Honour is All

by Marianne Whiting

  ‘Careful!’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That could be … someone.’ His mouth fell open.

  ‘You mean… Odin’s eye… I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  I pulled the rake lightly along the floor. We found bones, fragments of material, smashed pots, knives, shield-bosses and other metal implements. The silver offer bowl that I had used when I lived there was intact. And we found bodies; charred remains of women and children. An old man, his hands fused to his sword. It was a grim task and there was little to say.

  None of the Buttermere people could use their blistered hands so my warrior women set to digging. A shallow grave would hold the brittle bodies of the burned people until there was time to dig proper graves and perform the funeral rites. I carved runes on wood and found bits of hacksilver to put with the bodies to stop them walking. This much I had to do straight away. In a few days Harald would come with my servants and thralls. They could complete the clearing up and start to rebuild the hall.

  Nanna seemed a little better from the ground willow bark I had given her. The servant woman couldn’t use her hands but she could tell someone else what needed doing to help Nanna recover. I decided to leave Gudrun and my women to help the survivors. I had other things to do. I must go with Kveldulf to find Kjeld and his companions.

  We saddled up and I led the way towards Swanhill.

  ‘Hide in full view or in a place nobody thinks you’d be,’ I said. ‘Olvir taught me that. Nobody would look for him at Swanhill. He has no right to be there, so that’s where he’d be safe – as safe as he’ll ever be around here.’

  I was wrong. We arrived at Swanhill. The once prosperous farm lay fallow, left to decline. A small group of elderly servants with nowhere else to go had stayed and were eking out a living from the fields and animals. I was curious why nobody else had claimed the farm. An old man I knew from my time as mistress of Swanhill told me:

  ‘Most of the land has been taken over by neighbours. When the ewes came down for lambing they were taken as well by people who said they had claims on the property.

  ‘Who’s left here?’ I asked.

  ‘Just us five. What were we supposed to do? The thralls were claimed. Most of the servants joined other households. Those of us that weren’t wanted, well we just stayed here. We manage, for now at least.’

  ‘Have you seen Kjeld Gunnarson?’

  ‘Neither hide nor hair.’

  ‘Where could he be?’

  ‘I can’t think where he’d be safe, to be honest. I’d be surprised if he had any supporters left but you never know with him. I don’t think anyone has been to the shieling, nobody from here at least. He may be there or at one of the neighbour’s but how he’ll fare once winter sets in,’ he shook his head. ‘That goes for us too, of course.’ That statement held a question, a plea.

  I looked at the three women and two men. ‘Kveldulf,’ I said, ‘you will need people to help re-build your farm.’

  ‘We’ll work for food and a roof over our heads,’ said one of the women. I caught my breath. They were free men and women but offered themselves as thralls.

  ‘Too old,’ said Kveldulf, under his breath.

  ‘You have young servants and thralls at Buttermere. They were the ones who made it out of the hall. They can work hard but they lack the experience and knowledge that comes with age.’

  Kveldulf nodded and we told them to make their way to Buttermere.

  It was a long time since I had been mistress of Swanhill but I remembered the way to the shieling. I wasn’t sure the small, stone-built hut would have been used since Kjeld was forced away. It was only a matter of weeks since most people had moved their animals back to the farms in the valleys. The five at Swanhill said they hadn’t used it but perhaps a neighbour had decided to split his herd and send some to the Swanhill shieling. Nobody would have challenged them.

  Such thoughts went through my mind as we rode up the slope. When it got steeper we dismounted and led the horses. Autumn mists rolled across the fell and I began to doubt I’d be able to find the shieling. The ground showed no tracks from recent movement of a herd. We couldn’t see very far ahead of us. Was there any point in looking here? The huts up on the fells deteriorated over winter and this one may have had to withstand two or even three winters without repairs.

  ‘There! Mor, look.’ Kveldulf caught up with me and pointed into the mist.

  ‘Can’t see. What is it?’

  ‘Smoke.’ We advanced slowly. Kveldulf stopped and pointed. I strained my eyes and saw bulky shapes moving around. Horses. We hobbled our own mounts, took our shields and crept closer. I could now smell the fire. Someone was in the hut. I counted four horses. My heart beat stronger and my breath came in short bursts. Dragonclaw began humming.

