Honour is All

by Marianne Whiting

  ‘I seek Brother Ansgar. You remember him?’ He burst out laughing.

  ‘He’s here. He was the one who decided that everything else had to wait until the Minster was restored. I’ve seen him up on the roof directing the workmen. Very unusual for a scribe. The people around here like him, I’m not so sure about the monks.’

  ‘Is the Archbishop here too?’

  ‘We saw neither hide nor hair of him after King Aedred appointed Anlaf Cuaran King of Jorvik. It must have been almost two years and no word. Then he appeared a couple of moons ago and has been a few times since. He never stays. His lodgings have been sufficiently restored but he always seems in a hurry.’ I thought I knew the answer to that; the Archbishop had managed to slip away from Aedred’s court and kept on the move to avoid discovery. He was probably also conspiring with my uncle.

  The next day I found Ansgar clinging to a ladder using pieces of horn to replace the glass in the window I had broken on the day of the attack. He fumbled and kept dropping things. His language was not what they would teach in the monastery schools, of that I was quite certain. I called out to him and immediately wished I hadn’t. He was startled and his sudden movement set the ladder sliding sideways along the wall. I managed to grab and steady it. He clung, trembling to the ladder for a moment before climbing down.

  ‘Sigrid, whenever you turn up there’s nothing but calamity. No, stop it! You cannot hug me. It’s most unseemly!’ I laughed.

  ‘I’ll just say I’m your sister. That usually works. It’s such happiness to see you again.’ He smiled and took both my hands in his.

  ‘Yes, of course it is a blessing to see you healthy. Tell me what misfortune brings you here, because there will be some trouble or other, I’m quite sure. But first give me news of your family and all my friends in Cumbria.’

  He opened the door to the Minster and we found a quiet spot to sit and talk. The Minster didn’t look much like the richly decorated place of worship it had once been. The pictures of sour-faced saints, the golden crosses, the embroidered wall-hangings were all gone. The roof was not quite as tall and the walls and timbers were still black. Monks and workmen were busy cleaning and restoring. It still smelled vaguely of smoke.

  ‘So,’ said Ansgar when I had given him the news from Cumbria, ‘you think Ragnar and perhaps also Kveldulf will be with Eirik. Well, we’d better find them then. I’m sure Wulfstan will be involved. He’s been at Aedred’s court for the past couple of years but when he last came through here he was not returning to the King. I didn’t listen very carefully to where he was going instead. As long as I don’t have to go with him I’m not much interested. Olvir is with him and seems to be in his confidence.’

  ‘I thought that’s where Olvir was going. He went to seek his fortune, much as a young warrior might but of course, not with a sword.’

  ‘I had conflicting feelings when I saw him in Wulfstan’s entourage. It is not as safe a position as it should be. The Archbishop has lost sight of his calling and serves earthly rather than Heavenly powers.’

  ‘Do you think he’s planning to replace Cuaran with Eirik again?’

  ‘I fear that could be his intention. He refers to Cuaran as King Aedred’s errand-boy.’

  ‘Ansgar, that means war. It will all start again. But this time the warriors of Cumbria, and that includes me, will be called to fight for King Aedred. Ragnar and Kveldulf are with Eirik. Please Brother, will you help me find them? We must not be on opposite sides.’ Without even hinting that I should not be fighting at all, he just nodded.

  ‘Yes, I shall come with you. But Sigrid, you realise that the celebrations to give thanks for the life of the blessed St. Cuthbert are just about to begin. I can’t leave until the seven days and nights are over. He was very significant to our Minster.’

  It was a bitter time. I was sick with longing for my younger children and for my home. And I was sick to death of the longwinded Christian celebrations. We stayed with the farmer and he fed us well but our days were punctuated by the tolling of bells. Nanna was in and out of the Minster at all hours, red-cheeked and shiny-eyed, looking happier than I’d ever seen her. Unn and I went riding, hunting and practised sword-skills.

  The feast day of St Cuthbert coincided with the time in Spring when day and night are the same length. I felt strongly that I had neglected my gods. How could I expect Thor and Odin to stand by me in my quest if I didn’t honour them with a blot? On the pretext of an extended hunting trip, Unn and I rode to a farmstead away from the village. The farmer looked at me suspiciously.

