Shieldmaiden (35 page)

‘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.'

‘Foster-son, foster-son, fost…'

‘Forget that. You have earned your place with me as mine and Ragnar's son. Do you hear? You're mine and Ragnar's.'

‘No, I killed my father. I killed…' His voice rose to a scream, broke to a sob and stopped. I held him tight and step by step I led him over to the bench next to the house. I sat him on my lap. He didn't resist. His eyes closed, he wailed against my shoulder, a most desolate sound.

We sat there for a long while. People passed us, looked and walked on when I shook my head. There was nothing anyone could do to help my poor Olvir. Ragnar returned from hunting. He sat down and put his arm around both of us.