Shieldmaiden

by Marianne Whiting

  It was like the whole assembled household had held their breath and then let go all at the same time. The furious shouting drowned out Lydia’s plea for mercy. My spirit soared on the wave of human voices. I was glad I had not taken Ansgar’s advice to free the Christian thralls. It meant I could pass judgement on Lydia without reference to the Lawmen. My voice sang with power and determination as I spoke her sentence.

  Lydia was taken out and dragged down to the lake. Her hands were tied behind her back and she was put into one of the small boats. Her last journey was watched by all the people she had lived and worked with at Swanhill. Some had been her friends but that was all in the past. The manner of Ingefried’s death had turned all against her and there were no words of comfort or pleas for mercy on her behalf. She cried the names of her children, Maria, Jesus and Anna. She said the words of her prayers in her own language. Bard took the oars and rowed with steady strokes out into the middle of the lake, where it is at its deepest. Lydia sat slumped between two grim-faced men. She was shaking her head and looking to the sky.

  ‘Cristo,’ she shouted, ‘los niños, los niños!! Jesu Cristo socorro!’ The rest of the household stood on the shore watching, their excited voices mingling with the everyday farmyard sounds. Ansgar stood close behind me, mumbling his prayers. Across the lake Lydia’s cries floated towards us: ‘Maariaaa, Jesuuus, Aannaaa.’ Then her feet were tied, she was lifted over the side and thrown into the water. She surfaced once before she disappeared and the lake was silent.

  Bard returned and came straight up to me. He bent his knee and offered the hilt of his sword. I touched it and thanked him for his service. One by one the others followed. Servants and thralls bent their knees in subjugation. I was mistress of Swanhill. At that moment, Kjeld’s scheming to deprive me of my right seemed no threat at all.

  12.

  It was getting close to the time when the Lawmen would ascend the Thingmound and sit in judgement over wrongdoing and local disputes. Bard approached me one day after the work in the fields was through.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter you are young and inexperienced in the matters of lawsuits, you will not mind if I offer my advice.’

  ‘But it should be a simple matter. Kveldulf inherits Swanhill from his father. I inherit Becklund from mine. What can go wrong?’

  ‘I hear from his freemen that Kjeld is busy gathering supporters for his claim to Swanhill. As the brother, he may be able to argue his right to at least a stake in the farm. It would be as well for you to have some freemen of good standing, or chieftains would be even better, to champion your cause. Your blood-debt to the family of Yngvar Anlafson of Rannerdale can be used against you and you should try to clear it in advance of the Allthing.’

  I heeded Bard’s advice and sent gifts of animals, cloth, fleeces and jewellery to those of my neighbours I thought could be persuaded to support my claim to Swanhill and Becklund. I sent a message to Yngvar Anlafson’s family that I was prepared to pay blood-money and they accepted my offer. To raise money for all this, Bard took some animals to be sold in Cockermouth. I was grateful for the help from my father’s old housekarl and rewarded him with an arm-ring made of twisted strands of silver.

  Two local chieftains, Bjalke Sigtryggson and Helgi Thorkilson sent word that they had fought alongside my father and would champion my cause without fail. Others accepted my gifts but gave no firm undertaking. Only one returned my offerings. I tried to figure out how many supporters Kjeld would have but I didn’t know the area well enough to be able even to guess.

  ‘He is a great leader,’ said Bard. ‘He will be able to call on many to support him.’

  ‘But my cause is just.’ I felt like stamping my foot but Bard shook his head.

  ‘That, Sigrid, will be up to the Lawmen to decide.’

  I sacrificed a heifer to Odin and daubed the rocks and trees in the sacred copse with its blood. I carved the runes for justice on tablets of wood and hung them from the branches of the mighty oak-tree in the middle of the copse. Then I felt I had done what I could and now I must trust to the wisdom of the Lawmen.

  I rode with my freemen, their wives and children, my servants and thralls to the gathering by the Thingmound. Bard appointed some trusted servants to stay behind and defend the farm but even without them we numbered almost thirty. We set up our tents and prepared a fire-pit. The children were given leave to join in the games and competitions. They disappeared for hours, only to reappear when there was food. Kveldulf had grown fond of Olvir and insisted on following him around. They came back exhausted at the end of each day and Kveldulf fell asleep in my arms while Olvir told me about who had won the wrestling, who had tried to cheat at archery and who had claimed the prize for the football game.

