Honour is All

by Marianne Whiting

  I felt better the next morning. I could not deny that the girl worked hard. She kept to Vida who taught her skills she should really had been taught already; milking, baking, churning butter. She span and wove and didn’t object to taking her turn at the querns. Vida was taking a liking to her. Harald and the other young people gradually included her in their talk and merriment.

  ‘Mor,’ said Harald, ‘we all know her from the Thing. She’s not a stranger.’

  ‘She is to me, a stranger and a threat.’

  Chapter 6

  Divided Loyalties

  April 951

  ‘But she shall not marry a son of mine, never!’ I finished telling Ragnar about last year’s events. He had returned as winter gave way to spring and I hoped against hope that this time he would stay for good.

  ‘Well, Kveldulf is old enough to decide for himself,’ he said. ‘Although I suppose this is the last place he’d come looking for her so you may get your way about that after all.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ I whispered my voice choked with tears.

  ‘If I knew, which I don’t, I would only tell you so you could allow him to see the girl.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘He should get to know her better. He may find he doesn’t want to marry her, especially if he were allowed to. He’s his mother’s son. Ouch, don’t hit me there, it’s an old scar! Sigrid, little Shieldmaiden, don’t cry, come here.’

  Eysten Mordson arrived from Keskadale with a small retinue. He had with him some fine cloth and soft skins. It was not necessary for him to bring gifts; he was an old enough friend to just visit. I sensed he had a purpose this time. And it turned out not all the gifts were for me and Ragnar.

  ‘Sigrid, would you permit me to gift this neck-chain to Ylva?’ Eysten stuttered red-faced. I managed to hide my surprise and smile my consent.

  Eysten was long past the age when a man of wealth and good reputation should have married. His father had been a Lawman and one of the richest men in the area. Eysten was the only surviving of five brothers and the sole heir. Many an ambitious father of daughters had visited and befriended him but still he’d remained single. I reflected that he had been a frequent visitor to my booth at the Thing as well as to Becklund. So this was the reason, friendship with me and Ragnar but also Ylva. I understood his tardiness in approaching her. She was not a suitable bride at all. Apart from being a sworn warrior, she came from a humble family and had no prospect of the kind of dowry he could expect.

  ‘But Sigrid,’ he said, ‘I look around and see much misery from the marriages where gold and status have decided and where parents have arranged for their children. My step-mother was made to marry my father who was old enough to be her father too. I don’t, like everyone else, blame her for forming an attachment to my brother. And look at them now. He’s dead and she’s dishonoured and will never marry again. And then there’s you, you were made to marry Kjeld’s brother. With all respect, your parents did wrong and Hauk Gunnarson didn’t deserve what he got either and look how the feud continues still.’

  I felt anger rising and snapped at him:

  ‘If this is another plea for Kveldulf and Nanna you’re wasting your breath. That is no concern of yours Eysten.’ He looked surprised.

  ‘Kveldulf? Odin’s balls, no, Sigrid, no. That’s not what I meant at all. I just wanted to talk to you and ask your advice and now, what a clumsy troll-fart I am.’ He seemed genuinely upset but I was still cross. He was saved by Ragnar who came to sit with us.

  ‘Do I detect a chill in the air?’

  ‘Unusually observant of you, Husband.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s my fault,’ said Eysten. ‘I wanted Sigrid’s advice and I have gone about it like an absolute cow’s foot. Sigrid, please, I ask your forbearance. I spoke about nothing but my own dilemma and I wanted your support of my decision.’

  ‘What have you decided and about what?’ asked Ragnar.

  ‘I shall ask Ylva’s father for his daughter.’

  ‘Ylva, hm? Yes why not? It’s about time she was bedded. Soon be too late. How old is she?’

  ‘Very much younger than me, I know that. It may be a bad thing. Is it?’

  ‘She’s twenty,’ I said with a pang of guilt. I should have though of her future but she had never seemed anything but happy with her life at Becklund.

  ‘Do you think it would be wrong, Sigrid?’

  ‘What does she want? Have you spoken to her?’ He blushed.

  ‘Yes, I… you see…we…she and I…’ By now Ragnar was laughing so much he had to wipe tears from his cheeks. He put a foot against Eysten’s backside and kicked him off his seat.

