Shieldmaiden (27 page)

She drew a sharp breath and I had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes fill with tears before she knelt down to greet my son. He looked behind him at Olvir and said:

‘Is it Grandmother Gudun? Will she give Keluf apple?'

Olvir avoided my eyes and scraped his foot against the floor.

‘You'll have to ask her,' he said.

My mother took no notice of this exchange. She was looking closely at Kveldulf.

‘So, he has his grandfather's name,' she said and stroked his cheek. ‘Let's hope he has more sense.' But then she smiled again and held out her hand for me to help her stand.

Later, when Kveldulf had got his apple and entertained his new grandmother with some barely intelligible tales about his journey, Olvir put him to bed on one of the benches and sang quietly to him until they both slept. My mother's monk-like servant Toki got orders to find sleeping quarters for my entourage. There were no further practical details to sort out. We sat alone by the hearth, my mother and I. Her bearing was as straight and proud as ever but she looked very thin. When she was not smiling, her cheeks looked hollow and pale. I had not anticipated this. In my mind she had remained as always, tall and imposing, her body as strong as her mind. For a moment my own troubles seemed less urgent than to tell my mother that Thorstein and Freydis were alive. Her face lit up. She grasped the silver cross she wore around her neck and kissed it.

‘Thank you, Lord, for returning my daughter and keeping my son alive. Thank you, thank you. Oh Sigrid, when I sent you away from Becklund I thought I'd never see you again.'

‘Why did you…?' A tightness in my throat blocked the rest of my question and I bit my lip to stop the tears. She leant out of her chair and embraced me.

‘I thought you'd understand. If Hakon had known you were my daughter, he'd have taken you as well. I wanted you to be safe with Hauk.'

I relaxed with her arms around me and allowed my tears to loosen the knot of anxiety in my chest. But even in my happiness I knew this harmony between us could not last. In an attempt to keep hold of it and postpone the moment when I had to explain about Kveldulf, I asked her about her life at Nidaros.

She lived with her own servants in a small house on the farm belonging to the Jarl of Lade. Hakon had used her as a peaceweaver and married her off to a chieftain whose support he needed.

‘My husband was a Jarl. Hakon seems to think he was the man my father intended for me. I didn't even remember him. He was killed while out hunting very soon after we were married. I had a child, which was still-born, a little girl.'

Her eyes filled with tears and I put my arms around her, too full of emotion to be able to utter a word of consolation. My poor mother. She kissed me.

‘I am so grateful the good Lord has returned you to me, Sigrid.'

We sat silent, hand in hand. Then she shook her head and looked at me.

‘It's a long, dangerous journey you have made. You must have a reason. I know Hauk is dead. Is your new husband with you?'

‘You know! How?'

‘Hakon receives news from Aethelstan.' She laughed without mirth. ‘I hope the tales of your exploits at Brunnanburh were exaggerated. But I've heard nothing else. I assume you have re-married.' She looked at my pregnant body. I drew a deep breath and prepared to shatter the peace between us.

As calmly as I could, I told her about Hauk's death, about the battle of Brunnanburh, about Ingefried's death and how I had avenged her. When she showed no sign of wanting to interrupt, I went on to speak of how I had lost my lawsuit and become destitute. I described how Aisgerd had taken me in and looked after me and Kveldulf. That's when she asked the question I dreaded:

‘Who then is the father of the child I can see you carry?'

I straightened up and pushed my shoulders back. ‘Ragnar Sweinson. Ragnar is the father of both Kveldulf and the child I'm expecting.' I ignored her cry and continued: ‘I love him like I believe you once loved my father and…'

Her hand flew up to slap my face but I was quick and caught it half way. I put it back on her lap.

‘Don't pretend to me, Mother. I'm old enough to understand now. Yours was not a marriage approved by your family. You gave up everything to be with your man. How can you condemn me for doing the same?'

Her face went red as a hot fever, then pale as bleached parchment. I needed all my strength not to cower in front of her furious eyes.

‘Don't dare to liken that boy to my husband! Your father was brave and honourable, too honourable sometimes. That Ragnar Sweinson is of bad blood. There's no honour in his lineage, it is rotten though and through.'

