***
Back at the farm the household was getting ready. Herbs, steeped in boiling water, cooled in large basins and the trestle tables were up. Grim-faced women tore old shirts and sheets into strips and children scurried round collecting cobweb and bark from willow trees. I sent the older children with horses to help bring back any dead and wounded. Olvir gave me a quick hug before leading them off.
‘Bjarne isn’t here,’ he whispered and I heard suppressed tears in his voice.
Bjarne was not among the wounded carried back from the pass but Anlaf was. Gyda and Hrodney ran up to untie the ropes that held him to the horse.
‘Anlaf, Anlaf! Speak to me, son.’ Hrodney’s voice was hoarse with fear. His clothes were ripped and stiff with dried blood. But he was alive. They carried him inside and cut his tunic from his body. A spear-point sat embedded below his ribs. Hrodney moaned. Gyda looked on, her face white with worry for the man she had loved since they were children.
‘Let Kirsten see to this,’ I said. Hrodney, white-faced, stepped aside. Her eyes watered when Kirsten told a thrall-girl to prepare onion-porridge. Kirsten cleaned around the wound. Then she gently pulled the spear-point out. It let go of the flesh with a sucking sound. Anlaf opened his eyes and groaned.
‘Speak to him,’ Kirsten told Gyda and Hrodney. She pressed the edges of the wound together and showed Gyda how to hold it closed and stem the blood with a cloth. When a servant brought the onion porridge the house fell silent. Even the wounded held in their moans. We all knew what this meant. Anlaf would swallow some of the porridge and if later the wound smelled of onion it meant his stomach was slit open and he was a dead man. Kirsten opened his mouth and put some porridge into it. She held his mouth and nose closed and he swallowed, too weak to struggle. She repeated this three times. I prayed to Freya. Hrodney prayed to her White Christ. Outside the dogs howled and it started to rain.
We left Hrodney and Gyda at Anlaf’s side and attended the others: a broken wrist; a spear-gash to a shoulder, but the rest were bruises, sprains and superficial wounds. I thanked Odin and Thor that none of my people had been killed. The thralls prepared food for those well and calm enough to eat. Olvir brought me some stew and bread.
‘Bjarne is still missing,’ he said, ‘and Thorfinn and Varg and Ylva Flamehair too.’
‘They’ll have gone in pursuit. I’m sure they will be back soon. It’s too dark to follow tracks.’
‘Maybe I should have gone with them.’ He hung his head and twisted the hem of his tunic. I stroked his hair.
‘I want to thank you for bringing Kveldulf to safety. That’s more important to me than anything else. And for helping the wounded warriors back as well.’ He gave me a relieved little smile.
‘Shall I start on the milking?’
‘Yes, take some of the thralls to help. Where is Thora?’
‘Don’t know, maybe with the little ones. I’ll take Kveldulf too.’
They were only just outside the door when a horn sounded to announce the arrival of Thorfinn, Ylva and an exhausted but proud Bjarne. They led three horses with captives tied to them. None of them were known to us. They were tied up and left in the barn. When Thorfinn heard about the man who had attacked me he wanted to set off immediately although I could see he was exhausted.
‘Wait till daylight. He must be bleeding heavily after removing the spear. He won’t get far.’ Thorfinn went over to where Hrodney sat with Anlaf.
‘Not a word, husband,’ she hissed, ‘about his swordsmanship.’ He put a hand on her shoulder.
‘They were three against one. He did well. Your son is a brave warrior.’ He had to move when Kirsten came to smell Anlaf’s wound. She leant over his body. The rest of us held our breath. She straightened up and shook her head.
‘No, nothing yet. That’s good but we cannot be sure. It’s a bit too soon.’ She put a hand to his forehead and nodded.
Varg the Varangian had not returned with Thorfinn. He had stopped by Lord of the Fells.
‘He can’t give up on the horse while there’s still a flicker of life in it,’ said Thorfinn. ‘He asked for ... now let’s see ... what did he say?’ He scratched his beard and called to Kirsten: ‘Tell me, little wise one, what would Varg need to heal a deep wound on a horse?’
‘He’d want a poultice of ...’
