To Save a Kingdom

by Marianne Whiting

  Two more men arrived. Then the Archbishop spoke.

  ‘We are facing grave times. Anlaf Guthfridson, King ofJorvik, is dead. He fell in the North, fighting the Lord of Bamburgh. May the Lord have mercy on his sinner’s soul.’ He made the sign of the cross.

  Some of the chieftains did the same, others looked away or put a hand to their Mjölnir-amulets.

  Wulfstan continued, ‘King Edmund of Wessex has continued to pursue his ambition to rule over the whole of England. He’s already moving north, harrying and plundering, getting ever closer to the boroughs of Leicester and Stamford. But here in the North, we have a new King. Anlaf Sithricson, the one they call Cuaran, was elected King of Jorvik. He is a worthy successor to the crown held by his father and uncle, and he is poised to move on King Edmund to defend the land gained by them. I ask you to be ready to muster under the banner of this new king and champion of the Norse.’

  There was some excited whispering among the younger chieftains but, as custom dictated, they waited for the older men to speak first.

  An elderly chieftain sitting to the left of the Archbishop shook his head and said, ‘We are a long way from Jorvik and even further from the Five Boroughs. We mind ourselves according to Norse Law. We live peacefully, most of the time, side by side with our neighbours, be they Angles or Britons. Kings of Cumbria, Dublin and Jorvik demand tribute of us from time to time when they feel they have the upper hand. They’re all much of a muchness, it’s no more than we can manage. I don’t think it matters greatly if we pay tribute to Edmund instead of one of them.’

  ‘No,’ said a greybeard next to him, ‘you’re wrong there, friend. Edmund wants more than tribute. He’ll change our laws and he’ll insist we all become Christians.’

  ‘Many of us are already,’ his mead companion answered.

  ‘Prime shorn only. We accept baptism so we can trade with the Christians but then we suit ourselves where we worship. King Edmund won’t have that. I have seen how they rule in Mercia. Our freedom to honour the gods of our ancestors would be taken from us, believe me.’

  Some agreed with this but others disagreed. The air buzzed with muted conversations. Then Kjeld Gunnarson held up a hand wanting to speak.

  ‘We fought against Æthelstan for many years and we were defeated again and again. And now there’s King Edmund. We took Jorvik, and some more, back from him but now you tell us he’s set to take it again. Seems to me we lose more than we win and maybe it’s time to parley and make peace while we are still strong enough to be credible.’

  This brought forth a storm of protests, mainly from the younger chieftains but from some of the older ones too.

  A well-respected man from Ennerdale said, ‘But they’re like the sea, these Saxons and their Mercian allies. They may withdraw but they always come back, wave upon wave of them. Edmund is not going to leave us alone. He is determined to make the Kingdom of Jorvik part of his own realm. We must defeat him once and for all. The successes gained for us by King Anlaf Guthfrithson must be consolidated and built upon. We should rise and support the new king of Jorvik.’

  A younger man with a fiery red beard asked to be heard.

  ‘I agree. And where’s the honour in seeking parley without a fight? You get no respect from an enemy by running from the battle.’

  The Prince, without asking to be heard, stood up. I noticed some of the assembled bristling at this breach of customary order. Mord looked at Wulfstan who ignored him.

  The Prince began, ‘My brother King Dunmail of Cumbria sends his greetings to the valiant Norse of Cumbria. Your reputation suits ill this talk about parley. Will your swords sit idle in their scabbards while the tyrant draws ever closer? Men of Cumbria, stay true to your ancestors, defend the valleys they cleared, the fells they tamed and the rivers they travelled. Stay the hand of the invader, stop him before he reaches your own land and ravages your homes and your women.’

  Kjeld Gunnarson rose.

  ‘Who is this Prince of Cumbria and what is his business with us? The Norse owe no allegiance to the King of Cumbria. How has he gained a seat at our meeting?’ He was getting red in the face and stabbed a finger in the Prince’s direction. ‘You want us to fight to protect your land. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  Someone next to Kjeld made him sit down. There was some support for him and I felt compromised by my place next to the Prince. But Prince Rhun stood to speak again.

