Ragnar the Murderer

by Byrne, Lily

  Aelfwyn felt disappointed, she wasn’t sure why. How silly, Saehild’s romantic notions had affected her brain. Of course Ragnar was just being sensible, there was nothing more to it.

  “I wish we hadn’t asked you to the feast now.”

  “Oh, sorry we were so boring!”

  She flounced off before he could answer, and put her hand through Bjarni’s other arm. He looked round in surprise, but didn’t mind and led the sisters back towards Byrnstanham.

  *

  At their home, they sneaked in quietly, but Sigulf caught them. Luckily their parents were snoring, worn out by the day’s household tasks and farming.

  “Had a good time?” he whispered as he lay in his bed with his brothers, not wanting to get up and disturb them.

  The girls made non committal noises and wearily got into their night clothes.

  “Its lucky Ragnar fought off those Danes for me,” whispered Saehild. “I was a bit worried. I told you he liked me, didn’t I? And Bjarni too. Looks like I can have them both.”

  “You are so self centred,” hissed Aelfwyn. “Did you even thank him? You could have got into real trouble tonight! It wasn’t just a bit of fun.”

  “Oh shut up. At least I danced and didn’t just sit there like an owl.”

  “Shut up you two!” hissed Sigulf across from his bed. “You’ll wake everyone.”

  The sisters quietened, each brooding on their grievances with the other.

  Outside, Byrnstanham village slumbered, quiet and dark. Founded by the stream many tens of winters ago, the huts were different sizes for the various families. The villagers were mainly ceorls, the freemen and theow, the slaves. They had a thegn, Framric, who lived in a grand hall on the outskirts of the village and as one of his duties, helped settle disputes between villagers.

  *

  Ragnar and Bjarni went back towards Hallfridby.

  “That was different to normal feasts,” said Bjarni. “Why did you make us take them home so early?”

  Ragnar shrugged.

  “Shall we ask them to come to the next one?”

  He shrugged again. “What time’s training tomorrow?”

  Bjarni realised his friend was in one of his reticent moods, and gave up.

  “It’s after lunch. Steinar knows none of us will get up early after Jolablot.”

  “That’s true.”

  A wolf howled in the distance, and the duo quickened their pace, walking the rest of the way in silence. In truth, Ragnar didn’t know why he had become so angry, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

  The feast had not finished, although most people were falling asleep by now. The two stole back into the hall without anyone noticing they had been gone, as far as they knew. People were falling asleep around the sides of the hall so Ragnar and Bjarni found an empty bench, and dozed off among them.

  *

  At Aelfwyn’s home, life carried on as usual. As the oldest daughter, she did a large share of the work, but everyone pitched in.

  There was always cooking to be done and the fire to be tended. During the morning she or her mother made cheese and butter from the first milk of the season, brought to her from the cows by Sigulf. There were also the vegetables to collect: early spring’s onions, carrots, parsnips.

  The evening meal needed preparing by midday at the latest. Her large family of nine ate a lot, and the vegetable preparing for the stew alone took hours.

  And of course the endless washing and repairing of clothes. Weaving, sewing and spinning were vital tasks as clothes wore out so quickly in the strenuous physical life of the time.

  Sigulf and the other boys helped their father with the farming. They also rose early to chop wood and feed the animals: pigs, sheep, cows, goats, horses, chickens, ducks geese. They all had their own needs and had to be cleaned and tended. Sheep, cows and goats were milked, the birds’ eggs needed to be collected for eating, the feathers for pillows.

  They tended the wheat, barley, oats, rye and beans, keeping weeds and pests at bay so they wouldn’t spoil the harvest later in the year.

  Other jobs were specialised in the village: people worked with bone, embroidery, pottery, leather. They went fishing, crafted wood, stone, iron. Byrnstanham was a busy place with much to distract the idle mind. But Aelfwyn’s mind wandered despite this, remembering the feast and what a diversion it had been.

  *

  A week later, Aelfwyn’s father again called her to him.

  “Eadbald and I have made the arrangements for your betrothal. I trust you are not unhappy with this?”

  “No, father.”

