Shieldmaiden (5 page)

‘That was good, my little wench.' He'd hardly finished his sentence before my fists drummed against his face. I hit blindly, growling with my teeth bared. He sat up and grabbed my wrists.

‘Too late to change your mind, wench!' he said and laughed.

‘There was no need for that, Ragnar! I have waited for you all this time and now…' He stopped laughing and his eyes clouded over.

‘You know my name? Who are you?'

‘Ragnar, don't you know me? I'm Sigrid!' He let go of me and stared at my brooches and my necklace. The colour left his face and his voice shrunk to a whisper.

‘Sigrid…Sigrid…Odin's eye! How...I.'

I collapsed back on the grass and covered my eyes with my fists. He stood up, pulled at his trousers and tunic. Then he sat down again but at a distance. He was silent for a long time while his eyes travelled between the sky, the ground and me. Then he knelt beside me.

‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, my little shieldmaiden, how was I to recognise you in that state? I would never have treated you with anything but respect if I'd known. Why didn't you tell me?' I sat up and tried to push my tangled hair from my face.

‘I was sure you'd recognise me. But then…' He put his arms around me.

‘I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? Sigrid, I wish I could undo what I have done but the way you clung to me like a…' Again, the force of my furious fist silenced him. Humiliated, angry and disappointed I screamed at him:

‘And you don't even do it properly. It wasn't nice at all. It's supposed to feel all…' Realising what I had said, I fell silent. Ragnar stared at me with open mouth. In my embarrassment I started crying again. He stroked the tears from my cheeks with gentle fingers.

‘So you want it done properly, do you, Sigrid? Well, the damage is done, so…'

His eyes were as green as the sea in a storm and his hair reflected the last of the sunlight. For a moment I thought he was a young god come down from Aasgard to take a mortal woman for his bride. He pulled me close and, this time, his touch was as light as a moonbeam. His hand set my skin tingling and made me sigh and tremble. He entered me slowly and lay almost still on top of me until my womb responded, my mind took flight and my body, arched against his, began to move without restraint or shame. I heard, as from a distance, my moans and cries and my whole being shimmered and shook with delicious pleasure.

When I came out of my ecstasy, dusk was closing around us and the reality of my situation chilled me. Ragnar was asleep but I shook him and said:

‘We must decide what to do, Ragnar. I am married to Hauk.' He sat up with a cry of horror. Then his body sagged and he put his head in his hands.

‘Sigrid, what are you doing to me? I must have broken every pledge of honour this day. I have spoiled a woman from a good family, I have broken a sacred oath of friendship and gratitude to her father, I have taken another man's wife. Your father and your husband will both seek my blood. My name will be dragged through the dirt, my family dishonoured and I…' He fell silent, thought awhile then with narrowed eyes he leaned towards me. ‘Married? Since when? You didn't feel like a married woman to me.'

‘I'm married in name only. I can't stand Hauk to come near me.' He smiled a bitter little smile.

‘That's understandable but why did you marry him then?'

‘I had to marry someone. Ragnar, you said we'd meet again and then never a word. I waited and waited. I thought you'd forgotten me. Where have you been?'

‘On the run. We were outlawed by King Harald. His arm is as long as his memory and it wasn't safe for us to stay here. I tried to get word to you. I sent a thrall with a message. Didn't you get it?' I thought of my mother and her servant Ingefried. They would have made very sure no message from the son of Swein Hjaltebrand got to me. I shook my head.

‘We spent some time raiding then we joined King Olaf of Dublin against King Aethelstan. My father is unlucky in his choice of allies. It's not wise for us to remain in Aethelstan's realm either.'

I threw my arms round him and pressed my face to his.

‘I'll divorce Hauk and we can get married. My father, at least, won't object. You are the son of his blood-brother.'

‘Sigrid, I cannot marry. I am an outlaw, any children I sire will be outlaws. I have no home, nor anything else to offer you.' He shook his head and got up. ‘It's getting dark. I'll see to the horses. We'll stay here tonight.' He returned carrying a small bundle of food. We shared cheese, bread and apples. No chieftain's feast could have tasted better than that meal.

