Sigrun's Secret (25 page)

He turned to his men.

‘Seize Thorvald!’ he cried.

There was a moment’s appalled silence as his warriors hesitated, thinking they couldn’t have heard aright. ‘Do it!’ shouted Siefred. ‘Throw him into the prison!’

Thorvald was dragged from the room, shouting that it was all a lie. The king turned to the remainder of his men.

‘Fetch Knut and lock him up too,’ he ordered. ‘I don’t care how ill he is. Oh, and wait! Arrest Eadred too! The rest of you get out! Get out!’

It was clear the king was humiliated at having so many witnesses to his family quarrel. He was purple with rage, his fists clenched.

‘Please, my lord king,’ I begged, throwing myself onto my knees at his feet. ‘Please let Leif Thrangsson go. He had nothing to do with any of this. He was falsely accused to hide the truth.’

The king dashed a hand in front of his eyes and took a shuddering breath before he could focus either his gaze or his mind on me.

‘And you’re to be his wife, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I remember your father telling me.’

Feeling guilty at the lie, I nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. So you see, he had nothing to do with Leola.’

‘Is this true, girl?’ barked the king at Leola.

‘What would I want with him?’ she said scornfully through her tears. ‘He’s nothing.’

‘Release Leif!’ ordered the king, pointing to one of his guards. ‘At once! We shall give him recompense in due course. Eadred’s possessions perhaps.’

I caught the king’s hand, kissed it. ‘Thank you and may the goddess bless you with good health,’ I said, and turned to walk to the door. I passed Leola, who was weeping stormily at the news her uncle was to be punished.

‘And what shall I do?’ she screamed in her distress at losing all her prospects at once. The king grasped her by the wrist and pulled her towards him.

‘I’ll tell you what you’ll do, Saxon princess,’ he said deliberately. ‘You will become queen after all.’

Leola gulped and paused in her weeping. ‘What?’ she asked, confused. ‘How?’

I paused at the door, curious to hear the outcome.

‘I have two choices, you see,’ said Siefred. ‘You’re clearly a danger to me. So I can either have you executed, or I can marry you myself. I think there should be a wedding this evening, don’t you?’

I couldn’t help but smile at Leola’s shocked face as I left the room. Her dreams were to come true at last. As long as she didn’t mind a husband older than her uncle.

‘Leif is to be set free!’ I whispered excitedly to Maria who’d stayed outside the door. After all this time, it seemed too good to be true. ‘Hurry!’ I grabbed her hand and pulled her after me, almost running after the guard who was striding away towards the prison.

We waited outside the building, straining to hear what was going on inside, longing for a first glimpse of our friend. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest with excitement and nervousness. How would he look? How would he react to the news that he was free at long last?

Leif appeared, blinking in the daylight, thin, pale, and dirty. He saw us waiting for him and tears of gratitude and joy rose to his eyes.

‘Oh, Sigrun!’ he said shakily. ‘Maria! How happy I am to see you both.’

We both hugged him, despite his dirt, ecstatic to see him free.

‘Forgive me my weakness,’ he said, hastily wiping away the unmanly tears he was shedding. ‘I’ve been ill, I’ve been afraid, and thought I’d never be allowed home.’

We each took one of his hands in ours and led him back to his house. Leif walked slowly, leaning on us, weak after his long incarceration.

‘Your father’s away for a few days,’ I said. ‘He’ll be overjoyed when he gets back. But my father is here, and will celebrate with us.’

‘So to what do I … owe my release?’ asked Leif, short of breath and struggling to talk as well as walk.

I recounted the events of the morning as briefly as I could, and he shook his head, trying to stop the tears that forced their way into his eyes.

‘Oh, Leola,’ he cried. ‘How could she do that to me? I loved her. I thought she cared for me! I prayed that she was safe. But she left me in prison for months when she could so easily have cleared my name … ’

Leif stopped, overcome. He turned away from us, wiping his face with his dirty sleeves.

I gave him a few moments and then put a hand on his shoulder.

‘You’re ill,’ I said. ‘Come home now, and we can talk more.’

Despite Leif’s distress over Leola’s betrayal, I felt elated as we approached home. A long spell of threat and fear had ended, and we were bringing Leif back safely. I couldn’t wait to tell my father. I hoped he hadn’t invited the visiting Icelanders home to nightmeal after all. It would be much more fun to have Leif to ourselves tonight. There was so much to tell, and to hear too.

As I thought of my father, I felt suddenly uneasy. At first, I didn’t know why. But the feeling grew stronger with each step I took closer to the house.

‘Father!’ I whispered to myself. I could feel him nearby, and he was mortally afraid. ‘I shouldn’t have left him!’ I cried.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Leif. ‘Sigrun, what’s the matter? You’ve gone as white as a new-shorn lamb.’

But I was already running ahead, pushing open the door of the house. It wasn’t locked, because we’d left Unn and Erik there. So my father couldn’t be in danger, could he? I must be imagining it.

As I ran through the door, a stranger lunged at me out of the gloom and my worst fears were realized. I dodged him, and ran for the stairs, flinging my bag to the floor as I went. I heard Maria scream as she was caught, but I couldn’t stop. I had to get down the stairs to the source of the fear and despair I could feel there.

As I ran downstairs the most appalling scene unfolded before my eyes. My father was fighting for his life, his sword Foe Biter in his hands. A much taller man was attacking him, raining blow after vicious blow down on him. The noise of iron on steel in the confined space was ear-splitting. It was a man with hair as red as fire and a black tunic, and I was almost sure I recognized him.

