by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)
‘Do not interfere,’ ordered Sigurd. ‘I go tomorrow and that is final.’
Ragnhild was not pleased, but told the visitor, ‘If he is to go then have supper with us and tell me all about it.’
The man reseated himself by the fire. ‘Thank you, mistress, but I cannot tarry. I have others to inform. The King gathers a fleet to sail on Norway.’
‘Ah, he moves against Olaf at last, does he?’ Ragnhild turned to her son but he made no comment. ‘Why now? Olaf has been King of Norway for ten years.’
‘He has gone too far.’ The man was only repeating Cnut’s angry reaction to the news. ‘Not content to have stolen Norway he has made a pact with Onund Jacob of Sweden and the pair plan to take Denmark.’ Since the death of Thorkell the Tall this was in the regency of Cnut’s brother-in-law.
Ragnhild was more understanding. ‘Then I suppose the King must have all the help he can.’ She turned pensive. In this frame of mind her son was going to get himself killed. ‘You will be taking Ulf and Eric with you?’
‘I have enough men without them.’ Sigurd did not want to see his friends, did not want to encounter the pity in their eyes, hence he had treated them with the same rudeness doled out to the King’s messenger. This attitude had successfully deterred their visits of late.
But Ragnhild needed them now. Saying nothing more, she dished out supper for the men then excused herself. In the privacy of shadows she whispered an urgent message to a servant then dispatched him in all haste to Eric’s house.
It was late in the day but still light when Ragnhild’s servant, having run all the way as instructed, arrived to find Eric and Ulf enjoying a cup of ale in the summer evening, relaxing on the grass amongst a collection of pecking fowl, ginger kittens and small girls. The moment Ulf heard the news of Sigurd’s imminent departure he rose and gave instant response to the messenger. ‘Tell Lord Sigurd that we prepare to join him and will be in Jorvik at first light.’
‘Hold!’ Eric put down his ale and struggled to his feet to halt the man before he could retrace his steps. ‘I thought I heard you say that it was the Lady Ragnhild who asked for us.’
‘That is so.’ The messenger, still panting, was grateful for this opportunity to rest.
Eric nodded. ‘There is no need to rush back if we do not leave until morning. Go into the house and catch your breath. My wife will give you refreshment before you leave.’
It was better treatment than Ragnhild’s servant was accustomed to and he did not need to be told twice. When he had disappeared into the thatched cabin with tiny girls pulling him by the sleeves, Eric spoke to Ulf. ‘Think carefully about this. It is not Sigurd who has asked us to go. He may not want us there – he has not been well-disposed towards us of late.’
‘It makes no difference who has asked. In the mood he is in at present he is likely to get himself killed, and we as his friends should prevent that.’ At Eric’s mocking response, Ulf added, ‘Yea, I know he has always been able to take care of himself, but this madness that he suffers now will lead him to rash deeds. He cares not whether he lives nor dies.’ Whilst he and his friend were becoming more English in speech and habit, Sigurd had reverted to his viking ways.
Eric showed a reluctance to swap his comfortable life. ‘I am a farmer now, grown used to the quiet life. What use would I be?’
Ulf curled his upper lip at the lame excuse. ‘You are no farmer! You are a fat lazy troll who would sit drinking whilst his friend died!’
Eric rocked from side to side in an attempt to evade Ulf’s persuasive eye. ‘Sigurd is happy where there is danger, I am not. How would my wife run things without me?’
There came a rude laugh. ‘The same way she does now! What work do you do around here? She and I do most of it. That is the least of our worries, we can always get extra thralls from Sigurd.’ He growled his disgust at this lack of cooperation. ‘You think it is a pleasure for me to go to Norway?’ Whereas Sigurd fought to win prizes or even simply for the joy of fighting, Ulf’s aggression was only brought about by personal slight or defence of his freedom; neither factor was relevant here. ‘I have no wish to join foreign battles.’
Thwarted in his argument, Eric’s swarthy black face resorted to pathos. ‘But my little daughters, Ulf…’ Of the five he had sired, only four lived.
Immune to such wheedling, Ulf’s reply was firm. ‘They shall be here to fetch and carry for you when you return. Come, fatman, sharpen your weapons. The morrow we ride for Jorvik.’ And as usual when a decision had been made for him Eric was unable to resist.
