Shieldmaiden (20 page)

There were five of them but they all looked strong and were armed with spears and clubs. I rode in through the broken gate and headed for a red-bearded villain. He heard me and turned. I looked into his staring eyes. His mouth opened. Then Dragonclaw slit his throat. The mare neighed as she was splattered with the warm, dark blood. One of the raiders saw me and threw his spear before he ran. His aim was poor and it only grazed my arm. It was a scratch, no more, but enough to provoke the battle-fury and the strange detachment it brings.

Moonbeam bridled but I forced her on. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Anlaf and Ulf, their swords flashing in the sun as they chased one raider and a herd of cattle towards the lake. The remaining three raiders climbed the fence to the meadow and headed for the slope towards Whiteless Breast. I followed. My mare jumped the fence with ease. One of the marauders stopped and raised his spear. He had no fear and his aim was good. I had no choice but to turn my horse. She took the spear in her neck. She reared and her neigh rose to a wild scream. As she crashed on to the grass, my leg was trapped under her quivering body. My enemy gave a triumphant shout. His eyes glowed fierce under a tangle of black hair. He made no hurry but started towards me with a confident stride. I brought Dragonclaw down on the mare's flank. She jolted trying to get up. I managed to snatch my leg from under her. In my frenzy I felt no pain only a violent hatred of the marauder who had attacked my home and my people.

I got to my feet. Dragonclaw felt hot in my hand, eager for combat. I took my knife in my other hand and went to meet the Scot. I saw him hesitate. Without his spear he had to rely on a dagger and his club but he was taller than me and had a wider reach. He growled and began an attacking run down the hill. He raised his club, ready to strike. I waited until he was almost upon me before I ducked, side-stepped and with a swift turn let Dragonclaw slash his arm. She found the wrist and his dagger fell to the ground. He roared and swung round to face me. We crouched and began circling each other. I now had two weapons to his one but he could use both arms for more force and better control of each strike. One blow of that club would crush my head. He lunged at me a few times and I leapt aside. The club is a forceful weapon but it is slow. I tried to use my speed and agility to advantage and twisted and turned to come at him from different angles. He was alert and ready to parry attacks from any direction but his breathing was laboured and each time I jumped to one side he was a little slower to respond. I began to feel confident and that is never wise because the gods like to punish such pride. I side-stepped, stumbled and fell on my back. My scream echoed alien and distant. With a satisfied grunt my enemy lifted his club. I rolled down the slope and got back on my feet. His club hit the ground with a dead thump.

Then he began to retreat up the hill. Encouraged by his laboured breath, I followed. Step by cautious step, striking out at each other, we worked our way up the grassy slope. I tried to get within reach to let Dragonclaw stab at him but he was on his guard with the club a constant threat. I tried to overtake him to force him back down towards the farm where there was help. I tried to trick him. I looked over his shoulder with a smile as if there were reinforcements on their way. But he ignored it. His clever eyes stayed fixed on my face as he tried to read my next move.

Instead it was I who was distracted. The hem of my dress began working loose from the belt and with the hand that held my dagger I tried to pull it tight again. The Scot saw his opportunity and brought his club down on me. I slipped, lunged sideways, tried to roll out of the way. This time it didn't work. My raised left arm took the full force of the blow. I heard the bone crack and a searing pain burnt its way up towards my shoulder. The air left my lungs in a piercing scream. I cried a desperate plea to Thor for help. Through a mist of pain I heard my enemy's triumphant bellow and saw his torso upright and both arms raised to swing the club. The great warriorgod heard me and sent a wave of strength to my sword-hand. I twisted round and thrust Dragonclaw into the villain's exposed belly and up under his ribs. He staggered backwards and fell like a tree. In a last effort I crawled away and from a distance of a few feet I watched his eyes lose their lustre and red froth well out through his mouth.

