‘Aisgerd’s fetch. Does anyone else see? Have you seen?’
‘No, I don’t think anyone else does but everyone can see the way Thora stares into the shadows when we’re all gathered round the hearth.’
‘Do people talk about this?’
‘Not very much. These are perilous things to mention, better left alone.’ She put her fingers together in the sign to ward off evil. ‘The mistress didn’t get a proper sending off, not with her eldest daughter missing.’ She didn’t need to continue. If Aisgerd’s fetch was roaming, there was no peace for the household of Buttermere Farm.
***
That evening I paid more attention to Thora. It made me aware of how closely most of the household watched her and how they avoided her. Only Beorn the Lame sat with her and handed her choice pieces of meat and bread softened in broth, some of which she accepted. The wet-nurse sat close by but Thora never looked at her son.
‘Will you not hold your little boy, Thora?’ I said in a low voice.
‘His name is Swein.’ She said it without looking at me and the way she stared into the shadows sent cold shivers down my spine. Beorn’s old face had all the sadness of the world etched on it.
The next day he sought me out.
‘I would speak with you, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ he said. His age and the many years he had served Ragnar’s family gave him the right to be treated with respect. He was not usually that formal and I realised he had something serious on his mind. He didn’t look well. His broad shoulders sagged and he had become gaunt and grey. Three years ago, when the farm was attacked by cattle raiders, he received a blow to the head. He had been plagued by headaches ever since. He was not a man to complain and he more than pulled his weight with the work on the farm, not least because of his knowledge. When I enquired about his health he shrugged.
‘That is as it is. But I have a request. You see, Sigrid, she’s calling me. She needs me there, on the other side. There are unresolved matters, she’s lost and she needs me.’
‘Don’t speak of such ...’
He raised his hand to stop me.
‘Aisgerd Rolfsdaughter has come calling for me. You don’t see her. Young Thora does but she doesn’t know how to reach her. I think maybe the girl Kirsten sees her as well.’
‘We shall talk to Kirsten about ways to put an uneasy spirit to rest.’
‘No, her magic won’t work. She didn’t know the mistress. She can’t help.’ We sat quietly together. I couldn’t speak for the tears that would choke me but Beorn continued in a calm voice, ‘I have had enough of this life and power has drained from my body for a long time now. But what I wanted to say was that I was a warrior once. I cannot die in my bed. I must go to the other side with my sword in my hand. Would you, Sigrid, afford me a proper sending off? I think she ...’
‘Beorn, your right to a good grave-ale is never in question with me. You have been my support as well as Aisgerd’s. But this is too soon. I need you, Ragnar needs you.’
‘You and Ragnar are young. You will both have followers and supporters but my mistress ...’ His voice grew hoarse and his eyes watered. I looked away to save him embarrassment. After a while he cleared his throat.
‘I see her the way she was when we were both young in her father’s hall in Waterford. She was such a beauty, oh, such a beauty.’ His smile lit up his face and I could see the man he used to be before age and sorrow marked him.
‘You knew her then? I thought you arrived with Swein.’
‘No, no, I was never Swein’s man. I was always hers and now she is calling me.’ I took his hand and felt no need to hide my tears.
‘You shall go to Odin’s hall sword in hand and we shall have a great feast to see you on your way. You have a right to that, just as you have the right to decide for yourself when to end your life with us.’
***
The grave-ale for Beorn was very different from the one we had so recently held for Aisgerd. The only guests were our relatives from Rannerdale; Gyda, Anlaf, Hrodney and Thorfinn. Olvir and Bjarne were still at Becklund and Beorn wouldn’t wait until they were due to return. Thora’s intense stare at what the rest of us couldn’t see stopped me trying to persuade him.
I gave orders for a lamb to be slaughtered and strong ale to be served. Sitting next to me in the high seat, Beorn told us his life and sang the haunting songs in praise of his homeland. He spoke of Aisgerd, her beauty and tender nature. He praised her children but never once mentioned her husband, Jarl Swein Hjaltebrand. Gyda thanked him for the service and friendship he’d given the family. Thorfinn said a drapa.