  ‘Kjeld is mine,’ hissed Kveldulf. I squeezed his arm in reply. A figure emerged from the hut. A man. He took a couple of steps away and lifted his tunic. I heard his water splash on to the ground. I drew Dragonclaw and approached him from behind. He turned. It was not Kjeld. I put the tip of my blade to his throat and whispered.

  ‘A sound and you’re dead.’ I didn’t recognise him. I couldn’t kill a man who might be nothing to do with Kjeld. Kveldulf forced the man’s arms behind his back and used his kerchief to tie them together. He put his hand on the man’s head and forced him to kneel. A voice from inside the hut called:

  ‘What in the name of Loki is taking you so long, Erlend?’ I would have known that voice anywhere. It sealed Erlend’s fate. Dragonclaw sliced his head from his shoulders. The scent of blood unsettled the horses. They stirred and one of them neighed. Two figures carrying sword and shield came out of the hut. Kveldulf ran one of them through with Bearkiller before his eyes had got used to the semi-darkness. I spotted a third figure running off into the mist.

  ‘That’ll be Kjeld,’ I called and Kveldulf set off after him.

  That left the fourth for me. He was short of stature and didn’t wear mail. That would make him light and sure-footed. I found myself facing an enemy that fought the same way I did. Then with a stab to my heart I realised that the similarity didn’t end there. I was facing another woman warrior.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ she hissed as we began circling each other.

  ‘Who are you that knows my name?’ I couldn’t see her face which was partly covered by the nose-guard and sides of her helmet. But I could see her mouth. She bared her teeth.

  ‘I am Vengeance.’

  ‘Whom do you seek to avenge?’ She saw that I was intrigued and thinking me distracted lunged at me. I parried and thrust the edge of my shield in her face. She cried out, blood pouring from her mouth. She threw herself at me in a flurry of sword swipes. I made good use of my shield, retreated, side stepped and allowed Dragonclaw to find the frequent gaps in her defence. I gave her one cut after another, none of them serious but they ate away at her confidence. And at her strength. Her breath was laboured. She began to stumble. I could see her swordskills were not those of a trained warrior. She was a novice. To kill her would bring no honour. It was not difficult to deflect her sword and push her shield out of the way. I stabbed her through the sword arm. She sobbed and dropped her blade, disarmed but not beaten. She held on to her shield and began swinging it in wide circles while moving towards me. I stepped out of her way, kept avoiding until she fell in an exhausted heap on the ground. I took her shield away. She rolled over onto her back and flashed a knife at me. It caught my wrist. That made me angry. Was there nothing to make her give up? Was I going to have to kill her? I cut off her hand. She lifted the stump looked at it, uncomprehending.

  ‘You are now going to tell me who you are. And don’t give me any name other than that your parents chose for you.’

  ‘Eadgifu.’

  My mind was sluggish. I stared at her and tried to think.

  ‘Take off your helmet.’ She obeyed and looked up at me. Despite her mangled mouth I recognised the fine features. Last time I saw he
r, at Kjeld’s side, she had been richly adorned in fine clothes with ribbons and combs in her hair.

  ‘You are Kjeld Gunnarson’s wife.’ At that moment there floated through the mist a sound of frantic pleading interspersed with cries of pain. A pitiful scream suddenly cut short told us that Eadgifu was now a widow. She lowered her head and cradling her mutilated arm she sobbed.

  ‘He was a good man, a kind man. Those children, ungrateful snakes at his bosom.’ I put Dragonclaw back in her sheath.

  ‘I need to put your arm to fire and staunch the blood or you’ll bleed to death. Come.’ She shook her head so I let her be.

  We could have left their bodies to feed the ravens and the foxes. But I persuaded Kveldulf that it would sully the shieling and unsettle cattle should anyone bring their herd here. So we dug a shallow grave for the four of them. By the time we were finished Kjeld’s Saxon wife was dead. We put them all in the pit.

  Kveldulf held up Kjeld’s severed head.