  ‘Do you not take part yourself, Olvir?’ I said, thinking he was missing out because he felt he had to look after Kveldulf. He looked away and said in a small voice:

  ‘It’s a bit rough, Sigrid. There’s an awful lot of shouting and people fight and get hurt.’ Then he turned back and looked straight at me. ‘But I’ll have a go if you want me to. I don’t want you to feel ashamed of me.’ I laughed and reassured him I knew no braver man than him and the games were not important.

  ‘I’m quite fast. Maybe I could go in a race. Would you come and watch?’

  The next day I was there as Olvir lined up with the other boys. I had some difficulty keeping Kveldulf out of the way. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t go with Olvir. The race went along a prepared track. Most of the brushwood and bracken had been cleared, leaving a grassy surface, uneven and slippery but still better than the ground of a battlefield. The boys were shouting and laughing, taunting each other and pushing for a good position. Olvir stood to one side looking worried. He was one of the smaller participants and I hoped he wouldn’t take defeat too seriously.

  The starter sounded his horn. One over-eager boy in the front row slipped and fell, pulling three others down with him. The others tried to swerve to avoid them but another couple stumbled over the pile of kicking bodies and crashed to the ground. Those who managed to avoid the melee were slowed down and this gave Olvir, who was far out on the edge of the field, the opportunity to take the lead. I could see he was running too fast and would tire but I was pleased he was there. Then I was distracted for a moment. The boys, who had fallen did not bother to run. They turned on the unlucky lad who had tripped them up and a fight broke out. A crowd gathered and I moved away to avoid them. I was brought back to the race when Kveldulf called out:

  ‘Olvir! Look, Olvir tired.’ My foster-son was now at the back of the group of runners. The track went up a slight hill and he didn’t have the strength to keep up the pace he’d set. The track turned and levelled out. Olvir managed to run along the inside of the bend and caught up with the pack but he was well behind the leaders. Coming back down the slope two boys let their legs run away with them and tumbled down the hill. Olvir managed to run round one and leap over the other. He stayed on his feet and finished in the middle of the pack. Kveldulf squealed with excitement and I set him down so we could both go up to our little hero and congratulate him. Like most of the boys he lay on the grass fighting for breath. When he was able to speak, he said: ‘Next year I’ll win.’

  I couldn’t spend much time watching the games. Each day I sat at the base of the Thingmound and watched the Lawmen take their seats on the rock. The oldest of them was nearing the end of his life. His white beard was like a thin, wispy cloud around his furrowed face. The other, Mord Lambason of Keskadale, was still a vigorous man, capable of work and fighting. He had known my father and I had hopes he would support my claim. As the lawmen recited the laws, I listened with more intent than ever before and I was reassured there was nothing to stop Kveldulf inheriting Swanhill, nor to me taking over Becklund.

  There was much visiting of old friends among the families at the Allthing. Thorgunn and Brita went round with the other freemen’s wives. I took Bard and some others with me and went in search o
f champions in the coming lawsuit. We sought out Bjalke Sigtryggson and Helgi Thorkilson and both stood by their promise of support. They came with me to help persuade others that my cause was just. Now and again I caught sight of Kjeld and his followers. There did seem to be a great many of them.

  I had come prepared with generous amounts of food and drink and now I invited a number of respected chieftains and farmers to share it with me. We put up a large tent made from four sails and supported by sturdy timbers. I had ordered a replica of my father’s shield to be made and this I hung above the entrance to my tent. Tied to my waist under my clothes I wore the letter from Thorstein.

  Thorgunn and Brita served up a great feast. Lawman Mord Lambason of Keskadale agreed to be my guest and I seated him on my right. He spoke of my father and praised his courage but not his wisdom.

  ‘We all wish for friends like your father,’ he said. ‘But to support a blood-brother when your king has denounced him is to bring disaster on yourself and your family. Kveldulf knew that. He was gallant but foolish.’

