Snippet from Vinland : Thorvald

I have been ill for the last few days so took some time off writing to recover. As such I have not been able to prepare anything for the blog (and will likely not do one for tomorrow either). However, this does give me an excellent chance to let you read just what it is that I am working on. Please note that this piece is still in the rough, it has not been checked for spelling / grammar.

A quick overview as this is not from the very beginning. This piece comes right after Erik announces the discovery of new lands to the people of Greenland. Thorvald, on whom this centers is the middle son of Erik the Red, he was not at the feast, but rather in one of the back rooms of the Great Hall. Kai is a legendary warrior who joined Leif's band. Berend is a berserker who recently joined Erik's band. Adalwolf, you should know by now!

Bjarni was the original man who discovered Vinland, he sold the knowledge to Leif and was branded a coward (nithling) for not having explored himself. In Viking culture, being called a coward was as good as being a leper, you were completely exiled so Thorvald's actions here are rather unusual in that end.

So without further ado, I present to you an except from Vinland;

Thorvald

Thorvald carefully replaced the suit of mail in his father’s sea-chest, having checked all the individual links for wear. Having been satisfied that it would hold up well in a fight he slipped the lid to the chest shut and placed the massive round shield on top. He then went to Leif’s chest and lifted out his weapons and armour. He had been right, Leif did not take good care of his things while he had been away. With a curt smile he saw some of the nicks remained on his sword and quickly applied his whetstone to the blade in order to make it more serviceable. His brother was a poor soldier, having little interest in the more physical pursuit of warfare, but Thorvald knew, perhaps more than most Vikings the importance of the traders, scholars and priests to a successful nation. The warriors had created the Viking kingdoms and had carved their legendary reputation in blood, but it was due to the bards that their customs were passed from father to son, and through the merchants that the warriors had the equipment and technologies which made them so fearsome in combat and ensured that their legacy could be continued through the generations. At last satisfied with the state of Leif’s equipment he replaced the lid and shield and quickly checked his own things.

His thoughts were interrupted as shouts of “To the Vikings” echoed around the building. He smiled, his father had once again riled up the denizens of the settlement on some speech or other. He then turned back to what he was doing.

Knowing he always kept his own things in good order he was not so thorough as with the equipment of the others. His father he knew had little time for such caution, and Leif often had his mind on other subjects. Thorvald slipped the lid of his chest shut, and laid his shield on top. He then put his hand to the hilt at his side, and thinking he didn’t wish to carry it all night he detached it and laid it under his shield. 

With a final glance at the chests of his father and brother to see that all had been properly packed and stored, he then stood and slipped through the woollen curtain which hid the private rooms of the ruling family in the Great Hall. 

“TO VINLAND” was still reverberating around the structure when Thorvald entered the great hall, and he had to dodge two warriors fighting tooth and nail over a goblet of beer which was promptly spilt.

He stood quietly in the shadows of the Hall, watching the feast unfold. Several warriors were already challenging each other to drinking games, and trying to drag the bemused Berend to join them. He noted that the berserker was loath to leave the side of his Chieftain but was waved away by a laughing Erik. Thorvald was pleased that his Germanic warrior had proven as good as he believed back when he had met the outcast fighter. 

Although Thorvald found it hard to communicate with the man directly, he had known that it would be possible to bind the man’s loyalty to his family. Erik had immediately spotted the key to his allegiance had been the ability to make him ‘speak’. What had surprised him was the camaraderie which he had found with Leif, but he was also pleased by this. As the eldest son Leif would need the support of the warrior classes when he came to rule after Erik, and most were in awe of the abilities of Berend and to have his loyalty meant to have theirs too.

Thorvald was interrupted as Kai came to stand by him, empty drinking horn in hand.

 “I see you cling to the traditional way of drinking” Thorvald said, nodding at the horn.

 “It holds more beer than cups, means I have to get up less for a refill.” Kai said, with a grim smile “Maybe I should get a pretty young filly like your brother has there to refill it for me. His adventure certainly seems to have increased his popularity with the women.” 

Kai and Thorvald both cast their eyes over to Leif, who was now on his back on one of the tables, a girl pouring ale into his open mouth. Oddly, she kept spilling some on her chest, and the wet fabric was clinging in all the right places. Kai’s smile became a leer as he watched the antics of the younger members. Thorvald couldn’t help but feel a tang of jealousy towards his brother over all this attention.

Berend ambled past them, a giggling female thrall in one arm, a barrel of ale in the other. It was hard to tell which he was more interested in.

“That man has much potential as a fighter. Properly channelled he could become an unstoppable force” Kai noted. Thorvald said nothing and watched the old man.

“I may need to ask Erik for permission to train him. We had many berserkers in the Guard. Why I remember Bjornarr” His demeanour became mournful. “Hell of a warrior, died against the men in the old Empire.” He sighed and walked off towards Erik. 

On the way he stole the goblet which had been fought over, and moments ago had been refilled. The two men turned to him preparing to attack for the slight, but he simply shot them a look and they edged away like kicked dogs. He emptied the contents into his horn and nonchalantly tossed the goblet over his shoulder.

