To Save a Kingdom

by Marianne Whiting

  ***

  It was the end of the law-gathering. Now only the big blot, the annual collective sacrifice, remained. Archbishop Wulfstan chose to leave before this event. I was surprised when he asked to speak with me and Ragnar. Olvir joined us and his excited smile when he looked at Wulfstan told me what was coming.

  ‘Young Olvir,’ began the Archbishop. I covered my face with trembling hands. ‘He has talents that should be used for the common good. With your permission, I propose to add him to my staff. He will be trained to act as scribe. Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, I know he’s dear to you but the lad has a future away from the restrictions of farming and ... ah, well, let’s call it the “trading community”.’ He waved to a servant who brought a scroll, ready prepared with a seal hanging from the edge. He invited Ragnar and me to put our marks at the bottom. Ragnar did so but I unrolled the parchment and holding it in my trembling hands began to read it. Wulfstan didn’t look too pleased but couldn’t refuse. It set out the responsibilities Wulfstan would have towards Olvir until he reached adulthood in a year’s time. Olvir would be fed, have a full set of new clothes every year and be trained to be a scribe in the Archbishop’s service. It was the solution to all my worries about the lad, and yet ...

  A tear smudged my carefully written signature on the document. Olvir put his arms around me. I rocked him like a baby.

  ‘Olvir, my dear, so many years, so many things. Remember when Becklund was burnt and my family killed? Remember the battle of Brunnanburgh when you found me on the field and Norway when ...’

  His eyes filled with tears and his lower lip trembled.

  ‘Sigrid!’ Ragnar’s whisper was harsh. ‘Olvir is no child, he’s almost of age. The Archbishop offers him a future – stop your wailing and rejoice in the good fortune that brought him here.’ Ragnar had never spoken to me like that before and it worked. Brought to my senses, I kissed Olvir on both cheeks, dried both our tears with my pinafore and tried to smile.

  ‘I’ll make you proud of me,’ said Olvir.

  ‘I am proud of you now, my clever, brave, dear Olvir. Come back and tell me tall tales of your exploits. Please be careful.’

  Ragnar put his arm round Olvir’s shoulders and turned him round.

  ‘I’d like a moment with my son before he leaves,’ he said, with a look at the Archbishop.

  ‘I shall leave at midday; bring him to me before then,’ said Wulfstan. ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, I rob you of a son but it is the way of the world that a young man must leave a home he doesn’t stand to inherit.’

  His eyes glinted like the water at the bottom of a deep, deep well as he looked at me. No more words seemed necessary. He turned to leave but seemed to be reminded of something and, over his shoulder, said, ‘We shall need every sword in this struggle. You have my permission to join the muster when the call comes.’ I almost laughed. Had he not understood that I was a woman of the Cumbrian Norse and a warrior and that I made my own decisions?

  ***

  Ragnar returned alone. His eyes were red but I chose not to comment on that. I knew I had let myself down and, when Ragnar asked me to come and wave farewell to Olvir, I straightened my shoulders and managed to hide my emotional turmoil behind a veil of calm. It very nearly shattered when I saw Olvir mounted on a small gelding, wearing a new woollen cloak and with a silver cross on a chain around his neck. Ragnar grabbed hold of my arm.

  ‘Ragnar, let go, that hurts.’

  ‘Sigrid, what in Odin’s name has he got round his neck? I told him to hide his Mjölnir but I didn’t realise ...’

  But I had realised. I knew that if he wasn’t already, Olvir would very soon be prime shorn. How could he serve Wulfstan otherwise? But would he go even further and be confirmed into the Christian faith? Or was his allegiance to me, to Ragnar, to our gods strong enough for him to keep faith with the Old Religion? Could he withstand Wulfstan’s wily tongue? Would we lose him forever?

  ***

  My new horse was unwilling to the point of being hostile. I rode him but it was a struggle and I had to work hard at controlling him. When we returned home, Varg set to making North Wind my horse.

  ‘I figure he was spoilt by Kjeld Gunnarson,’ he said. ‘You need to make him realise that from now on the good things will come from you and you alone. You need to feed him, groom him and give him treats – only you, no one else.’

