The Birth Of The Shield Maidens

This is a story driven by my love of the term Shield Maiden. I adore the thought of a world where women would be accepted as equals in the toughest environment in our world. The battle field.

Too long society has cast women as mothers, housewives...

I still do not know for sure that shield maidens ever existed. In my heart I believe so.

Evidence, real evidence is inconclusive. History has been controlled by men.

This is fiction, and only my idea of how Shield Maidens may have come into existence.

I must also take the opportunity to thank some people who helped greatly in developing this story. Randi, Melissa and Nicole for their reading and guidance. Dave for his editing. Thank you, I appreciate you all.

*****

My heart sank, sadness overwhelmed me. My children gave me little reprieve as they gripped my hands tightly. The long boat disappeared up the sound. The grunts and chants of the oarsmen pulling ferociously on the oars. The sorrowful cries of the families around me echoing my own sinking emotions.

It was bad enough that our menfolk sailed off into danger and many would not return.

Fused together with the concern for their safety were the fears for our own survival.

Our culture pushed our menfolk to set sail for foreign lands. It was a tradition that stretched back in time to the first boats. They sailed off to plunder and loot. It was our way, we were warriors, and we lived by the principle: If we could take it, then it was ours to keep.

Every summer, the men set sail, and we the women and children, along with the old and infirm were left to fend for ourselves. Our little village wasn't the only one boats set sail from. It was the Viking way. With the departing boats, our homes were left undefended and ripe for raids from stronger villages.

It is what I despised the most about my relationship with my husband Lars. How could he just sail away knowing what awaited us?

When the raiders arrived, and over recent years there had been attacks. They took whatever they could get. Women of course sat high on their list of desires. If they could, we were enslaved and taken as prisoners, not just raped.

With only old men and children. Our defence, if we got enough warning, was to run into the hills until the raiders had their fill and left. We returned to find our feed stores empty, and our animals slaughtered and eaten.

"It's not fair." Helga sighed. "They get adventure, and we get nothing but hard work, hunger, torture and rape as our reward."

"I agree, but what can we do?" I replied despondently as if she had read my mind. We were so alike in our thoughts, her and I...

"I don't know, Ingrid, but you know as well as I do. We will be raided ourselves this summer. Like last year, we will lose everything again. What's the point in our men folk going off to raid and bring back treasure when what they took last year in raids, is looted from our village by raiders this year."

"What do you suggest Helga, do we fight?"

She shrugged with a resigned heavy sigh. "No, I am angry. Our husbands go off on their adventure as if they don't even care about what happens to us."

"Yes, I do not disagree, but what alternatives do we have?"

"I don't know." Again her sad sigh.

To ease her fears I embraced her tightly. My children sensing our sadness and trying to hold in their own also joined our hug and held on tight.

Idda who had overheard our conversation added, "Every year it gets worse. This season will be worse. Word spread quickly from last year's successful raids. Other communities know there is now treasure here. We will not have long to wait before we are again forced to hide in the hills."

Our little army of friends held hands as we walked back from the jetty, the boats now gone from sight. All we had to look forward to now was hard work. We the womenfolk would tend the farms, work the lands, tend to the animals as well as try to raise our children and keep them fed and dry.

That night was a restless sleep, thinking about who we had left in the village. A few men who had been injured in recent battles, who could no longer sail with the raiding parties. Old men, who were too old to sail. Women and children.

That was our lot. Could we fight... Last summer, we were raided twice, both times by single boats. Party of about thirty men. Could we stave off an attack? We were small in numbers. Fifty families. Twenty or so young boys who were not quite old enough to go with their fathers. Girls and us... The wives.

Could we learn to fight well enough? The other women, like myself, weren't afraid of death. We weren't afraid of fighting. The question was... Could we defeat a raiding party of lustful brutal Viking warriors?

As I thought about it, the answer was clear. Not in close combat, not in equal numbers. We needed an advantage. The long bow, hunting bows. Most of the boys had them. We had among our old men skills that we could use. Most of them were still competent with the bow.