  ‘But why buy a live calf when I can sell you the edible parts neatly cut up?’

  ‘We shall take it with us till such time that we need it.’ He didn’t believe me but silver persuaded him to stop asking any more questions.

  In a grove beneath an ancient oak surrounded by beech and hazel I cast the holy runes and they showed that it was a good place. We piled some rocks into a makeshift altar and I placed a small wooden likeness of Odin on top. I lit a fire to which I added herbs I had begged from the gardener at the monastery: sage, wormwood and rue. I felt the presence of the gods in the ancient trees and I heard them whisper as the wind rustled through the bare branches. I cut the calf’s throat. The spurt of warm blood ran down the offer stone and I used my hands to daub it onto Odin’s statue and the rocks and trees. It was a very quiet blot with just the two of us chanting our prayers while we circled the fire in the rhythmic steps that were ingrained in our bodies since childhood. It felt reassuring and safe to follow the familiar pattern of worship. I inhaled the herb-scented smoke and cast the sacred runes. I thought they spelled the word for spear. That must mean fighting. But I couldn’t tell where or when or against whom. I decided I couldn’t expect more from Odin this time – it was a very modest offering I had given him. Unn and I ate a piece each of the calf’s liver and left the rest for Odin, Thor and Frey.

  We slept by the fire, wrapped in our cloaks. In the morning, on our way back to Ripon we stopped by a stream to wash away the blood from our hands and faces. Our hoots when the icy water hit bare skin made us laugh and hurry back to the warm hearth at our quarters in the farmer’s hall.

  At last Ansgar proclaimed that his presence was no longer required at the Minster. I bought a steady gelding off the farmer. It wasn’t much of a mount but Ansgar wasn’t much of a rider so I reckoned they’d get along. We stopped that night at a small religious house. I had decided to be patient and sat quietly through the lengthy prayers. We were fed on salt fish and coarse bread washed down with sour ale. After more prayers Ansgar drew me aside.

  ‘This girl, Nanna,’ he began. I sat up and, thinking I knew what was to come, I felt myself bristle. Had the little vixen poured her heart out to the gullible monk? But Ansgar seemed genuine when he asked who she was. I explained how the daughter of my longstanding enemy had seduced my son and then, had testified against her father perhaps to get back at him, perhaps in order to insinuate herself into my home.

  ‘Ah,’ said Ansgar, ‘so Kjeld Gunnarson is now the outlaw and Nanna is in the same position that you were when your father was outlawed. Interesting.’ He looked at me in a way I didn’t at all appreciate. ‘So you took her as a fostring. That was only right after she gave up everything to testify against her father.’

  ‘She’s not my fostring. I was shamed into receiving her into my hall, forced to take a viper into the midst of my family. I have not slept easily since she came.’

  ‘But Sigrid, dear child, why?’

  ‘Her father persecuted me and my children, he tried to kill Kveldulf. Her sister burnt Becklund thinking I was there. Her brother set fire to my hall with the intent of burning us all inside it. There’s nothing but hatred for my family from hers.’

  ‘Why should they hate you?’

  ‘Do you remember Lydia?’ He nodded.

  ‘Oh yes, the Galician thrall-woman. She was a Christian. I still recall my despair when you had her killed.’

  ‘She had mur
dered my servant. It was a lawful punishment. Nanna and her brother are her children. I paid weregeld, they accepted the settlement but they still pursue their revenge.’

  ‘Revenge is mine, sayeth the Lord.’ Ansgar made the sign of the cross. I clenched my jaws against the snarl that tried to make its way out. I drew a breath and said:

  ‘Maybe you could point that out to that daughter of Loki.’

  ‘Oh Sigrid, really! No I don’t believe in young Nanna as an assassin. You say she’s seduced Kveldulf but maybe she loves him. That is the most likely explanation to why she testified against her own father.’

  ‘No she did it because Kjeld beat her and threw her out.’

  ‘Oh for shame! Why did he do that?’

