To Save a Kingdom

Book 0: The Shieldmaiden Trilogy

by Marianne Whiting

Genres: Action & Adventure

Synopsis

You are your father's daughter.... Sigrid has won the battle to restore her family?s honour. Now she must overcome old enemies and take her father?s place among the Cumbrian Norse; not as a daughter or a wife, but as a warrior in her own right. When Cumbria is attacked by the English King, Sigrid is ordered to join forces with her rivals to defend their way of life. She obeys, but the old feuds have not been settled. Can she trust her brothers in arms? Are they, like her, prepared to risk everything to save a kingdom?

Release date: March 20, 2017

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 300

Sample

Aisgerd Rolfsdaughter, Ragnar’s mother, Jarl Sweyn Hjaltebrand’s widow

Aluinn, servant woman. Mother of Bjarne

Anlaf Guthfrithson, King of Dublin, King of Jorvik 939-41

Anlaf Sithricson, known as Cuaran, King of Dublin, King of Jorvik 941-44

Anlaf Yngvarson, Sigrid’s sworn man, Hrodney’s son, Thorfinn’s stepson, married to Ragnar’s sister Gyda

Ansgar, monk and scribe to Archbishop Wulfstan

Bard Beornson a free man who served Sigrid’s father at Becklund. Brita, his wife.

Beorn the Lame, old trusted servant at Buttermere

Bjarne, Olvir’s friend at Buttermere

Cerdic the Briton thrall at Buttermere

Cinedred, wife of Lawman Mord Lambason of Keskadale

Dunmail ab Owain, King of Cumbria (Strathclyde)

Ebbe the Angle, servant at Buttermere

Edmund, King of Wessex and Overlord of Mercia, claims to be King of England

Erlend the Dane notorious chieftain and mercenary

Grim Mordson, Lawman Mord Lambason’s eldest son

Gyda Sweinsdaughter, Ragnar’s sister, married to Anlaf Yngvarson of Rannerdale

Hakon the Good, King of Norway, Sigrid’s uncle, killed Sigrid’s father in a punishment raid and declared him outlaw, later reversed the judgement as reward for Sigrid when she saved his life

Harald Finehair, King of Norway, Sigrid’s grandfather

Harald Ragnarson, Sigrid’s second son, his friends Ole, Ketil and Inga are the children of servants and thralls at Buttermere

Hauk Gunnarson, Sigrid’s first husband, died 937

Helgi Thorkilson, Influential Cumbrian farmer, father of Hildur

Hildur Helgisdaughter, Sigrid’s fostring

Hrodney, Thorfinn’s wife, mother of Anlaf, Orm and Skuli, mistress of Rannerdale farm

Ingefried Sigrid’s servant, killed by the thrall woman Lydia in 937

Ingolf Sigtryggson, influential Cumbrian farmer, father of Unn

Kirsten, Sigrid’s Norwegian servant-girl, a healer

Kjeld Gunnarson, brother of Sigrid’s first husband

Kveldulf Arnvidson, Sigrid’s father, killed 935

Kveldulf Ragnarson, Sigrid’s eldest son

Lothar, Ragnar’s trusted friend from Frankia

Lydia. Thrall woman from Galicia, belonged to Sigrid’s first husband Hauk, killed Sigrid’s servant Ingefried and was executed by Sigrid

Maria, Anna (re-named Nanna), Jesus (re-named Veste) Lydia’s children

Mord Lambason of Keskadale, Lawman, father of Grim, Eirik, Eysten, Bose and Njal

Olvir, Sigrid’s orphaned nephew and fostring, adopted by her and Ragnar

Orm Yngvarson, Hrodney’s second son by her first husband

Felipe the Galician, Kjeld’s sworn man, farms Becklund for Kjeld

Ragnar Sweinson, childhood sweetheart, father of Sigrid’s son, outlawed because his father Jarl Swein Hjaltebrand from Manx, raided property belonging to King Harald of Norway, pardoned by King Hakon of Norway

Ragnwald Guthfrithson cousin, rival and co-regent with Anlaf Sigfrithson Known as Cuaran

