Shieldmaiden (37 page)

‘I'm afraid Kveldulf has your temper, Sigrid. Like you he will not listen to reason or … Arggh!' He tried to leap aside to avoid my kick. ‘And if that doesn't prove my point…'

‘Ragnar!' I felt my face go hot and cast an embarrassed glance at the Archbishop, who rocked with laughter. Ragnar knelt beside me and took my hands.

‘We're going home, Sigrid. Our troubles are over. We can start again and all thanks to you and your stubbornness.'

‘My what!' But Ragnar's smile, as always, made me smile too. The heavy fetters of sorrow and worry lifted from my body. ‘Yes we are, aren't we? At last we are going home, home to Becklund. Oh Ragnar, hurry Storm-Wolf, tell her I cannot wait to see my Cumbria again.' I leant back against the mast, closed my eyes and gulped in the salty air with its promise of a new life. Ragnar squeezed my hands and looked at the Archbishop.

‘You will have heard of my wife's brave deeds at Lade, Your Grace.'

‘Yes indeed and of yours, Ragnar Nithingsbane.'

‘Nithingsbane? Is that what they call me?' I opened my eyes to see Ragnar's cheeks flushed with pride and I had to stop myself hugging him, he looked so much like Kveldulf then.

‘Yes and with reason. You captured the escaped nithings who attacked Lade.'

‘And is there a name for my wife as well or have the people of Nidaros forgotten what she did in their hour of need?'

‘I believe Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter is commonly referred to as the Cumbrian Shieldmaiden.' The Archbishop's disapproving little sniff reminded me that a Good Christian Woman does not engage in sword-play. ‘You are blessed with two strong healthy sons.'

‘Three,' Ragnar corrected. ‘My youngest is asleep below the steering-platform.'

‘But I thought…'

‘I told His Grace about Olvir's parentage.'

‘Sigrid, I may not have sired Olvir but you know he is equal in my affection to Kveldulf and Harald. Your Grace, let me explain. Olvir became my true son one black, moon-free winter-night when he braved the wolf-packs and the pale fetch of the forest to find me and bring me the tidings of Harald's birth. I tell you, that boy can match any man on this ship in courage, no he can better us all, for he had neither sword nor shield only his speed and devotion to Sigrid.' The Archbishop nodded approval.

‘So quite the little warrior then.'

‘No, he'll never be a warrior. He was born a thrall and so had no weapons-practice until this year. I have worked hard with him and he tries but it's too late, he lacks killer-instinct. There's something else about him though. He knows letters. He learnt by listening when Sigrid was taught at Lade. And he'll take the last piece of silver from the whole crew here by beating them at hnefatafl. Yes,' he shot me a glance and laughed, ‘I have warned him not to do that.'

‘Hnefatafl?' The Archbishop's generous eyebrows shot up into the fur-trim of his hat. ‘You don't say. Well, I shall have to challenge him. It will help pass the time. Can we call him?' A message was relayed from mouth to mouth and reached Olvir who turned from his lookout post to make his way to us. His face was red and swollen from crying. He looked unsteady and nervous moving on the ship which rolled slightly. Most of the men knew him and many put out a steadying hand to help him along.

‘I hear you are fond of the noble game, young Olvir.' The Archbishop was already busy setting out the pieces and Olvir's smile widened. Ragnar and I left them to it. He returned to the prow to keep an eye on Kveldulf who was trying to catch the spray whipped up when the prow sawed through the waves. I went to see that my baby, Harald and my servant-girl Kirsten were comfortable.

I stayed with them. Harald was trying to walk. Kirsten bounced him on her lap and let him take wobbly little steps on the steering platform but he was restless and wanted to stray further. I could see we were in for a trying time with the energetic toddler on the ship.

Kirsten had approached me about becoming my servant a few days before we were to sail.

‘I feel my destiny belongs with you and your children, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. I helped Harald into this world and Olvir became my friend when he stayed with my grandmother and me.' She was twelve years old with no prospect of a marriage. I liked her direct manner. She was strong and intelligent, her grandmother had taught her healing so, I decided, she would make a useful addition to the household. I was now grateful for her presence as we held an arm each of the bouncing bundle that was my youngest son.

‘Shall you want a daughter next, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter?' She kept her voice low so the helmsman would not hear.

