American Viking: a timeline
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I have a feeling that these aren't settlers so much as would be raiders in search of easy pickings.
59, Mostly men. They're mostly opportunists, hungry for power and wealth. Hm... am I forgetting something? Oh Yes! They were banished after fighting with another clan.
Snorri Thorfinnsson was born here. He is believed to be the first white child born in the New World.
Aye. These men aren't good natured explorers. More like mean sons of guns who got kicked out of Iceland for murdering members of another clan.
Chapter 8
Winter, 1040
Once again the great hall was filled to the brim with people. This time however, it was in the honor of Captain Jòn Jònson and his band of settlers. Snorri raised his wooden goblet. "To the settlers of Nyhöfn!"
"To Nyhöfn!" Captain Jòn raised his own cup. "To Botnborg!" "To Botnborg!"
The two tables, capable of seating a hundred each, were packed with both people and food. The mouth watering sent of goat filled the hall as Tahtay of the Powhatan turned the spit. Some of the newly arrived Icelanders pointed and muttered. Snorri couldn't hear What they were saying. Jòn was tearing into his food, telling the story of why he had come across the sea.
".... and those cowards thought that we wouldn't know. You don't kill one of my clan and get away with it. We raided their homestead." He swallowed. His dark gaze swept the table. "We killed them. I beat the clan head with his prized war hammer." He paused to drink from his cup. "And that's why we're here. We got banished. Plain and simple."
Dinner was awkward after that. How does one even continue a conversation after that? Snorri Thorfinnsson was glad when the visitors left. Snorri didn't trust Jòn. Not one bit. Astrid and Thorbjorn didn't like him either.
"That man is a sinner. I don't think it will be long until him and his kin kill somebody," said the informal spiritual leader of the town. "I don't like the way he talks about his kills. There was no honor in killing and old man. And..."
Thorbjorn raised an eyebrow. Astrid motioned for him to go on. "And....?"
"And he talks about the Skrælings. He talks about them like they're inferior. Lesser beings. He thinks them to be weak and primitive."
"Does the great sachem know?" Inquired his wife.
"I do not know. I fear he might soon."
Early 1041
Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson had a guest in his hall: the great sachem himself. "Jarl Snorri of Botnborg, I request your aid." Snorri lifted himself from the throne and stepped closer to the Wampanoag war leader. "Great sachem, leader in war and times of trouble, chief of the-"
"Alright. Stop. Please. In the name of your foreign God, stop. I do not wish to be here until harvest time."
"Er, yes. Sorry. What do you need?"
"Your fellow easterners, the new ones. They want war." Oh no.
"They raided several of our villages, kidnapped and raped our women, and killed our warriors. Some of the lesser chiefs have called for your heads, believing that you're in league with these.....Nyhöfn..ers. If you wish to put these rumors to rest, I suggest you March with us."
"Great sachem, I beseech you, hold thy blade. Halt the armies. Be patient. We will march with you, but let us ready. Your weapons are inferior. Let us train your soldiers prior to this engagement." The two argued over waiting to strike. The great sachem relented and asked Snorri to speak to the council.
Snorri spoke passionately to the other chiefs and told them of their odds, and the terror of iron and steel weapons. The Jarl promised to outfit the entire army and train them in their usage.
"You want what?"
"500 shields and axes."
The blacksmith shook his head in disbelief. "Iron weaponry is the only advantage we have over the Skrælings. And we're going to give it too them?"
"The new settlers are waging war. We need an edge."
"Don't you think that 500 is a bit of over kill?"
"We need to be sure we kill them all. I don't want to think about them escaping in a ship and raiding the cape. Now start making weapons."
One month later
"Swing! Block! Swing! Block! Shield wall!" Screamed the drill instructor. The man was in his late eighties, and claimed that his great great great great great great great great great (*sucks in a breath*) Great great great grandfather was a Roman legionnaire. His ferocity certainly matched his story. "Charge!" The Wampanoag charged at their "enemies", a collection of wooden dummies with squash heads. The dummies slain, the drill master nodded approvingly. "They'd make great raiders." The chiefs looked at the men training. The great sachem had ordered the attack to begin on the first day of spring.
Vengeance would be brought down upon Nyhöfn like the pagan Thor's hammer.
Once again the great hall was filled to the brim with people. This time however, it was in the honor of Captain Jòn Jònson and his band of settlers. Snorri raised his wooden goblet. "To the settlers of Nyhöfn!"
"To Nyhöfn!" Captain Jòn raised his own cup. "To Botnborg!" "To Botnborg!"
