***
Archbishop Wulfstan spent another day at the Thing-mound. He did not interfere in lawsuits which were heard and dealt with as usual, but wandered around speaking with chieftains and farmers. In the evening I received an invitation, a summons by any other name but an honour nevertheless, to accompany Ragnar to Mord Lambason’s booth. Ragnar was attended by Lothar, Orm, Skuli and his two Norwegians. I had no illusions about being invited as a chieftain but decided to take a take an entourage just to make a point. I told Thorfinn, Varg, Anlaf and Ylva to walk with me. Ragnar raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t comment.
The Archbishop had assumed the role of host. ‘Ragnar Sweinson, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, welcome both. We shall meet inside to get out of your infernal Cumbrian rain.’
Mord’s booth was twice the size of mine, furnished with benches and trestle tables, the stone and mud walls covered with colourful woven hangings. There was a half-score of chieftains already present. We were seated according to our status halfway along the table, opposite Kjeld Gunnarson – which told us we were afforded the same level of importance. Cinedred was not at the table, she directed servants and thralls who brought a never-ending stream of dishes. We heard her voice from the cook-tent, louder and louder as the evening wore on, talking and laughing. Others may have wondered who she was having such an amusing time with but I knew only too well and marvelled at her lack of discretion. Mord seemed oblivious. Was he hard of hearing or putting on a brave face? The Archbishop glanced in the direction of her voice when raised in a particularly loud giggle. He was more observant than most and I feared he would have guessed at the truth about the Senior Lawman, his young, beautiful wife and his second eldest son.
When the meal drew to an end Wulfstan brought up the reason for the gathering.
‘When we are under attack, we must stand united. There’s no room for bad blood threatening our loyalty to Cumbria, the Kingdom of Jorvik and each other. Side by side in the shield wall we must be able to trust and to feel committed to the man next ... ah ... or indeed to the women,’ a brief bow in my direction, ‘next to us. Nobody should feel the need to watch their own back, that’s what friends and allies are for.’ He paused.
The men around the table looked puzzled. One spoke up.
‘We may have our differences, some of us, but they have been honestly brought before the Law and resolved. Even those of us who feel hard done by would not resort to violence; I hope you’re not suggesting that.’ The Archbishop shook his head and smiled.
‘No, I’m not. But there is a long-standing disagreement between two of you that has given rise to fears of a feud. I want Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter to offer weirgeld to the family of a thrall-woman she had, quite in accordance with the law, put to death in revenge for the killing of Sigrid’s old servant, called ...’
He paused, and a muffled voice from somewhere behind him said, ‘Ingefried.’
‘Just so, Ingefried.’ He paused, drank some wine, looked around at the astounded faces, then: ‘May I suggest, young Olvir, that if you intend to be part of these negotiations, you come out from behind that wall hanging before you suffocate.’
A bulge in the fabric moved and made a picture of a hunter and his dogs come alive. Then Olvir emerged, red-faced and dusty. He seemed oblivious to the appalled looks and exclamations from the chieftains around the fire.
‘You hadn’t really forgotten.’ he said to the Archbishop.
‘No, indeed, I had not. I pride myself on my excellent memory. Now, with your permission I shall continue.’
Olvir settled down on the floor next to the Archbishop’s seat and I felt a pang of jealousy at the look they exchanged. Ragnar nudged me and whispered, ‘Time to let him go. He’s almost a man.’
There was no time to argue – Kjeld addressed Wulfstan, ‘The “thrall-woman”, as you call her, was a Galician of noble birth. It was my brother’s intention to free her and marry her until Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter practised her evil magic and turned his head.’
I called out in surprise and rage. There was a gasp from the others around the table. Ragnar shot to his feet like an arrow off a bowstring. This rocked the bench we sat on and I with two others tumbled over, to land on our backs in the straw. I saw Ragnar fumble with the peace cord that tied his sword to the scabbard. The fall brought me to my senses and I reached up to restrain him. By now Kjeld had drawn his sword and was pointing it at Ragnar. The men on either side of him pulled him back and disarmed him. I held on to Ragnar’s arm and Bearslayer stayed in its scabbard. Now I felt very calm. It was like when an expected disaster happens and the waiting is over. So my voice was steady and clear as I spoke.