  ‘The old King of Jorvik, Anlaf Guthfrithson, was a staunch ally of my father’s. He married one of my sisters. There may be new kings in Cumbria and in Jorvik now but we still face the same enemies. We must stand together against the Saxon King. Be aware that if Jorvik falls, Cumbria is next in line. I ask no man to fight any battle other than his own. Together we can stop the onslaught before Edmund has time to establish himself in the North. That’s why I invite you to accept the hand of Dunmail, King of Cumbria in friendship, to stand side by side with him and face the enemy together.’

  All through this speech Wulfstan nodded his agreement. I had a fleeting impression of Prince Rhun acting as the mouthpiece of the wily Archbishop but dismissed it as fanciful.

  ‘Dunmail,’ an old warrior spat the name at the Prince. ‘He chickened out of the Battle of Brunnanburgh. Some ally he makes. And where were you, Prince Rhun, when your father died in that battle?’ Rhun stayed calm in the face of the insult.

  ‘I was wounded at Brunnanburgh, our bards will vouch for that. My brother was struck down with a fever some days before. I resent the suggestion that he is a coward. He is eager to defend our land against King Edmund and I urge you again to consider what your lives would be like under Saxon rule.’ He spoke further but I had become lost in thought. What would the implications be for me and my family if the Norse decided to wage war against Edmund?

  I became aware that the hall had gone very quiet. I realised that Rhun had stopped talking and was looking at me. So was everyone else. I felt a rush of blood to my face. Had I been asked a question? The silence became oppressive. I looked to Mord for help. He tilted his head to one side. I looked at Wulfstan. He raised his eyebrows. I took a deep breath.

  ‘This is not a matter for rash decisions. I need to consider and I would ask the Archbishop to guide me.’ Wulfstan’s eyebrows returned to their accustomed place and he smiled. The Prince looked disappointed but nodded. It seemed my answer was satisfactory but what had been the question? What did this prince want from me? What intrigue was Archbishop Wulfstan planning?

  Wulfstan declared that empty stomachs lead to empty arguments and Mord called for food and drink. A seemingly endless line of women and servants brought meat fresh from the spit: smoked sausages, ham, steaming broth, cheese, nuts and sweet little currants beloved by children and adults alike. Cinedred joined Mord and the Archbishop in the high seat. She smiled at me and leaned across.

  ‘We must make time to speak, Sigrid.’

  She, like Mord and the Archbishop, drank wine from glassware while the rest of the chieftains shared large horns of ale and mead. I was flattered to be served wine in a glass; the only other person to be so honoured was Rhun ab Owain. There was some shuffling and moving around the table as chieftains sought out men they particularly wished to speak with but Rhun stayed by my side and handed me choice pieces of meat from the platters. On the other side of me, someone moved up and spoke in a low voice that made my pulse quicken despite myself.

  ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. I hope you don’t object to a poor trader seeking your company.’ Grim sat down next to me. The way he and Rhun glared at each other would have pleased most women. I just wished myself somewhere far away. Grim turned back to me. I couldn’t help but meet his eyes. His smile sent a hot blush rising from my neck to my cheeks.

  Rhun faced Grim and only just kept a sneer from his voice, ‘And you are?’

  ‘I am Grim Mordson, eldest son of your host and an old friend of Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter.’ He put his hand on my arm. It was a gest
ure of intimacy and took me by surprise. I was too slow to move away. This wasn’t lost on Rhun.

  ‘I had the impression Princess Sigrid was married.’ His voice was respectful but Grim took offence and half rose from his seat.

  ‘Are you insinuating ...?’

  He was interrupted by Mord.

  ‘Grim, you are speaking to an honoured guest.’

  Both he and the Archbishop looked at Grim and so, I noticed, did many of the other guests. Except one, Kjeld Gunnarson who bared his teeth at me. The air was thick with the smell of food, wet dogs and men who’d had their fill of ale. It was hot. The wine had gone to my head and I needed space to think and to breathe.

  I murmured an excuse and gathered my dress around me to clamber across the bench we were sitting on. Rhun got up and extended a hand to steady me while Grim and his father locked eyes in a wordless battle.

