‘Speak it.’ Ragnar bent his knee. He spoke clearly but his voice trembled with emotion.
‘I have no use of riches or even land. All I want is the woman sitting next to you for my wife.’
‘The audacity!’ my mother said under her breath but I though I heard a note of admiration in her voice.
The rest of the people in the hall cheered and clapped, especially the women and I’m sure I saw several of the maids dry their eyes on their aprons. The King looked at me. Over his shoulder I saw the Jarl’s wife nod and smile.
‘Please, Uncle,’ I managed to whisper. Hakon nodded. He looked relieved.
‘Then so be it. I shall tell the priest to celebrate mass for you and to hear your vows.’
A Christian wedding was not what I’d had in mind but the King made it quite clear it was that or nothing. Ragnar rode off with Thorfinn to unearth the silver he had buried for safe keeping and my mother and uncle each accepted their share of the bridegeld. My mother gave most of her share back to me for my dowry.
‘I don’t need it,’ she said, ‘and I want to know you’ll have the means to look after yourself and the children.’
‘But you have accepted the bridegeld, haven’t you? Please say you accept Ragnar as my husband.’
She did not answer and she had no smile for me when she helped me put on my best clothes and dress my hair with meadowflowers for the marriage ceremony. Then she spotted my Thor’s hammer-amulet.
‘You cannot enter the house of God wearing that!’
‘It won’t show. I’ll wear it under my dress.’
‘No. Just this once, please do as I say. I’m not asking you to throw it away.’ I submitted and she removed it from round my neck. She turned it over in her hands. ‘Where did you get it from?’
‘Father.’
Her eyes filled with tears and her hands shook. I took the amulet from her.
‘We should be friends on this day, Mother.’ She nodded.
‘Let me put it somewhere safe for you.’
‘No.’ I went to the door and called Olvir. ‘I want you to look after this for me until after the ceremony. You’d better wear it under your tunic. I’ll get a ribbon.’
‘No need. It can hang next to mine.’
‘What? Do you have a hammer-amulet of your own?’
He nodded and pulled a small amulet worked in silver from under his shirt.
‘I was going to show it to you but so many things have happened. Ragnar gave it to me.’ He blushed and grinned. ‘He said I’m his son and never mind the “foster”.’
‘Ragnar said that?’
‘Yes, when I told him about Harald. He was so pleased, you see.’
He looked so proud and happy I had to hug him.
I rode a white horse with leaves and flowers on its bridle. In front walked two pipers playing a joyful tune. Around me walked my children, my mother and all the women of Lade. Even the Jarl’s wife did me the honour of accompanying my bridal train. They all sang as we came down the slope to Nidaros. A simple wooden building served as a church until Hakon’s plans for something grander could be put into being. Hakon met us by the gate. We entered and my eyes watered against the smoke from the incense. The strong smell, after the fresh air outside, made me feel nauseous and I hoped against hope that the ceremony would be brief. Hakon led me between rows of guests up to the large table where Ragnar and the priest waited, their faces set in scowls of mutual dislike. Hakon placed my hand in Ragnar’s and stepped aside. We stood hand-inhand and looked at each other. Ragnar winked and said in a low voice:
‘So here we are at last, my little shieldmaiden. I see they took your weapons off you as well. Odin knows how we are supposed to defend ourselves against this ferocious priest.’ I bit my lip to stem my laughter. The priest cleared his throat and glared at us but all through the ceremony we kept looking at each other and giggling behind our hands. The priest said prayers for us and we exchanged vows. That is to say Ragnar had to take an oath for himself whereas Hakon spoke for me. I’ve always maintained that means I’m not bound by some of the more extravagant promises he made on my behalf.
Then the priest and his two helpers sang some of their tuneless, morose chants which seem to last for ever. Behind us the guests were made to kneel and get up several times. I could hear some of them grumbling under their breath. Then, at last, the drawn-out mass was over. Ragnar heaved a sigh of relief and under the guise of a kiss whispered to me:
‘By Frigga’s hair when we get back home we shall celebrate such a bride-ale as people will remember for generations to come.’ Then he gathered me in his arms and carried me through the throng of well-wishers out through the door towards the meadow where our horses stood ready saddled.
