Gitche' Manitou: Guardian of the People

By Lyle Fugleberg

At Bird Mountain, a week has passed since Sigurth is buried in a grand ceremony that finally recognizes the great person he had been. At the cliff where Sigurth died, two cousins, Gunnar, Sigurth's son, and Garth, Sveyin's, look west at the ocean and decide to cross it. They wish to find if Sveyin is still alive, and if the settlement of Norwegians still remains.
What follows is an adventure that is anything but what they expected. They find Sveyin, then journey with him into the depths of an enormous land, the size and nature of which could not have been imagined. GITCHE' MANITOU is about the Native Americans and the nations they encountered along the way, nations that existed 500 year before Columbus whose abilities and achievements were in ways equal to any other on earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663239280

Lyle Fugleberg

Lyle Fugleberg, the founder of an award-winning Architectural firm, retired in 2008 after 45 years of practice. Still alive with sports and community service, he has also taken to write in fictional form about special issues and interests. The latest, his sixth, is prompted by not only his love for history, but also his learning about a time in the history of the Native Americans that needed to be told. What he learned about Native Americans while researching From Bird Mountain, his saga about exploring and colonizing Norsemen around the year 1000AD, led to Gitche' Manitou, about those natives and a culture very different from what has previously been pictured. He and his wife of sixty-five years divide their time between Central Florida and Western North Carolina.

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Contents

Prelude

Chapter 1     Kanata

Part One

Chapter 2     Bird Mountain

Chapter 3     Kanata

Chapter 4     The Austratt

Chapter 5     Welcoming

Chapter 6     A Meeting

Chapter 7     Sveyin

Chapter 8     Reunion

Chapter 9     Vision

Chapter 10   Discussion

Chapter 11   Morning

Chapter 12   A Hunt

Chapter 13   Winter

Part Two

Chapter 14   Spring

Chapter 15   Summer

Chapter 16   Flint

Chapter 17   Encounters

Chapter 18   King Rivers

Chapter 19   High Banks

Chapter 20   The Guardian

Chapter 21   Gitche’ Manitou

Chapter 22   Riverbend

Chapter 23   Winter

Chapter 24   Spring

Chapter 25   What

Chapter 26   End

Chapter 27   Closer

Chapter 28   Lark

Part Three

Chapter 29   Last Leg

Chapter 30   Tatahuana

Chapter 31   Tatahuana 2

Chapter 32   Tatahuana 2+

Chapter 33   Tatahuana 3

Chapter 34   Tatahuana 3+

Chapter 35   Tatahuana 4

Chapter 36   Tatahuana 4+

Chapter 37   Tatahuana 5

Chapter 38   Tatahuana 5+

Chapter 39   Tatahuana 6

Chapter 40   Long Day

Afterword

Prelude

Gitche’ Manitou begins as a sequel to From Bird Mountain, a fictional account of Norse explorers who made attempts to settle the new world west of Greenland discovered by Bjarni Herjolfsson in 986 AD.

We know, or at least the sagas indicate so, there were extensive attempts beginning in 1000 AD, when the first settlement was made in a Vinland by Leif Eiriksson, somewhere in the vicinity of what is called Newfoundland, possibly Prince Edward island. The next ten to twelve year history also records other explorations and settling attempts hundred of miles farther west, including the first European born on American soil, making From Bird Mountain as plausible as it is.

Since Gitche’ Manitou begins where From Bird Mountain ends, it does so in Kanata with the fictional Norse inhabitants who comprise its colony. Kanata is the Haudenosaunee word for settlement so is aptly named. (The Haudenosaunee are one of the nations and languages, including the Iroquoian, near to the area of settlement, the south side of the bay formed at the confluence of the St. Lawrence river near present day Quebec City)

Gitche’ Manitou, Guardian of the People, is about the land that is North America 500 years before Columbus. The people that inhabit it beyond Kanata don’t know of other worlds or that they’re new. As the narrative unfolds, it becomes clear they’re not, and may not only predate their discoverer, but also lead in other ways as well.

Chapter 1

KANATA

In the year 1012

To select his attack force, the war chief beat a drum while circling his home three times. This brought men from all corners of the village forward for consideration. From this group three hands of men were selected, the chosen group assembling in the community center where they were sanctified. This sanctification consisted of three days of only drinking a warm decoction of consecrated herbs and roots, at the same time standing without relief during the daylight hours, all of this to insure their purification.

