Shieldmaiden Read online

  We drank the bride-ale and I was delivered to Swanhill by my father and Steinar. They led me to Hauk’s bed and left me there behind the thick curtain. My mother had prepared me and I had resolved to accept my situation and be a wife to Hauk. I tried thinking of his handsome side and his smile but, as I lay there listening to the voices from outside, the image of Ragnar floated into my mind. I remembered the way he’d held me close, the way he looked at me and his teasing smile. I wondered whether he had really forgotten me or whether something had happened to keep him away. Perhaps he would one day come asking for me at Becklund. But it was too late. I had given my word and I must be Hauk’s wife.

  I heard the door open to let in a shower of excited voices. Then it closed again and I heard a rustle of clothes being removed, a thump as first one then another boot was kicked off. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. The drapes were pulled open. I looked up to see Hauk climbing in beside me, panting and leering. His face was flushed and his manhood erect. His scar throbbed purple and ugly.

  ‘At last, Sigrid! You kept me waiting long enough.’ He tore at my shift to uncover me. Twin-talons of fear and revulsion gripped me. My mind went blank. Out of control, I screamed and fought. My nails dug into his cheeks. My knee caught him in the chest. My teeth sank into his arm. He pulled back, swore and slapped me across the face.

  ‘You shall pay dearly for this!’ he roared as he struggled into his trousers and boots and stormed off. I was left to sob and listen to the commotion outside. At first everything went quiet then there was a great roar of voices, anger but also mirth and mockery. It dawned on me what I had done. I crawled under the bedclothes and cried and cried.

  After a while Steinar came in. ‘Sigrid, you have offended everyone. Your father is crushed by the shame you have brought on the family. You must dress and come outside.’

  My father sat on a bench with his back to the wall. A small distance away stood Hauk and his household. His mother cried into her apron. His half-brother and some men-servants stood talking together with their hands on their swords. Some of the servants and thralls sniggered behind their hands. A black-haired woman with tanned skin stood to one side cradling a baby while two young children clung to her skirt. She looked at me and laughed.

  My eyes were still watering as I faced my father. He looked pale and his voice trembled.

  ‘How could you bring such shame on me Sigrid? We will be the laughing stock of the whole of Cumbria. How can we go trading with our heads held high? How can I demand respect from our neighbours after this?’ He clasped his hands and I noticed the swollen knuckles and misshaped fingers. He looked very old to me then. ‘Listen Sigrid, Hauk is a proud man. His humiliation has cost me dear. I have agreed to send the bride-price back. In return, Hauk will give you three full moons to get used to him. In that time you will share his bed but he will not force himself on you. Daughter, this is the best offer you’ll get. News of your behaviour will spread faster than rings on water and no other man will want you. Hauk is no worse than any other man but don’t try his patience any further – or mine.’ I made to answer but he rose and left me there. His shoulders slumped as he and Steinar rode off.

  Hauk was true to his word. We slept side by side. I would retire first and he joined me later, sometimes much later. I ached for Becklund and my former life but tried to settle down to life as the mistress of the house. My mother-in-law, the quiet Thorgunn, handed over the keys to the store-house and the chests. She seemed relieved. She never questioned any of my decisions but rather submitted to my rule as if she were just another servant. There were five free men and three women in servitude, eight male and five female thralls. They did my bidding but were surly and disrespectful. Then came the day when one of them defied me.

  It was my second week at Swanhill when Lydia, the dark slavewoman from the lands in the South, refused to clean out the privy.

  ‘Not my work,’ she said in her rolling accent, ‘I weave and cook and…’ The smack as the flat of my hand landed on her mouth silenced all those who witnessed the event but not her. She slipped past me and from a safe distance she screamed:

  ‘I Princess de Galicia. You no hit! You bad wife! I real wife. Hauk soon make you go, leave!’ She ran towards the lake, where Hauk and a servant were mending nets. I chased after her and we reached them together, panting and shaking. The serving man left after a quick glance at Hauk’s face. Hauk didn’t look up from his work. His scar glowed red under his knitted eyebrows, his movements were jerky and his voice a hoarse growl.

