To Save a Kingdom

by Marianne Whiting

  We watched as the traitor, his face obscured by the nose-guard and side panels of his helmet, pointed to somewhere on our left.

  ‘He shows them the way to the ledge above us,’ said the Lawman.

  ‘We should attack now,’ Ragnar called.

  ‘No, not yet,’ said the Lawman.

  ‘We’ll be caught between two fires. We must make a move,’ said Ragnar. There was some discussion but we all stayed where we were.

  All was quiet. I could hear the men next to me breathe, loud as if they’d been running. Armour clinked as warriors shifted their weight from foot to foot. We waited. The soldiers down on the track waited. There was no movement amongst them. Some had settled down on the ground. Then a stone hit me on the shoulder. An arrow swished past my helmet. Spears, arrows and rocks fell like rain from above. We crouched under our shields deafened by the noise of the projectiles. A cry of pain was followed by several more. One of the cries seemed to call to me. It was the voice of a woman. I crawled towards it. Hildur lay bleeding, an arrow lodged in her neck. I knelt by her. Helpless, I watched her life drain away as each heartbeat sent a cascade of blood to soak the trampled grass. Unn sat beside her and didn’t seem to notice me. Her face screwed up she used her shield to protect Hildur from the barrage coming from above. Hildur was conscious and saw me.

  ‘Look after Unn,’ she whispered. Then she closed her eyes. I stayed by her side with Unn until the flow of blood became a mere trickle. I made sure her hands were firm around the handle of her sword. Unn watched motionless. She looked stunned. I took her hand. She looked at me with cold eyes. Then she rose and holding her shield above her head made her way to the front.

  ‘Cowards,’ she screamed. ’You raven-starvers.’ By the time she reached the edge we all knew she was right. As she set off down the slope her dark hair billowing behind her, we followed in one determined movement of weapon-wielding fury. A last stand, a last attack, a last glorious defeat – there’s no shame in that. On the rocky, uneven ground our descent was a confused rush. I was aware of Thorfinn panting with the effort to keep up and I heard Ylva’s excited laughter. Unn had disappeared from view. I didn’t expect to see her again. Varg, Njal and Anlaf too were soon lost in the crush.

  We pushed the enemy in front of us down the slope and, for a moment, it felt like victory. But there were too many of them. Soldiers on foot arrived in a constant stream and, when we reached the bottom of the hill, we were fighting for our lives, not for victory or even for Cumbria. I let Dragonclaw do her work, cutting, slicing, thrusting. It was difficult to move. I stumbled over bodies. I slipped on the grass now wet from blood as well as rain. The pungent mix of blood, spilled guts and crushed grass filled my nostrils. The fighting spread out across the beck, across the boggy ground and across the track to the slopes on the other side. Small groups of warriors tried to form shield walls round their chieftains but most of us fought single combat.

  ***

  My shield-arm ached and Dragonclaw felt heavy in my hand. I could feel the stinging of a wound to my thigh and a graze on my elbow. Our enemies, Welsh and Scots, took it in turns to rest as reinforcements arrived. But we Norse had no reprieve from the fighting. Thorfinn, Ylva and I stayed together, watching each other’s backs, keeping our spirits up. Thorfinn’s laboured breath told of his exhaustion.

  ‘No life for an old man,’ he said as he chopped the sword-hand off a Scot and finished by severing his head.

  ‘Stop moaning, you old ox,’ I said. ‘We haven’t finished with these worm-eaten he-goats yet. There’s work to be done.’ I used my shield to deflect a spearhead thrust at me by a small wiry Welshman and followed through with Dragonclaw. I had time to reflect that Welsh blood was the same colour as Norse and Saxon. Behind me, I heard Ylva.

  ‘Face me, you slime-covered mongrel!’ Then she cried out. I turned to see her pull a spear from her shoulder. Her voice changed from pain to fury. Her hair brushed my face as she swung round to find the spearman. I almost pitied him.

  ‘Don’t let go of your spear like that, dope,’ I muttered, but by then he was past hearing anything.

  In front of me, a Welsh mountain man pinned a young Norse warrior to the ground with his sword. I slammed my shield into his back. He crashed to the ground but managed to scramble to his feet. I stood between him and his sword. He took one look at me and fled. The youth lay face down, the ground around him coloured red by his blood. I pulled the sword out and turned him over. It was Njal. I knelt by his side and called his name. His lips moved. I put my ear to his face.

