The feasting came to an end and life returned to normal. Icy winds turned mud to rock. Thrall Toki had had the foresight to level the yard which made it possible to move with greater ease between hall, stables and byre but the tracks to and from the farm were difficult to use for both people and animals. Harald and his friends exercised the horses in the meadow; the men repaired tools and carved delicate wooden spoons and other items for utility as well as for decoration; the women did their spinning and weaving while, in the background, the sound of the querns was a reassuring sign that we had food enough for the winter.
‘This mustn’t last too long though,’ said Thrall Toki, ‘there’s a lot of ploughing to do and we can’t do it in this weather.’
‘It’s hard on the new lambs when they start coming,’ said Harald.
‘And on the poor bastards who have to ride up on the fell to look for them,’ said Ole. There was much gentle grumbling like that but we all knew we could do nothing except hope that the gods had been pleased with our Yuletide offerings and would turn the weather to our advantage.
March 949
As winter turned into spring it became clear that Gerda tested the patience of both Aluinn and Vida.
‘It would have been better if her parents had taken her back with them at Yuletide,’ muttered Vida, who was never shy of expressing an opinion. Aluinn just smiled and said surely they could cope.
‘What is the problem,’ I asked.
‘Too keen on the men,’ said Vida. ‘Smiles when she should frown, looks when she should avert her eyes. I mean it’s not like she’s a servant or a thrall.’ I was astounded. With Ragnar’s hird gone there were no male warriors in the hall. I struggled to think of any of the servants that might be attractive to a girl of Gerda’s age.
‘Has anyone in particular caught her eye?’
‘Olvir.’
‘What!’
‘Hush Vida,’ said Aluinn. ‘It’s none of our business.’
‘Sometimes, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ said Vida, ‘you are completely blind. It was sheer luck that Queen Gunnhild’s ladies were kept on a short leash and her daughter only had eyes for Kveldulf. Heaven knows what might have happened. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Mistress Sigrid,’ said Aluinn, ‘Olvir is popular with the women and no wonder, handsome lad that he is.’
‘Handsome? Olvir?’ I tried to make sense of what the two women were telling me. Vida rolled her eyes. I said: ‘What else should I have noticed?’
‘The babies, perhaps?’ said Vida. ‘You must have seen those sturdy, yellow haired little ones. The oldest must be almost two years old.’ I had noticed some of the babies born to the younger thrall women but only to count the months and be reassured that they weren’t Ragnar’s. I drew a breath. I’d have to warn Olvir but I must also do something about Gerda. This forward girl could get us all into trouble.
I prevaricated until the moon had waxed and waned. But it could not be put off for ever. One evening I decided that the next day I would speak to the troublesome Gerda. I tossed and turned on my bed trying to prepare my words. I tried to think of what my mother would have done. The only possible conclusion was that she’d never be stupid enough to get herself into this kind of situation.
‘Mor, be still,’ muttered Gudrun. I tucked her and Thorstein in and, wrapped in a shawl, went to sit by the hearth. I thought I might read a solution in the glowing embers. But no answers came to me.
A large hall at night is full of sounds and smells; snoring, the rustle of people turning over, the pungent aroma of wet dogs and dry floor rushes. But this night the dogs heard sounds that didn’t belong here. Lion stood by the door, neck hairs raised, growling and looking at me. I went up and put my ear to the rough surface. From outside came muted voices, horses’ hooves against the cobbles in the yard, the cracking of torches aflame. I went along the sleeping platforms and, gently shaking shoulders and whispering caution, I raised the household. The gods had seen fit to warn me and I intended to make the most of that advantage. Whoever had come, I wanted to know who, I wanted to catch them and I wanted to kill them.
Alert and armed, my hird and the rest of my household lined up by the door. I reminded them about their tasks. They nodded, some with anger in their eyes some with fear but all looked determined to be brave.