‘You all know Kjeld and his persecution of me at the Thing two years ago. On my way home from that gathering my family and retainers were ambushed and Felipe the Galician, Kjeld’s champion, tried to kill me with Kjeld’s sword. A child in Kjeld’s care, his daughter by the Galician woman, set fire to Becklund last year. Five good people died in that blaze. You know two of them, the freeman Bard and his wife Brita. The others were a young servant and two thralls of mine. I hold Kjeld responsible for the child and her actions but she died and I have refrained from demanding reparation for my loss. As for the accusation of using magic ...’
Wulfstan interrupted me here with an impatient wave of his hand.
‘That is utter nonsense and nobody in their right mind would take note of it.’
Mord nodded vigorously. I looked round the room. Nobody uttered dissent but a couple looked thoughtful.
‘My brother told me she’d bewitched him,’ muttered Kjeld, just loud enough to be heard. The Archbishop leaned towards him.
‘Kjeld Gunnarson, as a man of the cloth I have forsworn the pleasures of the flesh but even I can see that Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter is a comely woman. I know enough about her family to be able to suggest that she was perhaps made even more attractive by being heiress to a prosperous farm. Now let this matter rest, I will hear no more of it.’
Mord cleared his throat and spoke. ‘I would, however, like to settle the question of weirgeld for the Galician woman.’
‘You mean my thrall,’ I said. ‘How can I offer weirgeld for a thrall that belonged to me? I have been more than reasonable in my dealings with Kjeld but if the Law allows it I am willing to free the dead woman and offer fair compensation to her children. I take it they are free. I’ve never heard of paying weirgeld to thralls.’ Kjeld’s scowl told me my guess was right, the children, although his, were still thralls. This soon felt like a hollow victory. I had introduced another twist to an already complicated matter of which I was heartily tired and wanted resolved. Mord must have sensed my regret for he took charge.
‘That is easily solved. If the children are indeed his, I’m sure Kjeld will have no objection to making them free. Likewise, I have, after some consideration, decided that the Galician woman, although dead, can be set free.’ One or two of the chieftains looked confused; one seemed to have given up trying to understand and sat quietly shaking his head. Unperturbed, Mord continued: ‘Ingefried was a free woman from the household of King Harald of Norway. That means we’re now dealing with the lives of two free women, both servants.’ He glanced around the silent room. ‘So, listen well. Ingefried’s death was avenged by the death of the Galician woman. There can be no claim for compensation. The attempt to avenge the Galizian woman by killing Sigrid failed so the path is open for Sigrid to offer weirgeld to the children. This is perfectly simple and in accordance with our law.’
Maybe he and Wulfstan recognised it as simple but Mord had lost the rest of us. That didn’t matter. When asked if we agreed, both Kjeld and I said ‘yes’ and were praised by the others who would act as witnesses and undertake to make sure the agreement was carried out.
Mord ordered me to pay 240 silver coins to the children. To most of those present, this seemed the end of the matter and they looked around for more ale. But Kjeld had not finished.
‘There’s still weirgeld o
wed for Felipe the Galician,’ he said. The Archbishop slammed his horn on the table so the ale slopped over the sides.
Mord leant across to Kjeld. ‘I would be careful of bringing any more claims.’
He nodded at me to give me leave to speak.
‘A karl, Bard Beornson was sworn to me. He and his wife died in the fire at Becklund. I claim weirgeld for both of them. I also lost two thralls, a servant and my hall and I claim due compensation. The girl who set fire to the hall, was Kjeld’s daughter.’ I didn’t need to continue. Mord took over. He was bright red and clearly annoyed.
‘Sigrid will pay 3000 for Felipe the Galician to his nephew and niece. Kjeld will pay 240 each for the two thralls and the servant, 3000 each for Sigrid’s sworn man and his wife and 1200 for housebreaking.’ Kjeld went pale as a fetch and his voice trembled when he admitted he would need time to collect such a sum. I remembered his treatment of me in a similar situation and a thought got into my head.