  ‘Kirsten,’ he mumbled. I put a sword, his or his enemy’s, in his hands and closed his eyes. Then, hearing steps, I rose and lifted Dragonclaw ready to claim another life. But it was Anlaf, limping and weary. I told him and Ylva to take Njal’s body to Kirsten in her hide.

  ***

  The day was waning when a horn sounded to call our enemies back. A few Norse pursued them only to find death. Most of us welcomed the end of the day’s fighting and those of us who had strength left began the search for survivors among the bodies. There was little looting though.

  ‘Men without tomorrows have no need of possessions,’ said Thorfinn and kicked a fine helmet out of his path. We headed for the place by the gill where I thought Kirsten would be.

  I almost stumbled over Varg. He sat with his back resting against an oak. His helmet lay beside him and his hands clasped the hilt of his sword. His eyes were closed. I knelt beside him and touched his face.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Princess Sigrid, I bid you farewell. Not a bad way for an old warrior to go. I shall meet Kveldulf Arnvidson soon and tell him about your courage. He’ll be mightily proud. You’re a true daughter of his.’ I didn’t think Varg looked like a dying man but he pointed to his leg which was twisted and bloody. ‘I shall be emptied of life before morning,’ he said.

  ‘No warrior of mine gives up. Thorfinn, can you carry him?’ Thorfinn handed me his shield and hefted a protesting Varg on to his shoulder.

  ‘Aaaargh! Let me go, bastard!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Thorfinn, ‘just scream, I know it must hurt.’ Varg snapped his jaws shut.

  ***

  We found Kirsten between some rocks by a waterfall. She sat with Njal’s dead body, his head resting in her lap. To one side, by a small fire, Olvir washed a wound on Ylva’s shoulder. Anlaf sat nearby with a bandage round his knee. Thorfinn lowered Varg on to the ground.

  ‘We need your help, Kirsten,’ I said. At first I thought she would not respond but then she kissed Njal’s forehead and carefully put his head to rest on the ground. She looked at Varg’s half-severed leg.

  ‘It must come off,’ she said. She wiped her swollen eyes and rummaged in her bundle. She brought out a thong and tied it round his leg just above the knee. She pulled it tight and pointed to Thorfinn’s axe.

  ‘Here,’ she said and indicated where she wanted the cut. The others came over to help hold Varg down. Olvir and Ylva took an arm each, Anlaf sat on Varg’s healthy leg and I held the one that would be cut off.

  ‘Give me my sword and kill me,’ growled Varg. ‘I am a warrior, I cannot live with only one leg.’ Thorfinn hesitated, axe in the air.

  ‘You’re needed at Buttermere with the horses and for your grandson,’ said Kirsten. ‘Cut.’

  ‘Forgive me, Friend,’ said Thorfinn and swung the axe. Varg bit so hard on his sword handle I was sure he’d break those filed teeth of his but they held and only the slightest groan escaped him.

  ‘Fire,’ said Kirsten. Olvir went across to the fire and fetched out a red hot seaxe. Kirsten put it to Varg’s stump. The acrid smell of charred flesh stung my nostrils. Varg chewed on his sword handle but did not cry out. I saluted him.

  ‘You are a true Varangian,’ I said. His eyes were shut tight. I’m not sure he heard me.

  ***

  I decided to look for Unn. I had realised where she must be if she was alive and I set off towards the old Thing mound where we had gathered for our
last stand, where Hildur had been killed and where Unn had led us all in the attack. The moon was almost full and gave enough light to see my way. On all sides there were people moving among the dead and the wounded. Many were women and some of them carried torches, softly calling the names of husbands, sons and brothers. Others were looters, enemy soldiers and perhaps some local people attracted by the fighting and hiding until the night brought safety and the promise of riches.

  I decided to avoid the track and crossed the beck. The trees and boulders alongside it gave shelter from human eyes. But I soon felt that other, more dangerous, beings were abroad, hiding in the shadows. Around me I heard whispers and felt movements in the air. Branches swayed though the night was still. Raindrops on piles of dry leaves sounded like the lightest of footfalls. Ahead, the shadows took on shapes of monsters and giants. The skin on the back of my neck tingled. An owl hooted a warning and brushed my head with a wing as it flew past. Someone or something followed me. I drew Dragonclaw and turned.