Could they teach us, help us forge new weapons?

The dawn roused me early. I had fields to hoe, crops to tend. Throughout the day, those thoughts kept circling back. I hated feeling weak and being at the mercy of men. My own husband Lars had sailed off into the distance feeling proud.

He was a ferocious warrior, revered among our small settlement. He was held in the highest esteem. One of, if not the very best. I loved him completely, and yet, I hated him vehemently. He left me here knowing I would have to carry the load knowing I had no alternative.

"Men." I snarled spitting onto the cold earth. They treated us as if we were nothing but playthings, slaves and chattels. I heard tales from the last raiding party. Lars had enjoyed the fruits of several women, some he probably raped.

Yet here I was, alone. Struggling to keep food on our table. Rain or shine every day I would be out in the fields working. My only comfort our children who worked hard beside me.

That night, Helga stopped in and we sat at our table. "How are you feeling today, Ingrid?"

"Angry."

She smiled ruefully. "I feel also that anger. In my heart I love Olaf, but Every year it gets worse. They are gone for longer, sail further away. They know we will be raided, but care not for us. We are left to scurry off and hide in the hills whilst raiders take everything."

"Yes, you are right," I muttered the anger irrepressibly growing within me. "What is the point? They sail off to raid and plunder whilst their own homes undergo attack. Wives are raped, children stolen as slaves. Where is the sense in it?"

She shook her head, acknowledging the truth of it. "There is none."

"Unless," I said with more confidence than I felt. "We did not run. What if we fought back? Repelled the raiders ourselves."

She gasped in shock. "You mean we fight off the raiders?"

"Yes, we get the old men together and get them to fashion weapons. Mostly bows. We cannot fight in close combat and win. Not yet anyway, but we are eighty strong. That's eighty bows. The moment we see that we are under attack. We fire."

"Yes, but they will have archers as well."

"We will have the element of surprise. Raiders who sail into our port do so knowing our men are not here. They do so with the impudent arrogance of knowledge. We would not use traditional methods. We could not fight like Vikings. We would hide, attack stealthily."

I watched as her mind tried to make sense of my words. "Yes, that could work if it was a small raiding party."

"Think Helga. We only get raided by small party's. The larger more confident ones are already sailing for distant lands. Foreign lands. The ones who raid our coast lines are the ones who don't have the courage to go with them."

"Yes, so we learn to shoot bows. Is that all?"

"No, we will need to be able to fight hand-to-hand as well. Hopefully only small numbers, but. I have considered methods of fighting much bigger men."

Looking totally absorbed by my outlandish ideas. She said enquiringly. "Go on."

"Any raiders coming into our harbour would do so as Vikings have for aeons. They are arrogant knowing they face only women and children. They would as always charge full force. Rather than meet them head-on, we would attack from surprise secret locations. They would never expect it. They would be in our trap before they even knew it."

"Even if we trap them Ingrid, my friend. We would at some point have to fight in close quarters."

"Yes, there is no escape from that. I have given it so much thought. I have a headache."

She laughed cheekily. "My poor soul. How would we approach it, the fighting?"

"We let them rush us. Then we deflect them. Let them get past us, and as they do. We cut them down, aiming for the back of their legs, their knees. We wield lighter swords, and we move quickly."

Her face darkened as she absorbed my words. Her own mind clearly in turmoil. "You have clearly given this much thought, Ingrid."

"I have, these thoughts have been building for some time. I have a plan, Helga, and I think we could do it."

She seemed lost in thought before stating loudly. "Tomorrow, we must call a Village meeting. Talk to everybody. We would need everybody behind us."

"Indeed." I replied in total agreement. What do you think, Helga? Would you stand beside me?"

Her fingers gripped my upper arm tightly. "Always, we have always been closer than real sisters. Your fight is my fight."

I hugged her back. "And yours is mine. I would always have your back."

