Shieldmaiden by Marianne Whiting Page B

thought I saw blood everywhere, blood from my father, from Jarl Swein and from the dead friends and servants I had seen but also blood from the mortal wound I had dealt Thorfinn. My mother’s words of rejection throbbed inside my aching head and I began hearing other voices too, father telling me I had brought disgrace on the family, the chieftain calling him a traitor, Ragnar making me promise to bury Thorfinn and, through them all, Ingefried whispering to me to keep going.
    At the head of the valley I realised we would soon pass the place where I had felled Thorfinn. I thought of Ragnar. He would trust me to do the right thing. I had promised. My head buzzed. What is the right thing? How can I bury him? There’s no ale to serve… And I’m so tired…. My legs … shaking… The heat… I have nothing to dig with… Is a grave the right thing? But how can I light a funeral pyre on the wet muddy ground… I can’t go on… Where will I find dry fire wood? And he’s so large… Masses and masses of logs needed for that large body… he’s so large… so…
    â€˜Sigrid, hush child! Stop mumbling. Sit and rest a moment.’
    â€˜But we must bury him!’
    â€˜Your father will be buried. My mistress will make sure her husband gets the funeral he is entitled to. Hakon Haraldson will not refuse her that.’ My legs gave way and I sat down on the muddy path. ‘Not my father, not him, not him…’
    From far away, I heard Ingefried tell the boy to take the horse to Floutern Tarn and wait for us there. I tried to speak, I tried to move but I was floating in a dark cloud which filled my mouth with ash and tied my limbs to the ground.
    I came to with Ingefried rubbing my gums with a bitter herb.
    â€˜Uuugh!’ I sat up spitting to get rid of the vile taste. She handed me a twig.
    â€˜Here, chew this. It will get rid of the taste of the wormwood. The tarn isn’t far now. You can drink there.’
    Still spitting, I let Ingefried lead me by the hand. We emerged from Mosedale and the ground became soft and boggy. The hoofmarks left by Jarl Swein and his warriors had filled up with water but were still visible. They led to the place where I had killed Thorfinn. There was no doubt about where it was. The blood had washed away but I knew it was the right place. I ran in circles. I looked behind rocks and among the tufts of grass. Ingefried shouted at me to stop. I tried to make her understand that I must find the body.
    â€˜Sigrid, there’s no body here. Your father’s body is at Becklund. Calm yourself.’ She forced some more wormwood between my lips and dragged me away. We rested by the little tarn and I regained enough of my senses to realise I must not speak of Thorfinn. Somehow this seemed to make all talk unnecessary and I found I couldn’t say anything at all.
    We arrived at Swanhill as the shadows were lengthening. A group of thralls, ploughing the outlying fields, spotted us and supported our exhausted bodies the last furlongs. The karl leading the ploughingparty spoke with Ingefried before sending a man running ahead to warn the household of our arrival.
    Hauk was in the yard and came towards us. When he saw the state we were in, he picked me up and carried me the last steps to the hall.
    â€˜Sigrid,’ he whispered, ‘Sigrid, this is a terrible day. Rest and then we shall speak.’ He placed me on the bed and covered me with blankets and soft cured skins. Someone brought warm ale and my mind escaped to a dark, soothing place of dreamless safety.
    The sun rose and set on my sleep many times. When I awoke I was insensible to the voices and actions of others. My mother-in-law took the keys and ran the household while I stayed in bed. I lay with my face towards the wall, dry-eyed and wordless. Ingefried fed me gruel sweetened with honey and I swallowed because it was less effort than to refuse. I heard her and