Rhun ab Owain, half-brother of King Dunmail of Cumbria

Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter, the Shieldmaiden

Skuli Yngvarson, Hrodney’s third son by her first husband

Sone Ivarson, father of murdered young man

Sven Threefingers, thrall at Swanhill Kjeld Gunnarson’s farm

Swein Lotharson, Thora’s son by Lothar the Frankian

Thora Sweinsdaughter, Ragnar’s sister

Thorfinn Egilson, Sigrid’s sworn man, reformed berserker, married to Hrodney

Ulf Bjalkeson, Sigrid’s sworn man, killed in Norway

Unn Ingolfsdaughter, Sigrid’s fostring, daughter of Ingolf Sigtryggson

Varg the Varangian, old warrior who swears allegiance to Sigrid

Wulfstan I, Archbishop of York 931-956

Wulfrun, young noblewoman taken hostage at Tamworth

Ylva Flamehair, Ulf’s sister, takes his place as Sigrid’s sworn warrior

––––––––

When I returned home to claim my inheritance, nobody, not even my husband Ragnar, knew the full extent of my ambition. What I already had should perhaps have been enough; I was married to a great warrior, we had our own land and people would treat me with respect. But I wanted to be recognised by the Cumbrian Norse as a warrior and a landowner in my own right, not as Ragnar’s wife. After all, I had fought in the great battle of Brunnanburgh; then, in Norway, I fought for King Hakon and earned his gratitude. So I wanted to inherit my father’s position as well as his farm and I wanted a voice and a vote at the Thing. I knew I would have to work to earn the respect of local people. I also knew it wouldn’t come easy but easy was never part of my life.

***

Two chieftains and two hirds in the same hall does not work. At Buttermere Farm, I was Ragnar’s wife, mistress of the household, respected and obeyed, but no chieftain. The hall was Ragnar’s, to house and feed the men in his hird. It was now time for me to reward my two sworn men, Anlaf and Thorfinn, and send them home to their families. I divided up the treasure I had brought back from Norway and they praised my generosity. It felt strange to see them go. We had faced many dangers together and they had served me faithfully.

***

The main house at Buttermere was modest for a chieftain’s hall. I could see the warriors comparing it to others they had encountered in the service of jarls and kings, and finding it much inferior. The platforms running the length of the hall served as seats, as well as beds. The crew made themselves comfortable among the straw-filled bolsters, woven blankets and soft skins. We struggled to fit them all in and had to make up more trestle tables. But a welcoming fire burned on a hearth as long as a man is tall, and servants and thralls rushed around offering ale in large horns. We slaughtered pigs and lambs, and every evening we feasted on meat and rich broth. The men enjoyed themselves and didn’t seem to mind the humble surroundings; they were looking forward to raids and plunder, not a quiet time by the fire.

And Ragnar knew he had to take them raiding soon. A chieftain must reward his crew. We had no land to give and that’s not what these young warriors had come for anyway. We were not poor, King Hakon had rewarded us with lavish gifts when we left Norway but we didn’t have enough to pay off all these men.

‘If we don’t sail now,’ he said, ‘it’ll be too late and we’ll get caught up in the winter storms.’

***

I found it hard to accept yet another long separation but I knew he was right. The men were restless. They saw themselves as warriors and few of them were willing to help with the work on the farm. The servants could not brew ale quickly enough to satisfy them and they made too much use of my women. Thora was afforded the respect she was due as Ragnar’s sister but not all the crew realised that my servant Kirsten also had special status.

‘They pester me, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter. It was only when I threatened them that they left me alone.’

I caught my breath. ‘What did you threaten them with?’

She blushed. ‘A curse. I don’t often but ...’

‘Kirsten, you must not say anything that will make people believe you’re a seidir. It may give you power over people to begin with but then you get accused of magic and, oh, Kirsten, you know as well as I do that it’s dangerous.’

‘Yes, my grandmother told me. I promise I’ll be careful.’

Thora and Kirsten were safe from unwelcome attention but it was not so for the rest of my women. I hesitated to ask Ragnar to interfere and, while I hesitated, things got worse.

‘Sigrid, you must come!’ Kirsten came running, angry and out of breath. ‘All these men. You must do something to stop this. There are too many of them. They have ravaged one of the girls. She’s bleeding. She’s all torn and I don’t know how I shall heal her because now that beardless Dane has dragged her off again. Please stop him.’

I followed her to the byre. From a pile of hay came the sound of a rutting male and a girl crying. I strode across and shouted.

‘Leave her alone, you brute. Can’t you see she’s had enough?’

He answered over his shoulder, still pumping, his rump moving up and down. ‘Shut up, bloody woman. A warrior’s reward.’

The air around me filled with a red mist. How dare he speak to me like that? I felt Dragonclaw slide out of her sheath and into my hand. Her sharp blade glowed in anticipation of blood.