  “Because you will be mistress of your own house at last. I think you will flourish in that role, leof. Anyway, Eadbald is coming to visit at lunch time, you must make yourself presentable.”

  She went to comb her hair, put on her best dress and brooches. She braided her hair neatly, to show her growing maturity.

  When lunch came, Eadbald arrived with two friends, one a thegn called Cyneric, grandly dressed, with blue wool trousers, a leather belt and a woollen outer tunic, complemented by richly embroidered gloves. The other, Brunstan, a ceorl, wore a less impressive costume.

  “Good afternoon,” smiled Eadbald. Thickset, with thinning blond hair and a sallow complexion, he introduced his friends, who looked much the same. Aelfwyn had known of Eadbald for as long as she could remember. one of her father’s friends, he dwelled on the fringe of her world as an unremarkable figure.

  They sat outside the hut despite the cold weather, because of course smoke filled the interior.

  “I would like the wedding to take place within two full moons,” said Eadbald.

  “That is acceptable,” said Aldulf. “Do you agree?”

  “Yes, I can be ready in time.” Aelfwyn felt odd. Not excited, but not full of dread. Numb.

  “The children are excited to have a new mother,” continued Eadbald. “Although my eldest is fourteen, so really not in need of a mother. She is my little helper, she is such a good weaver and cook. She will be relieved to have someone from an older generation guiding her.”

  Aelfwyn felt elderly at this. He made her sound like someone his own age. Was her life over before it had begun? She berated herself inwardly. Most girls her age had been married for four winters, she was lucky to have kept her freedom for so long. But could she not marry for love?

  “You will be an asset to my family as I hope I will to yours.” continued Eadbald. “A sensible young woman like you will help keep my house happy.”

  “Yes,” interrupted Aldulf. “We must arrange a lavish wedding feast. We can use the hall of our thegn Framric, he offered yesterday.”

  “Or my hall,” said Cyneric.

  “How generous. Thank-”

  “Cyneric’s hall is very well equipped,” interrupted Eadbald. “We could fit the whole community in it. The decoration is beautiful…”

  As he rambled on, Aelfwyn remembered the Danish feast and all that had taken place there. She was lucky not to have been dishonoured by Kjartan, as this would have prevented her marriage to Eadbald. A wicked thought that this might have saved her ears, whispered through her mind. She berated herself for being such an immoral girl. Her duty to be a virtuous wife to Eadbald should take precedence, she shouldn’t rue his talkativeness.

  “It is the speech of a man without a wife.” Cyneric whispered, interrupting her thoughts. “He will calm down after you have listened to him as his wife for a while.”

  Although meant to reassure, this instead depressed her. The Danish feast had indeed been her last time as an unmarried woman.

  “So, your pottery making flourishes?” Aldulf interrupted Eadbald’s monologue.

  “Oh yes. Everyone needs plates, bowls and cups, and I try my hardest to…” and he went off again.

  He’s not a bad man, thought Aelfwyn, letting his speech wash over her. He just talks a lot.

  “Would you like to see my newest calf?” asked Aldulf of Cyneric and his friend. They hastily set
off, leaving Aelfwyn with Eadbald, no doubt by design.

  “Now, my dear,” he began. “I must say I look forward to the day you are my wife. I look forward to our first night together.”

  She didn’t know what to say. It seemed odd to be talking about a wedding night with her father’s friend. She wondered how rich he was: would his wealth make up for a lack of love for him? What would it be like being a woman with her own assets at last?

  “I so look forward to knowing you, my wife to be. I don’t imagine we will have children as you are so small, with narrow hips. But we can enjoy trying. I look forward to showing you the pleasures of the flesh. I don’t imagine you know how they are. I am assured women find them as satisfying as men.”

  She swallowed, and wished he would stop talking. A rotund and portly man, his shape differed greatly to Ragnar’s.

  Now where had that thought come from? Ragnar tall and muscular, Eadbald shorter and broader, she knew which one she preferred. She mustn’t think of him in that way. He wasn’t interested in her, only in his job and preventing disagreements between the Danes and the Anglisc. That was why he had protected her and Saehild, no other reason.

