Chapter 5

Eric went over to her and took her hand. "I won't deny I shall be sorry to see you leave Brattalithe," he said. "I tell Thore here that if my Leif had been at home there's no saying what might have happened--but as it is, he's the lucky one. He will have a sweet wife, and owe it to us that she is as happy as she is good." She gave him a swift and searching look, a flash of gratitude in it for his humanity, but resumed her searching of the floor. Thorbeorn rose from his chair and said to Eric that they had better leave the pair together--but then Gudrid looked wild. "May I not go now? Must I stay here?" Her eyes asked so of Eric, but he only smiled. She caught at her father's sleeve. Then Thorbeorn kissed her forehead and said a few words of blessing. He and Eric went out together.

When they were gone Thore went over to Gudrid and put his arm firmly round her. "I see, my dear, that you are upset by this news of ours. Be sure that I understand it. My belief is, that you will be happy with me. I have a good house, warm and dry. You will see company, you will have your maids to see after; and when we have settled down together--maybe before the end of the summer, we will take ship to Iceland and pay a visit to my old mother who is in charge of my property out there. Now let me hear your voice. I know how sweetly you can talk--for I've heard you. And your singing makes me younger: a dreamer of dreams."

He seemed kind; his arm was strong and temperate. She imagined him much older than he was. But she didn't in the least know what to say to him. He waited for her, still holding her close, but she said nothing. So then: "Come, come," he said, "just a word or two"; and when she looked up and saw him laughing, she laughed too; and then he kissed her. "There," he said, "that is better," and drew her closer.

"You seem kind," she said.

"Ah," said Thore, "you will find me so. The fonder I grow the kinder I shall be." He gave her a very friendly squeeze, and she began at once to be sorry for this strong, gentle-hearted man as she thought him.

Her face was now against his shoulder, his black beard brushed and tickled her forehead. She was rather breathless, but quite determined to tell him her trouble. "There is something which I ought to tell you."

"Is there, indeed? I thought that you might find your tongue perhaps, if I gave you time."

"But I should have found it before," she said, "if it had not been for my trouble."

"Well," he said, "and now for your trouble. Mind you, I've seen a good deal of the world, and don't expect miracles out of the church. So if you have had a sweetheart or two, think no more about it. Bless you--do you think I don't know?"

"No," she said, "it's not that. But it is that I have heard prophecies about myself. I am not a fortunate woman at all."

"Hum," he said. "Perhaps we had better clear up that. Now, you come and sit on my knee by the fire, and let me hear all about it." She did not decline that seat, but still she chose another. He sat in Eric's great chair, and she brought up a stool. He noticed that, and approved of it. "This is a girl who is not for the mere asking," he thought.

When she had told him all about Thorberg, he did not scoff, nor laugh, nor take it seriously either. He just considered it, with one large hand grasping his beard. "Well," he said, "some people have the gift, there's no doubt, and if your Thorberg had it not, all her mummeries would avail her nothing. You set them up for a deal, I fancy, but they are little to me. I am willing to believe her story, but what then? So long as I am the first husband you have you may have twenty when I am gone. Likely enough that you will see to the burying of me. I must be twice your age. So much for your trouble, my dear."

"It was horrible to me," said Gudrid; "I have been unhappy ever since. It seemed to me that I was accursed, and that no man ought to look at me."

"But how can they help looking at you, foolish girl, and you like a rose!" That gave her roses indeed, and a good deal more too.

"You are certainly very kind," she said, and he replied that if that was kindness, there need be no end to it.

She went away after a time, so free of her shadowy load that she sang as soon as she was out of the hall. She accepted the exuberant greeting of the girls with evident pleasure. Her colour was clear, her eyes shone like stars. They had plenty to tell her of Thore. He was very rich, they said, and a widower. He had had a querulous and sick wife, and had always treated her well. He was not exactly "near," but thought twice about what he spent. He had a stone-built house up the country. A just man, and one who did not bend his knee to any one. Eric Red had often quarrelled with him. Except Theodhild he was the only Christian among the great men. It was a pity he was so much older, with such a great beard. They wanted to know if it scratched you, but Gudrid wouldn't say.

It was all very pleasant, except for one small matter. Thorstan immediately went away, and stopped away for ten days or a fortnight. No one knew exactly where he was except Thorwald his brother. He was teasing about it, when Gudrid asked him where Thorstan was. "I shall tell him you asked me," he said. That made her sorry she had asked, but she did not like to say tell him by all means, nor beg him not to tell. It turned out that Thorwald did tell him.

Freydis said, "If you must marry, that is the man you should choose. Not a half-skald like my brother Thorstan, nor a pranking pie like Thorwald. You will have a master in Thore, and most women like that. He might beat you."

