To Save a Kingdom

by Marianne Whiting

  ***

  A couple of days later, Ragnwald Guthfrithson gathered his forces and rode off in a temper. We were now a much weaker force. Then, to my surprise, Wulfstan came to see me in person.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter.’ There was nothing in his demeanour to indicate that anything was amiss but his dispensing with the usual polite small talk gave his mood away. ‘I have need of your diplomacy. I shall pay the King of Cumbria a visit and I would ask you to accompany me to where I am told he’s hiding.’

  I had no wish to go anywhere with Wulfstan, least of all to seek out someone who was of the mistaken belief that I could influence my uncle King Hakon. Wulfstan knew that and bared his teeth in a smile that made the hairs at the back of my neck rise. I knew then that this was the reason why he had challenged my pride as a woman warrior at the Thing. To make sure I would come to the muster, for him to use as a pawn in his game. He also knew that I could not refuse.

  ‘I shall get ready. When do we leave?’

  ‘At once. That is, as soon as you have changed into women’s clothing. I take it you have brought some.’ He turned to walk away. Then he made one of his over-the-shoulder pronouncements. ‘You may take your karls but we shall not need your women for this. Mord Lambason can look after them.’ I nodded at his retreating back and went to find the thrall in charge of my packhorses.

  Dunmail’s ‘lair’, as Wulfstan called it, was a small village surrounded by a stockade, with his hall in the centre. We were escorted inside and all, except Wulfstan as usual, left our weapons in the wapenhouse. From the unsightly bulges in the men's clothing I gathered that not every weapon had been surrendered. Ragnar walked with a stiff leg, Thorfinn was a picture of innocence so I knew he must have concealed his axe somewhere on his person, Anlaf’s back looked unnaturally straight, a seaxe perhaps. Only Varg looked like he’d pass a body search but then again, you never knew with him. I felt my own long knife chafe against my lower leg.

  The respectful manner in which Wulfstan greeted King Dunmail gave no indication of anything being amiss. Dunmail bent his knee and kissed the proffered ring. His generous girth made him struggle to get back up but this didn’t seem to compromise his dignity. His dark eyes bore witness to his Roman descent. They gave nothing away as he smiled.

  ‘Your Grace, such an honour to receive you and your entourage.’

  The fire on the huge hearth blazed. Our men began to look uncomfortable in their heavy cloaks which, of course, they could not remove without revealing their weapons, and so their shameful lack of trust. The men were allocated places on the benches along the sides of the hall and I noticed that they were all invited to sit close to the hearth, sweating and scratching where their woollen tunics made their skin itch.

  Wulfstan led me to sit next to Dunmail in the high seat. We were joined by Prince Rhun. He kissed Wulfstan’s ring and bowed to me.

  ‘Princess Sigrid, it pleases my eyes to be able to feast on your beauty again.’ I managed a smile and wiped the sweat from my brow. His brother turned and looked at me. He smirked and edged closer. His hand reached for mine and kissed it.

  ‘Indeed, indeed, such a pleasure,’ he mumbled. I remembered his reputation for womanising. I had no fear for myself but I knew only too well how Ragnar was likely to react. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lothar and Thorfinn holding a red and scowling Ragnar, locking his arms behind his back while Lothar talked urgently into his ear.

  ‘We’re honoured to receive you in our humble abode, Princess. What news have you from your uncle the King of Norway? I hear he finds the Northern Jarls less welcoming than he’d hoped.’ Dunmail stroked my hand as he talked.

  I caught Wulfstan’s eye and wished I’d been able to ask him about this king who entreated us to help him defend his realm and then stayed at home. Had he deliberately misled us, set us up to fight his battle for him? Or had Wulfstan tried to spin his net around him only to see him slip away? And Rhun, where did he fit in? He was the one who’d done the asking. Was he perhaps playing his own game? I smiled to gain time and declared how honoured I was to be received in his far-from-humble hall. But I could only prevaricate for so long – in the end I had to answer his question.

  ‘My uncle sends me his good wishes whenever possible. You are correct in that he has yet to put the whole of Norway to his rule but, with the help of Jarl Sigurd of Lade, I’m sure he’ll succeed. In some areas they already call him Hakon the Good.’

