Shieldmaiden (12 page)

‘But I'm here, my love, and you are my eyes and my guardian angel.' Thorstein took up his lyre and played.

I slept and when I woke, Freydis was at my side. She knelt on the earth floor. In her hand was the same sort of cross with a man on it, I had seen around the neck of the scribe Ansgar.

‘…and heal my beloved sister-in-law as you did my husband. In the name of…' Her voice was a quiet mumble. Olvir sat on a low stool with his chin in his hand.

‘Does that work?' he asked.

‘God in his mercy healed Thorstein and he may do the same for Sigrid but it worries me she is still a heathen.'

‘What's a heathen?'

‘Someone who has not been baptised into the true faith,' Freydis said. When the boy looked no wiser she added: ‘Someone who is not a Christian. Have you heard of Christianity Olvir, about the one true God and his son Jesus, who died for our sins?'

‘What's sins?'

‘Oh dear, I can see I have a lot to teach you.'

Olvir straightened up. ‘I have heard about Christians. Some of the thralls were that. They'd sing and pray, just like you did then. It never happened though what they prayed for.'

‘How do you know?'

‘'Cause they prayed for freedom but they're all dead or they were taken by Hakon and I bet he was a lot worse than Kveldulf for a master.'

‘The Lord moves in mysterious ways. Oh Sigrid, you're awake! I have some broth for you.'

I sat on the edge of the bed, which stretched along most of the wall. On the bed opposite Thorstein lay, cradling his lyre, his milky eyes staring into the ceiling.

‘Is he asleep?' I whispered.

‘Yes!' answered Thorstein and the mischievous smile of our childhood jokes spread across his lips. Olvir laughed and I joined in, feeling happy for the first time since I saw the burning ruins of Becklund. I sipped the hot brew and felt strength and hope return.

‘The King will see you now.' The man was not one of the warriors I had arrived with. He allowed Thorstein, guided by Freydis, to come and I noticed Olvir sneaking in, hidden behind Freydis' voluminous dress.

‘Ask him to take you to baptism.' Thorstein had time to say before we entered the hall.

The King sat as he had the evening before with his advisors and the Prince. I bent my knee to the King.

‘Merciful King, Lord of all of England, I seek your forgiveness and your pardon. My past trespasses weigh heavy on my conscience and I crave the cleansing power of baptism under your protection.'

‘Yes, baptised you shall be, but first I wish to find out a bit more about you.'

‘I am Sigrid Kvel…'

The King interrupted me with an impatient wave of his gloved hand.

‘Yes, yes, I know all that. When it comes to your family background I seem, if anything, better informed than yourself. What intrigues me is how you ended up fighting in this battle at a place so far from your home.'

His eyes glittered in the fire-light. I trembled before this ambitious and ruthless monarch. It was said about him that he had a hand in his own father's death. He held most of the country and his armies were ever ready to quash rebellions. He had more than once ravaged the town of Jorvik and he meant to be the unrivalled ruler of the whole of Cumbria and Northumberland. Five kings and seven earls lay rotting on Vin Moor as proof of his power. His gaze seemed to penetrate my heart. He would not take kindly to lies and evasions. So I told him the whole story: Ragnar, the attack on Becklund, the deaths of Swein Hjaltebrand and my father, my marriage to Hauk and my baby.

‘Then I followed my husband to stop him killing the father of my child. It was a foolish act, which I deeply regret.' I managed to finish before the tears choked me. I had lived with my lies and deceptions so long, they had burnt holes in my mind and I was relieved to let go of them.

The King stroked his stubbly chin, making a rasping sound. He had listened in silence, except at the mention of Ragnar and his father, when he leant to one of his nobles who whispered some information to him. Then he said to the scribe:

‘Brother Ansgar, prepare for her baptism. And, for the love of God, get her into some women's clothing.'

Freydis got a dress in the Wessex fashion for me. I struggled with the narrow sleeves and the veil but the material felt soft against my bruised skin. I would have liked a bath as well but Freydis explained that the Saxons didn't bathe as frequently as we. I thought of the bath-house at Becklund and how it was fired every week so we could all cleanse ourselves. I washed, as well as I could, in water brought in a bucket from the river.