  ‘What! I have servants to do that. What will they say if I begin to do the work of thralls?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Princess, I have come across horses like him before, I know this will work. You can leave the dirty work to your thralls but feeding and grooming is the key. I promise.’ He got his way. Each day I groomed North Wind and gave him good hay and occasionally gruel made from grain. I soon discovered that he was especially fond of apples and I amused myself by hiding these treats under my pinafore. One day I held an apple behind my back and laughed out loud when North Wind bent his head over my shoulder to carefully pick it up. I put my arms round his neck and he didn’t pull back. Ragnar always ridiculed the idea but I felt that after that there was a special bond between me and North Wind.

  To amuse the children, and I suppose myself, I devised little tricks for North Wind. He was, I always maintained, an exceptionally clever animal and learnt to reply to my call with a neigh and to come when I beckoned. I was not sorry when, after some weeks, I could hand over the work to my thralls but most days I either rode or just made a fuss of North Wind. Varg claimed to be able to teach him to kneel so I could mount without help. I never wanted that. North Wind was a proud stallion and shouldn’t have to bend his knee to anyone.

  ***

  My two fostrings were not so easy to tame. Only a week after our return from the Thing, Ylva and I heard a commotion from the direction of the sauna. The girls came running from around the corner, shrieking and laughing, pursued by a naked and furious Varg. Unn was adorned in Varg’s cap and waved his trousers in the air. Hildur sported his shirt around her neck. When they saw me the girls stopped in their tracks, looked at each other and with the sunniest of smiles handed Varg his clothes. Ylva frowned.

  ‘They’re supposed to help with the ploughing. They don’t take their tasks around the farm very seriously. I have spoken to them from time to time but ... well ... they’re a bit ...’

  ‘Mischievous,’ I said, ‘if we want to be kind.’

  I waved the girls to me. Their confidence drained off them like rain off a thatched roof.

  ‘It was a joke,’ said Unn.

  ‘We didn’t mean any disrespect,’ said Hildur.

  ‘We’ll apologise to Varg, if you want us to,’ said Unn.

  ‘We’ll apologise even if you don’t tell us to,’ said Hildur. I smiled at them.

  ‘Varg is entitled to much more than a half-hearted apology. Get your shields and wait here.’

  ***

  I found Varg in the stable.

  ‘I should have asked your permission to fire the sauna mid-week.’

  ‘I would have said “yes”. You know that.’

  He muttered something about dirt from the animals and I pretended to accept this. It was hard on the old warrior to have to admit that his ageing limbs would soon make him easy prey for his enemies. I wanted to tell him that there was always a place for him in my hall but I knew that wasn’t the point.

  So I said, ‘The girls need to be taught a lesson, Varg. Use your sword but try not to injure either of them, at least not seriously.’ Varg nodded but I couldn’t help wondering whether I was making a mistake. Varg had slowed down that winter, his joints creaked and he seemed to tire easily. I told myself that his experience and skill would make up for that against the half-trained girls.

  Word spreads quickly on a farm and a small gathering waited in the yard. Flamehair had already drawn up a rough square on the ground. Unn looked pale and Hildur’s hands shook as she applied a brimstone to the edge of her sword but neither girl spoke when I explained the rules to them; fight until first blood, ste
p out of the square as soon as I call an end to combat. They nodded that they understood.

  Hildur was to be first. She took a deep breath and with a brave smile stepped into the square to face Varg. They crouched behind their shields and circled each other. As Varg and every experienced warrior knew would happen, Hildur became impatient. She straightened up. She raised her sword. There were sniggers as Varg sidestepped and took the blow on his shield. Hildur’s sword scraped against the rim and Varg, almost casually, bent down to cut a neat gash on Hildur’s ankle. He made it look very easy and was already outside the square when I called a halt to the fight. Hildur stood a picture of incomprehension, motionless until Kirsten led her away. I became aware of a low keening noise growing louder until it became a scream of fury.