  ‘Hmmm, is that so, is that so. And he’s fully aware of our situation here, is he?’ His hand worked its way up my arm, squeezing and rubbing. I sat as tense as in a nest of vipers.

  ‘And when will you next see your uncle the King?’

  ‘Oh, I ... I ...’

  Wulfstan cleared his throat. Dunmail smirked and drew away from me to give his attention to the Archbishop.

  ‘We expected your presence at Legburthwaite, Dunmail. In fact we expected your army, ready for battle as we agreed with your brother when he attended the parley last autumn.’

  ‘I’m unaware of any agreement you have with my half-brother.’ He emphasised the ‘half’. Prince Rhun drew a breath and his hand squeezed the foot of his glass until it snapped and red wine splashed on the table. Nobody took any notice and Dunmail continued in a self-righteous voice, ‘As far as I am concerned, you and I had talks, and I understood that King Hakon of Norway would send forces. I have had no information about any Norwegian warriors landing on our shores. In their absence, I have to conclude that your part of the bargain has not been fulfilled. I know this lady to be a niece of Hakon’s but I doubt very much she has the authority to speak on his behalf.’

  ‘Princess Sigrid will intercede on our behalf with King Hakon. I assure you that he ...’

  Few men dared interrupt Wulfstan but Dunmail did, and in a manner that could only be interpreted as an insult.

  ‘In that case I shall await the result of Princess Sigrid’s ...’

  It was Wulfstan’s turn to cut the King short. ‘Dunmail, the Saxon King stands ready to invade your realm. The brave Norsemen from Cumbria, experienced warriors of Jorvik and Dublin were ready to fight by your side and you sit in your hall roasting by the fire like a hog at Yuletide being prepared for slaughter.’ Dunmail began to look like a hog, his cheeks swelled and his nose twitched. He drank from his cup and called for more wine. The Archbishop made to continue but Dunmail held up a hand to stop him.

  ‘Archbishop, you accuse and revile me unfairly. I take great exception to your words, Your Grace. A man of the cloth should ...’

  Wulfstan’s fist made the heavy table jump and the cups and plates on it dance.

  ‘Dunmail, you are a coward. You hid shamefully when your father fought and died a hero’s death at Brunnanburgh. You sneak around like a frightened dog with no thought for anything other than the pleasures of your body. Don’t think King Constantine of the Scots will come to your aid this time. He’s retired to St Andrews and his nephew is under the spell of King Edmund.’

  This seemed to hit home. Dunmail started but recovered and sneered, pretending he wasn’t concerned. Wulfstan went on some more and I wondered about my role as diplomat in all this. Dunmail’s warriors stood lined up along the walls, tight-lipped, their eyes fixed on their king. Rhun sat tense and angry beside me and, when Wulfstan stopped for breath, he rose.

  ‘Archbishop Wulfstan, I ask you to support me when I request from my brother the King that he puts his warriors under my command and allows me to join your forces against Edmund. We could leave as soon as you give the word.’

  Wulfstan nodded, he even smiled and all that fury was forgotten. Dunmail agreed to send, not his whole army but three hundred and fifty men and we had to be content with that. It took almost a week to muster them and another day to return to Legburthwaite.

  ***

  We were too late. Mord greeted us with the news that Anlaf Cuaran had already left and most of our army, including Kjeld Gunnarson and his men, had gone with him.

 
‘They’ll be headed for Tamworth,’ said Wulfstan and ordered us to follow them. It was easy enough to ride across country and on to the old Roman road leading south. Many of us were uneasy about riding the ancient road, it was a well-travelled route; in many places the paved surface had been repaired and the clatter of horses’ hooves against stone drowned out every other sound. People would be able to hear us coming from a long way away but we would not be able to hear them. I was not alone in letting my eyes probe into the dusk of the dense undergrowth beneath the trees on either side.

  We set up camp a short distance from the track. I was invited to sit next to Mord by his fire. I understood he had something to tell me but he seemed to find it difficult. He began several times only to fall silent and then make some everyday comment. Finally he sighed and turned to me.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, the Archbishop has put you in my care for the duration of the campaign.’

  I thought I’d misheard him but Mord looked so apologetic I realised I hadn’t. I let the news sink in, thought it over then I straightened my shoulders and smiled.

