Ragnar the Murderer

by Byrne, Lily

  “Yes,” agreed Aldulf. “We will make the arrangements. I know that you Danes still stand by your ancient customs and insist on the exchange of swords etc. That is acceptable to me.”

  Ragnar nodded courteously and the three men walked away from the hut to discuss it.

  “We can use the wedding dress you were going to wear for your marriage to Eadbald,” said Cwenburg excitedly.

  “I suppose so. Can’t we alter it somehow? I don’t want to think of that fat man.”

  “God rest his soul,” added Cwenburg quickly.

  “Yes, I know mother, but I didn’t love him. I love Ragnar.”

  “Of course you do. He’s strange looking, but I could get used to him.”

  “Mother!” exclaimed Saehild. “Surely you can see why she prefers Ragnar to Eadbald?”

  Cwenburg laughed.

  “Come along, let’s look at your dress and see how we can improve it.”

  The three women went into the hut and Aelfwyn quickly put the dress on. Well, she tried to but found it rather too tight.

  Her mother tutted.

  “We need let it out a bit. You’ve been eating too much, young lady. Still, a plumper bride is better than a thin one.”

  *

  On a warm late summer morning, Aelfwyn felt sick with excitement at the thought of marrying Ragnar.

  She put on her altered blue wool wedding dress, pinned at the shoulders with intricately made silver cross-shaped brooches. Around her neck she wore the copper pendant given to her by Ragnar some time ago. The sleeves, collar and hemline of the dress were edged in violet with pearls at the neckline, painstakingly sewn by Cwenburg. The sleeves of the dress were wide and secured by another pair of silver brooches. A garland of green leaves adorned her hair.

  Sigulf walked ahead of Aelfwyn, who took her father’s arm while Saehild, the chief bridesmaid, followed behind with her mother and younger siblings, who were all dressed in their finest clothes. Sigulf carried a newly made sword to give to Ragnar in exchange for his sword, in the custom of the Danes.

  They came within sight of the church steps, where all weddings were held before entering the building for the blessing. The square, plain church, St Athwulf’s, had been built of grey stone in the clearing of the wood two centuries ago. despite the attentions of the priest and various helpers, the stone crumbled a little, but remained the focus for the Anglisc rites of passage: birth, marriage, death.

  The priest, grey haired Ulferth, waited with Ragnar and Bjarni. Aelfwyn gasped at the sight of her betrothed. He wore a knee length moss green cloak, over a grey tunic and trousers the same colour as the cloak, which had a fur hood, just visible over his shoulders. The tunic had fur cuffs and buckled at the waist with a very ornate brown leather belt with a silver buckle, serving to hold up his ancestral sword, Hauknautr. The trousers were baggy down to the knee, where they were gartered into well made suede boots. The cloak and the tunic edges were embroidered with a Danish design.

  A Huskarl escort, all in their red cloaked uniforms, fully armed with swords and shields, accompanied him. The Jarl stood a distance away, proudly gazing on.

  “Are they going to carry me off?” whispered Aelfwyn to her father.

  “Not if I have anything to do with it,” he said sternly. “Ragnar assured me you will live in a hut in Hallfridby, not run away into the wild wood. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes of course.”

  They reached the group and Ulferth stepped forward, his ceremonial robes swishing round his boots.

  “Welcome, on this sunny day. God looks benevolently upon you.” He beamed. “Please.” He led her forward to Ragnar.

  He smiled down at her. His hair loose over his shoulders, its rich auburn set off by his moss green attire. She smiled, feeling a bit wobbly at the knees.

  “Ragnar and Aelfwyn, are you both here of your own free will?”

  They both replied positively.

  “Ragnar, as in the Danish tradition, will you now present your sword?”

  He pulled out Hauknautr, now clean and shining, and handed it to Aelfwyn.

  “I give you this sword to save for our sons to have and to use.”

  She took it.

  “And do you have a new sword to give to the groom, as a warrior of the Danish host?”

  Sigulf stepped forward and handed the new sword to Aelfwyn.

  “To keep us safe, you must bear a blade. With this sword keep safe our home,” she said to Ragnar.

  He bowed his head and took it. He managed to resist examining it for craftsmanship and sheathed it where the old one had been.

  “Who giveth this woman away to this man?

  “I do,” said Aldulf, stepping forward.

  Ulferth looked up at Ragnar.

  “Do you swear to keep Aelfwyn, daughter of Aldulf, as safe as you are able? Do you swear to protect and keep her from harm, prevent her from going hungry and provide her with children to continue the family line?”

  “I do.”

  The Jarl coughed and stepped forward.

  “May I say that I took this man in when his natural father cast him out? I am proud to be his adopted father and I now give him my name. He will now be known as Ragnar Thorvaldsson. I am sorry I did not do this before.”

  Everyone was stunned into silence, even Ragnar, whose jaw dropped. Aelfwyn recovered herself and nudged him.

  “Th-thank you,” he stuttered.

  “Carry on.” The Jarl stepped back, rather embarrassed.

  Ulferth smoothed down his robes.

