Chapter 9

Gudrid turned her haunted eyes towards the dead man. It was true. Thorstan smiled to himself wisely. And now she could see that his eyes were shut. She slipped off Thorstan Black's knee and knelt beside the bed. She looked at her dead lover, and without remembering her fear or thinking what she did, she put his hair off his forehead and tidied it. Then she leaned over him, looking tenderly down at him, and stooped and put her lips to his forehead.

Thorstan Black left her, and returned presently with candles and a cross which he had made. So they laid out Thorstan Ericsson, and Thorstan Black watched him all the rest of the night.

XXII

She stayed out the long and bitter winter alone in the house with Thorstan Black. No man could have been kinder to her than he was. She felt with him the happy relation which there is between a father and his married child, when you have the equality which comes of experiences shared and have not lost the old sense of degrees--but that lingers still like a scent which recalls times past.

He was as good as his word, when the spring came. The bodies of all the crew were redeemed from the snow and put aboard ship; the settlement at Lucefrith was broken up. He gave the survivors their freedom, and free passage to Ericsfrith; for he himself intended to settle there when he had restored Gudrid to Brattalithe. So they set sail, and made a good passage, and came into the frith on a day of fresh southerly wind and strong sunshine. Gudrid, standing on the afterdeck, looked at the little town and the green fields about it, at the snow-peaks whose shapes she knew well, whereunder, as she felt, her life had been passed; and then she saw old Eric in his red cloak being helped into his boat, and Freydis, bareheaded, with her yellow hair flying in the wind, and her strong arms folded over her chest--and felt the comfort of home growing about her, and the dew of happy tears in her eyes.

Eric's eyes looked anxiously up at her. "Is all well, daughter?" he called out in a brave voice--but she could only answer with her own wet eyes. He was hauled on ship-board, and soon had her in his arms. Her hidden voice and shaking shoulders told him the rest. "There then, my sweetheart, it is done. Yet cry your fill. I have a fine son left--and you into the bargain. Come home now, and leave me no more." So said old Eric Red, a man not easily downed by fate. He made Thorstan Black free of Brattalithe for as long as he would, and promised him the best land that he had. So they all went ashore, and Freydis hailed Gudrid and made much of her. Freydis was not changed at all. She was very fond of Gudrid, and for her sake put up with her father and mother who, without Gudrid, would have fretted her to a rag. Leif came in that evening and embraced Gudrid like a sister. He heard her dreadful story and shook his head over his brother's fate. "Thorstan was born to misfortune," he said. "He had the second sight, and there is no worse gift for a man than that. Brave as he was, that foreknowledge always baulked his effort. But he was a fine man. You have had the best of us, Gudrid."

"I love you all so much," she said, "that I must have been happy with any one of you, since he would have made me free of the others. I would not have my Thorstan back again. He told me that he was at rest--and how can you look for rest in this life?"

She went to see Theodhild in her hermitage. To her only she told Thorstan's prediction, that she should be married yet again, and outlive her husband, and then find the life that she loved the best. Theodhild nodded her head. "That was a true saying of my son's. You will find the only rest there can be in this life." Gudrid asked her more, but she would not tell her. "I know, I see," said Theodhild, "but God will reveal it to you when the time comes."

Gudrid, who had left Ericshaven still a girl in her bloom, had come back to it a woman, made so by pity and terror. Her beauty was now ripe, and her mind in accord with it. They held her at Brattalithe for the fairest and wisest of women. She was rich, too, for she had her father's and Thore's estates, as well as her share of Eric's wealth which had been Thorstan's. She sold her father's house and land to Thorstan Black, who settled down there, and came to great honour in Ericshaven, as he deserved to do.