  ‘Go now and get your yay or nay. I don’t want to set eyes on you until the deed is done. That man,’ he said to me, ‘never flinched in the shield-wall, always looked his enemy in the eye and just watch him now.’

  Ylva was, as always, level-headed about the whole matter when I spoke to her.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, I do like him well. He shall visit my father but I did say he must ask you too.’

  ‘Ylva, you are my sworn warrior, not my thrall. If you want to marry him you shall do so and move to Keskadale and I will call on you when I am in need of your sword. Helle can take your place here but you will always be the first of my warriors. But tell me, have you got to know him well enough to make a decision?’

  ‘He has sought me out for a long time and last year we met as lovers. He does not know it but after Yule last year I had to ask Kirsten to help me out.’ My head threatened to split wide open from all the thoughts that crowded inside it.

  ‘But Ylva, there was no need! Your child would have been welcome here.’ She smiled.

  ‘Yes, I know but I felt a need to preserve my honour in the eyes of the rest of the world even if that honour was false. It would have grieved my parents as well.’

  We rowed across Crummockwater to Rannerdale farm where we were given horses for the short ride to Ylva’s parents’ farm at Low Kid Crag. The dogs greeted us with a ferocious chorus until Ylva’s father came out and called them to heel. Ragnar thought it highly amusing that Eysten’s hands shook as he helped Ylva dismount.

  ‘She’s probably safer getting off that horse without your help,’ he said.

  ‘Ragnar,’ I hissed, ‘don’t make me regret inviting you. You weren’t so brave yourself.’

  ‘But Sigrid, your mother was much more frightening than Bjalke.’ I could see his point. Bjalke knew Eysten, they had both been my supporters.

  Bjalke hesitated, ale horn in hand. Faced with the three of us; his daughter’s chieftain, the high-ranking warrior and the wealthy son of a former Lawman, he wasn’t sure which order to hand out the horn of welcome-ale. I decided for him and stepped forward. I drank and then it was my turn to hesitate. Who was highest in rank, Ragnar or Eysten? Ragnar magnanimously stood back and I handed the horn to Eysten. He spilt some before drinking and handing it on to Ragnar.

  Ylva’s mother and sister hurried to prepare such treats as their modest household could afford. We exchanged the usual greetings and small talk. Ylva and her family caught up on news since they had last met at the Thing. Then there was no more prevarication. Eysten laid out his gifts on the table. Ylva’s mother and sister looked with eyes like round cheeses. The purpose of Eysten’s visit was now obvious. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Bjalke Ulfson, you know who I am. You know I have a prosperous farm and I come from a family with deep roots in Cumbria. We have stood on the same side in many matters at the Thing and I hope you think me honourable. Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter and Ragnar Sweinson are here to testify to my honest intent. I have come to ask your permission to marry your daughter. I think she would have me if you are agreeable to my proposal.’ It was all too much for Ylva’s mother; her youngest daughter, the headstrong, wayward one, proposed to by a man of Eysten’s standing. She sat down with a bump and, with her pinafore over her face, burst into tears.

  ‘My daughter,’ said
Bjalke, ‘has always had a mind of her own. I know you for an honourable man, Eysten Mordson. If Ylva will have you I have no objection.’ Eysten’s sigh of relief almost lifted the turf off the roof.

  The bride-ale was set for two weeks before midsummer. Eysten had no family left so asked me and Ragnar to act for him in the marriage-negotiations. Ylva’s parents treated us to strong ale and good food. Negotiations about bridegeld and dowries were usually symbolic but in this case even more so. Ylva’s father had little to offer as dowry and Eysten had more than enough to provide for a family and pay a generous bridegeld. But the talks had to be held in order to preserve the honour of all parties.

  ‘I shall lose a daughter’s support in my old age,’ said Bjalke. That, of course, was only partly true; Ylva had been part of my household for years and had no plans to move back home.

  ‘I offer a thrall girl to take her place in your home,’ said Eysten. ‘But bear in mind I shall have the extra cost of providing for your daughter and her children.’

