To Save a Kingdom

by Marianne Whiting

  ***

  We held a great feast and the noise we made was strong enough to rattle the rafters. Cerdic the Briton rose and asked if he might be heard, even though he was a thrall. Ragnar looked surprised.

  ‘Cerdic, on the battlefield of Leicester, you earned the right to speak in my hall. Say what is on your mind.’ Cerdic looked pleased.

  ‘It’s about Ebbe,’ he said, ‘I am no poet so I sing no lament. But Ebbe the Angle was my friend and I don’t want him to be forgotten. We had little to unite us. Ebbe was a free man, I am a thrall. He was an Angle whose ancestors came to England just a few generations ago. I am a Briton whose ancestors have lived on this land since time began. We worshipped Christ each according to our own traditions and never found reason to quarrel about that. For we were friends and the differences between us did not matter. We were united in our work here and in our ambitions. We shared our dreams. For a brief moment, we were both warriors and we were equal to all others on that battlefield. It was a good life being part of a hird. Ebbe had an honourable funeral even if it was a pagan ceremony.’ He raised the simple ale-horn he shared with another thrall. ‘I drink to the memory of my friend Ebbe the Angle.’ We all joined him and praised Ebbe’s courage.

  Ragnar removed one of his own arm-rings and held it up.

  ‘You shall be a free man, Cerdic. If you choose to stay in my service it shall be as a warrior and my sworn man with this on your arm as a token of my regard.’ Cerdic bent his knee to Ragnar and swore allegiance. That evening he emptied one horn after another as everyone wanted to drink to his health and good fortune.

  ***

  When we had all drunk our fill and hugged and kissed and cried and laughed, the household sought their beds and Ragnar and I had some time together. We snuggled up in our box bed and closed the hangings. He stroked the mound of my belly and felt the baby kick.

  ‘Another little warrior.’

  ‘Or a little shieldmaiden.’

  ‘Oh, Odin, please not another! I can’t manage the one I’ve got. She fights, steals horses and upsets kings and bishops like she has more lives than a cat.’ He kissed me long and deep. ‘At least I’ll be around for this one. No need to break down doors to get to wet his or her head.’ We laughed at the memory of Harald’s birth in Norway when Ragnar had risked his life to perform the naming ceremony for his son. I moved his hand lower down my body and pressed closer.

  ‘Dare we,’ he whispered. ‘Kirsten gave me a right talking to that I must be careful of you.’ I shushed him.

  Spring 944

  Winter was reluctant to pass and the days went on, wet and dreary. I didn’t mind all that much. We were safe, at least for the time being. Every now and then we heard rumours about fighting between Edmund and the Norse around Jorvik but that was far enough not to touch us. At least, not yet. I knew better than to think it would last but while we were left alone, I was happy.

  In spring, I gave birth to a girl. We named her Gudrun after my mother and invited our neighbours to help us celebrate her birth. When all but our closest family had left we received an unexpected visitor. Grim Mordson arrived late one evening a month before midsummer. Ragnar’s greeting was cold but polite. In the dark and drizzle it took a moment before he noticed the small gelding behind Grim’s stallion. On it a small figure sat slumped, too exhausted to dismount. Ragnar was next to him in an instant.

  ‘Olvir, son, thanks to the gods.’ He helped him down and all but carried him into the hall, leaving me to greet Grim. He looked at Gudrun on my arm. He tried to say something but his lips moved empty of words.

  I hastened to invite him inside. There I saw in the light from the hearth my Olvir, thin, pale, covered in mud and dust. I hugged him and told Kirsten to put him in the box bed.

  ‘Yes, as he is, don’t even bother about the boots, just tuck him in and let him sleep.’

  But Olvir wouldn’t be Olvir without an argument. ‘I need to tell you things,’ he slurred.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Sleep first.’

  I turned on Grim.

  ‘Grim Mordson, how could you put a child through the dangers of scouting for Cuaran? Olvir was supposed to be a scribe, not a spy. Have you no conscience? You risked the life of a child, using him as a tool in a struggle that was not his to fight.’

