The Snow on the Cross by Brian Fitts Read Free Book Online Page B

two hills.  As we crested the hill to the east, I could see the
landscape of Greenland .  As I have said before, there was
not much to it.  This time, however, I could see the water and the blackened
remains of the wood that had been burned at my arrival.  It looked like a
flattened spider against the beach, and the water kept creeping up to it to
steal a little bit at a time.  Soon, it would be gone, washed away toward
infinity.  I looked to the south out over the water, and I kept picturing the
coast of France out there, and beyond that, Le Mans .
    The other stone houses were lined up
against the hills.  I counted five of them.  All looked the same: small,
square, with a woven roof.  Stone chimneys jutted out of the thatched roofs,
and puffs of smoke, endlessly, coiled toward heaven.  I never considered what
the Vikings were burning for fuel, since there was no wood to speak of on the
island for easy harvest.
    “How far is Eirik’s farm?” I asked,
trying to catch my breath as we walked.  Old men do not travel well up hills.
    “Not far, Bishop,” Bjarni called from
ahead of me.
    Bjarni’s definition of “not far” it
turned out, was quite far indeed.  Before we had left the sight of the building
I had lain in, my legs were aching and my heart, which was thudding so hard it
hurt, did not seem able to keep up with the rest of my body.  I knew my heart
was going to rupture if we did not stop for a rest.  The muscles in my legs
were on fire as they tightened up.  We climbed yet another hill, and I lost
sight of the houses near the beach.  There were no more in sight, and my
spirits fell.  Bjarni and Broin, however, showed no signs of slowing.
    I decided for them.  I sat down at
the crest of the hill we were climbing and felt the blood roaring through my
head.  The pain in my chest subsided, as my heart finally seemed to catch up. 
My legs, however, started to cramp, and I rolled over in the cold grass, trying
to straighten them out.  They refused and curled up beneath me.  Christ on the
cross could not have possibly suffered more than I did at that moment.  Every
breath was an inhalation of fire.
    The pain in my body was replaced by
the bitter cold that seeped into me as I sat there.  The ground was ice, and
soon I felt numbness only to be shattered by the cramps in my legs.  I began to
call out to my companions, who apparently had not noticed I was no longer
vertical.
    “For the love of God!” I shouted.  “Stop!” 
My voice echoed through the valleys, and as it came back to me, it sounded
small and sad.
    I do not remember much after that.  I
do know that the two came back to me, looks of anger and amusement etched on
their faces.  They were enjoying my torment, especially Bjarni.  Broin seemed
confused most of the time, and again I assumed because something was lost in
the translation as Bjarni spoke to him about me.
    They picked me up again, and began to
drag me.  My feet scraped the ground, and I struggled to break free so I could
regain my footing, but they seemed to insist on carrying me.  We started down
the side of the hill, and I kept worrying they would slip and send me tumbling
down to the ravine below.  They held their steps firmly, and they whisked me
along with them as they walked.
    They turned me loose at the bottom of
the hill and stood glowering at me.  I felt no shame at my condition.  I had
been sick, and I was in a strange land, so I decided they could not judge me. 
They stared at me as if they expected me to begin floating, as if I was able to
perform miracles.  I looked back at them.  It would have been too easy to
dismiss them as mindless brutes, but so far these two Vikings had been my
introduction to this breed of man, and it did little to impress me.
    “Come on,” said Bjarni.  “What are
you waiting for?”
    Brattahild was a sprawling range of
pasture near the sea flanked on the edge by a large stone house.  As I stumbled
to the edge of the