‘To Waterford came the fair-haired wanderer
In the white of winter with snow all around,
he stayed in the hall of the high-born Jarl.
His own he held in the company of heroes,
savage swordplay in many distant lands,
swung his axe for the sweet rewards
on ship shaking its sail under Thor’s fierce breath
In shield-walls, too, he honours gained
Beorn faithful son of Eyre’s boundless beauty
Brave warrior befriended widow Aisgerd
Wisely he advised her when all others went
away from the wailing of the outlaw’s wife,
steadfast and true to the oath he swore
until the last of his summers was counted.’
We all agreed that it was true. Beorn shook Thorfinn’s hand and then said a word of farewell to each of those present. He bade me give his knife to Bjarne and left a small clasp for Olvir. When he said farewell to Thora he gave her his Thor’s hammer amulet.
‘It’s for your son,’ he said. ‘For Swein, he’ll bring honour to that name. He needs no other.’
Thora took his hand between her two and kissed it, like a daughter would to show respect. Then Beorn looked towards the shadow behind the beam of light let in through the open door. He bowed his head and rose. Thora and Gyda sobbed and the rest of the women began the wailing and chanting that was owed to Beorn. Thorfinn offered him a horn with a brew made from pink toadstool.
‘I thank you, friend,’ said Beorn, ‘but I have no need for it. I have made my choice and my resolve is firm. You have all praised me and made me feel my life was not in vain. I go to Odin’s hall a contented man and I don’t want my mind clouded.’ He picked up his sword and left the house. We all followed him singing and chanting.
Our small procession walked up to the top of Whiteless Pike. By the time we reached the top, Beorn needed supporting by Thorfinn and one of the thralls. He stopped a moment to sit on a rock and catch his breath. When he got up again he looked round as if searching. His eyes fixed on a spot to the left of Gyda and I noticed how pale she was and how she trembled.
‘I feel so cold,’ she whispered. ‘I think she’s followed us here.’
Beorn beckoned to her and she started towards him.
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘not you, child. You stay there with Sigrid.’ There was a gentle smile on his face as he held out his hand. Then he turned and faced the sheer drop of the cliff. He raised his sword and intoned the warrior chant. We all joined in and the powerful sound of the name of the god who receives all those who die with courage and honour, rose towards the heights of Grasmoor and from there up towards the darkening skies. Then Beorn turned and looked to his left. His arm was slightly extended and the fingers curled inwards. He nodded and, with a final, triumphant battle cry, leapt off the edge.
***
The hostage we’d taken after the ambush refused to speak and I still didn’t know who he was. This didn’t matter. I knew he was connected with Kjeld and that was enough. I didn’t want him damaged so I turned down Varg’s offer.
‘I’ll make the bastard sing. I learnt a few useful tricks during my time in the East, you know.’
Instead I set the hostage to work in the stable where Varg could keep an eye on him.
‘He shows no interest in trying to escape,’ said Varg with a regr
etful frown. ‘Could be because he limps badly from a cut to his knee. You might want to keep it that way but if not, you should get the girl Kirsten to look at it.’
‘I’ll do that. I’m surprised we haven’t had word from Kjeld Gunnarson offering ransom.’
‘Probably letting you think he’s not important. There was, after all, no mistaking the message you sent. Heehee.’
‘Or maybe the men decided not to deliver my message if they expected to be punished for their failure.’
‘Hmm. But where would they go? They could have asked to stay here if they were that scared.’
‘They may be hiding in some shieling, hunting and stealing sheep.’
As I said it, it seemed quite plausible and I wasn’t surprised when Varg suggested, ‘Waiting for an opportunity to return and free their man.’
I began to take more notice of the hostage. He was good looking, blond and blue-eyed with a quiet confidence that spoke of a well-to-do family. He continued to refuse to answer questions about himself but showed no fear. I could only assume that he expected to be released one way or another soon. Two men would not be able to attack the farm but they might stage a surprise raid to snatch the youth.
Kirsten treated his wound and in a couple of weeks his limp was hardly noticeable. I saw them chatting together and asked her what she’d found out about him.
