A Bone to Pick (5 page)

“No, we haven't got to salvage archaeology yet, Peggy,” Eddy answered.

“Oh … well, in that case,” I said, turning to Taylor, “real-life archaeology is messy, Taylor. Take the time I worked on an ancient Coast Salish excavation site where the property owner was building a pond in the backyard. In that case there was no way the lady living there was going to let us dig up samples all over her yard.” I didn't see the point in telling him that it happened to be my Aunt Margaret's yard. Why wreck a good story? “Then there was the time Eddy and I were called out to excavate an abandoned historical cemetery some teen vandalized — again, no chance to do sampling because you —”

“Professor McKay, by my watch it's time we got back to work,” Professor Brant butted in. “These students can continue this discussion in the field. We don't want them to think the cook's helper is here to educate them on the finer details of archaeology, do we?”

Whoa, he just cut me off in the middle of my sentence. Jerk!

Eddy glanced at me, and I could tell she thought I might blurt out something. “Thank you, everyone. This has been a good discussion. And I might add a delicious lunch. But you're correct, Professor, we should get back to work.” Eddy pushed her chair back. “You'll all be happy to know we're heading out to a small site this afternoon. We'll practise setting our datum point and then do some surveying.” Eddy waved at me. “See you later, Peggy.”

Datum points, surveying, excavating … sounded like fun. As they left, I looked around the dining hall at all the dirty dishes and sighed.

“Please, Aunt Gudrid, ask Uncle to take me on the Viking,” begs Sigrid. “I could help as a lookout or do the cooking.”

Aunt Gudrid laughs. “Cooking! I can hardly get you to help me now with the cooking. How will things be different on the Viking?” She shakes her head. “No, Sigrid. With half the men gone, everyone in the settlement is needed to watch for the skraelings. In particular, I need you to watch over Snorri.”

“Snorri! It's always about him!” shouts Sigrid. “He's not my child. He's yours. Why do I always get stuck with him?” It is obvious that Gudrid is ignoring her. “Fine, I'll ask Uncle Thorfinn myself to take me.”

“I've explained a hundred times that Thorfinn won't take you. He's only taking a handful of his best men and one of the smaller trade knarrs, so there's no place for a demanding and belligerent girl.” Gudrid waves her off. “I'm done with this conversation. I must help prepare the ship. As for you, you'll do what you're told, young lady. And, yes, that means taking care of your cousin. And by the way, it smells like he's soiled his trousers.”

Sigrid grits her teeth and kicks up a small dust cloud from the floor. When Uncle Thorfinn and Aunt Gudrid told her two and a half years ago they were going to the settlement Lucky Leif discovered in the new world, she was excited. She was sure it was going to be an adventure — seeing new worlds, discovering treasures to bring back to Greenland, and maybe even a chance to fight in battles. She had never been on a Viking, and certainly had never been on the open ocean where there are no landmarks to follow for days and days. It was here where she learned how seafaring Norsemen relied on things like the sun and the stars, the colour of the water, the direction of the waves, and even birds to point them toward land.

When they first set out on the Viking, no one knew that Aunt Gudrid would soon have a baby. During the voyage, a few of the other women and youths suffered from seasickness, but no one spent more time hanging over the side of the ship than Gudrid. The baby was born soon after they arrived at the small abandoned settlement Leif had built years before when he named the place Vinland.

At first baby Snorri was special, partly because he was the first Norse child to be born in this new world. Sigrid was happy for her aunt and uncle who had waited for a long time to have a child. And, of course, she was delighted to have a new cousin. He was fun to have around — like a kitten or a pup. But the novelty soon wore off as she was left being responsible for his care more and more.

Then the disagreement with the skraelings began. These people, who lived on the land long before the Norsemen had arrived, were vicious and unpredictable savages. Because of them Sigrid was saddled with the care of the youngster and always left out of exciting things like the Viking trips. On top of that, Uncle Thorfinn was either too busy or too tired to keep his promise to teach her to use the sword.

