‘What shall you name him?’ I asked Thora when we were alone. I wondered why she looked so grim. Then I realised and the smile died on my lips.
‘But not against your mother’s wishes, Thora. She still hates the very memory of him. She’s not well, you can’t do that to her.’ She looked at me with eyes the colour of the sky just before a storm.
‘Yes I can,’ she said.
Beorn arrived and, after praising the baby, he picked up Thora so gently, as if she too were an infant.
‘The Mistress will be pleased,’ he said. His voice was hoarse and I saw tears gathered in his eyes.
Aisgerd sat in the high seat. The hearth was as long as a man is tall and a fire burned the whole length of it. The house was almost too hot but Aisgerd still needed layers of shawls to keep warm. Beorn put Thora on one of the beds and she leaned back on the straw-filled bolsters. I placed the baby on my mother-in-law’s lap.
‘Your new grandchild, another grandson for you.’ Her distorted face twitched and tears ran down her cheeks. She made a small soft sound, little more than a sigh and nodded. Servants and thralls gathered round, craning their necks to get a view. The women cooed over the baby and praised Thora. The men grunted their gruff approval. Kveldulf was the only one who was not impressed.
‘Another small one,’ he sighed. ‘This one looks even littler than Harald and he’s not much use. Puppies are a lot better. You can play with them right away.’
‘Don’t be disrespectful to your cousin. He’s big and strong for a baby.’
‘What’s his name?’ It was Kveldulf who asked the question. The praise and well-wishing stopped. Servants and thralls shrank back, their smiles vanished as they exchanged worried glances. They all seemed to know what was to come. Was I the only one who hadn’t realised? The silence grew to a dense cloud that seemed to obscure even the light from the fire. It lasted an eternity, even the children were still.
When at last she spoke, her voice a ghostly echo from inside the box bed, Thora addressed herself to Aisgerd. ‘Mother, I shall call my son Swein, after my father Jarl Swein Hjaltebrand. I know he died a traitor’s death but he was a good father to me and I shall name my son for him.’ Aisgerd made a strangled noise, her limbs moved in convulsive tremors and her face contorted in a cruel open-mouthed grimace. The baby slipped from her grasp. It looked like she pushed him away. I caught him just before he slid off her lap. Thora stared white-faced at her mother, then she withdrew and closed the hangings round her bed. We could all hear muffled sobs from behind the drapes but there was no going back, no way to unsay what had been said.
***
I knew better than most how much Aisgerd hated the very memory of her husband who, by his betrayal of King Harald Finehair, had become an outlaw. He fled his prosperous farm on the Isle of Man and brought his family into impoverished exile in Cumbria. Aisgerd had been left to set up and run the farm at Buttermere with only Beorn the Lame and a few servants. She never forgave her husband the hardship he caused her and her bitterness had festered and caused a rift between her and her two daughters who, perhaps in defiance of her, had remained fond of their father and his memory.
Custom demanded that a birth be celebrated. Our laws said that the child be accepted into the family even if the father wasn’t there to claim it as his own.
I took a deep breath and said, ‘Lothar the Frankian, when he returns, shall be able to claim this boy as his son. Meanwhile, I have inspected the infant and found him whole. We shall drink the birth-ale and welcome this new child.’
Strong beer, brewed in anticipation of the event, was brought. The household rallied and tried to make it a happy occasion with praise and well-wishes for the baby. The finest horn in the house, made of green Alsatian glass with silver trim, was filled and I held it for Aisgerd to help her drink. She pressed her lips together. I kept the horn in front of her mouth whispering a plea that she should take a sip. Her jaws worked. She opened her mouth and spat into the horn. Beorn and several others called out in terror, some of the women began to cry. This amounted to putting a curse on her own grandson.
I gasped, it felt as if she’d spat at me. I stood at a loss, with the baby on one arm and the horn in my hand. Everything went still; even the children seemed to hold their breaths. I had to do something. The innocent baby must be saved from the wrath brought about through no fault of his own. I raised my hand and slung the horn into the fire. There was a noise as when Thor’s hammer hits home, a tall flame leaped from the hearth almost up to the rafters, sparks flew, the air filled with a fiendish stench, red smoke rose and curled upwards. Women and children screamed, men cursed and there was a great scuffle as they all tried to get away from the crackling, spluttering flames. Even the bravest clutched their amulets and made signs to ward off evil.