The next day, I visited every home. I spoke to every family. All were nervous, but there was a groundswell. The injured men hated that they couldn't go raiding, and they also detested the idea of running off meekly to hide in the hills, whilst strangers stole our feed, our food and animals. It was against the Norse creed. Norsemen fought with no fear of death, Running was never an option.

Except now cast as protectors, their role was to keep us safe. As much as they hated it, they were forced into the roles dictated by their injuries. They were expected to go with us and protect us.

When they heard my suggestion of fighting a light flicked on in their eyes, that flicker growing to a bright fiery glow. They saw a way of renewing their status as men, as warriors.

There was enough interest from the men, even the aged and infirm. They saw it as an opportunity to live as men again. To revel in the thrill of battle.

The meeting was not clear-cut. There were many who argued against it. There was genuine fear for the children. As women, we knew what it would mean if we lost. We would be raped, taken as slaves. Sold, or worse as a reward for fighting, they may simply kill us all.

Anders our Yarl, our leader whilst our actual leader went off raiding with the men of the Village, did not want to see women fighting in battle. He was of our traditions, the old ways. Women weren't even supposed to speak at meetings. We had no powers, no voice.

Anders though was also a thoughtful man. He listened to my arguments. "Who is going to teach you to fight?" He asked.

"You are. Every man here in the village will help. You will teach us. The young boys as well. They are good hunters. They already know the way of the bow. They can be our archers."

"Even if we teach you well a woman cannot beat a male warrior. Men are bigger, stronger. They are experienced fighters. They have skills honed over many years, many battles. Even with our help. You would be going into battle for the first time."

"Anders, I have given this much thought. You are right. In hand-to-hand combat we could never beat them. I have considered methods of fighting. We would not fight the way our traditions dictate. We would need to be better, use their strengths against them. Turn their strengths into weaknesses."

He was not totally in favour but as more of the women came to accept my suggestions, he also agreed. By the end of the meeting it was decided. We would run no longer. We would stand and fight.

The elders took control of weapons. They educated us in the ways of the bow. They were men with years of experience. Not only fighting, but hunting. As I told them of my plans, they started to consider the possibilities. We wouldn't fight face to face until there was no other alternative. We would be like hunters. Shooting stealthily from hidden positions.

Never showing our strengths or numbers. We would be the shadows, the darkness. We would take them completely by surprise. They would expect as always for the Village to be empty.

Everybody understood. That would be our first weapon of choice. We set guards, and all the boys had to take their turns out on the lofty headlands watching the entrance to our harbour. With the alarm sounded by them we would have time to assemble and fight.

To make it easier for our archers our first addition to the village defences were towers. We built two, one either side of the jetty. Our archers would be inexperienced and not as accurate as trained skilled warriors. They needed the protection of walls. We knew our enemy would also have archers. This was a battle unlike any they would have experienced before.

Our archers were going to be protected, the towers offering fortified walls to hide behind, small openings to fire through.

We worked in teams, the strongest women including myself learned the art of swords play. How to make use of our lack of height, make it an advantage. My idea was to move. Vikings fought the way we had always fought. Head on, and at full pace. They worked on fear. A line of attacking Vikings rushing at enemies put the fear of every god deep in their hearts.

Our sword smith set to the forge to build lighter swords. Lighter axes for those who chose the axe over the sword.

We worked on clothing. Full armour was heavy and cumbersome. We designed lighter less weighty garments. That still offered protection from sword strikes. Strong leather, but cut to allow movement. To get low. That was where we would attack them.

Rather than face-to-face, we would get behind them and strike low at their exposed legs. Cut them down, take away their superior strength. They might be strong, but we were lithe, and fast. Unencumbered by heavy armour, we would use the art of deception.

Every day we sparred, practising the sword play.

The boys if they weren't training or working in the fields, worked fashioning arrows. We would need many. This was something the older women were capable of. Fletching the arrows. Fixing the heads.

Every day the fighting got harder and harder. I felt it inside. We were getting better. Our major enemy would be time. Summer had come early, which meant raiders would not be far away.