I could smell the smoke now. Someone outside gave instructions in a low voice. I could sense movement. It was time. I withdrew the beam from across the door and opened up. It was a cold but dry night. I had waited too long and the thatch had already caught fire. Flames licked the side of the roof sending brown acrid smoke into the night sky. I went first closely followed by my warrior women, all with our bows drawn. I shot three arrows in quick succession and heard the swishing sound from other bows. There was no time to take aim but screams indicated that some hit home. Olvir let the dogs loose and they threw themselves at the intruders with open jaws and flesh-hungry teeth. The yard echoed with panic-stricken screaming and men running back and forth looking for escape. The noise and confusion allowed my women and children to leave the house and run for shelter. It was time to let Dragonclaw sing her song of death. She shimmered in the dark and reared up thirsty for blood. Fury gave strength to my voice as I raised the battle-cry:
‘Odin! You all belong to Odin!’ My warriors took up the chant and we advanced on the attackers.
We hewed around us with swords and axes. Servants and thralls used spears, pitch forks and knives. I looked around for the leader of the hall-burners. At the edge of the yard I spotted a figure on horseback. Kjeld, I was sure it was him. Even in the dark I could never mistake him. He sat slumped in the saddle. He reeled his mount round and I saw an arrow lodged in his shoulder. He rode off across the meadow towards the trees on the slopes of Mellbreak. I ran after him. A young warrior got in my way. He drew his sword but Dragonclaw was already poised and slid in under his raised arm. He dropped his sword and his arm hung useless by his side.
‘Where’s your shield, whelp?’ I snarled as I retracted Dragonclaw. He went down on his knees and sobbed. I noticed that he was hardly out of childhood. But there was no time to reflect on his fate. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a large figure heading my way. This was no inexperienced youngster. He held a double edged battle axe in both hands ready to strike. I raised my shield. He hooked his axe over the edge of it. He pulled. I fought the instinct to resist. Instead I made a sudden move towards him and lowered my shield. It threw him off balance. He took a step back but stayed on his feet. I side-stepped, bent down and slashed his leg. He roared and stumbled. His grip on the axe slackened enough for me to free my shield. We both stepped back, locked eyes, matched in hatred. He hit my shield with the flat of the axe. The heavy blow sent waves of pain up my arm to my shoulder. I gritted my teeth and held on. He raised his axe for another blow. I moved left. He had to adjust his aim which slowed and weakened the blow. His axe glanced off the edge of my shield. I bent my knees and before he had time to raise the axe again I leaped aside and danced behind him. He swung round after me, ready with that ferocious axe. Both arms raised made him vulnerable and I swiftly moved Dragonclaw outside the shelter of my shield and pierced his jerkin below his left arm. He roared in anger. The axe slipped off my shield. It continued to travel downwards. I smiled and drew Dragonclaw’s mill-sharpened edge across his neck. His blood soaked through my tunic, warm and sticky against my flesh. The ground seemed to shake as he crashed down.
‘Thought to burn my hall, did you?’ I snarled and left him to his death throes.
I looked around. A few bodies lay sprawled on the ground. Men fled on horseback and on foot. Ylva called:
‘No Unn, come back. There’s no point. It’s over.’ We listened together to the high pitched howl that told us Unn was in the grip of battle fury and beyond reasoning.
‘She’ll return in her own time,’ I said.
We went to help fight the fire. Coughing and swearing, men and women used rakes and hayforks to pull
the burning thatch from the roof. Others doused the flames with water from the beck. Women and older children ran back and forth with buckets. My warriors put their swords in their scabbards and pitched in. The smoke, heavy and acrid, choked and blinded. The silence of the night was broken only by the sounds of babies crying and our painful efforts to breathe. We worked on in defiance and by daybreak the fire was extinguished. I finally had time to rest and take stock.
I sat on the edge of the empty horse trough and looked at what was left of my hall. The centre of the building was hardly damaged at all. But above mine and Ragnar’s room the roof beams sat naked and blackened like the scorched rib cage of a sacrificed horse. Bedding and wall hangings smouldered, burnt fragments of the thatch lay scattered everywhere; my chair was burnt and our bed, where Gudrun and Thorstein had slept, was a pile of charred wood. Someone had known where to start the fire.
