Honour is All

by Marianne Whiting

  ‘Varg, I don’t like the look of those skies. Is there a storm brewing?’

  ‘No, that’s just the morning mist lifting. It’ll be a fine day.’ I handed Harald a cheese and a basket of eggs.

  ‘Give this to your Aunt Gyda from me. And tell Anlaf to help you with your sword skills and tell him I may have need of him soon.’

  ‘Princess Sigrid,’ said Varg. ‘Anlaf won’t be able to help you with what you’re up against. Look,’ he pointed to the falcon, ‘it’s a peregrine. She’s here.’

  ‘You believe she really is a shapeshifter?’

  ‘Oh yes, I knew her in the past. She’s capable of that and more. We should not tarry. And young Harald, if you keep wagging those ears they’ll fall off. Now settle down.’ He heaved his wooden leg over the side and picked up the oars. I looked at the falcon. It seemed to hold my eye. For a moment I was distracted and forgot to wave until Gudrun shouted ‘goodbye’.

  The falcon flew off and hovered above the water. That’s not what falcons do. They stay over land. I felt the tight fist of fear around my innards. Was it really possible? Could it be Gunnhild?

  The falcon soared. A sudden surge of wind made waves on the lake. The wind grew stronger. The boat was not yet half way across the water but the waves were large enough for me to lose sight of it when it sank into a trough. The falcon flew in ever decreasing circles. The wind increased. White foam crowned the crests of the waves. Varg’s voice floated across the water. He was calling Odin, he was chanting the battle cry of the Norse. He was preparing to die.

  I gripped my Mjolner amulet and raised it to the sky.

  ‘Thor, Odin, see to us. This is a challenge to you as well as to me and my children. Save them, save them, save them.’

  Kirsten appeared next to me. Her eyes stared blankly. She made no sign that she recognised me. She walked with a stiff gait to the edge of the water and spat into it. Then she cast some herbs into the air where they dispersed in a scatter of green and brown flakes. She sang in a voice that was not hers, in words I didn’t know, to a tune not of this world. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and a shiver travelled along my spine.

  I heard the falcon’s kek-kek-kek. Kirsten fell to the ground in a faint. I rushed to her side. The falcon called again and I looked up. A small dove showed white against the grey sky. Butted by the gusty winds it steered no course but flapped its wings in a struggle to keep in the air. It got too close to the falcon. The larger bird lashed out with its deadly talons and caught a wing. The dove fluttered down towards us. It landed in the water and floated off. Kirsten whimpered as if in her sleep and her left arm twitched. Kirsten, I thought, what are you doing? Then I screamed at the top of my voice a scream carrying all my anguish to the only one who could help my children now:

  ‘Odiiiiin! Don’t allow this evil to happen.’

  Above me the Peregrine falcon cried out. A different screech to before. I looked up. A mighty, coal-black raven descended from behind the clouds. It flapped its powerful wings and dived on to the smaller bird. They swirled around each other in a flurry of flapping wings, sharp beaks and vicious talons. Their calls mixed with the rushing of the waves and the whistling of the wind. The raven hit out again. The cursed falcon struggled, buffeted by the wind. It escaped the raven’s grasping claws and managed to get away. It escaped but flew the last few wing-beats to the shelter of my barn with a flapping, uneven movement. The raven cawed, triumphant and flew away.

  The wind calmed and over the swell of the waves I saw the upturned boat floating towards the opposite shore. Three figures clung to the hull. A boat was launched from Rannerdale with two men in it. They rowed with powerful strokes towards the wreck. The children were safe. But Varg, with his unwieldy wooden leg and heavy sword, which I was sure he’d not jettisoned, would not have been able to swim out from under the upturned boat.

  I sat on the damp grass with Kirsten’s limp body in my arms. She breathed, she would recover. But Varg was lost to me. Grief stabbed like an icicle to my chest. Varg had been a link to my father, to the time when my father was one of King Harald Finehair’s men, to a time when he and my mother fell in love and eloped. It felt like I lost my family all over again. My tears fell on Kirsten’s unresponsive face.