  I could never see the manner of my father’s death as anything other than a cruel injustice but I couldn’t afford to offend Mord so I kept this to myself. I showed him the letter from Thorstein and he agreed it was legally binding. We parted with friendly words.

  My claims were to be judged the next day. I spent the night outside my tent trying to read my fate in the glowing embers in our fire-pit. I counted the number of firm champions I had and the number of possible supporters. I closed my eyes to picture Kjeld and his entourage. Did he have more than me? Would it matter? I watched the sun rise over the silent field of tents and fires. Kveldulf cried out in his sleep and I went and picked him up. My precious son, I must not fail him.

  There were several lawsuits to be heard that day and it was afternoon before it was my turn. Kjeld rose to speak:

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter has no claim to Swanhill for her son. The boy is a bastard. He is not the child of my brother Hauk Gunnarson of Swanhill.’

  Mord and the other two Lawmen looked at me. I stood as struck by a thunderbolt from Thor’s own hammer. I found my voice and shouted:

  ‘That is a slanderous lie. Hauk sprinkled his son’s head with water. He named him Kveldulf for my father.’

  ‘Did anyone witness Hauk accepting the child as his?’ asked Mord.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Swein Threefingers stepped up.

  ‘This is not a witness, he’s a thrall.’ Kjeld smirked. I looked around at my freemen. None of them had been present.

  ‘Hauk sent word to our neighbours. I appeal to you who remember to say so.’

  Bjalke Sigtryggson and Helgi Thorkelson led a group of my supporters to say they remembered the tidings that Hauk of Swanhill had a son. But Kjeld had more supporters and they all mentioned that Kveldulf, although said to be born early, had been a large, healthy baby and they all thought I had deceived my husband.

  ‘Hauk told me he suspected Sigrid of having cuckolded him.’ Kjeld shouted.

  ‘That’s a lie!’ I was shaking and sweat formed on my brow.

  ‘Not only that but she caused his death.’ Kjeld described how Hauk died before the battle of Brunnanburh. This turned many against me and I lost some of my supporters although not Beorn and Helgi nor their men.

  ‘A man doesn’t need the permission of his wife to go to battle.’ said Beorn. And if he challenged Yngvar, that was his decision too. You can’t blame Sigrid for it.’

  ‘She drove him away with her constant taunts and tales of her father. He felt belittled in his own home.’ Kjeld had turned red in the face and looked ready to attack me. He was told to calm down.

  ‘Does the boy look like Hauk and his family?’ The old Lawman asked. ‘Bring the child here.’ Kveldulf was sent for and arrived, riding on Bard’s broad shoulders. He smiled and laughed and with his curly fair hair and green eyes, it was clear to all that he did not look like Hauk.

  ‘He’s too young,’ I tried. ‘It’s too early to say what he’ll look like.’ The Lawmen deliberated but the mood had turned against me. I stood in front of the mound, looking up at them, feeling very alone. Then they passed judgement.

  ‘Kjeld Gunnarson, we judge you the legal heir to your brother’s farm at Swanhill.’

  Kjeld and his supporters cheered. I screamed:

  ‘You’re naming my son a bastard! It’s wrong! You do me wrong!’

  Mord shook his head.

  ‘It is the law, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. Do not question our judgement, your next claim depends on it.’

  His reproof helped me gather my wits. Bard stood next to me. He whispered:

  ‘You still have Becklund.’ Yes, he was right. Kjeld could not take that away from me. Still shaking, I stated my claim and produced the letter from Thorstein. This was accepted and I began to breathe again.

  ‘But were there not two sons born to Kveldulf Arnvidson?’ asked the older Lawman. ‘Your other brother is your elder and has first claim. Do you have anything from him? Do you know whether he is still alive?’

  I shook my head, unable to speak.

  ‘Does anyone here know?’ Mord looked around. Nobody said anything.

  ‘My brother Steinar Kveldulfson’s marriage was without issue. As his nearest living relative I have the right to look after Becklund until he returns or is proved dead.’ My voice was so hoarse, they couldn’t hear me. I had to repeat my words. The two Lawmen nodded between themselves and I took heart. I would have a home for me and Kveldulf. Then Kjeld stepped forward and spoke:

  ‘All this is no use. The farm was forfeited by Kveldulf Arnvidson when he turned traitor to King Harald and was outlawed. An outlaw cannot own land. There is nothing to inherit.’

