Shieldmaiden (10 page)

While this was going on I had time to bury Hauk. His brother Kjeld blamed me for not making Hauk stay at home and himself for not being there to defend him. We spoke harsh words and after the last embers of the funeral-pyre had died down we parted with much ill feeling between us. Kjeld spoke with Thorfinn about compensation for the deaths of Yngvar and Hauk.

‘We need no more killing between friends and neighbours. There is a gathering at the Thingmound after harvest-time. Let's meet there and put each our cause to the Lawmen.'

Thorfinn agreed with this and Kjeld, claiming he'd only come to help his brother, returned home with his own and Hauk's men. After they left, Thorfinn stayed in his tent for two whole days and nights. Then he came over to where I was now camped alone. He sat looking at me for a long time. His gaze made me uncomfortable and I made sure my weapons were to hand. Then he spoke in his rumbling voice:

‘There have been two deaths here, woman. Your husband caused his own demise and he has been revenged. But Yngvar's passing was your doing. He was a good man and has family in Rannerdale. It will be better for them if you pay blood-money than if I kill you in revenge. This is what Kjeld and I agreed. But now I have thought this matter over. If you or I perish in battle…,' he fell silent but kept staring at me.

I felt my skin tingle and my muscles tighten. I knew that, should he ever recognise me and remember what had passed between us by Mosedale Beck, he would not be satisfied with blood-money, he'd want nothing less than my life.

That night I was kept awake by Thorfinn's drunken singing. He drank grave-ale for Yngvar, composing bad verse in his honour. He eventually grew silent except for the occasional hiccup and guttural murmur. I fell asleep but woke, thinking I heard a rustling sound outside my tent. I sat up, drew my dagger, waiting to see who my attacker was, Thorfinn, driven by drink to seek early revenge or one of the warriors who ogled me as I moved round the camp. Fingers clawed at the tent-cover. The front flap opened enough for me to see the outline of an arm. Without a word, I stabbed it. There was a cry, high-pitched and feeble. I rolled forward. An empty sleeve was pinned to the ground. I opened the tent-flap. A small figure, half-way out of his too-large tunic, lay shaking with heavy sobs.

‘Olvir, oh Olvir! I didn't mean to hurt you.' I dragged him inside the tent and closed it. The dagger had cut his sleeve but only grazed the thin wrist.

‘You're supposed to be on your way home. What's happened?' He curled up on my lap and I cradled him like a baby until he stopped shaking and his crying abated.

‘I've come back to look after you, Sigrid. I didn't want you to be alone.'

I couldn't ask Thorfinn about Ragnar without giving away who I was. So for two days I roamed the part of the camp where the Manx Vikings had put up their tents. I spoke with the women and thralls and some had heard of Swein Hjaltebrand but none knew what had become of his son. Apart from Thorfinn I saw nobody I recognised from Jarl Swein's household. Like a foolish kitten chasing butterflies, I had left my child, the most precious thing in my life, to pursue a mirage. I fell into a deep melancholy and the longing to hold my son in my arms became a like a constant ache in my breast. I decided I must find a way to escape Thorfinn's watchful eye and get back home. It meant breaking my oath to Olaf of Dublin but I figured he'd have more pressing concerns than my desertion.

No sooner had I made my decision than we were called to battle. There was no way out. Shortly after daybreak a group of warriors moved against Aethelstan's camp in a surprise attack. It failed. Aethelstan's watch spotted them and sounded the alarm. The enemy had the higher ground so, without the advantage of surprise, we had to retreat, line up for battle in the allotted field and wait for the horns to sound. By now the sun sat high in the sky and the heat turned my helmet to a crown of fire. Sweat ran down my brow. I blinked to clear my eyes of the stinging. Then I took my stance, my shield held in front to protect my vitals and my right arm wielding Snakebite. I was ready. Thorfinn stood next to me. He told me he wanted to make sure we both made it to the gathering at the Thingmound. It was a threat, not a promise of friendship. His eyes were shot with red, his jaw worked in a circular motion and he was beginning to foam at the corners of his mouth. Neither of us wore a mailshirt, he because the mushroom-brew made him feel invincible, I because it was too heavy.

The war-horns sounded on the English side. Ours answered, a long, drawn out note followed by many short bursts. With a rush of bile to my throat I saw the long line of Aethelstan's fyrd move towards us. I bent forward and was sick on the ground.

