The Claim and the Cost of Vinland – the Canadian Connection

Thorvald Eiriksson, son of the formidable Erik the Red, the very man who carved a life from the icy wilderness of Greenland, often found himself admiring the visionary spirit of his elder brother, Leif. Leif’s return from a westward voyage, bearing tales of lands rich with resources, including one he christened Vinland for its wild grapes, had ignited an unquenchable fire of curiosity within Thorvald. Leif had also spoken of two other lands encountered on his journey south from Greenland: Helluland, a land of flat stones, and further south, a wooded region he named Markland. Further yet, was the elusive Vinland.

A restless energy stirred within Thorvald. He admired Leif’s achievement in finding Vinland and felt a strong desire to make his own mark, to discover and claim new lands that would bear his name, just as his brother’s discovery had resonated back in Greenland. He yearned for that same sense of accomplishment, that feeling of having carved his own piece out of the vast unknown. It was Spring when they left Iceland to meet his brother back in Leifsbudir, taking thirty crew with him, including his sister Freydis.

The voyage was difficult and surprisingly long, consuming the whole summer and into the fall months.

It was the crisp autumn air of 1002 AD that filled Thorvald’s lungs as their knarr* cut through the waves. Weeks blurred into a rhythm of creaking timbers and the endless horizon, until at last, the low-lying shores Leif had so vividly described rose from the mist. This was Vinland, where Leif had established the settlement of Leifsbudir.

A triumphant “Yes!” escaped their lips. The long voyage had finally delivered them.

They navigated into the familiar sheltered bay. Leif, his face a roadmap of sea winds and Greenland storms, greeted Thorvald with a booming laugh and a bear-like hug. Standing beside him was Thordis, Leif’s wife. Her beauty was as striking as the first bloom of a summer flower amidst the stark landscape; her hair, the color of sun-ripened wheat, framed a face that held both warmth and a quiet strength in her green eyes, as vibrant as the summer sea. Though young, the capable way she moved and the steady gaze she held hinted at a resilience forged by life on the edge of the known world.

“Welcome, brother!” Leif’s voice echoed across the small settlement. “So, Vinland’s bounty finally lured you from Greenland’s frozen halls?”

Thorvald slapped his brother on the shoulder, a wide grin splitting his beard. “Indeed! Your words painted a land too rich to ignore. I’ve come to see it for myself, and perhaps explore further.”

The winter in Leifsbudir was surprisingly mild. The forests surrounding their small settlement teemed with deer and smaller game, and the nearby sea was unbelievably abundant with cod. The Norsemen began to interact with the native people, the Skraelings, engaging in tentative trade. One day, as Thorvald’s group of Vikings was bartering furs for woven goods, an ox, brought by the Norse, unexpectedly charged from behind them. The sudden movement and bellowing of the large animal terrified the Skraelings. Interpreting this as a hostile act, they reacted defensively, opening fire with bows and arrows. In the ensuing chaos, an arrow flew and struck Thorvald Eiriksson. Thorvald gasped, his hand clutching his armpit, blood seeping between his fingers. “It struck true… I fear this wound is grave.”

His men rushed to his aid, their faces etched with dismay. The brief period of peaceful trade had ended in a sudden, frightening misunderstanding.

With heavy hearts, Thorvald’s skeleton crew prepared the longboat for the return journey. They carefully placed their wounded leader within its shelter, his breathing growing shallow. The dream of exploration had been cut short by a moment of unforeseen panic. They reached Iceland just before the cold winter settled in.

The follow Spring, they sailed back to Leifsbudir in Vinland, the news of Thorvald’s fate casting a pall over the small settlement. Leif and Thordis greeted them with tears of sorrow.

Even though Viking lore often speaks of valiant warriors being sent to Valhalla in a blazing ship at sea, the reality of their burial practices was more varied. Following Thorvald’s final wish, his devoted men embarked on one last voyage with his body. They sailed back along the coast he had explored, finally reaching the beautiful, wooded headland he had so admired, the place he had declared ideal for a farm. There, overlooking the vast expanse of the sea, they laid the courageous Thorvald Eiriksson to rest. They placed sturdy wooden crosses at his head and feet, a solemn marker in this new land.

The wind whispered through the trees of that unnamed cape in Vinland, carrying the mournful sound of the waves crashing against the shore. The adventurous spirit of Thorvald Eiriksson, son of Erik the Red, who had journeyed from Iceland seeking to make his mark on the promising shores of what archaeologists now recognize as the site of L’Anse aux Meadows in Newfoundland, met a tragic end due to a sudden, fear-induced attack.

Bari Marcus Anthony

Intriguingly inspired by true historical events, this tale recounts the story of the Vikings, now recognized as the first European settlers in Newfoundland & Labrador, predating Columbus’s arrival in the Americas by centuries. Thorvald Eiriksson holds the somber distinction of being the first European to perish on North American soil. Beset by constant turmoil, the Vikings ultimately relinquished their foothold in what is now Canada, returning to Iceland. One can’t help but wonder what untold riches and perhaps a more hospitable welcome awaited them had they ventured further south along those unexplored shores…

*knarr : a Norse merchant ship meant for long voyages

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