Memories came flooding in. This was the third time I had seen a hall at Becklund in ruins. The first time my father’s hall was burnt to the ground, he was killed and my family scattered. The second time it cost the lives of dear friends and faithful servants. Each time the hall had been re-built larger and more handsome than before. It must be done again in the name of defiance as well as survival. And I would have my revenge.
We had interrupted the hall-burners before they had time to set fire to other buildings. Barns, byre, stables, storehouses were all safe. We gathered round an open fire in the yard. I ordered meat ale and a measure of mead for everyone. Even the children got their share and were praised for their courage.
‘I helped, didn’t I,’ said Gudrun with a gap toothed grin.
‘Yes,’ said Kirsten, ‘but you were told to stay with me and help look after the little ones.’
‘What did you do?’ I looked at my daughter, soot smeared across her face, the end of one plait singed.
‘I carried water. Gerda left with that man and there was nobody …’
‘Gerda! Where is she? Is she safe?’ Gudrun frowned at my interruption.
‘I took her place and I passed the buckets and I helped.’
Gerda gone! Who would ever trust me or support me if I proved unable to keep my fostrings safe? I knelt beside my daughter and held her shoulders.
‘Gudrun, you’ve been very brave and you helped save our home but I need to know where Gerda is.’ Gudrun’s eyes watered and she screwed her face into an angry scowl.
‘You don’t care about me. Just silly, stupid old Gerda. And I helped and she didn’t, and …’ I pulled her to me and rocked her.
‘No my little squirrel, you are the most important and I’m very proud of you but now I need you to help me again. We must find Gerda.’ She pouted.
‘How am I supposed to know? And anyway, I don’t even like her.’ My patience was beginning to wear thin. I was saved by Kirsten and a piece of dried apple.
‘She went away, Mor. That man tried to take her on his horse but she ran.’
‘What man? Did you see his face? Did you recognise him?’ Chewing her apple she shook her head.
‘Have you never seen him before?’ She nodded. My pulses hammering I had to wait until Gudrun had swallowed and was ready to answer.
‘I saw him at the fing.’
‘Thing,’ corrected Kirsten, ‘th…th…’
‘It doesn’t matter Kirsten. What does he look like?’
‘He’s old… not very old. He was with the boy who talked to Harald.’ I kissed her cheek and told Kirsten to take her and find a sleeping place.
I found Harald in the stable.
‘I don’t know, Mor. I have a lot of friends,’ he said.
‘I must find her, you do understand that, don’t you?’ He nodded and continued to rub down a horse.
‘Yes, of course I do. But Mor, I’m sorry, I talk to people all the time at the Thing. I never noticed Gerda until she came here. I don’t know who Gudrun means. Look at this horse though. I got it. Nice isn’t it? It’s just a gelding but a good steed. Ole is trying to calm a fine stallion and bring him in.’ I sighed.
‘The man, Harald. Help me. Who could it be?’ We were interrupted by Olvir who came in leading another captured horse. He grinned.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘another stallion. That makes two stallions, the gelding and a small mare. They won’t try to attack here again. I wonder which of them rode the mare?’
‘It will have been for Gerda,’ I said watching his face. He blushed and looked away.
‘She’s gone with them,’ said Harald. ‘I told you she was just teasing you.’ I left them and went to ask around the rest of the household if anyone had seen anything.
‘Probably had it arranged, the little vixen,’ said Vida.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ said Thrall Toki. ‘I’ve had to speak to a couple of the young bucks about her. It wouldn’t be her who got blamed if one of them forgot his place.’
‘But a hall burning? She can’t have been part of that.’
‘Maybe she didn’t know about that bit. Silly girl.’
I sat down by a pile of my smoking thatch and contemplated having to face Gerda’s father with the news of his daughter’s disappearance from the place where she should have been as safe as in her own home. I began to understand Ragnar’s view that being a warrior was so much simpler than dealing with everyday life.