When calm was restored, I ordered my own drinking horn to be brought. It was fine enough; beaten silver with green and red precious stones. I filled it, drank from it and passed it on. Aisgerd sat slumped in her chair with her eyes shut. Again the household rallied, praised the child and drank his health but without mentioning the name his mother had chosen. I had some bitter thoughts about Ragnar, again absent when his family was in turmoil. Then I realised that his presence would not have helped. He, too, felt that his father had been dealt with harshly and had paid his penance. He would not have tried to persuade Thora to choose another name for her son. It was up to me to try and still the anger and heal the rifts in the family.
***
It got late and two thrall-girls took Aisgerd to the privy before settling her for the night. The rest of the household prepared for sleep. I went to Thora’s bed. She was stifling violent sobs with her blanket. I tried to speak with her but she was beyond my reach. I settled her son next to her. Swein was asleep, still content from his earlier feed. There seemed nothing I could do so I went to my own bed where Kveldulf and Harald lay curled up like a couple of contented puppies.
I was uneasy and couldn’t sleep. After twisting and turning for a while, I realised why. From among the usual snores and sniffles rose an unfamiliar sound pitched somewhere between deep breaths and shallow sighs, slow, irregular. I got up and in the faint glow from the banked up fire I saw Beorn sitting next to Aisgerd’s bed holding her hand. Each of her breaths sounded like an effort, her skin looked like parchment, pale and lifeless.
‘It is time to get young Thora to join us,’ Beorn said. ‘She should be here to ease her mother’s last moments.’ I went over to Thora’s bed.
‘Thora, your mother has begun her final journey.’ She made no answer but covered her head with the bed-sheet. I stroked her shoulder. ‘You are her daughter. You should ...’
She pulled the sheet closer. ‘No, no, I can’t!’
I stepped back, appalled at the vehemence in her voice.
‘But, Thora, you must make your peace with your mother. She will want to be reconciled before she dies.’ She didn’t reply. I tried again but to no avail. My heart beat heavy in my breast. This must not happen. How could Aisgerd travel safely to the other world when there was bad blood between her and her daughter. I hurried across to Beorn.
‘She doesn’t heed me. Beorn you must try to persuade her. She might listen to you.’ He didn’t reply. I saw then that it was too late. I leaned over the woman who had been my friend and protector. My tears fell on her face. I closed her eyes and bound her chin. When I looked up I saw Thora’s tear-swollen face pull back behind her bed-drapes. I went over to her.
‘You need to prepare for the funeral.’ She was again covered by the sheet and did not respond.
‘You don’t have to do anything. Just open the hangings, let people see you, give the orders and I can do the rest.’
‘Nooo! Go away.’
The sounds of people waking and preparing for the new day drowned the sound of her wail. I couldn’t continue this in front of the household. I had to take charge and hope to get through to her later. The baby cried. I picked him up and held him close t
o Thora’s covered face.
‘Will you feed your son?’
She didn’t reply, she just turned her back to me and burrowed deeper in under the covers. I put the baby next to her and left them. Swein’s crying increased and after a while I could no longer ignore him. Thora still lay with her back to the baby. I worried that if she turned over she’d lie on him and suffocate him so I called a thrall-woman who had recently given birth and promised her extra rations to be Swein’s wet-nurse.
There was so much to do. I sent word to our relatives at Rannerdale Farm and to other neighbouring farms about the death and the birth. There would be visitors and I owed Aisgerd a proper sending-off. Busy with the preparations I didn’t have time to spend with Thora. I had made sure her baby would be fed, I never thought further than that.
***
Ragnar’s younger sister Gyda was married to Anlaf and they arrived from Rannerdale Farm with Thorfinn and his wife Hrodney. Kveldulf greeted Anlaf and Thorfinn with a grown-up handshake and they hid their amusement and asked how his sword-practice was going. He complained that I had not paid enough attention to that lately. Then he wanted to join the men in preparing the grave and was most put out when I put him in charge of his brother and the visiting children. I explained that he was their host and, as such, had duties. Anlaf promised him some swordplay later which went some way to soften the blow. We left him organising a boat race in the cattle -trough.