The two tables, capable of seating a hundred each, were packed with both people and food. The mouth watering sent of goat filled the hall as Tahtay of the Powhatan turned the spit. Some of the newly arrived Icelanders pointed and muttered. Snorri couldn't hear What they were saying. Jòn was tearing into his food, telling the story of why he had come across the sea.
".... and those cowards thought that we wouldn't know. You don't kill one of my clan and get away with it. We raided their homestead." He swallowed. His dark gaze swept the table. "We killed them. I beat the clan head with his prized war hammer." He paused to drink from his cup. "And that's why we're here. We got banished. Plain and simple."
Dinner was awkward after that. How does one even continue a conversation after that? Snorri Thorfinnsson was glad when the visitors left. Snorri didn't trust Jòn. Not one bit. Astrid and Thorbjorn didn't like him either.
"That man is a sinner. I don't think it will be long until him and his kin kill somebody," said the informal spiritual leader of the town. "I don't like the way he talks about his kills. There was no honor in killing and old man. And..."
Thorbjorn raised an eyebrow. Astrid motioned for him to go on. "And....?"
"And he talks about the Skrælings. He talks about them like they're inferior. Lesser beings. He thinks them to be weak and primitive."
"Does the great sachem know?" Inquired his wife.
"I do not know. I fear he might soon."
Early 1041
Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson had a guest in his hall: the great sachem himself. "Jarl Snorri of Botnborg, I request your aid." Snorri lifted himself from the throne and stepped closer to the Wampanoag war leader. "Great sachem, leader in war and times of trouble, chief of the-"
"Alright. Stop. Please. In the name of your foreign God, stop. I do not wish to be here until harvest time."
"Er, yes. Sorry. What do you need?"
"Your fellow easterners, the new ones. They want war." Oh no.
"They raided several of our villages, kidnapped and raped our women, and killed our warriors. Some of the lesser chiefs have called for your heads, believing that you're in league with these.....Nyhöfn..ers. If you wish to put these rumors to rest, I suggest you March with us."
"Great sachem, I beseech you, hold thy blade. Halt the armies. Be patient. We will march with you, but let us ready. Your weapons are inferior. Let us train your soldiers prior to this engagement." The two argued over waiting to strike. The great sachem relented and asked Snorri to speak to the council.
Snorri spoke passionately to the other chiefs and told them of their odds, and the terror of iron and steel weapons. The Jarl promised to outfit the entire army and train them in their usage.
"You want what?"
"500 shields and axes."
The blacksmith shook his head in disbelief. "Iron weaponry is the only advantage we have over the Skrælings. And we're going to give it too them?"
"The new settlers are waging war. We need an edge."
"Don't you think that 500 is a bit of over kill?"
"We need to be sure we kill them all. I don't want to think about them escaping in a ship and raiding the cape. Now start making weapons."
One month later
"Swing! Block! Swing! Block! Shield wall!" Screamed the drill instructor. The man was in his late eighties, and claimed that his great great great great great great great great great (*sucks in a breath*) Great great great grandfather was a Roman legionnaire. His ferocity certainly matched his story. "Charge!" The Wampanoag charged at their "enemies", a collection of wooden dummies with squash heads. The dummies slain, the drill master nodded approvingly. "They'd make great raiders." The chiefs looked at the men training. The great sachem had ordered the attack to begin on the first day of spring.
Vengeance would be brought down upon Nyhöfn like the pagan Thor's hammer.
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Driftless
Donor
I'm really fascinated to see where this goes.
At this point, it appears to be both the weapons and elementary fighting skills being passed to the Wampanoag; but not the iron making and tool forging skills - yet. Though, as the two cultures are pushed together to work against a common enemy; that manufacturing knowledge transfer is likely to occur.
To my mind, the earlier discussion of translating the bible into local languages (Norse & Algonquian?) would follow a similar arc. Start with the finished product and natural curiosity works back to the beginning.
Both the concepts and practice of written word and applied metalwork are sea-changes for the Native Americans at this location and time. If the Vinlander culture survives long enough for those skills to gain traction and become more widespread, then the subsequent encounters with the European world (whenever that may be) would likely be very different from our history.
At this point, it appears to be both the weapons and elementary fighting skills being passed to the Wampanoag; but not the iron making and tool forging skills - yet. Though, as the two cultures are pushed together to work against a common enemy; that manufacturing knowledge transfer is likely to occur.