XXIII

The spring and summer of that year passed quietly enough at Brattalithe, but after harvest a fine ship from Norway came into the haven and the owner came ashore. Eric Red, Lief and Gudrid rode down to town to meet him and hear the news. He soon explained himself, for he had a copious flow of speech. He treated Gudrid with great deference, thinking her the lady of the land, and when it was explained to him that she was nobody's wife, but a widow, he smiled, saying, "So much the better," and continued to treat her as before. He was a large man, broad-faced and broad-shouldered, with light-blue eyes, and much fun in them. He looked at you when he spoke as if he wished to make you laugh, but hardly hoped it.

His friends called him Karlsefne, which means "a proper man," and his real name was Thorfinn Thordsson. "Thord of Head was my father," he told Gudrid, "and was called Horsehead, not without reason, for I will tell you that no man born could be more like a horse to look at than my father was. He was the son of Snorre who was a Viking in Earl Hakon's day; and that Snorre was the son of Thord, the first of Head." It seemed that he was well-to-do, and that he had on board his vessel, besides a crew of forty hands, a notable cargo of goods. He offered Gudrid what she pleased to take of it. "I do that," he told her, "to win your good will, for I see very well that you rule the roost here--and rightly enough. I have never been to Greenland before, and tell you fairly that I never knew there was the like of yourself to be found here. If I had known that I should have been here long ago--and then, who knows? Maybe you would not be a widow this day." He said it as if in joke, but yet he meant it. He was greatly taken with her beauty.

Eric offered him winter quarters at Brattalithe and he accepted it gladly. His goods were landed, and stood in Eric's warehouse, his ship was laid up for the winter, his men boarded in Ericshaven. As for himself, he was very soon at home in Brattalithe, and everybody liked him well. He was a good poet, and sang his own songs; he told tales, he made jokes--but was always good-tempered.

Towards Christmas Eric Red, who was now very much aged and apt to worry himself over trifles, became sad and depressed. They thought that he was grieving for the two sons he had lost, but he would not talk to any of them of his troubles. Karlsefne asked Gudrid what was the matter with his host. He always talked to her when he had a chance.

She told him what she thought: "He is an old man now, and cannot help remembering his two sons."

"That is not like an Icelander," said Karlsefne. "You yourself, lady, show the spirit of our people better. You don't fret yourself vainly. You were wedded to a good man. You were happy in him; he died. Well, you have had what you have had, and if there is to be no more, you will wait your turn. Is it not so?"

"It may be," Gudrid said. "I have learned not to build too high, by falling so far. And I think my Thorstan is at rest. He would not be if he were here now."

"Very likely not," said Karlsefne, "if he was of a jealous turn. Moreover he was a poet, one who can always see in his mind a state much better than that he lives in. That's no way to be happy. But I will talk to Eric Red. He is friendly to me."

And so he did. "What is it, host, which makes you so heavy? Your friends say you brood over the past, but I tell them that is not likely."

"No, no," said Eric, "that's not the way of it at all. The present is bad enough."

"You are treating me nobly," said Karlsefne. "I should be a churl if I did not tell you so. What else do you need?"

Then Eric said that he was aware how his house was diminished by misfortune. "I had a wife, but she has cut herself adrift; I have a daughter, but she has turned sour to me. Two of my sons are dead, look you. Now the time was when with a great houseful I could give a feast with the best. A man is best judged by his children. If they are free and high-hearted, he is judged a good man. But now I must receive you with broken rites, and it hurts me to the heart that you shall sail away in the spring of the year, and say to your friends: 'Old Eric is down in the world. A sadder Yule than that have I never spent.' I do what I can, but that is heavy on my mind."

"Nay, nay, friend," said Karlsefne, "that will never be the way of it. I am better off than I hoped for--you are treating me like an earl. Now if we are to do better and all be kings together, remember that I have a well-found ship out yonder, with stores of corn and meal, and malt for brewing; mead also, and smoked salmon are on board--whereof you shall make as free as you will, and provide such a feast as Greenland knows nothing of yet. But what a man you are to be fretted by such a thing as that!"