  Unn waved her sword in the air. She tore lose from Flamehair’s restraining hand and ran at Varg screaming like a harpy. He just had time to step into the square and raise his shield to block a barrage of cuts and thrusts. Unn was slight in build but wiry and agile. She moved with speed and balance. Varg was hard pressed to keep up with the way she leaped, feinted and darted round him. She spun round to get away from his blade. She crouched down to swipe at his legs. He lowered his shield and caught her face with the edge of it. The onlookers exhaled a drawn-out ‘ooooh’ in sympathy. I called an end to the fight. Unn seemed oblivious of the blood dripping from her nose. She threw herself at Varg again and again trying to get under and round his shield. She sliced a strip of the hide binding from the edge of it and hammered her shield boss against it with no sign of tiring. Her eyes stared wide open and seemed to glow with hatred.

  On a battlefield, Varg would have killed her by now, he’d had ample opportunity. Unn made no attempt to shield herself. But mindful that he must not injure, never mind kill the girl, Varg had to work all the harder measuring the strength of his blows and restraining his natural inclination to put an end to the berserker. For that was what Unn had turned into. She foamed at the mouth. Her screams sent cold shivers down my spine. She hacked and sliced with her sword. She looked like she’d go on for ever. Not so Varg, whose limp had become more pronounced. I contemplated stepping between them but before I could do anything, Varg stumbled and ended up with one knee on the ground. Unn bore down on him, her sword poised to cut into his unprotected neck. She sounded more like a charging bull than a human being. I called to her to stop.

  Hildur screamed, ‘Unn, stop it. Please Unn, stop ...’

  Varg let go of his sword and in one swift move rolled on to his back and used both hands to put his shield over his head. Unn stumbled and fell on it. Grunting with the effort Varg tilted the shield. Unn slid off it on to the ground. Varg followed through and trapped her body under the shield. She wriggled, kicked and squirmed but he held fast and kept her there. He had to hold her down for a long time.

  Then suddenly she stopped struggling and called in a faint voice, ‘I surrender.’

  ***

  We pulled her up and Hildur put her arms round her and spoke quietly to her. Unn trembled, stunned, no longer a threat to anyone. I had a thrall fetch a seat for Varg.

  ‘Hildur, Unn, I hope you have both learnt an important lesson today. Varg is old and like all people who have lived a long time, he has done many things, more than most. He has travelled and seen many places. He has fought for different lords in different countries. Today he showed you that his experience has brought him skills that you and I can only dream of and work towards. You lack the knowledge to have seen it but the warriors here can tell you that today Varg could have killed both of you many times over.’ I paused.

  ‘That’s the truth,’ said Orm.

  ‘Varg is a master swordsman,’ said Ebbe the Angle. Others mumbled agreement.

  I continued, ‘To fight without injuring a weaker opponent is more difficult than to inflict a wound. You both laid yourselves open to Varg’s blade, many times over. He chose not to harm you. What’s more he had the skill not to harm you. Such a warrior deserves respect. Respect for his age and experience and, above all, for his skill.’

  Hildur was chastened and sincere. Unn looked shaken and confused. Both girls bent their knee to Varg and asked his forgiveness.

  By the time we had finished Varg looked sufficiently rested to walk unaided to his stable. The free men saluted him with their swords. I sent my people back to their interrupted tasks. Ylva Flamehair took charge of Unn and I pulled Hildur to one side.

  ‘Has this happened before?’ Hildur wiped her eyes and nodded.

  ‘She always had a terrible temper and she’s quick to take to her weapons, especially when she thinks I’m in danger, but I have always been able to calm her before. I’ve never seen her like this. Do you think she’s cursed?’

  ‘No, it’s the battle fury, she just gets it worse than others.’

  ‘I was scared she might kill Varg.’

  I had to laugh at that.

  ‘No, there was never any danger of that – instead, he did well not to kill her. You may not have seen it but she put herself in the path of his sword several times. She needs to work at that. Battle fury is no good without a skilful blade. At this rate, she’ll rush straight for death and then what would I tell her father?’

  I waited a while before looking for Varg in the stable. On my way there I noticed smoke from the sauna and went to investigate. As I approached I heard voices from inside. A man moaning and a woman shushing and cooing. What was going on? I couldn’t think of anyone but Varg who’d take the liberty to fire the sauna without my permission and he’d already used it today. I closed in. It wasn’t Lothar and Thora, I’d seen him leave with Ragnar and some of the men. But who else? A cry rang out.

  ‘Aaaah, aaaah!’ It was a man’s voice but was that pain or pleasure? I crept closer. A woman’s impatient voice.