To my mind, the earlier discussion of translating the bible into local languages (Norse & Algonquian?) would follow a similar arc. Start with the finished product and natural curiosity works back to the beginning.
Both the concepts and practice of written word and applied metalwork are sea-changes for the Native Americans at this location and time. If the Vinlander culture survives long enough for those skills to gain traction and become more widespread, then the subsequent encounters with the European world (whenever that may be) would likely be very different from our history.
I am not a Icelandic speaker, but I do speak Danish, and “Nytt” before Reykjavik sounds incredible wrong and from what little I could find out about Icelandic, they don’t use the word Nytt at all, it’s only used in Denmark (in Danish the spelling is “nyt”) Norway and Sweden, and in those languages it would be grammatically incorrect to use it. Instead both Icelandic would use “ny” and it would be part of the name “Nyreykjavik”. But I would suggest a completely different name, Reykjavik means Smoking Bay, in the same manner a settlement are far more likely to be named after a geographic feature.
I changed the name to ÚtlegðBær, or "Exile Town." I thought it would be rather fitting/ironic.
Is it grammatically correct?
I looked into it, and the word you use doesn’t mean exiled, but banished as in a punishment for a crime, the closest English word would be outlaw. Not something you would call yourself.
A few thought
Borg and Bær are both Danish loanwords and should be avoided (except in case of a fortified settlement, in which case borg could be used) and use the old Norse Byggd (settlement) or Höfn/Hofn (Old Norse for harbour/port), the word by are used in Danish at the time, and it would be most likely word the Icelander would adopt for a “big” town at the time.
So as example you could have Frelshöfn (Freeport) or Nyhöfn (Newport), but you could also have Vestbyggd (Western settlement). You could also have Vikby (bay town). This is just some example I would in general avoid the unique Icelandic letters, as they make reading harder (which was why I suggested using hofn instead of höfn)
Chapter 9
Spring 1041
Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson marched alongside the other five hundred and seventy nine men towards Nyhöfn. The other twenty were on a long ship en route to the rival settlement to block the harbor. They had set out from Botnborg a week ago and were making good time. The plan was to storm the town and kill all the men, capture the women and children. The great sachem would then give the town to the remnants of the broken clans whose warriors had been killed previously by the easterners.
Snorri thought that was fair. As did the bishop of Botnborg. Thorbjorn called this a just war against the vile invaders. As a matter of fact, he told Snorri to rip Jòn's lungs out. Snorri wouldn't go that far, but he would try to kill Jòn Jònson personally. After all, he felt that this was partly his family's fault. His father had come here, had helped blaze the trail. Thank goodness most people thought the traders were crazy.
The silhouette of Nyhöfn stood against the horizon. The Wampanoag army stood tall and formed a shield wall, waiting for the signal. A grizzled raider in his younger days, Olaf Back-breaker raised his fist and opened before motioning to advance.
Charging at the town, their war cries roused the new comers. Men who had their vision blurred by sleep stumbled out of their homes, only to be cut down. Blood filled the dirt street. The screaming of the dying pierced the darkness. Snorri saw Jòn fighting three Skrælings with a battle ax. Kicking a downed icelander in the jaw, he jogged to fight the beefy red head.
Jòn had a way with fighting, his long arms coupled with the big ax gave him a wide arc. Snorri and the other warriors gave him a wide space, not wanting to get hit. One warrior got cocky and came at him, only for his shield to shatter into a thousand splinters. A skræling who had come with a hunting bow notched an arrow and let it fly, embedding the stone arrow in Jòn's neck. The tall raider gasped and giggled as he choked on his own blood. His body fell to the ground, stirring up dirt and dust. The warriors of Nyhöfn were dead.
Snorri Thorfinnsson met with the great sachem a few days later.
"How are your people living in Nyhöfn?"
"They're adjusting well. I think many of them are getting used to living in permanent houses. But that is not why I called you."
Snorri cocked his head. "No?"
"No. I called you here to be informed that you are well respected. You have shown honor and courage in battle, and honesty to our people. This is why we name you an honorary member of the Wampanoag tribe."
Snorri blinked and bowed to the skræling. "I am honored, great sachem. I will do my best to continue to honor your people."
Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson marched alongside the other five hundred and seventy nine men towards Nyhöfn. The other twenty were on a long ship en route to the rival settlement to block the harbor. They had set out from Botnborg a week ago and were making good time. The plan was to storm the town and kill all the men, capture the women and children. The great sachem would then give the town to the remnants of the broken clans whose warriors had been killed previously by the easterners.
