‘I don’t want to do anything. I am sorely embarrassed to have lied to you. I had no intentions on your son, by Thor and his goats, I didn’t. It was her idea to become your fostring and I just wanted her out of my house. I think now I should have admitted the truth and at least I wouldn’t have lost my daughter. She’s my only child and in my pride I drove her away. If you need support for a lawsuit against Kjeld Gunnarson you can count on me.’ We shook hands, he rode to his farm and Ylva and I returned to my shell of a home.
‘That was an interesting story his karls had to tell,’ said Ylva.
‘What? Do they know about the baby?’
‘Sigrid, I honestly think Gerda’s mother is the only one who doesn’t know.’
‘But how can a mother not know?’
‘Maybe she doesn’t want to know,’ said Ylva. ‘Parents sometimes find it difficult to accept how things are.’
On the approach from Mosedale, just out of sight from the farm, someone had put up three stakes. A severed head crowned each of them. A small, bedraggled figure sat crumpled at the base of one. I stopped.
‘Gerda?’ She turned to look at me. I hardly recognised her but under the dirt and the blood she had drawn from her arms it was my fostring. Her dress was torn and her hair hung in tousled knots. Whoever the head on the stake belonged to, she had mourned him in the traditional way by cutting her arms, scratching her face and tearing at her hair and clothes. I dismounted to have a closer look. The birds had already done their work but I was able to make out the features of the killed hall-burner. It was the youngster I had injured. His face was distinctive; skin permanently tanned, hooked nose and raven-black hair. It left me in no doubt. Kjeld’s son by the thrall woman whose execution I had ordered all those years ago. I had paid weregeld but, it looked like the son had rejected the settlement and had sought revenge for his mother’s death. Now his head rotted on a shame-pole by the track to the hall he’d tried to destroy.
Ylva had dismounted and was wiping Gerda’s face.
‘I have nowhere to go,’ said the unhappy creature.
‘Yes, you do,’ I said. ‘Your parents’ house is still your home.’ I wished to Frigga I would be right. I pulled her up to sit behind me on North Wind and turned around to go and deliver her to her father.
Kohl looked tired and resigned as he helped his daughter dismount.
‘We found her on the track,’ I said. ‘She was snatched from my home with violence and has suffered much hardship. She needs care. Her place is with you.’
‘I thank you for bringing her back,’ he said and there were tears in his eyes.
‘When she’s able to speak I would like to hear what happened. I think she has a story to tell that is different to yours.’ I set off before the mother would come running. Over my shoulder I saw Kohl pick up his daughter and carry her into his hall.
It was dark by the time we got home. Unn had arrived, bleary eyed and, as usual, with no memory of where she’d been or what she’d done. I told Kirsten to see that she was all right. I was deadly tired but I summoned Olvir. He looked sheepish and avoided my eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve been such a fool.’
‘Did you like her, Olvir?’
‘I… no, well, I don’t know. Maybe I did. I thought she liked me. She made me feel…’
‘Olvir, you must have known she was not for you.’ He sighed.
‘Yes, but Sigrid, who is?’ I caught my breath. Guilt washed over me like a hot wave.
‘Oh Olvir, I have neglected you. I’ve taken you for granted! But I thought you were happy here. We both grew up here and I thought…’
‘I am happy here but I don’t know who I am. I’m neither family nor servant.’
‘Family, you’re family!’
‘Listen Sigrid I don’t want to be ungrateful. You and Ragnar have been the best foster-parents anyone could wish for. But I have nothing to call my own. When I worked for the Archbishop it was easier; I was an apprentice scribe or,’ he gave me a lopsided little smile, ‘as it turned out, a spy.’
‘I was very vexed with Wulfstan about that.’
‘But I liked it. I couldn’t fight like you and Ragnar; even Kveldulf, young as he was, had a part in the war. So I felt I did too, by gathering information and taking messages. Sigrid, I’m almost twenty years old. I shall never be initiated to the Thing, never have a family of my own.’
‘Who says?’
‘What do I have to offer a bride and her parents? Or would you have me marry one of the servants?’ I had no answer to that. We sat silent for a while then he said:
‘Well, why should I not marry a servant? Although I’m a free man now, I was born a thrall. But you treat me as family, I sit at the high table, where would my wife be placed?’