"I think he will not," said Gudrid. Freydis looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"And I think that you are right. You know how to make yourself respected, I believe. But many women like to be beaten. I know that I should love the man who could beat me. But he would have to fight with me first. My husband is as timid as a Norway rat. You don't see him here often." Gudrid had never seen him. "He comes when I send for him," said Freydis.

After that she saw Theodhild at Mass, and went home with her to her hermitage and told her the news. Theodhild said little, but one thing she said struck Gudrid. She said: "You will have much trouble, and give more of yourself than you can afford. But you will leave something to give to God at the end--more than I have left." Gudrid said: "It is foretold of me that I shall have three husbands, then go to Iceland and live as pleases me best." "It may well be so," said Theodhild. "Love is all to women, but if they can love God they are happiest. Love of man is more sorrow than joy. Love of God is pure joy. You will find it so."

Gudrid was young enough to wonder if that was true.

XII

Thore was very good to her, as he had promised, but he had to be obeyed. Directly he saw the token which she wore, he wanted to know about it.

"What is that which you wear round your neck? It looks to be gold."

She said it was a token. "A token! And what kind of a token?" She said she had had it when she was a child.

"Let me look at it," said he. He held it near to the light.

"Rats have been at this," he said. "Here are teeth-marks. Hungry rats, too, they must have been. And that was a good coin of England once--and valueless now. There's the half of a king for you. That was Knut King of England--a rare man I have heard my father say. And rats have bitten him in half. Take it off, my girl. You don't want such things now." She thought that reasonable, and took it off, to be laid aside. She had not much feeling about it now, and yet could not bear it should be lost. She put it carefully away in her chest next day.

By and by she told Thore that she had not spoken the truth. She had not been really a child when it was given her.

"I never thought so," said Thore.

"And it was not rats that bit it."

"Rats, indeed! Never in the world."

Then she told him the whole story, which he took very good-humouredly. "So that's it, is it? And when I take you to Iceland I suppose you will call him up with that?"

"Not unless I want to see him," she said.

"Not unless _I_ want to see him, you would say?"

"I think you will be as pleased with him as I shall be," said Gudrid. So all went well except for Einar perhaps, whose prospects certainly were not enhanced by being talked about. The stronghold of a lover is to be so deeply hid that he is never talked of.

It was the fact that Gudrid was happy with her blunt blackbeard of a man. He was easy to live with, always much the same, and did not ask for more than he was able to give. He was very thrifty, and taught her to be so, for she was anxious to please. He was never jealous, though Thorstan had a way of coming to the house. At the same time, he told her one night that he wouldn't have him there when he himself was away. He was often from home two and three days together. "It has a bad look," he said. "The neighbours look pityingly at a man. I won't have that. Not that there is any harm in Thorstan. He is the son of a friend of mine, and a very honest young man, though I call him dull. A man ought to be able to talk. I think him hot-tempered, too. He killed a lover of his sister Freydis once, and might as well have left it alone. She could have looked after herself. Besides, we are not so handy with our weapons as our fathers were in Iceland. Life is hard enough in this country without cold steel. Now remember--" and he pinched her cheek--"no men here when I am away."

Certainly she did not love Thore as she believed she had loved Einar the sailor. Thore never made her heart beat, or brought mist over her eyes. But she was happy and proud of her great house and many maids and young men. And she was happy enough to be sorry for Thorstan, who followed her about with a dog's patient eyes, and evidently worshipped her shadow. He told her that he went down to Heriolfsness when he heard that she was promised to Thore. When there he had gone to see Thorberg. What did she tell him? Gudrid wanted to know; but he wouldn't answer. He said, however, that she had told him that he himself had the sight. "I had thought as much," he said, "and now I know that I have."

Gudrid became very much interested, but not enough to dare probe any further. Indeed, she asked him not to tell her what he had seen. Thorstan looked away. "I would not tell you even if I knew anything," he said; "I would die sooner." She felt that she might become very fond of this moody and melancholy Thorstan, as a woman readily will of a man who, through no fault of his own, seems marked out for misfortune. She could not find that he had any faults. While very manly, and of great strength and courage--for he was untiring at hunting, could swim like a seal, and was believed to be afraid of nothing--with all this he was as gentle as a woman. She knew that he was a poet, though he would not sing her any of the verses he made. She thought to herself, "I could make him if I cared"; and the thought gave her joy. She told herself that if ever she loved a man again, as she had once understood love, it would be this man. And upon the heels of that thought came another, which she instantly put away, What and if Thorstan was to be her second husband? She put that out of her mind for Thore's sake--Thore's, who had freed her and made her happy. It was odd that Thore, whom she could never love, had made her happy, while Thorstan whom she could have loved, it was certain, would never do that.