  ‘No! No!’ I heard my own desperate scream rise above the shouts of Kjeld’s supporters. ‘My father was not a traitor. Never!’

  But it was to no avail. The Lawmen ruled that my father had broken his oath to King Harald. I appealed to the assembly that King Harald was not the law in Northumbria but the gathered chieftains were mindful that their own authority depended on the allegiance sworn by their followers according to Norse law. They held that any man who failed in the allegiance to his lord was outside that law and had no right to land.

  I was now homeless, bereft of supporters and friends. I was no better than the servants I used to beat.

  Flushed with triumph and leering through his whiskers, Kjeld asked permission to bring up the matter of compensation for the death of Yngvar Anlafson of Rannerdale. I could make no claim for Hauk. I had revenged his death by killing Yngvar. His family were prepared to accept the blood-money I had offered. But money from Swanhill was no longer mine to use. With no home nor means to earn a living, I would not be able to pay the debt. I put my predicament to the Lawmen. I was given one turn of the full moon to pay. There was not a glimmer of sympathy in Mord’s face as he said:

  ‘The law states that, unless you pay within the stated time, the family will have the right to claim a life for a life.’

  Kjeld, flushed with triumph, laughed. Then he said, with a hateful sneer and a look at my son:

  ‘Not just any life. Like for like – a male life.’

  PART FOUR

  RING GIVER

  13.

  When I lost my lawsuits at the Allthing, I had some offers to join the households of well-to-do chieftains. The way their eyes slid over my body made it all too clear what my position would be, a servantwoman at the disposal of her master. I turned them all down.

  I returned to Swanhill only to collect my few belongings. I embraced the tearful Thorgunn and bade farewell to the faithful Bard and the other freemen and thralls. Then I put Kveldulf in front of me on the stallion I had taken from Thorfinn at Mosedale Beck. Olvir rode my little mare, Moonbeam and followed me. Brother Ansgar, had, with the help of the Christian thralls, been hiding out in one of the shielings. When we turned out of the farmstead he rode up on his brown gelding and, without a word, joined us.

  I he
aded for Buttermere. Where else could I go? We took the route past Mosedale Beck. I had not been there since the time I looked for Thorfinn’s corpse and a shiver ran down my spine as we passed the place. We stopped to rest and water the horses. Ansgar sat down next to me.

  ‘The girl said you had to leave and I’d not be safe anymore.’

  ‘Yes, I sent her to tell you. I used you, Brother Ansgar, to get away from Aethelstan and I will try my best to keep you safe until you can return to him.’

  ‘No, no as I keep telling you, Sigrid, the Lord, in his wisdom, will use me for his own purpose. If it is his will that I be a martyr here, then I shall go with pride and…’

  I put my hand on his sleeve.

  ‘Yes Ansgar, but does your God want you to throw away your life by provoking people to anger. Angry people don’t listen. Stop insulting the Aesirs and you’ll have a much easier time. Also, you should understand that many more would listen to you if you didn’t insist they abandon their own gods.’

  ‘But Sigrid, child, have you not heard me. I keep telling you, there is only one God. You have to deny all your heathen idols and false gods. I must bring that message to the people here. You were the means by which the Lord brought me here. He surely must have a purpose for you too in his service.’

  I had to admire his persistence at the same time as I despaired of his failure to learn from his mistakes. But it was my actions which had brought him to dangers he didn’t even seem to recognise. I had a duty to keep him safe until he could return to court.

  The low lying stretch of land between Crummockwater and Buttermere was part under water, which slowed our progress. Our approach attracted the attention of the farm-dogs, who started up a tired-sounding chorus of barking and howling. People assembled by the gate to the enclosed yard. Even from a distance, I could see that the gate hung loose and the wall had crumbled in several places. As I came closer it became clear that the farm had suffered great damage which had not been repaired. Part of the roof on the hall was burnt, the blackened rafters stood outlined against the sky. A bedraggledlooking group of people received me. A tall man limped in front and bade us welcome. His name was Beorn and he remembered me from the visit to Becklund.