“It's for my own safety,” she pleaded a while ago.

“You're hardly big enough to hold the thing let alone fight with it,” he said, laughing. “If it's really your safety you're worried about, you're better off learning to use a dagger, girl.”

With all the trouble with the skraelings, Uncle Thorfinn questions whether staying in the new world is worth the danger and effort, especially with a toddler to protect. If this next Viking does not prove profitable, the settlers and crew may load up the ships to the brim with timber, furs, and whatever fruits or vegetables they have gained and set sail for Greenland when the warm winds return.

Until then the clan that are left at the settlement will hunt, gather, and store the food they will need for their third winter. When food has been dried and stored, there is still the work of repairing the ships. Many rivets need replacing, fresh pitch to apply, and torn sails to sew.

After Thorfinn's knarr sets sail and disappears around the point, Sigrid corners her cousin, Gunnar. “If you practise the sword with me, I'll sneak you some cloudberry juice,” she promises.

“And what about him?” Gunnar asks, pointing at Snorri. “What if he tells?”

“Him? He can hardly say anything. He's nothing to be concerned about. Do we have an agreement?”

Gunnar nods.

“Good. I'll meet you on the battlefield when Aunt Gudrid is busy at the forge.”

“The battlefield? And where might that be?”

“The clearing just past the big trees, of course.”

“And what about skraelings? Aren't you afraid they might come?”

“Me, afraid? I pity the skraeling who dares to challenge me. I relish the idea of skewering one of those scoundrels. On the other hand, perhaps you're the one who's afraid.”

“Of course not.” Gunnar turns a dark shade of red.

“Good. Then I'll see you on the shore after chores are done.” Sigrid grabs Snorri by the hand and leads him out back to change his stinky trousers.

“Where have you been you lazy girl? I've been stirring this cloudberry wine so long that my arm feels like it will fall off,” says Aunt Gudrid as Sigrid takes her place at the fire. While her aunt makes busy with other tasks, Sigrid secretly pours small amounts of the fragrant juice into a skin flask for Gunnar.

That afternoon Sigrid asks her aunt, “Am I allowed to relieve myself?”

“Sigrid, while I expect you to be helpful to me, you're not a thrall,” says Aunt Gudrid. “Only slaves need to ask permission to go anywhere.”

Just as Sigrid is almost out the door, her aunt calls after her, “Take Snorri with you. And be quick. There's still much to do.”

Sigrid snatches the youngster by the hand and dashes out of the house and into the fresh air.

“Come, you little pest. We have to hurry.” Sigrid begins to run, conscious that Snorri's feet are barely touching the ground as she drags him along. They run past the wood shop and out toward the seashore, far from her aunt's peering eyes and beyond calling range. She giggles, knowing that in a short while her aunt will wonder where she is and will not be able to find her anywhere nearby. Aunt Gudrid will then become angry, but any consequence is worth the chance to practise sword fighting.

When Gunnar sees her, he yells, “Did you bring it?”

“No, silly. It isn't even ready yet. You'll get it. I promise,” Sigrid tells him. “Did you bring me a sword?”

The boy holds up a gleaming blade. “Will this do? It was my grandfather's. He named it Skull-Splitter.” Gunnar's chest heaves with pride, as if he were the only Norseman to own a weapon with such a name.

Sigrid's hand trembles as she takes the sword. Then she draws out the iron blade from the fleece-lined scabbard covered in deerskin and admires the intricate silver-and-copper inlay along the blade. She throws off her cape and apron and pushes up her sleeves.

“Snorri, you sit here and watch. And if you don't get in the way, I may give you a treat.” Turning to Gunnar, she says, “All right, let us begin …”

“Okay, Princess, you're free to wander about and have yerself a wee look-see,” offered Bertha. “But be back here by four-thirty or I'll clobber ya. Catch my drift?”

I guess she'd taken pity on me. Right after lunch we'd started preparations for dinner — the menu was broccoli-and-macaroni casserole, garden salad, biscuits, and apple crumble for dessert.

