Jorvik

by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)

  Mildryth uttered a surprised laugh of pleasure that invoked chirrups of alarm from the trees. ‘If that is so then it is because I am so happy – and you look almost handsome yourself today!’

  He returned her air of gaiety, preening himself in comic fashion to show off his light green tunic encrusted with gold, the fur trimmings, and the embroidered cap that Mildryth had made for him. His horse pricked its ears at his laughter; the brass decorations on its harness jingled with the movement of its forelegs and the sword that hung from Til’s waist tapped incessantly against its haunch; it was not his only weapon. Resting on his other hip was a quiverful of arrows and over his shoulder a bow. The soldiers were equally well-armed.

  His wife retained her lightness of mood even when he stopped in the forest to allow his falconer to capture two young hawks from their tree-top nest. There was almost catastrophe when the man slipped in his descent and set Mildryth’s heart pounding. But he managed to cling on, and with the gawky fledglings tucked into his saddlebag the party continued its homewards journey.

  There was a further stop when they came to a village in order to take refreshment. Whilst hospitable peasants employed bellows to whip up a fire that would heat the food, Asketil took the babe from Mildryth, allowing her to dismount. She stretched and rubbed at the arm which had held Elfin, her other being employed with the rein. ‘That child gets too heavy!’

  ‘I told thee to bring a nurse but thou will not let anyone else have him,’ replied Til, bending his knees. Accepting a cup of ale brought by a grubby-cheeked maiden he gave thanks and smiled.

  ‘I would not trust anyone with him.’ Mildryth took the child back, but laid him beside her on the grass when she sat down, and waited for the kotsetlan to bring food which they shortly did.

  Whilst the travellers ate, the peasants’ work continued, repairing thatches and fences damaged in the recent gales, the ploughing, the cutting of wood for the winter, the brewing of beer, the making of preserves. ‘That is something I must get done.’ Having enjoyed her fresh bread and meat flavoured with horseradish, Mildryth leaned back on her palms. ‘I am tardy in my preparation for the winter this year.’

  ‘You have had enough to contend with,’ replied Til, looking fondly at the babe who gurgled in the grass. ‘And there are plenty of servants to do your bidding at home – come, let us tarry no longer.’ Supping the dregs of his cup, he got to his feet, shouting to the soldiers to make a move, and once again the procession set in motion, this time not stopping until they arrived at Jorvik.

  The resounding thud of their horses’ feet across the wooden bridge at Earlsburh caused both agitation and relief. ‘My lord, thank God you are back!’ A trusty servant ran up to grab the ealdorman’s reins. ‘We feared you might have met with accident!’ When Asketil showed confusion he cried, ‘Have you not heard? The King of Norway attacked Skarthaborg with ten thousand men this morning!’

  Mildryth wondered why she was so shocked at the news of the invasion. Had she not been expecting it all year in one form or another? What difference that it was vikings and not Normans, as they had been led to believe? ‘For sure Lord Sigurd is amongst the devils,’ she breathed, clutching her baby.

  Asketil showed impatience at her obsession, already deploying his troops. ‘Mildryth, it matters not when there are ten thousand others who would slay us, too. Get those gates closed now!’ This last command was for the soldiers.

  ‘No… no, you are right! I do not think clearly. It is worry over Elfin’s safety that does it.’ She looked down at Elfin, then donned a practical air. ‘I will do him no good by whimpering, but must prepare for a siege.’ Not content with a passive role she ripped off her veil and gold circlet, anything that might hinder her, and rigging a sling across her breast for the baby she set to helping Asketil and others to reinforce the barricades. ‘God help those poor folk out there – they have just repaired their houses after the gale and now another menace threatens to tear them down!’

  ‘God help us all,’ said her husband.

  Word of the destruction of Skarthaborg had travelled and a small English fleet awaited the vikings in the Use, but when they saw the might of their foe they put aside all thoughts of engagement and escaped up a tributary. Hardrada, pondering on his next move, consulted with Sigurd. ‘You know these rivers well. Should we go on or follow them?’

