To Save a Kingdom

by Marianne Whiting

  ***

  Mord left without revealing anything more about his son than his name, Njal. The hostage-turned-thrall returned to his work in the stable. Varg was pleased to have the extra pair of hands. He’d missed Olvir, and Njal seemed to have a sure way with horses. Kirsten was full of smiles. I just hoped that, if not her good sense, at least her knowledge of herbs and magic would protect her from having a child that would grow up cared for and loved but without being allowed to know its father.

  On a rare sunny day, Olvir and Bjarne visited and stayed a week with us. I was loath to let them go again but as they spoke with such enthusiasm of their work at Becklund, I couldn’t keep them. I felt a pang of jealousy that my Olvir was so happy with Beorn and Brita but when he left he blinked away tears and assured me he’d make me proud of him.

  ***

  Yuletide felt sad. Without Ragnar or Beorn there to lead the preparations and light the Yule log, it was Varg’s responsibility to fill the gap. But he’d spent so much of his life in other parts of the world he had no memory of what to do.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll want the kind of Christian celebration they have in Miklagard or among the Longobards. I could make something up, of course.’ I didn’t even want to contemplate what kind of ceremony Varg’s fertile imagination would produce. But with Thorfinn in his own home at Rannerdale, Varg was the most senior of my men and tradition demanded that he should prepare the log, light the fire and ensure that the log lasted through the whole of Yuletide. Somebody would have to advise Varg, but who? Olvir and Bjarne would have remembered but they were at Becklund. I decided to ask around the servants. To my surprise, it was Njal who approached me and offered to guide Varg through the proper steps. Kirsten watched them with tear-shiny eyes. I wondered about the change in Njal’s attitude. He still refused to speak of his part in the ambush but otherwise was respectful towards me and conscientious in his duties. All through the midwinter celebrations, he seemed as cheerful and happy as everyone else.

  April 941

  The winter passed in a succession of rainy, cold days. Absence of snow and ice meant that getting around the farm to tend to the animals, fetching water from the brook and and getting the firewood in was easy. Indoors, the household kept busy repairing tools, carving bowls and spoons and with the never-ending tasks of grinding flour, spinning and weaving. Thora seemed to have rid herself of the shadow of her mother’s fetch. Her breasts were dry from lack of use but she handed Swein to the thrall woman only to suckle and the rest of the time she cared for him herself. The whole household seemed brighter for the change in her. There were many stories to tell. I spoke of Æsirs, trolls and giants, Kirsten had sagas from Norway and Varg told us – what was surely more lies than truth – about his time in the land of the Rus. Outside, the fast-flowing becks turned to rivers and muddy tracks kept both friends and enemies away. Despite missing Ragnar and Olvir I enjoyed the peace. We felt safe. It was an easy time. Then spring arrived.

  ‘Sigrid, he’s left – the son of a serpent has taken Lord of the Fells. May his balls rot and his stomach be eaten by maggots, the nithing has broken his pledge and gone!’ Varg was incredulous. He saw Njal’s deceit as a personal insult. I was angry with myself for having begun to trust the boy.

  ‘I shall send word to Mord.’

  ‘Let me ride there. I’ll tell that Lawman about his disgrace and ...’

  ‘No, that’s not the message I’m sending. Besides I need you here. Where’s Ebbe the Angle’

  Within the time it takes to pull a bowstring, my servant Ebbe was on his way. It didn’t take much longer for us to find out that the escape had been planned. Not only was Lord of the Fells missing but food, a couple of fleeces and a knife. I would have to question the household and find out if Njal had accomplices or if he’d acted alone. When they gathered it turned out that someone else was missing. I called my serving woman.

  ‘Kirsten.’ There was no reply. Claws of despair tore at my insides. ‘Has anyone seen Kirsten? Where is she? Odin’s beard ... she wouldn’t!’

  But she had.