Eric said that he had lived in a great way all his life, and had not been used to stint his friends of hospitality. He thanked Karlsefne heartily, shook hands with him, and said, "Ask of me what you will, friend, and it shall be agreed to."

Karlsefne laughed. "Maybe I shall ask a great thing of you before I go to sea." He had made up his mind that he would have Gudrid from him if he could get her, but did not wish to precipitate matters and risk a refusal. "That fair woman has a delicate mind," he thought, "and is very religious. It will be well to make myself her friend before I offer to be her sweetheart."

The talk at the feast turned again to Wineland, and Leif Ericsson was eloquent about the sweetness of the air, the fertility of the soil, and the open winter weather which he had found there. Then Karlsefne asked Gudrid whether she would not like to go thither.

She shook her head. "Not now. Thorstan and I were on our way when the fate turned against us, and he died. It has brought us no luck yet. Two of Eric's sons have died for the sake of Wineland. But you," she said, looking in his face, "you will go. I think you are a lucky man. You have luck in your face."

"Eh," said Karlsefne, "I have thought myself pretty lucky so far; but now I am not so sure. I have been building on my luck since I came here. But I may get a fall."

She laughed. "You are bold, I can see, but yet you are careful too. You do not build except on good footings."

"If you think me bold, lady," he said, with raised brows, "you will think me too bold perhaps presently. Remember, when that time comes, that if a man sees his profit within his reach he is a fool if he don't stretch out his hand."

"He may be a fool," she said, "to think it so near." Her colour was high, her eyes shone. His own, narrowed and intense, held them.

"Do you know the name I give you in my private mind?" he asked her. She shook her head.

"I call you Constant-Kind."

"And why do you call me that? Do you think I am kind to every one?"

"I think that you have been," said Karlsefne, "and I believe that you would not willingly deny a service if you could do it."

"And what service do you ask of me?"

"Ah, I ask none as yet. But maybe I shall."

Certainly she knew what he wanted, and wondered whether he was the man predicted. Thorberg had prophesied an ugly man for one of her husbands. That could not be said of Karlsefne. He was not handsome by any means, but so full of fun that he would pass anywhere as well-looking. She had no love to give him; all that was buried with her doomed Thorstan; and yet she could see life to be a very pleasant thing with him beside her--a warm, sheltered, pleasant thing. She was rather of Freydis's opinion after an experience of two kinds of life, that a woman was happier in being loved than in loving. She had not thought so when Thorstan was her lover. Then her triumph and pride had been that she could give him inexhaustibly what he needed--but look how that had ended. She said to herself: "He will be kind to me, because he is kind by nature. I believe that is my nature too. Therefore I can give him what he wants, and find some comfort in it. I have known the highest, and that is enough for me. That will never come again. Let the other suffice, if it will satisfy him." With that she put the thought away in her heart, wishing to leave it there; yet she could not resist taking it out and looking at it now and again. It was still good to be loved, good to be desired, good to be the centre of a man's thoughts. Every time she looked at her hoard it seemed a little brighter.

Karlsefne took his time. It was close upon the spring when he asked her if she would have him. She met his looks calmly, and told him what she felt about it. "I am not very old yet," she said, "but I have had a great deal of experience. I have been married twice, and loved deeply once. That can never be again."

"Nay," he said, "I don't ask impossibilities of you. But I have love enough in my heart for the two of us. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she said, "I do trust you."

"Why then," said Karlsefne, "will you give yourself to me?"

She thought. "You shall ask Eric if he is willing," she told him. "He loves me, and he is an old man. Since my father died he has been father to me. I have had nothing but love and kindness from him and his family. I will not leave him now, if he needs me--for he knows, and I know, that if I leave him again it will be for the last time."

Karlsefne drew near her and put his arm about her. "I will ask him--but if he agrees you will come?" She smiled and nodded her head. Then, "Will you kiss me?" he said.

"Is that in the bargain?"

He drew her close to him. "Oh, Gudrid, kiss me once. I'm on fire." So then she kissed him.