  Sigurd was flattered that the great Hardrada sought his wisdom. He spoke cautiously. ‘It could be a trap. If we row on for Jorvik the English could sneak back out of their tributary and block our escape. Besides, the river is very narrow higher up. We should moor here at Richale where there is still room for our boats to turn round, and march the rest of the way.’

  ‘So be it,’ replied Hardrada, and ordered his trumpeter to sound the order to pull into the banks. ‘We will pass the night here so that we are fresh for tomorrow’s fight.’

  By nightfall news of the invasion had reached the south. The next morning as the viking force began their march to Jorvik, Harold Godwinsson’s army hurried northwards.

  * * *

  There had been little sleep in Jorvik. Once the barricades were secure there was nothing more to be done except wait and pray. Whilst her husband snatched a few precious hours’ rest, Mildryth and her babe spent the night in vigil at the kirk of St Olaf where prayers were said and candles lit for the deliverance of the citizens from Hardrada. The church was crammed to the limit. Now in the morning only the women remained to pray, their menfolk assembling in the burh to go with Earl Morcar and challenge the viking invaders. Asketil was amongst them.

  ‘If you go, I go!’ announced Mildryth. ‘Even with Elfin I can be of some use in passing you arrows. And if we are to die… let it be together.’

  Asketil knew from experience that it was useless to argue with her but did so out of habit. ‘Mildryth, you are a mother now. Your job is to safeguard our child.’

  ‘Then you stay here and guard him too!’

  ‘The Earl is no more than a lad. He has never been to war and needs every man he can get – and you know what folk will say if I do not go. They will have it that I support the enemy because my father is amongst them.’

  ‘If they are stupid enough to think that, then let them. I care not!’ Mildryth raked at a lock of hair that stuck to her lips and threw it back over her shoulder; the wind blew it back. ‘And you have never been to war, neither! Harald of Norway has ten thousand men, you say, then he will wipe out any challenge like a horse’s tail swats flies. At least if we stay in the burh we have more chance of keeping our lives. Lord Sigurd may be killed in the battle and even if Harald of Norway wins he will have no need for further violence when he enters Jorvik.’

  Asketil gripped his head in torment, but there was nothing he could do against such a line of reasoning. Oh, yes, he could beat her into submission but the moment he left with Morcar this headstrong woman would follow. So, whilst the young Earl and his brother Edwin set off with their army to meet the vikings, he remained to guard Earlsburh, feeling like a traitor on two fronts.

  Sigurd’s old eyes were not as keen as they had once been; others saw Morcar’s army before he did. Just over a mile outside the city at Fuleford both sides lined up to each other. The old viking peered at the row of blurred faces, seeking that of Asketil. Before he had found his son, the English attacked.

  The land on which they fought lay between the river on the west and a dyke on the east that flanked a deep and watery marsh. Morcar saw that the Norse troops were thinnest on the latter side and by some fluke managed to beat them back. It was a dangerous moment. Hardrada saw his men retreating and feared he would be surrounded. He ordered a blast from the horn and unfurled his battle flag, a white standard with a black raven upon it. At the signal his army attacked with renewed vigour. The English broke and ran, to be slaughtered in the marsh.

  It was a brief and bloody affair lasting only an hour. Despite his great age, Sigurd Einarsson emerged from it untouched, if a little out of breath, the only
blood upon his face being that of the enemy. Less uplifting was the fact that Tostig lived too; Sigurd would no doubt have another fight on his hands when he claimed the earldom, but then he had come for much more than a title. Was Til amongst the dead? He looked but did not find him, and was soon called upon to go with Hardrada and Tostig into the city.

  This time he was glad that there was no gratuitous destruction; Harald wanted his northern capital intact. The huge gates rolled open and the cheering horde milled through into the narrow streets. Hemmed in on either side by jubilant vikings, Sigurd made his way through the city to Earlsburh. It was good to be back in Jorvik again, though he noted that the city was as yet in a state of disrepair after the recent gales. Lopsided thatches hung almost to the ground, littering the street with rushes. Wattle fences leaned at an angle. Tentatively, the citizens came out to risk a peep at the conquering army. The faces along the route showed various expressions; servility, obstinance or merely blandness. Not one of them greeted Sigurd as a friend. It did not matter; their former ealdorman was too busy wondering how to get rid of Tostig.

