Shieldmaiden

by Marianne Whiting

  I called the household together and took my place in the high seat. We tended wounds and were refreshed with food and drink. The Scots were after cattle and silver. They had caused much damage but many things were found scattered around the house and yard. I told everyone our wounds would heal and the farm could be repaired. I promised a proper burial for the thrall who had been killed. The fire in the hearth was rekindled and, as the evening closed in, a sense of tired relief spread through the room. My own peace of mind may have been assisted by the valerian in the drink I was given against the pain in my arm.

  Ansgar and Bjarne returned and drove eight cows into the meadow. I nodded in appreciation as Thorfinn told me the news and made sure they had food and had their wounds seen to. At least I think I did. Then Anlaf and Ulf arrived with another seven head of cattle. My head swam with the valerian but I was still in the high seat as I saw them enter in a swirling fog. Two youngsters, one short and stocky with a head of chestnut curls the other tall and lanky, his hair so red it seemed on fire. Their faces flushed, their eyes bright they seemed to float towards me all smiles and swagger. The household shuffled and moved back to let them through. They stopped in front of me, bowed their heads and knelt. Between them they held a bundle made from a tartan rug, tied up with a thong. They undid it and the contents of their makeshift sack spilled out on the floor. Five severed heads came to rest in front of my feet, hair clotted with fresh blood, eyes dull and mouths open as in a last plea for mercy. The room around me began to sway. I gripped the sides of my seat and the pain from my broken arm jolted me back. I tried to focus on Anlaf and Ulf. They were still on their knees, offering me their swords. Only half conscious, I heard Ulf speak for both of them, swearing allegiance to ‘the noble granddaughter of the great King Harald, the brave warrior-maiden of Brunnanburh’ and pledging their services on my forthcoming expedition to Norway. I was at a loss. What should I do? How could I reject them after they had saved my life? But how could I accept their homage with no property from which to make gifts? And how did they know about my dream to go to Norway? The great god Odin took my right hand and guided it. I watched it move, no longer under my control and felt it grip first the hilt of Ulf ’s sword then that of Anlaf ’s. With beaming faces they got to their feet.

  ‘We shall serve you well, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, as Odin is our witness.’

  I think Thorfinn and Beorn took the heads of the Scots. These would be displayed along the track taken by the robbers, to make it clear to anyone else minded to attack the farm that we were no longer an easy target for their raids. I was helped to bed and drifted off into confused sleep where tartan-clad raiders paid me homage while Anlaf and Ulf sailed a dragon-ship up Buttermere calling me to come and lead them into battle.

  The next morning Thorfinn and his companions saddled their horses for the return ride to their farms. Before they left I took Thorfinn to one side. He confirmed that Anlaf and Ulf were now my sworn men. So I had not dreamt it.

  ‘Those two seem to know many things about me, Thorfinn.’ He fiddled with his beard and didn’t meet my eye.

  ‘Oh, now…well… I suppose it’s possible they…um, overheard me composing, you know, some verses about the battle of Brunnanburh. I may even have mentioned you when…’

  ‘When ale loosened your tongue perhaps, Thorfinn.’ I shook his hand. ‘Friend, I shall not forget the service you rendered me yesterday and neither will Aisgerd.’

  I promised Anlaf and Ulf that, when I was ready to make my journey to Norway, I would send for them and the messenger would bring them rings to seal our bond.

  I went alone down to the lake shore. I sat for a long time watching the ripples on the water, considering that I was now a ringgiver, a chieftain. I recalled my father’s words about the responsibilities this carried:

  ‘The men who you can call upon to fight for you have a right to expect gifts and land in return.’ I looked at the ravaged remnants of Buttermere farm. I wondered where I would get the riches to enable me to bestow gifts on my karls.

  17.

  The time after the raid was hard. Hardest of all was to raise the spirits of the household. The raid was the third in the four years since their arrival at Buttermere and many thought it pointless to rebuild only to wait for the next group of marauders. Beorn the Lame was plagued by headaches since the blow he had received during the fighting. Aisgerd spent her time either in bed or sitting by the hearth, with her hands idle in her lap, staring into the fire. Thora and some of the strongest workers took the animals up on the summer pasture. The rest of us struggled to get the fields ready for sowing, cut down enough trees for the repairs and cope with the general work on the farm.