  ‘It will be an honour to add my warriors to your fyrd and my sword to yours for the duration of this war. I take it my word will suffice and that no formal oath is necessary.’ His eyes widened and after a moment he laughed, albeit a tired, resigned kind of a laugh.

  ‘Of course, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. The word of Kveldulf Arnvidson’s daughter is good enough for me.’

  I wanted to ask him whether he thought we were facing defeat by a stronger force. But these were not thoughts that anyone should admit to, so I said nothing.

  ***

  Prince Rhun spent a lot of time talking to his commanders. Too many of his people shook their heads and looked around with dejected faces. I felt the air full of distrust and uncertainty. Wulfstan ordered us to break camp. The rain held off for a second day and we set off, dry but far from cheerful. The land was flat with plenty of woodland for enemies to hide in. It felt exposed and dangerous but Wulfstan spurred us on, insisting that speed was all if we were to catch up with Cuaran. All day we rode, with no time for rest or nourishment, except when the horses needed water. At twilight we could see thin pillars of smoke ahead.

  ‘That’s Cuaran’s camp. They’re very close,’ said Wulfstan, ‘we might as well continue.’

  ‘We won’t get there before nightfall,’ said Prince Rhun. ‘Our horses are exhausted, the road uneven. I would suggest, Your Grace, we don’t risk the safety of our mounts. They’re too valuable.’ Mord had already dismounted and stood leaning on his son’s arm. Wulfstan scratched his stubble and nodded. He held on to his horse for a while before limping on stiff legs to sit on a tree trunk. I had to ask the question.

  ‘It doesn't look like very much smoke. I'd expect more fires from Cuaran's fyrd. How do you know it's them?’

  ‘He’s not a man to avoid a fight or desert an ally. He’ll be heading south to meet Edmund’s army. It’s him.’

  ‘What if it's Edmund?’

  ‘Oh no, he won't have left the South yet. It’s Cuaran, We'll catch up tomorrow.’ Wulfstan’s voice held his usual arrogance but his eyes didn’t meet mine.

  ***

  We had travelled without luggage and with only such food as each of us could carry. We lit small fires for comfort and sat huddled around them, too tired to talk, until one by one we wrapped our cloaks around our aching bodies and lay down to sleep. In this, our most vulnerable state, the enemy struck. Those who had left their swords in their scabbards died regretting it as did those who’d wrapped themselves too tightly in their cloaks or stayed too close to the road. I had lain down with Dragonclaw in my hand and my head resting on my shield. I woke to the sound of heavy feet snapping twigs on the ground and the screams of wounded and dying men. The first cry had me leap up and call my warriors. Wulfstan stood with his bodyguard, alert and ready, forming a shield wall around him. I just had time to catch a glimpse of Ragnar among them before the fighting began.

  Mord had been slow to get up and a tall figure raised his axe to cut him down. I called out and tried block his stroke with my shield. The edge of my shield caught his wrist from below and deflected the movement. But not enough. The axe slid down the edge of my shield and sliced through Mord’s right shoulder leaving his arm hanging in front of his chest. He staggered aside. I faced his attacker. In the light of an almost full moon I saw the wild eyes and foaming mouth of a berserker. I kept my shield high, ready to move in under his two-handed battleaxe. He saw my intention, aimed a stroke at my legs. I leaped aside and turned towards him. He hooked the edge of the axe over the rim of my shield and pulled. I resisted enough to make him pull harder then I let go. With a furious grunt, he staggered backwards, arms flailing he lost his grip of the axe with one hand. While he was still off balance, I ducked below his reach and let Dragonclaw slit him open from stomach to gullet. His eyes bulged in surprise. With one hand he tried to stop the blue intestines from welling out with the blood, with the other he aimed a last blow at me. I had retreated and was out of his reach. When he went down on one knee, I stole up behind him and finished what I had begun by cutting his throat. Only then did he drop his axe and hit the ground.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Thorfinn hacking the head from the prone body of a blood-soaked warrior while Ylva Flamehair skewered a fighter who tried to put a sword through Thorfinn. I heard Unn howling and ran towards the sound. She didn’t need me. I saw her disappear between the trees in pursuit of a lanky youngster. He was bareheaded and in a leather jerkin. If he had a sword he’d dropped it and he ran like someone trying to escape from a demon. Unn was gaining on him. Hildur followed them and used her shield to deflect a blow to Unn’s sword-arm from a stocky warrior. She didn’t stay to face him but continued to run alongside Unn. Varg’s lessons had given results, they fought as a team, or rather Unn fought and Hildur defended. I stayed only long enough to send Unn’s attacker to Valhalla.

