Erik the Red by Tilman Roehrig

Author:Tilman Roehrig [Roehrig, Tilman]
Language: deu
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781646906031
Publisher: Arctis

The grace period had expired four days and three nights ago. Erik’s friends didn’t care. Although they now had to reckon with punishment themselves, they tirelessly attended to the equipment and condition of the Mount of the Sea. Lines were checked, the red sail was set and reefed again, the spare cloth was checked for tears. With great effort, the maids greased the outer wall with seal fat.

Since only Ejolf lived near the Breidafjord, he had sailed to Hog Island and returned with provisions: barrels filled with salted meat and dried fish and full leather skins. “Thought a sip of sour milk now and then might do you better than water.” He almost lovingly patted the two smaller skins. “I filled these with mead. Drink it when you’ve found the coast and think of me. But if there’s no land, you can at least get drunk again before you . . .” He didn’t finish this sentence. “You have to get out of here. And soon.” The Breida farmer had assembled armed hordes. They were searching for the banished man island by island, and they had already come dangerously close to the Twin Bay. “It won’t be long before they find us.”

“I can’t put you in any more danger.” As soon as the sun rose again on the eastern horizon, Erik wanted to leave the hiding place. “If I have the sun at my back, I can’t miss the right course. Besides, it’s looking good for us.” With an easterly wind and a cloudless sky, the weather promised to stay constant.

Erik whistled and waved to gather the maids and his small team. “Break down the camp. Stow everything aboard. I’d better not find a cup or ladle anywhere. And then sleep.”

The ten slaves he’d trained for the war had been left to him by Thorbjörn. It wasn’t much, but enough to crew the ship. Erik cheerfully turned to the judge and the landowners. “I’d better memorize the smell of fresh grass and earth now. Who knows when we’ll be on solid ground again?”

Tyrkir stretched out next to his friend. He didn’t want to sleep, but at least he tried to rest and enjoy his last hours on land. For a long time, he stared silently into the pale sky. His thoughts wandered across the mountains to the south side of the snowy rock. Poor Thjodhild. She knew nothing of the canceled war, nor about the court ruling. How hard the news would hit her!

He sat up and hugged his knees. “Are you awake?”

Erik just grumbled.

“Is it hard for you to leave without saying goodbye to her?”

“Be quiet.” The friend turned his back to him.

“Say it!”

Only after some time did the answer come. “She is my wife . . .” Erik’s voice became fragile. “And strong. She’ll have to understand. . . . And we’ll come home again. Thorbjörn will tell her that. I will miss her, and the boy. . . . By Thor, be quiet now!”

Tyrkir looked at his friend’s trembling shoulders but remained silent.

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