I grasped all this in an instant and screamed in terror. A blow fell that I thought must split my father’s skull in two. He heard me and spun round. I cried out again and he twisted, dodging the blade by a hair’s breadth. At the same moment, a man leapt at me and caught me hard against him, clamping his hand down over my mouth.

‘Be silent,’ he growled in my ear.

I had no intention of distracting my father again, but I was desperate to be free. I fought my captor with all my strength, writhing and twisting in his arms, biting down on the foul-smelling hand that was half suffocating me. The man cursed but didn’t loose his hold.

Father was fighting hard now, beating his opponent back towards the fire, making him give ground. Both men were running with sweat, their blows fierce, their concentration intense. I could see veins standing out in my father’s forehead, and the muscles rigid in his neck as he gave every last vestige of power in his body to this battle. Father swung round, forcing the other man to turn too, and I saw his face at last. It was Halfgrim, of course. Who else could it be?

He’d broken his agreement with us and had pursued us to get his revenge. So these were the Icelanders my father had gone to greet with an offer of hospitality. The terrible irony made me feel sick. What had happened? Had he recognized them and fled back here? If so, they’d tracked him down quickly. I fought wildly to escape the iron grip that held me.

Father slipped suddenly on the earth floor and fell to one knee. My scream of terror was muffled by the hand still holding my mouth tight shut. With a massive effort, my father turned the fall to his advantage, turning aside the blow that Halfgrim struck with his blade and then thrusting upwards towards his opponent’s unprotected belly.

With a shout, Halfgrim fell back. Instead of bringing him down, the sword sliced only through the sleeve of his tunic, drawing blood. He stumbled further back, right into the fire, nursing his right arm. With a cry of pain and shock, he leapt out of the embers again, throwing himself at father, wielding his sword with renewed fury, ignoring the blood that flowed down his arm and the smell of singed leather and wool that filled the room.

A movement to my left caught my eye. I’d been so intent on the two men fighting that I hadn’t noticed there were other people in the room. They stood still and quiet, intent upon the fight. One, two, three, four, five men, drawn swords in their hands. If Halfgrim fell, or even looked likely to fall, they were ready to strike my father down. This wasn’t a fair fight. It was a murder. He had no chance.

It came to me all at once that my father knew this. He fought on, bravely. Honourably, even without hope. Just as I kept fighting my captor, knowing that even if I could escape, there was absolutely nothing I could do to help. I couldn’t give up a last, desperate hope that somehow I could save father.

Halfgrim had borne my father back until he could go no further. Pressed up against the house wall, he fought on, bracing his body against the timbers, using their unyielding force to give power to his blows which were weakening now as his strength began to fail. Halfgrim was tiring too, both men breathing in noisy gasps, grunting with every blow, every parry. My father had the support of the wall, but he was also trapped, unable to fall back to dodge blows. He made one last, powerful lunge forward, aiming for Halfgrim’s heart. Halfgrim turned the thrust aside and drove his sword straight into my father. There was a sickening sound; the severing of fabric, flesh, and organs, and my father groaned aloud in pain and despair. Halfgrim stepped back, his reddened sword still held defensively, and watched as my father slid slowly down the wall onto the ground, blood soaking his tunic.

‘No!’ I screamed, tearing free at last, now that it was too late. I flung myself across the room, dodging Halfgrim, and fell on my knees beside my father. It was silent around me. Everything but the two of us and my utter despair ceased to exist. I grasped my father’s hands, slippery with blood and sweat.

‘Sigrun,’ he whispered faintly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I tore off my cloak and used it to staunch the blood that was flowing from the wound. I didn’t need to examine it to know it was fatal. Halfgrim had pierced the stomach, and that could not be healed with any skill or plant I knew of. I could feel tears flowing hot from my eyes as I pressed my cloak down.

‘I’ll help you, father,’ I lied, my voice a broken whisper. I could feel his agony as though it was my own.

There was a thundering on the stairs behind me, voices raised, shouts and the clash of metal on metal once more. Glancing round, I saw Leif and some other men attacking the intruders. I put my arms around my father, cradling him protectively, terrified of losing him. I smoothed his long, dark hair and saw his eyes cloud with pain. If only the men would stop fighting and go away. I longed to be left in peace.

‘Sigrun,’ I saw rather than heard my father whisper. He drew me closer, and I bent over him, straining to hear him over the commotion behind me.

‘Don’t grieve for me,’ he whispered, as I bent low over him to catch his faint words. ‘I regret nothing. I’ve had … ’ he paused, as a spasm of pain passed though him.

‘Don’t try to speak, please, father,’ I begged him, tears running down my face and dripping onto him. But he was determined. The hand on my wrist tightened once more.

‘Twenty … happy years. Who could ask for more of life? Sigrun, promise me … don’t … let them avenge me. I want … peace.’

‘I promise,’ I whispered earnestly. ‘I swear it to you.’

My father fell back exhausted. He moved once more, to push Foe Biter feebly into my hand. I took it from him, and then he lay still. I could feel his strength draining from him, his spirit failing. As I held him, his eyes dimmed, the life leaving them.

Two powerful arms grasped me from behind, tearing me away from my father. I dropped father’s sword and screamed out in distress, trying to claw my way back to him. There were confused shouts all around me. ‘Out! Get out!’ someone cried. I reached out desperately for my father as I was dragged away from him.

‘Father!’ I yelled to him. He didn’t respond. Then Halfgrim stood between us, looking down at him, a long knife in his left hand.

‘Die, you murdering slave,’ he shouted. I looked away as he stabbed viciously downwards with the knife.

I was lifted bodily from the ground and carried up the stairs at a run. My father’s pain was gone from me, and I knew he no longer felt it either.

He was dead.