Honour is All

by Marianne Whiting

  The moon was a thin sliver of light against the dark sky. I stepped carefully, both to avoid stumbling and to be quiet. She wouldn’t suspect she was followed unless her senses were so finely strung she’d feel it in the air. I entered the woods, it was easy to find my way along the well trodden path. So many years I had followed in my mother’s footsteps, alone or leading my household, towards the sacred copse. I recited a silent chant to keep my mind closed to outside forces. Who knew what evil spirit could find a crack and wheedle itself inside my head to fill it with thoughts and images, robbing me of my sanity.

  I was wrong. She was not in the clearing, by the offer-stone. I had not contemplated anything else and the alternative filled me with cold dread. She couldn’t! The smallest mistake and she would bring destruction and everlasting damnation on herself and on the whole household. But, I had to accept, there was no other place she could have gone; the burial mound.

  My head swam with the fearful knowledge that the young girl I had brought from Norway, who had been as dear to me as my own children, was a helrune, a woman who sought knowledge from the dead. I saw the light from the three torches she had lit around the mound. I was afraid to go further. If she knew I was there it could distract her and lead to a breach in the wall that shields the living from the forces of Niflhel. To keep the wall intact would require all her strength. I sat down and tried to calm my breathing. I heard the strokes of her staff as she pounded the earth. I heard a voice chanting. Was that Kirsten? Or was it some unspeakable creature summoned from the underworld? Beads of sweat made their way down my body. I shivered but not from cold. My hands clasped the pouch that hung around my neck. It contained three strands of bristle from our Yule-boar, a sprig each of chervil and fennel and a tablet of yew tree with an inscription of holy runes for protection. But was that enough?

  A piercing scream tore through the night. Without thinking I shot up and ran towards the mound. In the dancing shadows from the torch light I saw her. I stood transfixed. Kirsten was naked and her hair hung lose. She stood bolt upright, both arms raised with her staff. Her scream disintegrated into a series of strangled gargles. She swayed and sidestepped. She bent forward and regurgitated a green thin stream of liquid that flowed down the mound. Then she collapsed on top of the mound, her arms and legs flailing. I was freed from my torpor and rushed over to her. Her body glistened with ointment. The air around her reeked of henbane. Whatever she had tried to do she was now in a place where I could neither reach nor help her.

  I ran back to the hall and quietly so as not to disturb anyone else shook Harald awake. He didn’t question, just got up and followed me. We wrapped Kirsten’s still twitching body in her shawl and carried her home.

  ‘Not in the hall, Harald. I don’t want anyone to see.’

  ‘Where? We can’t put her in the stables – the smell will make the horses go crazy.’

  ‘The bathhouse.’

  We laid her down on the stone bench. I sent Harald to fetch a bolster and a weaving batten. It was a measure of how confused and scared he was that he didn’t question the unusual request. When he brought it we made Kirsten comfortable and then I set to scraping off the pungent ointment from her lifeless body.

  ‘Mor, what is that?’

  ‘She’s mixed henbane with fat and smeared it over her skin.’

  ‘But why?’

  I hesitated. Should I tell him just how far Kirsten had gone in her search for knowledge?

  ‘I think she sought to open her mind more fully than with the usual herbs.’

  ‘But why there? Is she a helrune? Our Kirsten, Mor, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘No I don’t think she is but I think she may have tried to be. Light the fire, there should be some logs over there.’

  ‘Is she dead? She looks dead.’

  ‘No, I can feel a heartbeat. We must get her warm, Harald, light the fire.’

  I worked all night to try and keep that weak heartbeat going. Harald fed the fire and made sure I had hot water to hand. Towards morning I realised that soon the household would want to know why the sauna was fired up.

  ‘Harald, you’ll have to tell people that Kirsten took ill in the night and I brought her here.’

  ‘The place stinks of henbane, you can smell it from outside.’

  ‘Tell them to keep away. Say she needs quiet. Then you have to bury this.’ I pointed to the greasy mess I had scraped off Kirsten’s body and the cloths I had used to bathe her chafed skin. ‘Take it to the burial mound, somewhere not too close to the mound itself.’

  ‘Mor, you look done in. Shall I bring you something to eat?’