  ‘Ah, but they shall soon work for their keep. The children will be your heirs and your support in your old age.’ Bjalke was warming to his task and ignored his wife tugging at his tunic to stop him arguing. But both Bjalke and Eysten knew that their negotiations were a game and the end result was never in doubt.

  The settlement was decided; Ylva would bring a dowry of weapons (her own), a fine arm-ring that her father had earned in battle many years ago, three fleeces, four blankets woven from thick wool and three ells of embroidered ribbons. As was the law, the dowry was her property and, should the marriage fail, she would keep it for herself and her children. Eysten, on my advice, did not offer a large bridegeld. It was important to maintain a semblance of equality in his relationship to Bjalke. He and Ylva could instead send gifts to her family later. All parties were aware of this and the marriage contract was sealed in an atmosphere of mutual respect and friendship.

  On the appointed day Eysten came to collect his bride. Bride and groom rode in front followed by Ylva’s family and me and Ragnar with our children and servants. On the way we were joined by the households at Rannerdale and Buttermere. It was a large, boisterous wedding party that arrived at Keskadale late in the evening. I led the female relations in the ceremonial preparation of the bride. We dressed her in a fine silk shift and combed out her hair. It had grown well since it had been burnt at Ripon and it shone like polished copper in the candle-light. We left her and went outside to tell Eysten that his bride was ready for him. Men and boys, shouting and laughing, tried to trip him up and put obstacles in his way – it would not do for him to get to his bride without making an effort. At last he made it to the door and we heard him secure the latch from inside.

  The feasting lasted for three days. Ale, mead and wine flowed, seemingly without end. Whole oxen and hogs roasted on the spits over fire-pits through the night. Each day there were fresh supplies of dried fruit and sweet cakes. Gudrun made herself sick eating too much and Harald made himself sick drinking too much. This once I had to let it pass. At least I was there keeping an eye on them. Thorstein probably had a more enjoyable time than the other two, chasing round with old and new friends.

  ‘Your son,’ I said to Ragnar, ‘is drunk and your daughter is a glutton.’

  ‘Your son, you mean,’ he said and nibbled my earlobe. I giggled. We were obviously not going to have a serious parental discussion tonight so I allowed him to pull me up from my seat and carry me to a secluded corner. This took a while since most obvious places were already occupied by couples more or less successfully making love.

  Two days later we took our leave of the newly wed couple. I couldn’t hold back the tears as I embraced Ylva, my first woman warrior, my staunch supporter. She too shed a tear and whispered:

  ‘I owe everything to you, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter and I shall always be ready to heed your call when you need me.’

  October 951

  Ragnar was, as usual away on an autumn viking. Every year I kept hoping he’d stay at home but deep down inside I knew he’d never settle down to life on the farm. So again I attended the local Thing on my own at the head of my household. As soon as we arrived, I sensed that something was afoot. Groups of people stood around with serious faces. Among them were Ylva and Eysten Mordson.

  ‘It is good to see you here, Sigrid,’ said Eysten. ‘Have you heard the great news?’ He pulled a face. ‘Our so-called King is back.’

  ‘Which one, Eysten?’ He laughed.

  ‘The King of Cumbria, he’s alive. But you, of course, already knew that.’ I shook my head in disbelief. Oh yes, I knew Dunmail was alive but I certainly hadn’t expected to see or hear from him ever again.

  ‘How can he be king?’ Anlaf was outraged. ‘He ran away. He threw away the magic crown! There can be no King of Cumbria without it.’

  ‘I don’t think King Malcolm the Scot knows that,’ I said, ‘because he appointed Dunmail’s son King of Cumbria. The boy is only six years of age so…’

  ‘Out pops Dunmail, like a turd from a sheep’s arse. I can hardly believe it; after all the death and destruction we’re back where we started.’

  ‘No, not quite. We escaped the Saxon King. I’d rather pay my dues to Malcolm the Scot. At least he’s left us alone. Look how the Saxon King Edmund celebrated his victory. Villages razed to the ground, crops burnt, animals killed. And King Aedred is no better. You saw that for yourself at Ripon.’

  ‘But what’s Dunmail after? What’s he want?’ said Ylva.

  ‘Money and warriors, what do they ever want?’ said Anlaf and I was struck by the weary bitterness in his voice.