  ***

  Mord’s response to my message told me how disturbed he was by his son’s treachery. He didn’t come himself but he did the next best thing. He sent his eldest son. We greeted each other amicably, even though Grim had no reason to feel friendly towards me; he still had the limp I gave him in swordplay when we were children.

  ‘Grim, I’m grateful for you coming. It is good of your father to spare you.’

  ‘My father sends word he deeply regrets my brother’s act. He will compensate you in full if you will tell me your claim. He wants no bad blood between our families.’

  ‘Come inside, you need refreshing after your ride.’ My servants set ale and cold meat on the table and I let him taste both before telling him the rest of the news. ‘A horse and my own serving woman are also missing together with some fleeces and a knife.’

  ‘A woman! Thor’s goats, what an idiot that boy is.’

  ‘I knew the girl was fond of Njal. She’s not a thrall. She is a free woman but she has no family in this country and so is without protection other than what I can give her.’

  Grim rubbed his forehead and groaned.

  ‘My father is already at the end of his tether with the runt. He will compensate you fully, be assured, and the young woman for her injury, of course. The damage to his reputation is not so easily dealt with. It was bad enough when Njal ran off after insulting our stepmother and now this.’

  ‘He insulted Cinedred?’

  ‘Oh, he used every dishonourable name in the vernacular, shouted and ranted at her. I had to hold him down. I though he’d strike her. Father was furious and locked him in the stable. In the morning he was gone and the next thing ...’ He stopped short and looked at me. ‘Forgive me, I shouldn’t tell you this.’

  ‘Grim, do you really think your family is the only one with troublesome children?’

  ‘Ha! Don’t you know that a Lawman must be an example to all and his family must be above reproach?’

  I was reminded of Cinedred’s comment that Mord was so much Law he sometimes forgot to be a man.

  ‘I don’t carry tales and nobody else has heard.’

  ‘We are in your debt.’ I wondered how much he knew about his brother Eirik and his stepmother. Did he have any idea of just how much in debt various members of his family were to me and how much I wished it weren’t so?

  ***

  Grim took part in the search for the runaways. I sent people in all directions. I told them to alert our neighbours at Rannerdale and Low Kid Farm and ask them to look out. I also told them to look at the shielings and, as I suspected, the one at Gatesgarth had been used.

  ‘One night, no more,’ said Ylva Flamehair when she brought me the news. ‘They’d made a fire but the ashes were cold. The ground was trampled all round the enclosure and there were hoof-marks going round in circles. We lost track of them in the boggy ground at the end of the lake. I’m sorry.’

  I reassured her that she’d done well to find out where they had stayed. From Gatesgarth, the couple could have gone East across Honiton Pass or South across Scarth Gap towards Ennerdale where Kjeld’s farm was situated. There was no doubt in my mind which way Njal had chosen.

  ‘Grim, we should send to Kjeld Gunnarson. Your brother may feel he would have a claim to refuge there.’

  ‘No, my father told me you would think so but to reassure you that if Njal went there he would be told.’ He looked sideways at me. ‘I heard what passed between you at the Thing.’

  ‘There’s bad blood between us from a long time ago.’ I told him about my past dealings with Kjeld and the promise he’d made to avenge his brother.

  Grim listened and nodded.

  ‘I understand this, but I know Kjeld. He’s greedy and capable of many things to gain advantage but he would not resort to breaking the peace of the Thing, of that I’m sure. I shall return to Keskadale in the morning and ask my father what he wants
to do about the boy.’

  ‘And what about Kirsten? Am I expected to forget about the girl simply because she is an inconvenience to your father and his plans?’

  ‘Please, don’t do anything rash. My father has no knowledge of the girl. I shall tell him everything and then you must trust him to act for the best.’

  ***

  In the evening our talk turned to things other than what had brought Grim to Buttermere.

  ‘I don’t remember seeing you at the Thing,’ I said.

  ‘No, I was travelling on behalf of Cinedred’s father. He’s been kind enough to turn to me when he needs someone to go trading for him.’