  ‘Lydia, return to the farm.’ She made to speak but changed her mind and walked slowly with many backward glances.

  ‘Who is that thrall? She dared disobey me. Unless the insolent creature mends her ways, you’ll have to…’

  Hauk threw the net down, took one long stride towards me and shook his fist in my face. I ducked, side-stepped him and reached for my knife.

  ‘Don’t even think of hitting me, Hauk! I have a right to know if the wretched woman is more than a thrall on this farm.’

  He breathed hard but lowered his hand. His face was contorted and he choked on his anger as he said:

  ‘Lydia is my special woman and until you become a proper wife to me, she will remain so. She will not do hard work and you will treat her well. As it stands, she has more right to be the mistress of Swanhill than you have.’

  I ran then. I ran as if it were possible to leave time and place behind, up through the copse, across the newly harvested fields and onto the wooded hillside. I tore past the grasping branches and weaved between the rough trunks. My headscarf caught on the thorns of a dog-rose and I left it hanging on the bush. As the slope grew steeper, I slowed down and walked but all the time I headed towards Loweswater and Becklund.

  I followed the course of a small beck snaking its way down the hillside. Higher up the ground became stony and at times I had to climb over steep rocks. The trees disappeared and on the open fell heather scratched my ankles and bracken snared my feet. Beads of sweat hung on my forehead and my under-dress stuck to my back. Out of breath and with my heart racing, I reached the path on the flat, boggy area flanked by steep, rocky hillsides. Straight on would take me to Crummockwater but before then there was Mosedale, which led north to Becklund. I thought of the reception I would get at home and my steps became heavy. I had the right to divorce Hauk but by running away, instead of taking my case to the Lawmen at the Allthing in the approved manner, I had again brought shame on myself and my family. I thought of my father and how old and tired he had looked and I felt ashamed to let him down.

  My shadow was still short. It was not long past mid-day, not too late to return to Swanhill. I could either try again or get a proper divorce. I stopped to give myself time to think. I longed to return to Becklund and my parents, but I knew that was impossible. My mouth felt dry and I descended to Mosedale Beck. As I knelt down to drink, the bundle of keys, which marked my status as mistress of Swanhill, tumbled with a clatter down on the grass. Fear hit me like a blow from a raven’s wing. I crouched on the ground and moaned. Odin and Freya would be offended by my disregard for honour and duty. I would be punished for breaking my oath, for running away like a thief with the keys to Swanhill. Trembling I prayed and promised I would return there and act with humility and honour. I pledged a sacrifice, a brooch or an armlet, if they would only overlook my rash behaviour.

  I washed my face in the cold water. I wished I’d stopped to pick up my head-scarf. My hair had worked loose of the pins and hung in heavy tresses down my back. I looked at my muddy shoes sticking out from under the torn, soiled hem of my dress. But for my jewellery, I must look like a runaway thrall. I twisted my hair into a bun and returned up to the path the way I had come. Then I heard voices from further up the valley. Men on horseback, never a good sign to a woman alone. I climbed as fast as I could up the slope. My body trembled and my breath caught in my throat. I scanned the hillside, searching for shelter, but no rock was large enough and no plant grew ta
ll enough to hide me. I was alone, unarmed and exposed. Was this punishment from the gods already?

  There were five of them. The horses struggled on the boggy ground and the riders steered them up towards the drier slopes, where I had taken refuge. I squatted among the sparse tufts of grass to make myself small. The riders had to concentrate on their balance as the horses slipped and stumbled on the loose, stony ground. They were coming ever higher, ever closer. They carried full armour, swords at their sides, spears in hand and shields on their backs, axes, bows and arrows tied to their saddles.

  One of the horses lost its footing and the rider was thrown forwards in the saddle. He swore, dismounted and bent down to check the front legs of the horse. As he stood up he looked straight at me. A grin spread across his leathery face and his eyes glinted like cold iron. I leaped up, gathered my skirts and ran. The men below roared their pleasure at the unexpected entertainment. The man following me was heavy but his sturdy boots gave a firm grip on the treacherous ground. My soft leather shoes slid on the damp grass but I was light and fear gave me speed. The slope became steeper and it was hard to keep upright. I needed one hand to steady myself as the run became a scramble. One foot caught in the hem of my dress. That was all it took. My scream echoed round the valley. I fell, rolled down the slope into the arms of my assailant. He laughed and his companions cheered.

