***
The raiding was fierce and went on through the evening. I had seen raiders attack my own home. I had felt the despair and anger of loss. But that was all forgotten. I sought treasure as eagerly as the others. This was not battle fury, it was pure greed which fed on the frenzy around me. Together we robbed still living bodies of weapons, arm-rings and money pouches. We grabbed food from storerooms and vessels from kitchens. Only at dusk did we desist and set fire to what remained of the once proud capital of the old Kingdom of Mercia.
That night, in our camp, I looked at our booty. I had never been a raider. Attacker, yes, but never raider. I was always one who fought to defend my lord, my family and my property. But no more. I was now no better than the men who had attacked my father’s hall in Loweswater, King Hakon’s court at Nidaros or my own home in Buttermere.
Nobody else seemed to have such thoughts. Anlaf and the girls were excited. Thorfinn and Varg went through the raid in detail comparing it to others they’d been part of. As custom dictated, the booty was pooled and I divided it up among my followers. Apart from money and jewellery, there were weapons and armour which would come in handy but I decided that the splendid cauldron Unn had picked up was too heavy and unwieldy to keep.
***
Drunk with victory, weighed down with booty, our army made its way to Leicester. Without Ragnwald, Prince Rhun and their warriors, there were not enough men to leave a force at Tamworth but the raid would serve as a bargaining point with King Edmund. Much of the way to Leicester we followed Watling Street which supposedly made up the boundary between Mercia and the Danelaw. It was well travelled, not least by successive armies fighting each other for supremacy of the Five Boroughs. It took us less than a day to get to Leicester. At dusk, we saw the town walls. These had once been strong, built of granite. Now I saw a patchwork of repairs in brick and wood. People were at work there. Lines of men and women carried buckets of earth to build up the ramparts and carts brought rocks to strengthen the brickwork. They withdrew to the shelter of the walls when they saw us. I wondered why, as, in order to enter this borough, we would have to cross a river which flowed in several different channels, creating islands connected to each other and the town by bridges. Only one bridge led to the city gate, and it was long and exposed. It seemed to me impossible to take this borough by storm. We pitched tents and built shelters a couple of furlongs away from the town walls. That night we posted lookouts but saw little activity on the town walls.
The next morning Wulfstan, accompanied only by Cuaran and the most important chieftains with their hirds, rode up to the bridge. Wulfstan was, unusually, dressed in bishop’s garb. A white robe, gold-embroidered with wide sleeves, covered by a cape in deepest purple, held together by a magnificently bejewelled brooch. He carried a mitre and his freshly shaved tonsure looked pale in the sunlight. Cuaran stayed a few paces behind. Wulfstan’s servant blew a horn to announce their arrival. A couple of guards peered over the ramparts. They vanished and soon returned to open the heavy wooden gates. The reeve appeared. He was accompanied by a priest in faded vestments. Both welcomed Wulfstan with a great show of respect, the priest knelt and kissed Wulfstan’s ring and so did the reeve. The reeve then bent his knee to Cuaran as well. Perhaps he had decided to accept the inevitable or maybe the town truly preferred a Norse king to a Saxon one – it wasn’t always easy to tell in these borderlands where fighting was almost constant and the population held as many Danes as Angles and Britons.
Word went out that there was to be no looting here. Our army had done well at Tamworth and all seemed content to return to camp and make themselves comfortable while Cuaran and Wulfstan were conducted into the town by the reeve. They were followed by their hirds, the most important of the chieftains and by me trying to keep out of sight. The guards saluted; ox carts, packhorses and people laden with goods made room for us to pass. Many made the sign of the cross when the Archbishop rode past, some fell to their knees. Wulfstan made the sign of blessing over the bystanders left and right. They seemed to know who he was, or at least what he was. I wondered what they really thought of this warrior-priest, entering their town at the head of an army.
I was reminded that it was only a couple of years before that Anlaf Guthfridson had gained the borough. Houses still showed charred timbers and fresh repairs to thatch and wattle-and-daub walls. Away from the one main street, it could have been a village with cultivated fields and animals grazing among patches of wasteland. The reeve led us to a small church. It was built in stone with one end using the tall remains of a Roman building that must, long ago, have been very grand. The church was surrounded by wooden houses, one of which could be described a hall but hardly the abode of a king or bishop. The yard in front was busy, servants and guards fetching and carrying, or just standing around talking. Our horses, impatient as they sensed water, feed and rest, stamped their hooves and snorted. Dogs woke from their slumber, sniffed and barked at the newcomers. Whips cracked and shouts echoed until order was restored. The chieftains followed Wulfstan towards the hall. I tried to join them but Wulfstan spoke to a servant who approached me.
‘Mistress Sigrid, I have been told to take you to suitable accommodation for you and your women servants.’ I wondered where Wulfstan had decided was a suitable place for me and my women warriors. It turned out to be a religious community, three small wooden houses clustered around a stone cross. I was received in an austere room where the only light came from a single flickering tallow next to a crucifix on a small table. A tight-lipped Abbess surveyed my blood-splattered tunic, my trews and my weapons.