  The army sang its way along Conyngstrete. A lookout called from a wooden tower to Asketil, ‘My lord! The city has fallen – Hardrada’s army comes this way.’

  If Asketil had nurtured any hope of success then it withered now. With the city surrendered there was little point in Earlsburh fighting on. He looked around at the tired, questioning faces of those under his command. ‘I fear we must yield.’

  ‘Til, you cannot!’ Mildryth seized him. ‘If Sigurd is amongst them…’

  ‘It will mean death for myself.’ Asketil finished her sentence. ‘Yea, I am well aware of that, my love. But I cannot jeopardize the lives of hundreds just to save my own and besides, we do not know yet if my father comes or not.’ He looked into Mildryth’s face, agonizing over their parting. ‘If I am to die…’

  ‘Nay!’ she raged.

  ‘If I am to die I will do so alone. You will not argue this time, but will do as your husband tells you!’ His placid brow was overtaken by fury. ‘Go and hide with the bairn. Do not come out until you know it to be safe – do it, Mildryth!’

  She knew well enough when not to argue and after the briefest of resistance, kissed him fiercely, grinding her lips on to his, gasped, ‘I love thee!’ then fled to the house with Elfin and looked for a place to hide.

  But – ‘How stupid!’ she cried aloud. It was Lord Sigurd’s house, he knew every hiding place there was. Nibbling her lip she glanced around, came to a decision, kissed the child and hid him. Then, belly churning, she sat down to wait.

  Asketil ordered the guards to unbar the wooden gates. It was a celebrated bunch who confronted him – the famous Harald of Norway, Earl Tostig – but the only face to leap out was that of Lord Sigurd. The two men held each other with their eyes as all parties came together. Hardrada spoke to Tostig: ‘You know all the foremost citizens of Jorvik. Show me their sons so that I may take them hostage.’ Tostig glanced at Sigurd. ‘One such prominent son is here before you.’ He indicated Asketil.

  Hardrada turned to quiz the old man. ‘How odd that he remained behind when his father was exiled.’

  ‘It is a long tale.’ Sigurd’s legs ached from the march. He would have to find himself a horse.

  ‘Then it will entertain us later, perhaps.’ The King of Norway had business to attend. ‘I will leave him in your hands.’

  When the leader moved away Sigurd remained to glare at his foster-son. The tension became unbearable. Asketil could not decide whether to give up the sword in his hand or use it. In the event he threw it at the old man’s feet.

  Sigurd uttered nothing and walked towards the house. Til followed and was dismayed to see an apparently calm Mildryth at her embroidery by the hearth. She did not rise when they entered but assumed her most brazen attitude, hoping that Sigurd would not see her true fear.

  Asketil displayed a mixture of pent-up fury and sadness. ‘Why, Mildryth, why?’

  The old man turned and fixed Til with pained eyes. ‘I ask the same of thee, Til. Why, oh why, didst thou betray me?’

  Asketil looked shamed, but Mildryth leapt to his defence. ‘Blame not him! He tried for ten long years to escape the love we have for each other. ’Twas only by your own lust for power that you drove him into my arms! Even when your own thegns rose against you he defended your name.’

  Sigurd looked at her, his eyes icy pools. ‘And did you too defend your betrothed, Mildryth?’

  ‘I was never your betrothed!’

  ‘You swore to wed me!’

  ‘Only so that I could be near my heart’s desire!’

  ‘You will be my wife!’ he railed at her.

  ‘How can that be when I am already wed to Asketil?’ Her voice cracked, ending the display of bravado.

  The words came as no shock at all, but he stared as if they had. Under that cruel scrutiny Mildryth was unable to maintain her act, her eyes wide with fear and her whole body trembling. It caused such a pang to gaze upon the loveliness that was lost to him that he turned away to pace the hall and with each step his wrath increased. Mildryth shuddered uncontrollably in Asketil’s arms, both awaiting certain death. Suddenly they heard a faint wail; Lord Sigurd heard it too, but when he looked around there was no child present. He cocked his ear. The cry came again – from behind one of the false panels in the wall. Mildryth blanched as he advanced towards it, ear still cocked. She made an attempt to divert his murderous intentions from her child. ‘Is the brave ealdorman afraid of a cat in his dotage?’

