Shieldmaiden Page 20

  ‘But how you’ll manage once the wind picks up and we’re on the open sea, I don’t know,’ he said with a shake of his head, ‘we haven’t even started off yet.’ There was a shade of ‘I-told-you-so’ in Ragnar’s voice which was not lost on Olvir and he set his mouth in a determined line, put Striker down and began whittling.

  Kveldulf loved the ship and we had to lengthen his tether to allow him to get to the side, where he stood on Ragnar’s sea-chest and laughed as the salty foam sprayed his face. Gunnar Sigfusson was greatly amused by him and the rest of the crew began to talk about him as a token of good luck. They passed him from hand to hand along the ship so he could stand in the stern patting the neck of the dragon and encourage it to fly across the waves. Then they passed him all the way back and he took his turn by the tiller, his little hand resting on the helmsman’s huge paw.

  During the first three days the weather was sunny with just enough wind to fill our sail and give us comfortable speed. The oars were stacked in the middle of the ship and the covers lowered over the oar-holes. Ragnar and the rest of my ‘body-guard’ engaged in swapping stories of their adventures with the crew. The child in my womb was growing and becoming more active and I was happy to rest. I spent my time dozing and talking to Olvir who gradually became used to the movement of the ship and began to resemble his old self. He had finished the figure of the king for his hnefatafl and we borrowed a board and the rest of the pieces from Gunnar and spent many hours playing. Olvir had a good understanding of the strategy of the game and captured my king time and again. This was noticed and soon there were others who challenged Olvir to a game. He was very successful and in the end Ragnar explained that to win all the time might earn him enemies as well as friends.

  On the fourth day of our journey, clouds formed on the side where the sun sets and the wind increased. The waves grew white foam on top and Cloudrider rolled and dived among the watery troughs and peaks. This time it was not only Olvir who felt bad. Anlaf and Ulf both spent time hanging over the side throwing up and so did a good dozen of the crew, some of them veterans of many voyages.

  ‘They’ll get their sea-legs in a day or two,’ said Thorfinn and patted his step-son on the back.

  Soon rain began to soak through our clothes. The helmsman beckoned to me to bring the children to shelter in the low space below his steering platform. We wriggled in and lay there looking out on the rows of oarsmen. Kveldulf kept up a cheerful chatter about all he saw. We sheltered there for a long while and night settled over our heads. The wind kept increasing. The rigging wailed and whined and the sail bulged full to breaking point. The helmsman struggled to keep us riding into the waves.

  ‘Too much strain,’ he called, ‘reduce the sail by half.’ Before anyone could act, there was a sharp crack. He swore and shouted: ’The rudder’s gone! Reefe the sail! Oars out!’

  Bereft of the rudder, Cloudrider swung broadside to the mountainous waves. I screamed and clutched my children to me as the ship listed, ready to topple over and spill us all into the foaming sea. Frantic activity broke out among the crew. A dozen oarsmen tried to keep the ship facing the wind. They had little success and she rolled violently with each wave. Others lowered the yard and tried to gather the rain-heavy sail.

  Kveldulf, too young to sense danger and ever inquisitive, asked: ‘Mummy, what are they doing?’

  I swallowed bile and tried to sound confident: ‘They lower the yard to make the sail smaller so we won’t go too fast. And look at Gunnar! He’s mending the rudder. No Kveldulf, you can’t go and look. You’d be in the way. Stay here and hold on to Striker.’

  Gunnar leaned dangerously over the side of the ship, half in half out, trying to replace the broken leather thong which held the rudder in place. Two of the crew held on to his belt to stop him falling overboard as wave after wave crashed over his head threatening to drown him. Some of the men began a chant to Odin, Thor and Niord and soon they all joined in. Kveldulf hummed along trying to make out the words. Olvir retched and cried. I held them both, feeling sick to death and wishing for the end to be swift.