Gerda’s father must not hear about her abduction from anyone else. I set off as soon as it was light enough to ride. I took only Ylva for company. Our breaths made clouds of steam and the horses’ hooves thudded against the frozen ground. We followed the edge of Loweswater. Along the shore the water was still frozen. Was it really only a couple of weeks ago that the children had strapped long pieces of bone to their shoes and skated on the ice? In the gloomy light the branches of bare trees stretched like arms held aloft in prayer. We got to Kohl’s farm at mid-morning. He looked at my bloodied tunic and soot smeared face and his voice wobbled when he said:
‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, my eyes tell me you have grim news and my heart fears for my daughter. Tell me at once, is she alive? Is she safe?’ My whole body trembled in fear and shame and my voice was little more than a whisper:
‘I don’t know, Kohl Ivarson. Your daughter was abducted during an attack on my hall. I have no reason to believe she is dead.’ He may have been a greedy man but he was a sensible one. He took me inside his hall and called for meat and ale. We may have been able to decide on a common plan of action if his wife had not come rushing in.
‘I told you Husband, it would come to a bad end. I told you not to let her go. Fancy a beautiful girl learning to be a warrior.’
‘Gerda wasn’t doing weapons practice, she was in the house,’ I said. That made her turn on me.
‘And what can someone like you teach her about running a household? You’re an aberration. I never wanted my precious girl to go anywhere near you or your son. And then he’s not even there. So what was the point? And now they tell me she’s dead.’ She set to wailing and beating her breast.
‘Your daughter has been abducted. She’s not dead,’ I shouted hoping not to be proved wrong. The distraught mother continued to wail. She tore off her headdress and loosened her plaits. Kohl muttered something under his breath and walked off. What was I supposed to do now? I managed not to shake the mother but tried to talk her back to her senses. I didn’t get far. After a while Kohl returned with three of his housekarls all leading their horses.
‘If you and your young warrior woman are rested enough, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ he said.
We rode towards Swanhill, Kjeld Gunnarson’s farm, but we hadn’t gone far when Kohl stopped, dismounted and beckoned to me to do the same. He took me aside out of earshot of Ylva and his men.
‘My wife gets upset,’ he said, ‘easier to talk here.’
‘Was Gerda friendly with Kjeld Gunnarson’s children,’ I asked.
‘I should hope not. She’s brought enough shame on me without getting involved with that nithing.’ He s
tood next to me in silence for a while then he said:
‘So you think Kjeld might be involved in the hall-burning?’
‘He was there. I saw him.’ He sucked in air through his teeth.
‘Well Odin’s sacred balls! It is true that he hates you, everyone knows that, but would he really? Hmm, yes perhaps. But Gerda? As far as I know I have no quarrel with Kjeld. I despise him of course but we have no declared enmity between us.’
‘I have to ask you Kohl Ivarson, is it possible that Gerda might have…’
‘That’s an insult!’ he shouted. He took a half score steps away and stood with his back to me. Should I say something? I was about to apologise when he turned. His face had crumpled into the image of a very sad and tired old man.
‘The stories, the rumours, it’s already known. I may as well tell you. I have my daughter’s bastard living in my cook house. She’s a disgrace. She was such a lovely little girl, pure joy, my only child.’
‘Children don’t always turn out the way we intend for them, Kohl Ivarson, but they sometimes grow to see the error of their ways.’
‘Her mother doesn’t know. That’s the worst of it. I sent the little whore away to get the business over with and then I pretended the bastard was her servant woman’s child. I thought it would be for the best. I thought she’d be grateful.’
I remembered my own jealousy whenever I’d needed to have another woman care for my babies and I felt sorry for Gerda. She was taking a cruel revenge, robbing her father of his honour but, despite the trouble she caused me, I could not entirely condemn her. How cruel, to have to see her child every day without being able to care for it.
‘Do you know who the father is?’
‘She won’t tell. I could of course beat it out of her but then my wife would find out and I wanted to spare her that.’
‘What shall you do now, Kohl Ivarson?’
Honour is All Page 10