Shieldmaiden (11 page)

It proved larger than I had realised. Evidence of our defeat showed everywhere, in the wrecked and abandoned tents flapping in occasional gusts of wind, in the reek from the wet but still smoking camp-fires, in the weapons, clothes and boots strewn on the trampled ground. There were reclining figures, dead or alive made no difference to us. We rode slowly. The mare's hooves seemed to echo through the silence. I kept searching, still hoping I would spot Ragnar. He wasn't there. I began to wonder whether he'd ever been part of King Olaf 's army.

I had been so sure the gods would lead me to him. When I left little Kveldulf behind at Swanhill it had been to go and find Ragnar, to stop Hauk killing him and to bring him back to Becklund. I had felt so sure he would get a pardon from King Harald. Why should the son be held responsible for his father's crime? But since then I had seen the fierce hatred of kings and I had witnessed the slaughter of the defeated and I knew there was no mercy and there would be no pardon.

They came out of the mist in silent, swift ambush. Moonbeam reared and Olvir and I tumbled off. I cried out as my already battered body hit the ground. Olvir crawled across to me and sobbing threw his arms around me. I couldn't get up. I sat among a multitude of horses' legs, cradling Olvir, waiting for the end, hoping it would be swift.

Twelve warriors in mailshirts and helmets and one man dressed in a black, full-length tunic with long sleeves and a hood over his head. He had no weapons and round his neck, instead of the golden neck-ring from a war-lord, hung a large silver cross with the dead god Christ on it. I had heard of this kind of man, a monk. But I had been told they didn't fight. So what was this one doing here? Dazed, I looked up at him.

He stared back. Although my hair hung loose, I was still in man's clothing and my weapons were on my horse. It was obvious I had been part of the battle.

‘But this is a woman!' His voice was little more than a whisper.

‘Oh, I recognise her!' said one of the warriors. ‘She fights as hard as any man and I saw her slay more than one of ours.' He dismounted and gripped his axe.

‘No!' The monk shook his head so his hood fell down. The shaved patch in the middle of his head glistened. ‘You can't kill a woman with a child in her arms.'

‘Makes no difference, she has killed as much as the others.'

‘No, I can't allow this. Put your axe away.'

‘No survivors, the orders were quite clear.'

‘I answer to King Aethelstan himself. On his authority I order you to leave the woman alone.'

‘On your head be it, Master Scribe, but what shall we do with her then? She's not like the other women who fight when they have to and with what weapon they find. This one fights like a warrior. I've seen it.'

A third man got involved: ‘Why don't we take her with us? A real, live shieldmaiden like in the minstrel's songs, the King should see this for himself.'

Again I was the object of amusement. This time I didn't mind. I was still alive.

King Aethelstan had set up court at Brunnanburh. I rode there escorted by the monk and his party of warriors. They led a row of pack-horses laden with the spoils from defeated warriors. Olvir sat in front of me on Moonbeam and one of the soldiers carried my weapons. The rest of our possessions were thrown away.

We rode through the gate in the wooden palisade and up to a house the size of a giant's hall. The King's little scribe gave orders and our horses were relieved of their burdens and led away. One of the warriors pushed me and was about to hit me with the hilt of his sword. The scribe held up a hand.

‘No! I will not have the woman or the child mistreated. They are under my protection until the King decides otherwise.'

The booty was carried into the hall and we followed. Olvir clung to my hand and looked around with open mouth. In spite of my exhaustion I too was overcome by the splendour of the hall. Every wall was covered in rich hangings and there were oil-lamps and candles suspended from the beams. The hearth held a lively fire and the roof was so tall the smoke all but disappeared, leaving the air in the hall clear. There were a great many people gathered, mostly men looking weary after the battle, many with blood-soaked bandages. I wondered whether anyone would let me take care of my injured leg. I tried to put my weight on the other foot but I was trembling with fatigue and found it hard to keep my balance. I stuck close to my protector, trying to keep out of the way of the stealthy pushes and blows from the warrior behind us. He had seen me limp and enjoyed kicking my bad leg.