  ‘No, thank you Harald. You go and do those things then get some sleep. But make sure they all keep away.’

  He left me to sit and listen to Kirsten’s shallow, irregular breathing.

  After a while I heard footsteps and looked up expecting Harald. But it was the thrall-woman who had been Thorstein’s wet-nurse. She walked in, looked at Kirsten, shook her head and handed me a bowl of hot gruel.

  ‘I thought so,’ she said in her usual gruff manner. ‘Far too much henbane. Let’s hope it hasn’t killed her. I won’t tell. Poor girl, much better nobody knows.’ She put a bunch of herbs on the fire. They gave off a strong smell. It almost drowned out the stench from the henbane.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘It’s taken you a long time to want to know that, Mistress Sigrid. So many thralls, so many servants, so much time away.’ She put her ear to Kirsten’s chest. ‘We should turn her over. It’s good you got the bolster, she should be warm and comfortable. Here, help me.’ We turned Kirsten to lie on her stomach and the woman began stroking and kneading her back. She hummed some tune I didn’t know and worked rhythmically. There was nothing for me to do so I ate my gruel and felt better. Well enough to feel I had the right to an explanation from this strange woman.

  ‘Are you going to tell me who you are and how you come to know magic?’

  ‘Now we turn her over again and cover her.’ We did so and then she sat down opposite me and looked at me with eyes small and black as currants. ‘I was neither bought nor gifted. I came here because I thought I could hide here. I was right – until now.’

  ‘Where do you come from, who are you, what are you?’

  ‘What I am and what people took me for are two different things. I was a healer, I knew a little more than others and people came to my farm asking for help.’

  ‘Your farm?’

  ‘My husband’s farm then. Rumours spread, people asked for ever more difficult and dangerous things. I made the mistake of trying to help, I tried to be a seidir. I was accused of sorcery. There was an attack on the farm, I became a danger to my family, to my children. So I left.’

  I sat stunned. So few words – so much suffering.

  ‘You have a child here.’

  ‘Yes, one of the older thralls didn’t mind. My little girl was born six months before Thorstein. I have fed him strong milk to protect him. He is safe but I fear for your daughter, just as poor Kirsten fears for her.’

  I didn’t need to ask where the evil she feared came from.

  ‘Does she know you?’

  ‘No Kirsten got in the way and attracted her attention so I stayed hidden. Only Kirsten knew. It was I who took her to the smithy to recover from the fight with her over the lake when your karl, Varg, drowned. She promised not to tell. She understood.’

  ‘That morning by the lake, you deliberately followed us.’

  ‘Kirsten had been strange for a while. You were out of the house so early I knew something was wrong. Mistress Sigrid, I have felt safe here. I do no more and no less than anyone else. I was briefly noticed when I was wet-nurse. Then I was forgotten again. But now the household will guess what I am.’

  ‘No, how can they?’

  ‘They saw me going in here. You can smell the henbane half way up to the hall, they know the stories. They’re already talking about poor Kirsten. Someone saw her leave last night. You can�
�t hide it any longer.’

  ‘Why are you here? Why risk being found out?’

  ‘My little girl and Thorstein. I have to make sure nothing evil takes hold here. I don’t think it will now. I shall leave and find another place where they are too busy to notice an extra thrall working the querns or mucking out the sty.’

  ‘No, I want you to stay. I shall protect you.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that. The household would turn against you too. In time they would. They may even accuse you of sorcery. Fear eats away at loyalty. I’ve seen it happen. But I would ask that you keep my daughter here.’

  Her eyes welled up, the first sign of emotion since she began telling me her story. I nodded, of course I would keep the little girl who was Thorstein’s breast-sister.

  We sat quietly for another hour, maybe two. Then she shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mistress Sigrid. I know you were fond of her. But it is for the best.’

  Kirsten was slipping away. Her breath came at long intervals, the tips of her fingers turned a mottled blue. The woman, she hadn’t told me her name, left quietly and I sat with Kirsten until she was no more.