  ‘He did it because … because…’ The words sat like a stone in my throat. I realised how it all must sound to someone who hadn’t been subjected to the unrelenting vendetta from Kjeld’s family. Ansgar could be very patient and now he just sat there waiting for an answer. ‘Because she and Kveldulf …’ again that stone blocking my airways.

  ‘Do they want to marry?’ said Ansgar.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ I hissed. Ansgar looked at me with his innocent face and smiled.

  ‘So here you are: two women looking for their men who they believe to be in danger.’

  ‘So you too, Brother. Why does everyone think they have the right to speak in this matter?’ I felt tears trickle down my cheeks. I didn’t like the way I suddenly appeared vengeful and consumed with hatred. Ansgar patted my hand.

  ‘I shall pray that the ever forgiving Lord will grant you the peace of mind not to judge this poor girl by what her family has done.’

  That night, my head full of unwelcome thoughts, I tossed and turned on my narrow cot.

  Ansgar knew his way about. He navigated by religious places. After a week I decided that if I ever saw another church, monastery or Christian community again it would be too soon. I sat through so many tedious services and listened to so many monotonous prayers, not to mention the tuneless singing, that I was ready to give up that immortal soul they kept talking about just to get away. But I didn’t because, I had to hand it to Brother Ansgar, he knew how to get information. It would have seemed strange if I had asked about the Archbishop but when his scribe enquired as to his whereabouts people were only too willing to help. So I suffered in silence.

  Nanna enjoyed herself, taking full part in prayers and services. That’s only what I would have expected. But I began to wonder about Unn. She listened, sometimes open-mouthed, to the preaching. After one stay at a monastery I noticed her riding next to Ansgar in deep conversation. Unn was never talkative but she seemed more quiet that usual that evening. The next day, while Ansgar spoke with a group of wandering friars, I asked her if he had converted her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s all that talk of healing. I thought maybe that God of his, Jesus, could help rid me of the battle fury. I want to be a good warrior but I fear I am a foolhardy one. Varg tried to teach me but he wasn’t really the right man for that.’ We looked at each other and smiled. No, the old Wulfhedne was not one to tell anyone how to remain calm on the battlefield or off it for that matter.

  ‘But you are in control of yourself during sword practice.’ She hung her head.

  ‘Only when you are there. Ylva makes me use a blunt weapon and even then…’ she paused for a moment then she looked at me and I saw tears gathering in her eyes. ‘I am shunned. There was some teasing and I hit out and since then most of the people avoid me. You see I cannot, like Ylva and the others, answer with a joke. I don’t know how to take part in their banter, I just flare up.’

  We were interrupted by Ansgar who was ready to set off again. I let Unn ride in front with him. I looked at her listening to the little scribe and thought about this unhappy girl. She’d come to me as a fostring because her father was ashamed of her violent outbursts and wanted her out of his hall. He changed his mind about her when he saw her fight at Leicester. Their reconciliation lasted only a brief moment before he was killed in front of her eyes. Unn saw her close friend slain at Legburthwaite and in her grief rushed ahead towards our enemies, roaring her fury and shaming our warriors to follow. But who would remember that brave act? At once I saw the sadness of the future that awaited her. She would always have a place by the hearth at Becklund, neither Kveldulf nor Harald would deny her that. But old age would see her the butt of jokes. Youngsters would vie with each other to taunt her. And who would be there to defend her, to tell the tales of her courage? I shook my head. I had too much time to think on this journey.

  After yet another stop at yet another small religious house we set off for yet another day’s ride. This was a vast expanse of open, windswept landscape. At a tall stone cross we left the ancient road to follow a single track snaking its way among the heather. Sheep moved like shadows in the grey drizzle. The eerie silence was broken only by the squelching sound of our horses plodding along. On and on we rode in single file with Ansgar in front. It was slow, miserable and seemed endless. Every now and then Brother Ansgar hummed a tune to himself. I thought I could hear Nanna sobbing behind me. I reined in North Wind and waited for her to catch up. She stopped and I nodded for her to draw up next to me. I pulled off my gloves and handed them to her. She hesitated a moment before whispering a thanks and sliding her stiff, red hands inside the gloves.