‘We shall find you some land. You must have your own farm.’
‘Sigrid, I’m no farmer. But I have been thinking. After the battle, when I stayed with Ansgar and the brothers, it didn’t matter who I was. I was no different to the rest of them. It was the same when I worked for Wulfstan.’ I began to see that Olvir had indeed done some thinking.
‘Olvir, you cannot go back to Wulfstan.’ But Olvir had made his decision.
The farewell feast was hardly worthy of the name. We huddled in a makeshift shelter leaning against the barn. I ordered mead and ale for all and we did our best to bring good cheer to our well wishes. Many of the women wept. Olvir made a special fuss of a couple of the younger children. Gudrun understood that this parting was not temporary and was distraught. Harald was worried.
‘Will you not stay and help us with the horses, Olvir?’ he asked.
‘You have all the skills you need; you, Ole and Inga. If there are any serious injuries or sickness, you can ask Kirsten.’ He looked down at Gudrun who had fallen asleep with her head on his lap. ‘And be kind to your sister. She’s learning fast and she’ll soon be able to help.’
He left the next day. I gave him a good horse and a pouch with, what I hoped would be enough silver to see him through until he reached Wulfstan. I thought I was very good at putting on a brave face but I must have done less well than I though for he kept reassuring me and even telling me to dry my tears.
‘I’ll ride with you part of the way,’ I said.
‘No Sigrid, that just makes it harder.’ I saw then that he too was crying.
I had to pay a visit to our Lawman Leifr Olafson. He lived almost a full day’s ride away. I hesitated to leave Becklund but it was important that I got to tell Leifr my story before anyone else put it to him in their words. My tunic still stank of smoke, my boots had scorch marks; I did not look like a well-to-do farmer. I could have washed and brushed up but this was how I decided to present myself to the Lawman. His face showed the dismay he felt at my appearance. He invited me and my small entourage to stay the night and that evening he listened to me with sympathy but with little encouragement.
‘You see,’ he said, ’Kjeld Gunnarson would not stoop to hall-burning. Whatever your quarrel in the past, he would not do that.’
‘I saw him.’
‘Who else saw him?’
‘I have the head of his son, Lawman. I’ll bring it to show you if necessary.’
‘Children develop minds of their own, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. The young man may have acted alone.’ There was no contradicting that, not for anyone with children like mine. So there it was. I knew nobody else had seen Kjeld. Leifr continued: ‘And he certainly wouldn’t be involved in the abduction of the poor girl. She would not be the kind of daughter-in-law he was looking for. That would be his son or another of the young men. There are, you know, hhrrrumpf, well, hum, you may have heard…’
‘I don’t have much time for gossip, Leifr Olafson.’ His face clouded over and he gave me a dark look. My words had slipped out and the only reason I can think of was that I felt sorry both for Kohl Ivarson and his wayward daughter. But it was a foolish thing to upset our new Lawman. I hoped he wouldn’t hold it agai
nst me.
August 949
I now had my work cut out to muster support for a lawsuit against Kjeld Gunnarson. At the next Thing I would charge him with treason. I would accuse him of the betrayal that had led to our defeat against King Edmund and to the deaths of too many people. One, in particular, still haunted my conscience. Hildur had been Unn’s close friend and the two were my first fostrings. Varg had trained them to be competent warriors and, against my better judgement, I had allowed them to join me in the battle against the English. Hildur was killed. She died because Kjeld Gunnarson revealed to the English a way to attack our stronghold.
Anlaf arrived from Rannerdale farm to help with the re-building of my hall. He brought three strong thralls and they were joined by my nephew Swein and four thralls from Buttermere. I was happy to hand the responsibility to Anlaf. It freed me to plan my lawsuit. That summer I spent many days riding between farmsteads, exchanging gifts and negotiating support. Many neighbours had lost friends and family in the battle and I played on their bitterness and stoked their anger. Soon even those who doubted we’d succeed were willing to lend their voice to my suit. Kohl Ivarson became my friend and supporter. His dislike of Kjeld quite matched mine after he found out that it was Veste Kjeldson who had seduced his daughter.
