Shieldmaiden (6 page)

The chieftain then turned to my father, who was pulled into a standing position by his two guards. I saw his trousers were soaked in blood and he didn't put any weight on his left leg. Someone gave him his axe and he used it to lean on.

‘You harboured a traitor, Kveldulf Arnvidson. You met the son of your king with force. What happened to your sworn loyalty, brother-in-law?' The chieftain's voice was both angry and mocking when he said ‘brother-in-law. Then my father's voice cut through:

‘You do me an injustice, Hakon. Swein was my brother-in-arms. He made a mistake. He never meant treachery to your father or to you. I asked for parley but you attacked without hearing our pleas.'

‘There's no negotiating with traitors. Your duty is to your king first, did you forget that? You still wear his ring on your arm. Do you mock him, Kveldulf, as well as betray him?'

The chieftain nodded to his housekarl. My father was still shaking his head when the long sword made a mighty arch through the air and cut it from his body. I saw my father's head roll across the dirt and come to rest on its side against the wooden walkway. I saw the jet of blood pulsating from his neck. I saw the legs buckle and the twitching body fall to the ground his hand still holding his battle-axe. There was a hush, then a wave of muffled voices and amidst them a scream, a long, wailing noise rising and rising, higher and higher. Someone pulled me out from my hiding-place and slapped my face. The screaming stopped, everything stopped.

PART TWO

SHIELDMAIDEN

5.

I still hurt when I remember the day my father was killed, my brothers disappeared and my mother disowned me, leaving me without the protection of the family I had taken for granted would be there for me always.

I was the youngest of my parents' children and I was my father's favourite. He encouraged the wild, even violent, nature I displayed early on. Girls, in those days, were still taught to use a bow and arrows and to wield a knife to defend themselves. I could ride and swim by the time I was three. Today it's different. It's the influence of the English and of their religion, Christianity. Their God doesn't favour women. My father was baptised when serving under Christian kings and chieftains but it was accepted by all that such baptisms did not count once the warrior left the service of his godfather. So he lived by the Old Religion and followed the Norse way of life. He stopped going on raids soon after I was born. He made more profit from trading than raiding and adventure didn't appeal to him as in his youth. He would perhaps have continued if his three sons had been able to follow him.

The eldest of my siblings was a boy. He was killed by Scottish cattle rustlers. I don't remember him. I had seen but two summers when it happened. My mother never spoke of him but my father told me once that Rolf would have grown up to be a great warrior. He sounded sad as he spoke of the youth, in charge of the cattle over on Burnbank Fell. His body was found many days after, when one of the calves wandered into the farm-enclosure on its own.

‘I rode up onto the fell in a great anger,' my father said, ‘thinking the boy had neglected the animals. When I found him he was lying on his front. I thought he was asleep. Then I saw the wounds and the blood and I knew he had died a warrior's death. I carried him home and we drank the funeral ale and the smoke from a large funeral pyre took him to Valhalla. I made a sacrifice to Odin and raised a stone where Rolf fell.'

It was true. I have seen it many times. The runes inside the body of the snake of Midgaard wind their way round the face of the stone. At the top is the large snake head with the tail in its mouth. The inscription says: ‘Kveldulf Arnvidson of Becklund raised the stone for his son Rolf who fell in battle with many wounds'. The stone is still there but in the soft ground it is not stable and the last time I went there it was tilting.

There were two other children. A still-born girl then a boy rejected as deficient and put out to die. This too my mother never spoke of and neither did my father. It does no good to dwell on what fortune the Norns weave into the fabric of your life.

Then there were my brothers Thorstein and Steinar. Thorstein took ill as a child and it was his musical talent that saved him. He was three summers when a burn went bad and he was struck down with a fever. He was put in the sick-tent with water and some food. On the second day he was heard singing with a weak but pitchperfect voice. One of the servants swore by the golden hair of Baldur that he'd heard the sound of a lyre accompanying the singing infant. Be that as it may, he overcame the dread of sickness and helped the child to eat. He remained attached to Thorstein and it was he who persuaded my father to pay ten silver coins for a lyre. Those coins were well spent. Thorstein's music didn't just entertain, it cheered and comforted and had the power to make men and women laugh and weep. But he was no replacement for Rolf for he remained weak and sickly all his life. He was never able to help with the heavy work and he never learnt to handle weapons. He named his lyre Enchanter and, many years later, it saved his life better than any sword or shield.

