To Save a Kingdom

by Marianne Whiting

  ‘Hrodney and your daughter?’

  ‘Hrodney knows. We said goodbye. Anlaf will look after his mother and I thought maybe you’d look kindly on her too, and the child, of course.’ I felt stunned but nodded and we exchanged a last warrior handshake. I looked at Varg, unconscious from whatever brew Kirsten had made him drink. I looked at Anlaf and Ylva, both trying to get up, holding on to their weapons for support.

  ‘Stay put, you two,’ I said. ‘I need you to help Kirsten with Varg and I charge you with the safety of my son.’ I looked at Unn. Her eyes burned with the desire for revenge.

  Kveldulf had listened to all this with trembling lips. I beckoned for him to come.

  ‘My son,’ I said, deliberately speaking in a formal voice. ‘I must go. You have a responsibility to live and grow up to be the warrior I, your father, grandfather and great-grandfather would be proud of.’ I should have said more but I couldn’t. My son made it easy for me to go. He knelt and put my hand to his forehead. The he stood up and allowed me to embrace him. I managed to mount North Wind and turn him round before I felt my cheeks wet with tears.

  Thorfinn and Unn followed me and together we rode in the direction of the battle din. I knew that’s where Ragnar would be. Maybe this was to be the end. Only the Norns know the content of the warp and weft they weave for us but of one thing I was sure: my destiny was not to run from the field while the battle was still going on. It meant going against Ragnar’s wishes but so be it. What mattered was to acquit myself in such a way that I would be remembered as a true Shieldmaiden, a woman warrior of courage and honour.

  ***

  Wherever I looked I saw the evidence of Dunmail’s demise. His warriors lay dead or mortally wounded, their horses grazing or just standing waiting for the calls that would never come. We passed the warriors with but a cursory glance. Their moans, their cries did not detain us. The Norns had woven their destinies, it was no concern of ours. Closer and closer came the ringing of axes and swords and the voices of warriors challenging, howling, raging. At the end of Leathes Water we passed the citadel of Helwellyn, Dunmail’s fortress. The fight there was over. A banner I didn’t know had replaced the one belonging to Dunmail. Only a few soldiers were visible above the grey granite walls.

  Unn saw him first.

  ‘Sigrid, Thorfinn, look! It’s that prince.’ I was surprised that she’d recognised Prince Rhun from the ragged scraps of clothing that still stuck to the mutilated body.

  ‘He wasn’t much of an ally,’ said Thorfinn, ‘but he wasn’t so bad he deserved that. At least he didn’t run away this time. You know, girl,’ he patted Unn’s shoulder, ‘it doesn’t really matter what they do to your body once you’re gone. As long as you hold on to your sword, the Valkyries will find you. What’s left is nothing, your reputation is everything, what people remember about you. That’s the thing.’

  I looked at Prince Rhun’s defiled corpse and remembered his eager face as he praised his homeland. I hoped somebody there would sing a lament praising his efforts to save his brother’s crown.

  ***

  We met a small group of Norse warriors turning back from the fight.

  ‘Save yourselves,’ they said. ‘The battle is lost. There’s nothing left to fight for. Go home.’

  But on we went. The track led upwards and now we could see them. Dunmail’s forces, at the top of the pass, fighting a rearguard battle against the pursuing Saxons. Man to man they fought spread out along the track and on to the hillsides.

  ‘No sign of the old teat-suckler himself,’ said Thorfinn. ‘They’ve all died so he can keep running.’

  We neared the pass and climbed up the slope above it to dismount and leave our horses at a distance from the fighting. As we set off down the hill, a small group of warriors came towards us. They were running. One of them wore a splendid cloak over embroidered garments. His helmet glistened with inlaid patterns of gold. He carried a crown in his hand.

  ‘Odin’s balls!’ said Thorfinn. ‘Behold the heroic King of Cumbria.’ Dunmail waved at us to sheathe our swords. He collapsed at our feet, his breath wheezing its way out of his throat. One of his men spoke for him.

  ‘It was a trap. King Edmund came at us from Grasmere way, the Scots and Welsh still at our heels. Caught. We are spent. All is lost. The only thing now is to save the crown, the magic crown of Cumbria.’ Thorfinn looked at the crumpled figure in front of us and laughed.