“I'm goin' to grate cheese and you'll fry up the onions,” said Bertha.

Sounded simple enough. I turned on the stove, got out the big pan, and poured in some oil. Then I started chopping up an onion.

“Eh, what the heck are ya doin'?” shrieked Bertha. “Don't ya know ya never leave hot oil on the stove unattended? This is the kind of thing that can cause a kitchen fire. Let's get this straight, Princess. Never leave something cookin' on the stove without keepin' a close eye on it and never let oil get too hot. Got it?”

Geez, she didn't have to make such a big deal. I only had my back turned for a few minutes.

Finally, the casserole was ready for the oven, the salad good to go. Bertha wanted to make the crumble herself — she said it was her specialty.

“But you're in charge of the biscuits. They're not hard to make, so I'm sure ya can handle it, right?” Bertha said, though I wasn't sure she really did believe I could handle it. But biscuits didn't sound hard. After all, they were basically just flour and water.

By the time I got out of the cook tent, it was raining. I pulled on my raincoat and headed out across the meadow to find Eddy and the others. I wanted to see just what these students were learning. With all of my experience I was sure I could teach them a trick or two.

The nippy easterly wind whipped my hair out from under my hood. It was cold enough that I half thought about going back for the mittens Aunt Margaret had given me. Instead, I tucked my hands inside my coat and gazed at the white-capped waves. With a little imagination I could almost see Viking ships in the bay, along with the burly bearded men who had sailed them a thousand years ago.

“Eddy!” I shouted when I saw her far off. She didn't hear me, so I ran over to her. When I got there, she was with a few students and kneeling inside a two-metre pit, pointing to the sides.

“You can see how these layers of stratigraphy are like layers of time. Each new colour in the soil represents a different geological and historical period,” Eddy explained. I snickered at the students who were madly writing down every word she said in their notebooks. “These layers can help us to determine how old the human remains or artifact might be. That's why it's so important to never remove —”

“An artifact from the site until you've measured, recorded, and photographed it,” I jumped in. “Did you tell them what in situ means, Eddy? It's Latin for ‘in place.' Just remember, the farther down in the soil you go, the farther back in time you're going. Kind of like time travelling!” While I thought my analogy was clever, I heard someone groan.

“That's correct, Peggy.” Eddy smiled for a moment and then turned back to the students. “Now I'd like you all to use your notebooks to make a sketch of the stratigraphy layers, and while you're at it, keep in mind the colour and texture of each layer and what period in time they represent.”

“You didn't mean me, right, Eddy?” I said. “I don't have a notebook, but of course I know all this stuff about stratigraphy, anyway. Is there anyone who wants my help?” That time I definitely heard someone groan.

“Peggy, did you know there's a Kids Explorers program here at L'Anse aux Meadows?” Robbie asked. “Since you've nothing better to do, you could go over to the main centre and sign up.” Someone in the group giggled. “If you're good, you'll even get a booklet filled with fun activities. You can earn a certificate and reward, too. You should check it out, like maybe right now.”

“Ah, Peggy, maybe you would enjoy seeing some of the other parts of the site,” Eddy suggested. “We can chat later when I'm finished teaching, okay?” I could feel everyone's eyes on me and hated that they could see what must have looked like a face splattered in tomato sauce.

I slunk away and headed toward the replica Norse settlement. I didn't know why Eddy didn't want me to stay and help her, or why Robbie was always so obnoxious. Kids Explorers program — I had just turned thirteen, not six!

I followed the boardwalk toward the Viking settlement. All around were low-growing plants and shrubs. I thought one of them was the bakeapple — at least it had the small orange berries Bertha had shown me in the kitchen. I plucked a berry off and popped it into my mouth, then shivered. Boy, was it tart!

At the settlement there was a small group of tourists crowded around a Viking guy. I knew he was just acting the part, but with his shaggy blond hair, sheepskin vest, and woollen pants he looked really authentic.

