Honour is All

by Marianne Whiting

  The starting line was a sturdy rope held up by two men as a barrier. The horses were skittish and nervous and the riders didn’t look any better. Behind the rope they jostled and pushed for position. When the rope was lowered about half the horses had their rear ends to the rope, others were caught mid-turn and in the chaos only a few got cleanly away. Kjeld Gunnarson’s three horses were among them. And so was Lord of the Fells with Ole, leaning forward urging him on. It looked to me like the men had waited to lower the rope until Kjeld’s horses were ready but I had never really bothered to watch a race before so I couldn’t be sure.

  The field spread out on the hillside. Some riders deliberately steered a way up the slope. I wondered why. Two of Kjeld’s riders were among these. They lost some ground that way but avoided getting trapped in the thick of it, which was what happened to Ole. Surrounded on all sides he could only ride at the pace of the pack. Then:

  ‘He hit him!’ cried Inga.

  ‘Yes,’ said Harald through clenched teeth. ‘He should have kept higher, out of the way.’ I watched Ole wipe blood from his face and fury rose in me.

  ‘I shall have that miscreant whipped.’ I set off towards the finishing line. Harald caught up with me.

  ‘Mor, they will say they aimed at the horse and he got in the way of the whip. It happens all the time.’

  ‘Everybody knows,’ said Inga. ‘We were all willing to risk it.’

  Half way round, the track crossed a small stream. Now I understood why some rode higher up on the valley side. The stream was narrower there and they got across quickly. Further downhill the horses were slow to ford the foaming waters. There was a crush. Impatient riders pushed and shoved. Horses, hemmed in, kicked and bit. In the middle of the pack a horse reared up. The rider grappled to cling on but lost his grip, slid off and disappeared from view. Against the light it was impossible to make out which horse had thrown is rider. I grabbed Harald’s arm. All colour drained from his face and he stared at the mass of horses trampling the ground under their sharp hooves. Why don’t they stop, I thought, why don’t they stop?

  ‘Ole! Oh no! Please Lord, don’t let it be him,’ Inga moaned and touched the cross she wore around her neck.

  ‘It can’t be him,’ said Gudrun but there were tears in her voice. The throng gradually made it across the stream. A riderless horse broke away, stopped and began to graze. A lifeless body, no more than a pile of mangled flesh in blood-soaked rags remained on the ground.

  ‘Odin be praised,’ said Anlaf, ‘there’s Lord of the Fells. Ole is safe.’

  Gudrun hugged Inga. ‘See, I told you.’ We all laughed with relief but my hands still trembled as I let go of Harald’s arm.

  ‘Who was the poor wretch?’ asked Anlaf. ‘Could you see?’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Harald, ‘I recognised the horse. He’s from over Ennerdale way.’

  ‘The one with no teeth?’ said Inga.

  ‘Mm, had them all kicked out by a horse. You’d have thought he’d learnt his lesson and kept away from them.’

  ‘Harald,’ I said, ‘that’s a horrible way to speak. The poor man’s dead.’ He shrugged.

  ‘It happens some years.’ I felt like he’d slapped me.

  ‘You knew that and you were prepared to ride in that race.’

  ‘I offered to ride,’ said Inga, ‘but both he and Ole are better than me so I gave in.’ I was taken aback by their matter-of-fact acceptance of the risks involved in their enterprise. And who was I to argue? Did I not put my life in the hands of the gods every time I went to fight for our freedom? This was, of course different. Racing was about gold and honour. I wasn’t sure that was worth risking life and limb for. I shouldn’t have allowed the youngster to get involved.

  ‘Can we stop this and watch the rest of the race, please,’ said Harald and put his arm through mine. ‘Come, Mor. We won’t win this year but there will be other races.’

  Oh no there won’t, I thought to myself.

  The race was nearing its end. Kjeld’s two riders had made the most of their advantage. They had got across the stream quickly and then they had an easy ride downhill to the end. They got in first and second. Others who had steered the higher course had not had the same benefit of a good start and joined everyone else in the chase towards the finish. They were strung out after the hold-up at the ford. Ole was among the last to finish. He hung his head and tears streamed down his face. Inga took the reins and began rubbing Lord of the Fells down with handfuls of hay.