Eric looked rather chap-fallen. "You are asking me for the jewel on my breast," he said.

"That I know very well," said Karlsefne.

"She is not only a fair woman, but a wise and good woman. She is sweet-mannered, and sweet-natured. The soothsay about her is that she will rear a great race."

"She shall, if I have anything to do with it," said Karlsefne. "You know the name they give me."

"I think highly of you," Eric allowed. "Everything speaks well for you. But I will tell you this. If my son Leif were not entangled with a foreign woman, an earl's daughter by whom he has got a son, it would have been my joy to see him take Gudrid and rear that great race to my name. But it may well be that she will fulfil her destiny with you rather."

"I believe she will," said Karlsefne. "The moment I clapped eyes on her I said to myself, 'There stands before you the sweetest woman that lightens the world.' And I have had no other thought or desire since which has not drawn me to her. If you will give her to me you will do me the utmost service one man can do another. And she will come to me if you say the word. I tell you that."

Eric said it should be as he wished. The last feast that fine old man was ever to see was that which he made for Gudrid's wedding with Karlsefne.

XXIV

Directly he was married Karlsefne began to talk about the Wineland voyage, first to Gudrid, and then to the company at Brattalithe, where he still lived. Gudrid was eager to go. She had always wanted that; and when she found herself with child, that did not deter her--nor her husband either. "I am a prosperous man," he said, "and bring good fortune with me. If you are not afraid, why should I be? Let us trust to our luck, my Gudrid." She believed in him more than in any man she had had to do with yet. He seemed to her a more fortunate man than Leif himself. So it was agreed upon.

Whether it was the lucky star of Karlsefne or not which prevailed, there was more stir about this expedition than had been about any. There were to be two ships fitted for it. First of all, Freydis said that she intended for it--she and her husband Thorhall; then another Thorhall, him they called the Huntsman, offered himself--a tall, oldish, glum fellow, liked by nobody and trusted by few, but a man of great strength and courage, too able to be refused. Then came up Biorn from Heriolfsness offering himself and his ship. Altogether there were some hundred and forty people to be carried, of whom five only were women, and goods in proportion.

Karlsefne, saying that you never knew how things would go, carried livestock in the holds of both ships. He took ten head of cows, a score sheep, some goats, and a bull. He took ducks and hens, a dog or two, and some ponies for the women to ride. But he had some stranger stock yet, human stock, which Leif gave him. They were two Scots, a male and a female, whom he had had from Thorgunna's father in Orkney and had kept ever since, hoping they would breed; but they did not. They were wild, small, shaggy creatures, about the same height--the man was called Hake, the woman Haekia. They were said to be incredibly swift in running, and were certainly hardier than most human kinds. Summer and winter they wore but one garment, a long, sleeveless garment with a hood, which fell straight from the shoulders, and, being slit from the thighs, was fastened between their legs. It had no sleeves; their arms were bare to the shoulder. They called it in their own tongue _gioball_. You never saw one of these creatures without the other; they were inseparable--and yet they were never seen to speak to each other, or to use any kind of endearments. They would not eat if any one were looking at them, nor sleep except they were alone and in the dark. Gudrid tried to make friends with them. They sat still, looking down or beyond her; but never would meet her eyes.

So much for the company which, when all preparations were done, sailed at mid-summer from Ericshaven, with Karlsefne as leader. Gudrid shed tears at the parting with old Eric Red, knowing that she would never see him again. "Farewell, sweetheart," he said to her; "you leave this world the better for having had you in it." He rode his old white pony down to the quay, and sat there watching the ships go out with the tide. His red cloak was the last she saw of the haven.