  But the end did not come. Gunnar straightened up and bellowed for the yard to be raised and we hoisted a much reduced sail. Our speed was just enough to enable the helmsman to steer into the waves again and the violent rolling was replaced with the lunging, dipping and diving again. We crashed into each wave with a noise like thunder, the cold, glittering water broke over the prow and gushed down over the crew. Then the ship slid down into the trough heading for the bottom of the ocean before it was brought up by the next wave rising, rising until the wild salt-foam broke over the prow again. Those not incapacitated by sea-sickness and fear worked hard bailing out but for every bucket-full they emptied over the side ten were returned by the merciless sea. The night seemed without end and I thought Cloudrider would take us to the end of all time.

  But she didn’t and the next morning the sea calmed. The sail was increased but the rain turned more persistent and there was not sufficient wind to fill the wet, heavy expanse of vadmal. So the soaked, exhausted crew were ordered to put out the oars and soon they struck up the rhythmic humming, which helped them settle into their rowing.

  ‘Look Mummy, birds! Big, big birds!’ Kveldulf ’s chubby little finger pointed to the sky. The men closest to us heard his shout and passed it on.

  ‘Yes, there they are!’ called the helmsman, ‘The little warrior has eyes like Odin’s ravens. I think we’ll invite him along when we next go a-viking.’

  This first indication of land was followed by others, seaweed, a dark line on the horizon and, as we drew nearer, smoke. The crew began to speculate about where this land might be.

  ‘Can you see yet if it’s flat sand or tall rocks?’ they kept asking, while debating whether it would be better to hit land in Denmark before going on to Norway.

  ‘It could even be Friesland,’ said one of the older men, ‘depends on how strong that westerly was.’

  All this talk unsettled me. What would I do in Denmark or this land called Friesland? I was not so naïve as not to understand that some of the crew would have liked to stop and look for somewhere to raid and then what would happen to me and my children? I was relieved when tall rocks clad in green forest became visible. We were headed for Norway. But what sort of reception would I get there?

  PART FIVE

  QUEST FOR JUSTICE

  21.

  It was four years since I woke from my swoon and heard my mother deny me. ‘The wife of one of our neighbours’ she called me before she sent me away with neither blessing nor kind word. Her face had been pale and her eyes dead. My father’s severed head rested, bloodsmeared, in the dust not two ells away from us. Were my mother’s last words to me a rejection or, as Ingefried had maintained, a way to save me? Would she take my side, argue my case to King Hakon after I had borne the child of the man she had warned me against? What would I say to her? Was she even there or had she been married off to some chieftain far away? What would I say to the King? Who would help me plead? I missed Ansgar and began to include his god in my prayers and sacrifices.

  Gunnar stayed near Kaupangen where he had a land claim to pursue. He invited us to stay with him but I was impatient to put my case to King Hakon. I was told the King would be at Nidaros, guest of the powerful Jarl Sigurd of Lade. Fifteen of the crew offered to accompany us there. Some wanted to go to other parts of Norway before winter set in, a few spoke of making the journey back to Iceland or joining other chieftains on raids.

  We purchased horses and prepared for the journey. I donned breeches to be better able to ride across the rough terrain. The mountains were taller than in Cumbria and a dusting of snow made the peaks of Dovrefjell sparkle in the sunlight. Along with the horses some of the crew also procured women, young girls who would cook, prepare the camp and share their beds. I was happy to hand over all domestic tasks to them and spent my time playing with Kveldulf or discussing our plans with my companions. The new child was now so large in me
that Ragnar noticed and wondered how, on the meagre rations onboard, I had managed to gain so much weight. There was no longer any reason to keep the news from him.

  ‘Sigrid, be damned woman! You put yourself and my child in danger on this foolish journey. Have you no sense!’

  I let him rage. He calmed down, as I knew he would, and then he was proud and excited.

  ‘This time I shall be there to sprinkle the baby’s head with water and declare it mine. I swear to you Sigrid.’ He stroked my emerging bulge.