“Most people tink the Vikings were a dirty bunch. But I tink they must've been clean freaks,” he said. “Why else were so many tweezers, razors, and combs found around the site?” The guy sounded a bit Irish. Kind of like Bertha, only she spoke much louder. Must be the Newfoundland accent Mom had told me about.

The guide held up a piece of stringy tree bark. “Here's one dirty little fact most folks don't know. The Norsemen would take some of this touchwood fungus here, let it marinate in human urine fer several days —”

“They soaked it in pee? Gross!” yelled a kid in the tour group.

The guide laughed. “Now wait a minute. Let me finish. After that they boiled the urine and fungus fer many days, then took it out and pounded it into flat mats. Now comes the really good part. When they went on a voyage, they could light this stuff on fire. And instead of burnin', it would smoulder fer days and days. This clever invention meant they'd have fire any time they needed it right there on the ships.” There were murmurs of approval from the group.

“Those Vikings were real
wizz-ards
,” I said. A few people in the group chuckled at my pun.

“Good one,” said the guide, smiling. “Feel free to join our tour, young lady —
urine
good company.” More snickering.

“Thanks. Pee jokes aside, are you an expert on the Vikings?” I asked.

“I suppose it depends on who you're talkin' to. I was born and raised a stone's throw from here. When I was a boy, they discovered this place. I often came and watched the archaeologists — that's Helge Ingstad and his wife, Anne Stine Ingstad — excavatin' this site back in the 1960s.”

“That's cool. I'm going to be an archaeologist. In fact, that's why I'm here.”

“Oh, I see. You're one of the students then?” asked the guide.

“Well, no, not exactly. I'm too young to join the university class. But I know enough about archaeology to talk for hours.”

The man looked confused. “So if you're not a student, then you're a tourist?”

“Actually, I'm the cook's help. I help make the meals for the archaeology field school.”

“Oh, I see. So you're helpin' Bertha. She's a fine cook, though a bit of a hothead at times, and I'm not just talkin' about her red hair, either.”

I nodded, glad that someone else knew what I had to put up with.

“So ya like to cook, eh?”

“Actually, I'm a terrible cook and just as bad at being a cook's helper. I took the job so I could come here and learn about the Vikings and be part of an excavation of the site. My friend, Eddy, she's one of the field school professors. She got me the job.”

“Ah, I tink I met that friend of yers — white-haired ol' lady with a vest full of pockets. Some might mistake her fer somebody's little ol' grandma instead of an archaeologist.”

Eddy was sort of old and was a grandma, but I never thought of her as a “little ol' grandma.” “Don't be fooled by her appearance. She's strong and smart. And I bet she knows more about archaeology than anyone here.”

“Well, of course — must be why they asked her to come here and teach. So what's yer name, young lady?”

“I'm Peggy Henderson.”

“Good to meet ya, Peggy. I'm John Austin.” He turned to the others. “Well, c'mon then, let's all go into the great house. Mind yer heads as we go through the entrance.”

The outside of the building looked more like a little grassy hill than someone's house. As we passed through the thick portal, I ran my hand over the rough sod bricks piled neatly one on the other. Even the floor was made of hard, beaten-down earth. It was toasty warm inside, and the place smelled like greasy fish and smoke. After my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw the main room was narrow and long, with a roaring fire in the centre hearth. Hanging above it was a cooking pot with steam rising to the ceiling. I figured that was where the weird smell was coming from.

“Hello, Svanhilda and Runa,” said John to a woman and a girl who seemed about my age. They were both dressed in old-fashioned Norse costumes. “We have some guests here who'd like to see the inside of yer home. Can we come in?”

“Hello, John,” the lady said. “By all means, bring yer guests in and we'll give 'em a look around. Might there be anyone who' d like to try on a Viking helmet or hold a sword and shield today?”

My arm shot up. The only other person who showed interest in trying them out was a little kid.

“Yay! Me first,” he said, jumping up and down excitedly. “Little kids first, right?” His parents looked as if they were about to scold him.