I spread Thorfinn's cloak over us. The stars were coming out and a crescent moon dipped in and out of the scattered clouds. I lay with my head on Ragnar's shoulder listening to the sounds of the night, a horse shifting its stance, the hoot of an owl, the churring of a nightjar. I was happy, convinced Odin had tried me and found me worthy. He had brought me my love and, outlaw or not, all would be well. We'd think of something.

We woke and our bodies craved each other and found each other again. The horses had wandered off in search of grazing but we felt neither hunger nor thirst and the sun was above the crest of the nearest hill before we dressed and faced our situation. We sat hand in hand trying to decide what to do.

‘Sigrid, I can't stay. My father and I have pledged our loyalty to William Longsword in Neustria and we must go. Oh Sigrid, I wish it weren't so.'

‘I want to come with you, Ragnar.'

‘You can't. Believe me my love, where we're headed is no place for a woman.' He looked at me with a sad little smile. ‘Not even a brave shieldmaiden.'

‘It's all your father's fault, isn't it?'

‘He is my father, Sigrid, don't speak ill of him.'

I thought again of my own father. He would not refuse to take Ragnar as his foster-son and offer him sanctuary at Becklund. Ragnar was doubtful but agreed we should speak to him.

We retrieved the horses. Thorfinn's steed was still lame so Ragnar pulled me up to sit in front of him on his stallion. We rode towards Becklund and I told Ragnar how it came I had Thorfinn's weapons and his horse. As I spoke, I felt Ragnar's close embrace melt away and he became quiet. The silence frightened me. I tried to turn and look at him but couldn't.

‘Ragnar, it was self-defence! What was I supposed to do?'

‘My father won't see it like that. He has lost one of his men and will want compensation.'

‘But he saw Thorfinn holding me down. He knows it was a fair fight.'

‘That is what you would have to argue in front of the Allthing and my father is not in a position to go there.'

‘I shall hide the weapons and let the horse go. Nobody needs to find out – ever.'

‘And we'll leave the warrior's body to the crows and the foxes?'

‘What do you want, Ragnar? I confess I killed him. One of your father's warriors was killed by an unarmed woman. He'll be ridiculed rather than honoured. I'll see to it that he's buried but I'll do him the favour to have it done in secret.'

I held my breath waiting for his response. It was a long time coming. His shoulders seemed to shake and I wondered if he was crying. But when he spoke his arms were firm around me again and there was laughter in his voice:

‘Maybe Thorfinn got what was coming to him and perhaps it would be kinder to his memory if we kept the manner of his death a secret. But please don't kill any more of my father's warriors, it doesn't help our situation at all.'

Thorfinn's weapons found a resting place beneath a rock and I took an oath to reunite them with Thorfinn in his grave. We kept the horse with us, it could be tethered somewhere closer to Becklund until the Jarl had left. Then we continued down the valley towards Loweswater. We walked in single file, each leading a horse down the steep slope towards the river and the lake. Soon I could see the trees down in the valley and I knew I was close to home.

The ground levelled out and we entered the wooded area. The sudden noise of dry twigs snapping and leaves rustling startled the horses and made us reach for our weapons. A small boy tumbled out of the shrubbery and landed on all fours in front of us. He was dirty, his clothes were torn and his face streaked with tears. He got up, gave me a confused look and turned to Ragnar. His words fought each other to get out.

‘Ragnar Sweinson, your father sends word. He says… um, he says you must go to Buttermere…swiftly…ah, and…and warn your mother to seek safety wherever she can.' His eyes darted between us as he continued, ‘And then you're to join Jarl Hjaltebrand where the ship is waiting. He says you know the place.' Having delivered his message the urchin stood aside and stared at us with round eyes and open mouth.

‘Sigrid, I must go.' For a moment Ragnar held me close. ‘Whatever happens, I'll be back. I promise I'll be back.' His voice choked. Then he got on his horse and I watched him ride off.

My breath was like a knife in my throat. I tried to blink away my tears but they fell heavy from my eyes. I turned my back to the boy so he wouldn't see. He pulled at my sleeve.

‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, terrible things are happening.'