‘Better remove this.' Freydis took my golden pendant in the shape of Thor's hammer. I snatched it back.

‘It's mine. Father gave it me.'

‘It's a heathen symbol. You are coming to the true faith, Sigrid, you must let go of the old ways. You could have this re-fashioned into a small cross.'

‘This is not the time to argue, Sigrid.' Thorstein's voice could be as soothing as his music.

‘I could look after it for you.' Olvir stretched out a hand to which clung the evidence of his last meal. I turned down his offer and hid the pendant under my dress.

Back in the hall, Brother Ansgar brought a large cross, a big leather-bound book with gold clasps and a basin of water. I knelt and Freydis showed me how to put my hands together to pray. My father always said that oaths taken under threat didn't count and, as far as baptisms were concerned, the promises only lasted while you were in the service of that king. He claimed to have been christened twice, when serving two different chieftains, but he always stayed true to the old gods. I kept this in mind as I kissed the cross and the book. My head was sprinkled with water and Brother Ansgar said prayers over me in a language I didn't understand. It was over with quite quickly and I learned that Freydis would be my godmother and responsible for teaching me how to be a good Christian woman.

I soon realised this would not be easy. The first stumbling block came when I was required to give up my weapons. I had thought I would get them back once I had sworn loyalty to Aethelstan but it turned out that ‘good Christian women' don't carry weapons. I was much distressed to be deprived of Snakebite.

‘What will happen to my sword?' I asked the soldier who took it from me.

‘The King will find use for it. Although I don't see it being much good to a fully grown warrior. Nicely balanced though. Would do for a young boy to practise with.' He swung Snakebite in the air and smiled when he saw me raise my hands to grab for it.

‘So you fought in the battle then, did you wench?'

I nodded, unable to take my eyes off Snakebite.

‘You promised it to me, didn't you Mother?' Olvir! The boy got everywhere. The warrior looked from Olvir to me and back again.

‘How did you get in? This is the King's hall.'

‘He's with me.' I put an arm round Olvir's shoulders.

‘Is he your son? You seem very young…' I didn't hesitate.

‘Yes this is my son.'

But it made no difference and that's how I lost Snakebite but gained the foster-son who would stay with me and support me through many dangerous, difficult times.

Being a ‘good Christian woman' was not going to suit me and besides I had a baby I ached to return to. My opportunity came when Ansgar sought me out to question me about my homeland.

‘There are mountains with grazing for the sheep, forests full of game and rivers and lakes full of fish.' My voice became hoarse with homesickness.

‘What about the people? Are there still heathens there?'

‘Both Christians and others. We don't argue about it. There's enough to fear from Scottish raiders and pirates.'

‘Scottish raiders…ah…I see…Scottish raiders.'

‘There are some towns where we trade.' I tried to make it sound a bit less frightening for the little man. I realised that, if I could persuade him to go to my homeland, he would need a guide. ‘And in Cockermouth, I believe, there is a small church.'

‘So there is a Christian community there?'

‘Oh yes, but they need support, Brother Ansgar. They are quite isolated.'

‘And would you be able to lead me to them?'

‘Oh yes, Brother Ansgar, I would.'

Two weeks later I was travelling home in the company of Brother Ansgar and two other monks. Aethelstan had already left for Jorvik and, I heard later, the poor town was, yet again, ravaged as punishment for supporting Olaf Guthfrithson. Part of the king's entourage was my brother the minstrel and his wife. I had tried to persuade Thorstein to return with me and claim Becklund. He laughed:

‘I spent my childhood trying to get away from there. I'm not going back now.'

He dictated a letter for Ansgar to write down, where he passed his right to Becklund to me and my children for all time. I would miss him but found comfort in the thought that he had realised his dream of being the minstrel at the court of a powerful lord. True, he could not see all the things he had fantasised about but Freydis was at his side, describing and explaining. I believe he was happy. He said he was.

Moonbeam was restored to me and Olvir sat behind me, singing and chattering as we rode. Tied to my body, under my clothes, I wore Thorstein's letter to the Lawmen at the Allthing. Whatever awaited me at Swanhill, I would still have my home at Becklund.