Thus prepared, and without a desecration of the holy fast, the force left the cover of the woods, boarded canoes, and with hardly a sound, stroked close to shore in the afternoon shadows to the far side of the ridge overlooking the targeted settlement, Kanata.

The warriors are soon in place. Each is painted as a devil spirit; each is heavily armed; and each is hiding in the shrubs lining the ridge.

The war chief, who led the group in whispered footfalls up the far side of the ridge as the sun started its dive, settled on the southern end of the line nearest the pathway that switch-backed down to the settlement. Peering through the tangle, he watched the end of the day workings below—he saw fishers pull lines; gardeners stand and dust-off; tenders round up animals.

Ondur, in a field hoeing weeds, stood and stretched when a teen-age boy a short distance away, said, What’s that?

He turned and looked in all directions as a matter of habit before turning west and squinting. What? I don’t see anything.

The boy looked again, shielding his eyes, then shrugged. Ondur snorted, tossed a clump at him and laughed.

It’s been a productive day and all about the community people are dirty and tired and hungry.

The sun continued its drop. As it does a shadow forms on the east side of the slope and begins its march.

On the ridge mouths go dry . . . the warriors are impatient. Their nation has been at peace for many seasons, and although they trained hard in hunting and war games, at least half of them don’t have trophies from actual combat. So they crouch and salivate, ignoring the tiring effects of their sanctification.

With a signal, they will descend into the settlement like ghosts, silently, while crouching and moving past one bush or obstruction after another with panther steps. When the first contact is made, they will explode and charge with all the fury in their being. They will attack without qualm or mercy, dispatching the men and boys first, then the women and children. When in the last stages, they will rape the women before their death strokes; they will scalp the men.

Exceptions will be for tots to be adopted into their nation, and a few men cornered for capture. They will bring the captives back to their nation as proof of their great victory. The captive men will be undressed and tied to poles in the center of the village, where they will be subjected to the women, who with sharp sticks, torches and clubs, will enact the most horrible torture and death they can manage.

Before returning, when the killing including selected animals is complete, the warriors will throw the bodies into structures and put the community to torch. Anything attractive or useful will be collected and put aside, particularly tools, knives and weapons made from that unbelievably hard and sharp substance called iron, none of which has been shared previously with them.

For all of this they wait, tension building, the air seeming heavier. Songbirds that had flitted settled in place, eyes blinking; chipmunks the same in leafy shelters.

The chief slowly raised his arm. Dropping it would be the signal. But just as he was about to make his move, an arrow thwacked into a tree above his head. He recoiled and ducked as another thudded beside the first, the two quivering.

He turned to see a man one hundred feet away setting another arrow in place, and as he did, five warriors came from behind and alined with him, all likewise arming.

The man shouted, "Don’t do it . . . Don’t attack! If you do you will be the first to die!"

He spoke in one of the Haundenosaunee dialects, which although different from the Ottawa, is understood.

Go back the way you came! The man shouted while firing a third arrow, which hit between the first two.

Someone below in the shadow enveloping the settlement sounded an alarm. To those looking down it looks like an ant nest that’s been disturbed.

The Chief stumbled to his feet.

Don’t do it! Six arrows are now ready to fly.

"Go back the way you came! Go back the way you came! We will talk later. There needs to be peace. It will be better if we are friends. But for now go . . . go back the way you came!"

The Chieftain wavered, stuttered Who are you?

"Gitche’ Manitou! . . . Now go!"

The chief slowly turned, hesitated and looked back. The man who shouted has dropped his bow from a firing position, and now held up his right hand, two fingers up, in the sign for let us be friends. The chief, after a few blinks, nodded, signed as well, then turned and started walking, with a head shake signaling to his astounded warriors to fall in behind.

Most of them don’t understand. Crouching or laying out of sight as they’d been, those farther down the line don’t hear the commotion, and don’t see why they should stand to follow the line turning around. But they also hear the alarm and see changes in the settlement indicating everything has changed, so grumbling and cursing, the anticipating glories disappearing with the confusion, they join in the line taking shape.

After a time of dwindling sounds, one of the five archers ran to the far end of the ridge. Coming back he said, They’re gone. They’re in canoes paddling north.

The leader of the six nodded, and while unstringing his bow, said, Good, let’s go down and see my friends.

They threaded down into the shadows, movements below soon taking shapes to greet them.

Well I’ll be damned, One of them, who’d first thought the leathers and tattoos were all native, said. "It’s Sveyin . . . Sveyin! Where have you been for so long?"