An ox roasted over the fire. Everyone seemed to be eating. Women bustled back and forth with drinking horns and steaming platters piled high with meat. The smell of food made me realise I hadn't eaten for a day and a half. Olvir sniffed the aroma. He looked up at me and whined:

‘Sigrid, I'm hungry.'

‘Yes, I know. Me too.'

‘Will they give us some food?'

‘I don't know. Better be quiet. We mustn't annoy them.'

Olvir let go of my hand. Our guards were looking elsewhere as he slipped away. I watched him sidle up to a matron and smile. It worked, it always did. That boy would never go hungry. He returned to my side with a slice of meat, part of which he put in my hand. But whereas Olvir was able to avoid the guards' attention, I couldn't.

‘That's not for you!' The meat was snatched from me and I watched it disappear between the heavy whiskers of my guard. My insides screamed with hunger but I was not allowed to forget there were those who wanted me dead.

Then the monk gave a sign and moved ahead. The guard took the opportunity to take my arm in a painful grip and push me forward. As we passed the hearth I could see the far end of the room. On a dais, behind a huge table, sat King Aethelstan. His chair had carvings of eagles' heads on the back and arm-rests. There was no mistaking the King. He wore a broad diadem set with lustrous jewels in many colours, his cloak was of finest wool trimmed with precious stones and gold threads. He was surrounded by men, some in fine clothes but some of them still carrying the mud and tears of yesterday's battle. Next to the King sat a young warrior. His face was pale and tired under a golden diadem almost as rich as the King's. This must be Edmund Aetheling, the King's younger brother. Fourteen years old and already battle-hardened.

Our scribe spoke to one of the lords seated by the King. The lord looked my way and I saw him smile in amusement. He turned and spoke to the king:

‘Sire, look what Ansgar brought. A real, live shieldmaiden.' The King didn't hear him but the young Prince looked at me and laughed.

‘Ansgar, what a splendid jest!'

‘It's not a jest, my Prince. I have come to find out what to do with her. She has a child with her too. It really is most…ah…most…'

The Prince roared with laughter and Ansgar fell silent. Then Prince Edmund leant forward.

‘And what's a wench in armour doing at the King's court?' We now had the full attention of everyone and Aethelstan himself listened with a smile on his thin lips.

‘With your permission, Sire.' A tall man had been whispering with one of my guards. ‘This is no ordinary wench. She has slain many of your faithful warriors. Ulf the Proud, I saw it myself how she ran him through with her sword, and Halfdan the Pale.' He was interrupted by a lanky boy with a blood-soaked rag round his head, rising from his seat by the fire.

‘Eidor the Beardless also, I witnessed it.' He swayed and sat down clutching his forehead.

Now others joined in, shouting names and calling for my blood. I wondered had I really killed that number of warriors? Only the little scribe objected but was shouted down. I fell to my knees. It had worked once. Maybe it would work again.

‘Noble, merciful Lord, King Aethelstan. I have come due to events I could not control. I was forced to take up weapons. I know my old allegiance to be false. I know you, noble Lord, are the rightful ruler of all of England and I have come to pledge my trust and offer my sword in your service.'

Angry voices started up behind me but the King silenced them with a wave of his hand. He leant forward and looked me up and down.

‘You speak well woman even if it's all nonsense. What is your name? And is it true you have slain so many of my warriors?'

‘My name is Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter.'

Someone hidden behind the gathering around the king drew a sharp breath. I continued to talk but slowly, not sure how much to tell.

‘My father was accused of breaking his faith with King Harald and slain. But he wasn't a traitor. He wasn't!!' I couldn't stop myself, I shouted my grief and despair at the King.

I broke down and cried. Gradually I noticed that somewhere a lute had begun to play, soft and searching at first, then spreading warm notes of healing and comfort through the tense air. Silence spread through the hall. My tears abated and I looked up. The King lounged in his chair. The Prince leaned on the table resting his chin in his hand and his eyes looked at a dream somewhere beyond the rafters. The soothing melody weaved its way through the gathering and all around the hall men and women slowed down and became still and peaceful. Then the King spoke:

‘Yes, Thorstein, I do believe we have found your sister.'

9.

My sister-in-law Freydis emerged from behind the dais. She held out her hands and helped me up from the floor. The pain in my knee made me wince. She put her arms around me, kissed my cheek and whispered:

‘Don't worry, Sigrid. We'll look after you.' She led me towards the music and my heart sang.

