Shieldmaiden Read online

  Men and some of the women from the trading settlement positioned themselves among the houses lining the harbour. Some were armed with bows and arrows others with clubs, sickles, hay- forks, anything that could be used as a weapon. I remembered the advice of the old warrior at Brunnanburh and let my hair hang loose over my shoulders. It drew attention to me and all round I heard broken whispers:

  ‘Sigrid... Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter... King’s niece... Brunnanburh... shieldmaiden...’ Olvir’s and Thorfinn’s stories were coming back to haunt me. For the sake of my love and our sons I must live up to those stories. I mouthed a silent appeal to Thor and Odin for courage.

  The ships came close enough for us to see some of the banners at the top of their masts. They sailed under colours I thought I had seen at Brunnanburh but not recognised. Around me people strained their eyes while speculating and cursing:

  ‘Is that Harald’s banner? Can you see if it’s that piss-head Harald Gormson! I have unfinished business with him.’ A grey-bearded man in full armour tested his bow-string.

  ‘No, I wager this is Eirik’s doing,’ answered a warrior and rammed his helmet down on his wild mass of red hair.

  ‘The witch Gunnhild more likely,’ said another scratching his half-shaved chin.

  ‘Ha, the Danish fart-bags don’t need her, they’re quite stupid enough to think this up for themselves,’ a youngster drawled. His trembling hands gave the lie to his casual tone.

  I said nothing but thought the banners looked more like those of the warriors from the Orkney and Shetland Isles. I made sure Dragonclaw slid easy in her fleece-lined sheath, planted my spear in the ground next to me and lined up my arrows.

  The first of the King’s ships steered straight for the largest of the attacking dragonships. The oarsmen pulled hard and we heard their chants across the water: ‘Odin, Odin.’ They crashed into the enemy ship and the air filled with the noise of splintering timbers, wild warrior-shouts and the terrifying screams from the first wounded. The second of the Nidaros-ships placed itself broadside to try and block the approaching enemy. If one of the others had got to her earlier they could have stopped several of the attackers but these were under sail and could not manoeuvre round them very quickly. Three dragons sailed past them and made for the harbour, another two were forced to fight and the remaining three headed for the Jarl’s forces on the beach below Lade.

  A score of small rowing boats set off from Nidaros. On board, archers crouched behind a row of shields. Braziers were lit and rags soaked in tar were wrapped round arrows, set alight and fired. The sail of the front ship caught fire, the sheep-fat, used to make it waterproof, helped the flames spread and rise to the top of the mast. The remaining two ships had lowered their sails and put the oars out. Chanting our battle-cry and banging our swords against our shields we awaited the onslaught. Ulf and Anlaf stood on either side of me. Ulf, as the elder, stood to my left. I saw him trembling and beads of sweat made their way down his tense face. Anlaf, on my right hand, turned and threw up on the ground behind him.

  ‘Take it steady,’ I said, remembering how I was sick before the battle of Brunnanburh. The dragons drew closer. I picked up my bow and selected the first arrow.

  Despite warnings to save their arrows until they could pick their targets onboard, Ulf, Anlaf and many others began shooting before they were within range. Their arrows dropped harmless, wasted, into the water. The first ship reduced the number of oars. Oarsmen turned archers and the air sang to the tune of twanging bowstrings and the swishing of arrows flying in all directions. We had the advantage of firm ground but even so their arrows began to hit home. An old man next to Anlaf fell with blood gushing from a neck-wound. A woman came out from the shelter of the houses and tried to staunch the blood with a rag. I moved across and picked up his arrows.

  ‘What’s his name?’ I asked the woman.

  ‘Olaf.’

  ‘Tell him Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter will send his arrows to seek his revenge.’

