The Snow on the Cross (4 page)

Late that winter in early December,
Robert the Pious came to visit me for the last time.  He had aged since I last
saw him.  The struggle against the raiders had worn him down, and it didn’t
seem to matter where his army was encamped, the North Men appeared to attack at
all points all at once.  Now Robert referred to the North Men as “Vikings” a
word which meant “pirate.”  Although some political negotiations were still going
on between
France
and
Norway
, the talks were stagnant, and King Olaf of
Norway
refused to budge.  Robert the Pious
threatened and raved against the Vikings, but the raids continued sporadically,
and Robert was left bewildered at their sheer persistence.  If money was all
they wanted, not land or kingdoms, then a yearly tribute could be arranged
between the two kingdoms. 

“I am afraid, Bishop,” said Robert to
me as we sat deep in the heart of the cathedral.  The candles flickered across
his features giving him huge shadows gaping under his eyes.  “Our people are at
the mercy of these pirates who attack then flee.  Our treasures are vanishing,
and I don’t know what to do.”

I knew he was waiting for the right
time to make me another offer to go to
Greenland
, almost as if he was thinking I had the power to stop the raids and was
the last hope of
France
.

“Does anyone know the origin of the
raids?” I asked.  “What outpost are they coming from?  It’s hard to believe
that if Olaf has converted his people in
Norway
, the attacks are coming from there.”

“You’re right,” Robert said. 
“Apparently these raids are coming from the west, either from settlements on
Britain
or perhaps further west.”

“West as in originating from
Greenland
?”

“Perhaps.”

“Your grace . . .”

Robert cut me off.  “Bishop, I
understand your decision.  However, I’m afraid I must insist this time.  Now I
am not asking you as a friend, I am telling you as your king.  You will go to
Greenland
and convert these heathen
barbarians.  If you can show them the true error of their ways, perhaps the
raids will stop.”

So it was decided, and in early
January after the new year, I said goodbye to
Le Mans
and walked out to my garden for the last time looking fondly
at where the new plants would be emerging in the spring.  I knelt and clutched
a handful of the earth, feeling the texture.  Good soil.  Rich.  I heard the
arrival of the wagons coming for me to carry me to the coast.  I carried my
possessions in a leather sack that had been crafted by the monks.  It wasn’t
heavy.  A supply of parchment and ink, heavy boots for the snow, and a thick
fur cloak was all it contained.

***

It took two weeks to travel to the
sea.   I watched in a kind of awe as we rolled through
Le Mans
and it was left behind us.  The last
thing I remember seeing was the topmost tower of my cathedral.  It lingered
among the treetops, and then vanished.  I didn’t know it would be the last time
I would ever see it or
Le
Mans
again.

Along the road to the coast we passed
the charred remains of the Viking attacks.  Some blackened ruins still gave off
heat we could feel as we went by.  Most of the villages were abandoned, and the
silence of the dead lingered over them.  There was no sound other than what we
made as we rolled on.  My companions were very still and some looked at the
devastation with indifference.  I, however, had not imagined the destruction
was so complete.  The monks had told me news, but this was beyond what I
pictured.  The raiders had left nothing standing, and I could see the flow of
the river through the trees near the villages.  The pirates had simply coasted
down the river, stopped at each village they came to, and burned it down.

“The worst part is,” one of my
traveling companions whispered to me.  “Most of these villages had no reason to
be attacked.  There were no monasteries or churches here.”

Some lone peasants struggling to dig
were raising huge mounds of earth.  They were silent and grim in their work,
and I knew it was the mass grave for the dead, or what was left of them.  These
barbarians, the ones who were responsible for this devastation, these were the
ones I was going to.  How could I not feel a twinge of fear at that?  They
slaughtered monks and children alike with no regard for mercy.

I murmured a prayer as we passed the
graves.  Whether or not it helped, I have no idea, but it seemed to make the
men riding with me feel better.  We were traveling to the seaport at
Bayeux
on the northern coast.  Robert the
Pious had told me there was a ship waiting to take me over the sea.  The
emissary from
Greenland
, the one who had presented Robert
with the gift of the bear, was waiting to take me with him back to
Greenland
.

I had never been on a ship before,
and certainly had never traveled as far as they were going to take me.  It took
us two weeks to travel from
Le Mans
to
Bayeux
, and as we drew nearer the city, the
air had turned noticeably colder.  I half expected to see large pieces of ice
floating along the Channel as I saw the water that led out into the ocean.  It
was dark and choppy, and it sloshed against the docks as if wanting to drag
them into the sea.  I confess I felt a little sick when I saw the ship that was
going to take me away from
France
.

It was moored near the rocks on the
far side of the port.  It was not much to look at upon casual inspection.  It
was long and narrow and looked not so much a sailing vessel as a long rowboat. 
There were men there on board, stomping around the deck tying ropes to small
hooks and pulleys that were dotted all over the sides of the ship.  One of the
men saw me standing on the dock, and he waved and shouted.  Before I could
reply, he had hopped overboard and was taking long strides to meet me.  He was
a bundle of fur and hair, much like the men I would see upon my first sighting
of
Greenland
.

“My name is Bjarni,” the man said,
his voice thick.  “Welcome.”

I nodded and Bjarni glanced at the
sky.  “We will leave at daybreak,” he decided.  “More favorable winds. 
Tonight, we will be your guests in
Bayeux
.”

He laughed and clapped me on the
shoulder, almost knocking me off the dock.  The other bundles were making their
way off the ship.  I counted six as they crowded around me and introduced
themselves with names I forgot as quickly as I heard them.