The speaker was Thorth, Sveyin’s companion for over 6 years in Vinland, who rushed forward to greet him, grabbing his shoulders and bubbling, which is about as much as Norwegians are prone to do in expressing emotion.

What are you doing here . . . and what in the name of the Gods just happened?

A crowd materialized with people moving in from all about, including Odd, the navigator who brought the Mule, Sigurth’s ship, across the ocean almost ten years before, Ondur and Thor and many of his friends from Norway. Everyone is wide-eyed with the same question on their lips while holding an assortment of weapons, mostly tools they’d been working with.

Were we about to be attacked?

Sveyin nodded, then said, What happened to the sentries we used to post? You’re not doing that anymore? We just happened to come along in time to see the line forming. If we hadn’t, most of you would be in the fight of your lives right now.

No one answered except to murmur, until Ondur said Shit! and kicked a clump.

Damn! He added. "We’ve been so busy, and things have been so peaceful and quiet, that we just said screw it. Dumb, dumb, dumb! . . ."

Who were they? Echoed through the crowd. They left paddling north, Sveyin said.

Have the people that used to be across the bay returned? I thought they’d left and relocated far away . . . far away and not seen since.

After more silence and clump kicking, Bovi said, Ya Sveyin that’s true, they did leave before you moved away with the natives. But we were over by the island a few days ago and saw something move on that north shore. We didn’t see any more than that, so didn’t think anything of it.

This is my fault as much as anyones, Thorth said. "Ya I heard about it, but with no one really in charge around here, you and Sigurth both gone, we’ve gotten careless. We have been busy . . . but damn!"

Sveyin, who’d been looking about while this was happening, asked, Sigurth gone? I was coming to see him.

Oh ya sure, we should have guessed that, Thorth said. Well, he sailed out last summer and we’re waiting for him to return. And ya, he took his family along and Garth too because he wasn’t able to find you.

Okay, enough of all this, Yngvi said stepping out of the shadows, the aroma of animals telling where he’d been. Enough, enough . . . but it is good to see you, and not just because you’ve saved our asses. So how are you doing, and who are the young men with you?

The men, the braves, were all young, probably in late teens, in a variety of sizes but uniform in other regards. They were obviously well conditioned, wore similar garbs with simple, open, soft leather tunics extending past the hips and tied at the waist. In similar fashion there were leggings from moccasins to just below the knees. Several items were tied at the waist, a sheath for a chert knife among them, and others that most likely included a fire starter kit. Off shoulders, in addition to travel baggage, hung bows, now unstrung, and a quiver full of arrows.

As for appearances, they were naturally tanned, with similar tattoo markings out from eyes and on upper arms which identified they were from the same nation or clan. Hair styles varied, with braids, top buns and head shaving giving major differences.

Sveyin laughed, "Oh them . . . If I were to introduce them by their native names you’d never remember because they’re long and complicated.

Let’s see now, these are names we rarely use, but please meet Runs Fast, Splinter, Duck Foot, Holder and Rock Bone. I don’t expect you to remember these either, but there is a way you can express your appreciation. They accompanied me all the way back here, many days worth, and this day’s been a long one with everyone tired and hungry.

What he said was obvious, and awkward—five young warriors, now in the presence of people they’d never been with before, who were just as unusual in all ways as they were to them. While those who should have known better stumbled at what to do, words came from two female voices that made their faces bloom. They were from Potanchachee and Salanaias, now wives of Norwegians, who not only had grown with the men, in instances were also siblings. No-one could understand what was said, but eyes sparkled and laughs and jostles came from it, all of which was fun to watch.

Look, Thorth said after witnessing the exchanges, "You’re tired and hungry, and we’re tired and hungry, and there are things to be done.

Thor says he’s reorganizing the security forces and will take the first shift after he’s had a bite. Jon says now that he’s part of a native family, some of the young men can stay with him, and Ondur says the same. That makes sense, so Sveyin, why don’t you come with Odd and me. We’re bunked in Sigurth’s house where there’s plenty of room. Everyone has questions, and I know there are many you’d like visit with here, but there are things we need to tell you, and under the circumstances, it’s better this way. We can all get together tomorrow or in the days ahead; everyone would want that.

The group disbanded, torches being lit as darkness enveloped the area. Soon other fires were visible, followed by the smell of evening meals in the air.

It was the same in Sigurth’s house where Odd rekindled coals while Thorth went into the pantry. As for dinner, however, he previously made arrangements with those at the food shack, where many still came for the evening meal, so he only set up the cooking frame and went for drinks.