My other brother, Steinar, had a big, strong body but was slowwitted. It didn't much matter in the day-to-day work on the farm but he was a poor hunter, unable to figure out where the swift hare or the graceful deer would run to and an even worse fisherman since he never learnt to tell the weather or judge where the shoals of herring would gather.

Then there was me. I was a healthy, sturdy child, inquisitive and headstrong. My father found me amusing and took me with him when he went hunting and fishing. I had a good eye and was soon useful with my bow and arrow. The first time I shot a hare, my father gave a loud shout of triumph and all the way home he couldn't stop laughing and praising me. That's when he gave me my first hunting dog, Swift. For years he would tell the story of how I stalked my first deer and brought it down with a shot through the eye. My mother was displeased and accused him of spoiling me. She was right of course. She had only the one daughter and I should have spent more time learning women's pursuits, my weaving was uneven, part of the cloth tight and stiff, part of it loose and thin, the patterns in the ribbons I made were full of knots and I only paid attention to cooking after my mother made me eat my mistakes.

When they were six and seven, my father began teaching my brothers to use proper weapons. Thorstein was a lost cause and was soon set to help with the animals instead. I watched as my father showed Steinar how to use the shield.

‘If you raise the axe you must move the shield towards that side or the enemy will be able to stab you.' They tried again and again. Every time he raised his axe, Steinar moved the shield out of the way and my father tapped him on the unprotected shoulder with his sword.

‘You've just lost your right arm,' he would say.

Father got increasingly impatient and after several failures, threw his sword on the ground and walked away. Steinar stayed and tried to practise on his own. I could see tears running down his cheeks. Thinking I would help, I slid down from my vantage point on the dry stone wall. I picked up my father's sword with both hands and managed to lift it and let it fall on Steinar's exposed shoulder. It sliced through his tunic and cut into his flesh. He dropped his axe and shield. I lost my grip on the sword and it hit the ground with a dull thud. We stood together in stunned silence and watched as thick, red blood welled out of the wound and soaked the sleeve of Steinar's tunic before trickling down his hand and onto the grass.

‘You should have moved the shield.' I said.

Steinar didn't answer but, with the full force of his uninjured arm, he planted his fist in my face. We were both bleeding, he from his arm and I from my nose. We hugged each other and cried in unison so loudly the servants in the outlying fields heard us and came running, thinking there had been an attack on the farm. We were both punished. This created a special bond between us and, believe me, I never wanted any ill to befall my brother and to this day I am haunted by the memory of his death and the part I played in that event.

When my brothers turned twelve and thirteen, my father decided it was time to start searching for wives for them.

‘My mind is not set on marriage,' said Thorstein. He stroked his lyre Enchanter and it sang a sorrowful note.

‘Put that down,' said my father. ‘Don't play your magic on me. I know what you're trying to do.'

Thorstein sighed and put Enchanter on the bench next to him. ‘Father, you know I'm not a farmer. Nor am I a fighter. I will never be a Viking but I still want to see the world outside this valley. I want to make poetry and music about great events. Kings and chieftains pay for entertainment in their halls and for songs about their battles. I can't steer a plough but with Enchanter I can make a living as a minstrel.'

‘A minstrel! As Odin is my witness, no son of mine will be a minstrel.' My father's raised voice prompted my mother to speak:

‘Nobody denies you play well and people are sometimes greatly affected by your tunes but, while you run the farm, take decisions and give orders to the thralls and freemen, you can still play and give pleasure to your family and visitors. You are the heir to Becklund, Thorstein. Others will steer the plough for you.'

‘I can plough,' said Steinar, ‘and I'd like to marry.' He was ignored. My father continued to speak to Thorstein.

‘The farm prospers. You will take over and after you, your sons and…'

I sidled out through the door at this point. I had heard it all before and none of it seemed to have anything to do with me. Becklund was the most perfect place and I couldn't understand why Thorstein didn't want to stay. It was true he didn't like to swim in the lake or race horses across the meadow but he was good at tickling trout in the beck and he loved playing with the young animals in spring. No one could calm a frightened mare or train the dogs better than he and yet he wanted to leave. I felt sorry for him because I knew our parents would have their way.