  A fire on the opposite side of Crummockwater announced that my children were back on dry land. I sat with Kirsten and watched as she gradually came back to life. When I thought her conscious I supported her to sit up.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ I said.

  ‘Nor did I, Sigrid. It’s never happened before but I willed it so hard I suppose it had to this time.’

  ‘You were a dove against her falcon, Kirsten. What were you thinking? You were nearly killed.’

  ‘A dove, is that all I was? With all my anger, I thought I should be a raven.’

  ‘There was a raven too. I think Queen Gunnhild was injured the same as you.’

  ‘A raven? But…’

  ‘Odin watches over his own.’

  A thrall-woman wandered towards us on the track. I recognised Thorstein’s wet-nurse.

  ‘You’re out early?’ I said. She looked at Kirsten then me.

  ‘Best time to collect herbs, before the dew has dried.’

  ‘I want you to take Kirsten to the smithy and keep her warm until she feels rested.’

  ‘Good, she’ll be left in peace there.’

  ‘It’s just a swoon. Not a word to anyone. We don’t want them making a fuss.’

  ‘No, of course.’

  I watched her put an arm round Kirsten’s waist for support and lead her towards the farm. She’d had the same knowing look as when she fed Thorstein before handing him over to me. I had many thralls on Becklund and I usually managed to keep track of who they were. But this woman I couldn’t remember being either bought or gifted to me. It would come to me, I thought as I hurried back to the hall.

  It was mid-morning by the time Gunnhild swept aside the hangings in front of the box bed she shared with her daughter and emerged as if from sleep. I saw that her left arm, which I had expected to be swathed in bandages, was completely uninjured. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood to face me. Her eyes, all black, showing neither white nor colour, pierced me as if she were able to reach the very core of my being. I couldn’t help taking a step back.

  ‘Niece,’ she said. ‘where are your children?’

  ‘They are visiting our relatives at Rannerdale. It was arranged some time ago.’

  ‘My son was trying to be helpful and assist your boy with his swordskills and you send him away. I have at all times tried to look after you. This is yet another insult. You go too far. I am mortally offended.’

  ‘You have neither reason nor right to be,’ I said and felt proud that my voice was steadier than my hands which I had to hide under my pinafore. ‘You and your children are my honoured guests but life here at Becklund has to continue as usual.’ She looked pale and tired and I felt I had an easy escape when, supported by one of her ladies, she returned to the bed.

  Harald, Gudrun and Cub stayed at Rannerdale for the remainder of Gunnhild’s stay. I resisted all her orders, demands, entreaties to send for them. She offered to make their fortune and she threatened to ruin their lives. Her voice followed me everywhere. Sometimes I heard her but couldn’t see her. I ended each day exhausted but I stood up to her. I was immensely relieved when, after another week, five of Eirik’s men came to escort her to Orkney. She packed her belongings and set off but not without a parting shot.

  ‘You shall regret your insolence, Niece,’ she said. It would have been easier if she’d shouted and raged. Her calm voice held a dark undertone which bore more of a threat than any other speech because it came out of the conviction that she had the power to destroy me. It was a conviction I shared and that made me weak. So when Gunnhild raised a fist to the sky and cursed me and my children, I believed her.

  The day after Gunnhild left, Olvir rowed across Crummockwater to bring my children b
ack from Rannerdale. On their return they found Varg’s body washed up on the shore below Melbreak not far from where he and the children had set off. I had him brought back to Becklund and sent for the families at Rannerdale and Buttermere. The body was not in such a state that we could dress him in fine clothes but I covered him with a fur-lined cloak worthy of a chieftain. We put him on the funeral pyre with his sword at his side. I was going to place his helmet next to him as well but it was a fine helmet and as such items are rare and usually inherited I decided not to bury it but to give it to little Cub. Kirsten cried as she placed it on his head.

  ‘May you grow up a warrior to bring honour to your forebears, Varg Njalson,’ I said. We chanted the sacred words to call on Odin. The flames from the pyre rose to the sky carrying the old warrior to his just place at the heroes’ table in Valhalla.