I sat hunched supporting my injured arm. The battle-fury left me and I could hear the sounds around me; cattle lowing, men and women calling, dogs barking and, somewhere above me, men shouting. I could make out the foreign ring of the marauders' voices. They were coming towards me. I looked around for a hiding place but there was nowhere on the bare hill-side. Whimpering with exhaustion I got to my feet. I had to let go of my broken, battered arm. As it hung unsupported at my side the pain throbbed and stabbed and my vision blurred with tears. I rubbed my eyes with my sleeve. Then I gripped Dragonclaw and, using my foot to brace against the dead Scot's body, pulled her free. Chanting the warriors' battle-call: ‘Odin, Odin', I turned to face the enemy, prepared to die with honour.

Two men came running down the hill pursued by two others on horseback. I recognised Thorfinn and his neighbour. The Scots headed towards me. If they got to me before my friends got to them, I would enter Valhalla that day. They had lost their spears but held their clubs in front as they ran. I raised Dragonclaw. Thorfinn had spotted my plight and urged his horse on but I could see he would not catch up in time to save me. Then a shout from behind me:

‘Sigrid! Get down!' I crouched and first one, then another spear flew past me. The first landed in the chest of one of the marauders the other missed but made the remaining raider veer away from his path and away from me. Ulf and Anlaf steered their horses up the hill in pursuit.

‘We'll get him!' Their calls, shrill and excited, mixed with the groans of the injured man. Thorfinn finished him with his axe.

Then he helped me back to the farm. My pain was no more severe than the anguish I felt for those I had come to think of as my family and household. I looked around for them while Thorfinn fashioned a splint for my arm. Ansgar came limping up to me.

‘Sigrid, you came just in time. We have the nithings on the run!' I hardly recognised the peaceful little monk. His face was streaked with soot and sweat and above his left eye a mighty lump had formed. In a state of high excitement he waved a sturdy staff. ‘I shall take the boy Bjarne with me and we shall find the cattle and bring them back, every single one, I promise.'

‘But Ansgar! Brother, you are hurt.'

‘A scratch, Sigrid, no more.'

He left with Bjarne, who was dirty and in torn clothing but otherwise looked unhurt. Beorn the Lame sat leaning against the fence. He looked dazed and had a blood-stained rag round his head. One of the thralls lay dead, his skull split open and his white hair stained with blood and matter. For the rest, I called them all by name and took stock of their injuries. Bjarne's mother and another thrallwoman had been raped and were in the lake to wash out the vile seed. The rest were frightened and angry but had only grazes and minor wounds. One person was missing.

‘Aisgerd, where is Aisgerd?' Someone muttered she must still be in the house. I went inside to look for her. She sat slumped in the high seat. Around her were broken chests, torn clothing and scattered treasure. Her face under the stained and crumpled head-dress was as grey as sorrow itself. I believed her dead and let out a wail. But she opened her eyes and when she saw me she tried to straighten up.

‘Sigrid,' she said in a low, weak voice, ‘daughter. You must take over now.'

The hangings on the bed were torn but the timber was sound and I collected what blankets and fleeces I could find. Thorfinn carried Aisgerd over to the bed but before she lay down she said: ‘Sigrid, you shall sit in the high seat.'

‘I will until you feel strong again.' She nodded and closed her eyes.

We had interrupted the plunder and destruction and, while I fought on the hillside, the people on the farm had managed to pull the burning thatch down from the dairy roof. It still smouldered on the muddy ground spreading dark choking smoke. The byre had burnt to the ground but the roof of the main house was covered in turf and the timbers were undamaged. I noted all that would need repairing, thinking to myself we had done it before, we could do it again. I began to plan what to do first; there would be injuries to see to, the cattle would need rounding up and bringing back.

I called the household together and took my place in the high seat. We tended wounds and were refreshed with food and drink. The Scots were after cattle and silver. They had caused much damage but many things were found scattered around the house and yard. I told everyone our wounds would heal and the farm could be repaired. I promised a proper burial for the thrall who had been killed. The fire in the hearth was rekindled and, as the evening closed in, a sense of tired relief spread through the room. My own peace of mind may have been assisted by the valerian in the drink I was given against the pain in my arm.

