Queen of the Dragon Ships

By Val Manning

This first in a series about famous Viking women illuminates a shadowy but fascinating corner of history, and lifts the veil on the hitherto obscure role of the female Viking in the 9th century. Aud-the-Deepminded was a Christian in pagan Norway at this time. Born into an era when women had few rights and even less freedom, she finds that her fiery nature attracts and impresses the heathen Olaf, King of the Irish, who would have her for his queen. Aud rebels against the arranged betrothal in a most unusual way before realising her love for the king. But has she left it too late? Is he still within her reach? Forced by circumstance, haunted by omens, life and family threatened, a widowed Aud flees to the Western Isles where leadership is thrust upon her. Freed from male dominance she shows what a lone woman can do. Learns how deeply and painfully she can love. How vulnerable love can make her, and how strong. Here—across ten centuries—Aud, grand matriarch and early settler of Iceland with her own ship and crew, tells her poignant story through the medium of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emissary Publishing
• Release date: Jun 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005305734

Book preview

FOREWORD

The Viking era, particularly the 9th and 10th centuries, has always held great fascination for me. So when my delving took me to Iceland, that outpost of Viking civilisation, I was intrigued by one grand matriarch and early settler of the Western part of the land called Aud-the-Deepminded. For all her fame and achievement, however, the known facts about her are few, the chronology disputed.

There are differing schools of thought concerning Olaf-the-White, Olaf the Irish King and Olaf Geirstad-Alf, which identify any one with another. No matter which theory I follow, opposing views will be held, none of which has been conclusively proved. For the purpose of this book, inspired by repeated and perhaps questionable dreams, I have adopted the theory put forward by Jon Steffenson that all three Olafs are one and the same man.

If we follow this theory that the three are one, the inference cannot be avoided that Rognvald-the-Mountain-High, son of Olaf Geirstad-Alf, is also Thorstan-the-Red, son of Olaf-the-White and Aud-the-Deepminded. Thorstan’s flight with Aud to the Western Isles would then explain Rognvald’s mysterious disappearance from the annals.

Aud’s marriage to Olaf was brief. She was young, wealthy, spirited and of noble lineage. It needs only a little imagination to perceive that she would still have represented a desirable match. As a widow she could speak for herself concerning wedlock. Why then did she spurn marriage after Olaf? What motivated her ? What really happened ?

I researched further and noticed that both the Laxdale Saga and the Origines Islandicae mention one Koll who was held in great esteem by her. And the latter source states that she shared with him the command of her ship. I then sought the aid of an extra medium by bringing a sympathetic mind to bear on the chronicles of the period, willing Aud’s deep mind to tune with mine and provide the answer.

I leave it to you, the reader, to discern whether I have succeeded in penetrating the shroud of centuries to call Aud’s spirit into me, or whether this story merely derives from imagination.

Here then—across ten hundred years—Aud tells her story.

PART ONE

Omens, Gifts and A Wedding

ONE

AUD’S UNWILLING BETROTHAL

Today, I, Aud-the-Deepminded, sometimes called the-Deep- wealthy, have given into the hands of Olaf Feilan, my only grandson, all my land and belongings to own and to manage.

Even as I lie here, Mistress of my own Hall, a down-filled pillow at my back and a downy bed-covering over me, Olaf and his new wife—Alfdis—sing and amuse themselves at their wedding feast unaware that soon they will be drinking my funeral honours. For now that Olaf is settled with wife, wealth and responsibility, I can rest my age-weary bones in eternal sleep.

When I—the first grand matriarch of Iceland—first arrived here almost nine hundred years from the birth of our Lord the land was largely unsettled. I took as much for myself as I desired, choosing large portions of the fertile Broadfirth Dales in the west of Iceland. I had a house built where the high-seat pillars thrown overboard from my ship at the head of the bay were washed up. The high-seat is the seat of honour in a man’s Hall and only the Lord of the Hall may use it. The carved wooden pillars which distinguish it are hallowed to Thor to protect the Hall and its occupants from fire or tempest. A ship’s Chief takes them with him whenever he seeks new land, throwing them overboard so that the gods may wash them up where he is destined to build his new home. As a Christian I had Christian symbols carved on mine as well as those of Thor. The two-headed hammer of Thor, the mighty Miollnir, is not unlike the cross of Christ in shape and power. I have been fortunate in having their dual protection for they endowed me with great stamina and a fierce spirit and have seen me safely through many battles and troubled times. After I had had my house built here at Hvamm and set up household, I gave much of my land-take to faithful men of great mark who had served me well. Yet for all that the wealth and rule of my grandson Olaf Feilan will be greatest of all. My instincts tell me he will be a great Chieftain and I am content.