‘No, be careful, Sigrid. He’s Ragnar’s. Don’t!’ Kirsten’s frightened voice reached me from far away. But I did hear her. Instead of skewering the miserable troll, I hit him hard across the buttocks with the flat of the sword. He screamed, a high-pitched squeal, like a pig and collapsed on top of the poor girl.

Such humiliation should not be witnessed. It was his ill fortune that two of our thralls had come to see what the noise was about. Unfortunately, they laughed. The man bellowed and rose, his face purple, a scar across his chin bulging. His manhood hung flaccid, exposed. I pointed to it with my sword. The thralls cheered. He tried to step away but his trousers, still round his ankles, tripped him up and he fell in an undignified heap. He reached for his sword. For that Dragonclaw claimed two of his fingers. He sat hunched up, the blood from his mutilated hand soaking the front of his tunic.

‘I think you have something to tell me,’ I said. ‘If you do it right, there’s no need for anyone to hear about this.’ I looked at the thralls. ‘Is there?’ One shook his head, the other nodded. Both grinned. But in the next instant, their smiles froze. Ragnar’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. He said nothing but his fury rolled through the byre like a storm-wave. It swept all onlookers away, leaving the two of us staring at each other over the cowering Beardless and the whimpering girl. He hooked his thumbs through his belt. But I saw his hands shaking, so I got my say in first.

‘Your men must learn to respect me, Ragnar Sweinson. I have a duty to protect my women and nobody threatens me in my own home.’

‘My sworn man, Sigrid. Not yours. Mine to deal with.’

‘He drew. I had to defend myself.’ He looked at the girl, bleeding, bruised and trembling. He shook his head in disgust.

‘She’s just a child,’ he said. ‘This can’t go on.’ Then he drew Bearkiller and dragged Beardless out into the yard. The man was too stunned to realise what was about to happen. His severed head was put on a pole for all to see. Justice had been done.

***

The execution of Beardless signalled the end of feasting and hastened the departure of Ragnar and his crew. But before he left, there was something he had to deal with. My mother-in-law, Aisgerd, nominal head of the household in Ragnar’s absence, was strong-willed but getting frail. She maintained that she had dealt with everything except one issue.

‘Lothar, that false friend of yours, has defiled the family honour,’ she said. Ragnar didn’t seem to know what she meant but I did. Ragnar’s sister Thora carried Lothar’s child. They wished to marry. It should have been very simple, a joyous event, a cause for celebration. It was Thora’s misfortune that Ragnar shared his mother’s delusions regarding the importance of their family.

The couple came, hand-in-hand. Lothar straight-backed and open-faced, Thora blushing. Ragnar regarded them from under knitted brow. His mother pointed a bony finger at them.

‘Look,’ she hissed, ‘they have no shame. Your sister has forgotten that she is the daughter of a Jarl. That Frankian, you left here for our protection, has betrayed your trust.’ Ragnar put a hand on her arm and she fell silent.

‘Ragnar Sweinson,’ said Lothar, ‘I ask you to hear me.’ He used the formal address when he could have appealed to the friendship they shared as brothers-in-arms and shipmates. I admired his dignity and dared an encouraging smile. He didn’t see it, but Thora did and she straightened her shoulders. Ragnar waited before responding and when he did his voice was cold as if to a stranger.

‘Speak,’ was all he said.

‘I come to you with a request. I have become attached to your sister and I ask that you approve our marriage.’

‘Oh, so you do, do you? A fine friend you proved to be, Lothar, man-without-name. My sister was not for you to use. I put you in charge of her safety and I return to find her spoiled.’

‘I would have asked your permission but you have been absent for a long time. Your sister has chosen me of her own free will. I have displaced no man and I am honoured that she finds me worthy of marriage. I ask your consent.’

‘A bit late for that. What, apart from your pretty face, do you have to offer her – and me?’ The insult seemed to take Lothar by surprise. He frowned.

‘It’s true that I have no land or fortune. I can offer no bridegeld but you, Ragnar Sweinson, return to a safe household and full storehouses. There was a time when friendship counted for more than gold. If you require bridegeld I shall take my sword and find my fortune abroad, just as you have done.’ Thora let out a sob. She looked like she would faint. Ragnar turned to one of the thralls.

‘A seat for my sister.’ At this kindness there was murmur of approval from the household and some of the crew nodded. Even Aisgerd looked pleased, her son living up to her expectations. Lothar’s sword arm twitched and his hand closed in a fist.

