Troll Blood

Torn by the wind, an alarmed cry had reached his ears. He couldn’t make out the words. Up on the jetty Bjørn stiffened, shading his eyes to look down the fjord. “It’s Harald. He’s seen a ship.Yes—there’s a strange ship coming.”

Peer jumped up beside Bjørn, noticing with pride how firm and solid the jetty was. The two of them had been building it for almost a month now, in between their other work, and in Peer’s opinion it made the tiny beach at Trollsvik look like a proper harbour. It was a stout plank walkway between a double row of posts. Bjørn’s new faering, or fishing boat, bobbed beside it.

He joined Bjørn at the unfinished end, where the last few planks waited to be nailed down. It was late afternoon, the tide flowing in. Out where the shining fjord met the pale spring sky he saw a large, reddish sail, square-on, and the thin line of an upthrust prow like the neck of a snail. A big ship running into Trollsvik before the wind.

“Who is it?” he blurted.

Bjørn didn’t take his eyes off the ship. “I don’t know. Don’t know the sail. Could be raiders. Best not take chances. Run for help, Peer. Tell everyone you can.”

A lonely little village like Trollsvik could expect no mercy from a shipful of Viking raiders if they took the place by surprise. The best thing was to meet them with a show of force. Peer turned without argument. Then he saw a scatter of people hurrying over the dunes. “Look, Harald’s raised the alarm already. Here he comes, with Snorri and Einar…”

“Hey, Harald!” Bjørn bawled at the top of his voice. “Whose ship is that?”

A bandy-legged man with straggling grey hair raised an arm in reply as he puffed across the shingle and climbed painfully on to the jetty. “No idea,” he wheezed, bending double to catch his breath. “I was cleaning my nets—looked up and saw it. Shouted at you and ran for the others.You don’t know it, either?”

“Not me,” said Bjørn. Peer looked at the ship—already much closer—then back at the little crowd. Most of the men had snatched up some kind of weapon. Snorri One-Eye carried a pitchfork, and old Thorkell came hobbling along with a hoe, using the handle as a walking stick. Einar had a harpoon. Snorri’s fierce, grey-haired wife Gerd came limping after him over the stones, clutching a wicked-looking knife. Even Einar’s two little boys had begun piling up big round stones to throw at the visitors. Peer wondered if he should join them.Then he realised he was holding a weapon already. His hammer.

He hefted it. It was long-handled and heavy. The dull iron head had one flat end for banging big nails in. The other end tapered to a sharp wedge. When he swung it, it seemed to pull his hand after it. As if it wanted to strike.

Could I really hit anyone with this? He imagined it smashing into someone’s head, and sucked a wincing breath.

The neighbours were arguing. “No need to fear!” yelled Gerd, lowering her knife. “See the dragonhead? That’s Thorolf’s ship, that is, the old Long Serpent that Ralf Eiriksson sailed on.”

“It never is!” Snorri turned on his wife. “Thorolf’s been gone two years now, went off to Vinland.”

“So what?” Gerd was undaunted. “He can come back, can’t he?”

“Fool of a woman,” Snorri shouted. “That’s not his ship, I say!”

“How d’you know?” Gerd shrilled.

“Because this one’s as broad in the beam as you are, that’s why—the Long Serpent was narrower…”

“That isn’t the Long Serpent,” said Peer. “I should know. My father helped to build her.”

“This ship looks like a trader,” Einar said. “Built for cargo, not war.”

“That’s all very well, Einar. Plenty of traders turn into raiders when it suits them—doesn’t mean her crew won’t fight.”

“What do you think, Bjørn?” asked Peer in a low voice.

Bjørn gave him an odd glance, half-humorous, half-sympathetic. “I don’t know, Peer. Let’s just put on a good show and hope they’re friendly.”

Peer stood unhappily clutching his hammer. The ship was so close now that he could see the sea-stains on the ochre-red sail. The hull was painted in faded red and black stripes. A man stood in the bows, just behind the upward swoop of its tall dragon-neck.

We could be fighting in a few minutes. A gull shrieked, swooping low overhead and its keen cry made him jump. Odd to think that the gull might soon be swinging and circling over a battle, and that its shrieks might be joined by the screams of wounded or dying men and women. I might die… And with a jump of his heart he thought of his best friend Hilde, safe for the moment at her father’s farm on Troll Fell. What if he never saw her again? And what would happen to her if these men were dangerous?