Brother Ansgar paid a trader to take us as far as Cockermouth. Setting out we sailed past a great number of vessels. Many looked abandoned and some of these were drakkens of Norse construction with forty and fifty pairs of oars and fierce dragon-heads in the prow. I reflected that the chieftains who had arrived in these with their warriors were now, most likely, just piles of sun-bleached bones on the battlefield of Vin Moor.

PART THREE

RESPECT

10.

I had to bring Brother Ansgar to Swanhill. There was nowhere else for him and he was so afraid of the new land and the strange people in it. The other two monks stayed a while in Cockermouth before setting off in opposite directions to convert heathens.

‘Look, there it is!' I shouted my delight and excitement when I finally spotted Swanhill. Trembling, impatient to hold my son in my arms again, I urged Moonbeam to a tired trot. Brother Ansgar called after me but I left him to find his own way. A black cat ran across the path and made my mare stumble. This was a bad omen but, in my relief that the journey was over, I ignored it and rode in through the gates, hooves clattering against the paved walkways. When I pulled up, Olvir slid off the horse and ran towards the hall shouting for Ingefried.

I remained mounted, looking at the people gathered in the yard. I was met with silence and sullen looks. Some even had their weapons handy. The thralls stared and whispered among themselves. That didn't worry me. I hadn't expected them to be pleased. The free men were a different matter. Some had seen Hauk killed and had brought the news home. I greeted them with respect one by one and they responded in kind but, in some cases, with suppressed hostility.

Bard, my father's old housekarl from Becklund, appeared. He took the reins from me and helped me dismount. We exchanged formal greetings but not even he had a welcoming smile for me. His grey eyebrows almost covered his eyes and his mouth was set in a firm line.

‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, you have been absent a long time.' He looked at my dress. ‘You return a Saxon woman?' I answered in a loud voice to make sure they could all hear me.

‘No Bard, I'm no Saxon but I am a changed woman and much will change here too.' Then quietly I said just to him: ‘Have you completed your work at Becklund? I thought you were staying there.' He shook his head.

‘Kjeld has set me to run Swanhill and watch over his nephew, when he can't be here himself.' He added in a whisper: ‘Take care.' Whether warning or threat, I could not tell.

I walked towards the hall. Olvir had left the door open and I saw movement inside. Lydia appeared. On her arm, his golden head resting on her shoulder, sat Kveldulf.

‘My son!' I reached out to take him. I cried out in anguish when he turned from me and buried his face against Lydia's neck.

‘Hand me my child, Lydia.' My voice was hoarse and tears dimmed my vision. She obeyed with a superior smirk. Kveldulf screamed and kicked and reached out to her, crying:

‘Mummy, mummy'. His little feet hammered against my stomach and he wriggled in my arms. I clutched him to me regardless and kept saying:

‘I'm your mummy. It's me.' He didn't listen. He continued to kick and try to get away from me. Lydia looked on, a triumphant smile on her lips. The whole meaning of my life fell to pieces. My son, the sole reason for my survival, had been stolen from me. I screamed at Lydia's smirking face:

‘You have put a spell on him, you offspring of trolls, you daughter of a snake, you…'

But she no longer paid attention to me. Her gaze had moved to something behind my shoulder. Her face transformed, her mouth softened and let in a rasping breath, her eyes opened, round and luminous before filling with tears. This stopped my curses and I turned to see Brother Ansgar clambering off his horse. He came up to us, limping after the long ride.

‘Sigrid, such language! You should be grateful the lady has looked after your child.'

Lydia rushed past me, threw herself on the ground before Brother Ansgar. She embraced his knees. She kissed the muddy hem of his habit. She grasped his hand and covered it with her tears. Between her loud sobs she said again and again:

‘Padre, mea culpa, mea culpa.' He put his hand on her head and said something, which I couldn't hear above Kveldulf 's screams, Lydia's sobbing and the rising wave of confused chatter from the assembled household.

Thorgunn appeared next to me. She put a piece of honeycomb into Kveldulf 's screaming mouth and took him from me.