‘Nothing really, we just talk. He asks me about Norway and King Hakon. He wants to go there. Oh, and he likes to work in the stable with Varg; he’s learnt about horses from him.’
‘But who is he? Who are his family?’
She blushed and hesitated. Then she looked at me from under half-closed eyelids.
‘We haven’t mentioned families. I’d rather he didn’t know about ...’
‘About what?’
‘Well, me.’
‘Kirsten! Oh no ... look, Kirsten, don’t become fond of him. Whoever he is, he’s not for you. Not because there’s anything wrong with you but because ... well, you must understand he was captured with men who were trying to kill me.’
I used a corner of my pinafore to wipe the tears that were stealing their way down her cheeks. She nodded but we both knew the hurt that was coming her way. Her position as my serving woman afforded her protection against unwelcome attention from the men in the house and visitors alike but it also shut her off from the more or less permanent pairings that passed for marriage among the servants and thralls. Most women in her position ended up as unofficial wives to the sons of a chieftain or one of his warriors only to be cast off when a new bride, from a better family, objected to their presence. Olvir was the result of such a liaison between my brother and a thrall woman. And of course Lydia, the woman I had sentenced to death, had been the concubine of my first husband.
***
During a thaw in the weather, I received a surprise visit from Mord Lambason. He arrived with only two armed warriors as escort. There was something furtive about the way he entered through the gates and dismounted. His eyes darted round the farm buildings. When he spotted the hostage, he quickly looked away. Itching with curiosity, I prepared to be patient during the tiresome ritual of polite talk, before he’d reveal the reason for his visit. I assumed he was there to plead for the hostage on behalf of Kjeld. I was not pleased but I determined not to upset him.
‘Welcome to Buttermere farm, Mord Lambason.’ I led him inside and made room for him in the high seat next to me. The servants scurried round fetching ale and preparing food.
‘Thank you, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter.’
‘It is good of you to honour us with a visit on such a cold day.’
‘My visit is long overdue. I hope you have recovered from the unfortunate incident after the Thing.’ So, the attempt to kill me was an “unfortunate incident” to him. Behind my polite smile, I raged.
‘We are all well here. I hope Cinedred is keeping well.’ At the mention of his wife, a cloud passed across his features and there was a pause before he gave the expected, formal reply.
‘I give thanks to Freya for the continued health of my wife.’ I was relieved. I really had no desire to get further involved in Cinedred’s affairs. As long as she’d come to no harm that was all I wanted to know.
Kveldulf and Harald were brought to greet the visitor. I realised that I had failed to prepare them for this kind of event and was relieved when Kveldulf bent his knee in a way he must have remembered from the time we spent at King Hakon’s court in Norway. Harald, proud to be included, did his best to imitate his brother but his toddler legs weren’t strong enough and he needed his hands to help push himself back up. This drew a smile from Mord and his praise of my sons was fulsome and genuine. Then he drank deeply from his horn and sighed as if all the world’s troubles were resting on his shoulders alone.
‘I know you must wonder about the reason for my visit.’ This directness was most unusual. Mord was known for keeping the impersonal small talk going for longer than anyone else. Maybe his support for Kjeld was becoming an embarrassment. I hoped so.
‘Yes, it is a long way to come this time of year. I am flattered that you have seen fit to seek me out and I am always ready to listen and support you, Mord Lambason.’
‘You hold a boy, a young man here.’
‘Yes, I took him hostage after the ambush. He refuses to speak, so I don’t know who he is. His clothing and his bearing marks him out as from a good family. I have not tried extracting information by force although I feel I would have been justified in doing so. He was with Felipe the Galician and I have informed Kjeld Gunnarson.’
‘This is nothing to do with Kjeld. Please don’t drag that up again. You agreed to let it rest.’
‘Not a son or relative, or perhaps a fostring?’ Mord shook his head. I decided not to say anything more but sat quietly waiting for the explanation he must have known I was entitled to. After an uncomfortably long pause he spoke.
‘Your hostage is my son.’
‘Your son! One of the men who ambushed and tried to kill me was your son! Mord Lambason ... you...you ...’ I was on my feet. My fist landed on the table and made horns and bowls rattle. ‘Why ... I ... how can you sit ... in my home ... and tell me ... you knew all along ... this is an affront to the gods. You think you’re above the law. You ...’ Mord rose and shouted at me.