Thorstein, dressed in a fine, embroidered tunic, sat with his lyre on his lap. His long, slender fingers stroked the music from the strings, just the way I remembered. He did not look at me. His eyes were open but had lost their colour. The skin around the eyes was red and scarred.

‘What…' I began and looked at Freydis. Her smile reflected all the sadness she had suffered.

‘Hakon blinded him.' she said.

I embraced the brother I had thought dead. His fingertips slid soft and searching over my face.

‘Little sister. How I wish I could see you. Oh, Sigrid, what mischief has brought you here?' He hugged me and with his cheek against mine whispered: ‘You will not be safe here. I can protect you but only for a time.'

The debating had started up again and I heard prince Edmund chuckle:

‘Trial by combat. Let's make her fight for her life.'

Ansgar cut in: ‘What blasphemy! A woman! And anyway, there's been enough bloodshed. Send the poor, misguided creature home.'

‘Oh, be still, all of you.' The King sounded tired. ‘She isn't just anyone. She's Prince Hakon's niece and he may not want her killed in his absence.'

I let out a cry and Thorstein shushed me and rocked me back and forth. Aethelstan continued:

‘And she has long ears! Bring her to me with her brother. And leave us alone, I wish to speak to them.'

Freydis led Thorstein to the King and I followed. As I was given a seat on the dais next to Aethelstan, there was a movement behind my shoulder and Olvir emerged, cheeks bulging with food. I pushed him down to sit on the floor, out of sight.

‘I would address you as princess but I believe your mother reneged her title when she ran away with your grandfather's housekarl.' Aethelstan's voice was disdainful. My mind ran in circles trying to make sense of what I'd heard. Thorstein stretched out his hand and Freydis took it and placed it on mine.

‘It's true,' he said, ‘our mother is the daughter of King Harald of Norway, the one they call ‘Finehair.'

I kept shaking my head. I should have known. Did not Hakon call my father his brother-in-law before he killed him? Still, I could not accept it. My heart hammered against my ribs, my wound throbbed, sending ever more intense pains through my leg. I shivered, feeling sweat break out over my whole body. I was grateful when a commotion at the other end of the hall claimed Aethelstan's attention.

Freydis took charge. She obtained permission to take me away against the promise of returning me the next morning. I followed her stout, bustling figure into a small hut with a sunken floor. Olvir made himself useful banking up the fire over the embers and fetching water. Freydis removed my leggings. She tut-tutted when she saw my wound. She called Olvir.

‘Go and collect as much cob-web as you can find. It must be clean, no flies no dust. Do you understand?' Olvir nodded and ran off.

Freydis cleaned out the cut with hot, salty water. I gritted my teeth but couldn't help letting out a groan. She put cobweb and crushed herbs on it and tore a strip off Thorstein's undershirt to tie them in place. While she tended me she told me how she and Thorstein had survived the attack on Becklund.

‘I'm not ashamed, Sigrid,' she said, ‘when the ships arrived and the men came ashore, I knew I must save Thorstein and his music. I ran in the house and fetched the lyre and I ran to warn Thorstein. But I must have passed him on the way. The field by the birches where he'd been working was abandoned. I heard the noise from the battle. Sigrid, you must understand this. There was no point me returning to the farm. What could I have done to help?'

‘Calm yourself, my love.' Thorstein put an arm round her shoulder. ‘So many times I have told you. You did the right thing. There can be no blame. Sigrid, say you understand this!'

‘I do. I also didn't help. I hid under the grain-store. I saw father killed.'

Freydis sighed. ‘I waited until the fighting stopped. The Norwegians were feasting, thinking themselves safe with all of our people dead or tied up. I walked among the burning buildings. Your mother stood with Prince Hakon and Thorstein lay on the ground next to your father's body. They built a pyre and laid Kveldulf on it. Your mother performed the rites, slashing her arms and wailing. They were about to put Thorstein on the pyre as well when they realised he was not dead. He was brought to and….' Freydis sobbed. ‘Oh Sigrid, there was nothing I could do. Hakon himself held the white-hot sword blade to his eyes…'