  ‘Give me his helmet and cloak,’ he said. ‘I shall be king for a day, or for some hours, at least. Save the crown so it may one day be worn by someone worthier than that.’ He pointed to the defeated Dunmail.

  ***

  Three of his men dragged Dunmail, still clutching the crown he was too frightened to wear, up the slope towards the pass to Grisedale. The remaining eight came with us and formed a guard around Thorfinn.

  ‘Sigrid, don’t spoil my disguise,’ said Thorfinn. ‘Dunmail had no women warriors. Stay out of this. Live and tell the tale of how I became King of Cumbria.’ He laughed like a storm wind as he strode downhill to complete the weft of his life.

  His laughter seemed to frighten his enemies more than his battleaxe. Dunmail’s men showed more courage than their king had and, one by one, they fell defending Thorfinn. He stood alone at the end, swinging his axe. He chanted the battle cry of the Cumbrian Norse: ‘Odin! You all belong to Odin’. If any of his assailants found this strange, it didn’t matter, since none of them lived to tell the tale. It took many blows and cuts to bring Thorfinn to his knees and then he still hewed around him and fought the last two Saxons. One had his legs cut off from underneath him the other took a blow to his groin which made him utter a scream to wake the spirits of the mountains. Thorfinn dealt one last blow and all his enemies lay dead around him.

  ‘Come,’ I said to Unn and we ran to the prone body of my old comrade in arms. He was still conscious, although life drained from him though many wounds. I took his hands and made sure they gripped the axe firmly. He grunted and opened his eyes. It dawned on me that I would never see him again. After all these years, after all we’d been through together, this was the end. If I didn’t speak now, there would never be another time.

  ‘Thorfinn,’ I said. ‘I always meant to tell you but I couldn’t. I must say it now. That time at Floutern Tarn, the wound to your throat ...’

  ‘Aaahha,’ he breathed out and it sounded like laughter. ‘It was you, I thought so.’ He had a deep cut to his left cheek but on the right side his mouth smiled. ‘No shame ... none ... to be wounded by ... King Harald’s granddaughter.’ He closed his eyes. I stayed with him until he breathed no more. I would miss him but I took comfort in the thought that he died the death of a true warrior king. Neither of us would have expected that.

  Unn and I made our way downhill. She still had not avenged Hildur and I couldn’t let go of the thought that Ragnar was still out there somewhere and, whatever we’d agreed, I couldn’t just up and leave without him.

  The battle had lost its spark. Groups of Saxons, Scots and Welsh sat resting or searched around for bodies to loot. They were either too tired or too busy to bother with us. The few of Dunmail’s men who still lived could be seen running for shelter. Those still fighting were striving for honourable deaths rather than victory. I didn’t see any of the Cumbrian Norse.

  We descended the slope and reached the track. In the near distance we heard the clash of sword upon sword and set off towards the sound. Then I saw him. Ragnar was beset by four Saxons, holding them back but giving ground and soon with no more ground to give. I sensed Unn beside me but I saw one thing only: Ragnar. From somewhere inside me rose a sound furious enough to rent the skies and shake the earth. My feet had wings as I lunged at the Saxon nearest Ragnar. He was taken by surprise and Dragonclaw pierced his neck before he had time to see who it was that sealed his destiny. Ragnar, making the most of my sudden appearance, slashed the arm off a distracted attacker. I skewered a third and then I watched Unn finish off the fourth.


  ‘I thought I told you to go home and look after the children,’ said Ragnar. Then he passed out.

  ***

  Among the bodies around Ragnar, I recognised only two of his men. The rest were Saxons and Scots. Lothar was there. He was alive but bleeding from a cut to his chest. Unn and I carried him to shelter behind a boulder. His wound looked deep and dirty, he needed Kirsten, not me. So did Ragnar. He had several cuts to his arms and legs and his mail shirt was torn on one shoulder, the metal smeared with dried blood. I removed his helmet. That made him come to and I saw his face pale and drawn. He trembled with fatigue and lay slumped on the ground.

  ‘We must get you two to Kirsten,’ I said. He nodded.

  ‘Horses?’ I looked around. I had no idea where we’d left North Wind and the other mounts. I put two fingers to my lips and whistled. Maybe it was too far for North Wind to hear. I tried again. No response. I nodded to Unn.