  ‘What have you there, Thorfinn?’

  ‘A wench, fit for some sport.’

  ‘Bring her here, let’s have a look.’

  He dragged me down to where the others were waiting. He twisted my arm up my back and forced me to bend forwards. I struggled but couldn’t look up at the faces around me.

  ‘Get her shift off and let’s see what we’ve got.’ A young voice breathless with excitement.

  ‘What I’ve got you mean.’ Thorfinn’s voice rumbled in my ear. ‘Mine to keep or to trade, as I please.’

  ‘To share with your brothers!’ The young voice became agitated and there was a murmur among some others. I thought of Snakebite, left behind in my temper. I closed my eyes. I would die and I must be brave.

  ‘I claim the girl for what you owe me in gambling debts, Thorfinn.’

  ‘So do I, he owes me more than you.’

  Several of the riders were now dismounting. Thorfinn had stopped laughing.

  His grip on my wrist hardened. More horses arrived. A new voice interrupted the growing discord, a cold voice which I recognised but couldn’t place. I tried to turn my head to see who it was but he had come up behind us.

  ‘What are you doing? We need to make haste. Your lives are in danger and you quarrel over a wench. Get back on your horses.’

  ‘She’s mine, I found her and I caught her.’ Thorfinn sounded a lot less sure of himself. The rest were already mounting. ‘I’ll catch up with you.’

  ‘That’s up to you. We call in at Becklund but not for long.’

  That’s when I recognised the voice. ‘Jarl Swein,’ I called but too late. The horses and men made too much noise, nobody heard me. Thorfinn remained standing for a while but his grip became less firm and I could sense him relaxing.

  ‘Let me go, Thorfinn,’ I said, ‘and there will be a reward for you from my father, Kveldulf Arnvidson of Becklund.’ He let go of one of my arms so I could straighten up. I turned my head to look at him. I recognised his squashed nose and heavy jowls. He was the ugly poet I had knifed when he tried to fondle me at the table. He didn’t recognise me but became interested when he noticed my jewellery, which marked me out as a woman from a prosperous family.

  ‘I give you my word. If you take me to my father you will be richly rewarded.’

  I could almost see the thoughts tumbling round inside his greasy head. I twisted and did a sideways kick at his knee. As my foot made contact, his leg buckled and he toppled over. He swore and lost his grip on my arm. Before he could struggle up from the soft, muddy ground, I was by his horse grappling to free his bow. He limped towards me, his face contorted in fury and pain. I moved round so the horse was between us. I grabbed an arrow from the quiver and ran uphill. He followed me but now I had him in my sight. If he had stood still, as I told him to, he may have lived. But he lunged at me and I was too good a shot to miss his large, lumbering frame. He fell backwards and hit the ground with one of his own arrows through his neck. There was much blood but I didn’t wait to witness his death-throes. I grabbed the horse by its bridle and moved away as quickly as I could. I forgot all about my promises to the gods that I would return to Swanhill. I had one thought only: if Jarl Swein was at Becklund, so would Ragnar be and that’s where I had to go.

  The horse was lame and unwilling to move. I had to pull hard on its bridle to get it to walk. I struggled on the boggy ground, exhausted and trembling after my ordeal. I waited till I had put some distance between myself and Thorfinn before I stopped to catch my breath. I checked over his weapons, the shield was too heavy for me but the axe I could just about manage for a brief fight. I already knew his bow was well balanced and his arrows straight. As I hurried down Mosedale I kept looking behind me, thinking I could hear pursuers. I felt sick and my limbs were shaking so much I found it hard to continue. It was well after noontide and I’d had enough. By a clump of trees I put a halter on the horse and removed Thorfinn’s axe and his thick woollen cloak from behind the saddle. Then, thinking that people look down on the uneven path rather than up the side of the slope, I climbed a short way up. There, wrapped in Thorfinn’s cloak and with his axe next to me, I lay down to rest.