  A funeral pyre takes many hours to burn out and much ale was drunk while we waited for the last embers to turn to ash. Because he knew my father, Varg had been more than a sworn man to me and I provided a funeral ale as if he’d been family. I ordered a lamb to be slaughtered and served up smoked hams and a rich broth flavoured with wild carrots. We feasted on dried dates, hazel nuts and almond cakes made with honey. We spoke about Varg and shared our memories of him. There were many gaps in our knowledge and some of the things he had himself told us of his life were not easy to believe but on this occasion we accepted everything he’d ever said as Odin’s own truth.

  Someone, it may have been Vida, gave voice to what many of us thought:

  ‘How shall Becklund manage the horses without Varg?’ She was looking at Olvir who sat staring at the remains of Varg’s funeral pyre. He looked up slowly but before he had time to speak the answer came from another.

  ‘We can do it,’ said Harald in a voice much older than his nine years. ‘Varg taught me, Ole and Inga to groom and prepare the horses. Olvir knows about the breeding. We shall make Varg proud of us. We’ll show that witch.’ A hush spread through the assembled and many a mouth fell open in astonishment. I looked at my second son, the playful one, the peaceful one. His young face was set in grim determination and nobody argued or cast doubt on his resolve.

  Chapter 4

  A Deadly Enemy

  October 948

  It was time to go to the Thing. We arrived in good time to take possession of our customary plot. My servants and thralls made such repairs to the walls of the booth as were necessary and put the large woven sheet over the top. To make it waterproof it had been coated with sheep’s fat. The smell permeated the inside of the booth and drove us outside. The fire pit was still visible under the grass. Thrall Toki dug it out and soon we had a good fire to cook on. As usual we were joined by our relatives from Rannerdale and Buttermere and by Ylva Flamehair’s family from Low Kid Farm. With children, servants and thralls we made a large party and as the work was shared everyone had some time to pursue their own interests. Some of my servants and thralls had handicrafts to sell, the children went exploring and the adults visited friends and relatives we often didn’t meet from one year to the next.

  This, the Autumn Thing in the year 948, marked the return of Kjeld Gunnarson. The man who’d betrayed us to the Saxons and brought us defeat in the last battle for Cumbria, had not been to a gathering of the Thing since that battle. I watched him arrive with his family. He helped his daughter to dismount and kissed her on the cheek. The girl looked like her mother, Lydia, the thrall woman I had sentenced to be killed many years ago. Her skin and hair were a bit lighter but she had the same dark eyes. The very sight of her brought me a sense of unease.

  Kjeld was soon engaged in talking to some men who must have had less of a memory than the rest of us. Until now he’d kept to himself on his farm and he’d never been challenged, never accused of selling his fellow Norse to the Saxon King. I thought he must have been richly rewarded by King Edmund for his clothes were trimmed with gold-thread and round his neck he had a splendid gold torque. The new wife and the daughter wore clothes of finest wool and silk.

  The red mist of fury enveloped me when I saw Kjeld smiling and confident. My feet carried me towards the nithing on a wave of anger. Many hands grabbed me and held me. Olvir’s voice reached me as from far away.

  ‘Don’t! Sigrid stop it, let go of your sword – you’re at the Thing.’ Ylva and Unn held on to my sword-hand and I became aware that I had loosened the peace-cord and was about to draw Dragonclaw. I spat on the ground.

  ‘I shall challenge him in front of the Thing,’ I said. ‘There must be justice. The traitor must be punished. He has too many lives to account for.’

  When the time came for lawsuits to be brought, Kjeld Gunnarson was nowhere to be seen. His booth stood empty. He had taken his household and left. I decided to go ahead anyway.

  We had a new Lawman, Leifr Olafson. I mentioned my intended lawsuit to him but he was not impressed.