‘But the feast!’ I cried. ‘We can’t just leave!’
I struggled to get down and the housekarls, led by Thorfinn, called out bawdy remarks involving rutting stags and reluctant does. Ragnar laughed and swung me over his shoulder, every inch the warrior claiming his prize. And who was I to object? He was after all my hero and always had been.
28.
In accordance with Hakon’s wish, we prepared to return to Northumbria. I pointed out to Hakon we had no place of our own to return to.
‘Your parents’ farm, wherever it was, what about that?’
I choked on a wave of anger. He looked genuinely puzzled, as if he had never been there, never burnt it, never killed my father. I am proud of the way I managed to control my emotions and, without going into detail about his part in it all, I explained how I had lost Becklund.
‘It is a fair place, Uncle. There’s a beck with sweet water, a lake with pike, trout and other fish, the grazing is good and deer roam the woods. Nothing would make me happier than to see my children grow up there.’
He looked over to where Olvir and Kveldulf threw sticks for Striker to fetch. Then he looked at Harald sitting on my hip. He stretched out a finger to tickle the baby’s cheek. Please don’t cry now, I thought. Harald was of an age when he disliked strangers but, thank Odin, he smiled and blew bubbles at Hakon.
‘You shall have your farm. You have earned it.’ He nodded and turned to walk away and I was left wondering if I had heard him right. Was that all there was to it? But how would I persuade the Lawmen at the next Allthing that Hakon had promised me Becklund? They would hardly take my word for it. Should I call after him? He’d perhaps be annoyed. Ask to see him later, alone and put my request to him. Then, as if he felt my anxious thoughts, he said carelessly, over his shoulder, as if it were of no great consequence:
‘I’ll get my scribe to prepare a writ with a pardon for your father so you can inherit the land he possessed.’ Behind his retreating back I sank to my knees and hugged Harald till he squealed. This was more than I had dared hope for. My father’s name cleared, by me. I had done it! The whole purpose of my journey to Norway, the dangers, the worry, all of it justified with that one sentence: a pardon for my father.
Before Olvir had gone to hide with Old Kirsten, my mother and I had been talking about telling him who his father was. She still wanted to tell him but I hesitated. The Norns had woven him a cruel fate. He had revealed the plans to kill the King. He had betrayed his father and caused his death. Not knowing who it was he betrayed did not change that.
I knew Mother made her confession to the priest regularly and I was not surprised when she brought up the issue.
‘Is Olvir baptised?’
‘No.’ I suppressed the ‘nor shall he be’ that tried to follow.
‘It would help him accept his situation if he had the comfort of a priest and the forgiveness of Our Lord. You do wrong to deny him absolution. What if he should die with this on his conscience?’
‘There’s nothing on his conscience. He didn’t know who Steinar was and he didn’t know it was Steinar. You haven’t told him, have you?’
She shook her head. ‘But he has a right to know.’
‘No, he’s too young to be burdened with such
guilt, Mother. Please let’s wait till he’s older.’
‘He should be told so he can pay his penance. He will be able to confess to the priest here and be absolved.’ Her answer seemed glib to me and provoked a fury I couldn’t control. My voice was heavy with scorn as I replied:
‘Oh yes, I forgot that’s how you Christians do it. You perform a bad act, confess, give some silver to the priest, say a few of your prayers and then you’re clean and can start all over again.’
‘Sigrid, the blasphemy! No this is too much! Your heathen slander. I thought you had turned to the true faith but as soon as that Ragnar returns you revert to your false gods.’
‘Leave Ragnar out of it! I make my own decisions. I wore the cross to impress Hakon not because I had joined your faith.’
‘Sigrid! That is weak and manipulative and deceitful and…’ I heard no more. I threw down my weaving batten and left the house. We didn’t speak for two whole days after our argument. It grieved me. I loved my mother. I had come to admire her strength and value her advice. But she had persisted in her dislike for my husband. Nothing he did was good enough. Kveldulf loved him and revelled in his attention. Harald gurgled with pleasure when Ragnar picked him up. Olvir roared with laughter at his jokes and blushed with pride when Ragnar praised his efforts with the sword. But to my mother he was the son of Swein Hjaltebrand the man who had brought death and disgrace to our family at Becklund.
