I, Eyvindur: To the Land of Wine (IV - Vinland)

Preface & Glossary: https://www.abctales.com/story/fabiandekerck/i-eyvindur-land-wine-preface-glossary

VINLAND

A greener pasture, emanating extraordinary pride upon its silken gold shores. Vinland was landed, and the thickness of the worst snow was behind the companions. They would beach upon the edge of its grandest lumber forest, to which the frosting was softer, where the false pearls of snow had fallen away to bless such viridian allure.

‘Hail, mapmakers,’ Leif extolled, ‘for today a land green and foreboding in welcome tells us that we may have made Vinland, in the year one-thousand-and-three past Christ’s birth. Lick your wounds! It is a glorious day, friends, the honour is shared, for tonight we build, and tonight we dine.’

Eyvindur felt a warmth then, and not of the gentler breeze than Markland or Helluland, but a warmth telling of the triumph he had made amongst allies. And their rowing heaved heavier, their songs of grandeur revelled, but Thorvald did not join. Árni neither. Both had caught smell or sight of something the others couldn’t see, telling only Leif, who made no move to halt the rowers.

‘Árni,’ Eyvindur said over his bare shoulder, ‘what have you seen?’

Árni did not come close. He sharpened arrow heads. ‘Be ready, húskarl,’ he mused. The wrap over his arm was soaked in pain, ambling his arm to a limp.

The longship touched the beach of Vinland; and as soon as it was so, a wailing cry from the forest’s bark reverberated to the Norsemen’s ears. Arrows wavered through. Eyvindur lunged down, stretching to his shield and spear.

Leif bellowed for them all to fall crouched. ‘They are short in height with threatening features and tangled hair on their heads. Their eyes large and their cheeks broad,’ Leif shouted against the planks to which he was crunched. ‘None are to board the ship. Follow my brother to our final victory.’

And the shouts of invader and native enriched the silence of that wood then. It was a deafening sound, and one no God nor gods should please themselves to allow. But it was facilitated annihilation. Over forty natives were soon dead, arrows nailed to trees, or torn arm from torso, spear through chest; and then the green was stained red.

But it was not without death upon the Norsemen. Eyvindur beset a comparative scratch: a hack on his forearm, and a shallow arrow to his right breast. Thorvald came to him, huffed and in cheered glory at what he had accomplished, ‘it is won, my húskarl, Eyvindur Snorrison.’ He then sought to address the rest, ‘it is won, brothers, the first battle of Vinland is won!’

Cheers swallowed those able to still speak, before they made peace and buried in the sand those without the mind nor neck to produce noise beyond the flowing of their humours. Thorvald came to both Eyvindur and Leif, an arrow tucked against his ribs, ‘I have been wounded under my arm,' he said. 'An arrow flew between the edge of the ship and the shield into my armpit. Here is the arrow, and this wound will cause my death.’

Leif took his brother tight, but Eyvindur held no concern for the qualms of that man, for dear Árni lay lifeless with a crude spear through his crude jerkin, holing his heart and out-piercing his shoulder blade. Ásbjörn sat over his body. Eyvindur watched, open-eyed, but close-hearted. He couldn’t weep for the weak. Árni died in battle, and should he have found Odin once again, Valhöll awaited his far-seeing soul.

 ‘I mourn you as much as I envy you, dear Árni. I myself shall fashion the headstone you deserve,’ Eyvindur stopped. Árni’s face was stained by the effluence of his own red death, and it made pain to address him in such a way. Ásbjörn pushed Eyvindur away. It was as if he had met the reaper’s work for the first time, or that it had scarred his mind watching that javelin sail through the air. Then not knowing it might have ended his ally, but in aligning the circumstances, a guilt seemed to take hold. No empathy was left spare to mourn and respect the indigenous dead, murdered by invaders at a whim of no reason.

And for once, battle seemed an evil thing.

The Wolf felt loyalties misplaced. Fealties misled.

Leif stood atop the figurehead, a preaching creature. ‘I truly am earning of the name you tell me, lucky, to have such fine soldiers. And if my brother is to die from his wounds, or your cherished friend a victim of those wailing beasts, then know they will be avenged. We will build here. This is a land that our brothers spilt blood to hand us,’ Leif inspired air like a glutinous wind, ‘we will bless their lives as we build a home to which our sentiment can be stored. It will be a hall like no other, with wines from grapes like no other, and it is in the debt of those lost…’

Eyvindur lost his ear as Leif’s speech trailed. Those people were not good nor bad, as no man can be, but their home is the one he had aided in pillaging. To what end? All on the word of a merchant who’d never held a weapon. He would benefit, yes, but those as Árni are not remembered. Eyvindur the Gold Wolf of Iceland pondered how best solitude might be found, Ásbjörn the Sea Bear behind him and quiet.