In the course of that year the great event was the home-coming of Leif, Eric Red's eldest son. He sailed up the frith in the early morning of a June day, and when Eric came out of doors, there was Leif's fine ship in the anchorage, and many boats about it.

He had been away more than two years, adventuring greatly; but those adventures of his do not belong to this tale. He had been in Orkney for some time, and had fallen in love with a high lady whose name was Thorgunna. He knew her to be of great descent, and that she had the gift. He was much taken with her and she with him, and they set no bounds upon their intercourse, it is understood. When it came to the day before he sailed, Thorgunna said that she would go with him. Leif said that could not be, because her kindred would never allow it. "Maybe my people are as good as yours," he said, "but yours would not believe it, and I have to make my way in the world." "Think nothing of my people," she said, "but take me." But Leif would not. So then she told him the truth, that she was with child, and the child his. "If that's the case, then I stay here till the child is born. Him I will take, for it is the best thing for you." But Thorgunna said that she would bring up the child, and send him out to Greenland as soon as he was old enough. "I will accept him," Leif said.

He sailed, then, as he had intended, and went to Norway. There he fell in with King Olaf Tryggvasson, and was made a Christian. The King put great trust in him, and when he heard that he was going home to Greenland, gave it in his charge to change the people's religion. Leif said that would be a hard matter. "My mother is a Christian, I know; but my father is not, and never will be, and my brothers are of no account." But King Olaf was in earnest about it, and Leif promised that it should be as he wished.

Thore and Gudrid went to Brattalithe to see Leif. Gudrid thought that she had never seen so fine-looking a man. He was about thirty-five years old, and six feet four inches high. He looked as broad as a bull. He had golden hair and beard, and blue eyes. His face was burned to a hot brown colour. He was frank and open in speech, and full of fun and jokes. No secret was made of his intentions towards the religion of the people in Greenland. He told his father what he had undertaken; and he set about it at once. Theodhild, his mother, helped him, and Gudrid made Thore give money to increase the church. Thorstan and Thorwald were among the first to be sprinkled, but Freydis would have nothing to do with it, and Eric Red said that he was too old to change. Leif took that good-humouredly and laughed at his father. "If I were to tell you where was a great store of gold and silver coins, to be had for a little cold water on your back, you would strip to the skin in midwinter. But you will believe in no treasure which you cannot handle and run through your hands. Where do you expect to go when you die, with all that wickedness on your shoulders? You will come to a bad end, and ask me then to help you. I know how it will be. But go your way."

He spent that summer preaching to the people in the Settlement up and down the frith. Most of the people accepted what he told them, because it was he who told it. Others said that if the King of Norway was of that way of thinking it was more likely to be the right than the wrong way.

There was another matter very much in Leif's mind, and that was the voyage of Biorn Heriolfsson. He had to hear all about that, and he heard it first from Gudrid. Her face glowed and her eyes showed fire as she spoke of it. Leif watched her and thought her a lovely woman. "If you and I were to go out there together," he said, "we should never come back again. But your good man would take it in bad part." Gudrid said, "Yes, he would. But to go with us would seem to him still worse. Yet you will go." Leif considered.

"Yes," he said, "I shall go, and as soon as may be. But first I must know what course Biorn took, and next I must have his ship to go in. I would not take my own--she is neither roomy enough, nor strong enough built for such great seas."

Gudrid had by heart the figures and bearings of Biorn's voyage, for first Einar had drawn them on Orme's table, then Heriolf on his own, and then Biorn on Eric's table. She fetched a charcoal from the kitchen and drew the map, with all the company crowded about her. Leif was absorbed in it and her eager explanations. "I see just what he did," he said. "He drifted far south of Greenland, and didn't know it. Then when he got a wind he sailed south-south-west, and made that low-lying forest country. Then he steered north with a wind off the land, and came into the winter which we have here. He followed the coast along, and then, when it came on to blow from the south-west, he ran before it, and made Greenland. That's what he did. And that's what I will do."

"It is what I would do if I were a man," said Gudrid.

"Good for me that you are not a man," said Thore, who sat by the wall.

Before that summer was over Thore told Gudrid that he should take her to Iceland, as he had business there. They would go almost at once.

"How long shall we be there?" she asked him.

He said that there was no telling. "A year and more, I expect."

Her face fell. "Then we shall miss Leif's sailing."

"No harm in that," said Thore. "What have you to do with Leif and his affairs? Enough for you that you have made him go." He was not angry with her; but he thought Leif altogether too fine-looking a man. That was a man's reason--no woman would have reasoned so.

