Olaf’S Saga: The True Story of a Viking King and the Discovery of America

CHAPTER 1

Trondheim, Norway, AD 1235

T he huge hooves of King Haakon Sigurdsson IV’s white horse thunder in the dirt as the king makes his way under the stone arch leading to his home, Castle Niderholm, a cluster of squat towers huddled together on a cliff at the end of a f jord.

Haakon is wearing a fur hat, and his royal robe is draped over his animal-fur cloak. At his side is his royal sword. The king is stout, and his brown hair is streaked with gray.

The castle gates open up, and King Haakon rides through them, flanked by a dozen other horsemen. He dismounts and quickly rushes to his throne room, where he removes his furs and hat. The royal court is waiting. Whale-oil lanterns light the room.

Haakon is worried about his subjects. He wonders what will become of a Viking king without the strength to wage battle or the wisdom to lead, and what will happen to his subjects when there is no one to lead them. He realizes that no one remembers the history of his people or his ancestors, since no one has written it down.

Haakon tells his scribes to bring him Snorri Sturluson, the storyteller. Snorri is known as an intellect and has memorized the oral history of the Norwegian kings.

The scribe Gondol writes down the royal edict on a parchment scroll and hands it to King Haakon, who reads the edict and closes the scroll with the royal wax seal. Gondol steps forward to receive the scroll, and King Haakon hands it to him so that he can deliver the message to the storyteller.

Gondol doesn’t know where to find Snorri. Embarrassed, he breaks down and asks the king.

The king laughs, thinking, Do I have to do everything? He tells Gondol that Snorri lives in Iceland, at the estate of Jon Loptson.

Gondol quickly leaves, carrying the parchment scroll with its valuable message.

Several days later, Gondol arrives at Reykjavík, Iceland. The name Reykjavík is translated as smoke cove, and that is exactly what Reykjavík looks like when Gondol lands. The land is actively volcanic; steam comes from fissures in the earth. Yet the Icelandic colony is very well established. Cattle graze in the low-lying grasses.

Gondol immediately finds the gates of the estate of Jon Loptson. He asks where he can find Snorri Sturluson.

The storyteller is sitting at his desk when he hears the visitor. He goes to meet Gondol, stepping out of a low doorway in the compound. It takes a moment for his gray eyes to adjust to the sunlight.

Snorri introduces himself as the storyteller. When he hears that Gondol was sent by King Haakon, he is at a loss as to why the king would inquire about him. Gondol takes the scroll from his breast pocket and hands it to Snorri, who checks it to make sure that it hasn’t been tampered with. Although the parchment is tattered, the royal seal is still intact. He opens up the scroll, reads the message, and tells Gondol that he’ll be travelling with him back to Norway.

The very next morning, Gondol departs Iceland. In the early-morning light, Snorri is escorted from the compound by King Haakon’s men. They are all wearing animal furs. As the group approaches a stone abbey, Snorri asks the guards to stop for a moment.

Snorri steps inside the ancient structure. Abbot Karl of the cloister is at his desk, writing on some parchment. He looks up as Snorri enters. What can I do for you? he asks.

King Haakon wants to hear the sagas of the former kings, and so I am leaving for Norway immediately, Snorri says. Do you want to accompany me for the project?

Abbot Karl nods. If you tell me the sagas, I will transcribe the oral story into runic writing. He grabs his coat and hat and a few other items, and then, without looking back, he walks out of the abbey, forgetting to close the door behind him.

Abbot Karl and Snorri walk down to the timber dock and board the Viking ship. Gondol greets the men and welcomes them aboard. Snorri promises Gondol that they will stay out of the way during the voyage to Norway so that the crew can attend to their duties.

Gondol tells the crew to prepare to sail. Within moments, the ship is full of activity. The red-and-orange sails unfurl, and the ship pulls away from the shore. The thirty-two oarsmen rhythmically skim their oars across the water, and the ship glides silently out to sea.

The Viking ship is one of the most terrifying crafts of the time. There are sixteen oars on each side of the ship, which has a crew of about seventy men. The ship is seventy-six feet long and seventeen feet wide.

The muscled warriors who man the oars are working away, their sweat-soaked skin shining in the sunlight. The oars skim the water in perfect order as a result of the men’s deliberate, perfectly coordinated movements. Watching them, Gondol is certain that these men will stop at nothing to propel the ship forward. These are men in the prime of their lives; their only focus is obedience to their leader. They are fearless, brutal, and seemingly impervious to the cold. They sleep on the open decks of the ship in hudfat, large sacks made of animal skins that have been stitched together.

As snow and sleet fall, several Vikings begin chipping ice from the ship’s decks and sides. Huge, ice-cold swells break over the bow of the ship, attempting to push it toward the rocky shore. At sunset, the second shift of oarsmen takes over, and the ship continues to leap forward through the choppy waters of the North Sea.