  ‘Is he here?’ asked Ylva.

  ‘Rumour has it he intends to join us in a few days time,’ I said. Anlaf pulled a face.

  ‘Well, I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.’

  Lawman Leifr Olafson did me the honour of a visit. He sat down and accepted a goblet of wine. After the usual polite remarks and enquiries he said:

  ‘King Dunmail is to join us for a time during this year’s Thing. I believe you have met him.’ I failed to suppress a frown. The memory of how Archbishop Wulfstan had used me as a pawn in his political game with Dunmail was not a pleasant one. Nor was the memory of trying to discreetly deflect Dunmail’s wandering hands. Leifr looked at me under hooded eyelids. He said in a low voice:

  ‘I hear your uncle Eirik Haraldson has found support among the Orkney Jarls and is raising an army.’

  ‘You think he’ll attempt to gain the crown of Jorvik again?’

  Leifr nodded. ‘It’s possible that your loyalty to Cumbria will be tested against your duty to your kin.’

  ‘You speak in riddles, Lawman. How can Cumbria and my family have conflicting demands on me?’

  ‘If it should come to war…’

  ‘Lawman, time and again I have fought for Cumbria against the Saxon Kings: first Aethelstan, then Edmund, now Aedred. How else do I prove where my loyalty lies?’

  ‘You misunderstand me, Sigrid. Maybe you’d prefer not to understand. It’s not the English King Aedred who is our enemy now. King Malcolm the Scot holds Cumbria against a promise to help fight King Aedred’s enemies. I’ll put it plainly. If Eirik Haraldson plans to re-take Jorvik we Cumbrians have to muster in support of the English King.’ He gave me a moment to digest this. I read concern, pity even in his eyes when he delivered the final blow:

  ‘Is your husband still with Eirik Haraldson? Who will Ragnar Sweinson fight for?’

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Was he really suggesting that Ragnar and I might end up on different sides? Or did he think Eirik would invoke family-duty and make me join him. But that would mean throwing away Becklund and all I had gained here in order to fight for Eirik against my fellow Cumbrians. I could never do that. But neither could I fight against Eirik. I may not like him but I was tied to him by blood. Who would Ragnar support? He admired Eirik and he didn’t share my love of Cumbria. He might even have sworn loyalty to Eirik. All I had th
ought certain slipped away. I felt my world was about to crumble to dust around me. This war must not happen.

  Two days later a messenger from Lawman Leifr Olafson arrived with an invitation.

  ‘Your presence would be greatly appreciated,’ he said and bowed. In other words I was summoned to the presence of our so-called King. I put on a blue velvet over-dress embroidered with gold and silk thread around the neck and sleeves. My pair of gold brooches secured a red pinafore with a brightly coloured woven edge to the front of my dress. I wore the heavy gold torque gifted to me by King Hakon of Norway. Vida dressed my hair and arranged the long plaits in coils on top of my head with a loose tress falling from between them like a horse’s tail down my back.

  ‘It’s just as well Ragnar Sweinson isn’t here to see you,’ she said with a giggle.

  ‘Why? Would he not like me?’

  ‘He wouldn’t like the effect you’ll have on other men.’

  She nudged Kirsten and they laughed so much they had to lean on each other.

  ‘Oh, you two, stop it,’ I said trying to sound cross but in the end I had to laugh with them.

  Although it was a clear, sunny day I draped my fur-trimmed cloak over my shoulders. I walked with my entourage: Anlaf, Unn and my five young warrior-women. Ylva joined us and laughed away my protestations that as the mistress of one of the wealthiest farms in the area she should not be part of anyone’s hird.

  ‘Especially not in your condition,’ I said speculatively.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t think it would show under my tunic,’ she said blushing. Then she laughed: ‘I’m not very far gone. I’ll hide behind my shield.

  Dunmail’s features lit up when he saw me. He had obviously recovered from the hardships during the war against the English because he was as fat and jovial as I remembered him from before the war. He also seemed to have forgotten how I had seen him frightened and on the run. For, surely, if he’d remembered, he’d have blushed with shame. Instead he took my hand and squeezed it while his lecherous eyes travelled along my body.