  ‘I shall mount it on a shame pole by the track to my farm.’ He thought a bit and then he held out the gaping, wide-eyed head to me. ‘Unless you want it?’

  Kjeld had been my enemy all these years. But this, my final victory, had cleansed me of hatred. ‘No,’ I said, ‘that is all over now.’

  Spring 954

  It was a warm spring and nature responded with early growth. I walked around and enjoyed the sight of fresh grass in the meadows, seedlings sprouting in the kitchen garden and crops thriving in the fields. Many of our ewes had twins and Harald boasted of the healthy foals that increased our herd. Soon it would be time to move the cattle to the shieling in time for the month of three milkings. We had been at peace in Cumbria for two years, ever since my royal uncle had defeated the forces of the English King Aedred and his allies.

  ‘Will Aedred leave King Eirik to rule the Kingdom of Jorvik, do you think?’ Harald was a farmer first and warrior second and he sounded hopeful.

  I laughed. ‘I wish I could believe that. Aedred has left Jorvik in peace because he has been kept busy in Norfolk. I was told the people of Thetford were the last to be on the receiving end of his wrath.’

  ‘It would suit me if he stayed there,’ said Harald.

  Kveldulf was not so contented with life as a farmer.

  ‘I shall have to seek out Jarl Arnkeld before he sets off a-viking this year,’ he said. I bit my tongue. Kveldulf was his father’s son. No argument had ever succeeded in keeping Ragnar away from his search for gold and adventure. I realised it was time to hand over the men who, although sworn to me, I still thought of as Ragnar’s hird.

  They received the news with barely concealed enthusiasm. Only Cerdic chose to stay with me. He felt the effects of years of fighting and was ready to hang up his shield. The others were all ready to leave the safety of my hearth whether from restlessness, ambition or forgetfulness of the hardships that made up the life of a warrior, I couldn’t say. I wished them all well. We held a farewell feast and I sacrificed a young heifer to my gods to ensure their luck.

  We rode over to Buttermere and the men swore allegiance to Kveldulf. Orm had continued to be standard bearer and when I handed the wolf’s head to Kveldulf Orm went with it.

  ‘What about you, little brother?’ asked Kveldulf.

  Harald seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Why? I make good money from the horses, probably more than you will, and without the need to risk life and limb.’

  ‘You’ll change your mind when I come back with honour and gold.’

  ‘That time is over, brother. It’s in trade you find gold now.’

  ‘You’d only bicker,’ I said, ‘and besides, I need one of you here.’

  My nephew Swein was getting ready to join Kveldulf. I knew I would lose any argument about his age. He was the same age as Kveldulf and before him Ragnar had been the first time they went raiding. He had his father’s sword but no helmet so I had brought him one. He couldn’t have looked more pleased if I’d gifted him a royal crown.

  ‘I shall make you proud of me Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ he said. I noted the absence of “aunt”. He was obviously a man now.

  ‘I know you will and I know you’ll be a credit to the memory of your parents.’

  Nanna had taken a long time to recover from the hall burning, rape and losing her baby. She still looked pale and worn when I helped her prepare the farewell feast.

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘that this is what he is, a warrior. I have always known that and I try to be brave.’

  ‘Yes, we try to be but we still miss them,’ I said. ‘I have always had friends and family to turn to. I’ll visit you, of course but would you not like to have someone here, a friend?’

  ‘Well, yes, but who?’

  ‘I have been thinking about Cinedred ever since I last saw her. I’ve even thought of offering her a home at Becklund. I haven’t done so because I don’t want to insult Brother Cuthred. He would not take kindly to sending Cinedred to live in a pagan household. But you are a Christian and in need of female company.’ While I spoke, Nanna’s face lit up.

  ‘Oh Mor, that would be a great comfort to me. And Cinedred is not thriving at the monastery. Did you notice how thin and pale she was?’

  ‘Why not ask Kveldulf to travel that way. Cerdic can go with him and bring Cinedred back here.’ She had tears in her eyes when she put down the platter of meat and threw her arms round me.