A commotion by the entrance tore his gaze away from Kai, and he just noticed Bjarni being bustled out of the hall by a group of men. Knowing the hatred felt for this man by many of his people, Thorvald was immediately concerned and he made his way quietly around the dimly lit sides of the building and out into the cold. 

Many Vikings acted with disdain towards cowards and had a long memory about such grievances. Even though Bjarni had been gone for more than a year his reputation would be remembered by those who had remained behind. Thorvald knew the gods were fairer judges of a man’s soul than men.  Leif had placed the man under his protection stating that even if Valhalla was closed to him, heaven stood open for the meek. Thorvald thought nothing of the sentiment, but he knew his brother saw something good in the man, and he was prepared to fight for that. Valhalla would judge the man for his deeds in good time, but for now he belonged to Leif.

Darkness had fallen quickly, and even compared to the dim interior it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. Following sound more than sight he went after the group. From time to time he could hear a high pitched whimper followed by the low laughter of the cruel eager to inflict pain on their victim. 

The group passed outside of the inner compound, the guards at the gate having joined their comrades inside the hall. Thorvald followed them outside and was immediately struck by a cold wind which sent shivers down his spine.

The settlement was dark and quiet. Only the sounds of merriment from the hall punctuated the night. A cow lowered somewhere, startled by the dark figures rushing by it. Thorvald locked on to the sound and followed them quietly, trying to keep to the shadows as much as he could. Fresh snow crackled softly underfoot and he tried to tread more lightly. An owl hooted in the distance, and Thorvald felt comforted for he now knew that Odin watched over him.

The party took their man to one of the more isolated houses, and Thorvald had to be careful not to slip on the slick granite outcrop which lay before it. His leather soled shoes made a clipping sound each step he took on the stone and compared to the soft crackle of snow underfoot this sounded to his ears like a thunderstorm. The door stood covered only by a simple wool curtain, which Thorvald carefully held aside and peered in through the small gap.

 “We know you’re cursed little man” one of the thugs was saying. Thorvald made a quick count of those inside. He counted two, highlighted by the fire before them, plus the cowering Bjarni. 

“You had a chance to go there and redeem your soul; I never got that because of a common trick. That is your fault, and you shall the blood price for it.” Another one continued, a faint Saxon accent colouring his speech, his face was covered by a dark hood.

“N-no, its not me that is cursed. You said it yourself; it is the n-new lands! We went there, some of the men never returned we don’t know why.  You saw the empty shield spaces on the ship when we came in.” stammered Bjarni. In the dull light given by the fireplace his white face was ghostlike. Seeming to ignore his words, the first speaker withdrew a knife from a sheath at his side. 

“Curse or not, its because of you that men call me a coward, a nithling. I have had to live with that for a year and a half, you owe me much.” the hooded man growled, splitting the last word. A knife flashed in the firelight.

 

Thorvald drew himself up and strode to the entrance and kicked his way through the entrance, trying to take the occupants by shock.

“Enough of this. It is not your place to dispense the judgement of the gods.” He told the bullies. The hooded man spun to face Thorvald, alcohol drenched breath blasted him and Thorvald tried his best not to recoil from the stench. He had not realised how drunk these men were. The drunkard squinted at Thorvald, but in the darkness couldn’t make out who it was.

“This man is in Leif’s sworn man. Any attack on him is an attack on my brother, and therefore an attack on me” Thorvald growled, his voice dangerous.

“Wrong” intoned the man with the dagger. “We are all doomed to sink beneath the waves if he goes with us. He has pissed on the face of the Gods with his cowardice. Would you like it if someone pissed on your face?” he continued then took a step forward while opening his trousers. Hooded-man shoved Thorvald hard, and he stumbled backward but did not fall. There was a burst of cold air from the entrance behind him but none of them paid it any mind.

Thorvald immediately felt to his side for his sword, but his hand flew by where the hilt should have been. He remembered to late he had left it inside with his sea-chest. A man he had not seen in his initial count came to stand by the hooded man. Bjarni lay on the ground whimpering, but for the moment forgotten. The three thugs began to fan out in front of Thorvald, and he eyed them warily. The newcomer reached to his side for his own knife. Before he could draw it however a sword blade had appeared at his neck accompanied by a tutting sound.

“I should leave that where it is” intoned a voice from the darkness. This man, waxed black hair glittering from the light from the fireplace stepped into the view, sword held casually. 

The thug removed his hand from the knife handle instantly sober to the threat and stepped back his hands raised. Using the sudden distraction Thorvald lunged for the knife wielding leader, and with a powerful punch sent the man reeling backwards. The next blow connected with his wrist and the blade spun away. Hood-man recovered quickly and tried to trip the overbalanced Thorvald. A sword hilt crashed into his mouth and he was forced to spit out a blackened tooth, he then covered his badly bleeding mouth while cursing in pain through his muffled gums. 