  ‘Do you travel far on his business?’

  ‘Yes, and on my own behalf, too. It’s a life that suits me. I have discovered that there is more profit in trading than farming – or raiding for that matter. It’s a perilous occupation to go a-viking. A trader has more control over how long he is absent from home.’ His eyes held mine a moment longer than required in conversation. I looked away, embarrassed. Ragnar had been gone a long time and my bed was a lonely place. Grim was, despite his limp, a handsome man and I couldn’t stop my pulses beginning to race.

  ‘And what about you, Sigrid Shieldmaiden? Are you satisfied running your farm or do you miss the glory of the battlefield? The stories about your courage in the service of King Hakon are many.’

  ‘And vastly exaggerated.’

  ‘But do you not get lonely here? I hear your husband has been away for some time.’

  ‘Ragnar will be back. I’d know if anything had befallen him.’

  He looked at me with the eyes of a puppy being kicked out of the way and there was an awkward pause. Then he smiled.

  ‘Do you remember when you cut my leg in swordplay, Sigrid?’

  I put my hands to my hot cheeks. ‘I am sorry. I was ...’

  He interrupted me, ‘It was my own fault. I was arrogant, didn’t think a girl would be good enough to trouble me. I deserved what I got. It taught me a lesson. Besides it was the generous compensation your father paid that made it possible for me to start trading on my own behalf.’

  It was easy for me to join in his laughter.

  Then Thora joined us and we spoke of general matters. When it was time to sleep, I pointed to one of the thrall girls.

  ‘Grim Mordson, if my husband were here he would offer you a girl to warm your bed.’ I felt a blush rising on my cheeks. Grim looked away.

  ‘And if your husband were here I would most likely accept.’ He bedded down on his own, wrapped in one of my best blankets and a soft cured fleece.

  I spent the night thinking about Kirsten and – to my own annoyance – about Grim. I had hoped for a friend but, it seemed I had gained an admirer. I tried to feel disappointed, resentful even, but my body betrayed me and I dreamt about Grim’s hands on my breasts, his body pressed against mine and his manhood entering me. I woke feeling embarrassed as if Grim could know of my dreams. I was grateful for the noise and commotion when the household broke fast together. When Grim mounted his horse and rode off I couldn’t stop myself noticing his broad shoulders and proud bearing. I scolded myself but I scolded Ragnar, too, for staying away from me for so long.

  ***

  Since Beorn left us, I had nobody to talk to in confidence. Thorfinn and Varg were my trusted men, I would have them next to me in a fight with complete confidence but in the matter of Kirsten and Njal they were no help. I thought day and night about what I ought to do next. If I sent a messenger to Kjeld, I risked making an enemy of Mord. I had given him my word to stay away from Kjeld and I could not afford to upset him or the rest of the Cumbrian Norse community by breaking faith with him. And anyway, whom could I send? Thorfinn would challenge Kjeld to a fight as there was bad blood between them. Varg would probably beat Njal to a pulp for stealing his beloved Lord of the Fells.

  I decided I had to wait for Mord’s decision.

  That didn’t stop me worrying about Kirsten. Had she left of her own free will or had Njal abducted her? She was old enough to marry but growing up with her grandmother, trained for the role of healer, she had little experience of men. My thralls and servants made their admiration clear but none had dared make any advances, they knew that, as my serving woman, she was out of their reach. Njal, I was sure, had the sweet tongue of Loki and she was too naïve to see through him. Poor Kirsten, I had failed in my duty towards her. Where was she now? If Njal had taken her to Kjeld, she would at least be safe. But the thought of the two of them hiding out, using temporary shelters, scavenging for food, haunted me. Worse still was the possibility of Njal abandoning her in a port while he joined a ship’s crew headed for foreign lands.

  ***

  A month later I received an invitation to Mord Lambason’s farm Keskadale.

  ‘How can I go? We haven’t finished the ploughing, we need to sow and then there’s haymaking. We need to prepare the shieling and decide who to send with the animals for the summer-grazing.’