I told the boy to lead Thorfinn's horse and set off ahead of him. I heard the noise long before I got to Becklund and, as I drew closer, I distinguished the clanking of weapons, the angry shouts of fighting men, the agonised cries of the wounded and the fearful screams of women and children. A roundabout route took me unseen to the farm. Strangers in full armour stood guard outside the enclosure behind the hall. I crept up behind the dry stone-wall above the meadow. I saw two of our free men bleeding on the ground, their weapons still in their hands. A girl, undetected by the marauders, cowered behind a shed, another crawled slowly towards the fence. Over by the barn a small group of women and children were kept under guard by a shaggylooking fighter. Blood stained their clothes but whether their own or that of others was impossible to say. The women tried to shush their crying infants. I heard more shouting and the clashing of swords, axes and shields but I couldn't see beyond the other buildings.

My legs trembled as I continued to crawl along the wall. On the other side of the farm I saw horses, more than a score of them, guarded by a couple of young boys. This was no ordinary raid by Scottish clansmen rustling cattle, nor was it lawless Vikings looking for slaves and gold or a vengeful neighbour in search of retribution. All those horses. Armed warriors against my father's eight karls. Had there even been time to summon the karls? The twelve thralls were not fighting men and, although both they and the women would help defend the farm, they had no hope against these attackers.

I moved from tree to tree, staying out of sight. The noise was abating and it became possible to separate out individual sounds. My mother's voice, strong and commanding soared above the grunts of men pushed to their limits. I could not hear my father anywhere. As I came closer to the farm I came across dead and wounded. Old Ulf, the story-teller, lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes dull below half-closed lids. An armed stranger lay draped across a tree-stump, his own blood running thick and red into the grass. Ketil, the brown-eyed thrall I had played with as a child, was choking on his blood, his chest cut open, his fingers digging furrows in the soil. Next to him lay his enemy, pinned to the ground with Ketil's pitchfork. I took it all in, the smell of torn human flesh, the sight of life ebbing away. All the time I kept moving towards where those alive were still fighting. I crawled under the fence and slid underneath the floor of the grain-store. Hidden behind one of the props I could, at last, see the yard.

With his back to me, my father knelt on the ground, a deep wound in his right shoulder, the arm lifeless and his open hand resting on the ground next to his battle-axe. A warrior stood on either side of him. One of them rested his sword on my father's neck. I pressed my hands over my face. My stomach heaved and bitter bile gushed into my throat. I forced myself to look again. My mother, blood-stained and dishevelled, was pushed forward and a warrior wrenched a sword from her hand. She was led up to a tall, blonde man who wore a fine mailshirt and an ornate helmet with a pattern glinting of gold. She said something to him. He looked closely at her face and then he bowed. Her captor let go of her arm and stepped back. She remained standing by the chieftain but her eyes were fixed on my father.

There were dead and injured scattered across the yard. Inside a circle of onlookers two men were fighting. One of them was Jarl Swein Hjaltebrand. His mailshirt had been slashed open in several places and he was bleeding from many wounds. He struggled for breath and staggered with fatigue. His shield lay discarded on the ground and he used both hands to swing his sword. His opponent, a much younger man, sidestepped. The Jarl stumbled and had to put the tip of his sword on the ground to steady himself. The other man laughed. Onlookers shouted out, some in terror, some in triumph as the uneven fight came to an end and the Jarl was pinned to the ground by his grinning enemy.

The chieftain left my mother's side and went up to the Jarl.

‘Hjaltebrand, you are a traitor and will meet with a traitor's death. Tell me where your son is hiding and I will make your end swift and painless.'

I couldn't hear the Jarl's reply over the moans and cries of the injured and bereaved. The chieftain nodded to two of his men and they carried the Jarl across the yard to the water trough. The Jarl cried out:

‘My sword! Hakon in Odin's name let me die with my sword in my hand!' The men looked at the chieftain who shook his head. They immersed Jarl Swein's head in the water and held him down until his legs stopped kicking and his arms hung limp. The lifeless body was dumped at the feet of the chieftain. The horde of invaders cheered. My mother didn't flinch even though the Jarl's hand came to rest on her foot. Her face was as pale as moonlight, her eyes were still on my father and her lips moved as if she was whispering to him.