‘I am told you are of royal blood,’ she said. ‘I am, of course honoured, that Archbishop Wulfstan has chosen my house to receive you and your servant women.’ We looked at each other in a silence poised somewhere between uncomfortable and hostile. Then she resumed, ‘Of course I shall be able to find somewhere to dispose of your weapons and I’m sure I can provide you with a dress.’
‘I am Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. I am a warrior with my own followers, both women and men. They all remain with me, as do my weapons. As for my clothes, they are well suited to my cause and I see no reason to change. I thank you for your offer of hospitality but I shall not need to inconvenience you.’
She glared at me and the wrinkles round her thin, disapproving mouth deepened as she bade me farewell.
***
I crossed the bridge and joined the rest of the Cumbrians on the other side of the river. Our tents made a small settlement where warriors and camp followers gathered around the cooking fires. I claimed a space for me and my hird. A couple of thralls took the horses to find grazing. The camp grew as stragglers caught up, but one important person was still missing. Nobody knew what had happened to Kjeld Gunnarson. I didn’t quite dare think that he had perished. I saw none of his men but, there again, I didn’t know all of them, so I could be wrong. We settled down to the daily routine of foraging for food, cooking, weapons practice and games. I found it utterly tedious.
After two weeks there was no sign of King Edmund. By taking up residence in the town, Cuaran had issued a challenge that could not be ignored. It was certain that the King of Wessex and Mercia must come. By making us wait, he made it clear that he would come when it suited him, when he was ready for battle. There was nothing anyone could do about that. Ragnar, used to spending long periods of time on raids, settled down to life as part of Wulfstan’s entourage. I asked him about the wound he’d sustained in the single combat against Erlend the Dane. He laughed it off as a mere scratch but it was a couple of weeks before he agreed to show me the scar and then I had to bite back a comment about the size of it. He visited me in the camp when he wasn’t needed in town and we developed a sort of routine which I realised could last for weeks until King Edmund came to do battle. I led my warriors in sword-practice and spent enjoyable times hunting with Kveldulf. But I didn’t share Ragnar’s equanimity. I was bored, I missed my younger son and I worried about the people we’d left be
hind.
‘Stop fretting, there’s nothing you can do, so don’t think about it,’ said Ragnar from deep inside our fur sleeping bag. ‘At least we’re together. Come here. You’re shivering. I’ll warm you up.’
***
Ragnar and I were not the only ones sharing a bed. There were a few wives and concubines among the camp followers. Some of the men paid for the attention of such local women, as traded their bodies. Others found female company in Leicester and, of those, a few planned to bring their women back to Cumbria. None of those were a problem to me. I should perhaps have intervened when I realised that Anlaf kept a wench to cook and share his pallet. But how could I stop a young man from taking his pleasure when I had my man to share mine? I was not naïve. I knew that many – on some farms, most – of the children of servant and thrall women were sired by the householder and his sons. Men without the company of women become tense and quarrelsome. I decided Anlaf’s wench was no threat to Gyda and I looked the other way.
***
Other men didn’t look to the Leicester women. One day Hildur drew me aside.
‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, there is one of the men from Langdale who tried to woo me and I will not have him and now he tries to take me anyway and he makes himself a nuisance whenever I’m alone. Last night he came at me and ...’ The girl blushed and I waited for her to continue. ‘He made me kiss him and I don’t like him but he’s of higher rank than I am and so you see ... oh, I don’t know what to do and I don’t want my father to know.’
‘This is what you do, Hildur; you keep in mind that nobody is of higher rank than one of Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter’s warriors. You say “no” and you say it loud and clear.’
‘But what if he comes at me anyway?’
‘Hildur, what is your sword for?’ Her mouth fell open, then she laughed. I smiled with her, then I thought and added, ‘But, Hildur, you need to keep Unn out of it and it would be better if you didn’t kill anyone.’
***
I should have anticipated what happened next. Hildur’s unwelcome suitor was told where he stood. Whether Hildur made her sword do the talking or not, he was still mightily offended. He was perhaps mocked by his men but, even without such provocation, Hildur’s rejection was a slight on his honour. I may, of course, have misjudged him, maybe I’m unfair to his memory but I assume it was he who started the rumours.
The girls were regarded differently from Ylva Flamehair. She was accepted as a warrior who would one day marry and who might or might not continue to take part in battles. The problem with the girls was that they came as a unit, they were always together and their friendship seemed exclusive.
It was Thorfinn who told me I was needed.
‘You’d better come, Sigrid. There’s a gathering and it could be nasty. I don’t know whether to intervene or not.’ I thought it must be the first time Thorfinn had turned down the opportunity of a good brawl.
‘Who’s causing trouble?’
‘Hildur – well, both of them, she and Unn – well not them, not as such but well, you know ...’
I got up and we walked towards the sound of a boisterous gathering. Thorfinn was disturbed.
‘I don’t know whether there’s any truth in it, Sigrid,’ he said, ‘and it doesn’t matter to me, but it will turn suitors from her door – well, both of their doors for that matter. I don’t even want to think about what their fathers will do when they find out how the talk goes.’