She was interrupted by Olvir:
‘... comfrey leaves, witch hazel and umm ... clean cobweb – oh and some willow-bark, would that work on a horse, Kirsten?’ She smiled and nodded. Olvir, thus encouraged, insisted on running over to Varg with the supplies at once. I refused. It was getting dark and a persistent drizzle threatened to develop into rain. A horse would not manage the uneven track in the dark, and wood-elves and other evil beings might tempt it astray.
‘I’ll run,’ said Olvir. ‘I know I can. It was much more difficult at Nidaros. Remember all the times I ran with messages in the woods there.’ He was very insistent and I realised that with Bjarne and Ylva having gained honour in battle he felt left out so I had to let him go. Around his neck, next to his Mjölnir-amulet, I hung a small leather pouch. It contained the skull and back legs of a squirrel to give him speed and agility, a dried oak-leaf to keep the forest-spirits away and the dried dung from a sparrow to make him inconspicuous. I watched, trying not to show that I was worried, as he ran with a bundle strapped to his back.
Then there was nothing urgent to do. Bjarne was bruised and Ylva had a small cut on her arm. They were both exalted and talked with red faces and shiny eyes about their ‘battle’. Bjarne’s mother Aluinn scolded him.
‘Don’t anger the gods with boastful talk, child. I’ll have something to say to you, if you don’t calm down.’ But it was obvious that she was proud of her son. Ylva’s parents sat in silence.
Kirsten attended to Anlaf again and this time she was sure. So, by the light of torches she used the finest silk thread and a bone needle to close his wound. He was so weak, the men holding his arms and legs hardly needed to restrain him. Kirsten applied a poultice and bandages, and gave him a draft of balm, valerian and white willow. Hrodney and Gyda took it in turns to sit with him. They both said prayers for his recovery, one to Christ, the other to Freya.
I finally had time to speak with Beorn the Lame who had stayed on the farm while we were at the Thing.
‘So someone didn’t like the ruling about Becklund then,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t take much to figure out who that would be. Maybe I’ll spend the night outside just to make sure we don’t suffer any more surprises.’ He strapped on his sword and called the dogs. The large hounds were left to roam within the enclosed yard and Beorn kept watch through the night.
***
Thorfinn set off the next morning with three men. I had to forbid Ylva and Bjarne to follow but praised them both for their courage. Ylva bent her knee and bid me take her as my sworn warrior. I looked at her father, who gave his consent with a resigned nod. I saw no reason to say no. Thorfinn had praised her courage and her skill with the sword. So when her parents and sister left, Ylva stayed and took her place in my household. I had no plans to engage in warfare or raids, so to be bound to me by oath would carry no more danger than life here brought anyway. Or so I thought then.
I turned my attention to the farm and the household. Children have a way of restoring normality and the sound of their laughter and squabbling soon filled the air.
Olvir returned riding Varg’s horse and asked for food and ale and a couple of warm blankets.
‘He’s not sure but he thinks the horse may live. If he fails he’ll need a good axe to cut up the carcass and we’ll bring it back. I’d like to stay and watch if I may.’ Before he set off he went to scrape some bark from the white willow and collect sage leaves and yarrow.
‘In case Lord of the Fells develops a fever,’ he said with a self-important air as he secured the packs on the horse and set off. Kirsten managed to wait till he was out of earshot before giggling.
‘He just can’t help showing
off, can he?’ she said. ‘He studied hard when he lived with me and the Old One. I know he’s a boy but he has a light touch and a good memory. He may become a healer. That would be good because, let’s be honest, he’ll never make a warrior.’
‘No, so Ragnar tells me. But he tries so hard.’
‘Only to please Ragnar, not because he has a desire for the fight.’
‘A man healer?’
‘Why not. No more strange than a woman warrior.’
***
Thorfinn and the men returned when the sun was sinking behind High Stile. They dismounted, grim-faced, and Thorfinn brought a sack which he set on the ground in front of me. He knelt and undid the knot. He turned the head over so I could see the clean-shaven chin and the hook nose. Felipe the Galician, eyes clouded and lifeless now. How they had blazed with hatred last time I saw them. Would anyone seek to avenge his life?’