  Wulfstan’s voice boomed among the trees.

  ‘To me! To me! Stay together.’ I hacked and sliced my way towards the shield wall but the enemy, few in number and already beaten, had run, disappearing among the trees as swiftly as they had appeared. My first thought was for Kveldulf. I found him hiding in the branches of a tree.

  ‘I did as you told me to,’ he said, ‘I think the horses are safe.’ He wriggled out of my embrace. ‘Both you and Far told me to hide but I don’t like to.’

  I managed a smile but my voice wobbled, ‘Your duty is to stay alive and look after the horses. Time enough you’ll be a warrior. How did you get up?’

  ‘Varg helped me reach then I climbed.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Don’t know, he went that way.’

  A short distance away we found him relieving a headless corpse of its mail shirt. Nearby another villain was breathing his last with Varg’s sword pinning him to the ground. Varg turned round and grinned at us.

  ‘There’s life in this old warrior yet,’ he said.

  ***

  The attackers left a half score of dead and wounded. We took from them what we had use for and this included the information that they were stragglers from Cuaran’s army. Or so they said. Deserters, more likely, I thought, looking for easy loot from a group of sleeping travellers. A wispy-bearded youth was only too eager to tell his story when faced with a smiling Ragnar brandishing a sword in front of his face.

  ‘Cuaran is chasing his cousin Ragnwald Guthfrithson. We don’t know where they are headed for. Their quarrel is not ours. We came to challenge the Saxon King not to fight our own kind.’

  Wulfstan listened, his eyes shadowed by his knitted brows. He turned to Prince Rhun and made to speak but the Prince rose from his seat, bowed his head to Wulfstan and walked away. We heard him order his men to saddle up and only moments later they left. The silence lay thick over our army as the clatter of their horses faded away. I saw fear in the eyes of many a brave warrior. Even Wulfstan took a long while to rally and h
is chieftains stood, embarrassed and downcast, shifting from foot to foot, avoiding each others’ eyes.

  ***

  I managed to sew Mord’s shoulder wound together. My deflection had made the axe lose some of its force but it had severed the tendons and taken a small slice out of the shoulder blade. The arm drooped forward but he could still move his fingers. I cleaned the wound and tied up the arm to make him as comfortable as I could.

  ‘You saved my life, Sigrid,’ he said, fever already bringing a sheen to his eyes. ‘The Archbishop put you in my care and instead you save me.’

  I thought to myself that he was far from saved yet. If I could not hold the fever from him he would die. The prospect of our community without his guidance made me feel cold. He had shielded me and supported me. If he died, Kjeld would gain in power. Where was Kjeld anyway? Had he really left with Cuaran? I tried to put my worries to one side and concentrate on saving Mord.

  ***

  Wulfstan called a council with the Cumbrian chieftains. Mord insisted on joining them. His two sons all but carried him and I decided I had a good excuse to follow in case he took a turn for the worse. Wulfstan looked serious.

  ‘Anlaf Sithricson Cuaran has not abandoned our plan. That miserable deserter has it wrong. Cuaran has headed for Tamworth. We must join him. The sooner we leave the better. Call your forces together and I’ll speak to them.’ He turned his gaze on me and I could see him deliberating what use I might be to him in this turn of events. I knew Ragnar would go with Wulfstan, he was not bound by oath but it was not wise to deny the powerful Archbishop. I was torn between wanting to stay close to Ragnar and Kveldulf and returning to my farm and Harald. But I knew Edmund and I feared the rule he would impose. Our allies may have left – I had no choice but to stay and fight.

  Wulfstan mounted a rock and stood looking down at us. We must have made a sorry sight, confused and dejected as we were. Some did not heed his call but continued to dig graves for those who had been killed in the ambush. Their demeanour made it clear that they were returning home whatever the Archbishop had to say. Wulfstan made no comment about their defiance; he couldn’t, they owed him no loyalty other than as religious leader and most of them were no more than prime-signed and still sacrificed to the Old Gods.