Now my time draws to a close. My soul yearns for my husband’s spirit awaiting me in Asgard, the realm of the gods, in the great Hall of Valhalla where the chosen slain fight and feast with the gods till the world’s end. I, a Christian, have only one God and he dwells in Heaven, but just as the rainbow bridge Bifrost links Asgard with the earth, so must there surely be a bridge linking Asgard with Heaven. I shall search till I find it, till Olaf’s spirit and mine touch and hold once more. Then will I be fulfilled.

I do not think I would act differently could I live my life again. It is hard now to imagine the rigours and blood-spilling of my youth as I lie here in my bed-closet protected by the strong timber walls of my Great Hall and imbued with the weariness of old age. But before I close my eyes and let the Lord take me I must try to reconcile myself with the more difficult decisions I have had to make in the past. Through sad circumstance I have shown what a woman alone can do once freed from the shackles of homage to husband and father. Learned, too, how deeply and painfully she can love. How vulnerable love can make her, and how strong.

I have not always been stout and irritable as now. Strangers respect my age and at first assume my wealth and status to be a legacy. They see a tall, portly old woman, straight-backed with red-rimmed eyes, grey hair and severe wrinkles. They look at my weathered, stern countenance and doubt and wonder that men followed me or that I was ever the Viking Chief with my own ship and crew that those who know me avow.

They cannot know how I used to be. Tall and slender as a young pine, clear eyes of midnight hue, hair red and thick as foxes’ tails and teeth like walrus ivory. All my life I have stood apart from others of my sex. Endowed with my father’s pride and stubbornness I was always a difficult child. And it was that in me that led to my unwilling betrothal to the Irish king, Olaf- the-White. It is so impressed upon my mind that I can recall it as though it were yester eve.

Kettil Flatnose, my father and highborn chieftain in Norway, was a man few dared to cross. My fearless brothers, Bjorn and Helgi, would argue with him constantly but in the end always accepted his ruling. My youngest sister, Jorunn, coaxed and inveigled him when she wanted her own way and was usually successful but it would never have occurred to her to defy him. My older sister Thorunn, quiet and matronly like mother, revered his every word and would never have dreamt of criticising or challenging his authority. Only I had the courage or foolishness to oppose him.

I was in his image. Our wills met and clashed like forest trees in a storm. The weight of his hand was no stranger to me, but I could no more contain my hot outbursts than he could restrain his. This did nothing to douse the abiding affection we each had for the other. On winter nights we gathered for warmth, food and comfort around the blazing fire in the centre hearth and talked, ate and sang in the smoke-filled Hall while the woodsmoke circled and fought for an exit through the inadequate hole set high in the rafters, too high and diminutive for an enemy or foul weather to penetrate. Sometimes father would strum his harp and I would take turn with him to sing the ballads of his forefathers and somehow I always managed to be crouching beside him after we had all finished shuffling and fighting for a space as we settled for the evening. Often he would ruffle my hair and say, Small red sprite, you should have been a boy, and I would burst with pride for I knew he loved me for my spirit even as he found it necessary to admonish it. Had I been a boy he would have been unafraid to praise me openly and would have been the first to encourage and boast of my daring and devilry. But in a girl such qualities were undesirable and so he would frown even as the light in his eyes belied it. When I dared to question this I received chastisement in reply.

One night when the family were gathered by the white heat in the centre hearth and the wind and rain beat against the outer timbers and blew the smoke back into the oil-lit Hall, my father cast his slingshot.

Small red sprite, I have news which should please you.

I was no longer small, having grown a good six feet high in my twenty years, but he always called me so.

What news, Father?

Tell me first what you best recall from the sagas I have sung about Olaf the Irish king ?

Foremost he is a leader of men, Father.

Indeed. He has noble blood and a fighting spirit. He drew men to him and became a true Viking taking land for himself and becoming rich and famous in the process. He descended on Ireland with his royal fleet slaughtering all who opposed him and ordering tributes from those who succumbed to his rule. Settling himself in Dublin he was acclaimed King of the Irish and though many have engaged him in battle they merely provide exercise for his warring arm. He came here once, fourteen years ago. He was then twenty-seven years.

Is he coming again ?