  ‘It’s me, Sigrid,’ said Olvir. ‘Are you looking for Hildur and Unn?’ My sigh of relief was so deep he must have felt my breath on his face.

  I nodded. ‘Hildur is dead.’

  He lowered his head. We said no more but began to climb the slope together. I was grateful for his company.

  On the ridge, bodies and shields lay tangled. We picked our way towards the rise of Great Howe. Then I saw them. Unn had gathered wood for a funeral pyre and placed Hildur’s body on top. She was striking a fire-steel but the kindling wouldn’t take. I went up to her and put my arm round her shoulder.

  ‘You won’t light a fire with green wood,’ I said.

  ‘Her body must not be defiled,’ said Unn. Covered in layers of mud and blood she looked like a dark alf. Her eyes were swollen and red but she seemed empty of tears.

  ‘We’ll hide her,’ I said.

  ‘I tried digging,’ said Unn, ‘but it’s very rocky.’

  ‘We’ll build a mound, over there, look.’ Olvir pointed to a small space between a hawthorn and a moss-covered rock. ‘She’ll have flowers and berries and leaves. It’s beautiful.’

  Unn nodded and we dug a shallow grave for Hildur. She looked peaceful. The arrow had opened her neck and her tunic was covered in blood but her face was unmarked. We buried her in her armour and with her weapons to hand. Unn arranged her fair hair round her shoulders. She took her own kerchief from her neck and draped it over Hildur’s face.

  She looked at me. ‘She has nothing for the journey, no food, no drink and ...’ Her face creased up and she sobbed. It was a dry desolate sound. I put my arms round her and rocked her.

  ‘She won’t need it. Valkyries will fetch her and bring her to Valhalla. She’ll be feasting at Odin’s table, sharing a mead-horn with her father.’

  ‘Is he dead too?’

  ‘Yes, sword in hand. I saw him fall.’

  ‘So she won’t be alone.’

  ‘No. Are you ready, Unn? We shouldn’t stay here.’

  We covered Hildur’s grave with rocks and turf. Then we left.

  ***

  It was getting light. There was movement below on the track. The Welsh and Scots had broken camp and were heading south. Men on horseback were followed by soldiers on foot and archers. Some of them saw us and shouted insults but none seemed inclined to climb the slope to get at us or even to re-string their bows and shoot. I figured they were headed for Dunmail’s stronghold at the foot of Helwellyn. We Norse had never discussed what to do after the battle. It would have been to acknowledge the inevitability of defeat. For now my countrymen were probably hiding, maybe slipping from rock to rock, staying out of sight while heading towards where we had left our horses. Maybe some were already heading home.

  Dead and wounded lay strewn across the path and along the lake shore. The looters were still busy. Among them were some figures dressed in black. They didn’t seem to take anything from the bodies but stopped a while by each one before moving on. These were not looters. It took me a while before I realised they were priests. One of them seemed familiar. I went across to him, just to make sure.

  ‘Brother Ansgar, what are you doing here? Whose work is this you do?’ He turned and his face was lit up by a tired smile.

  ‘Dear Sigrid, I should have known you’d be here. I’m doing the Lord’s work, what else, praying for the souls of these poor men and women too. You’re not the only one, it seems.’

  ‘But who are you with? Whose side are you on?’

  ‘I’m on the side of the Lord Almighty who rules in heaven and on earth. I do not serve earthly princes and kings. I try to bring comfort to the dying, whatever cause they die for.’ I nodded, although I wasn’t sure I understood how anyone could fail to take sides in this war.

  ‘We should leave. Will you be safe, Brother?’

  ‘Oh yes, much safer than any of you. Olvir, dear child, you are not a warrior. You should be helping me and my brothers in our task.’

  ‘But,’ said Olvir with a glance at me, ‘I’m not ...’ he hesitated and Ansgar smiled.

  ‘No, I know you still have some of your heathen beliefs but you know how to say the prayers that will soothe minds and you know healing. It’s not all about souls. There are bodies to be healed as well.’

  I looked at Olvir and saw him looking at a young warrior trying to get up.

  ‘Olvir, you should stay,’ I said.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘I am.’ And it felt right then to let him go and make his own way, no longer a child but a man. I hugged him and blinked away my tears.