‘Ah, well I…I…'

‘I think you are, are you not, with child again?'

‘But how did you know? I only just began to think so myself ?' She laughed and her light blue eyes gazed at my belly.

‘You have looked pale and I heard you retching yesterday morning. I shall be able to deliver your child. The Old one said I'm ready.' I felt reassured but also reminded of the difficult time when the Valkyries rode the bridge of Bifrost. The girl seemed to understand this for she patted my arm and smiled.

‘I'm sure it will be easier this time. The Old One told me it gets easier with each child.' It was a strange experience being reassured by a girl so young but there was something about Kirsten that belied her years, something in her eyes made me feel I looked at a pool of wisdom gathered by women with special powers over generations since before the time we live in now.

Thor who rules the wind sped our voyage and gave us good, dry weather. We settled into a peaceful routine. Ragnar taught Olvir and Kveldulf to recognise the different parts of the rigging and their uses. Olvir gained confidence on the ship and on the third day at sea, cheered on by the crew, he made his way from stern to prow leaping from one cross-plank to the next. He spent hours each day playing hnefatafl or just talking with Wolfstan. The Archbishop seemed to enjoy his company and encouraged by the attention Olvir was returning to his old, talkative self. At first I worried that he might annoy the Archbishop with his opinionated chatter but my mind was put at rest when I heard Wolfstan's booming laughter mingle with Olvir's high-pitched giggle. They made an incongruous pair the ten year old, precocious farm-lad and the greying cleric with his rich clothes and warrior bearing.

After four days we had a look-out posted as we expected to see land very soon. The first signs were gulls and terns gliding on outstretched wings, diving into the green water and sometimes emerging with a silvery fish in their beaks. Then small patches of seaweed floated past on brown air-filled blisters. That night we rolled ourselves in our blankets and fleeces hoping to see the shore-line of England the next morning.

I woke in the middle of the night. The rigging whined and groaned. The sail whipped and flapped and made noises like Thor's hammer crashing into the giants' mountain. The men lowered the sail to a third of its size but we still surged forward. Thorfinn, at the helm, had the help of a tall Norwegian but still struggled with the steering-oar. The waves grew so tall that one moment we were lifted high enough to touch the grey clouds and the next we descended into deep valleys surrounded by white crested water-mountains. The wooden hull creaked and shuddered. The waves broke over the sides and water gathered around our feet. My spirits sank as I realised that the gods had neither forgiven nor forgotten my debt. The storm was sent by those whose laws I had broken when I betrayed my brother. I held my Thor's hammer amulet to the wild sky and prayed for mercy, if not for me then for my children. I saw Kirsten holding the sleeping Harald in the shelter under the steering platform. Her pale eyes were wide open but she looked calm and unafraid. Kveldulf sat on Olvir's lap by the mast. He thought it was a game and, wild with excitement, cheered when the ship was thrown high on a wave, then he piped a long, shrill note as we slid and crashed into the next trough.

The crew clutched amulets or crosses each according to his preference. Many were sick and their spew mixed with the gathering bilge in the bottom of the ship. The Archbishop was on his knees praying in a loud voice in Latin. In the middle of the ship sat an old, gnarled warrior called Varg the Varangian. He held his Thor's hammer amulet in one hand and a cross in the other as he shouted prayers to Odin, Thor, Njord, Jesus and Jehova.

Ragnar passed leather buckets and wooden pails and shouted above the roar of the storm that it was time to start bailing. Some were too sick to be of much use so I took a pail and helped. Next to me the Archbishop filled and emptied a bucket, his broad back rising and falling in continuous movement. Kveldulf thought this was a new game and used a small wooden bowl to gather the filthy mess. He tried to throw it overboard the way he saw me do but he was of course too small and the content of his bowl landed back where it had come from with a fair amount splashing on men, already wet and sick. Olvir, green-faced and trembling, crept to his side and showed him how to tip his bowl into a bucket, which he could then empty over the side of the ship. The child thought this splendid fun. I lashed the pair of them to the mast with a short lead and showed Olvir how to undo the knot with a sharp tug, should the ship break up.

I moved to the stern where I could keep an eye on Harald and Kirsten. I bailed and prayed and listened to the empty retching of the sea-sick and the fury of the storm. I entered that dream-like state where the mind watches from a blurred distance as the body labours regardless of pain.