‘I am willing to accept payment in kind if that’s acceptable to the Lawman.’ Mord nodded. I managed to keep my voice steady and said: ‘I deduct 3000 silver pennies in exchange for the horse called North Wind.’ The silence was broken only by the coughing of a chieftain whose ale went down the wrong way. I had offered more than three times the value of North Wind but everyone knew how Kjeld prided himself on the stallion. I wondered if I had over-reached myself. Still nobody spoke. I felt the reassuring pressure of Ragnar’s knee against my leg. Then Mord cleared his throat and looked at Kjeld.
‘It is a generous offer, Kjeld Gunnarson. I take it this would be agreeable to you.’
‘I would rather ...’
But Mord had no more truck with Kjeld.
‘It is a foolish man who turns away from the hand offered in friendship.’ He directed the cold, uncompromising stare I knew so well on Kjeld. Few people could stand up to Mord when he was in that mood. After some uncomfortable moments Kjeld nodded and a gale of excited talk swept around the table.
‘If it’s all settled, perhaps we could have some more food and drink,’ said the Archbishop. ‘This has been thirsty work.’ I was unable to read the look he gave me. Did he admire my cunning or deplore my folly?
Ragnar and I went in the company of Mord and two witnesses to collect North Wind. I was surprised to see Varg already there, grinning and rubbing his hands with glee. Kjeld had to be sent for, as Mord insisted he had to be present to shake hands on the transaction. He arrived unshaven and puffy-eyed. Mord stared him down and he took my outstretched hand. I trembled with excitement but I think I managed not to look triumphant. I nodded to Varg to look the horse over. He winked at me.
‘No need. Where do you think I spent the night? Nobody’s tampered with this boy.’ I was about to ask how he knew the horse was mine but of course, Olvir had been present at the parley.
The stallion shied and neighed when I grasped the bridle. He dragged me along a few steps. Then he reared and I was lifted clean off the ground. Kjeld smirked and called out.
‘North Wind is used to a warrior, he needs a firm hand. He’s not a woman’s horse.’ My cheeks burned but I held on and in my cupped hand offered the apple Varg had given me. He’d ‘prepared it specially’ he said. I didn’t enquire of the details of that preparation. Whatever it was it worked. North Wind picked it up with silken lips and, when he’d ground it between his teeth and swallowed, he sniffed my hand for more. I stroked his muzzle and whispered the sing-song spell Varg had taught me. That seemed to work too and I led my new mount across the field to my camp. We attracted some onlookers who followed us, while commenting and discussing how I’d managed to part Kjeld from his prize stallion. I chose not to answer. There would soon be rumours and gossip that would be much more interesting than anything I had to say.
‘You have to ride him now,’ said Varg. ‘He needs to get used to you, and if you don’t, people will talk.’
He saddled North Wind and led him across. I wasn’t happy about having to ride this skittish mount for the first time in front of so many curious people but I couldn’t refuse without losing face. I also knew that I must get into the saddle unaided even though North Wind was taller than my usual mare, taller even than Lord of the Fells. I put my foot in the stirrup and tried to heave myself up. I failed. One or two of the onlookers laughed.
A woman’s voice called out, ‘Pride comes before fall.’ More laughter.
I tried again. The horse moved a step forward and with one foot in the stirrup I had to hop on one leg to keep up. I looked at Ragnar.
‘Yes, you can,’ he said in a voice that would not accept contradiction. I gritted my teeth, bent my supporting knee and pushed as hard as I could. I got off the ground but not enough to swing my leg over and sit in the saddle. Instead I lay on my stomach across the horse as he began to move forwards with Varg hanging on to his bridle. The shouts of mirth grew louder. It unsettled North Wind and he shook his head until Varg had to let go. I still had a foot in the stirrup and clinging on to the saddle with both hands I managed to get my leg across and sit up. North Wind increased his pace to a canter. Bouncing in the saddle I grasped his mane with one hand and fumbled for the reins with the other. I sought the other stirrup with my foot but it was swinging lose and I couldn’t reach it. The canter turned to gallop. I invoked Thor, Odin and Frey but this time they were not on my side. With agonising inevitability I slid off and landed on the boggy ground next to the small beck. Or maybe the gods were on my side after all because I escaped with a twisted ankle, some painful bruising and the comforting thought that nobody had witnessed my disgrace.