‘Just take it steady.' muttered a voice behind me. ‘And let your hair loose. It will unsettle them and encourage us. They will think you are one of those demons they believe in and we will see our shieldmaiden all the better.'

I shook my hair free of pins and combs. Then I straightened up, determined to meet my fate with the same courage my father had met his.

The English weapons sparkled in the bright light. The men beat the rhythm of their steps on their shields and the sound was like rolls of thunder. Their battle-cries soared above the field and met ours in the air as if a contest of sound preceded the real fight. Someone broke our ranks and rushed forwards, followed by others until we all joined in a wild scramble across the field. The air above us filled with arrows, spears and throwing axes. Some found a target and men fell. Blood flowed from the first wounds. Our pace increased. I raised my shield and joined in the war-cry of the Cumbrian Norse: ‘Odin, Odin'. All round me men were running. I ran with them. Leaping and stumbling over the uneven land, slipping on the heather and the brushwood, we stormed with a loud cheer, headlong towards death.

The front-men careered into each other with a mighty crash. I was not far behind. When I reached the enemy, I angled my shield upwards, remembering to make my short stature an advantage. I ducked a swinging sword. Snakebite found her way under the warrior's guard and stung his crotch. He screamed and crashed, writhing, to the ground. I had felled my first enemy in battle.

I used my shield to deflect an axe wielded by a huge red-haired berserker. The two-handed blow knocked my arm sideways across my body and the force of it swung me round. I knew he would aim for my un-protected back and leaped aside. His axe missing its target made the red-head stumble and bend sufficiently low for Snakebite to reach his throat. She drew blood but not enough and the warrior bellowed in fury as he straightened up and lifted his axe to finish me off. He expected me to pull back but I dived towards him, ducked under his axe and drove Snakebite into his belly. My sweet sword slid into his flesh and opened him up like a herring being gutted. He lowered his axe but I clung to him and the axe-head couldn't reach me without him having to change his grip. My shield-arm embraced his large, hairy torso and my shield was lodged behind his right arm. With my other hand I tried to hold on to Snakebite, who wouldn't retract from his belly. I had to stay close or the berserker would smite me down with one blow. His blood soaked the front of my tunic and the warm reek of his intestines filled my nostrils. He let go of the axe with one hand and grasped my hair trying to pull me off. Then his knees folded and he fell, dragging me down with him and pinning me to the ground. We lay like two lovers in a deadly embrace. His breath turned to a shallow rattle. His body became slack and heavy. Over his shoulder I saw Thorfinn finish an enemy by cutting off his head. I called him and he helped free me. He glanced at the body of the berserker and nodded at me.

‘Odin is on your side today. You fight well.' We set off in pursuit of our enemy and for that day our quarrel was put aside.

My memory of my first battle is like a wool blanket with holes in it. The entirety is dark and confused but shards of clear recollection burst forth; the flared nostrils and gaping mouth of a charging berserker, the severed leg of a Scottish warrior next to his twitching body, the crushed skull of a Viking spilling grey and red matter on to the tangled heather and later having to step on the piles of bodies of dead and wounded warriors.

How many did I kill on that battlefield? Thorfinn told me a full dozen but I don't know. As I grow old I believe one should honour those warriors by remembering them but the battles are too many and too long ago. We stayed together Thorfinn and I on Vin Moor. He saved my life and I his many times over until we were separated towards the end of the day.

One by one the banners of Constantine, Olaf, Hilrinc, Anlaf, Inwood and other kings and earls I didn't know, were lowered. King Athelred's dragon-banner remained, proud and erect and his men raised the victory cry. We had lost the battle. The defeated armies withdrew although some continued to fight from sheer fury. I was overcome by a sense of sad weariness. There seemed no point in going on. My body hurt from many cuts and bruises and I had a limp from a sword cut to my right knee. It began to rain. I walked away and sought shelter among the shadows of the forest until night would hide me.

I was not the only one leaving the field. As I hid between a tree and a boulder, I saw men running, some alone others in groups. Some threw down their heavy shields to be able to run faster and one left a banner behind, a banner with two black ravens. So the men from Orkney were leaving as well. I crouched lower in my hiding place and from there I witnessed much slaughter of the defeated. Their pursuers, drunk on victory and hatred, cut down the injured and listened to no pleas for mercy or offers of reward.

