Shieldmaiden

by Marianne Whiting

  When they were six and seven, my father began teaching my brothers to use proper weapons. Thorstein was a lost cause and was soon set to help with the animals instead. I watched as my father showed Steinar how to use the shield.

  ‘If you raise the axe you must move the shield towards that side or the enemy will be able to stab you.’ They tried again and again. Every time he raised his axe, Steinar moved the shield out of the way and my father tapped him on the unprotected shoulder with his sword.

  ‘You’ve just lost your right arm,’ he would say.

  Father got increasingly impatient and after several failures, threw his sword on the ground and walked away. Steinar stayed and tried to practise on his own. I could see tears running down his cheeks. Thinking I would help, I slid down from my vantage point on the dry stone wall. I picked up my father’s sword with both hands and managed to lift it and let it fall on Steinar’s exposed shoulder. It sliced through his tunic and cut into his flesh. He dropped his axe and shield. I lost my grip on the sword and it hit the ground with a dull thud. We stood together in stunned silence and watched as thick, red blood welled out of the wound and soaked the sleeve of Steinar’s tunic before trickling down his hand and onto the grass.

  ‘You should have moved the shield.’ I said.

  Steinar didn’t answer but, with the full force of his uninjured arm, he planted his fist in my face. We were both bleeding, he from his arm and I from my nose. We hugged each other and cried in unison so loudly the servants in the outlying fields heard us and came running, thinking there had been an attack on the farm. We were both punished. This created a special bond between us and, believe me, I never wanted any ill to befall my brother and to this day I am haunted by the memory of his death and the part I played in that event.

  When my brothers turned twelve and thirteen, my father decided it was time to start searching for wives for them.

  ‘My mind is not set on marriage,’ said Thorstein. He stroked his lyre Enchanter and it sang a sorrowful note.

  ‘Put that down,’ said my father. ‘Don’t play your magic on me. I know what you’re trying to do.’

  Thorstein sighed and put Enchanter on the bench next to him. ‘Father, you know I’m not a farmer. Nor am I a fighter. I will never be a Viking but I still want to see the world outside this valley. I want to make poetry and music about great events. Kings and chieftains pay for entertainment in their halls and for songs about their battles. I can’t steer a plough but with Enchanter I can make a living as a minstrel.’

  ‘A minstrel! As Odin is my witness, no son of mine will be a minstrel.’ My father’s raised voice prompted my mother to speak:

  ‘Nobody denies you play well and people are sometimes greatly affected by your tunes but, while you run the farm, take decisions and give orders to the thralls and freemen, you can still play and give pleasure to your family and visitors. You are the heir to Becklund, Thorstein. Others will steer the plough for you.’

  ‘I can plough,’ said Steinar, ‘and I’d like to marry.’ He was ignored. My father continued to speak to Thorstein.

  ‘The farm prospers. You will take over and after you, your sons and…’

  I sidled out through the door at this point. I had heard it all before and none of it seemed to have anything to do with me. Becklund was the most perfect place and I couldn’t understand why Thorstein didn’t want to stay. It was true he didn’t like to swim in the lake or race horses across the meadow but he was good at tickling trout in the beck and he loved playing with the young animals in spring. No one could calm a frightened mare or train the dogs better than he and yet he wanted to leave. I felt sorry for him because I knew our parents would have their way.

  Thorstein’s bride, Freydis, only needed to listen to Enchanter once before agreeing to the match and she remained loving and faithful to him for the rest of her life.

  Finding a girl willing to marry Steinar was not as easy. He was a tall, good-looking youth but it never took long for his intended brides and their fathers to discover that he had the mind of a child half his age. It was Thorstein and Enchanter who seduced Eahlswith and made her agree to the marriage. Young as I was, I thought it a bad idea for Thorstein to use his music to woo a woman on behalf of his brother. I was not surprised when, after less than a year, Eahlswith left Steinar and returned to her parents. Many excuses were made for why the marriage failed.

  ‘It’s never good to marry among the Anglians,’ said my mother. ‘They have different ways of doing things. The cloth she wove was full of snags almost as bad as Sigrid’s.’