  ‘We’ll find them. Let’s go.’

  ***

  We tried to retrace our steps. It was overcast and getting dark. Fires appeared as far as I could see along the track in both directions and up the hills. Among the cries and moans of the wounded, I heard exhausted warriors snoring or talking in subdued voices. Some who still had the strength had joined the locals in prowling around searching for loot. I tied my hair back and told Unn to do the same so we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. Then we picked our way between bodies and rocks. I whistled at intervals but there was no response from North Wind. I tried to figure out where we had dismounted. We continued uphill. Maybe if we found Thorfinn’s body I could work it out from there. Unsure of the direction, I looked around for signs of the fighting and of the cloak Thorfinn had worn.

  We stopped. Five torches approached up the slope. There were no hiding places here. Hoping the men with torches would not be able to see much beyond their light I slowly crouched down and pulled Unn with me. I needn’t have worried. The search party were not interested in anyone still alive.

  ‘It was over here,’ said a voice with a Welsh accent. ‘It must be him. I couldn’t carry him on my own or I would have brought him.’

  ‘If it’s him you’ll get your reward anyway,’ said a Saxon. I could see the light reflected in his helmet and a large brooch pinned to his cloak. With a jolt I realised that they were looking for Thorfinn. We stayed very still and they passed us at a safe distance. Soon I heard their excited voices and I knew they had found the ‘King of Cumbria’. They came towards us again. I just had to know what would happen when they found out it wasn’t Dunmail. They made a lot of noise carrying Thorfinn’s body. They wouldn’t be looking anywhere except where they put their feet. I nudged Unn and we carefully followed in their wake.

  They carried him to where a splendid canopy had been set up. The canopy was lit by torches. King Edmund, King Malcolm and Lord Hywel Dda sat on folding chairs round a brazier speaking together and sipping from silver cups. Their banners hung suspended from the canopy and their bodyguards stood facing the crowd that had assembled. A small distance apart from them sat Dunmail’s wife and their two sons together with a couple of her serving women. Thorfinn’s body was dumped at the feet of the three victors. Edmund called Dunmail’s wife over. She looked down then she raised her head and laughed.

  ‘He’s safe from you now,’ she shouted. ‘You won’t be able to get at him now. And the sacred crown is safe too. You’ll never be king of Cumbria, never.’ She knelt down and folded the cloak over Thorfinn’s chest. Her hands busied themselves by his throat. I almost giggled when I realised that she was tucking his Mjölnir-amulet away under his tunic. I thought how Thorfinn would have liked the joke of it all. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him roar his approval from the top of the hills. The Queen rose and let out a wild scream. She beat her fists against her chest. She tore at her veil and let her hair tumble lose. Then she subsided into desolate wailing. One of her women led her back to her chair. Behind Edmund’s back she gathered her sons to her and whispered something to them. At that moment she seemed perfectly calm again.

  ‘The crown,’ said Edmund and turned to her. ‘Where is the crown?’ She shook her head. Edmund grabbed the elder of the two sons, a boy of about twelve, by the throat. He cried out in surprise at the rough treatment. I realised that he’d probably met Edmund before and expected to be treated with the respect usually afforded one prince by another. More fool you, I thought as I remembered the mutilated body of Prince Rhun. But the young Prince regained his composure and stood silent with Edmund’s fingers still round his throat. Edmund looked at the Queen.

  ‘The crown,’ he said. She remained silent. He let go of the boy.

  The younger of the two sons was no older than Kveldulf and was unlikely to have any information to impart. That didn’t stop Edmund. He seized the boy and shook him. The boy cried and Edmund dropped him with a distasteful look on his face. The mother looked ready to faint but stayed silent.

  ‘I shall have the crown,’ said Edmund. He pointed to one of his men who brought a seaxe and put it onto the brazier.

  ‘The crown.’ said Edmund, his voice made of ice and steel. Mother and sons stayed silent except for the younger one’s loud, frightened sobs. Edmund pulled out the seaxe and brandished it in front of the older boy. Tears ran down his cheeks, he trembled but he didn’t flinch or speak. Edmund looked at the mother. Her eyes stared, dark from the pallor of her face. She shook her fist at Edmund and cursed him but she told him nothing.