When they settled-in with horns filled and tested, Thorth said, "Sveyin, things have changed around here, and there’s much to discuss, but first tell me your story. Why did you, your family and the whole native village that had been our closest neighbor, suddenly pick up and leave? Sigurth went to visit you soon after and was stunned at what he saw, or didn’t see. He looked all over the area for some clue or message as to the what and why of it all, but came back without an answer.

Where did all of you go, and why are you here now? All of us are doubly glad to see you . . . As for me the second reason is that my hair and me would most likely be parted if you hadn’t stopped by.

Sveyin laughed, took a long draft from the horn and aaahed. Looking about at the features in the lodge, he said, Sigurth sure did a fine job with this place, didn’t he? He’s talented in so many ways.

Ya for sure.

Did you two know he was brought up in a craft house . . . His foster parents were an exceptional weaver Ma and an artistic carver, among other things, Pa. Even with his large and grubby hands, he can still spin yarn on a distaff. Now that’s even hard for girls with nimble fingers to do. How can a famous warrior with lots of muscle be able to do something like that?

The older men nodded, then without pursuing what he said, sat back waiting for answers to their questions.

"Okay . . . Where did we go? Bergliot knew about the move before I did because she’d gotten to know a few of the women of the village, and women, I found out, really run the show . . . but that’s another story. Anyway, the move came out of nowhere and caught us by surprise. We were told to start packing if we intended to stay as part of their village.

"By this time we already knew the village was part of another nation or clan located a ways to the southwest, and that this branch had broken away years ago to get to the coast and its abundance of sea food. We saw their fish camp when we first landed here.

As for the move made last year, you wouldn’t believe how fast the natives threw things together and left once the decision was made. I wanted to double back and let everyone here know what was happening, but a day or two’s delay on our part would have left us stranded, and Bergliot didn’t want that to happen, thinking we could do that once we got to where everyone was going. I did leave a message for Sigurth, though, thinking he’d be coming by at some point to visit like he had before. And of course he had Garth, so he’d have another reason. Anyway, if he didn’t find our message, then someone messed with it.

But Sigurth can’t read. Can you?

A little bit. Bergliot’s much better and had been trying to teach me, but at the time I hadn’t made much progress. So she printed the message while I added a crude sketch, then posted them in what I thought was a prominent place in our shelter.

So where did you go?

Like I said, southwest of here . . . and a good ways too, especially when you’re lugging clothes, shelter linings, tools and fresh pickings from the field. Everyone carried as much as they could, and some dragged poles with more baggage tied in place. Obviously under those conditions, the pace was slow, so it took the better part of two weeks to get to the other part of their nation. Then there was the work of settling-in before winter. . . Everyone worked very hard.

Southwest of here, you say?

Yes . . . The location’s a beautiful place near a lake that’s so long it can’t be paddled in a day. It’s so long there are other villages well separated near its shores, some speaking different languages. But everyone seems to get along well enough.

Near its shores? Why not right along the shore?

It’s a defensive precaution. Although there is peace now, evidently there was enough of the other in the past to stay back a ways from shore to discourage surprise attacks from the water. When you think about it, the village of the Ottowaians across the bay was back from shore too.

The two relaxed, sampling horns again until Odd said, We didn’t do much of a job answering your question about Sigurth a while ago, so I know you’re waiting?

Sveyin nodded.

"Well, for starters, do you remember the drawings Sigurth made outlining places in the world he’d sailed to?

Ya sure . . . I helped make some of them.

"Okay, and maybe you were still here when he posted them over there on the wall. Anyway, there were things about them that served for many discussions, particularly about Kanata and what it needed to succeed this far from home . . . I mean Norway.

We could see that this settlement, as delightful as it is, is as far from Greenland as Greenland is from home. That being so, and Greenland being almost too far on its own, it finally dawned on us there was little chance people were going to sail double the distance to trade for things they could get closer to home . . . and communicating on a regular basis didn’t have much appeal either.

Sveyin added, "It’s like what Thorfinn Karsefni concluded when we sailed with him all the way to Hops. Hops was beautiful with lots of potential like every other place where we’d stopped, but in a discussion about it all one night he said . . . The pathways could be lined with gold, and fruits could drop from every tree, but it wouldn’t matter, no one will come here, it’s just too far.

"As you know, he gave up after a year or so after his son was born and sailed back to Iceland."