  The first ship closed in on the piers. Warriors lined the sides, waving their axes and swords, shouting and chanting, banging their weapons against their shields. Then the noise changed as spears and throwing axes were hurled. I waited behind my shield till I was sure of my aim and a warrior in a silver-crested helmet fell with my spear through his chest. They took heavy losses because the water was too deep for them to wade ashore and it took time to manoeuvre the ship up to the pier. In the crush some fell or were pushed overboard and, weighted down by their heavy armour, sank without any other trace than a few bubbles bursting on the surface of the water. One young warrior, eager and impatient tried to leap too soon. He slipped and fell. His battle-cry was silenced when his chest was crushed between the ship and the pier. His shipmates landed on the sturdy planks and formed a shieldwall. Dead and injured were trampled or kicked aside. The line of men behind their shields moved towards the shore. The defenders waited, ready to fight them before they could set foot on land.

  The first enemy warriors were strong, battle-scarred berserkers with foaming mouths and staring eyes. They hewed around them with heavy, two-handed axes in great, wide strokes. The planks of the pier were slippery, painted with blood and the water beneath turned red. They seemed invincible and cut a path through the ranks of our warriors. The rest of the crew followed and fought their way step by blood-soaked step on to the shore. I saw that what had looked like an impossible task, was about to succeed simply because the defenders got in the way of each other. I stepped back. Ulf and Anlaf followed me with questioning expressions. I led them back from the road and towards the row of houses. I picked up as many axes, spears and arrows as I could carry and motioned to them to do the same.

  We climbed on to the turf-covered roof of one of the houses. We threw the short-handled, solid axes and they did their duty, splitting helmets and skulls, breaking arms and slashing through leather jerkins to draw blood. When we ran out of axes we sent death through spears and arrows. In this manner we picked off many of the rear-guard of the attacking hoard. They had no way of retaliating, their spears and axes thrown already and now returning to them.

  The other two ships drew up to piers further along the harbour. We slid back down from the roof and ran to join the men meeting the fresh crews. Again they were led by groups of ferocious berserkers and our losses were great. My shield took a blow from an axe so hard the blade stuck in the wood. When the warrior drew back I was pulled along. Anlaf lunged at him and gave a wild shout as his sword slashed through the warrior’s wrist severing his hand, still clutching the axe. He finished by skewering the man through the stomach, like a herring being threaded on to a stick for drying. He removed the axe from my shield and was fumbling to secure it in his belt when I pushed him aside to parry a sword-cut from a stocky, bearded Viking. Dragonclaw sang out in triumph and the man dropped to his knees.

  ‘Watch out, Anlaf. We’re not finished yet. Leave the plunder till later.’

  The King’s hird had formed a shieldwall between the piers and the mouth of the river and now the horn sounded for the rest of us to join them. We retreated step by step, seeking what shelter we could behind the row of store-houses and workshops. I thought bitterly that again I was on the losing side in a battle. I looked at my uncle, safe surrounded by his housekarls. His helmet was inlaid with gold and sparkled in the sunlight. The same helmet he had worn the day he ordered the killing of my father. There came over me a blind hatred so strong that all I wanted was to spill Hakon’s blood in revenge. I moved out from the shelter of the buildings screaming my fury and, with Dragonclaw slicing anything and anyone in my way, I moved towards the King.

  25.

  What would have happened if I had got to the shieldwall? Did I really think I would be able to get through the double line of the strongest warriors in the realm and kill the King? I was brought back to reality when Ulf cried out in pain and went down first on his knees then sideways on to the ground. I shouted at Anlaf to shield Ulf. Then I faced his enemy. He w
as a youngster like Ulf himself. In my state of single-minded bloodlust I cut his throat before he had time to lift his sword. Then everything changed. The first line of the shieldwall broke off and advanced through our diminished ranks towards the invaders. As they passed us I had time to look at Ulf. A sword had cut through his leather jerkin. I couldn’t see how deep the wound was but we dragged him out of the way and left him sitting propped up against a wall.

  The housekarls had set to work and the invaders were on the run, with nowhere to run to. Their ships in the harbour had been set on fire by the returning rowing-boats. Out on the fiord Hakon’s ships had sent two enemy dragons running and were returning to make sure there were no survivors from the ship they had rammed. The one with its sail on fire had managed to avoid them and rowed back out to sea. The attackers knew that Hakon would give no quarter. They tried to run to the Lade beach where all three of their ships had managed to land and their comrades were a great deal more successful. Some escaped by slipping in among the houses or dropping into the water and hiding under the piers. A few got to their allies on the beach. Most were sent on their way to Odin’s great gathering at Valhalla.

