husband Thorstein, Eirik the Red’s son, when, after a winter alone with an older, unmarried man, she emerged with her independence intact. For she was a good catch when Karlsefni came to Greenland the next autumn. The wealthy Icelandic trader was taken with her immediately and married her, with her consent, at Christmas. There’s no hint that Karlsefni had an eye for exploration before he met Gudrid, but he fell for her and let her talk him into sailing west. And it is Karlsefni’s mother—who initially thought her son had not married well—who finally labels Gudrid a
skörungur,
a very stirring woman: bravehearted, high-spirited, remarkable, capable, bold, a winner, a survivor.
Chapter 4: The Terror from the North
One evening as Grettir was getting ready to go home, he saw fire blaze up from the end of the ness below Audun’s farm. Grettir asked what it could be....
“There’s a barrow there,” said Audun, “where Kar the Old was buried....”
“You were right to tell me,” said Grettir. “I’ll come in the morning, so have some tools ready....”
Grettir broke open the mound, though it took a great deal of effort. He did not let up until he struck wood. By then it was well on toward evening. He broke through the wood. Audun tried to stop him from going into the barrow. Grettir told him to hold the rope....
Grettir went into the mound. It was dark and the air was foul. He poked around to see how things were arranged. He found some horse bones, and then he bumped into a chair on which a man was seated. Gold and silver lay piled up there, and a chest full of silver was under the man’s feet. Grettir took the treasure and carried it to the rope. But before he could climb out of the barrow, he was seized fast. He dropped the treasure, and they grappled and wrestled with no holds barred ... but finally the barrow-wight fell backward with a great crash. Audun let go of the rope and ran away, certain that Grettir was dead. Grettir now took his sword
Jökulsnaut
and cut off the barrow-wight’s head. He set it by his buttocks. Then Grettir went to the rope with the treasure and ... climbed up hand over hand. He had tied the treasure to the rope, and drew it up after him.
—
Grettir's Saga
I N 1995 I WAS ON THE ISLE OF LEWIS IN THE OUTER Hebrides of Scotland, visiting an area that tradition links to Olaf the White, the Viking king of Dublin, whose failings as a war leader and a family man would shape Gudrid’s life. The windswept
machair,
a sandy, grassy mix of peat lands and sheep pasture, gave way on the west side of the island to buttressed cliffs and arcs of yellow beach. Small islands made a sheltered harbor big enough for a Viking fleet. A shallow river wound for a mile through tidal flats before reaching a gap between two headlands. The place was called Uig, from the Norse word for bay,
vík)
from which comes our word
Viking.
The Lewis chessmen, a cache of ninety-three late-Viking Age chess pieces exquisitely carved out of walrus ivory, had been found here in 1831 when a cow fell into a hole. A grave had eroded out of a sand dune nearby in 1979, providing a pair of spectacular gilded-bronze “tortoise” brooches—examples of the massive oval ornaments that Viking women used every day, like buckles or safety pins, to clasp the shoulder straps of their gowns. Six more Viking graves, adults and children, were found near Uig in the early 1990s.
One day, as I was walking back to my lodging across the sands beside the turquoise-colored tidal lagoon, I spotted two oddly shaped hills on a headland. I asked my host if anyone had excavated them. “A postdoc from Glasgow poked into one last summer. She found the prow of a ship.” He added immediately, “It’s just a modern wreck covered with sand.” I wished I were more like Grettir the Strong: I would have asked to borrow a shovel and a rope.
For to understand Gudrid’s desire to go to Vinland—why sailing west off the edge of the known world
skörungur,
a very stirring woman: bravehearted, high-spirited, remarkable, capable, bold, a winner, a survivor.
Chapter 4: The Terror from the North
One evening as Grettir was getting ready to go home, he saw fire blaze up from the end of the ness below Audun’s farm. Grettir asked what it could be....
“There’s a barrow there,” said Audun, “where Kar the Old was buried....”
“You were right to tell me,” said Grettir. “I’ll come in the morning, so have some tools ready....”
Grettir broke open the mound, though it took a great deal of effort. He did not let up until he struck wood. By then it was well on toward evening. He broke through the wood. Audun tried to stop him from going into the barrow. Grettir told him to hold the rope....
Grettir went into the mound. It was dark and the air was foul. He poked around to see how things were arranged. He found some horse bones, and then he bumped into a chair on which a man was seated. Gold and silver lay piled up there, and a chest full of silver was under the man’s feet. Grettir took the treasure and carried it to the rope. But before he could climb out of the barrow, he was seized fast. He dropped the treasure, and they grappled and wrestled with no holds barred ... but finally the barrow-wight fell backward with a great crash. Audun let go of the rope and ran away, certain that Grettir was dead. Grettir now took his sword
Jökulsnaut
and cut off the barrow-wight’s head. He set it by his buttocks. Then Grettir went to the rope with the treasure and ... climbed up hand over hand. He had tied the treasure to the rope, and drew it up after him.
—
Grettir's Saga
I N 1995 I WAS ON THE ISLE OF LEWIS IN THE OUTER Hebrides of Scotland, visiting an area that tradition links to Olaf the White, the Viking king of Dublin, whose failings as a war leader and a family man would shape Gudrid’s life. The windswept
machair,
a sandy, grassy mix of peat lands and sheep pasture, gave way on the west side of the island to buttressed cliffs and arcs of yellow beach. Small islands made a sheltered harbor big enough for a Viking fleet. A shallow river wound for a mile through tidal flats before reaching a gap between two headlands. The place was called Uig, from the Norse word for bay,
vík)
from which comes our word
Viking.
The Lewis chessmen, a cache of ninety-three late-Viking Age chess pieces exquisitely carved out of walrus ivory, had been found here in 1831 when a cow fell into a hole. A grave had eroded out of a sand dune nearby in 1979, providing a pair of spectacular gilded-bronze “tortoise” brooches—examples of the massive oval ornaments that Viking women used every day, like buckles or safety pins, to clasp the shoulder straps of their gowns. Six more Viking graves, adults and children, were found near Uig in the early 1990s.
One day, as I was walking back to my lodging across the sands beside the turquoise-colored tidal lagoon, I spotted two oddly shaped hills on a headland. I asked my host if anyone had excavated them. “A postdoc from Glasgow poked into one last summer. She found the prow of a ship.” He added immediately, “It’s just a modern wreck covered with sand.” I wished I were more like Grettir the Strong: I would have asked to borrow a shovel and a rope.
For to understand Gudrid’s desire to go to Vinland—why sailing west off the edge of the known world
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