‘If you release me from my oath to you, I shall go forth and make a name for myself. I shall return with honour and gold, or not at all.’ Thora, from her seat, reached out both arms to Ragnar and cried out.

‘Brother, do not deny me this. Lothar is your shipmate of old, your brother-in-arms. He has been a faithful friend and served you well, as have I. If Lothar leaves I leave with him.’

‘Sister, this man has no land, no fortune, not even a name.’

‘He’s honourable and faithful. I know I shall be safe with him. We have exchanged vows in front of witnesses.’ The hall was full of people but not a sound was heard. Ragnar looked at his mother. She pulled a face.

‘Who?’ said Ragnar. He looked round the hall. ‘Who witnessed the hand-fasting?’

‘We did,’ Beorn the Lame stepped forward and beckoned to Aluinn, one of the servant women. She joined him to stand next to Lothar and Beorn.

‘Oh no, Beorn, no, not you!’ Aisgerd’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.

‘Two servants,’ said Ragnar, ‘it doesn’t count.’ I found it impossible to keep still.

‘Ragnar, Beorn is more than a servant in this hall.’ The look he gave me made the last remnants of wifely subservience crumble. ‘Husband, allow me to remind you that although your father was a jarl, he died a traitor’s death. You yourself were, until recently, an outlaw. I lived here at Buttermere longer than you and I didn’t notice a single suitor prepared to marry the daughter of a traitor. Your sister has no prospects. You should ...’

‘Oh, for the sake of Thor’s goats!’ Ragnar began to get out of his seat. For a moment I thought he would walk away – his usual way of dealing with unwelcome arguments. I stared him out and he seemed to realise that this was not a problem he could turn his back on. Aisgerd let out a sob. Her eyes watered and her lips trembled.

She turned to me and, with her voice at the point of breaking, said, ‘Sigrid, your tongue is cruel.’

Because she had been kind to me and because I loved her I knelt in front of my mother-in-law and took her hands in mine.

‘Aisgerd, you saw sense once before with your younger daughter. Look at the happiness that has brought. Thora has been a true and devoted child to you, do not deny her this. Your daughter needs a man. You need grandchildren.’ She cried and shook her head. I squeezed her hands and made her look at me.

‘Lothar may not come from a great family but he is honest and true. Admit that you know this.’ She gave a reluctant little nod. Ragnar had watched us in silence. Now he spoke.

‘Mother, do you give your consent? If it is your wish, we shall have a hand-fasting this very day.’ The silence in the hall was so thick I thought I’d choke on it. Thora’s sobs and Aisgerd’s sighs were the only sounds that broke through from time to time. I could see Ragnar drumming his fingers on the armrest. The men began to fidget. I squeezed Aisgerd’s hands.

‘Mother-in-law?’ I felt her shaking.

‘Aisgerd, you must speak.’ She looked up at Ragnar and croaked.

‘I give my consent.’

My exhausted household made one last effort. Without a thought for how we’d survive the winter, the storehouses were all but emptied of their smoked hams and salted fish. The thrall women bent their backs over the hand mills and the men went on yet another hunting expedition. It was a measure of the servants’ respect for Thora and Lothar that this feast surpassed anything that had been served up since we returned home.

***

When Ragnar called the crew together to leave, it turned out that not all those who’d come with us from Norway were eager to join him. I was approached by one of them, a warrior with weather-beaten face and a body like an old oak. He had many rings on his arms, given by chieftains who had been well served by his sword. But he was no longer young. This was a fighter at the end of his service.

‘Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter,’ he said, ‘if it pleases you I would like to offer you my sword and my oath.’

‘And who might you be?’ I said, thinking that this old warrior just wanted food and a place by the fire. He seemed to read my mind.

‘I am Varg. The name of my father does not matter. I served many kings and chieftains from Norway to Miklagard where I joined the Emperor’s bodyguard. That’s why they call me the Varangian. I can still wield both sword and axe but mainly I know about horses. You have good grazing here. There’s wealth in good management of horses.’

‘Varg the Varangian. Serving a woman is a big step down for you. Would you not rather go raiding with my husband?’

He thought I was making fun of him and straightened his shoulders.

‘I know age has robbed me of much of my former vigour but knowledge has value too.’