  I managed to get out and made my way towards the privy. The night was mild and the yard smelled of animal dung and wet grass. I took a deep breath, grateful for a moment’s calm. From one of the barns I could hear the voices of the servants and karls who had come with their chieftains. They had obviously been plied with both food and drink and I thought I could hear Thorfinn’s voice above the general laughter. I hoped he wouldn’t get drunk and pick a fight with anyone. As I returned and made my way across the cobbles towards the hall Cinedred met me.

  ‘My dear friend,’ she said, choking on giggles. ‘I do believe you have turned more than one head tonight. To think that Grim, who’s rejected every suggestion of marriage, has finally made his choice. Shall we be family?’

  My grip on her arm was rough as I pulled her out of the way of prying ears.

  ‘Cinedred, I am married to Ragnar and no friend of mine would suggest anything different.’

  She was red in the face from too much wine so it was hard to say whether she blushed or not but she looked at me wide-eyed and the laughter died on her lips.

  ‘Forgive me, Sigrid. Oh, my dear friend, so it’s true. You married your outlaw for love and you ...’

  Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Sigrid, I meant no harm. I’m envious, that’s all. Please let’s be friends. I owe you so much. The herbs worked. It’s good to know where to turn if it happens again.’

  ‘There must be no more such times, Cinedred. Kirsten is gone and anyway, the herbs are not to be trifled with. You can’t keep using them.’

  She smiled and nodded but without much conviction.

  We returned to the hall. In the doorway, a man stepped into the shadow to make way for us.

  ‘I see you’re preparing to put horns on this husband too.’

  The whispered message could only be from one person and I’d had enough. I grabbed the front of his tunic and walked into him. It took him by surprise; he stumbled backwards and slumped against the wall. My knife found its own way to his throat, or would have done if my arm hadn’t been caught by a scrawny hand and forced back over my shoulder. Cinedred screamed.

  ‘Be quiet, Mistress.’

  The voice was no more than a hiss but it carried the authority of a hundred battles. Cinedred fell silent and stood trembling with both hands pressed against her mouth. ‘And you, Princess, please drop your knife.’ I did and was released.

  ‘Varg!’

  He picked up my knife and returned it with a bow.

  ‘I crave your forbearance, Princess. You know I would never lay hands on you except ...’

  Kjeld stepped out from under the eaves and interrupted in a triumphant voice, ‘Breaking the peace at a parley. Mord Lambason will be interested to hear about this.’

  ‘Your word against ours,’ said Varg, ‘and there are three of us. Aren’t there, Mistress?’

  ‘My husband,’ Cinedred’s voice trembled but she drew herself up to stand straight and proud, ‘will understand that Sigrid was sorely provoked by groundless slander. You cast aspersions on honourable men and insulted her. If anyone broke the peace, it was you, Kjeld Gunnarson.’

  Kjeld looked around for support but we were in the shadow and the only ones about were a couple of servants herding the cows into the byre. He glared at Varg and turned to go back into the hall. Over his shoulder, he said, ‘We are not through, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. I had to light my brother’s funeral pyre because of you.’ For a moment he seemed to me a sad figure and his threat made me feel tired rather than afraid. Why won’t he let it rest? I thought. The Lawmen had cleared me of responsibility for Hauk’s death and yet he continued to harass me.

  ‘Varg,’ I said, ‘why are you not with the others? You were waiting here? How did you know?’

  ‘I keep my eyes open, that’s all.’

  I was intrigued but had no time to consider his reply as Cinedred took my arm.

  ‘Come, my friend, let’s go back to your admirers. I’m sorry it’s hard for you. I’ll try to hasten the meal.’ There was nothing for it; I had to return to the hall.

  They must have looked out for me because, as I entered, both Grim and Rhun rose and helped me to my seat. I caught Wulfstan’s eye. He smiled and nodded. Grim and Rhun competed for my attention. Grim spoke about his lucrative trade with Dublin while Rhun praised the beauty of his homeland. Each ignored the other, but for the occasional barbed comment. I tried to listen while speaking as little as possible without causing offence. I also tried not to look at either of them but if I looked straight ahead there was Kjeld on the other side of the hearth staring at me. The dancing flames put a malevolent glow into his eyes. This was a man filled with hatred and I realised that I had better take that seriously and mind my step when he was around. It was a relief when a bard was brought in to entertain the guests and I no longer needed to pay attention to any of the men around me.