Ansgar and Bjarne returned and drove eight cows into the meadow. I nodded in appreciation as Thorfinn told me the news and made sure they had food and had their wounds seen to. At least I think I did. Then Anlaf and Ulf arrived with another seven head of cattle. My head swam with the valerian but I was still in the high seat as I saw them enter in a swirling fog. Two youngsters, one short and stocky with a head of chestnut curls the other tall and lanky, his hair so red it seemed on fire. Their faces flushed, their eyes bright they seemed to float towards me all smiles and swagger. The household shuffled and moved back to let them through. They stopped in front of me, bowed their heads and knelt. Between them they held a bundle made from a tartan rug, tied up with a thong. They undid it and the contents of their makeshift sack spilled out on the floor. Five severed heads came to rest in front of my feet, hair clotted with fresh blood, eyes dull and mouths open as in a last plea for mercy. The room around me began to sway. I gripped the sides of my seat and the pain from my broken arm jolted me back. I tried to focus on Anlaf and Ulf. They were still on their knees, offering me their swords. Only half conscious, I heard Ulf speak for both of them, swearing allegiance to ‘the noble granddaughter of the great King Harald, the brave warrior-maiden of Brunnanburh' and pledging their services on my forthcoming expedition to Norway. I was at a loss. What should I do? How could I reject them after they had saved my life? But how could I accept their homage with no property from which to make gifts? And how did they know about my dream to go to Norway? The great god Odin took my right hand and guided it. I watched it move, no longer under my control and felt it grip first the hilt of Ulf 's sword then that of Anlaf 's. With beaming faces they got to their feet.

‘We shall serve you well, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, as Odin is our witness.'

I think Thorfinn and Beorn took the heads of the Scots. These would be displayed along the track taken by the robbers, to make it clear to anyone else minded to attack the farm that we were no longer an easy target for their raids. I was helped to bed and drifted off into confused sleep where tartan-clad raiders paid me homage while Anlaf and Ulf sailed a dragon-ship up Buttermere calling me to come and lead them into battle.

The next morning Thorfinn and his companions saddled their horses for the return ride to their farms. Before they left I took Thorfinn to one side. He confirmed that Anlaf and Ulf were now my sworn men. So I had not dreamt it.

‘Those two seem to know many things about me, Thorfinn.' He fiddled with his beard and didn't meet my eye.

‘Oh, now…well… I suppose it's possible they…um, overheard me composing, you know, some verses about the battle of Brunnanburh. I may even have mentioned you when…'

‘When ale loosened your tongue perhaps, Thorfinn.' I shook his hand. ‘Friend, I shall not forget the service you rendered me yesterday and neither will Aisgerd.'

I promised Anlaf and Ulf that, when I was ready to make my journey to Norway, I would send for them and the messenger would bring them rings to seal our bond.

I went alone down to the lake shore. I sat for a long time watching the ripples on the water, considering that I was now a ringgiver, a chieftain. I recalled my father's words about the responsibilities this carried:

‘The men who you can call upon to fight for you have a right to expect gifts and land in return.' I looked at the ravaged remnants of Buttermere farm. I wondered where I would get the riches to enable me to bestow gifts on my karls.

17.

The time after the raid was hard. Hardest of all was to raise the spirits of the household. The raid was the third in the four years since their arrival at Buttermere and many thought it pointless to rebuild only to wait for the next group of marauders. Beorn the Lame was plagued by headaches since the blow he had received during the fighting. Aisgerd spent her time either in bed or sitting by the hearth, with her hands idle in her lap, staring into the fire. Thora and some of the strongest workers took the animals up on the summer pasture. The rest of us struggled to get the fields ready for sowing, cut down enough trees for the repairs and cope with the general work on the farm.

But, with some help from our neighbours at Rannerdale and Low Kid Crag, we managed. By the time day and night were equal in the autumn, we had the animals safely under cover in a new byre and the gods had rewarded us with a good harvest. Later, when Brother Ansgar held his lonely celebration of Martin mass, we had repaired the broken fences and the house was, once again, warm and comfortable.

Brother Ansgar was less fervent in preaching Christianity to the household at Buttermere than he'd been at Swanhill. I thought he had finally understood that people resent being told their beliefs are wrong. It turned out his reticence had another reason.

‘Sigrid,' he said one morning when we took our rest after chopping up logs for the fire, ‘I have sinned grievously against the Lord's commandments. I have no confessor to give me absolution and I fear dying in this sinful state.'