There was a flurry of activity on board. The yard swung and tipped, spilling wind. Down came the sail in vast folds. Oars came out to guide the ship in. Behind Peer and Bjørn, the villagers bunched like sheep.

The man in the bows leaned out, cupped a hand round his mouth and yelled, “Bjørn!”

Bjørn threw his head up. “Arnë!” he shouted back. “Is that you?”

Arnë, Bjørn’s brother! The villagers broke into relieved, lively chatter. Peer unclenched stiff fingers from the haft of his hammer. He wouldn’t have to use it as a weapon after all. And a good thing, too, said a secret little voice at the back of his head, because you know you couldn’t have hit anyone.

The thought bothered him. Was it true? Would he be no good in a fight? The word coward brushed across his mind. Then, with a shrug that was half a shudder, he dismissed the idea. It didn’t matter now.

“The ship’s called Water Snake,” Arnë shouted across the narrowing gap of water. “Gunnar Ingolfsson’s the skipper. I’ve brought him here to meet Ralf Eiriksson.”

“Who’s this Gunnar? Why does he want Ralf?” Peer wondered aloud, as the ship closed on the jetty.

“Gunnar Ingolfsson. Gunnar…” Bjørn snapped his fingers. “He’s the man Thorolf took on as a partner, a couple of years ago. Got a name as a sea rover, a bit of a Viking. Thorolf and he sailed off to Vinland together in two ships. So what’s he doing here, and why’s Arnë with him?”

Peer shrugged. He wasn’t curious about Arnë.

“Vinland? Vinland?” muttered Einar. “Where’s that?”

“Don’t you remember?” Snorri said helpfully. “A few years back, Ralf and Thorolf got blown off course and found a new land all covered in forests…”

“The land beyond the sunset,” Peer said eagerly.

“I knew that,” Einar huffed, “but I thought they called it Woodland.”

“They did!” Snorri waved a triumphant finger. “But other ships went there and found vines. Vines, Vinland, see? It’s all the same coast. This Gunnar must be making a second trip. I’ve heard you can bring back a fortune in timber and furs and grapes. I’ve got half a mind to go myself.”

“Ho, yes,” scoffed Einar. “And how would you know what a grape looks like? Have you ever seen one?”

“Arnë’s a wild one,” Bjørn said to Peer. “What’s he done with his fishing boat? Sold it, I suppose, to join this trip. Well, he’s crazy, that’s all.”

“He always wanted to go a-Viking,” Peer pointed out.

“I know.” Bjørn grinned suddenly. “That’s why I say he’s crazy!”

Peer nodded. And that’s why Hilde likes him, he thought, as a black-edged cloud slipped over the sun. The hills and the shore and the flashing water lost their colours. The jetty he had taken such pride in suddenly seemed a rough-and-ready thing of no interest. He wished he could do something exciting or brave.

How was it that Arnë always managed to do things that would impress Hilde? Of course, it helped that he was tall, strong and good-looking. And seven years older than Peer—girls took older men more seriously. If he’s sailing off to Vinland, I won’t get a word in this evening, then. She’ll be talking to Arnë all night.

The big ship came nudging up to the jetty. Seven or eight men were busy on board, stowing the yard fore and aft, lifting the oars in, collecting their gear. Arnë threw a rope up to Bjørn. “Nice new jetty,” he called, laughing. “Did you build it specially for us? It’s good, this’ll be easier for Astrid.”

“Astrid?”

“The skipper’s wife.”

Everyone stared. Peer got a glimpse of a girl in a blue cloak, huddled under an awning which had been rigged up behind the mast. Arnë climbed on to the jetty and wrung Bjørn’s hand. He clapped Peer on the shoulder and said, “Fancy a voyage to Vinland?” before turning to offer a helping hand to the girl. She was finding it difficult, clutching some kind of pouch or bag. A giant of a fellow with a shock of almost white fair hair tried to boost her up from the ship.

Peer watched scornfully. Hilde wouldn’t need helping out of a boat. She’d just kilt up her dress and jump out, laughing!

Hilde, Hilde! She teased Peer, bossed him about, and drove him crazy. Last spring, he’d made the mistake of impulsively kissing her, and she’d laughed at him. He hadn’t dared to do it since, except in dreams.