentioned it. Maybe she was gloating; I just thought she was a nuisance. No, not that – but I despised her, and showed it as much as I dared. It was a confusing time for me, Agnar. I was so young, and had just been shocked out of childhood by that cruel journey. I craved to be ordinary, and that’s what I have never been able to be. There were girls my age at Herjolfsnes. I tried so hard to be one of them. I learned to look at men sideways and giggle about them afterwards. We used to sit in the byre, where it was warm from the kye. There was a girl called Inghild, who was a sort of leader among them. She used to sit up on the bull’s back, where he was penned in among his cows, daring him, I suppose. He was so wedged in he couldn’t move, and the cattle were all exhausted from hunger. If they hadn’t been held up by one another they’d not have had the strength in their legs to stand. That bull used to roll its eyes and snort when Inghild climbed on to her perch, but he never budged. The rest of us used to sit up on the wooden partitions in the dark. I can smell the place now. The roof was only just above our heads by springtime, the floor of muck had risen so far. It was the only place to go that was warm, where there were no grown-ups, and no men. When I smell a byre in winter, it always takes me back to that time.

We talked about sex. I knew all about it, of course, from Halldis. But she used to tell me facts. I never, ever, saw Halldis giggle. I wonder if she ever did when she was young? The only time I joked about sex – it was the only chance I ever got – was in that byre. It’s strange, when you think about it. We were always hungry, cold, and dirty, crouched there in the dark, and yet there was still this secret excitement among us. So much more exciting than the event, as it turned out. It was as if we expected to be rescued. Not in the way you might think: for a man like you, the life I’ve described might seem like something to be rescued from. But those girls in Greenland knew nothing else, and expected nothing else. Winter is always winter. No, I’m talking about another kind of rescue: it was as if we hoped that marriage to some dull youth would rescue us from ourselves. The only man I felt could do that was Bjarni Herjolfsson, but he was already married, and I’m sure he never looked at me. But already I was
less innocent than the rest of them. Some had more experience of sex than me, but none had my burden of guilt. Did I honestly believe that some man might rescue me from that? I half knew already that I’d been bewitched.

Thorbjorg used to seek me out. For weeks the snow was too thick, and when she didn’t come I tried to forget about her. But as soon as they’d made a path I saw her picking her way down the hillside. Wearing her old cloak she looked to me like a great black crow, with the white snow behind her. My only refuge was the byre, but for the first time in weeks the sun shone, and the wind was still. I could feel the smell of indoors, hall and byre, all over me, and I wanted the clean air to take it away. There was no way to go but the path the men had dug. So she found me, and I took refuge in being sulky. I wouldn’t talk to her, but she talked at me. If Halldis had been there she’d have sent her off quick enough. But I was a guest in Herjolf’s house, and Herjolf was afraid of the witch because his people were hungry and she had the power. I had to stay there, like a fly in a web, and let her talk.

That night I dreamed she came flying at me and swallowed me up, and then I was her, the wings of my old cloak beating through the snow-filled night.

Other people knew it, too. Herjolf himself began to treat me with a kind of deference that frightened me. I didn’t want to be set apart. And on one of our last evenings crushed in the byre Inghild asked me to tell fortunes. ‘Me?’ I said, ‘I can’t do that. I don’t know how.’ ‘Oh yes you do,’ she said. ‘We all saw you. You sang the song for Thorbjorg. You’re a witch, Gudrid. Don’t pretend you’re not. Isn’t she?’ God help me, they all said yes, and they weren’t laughing either.

The snow was melting at last, and at night I lay in my bed listening to the rush of water. My father was anxious to get to Eirik’s settlement, and though Herjolf was polite, he was just as anxious to have us gone. A hungry winter means a hungrier spring, and Herjolf had staked everything on an early hunting trip. Every day both men would scan the ice, and though they said nothing to each other, I knew exactly what was passing through their minds. I was just as anxious as my father to get out, and one day, when the sky was a
clear pale blue, and the north wind had died down to a breeze like a cut from a small knife, I decided to speak to him. I told him about the witch, and my dream, and the guilt that pursued me.

‘I don’t want to take it with me,’ I said to him. ‘I want to be ordinary.’

He looked thoughtful. ‘You’re a pretty girl, Gudrid,’ he said. It was the first time in my life he’d ever mentioned my looks, and unfortunately it was too late for me to care. ‘It’s time you were married. That’ll put an end to all this nonsense. We must get you a good man.’