  ‘She used too much salt on the herring, wasteful,’ father grumbled. ‘And her religion. Being baptised doesn’t mean you can just forget about the old gods. I was baptised a couple of times, once when I fought with Rollo along the river Seine and...’ mother cleared her throat and father stopped mid-sentence.

  Steinar didn’t listen to them anyway. He got his message from the giggles and taunts of the serving-wenches and the sneers of the thrall-girls and he knew there was no prospect of another bride.

  This may not have mattered much if Thorstein and Freydis had delivered the grandsons my father so longed for. In the end, of course, that didn’t matter either since Becklund was burnt to the ground, my father beheaded and my mother led away by a Viking, called Hakon, who wore a helmet inlaid with gold and who called my father brother-in-law and then ordered him killed.

  It all happened a long time ago and I have seen many deaths since then but sometimes I have dreams when I see my father’s grey hair in the brown mud, his cheek resting against the wooden walkway, while blood flows from his severed neck. And in my dream I hear myself scream like I did then, until someone struck me and allowed me to find brief solace in oblivion.

  I woke up cradled in a pair of soft arms. A voice made soothing noises in my ear. There was a strong smell of burning. I looked up to see the red, swollen eyes of Ingefried, my mother’s serving woman. I tried to turn towards where my father’s mutilated body lay but Ingefried held my head and made me look the other way. She whispered:

  ‘You must not say anything, Sigrid. Just stay quiet. Whatever happens, be quiet.’

  My mother’s face was the colour of wood-ash. I wanted to run to her, to embrace her, to comfort and be comforted by her. But she didn’t look at me. With her back straight and her head held high, she spoke to the chieftain.

  ‘I don’t know what her errand is, Hakon,’ she said, ‘this is the wife of one of our neighbours, Hauk of Swanhill. Hauk is not part of your quarrel with Swein, you must let his wife go. I shall send Ingefried with her to keep her company.’ Her words twisted like a dagger in my breast. I was Hauk’s wife and no longer a daughter to her. Was my disobedience so bad, my shame so deep I had to be denied?

  I was helped to my feet and began the long, sorrowful walk back to Swanhill. Ingefried led me by the hand, slowly, coaxing me along. I closed my mind and put one trembling foot in front of the other. We came across the boy Olvir guarding Thorfinn’s horse. He turned and followed us without a word. That night we huddled together like frightened animals. I kept dropping off to sleep and then waking up, my screams smothered by Ingefried’s apron. The boy sobbed quietly on and off. The morning arrived heavy with dew and we got up and continued trudging along the track leading up through Mosedale.

  The sun hid behind heavy clouds and a drizzling rain soaked through my clothes. The acrid smell of burning buildings followed me like a ghost of loss and despair. The moment of my father’s death appeared like an evil vision at every turn on that heavy journey. I was shaking. One moment hot and soaked in sweat, I threw off my shawl, turned my face to the sky and let my tears mingle with the rain. Then I shivered with cold and tried to hug some warmth from my wet clothes. I thought I saw blood everywhere, blood from my father, from Jarl Swein and from the dead friends and servants I had seen but also blood from the mortal wound I had dealt Thorfinn. My mother’s words of rejection throbbed inside my aching head and I began hearing
other voices too, father telling me I had brought disgrace on the family, the chieftain calling him a traitor, Ragnar making me promise to bury Thorfinn and, through them all, Ingefried whispering to me to keep going.

  At the head of the valley I realised we would soon pass the place where I had felled Thorfinn. I thought of Ragnar. He would trust me to do the right thing. I had promised. My head buzzed. What is the right thing? How can I bury him? There’s no ale to serve… And I’m so tired…. My legs … shaking… The heat… I have nothing to dig with… Is a grave the right thing? But how can I light a funeral pyre on the wet muddy ground… I can’t go on… Where will I find dry fire wood? And he’s so large… Masses and masses of logs needed for that large body… he’s so large… so…

  ‘Sigrid, hush child! Stop mumbling. Sit and rest a moment.’

  ‘But we must bury him!’

