‘And then when Kirsten wouldn’t give him any more calming draughts he became alert again and at once began searching for her. He rides out and stays away for days. When he returns he asks Harald if Nanna has been here looking for him.’
‘So he’s smitten. He’ll get over it. But you’re sure it was Kjeld at the hall-burning?’ I sighed. He was obviously not going to let go of that.
‘Yes, I saw him. It was his son’s head on that shame-pole as well. It may have been I who killed him.’
‘The son could have acted alone. You must be able to prove that Kjeld was there. That’s the only way to get retribution.’
‘I have discussed all this with Lawman Leifr already. I was the only one who saw him.’
‘Then what shall you do about it? You can’t just leave it. Like for like? Hall-burning is not what you go in for though, is it?’
‘Don’t joke. I’m doing nothing about it. Leifr was very clear there are no grounds for a lawsuit. I shall not retaliate either. I shall make sure to stay entirely within the rules of Law because I’m preparing a lawsuit for his treason at Legburthwaite. I have a good number of supporters for that and I shall be ready by the next Thing.’
‘I thought so. I know you. Oh I thought as much, you made the hall-burning sound a minor problem because you had some other plans. But Sigrid, you’ll never prove it was Kjeld who sold us to the Saxons at Legburthwaite. Many agree with you but nobody could see clearly who it was. And we would have lost anyway. We all knew that. It’s hopeless, leave it.’
‘I shall have him shown up for the dishonourable nithing he is. I want him humiliated, outlawed.’
‘Yes, that would be nice but it won’t happen. He’s got too much support. If you absolutely have to do something, challenge him and fight it out in a holmganga. I’ll do it, if you want. It would be a pleasure. But not now. Sigrid, I’m exhausted. May I please lie down now? I can sleep sitting up, if you insist, but I’d sooner lie down.’ So he did and I snuggled down next to him. After a while he opened his eyes and said: ‘By the way, why are you making Kveldulf suffer for what Kjeld has done?’ He closed his eyes again and immediately began to snore. I left him and found a space in the bed Gudrun shared with Inga and Thorstein. I could still hear him and I lay listening to his snoring while his words whirled around inside my head.
By morning I knew what to do. One person knew the answer to at least some of the questions at the heart of this matter.
‘Ragnar, we’re going visiting.’
‘We are?’
‘Me, you and Kveldulf. Get ready, it’s a long ride.’
‘Sigrid, I’ve been riding for… oh… right. Where are we going?’
When we arrived at Kohl Ivarson’s farm, he met us at the gate.
‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, Ragnar Sweinson and young Kveldulf, this is an honour. Welcome.’ Our horses were taken care of and we were invited to ale and meat in the hall. Despite his formal greeting, Kohl knew who we’d come to see. ‘My daughter will attend shortly.’
Gerda looked as well as can be expected after a recent confinement. Her baby nestled in the crook of her arm.
‘Mistress Sigrid.’ She knelt to me and touched the toe of my muddy boot. ‘I wish to ask your forgiveness. I wanted to come to you but my father was afraid people would see me in my dishonoured state.’ She looked up, her eyes met mine, large and appealing. ‘I behaved in a shameful fashion towards you.’ I helped her to her feet.
‘I take it that this child has nothing to do with Olvir,’ I said.
‘Huh?’ said Ragnar. I silenced him with a look at the same time noticing that Kveldulf showed no sign of surprise.
‘Who is the father of this child?’
‘Veste Kjeldson,’ she said and burst into tears. The baby howled and was handed over to Kohl’s wife.
‘And the other child?’ The poor wretch was too overcome to speak. She just nodded.
‘Sigrid,’ said Ragnar, ‘what in the name of all the furies has this got to do with us?’
‘Ask your son,’ I said. Kveldulf drew a deep breath.
‘It was like this,’ he said. ‘We were friends, the four of us; Veste and Gerda and me…and…and…’
‘Nanna,’ I filled in. ‘We know her name; Nanna Kjeldsdaughter.’
‘Sigrid,’ said Ragnar, ‘calm down, it’s not easy for the lad.’ Kveldulf began again but was interrupted by Gerda.