***
I knew, of course, that when men were on long sea voyages, or in winter camp, some would take comfort from each other. It was tolerated, although I’ve been told that a man who seeks to ‘play the woman’, and who prefers such play to lovemaking with a woman, is afforded scant regard. There must be such women too, who prefer women to men but I knew of none. Such things are easy to keep hidden, except when it interferes with a marriage.
‘T’is their fathers I feel sorry for,’ muttered Thorfinn.
‘Listen, Thorfinn, whatever is the truth, the girls are my fostrings and your sisters-in-arms. We owe them support and respect.’
‘But what if ...’
‘But nothing. I will not have my warriors treated with anything but respect.’
I could hear the taunts from a distance.
‘Hey, shall you two marry each other then?’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing, girls.’
‘Which one of you wears the trousers?’
‘Who’s the man of you two, when you do it?’
‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’
The crowd, young warriors, servants and thralls, bored from being cooped up in the camp were enjoying themselves. Laughter grew as the bawdy remarks got louder, cruder and more persistent. The girls’ angry replies were all but drowned out. Some men saw me approach and withdrew. Through the gap I saw Unn turning wild-eyed and Hildur fumbling with the peace cord on her scabbard. I began shoving unresponsive bodies out of my way. A couple of voices began chanting for a fight, others joined in. Thorfinn bellowed, I shouted, but the noisy, overexcited louts didn’t notice us. We had to manhandle each body in our path. I kicked and pushed my way to the girls. In my fury, I barely registered that Dragonclaw was in my hand. I waved her above my head and bellowed with the full might of my lungs.
‘Cowards, foul-minded nithings, is this all your courage allows you? To torment two young girls? Anyone want a fight? Let’s see fair combat; I champion these two woman warriors. Who will stand against me to defend the flea-shit that thinks he can gain honour by defaming the good names of his fellow warriors?’ The crowd went quiet and backed off. Already, some of the onlookers drifted off and soon, with mutterings of ‘didn’t mean any harm’ and ‘just a joke’, the ringleaders, too, tried to sneak off. Thorfinn and Varg delivered them to me at sword point. I made sure to get their names and those of their householders and told them a truth or two about how warriors should behave towards each other. Then I let them go.
***
I felt guilty. Although nobody had been hurt, I had failed in my duty to protect my fostrings. It riled me to have to admit that Wulfstan had foreseen the danger they were in. They would have been safe in the care of the disapproving abbess. But to sit safely behind locked doors was not what any of us were there for. I decided I would just have to keep the girls closer to me.
***
I thought Wulfstan had forgotten about me, or at least decided to leave me be. I should have known better. A monk arrived and declared that I was to follow him to the religious house by the church of St Peter. What was more, I was to come immediately. The poor man wrung his hands and looked at Dragonclaw.
‘I was to say that you will not ... that is to say, you don’t need ... I mean your wea ...’ His voice shrunk to a whisper when he saw my face and he didn’t bother to finish the sentence. Seething with resentment, I followed him through the gatehouse into the town. People stared at the unusual sight of a monk with an armed woman in tow. He took me to the religious house where I had previously met with the Abbess. The same dreary room. The altar with presumably a different, but just as smelly, tallow. This time we didn’t stay there. He showed me a small room off to the left of the altar and told me to wait. He left in the manner of a man in a hurry and not once did he comment on my sword which stayed in its scabbard. There was a comfortable chair and a fire in a small brazier. I sat down and prepared to wait for Wulfstan or the Abbess, or whomever I had been summoned to meet.
***
A voice reached me from outside, a man’s voice, high-pitched and irritated.
‘What’s this about? I am busy. Who is so important that I have to come running?’
Confused at first, soon I laughed out loud. Why had it not occurred to me that Wulfstan might have his clerical staff join him here?
‘Ansgar, Brother Ansgar!’ I ran to the door and there he was. He was more surprised than me and staggered backwards as I rushed up and hugged him. ‘Ansgar, dear Brother, is it really you? I’
m so happy to see you.’
‘Sigrid? Sigrid ... oh dear. Please let go of me, this is most irregular. Oh dear.’
I stepped back. He looked a good deal more pleased than he had sounded as he took both my hands in his. Over his shoulder, I saw the disapproving faces of a priest and several astounded servants.
‘Oh, in Odi ... I mean, in Heaven’s name, can’t a sister greet her long-lost brother with an embrace?’ They all looked away except the priest who ushered us back into the room.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you had a sister, Senior Scribe.’
‘We are sister and brother in spirit,’ I said and wiped my nose on my sleeve.
‘Just so, just so,’ said Ansgar. ‘Sigrid saved my life, you know.’
‘You saved mine first, Ansgar. It was only fair.’ We burst out in happy laughter. The priest looked confused and none too pleased.
***
We talked for a long time. Servants brought food and kept the fire going as I spoke of my journey to Norway and return to Buttermere, of births, deaths, marriages, fortunes and disasters. So much had happened since I left Ansgar, a prisoner dressed in my clothes, while I escaped in his monk’s habit. He was, as he’d assured me he would be, saved by Wulfstan and had returned to the life he led before accompanying me to Cumbria.
‘You must be pleased to be back in the comfort of Wulfstan’s court.’
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