  Two guards grabbed hold of the boy. Edmund put the white hot blade to his eyes. A piercing shriek then silence. The onlookers gasped for air. It made a sound like a sudden gust of wind. Behind me someone threw up. A man next to me sobbed. But nobody moved, nobody spoke. The guards dragged the boy’s unconscious body over to his mother. Her lips opened and closed like a fish dying when pulled out of water. One of her serving women had passed out, the other tore her veil into strips and began putting a bandage on the blinded youngster.

  Edmund grabbed the younger son from his mother’s arms. The boy’s crying was the only sound in the darkness.

  ‘The crown,’ said Edmund. The Queen stayed silent. They stared at each other. The queen’s lips moved but nobody except Edmund could hear what she said. He stood quietly for a moment then Edmund took the seaxe and blinded the second of Dunmail’s sons. As the boy’s scream tore through the night, my eyes played tricks on me and I saw Kveldulf instead of Dunmail’s son. My knees gave way. Unn put her arm round me for support.

  ‘How could he?’ she whispered, ‘children, how could he, how could he?’

  ***

  There is no accounting for the workings of the minds of kings and princes. After blinding his two sons, Edmund decided to give Dunmail a royal burial. When he gave orders for the body to be undressed and washed, the Queen let out a scream that cut through the air like a sharpened knife.

  Then she said in a voice that carried her words up the hill sides so those of her husband’s warriors that might still be hiding there would hear as well, ‘You shall not touch him! He shall not be defiled!’

  She approached King Malcolm and spoke to him with great urgency. Her dark eyes stared from a face the colour of a sun-bleached shroud. She trembled, supported by two of her ladies, but she held her head high. I reflected that if Dunmail had been but half as courageous as his wife this war might have seen a different outcome.

  Malcolm spoke to Edmund and the Queen got her way. Edmund gave safe passage to Dunmail’s men and a pitiful few of them emerged to bury their King. The first one to arrive stopped abruptly when he saw the body. He looked at the Queen. She stared him down. He nodded and those who followed him all behaved as if Thorfinn was indeed their King. They managed to dig a grave in the stony ground. Thorfinn’s body was wrapped in a purple cloak made of finest velvet and lined with ermine. The Queen kissed his ravaged face and covered it with a kerchief embroidered in gold thread. Edmund’s priest chanted one of the tuneless songs the Christians are so fond of. The Quee
n got to her knees and prayed. The grave was filled in and Dunmail’s men built a cairn to mark the place.

  That’s when the poor ‘widow’ fainted and this time there was no play-acting. Edmund looked at her prostrate body and took a step back. It was Malcolm the King of Scots who lifted the senseless Queen up and held a beaker to her lips. He helped her on to a cart and summoned her women. Her sons, their heads swathed in bandages, were led to sit next to her. Surrounded by the scraps that were left of Dunmail’s army they were sent on their way. In my mind I saluted her and, much as I disliked the man, hoped that she would be reunited with the husband she had sacrificed so much for. Or was it not for him but for the crown? Was it for the crown of Cumbria and the magic enshrined in it that she had seen her sons blinded and a Norse warrior buried in her husband’s place? Could a crown, could a kingdom be worth that?

  ***

  Unn and I wandered in silence. The sky had cleared and a faint moon battled against the dark. We stumbled one wary step at a time up the slope. After a while, I whistled. We continued a bit further and I whistled at intervals. Then at last, a reply, North Wind’s high-pitched neighing. Hooves crunched against scree. Then more hooves and our three horses appeared like shadows in the faint light. Eventually we got down to the path and led the horses between bodies and rocks. One looter soon regretted showing too much interest in us. Unn wiped his blood from her sword without a word. When I spotted a clump of trees I decided we should rest until morning. Bodies lay there on the ground. Some were alive but we were too tired to care. I slept and my dreams were steeped in blood. I woke a couple of times to the sound of Unn’s muffled weeping. We woke with dawn. Unn was pale under the dirt on her face but managed something resembling a smile. We went to find the horses. Someone must have tried to take North Wind for I saw a badly trampled body only a few yards away from him. He ambled across to me and rubbed his muzzle against my cheek. Unn laughed. It sounded both strange and comforting in the middle of the desolation.