Those were more or less his words, priest. Of course, we did not grasp half of it, and made him repeat it several times and explain the words. Even then we did not understand, except that he was from some country called the United States of America, which he said lies beyond Greenland to the west, and that he and some others were on Iceland to help our folk against their enemies. Now this I did not consider a lie—more a mistake or imagining. Grim would have cut him down for thinking us stupid enough to swallow that tale, but I could see that he meant it.
Trying to explain it to us cooled him off. «Look here,» he said, in too reasonable a tone for a feverish man, «perhaps we can get at the truth from your side. Has there been no war you know of? Nothing which—well, look here. My country’s men first came to Iceland to guard it against the Germans… now it is the Russians, but then it was the Germans. When was that?»
Helgi shook his head. «That never happened that I know of,» he said. «Who are these Russians?» He found out later that Gardariki was meant. «Unless,» he said, «the old warlocks—»
«He means the Irish monks,» I explained. «There were a few living here when the Norsemen came, but they were driven out. That was, hm, somewhat over a hundred years ago. Did your folk ever help the monks?»
«I never heard of them!» he said. His breath sobbed in his throat. «You… didn’t you Icelanders come from Norway?»
«Yes, about a hundred years ago,» I answered patiently. «After King Harald Fairhair took all the Norse lands and—»
«A hundred years ago!» he whispered. I saw whiteness creep up under his skin. «What year is this?»
We gaped at him. «Well, it’s the second year after the great salmon catch,» I tried.
«What year after Christ, I mean?» It was a hoarse prayer.
«Oh, so you are a Christian? Hm, let me think… I talked with a bishop in England once, we were holding him for ransom, and he said… let me see… I think he said this Christ man lived a thousand years ago, or maybe a little less.»
«A thousand—» He shook his head; and then something went out of him, he stood with glassy eyes—yes, I have seen glass, I told you I am a traveled man—he stood thus, and when we led him toward the garth he went like a small child.
You can see for yourself, priest, that my wife Ragnhild is still good to look upon even in eld, and Thorgunna took after her. She was—is tall and slim, with a dragon’s hoard of golden hair. She being a maiden then, it flowed loose over her shoulders. She had great blue eyes and a small heart-shaped face and very red lips. Withal she was a merry one, and kind-hearted, so that all men loved her. Sverri Snorrason went in viking when she refused and was slain, but no one had the wit to see that she was unlucky.
We led this Gerald Samsson—when I asked, he said his father was named Sam—we led him home, leaving Sigurd and Grim to finish gathering the driftwood. There are some who would not have a Christian in their house, for fear of witchcraft, but I am a broad-minded man and Helgi of course was wild for anything new. Our guest stumbled like a blind man over the fields, but seemed to wake up as we entered the yard. His eyes went around the buildings that enclosed it from the stables and sheds to the smokehouse, the brewery, the kitchen, the bathhouse, the god-shrine, and thence to the hall. And Thorgunna was standing in the doorway.
Their gazes locked for a moment, and I saw her color but thought little of it then. Our shoes rang on the flagging as we crossed the yard and kicked the dogs aside. My two thralls paused in cleaning out the stables to gawp, until I got them back to work with the remark that a man good for naught else was always a pleasing sacrifice. That’s one useful practice you Christians lack; I’ve never made a human offering myself, but you know not how helpful is the fact that I could do so.
We entered the hall and I told the folk Gerald’s name and how we had found him. Ragnhild set her maids hopping, to stoke up the fire in the middle trench and fetch beer while I led Gerald to the high seat and sat down by him. Thorgunna brought us the filled horns.
Gerald tasted the brew and made a face. I felt somewhat offended, for my beer is reckoned good, and asked him if there was aught wrong. He laughed with a harsh note and said no, but he was used to beer that foamed and was not sour.
«And where might they make such?» I wondered testily.
«Everywhere. Iceland, too—no…» He stared emptily before him. «Let’s say… in Vinland.»
«Where is Vinland?» I asked.
«The country to the west whence I came. I thought you knew… wait a bit.» He shook his head. «Maybe I can find out—have you heard of a man named Leif Eiriksson?»
«No,» I said. Since then it has struck me that this was one proof of his tale, for Leif Eiriksson is now a well-known chief; and I also take more seriously those tales of land seen by Bjarni Herjulfsson.
«His father, maybe—Eirik the Red?» asked Gerald.
«Oh yes,» I said. «If you mean the Norseman who came hither because of a manslaughter, and left Iceland in turn for the same reason, and has now settled with other folk in Greenland.»
«Then this is… a little before Leif’s voyage,» he muttered. «The late tenth century.»
«See here,» demanded Helgi, «we’ve been patient with you, but this is no time for riddles. We save those for feasts and drinking bouts. Can you not say plainly whence you come and how you got here?»
Gerald covered his face, shaking.
«Let the man alone, Helgi,» said Thorgunna. «Can you not see he’s troubled?»
He raised his head and gave her the look of a hurt dog that someone has patted. It was dim in the hall, enough light coming in by the loft windows so no candles were lit, but not enough to see well by. Nevertheless, I marked a reddening in both their faces.
Gerald drew a long breath and fumbled about; his clothes were made with pockets. He brought out a small parchment box and from it took a little white stick that he put in his mouth. Then he took out another box, and a wooden stick from it which burst into flame when scratched. With the fire he kindled the stick in his mouth, and sucked in the smoke.
We all stared. «Is that a Christian rite?» asked Helgi.
«No… not just so.» A wry, disappointed smile twisted his lips. «I’d have thought you’d be more surprised, even terrified.»
«It’s something new,» I admitted, «but we’re a sober folk on Iceland. Those fire sticks could be useful. Did you come to trade in them?»
«Hardly.» He sighed. The smoke he breathed in seemed to steady him, which was odd, because the smoke in the hall had made him cough and water at the eyes. «The truth is… something you will not believe. I can scarce believe it myself.»
We waited. Thorgunna stood leaning forward, her lips parted.
«That lightning bolt—» Gerald nodded wearily. «I was out in the storm, and somehow the lightning must have struck me in just the right way, a way that happens only once in many thousands of times. It threw me back into the past.»
Those were his words, priest. I did not understand, and told him so.
«It’s hard to see,» he agreed. «God give that I’m only dreaming. But if this is a dream, I must endure till I wake up… well, look. I was born one thousand, nine hundred and thirty-two years after Christ, in a land to the west which you have not yet found. In the twenty-third year of my life, I was in Iceland as part of my country’s army. The lightning struck me, and now… now it is less than one thousand years after Christ, and yet I am here—almost a thousand years before I was born, I am here!»
We sat very still. I signed myself with the Hammer and took a long pull from my horn. One of the maids whimpered, and Ragnhild whispered so fiercely I could hear. «Be still. The poor fellow’s out of his head. There’s no harm in him.»