The lady smiled down at him. “Did you know we have a rule here that ladies go first?” The kid frowned. Then she turned to me. “Would you like to go first, dear?”

I realized everyone was staring at me, and my face suddenly felt like melting wax again. “No, that's all right. He can go.”

The kid put the helmet on, and his parents laughed when it swallowed his entire head. Then he struggled to lift the sword with his two hands. “That's heavy,” he announced. “I bet my daddy could lift it.” The boy glanced up at his father standing nearby.

“Okay, Fynn, you've had your turn. Let someone else try.”

Yah, Fynn — scram and let me have a turn.
I didn't want to let on, but I was excited, too. Still, I waited until the tourists wandered off to different corners of the house. Then I pulled the deep, bowl-shaped helmet over my head. It felt as heavy as a brick, and hard, too. I picked up the giant Frisbee-shaped shield. It had a wide leather handle, but that didn't make holding on to it any easier. Finally, I was ready for the sword. I wrapped my hand around the grip. It took a lot of strength to lift the blade and point it. After only a few seconds, the weight of the sword forced my arm to shake, and I had to let it drop.

“I can't imagine how they ran into battle holding all this stuff.” I said to Svanhilda.

“You're right, it is heavy,” she said. “Back then the men wouldn't have been so tall as nowadays and most certainly not as handsome, but one thing's fer sure, they were a strong bunch.”

“What about the women? Did they wear all this stuff, too?” I asked.

“Women?” She laughed. “Warrin', raidin', and tradin' were men's work, my dear. Havin' said that, there were a few women who traded in the apron fer a sword. They called them shield maidens. But make no mistake, choosin' such a life would've been hard. It meant turnin' their backs on their families fer a life most likely to end tragically.”

“I'm guessing any woman who became a warrior must have been some kind of a hulk, like Xena, the Warrior Princess.”

“I can't say any were like Xena, but I do recall there were a few fierce lassies. Can't recall their names just now.”

I had a dozen more questions, but then John called for our attention.

“Okay, folks, you'll probably want to see the gallery in the main centre. If ya head up there now before we close fer the day, you'll have enough time to watch the video about the Vikings who once lived here. Tanks fer comin', and I hope ya enjoyed the tour.” As John ushered the tourists out the small doorway, he signalled that I should wait.

“Before ya go, I wanted to introduce ya to Renee and her daughter, Louise. Ladies, this is Peggy. She's going to be around fer the next while helpin' Bertha cook fer the archaeology field school.”

Renee — otherwise known as Svanhilda up to a few minutes ago — looked at John with knowing eyes. “Well, good on ya. Bet Bertha will keep ya on yer toes.” She and John had a little chuckle.

“Peggy's not just an ordinary cook's help,” John added. “She's really here because she's interested in archaeology and wants to learn more about the Vikings.”

“Ya are?” said the girl. “I'm interested in archaeology, too. That's the only reason I agreed to help my ma here at the Meadows. I'm goin' to be an expert on Vikings.”

“Louise, it would be nice if ya showed Peggy around sometime,” suggested her mother.

“Would ya like that? I know my way around here like it was my own backyard.”

I couldn't have been happier. I was standing in front of a Newfoundland version of myself. “That would be awesome. It would sure beat being alone.”

“Alone? Ya mean ya don't like to hang out with the archaeology students? I sure would. I'd pick their brains,” Louise said.

“Well, first of all they don't want me around. And secondly, I don't think there's much in their brains to pick.”

Renee laughed. “Let's hope that's not true. I've noticed they don't seem much interested in us, either. I suppose they're just too busy. Pity, because the guides here know plenty. Like Niko Ekstrom, over at the forge. He's a Viking saga expert. He could tell ya 'bout them shield maidens, too, if ya want to know more.”

“Really? I'd like to talk to him.” Talking to the friendly guides was a nice change from the cold shoulders I was getting from the field school students. “Would I be able to talk to him now?”