SWANHILDE

CHAPTER SIX: VIKING FUNERAL

CHAPTER SIX: VIKING FUNERAL

Swanhilde stood on the beach, her hands clasped around the hilt of her sword, the same sword that had belonged to Hjall.

Now it was once again sheathed, blade down in the sand.

The old man Beinir came to stand beside her. 'It is a good blade,' he said, resting his axe next to the sword. 'My sister son was proud of it. I recall the day my brother in law had it forged and presented it to my nephew.'

Swanhilde turned to face him. 'I am sorry for your loss, Beinir. Hjall was a good man and he deserved better.'

The greybeard nodded. 'Good he was, and he loved you, as I am sure you were aware.'

'He gave his life for mine,' she replied simply, a tear forming at the corner of one blue eye.

'Aye, that he did and in return you ... you saved those who remain. I know not how and I know not what spurred the change I see in you, but know this my girl, life is hard and life is cruel, but it can also be sweet. It is worth holding on to, and although I would not have lamented my end sword in hand, here today, the gods willed it otherwise.'

Swanhilde said nothing.

'My nephew was young and he was foolish, but do not do him the disservice of regretting his end. It was a good death, done in a worthy cause. Remember that and have no regrets. Else you regret those living who stand around you.'

She looked at the gathered survivors and then out to the two long boats. The boy Kraki stepped forward and hefted his bow. 'Now, my lady?'

'One moment.' She turned to the survivors. 'Would that we had more boats, but we do not, so there to the left lie my father and aunt next to the Jarl and his wife Elfrida, parents of Tora and departed Hrolf and Sverre. The men who once were warriors lay around them. On the second boat lay the women and the children, and those who took up the ploughshare and not the sword. We honor them all. Now Kraki.'

The thirteen year old boy dipped his arrow to the torch that stood lit beside him - it was getting late and the sun was retreating.

Lifting the bow skywards he let fly, and the flaming missile arced upwards and then down to set the second boat afire.

'Travel in peace!' the boy shouted. 'Let the gods guide your journey.'

Swanhilde said nothing, choosing instead to light her own arrow and fire it towards the ship that contained her own family's mortal remains. 'I love you father,' she whispered, 'I am sorry I never told you. Farewell father, farewell my aunt, may the bastards above show mercy to your kind spirit. May you all travel in peace my people.'

As she stood head bowed, she felt Tora's hand slip into hers. The younger girl was weeping her heart out, her pain deep and hard to watch. Swanhilde put her arms around the girl. 'Do not hold back, my Tora. Let it all out and then say your words.'

Beinir stepped forward hesitantly. 'Lady Tora, know you that even in infirmity thy sire rose from his bed, sword in hand to defend your mother. He died Viking.'

'And my m mother?'

'Quick and painlessly my lady.'

Tora thanked him for his telling, and then looking to the burning longboat started to mumble her words, and bid the spirits of her parents and her people, farewell.

Swanhilde took the greybeard's arm and drew him back, to give Tora privacy. She spoke close to his ear. 'You followed me from the huts near the beach, old father. You could not have seen Harald's end.'

Beinir nodded. 'Saying so would serve little purpose, my lady. In truth the Jarl did die well. He was found, sword in hand, and had obviously fought before the end.'

'And the Lady Elfrida?'

The old man bowed his head. 'I fear after the Jarl was slain, that the raiders cruelly used his wife. I would say she died in agony and it was not quick at all. What use is telling the girl the manner of her mother's passing?'

Swanhilde nodded. 'You speak sense, Beinir. I fear such was the case with my aunt, and although my father had sword in hand, he was found abed. I fear he was struck down as he attempted to rise.'

'The gods know a brave man. He will feast in Valhalla tonight, I am positive.'

Again Swanhilde did not reply. Her own views of the gods were ... complicated.

Presently the funeral rites were over and Swanhilde was surprised to find the people had gathered around her, looking at her to lead them.

'What do we do?' some cried.

Others raised their voices to call for a continuance. Hrolf will be back in days or a week at most, they stated. We must simply wait and do what he tells us to do.

Beinir, an old campaigner held his war axe aloft and bellowed. 'SILENCE!!'

Then he told the three dozen the truth of the matter. That the raiders had been routed for now, but could return as early as tomorrow or in a few days if they sent for reinforcements. They would want to erase their shame, and they would soon realise only women, children and the old remained, and few of those to boot, aye.

Hrolf might return in a day or a week or if delayed, a month. It was not safe to remain here.

In the end they turned to Swanhilde - they didn't know what had changed her, but changed she was, and they suddenly saw a leader, and as she and Tora were the only members of their nobility left in this place, she was doubly qualified to make a decision.

And so Swanhilde, maiden of Trousbjorg, touched by the gods and no longer beholden to fate, climbed up on the overturned prow of a wrecked small boat and held up Hjall's sword. 'Hear me, my people. Beinir speaks truth. We must leave this place and seek shelter elsewhere. Go you now, with Tora and Beinir, dig up all your coin, your plate and any hidden trove. Help Tora retrieve the fortune of Jarl Harald which now belongs to her, to keep in trust for Hrolf. Kraki, come you with me to my father's hall to help dig up mine.'

She turned back to the people. 'Take everything of value you can carry and all food and water. Aye and weapons. We leave nothing for the jackals who burnt our home! Raghild, Fridgerd, Gjaflaug.'

The three young girls stepped forward attentively. 'Yes Swanhilde? What can we do?' the oldest, Raghild, who was a year younger than Tora, asked.

'Search the fields and surrounds, see if any animals have survived. Look you to recovering the asses and horses if any be left.'

'I shall search for the chickens from Aud's coop,' piped up the old lady Ingletore.

'Good. We meet north of the village and sleep there this night. On the morrow we depart at dawn.

'Where to?' Kraki wanted to know.

'We go North, Kraki. I have kin there in the lands of my father's birth.'

After the villagers had scattered, only old Beinir remained. 'My lady, I remember the north and its dangers.'

Swanhilde turned to him. 'Of course. You were my father's man.'

He nodded. 'Now I serve you, my lady, if you'll accept my pledge.'

She smiled. 'I will. And fear not. I pose no threat to my uncle ...' she paused.

'My lady?'

Swanhilde hefted Hjall's sword ... her sword now. 'I was just thinking. With luck, my uncle will take us in, but should he decide that it be meet to end his brother's line instead, then I will not hesitate to show him the error of his ways.'

Beinir grinned. 'It has a name you know.' He pointed at the sword. 'One most apt for it's new owner. Breaker.'

Swanhilde grinned back. 'Nay, my friend. From this day forth the blade has a new name, one that honors the old.'

'Aye? What would that be?'

Swanhilde lifted the blade aloft and admired its fine craftsmanship. 'Fate Breaker.'

Coming soon ... CHAPTER SEVEN: AN UNBINDING