Her words hit me like blows from an iron fist. She drew her breath and sat quietly for a moment. Then she turned to me and with a slow, gentle movement put her hand on the cheek she had thought to slap.

‘Daughter, don't you understand? I want what's best for you and a reckless pursuit of brief happiness is not it.' Her face darkened. ‘I can never forget how Ragnar's father was the cause of my husband's death. Don't ask me to plead his case with Hakon. I shall do what I can for my grandchild but never for the son of Swein Hjaltebrand.'

I spent the next day with my mother. We played with Kveldulf, she embroidered and I picked up a spindle and distaff. We worked, ate and talked but all the time our disagreement sat between us like a ghost at a wedding-feast. We both avoided any reference to Ragnar. Instead I told her about the re-building of Becklund, of the stone to my father, of how Thorstein and Freydis had escaped. I showed her Thorstein's letter. She read it and confirmed that the writing meant he left Becklund to me.

‘But Steinar is my elder and has first right to the farm. Mother you have told me nothing about my brother Steinar.'

She sat stiff in her seat.

‘He hid during the fighting. Can you believe it? He hid while his father was killed and his brother maimed. My shame in front of my enemies was boundless.'

‘I hid too.'

‘It was too late by the time you arrived and you had no weapons. There's no blame attached to you.'

I felt sad for the feeble-minded, lumbering lump of a man Steinar had become. He was my elder by several years but he was my play-mate and I had taught him to use sword and axe even if he never did manage the shield. I was fond of him.

‘Where is he now? Is he still alive?'

She turned to supervise her serving women who were busy by the hearth. I thought she would not answer but then, with her back still to me, she said: ‘I don't know.'

I had not seen Ragnar or any of the others for more than a day. Olvir, true to his habit, kept slipping in and out of the house and turned up at my elbow every now and again with news. These were as I would expect: Ragnar sulked, Thorfinn drank and talked, Anlaf and Ulf had joined other young men in weapons-practice and games. I could only hope none of them would be goaded by bored housekarls into loose talk or fights.

‘Who is that child?' my mother asked after one of Olvir's visits to our side.

‘He was born at Becklund. His mother was one of the thralls.'

‘People here think he is your son.' She studied her embroidery.

‘What?'

‘I know he can't be. You're too young. But you two look very alike, that's why.' She threaded a fresh length of silk through the eye of her needle. Then she put her embroidery down. ‘Was his mother called Unn?'

‘Yes, how did you know?'

‘Unn was Steinar's woman. I think she felt sorry for him and, of course, he was the son of the master despite everything. It would account for the family likeness.'

I had not been aware of Steinar having a special woman but by then he was busy working the land and I was still chasing round avoiding work and pursuing the pleasures of childhood. So Olvir was my nephew, my brother's son. We shared the same blood.

I was struck by a thought. The thrall Ketil had replaced Steinar as my companion and scapegoat. He had suffered many a thrashing on my behalf and would laugh it off as we embarked on our next adventure.

‘Ketil, do you remember him? He died fighting.' I said. ‘I saw his body and the man he slayed. Was he…'

My mother shook her head and smiled.

‘No he wasn't related to you by blood, although it is not always easy to tell on a farm, who has fathered which child.'

I spoke to her then of Lydia, Hauk's special woman and the mother of his three children. I should have known better than to expect sympathy.

‘You have only yourself to blame, Sigrid. If you had been a good wife to Hauk, he would never have looked at another woman again. He had his heart set on you from when you were about ten, constantly pestering Kveldulf for you. This woman, what was her name again, Lydia, was only someone to keep him satisfied while waiting for you.'

So there it was again, only myself to blame, no Steinar or Ketil to pay for my misdeeds, only me.

22.

My uncle, Hakon Haraldson, king of Norway, Hakon the Good some called him, arrived and agreed to see me. I put on new clothes provided by my mother, an undershirt of silk softer than anything I had ever worn before, a pleated over-dress of finest linen and a pinafore of purple wool with wide embroidered panels at the hem. I sneaked my Thor's hammer amulet out of sight under my shirt. But in full view among other jewellery on my neck-chain I hung my silver cross, restored to its original shape by the simple action of bending the top arm back into place. Mother helped me wash and braid my hair.