  ‘Lie still, I need to rub this in. Kirsten said to rub firmly all over the joint or it won’t work.’ I knocked and went in. Varg lay on the shelf while Aluinn smeared an unpleasant looking goo on his hip. When I entered he moved to get up.

  ‘Please don’t disturb yourself, Varg. Let Aluinn take care of you. I just wanted to thank you, Varg, for ... for ... today, I mean the way you dealt with the girls. I didn’t know Unn had the fury in her or I wouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘I hope you’d have enough confidence in my skill to ask me whoever needed to be taught a lesson,’ said Varg ignoring Aluinn’s ‘tut-tut’.

  ‘Your skill saved her life. I worry for her. She needs to learn discipline. Hildur shows promise but Unn ...’ Varg knew what I asked.

  ‘I’ll start with them tomorrow,’ he said.

  PART FIVE

  “False peace with bad friends burns faster than fire

  In a few days the flame goes out, all love is lost.”

  Havamal

  March 943

  At the first sign of spring, Kirsten returned carrying a small bundle strapped to her back.

  ‘It’s a boy,’ she said and unwrapped the heavy shawls to reveal a strong, healthy-looking child.

  ‘A son to support you in your old age.’ I stroked the crop of reddish hair and felt the tug of motherhood. ‘What will you call him?’

  Her voice bore no gainsay when she answered.

  ‘Njal.’

  I should have anticipated this but it still made me gulp for air. I played with the baby’s tiny hand while I collected my thoughts.

  ‘Kirsten, I’m not sure that’s wise. It may well attract the attention of Mord Lambason and he will claim the baby as his grandchild but I doubt very much that he’ll want his son’s woman.’ She gave me a hard look which was so unlike her, I fell silent.

  ‘His son’s whore, you mean,’ she said.

  By now we were surrounded by every female of the household from the old crone in charge of the cowshed to the toddler-daughter of one of the thralls. They heard her words and, sensing discord, drew back.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, I have thought about this. Njal is a common enough name in
Norway, I shall say my son is named for my father. And I shall say he was sired by Varg.’

  ‘What? Varg! But Kirsten!’ Then I thought for a moment. Servants and thralls I would have had to punish as Kirsten was of higher status than any of them. That left my sworn men. Gyda would resent the smear on her marriage if we pointed to Anlaf. Hrodney wouldn’t mind – twice widowed, her marriage to Thorfinn was a matter of friendly convenience but it wouldn’t reflect well on Thorfinn.

  ‘I shall say I felt sorry for him. He has no family and when he dies there will be no trace of his lineage.’

  She was so earnest, so calm, I was persuaded it might work. By now the men were beginning to arrive.

  ‘Hide that baby or they’ll all want one.’

  ‘That’s fine with me, come here, girls.’

  ‘And me, always ready for a tumble. How about it, Flamehair? Aaooch! By Odin you kick like a horse.’ I left them and went to find Varg. As I had anticipated, he was not seduced by the notion of fatherhood.

  ‘Me! Cover up for that nithing, that offspring of a serpent, that, that ...’

  ‘Varg, this is about keeping Kirsten and her baby safe with us. We need a plausible story in case Mord Lambason starts to take an interest. I’m asking you to help the girl out.’ I had no more time to persuade him as Thora called us inside to drink the baby’s health. Varg scowled but came. As we crossed the yard, I heard him mutter under his breath.

  ‘Varg,’ Kirsten stood to greet us. ‘This is your son. I have named him Njal for my father and I ask you to accept him as your true child.’ There were many confused faces, many questioning looks exchanged but nobody uttered any doubts about the truth of Kirsten’s words. You don’t argue with a seidir and at that moment Kirsten had a look of power about her. Varg looked at the baby, looked away, looked again. He cleared his throat and without a word turned his back to Kirsten. People parted to let him through. He walked across to his accustomed sleeping place. Nobody spoke. A small child whispered a question and was hushed. Varg stood with his back to us for a moment then he took his helmet from its peg, wiped his nose on his sleeve, coughed and returned to where Kirsten stood with her baby. He held out the helmet to her. Njal had lived for the passing of two moons and was too large to fit into the helmet but the symbolic act had been completed and Varg had a son.