Sigurd showed no gladness to see them when they rode into the yard at a very early hour, only mild surprise. ‘I did not expect you to be here.’
‘Nor I,’ grumbled Eric, as both dismounted and hitched their reins to a pole. ‘My trusty friend volunteered our services as your bodyguard.’
The recipient offered a nasty snort. ‘Think you that I am no longer a man that I require nursemaids? Turn around and go home, the pair of you.’ He lowered his eyes back to the whetstone on which he sharpened his blade.
Whilst Eric’s eyes asked his comrade why they stood for this treatment, Ulf hunkered by Sigurd, resting forearms on knees, watching the whetstone move feveredly over the blade. ‘I know you for a man, the man who saved my life. We come not to protect you from the enemy but from yourself. Your anger may cause you to be reckless. I would hate to see the one who saved my life die from a foolish mistake if I could prevent it.’
Sigurd gave nonchalant permission. ‘Do as you will. I cannot stop you, but blame not me if you yourselves should die. I do not ask you to do this.’ Blade honed to his satisfaction, he sheathed his sword and marched away across the enclosure.
‘See, he does not need us,’ said Eric, much relieved. ‘Why do we not just go home?’
Ulf gave reply with his eyes, then set off for the house where Ragnhild had appeared in the doorway.
‘Oh, I thank you most humbly for being so swift!’ She took hold of Ulf’s arm. There was no saucy jest today. ‘Forgive me for not offering victuals but my son has already loaded his ship and given me his keys. He will not be long in his departure – where is he now?’ She looked around, a worried look upon her forehead.
Ulf replied, ‘He has left the yard, but surely he would say farewell to his mother before he sets sail?’
‘I fear not,’ sighed Ragnhild. ‘He does not care about his mother nor anyone. Come! We must make haste to the Staith – I trust you have come to sail with him?’
Ulf nodded. ‘May I just crave a boon before we go? Eric’s wife will need male help…’
‘She will have everything she needs!’ Ragnhild cut him off and urged the two of them to follow her. ‘The gods protect you all and send you back safely, my boys. Now hurry before Sigurd is away!’
Ragnhild was correct in her assumption that Sigurd was about to depart. When they reached the Staith, both Ragnhild and Eric puffing and perspiring, the ship was almost ready to cast off. To a look of unconcern from Sigurd, Ulf jumped nimbly on board and held out his hand to pull Eric after him. ‘You should have more respect than to leave your mother without a word,’ he scolded, and when this was ignored he demanded, ‘Well? Have you nought to say to any of us?’
Sigurd did not look at him, but responded in loud voice for those left behind on the wharf. ‘I have only one message to leave: let any man take ought of mine whilst I am away…’
Eric, mopping his brow, tried to make a humorous interjection. ‘With Ragnhild in charge? He would have to be a madman!’
Sigurd pressed his lips together, his blond hair lank as his spirit, and continued as if without interruption, ‘Let him take so much as a cat, and he shall know my wrath.’
With this threat, the ship cast off for the Humbre.
From here the assembled northern fyrd sailed north for Denmark where they met up with the rest of the combined English and Danish fleet, and whence they pressed on into the mouth of the River Helge on the Baltic coast of Skane w
here, encountering the enemy, they grouped for battle.
Sigurd had never once rested; even in sleep his body jerked and trembled. During the voyage Ulf had tried to inject some lightheartedness into his friend by persuading a novice to share a sleeping bag with Eric, just as they had done with Sigurd all those years ago, but their friend was not amused, intent only on the engagement. He was now busying himself by hauling down masts and lashing ships together to act as a platform for the fighting. The sun played upon the cornfield of his hair as he bent and bobbed and fidgeted.
‘Just look at him!’ bewailed Eric to Ulf. ‘How do you expect me to keep apace of him when he dances around like a frog? It is a waste of time my being here.’
Ulf held the silent fear that Eric was probably right but merely shook his head and looked across the rivermouth at Onund’s fleet. ‘I just thank God that I am here and not on yonder side, for when Sigurd’s anger makes itself felt…’ He did not finish but sucked in his breath and shook his head again. Like Eric’s, his stomach churned and he wished that he was far from here.