It was some weeks later that, among the ships and knorrs that came and went in the harbour, one arrived from Jorvik. It was laden with goods for sale and gifts for the King. It also brought seven passengers. Six were missionaries to help Hakon spread Christianity in Norway. The seventh came to call on me one day at my mother’s house. I didn’t know him at first. I only had a brief glimpse of his shaven head and heavy jowls when he opened the gates to the King’s tower in Jorvik to me and Ansgar. When I recognised Archbishop Wolfstan of Jorvik my confusion was complete.
‘Your Grace!’ If uncertain, my father used to say, bend your knee. It gives you time to gather your thoughts. So that, to my mother’s delight, was what I did. But I didn’t kiss the proffered ring. He still made the sign of the cross over me.
‘Brother Ansgar was most insistent I should see you and bring his greetings in person. It seems you two have a habit of getting each other out of tight situations.’ He smiled a tired smile that never reached his eyes. He turned to my mother who kissed his ring with an enthusiasm that more than made up for my refusal.
‘It is an honour to receive you Your Grace.’ She invited the Archbishop to sit in the high seat and we perched on stools next to him. The servants were sent to fetch wine and raid our stores for such luxuries we reserved for our most important occasions, almonds, dried fruit and bread sweetened with honey. The Archbishop emptied his goblet in one go and relaxed in his seat. Olvir and Kveldulf stood, round-eyed and silent, at a respectful distance until the Archbishop waved them to him.
‘Ansgar is my friend too,’ said Olvir.
‘And mine,’ nodded Kveldulf,’ he used to sing songs with no tune and let me ride on his shoulders.’ The Archbishop tilted his head back and his booming laughter filled the house.
‘Yes, I gather he got up to all sorts of things and, I agree, his voice is terrible.’ Mother placed a hand on each neck and pushed the boys onto their knees. Wolfstan made the sign of the cross and blessed them. Then he gave them a handful of sweets and waved them away. Kveldulf ran outside to boast to his friends about the important visitor with gold braid on his fur-lined cloak. Olvir crouched next to my seat and I let him stay.
We enquired about the voyage and about events in England. Aethelstan had died and been succeeded by Edmund, the young prince who had goaded me when I was a prisoner after the Battle of Brunnanburh. The arrival of a young inexperienced king had stirred the Northumbrians to send my uncle Eirik Bloodaxe away and again turn to a Norse King of Dublin for leadership. I was worried about this.
‘Will it mean more fighting? Will Cumbria be affected?’ The Archbishop shrugged.
‘The fighting will go on until the English accept that we have our own laws. The Norse will never submit willingly to English rule.’ My mother was not interested in the defence of the Danelaw as the Archbishop called it.
‘My brother King Hakon will be sad to learn that his fosterfather has gone to join the angels.’
‘Yes, it’s never easy to bring such news. But I have also brought missionaries to help convert the heathens of this country. Your brother speaks highly of you, Gudrun Haraldsdaughter. I understand your desire is to establish a religious community here at Nidaros.’
‘I feel my calling is to serve God in any way He sees fit.’
‘Your brother has offered to set you up in a suitable house and I shall personally instruct you and bless this undertaking before I leave.’ I couldn’t help feeling pleased for my mother when I saw her face light up and her eyes fill with tears.
Archbishop Wolfstan did not intend to stay long. He planned to return in only eight days time. Ragnar and I decided to travel with him. I assumed we would use the knorr Wolfstan had arrived on but Hakon had other plans. He equipped a dragon-ship for the Archbishop’s journey. He put Ragnar in charge of it and entrusted him with Wolfstan’s safety until he reached Jorvik. The ship was to be Ragnar’s reward. It was generous. Hakon made sure nobody could say he’d been less than grateful to Ragnar for capturing his enemies.