‘Let me, I shall tell everything. I had a child by Veste Kjeldson. When I could no longer conceal it I confided in my father but I never told him it was Veste’s child. Father sent me away and I had to pretend my baby wasn’t mine but…’ She began crying, deep sobs rose from the very core of her being. We waited in silence. Kohl gave her some ale and put his arm round her.
‘Come now, girl. It’s better to have it all out in the open. People are talking enough as it is. They may as well talk about what really happened even if it robs us of the rest of our honour.’ Gerda hiccupped and calmed down.
‘I knew I was with child again. Veste said we could run away together. It would be easier to do that from Becklund than from here with my mother watching me. Veste persuaded some of his father’s followers to help him carry me off. I don’t know how it turned into a hall-burning. I cannot believe that he would use me so. He wouldn’t. And now he is dead and it’s all my fault!’ She subsided into another fit of crying. I waited for her to calm down before asking:
‘Did he ever speak of avenging his mother and uncle?’ She hesitated then she shook her head:
‘He didn’t say he wanted to. I know he was angry because he never got the weregeld you paid. Kjeld kept it all.’
‘So Veste may have thought the compensation didn’t count?’
‘I… I, well no but that would mean… oh no, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, I cannot believe that of him.’
We were treated to good ale and meat before saddling up to take our leave. Gerda grasped my sleeve. She was still trembling and her eyes were full of tears.
‘Please Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, ask Olvir to forgive me. He is one of the kindest people I know and I shouldn’t have used him. It was to make people think I wanted to stay. I meant no harm. Please tell him.’ I looked closely at her. She’d been selfish and cruel but she had suffered the consequences. Had she also learnt her lesson? I thought so.
Kveldulf waited to mount until Gerda took leave of him. I couldn’t hear what he asked her but she shook her head.
‘Kveldulf,’ she said, ‘maybe your love like mine is not meant to happen. Maybe the Norns have woven different destinies for you and Nanna.’ He tossed his head and in a firm voice said:
‘No Gerda, I make my own destiny.’ To me he looked very like Ragnar then but Ragnar bent forward and whispered to me:
‘Just like his mother.’
‘Mother,’ said Kveldulf, ‘I don’t know where she is but I mean to find her and I mean to marry her.’ He spurred his horse to a gallop and rode off. Ragnar went after him. I reined in North Wind who never liked to see the back-ends of other horses. He shook his head and, after a while, I relented and allowed him a short gallop. We caught up with Ragnar and Kveldulf. Ragnar smiled and said:
‘He’s agreed to partake in a light meal before he leaves. I believe Gudrun left us a honey cake or two.’
‘It’s not a joke,’ said Kveldulf. ‘I mean to leave.’ But Ragnar had his mind set on reconciliation.
‘Shieldmaiden, you bore the child of an outlaw and stayed with him in the face of your mother’s hatred for him. As I recall she blamed him for the wrongs of his father.’
‘Ragnar, this is not at all the same.’
‘Not all that different though, is it, if you’re honest? Try to see it, Sigrid.’
‘Kjeld Gunnarson is still intent on harm. His hatred is unending.’
‘As is yours, it seems.’
‘Ragnar!’
‘Sigrid, this isn’t really about Kjeld and you. I shall back you to the hilt in that struggle. He’s a de
spicable man. But this is about your son and the girl he wants. I’m not happy about it either. I’d prefer to find a girl from a good family for him and hold a wedding in the time-honoured fashion. Like your parents did for you. Like Kohl Ivarson tried to do for Gerda, like …’
‘No! It is not the same!’ My mind could understand what he meant but my heart rebelled at the comparison. We ended without coming to a conclusion and rode on in silence. That had never happened before. It probably hurt me more than it hurt Ragnar. He seemed convinced that in time I’d come to accept. But how could I?
Kveldulf left.
‘I shall not return until I have found Nanna and I shall not stay here again until she is welcome too,’ he said.
‘I rather think he means that,’ said Ragnar. ‘He is his mother’s son through and through.’