  “My late wife, she loved to have me between her legs, pushing into her like a spear into a Dane’s guts.” Eadbald chuckled.

  Aelfwyn shivered. Why did he have to tell her about lying with his wife? Did he hope to arouse her?

  “It’s been a few winters since I was inside a woman, I so look forward to it again, oh beautiful Aelfwyn.” He came closer to her and knelt by her. They were out of sight of the other huts and he put his head in her lap. She gingerly touched his feathery hair and again thought of Ragnar’s unruly chestnut locks which seemed to have a life of their own.

  Eadbald rubbed his head in her lap, putting his face downwards and pressing his nose between her legs. He took a great sniff, and made a slight moan. She froze. Luckily she had tucked her skirt well in around her.

  Where was Ragnar when she needed him? She prayed for him but to no avail.

  “Oh, pardon me. I must control myself.” He lifted his face, drool on his lips. “I find myself wanting you more and more, and of course no other man will, so you will be grateful for an experienced lover like me.”

  “Oh, there’s father,” she lied, making him look round.

  “Where, I do not see-oh there he is.”

  She thanked God for the happy coincidence. Had her father heard her silent call for help?

  Eadbald leapt up and back to his seat, wiping his mouth.

  “All going well?” asked Aldulf, not noticing her frozen, pale face.

  “Oh yes,” gushed Eadbald. “Very well indeed. Your daughter and I are getting on splendidly.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Let us talk about the wedding feast arrangements.”

  “I’d like to use Cyneric’s hall if that is acceptable,” said Eadbald. He smiled lecherously at Aelfwyn, who looked away.

  “Of course. Now, let us turn to the matter of the…”

  She sat there dumb, letting the men decide her fate.

  Feower

  After Eadbald and his friends left, Aelfwyn set out with relief to the wood to fetch some kindling. She carried a large square of cloth in which to wrap the twigs in, it was frayed at the edges and she must weave another soon. Wondering what her life would be like after marrying Eadbald, she soon became lost in thought.

  At mid afternoon the leafless beech trees still looked cold and stark. The cold spring light penetrated the wood, removing the dark secretiveness of summer and autumn, when the trees’ leaves hid everything in shadow.

  Turning to search in a different place, a figure waited for her half a gyrd away. He had very blond hair, the sight of which jolted her. She stood up, preparing to run.

  “On your own, tiny woman?” asked Kjartan.

  She turned and ran, dropping her bundle of firewood. Blindly stumbling away, she could hear him laughing. The dry, cold leaves and twigs cracked under her feet. Her mother would be furious if she didn’t return with the kindling. She would have to wait until Kjartan had gone before she went back to fetch it.

  Then she ran straight into someone. Or rather, into his chest. She recognised the same Huskarl uniform as Kjartan’s and knew she was trapped. Horrible thoughts ran through her mind, but she forced herself to look up, at Ragnar.

  Now her thoughts were confused. Was he Kjartan’s accomplice? Was he here by chance, or design? Was he going to-?

  “What is wrong?” He interrupted her thoughts.

  “I-I must get home, I-my mother-“

  “Tell me why you are scared.”

  “Kjartan, he-he is your friend and-“

  “He is not my friend! What has he done?”

  “Nothing! But he was going to! He called me tiny woman, he asked if I was alone, he-“ Her speech dissolved into incoherence.

  He put his arms round her. She tried to escape but he soothed her by stroking her hair until she calmed down.

  “Are you going to rape me now?” she muttered, still frightened but accepting she could not escape.

  “No! Kjartan-“ He bit his tongue because she resumed shaking at the mention of his name.

  “Why are you here with him then?”

  “We have to collect firewood as our duty. I don’t want to work with him, but… no choice.”

  She still slumped against him.

  “Come on.” He lifted her up into the branch of an ash tree. “He can’t hurt you up here.”

  Their eyes met and they smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation. Kjartan could easily reach her, but he wouldn’t with Ragnar there. Their eyes were level now and she gazed at him. His eyes were narrow and straight, unlike the rounder eyes and arched eyebrows of her kin, his face longer with a greater expanse of cheek, mostly taken up by beard. Not unattractive but different. His eyes appeared dark from a distance but were actually blue, more of a navy than sapphire.