Thorvald continued after the dagger man and rained a series of punches into the man’s face. Having got total surprise he could do nothing but cower behind upraised arms as the beating continued. Thorvald then grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, and with a solid kick sent him flying through the open door.

“Good timing as ever Adalwolf” Thorvald muttered through gritted teeth to the swordsman. He then followed his victim through the door.

As he emerged outside he was surprised to find the struggling thug, blood pouring from a clearly broken nose being held by a dour Berend, Erik stood calmly watching as his son emerged. 

“Rough justice” Erik said by way of a greeting, a slight smile touched his mouth but was not echoed in the eyes with any mirth. Thorvald turned and returned to the house, Adalwolf was pushing one of the thugs towards the door.

“The hood jumped out the window” he said as he passed. 

Thorvald continued in and stood over Bjarni, pausing a moment in thought. He then reached down and grabbed Bjarni’s wrist. Bjarni stared at his rescuer with some surprise, unable to summon any words in thanks. Thorvald broke the brief silence.

“A man makes his own destiny, the gods cannot dictate that. Sail well with my brother Leif, and prove that you are a good man... one worth saving.” Thorvald told him, then turned and left the house.

“Was this just a fight, or something more?” asked Erik, his voice quiet and serious as Thorvald emerged from the building. 

“No sir, we was just having some fun with the nithling” said the captive held by Berend. He struggled against the strong hold but found it unmoving. Bjarni came out from the house, still visibly shaken. Seeing the subject of their spite, Erik’s mouth curled upwards in disgust. He turned away from the pair and began to stride back to the great hall.

“They had knives” Thorvald said, his tone quiet but powerful. Erik turned slowly, his eyes cast in shadow but Thorvald was sure he could see a red gleam in them.

“But he’s nothing” spluttered the other still held by Adalwolf, sensing Erik’s abrupt change in mood. “He is doomed in the eyes of the gods, and that ill favour spreads to any who associate with him” he continued, his voice pleading.

“And it is for you to dispense judgement?” Erik said, his mouth becoming a sinister smile. 

“It is not ours, it is the judgement of the gods” The first captive said, misreading Erik’s reaction, himself smiling now.

“The judgement of the gods” repeated Erik, nodding his smile became wider. He turned away from the captives and took a step towards the great hall. Berend relaxed his grip on his man, thinking the event over.

Erik spun suddenly on his heel, sword clearing his scabbard as he turned. The blade carved through the neck of the unfortunate man, the blow so powerful that the head tumbled off and landed in front of the other captive. Berend found himself splattered in blood from the jugular. He held the headless corpse for a moment then released his grip entirely. The body stood for another second, then crumpled in a pile. 

The man held by Adalwolf began to violently vomit, his eyes fixated on the head which had moments ago been part of his comrade. Erik waited for him to finish retching, and then placed the point of his bloody blade beneath the man’s chin, lifting his face to face him. 

“Do you also reserve the right to give judgement?” Erik asked, his voice almost silent but all around him heard him as clearly as if he was shouting. The man in question shook his head wildly, his eyes wide. A crowd had gathered and the whites of his eyes gleamed in the light of a nearby torch.

“And yet you attacked a man in cold blood, with a blade, while outnumbering him.” Erik said, his voice still quiet. He suddenly switched his gaze to Adalwolf. 

“Release him. Lets see how he does against an armed man in fair combat” Erik continued. Adalwolf immediately released him, drew his sword and held it to the shaking man. 

Both the captive and Erik stood staring at one another, then his gaze dropped to the proffered sword. His hand went out to the hilt, but then he dropped into a crouch and flung himself away from the watchers, fleeing for the safety of the surrounding darkness. Unfortunately for him, Erik was faster. The chieftain leapt forwards, his sword held in both hands, the blow aimed for the retreating neck. The edge bit deeply between the shoulder blade and neck, and the man screamed in pain, stumbling against the shock of it.

He threw his hands up to the deep cut, blood pumped through the fingers. The second blow came soon after, taking the digits off with the head. The body immediately crashed to the ground, and the head rolled to Adalwolf who stopped it with his boot. 

Erik with his sword still raised fixed all those present with a hard glare. Torchlight gleamed on the fine coating of blood which covered Erik this combined with the bristling red beard and wild hair gave him the appearance of an executioner from Hel.

“Only I dispense judgment here” he growled, his voice laced with threat. Only the bravest were able to meet his eyes. Eventually satisfied by the intimidating silence, he lowered his blade and glanced at the pair of corpses seeming to see them for the first time. He bent and wiped his blade carelessly on the fur coat of one, then rose to his full height. He stood regarding the dead men for a moment, tapping the blade of his sword on his boot. 

“Burn them. They were cowards and liars, they will never see the doors of Valhalla. Place their heads on pikes at the harbour entrance as a reminder of who rules here.” 

Without waiting to see if his orders were carried out he turned and strode back to the great hall, his blade hissing back in to the scabbard as he went.

“More ale!” he called as he disappeared into the darkness.