We watched Kveldulf disappear on the track through the trees towards Mosedale. Unable to speak I turned from Ragnar and walked alone down to the lake. I went to sit at my father’s stone. I put a hand on the cold, rough surface and remembered the time I brought Kveldulf there as a baby. He had patted the stone with his little hands and I told him Becklund was his home. Why could he not understand that a marriage to Kjeld’s daughter disowned or not, was impossible? She was of Kjeld’s blood, of Lydia’s. It was bad blood. Her sister had burnt Becklund and killed my people there. Her brother had tried to do the same. But Nanna had, cleverly, achieved her revenge by turning my son against me. A hall could be rebuilt but had I lost my son for ever? I leaned against the hard, cold surface of the stone and shed the tears my pride forbade me to let anyone see.
We celebrated Yule. Ragnar’s two sisters and their families visited from Buttermere and Rannerdale. Despite Kveldulf’s absence the hall was full of excitement. The warriors’ tales of courage and foolhardiness seemed never ending. My children enjoyed spending time with their cousins. Harald, his friend Ole and the other boys sought the company of the warriors. Some of the men in Ragnar’s hird gave in and taught them about the shieldwall and single combat. I noticed with pride that Harald showed signs of holding his own.
‘Yes,’ said Ragnar, ‘he’ll be a credit to his lineage. But I’d like to know what the little rascal is plotting. That son of yours is up to something and his cousins seem to be in on it too. Look at them.’ In a corner of the hall a half dozen heads were pushed together in earnest conversation. Harald was at the centre of the group. It looked like he explained something to the others, then he pointed to them one by one and seemed to be giving out instructions.
‘Just a game,’ he replied to Ragnar’s question.
I selected a large boar to sacrifice to our gods. It was strung up on the branch of the old oak above the likenesses of Odin, Thor and Frey. I put the knife to its neck letting forth a pulsating fountain of blood. I collected it in the silver bowl. It made a good amount to daub on the gods, on the stones and the trees. After the ceremony we carried the carcass back to the house. It was skewered and put up to roast. The carcass stretched almost the whole length of the hearth. It took all night to cook with the thralls taking turns to turn it and keep the fire going.
The next day we cleansed ourselves in the bath house and young and old competed as to who could stay in the freezing Loweswater the longest before returning to the hot steam. The hog was brought inside. Everyone touched its bristles and raised their Brage cups to make their pledge for the next year. Ragnar and his warriors outdid each other in their promises to wreak havoc on their enemies and the plunder they would bring back for next Yule. My warrior women would not be outdone and invented trophies and honours they would gain at the next Thing. Children too made promises. Harald and his companions spoke together but it was such a jumble of voices it was impossible to hear what feats their oaths involved.
Ragnar and his hird left to go a-viking again. I resumed my travels in search of support for a lawsuit against Kjeld. I visited even those who had accepted gifts and made promises at the last Thing as support bought with worldly goods is not always reliable. Others, who had been on my side from the beginning and shared my convictions I also visited in order to plan our lawsuit. North Wind enjoyed the travels and so did my hird. We often needed to stay overnight and it was good for the young women to meet and share experiences with the young people on other farmsteads. Sometimes I stayed an extra day to give them the opportunity to train their weapon-skill with male opponents.
When I was not travelling I made sure to spend time with my children. At last I found out what Harald and his friends had planned.
‘Mor, you must let us do this. I promised it by Varg’s funeral pyre. I’ve drunk the Brage cup on it. It’s a matter of honour.’ I looked at Harald, ten years old and ready to shoulder this task. There was nothing for it; I had to take him seriously.
‘Which horse were you thinking of racing?’
‘I don’t suppose…?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not. He’s the best though.’
‘Yes, and he’s mine. Look, North Wind is too valuable to risk a broken bone or a fall in a race.’ I’d have underestimated my son if I didn’t think he’d have an alternative, and probably another and another.
‘There’s Lord of the Fells,’ he said.
‘I thought he died years ago.’
‘We used the name for one of the stallions we took from the hall-burners last year. Varg used to say it was a lucky name, the name of a survivor.’ I nodded. I had no idea which horse it was but I had to trust Harald and his friends to have chosen a winner. They spent most of their time with horses, exercising, grooming, racing. They had doted on Varg and this meant everything to them.