But it was too late to turn back for orders were being barked. Men swarmed over the ships erecting wattle screens to ward off the flights of enemy arrows. Cnut’s rowers began to manoeuvre the ships nearer to their adversary while Onund began to question the wisdom of his alliance with Olaf, but such thoughts were luxury now. There came the thrum of a thousand bowstrings, the hiss of arrows launched high into the air; they arched, soared, descended… thudded into timber, flesh and bone! An answering shower of darts leapt quivering against the blue sky, soaring, falling, seeking heart and brow, others wasted on the choppy waters.
The rowers were moving their floating platforms closer together, spears were already hurtling through the air. Above the clangour Sigurd gave rent to his battle cry and unleashed a shooting-snake from each hand. The missiles were too numerous to tell if his own had found their target, but men were toppling into the sea. Cnut’s rowers laid brawn into their oars. Prows corseted in iron lunged towards the foe, rammed home, tipped men into the drink. Upon those boiling waters ships collided, timbers groaned and scraped and bucked as in the grip of Orca, men roared and grappled with bearded axe, pulling Death into their bosom. Amid the deafening confusion friend lost friend. Sigurd, aware only of his target, yelled at the top of his voice. With axe and shield he launched himself into the foray, cleaving skull and sinew with his blade. Blind to humanity he hacked and hewed and rent men’s flesh; sweat ran with blood down shrieking muscle whilst overhead wheeled the Choosers of the Slain, the Valkyries, ready to take the glorious fallen to their eternal battleground, and Sigurd hoped to be amongst them.
Suddenly, as if by power of Odin’s axe, the tangled mass of butchery was split asunder. The enemy fell back in shoals, abandoning craft and weapons and diving into the waters. Hair flying like a banner, Sigurd urged his men to row after them, whilst he lanced the swimmers like fish until his King ordered the killing to cease. Then they stood upon the floating platforms, beating their shields and whooping in triumph as the ill-starred alliance of the Kings of Norway and Sweden was dashed against the rocks, their bloodied dross limping ashore.
Sigurd was eager to continue the attack, to harry and kill every last man. Performing an agile leap across the rafts to the King’s ship, he exhorted Cnut to press home the advantage. But Cnut had not held his English throne by being impetuous. ‘No! Olaf may be bloodied but a wounded rat is as dangerous as a boar and enough blood has been spilt today, on our own side too. We shall retire.’
‘And allow Olaf’s troops to regroup!’ barked Sigurd in disbelief.
Cnut was firm. ‘There are more subtle ways to skin a bear. Where is the merit in throwing myself into his jaws when I could easier be tempting him with honey? Besides, the king who has lost control of the sea has also lost his crown. I shall return to take it at my leisure. Come! Rest before we sail for Denmark.’
Unsated in his bloodlust, Sigurd continued to gripe, untying the ropes that bound his ship to the others and pushing it away with an oar. He was helping to lift the dead bodies of his enemies and roll them over the side and had just bent to grasp another pair of legs when he recognized their owner.
‘Eric!’ Aghast, he knelt down and touched his friend’s breast where a gaping spear-wound had displayed a lung. For a moment he grieved, then his heart palpitated with a terrible thought and his eyes came up to search.
Relief caused a sigh. There was Ulf on a rowing bench supporting his weak chin on a palm. With a last haggard look at Eric, Sigurd went to the other man and touched his shoulder, only then becoming aware of the cuts and gashes on his own body, that felt as if under attack from a swarm of wasps.
‘I forced him to come,’ muttered Ulf, and moved his hand from chin to brow, pushing up his fringe. ‘I should have known he was not fit.’ He could think of nothing else to say and neither could Sigurd, who had told both his friends before the battle that if they died it would be their own faults.
They transported their dead friend back to Denmark, where they buried him and raised a stone in his honour. ‘Though he will likely blow it out of the ground,’ came Ulf’s weak joke. Then he turned his face to the sky and made an oath. ‘I shall never fight again.’
Sigurd put a comforting hand to his shoulder. ‘Not even if I beat you at hnefatafl?’
‘Not even in defence of my country,’ swore Ulf. ‘I am finished. Finished.’
Sigurd looked grim and indicated the flat Danish landscape. ‘Why do we stay here, Ulf? If we are not to fight then we might as well go home. I am grown sick of Cnut’s dalliance. I go to tell him that I will no longer waste my skills here.’ He marched off to Court.