The voyage was smooth, with a fair wind all the way. First they went round to the West Settlement, and Gudrid looked out for Lucefrith where her darkest days had also been her brightest. She could not have told it for herself, but Karlsefne showed it to her. The black cliffs now looked warm grey in the sun, the sea was green, sparkling with light; the creek was smooth flowing water lipping on silver sands. Karlsefne told her that nobody lived there now. "Mariners run in there in summer-time for water, and see the green flats and the mountains in a haze of heat. They say: 'This is a sweet and wholesome country. We will dwell here and work and be happy.' Then the winter comes upon them suddenly, white fogs, madness and death. You, my child, know as much of that as you ought." She shivered, and leaned her head against him. There was great store of comfort in Karlsefne; she esteemed him, she trusted him, she believed in his star; but Thorstan Ericsson had given her wings, and she had shed them into his grave. She would never fly again among the stars.

They took in water from the West Settlement and then sailed to the Bear Islands--small rocky, flat lands lying low in the great western surges. Thence with a north wind they came into the ocean and were two days without sight of land. But on the morning of the third day they saw land ahead, and came within reach of it, and cast anchor in a broad bay. This was the country to which Leif had been before and called Helloland.[1] Karlsefne had boats manned from either ship, and stayed a couple of days to explore. It was a litter of rock, very barren, and full of white foxes. They found plenty of fish, and laid in a good store; but that was no country in which to settle, so they left it, going south before a good northerly wind.

In two days' sailing they made out a land ahead, full of trees and dense undergrowth. That was certainly Leif's _Markland_. South-east of it, at no great distance, there was a large island. They saw a great bear prowling the shore, and gave his dwelling-place the name of Bear Island, out of compliment to him. Karlsefne did not stay to explore it.

They ran on still before the wind for another two days or three, saw land again, and made for it. This was a headland running far out into the sea, which they made and passed, then ran in close to the shore and coasted for some days without finding any haven. This was a very long strand, great stretches of white sand with nothing to break them up. Behind the dunes they could see the tops of great trees. It was judged that the whole country was low-lying and probably swampy. Ferly Strands was the name they gave to this interminable shore.

But yet it was not interminable, for it broke up at last into bays and creeks, with many islands which had beautiful trees on them, and rich herbage down to the sea-line, Karlsefne said that they would run in hereabouts and live ashore for a while. "We will send out our runners, to see what they can find out for us," he said. That was agreed upon.

[1] Believed to be Newfoundland.

XXV

They landed on the mainland on hard white sand, but beyond that there was turf, with patches of tall waving grass, then a belt of timber, and beyond them, as they soon made out, an infinite rolling country of woods and clothed hills, with lakes here and there. Gudrid was enchanted: the nimble and sweet air, trees taller than she had ever dreamed of, space, emptiness, silence: she stood with a finger to her lip, looking up and all about, and sometimes at her companions to see if they were not under the same spell as she. But the men were too busy choosing a good place for the camp, and Freydis was with them.

Karlsefne had no mind to be surprised by savages, so sent out men to cut wood. He intended to have a stockade round his camp in which at least the women could be defended. There were but five of them, it is true, but they were all married, and therefore precious. The men who were not married always hoped that they might be. Who could say what might be the lot of any adventurer? Let a married man die by all means--but not a wife. Tents were put up, a double stockade fixed round them; hammocks were slung. Very soon they had a fire going, and a pot over it. Gudrid, Freydis and the rest of the women saw to that. Karlsefne arranged for the watch.

The ships were left well manned, and a company from the landing-party put into each boat, and each boat at a sufficient distance from its companion. These crews were to be relieved by watches. Sentries also were posted about the stockade. They had found no signs of inhabitancy; but Karlsefne was very careful.

They had their meal in the open under a clear sky. The stars came out--larger, wetter stars, Gudrid said, than they had at home. Far off in the forest they heard beasts bellowing, and supposed them wild cattle. The bull from Karlsefne's ship thundered his answer to the challenge. They heard wolves at dusk, a chorus of them, and the barking of wild dogs. No sound of men came near them, nor were they disturbed in the night. In the morning Karlsefne sent a boat over to fetch the Scots.