‘No, I’m serious. Why would you choose to serve a woman? You could swear the oath to my husband and stay here as his man.’ He bared his teeth in what I supposed was meant to be a smile. It gave me a jolt to see that his front teeth were filed with a couple of grooves in each. This man had been no ordinary warrior. He had been one of the Wulfhednar; ferocious warriors dressed in wolves’ skins, whose howls put fear into the hearts of the bravest of warriors. I had never met one, they tended to die young.

‘Princess Sigrid, I choose to serve the granddaughter of Harald Finehair and the daughter of Kveldulf Arnvidson, as brave a warrior as ever went berserk on a battlefield.’

‘You fought beside my father?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘when we were both young, before we left Norway to each follow the destiny the Norns had woven for us.’

That decided the matter. He bent his knee to me and offered the hilt of his sword. As I touched it and accepted his oath of allegiance I tried not to think of Ragnar’s amusement when I told him about this latest addition to my entourage.

***

The day before Ragnar and the crew set off, we sacrificed to our gods. We had much to ask for: from Thor, a safe voyage and success for Ragnar; from Frey, time to gather the harvest before the bad weather set in; from Odin, luck for me when I presented my claim to my father’s farm at the Thing. We selected a young heifer and I led the household and Ragnar’s crew to the holy grove. The offer-stone stood below an old oak tree. On its branches hung the ragged evidence of previous sacrifices, heads and fleeces of animals given to Odin, Thor, Frey and Freya in return for their protection and benevolence. The carved images of our gods looked dry and neglected. I noted with trepidation that there was little evidence of gifts being added since the last time I led a ceremony here. The gods do not take kindly to being ignored and I was pleased that I had picked out a fine animal to give them.

The heifer was killed with a knife-stab to the heart and collapsed on to the offer-stone. I slit its throat and collected the blood in the silver bowl with the finely worked images of Odin on his eight-legged horse Sleipnir and with his ravens, Hugin and Munin, one on each shoulder. The blood looked almost black against the polished silver. People stood in a circle, chanting and stamping their feet. I put my hand in the bowl and daubed the carved likeness of Odin, the sacred stones and the base of the oak tree with the warm blood. Then it was the turn of the people to dip their fingers into the bowl and smear blood across their faces. While I took the bowl round to everyone they raised their arms and swayed in rhythm to the chanting.

A bunch of sage and henbane smouldered in front of the offer-stone. I knelt and inhaled the smoke. As always I choked and coughed, and then I felt my mind open. The barrier between my world and that of the Æsirs melted away and I was ready to receive a message from Odin. I cut open the heifer’s belly and let its entrails spill out. The air filled with the sickly smell of stomach-churned grass, dung and blood. I crouched down to study the intestines and read what the future held for us. But Odin played with me as the gods often do when they find our concerns trivial. I saw the things I knew would be there: fighting; blood; and gold. I also saw death. Men and a woman, maybe more than one, would depart on a journey but I couldn’t tell who, or whether they would travel in this world or the next. There was no clue as to who would lose their lives or how. I chanted what I could see, the men heard fighting and gold and were happy, the women heard death and journeys and were downcast.

The next morning Ragnar and the crew left on the river-boats. They headed north and then west to the sea where the drakken-ship Storm Wolf was moored. I stood surrounded by my family, servants and thralls. We watched the boats pass Hause Point and disappear out of sight. I blinked away my tears. Many of the women cried but, as mistress of the household, it was my duty to stay strong and reassuring. I straightened my shoulders, smiled and kept my voice steady as I told everyone to get back to work. The memory of our lovemaking during the last few days would have to sustain me for the months Ragnar would be gone. I felt there had already been too many farewells for me and Ragnar, too much time spent apart, but the Norns weave our futures, not to please us humans but to amuse the gods.

***

When I left Buttermere for Norway, three men swore me allegiance and followed me: Thorfinn, a warrior who had sailed many seas and fought many battles, his stepson Anlaf, and Anlaf’s friend Ulf. Those two had been young, eager for adventure but untried in battle. Thorfinn and Anlaf returned safe with me and were back with their family at Rannerdale Farm but Ulf died fighting at Nidaros. It was now three full weeks since I had returned to Buttermere and I could no longer postpone a visit to Ulf’s parents at Low Kid Farm. I summoned Anlaf and Thorfinn to accompany me on the journey. As usual, Olvir, my ten-year-old orphaned nephew and fostring, took it for granted that he was to come as well.

***

A short ride took us across the low-lying land at the foot of Grasmoor. It was empty, stark land. I lifted my eyes to the craggy scree slopes which seemed to rise straight up towards the clouds.