  He held up his hands and shook his head. I had no pity with his exhausted state. My anger burnt fierce and my voice rose until it was heard beyond the walls and rafters. It woke the children and all over the hall women rushed to comfort and reassure. It also woke Olvir who staggered out of bed.

  ‘It wasn’t Grim’s fault, Sigrid. The Archbishop needed my help and he’s my friend, so I did what he needed me to do. Grim has looked after me and protected me.’ He settled on the bench next to me. ‘Please, Sigrid, don’t be cross with Grim.’ He looked at me so earnestly I fell silent. Then he noticed Gudrun and smiled.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘a baby! Is it a boy?’

  ‘No, it’s a girl. We’ve named her Gudrun.’

  ‘After our grandmother, hers and mine,’ he mumbled. Then he leaned against my shoulder and went back to sleep.

  ‘Wulfstan,’ Ragnar didn’t need to say more, his voice told of his fury and the way his sword-hand moved to his side told of his plan.

  ‘Ragnar Sweinson,’ said Grim, ‘Sigrid, please both hear me. The Archbishop fights for what he believes is right. He is ruthless, yes. He will do anything, use anyone to keep the land of the Norse from Edmund. He supported, or used, if you like, Anlaf Guthfridson, and then Cuaran and now Ragnwald. He’s even tried to make those two share the crown.’ This made Ragnar laugh. Grim smiled and shook his head.

  ‘What’s happening now?’ I said fighting back my bitterness. ‘I thank you for bringing Olvir to us but why have you come back? Have you two left Wulfstan’s service or does he have no further use for you?’

  ‘I was never in the service of the Archbishop or any other Christian,’ said Grim. ‘Nor did I work for Cuaran.’

  ‘Who then?’ I said.

  ‘Cumbria. You know already Sigrid that I didn’t always agree with my father. Being the son of a Lawman isn’t easy. But I always shared my father’s love for our land, our freedom and our way of life. I saw how people lived in Mercia under Æthelstan and Edmund. Their obsession with Christianity. They are ruthless in suppressing any other worship than their own. Even the Britons are hounded.’ I could feel my head spinning.

  ‘But, I thought the Britons were Christians.’

  ‘They are but you have to be the right kind of Christian.’

  ‘The right kind ...’ My confusion was complete.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ said Ragnar. ‘Why is the Archbishop fighting for us against Edmund? He knows damned well most of us keep to the Old Religion, whatever he pretends to think.’

  ‘And whatever some of us pretend to be when it suits us. My friends, I have no answer to that question. It takes the wisdom of Odin to understand Wulfstan and that I do not have.’

  We were interrupted by Thora who had prepared a bed for Grim and whispered to me that he must be tired. We wished each other peaceful sleep. Grim picked a young thrall girl for his bed but if he used her he was very quiet about it.

  ***

  The next morning Grim asked for his horse and thanked us for our hospitality.

  ‘I would ask you not to mention to anyone that I have returned,’ he said.

  ‘Your brothers?’ asked Ragnar.

  ‘Especially not my brothers. Eysten is better off not knowing and as for Bose ... well, better if nobody knows.’

  ‘So you’re not staying at Keskadale?’

  ‘No. No, I’m not.’

  We waited but he said no more. Olvir came rushing out, pale and bleary eyed. Grim put both hands on his shoulders and held him at arms length.

  ‘You are a brave young man,’ he said. ‘Your parents can be proud of you.’

  ‘I’ll be here if you need me again,’ said Olvir with a smile that put t
he sun to shame.

  ‘I think we agreed that you’d stay here where you’re safe.’ He looked at me and Ragnar and we nodded.

  ‘You could stay here too,’ said Olvir.

  ‘No,’ said Grim. ‘I have things to do. Remember you may need to hide if anyone comes.’ Olvir nodded.

  ***

  We saw no more of Grim but gossip reached us that he travelled the area talking to chieftains and freemen. There were also rumours of a stranger in fine clothes and armour seen with Grim. I was curious and wanted to ask Olvir about where he’d been and what he’d done.

  ‘He may even know who this stranger is.’ I said and patted Gudrun to make her burp. Ragnar held up the spear shaft he was working on to check it was straight. He shook his head.

  ‘He’ll tell us in his own good time.’