Thorstein's bride, Freydis, only needed to listen to Enchanter once before agreeing to the match and she remained loving and faithful to him for the rest of her life.

Finding a girl willing to marry Steinar was not as easy. He was a tall, good-looking youth but it never took long for his intended brides and their fathers to discover that he had the mind of a child half his age. It was Thorstein and Enchanter who seduced Eahlswith and made her agree to the marriage. Young as I was, I thought it a bad idea for Thorstein to use his music to woo a woman on behalf of his brother. I was not surprised when, after less than a year, Eahlswith left Steinar and returned to her parents. Many excuses were made for why the marriage failed.

‘It's never good to marry among the Anglians,' said my mother. ‘They have different ways of doing things. The cloth she wove was full of snags almost as bad as Sigrid's.'

‘She used too much salt on the herring, wasteful,' father grumbled. ‘And her religion. Being baptised doesn't mean you can just forget about the old gods. I was baptised a couple of times, once when I fought with Rollo along the river Seine and...' mother cleared her throat and father stopped mid-sentence.

Steinar didn't listen to them anyway. He got his message from the giggles and taunts of the serving-wenches and the sneers of the thrall-girls and he knew there was no prospect of another bride.

This may not have mattered much if Thorstein and Freydis had delivered the grandsons my father so longed for. In the end, of course, that didn't matter either since Becklund was burnt to the ground, my father beheaded and my mother led away by a Viking, called Hakon, who wore a helmet inlaid with gold and who called my father brother-in-law and then ordered him killed.

It all happened a long time ago and I have seen many deaths since then but sometimes I have dreams when I see my father's grey hair in the brown mud, his cheek resting against the wooden walkway, while blood flows from his severed neck. And in my dream I hear myself scream like I did then, until someone struck me and allowed me to find brief solace in oblivion.

I woke up cradled in a pair of soft arms. A voice made soothing noises in my ear. There was a strong smell of burning. I looked up to see the red, swollen eyes of Ingefried, my mother's serving woman. I tried to turn towards where my father's mutilated body lay but Ingefried held my head and made me look the other way. She whispered:

‘You must not say anything, Sigrid. Just stay quiet. Whatever happens, be quiet.'

My mother's face was the colour of wood-ash. I wanted to run to her, to embrace her, to comfort and be comforted by her. But she didn't look at me. With her back straight and her head held high, she spoke to the chieftain.

‘I don't know what her errand is, Hakon,' she said, ‘this is the wife of one of our neighbours, Hauk of Swanhill. Hauk is not part of your quarrel with Swein, you must let his wife go. I shall send Ingefried with her to keep her company.' Her words twisted like a dagger in my breast. I was Hauk's wife and no longer a daughter to her. Was my disobedience so bad, my shame so deep I had to be denied?

I was helped to my feet and began the long, sorrowful walk back to Swanhill. Ingefried led me by the hand, slowly, coaxing me along. I closed my mind and put one trembling foot in front of the other. We came across the boy Olvir guarding Thorfinn's horse. He turned and followed us without a word. That night we huddled together like frightened animals. I kept dropping off to sleep and then waking up, my screams smothered by Ingefried's apron. The boy sobbed quietly on and off. The morning arrived heavy with dew and we got up and continued trudging along the track leading up through Mosedale.

The sun hid behind heavy clouds and a drizzling rain soaked through my clothes. The acrid smell of burning buildings followed me like a ghost of loss and despair. The moment of my father's death appeared like an evil vision at every turn on that heavy journey. I was shaking. One moment hot and soaked in sweat, I threw off my shawl, turned my face to the sky and let my tears mingle with the rain. Then I shivered with cold and tried to hug some warmth from my wet clothes. I thought I saw blood everywhere, blood from my father, from Jarl Swein and from the dead friends and servants I had seen but also blood from the mortal wound I had dealt Thorfinn. My mother's words of rejection throbbed inside my aching head and I began hearing other voices too, father telling me I had brought disgrace on the family, the chieftain calling him a traitor, Ragnar making me promise to bury Thorfinn and, through them all, Ingefried whispering to me to keep going.