Ya da, so true, Odd said, continuing. For all those reasons, we felt our only chance for surviving was to attract a large population, maybe a few thousand even, in order to stand on our own rather than being a distant outpost. It made sense to be larger than Greenland, because, think about it, Kanata is much nicer. There’s abundance at every turn, and opportunity in dimensions we haven’t been able to measure. For sure its even better here than in Norway or Iceland or Greenland or anywhere else we know of. Not only is the weather better, but there are trees and game and seafood and tillable soil to an extent the others can’t come close to. You and Sigurth saw that with the trip you made up the river going west.

"So Sigurth’s challenge was to return to Norway, tell everyone about the beauty and potential of this place, and assemble a convoy loaded with settlers, like Eirik did for Greenland, to give this place a boost. Since he only left last summer, we didn’t expect him back this soon. Maybe next year . . . It will take a while.

Oh by the way . . . Sigurth wanted you and Bergliot to make the trip, thinking you would be more effective than he would in this sort of thing, but you weren’t around.

Sveyin shrugged. Sigurth will do fine. He just doesn’t realize how much he’s held in esteem.

He’s a humble person, Thorth added, "which is one of the things people like about him.

But back to you . . . you’ve told where the village moved to, but you didn’t say why. I understand the people north of us moved because some of them became sick, and they blamed it on us. Did your village have that experience and blame us too?

Ya and Nyah. They had some sickness and heard about the Ottowaians, but Bergliot got sick after a few of them did so it was like it was the other way around. However, they’re very superstitious, and feeling their fishing grounds had been compromised, which wasn’t true because we never hindered them, they made a decision to leave.

What were you and your family doing there anyway? Odd asked. I’m not clear on that.

"The reason is all Bergliot. Soon after landing here, she reasoned that in order to survive, we needed to interact with the local population, and by that she meant not only to trade with them, but also to learn their language, religion and customs. After all, she argued, we’re in their land, not the other way around, and there’s a lot more of them, both conditions that aren’t going to change . . . so if we wanted peace, we needed to connect.

"To get things started, she began by being friendly to all visitors. Then she convinced three young girls from the village to the south who’d stopped by more than once to stay with us. You heard from two of them today, the third as you know is Sigurth’s wife. Anyway some progress was made with them, particularly with their language, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy Bergliot. She concluded the only way to accomplish what was needed, was for someone, or some family, to live with them.

Guess who she picked as that family.

So that’s what happened, Odd said slapping his knee, shifting back against a cushion and shaking his head. "I’d heard it was something like that, but wanted to hear for sure. She’s right of course . . . We need to understand and fit in with them, just as much as we need more people from home. If we can do both of those things, the possibilities are . . . wow!

So how’s it working . . . the bonding I mean?

Well, it’s been difficult, but it is working, thanks mostly to her. And the kids, they’re mixing with the natives like kids are prone to do and may be a bigger part of the solution. The two girls you heard today, marrying and staying here is a big help as well.

There was much more to discuss, and they would afterwards to the late hours, covering things like the tragedy fomented by Freydis, Leif’s sister, at Vinland, the ship and crew that left with Sigurth, including Ingivar who’d managed the Way Station for many years and was so excited by the mission he went along to help, and on and on. But they were interrupted for the moment when the door opened and women from the food shack came in with steaming pots.

Sveyin stayed a week. Before he left, he joined a flotilla, including the Mule and the Waterbug, which were rowed to the north shore. In a parley with the Ottowaians, led by the Haundenosaunee speakers in which most of Kanata participated, the issue that prompted the attack was discussed, gifts were exchanged, and a semblance of a peaceful understanding made.

Part One

Chapter 2

BIRD MOUNTAIN

1030 (18 years later)

Where’s Garth?

Rogna looked up as Gunnar rounded the corner of the shop. She was sitting under a tree beside the wash tubs, and had to this point been stitching and patching. Rogna was 52 years old and the last of the Gunnar and Gurtha Torkelson family that started the farm this side of Bird Mountain, now well into its third generation. She was more than average height and solidly built, the obvious child of Gunnar and Gurtha if anyone was still alive to remember them. She tended to be gruff at times, a natural result of horrors in her younger years, but that was just a cover to the deep love she felt for her surroundings, and particularly the two young men who had raised, one of whom now approached.

She settled back, looked up and relaxed.

All through at the marina?