  “My parents have made arrangements for my marriage to Eadbald,” she blurted, looking away. “It is all agreed. We will wed next month, then I will live with him and his eight children.”

  “So you are not happy with that?”

  “Not-not really.” She looked into his eyes again, she couldn’t avoid them. “It’s just-I don’t know, it’s not my choice. I’d rather be independent and choose my husband, but I don’t have a long line of suitors like Saehild.”

  “I don’t know why not,” he burst out. “You’re far more-“ He stopped, surprised at himself.

  She stared at him, then wobbled on the branch and he put his arms round her again to steady her. She nestled against his neck, breathing a sigh of relief. His unruly hair tickled her face, it smelled fresh and clean so she took a deep breath of it.

  A robin sang close by and she noticed tiny buds were forming on the twigs. Spring was on its way.

  He relaxed while holding her. He wished he could just pick her up, carry her off and-what exactly did he wish? Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself.

  “Aha, I thought she was your woman,” said a voice nearby, making them jump. Kjartan. “That’s why you stopped me fucking her: you wanted to do it yourself.”

  Ragnar and Aelfwyn let go of each other.

  “Do you want me to smash your face in again?” he snarled, stepping towards the other Huskarl.

  “Think you could? You fight like a girl!”

  They squared up to each other.

  “Excuse me!” said Aelfwyn irritably. “Are you just leaving me here on this branch?”

  Ragnar hastily lifted her down and turned back to his tormentor, preparing to attack him.

  “How old are you? Are you children of six?” she demanded, peering up at them. They muttered something, looking at their feet.

  “Grow up and get on with your work. I have kindling to fetch and little time to do it.” She pushed past Kjartan, not afraid of him anymore, and went to retrieve her bundle.

  The men exchanged glances, a little ashamed.
r />   “Your woman has spirit, Long Reach,” said Kjartan admiringly.

  “She’s not my-“

  “Admit it, brother. You want to poke her so badly its killing you, but she’s betrothed to another so you’re too honourable-“

  “Fuck off!” He pushed him into the undergrowth. “Go and chop the firewood. I’m older so I’m in charge.”

  *

  Aelfwyn, unaware of all this, angrily threw twigs into her bundle. Angry with herself for agreeing to Eadbald’s proposition, angry with her parents for arranging it, angry with her lack of choice, angry with Ragnar for-What was she angry with him for? What had he done wrong? He’d only ever been nice to her. She’d felt so contented when he’d held her, she could breathe out at last. His body solid, hard, she’d felt-but it was no use thinking of him. Her wedding to a sensible husband loomed.

  She struggled to lift the huge bundle of kindling she had gathered. The twigs scratched her arms, hands and face as she carried it, but she didn’t care. It suited her mood.

  “Need help with that?” Ragnar said and she blushed fiercely. She hadn’t even heard him approach. He took the bundle from her and indicated for her to walk with him.

  “What about your own work?”

  “I come back for that. I ordered Kjartan to chop firewood, to keep him busy.”

  They set off towards Byrnstanham in silence. Relieved not to carry the bundle, Aelfwyn’s heart fluttered anyway. What a weakling! Besotted by some Dane who probably didn’t even notice her.

  They walked along the well trodden path and the silence became companionable with no need to speak. Birds in the mating season twittered all around, the wind blowing, the trickle of a stream.

  “What’s that noise?” a creaking, groaning, becoming more and more agonised. Aelfwyn looked around for the source, but Ragnar was quicker.

  “That tree. It falls.” Putting the bundle down on the driest patch of earth he could find, he observed the tree. Tall but only about the width of a man, it leaned dangerously.

  “Herewulf’s hut is just there. Will it hit the roof if it falls?”

  Ragnar glanced quickly from the tree to the hut, calculating. “Yes.”

  He leapt towards the tree and put his arms round it. It was only just broader than him. He dug his feet into the soft earth, scrabbling for purchase. “Get the people out of there.”