  Two days later we waved off Kveldulf and his hird. Nanna was hollow eyed but smiled bravely. When they were out of sight she said:

  ‘I fear I shall not see him again.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. Kveldulf is lucky as well as brave. He’ll be back.’

  ‘I don’t mean Kveldulf.’

  ‘Are you afraid of attack, Nanna? There’s nobody wishes you ill. I can leave Cerdic and a couple of my warrior women here, if it will make you feel better.’

  ‘No, I don’t expect anyone to attack the farm, not now.’

  ‘Cinedred will be here in a few days. You’ll feel better, she’ll be good company for you.’

  She shook her head. ‘Mor, I don’t feel well. I worry I shall die.’

  I put my fingers together in the sign to ward off evil. ‘Nanna, you mustn’t speak of such! Which god have you offended? Why should you be punished?’

  ‘I have sinned against The Almighty God. It didn’t feel like a sin at the time but I understand now that I have broken the fourth commandment.’ I tried to remember what Ansgar had taught me about these rules that had been carved on tablets of stone by the Christian God.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It says to honour your father and your mother and I bore witness against my father and caused his banishment. First I drove him to become my enemy and now…’ She pointed to the track leading from the farm. I knew that just out of sight her father’s head sat displayed on a shame-pole. There wouldn’t be much left of it, carrion birds would had done their work and I doubted anyone could still recognise Kjeld Gunnarson. But his daughter knew.

  ‘Mor, what worse thing could I do to him than this?’

  ‘I should have told Kveldulf not to put it up! You don’t have to have it there.’ I marched along the track and pulled the stinking remains of my enemy off the spike. I gagged and had to put it on the ground to throw up. I had nothing but my shawl to wrap it in. That couldn’t be helped. It was clear what I had to do.

  ‘Nanna, we shall bury it. Shall we put it with the rest of his body? We can do that together.’ She nodded.

  The shieling looked peaceful in the sunlight. Moss and lichen made bright patterns on the grey stone walls. Grasses growing around the entrance shone green and yellow in the bright light. I was glad of the warm weather it made our grim task easier. Nanna trembled as I helped her dismount.

  Last autumn, in the mist I had not made particular note of where we’d dug the shallow pit. The soil and turf would have compacted down over winter and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find the grave. We dismounted and let the horses graze b
y the hut. Nanna cried out and pointed to where some wild animal had scratched the earth and uncovered part of Erlend’s body. Bits of his half-eaten corpse lay scattered over the grass. Nanna trembled and wept. To distract her I set her to gather rocks to put on top of the grave.

  I put the spade into the ground. Soon I hit something solid. I scraped off the soil to see the embroidered edge of a tunic.

  ‘Here,’ I called.

  ‘It’s his. My father,’ whispered Nanna and fell to her knees. ‘Pater Noster, qui es in caelis,’ she prayed. I left her until she’d finished. I didn’t uncover the bodies. There seemed no point. Instead I extended the pit and put in Kjeld’s head and Erlend’s remains. I made sure Erlend’s head was in the pit as well and I put in four rune sticks with secret marks to bind the dead to the earth. The shieling would perhaps be used again and I would not be the cause of any of these four walking, causing fear among people and cattle.

  Nanna added her little silver cross to the grave. As far as I knew Kjeld had been a follower of the Old Religion but Nanna seemed to feel better for it. She helped me fill in the grave and replace the turf. She had found some rocks and we took some more from the dry stone wall to pile on top of the grave and stop animals from digging there again.

  We left and on the ride home Nanna turned her face to the sun and smiled.

  Chapter 11

  The Last Battle

  Dusty, tired messengers seldom carry good news. This one was no exception. He all but fell from his horse and handed me a scroll with Eirik’s royal seal.

  Two days later I set off with Harald, Cerdic, Ylva Flamehair and my five young warrior women. The messenger seemed overawed by my women warriors. The day before we left they had, as usual, spent the morning practising their swordskills. Ylva had arrived in response to my summons and the young man had watched open-mouthed as she put my fostrings through their paces. I suspected some of the women had teased him and now he avoided riding with them.

  He didn’t seem at ease with Harald and Cerdic either. They rode together, two warriors in full armour, discussing their plans to build a new hay-barn.