  I sent word to Keskadale. Eysten and Ylva brought Cub to the simple funeral we held for his mother. So many of the children, my own not least, had never known life without Kirsten there to administer lotions, potions and bandages, to chide and admonish them, to show them and teach them. Family, relatives and household accepted my explanation of a sudden fever. That’s why they couldn’t see her, why I had burned herbs, made a sacrifice to Odin and wrapped her in a sheet on my own. Nobody saw fit to ask where the disease had come from or why the gods had punished Kirsten of all people and why there was such a strong smell of henbane. Except Olvir.

  ‘There’s more to this, isn’t there Sigrid?’

  ‘You know there is.’ I told him how his friend had perished. ‘She went too far in the end and lost her gamble.’

  ‘Having first provided for her son,’ he said. ‘I wonder how long she planned this. But surely she must have known the dangers in trying to speak to the dead.’

  ‘I’m sure she did but it wasn’t the powers of Niflhel that killed her. She was poisoned by the henbane. She put too much in the ointment maybe she ate some as well. Her grandmother perhaps told her some but not all of what was needed for this magic.’

  ‘Poor Kirsten. What now, Sigrid? She had a purpose didn’t she? What was she trying to achieve?’

  ‘She needed knowledge to protect my children.’

  ‘Against what?’

  ‘Her.’

  ‘You mean Gunnhild?’

  ‘Shh, don’t say her name.’ I put my fingers together to ward off evil.

  As I watched the men shovel earth into Kirsten’s grave I knew what I had to do.

  ‘Jorvik! But Mor.’ Harald looked at me as if it was finally confirmed that I was insane. Then he said: ‘Right, I’m coming with you. And Kveldulf will too.’

  ‘No, Harald, neither you nor Kveldulf. That’s what she wants. I must do this alone.’

  ‘But we’ll be part of your hird.’

  ‘They’re not coming either. I shall ask Olvir. It is not swords that I need for this battle.’

  Olvir agreed and Gerda cried but accepted he’d not be fighting so he’d be safe. That was not strictly true but if any of us could escape from Gunnhild alive it would have to be Olvir. There were two others that I hadn’t even thought to ask.

  ‘Ansgar,’ said Olvir. ‘She won’t get at him. We can travel via Crosthwaite, I’m sure he’ll be there.’

  And: ‘I would come with you, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ said Cerdic. ‘You remember the little lad, Prince Gudred, who became fond of me and my children. He’s a bit older now and may be able to put in a good word for us. I still have that medallion he gave me.’

  Jorvik was a place I had got to dislike intensely. It was messy, dirty, smelly and full of busy, bad-tempered people and that included my royal relatives. I had nothing but bad memories from my previous visits. This time I was also filled with fear. Aware that Dragonclaw would be of limited use, and without the aid of Kirsten’s knowledge, I had collected as many amulets, charms and protective herbs I could fit into the pouch I wore around my neck and tucked under my clothes. It wasn’t comfortable but it did make me feel a little better.

  We were met at the gates by my least favourite cousin.

  ‘Let us through, Haeric, I wish to meet with my uncle, King Eirik.’

  He leered with a full set of rotting teeth. Then he caught sight of Ansgar and looked less sure of himself. I steered Lord of the Fells past him and entered the courtyard.

  ‘We have unfinished business, you and I, Cow-foot,’ he called.

  I considered letting Lord of the Fells take a bite out of him but thought better of it. I had not brought the Wolf banner. It seemed wrong to carry it without my hird in tow. But in the courtyard I realised that it might have made things go a bit more smoothly. Nobody seemed very impressed by my status as royal niece. Eventually we were allowed into the hall where my uncle held court. I curtsied and realised that I had no plan whatsoever. Subterfuge would not work here anyway so I came straight to the point.

  ‘Uncle, I have come to seek the advice of my Royal Aunt, Queen Gunnhild regarding a conflict.’

  ‘Who are these men with you?’

  ‘Brother Ansgar, one of Archbishop Wulfstan’s scribes, you met him before, after the battle where my husband was killed. Cerdic is one of my sworn men and …’ I looked round. Olvir had, as always, gone his own way.

  ‘Where is your hird? Do you now have only a priest and an old man with no nose to fight for you?’

  ‘I am not here to fight. I am here to confer with my Royal Aunt.’

  ‘My wife keeps vigil at my son’s bedside. What did you want to ask her?’

  ‘I really need to see her. I don’t know anyone else who would be able to help.’