‘You have a great deal more luck than you’re entitled to,’ was Ragnar’s comment when he and Varg caught up with me. We were out of sight of the camp and, while Varg captured North Wind and calmed him down, I had time to collect my thoughts.
‘I’ll ride him back,’ I said to Ragnar.
‘You’ll what! And risk being thrown again? You might not be so lucky next time.’
‘Yes, I have to. Think. What would people say?’
‘How do I know? Does it matter?’
‘They will say that the horse was unfairly got and is not rightly mine. Judgement of the gods. This is important. I have to ride him.’
Varg agreed with me. We spent some time getting North Wind acquainted with me, then Ragnar helped me mount. We rode a short way along the valley until I felt confident enough to head back. Not many people had stayed around, so I took a roundabout route to my booth in order for as many as possible to see me ride North Wind.
‘I suppose you’ll keep that one for yourself,’ muttered Ragnar.
‘Of course, why shouldn’t I?’
‘I thought perhaps, as your lord and master ...’
But Ragnar never could keep a straight face and when I turned to give him the benefit of my mind, he was grinning, his eyes full of mischief like when we were young. I felt then how I loved him and when he suggested we take a walk away from the camp, I agreed. He supported me as I limped on my painful ankle. We found a secluded corner among the hawthorn where the bracken made a soft bed. Under the cover of his cloak his hands stroked my body until I moaned with longing. I loosened his breeches and reached for his erect manhood. We came together with the urgency of young lovers and that night on the bare ground we had no need of a fire.
‘My brave little shieldmaiden,’ he murmured when we lay back, my head on his shoulder, snug and comfortable. ‘I shall have to take up arms when I’m summoned.’
‘Mmm.’ I was too sleepy to say anything else.
‘But I worry about you.’
‘Mmm?’ This was unexpected. Why suddenly worry about me?
‘I nearly lost you, didn’t I?’
‘What? I fought off the assassin. I was as safe as can be expected and I looked after the others as well.’
‘No, I mean that merchant. Mord’s son. He wooed you, didn’t he? He wanted you. I could see that and I don’t blame him. When I go again, I won’t stay away for s
o long, I promise.’
I was now wide awake.
‘Next time we’re going together. I shall add my sword to the others when we’re called.’
‘No, you will not. I will not have my wife, the mother of my sons, risking her life on the battlefield.’
I sighed. It had been so good. I wanted more lovemaking, not an argument.
‘Ragnar, I’m a warrior. I shall fight for the future of our sons, just as you will.’ I rolled over on to my side and turned my back to him.
‘Sigrid, I mean it. Defending the farm is one thing, a battle is quite another.’
‘I know that. I fought at Brunnanburgh and at Nidaros. We’ll talk about it in the morning. I want to sleep.’ But neither of us did and, after a while, Ragnar nudged me.
‘Sigrid?’
‘Mmm.’
‘That man, the merchant ...’
I sat up and raised my arms to the sky.
‘Ragnar, we’ve been through this before. He did not woo me. He was interested, yes, but there was no wooing. Now, will you let this rest? I don’t deserve your lack of trust, I really don’t.’ A little voice in the back of my mind reminded me that I had been affected by Grim’s manly presence – affected enough to dream about him but nothing real had happened and so there was no need for Ragnar to know about it.
In our sleep, we must have somehow made up our differences for, at daybreak, we embraced again and the rising sun found us entwined and smiling.
***
Among the last matters brought to the Thing-meeting was Kjeld’s formal acceptance of his two children. In front of all free men and their families, he lined them up and declared, ‘These are the true issue of my loins and I give them these names: Veste Kjeldson and Nanna Kjeldsdaughter.’ He sprinkled their heads with water and passed round mead for everyone to drink to the future of his son and daughter. They looked dazed, standing in front of such a large gathering, dressed in new clothes, elevated from thraldom to their new status as the heirs to one of the richest and most influential men in the area. I wondered if they had been consulted about their new names.
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