Snorri thought that was fair. As did the bishop of Botnborg. Thorbjorn called this a just war against the vile invaders. As a matter of fact, he told Snorri to rip Jòn's lungs out. Snorri wouldn't go that far, but he would try to kill Jòn Jònson personally. After all, he felt that this was partly his family's fault. His father had come here, had helped blaze the trail. Thank goodness most people thought the traders were crazy.
The silhouette of Nyhöfn stood against the horizon. The Wampanoag army stood tall and formed a shield wall, waiting for the signal. A grizzled raider in his younger days, Olaf Back-breaker raised his fist and opened before motioning to advance.
Charging at the town, their war cries roused the new comers. Men who had their vision blurred by sleep stumbled out of their homes, only to be cut down. Blood filled the dirt street. The screaming of the dying pierced the darkness. Snorri saw Jòn fighting three Skrælings with a battle ax. Kicking a downed icelander in the jaw, he jogged to fight the beefy red head.
Jòn had a way with fighting, his long arms coupled with the big ax gave him a wide arc. Snorri and the other warriors gave him a wide space, not wanting to get hit. One warrior got cocky and came at him, only for his shield to shatter into a thousand splinters. A skræling who had come with a hunting bow notched an arrow and let it fly, embedding the stone arrow in Jòn's neck. The tall raider gasped and giggled as he choked on his own blood. His body fell to the ground, stirring up dirt and dust. The warriors of Nyhöfn were dead.
Snorri Thorfinnsson met with the great sachem a few days later.
"How are your people living in Nyhöfn?"
"They're adjusting well. I think many of them are getting used to living in permanent houses. But that is not why I called you."
Snorri cocked his head. "No?"
"No. I called you here to be informed that you are well respected. You have shown honor and courage in battle, and honesty to our people. This is why we name you an honorary member of the Wampanoag tribe."
Snorri blinked and bowed to the skræling. "I am honored, great sachem. I will do my best to continue to honor your people."
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The Wampanoag before the century is out are going to adopt more and more norse practices, like permanent homes ((iron nails helps with this)) and standing armies.
Chapter 10
Winter, 1080
Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson walked with his entourage of warriors and nobles. His eldest child, Thorgeir Snorrisson, stayed behind in Botnborg to oversee the city. The population had risen to a little over 400 citizens in the town.
Snorri arrived at the relatively new city of Wampanoagborg at mid day. And city was, indeed an accurate description. Founded just shy of 40 years ago, it already boasted a population of 900. It's name came from both the tribe and a Norse loan word. Which in this case made sense, seeing the city was surrounded by thick palisades of wood. Archers stood on raised platforms.
With his brother Thorbjorn dead six years now, the new bishop Faltheim had taken his place. Faltheim had been a monk at Saint Ansgar monastery, just north of Botnborg. The old bishop had encouraged the Skrælings to learn the alphabet, and Faltheim saw no reason to stop encouraging education.
Entering Wampanoagborg Snorri was able to better grasp of life in the city. Instead of wigwams, it was filled with something akin to homes in Botnborg. These were permanent houses: solid wooden buildings held together with iron nails.
The city boasted it's own trade district, filled with traders and blacksmiths. Smithing as a skill was introduced to the Wampanoag by Vikings who married into the tribe, erasing Botnborg technological supremacy in less than twenty years after sacking Nyhöfn in 1041. As Snorri toured the area, he witnessed white shells changing hands for a variety of goods: Botnborg weaved cloaks, Wampanoag forged spears, food, and Mohawk jewelry.
Skræling warriors, clothed in chain mail and armed with spears, stood guard at the entry way to the long house of the great sachem. They looked at Snorri with brief interest before sending him inside. Snorri, an old man walked with a limp to the open chamber where the sachems met to meet with the great sachem. He was instructed to sit.
"You are here today for an offer, Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson. We have lived side by side for generations, living in harmony. But now, we give you a choice, a gift."
"We do not wish to treat you as an individual tribe, an independent entity," said one of the lesser sachems. Snorri began to panic. Are they going to invade? "We wish to see you as a sachem like us." Wait, what?
"You are a member of the tribe, and now we wish to add your territory to the fold. We wish to see your people one with us, and you on the council."
They're asking me to renounce independence and join their confederation.
"This is.. quite an offer. But, can I have time to debate this with my council that I brought with me?"
"Go, decide and return."
"They want us to what?"
"Join them. As equals."
"My Jarl, this is..."
"We no longer have any advantages. Their army is bigger, their economy is greater, their land is bigger. We should take the offer my Jarl."