  To begin with we tried to keep up the pretence that Ragnar was just the leader of my body-guard but by the time we approached the Trondheimsfiord it must have been obvious he was much more than that. Our shipmates accepted this without comment. Ragnar’s years fighting in Neustria and his strong rowing during our voyage had already earned him respect and this seemed to deepen as they recognised his status as my special man. More surprising but also more pleasing was the respect they showed me. I found out later that both Thorfinn and Olvir had told them I fought at Brunnanburh and each had outdone the other in exaggerating my accomplishments as a warrior-maiden. They had also made sure the information would be passed on by swearing everyone to secrecy.

  Dovrefjell was an enchanted place. I sensed giants and gods watching us from the top of the mountains. We rode in sunshine most of the way. There was cold, sweet-tasting water in the whitefoaming streams and the gnarled, low-growing birch-trees gave good fire-wood. Frey, god of plenty, sent elk and deer and guided our arrows to them. It would have been splendid sport had I not seen bad omens everywhere, a crow, shiny and black, diving from the clear sky to snatch a piece of meat from Kveldulf ’s hand, a host of hostile clouds bringing a sudden thunderstorm, an injured fox limping across our path, leaving a trail of blood.

  We came to a spot near Nidaros which bore the marks of a holy place. A row of carved stones led to a tall wooden building with elaborately decorated beams holding up a roof of chipped bark. Inside stood a huge likeness of Odin with his two ravens one on each shoulder. He stood halfway up to the roof-beams. His large head, crowned with a splendid helmet and with the one empty eye-socket, looked down on an offer-stone inscribed with holy runes and stained with the blood of many sacrifices. We stopped there. The air seemed full of spirits. I breathed in the mixture of dread and hope which fills a holy place. The remnants of the recent midsummer-blot were still there. A horse’s head sat high on a pole by the entrance to the temple, several fleeces from first-born lambs flapped torn and frayed from the trees. I was surprised. Hakon had spent many years at Aethelstan’s court and was known to be a devout Christian. Yet here, in the splendour of the stone carvings and the temple building, was the evidence that rich powerful chieftains, perhaps even Jarl Sigurd himself, followed the Old Religion. I talked it over with Ragnar.

  ‘I don’t suppose it makes any difference though. I will still have to be a Christian if I am to gain favour with Hakon.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t see the problem. While I fought for William Longsword I had to be a Christian too. You get used to it.’

  ‘But their god is different, isn’t he? It’s not just about worship. That’s not enough. Ansgar says you have to denounce your own gods as well. I can’t do that. Odin saved my life at Brunnanburh and Thor sent me strength to kill the raider at Buttermere. Frey has brought us good harvests and made our animals fertile and Frigga brought you back to me so we can be a family. What revenge will they take if I turn from them now?’

  ‘You don’t have to turn from them, just pretend to. We all do that, I’ve done it so did your father and mine, several times.’

  ‘How will they know? What if I’m made to denounce the Aesirs? What will they think? And I need their help, now more than ever. In fact…’ I looked around me. Ragnar followed my gaze and nodded.

  ‘Yes, I’ve thought so too. What better place to ask for it.’

  So we decided to hold a sacrifice there in the ancient, holy glade. I would be able to explain to the Aesirs why I was about to deny them and pray for their support. Thorfinn and Anlaf agreed it was a good idea and wanted to play their part. I didn’t raise the question of their conversion to Christianity. I had always thought it a bit fragile.

  I chose a good horse, a grey stallion. This was not a time to short-change the gods. Ragnar, Thorfinn and three of the crew led it into the temple. It took all their strength for horses know what the stone is about. They don’t go quietly to their death but fight and struggle. I stepped up and raised my axe. The horse reared. The men hung on to the bridle and kept it from moving out of my reach. I intoned the prayer to Odin. When the stallion’s front legs came down I summoned all my strength and let the axe fall. The stallion’s last terrified scream carried our prayers to Odin’s ears. The great skull split and he fell, kicking, to the floor. The men tied him up and hoisted the great animal on to the offer-stone. I slit the throat and let the blood drain into the silver offer-bowl I had brought from Buttermere. The men joined their voices to mine and together we made a mighty chorus as we chanted the old words and called to our gods. Together Ragnar and I daubed the inscribed rocks and the base of Odin’s likeness with the blood.