  But, with some help from our neighbours at Rannerdale and Low Kid Crag, we managed. By the time day and night were equal in the autumn, we had the animals safely under cover in a new byre and the gods had rewarded us with a good harvest. Later, when Brother Ansgar held his lonely celebration of Martin mass, we had repaired the broken fences and the house was, once again, warm and comfortable.

  Brother Ansgar was less fervent in preaching Christianity to the household at Buttermere than he’d been at Swanhill. I thought he had finally understood that people resent being told their beliefs are wrong. It turned out his reticence had another reason.

  ‘Sigrid,’ he said one morning when we took our rest after chopping up logs for the fire, ‘I have sinned grievously against the Lord’s commandments. I have no confessor to give me absolution and I fear dying in this sinful state.’

  I failed to recognise a single bad act of Ansgar’s in all the time I had known him. It could perhaps be something he had thought or wished, apparently that counted as well as acts in his religion. The Commandments, I knew, had things about not wanting what belonged to others. But Ansgar had never shown any interest in women or possessions. I sat in confused silence. When he got no response, he continued:

  ‘If you would but return to the true faith, you could hear my confession despite being a lay-person. In extreme circumstances, I’m sure the Lord would allow it.’

  I thought, was this a trap? No, Ansgar was clever but incapable of deception.

  ‘Brother, you know I was converted under duress. I am not a Christian in my heart. I would like to help you but, if it’s true that your God can see into people’s minds, then he will know.’

  He sighed, a long, trembling breath which made me realise how he suffered.

  ‘Oh Sigrid, I cannot carry this any longer. I must unburden myself. When those poor wretches attacked the farm last spring, I tried to talk to them but they have a different tongue, which I do not know. I showed them my cross. I waved it in front of them and that’s when it happened. Dear Lord, I feel such remorse!’

  ‘Ansgar, what happened?’

  He hid his face in his hands and I could only just make out his words.

  ‘One of the raiders tried to take my cross. He grabbed it and wouldn’t let go. I should have turned the other cheek. I should have let him take it. But…’

  ‘But what did you do, Brother? Did you kill him?’ I found it hard not to smile at his distress.

  ‘No, but I hit him with my staff and I felt anger, such anger Sigrid. They spared no one, the buildings were on fire, old people were struck down along with the young. Two of them violated our women, right there on the ground. I was carried by my sinful anger to use my staff as a weapon and I beat them off and I continued to strike around me.’

  ‘But Ansgar, I’m sure your God allows you to save women and to defend those weaker than you from attack.’

  ‘Yes, he does. But he does not condone what I felt.’

  I remembered then Ansgar’s flushed, excited face as he set off to gather the animals after the raid. The prim little scribe from Aethelstan’s court was, indeed, a long way from home.

  ‘What did you feel, Brother?’

  He didn’t answer at once. He sat with his head in his hands. Then he spoke in a hoarse whisper:

  ‘Sig
rid, I felt triumph, I felt joy, more than I’ve ever felt before. I wanted to go on smiting the marauders even after they ran. What if I’d killed one of them, Sigrid? I forgot they are God’s creatures. I wanted them dead. I have broken my vows. I am unworthy of serving the Lord. Bjarne tells me I growled like the Fenris wolf. How can anyone listen to me preaching the love of our Lord after that?’

  ‘No, no you’re wrong about that at least! Remember Swanhill? Have you not noticed how they all treat you differently here? They like you because you work with them and fight for them. What you felt was the battle-fury. We believe the god Thor sends it to us to give us courage. Maybe your god does the same.’

  He thought about this for a long time. His hands, once white and soft with ink-stains on the fingers, now brown and calloused like the rest of us, played with his precious silver cross. Then he sat up straight.

  ‘Of course kings and warriors pray to Our Lord and the Saints for victory and make gifts to churches and monasteries. But I cannot believe …’

  ‘Why not, Ansgar? The battle-fury helps with the pain as well and you took a blow on the head, did you not?’ I saw the furrows of worry leaving his brow.