He was silent. Suddenly there seemed to be an air of expectancy in the room. Mother was watching me anxiously. Thorunn was staring, not at Father as was her habit, but into the hearth where the glare emphasised her plain features and picked out the wistfulness of her expression. As I watched she raised eyes full of envy, smiled briefly and returned her gaze to the fire. Thorunn, unimaginative and practical, was not given to daydreaming or discontent as I well knew. The only thing to cause her despondency of recent months was her unmarried state, for she was nearing her twenty-third summer. Being the eldest she had naturally hoped to be the first to marry. But of late there had been talk of a prospective and suitable match being made for her so unless this had fallen through I could not think what Father might have to say to me that would make my good-natured sister envious. Helgi and Bjorn seemed unperturbed so I returned my eyes to Father’s face and waited for him to speak.

It is time you were wed, my daughter.

It cannot be imagined what shock his words brought me, being as I was totally innocent of his intentions. I could only stare, all power of speech lost to dismay. No wonder poor Thorunn was despondent. As the eldest and a natural homespun girl Thorunn saw wedlock as her fulfilment in life, but she was well past marriageable age and prospects dimmed increasingly with each passing day. She was unfortunately plain and so awkward that no man of Father’s status would consider her, especially whilst we two younger girls were eligible and so outstanding to look upon. Thorunn did not merely lack a pretty face. She lacked sparkle and found conversation unnecessary and difficult to engage in. Yet I knew she would make some man a good wife for all that if only Father would let her go to some less demanding man. I guessed that Thorunn would be happier keeping a warm hearth for some landless freeman than wed to an Earl of father’s equal who would demand from her that which she was unable to give.

Little Jorunn, precocious and keen-witted, had found her own match and had pleaded, pouted and flirted with Father till in the end he had overcome his initial anger at her highhandedness and graciously allowed the match. Jorunn, who always had an answer and as sharp a wit as any man to parry words with her, had earned herself the name Jorunn, Men’s Witbreaker, which, when she first heard it, sent her into peals of laughter. She told me in confidence, ’Tis true I’ve broken men’s wits, but I’ve met my match now. To be honest, Aud, this husband of mine is Lord over me besides Lord of our Hall and that’s the way it should be, don’t you think ?

I smiled and wished her well but inwardly disagreed with her. It was fine for Jorunn who found fun in wit and cajolery. But for me it would never do. I had a man’s will and needed a man’s independence. I saw no chance of that unless I was married to a spineless character too weak to refuse me the freedom I craved. And how could I respect such a man, for none would willingly give his wife her head when her place was at his feet. Better to suffer the ignominy of spinsterhood than spend the rest of my life either despising a gutless husband or forced to endure the slavery of another.

I gathered my wits to answer Father, knowing from experience that an outburst of indignation would only work against me. If there was any possibility of sliding out of this undesired match I knew I must tread carefully and first try reason to extricate myself. I spoke carefully.

Surely, Father, you mean Thorunn. She is the eldest and will make a far better wife. Well you know that marriage holds no joy for me.

I saw Thorunn raise a hopeful face as I waited for Father’s answer. He looked sadly in Thorunn’s direction and back at me.

It is you Olaf has chosen. If your sister’s unmarried state concerns you then dwell on the thought that she will fare better when other competition is removed.

Poor Thorunn winced and I felt anger rise in me. Father did not mean to be cruel. He was simply outspoken. If I wished to spare Thorunn further pain I would have to agree to the match but I was not prepared to do that when my whole future lay at stake.

If Olaf knows he cannot have me, Father, then surely he will take Thorunn in my place. He has not seen either of us for fourteen years.

Olaf is a proud man, daughter. He will not be thwarted in this.

I do not want this marriage, Father.

There was an uneasy silence. Father left our huddle round the hearth and began pacing down one side of it. His expression was hard to discern in the smoky atmosphere of flickering shadows. The storm still raged outside as though echoing Kettil’s thoughts and we waited, the strain almost unbearable, as he strode up the Hall. As the storm outside eased he returned to the hearth and squatted again beside me, his face surprisingly gentle.

When Olaf first met you he called you Dragonhead, for even at six summers you fought him.

Then I was a wise child, Father.

"Do not mistake childish fury for wisdom, red sprite. When Olaf came to Norway from Ireland to aid his father in battle I, as a high-born hersir, pledged myself and my war host to his father’s cause. Following a successful campaign I invited him to feast with us before returning to Ireland. He had things to attend to first but promised to call in once he had finished his business. It was some four years later that he came, his father having been slain by Asa’s thrall in the meantime. The day he rode up unannounced with his militia