‘He’d bled to death,’ said Thorfinn. ‘We found his mount close by. It’s a good steed. One of Kjeld’s. Say what you like about that troll’s spawn but he knows how to breed horses. I’ve sent one of the men to stable the horse and rub him down.’ He picked up the Galician’s head by the long black plaits.
‘I’ll put it on a stake.’
‘No, Thorfinn, I shall send it to Kjeld.’
I sent two of our captives with the head of the Galician. I took their swords but let them keep their knives.
‘Take this to Kjeld Gunnarson. Tell him Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter sent you.’ They didn’t ask the way. They just left.
I kept the third captive, a young man dressed in a woollen, braided tunic with a gold chain round his neck. I thought him of good family, maybe one of Kjeld’s relatives or a fostring. If I was right, he would fetch a good ransom. If I was wrong, he would make a strong thrall to work on the farm. His helmet and sword were fine quality. I gave the helmet to Thorfinn and kept the sword to give to Varg.
After only four days Varg and Olvir returned. They were on foot, leading Varg’s horse. In their wake, with a bulky bandage strapped to his shoulder, limped Lord of the Fells.
‘I’m not sure he’ll carry a warrior again,’ said Varg, ‘but he’ll recover enough to be used around the farm. He’s a good horse and we’ll be able to breed from him. Anyway, we couldn’t leave all that meat to the foxes and the crows.’
***
I decided to ride over to Keskadale to see Mord Lambason. As Lawman, he should be informed of the breach of peace. I also wanted to speak to him before Kjeld did. I told Varg to summon Thorfinn and was going to leave it at that.
‘Princess Sigrid, with your permission.’
‘Don’t call me that, Varg. What are you going to tell me?’
‘You should have a stronger retinue for this visit.’
‘I’ll have you and Thorfinn. I’m sure Olvir and Bjarne will attach themselves to us whether I tell them to or not. Anlaf is not yet strong enough, so who else is there?’
‘Young Skuli, Hrodney Rainesdaughter’s third son, I believe, is almost fourteen years old. You could ask for him too when you send for Thorfinn. There’s one of your servants, Ebbe the Angle, he can hold his own with a sword. If you really want to impress Mord Lambason, a couple of the thralls could be made to look presentable.’ I nodded. Varg the Varangian was shrewd, a show of strength would make not just Mord take note but Kjeld would be sure to hear of my visit.
‘Speaking of presentable, you could do with some new clothes yourself. The suit of clothes we took from the hostage should fit you. Ask Aluinn to see what we can do for those two,’ I pointed to two of my most trusted thralls.
So I set off for Keskadale with five men and three youngsters. I wore a bright red woollen dress with green trim and a fur-lined cloak. Around my neck hung the heavy gold torc I had received from King Hakon. I felt quite pleased thinking about the impression we’d make.
My retinue stared wide-eyed as we approached the opulent home of the Lawman. The massive hall, four times the size of ours, was made of planks from the oak forests around Keskadale. On one of the gables sat a window with coloured glass and the doorway stood flanked by dragon heads painted green, yellow and red. A long, tall barn, several smaller stores, a dairy and a byre, large enough to keep thirty cows over winter, stood round the cobbled courtyard. Dogs and chickens roamed the yard and, down the slope, a duck pond sat in the middle of a field. It all spoke of wealth and organisation, even the steaming pile of manure was neat and placed well away from the hall. Thralls and servants walked with purpose on their duties and one of them went into the hall when he spotted us.
Thorfinn blew the horn to announce our arrival and Mord Lambason was gracious enough to come outside to meet us. It was a fine, sunny day and a table was set up outside with benches for my men and stools with padded cushions for me and Mord. We exchanged the usual polite greetings and all the while I noted how Mord studied my retinue. He seemed particularly interested in Varg with his filed teeth, his fine suit of clothes and new sword. Varg bowed his head respectfully when he noticed Mord’s eyes on him.
Food and ale were set in front of us and we talked of everyday matters while we ate and drank. My father would have been proud of how I managed to rein in my impatience to bring up the real reason for my visit. Finally the time felt right and Mord and I went to sit apart from the others.