As I went to join the women in the hall, Gyda pulled me to one side.
‘Sigrid, my sister won’t speak to me. We argued about the child’s name before and now she won’t look at me or answer me. Please, Sigrid, speak to her. We must make sure my mother finds peace in her grave.’
I had to make one last attempt before it was too late. This time Thora sat up and looked at me. I felt a surge of dread and pity as I looked into her empty eyes. Her calm was as disturbing as when she had been distraught and incoherent. But at least it meant I could speak to her.
‘Thora, sister,’ I whispered, ‘your mother was stubborn and sometimes harsh but you must not allow a last disagreement to stop her from moving on.’
‘I can’t do it! It’s no good. Sigrid, if I do it with hatred it will be no good at all.’
‘You shouldn’t hate her, Thora.’ I got on to the bed and closed the hangings. Thora sighed and put her head on my shoulder. I stroked her hair. ’Your mother would have given in to you in the end, you know that. She would have thought it over and agreed to the name.’
‘No, she wouldn’t. She hated my father and blamed him for everything. And now they all think it’s my fault she died.’ She fell silent for a moment then the tension went out of her body and she sobbed: ‘And it is my fault. I know it is. But I just wanted to honour my father. I didn’t want her to die. She did it on purpose to punish me and now she’ll go on punishing me. There is no escape. It’s too late. Whatever I do now will not stop her.’ I shivered at her words. She felt it and sat up and looked at me with her red, swollen eyes.
‘See, you know I’m right.’ She lay back and stayed where she was, her face again turned to the wall.
***
I joined the rest of the women around Aisgerd’s bier. I saw them exchange glances as I took charge of the ceremony.
Female guests, servants and thralls sat on the benches and floor. They threw herbs on the fire and the air filled with sweet-smelling smoke. We laid out Aisgerd’s body on a trestle table. Gyda and Hrodney helped me wash her and comb her hair. Gyda kept glancing towards Thora’s bed where it stood in its corner, a silent reminder of her rejection of her mother’s funeral. I took out the fine clothes and jewellery we had prepared for Aisgerd to wear on her journey to Freya’s hall: a silk shift; a linen dress and a red pinafore with gold braid; her brooches; a thick gold chain with trinkets of silver filigree; amber from the lands of the Danes and black stones from Whitby.
When Aisgerd was ready, we formed a circle round her body. Soon the rhythm of our feet moving round the bier, the aroma of woodsmoke and herbs, and the sound of our desolate cries, took us to a place deep inside our shared consciousness. Time lost its meaning. We wailed, we tore off our headdresses and pulled at our hair, we scratched our faces and our arms until we drew blood. Then there were three loud knocks on the door and we fell silent.
‘Who calls?’ I shouted.
‘The messenger to lead Aisgerd Rolfsdaughter to the start of her last journey.’ The sound of a horn echoed between the farm buildings; such a sad tone, drawn out like a cry until it faded and dissolved in the wind.
Gyda and I took our places at the head of the bier and with the help of the other women we picked it up and carried Aisgerd outside. It was getting dark, autumn-dark. The trees had begun to lose their leaves and bare branches reached towards the rising moon. The men carried torches and led our way to the small patch of land near the sacred grove where they had dug a grave for Aisgerd. It was lined with a soft fleece and we draped a fine linen sheet around the body and lowered it into the grave. By her head, I placed an earthenware jug with mead and an iron pot with stew for sustenance during the journey. Gyda set spindle and distaff, carding combs and weaving tablets on one side and on the other Aisgerd’s scissors and ear scoop, a pouch with silver coins and a small knife. At her feet, Beorn the Lame placed the body of Aisgerd’s favourite hound, the grey mastiff that had been with her since she left Manx.