The next morning as the sun is rising, the rough weather continues. Waves still pound the ship, and all the men must keep bailing water out of the ship’s hold while the oarsmen propel the ship forward.

It is obvious that the indomitable spirits of these Vikings cannot be squashed by a little bad weather.

Snorri is standing at the front of the ship. He is wearing long animal skins decorated with two narwhal horns that protrude and cross each other on each side of Snorri. A billowing whale-skin coat lies over Snorri’s chest and stomach like a piece of artwork.

Lightning is striking all around them. The boat is rocking and swaying until it’s nearly lying on its side at times. All the while, Snorri stands straight up, facing the wind. With his left hand, he grips the dragon-beak bow of the ship, while he holds out his right hand to feel the wind and water on his fingertips. He does not squint as he stares calmly into the storm.

The other Vikings on the ship, though confident and ready to bear the storm, are disturbed by Snorri’s behavior. As the ship rocks and sways, Snorri does not lose his balance; his feet stay firmly in place.

Finally Gondol shouts, Come down, old fool, before you fall into the ocean!

Snorri smiles. Do not worry about me, he replies. Concern yourself with the safety of the ship and the crew.

Gondol is getting perturbed. We traveled to Iceland just to bring you back to Norway. Now you could fall into the ocean!

Snorri ignores the comment. He continues to stand tall in the face of the storm as the other Viking shipmates reset the sails and keep bailing water.

Soon the storm calms and night falls. The stars are reflected in the quiet, still waters. The moon shines brightly, lighting the faces of all the men on the ship.

Snorri takes off his narwhal garment and reclines on the deck. The power is in each of us, he tells the crew. We all have the power. We just need to recognize it and harness it.

But Gondol is still upset with Snorri. The next time I give an order on the ship, you need to listen, he says.

Snorri apologizes, saying that he really hadn’t heard Gondol over the sounds of the waves and wind. Gondol accepts the apology. Then he turns to his crew.

On such a beautiful night, with the sky clear and bright and the light flickering off the motionless sea, it feels like we are sailing along the end of the world, he says.

The men all begin to drink and tell stories.

The next day, the sun is shining, the winds are calm, and all the men are relaxed and enjoying the voyage. Abbot Karl and Snorri are playing a board game called kneflafl, a form of checkers. Another Viking is playing the flute to fight off the monotony of the shortened days, when the sun sets early due to the low angle of the sun in the sky. Gondol is happily reflecting on his years at sea.

The ship continues forward in the calm water. Glacier water pours into the fjord from the melting ice. Snorri steps onto the deck of the ship and announces that they are almost to Trondheim. Abbot Karl seems to recognize the fjord from a prior journey. The abbot is still looking green; it is obvious that he will enjoy being on land again.

Would you like some bread or cheese? Snorri asks him.

The abbot shakes his head. I’ll just take it easy until we arrive at Niderholm Castle, he says. Snorri hands him a metal drinking cup with water.

The next day, the knaar (Norse merchant ship) arrives at the shore of Trondheim. There is lots of activity in the harbor. The crew ties the ship to the wharf, and Snorri, Abbot Karl, and Gondol disembark and march up to the wooden gates of the castle.

Gondol knocks loudly, and a guard opens a small opening in the gate. Gondol announces himself, the gates open up, and he and Snorri walk through. The guard says that the king is expecting them.

The doors to the castle open to reveal the king on his wooden throne. Oil lamps light the inner chamber leading to the throne room. King Haakon signals that the visitors should approach.

It was a long trip, Your Highness, Gondol says from the doorway. May I present Snorri Sturluson, the storyteller.

Snorri is led in. The cleric walks in behind him, holding a pen and parchment.

King Haakon greets Snorri. Your journey from Iceland honors me.

Snorri bows. Sire, I’m honored you requested my presence. I would have come here to assist on my own accord.

King Haakon smiles. In Iceland, you’re nearly a king yourself.

Snorri looks down. I am merely a storyteller, he says.

King Haakon ponders the remark. Then he nods his head to indicate that Snorri should continue. Snorri begins the history.

The sagas have been told and retold for hundreds of years, he says. The stories of former Norse kings have been told around the hearth fires of Greenland, Iceland, and Norway, with tallow candles smoking. These sagas hold the history of the Norse people. Storytellers like myself repeat the stories accurately and in detail. These stories have been passed down word for word, from generation to generation.

King Haakon is surprised. You know these sagas word for word?

I’m a storyteller, Snorri says. I’m expected to know them word for word.

Are you tired from the journey? the king asks.

Snorri shakes his head. "No ocean will pull