The Snow on the Cross (25 page)

The king’s soldiers were there
waiting for me, and I had barely set foot on dry ground before they whisked me
away.

I was taken to the palace, but Robert
the Pious was not there.  Instead, his council had assembled, and they would
act swiftly as my judge and executioner.  I explained to them what had
happened, and told them every last detail.  I told them of the utter
indifference of Eirik the Red and how, despite my best efforts, he had refused
to convert.  I told them of the brutality of Eirik’s funeral and what they had
done to Malyn.  I told them of Thordhild’s indifference, almost a rival to my
own, I suppose.  I gave them great detail about the attack on the Isle of
Kells, and about how I had been kidnapped and forced to accompany the Vikings. 
The council listened to my stories for the better part of the afternoon, and
when I was finished, I awaited my sentence.

They knew I had been on the Isle of
Kells.  Perhaps they assumed I was a willing participant, and that my time with
the Vikings, especially Eirik the Red, led to my corruption.

“No,” I said, trying to make them
understand.  “But the raid on the Isle of Kells was a blessing.  It was part of
God’s plan.”

“The slaughter of hundreds of your
brother monks, and you call it a blessing?  Explain yourself.”

“If Eirik had not gone on that
invasion, he would have not taken the horses from the Isle of Kells. 
Consequently, he would not have fallen off the horse, which led to his death
from the infections of his broken bones.  Since Eirik’s death, I am assured
that the true faith will take over his land in his absence.  The King of Norway
has appointed Leif to spread the faith across the land.  Eirik represented the
last of the old ways.  Now we can begin again with the new faith.”

The council passed my sentence, which
was quite merciful, I guess, given the circumstances.

Two sounds are evident as I write
this:  One is the sound of water dripping endlessly; the other is the incessant
laughter that echoes off this stone.  Now my parchment scraps are full, and my
quill is a mere stub with which I can barely scratch.  I toss it aside.  I will
need it no longer.  My tale of Eirik the Red is finished, but as I said before,
I will not die.

I have no reason to.

Some are saying I am crazy, that my
days of endless sun and darkness drove my reason away and that is why I am here
in this cell.  The council did not believe most of my tale, but that is why I
am telling it to you.  You can decide to believe if what I wrote is the truth. 
God wills it.  God guided my hand, and so I speak only God’s truth.

I often think about Eirik the Red,
even now after many years have drifted by, but mostly I think about Malyn.  I
heard the stories of the conversion of
Greenland
after my arrest and my being brought down here.  Apparently Leif was
quite successful, and the name of Eirik the Red has merely been passed along as
a reference to his son, which is how it should be, for I believe the
accomplishments of the son have outweighed that of the father.

I will sleep now, but the laughter
still echoes off this rock.  Sometimes I cannot tell if it is coming from outside
or coming from within.

(Shame to him who finds evil here)