  Jarl Sigurd and his hird were having a difficult time. They were mighty warriors but three crews were more than enough to match them in number and the confusion when they had tried to launch the Jarl’s ships had led to many falling prey to enemy swords and axes. We could hear the roar of their warrior chant: Odin, Odin. It was clear they needed support quickly. The rest of Hakon’s housekarls came up behind me. They were moving apace and I stepped aside to let them pass. As they drew level Hakon turned towards me. Our eyes met. I remembered then the choice I had made to forego vengeance and seek a pardon for my father. I bowed my head in greeting and supplication. Then I nodded to Anlaf and together we followed the King.

  The Jarl’s men gave a huge roar when they saw reinforcements were on the way. Some of the attackers lost heart and tried to get back on their ships. One dragonship was put to oars but was intercepted by the King’s returning fleet. The attack had failed and while many of the berserkers fought to the end others chose to run. The ones who ran towards the hill behind Lade met with the men from the farms on that side and although many died, some were spared and became thralls to the farmers who had lost men in the attack. Only a few got away but the ones who did caused such sorrow to me I still hurt at the memory.

  Anlaf had taken a spear in his thigh and was helped to return to the farm. He was elated and would not stop blabbing about his exploits. He had done well. Thorfinn would be proud. I left him before the excitement gave way to pain. I didn’t think he would want me to see him then.

  The battle-fury leaked out of me as I walked back towards Nidaros. I was glad I hadn’t reached the King. It would have meant death to me, not him. Revenge, maybe it would come one day but the Norns, who weave the stories of all our futures, had decided that now was not the time. I became aware of the ache in the shoulder of my shield-arm. My head also hurt. I vaguely remembered a blow to my forehead. I decided to wait before removing my helmet. Surviving attackers would have dropped their painted shields and it would be difficult to tell enemy from friend. The sun sat low in the sky but it would stay light for some time yet. The track to Nidaros was full of men and women. Some were returning home, some looking for their missing husbands and sons, many were looting.

  I found Ulf where we had left him. His hands clutched his sword, his eyes were closed. I thought he was asleep and spoke softly to him. He didn’t wake up. I saw the blood-soaked grass around him and with a stab in my chest I realised I must tell his mother of his death. He fought well. He died with his sword in his hand. This night a Valkyrie would come on a winged horse and bring him across the rainbow-bridge to Valhalla. His father would accept that and be proud but how could I tell his mother?

  I shouted at a couple of women who were about to come to blows over a thick, gold neck-chain from a dead warrior.

  ‘There’s more than enough loot here for both of you,’ I said. They stopped and looked at me with hostile expressions. ‘I need help to carry the dead warrior to the farm at Lade. I will pay.’

  ‘There will be many funeral pyres here tomorrow,’ said one of them. ‘There’s no need to move him.’

  ‘He was my karl, he saved my life and I owe him a proper funeral-ale.’

  They looked at each other and spoke together. Then one of them came forward and looked closely at me.

  ‘Not many women fighting in the battle,’ she said, ‘not in full armour. You are the shieldmaiden from Cumbria aren’t you? We heard about you. Word has it you fight like an eagle defending its nest.’

  The other woman nodded. ‘We are grateful you helped defend out town. You must be tired. Would you break bread with us? Would you take a drink?’

  I realised my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t eat the proffered bread but drank greedily of the ale. All round us the injured moaned and cried for help and mercy while women wailed their laments for the fallen. When I had drunk, one of the women brought a horse and they helped me lash Ulf ’s lifeless body across its back. It was a heavy walk back to Lade and I was plagued by thoughts about how mothers bear their sons, as I had done, only to lose them in battle. Then I felt foolish when I recognised that my mother could equally have lost her daughter. She had known that and sent me off with her blessing. Ulf ’s mother would have done the same. Her grief would be heavy but she would be comforted to know her son died a hero.