  ‘I let Varg down and you. I let everyone down.’

  ‘Oh Ole,’ said Gudrun. ‘I feared for you. I’d whip that man to his bare bones.’ My daughter, I thought, half proud, half horrified. I put a silver coin in Ole’s hand.

  ‘You have let nobody down. Here, have this. You were very brave. Your mother will be proud of you – when she gets over the fright of what you’ve done.’ He wiped his nose and gave me a little smile. I was so relieved he was alive I wanted to hug him but that would not be seemly so I just patted his shoulder. ‘Who struck you?’ I asked.

  ‘One of Kjeld Gunnarson’s men. I think he stayed on the low route for me. Usually all three go high up.’

  ‘We didn’t think he’d know who we were,’ said Inga.

  ‘Not you,’ I said, ‘they recognised the horse. I shouldn’t have let you enter with Lord of the Fells.’

  ‘North W…’ Harald began.

  ‘Worse. North Wind was Kjeld’s own horse. I got him as part payment of a weregeld.’

  ‘I thought you took him from the English King,’ said Inga. ‘We love that story. My father was there. He told us.’

  ‘Yes but before then North Wind belonged to Kjeld.’ I began to explain when a voice bellowed above the noise. Kjeld Gunnarson pushed his way towards me.

  ‘There she is the horse-thief. I shall bring you to the Law and you shall suffer the shameful death that stealing a horse calls for.’ A crowd began to assemble. I made sure they could all hear me.

  ‘So it’s your horse, Kjeld,’ I said. ‘It was left behind when a group of nithings tried to burn my hall. I didn’t realise it belonged to you. Maybe you were there as well? Was it you put the torch to the thatch?’

  ‘False accusations won’t get you anywhere,’ he growled.

  ‘That works both ways, Kjeld Gunnarson. Take back your lying slander.’

  ‘I shall see you at the Thing-mound.’

  ‘Yes, you shall. I have already taken out a summons against you, Kjeld.’

  ‘I tell you I have nothing to do with any hall-burning.’

  ‘No? But you are a traitor to your fellow Cumbrians and you shall answer for the deaths you caused when you betrayed us to the Saxon King.’ He smirked but I thought I saw a glint of worry in his snake’s eyes.

  The time came for the lawman to dip the ring-of-judgement in the blood of the sacrificial ox and put it on his arm. He took the oath to judge everything according to the Law and the hearings began. When it was my turn to testify I touched the ring on his arm and swore the sacred oath to bear true witness.

  One by one my supporters took the oath and were questioned about whether Kjeld was the Cumbrian warrior who had led the English army to the ambush and caused our defeat. Leifr demanded certain proof and people hesitated and contradicted each other about what the warrior had worn or his weapons or particularly his face which had been part obscured by his helmet. We had all seen a warrior that could have been Kjeld but his supporters denied this and offered evidence that he’d been at home. It was their word against ours.

  ‘So,’ said the Lawman, ‘some say it was him, others say it wasn’t and many admit they couldn’t actually see at that distance who it was.’

  ‘It was Kjeld. Enough of us recognised him.’

  ‘You maintain that you and your supporters have better eyesight anyone else?’

  This made some of Kjeld’s supporters laugh, among them his wife.

  ‘There’s also Kjeld’s newfound wealth. At the last Thing before th
e battle he was seen distributing lavish gifts. His wife and children wear Saxon dress. He even wore a gold torc.’ The Lawman looked stern.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter and you others who have taken the oath, you know full well that this is no evidence at all. Kjeld’s horses fetch high prices; he has a prosperous farm. Why should he not share his wealth with his friends? Many now prefer the Saxon fashion of dress and a gold torc is nothing more than a precious ornament. You allow your old enmity to cloud your judgement, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter.’ Kjeld’s smirk had grown wider during this exchange. His wife shook her fist at me. I felt like I would choke on my anger. Was I to fail yet again?

  ‘He did not muster with the rest of us. Where was he when we fought for our land and our laws?’

  ‘I was injured in the ambush before Tamworth,’ shouted Kjeld.

  ‘Yes,’ said Anlaf, ‘I remember. You stumbled when you ran away.’ This was greeted with laughter although some objected to the insult. Kohl Ivarson called out:

  ‘It was your leg wasn’t it, Kjeld? Huge bandage, sometimes on the left sometimes on the right.’