  ‘So you think maybe the Lord has a purpose for me after all and I have not fallen from His grace.’

  I was pleased to see him smile again but I sighed at the thought of the renewed vigour of his missionary zeal which I sensed would follow.

  A few days after mid-winter a half-score of sheep escaped from the enclosure. I rode with a couple of the dogs up on the fell to look for them. Olvir and Kveldulf wanted to come and since it was a bright day I agreed. Kveldulf rode in front of Olvir on the gelding. He had grown very confident and I heard him chattering to Olvir. He had decided he needed his own dog. This was Thorfinn’s doing. He had promised the lad a puppy from his next litter and Kveldulf was too young to understand that the puppy was not yet born. He made daily enquiries about whether Thorfinn would come that day with his dog. Olvir tried to explain but wasn’t getting far. I just enjoyed listening to them while watching the fells for signs of sheep.

  We found them but the day was fading and I decided to drive them to the shieling and leave them in the enclosure there overnight. We sat resting before our return ride when the peace was broken by the old hound. He snapped out of his sleep and stood up. He sniffed the breeze and a growl rose from the back of his throat. Swift joined in.

  ‘Olvir, take Kveldulf and the dogs inside the hut! Try to keep them quiet.’ I climbed up on the wall and scanned the horizon. Something moved over on High Snockrigg. I strained my eyes to see a rider appearing over the crest of the hill. I leapt down and got my spear and Dragonclaw. The boys ran inside and I kept a look out from behind the wall. Long before I could see clearly, I knew it was him. I walked towards him whispering his name:

  ‘Ragnar, Ragnar…’ When he came within earshot I heard him calling me. I threw my weapons on the ground and ran to him.

  Nothing in my dreams, nothing in my memories were as sweet as that reunion. Ragnar threw himself off his horse and picked me up as if I had no weight at all. He swung me round and round until the sky became the land and we fell on the frozen ground, dizzy and drunk on excitement. I lay on my back laughing and crying. He leant over me and said in a voice filled with wonder:

  ‘Sigrid, my mother tells me I have a son. Is it really true?’

  I nodded and with his face against my neck he whispered my name over and over. I kissed his hair and we held each other hard and close. Then a shriek from near by:

  ‘Siiigriiid!! Let her go, you nithing!’ We sat up to see Olvir come storming down the slope swinging Dragonclaw with both hands.

  Ragnar sprang to his feet and drew his sword. He stepped back and looked down at his small assailant:

  ‘What in Odin’s name is this?’

  I sat up and laughed.

  ‘Olvir, calm yourself ! It’s Ragnar, Kveldulf ’s father, my...’ I hesitated. Ragnar looked at me.

  ‘Husband?’ he said. Olvir straightened up and bristled:

  ‘I’m Olvir. I am Sigrid’s foster-son and I look after her.’

  Ragnar’s mouth twitched as he put down his sword and offered his hand. Olvir, with a sideways glance at me, put down Dragonclaw and let his hand disappear into Ragnar’s.

  I led the way back to the shieling. Olvir walked next to Ragnar.

  ‘She fought in the battle of Brunnanburh, you know.’ His voice was bursting with proprietary pride.

  I went inside, picked up Kveldulf and let the dogs loose. I waited for their excited whining and tail-wagging to stop. Then, with a silent prayer to Freya that Ragnar would accept the child as his, I set Kveldulf down.

  ‘Ragnar this is your son.’

  When he saw the stranger, Kveldulf turned and buried his face in my tunic. Ragnar frowned. A cold shiver made its way down my spine. With trembling hands I picked up Kveldulf and tried to make him look at Ragnar but he hid his face in my shoulder.

  ‘Kveldulf it’s your father. Look at your father.’ It was no good. The child picked up my anxiety and began whimpering. I pleaded with Ragnar. ‘He’s shy. He doesn’t know who you are. He’s too young to understand.’

  Ragnar looked at Kveldulf, a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows.

  ‘I may need some time to get used to this. I don’t know anything about children.’