  ‘Your father will be buried. My mistress will make sure her husband gets the funeral he is entitled to. Hakon Haraldson will not refuse her that.’ My legs gave way and I sat down on the muddy path. ‘Not my father, not him, not him…’

  From far away, I heard Ingefried tell the boy to take the horse to Floutern Tarn and wait for us there. I tried to speak, I tried to move but I was floating in a dark cloud which filled my mouth with ash and tied my limbs to the ground.

  I came to with Ingefried rubbing my gums with a bitter herb.

  ‘Uuugh!’ I sat up spitting to get rid of the vile taste. She handed me a twig.

  ‘Here, chew this. It will get rid of the taste of the wormwood. The tarn isn’t far now. You can drink there.’

  Still spitting, I let Ingefried lead me by the hand. We emerged from Mosedale and the ground became soft and boggy. The hoofmarks left by Jarl Swein and his warriors had filled up with water but were still visible. They led to the place where I had killed Thorfinn. There was no doubt about where it was. The blood had washed away but I knew it was the right place. I ran in circles. I looked behind rocks and among the tufts of grass. Ingefried shouted at me to stop. I tried to make her understand that I must find the body.

  ‘Sigrid, there’s no body here. Your father’s body is at Becklund. Calm yourself.’ She forced some more wormwood between my lips and dragged me away. We rested by the little tarn and I regained enough of my senses to realise I must not speak of Thorfinn. Somehow this seemed to make all talk unnecessary and I found I couldn’t say anything at all.

  We arrived at Swanhill as the shadows were lengthening. A group of thralls, ploughing the outlying fields, spotted us and supported our exhausted bodies the last furlongs. The karl leading the ploughingparty spoke with Ingefried before sending a man running ahead to warn the household of our arrival.

  Hauk was in the yard and came towards us. When he saw the state we were in, he picked me up and carried me the last steps to the hall.

  ‘Sigrid,’ he whispered, ‘Sigrid, this is a terrible day. Rest and then we shall speak.’ He placed me on the bed and covered me with blankets and soft cured skins. Someone brought warm ale and my mind escaped to a dark, soothing place of dreamless safety.

  The sun rose and set on my sleep many times. When I awoke I was insensible to the voices and actions of others. My mother-in-law took the keys and ran the household while I stayed in bed. I lay with my face towards the wall, dry-eyed and wordless. Ingefried fed me gruel sweetened with honey and I swallowed because it was less effort than to refuse. I heard her and Thorgunn working together. I knew they were talking about me but had no interest in what they were saying. Then one day the fire was lit in the bathhouse. I was carried out, helped to wash and left in the steamy heat, alone. I lay on the smooth, warm wooden bench. My body felt clean, fresh and warm but this seemed only to intensify the agony in my mind. I thought of my murdered father, my mother who had denied me and my love who had left me. My tears were unfrozen and I cried myself to sleep.

  I woke when I felt the cold draught from the door opening and closing. My head heavy with the heat and my vision blurred by the steam, I accepted the horn of sweet mead and drank it down. Someone lay down next to me. In my confused state I thought it was Ragnar and I responded with passion to Hauk’s embrace.

  The night after Hauk had come to me in the sauna I retired early and closed the curtains around the bed. I lay there listening to sounds of the household preparing for the night. The table was cleared. Bedding was spread on the benches and on the floor. Soon I could hear snoring from the karls and servants sleeping in the hall. Then the bed-curtains parted and Hauk climbed in next to me. I turned my back to him and pretended to be asleep. His hand slid along my body under the covers. I went stiff.

  ‘What’s now, Sigrid? You were frisky enough in the sauna yesterday. Does it take hot steam and mead to get you in the mood every time?’ Hauk spoke softly but couldn’t disguise the satisfaction in his voice. His hand gripped my shoulder and rolled me over onto my back. I kept my eyes shut so I didn’t have to look at him. ‘Now listen, your father is dead, your mother has been abducted and both your brothers have disappeared. You have no one but me.’

  I still had no voice but, in any case, there was nothing to argue with in his conclusion. I nodded my head once to show I understood. His hand moved across my body. His fingers began stroking me. I tried to push him away and he got angry.