I stood in front of him so that he couldn’t walk on. ‘You won’t do that,’ I told him, ‘if they think I’m a witch. You mustn’t let that idea travel to Eiriksfjord with us.’

‘If you want to leave it behind you, you need to put it out of your head.’

‘It’s more than that. Listen, father, we’re Christians, aren’t we?’

He paused. ‘I’m not sure we want to make so much of that, with Eirik. We’ll see how the land lies.’

‘No, but listen. If we make it clear to Eirik’s household that we’re Christians, they can’t possibly think I’ve had anything to do with witchcraft. Men like Christian wives; you saw that in Iceland. Christianity makes women safe and dutiful. You don’t have to tell Eirik Raudi you’re an enemy of Thor. Just tell him that as a Christian, you disapproved of the witchcraft at Herjolfsnes, and it’s the same for everyone in your household.’

‘You think that’ll help?’

‘It would make me feel better.’

‘You’d put this witchcraft idea out of your head, then?’

‘I would.’

‘And if I can arrange a good marriage for you in Eiriksfjord, you’d like that?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘Very well then, but you must leave me to do what’s politic.’

‘But you’ll tell them we’re Christians?’

‘Yes, I’ll do that.’

It was the most satisfactory conversation I’d ever had with my
father, and indeed, it did turn out to be a turning point between us. We’d been among strangers all winter, and that maybe had something to do with it.

I think my father was as relieved as I was to leave Herjolfsnes. We weren’t ungrateful. Herjolf had saved our lives when his own community was at risk. Not, of course, that we were destitute. My father gave him good gifts when they parted, but gold isn’t much use when you’re starving. Anyway, Herjolf lived to enjoy his wealth, and he deserved all the good luck that came to him.

The gift that Bjarni gave me I used for the first time before we ever left the bay at Herjolfsnes. It worked, too. Our ship had been repaired, and we had plenty of provisions, and we were sailing within sight of an inhabited – more or less – coast, with men of Herjolf’s to guide us. Bjarni had originally suggested coming with us himself, but Herjolf said, ‘Better not.’ I saw him meet Bjarni’s eyes. Father and son looked at each other for a moment, then Bjarni said, ‘Very well. Better not.’ I was sorry. The voyage seemed simple, but it was still early in the year, with the pack ice only just breaking up in the fjords. We followed a lead between islands while the ice mountains of Greenland shone to the north of us. After a while the land fell away, so we stood out to sea, still heading north-west. There was nothing green about the land, and yet this voyage was far from chaos. The orderly spirit of Bjarni Herjolfsson, who had ignored those unknown lands and made, after all the storms, a perfect landfall at the place his father had described to him, seemed to watch over us. I said my charm, and the white mountains glinted in the sun, and the swell rocked us kindly as we slowly raised new islands, and slowly, slowly, came even with them and passed them  by.

Eventually we raised the mountain we’d been looking for, a long way inland, marking the hidden entrance to Eiriksfjord. Landlocked now, we passed the island where Eirik wintered when he was exploring this new country, and saw the remains of his camp above the shore. There was still no sign of the way into Eiriksfjord, but we had our sailing directions, and kept to the east of the mountain, threading our way through the ice, and, at the last moment, it seemed, a new channel of water opened up in front of us. And then
we were sailing with the ghost of a breeze between the sides of a fjord, the like of which I’d never seen before. The water between the ice was charcoal grey, with barely a ripple. A great grey mountain rose on our right, and grew closer, and on the far side of it we passed a narrow fjord that ended in a steep glacier. Blue icebergs towered over us, threatening to bar the way, and then suddenly we were in clear water. The eastern side of the fjord was still sheer and forbidding, but to the west lay a low line of grey-green hills, with a sharp range of snow mountains behind them. We drew into the shore, and saw a place where the hill was green and smooth between the rocks. There was a stony beach below, and soon we saw that the shapes on it were not boulders or seals but boats. On the slope above, the regular green knolls resolved themselves into turf-roofed buildings, and smoke rose from the roof of the nearest. Cattle and sheep grazed on a hillside already starred with dandelions, the first spring flowers, and as we stood into the western shore there came a smell of growing grass that brought tears to my eyes, because it smelt of home.

I’m tired now, Agnar. It’s a long time since I let myself remember so much. Have the rest of the day to yourself. Go for a ride in the hills. It’s not natural for a young man to be indoors all day. Go on, off with you. I want to be alone now, but you’ll find me here tomorrow.