‘It is a pleasure to see you again so soon after the Thing, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. I trust all is well at Buttermere.’
‘Things are as well as you would expect after the ambush we suffered on our way home.’ My eyes were fixed on his face. Was there a slight tightening of the skin around his eyes, a twitch of the lips before he stared at me with open mouth a picture of surprise and indignation? I couldn’t be sure but I felt that Kjeld might have been to see Mord already. I described the attack in the pass below Fleetwith Pike and my battle with the disguised attacker.
‘I lost none of my household but Anlaf Yngvarson came close to joining the feast of dead warriors in Valhalla.’
‘I am relieved that you survived, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. Do you know who these men were who violated the peace of the Thing? Did you know the leader?’
‘My men brought me his head.’
‘And who was it? Did you recognise him?’ I could not hold back a smile. Mord must know that I had sent the head to Kjeld but if he wanted to pretend otherwise that was his business.
‘It was Felipe the Galician, Kjeld Gunnarson’s champion.’
Mord shook his head.
‘It can’t have anything to do with Kjeld. He wouldn’t have known anything about it.’
‘Kjeld wants Becklund. He thinks he has the right to it.’
‘The verdict was clear, the farm is yours. Kjeld has no reason to feel slighted.’
‘He may not see it like that.’
‘Careful, Sigrid! Think before you speak. The Galician was not Kjeld’s man, he will have acted on his own, I’m sure of that. Kjeld is hot-headed and argumentative but he is well respected as a man of honour. Don’t cast aspersions.’ I called on Mord’s servant to bring my sword from the wapenhouse. When he brought it, I showed Mord the pommel bar with the name “Kjeld Gunnarson”. His response was too quick. Mord knew what I was going to show him.
‘That must be the sword that was stolen from Kjeld Gunnarson. He told me about it during the assembly at the Thingmound.’
‘When?’ I looked as hard as I dared at Mord hoping I wouldn’t offend him by showing too clearly that I suspected him of shielding Kjeld. He didn’t answer but put his hand on my arm.
‘You must trust me to resolve this in the best way for the whole of the Norse community here, Sigrid. While you were away, many things happened in Cumbria which makes it essential that we stick together and forget our personal grievances.’ The fatherly pat on my arm and the conciliatory words only served to fuel my anger.
‘What! I am to forget that someone tried to kill me while I should have travelled in safety from the Thing?’
‘The
perpetrator is dead, Sigrid. Leave it at that.’
‘Felipe the Galician was Kjeld’s man, he should answer for this.’
‘Felipe the Galician was no servant. He was a prince, or at least a nobleman, from the South. He came in search of his sister who was abducted by raiders and sold as a thrall to your first husband Hauk Gunnarson of Swanhill.’ I finally understood. The Galician had good reasons of his own to want to kill me.
‘Mord Lambason, you should be aware that I had this woman, Lydia her name was, put to death. She murdered my servant.’ Mord’s eyebrows shot up. He took a moment to regain his composure, then he became brisk and efficient.
‘Was she fairly and lawfully convicted of murder?’
‘Yes, she admitted to using poison on my servant.’
‘The servant, was she a free woman or a thrall?’
‘She was a free woman of good family. She arrived here with my mother and, when Becklund was burnt and my mother was abducted, Ingefried stayed with me. She was more than a servant, she was my friend.’
‘But Felipe’s sister was a thrall?’
‘Yes.’
‘A thrall using poison on a free woman – you had every right to mete out a sentence of death. But things may not be quite as straightforward as they seem. You had the law on your side when you killed her, but Felipe had the duty of revenge for his sister.’
‘Just as Kjeld will be seeking revenge for his brother Hauk. He still blames me for Hauk’s death.’
‘Leave Kjeld out of this.’
‘His sword, Mord Lambason, his sword.’
Our raised voices brought Mord’s wife, Cinedred, who’d been hovering just out of earshot.
‘Are you going to keep Sigrid to yourself all day, Husband, or will we have time for some women’s talk?’
I was grateful for the interruption and managed to rein in my anger. Mord seemed to feel the same, for he got up and left the seat to his wife. He bowed to me. His white hair and bent back reminded me that he was an old man.
To Save a Kingdom Page 7