‘You do realise, don’t you Mor, that we’ll have to race in your name.’
‘What! Harald, that really is not a good idea.’
‘Well no, I realise that, in one way but on the other hand …’
‘Wait! Who put that in your head?’ His surprise seemed genuine.
‘Well, Varg, of course.’
‘So he planned this all along?’
‘We talked about it. He couldn’t enter, Ole is a servant and I’m not of age so…’ He tilted his head to one side and looked at me with the pity afforded by the young to their ignorant elders.
‘Harald, I know you want to do this for Varg and I respect you for it. But you must understand that it isn’t as simple as that.’
‘Mor, I’m not stupid, I know Lord of the Fells comes from Kjeld Gunnarson’s stable but he can’t really object cause then he’d have to explain how the horse came to be on our farm.’
‘I’m afraid he can make things very difficult without a formal challenge.’
‘But who listens to him these days?’
‘He’s rich, that tends to open people’s ears. What’s the hurry? Why not wait a couple of years when you’re of age? Some of our own horses may be ready by then.’
‘So you won’t help, is that it?’
‘Harald, I really can’t. I’m trying to launch a formal lawsuit against Kjeld for betraying us to the Saxons. This race would be a distraction and might even work against me. Give it till next year at least.’ He hung his head and I thought he’d accepted my decision. But over the months before the Thing he kept working on me. I was preoccupied with my own preparations and in the end I agreed that he could race as long as I or Becklund were not involved.
October 950
The Thing was well attended that year. I spent all my time visiting and being reassured of support for my lawsuit. I was too busy to follow Harald’s preparations. I trusted him to be sensible.
‘But you’ll come and watch me ride, won’t you Mor?’
‘Yes of course. But who will enter you for the race? You have understood that you can’t race in my name.’
‘Yes, we found someone. Mor, you’d better come! I’ll look out for you.’ He grinned, happy and excited. I watched him and his friends set off to the start of the track. He was tall for his age but so young. I had to give myself a stern
talking to in order not to succumb to worry. The gods had received a healthy ox before we left Becklund and I felt sure they would look after my son.
The track followed the contour about 100 ells up on the valley sides. It snaked round dips and outcrops and crossed the stream about half way. The terrain was treacherous; full of rocks and uneven tufts of grass. But it was possible to watch most of the race from the valley floor. In fact I could have seen at least some of it sitting in comfort outside my booth. But I had promised to be there to see Harald off so I followed the flow of people.
The horse-races always drew large crowds. Some came to bet, some to buy studs and brood mares but many came just to chase the glory of winning. The betting on this event was second only to that at the stallion baiting and the air filled with excited voices negotiating their stakes. Kjeld Gunnarson’s horses had for many years been the safest bets and had brought him both gold and honour.
Harald rode up on Lord of the Fells. It was a strong looking stallion but the distinctive markings meant everyone assumed he was from Kjeld’s herd. I caught my breath when I saw who walked him to the starting line.
‘Who enters this horse in the race?’ asked the judge.
‘I, Anlaf Yngvarson of Rannerdale Farm, enter Lord of the Fells in this race.’ He threw me an apologetic smile. The judge eyed Harald with suspicion.
‘Who is the rider? How old are you.’
Harald blushed. ‘Eleven,’ he said.
‘Too young,’ said the judge. ‘You should know that. Next.’ Another rider shouted at Harald to get out of the way. Harald moved to the side and dismounted. He waved to someone at the sideline and I wasn’t surprised to see Ole, who was old enough by a couple of years, swap places with him. Harald and Anlaf came to stand with me, Gudrun and Ole’s sister Inga. I had Thorstein by the hand but when he saw Harald he stretched his arms out and I helped him settle on Harald’s shoulders.
‘I’m sorry, Sigrid,’ said Anlaf. ‘They all ganged up on me; yours, mine and even the brood from Buttermere. Your son is very persuasive. He said you had given your permission.’
Honour is All Page 14