8.

The rain fell heavy and straight. I had lost my helmet and my hair hung wet and cold on my shoulders. I thought of my father. Had he too run away from a lost battle? Is it the action of a coward to flee when there is no longer any hope?

Thor rode his chariot across the sky. The volatile god vented his fury on the clouds and the sparks from Mjolner lit the darkness in mighty strokes. I put down my shield, my sword and my knife. It would not do to challenge the hammer-wielding god by carrying weapons. A stand of hazel gave some shelter against the storm and I curled up on the wet ground. Had my actions on the battlefield angered the Aesir and brought him out in all his terrible glory? Had he come to punish me for running away?

But you can't hide from a god and I resolved not to be such a coward as to stay shivering in a bush. I crawled out and met the storm on trembling legs but with my head held high. And Thor was placated and rode away. The flashes when he threw his hammer and the crashes when it struck home receded into the distance and I was left alive but alone in the darkness on Vin Moor. Around me the sound of thunder was replaced with the moans of the dying and the screams of the lost. There was movement, shadowy figures, animals, humans and all things in between. I picked up my weapons again and, limping on my injured leg, started off in the direction I thought the camp would be.

During the battle it was impossible not to trample the bodies of the dead, wounded and those who had just tripped and fallen. I hardly noticed in the end. I just concentrated on keeping upright and fighting for my life. Afterwards, in the dark, it was different. I stumbled, slipped and fell over inert bodies. My hand caught a soggy stomach-wound and the stench made me retch. One body let out a moan, another rolled over, limbs moved. The death-rattles of men who had a few hours ago been alive, mingled with cries of pain and pitiful pleas for help. It echoed in the mist like a choir of Helheim.

I kept walking. Lights moved around, torches used by people looking for spoils or searching for survivors. I kept clear of them, not trusting friend or foe in the dark. I saw two women tugging at the arm of a dead warrior and grunting with the effort of prising a heavy armlet over his stiffening elbow. That could have been me, I thought, lying naked, dead and cold being robbed of my weapons and jewellery and then left for the wolves and the crows. There were plenty like them, pulling off mailshirts and helmets, gathering up weapons to sell to the survivors. But there were others too. Men and women searched for husbands and other kin or for friends. They moved without stealth, calling the names of those they sought. And among those calls one sounded my name.

‘Sigrid! Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter! Siii-griiiid!!' The cry was interspersed with loud sobs. It was the voice of a child. Brave little Olvir, conquering his fear of the dark and the dead, had come searching for me. I called in reply and soon held the shivering, crying boy in my arms.

Olvir led me back towards the camp. ‘I have packed the tent.' he said in a defiant voice. ‘I don't think we should stay here any longer.' He pulled up snot through his nose. ‘I heard all them kings and princes and them are dead and so are most of the warriors except the ones that ran away.'

I had no idea how to get home but I tried to sound confident.

‘Yes we shall leave for home but I need to rest and wash my wounds.'

‘Oh Sigrid, you're wounded! So you fought like a proper warrior.' Olvir sounded full of awe and squeezed my hand. The darkness hid my grim smile.

Our tent and few other belongings were piled in a heap. Next to it sprawled Thorfinn. He was on his back and the ground trembled with his thunderous snores. I shook him but he didn't react. It was close to daybreak. Olvir fretted.

‘Everyone's running away. I think we should too or they'll come and kill us. They do, you know. I saw them killing people who were running and wounded. Please Sigrid, leave him and let's go.'

But Thorfinn would know how to get us back home. I tried again to rouse him.

‘Sigrid, pleeease! We must go. It's almost light.'

I aimed one last kick at Thorfinn's back. It didn't even interrupt the rhythm of his snores. So for the second time I left him for dead but this time I left his horse as well.

We tried to move in the shelter of the forest but Moonbeam stumbled on the deadwood and the lower branches got caught in the load on her back. Olvir was exhausted and I was limping. The wound on my knee had not been cleaned and dressed. It throbbed and sent arrows of pain through my whole leg. The few hunched figures I saw moving in the early dawn mist were no threat. So I decided we would ride and follow the track we had arrived on. If we watched out we would be able to run for cover, should anyone approach. Olvir climbed up in front of me on the horse and at once fell asleep. I steered Moonbeam through what remained of the camp.