  “Do you, Aelfwyn, swear to love and obey Ragnar, son of Thorvald? Do you swear to bear him children, make him comfortable and happy, and never stray from him?”

  “I do.” Her voice quavered, she felt a big rush of emotion and clutched Ragnar’s arm. Glancing up, she met his eyes and he winked.

  “Who bears the rings?”

  Bjarni and Sigulf stepped forward, handing their rings to Ragnar and Aelfwyn respectively.

  “Ragnar, repeat after me,” said Ulferth. He loved this part.

  “With this ring, I thee wed, and I swear to be faithful, protect and love you forever.”

  Ragnar repeated this, and placed the Danish ring on Aelfwyn’s finger. He couldn’t believe its tiny size. Dark gold and etched with the ever repeating knot work pattern, it symbolised eternal love.

  Ulferth turned to Aelfwyn.

  “Repeat after me, please. With this ring, I thee wed, and I swear to comfort, obey and love you forever.”

  She repeated this, and wriggled the plain gold band onto his finger, hoping it would be big enough to fit.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” said Ulferth. “We must now proceed into the church for the blessing.”

  As the newly married couple stepped into the church, Aelfwyn felt a sudden surge in her stomach and up her throat. Turning away urgently, she vomited at the base of the stone church tower, near her father’s feet.

  Ragnar crouched by her, stroking her back gently, while Aldulf hovered, unsure what to do.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I just-help me away from here-“

  He swept her up and carried her to privacy behind a thick leaved bush, where she threw up twice more.

  “Are you ill?” He looked anxiously at her.

  “I don’t feel ill. I mean, only in the mornings…” She bit her lip. “For the last week or so.”

  “Do you think this means- ” He used his cloak to wipe flecks of sick off her dress. “Do you think you could be-with child?”

  “I don’t know. What will the wedding party think of me running off like that?”

  “Never mind them. I’m sure this isn’t the first time they’ve seen this happen. Gods, what have I done to you?”

  “Don’t be silly, it’s natural. See, I feel better now, it doesn’t last long.”

  He carefully examined her for traces of vomit, using grass to clean odd bits off.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

/>   “Yes, it only lasts a few moments every morning.” She smiled broadly. “Let’s go back to our wedding.”

  They stepped out of the bushes into the arms of Cwenburg, Saehild and Bjarni.

  “My dear girl, I think this wedding is taking place not a moment too soon.” Instead of the expected wrath of her mother, Aelfwyn received a gentle embrace.

  Saehild hugged her next.

  “Are you alright? Do you think it means you’re pregnant? Have you had your monthlies lately?”

  Aelfwyn had been ignoring the lack of bleeding, partly due to worrying about Ragnar’s fate, partly due to not wanting to think about what it meant. But she realised she hadn’t had it for two full moons now.

  “I’ve only done it with Ragnar a few times,” she whispered in her sister’s ear.

  “It only takes once to get with child,” Saehild whispered back. “You must be more fertile than me. I’ve done it lots of times with Bjarni but no baby yet.” She didn’t mention Ljotr, who she’d had sex with just the once. There was something about him which haunted her, she didn’t know what-his unfathomable eyes, his lithe body, how he tasted? But now was not the time to think of him so she dutifully turned her thoughts firmly back to her sister.

  Ragnar stood in shock with his best friend.

  “You old wolf,” said Bjarni, grinning. “Just married and you’re already a father.”

  “Y-yes, I’m amazed.” He smiled weakly. “I’d better get our home ready quickly.”

  “You must have been blessed by the fertility gods at birth. I’ve never known a woman fall pregnant within two minutes of marrying.”

  Ragnar turned back to Aelfwyn.

  “Are you feeling a bit better now? Shall we go back to church?”

  She smiled up at him but before she could speak, Cwenburg appeared at his side.

  “Make sure you look after her, you great brute,” she snapped. “She must rest a while before working her fingers to the bone taking care of you.”

  “Mother, be quiet,” interrupted Aelfwyn. “He always takes care of me. How do you think I got into this condition in the first place?” Putting her nose in the air, she took her husband’s arm and they set out for the church.

  “This will be a story for our children,” she whispered to him. “How mother threw up at the wedding.”

  He laughed. “At this rate we’ll be telling our grandchildren before long.”

  THE END

  Further information

  To find out more about Anglo-Saxon and Viking life, search for these sites on the internet, they are fascinating:

  Regia Anglorum;

  Viking Answer Lady;

  Wikipedia;

  Octavia.net;

  Encyclopedia.com;

  Englatheod.org;

  Ashmolean.org;

  Historyfiles.co.uk;

  BBC.co.uk/history;

  Skadi.net;

  Arild-hauge.com;

  Viking.no;

  Ancientsites.com;

  Historyworld.net;

  Jorvik-viking-centre.co.uk;

  Celyn.drizzlehosting.com;

  Angelfire.com;

  Domesdaybook.co.uk;

  Richarddenning.co.uk

  And a big thank you to my friend Helena Nelson-Smith for lending me her reference books on Anglo Saxon and Viking history.