Every seventh wave is larger than the ones before. It was a seventh wave that took the tall Norwegian. He'd been helping Thorfinn keep the rudder steady but whereas Thorfinn was lashed to the steering oar, his friend was not and when the vicious wave struck he was washed overboard. Nobody else noticed. I was the only one close enough to hear Thorfinn's frantic call for help. His face was contorted with the effort of holding the rudder steady against the wild water. I crawled across and on to the platform. I pulled myself up and gripped the end of the oar. It tugged and pulled as violent as a wild animal and I braced my body against it to help keep it steady.

‘Rope! Tie yourself.' Thorfinn's voice was barely audible in the storm. A length of rope swished like an angry snake from the oarport. I put it through my belt and tied it. The steering platform was wet and we slipped and struggled. Each time I lost my footing the rope saved me from being washed overboard but my belt tightened like a vice and pushed the breath out of my lungs. The salty water stung my eyes and I kept coughing as I breathed in the heavy spray that soaked every inch of my clothing and every hair on my head. Once, between two waves, I caught a glimpse of Kirsten. She lay half outside the shelter waving her arm. Her face was white, her eyes wide. She shouted something which was lost in the noise from the storm. I tried to reach her but the rope had swelled and the knot set like iron. The next wave struck. I gripped the oar tighter and groaned with the effort. My feet slipped again and my belt cut into my stomach. I stifled a groan and concentrated on clinging to the steering oar.

Grey morning-light dawned. The wind and the waves calmed somewhat. Storm-Wolf continued to dip and dive but water no longer gushed over the sides. The crew stopped bailing and slumped against whatever support they found. Somebody came up on the platform. An arm held my exhausted, trembling body. In a haze I heard Ragnar:

‘Was she here all night? Were there no men to help? Why didn't you call me?' I didn't hear the reply. My legs gave way. Someone cut the rope from my waist and I slid down on the wet, stinking hull. I clutched my aching belly. Then Kirsty was next to me removing my belt.

‘Mistress, you were very foolish. I don't know how…' The rest of her words floated away in a dark mist.

I woke next to Olvir and Kveldulf. Olvir was awake. He looked at me with hollow eyes. He still clutched the end of the tether in one hand and Kveldulf 's harness in the other. I reassured him the storm had passed and helped him loosen his stiff fingers from the leather thongs and untie the knot. Striker came out from under the steeringplatform crawling on his belly. Emitting pitiful whines, he licked Kveldulf 's face. Kveldulf woke and picked up the dishevelled dog.

‘Wasn't that exciting, Striker!' Olvir closed his eyes and groaned.

The full sail was hoisted but then the wind died altogether and we were left slowly rising and sinking on the swell. The sun hid behind heavy clouds. Thorfinn sat slumped against the side of the ship fast asleep and Ragnar was at the rudder. He had no means of telling where we were. There was no land in sight although it couldn't be far because seaweed and birds appeared again. The crew became more cheerful, discussing which was most urgent, food, water or a fire to dry themselves out. Olvir and Kveldulf slept for a while then they sat in the prow and had a wager of who would be the first to spot land. Soon they shouted together and pointed to starboard. The clouds were breaking up and the low sun revealed a black shadow on the horizon. Ragnar ordered the oars to be put out. The men were eager and rowed with powerful strokes towards the unknown land.

30.

In the dark nobody saw the blood soaking through my dress and into the sand as I lost my baby. I had been foolish to think about the life growing inside me as a girl. Now I mourned a daughter even though Kirsten told me again and again it was too early to tell anything from the bloody mess she cleared up as she washed me and found fresh clothes to dress me in. We nestled in a small depression among the rocks away from prying eyes. Nobody must know that I had been punished by the gods. I was shivering, my whole body covered in a cold sweat.

‘You must wipe your tears, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. The men should not see you cry. Come, I need to get you in front of the fire or you'll catch a chill. Women sometimes go down in a fever after what you've been through.' She caught her breath. ‘Odin's beard, your poor body is covered in bruises, all round the middle, no wonder…' She continued to mutter to herself while struggling to get me into clothes which were clean but, like everything off the ship, soaking wet. ‘Now come here. Let me support you. You can't stay here.'