  ‘There’s no proof it was Kjeld Gunnarson,’ he said. ‘It could have been anyone. Kjeld has witnesses to assert that he was on his farm recovering from a wound. This is your old enmity coming up again. It’s between you and him, it was resolved in law years ago and is no business for this Thing.’ I stood open mouthed. I looked around. Some, but oh how few, looked as put out as I was. Others refused to meet my gaze and others still shook their heads to show they did not support my plea. It dawned on me what had happened. Kjeld had not kept out of the way of anyone but me and those few who were of my disposition towards him. For the rest he’d been busy buying support and talking his way back into people’s confidence. I raised my hand to demand the right of reply but Ylva’s father held me back.

  ‘With all respect, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, you know I think you’re right but in this matter we have no support. It shall have to wait.’ The old man was, of course, right and I had to see sense and let go of my suit. It was a bitter decision. But I swore I would make Kjeld answer for the lives of those I had seen treacherously killed in the battle of Dunmail’s Rise.

  The failure to bring Kjeld to justice rankled but I knew that one day I would succeed and I began to prepare for that day. I visited, exchanged gifts and formed agreements about everything possible except what was my ultimate aim. Three of my horses, a young stallion and two brood mares, each fetched a handsome sum of money. I put it to good use. I bought an ox I didn’t need, a couple of swords of inferior quality and a tapestry attacked by moths all to gain good will and establish connections for the future. I was approached by wealthy farmers with enquiries about Kveldulf. Most of them were at pains to introduce their daughters and hint at their suitability as future wives for my son. Three young women were put to be fostrings of mine. It was quite clear that two of the girls wanted to learn to fight and ultimately to be part of my hird. Ylva dismissed the third one out of hand:

  ‘Too vain,’ she said. ‘She’s been put up to it by the father. He probably wants her to marry Kveldulf and he thinks this is a way in.’

  ‘But she’s at least five years older than Kveldulf,’ I said, thinking Ylva too cynical. Unn’s derisory laughter made me realise that my son was a trophy; to fathers because of our wealth, to daughters because he was handsome. My little boy, I thought, he was always going to be pleasing to the eye but surely he was still just a boy. No, of course he wasn’t. He was away on his first raid. He was a warrior. I sighed. The marriage game had come upon me rather suddenly. Ylva seemed to read my mind and grinned. I pulled myself together.

  ‘What about the other two?’ She tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips.

  ‘They look strong and seem serious about the fighting. But it’s not like you can afford to say no to any of them anyway, is it?’ I nodded. To be offered fostrings from wealthy families was an honour I couldn’t refuse. It formed a bond between the families who would be under obligation to come to each other’s support in times of trouble. That, of course, also meant support in lawsuits such as the one I planned against Kjeld Gunnarson. I made it clear to daughters and parents alike
that I would accept the girls but whether as future warriors or to learn about the running of a household would be my decision. Each of the girls sat on my lap to show they were now my fostrings and I exchanged gifts with the fathers.

  It meant I now had eight young women in my household. Ylva and Unn, my sworn warriors, had been by my side for several years. There were also two orphaned sisters, Helle and Runa, who had appealed to me for protection and become first servants then warriors. I also had a fostring who, in what seemed to be the pattern, had persuaded her father to let her train in the use of weapons. These last three had aptitude and the right temperament. Varg had taught them well while I was absent. They were very much part of the household so I didn’t think that accepting another three fostrings in my hall would cause too much of an upset.

  Ragnar and Kveldulf did not come back in time for Yule. I hadn’t expected them to. In a way I didn’t mind too much because I was busy laying plans to deal with Kjeld Gunnarson. I invited more people than usual for the celebrations. The families of my fostrings visited. Two of the new girls were making good progress with their weapons training and had quickly become part of the household. Their parents declared themselves satisfied. But the mother of the third girl was reserved and seemed not altogether happy with our arrangement. I thought maybe she missed her daughter Gerda. This was the fostring with no talent for the use of weapons. I had trusted her to Vida and Aluinn to learn the skills needed to run a household. I explained this to her parents. The father, Kohl Ivarson, agreed it was a good idea but the mother frowned. I refused to let that worry me. The father assured me of his support against Kjeld, that’s all I was interested in.