  ‘We should be able to stop soon,’ I said. I hoped I was right. We needed rest and food, shelter and a fire to dry our clothes. Our horses needed water and … North Wind, head raised and ears pricked, snorted. I steered him round Unn and called quietly to Ansgar.

  ‘There’s something ahead. North Wind can hear it.’ We all stopped and there it was. A distant noise. Not animals or birds. Not the wind sweeping along the shelterless heath. I strained my ears but could make out no distinguishing sound to tell us what made the noise. Then I heard it. Voices, horses, the rattling of weapons; an army on the move. But whose army?

  Alert now and on our guard we continued towards the noise. When we dared proceed no further we dismounted. By now there was smoke from cooking fires and the noise of camp followers preparing for the night.

  ‘I think I’ll go and make enquiries,’ said Ansgar.

  ‘Brother no, it’s dangerous.’

  ‘Not for me. You wait here.’ He smiled his serene smile and set off on foot down the slope.

  The perishing cold persuaded me to light a fire despite the danger of being found by the ruffians and human scavengers who follow armies around. I didn’t think the warriors themselves would be interested. They would have set look-outs but only to make sure they weren’t attacked. Other than that, experience had taught me, they would be concerned with food and rest.

  It was almost dark by the time Ansgar returned.

  ‘I got some bread for us.’ He pulled a piece of dry, hard bread from his pouch and we shared it together with the smoked meat the abbess had sent with us that morning.

  ‘Who are they?’ I asked.

  ‘Cumbrian warriors, I recognised some of your neighbours but I don’t think you need to worry.’

  ‘Why? How can I not worry about this?’

  ‘They asked if I’d seen King Dunmail. I said we passed him a couple of days ago, held up by sickness. I advised them to wait for him here. They seemed to think that was a good idea.’

  ‘Ansgar, you told a lie!’

  ‘The Good Lord will forgive me a slight misrepresentation of the facts. He’ll understand it was to prevent bloodshed. But I should confess and get absolution as soon as possible because, strictly speaking, it was a sin.’ I squeezed his hand.

  ‘Thank you Brother.’

  We set off at first light in the direction Ansgar had been told King Malcolm was headed. My only hope was to find Eirik’s army and warn Ragnar before my Cumbrian neighbours caught up with them. There was no sign of life from the camp. They would have welcomed the excuse to tarry.

  The mist dispersed and a pale
sun sat high in the sky when our horses became restless. We picked up the distant noise of fighting and continued towards it. It grew stronger but still we could see nothing. We started down a slope and the sound took shape; angry men shouting, weapons clashing and injured warriors screaming in pain. We stopped and dismounted. We must now be quite close.

  Ansgar went down on his knees and began to pray. Nanna stared into the distance, her face the colour of wood-ash. I looked at Unn. She nodded.

  ‘Brother, stay here until it is over. I leave Nanna in your care.’

  ‘Would it make a difference if I told you to stay?’

  ‘No.’

  He sighed, nodded, made the sign of the cross first over me then over Unn and went back to his prayers. Nanna, hollow-eyed and shivering took my hand. It was the first time we had touched. She whispered:

  ‘Please be careful, Mistress.’

  Unn and I walked until we could make out the forms of fighting warriors. Following the contour of the land we skirted the edge of the battle. A group of young boys guarded a great number of horses in a grove and we went round them without being seen. Further along I could see banners raised above a shieldwall.

  ‘Who are they?’ whispered Unn.

  ‘The one with a deer head is Dunmail. The ones in tartan are probably Malcolm’s men.’

  ‘Is King Aedred there? I can’t see his banner.’

  ‘No, but there’s the High Reeve of Bamburgh, he’s Aedred’s man. And look there’s Anlaf Cuaran’s, the one with the ribbons streaming from it.’

  ‘Is he on the same side as Malcolm? But I thought…’

  ‘You get some strange alliances in war. And all to keep my uncle out of Jorvik.’

  ‘Can’t see any Cumbrians, that’s good. I don’t suppose they’ll arrive for a while yet.’

  ‘We can only hope they have done as Ansgar suggested. Anything to keep them from meeting Ragnar. If he’s here. He might not be. Can you see the banners on the other side?’