  ***

  I feared I might find Ragnar’s dead body and tried not to look at the fallen warriors along the path. Unn had no such misgivings and kept telling me when she recognised anyone. She stopped and pointed to the body of a youngster. I thought he seemed familiar.

  ‘It’s Thorolf,’ she said. ‘He’s Hildur’s man. They wanted to marry. Now they can. They can, can’t they, there in Valhalla?’ Her voice broke and she started crying. I had no idea what the situation was as regards marriage in Odin’s hall. It had never struck me as a place of domesticity. But it seemed important to reassure Unn, so I agreed. She was comforted and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  We had sent boys and thralls with the horses to an area of high ground a couple of furlongs away from Legburthwaite. They knew to move out of reach should the enemy come close so I didn’t worry when they weren’t there. We followed the trail of hoof marks and horse dung. When the dung looked fresh I whistled. The reply was prompt. North Wind neighed and, soon after, he appeared. Then Kveldulf rode up on his small gelding. He smiled and saluted me. I resisted the urge to hug him and accepted the bread and cheese he had for me and Unn. Behind him followed four of our thralls with the other horses. Ragnar’s stallion was there. He looked around with his ears pricked up, alert, waiting. Should I leave him, and the other horses belonging to Ragnar’s men, or should I bring them along? Then I heard Ragnar’s voice as clear as if he were next to me: ‘Promise not to look my way ...’ and with my heart turning to stone I told the thralls to wait for him and his men for three days and then, if they didn’t turn up, to find their own way back home.

  Kveldulf, Unn and I led my hird’s seven horses down the slope onto the track. I found Olvir and Ansgar and left Olvir’s horse with them. I offered Hildur’s mare to Ansgar and he promised to bring her back to Buttermere. I don’t know why I believed him. It just didn’t occur to me that he might never be able to.

  ***

  When we got back to Kirsten’s hide, the sun was high in the sky. I heard swords singing in the distance. The battle must have started up again but further along the track. I wondered if Ragnar was still alive and quickly pushed the thought away. Kirsten was asleep, the others were resting. Next to Anlaf sat his younger brother Orm with his arm set in a sling. He greeted me with a weak smile. Ragnar’s Norwegian karl lay curled up, clutching his middle. Blood and stomach matter seeped though his fingers. Cerdic th
e Briton sat next to him ready to put a sword in his hand when the time came. Cerdic had a bandage below his eyes. It lay flat against his face.

  ‘I don’t suppose they’ll call me Cerdic Big Nose now,’ he said and tried to smile.

  ‘Cerdic the Brave more like,’ I said.

  ‘I like the sound of that,’ he said.

  ‘Is Ragnar still fighting.’

  ‘He certainly was when I got injured. He and Lothar and about six others made the Saxons wish they’d stayed at home.’

  Thorfinn came across to us. ‘We put the boy, Njal, in the ground,’ he said. ‘The poor girl accepted there was no point bringing him back just to be buried.

  ‘Njal fought well, Sigrid,’ said Anlaf. ‘I saw him shielding Unn the way Hildur used to do. He couldn’t keep up with her though. None of us could.’ Unn looked confused. She had no recollection of the battle.

  ‘I don’t know where Olvir is,’ said Thorfinn.

  ‘He’s over there, helping Brother Ansgar with the wounded.’ Thorfinn slapped his thigh and the roar of his laughter rose towards the mountain tops.

  ‘That monk! That weedy little excuse for a man, is he here? Still barefoot in his sandals? Yes? Oh, he’s one of Odin’s own, isn’t he? Well he would be if ...’ He snorted with mirth and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he turned serious; ‘I’m not finished with this battle, Sigrid. If you’re taking the others back, I know that’s what Ragnar wished but I’d ask to be released from my duty to you and stay.’

  ‘Thorfinn, in this place I am a chieftain, not a wife. Here I do nobody’s bidding but my own.’

  He looked embarrassed but soon found his tongue. ‘There would be no shame in turning back now. We fought well but the battle is lost.’

  ‘So why do you want to continue?’ He sighed then he showed me his hands. They were knotted out of shape like bark on an old oak.

  ‘The rest of me isn’t much better,’ he said. ‘I’m a warrior. I have nothing if my body fails me. Odin knows when next I’ll have the opportunity of a glorious end.’