  I led the horse past the dead, the injured, the looters and the searchers. There can be no time more sorrowful than the aftermath of a battle. Later we would celebrate with a great feast but now the weariness of pain and loss lay like a thick cloud over victors and vanquished alike.

  At Lade King Hakon and Jarl Sigurd were seated in the yard receiving reports of how the fighting had gone, who was dead, who was injured and who was still alive. Servants and thralls had begun preparing a feast. Women, children and old people returned from their hiding places. There was much talk of the three ships that had escaped. One of them had a badly burnt sail and would need to find anchorage so the crew could repair it. At least one had flown the banner of an Orkney chieftain. Many worried that they would join together and mount another attack. One of the King’s ships-masters would raise a fresh crew and mount a search the next morning.

  The Jarl’s reeve saw me arrive and spoke to the King. He gestured to me to approach. I left Ulf ’s body in the care of the servants. Hakon looked at me. It was a very different look from the one that so angered me when we first met almost a year ago.

  ‘Greetings, Niece, I am glad to find you alive. I have seen with my own eyes that the tales of your courage were not exaggerated. Had you been a man I would have offered you a place at my table to fill one of the gaps left by my fallen housekarls. Tomorrow we shall speak of how I can reward you. Until then,’ he rose and handed me an armlet of heavy, twisted gold. I didn’t hesitate. I accepted the arm-ring and put it on. I was now tied to King Hakon, I owed him allegiance but that worked both ways. Becklund would be the weirgeld he owed for my father’s life and a pardon the admission of the wrong he did. I felt at peace with the choice I had made.

  I looked in vain for my family but was told their hideaway was in the rugged terrain up in the hills above Lade and they would not have had the news of our victory yet. I found Anlaf and held him while he sobbed his grief for his friend. He helped me lay the body on a bier. We collected wood and lit a mighty fire under it. We drank funeral ale and took it in turns to praise the gallant young warrior, who would now be on his way to Valhalla.

  ‘We shall meet him there, shall we not, Sigrid?’ Anlaf was pale and red-eyed but calm now.

  ‘Yes, you fought well, both of you, and we shall all drink together in Odin’s great hall.’

  We sat there all night until the last embers turned to ash and Ulf was gone.

  I took Anlaf to my mother’s house for her servants to look after. There
was still no word from her or Toki although the rest of her household had returned one by one. Too tired to get changed I lay down on my mother’s bed and fell into deep, dreamless sleep. I was woken by one of the women.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, Jarl Sigurd sends word asking for your mother. What shall I say? The sun is sinking in the sky and there’s no sign of her or the children.’

  I sat up and heedless of my dirty, blood-stained clothing got up to speak to the Jarl’s messenger. He led me to the hall where King Hakon and the Jarl sat in conference. Neither commented on my appearance. It did not differ from that of most of their retinue. The Jarl looked pale and tired. The King was like me dirty and dishevelled. He nodded to me.

  ‘My sister and the Jarl’s wife have not returned. I believe your children are with them, are they not?’ I nodded, too overcome to say anything. ‘We sent some men to search for them. They returned with the news that the hideaway in the forest is empty. It showed signs of a struggle. This was left behind.’

  I couldn’t hold back a cry of anguish. In the King’s hand nestled one of Kveldulf ’s little wooden animals.

  The following day groups of men rode out in different directions to search for those missing. I asked to join them but the King refused. I spent my time pacing the perimeter of the farm until he summoned me.

  ‘Niece, it saps the courage of others to see you give in to your worry. The sauna stands ready. Your mother’s household is at your service. People need to see you in command here as well as on the battlefield. Go and dress as behoves a royal niece.’

  I noticed then he had changed into a splendid robe of red velvet with gold braid and on his combed blonde hair sat the royal diadem. I was pleased to be addressed as niece but embarrassed to have let myself down and apologised to him. He should not have to remind me of the necessity to act with dignity. My mother had shown me that all through my childhood. I knew I must follow her example. Her servants looked relieved when I ordered fresh clothes and asked one of the women to comb my hair.