‘Such a shame to have to cover it up,' she said and stroked my heavy tresses before fastening my headdress.

‘What kind of man is King Hakon?'

‘He is already showing the strength of a true king. Jarl Sigurd has given him much support and sound advice but he has his own mind. He has already made many laws and he has sworn to make the country Christian. I left Norway before he was born so I don't know him as a man, as my half-brother. We don't speak much. Too many things lie unresolved between us.'

‘Has he offered weirgeld?'

‘No, nor has he said he's sorry for my loss. While he's generous and makes sure I lack for nothing, he avoids my gaze and is awkward in my company. He keeps me here to...' She shot me an appraising look. ‘Well, never mind that. But one thing you should understand. It was humiliating for my father when I ran away with Kveldulf. My father would have named Kveldulf among his enemies but, believe me, if he'd wanted him killed he would have brought about his death very soon after we eloped. He didn't because it was not important enough. I was one of many daughters. Sheltering Swein was different. To King Harald, my father, that was an act of treason. There is no weirgeld due for the killing of a traitor.' I gritted my teeth and nodded. I knew about that, I just didn't want to hear it.

The lack of family resemblance between Hakon and Eirik extended further than their physical appearance. Eirik had sat lounging in his chair, much like a viper sunning itself on a warm rock but ready for a swift strike. Hakon paced up and down the hall, leaping on and off the dais, the image of a wolf stalking his prey. He was handsome. His blonde, almost white hair shone in the torchlight and his tall, broad-shouldered frame danced shadows on the wall-hangings. I realised he was about the same age as me. As we drew close he stopped and bowed to my mother.

‘Sister, I trust this day finds you well.'

‘Yes, thank you for asking. Thanks to your generosity I lack for nothing. I have brought my daughter, your niece, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter to pay her respects.'

At the mention of my father's name, I thought I discerned a tightening of Hakon's chin. He didn't look at me.

‘Niece.' His voice was gruff, devoid of warmth or welcome.

I bent my knee, waiting for him to offer his hand. He didn't. I looked up into his face. His eyebrows met above his nose and his mouth was an angry, thin line. Then, as his eyes met mine, there was a transformation from annoyance to surprise then to a look I knew only too well, the look of a man who has seen a woman he wants. He held out both hands and helped me rise. I felt my cheeks burn in angry confusion. It was true I had come to meet him as a supplicant but as a woman of worth, my own mistress. With that look, Hakon reduced me to mere chattel, a thing he desired and would have as of right because he was the King.

I had intended to carry myself with dignity but also with humility. Maybe, if I had been able to do that, things would have worked out better. But my pride got in the way. Unable to control my temper I snatched my hands back and met Hakon's admiring gaze with a scowl. I heard my mother draw her breath. She took my hand and put it back in Hakon's.

‘Think, girl!' she hissed.

But the damage was done and Hakon's smile vanished. He dropped my hand and turned to my mother.

‘You may attend our table tonight with your daughter. We shall discuss her future then.' With that he turned his back to us.

As I walked towards the door, I saw Ragnar at the back of the hall. He was struggling to free himself from Thorfinn and Anlaf, who held on to an arm each. His pale, furious face told me he had witnessed my encounter with the King. He broke loose, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me outside.

‘What did he say to you?'

‘Nothing, Ragnar. Becalm yourself.'

‘How did he insult you? I shall avenge your honour be he king or no.'

‘Hush Ragnar!'

A couple of Hakon's housekarls had followed us outside and were moving in our direction. Their hands were on the hilts of their swords. Ulf and Anlaf arrived with Ragnar's weapons as well as their own. Ragnar snatched his swords and axe from them.

‘I saw the way he looked at you!'

Then my mother caught up with us. She slapped Ragnar across the face.

‘Be quiet, fool! You'll ruin us all.'

She turned and spoke to the housekarls. They hesitated. They looked Ragnar over and stayed where they were. Ragnar stood silent, stunned, rubbing his cheek. Thorfinn bent his knee to my mother and pulled Ragnar down with him.