Kveldulf returned in the middle of harvest. I was sure he’d been sent back because of injury and steeled myself to receive him as a warrior and not a child. He rode into the yard with Cerdic Flatnose at his side. Neither of them seemed to carry any wounds. I was relieved but also intrigued. I embraced Kveldulf and handed him the ale-horn.
‘Welcome home, my son. It gladdens my heart to see you.’ He bent his knee to me before accepting the ale. Then he nodded and emptied the horn. Cerdic bent his knee as well but had to support himself on his spear to rise.
‘You are both welcome,’ I said. Cerdic grinned.
‘I thank you for that, Mistress Sigrid. It’s been a long ride.’ Kveldulf stood silent. Surely he knew he too should have given a formal answer. Why didn’t he say something? It struck me that he had bad news and hesitated to tell me. My heart seemed to stop and my breath caught in my throat. In a hoarse voice I said:
‘When you are refreshed we shall have a feast to celebrate your return, but first tell me about your father, I need to know that he is well.’ Kveldulf drew a deep breath.
‘Yes, Ragnar Sweinson is in good health, at least he was when I left him.’ A surge of relief made my eyes fill with tears. I cleared my throat.
‘You have had a long ride. You need rest. The sauna will be ready for you. Then we shall celebrate.’
‘I thank you for the offer of a sauna, it is most welcome.’ I smiled. My son had regained his manners.
Harald came sauntering from the stables.
‘Oh yes,’ he said with a smirk. ‘I see.’ Kveldulf frowned.
‘Greetings, brother.’
‘Yes, of course; welcome home.’ Harald grinned and watched as Kveldulf walked with a slight limp towards the bath house.
‘Are they having a sauna?’ he said. ‘I’ll join them, I stink of horse shit.’
‘You don’t need an excuse to see your brother alone. Anyway, you know I’ll find out what you’re plotting, sooner or later.’
‘Oh Mor, we’re not plotting. I’m just pleased to see him, that’s all.’
He ran to catch up with Kveldulf. I allowed myself a moment of pride watching my two sons side by side. Kveldulf had filled out and his tunic strained across his shoulders. Right now he shrugged those shoulders in response to something Harald said.
While the household prepared a welcome feast, I stole a moment alone with my two elder sons.
‘I decided I want to be initiated to the Thing,’ said Kveldulf, ‘and my father agreed to me leaving his hird. I know it’s what you wanted.’
‘Yes, I’m so pleased, Kveldulf. It’s an important event it seemed wrong to delay. But you walk with a slight limp?’
‘It’s nothing, a scratch and I’m sore from the long ride.’ He grinned. The first semblance of a smile since his return, but it didn’t look genuine. He looked tired, his eyes were red and the eyelids swollen. Was he perhaps wounded but didn’t want me to fuss?
‘Harald tells me Olvir has left. I shall miss him. Maybe he’ll come back?’
‘I don’t know. I hope he will. Did Harald tell you about the fire?’
‘No, yes, well he said you’d been attacked.’ I did a sideways glance and saw Harald roll his eyes.
‘Did he tell you by whom?’
‘Yes,’ said Harald, ‘I did but he didn’t want to hear that.’
‘Mother,’ Kveldulf began. Not Mor, I thought, why so formal? I was so upset by this I almost missed the rest of what he said.
‘I don’t believe Veste Kjeldson would do anything like that. Not a hall burning. That’s despicable. He just wouldn’t.’
‘Of course, you know him. I’ve seen you together at the Thing. I can’t say I’m pleased about that.’
‘He’s my friend. ’
‘Friend? He tried to kill me, your sister, your brothers, everyone here.’
‘It can’t have been Veste.’
‘We know it was him. He was killed in the raid.’
‘Yes, I know, but...’ He looked down at his hands. They were so firmly clenched the knuckles stood out white against the tanned skin. Harald said:
‘It didn’t seem fair for him not to know and then be told in front of everyone.’
I wanted to speak to Kveldulf seriously about this, to persuade him that any child of Kjeld’s would be a false friend and a dangerous one. But I restrained myself. In a month he would be initiated to the Thing, he would be my equal, my son but no longer my child. I could not choose his friends for him, however much I would like to. And for now he must feel welcome. I must show him how much I had missed him and how proud of him I was. Nothing must mar the event of my first-born becoming part of the community of the Cumbrian Norse. Any disagreement about his friendship with Veste Kjeldson would have to wait. The boy was dead and no longer a threat.