  ‘Nothing to it,’ said Olvir in his most superior voice. ‘Kveldulf is a very easy child to look after.’

  ‘Olvir, go and fetch Ragnar’s horse.’ I had to get the boy out of the way, in case there was a limit to Ragnar’s patience.

  ‘Aisgerd says he looks like you.’ I pleaded.

  Ragnar’s gaze shifted from our son to me. His features softened into a smile.

  ‘Sigrid, I believe the boy is mine. Don’t fret. But right now I just want to be alone with you.’

  His eyes were still as green as the sea over sand. I relaxed and felt my breathing quicken as my body responded to his look. I swung Kveldulf round to sit on my hip and lifted my face to Ragnar’s. I lost track of time and place as we kissed but was brought back by an angry little voice:

  ‘Here’s the horse. He hadn’t got far.’

  We put Olvir and Kveldulf on the gelding and I rode with them until they were close enough to the farm to continue alone. When I returned to the shieling it was getting dark and Ragnar had lit a fire. He spread his cloak and pulled me down to lie with him on the ground.

  Like once before we stayed all night, and through the broken roof the stars and the moon witnessed our bodies’ pleasure in each other. From time to time we slept but we talked little. There was too much to say and many things were difficult to speak of. A fine drizzle fell towards morning, the sun hid behind clouds and soon the rain increased. The gods were telling us it was time to go home. I became aware of my muddy man’s breeches and coarse woollen tunic. My hair was matted and tousled. Ever since my arrival at Buttermere I had neglected my womanly looks and now I felt embarrassed in front of my lover.

  ‘I would have dressed better…’ I mumbled. Ragnar laughed and hugged me.

  ‘You weren’t exactly a picture last time I saw you either.’

  As he picked up his cloak I noticed the rich fur-lining and now I also saw the fine wool and braiding of his tunic.

  ‘You have done well while you were away?’

  ‘William Longsword was grateful.’

  Most men like nothing better than to describe the honours they gain in battle but Ragnar seemed evasive. I wondered why. I soon found out.

  Olvir had been looking out for us and, when we dismounted, he came running into the yard. He ignored Ragnar and called to me:

  ‘Sigrid, he’s brought women. He’s no better than that Hauk.’ I swung round to face Ragnar. He glared at Olvir then he turned to me with an apologetic look on his face.

  ‘They’re thralls, Sigrid. They were given to me by William Longsword.’

  I turned and ran to the house. Inside, the p
eople were getting ready for the day. Huddled in a corner were five newcomers, three men and two women. One of the women was tall and stronglooking. Her hands showed the evidence of hard work and her face spoke of sorrows. She was no threat to me. Then I noticed the other one. She was young. Her skin was white against her rich dark hair. She wore a green embroidered gown, trimmed with gold ribbon and fur. Round her waist sat a belt made of finest leather with a large silver-buckle and around her neck hung a thick gold chain with many beads and trinkets. My chest tightened as I saw a baby at her breast.

  I bared my teeth in fury. A woman to challenge me for Ragnar’s love. A baby to challenge the rights of my son. I put my hand on Dragonclaw and she slid out of her bed ready and eager. I would spill the blood of the abomination right there in the hall. Ragnar came up behind me and took my arm in a firm grip.

  ‘Sigrid, they are thralls.’

  I wanted to vent my fury on his treacherous face with my fists but he pinned my arms to my sides and held me tight.

  ‘Sigrid, you are my woman,’ he whispered. ‘You are my wife.’

  My eyes filled with angry tears. He really thought that would make it well, did he? He turned me to face him, held me close and continued to whisper softly in my ear. My rage sat like a lump in my throat and I couldn’t speak. I squeezed the handle of Dragonclaw and held my body stiff and unresponsive. Then a blade of clear thought cut through my fury. If I couldn’t kill them, I would get rid of the woman and her hateful brat another way. A high-born, female slave would fetch a good price. Held firmly in the vice of Ragnar’s arms I thought some more. Money would buy a passage to Norway. Maybe Odin had sent the wretch my way to help me towards my goal. I made my decision, relaxed my head onto Ragnar’s chest and took a deep breath before looking up at him.