  ‘What’s the matter with you woman? You liked it well enough yesterday. What’s different? I know a man has had you before. Ingefried tells me you were raped. It is better if you help me believe that. Now treat me like a husband.’

  Ingefried knew before I did. ‘Are you unwell, Sigrid? You’re pale and you keep leaving the hearth. I’ve several times had to save your stew from burning.’

  ‘My stomach turns at the smell of cooking. I thought it would pass but it has persisted. Maybe you have a herb to help settle me.’

  She smiled. ‘And has your body given blood the usual way at each moon?’ I hadn’t thought to follow the changing shape of the moon so I didn’t know. ‘No herbs for you my child. In another turn of the moon, we’ll be sure and then we can tell Hauk his first son is on his way.’

  ‘I’m with child? But I…’

  ‘Too soon to say for sure but these are the usual signs.’

  I went limp and had to sit down while Ingefried, beaming, went off on a long tirade about my mother’s pregnancies, miscarriages and childbirths. I didn’t listen. My thoughts were so crowded they seemed to be fighting inside my head. A baby. What was I to do? Ingefried brought me back when she stopped and put her face close to mine. Her demeanour changed, gone was the sparkle. Her eyes stared with the light blue of a cold winter’s day and her lips trembled.

  ‘When did you first know a man, Sigrid? Who, apart from Hauk, could be the father? I told him you’d been raped by one of Hakon’s men but I know I told a lie. So how long ago did you lose your maidenhood? Can we make Hauk believe the child is his? Oh Sigrid, bastard or not, my Gudrun’s grandchild must not be put to death.’

  6.

  I was the cause of Hauk’s death. I regret the way it happened. He wasn’t a bad man, my father was right about that, and I brought him much humiliation and little comfort.

  I was expecting Ragnar’s child. It was a great happiness to me but also dread. Hauk would not be able to accept a bastard without losing the respect of all those who were already laughing about his reluctant bride. Ingefried was beset with worry.

  ‘Don’t tell Hauk just yet,’ she said, ‘if you wait you can make out the child is his. Then we can say it was early. Don’t annoy Hauk. You must keep him thinking it is his child.’

  I waited another turn of the moon then I spoke to Hauk. I went to meet him as he led his men back from the day’s work. They had been clearing a new field and their weariness showed in their slow step. I greeted them, smiled at Hauk and, for the sake of my unborn child, I took his hand and led him to one side. I could hear the men snigger when they thought themselves out of earshot. This was part of my plan, it wasn’t just Hauk who had to believe in
my deception, they must all think I had turned into a dutiful wife.

  ‘Hauk, husband, I’m carrying your child. If Freya wills, you shall have a son.’ At first he looked at me without expression. Then the tired furrows on his brow lifted and he laughed out loud as he picked me up and swung me round and round until I had to plead with him to be careful lest he dropped me.

  ‘Sigrid, I would never let you fall.’ He held me then, tenderly, my head resting on his chest. He stroked my hair and kissed my brow and in a voice hoarse with feeling, he whispered of how he had loved me since he first saw me at the Thingmound many years before.

  ‘Sigrid, my little wife, all will be well now, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Hauk.’ I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

  Hauk stopped spending time with Lydia. I persuaded him to order her to do the same work as the other thralls. I smiled when I heard her shrill protest. It was a cheap victory and cost me dear later on. Hauk was attentive to me when, over the next few months, I struggled with my huge body. I kept pretending I was happy but sometimes my sorrow broke through. I blamed the pregnancy, I blamed grief for my family and for a time Hauk was persuaded. But when I asked that, if the baby were a boy, he should be named after my father, Hauk shook his head.

  ‘Kveldulf was a good man but names carry meanings.’ I knew what he meant; wolf of the evening – a shape-shifter. My meekness melted away.

  ‘What are you saying about my father, Hauk?’ He remained silent and would not meet my eyes. ‘My father was a brave man, a warrior, a clever man. My…your son could do worse than be named after him.’ He turned then and walked off. Later his mother came to sit with me with her spinning.