  ‘Is your son sick?’ said Ansgar, ‘What ails him?’

  ‘Who knows? Children, I don’t understand at all. He’s fatigued, doesn’t eat, thin as a blade.’

  ‘Please allow me to visit him. Maybe I can help. I know someone with healing powers.’ That was an exaggeration but, in truth, Olvir did have some knowledge.

  Eirik, impatient as ever, waved me away like a troublesome fly. I went to Gunnhild’s chamber hoping she’d be there with her sick child. The guard recognised me and saluted. I didn’t bother knocking but went straight in. Gunnhild’s ladies sat along the walls with their embroidery and spoke in muted voices. Gunnhild sat by a cot and didn’t look particularly healthy herself. A young boy lay with his eyes closed and his hands resting on top of a velvet cover.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Gunnhild looked up. Her eyes were the same but sunken into their hollows above sharp cheekbones. I curtsied.

  ‘Aunt, it pains me to see your son so weak. I came for advice but I would offer my service if there’s anything I can do for you.’

  ‘Where is your seidir? That girl.’ I hesitated. Why would Gunnhild want to know about Kirsten?

  ‘Answer me! Where is she?’

  ‘You mean Kirsten. She’s dead.’ Gunnhild closed her eyes and opened them again.

  ‘I knew it!’ She waved at her ladies. ‘Leave us.’ I noticed Cerdic and Ansgar sneaking in through the door before it closed. Gunnhild noticed too. ‘Who are you? I shall call the guards.’ Ansgar came up and made the sign of the cross over the boy and then over Gunnhild.

  ‘Queen Gunnhild, I am Ansgar who shared your hardship after the attack on the Minster at Ripon. And this is my friend Cerdic, who carried your son out of the burning Minster. He is, like you, a good Christian.’ Cerdic bent his knee in greeting. His eyes were fixed on the boy in the cot.

  ‘Little Gudred,’ he whispered. ‘Poor little Gudred.’ Gunnhild’s eyes shot fire-bolts at him but he didn’t notice. ‘What ails the lad?’ he asked.

  I looked at Gudred and saw how my Gudrun would end up; the pallor,
the sunken cheeks and thin arms.

  ‘This,’ Gunnhild hissed like a venomous snake and pointed to Gudred, ‘this is the work of your seidir.’

  ‘Maybe you’d like to explain how it comes that my daughter is suffering the same debilitating ailment as your son?’ Her face turned ashen and her shoulders sagged. Her mouth opened and closed. Her breath deserted her and I thought she was about to choke. ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘we should speak of how powers can be used for good instead of evil.’ Ansgar knelt in front of her. He took her hand and rubbed it vigorously.

  ‘Sigrid, really,’ he said with a disapproving little sniff.

  ‘Ansgar, we need Olvir. Please find him for us. He may be able to help.’ He eyed me suspiciously but got up and left.

  Gudred stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Cerdic,’ he said. Cerdic took out his neck-chain and showed Gudred the medallion next to the cross. Gudred smiled. ‘You still have it.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I wouldn’t lose that, never. What’s wrong with you, Prince? You should be practising your swordskills, not resting.’

  ‘It was a dove. It sat on the windowsill and looked at me. It made me feel so sad, I became ill from the sadness.’

  I turned to Gunnhild. ‘You are the daughter of a king. You are the wife of a king and you will be mother of kings. Where is your royal honour? Did it have to come to this; the life of one child for the life of another? Will you not lift your curse?’

  Gunnhild stared at me. Her voice was little more than a whisper:

  ‘How dare you!’ Then she opened her mouth and screamed: ‘Guards!’

  The first to burst in was my cousin Haeric, grinning, his eyes full of glee. He drew his sword and put the edge to my throat.

  ‘No!’ Cerdic shot up and pulled a seaxe from under his tunic. Haeric pushed me aside. I landed painfully across a chair and was picked up by another ruffian who twisted my arms to my back. Cerdic managed to deflect Haeric’s sword but the uneven fight was over before it began. Cerdic lay on the floor bleeding from his shoulder. Haeric stood over him, a huge boot on the side of his head and his sword resting on Cerdic’s neck. I was held in a vice-like grip with a filthy hand covering my mouth. Haeric looked at Gunnhild.