Then Thorfinn handed me the grave-ale in the large silver horn. I drank deeply and passed it to Gyda and from her it went from hand to hand according to the status of each person in the household, being refilled as necessary until even the smallest thrall-child had drunk from it. While we drank, Gyda sang the lament for Aisgerd. She told of how the young daughter of an Irish chieftain had married a Norse Jarl of Manx and followed him to his home and then into exile, how she had become a widow and cared for her two daughters, the household and the farm and how her son had returned a free man and would return again to raise a stone to his mother. Gyda’s wild hair and thin, scratched face made her look like a creature from another world, a maid of the woods. But her voice was as sweet and true as ever. It was a good lament and she received much praise for it. Another sheet was put on top of the body so it was no longer visible to us and the men filled in the grave and built a small mound of rocks on top. When they had finished, the horn sounded again and our procession returned to the farm.
***
The farm dogs sat in front of the door. It stood wide open. The drapes round Thora’s lying-in bed moved in the draft. The bed was empty. I rushed over to the basket where Swein had been left asleep. The baby wasn’t there, nor anywhere else in the hall.
We had been away for as long as it takes the large, red harvest moon to rise. I sent out search parties to the beck, to the fields and meadows and to the woods. Hrodney took charge of the children but Gyda wouldn’t stay.
‘I have no peace,’ she said. ‘I can’t sit here waiting while my sister is out there, alone.’ She came with me, Anlaf, Beorn the Lame and Olvir as we set off for the lakeshore. We called Thora’s name and searched among trees and bushes, behind rocks and in the tall grass. The flickering light from our torches played tricks with our eyes. Shadows darted in and out of dark hiding places. The reflection of the moon floated in ripples on the lake. The calls of the other search parties grew fainter as they moved further away. Beorn got a boat and, with Olvir at the prow, rowed along the shore. But soon he called, ‘We can’t see anything, Sigrid. If she is in the water, she’s past saving and we’ll see her when the lake chooses to release her but I ...’ His voice broke and he turned and rowed back towards the farm. I, too, saw no point in going on. It was a cruel decision to have to take but she couldn’t have got any further. Gyda sobbed and Anlaf put his arm round her.
One by one and in small groups they returned with the same sad news. The dogs had run in circles and lost the trail in the dew-wet grass. Thora was not to be found. I told household and guests to make themselves comfortable
and get some rest. In oppressive silence, we settled down for the night. However, tired as we all were, it didn’t seem like many slept. Straw-filled bolsters rustled under restless bodies and the air moved, heavy with sighs. I, too, twisted and turned on my bed trying to stifle my sobs while going over and over in my mind how I could have been so foolish as to have left her alone. If she was dead, it was my fault. I should have looked after her better. Then a slight body crept up to me and whispered, ‘Sigrid, are you asleep?’
‘Olvir, what do you want? You should be asleep.’
‘But, Sigrid, has anyone been to the grove?’
I shivered. I was sure nobody had. The sacred grove was a place best avoided at night, when the ancient powers are released for good and evil alike. Olvir put his hand on my arm and tugged. I knew he was right. We had to do this. It was our last hope. There was little point in asking Thorfinn or Anlaf to come; warriors have no more protection from the unknown than the rest of us, and a large gathering might anger the spirits. Weapons were no help in this but I took every amulet and charm I could find in the dark: my Mjölnir-amulet hung, as always, round my neck; a small pouch with the magic runes I used to look into the future. By the high seat hung a bunch of the seven sacred herbs which I stuffed inside my belt together with a bone saved from the last sacrifice. We stepped over sleeping bodies among the rushes on the floor and left the house. The dogs whined and wanted to follow us but they too would be no help in this.
We had only just got outside the fence when someone called, ‘Sigrid, wait for me!’
It was Gyda.
***
The flickering flame from my torch created a small circle of light in the darkness around us. My feet knew this path but there were rocks and roots which did no harm in daylight yet in the dark turned hostile and treacherous, catching our feet and snagging our clothes. We were silent, scarcely daring to breathe lest we made a noise to summon restless spirits and spiteful alves. Gusts of wind rustled the dry leaves, nocturnal animals scuttled, crept and slithered invisibly. I would far sooner face a fully armed enemy on the battlefield than these secret threats. When an owl glided silently on outstretched wings searching for prey, I clutched my amulet and whispered an oath to keep its spirit away from us. Then I heard something that was not part of the woods. It was not the wind or animals. It was the feeble cry of a baby.
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