‘That’s enough. Be quiet woman!’ He was as pale as the moon at midnight and his hands shook. We stood facing each other, both trembling with rage. I was suddenly angry with myself for losing control and I sat down, breathing deeply to try and regain my calm.
‘Please sit, Mord Lambason. I know you are without blame but one thing I would like to know: what is your son’s relationship to Kjeld Gunnarson?’
Mord’s breathing was heavy as after a long run. He sat back. ‘He’s not Kjeld’s fostring.’
‘This is very confusing. Do I not have the right to an explanation as to your son’s part in this?’
‘I had no part in, and no knowledge of, the ambush.’
‘I’m not suggesting that. But your son took part. There’s no denying it.’
‘I need to see him. Will you bring him to me and leave us to speak alone?’ It was a command rather than a request and the arrogance of the man made the fury well up in me again. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands and managed to at least sound calm.
‘Tell me, as Lawman, if a case like this had been brought to you ...’
Mord interrupted before I could complete the question. ‘We can discuss compensation, of course.’
‘No, I don’t mean compensation but punishment for breaking the peace of the Thing.’
‘You dare challenge my judgement?’
My legs trembled under the table but I managed to hold his eyes without blinking. He stared at me from under lowered eyebrows for a long time but in the end he looked away. It wasn’t much of a victory but it made me feel a bit better. I called one of the servants to bring the hostage.
***
Mord’s son
entered and swaggered up to stand facing us, legs apart and arms crossed. He ignored me and instead of greeting his father he stared at him with open hostility. The contrast with my two young sons and their honest efforts at formal courtesy could not have been greater. As I rose to leave them, Mord growled like an enraged hound, sprung to his feet and struck the youth a blow across the face. The young man registered nothing but surprise as he toppled over backwards. The side of his head hit the edge of the hearth with a dull thud. I rushed over, as much to make sure he wouldn’t start a fire as to make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt. His eyes were shut but he was conscious, groaning through clenched teeth. I called for Kirsten to come and see to him. Then I turned to Mord. He had sunk back down onto his seat and his face was flushed but he spoke with his customary authority.
‘The boy will make amends for taking part in the ambush and for his lack of respect by serving you for two full years. The ambush itself is a different matter. It was the doing of Felipe the Galician – he alone was responsible and he has paid with his life as is right. That matter is closed and it will be forgotten, do you hear me, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, forgotten.’
‘The Galician was Kjeld’s man. How did your son come to join in his heinous deed?’
‘The Galician was his own man. He was Kjeld’s friend, not his sworn man. Believe me, Kjeld had nothing to do with the ambush. He blustered but he accepted the loss of Becklund. You already know that the attempt on your life was revenge. It wasn’t about land. Now accept this, once and for all.’
‘Your son, why was he part of the ambush?’ Mord’s whole body sagged as he heaved a sigh and shook his head.
‘That’s for me to find out, if the wretched boy has come to his senses again.’ I felt then the depth of Mord’s humiliation and I left them alone.
***
While father and son talked, I tried to get on with my own duties but I kept going over in my mind what Mord had said. I came to the conclusion that I had not been told the whole truth about Kjeld. I still had his sword and it was evidence enough for me that he had, at least, known about the ambush. But I did now understand that Mord was right about one thing. This wasn’t about land. The answer I needed had been in the entrails of the hen I sacrificed before the Thing. I remembered so clearly seeing the face of my first husband and I knew Kjeld still blamed me for his death. The reason for the ambush was revenge: Felipe for his sister; Kjeld for his brother. And now one of the perpetrators was going to enter my household for two years. I couldn’t refuse. It would amount to telling Mord that I didn’t believe or trust him. Insulting Mord – Lawman and one of the most powerful chieftains in the area – was not in my interest. The lad had no cause against me. He hadn’t made any trouble since he was brought to me and Varg was more than capable of keeping it that way. Should the youngster escape, well that wouldn’t be my problem, as Mord was responsible for him now.
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