  ‘But it’s not like him to be secretive.’

  ‘He’s probably been told to keep quiet. Good thing if he’s able to do that for a change, sign he’s growing up. Leave him. He’ll talk when he wants to.’

  ‘Who do you think it is?’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘The stranger riding with Grim.’

  ‘Sigrid, I couldn’t care less. I lost two good men at Leicester. I lost all the loot from Tamworth. I have warriors to reward and a household to feed and ... What?’

  ‘We. We have warriors and a household. I have the silver from Edmund’s saddle and bridle. We had a reasonable harvest and your sister made butter and cheese at the shieling last summer. We have Becklund and the grazing there. We can breed strong, swift horses from Lord of the Fells and North Wind. We’ll manage.’ He looked at us, me and Gudrun, put his whittling knife down and stroked Gudrun’s cheek.

  ‘It is ‘we’, you and me, isn’t it, Sigrid?’

  I laughed. ‘Who else?’

  ‘Well, Grim Mordson. He looked at you, you and the baby, and he looked so sad, I swear I almost felt sorry for him.’ I leaned over and kissed him.

  ‘Yes, Ragnar, you and me, always.’

  ***

  We set to work. Varg went to look at Becklund to see what needed doing. Vida strapped her baby to her back and went with him. They returned and told us that the hall could be made habitable and would not need rebuilding. The rafters at one end were badly burnt and not safe but the other end could be closed off and it would be plenty big enough. The turf roof on the byre had not burnt and it needed only some minor repairs. Then we came to the question of who would live there. Aluinn asked to go with Varg and Vida. She wanted to be close to her oldest son’s grave. I gave her permission to go and take her other two children, Ketil and Inga, with her. Cerdic the Briton and a male thrall volunteered to help Varg with the building work. I refused to be parted from North Wind but Lord of the Fells and two broodmares were selected to start our venture in horse breeding. The week after the midsummer blot was set for the time when the first of my household would settle at Becklund. At last I would take possession of my father’s farm and my heart sang with happiness.

  ***

  The feast of midsummer. What high hopes we had for the future as we welcomed our family from Rannerdale and our friends from Low Kid Crag. The hall had been cleaned out, the floor covered with fresh reeds and the walls hung with garlands of leaves and flowers. We dressed the maypole with its two wheels suspended from a crossbar with leaves and flowers. We raised it to symbolise Father Sky entering Mother Earth and giving new birth to nature. The unmarried women put flowers in their hair and couples formed in the dances around the maypole.

  ***

  I had selected a heifer and hung it with garlands to give to the gods. We had much to thank our gods for: Odin and Thor for our survival and safe return, Frey for a good harvest and Freya for the plentiful produce from our animals. We would ask them to protect the farm from fire and flood, the land from drought and deluge and people from sickness and injury. Most urgent of all we wanted to entreat the gods to save us from the fury of the English King Edmund, to lead him away from our valley and to give strength to our swords if we had to defend our homes and our freedom.

  I had chosen a fine animal, the silver offer bowl was polished and the dagger sharpened. I led the procession through the meadow up the small hill to the sacred grove. Behind me, Ragnar and Olvir led the heifer, then followed Kveldulf and Harald carrying Gudrun between them in a sling and behind them the rest of the household and invited guests. Our voices rose, powerful, through the canopy up to the sky as we approached the holy place at the centre of the grove. Drums and pipes summoned the attention of the gods and they replied in the wind that rustled the leaves. I threw my torch on to the bonfire and it roared into flames. I intoned the chant that would be my message to the gods and we swayed and stamped our feet in rhythm. The animal was suspended by its hind legs from a branch of the ancient oak. I threw sage leaves on to the fire and breathed in the pungent smoke. My ears buzzed, my vision clouded over, I felt my mind open. I drew the sacrificial dagger and, around me, the chanting rose to a frenzy. I cut the throat of the heifer. The animal screamed its protest, the call to the gods that our gift was ready. It kicked and thrashed. The branch shuddered, dipped and rose. It looked like the majestic tree waved at us, swinging our gift to the gods from side to side. Blood sprayed from the heifer and splattered trees, rocks and people. Children and adults clapped their hands and cheered. Then there was a mighty crack. The branch split from the tree. The mighty oak stopped waving. The animal crashed to the ground. The branch still attached to the trunk now looked like the broken arm of a giant. Men and women alike cried out in terror. An omen. The sacrificial heifer looked at me and out of its mouth came flames and smoke.