  Thora smiled. ‘Sister, we managed without you before and with fewer hands. You won’t be long absent. Why are you so reluctant to go?’

  The truth was that I didn’t want to have more arguments with Mord about his son and the evil he had wrought on my household. I didn’t want to meet with Cinedred and perhaps be further drawn into her duplicitous life. I didn’t want to meet with Grim either.

  I couldn’t tell Thora any of that. Besides I had to acknowledge that an invitation from the Lawman was, in fact, a summons. So I sighed and sent Varg to fetch Thorfinn and Anlaf from Rannerdale. I wanted all three of my karls with me for this visit.

  ***

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, welcome.’ Mord himself braved the rain and came out to greet me. ‘We have company. Many of the chieftains you know from the gathering at the last Thing are here, including Kjeld Gunnarson.’ He gave me a sharp look. I knew this was a warning and took care not to show any emotion. He smiled, satisfied. ‘And also we have the honour to host the Archbishop of Jorvik and ...’

  ‘Wulfstan! He’s here? Why?’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘He travelled with us from Norway.’

  I saw no need to tell Mord any more than that but here was yet another I’d prefer not to meet again. Mord brought me into his hall. On the benches along the walls I counted fourteen chieftains, most of whom I recognised from the Thing. Archbishop Wulfstan occupied the high seat, his helmet and sword next to him. As always, he broke with convention and had not left his weapons at the door. I even thought I saw the glint of chain mail at the neck of his tunic. On his broad warrior chest rested a large gold cross. It glowed in the firelight and the many precious stones shone in green and red. It was the only thing that set him apart from the chieftains present. They sat on benches, made comfortable with straw and furs, along the walls on either side of the hearth. To reach Wulfstan I had to pass them all. I wasn’t able to pay any of them much attention as I concentrated on getting past without stumbling over their feet. The talk died down. Their stares made my back tingle. I bent my knee. Wulfstan remained seated.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ he offered his hand, not in greeting, as I knew only too well, but in the expectation that I should kiss his archbishop’s ring. I put his hand to my forehead but ignored the ring. Maybe I should have heeded my father when he told me that these gestures were devoid of meaning and could earn you goodwill from powerful men. But there was something about Wulfstan that brought out my most stubborn side. As I rose, I noticed that about half the assembled chieftains smiled their approval. Mord was not one of them. I wondered if I’d made the wrong choice. The Archbishop’s next words made me feel I hadn’t.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, it is good to see a granddaughter of Harald Finehair in Cumbria. We had hoped to meet with your husband, Ragnar Sweinson, but I hear he seeks more fortune in foreign parts. A shame. You will acquaint him with the particulars of our situation here in Cumbria as soon as he returns. We have need of his swor
d and his karls.’

  I seethed with injured pride. So, just Ragnar’s sword then, not mine. For all his support of Norse independence, the Archbishop’s attitude to women was from the teachings of the Christian Church and did not allow for woman warriors.

  ***

  I was shown a seat at the end of the line of chieftains. This was fair, as I was still not fully accepted as one of them. I made to walk back along the row of men but one of them stood up and blocked my way. He looked very young but his place, opposite the high seat, made him out to be a man of importance.

  ‘Princess Sigrid,’ he bowed.

  ‘I’m no princess, I ...’ but he paid no more attention to my protestations than Varg would have done.

  ‘You look wet and cold, Princess. Sit here by the hearth.’

  ‘I can’t take your seat ...’ I hesitated trying to remember the man’s name. When I looked closer I realised that I had never met him before.

  ‘My name is Rhun ab Owain, Prince of Cumbria.’ His voice carried through the hall. He smiled and looked down the row of men. ‘We don’t mind making room for the granddaughter of Harald Finehair.’

  At this they all shuffled up. I had no option but to take the place he’d made for me. Mord scowled and Archbishop Wulfstan looked away.