‘Are there giants up there?’ said Olvir.

Thorfinn nodded.

‘Men who have climbed those slopes in search of lost sheep say unearthly creatures hide in the mists,’ he said. ‘It’s a place better avoided.’

‘Ulf and I used to dare each other to go there,’ said Anlaf. ‘We climbed up the rocks by the gill above their farm.’ His voice broke and we rode in silence. I turned to Thorfinn. I had to ask the question that had preyed on my mind ever since I loaded Ulf’s dead body onto a horse and led it from the battlefield.

‘Will his parents blame me?’

He looked surprised.

‘No, why should they? The boy chose to offer his sword to you. He died with honour in battle. He’s feasting in Odin’s great hall. They will be proud.’

I thought how easy it was for men; the warrior leaves, fights, dies. As long as he dies sword in hand, he is carried in glory to Valhalla where he’ll spend the rest of time fighting and feasting at the table of Odin until the sound of the horn that calls all warriors dead and alive to the final battle of Ragnarok. But when I lit the funeral pyre with Ulf’s body on it, I was haunted by images of my own sons and I marvelled at the strength of mothers who sent their children onto the battlefield never knowing whether they would see them again, just as my own mother blessed me when I picked up my weapons to help defend King Hakon.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of guard-dogs alerting the family to our arrival. The small farmstead nestled close to Low Kid Crag. I counted only six cows and three horses in the meadow. But the fields were well tended and the yard was swept. Thorfinn blew the horn and we rode up to the gate where Ulf’s father met us.

‘Friend,’ I said, ‘it is a sad occasion for my visit.’ I offered my hand but he took my lower arm in a firm grip and we greeted each other like warriors.

‘My son’s chieftain is always welcome in my house. Come inside for some ale, Sigrid Kveldulfsdaughter.’ In the doorway, he hesitated. ‘Ulf was our only son. My wife misses him sorely.’ Tears gathered in his eyes and he turned and entered the longhouse. Inside there was space for animals separated from the family’s living area by a wattle screen.

Ulf’s mother left her work at the loom and bent her knee to me.

‘Princess Sigrid,’ she whispered. I put my hands on her shoulders and raised her.

‘I’m no princess. My father was of humble birth and my mother’s family disowned her when she ran away with him.’

‘You’re still the granddaughter of the great King Harald Finehair and the niece of King Hakon the Good and you do us an honour to come here.’

I noticed the scars from her nails scratching her cheeks and the knife-cuts on her arms. She had done her grieving in traditional Norse manner. I said what I had rehearsed.

‘Your son fought bravely by my side, he watched my back and he saved my life. He was young but accomplished in the use of weapons. His courage was second to none in the battle of Nidaros, and King Hakon and his people were grateful and praised him.’

She wiped her tears and smiled, proud and sad at the same time.

We were seated and served with ale and bread. Two young women, Ulf’s elder sister and his twin, brought fresh meat for the spit while two old servants were sent to fetch mushrooms and apples. I tried to find things to say that would comfort the family but words wouldn’t come. Thorfinn came to my aid.

‘We all miss Ulf. He lived the life of a good man and a brave warrior.’

Ulf’s twin sister Ylva leaned forward and fixed me with an intense gaze.

‘Tell us about the battle. Did he fight well?’

‘He fought with great bravery and slew ...’ I hesitated, ‘many enemies, at least fi ... ten, yes, he killed at least that number.’ I caught Olvir’s eye. His look reminded me of all the times I had told him not to exaggerate the tales of my deeds on the battlefield. But Ylva’s face told me the lie had been worth it. ‘The Valkyries came for him,’ I continued. ‘He’s in Valhalla with your ancestors and my father.’ I beckoned to Anlaf to fetch the leather sleep-bag Ulf had used in Norway. I put it on the table and unrolled it.

‘I have brought back your son’s sword Bloodseeker and his helmet.’ The father nodded. His hands trembled as he drew the sword from its simple scabbard. There was dried blood on the edge. The mother hugged the elder daughter and they began rocking and keening together. Ylva removed her headdress and let her long mane of curly red hair fall over her shoulders. She reached out and picked up Ulf’s helmet.

‘No!’ her father half-rose from his seat but the girl didn’t look at him. She clasped the helmet to her chest and used a tress of her hair to polish it. Her father sat back with a sigh.

‘I gave that helmet to my son,’ he said, ‘as my father gave it to me when I fir. . .