It was an indication of Cnut’s friendship towards this angry warrior that he bothered to explain his intentions. ‘Sit.’ The monarch beckoned to a place beside his throne, and Sigurd did as he was commanded. ‘You killed many foes in the battle, but not enough, I think.’
Sigurd’s eyes questioned. After ten years amongst Lundeners the King had become much anglicized. Though Sigurd had begun to think of himself as English now, he often found it hard to interpret southern grammar. ‘Did I not do you service, my lord?’ He looked away.
Cnut’s reply was astute. ‘You know well enough my meaning. You killed not for me but for killing’s sake. I could see it in your eyes. You were angry at your King for what you saw as cowardice.’
‘Not so!’
‘Then you took me for a fool – yes!’ Cnut warded off another negation. ‘You hated me for denying you the right to kill so now you withdraw your aid.’
Sigurd hung his head. His body heaved. ‘It is not you I hate, but myself.’ He rubbed his palms over his face.
Cnut spoke softly. ‘I have been told about your bad fortune – your child being murdered and your wife divorcing you.’
Sigurd threw him a brief look of gratitude. ‘I am honoured that my King should interest himself in the affairs of his servants.’
‘Not every one, just those whose ambitions might prove a threat to my crown.’
Sigurd reacted sharply. ‘You cannot think that of me!’
Cnut smiled. ‘A jest, my friend. If I had any doubts as to your loyalty you would have been dead long ago. We have shared much, you and I, since you came to warn me of Thorald. You have always been generous with your help and advice.’
‘But you do not often take it.’ The moment had passed; Sigurd was once again confident enough of his relationship with the King to voice his thoughts.
Cnut leaned forth and spoke earnestly, pointing a jewelled finger. ‘If I had not prevented it you would have slain every man in Olaf’s army and then been killed yourself. I have enough berserks in my pay but only a handful of men I can trust. I number you amongst those, Sigurd, I value your life even if you do not value it yourself. So let me explain why I stayed your hand: Olaf is still in possession of Norway but his support is not wholehearted. I can name many chieftains who, with only a little coaxing, can be bou
ght over to our side. If I can win this battle from my fireside why get my feet wet? A little silver, a few titles – oh, and a little help from Christ – and Norway will be begging me to come and save her from that tyrant Olaf.’
Sigurd laughed, a softly mocking chuckle and shook his head.
Cnut laughed too. ‘Yes, I know you do not truly share my faith, and in that I will call you a fool, for Christ is more powerful than you know.’
Sigurd was obstinate. ‘The old gods protected us well enough in the past.’
‘How well have they protected you, my friend?’ Cnut touched a jewelled finger to yet another wound on Sigurd’s brow. ‘This God can win battles without even raising His sword – though I know you would say that that is half the fun.’ The King smiled indulgence. ‘Myself, I would sooner use my head than risk it being sliced off. That is why I intend to sail home for now and leave others to do the bargaining for me.’
Sigurd, misinterpreting the reason that the King had sent for him, looked aghast. ‘You cannot mean to leave me here all winter!’
Cnut laughed. ‘Be calm! Much as I admire your soldierly skills you are no ambassador. I have others more fitted to that duty.’
A relieved Sigurd rolled his eyes, then reverted to apathy. ‘Then I too shall sail home.’
‘Not in this mood you shall not,’ came the royal command. ‘You shall spend the winter with me in Lunden where I have plenty to occupy a troubled mind.’ Cnut was wise enough to disguise his act of charity. ‘Besides, I have an ulterior motive. Word has reached me of the death of my brother-in-law and friend Duke Richard of Normandy, and Robert rules in his place.’
Sigurd made a noise of understanding. ‘He who is like a brother to Ethelred’s sons.’
‘Yes, so it seems that our truce with the Normans has come to an end. I have never been on good terms with him. I am afraid that he will take the opportunity of my absence to launch an attack on England, that is my real reason for wanting you in the south for a while.’
‘I would advise you not to worry too greatly.’ Sigurd was unmoved. ‘Our people know you for a just King. Robert would get no help from within even when you are away. But,’ he shrugged, ‘I will lend you my arms for as long as you wish.’ He withdrew on a bow.