  ***

  Later, when all were preparing to bed down for the night, Archbishop Wulfstan sought me out. I noticed that he made sure nobody was near.

  ‘That was a good answer you had for Prince Rhun ab Owain. I didn’t know you had such talent for diplomacy. Maybe you have more of your mother in you than I thought.’ I wasn’t sure whether he was laughing at me. I never knew where I was with Wulfstan. But he seemed genuine enough when he continued.

  ‘The Prince of Cumbria wants you to intercede with King Hakon on our behalf.’

  ‘Your Grace, you know as well as I do that Hakon would not lift a finger at my request!’

  ‘I suspect you’re right but you need not worry. When I was in Norway, my visit to Hakon was to make sure he didn’t get involved in our struggle here. It would be an abomination for him to take sides against his foster-brother, King Edmund, but likewise he must not side with Edmund against us. I am satisfied that he’s busy in his own country and will keep out of England.’

  ‘May I ask, why you haven’t simply told Prince Rhun that?’

  His pale eyes looked out from under his bushy grey eyebrows.

  ‘Not only have I no intention to tell our young friend any such thing but I shall ask you to keep him guessing. Act as though you would be prepared to plead with your uncle to enter the struggle on our side. And don’t correct him when he calls you “Princess”.’

  ‘You want this alliance with King Dunmail!’

  ‘Well done, I’m pleased you have woken up from your daydreaming.’ He made a sarcastic little bow which I decided to ignore.

  ‘But why? Is it not true that they just want us to fight their battle and then they’ll continue to try and extract tribute from us as before?’

  ‘One enemy at a time. Edmund is by far the greater danger to our way of life. As for Dunmail, now that’s different. I’m sure it’s the same with you as the rest of the Norse here in Cumbria. You pay tribute when you think he’s strong enough to take it by force, otherwise you don’t.’ I didn’t tell him that nobody had demanded anything from us at Buttermere nor, as far as I knew, from Rannerdale or Low Kid Farm. Our valley sat in the grey borderland between Dunmail’s Cumbria, Jorvik and Mercia. So far we had been lucky enough not to get m
uch attention from any of them.

  ‘Archbishop, I will find it difficult to keep up this pretence.’

  ‘That’s why I wish you to leave first thing in the morning. I have arranged for an urgent message to be delivered to you.’

  I agreed. In fact, I couldn’t wait to leave. I would have been in even more hurry had I known what awaited me at home.

  ***

  We emerged from the woods and crossed the meadow. Thorfinn sounded the horn and rode ahead.

  ‘It’s too quiet,’ said Varg. ‘There should be animals grazing here and children collecting kindling.’ We readied our weapons and urged our horses to a tired trot. The gate opened and, behind it, Ylva Flamehair put her sword back into its scabbard, my servants Ebbe the Angle and Cerdic the Briton put their seaxes in their belts. Servants and thralls emerged from behind buildings. They were all armed, axes, knives, clubs and pitchforks. They were ready to defend themselves and the farm but against what?

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ said Ylva, ‘your farm, Becklund. It’s burnt and ...’

  ‘Olvir! My Olvir, where is he?’ Ylva motioned towards the hall and I ran there. Inside I found Olvir on one of the benches, his head resting on the lap of Bjarne’s mother. She put her finger on her lips.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ she whispered. Her swollen face and red eyes told me what I needed to know. I sat down next to her and took her hand.

  ‘Aluinn, I’m sorry for the loss of your son. He was a brave young man. We shall all miss him.’ She wiped fresh tears from her cheeks and nodded.

  ‘I thank you, Mistress Sigrid.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to the others? Beorn and Brita and the two men I sent?’

  ‘They’re all dead, Mistress, burnt. Olvir was in the byre with a sick cow. He woke from the noise and the smell but there was nothing he could do.’ Her voice died in a whisper. I was full of questions but they would have to wait. As I rose, she looked up at me.

  ‘Mistress, I would go there, if I may. I would see my son buried.’

  ‘We shall go both of us together.’