  ‘Odin!’ I heard my voice as from a distance, a plaintive, questioning sound. ‘Odin, Thor, Freya, why, why?’

  ***

  Grim returned and he had news for us.

  ‘Dangerous times,’ he said when he had settled in the seat reserved for honoured visitors. ‘King Edmund has subjected the people of the North to a campaign of burning and harrying such as we have never known from any other enemy.’

  ‘Will he come here?’ I asked, feeling the cold hand of dread clawing at my innards.

  ‘No doubt he will. He has no need of hurry. He can take his time to subdue the area he already holds. He knows we have little resistance to offer and no allies. Dunmail stands alone this time. If he wants to remain King of Cumbria he’ll have to fight Edmund.’

  ‘So his brother Rhun was right about that,’ I said. ‘A pity he left instead of standing by his allies. We could have done with his men at Leicester.’

  ‘Where is Cuaran,’ said Ragnar, ‘and where is Ragnwald? We fought for them, where are they now?’

  ‘When the people of Jorvik found out that their precious king had accepted baptism, with King Edmund as his godfather, they threw him out.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘Cuaran, a Christian ruling under Edmund’s overlordship, by Odin, that wasn’t what any of us fought for.’

  ‘So who’s king now?’ asked Ragnar.

  ‘Well, Ragnwald was for a time but ...’ Ragnar burst into hollow laughter. I gave him a look and he stopped. Grim continued, ‘then the people of Jorvik found out that he was not only baptised but confirmed and he didn’t even have King Edmund as sponsor, just the Ealdorman of Mercia. That was an insult. We were beaten by Edmund in a fair fight. Being answerable to him is one thing but to be under the control of an Ealdorman ...’

  ‘So the men of Jorvik threw Ragnwald out too?’ I said.

  ‘No they didn’t.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Is he still king?’

  ‘No but it wasn’t the people of Jorvik who drove him out. It was Wulfstan and the Mercian Ealdorman.’

  ‘Wulfstan! But ...’

  Grim smiled at our consternation.

  ‘I don’t think he chose to. He is, like the rest of us, defeated. Edmund can’t depose him, or whatever you do to get rid of Archbishops, but there are other ways to control him an
d he’s kept on a short leash controlled by the Ealdorman. I don’t think we’ll see him again in Cumbria, although with Wulfstan, you never know.’

  We sat in dejected silence trying to take in what had happened.

  ‘Does the Mercian Ealdorman rule Jorvik now?’ I asked.

  ‘In Edmund’s name, and Edmund’s army moves up and down the country making sure everyone knows that. The point is, they’re bound to head our way sooner or later.’

  ‘Just as Wulfstan said. He was right. We must fight Edmund,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ragnar. ‘We must and we can. This is difficult country. The mountains are unfamiliar to Edmund. We shall defend our land.’ Ragnar sounded like he was ready to get up and fight there and then. Grim looked relieved and smiled.

  ‘You are true warriors, my friends, and true Cumbrians. My errand here today is to ask you if you’re ready to muster in the defence of our land and you’ve just given me the answer I hoped for.’

  I slumped against the back of my seat. I thought of my children and about Becklund where the first foal was expected any day now. My dreams that had seemed within reach retreated behind a cloud of battle-dust. But I knew without doubt. One last battle. A battle not for a king but for Cumbria. It must be fought.

  ***

  We went to the Thing moot. This time it was a full gathering. The survivors from the fight against Edmund had returned and with them my reputation and position in our community was restored. Men who had fought and gathered honour greeted me as an equal. Among them was Eysten Mordson.

  ‘So that’s why Sigrid left in such a hurry,’ he said when he saw Gudrun on Ragnar’s arm. Then he lowered his voice and looked around. ‘I understand that we need to polish our helmets again. Are your swords still sharp?’

  ‘I’m ready to paint my shield in our Cumbrian colours,’ I said. ‘We both are.’