  I took out my pouch and opened it to scatter the holy runes. The carved wooden discs fell to the ground and I bent down to read them. The signs were not clear. They spoke of friends but also foes, of gain but also loss. And, however I looked at them, I read danger. I stuck my knife into the belly of the horse and slit it open to allow the entrails to spill out. The sickly smell of blood, guts and undigested grass filled my nostrils. I plunged my hands into the carcass and ripped out the liver. I lifted it to the statue and intoned:

  ‘Odin, master of the runes, fount of all wisdom, hear me, give your servant a sign.’ Blood gushed down my arms from the warm liver. I stared at the image with such intensity it made my eyes water but I could see no sign. Then Olvir called from outside:

  ‘Sigrid, come out and look!’ I went out and there, among the carrion-birds that assembled above the glade, was a sleek, black raven. Odin was listening. It was time for me to find the King.

  I had done all I could and I tried to sound and feel confident as I was challenged at the entrance to Jarl Sigurd’s splendid farmstead at Lade.

  ‘I am Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, my mother is Gudrun Haraldsdaughter, King Hakon’s sister.’

  It worked. I was shown in and my companions left their weapons in the wapenhouse and followed me. The hall at Lade was as large as the one I was taken to by Ansgar after the battle of Brunnanburh. It had the same rich wall-hangings and a dais at one end with a carved chair similar to the one Aethelstan had used. I felt this was the hall of a king not a mere jarl.

  We were given seats at the end of the hall and offered sour curds and bread. The King and the Jarl were not expected for a few days and I reined in my impatience and prepared to wait. I tried to devote myself to the stream of questions from Kveldulf but my mind was in a muddle and my body so tense it shook with each heartbeat. I touched my Thor’s hammer amulet under my dress for reassurance.

  Five of the crew from Cloudrider were staying to offer their services to King Hakon or Jarl Sigurd. The rest made their farewells and drifted off to follow their own destinies. Some asked to stay and serve me but I thanked them for the service they had already given and Ragnar paid them in silver. They all left little gifts for Kveldulf, a carved horse, a silver clasp for his cloak, a little knife with mother of pearl on the handle, a pendant made of amber. They shook Olvir’s hand praising his skill at the hnefatafl and, when they had all left, he had a full set of pieces for the game.

  I was left with my so-called body-guard, two warriors, two untested young men, two children. We sat together and the tension unsettled Kveldulf who began to whine. I picked him up and sat him to bounce on my knee.

  ‘Trot, trot, you’re riding to meet your grandmother.’ His face lit up and he looked around.

  ‘Aisgerd here? Kelluf get honey.’

 
‘No, not Aisgerd. This grandmother is called Gudrun. Can you say that? Grandmother Gudrun, say it.’

  He pouted and shook his head.

  ‘That’ll go down well with your mother,’ Ragnar muttered. ‘If she’s here, that is.’

  He was ill at ease without his two swords and kept glancing in the direction of the wapenhouse. I was about to make an angry reply when a tall man approached me. He wore a long tunic of coarse, black wool and his only adornment was a silver cross inlaid with red and green stones. His attire reminded me of Ansgar’s habit but this was no monk. He had the bearing of a warrior. He made a small bow to of me.

  ‘Your mother is ready to receive you now, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter.’

  My body went limp and Ragnar had to help me to my feet while Olvir took Kveldulf from my lap.

  ‘She’ll meet you alone,’ the messenger looked at my companions.

  ‘I shall bring only my children,’ I said. As I heard how feeble my voice sounded, I grew angry and straightened my back, determined to face my mother with my head held high.

  ‘Sigrid!’ My mother came towards me with her hands outstretched. She smiled and kissed me on both cheeks before embracing me. ‘Sigrid my child! Oh my daughter. I thought I’d never see you again.’ She held me at arms length and looked at me. Her eyes were as clear blue as I remembered but her hair was white and thin and her face bore lines of sorrow and suffering. ‘You have grown into a beautiful young woman, Sigrid. Come, sit here by me and tell me…’ She was interrupted by the tall man clearing his throat.