Although the Vikings invited me to
stay with them, I declined and sought out the monastery of
Bayeux
as night fell.  The monks welcomed
me and gave me restful accommodations, certainly better than the Vikings, who
were content to camp out near the ocean.

I lay there that night before we
left, but I could not sleep, even though I was tired from the long trip from
Le Mans
.  I kept thinking about the vast
contradiction between the two sides of the men I had heard.  They were cruel
enough to burn and slaughter villages for no other reason than their own
wantonness, but they seemed hospitable enough to welcome a man of God to come
to their island.    My mind turned to thoughts of the woman named Thordhild. 
She must have been a strong woman to insist to her husband they needed a man of
God at their home.  If she was serious in her faith, then I would have at least
one ally there.

I fell asleep after a long while, and
I dreamed about
Le Mans
.

***

In the morning I joined the monks of
Bayeux
in prayer, and we broke fast
together.  The morning meal was somber and cold, and I sat and stared at the
brothers all around me.  Most had vowed silence, and my mood was not allowing
me to make conversation with those who could speak.  There was the sound of the
rustle of cloth, and the occasional slurp of the gruel by some of the monks,
but that was all.  I ate lightly, as my stomach kept turning at the thought of
boarding the North Men’s ship.

The monastery at
Bayeux
sat atop a hill overlooking the sea,
and after the morning meal, when the brothers went out to tend to their chores,
I left them and climbed to the top tower.  From high above, I could see the
seaport and the expanse beyond.  An endless sea.  It looked frigid and shadowy
as it refused to reflect even the slightest bit of color from the sky.  I did
not want to look at the water.  I would see it close enough too soon.  My gaze
traveled from the sea to the land, and there I could barely make out the
Vikings’ encampment at the base of a hill.  The men were gathered around a
cheerfully blazing fire, and I imagined I could hear their laughter as they ate
their morning meal, passing the cups around to each man.  For a brief moment, I
envied them and wished I had decided to join them at their camp the night
before.  Their boisterousness was certainly a contrast from the dreary silence
that shrouded the monastery.

I descended the tower and expressed
my blessings and thanks to the brothers before I left.  They touched my head
and prayed with me once more before my final goodbye.  One of them presented me
with a small gold cross on an iron chain.  I thanked them all again and left
for the seashore.

I found the ship as I had left it the
night before: creaking uneasily and bobbing wildly against the waves.  The
Vikings had not descended from their camp yet, but I could see the smoke from
the fire.  I knelt by the sea and took a handful of the sand as I waited.  A
wave splashed against my hand, and I was stunned at how cold the water actually
was.  I looked again at the ship.  It threatened to capsize simply being tied
up near the rocks.  How would it survive the journey over the sea?  I had never
even learned to swim, and I kept imagining myself pitched overboard into the
deathly icy water.  Perhaps the Vikings would save me, perhaps not.  What if
the entire ship sank?  What if we were all thrown overboard in a storm?  Who
would save me then?    
Le
Mans
was in the
interior of the country, so I never thought much about traveling on the sea. 
Why should I?  I had everything I needed from land.  I would leave the sea to
the sailors.  I would work the earth and plant my garden.  The earth was
something you could hold.  The water would slip through your fingers.  Put your
trust in the land.  It is stable.

I turned and saw the Vikings
descending from the hill where they had camped.  Bjarni was laughing at
something and seemed to be pointing at me.  They must have been looking at my
face, which I imagine had turned quite white from looking at the ship.  My fear
was obvious.  You cannot throw an old man into a ship and expect everything to
be fine.

“Ah, Bishop,” remarked Bjarni as they
drew closer.  “A fine day to sail, don’t you think?”  H e looked up at the sky,
which had turned quite gray since the dawn.  “A good day, indeed.”

I was sure he was telling me this to
put me at ease.  I did not think it was a good day to sail.  I thought it was a
good day to go home.  Bjarni motioned at the others, and they boarded their
ship.  It was long and narrow enough to rest directly on the beach and Bjarni
and one other man was pulling on the ropes to drag it up.  When they had
secured it, Bjarni stepped aside and gave me invitation to board.

“Do not worry,” said Bjarni as I
hesitated.  “I have sailed many years, and I would know the way home
blindfolded.  Go aboard.  The others will help you.”

That being said, I took one more
glance at the land, felt the solidness beneath my feet, and climbed aboard the
creaking little ship.

***

It was well that I had eaten a light
morning meal, for God, in His wisdom, made me lose it before we had left sight
of land.  After the Vikings pushed off the beach and began their rowing into
the channel, Bjarni gave the command, and a large square sail flapped down from
its ties and puffed into its full form.  The sail was adorned with the bright
red image of an axe, but before I could ask what the crest represented, as I
looked up at the sky, an overwhelming dizziness swept over me, and I found
myself lying on the deck trying not to let my head roll off the side.  My
stomach pulsed, and I knew I was going to be sick.

After I had heaved all of my gruel
into the sea, I could only lie there helplessly and listen to the Vikings’
laughter.  The ship kept leaning further and further to one side, and I kept
wondering if I should move to the other side to balance the ship upright again. 
But I couldn’t move, and all I could do was stare at the dark sea as my chin
rested on the edge of the ship’s side.

We seemed to catch a good wind, and I
could tell we were sailing west because the sun was behind us.  If the wind
died, the Vikings would take up their oars and row.  We slowed a bit from time
to time, but we never stopped.   Bjarni steered the ship effortlessly, and I
found myself trusting him.  As long as we didn’t hit rough waters or a storm, I
remember thinking, we should arrive safely.