  ‘Old and forgetful,’ said Anlaf. ‘Not always easy to remember which leg hurts.’ The air filled with catcalls and insults between Kjeld’s supporters and mine. The Lawman tried to call us to order. I realised that this would only turn Leifr against us so managed to silence my supporters.

  ‘This is a disgrace,’ said Leifr. ‘The Law will not be served by a shouting match. I will not pass judgement on what’s been said so far.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Next there is a lawsuit against…’ He was interrupted by Eysten Mordson:

  ‘Leifr Olafson, there is someone else who would be heard in this matter. She has travelled a long way to tell you what she knows.’ Behind me I heard, like a gust of wind, the gathered onlookers draw their breaths. I turned. Kjeld Gunnarson’s daughter stepped forward. She wore a simple gown of homespun wool and looked pale and thin, a far cry from the young maiden in rich clothes and jewellery I had last seen. People found their tongues and the noise of their astonishment rose to the skies. The Lawman was the first to regain his composure.

  ‘Quiet all. Nanna Kjeldsdaughter, you have information about your father’s whereabouts five years ago at Legburthwaite?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’ Her voice trembled but she met his eyes without flinching.

  ‘She can’t know anything,’ shouted Kjeld’s wife. ‘She was just a child.’

  ‘How old are you, Nanna?’ asked Leifr.

  ‘I am sixteen.’

  ‘So at the time when we fought the Saxon King Edmund you were eleven years old.

  ‘I was old enough to understand what the war was about, old enough to understand where my father got his gold from and old enough to understand that he was a traitor to Cumbria when he promised the Saxon men to help them.’ Kjeld’s bellow echoed like a death knell through the valley. It took five men to restrain him. His wife screamed and cursed Nanna. Kjeld and his wife were led to one side and threatened with punishment if they disturbed the Thing’s peace. Then Leifr continued:

  ‘Nanna Kjeldsdaughter, did you hear your father promise to help the Saxon men?’

  ‘Yes, I did. There were three of them. One of them called another “My Lord High-Reeve”. And he gave my father a pouch that rattled like it had money in it and he said the English King would be grateful.’

  Leifr Olafson didn’t ask any more questions of Nanna. He told her to swear the oath. She was pale and her hand shook but she touched the blood-smeared ring on his arm and repeated the sacred words after him. When she finished, Leifr nodded and said:

  ‘You have been very brave, Nanna.’ He patted her shoulder and smiled. Then he turned to Kjeld who, shaking like an aspen leaf, had raised his hand to speak. In a voice like a death rattle he said:

  ‘This girl, Nanna, was born a thrall. She cannot testify.’

  ‘Kjeld,’ said Leifr, ‘Lawman Mord told me you claimed these children as your own flesh and blood.’

  ‘They may have been. Their mother was a thrall. Who’s to know the father? They were thralls and should have remained so. My enemies forced me to free them. Now they have put this false slander into the girl’s mouth.’

  ‘You claim your daughter Nanna bears false witness against you?’

  ‘Yes, I disowned her and now she tries to take her revenge. I should never have made her free.’

  ‘Why did you disown her?’ Kjeld hesitated and his wife, unable to control herself shouted:

  ‘She’s nothing but an ungrateful little hussy!’ Leifr pointed to her and still screaming her hatred she was led away. Nanna cried and looked ready to faint. All else was silent, even the birds, the animals and the wind made not a sound. People seemed to hold their breaths. I trembled at the thought that I might, yet again, fail to bring Kjeld to justice.

  ‘Nanna, said Lawman Leifr, ‘can you prove to us that your father took the Saxon gold?’ She thought a moment before replying:

  ‘There was a heavy gold ring he was particularly fond of. I think it has the King’s name engraved on it. It’s supposed to give him free passage in the lands of the Saxons.’

  ‘No such ring,’ said Kjeld, his face pale as a shroud.

  ‘I would like to see your arms,’ said Leifr, ‘just to make sure.’

  Kjeld made a run for it. He broke lose from the men on either side of him who had relaxed their grip during the deliberations. He didn’t get far. He was tripped up and captured. There was a scuffle as he tried to the last to escape but to no avail.