It was a beautiful vessel, 40 oars, a sail in green and brown stripes. The sleek clinker-built hull spoke of swift travel and the shallow draught would carry us up rivers and close to shore.
‘What shall I name her?’
‘It’s yours Ragnar. You must decide.’
‘I thought Storm-Wolf and I’ll put a wolf ’s head in the prow.’
‘Why a wolf ?’
‘A thanks to the Norwegian wolves that spared us last winter when we camped out.’ So it was agreed and Ragnar carved a splendid wolf ’s head with pointed ears, sharp teeth and a tongue of fire.
That night I dreamt about Becklund, a dream so vivid I could smell the sweet air blowing down from the fells, feel the soft, rich grass under my feet and see the sunlight play on the rippling waves of Loweswater. I walked along the shore up to the small knoll where the stone for my father was clearly visible from anywhere on the lake. In the ribbon encircling the face of the tall granite-slab, the runes read: Gudrun Haraldsdaughter raised this stone for her husband Kveldulf Arnvidson of Becklund, brave sword, faithful friend, honourable man. I held up King Hakon’s writ to the stone as if my father were there, as if he could hear me when I read out the pardon that meant he was an outlaw no more and I was his rightful heir and owner of Becklund. I turned from the lake-shore to the farm. My father’s hall lay in smouldering ruins as it did the day King Hakon and his men burnt and plundered it. But beyond the blackened rafters and tumbledown walls a new building rose before my eyes. I stood back and admired the solid stone foundations and the heavy wooden door. A woman as tall as a tree with broad shoulders and strong arms came walking across the meadow. Her long yellow hair blew around her face and she wore many arm-rings. She held a sword in one hand and a weaving-batten in the other. She went up to the hall and entered. I tried to follow but she closed the door and shut me out. I woke up with the dream vivid in my mind. Why had my father’s fylgia turned away from me?
There was little to pack but we had horses to sell and provisions to buy. Kveldulf became inconsolable when told that his pony must be left behind. Ragnar promised him another one when we got home but the boy cried for days. Hakon gave us ten thralls to help man the oars, the Archbishop paid his fare in silver and we had no difficulty recruiting men among the bored warriors and adventurous youths of Nidaros. It was obvious that they expected Ragnar to go raiding, once he had delivered the Archbishop to Jorvik. Some days it felt to me like the place teemed with impatient and excited men waiting for the wind to change so they could start their adventure. It was not what I had
in mind but I couldn’t ignore Ragnar’s delight in his ship and I knew I would not be able to hold him back forever.
I don’t know what made my mother change her view of Ragnar. Maybe the time she spent with the Archbishop, preparing for her religious community, softened her and brought a more forgiving turn to her thoughts.
‘Sigrid,’ she said one day as we worked together at our looms, ‘I have been thinking that perhaps, if Ragnar were another man’s son I might have liked him. He loves you truly, I can see that. He is good with the children and kind to my servants. Maybe I shall be able to approve your marriage with my heart when I have got used to thinking of him as a man in his own right.’
It was a grudging admission but it would have to do. I would not get anything better at that time. I hugged her feeling a little tearful at the thought of out impending separation.
‘Mother I shall try to live so you can feel proud of me.’
She smiled.
‘You will live your life as your conscience tells you. I am proud of you. I may not agree with everything you do but I am proud of you, never doubt it, my daughter.’ She was silent for a while. Then she put down her batten. ‘There’s one more thing. I want to say goodbye to Olvir as my grandson the same as Kveldulf and Harald.’
‘Is it not enough that he is my foster-son?’
‘No, it’s not the same.’
‘If I let you tell him will you promise not to involve the priest?’ She hesitated but I stood firm. ‘I don’t want the priest talking to Olvir when he’s upset.’
She nodded. I noticed her hands were shaking.
‘I shall do it now. Send him to me. Then wait outside.’
Olvir came out of the door like an arrow off a bowstring. I was ready for him and caught him. He struggled and we tottered and stumbled around on the uneven ground but I held on to him.
‘Let me go! Let me go!’
‘No never. You are my son and I’ll never let you go.’
Shieldmaiden Page 27