"Ya . . . It’s been a busy day though. Some of the boats that come in are in pretty bad shape. I remember Orm and Pa thinking the Sea Eagle was getting too old and creaky to make more trips. That ship never was as clunky as some we’ve seen lately. I’d hate to go out in them."

You planning a trip?

Gunnar didn’t answer, instead repeated Garth?

Rogna shrugged. He didn’t come home. When the men returned from the field, he saddled up and rode instead . . . towards the north, somewhere.

Gunnar thought for a moment, nodded and said, I know where he went.

Without saying more he turned and walked towards the barn, soon riding the trail he knew his cousin, who was more like a brother, would follow. He rode past the fields and through the pasture on the high ground, the cattle hardly looking up as he trotted by. He reached the forest on the far west of the farm and stopped at one of the small ponds formed by a rivulet that rambled down the slope. It was a special place as Sigurth had often taken he and Garth to it as tots. Later as they’d gotten older, the two had gone on their own as there was always some game to be concocted in and about the area.

He stayed only a moment, then snapped reins and moved on, the horse doing the rest mostly on its own as they wove in and around rocks and shrubs while climbing the slope. He reached the top of the plateau, crossed the flats and started down the other side to the faint trail turning left towards the rim. Before getting there he came to a lengthy mound that filled the space between the prow points of the Sea Eagle, the ship that had been buried years before as part of the funeral for Gyrth, Garth’s grandfather.

The mound was still ablaze with flowers that hadn’t wilted in the days since they’d put Sigurth to rest a week ago in his chamber beside Orm and Thora, Sigurth’s foster-parents, who’d been interned, since Gyrth, at the bow end of the ship. He bubbled-up as he thought of Pa’s day, and of the years and countless experiences that flooded in mind whenever he stopped long enough to let them through.

The family hadn’t intended a big ceremony for the funeral, sadness and mourning not needing a crowd to be felt. But word spread far and wide and quicker than the family could have imagined. While they were making arrangements, which weren’t initially complicated, runners came by with pennants flying to see what those plans were. The first was Ashjorn, who wasn’t impressive himself, now being old and tattered, but was obviously someone who had known Pa for years. He was representing authorities in Nitharos who were trying to pull the government back together after the battle at Stiklestad, with rumors of a certain King Svein from the south being the new leader.

In the ceremony that resulted he and Garth really found what a man Sigurth, his Pa, had been. In their minds he was a great man for sure. He was strong and worked hard and was always at their side when needed. He was a man of many talents—a legend among veterans in battle, an excellent wood carver, an expert in the building and repair of boats. They knew he helped build the Long Serpent for the first King Olaf, it being the largest and most beautiful ship known at the time. They knew all this from previous conversations, the many taking place along with games and story-telling on long winter nights while cooped up.

But so much of what Sigurth was was muted by the fact he couldn’t talk. Gunnar never heard a word from him, which unfortunately resulted that all the silent affection, understanding and instruction that had been received didn’t impress he and Garth as much as it should have. After the last battle, he remembered something Rogna said . . . If he dies, he’ll have died doing something he’s been doing all his life.

He didn’t understand what that meant, and at the time she was too busy to explain, so when they returned home he asked again. She started by telling about how their family was almost wiped out by a pirate raid years ago when Sigurth was only two years old. He’d heard of that before, but this time Rogna went on to describe in more detail how this awful experience had shaped Sigurth. As a child, certain experiences from that night continued to affect him—like approaching winter and the first snowfall, which was the setting back then; like celebrations when everyone was relaxed and off guard, which occurred that night; like certain voices with a sound similar to those shouted at the time; like hours in the night after he’d been asleep for awhile, which was when it happened. As a result, as he grew he began to feel he needed to be the protector of those dear to him. At night, no matter how tired, he’d waken and make an inspection, often saddling up and riding around the area. He also trained hard in the arts of war, competing with Sveyin who also became a champion, particularly with the bow, so he could be up to whatever the challenge.

And Pa did this all his life? He’d asked.

All his life, she answered. No one knew for sure what he did, but there was a rumor among pirates who wintered nearby for years, that there was a phantom in the night who struck fast and never missed. This kept them in line most of the time.

Then there’d been the funeral service, which had been delayed for the important people. And important people did come.

There was Einar Thambarskelfir, King Knut’s representative, who came in resplendent form complete with an honor guard in bright colors, flowing capes and flags aflutter. Einar spoke of the great warrior Sigurth had been, and of his incredible deed at Svolth when he’d vaulted rails and almost cleared half the enemy deck before returning to his ships