  Oh, Mildryth… Asketil cursed her rashness as their captor paused and seemed about to attack her. Then the wail came again. Sigurd’s ears were failing but he knew the location of every secret panel here, and one by one investigated them. Mildryth could bear the tension no longer. She dashed for Elfin’s hidey-hole and reached inside, whilst Asketil grasped Sigurd from behind. There was a tussle. The old man wrested himself this way and that, raking Til’s arm with his cloak-pin, furious to be at Mildryth who made for the door with her son. With one gigantic effort he broke loose, turned tables on Asketil and put the blade of his axe to the younger man’s neck. ‘Stop!’

  Mildryth had reached the door but turned out of reflex, saw her husband with the axe at his throat and was forced to halt.

  ‘Go!’ Til choked on his words as the blade was pressed into his neck, though only deep enough to cut, not to kill.

  Mildryth came back at once, her son bawling and squirming in her arms. Carefully, the ealdorman released Asketil and indicated for him to stand near to the woman and child. When this was done Sigurd beheld them for long threatening moments, axe at the ready. Then, step by trembling step, he came closer, fists tight around the shaft. Asketil held his breath, the axe was being lifted – he placed himself in front of Mildryth and his son, Sigurd’s face was a mask of hate and betrayal, the axe-blade soared and fell… and embedded itself in a chair, slicing it clean in two. As the two pieces fell apart, Asketil released his trapped breath and a cowering Mildryth felt her bowels go to jelly. Elfin had stopped crying and turned his interest on his mother’s beads.

  Asketil took a few more calming breaths, then ventured, ‘I knew you would not kill us, fostri.’

  In his pain, Sigurd was unforgiving, shoved Til and Mildryth at the door. ‘I spare you only that you may act as hostages against attack from Godwinsson!’

  Asketil, more confident now, argued for his wife’s safety. ‘Give me as hostage but not Mildryth. You know how ruthless Harald of Norway can be.’ Sigurd totally ignored the plea and bullied both of them to the door with the shaft of his axe.

  Asketil finally abandoned all kinship; guilt was displaced by anger. ‘If you would see us dead be man enough to do it yourself and not leave it to another!’ But Sigurd would not be goaded. Neither Til nor his wife realized that for once in his adult life, the warrior did not know what to do.

  * * *

  In the evening, after making a treaty with its citizens that th
ey should join forces with Hardrada when he attempted the conquest of all England, the invaders left the city with their hostages, crossed the marshy battlefield thick with corpses and went back to their ships at Richale.

  The next four days were as a dream to Mildryth. She and Asketil and their fellow hostages were witness to a curious air of leisure amongst the vikings. It was as if Hardrada, having won Jorvik, believed that his battle was over. Sigurd could have enlightened them as to the reason; Tostig was to blame for this. He had promised Hardrada that more aid would arrive from his northern earldom and together they would make a strong contest for Harold Godwinsson who was doubtless on his way here by now. Sigurd himself was in a cleft stick. He had achieved none of the things he had set out to do. Tostig believed himself to be Earl of Northumbria again – well, that could soon be remedied, there was no hurry on that score… but what of Asketil and Mildryth? Why had he not killed them as he had fully intended? And just what was he going to do next? He had advised Hardrada that he had too few hostages with whom to barter and should take more. Harald had agreed and had sent a force into Jorvik to demand an extra five hundred. With the reply that these would be forthcoming, Hardrada seemed content to wait upon the day of delivery, Monday the twenty-fifth of September. Sigurd had felt it too long a wait, but he was not in command. The agreed meeting place was Stanfordbrycg, twelve miles from here and seven from Jorvik, which was easy to get to by both sides. Once again he found himself waiting, but waiting for what – Death? There was little else left now that he had lost both Mildryth and the man he had called son. He lifted dispirited eyes towards the group of hostages. On this pleasant Sunday eve Mildryth and Asketil sat with their babe under an oak tree constricted by ivy. With other sources of nectar gone its flowers were amass with bees. Birch and poplar had shed their leaves; others were turning to pink and orange. Sorrel grew here in abundance like spears of dried blood.