‘Harald,’ I said, ‘get your lyre. We shall feast, we’ll want some music. Kveldulf, our people are waiting to celebrate your safe return.’ Harald left. I gave Kveldulf a moment to calm down. His friend had been killed attacking his family. That was a heavy burden to bear. Suddenly it became important to me that he should never find out that it was I who killed his friend.
I put my hand on Kveldulf’s arm.
‘I’m so happy to have you home, Kveldulf. Now we all await the tales of your adventures.’
‘Yes Mother, I know.’
‘Mother? Am I no longer your Mor?’ He hesitated. Then he said:
‘I’m too old to call you that.’
‘I see. I shall have to get used to you being a man.’ I had to accept it then, there was distance between us. I must re-gain his confidence which somehow I had lost. I got up, drew a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and made myself smile in readiness for the feast. I noticed Kveldulf doing the same.
Gudrun came running and threw herself in Kveldulf’s arms. He hoisted her in the air and she laughed.
‘But do you recognise me? You’re supposed to ask who I am.’
‘No, silly, I’m not Far and he’s just joking when he pretends not to know us.’ Far, I thought with a stab of jealousy, so he’s too old for Mor but not for Far.
I invited Kveldulf to sit next to me in the high seat. Harald and Gudrun settled with Thorstein between them. Gudrun was busy helping herself to honey cakes.
‘No more than three, Gudrun,’ I said.
‘She’ll make herself sick again,’ said Harald his mouth full of roast venison. I added: ‘And make sure Thorstein doesn’t choke on the meat again. Cut it up small for him.’
Kveldulf picked at his food but made good use of his mead-horn.
When our hunger was satisfied, but ale still flowed, the tales began. Kveldulf didn’t have Ragnar’s cheerful ability to exag
gerate successes and brush off defeats. He had to be prompted by Cerdic to tell of a fight in Eire when he’d killed one warrior and wounded another.
‘His sword drew blood. Your son is true to his heritage,’ said Cerdic, ‘as bold a warrior as ever came from your line and Ragnar Sweinson’s. He’s brought honour to your name.’ The praise made Kveldulf blush and smile.
‘He was ever brave,’ I said. ‘Remember when he guarded our horses during the last war against the English? He was but a lad then but as courageous as any of us on the field of battle.’
‘Weren’t you scared at all?’ said Gudrun reaching for a fourth honey-cake.
‘No, not really,’ said Kveldulf. ‘It’s a strange thing happens to you in a real fight. You just concentrate on killing your enemy and stopping anyone killing you.’
‘Do you feel the battle fury?’ I asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t seem to get angry. I don’t think I feel anything at all. Strange really. I haven’t thought about it.’
‘It’s good. You fight like your father. Ragnar doesn’t let anything distract him.’
‘Do you? I have only seen you fight that one time against the Galician.’
‘In single combat I have to get angry or I don’t think I’d be able to kill.’ He looked surprised.
‘But the Galician? Did you even know who he was?’
‘He was Kjeld’s champion. I had to look at Kjeld and think about what he was trying to do to us, what he had already done to you and me. That he’d wanted to kill you when you were barely two years of age.’ Kveldulf lowered his gaze. His cheeks reddened but he said nothing instead he turned to Gudrun.
‘So how is your horse? What did you decide to call it?’
‘She’s called Rainbow,’ said Gudrun. ‘I got…’ Her next words disappeared in a yawn.
Kveldulf and Cerdic told their stories, others joined in, reminiscing about other battles, other raids. Then Harald picked up his lyre and began to play. The talk grew bawdy and loud. Those with weak heads and stomachs rushed from the tables, couples disappeared with their arms interlinked. The younger children curled up on the benches and fell asleep. Soon they were joined by the old men and women whose snores provided a background noise to the music and jokes. I leaned back against the soft skin on the high seat. It was our first occasion for feasting since the fire. The hall was restored but the walls were still bare, waiting for the hangings my women were busy weaving and embroidering. I reflected that they now had to put that work aside and make Kveldulf a new suit of clothes for the Thing, clothes he would wear for his entry into the community of the Cumbrian Norse. Was he ready for that world and what kind of man would he make?
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