XIII

Leif bought Biorn's ship from him that winter, and busied himself stocking her with tools, weapons and spare gear for his voyage. As soon as the weather was open he was ready, and then it was a question whether Eric Red would go with him. Eric was in two minds about it, old as he was, and extremely fat. He had been a great traveller in his youth, and was averse from exertion in these latter days, but he was uncomfortable at home, with no wife in the house, and all his sons holding the new faith. So he wavered until the last minute, and then said that he would not go at all. Leif was not sorry.

He had a crew of five-and-thirty with him, and sailed his ship as near to S.S.W. as might be. She ran for six days before a fair wind, and on the afternoon of the sixth they made land on the starboard bow. There were mountains with snow upon them, and much fog; but Leif said that he would land in the morning, whatever kind of country it was. "It shall never be said against me, as it has been against Biorn, that I travel six days over the sea and leave the land I reach because it is not Greenland," he said.

They found a good anchorage, waited the night through, and then rowed off in their boat and ran her up on to the beach. It was a naked country of broken rock and shale. No grass was to be seen, and hardly any trees, except a few stunted silver birch. They walked inland for a mile or more to where the snow began, and then saw, as it were, one vast unwrinkled sheet of snow stretching upwards into a bank of cloud. The ground was all scree of slate and shaly rock. They saw no signs of habitancy, and few tracks of animals. Then presently they looked at each other, and Leif laughed. "I think there is something to be said for Biorn; but although this is a barren land there is no reason why it should not have a name. I will call it Helloland, for such it is." [1] Then they returned to their ship, and up-anchor, and away along the coast, so far as that allowed, but always keeping a straight course.

They came to another land, lying low in the sea, and sailed in towards it. Here also they landed, but on a shore of fine white sand, very level towards the sea, but blown into hummocks, whereon grass grew, towards the land. That was a flat country, and swampy, with trees so far as they could see, in some places dense and in others more open; but where the country lay open there were the swamps. "This country pleases me more than the last," Leif said. "The least it deserves is to be named. We will name it after its quality, and call it Markland," he said.[2]

But nobody wanted to stay there very long, and there seemed nothing better to do than to get back to the ship again and sail. Leif considered the timber that he saw of little worth to them. It was mostly small wood, and soft or of open texture.

They sailed, then, once more, with a fresh north-easterly wind blowing off the shore, and were two days at sea without sight of land. But then they made an island in the sea, and south of that saw the mainland, and a great frith striking up into it. There was no snow hereabouts, and the air was balmy and scented, blowing from the island. "Here," said Leif, "is a land worth visiting, I believe. Let us cast anchor in the lew of the island for the night; and to-morrow we will row up the frith yonder and see what we shall see." They found good holding-ground under the island, and then, as the light was good for several hours yet, launched the boat and rowed to the shore. The place lay peaceful in the level afternoon light, with trees softly rustling, and birds calling to each other from thickets. They wandered about, singing as they went, or calling to each other to see some new thing. Gradually the sun sank and the light began to draw in. One of them by chance stooped down and felt the grass. There was dew upon it. He put his finger into his mouth; and then he said, "This is a holy place. The dew tastes sweet." They all tried it that were there, and believed it. This filled them with wonder, and some of them walked about on tiptoe, as if they had no business to be there.

They slept on board ship, and in the morning very early found that the tide had gone down and that she lay on her side, high and dry. The tide went back so far that it was possible to walk from the island to the mainland. As for the frith, it had shrunk to a dribble of water. But all this made no matter, so eager were they to savour the country which was heralded by so fair an island. They jumped off the ship's side on to the sand, which was firm and white, and ran to shore, and up the frith, where the going was easy for a mile or two. They found that it issued from a great lake, many miles in length, and many in width. It was shallow at the edges, but in the midst looked to be deep enough. On the shores of this lake were fine trees growing, of such wood as none of them had ever seen before; flowers, shrubs, birds were alike new to them. In the pools of the river left by the tide they saw great fish lying, which Leif thought were salmon.

They wandered about all the forenoon, and when it was time to eat something and they went back to the shore, the river was filling fast, and their ship was afloat. They hailed her, and saw one of the hands row off for them in the boat. Leif then said that they would tow up the river and cast anchor in the lake, and that was done when they had made their meal. They found good anchorage there and a snug berth out of all troubles of wind or water. Next day they took off all their stores, and pitched tents for themselves in a glade, for it was Leif's meaning that they should pass a winter there. He was very much in love with the country, and said that in all his travels he had never been in a place so little likely to be vexed by cruel weather. "In my belief," he said, "we should have no need to store fodder for the stock against the winter. It seems to me that there should be grazing here the year through--but we will prove that, if you are willing." Everybody agreed.