  ‘Here it is! The girl speaks true,’ cried one of Kjeld’s captors. He held up a thick arm-ring. Leifr studied it carefully before passing judgement:

  ‘Kjeld Gunnarson, trying to escape points to your guilt. This arm-ring confirms it. There is only one punishment for a traitor. You are banished from the community of the Cumbrian Norse. You shall no longer have the protection of our laws. You have forfeited your right to land and life. You have until sunset tomorrow to leave. After that, any attempt on your life will go unpunished. It is a crime for anyone to give you shelter or help.’

  A hundred voices rose in acclamation. The mountains answered in kind. Kjeld was led away. His wife followed, looking stunned. I filled my lungs with air that tasted of justice and freedom.

  But Leifr had not finished.

  ‘Kjeld Gunnarson’s daughter is now the child of an outlaw and has no right to inherit the land and property he has, by his act of treason, forfeited.’ Then he looked straight at me. ‘Those who have benefited from the courage of this young woman will feel gratitude and make sure she is not left to destitution and misery.’

  I breathed out like I’d been punched in the stomach. I could barely understand what Leifr had just told me. How many times had I imagined this moment; my final triumph over the man who had deprived me of my home and who had tried to kill Kveldulf when he was little more than a baby. Now it had come but with a price attached. I felt trapped. All eyes were on me. Eysten came over.

  ‘I wouldn’t have involved her if it had gone your way without her.’

  ‘I owe you thanks, Eysten. It had to be done.’

  ‘She can, of course go back to Keswick. She’s safe there and out of the way but…’

  ‘No she must be given a home by me. She has given up her birth-right to help my cause. Whatever her reasons, honour dictates that I shall make sure she is safe and suffers no hardship. But I don’t want her at Becklund.’

  ‘People will talk. You have to take her to your hall. You should in all honour take her as your fostring.’ His words cut into my pride. Nobody, not even a faithful friend like Eysten, was to tell me what to do. But he persisted:

  ‘Sigrid, the girl has given up everything to help you.’

  ‘To help me! Ha!’

  ‘Mor,’ whispered Harald, ‘people are staring. I feel ashamed.’

  I had to give in. Nanna, the daughter of my defeated enemy Kjeld Gunnarson, the seducer of my eldest son, came to live in my hall. W
ould she like her sister and brother before her, try to burn us all in our beds? Kjeld was gone but did I now have a different enemy in my home? It was a hollow victory I had won.

  Nanna behaved with humility and, I had to concede, with dignity. But many in my household were unhappy about her presence.

  ‘Every time I look at her,’ said Aluinn, ‘I am reminded that her sister set fire to this very hall and killed my son. I can not forget and I can not forgive. It would be a betrayal of his memory. There’s others too, though they don’t say so. Four more good people died in that fire. There’s bad blood in that family. Who knows about this girl?’

  ‘Mistress Sigrid,’ said Thrall Toki, ‘it’s only fair you should know that some of us find it hard to have her here. After all it was her brother and father who set fire to this hall and attacked us in the middle of the night. But for you we would all be dead in our beds. How do we know she’s not going to do the same?’

  But others were prepared to give Nanna the benefit of doubt and while they didn’t welcome the girl, they weren’t hostile towards her. Vida took her in charge.

  ‘We have to make the best of this, Mistress Sigrid,’ she said in her usual forthright manner. ‘She’s here to stay. I shall teach her along with the rest of the young girls. I have to say she’s not afraid to work.’

  Nanna was of Kjeld’s blood and I didn’t trust her. Sometimes I thought I could feel her eyes on me but when I turned she would avert her gaze. For a week I sat up every night to make sure she didn’t put a torch to the hall or poison the ale. Her brother had not accepted the weregeld I paid for her mother, how could I be sure she had?

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ said Kirsten, ‘you have to stop this. Your eyes are swollen from lack of sleep. What if Ragnar Sweinson comes home and finds you like this?’

  ‘She’ll burn us all in our beds.’

  ‘Nonsense, she shares a sleeping place with one of your fostrings. Ylva is right next to them on one side and I’m on the other. Your head is befuddled from lack of sleep. Drink this and go to bed.’ As always Kirsten had her way.