"We lose our independence."
"We instead get greater safety." Hours of arguing passed between the advisors to the Jarl. Snorri made a choice.
He re-entered the council chamber and bowed to the great sachem. "Botnborg pledges it's alligence to you, great sachem, and to the tribe. May we serve you in war and council you in peace."
Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson walked with his entourage of warriors and nobles. His eldest child, Thorgeir Snorrisson, stayed behind in Botnborg to oversee the city. The population had risen to a little over 400 citizens in the town.
Snorri arrived at the relatively new city of Wampanoagborg at mid day. And city was, indeed an accurate description. Founded just shy of 40 years ago, it already boasted a population of 900. It's name came from both the tribe and a Norse loan word. Which in this case made sense, seeing the city was surrounded by thick palisades of wood. Archers stood on raised platforms.
With his brother Thorbjorn dead six years now, the new bishop Faltheim had taken his place. Faltheim had been a monk at Saint Ansgar monastery, just north of Botnborg. The old bishop had encouraged the Skrælings to learn the alphabet, and Faltheim saw no reason to stop encouraging education.
Entering Wampanoagborg Snorri was able to better grasp of life in the city. Instead of wigwams, it was filled with something akin to homes in Botnborg. These were permanent houses: solid wooden buildings held together with iron nails.
The city boasted it's own trade district, filled with traders and blacksmiths. Smithing as a skill was introduced to the Wampanoag by Vikings who married into the tribe, erasing Botnborg technological supremacy in less than twenty years after sacking Nyhöfn in 1041. As Snorri toured the area, he witnessed white shells changing hands for a variety of goods: Botnborg weaved cloaks, Wampanoag forged spears, food, and Mohawk jewelry.
Skræling warriors, clothed in chain mail and armed with spears, stood guard at the entry way to the long house of the great sachem. They looked at Snorri with brief interest before sending him inside. Snorri, an old man walked with a limp to the open chamber where the sachems met to meet with the great sachem. He was instructed to sit.
"You are here today for an offer, Jarl Snorri Thorfinnsson. We have lived side by side for generations, living in harmony. But now, we give you a choice, a gift."
"We do not wish to treat you as an individual tribe, an independent entity," said one of the lesser sachems. Snorri began to panic. Are they going to invade? "We wish to see you as a sachem like us." Wait, what?
"You are a member of the tribe, and now we wish to add your territory to the fold. We wish to see your people one with us, and you on the council."
They're asking me to renounce independence and join their confederation.
"This is.. quite an offer. But, can I have time to debate this with my council that I brought with me?"
"Go, decide and return."
"They want us to what?"
"Join them. As equals."
"My Jarl, this is..."
"We no longer have any advantages. Their army is bigger, their economy is greater, their land is bigger. We should take the offer my Jarl."
"We lose our independence."
"We instead get greater safety." Hours of arguing passed between the advisors to the Jarl. Snorri made a choice.
He re-entered the council chamber and bowed to the great sachem. "Botnborg pledges it's alligence to you, great sachem, and to the tribe. May we serve you in war and council you in peace."
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Driftless
Donor
Now that the knowledge transfer has occurred, this development is the most logical future path. Otherwise, they only real path for Vinlander independence is a sudden influx of immigrants from Iceland, the British Isles, or even continental Europe; and there's no indication that's happening any time soon.
So there's three towns now (since about 1040, really). Botnborg, Nyhöfn and Wampanoagborg. All small towns still.
But compared to much of modern Sweden at the time these would together not be an inconsequential region.
Botnborg and Nyhöfn are both coastal towns, is Wampanoagborg coastal too?
How old is Snorri now? Late 70s? He's been Jarl from the 1030s at least. His eldest son ought to have grown kids of his own by now.
Integrating into the local tribal structure makes sense, as Driftless said. I'm thinking that since the tribe probably runs on traditional rights and obligations, some deviations from the norm for this new sub-tribe would be justified by the way they've entered the tribe slowly over decades while keeping their own identity.
But compared to much of modern Sweden at the time these would together not be an inconsequential region.
Botnborg and Nyhöfn are both coastal towns, is Wampanoagborg coastal too?
How old is Snorri now? Late 70s? He's been Jarl from the 1030s at least. His eldest son ought to have grown kids of his own by now.
Integrating into the local tribal structure makes sense, as Driftless said. I'm thinking that since the tribe probably runs on traditional rights and obligations, some deviations from the norm for this new sub-tribe would be justified by the way they've entered the tribe slowly over decades while keeping their own identity.