  I was woken by an angry voice and a foot in my back. ‘Thorfinn, you ugly goblin! Get up!’

  4.

  I rolled over and grabbed the axe. As I leaped up, I trod on the long cloak and was pulled down again. I struggled to get out of the heavy garment but it seemed Thorfinn’s cloak was intent on his revenge, for it wrapped itself ever tighter around my legs. As I toppled over, I heard my assailant laugh and draw his sword. I cried out and the cry gave me strength. I rolled down the slope and, as I did so, managed to fight free of the cloak. I got to my feet and, trembling with fear, needed both hands to raise the heavy axe. I looked up. Above me hulked a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a halo of blonde hair. It was Ragnar.

  The relief was so great I lost my speech and burst out crying. Deep, rasping sobs forced their way from the very core of my body. The axe fell from my hands and I staggered towards my lost love to embrace him. He stood, sword in one hand, the other shielding his eyes against the setting sun.

  ‘Odin’s beard! What’s this? Where is Thorfinn?’

  Still speechless, I buried my face in the folds of his tunic and clung to the safety of his presence.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  I tried to answer but was silenced by a fresh lot of tears. Ragnar put his arms around me and rocked me like a child. I felt the taught muscles in his chest and my body began to relax. My crying abated and I blew my nose on my apron and took a deep breath. The scent of sweat and leather from Ragnar’s body made me giddy and the remnants of fear were driven out by new and different feelings. My heart began to beat faster. Ragnar’s arms tightened around me. The stubble on his chin scratched my cheek as he bent down to kiss me. Then he looked at me.

  ‘You’re quite pretty under all that dirt, do you know that?’ His smile was mocking and I laughed. He kissed me again. I pressed my mouth against his. My nipples went hard and a warm moistness spread inside the cleft between my thighs. I began to enjoy this rush of emotion. But then I caught my breath. Ragnar was pulling up my dress and his rough hand stroked my legs and my stomach.

  ‘No, don’t, we must wait!’

  ‘What for?’ He laughed and pulled me down on the ground. His mouth was hard on mine and smothered any attempt to protest. I tried to push him away but his heavy body pinned me to the ground. I felt his fingers guiding him inside me. There was a brief moment of sharp pain and then the urgent movement of his body. A muffled cry, then he relaxed on top of me and sighed. This was no
t how I had imagined it to be. My lust turned to disappointment and then to red-hot anger. The man who had filled my waking and sleeping mind for two long years had helped himself to my body as if I were a common thrall-woman. I pushed at him. He rolled on to his side and yawned.

  ‘That was good, my little wench.’ He’d hardly finished his sentence before my fists drummed against his face. I hit blindly, growling with my teeth bared. He sat up and grabbed my wrists.

  ‘Too late to change your mind, wench!’ he said and laughed.

  ‘There was no need for that, Ragnar! I have waited for you all this time and now…’ He stopped laughing and his eyes clouded over.

  ‘You know my name? Who are you?’

  ‘Ragnar, don’t you know me? I’m Sigrid!’ He let go of me and stared at my brooches and my necklace. The colour left his face and his voice shrunk to a whisper.

  ‘Sigrid…Sigrid…Odin’s eye! How...I.’

  I collapsed back on the grass and covered my eyes with my fists. He stood up, pulled at his trousers and tunic. Then he sat down again but at a distance. He was silent for a long time while his eyes travelled between the sky, the ground and me. Then he knelt beside me.

  ‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, my little shieldmaiden, how was I to recognise you in that state? I would never have treated you with anything but respect if I’d known. Why didn’t you tell me?’ I sat up and tried to push my tangled hair from my face.

  ‘I was sure you’d recognise me. But then…’ He put his arms around me.

  ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Sigrid, I wish I could undo what I have done but the way you clung to me like a…’ Again, the force of my furious fist silenced him. Humiliated, angry and disappointed I screamed at him:

  ‘And you don’t even do it properly. It wasn’t nice at all. It’s supposed to feel all…’ Realising what I had said, I fell silent. Ragnar stared at me with open mouth. In my embarrassment I started crying again. He stroked the tears from my cheeks with gentle fingers.