We didn't have long to wait. The horns sounded from the guards out on the headlands. Panic set in, we weren't trained warriors. We were the learners.

"To the towers," I screamed at the collective groups. The young boys and girls would fight from there. They would be the main archers.

The elders would be stationed on the edge of the jetty in the boat-building yards. The core of our army would be stationed on the village streets closest to the jetty. We would be there to deal with any survivors of our archers.

We had a pact, an agreement among our group. There would be no survivors. Our attackers would all die. No survivors meant there would be nobody to spread tales of our methods.

Any who did not die by the archers' accuracy would die by the knife.

We huddled together. A group of women now transformed into warriors. As we held the huddle, all leaning in I made my plea. "We are more than men. We are friends, mothers and sisters. We have known each other all our lives. Today, we fight. I promise you sisters I will put your life before mine. I will defend you with everything I have."

Helga who was beside me screamed, "Sisters."

Gudrun followed her lead. "Sisters," she pledged. Over and over we yelled louder and louder. It grew into a chant, a mantra.

We waited in our positions as the longboat appeared in our view. A single boat. Probably forty warriors at best, and they would be tired. There was no wind, They would have been rowing for over an hour. They would feel that, move slowly.

We could hear them chanting, the cries loud and guttural. They announced their arrival hoping to put the fear of Odin in our hearts. They expected to find an empty village.

We waited...

Glancing around I watched all the archers drawing their bows, their targets almost at the jetty. We waited, closer... Closer, until the longboat bounced off the jetty. "Loose," I screamed, and the arrows flew swift and straight.

The first volley landed and the anguished cries of the hit warriors loud in the still heavy air. Bodies fell into the cool waters.

"Loose," I screamed again, and the second volley flew.

I watched as the panic set in. The warriors on the boats dived for their shields. I heard their leader cry out, "Shield wall."

The classic Viking defence. Still, they were down at least fifteen men.

The archers stopped, waiting for my command. There was only one way off the boat. Our jetty, firing on them in the boat was a waste of time. They already had their shields up.

I waited, it was as the wall broke down and they tried to rush for the jetty that I screamed again, "Loose."

It was hard to hold your shield up and climb out of the boat. As they tried. We cut them down. Forced back on the boats, they again huddled behind their shield wall. Their numbers now less than half.

They had their own archers but didn't have obvious targets. I waved for the boys in the towers to stay low. Give them nothing to aim for.

It didn't take long before they made another attempt to get off the boat, again the arrows flew from my command.

"Loose," then again, and again. Their numbers dwindling fast. They desperately kept charging. Maybe it was their haste, their panic or rage. They didn't see the rope laying across the jetty. As they found their footing and charged head long towards us, I signalled for the men over the edge of the jetty to stretch the rope, and the first wave tripped and fell sprawling on the cold wet slippery boards.

Again the call,"Loose."

The fallen laying prone on the ground were easy targets. Bodies tripping over bodies. It was a slaughter. We cut them down before they cleared the boards.

An eerie disquieting sound settled over the port. The only cries were those of the wounded.

As Helga and I approached, I pointed out the leader. "Kill the rest," I commanded.

"Where are you from?" I asked kneeling down over his prostrate body. Two arrows sticking out from his stomach and chest.

"Hergsfuller." He groaned, in agony.

"Are there others, or are you the only boat?"

"There are others, but not here. They will come for our revenge though."

"Good luck with that," I said quietly as I slit his throat. The blood spurting out coating the wooden planking and my hands in the thick red blood of a dying man.

They were all dead.

Our victory was silent. Everybody I think overwhelmed by our achievement. "Now what?" Helga asked, her voice hushed and reverent.

"We take everything that is of value, weapons, clothing and food. We moor the boat away from the jetty. We'll carry the bodies into a pile and burn them."

It was a moment of realisation. Dead bodies sprawled along the jetty. The celebrations started slowly, isolated cries becoming strident screams. The cheers grew ever louder as the elation from the young boys filled the very air we breathed. Killing was a way of life. Death wasn't to be feared but embraced as a gateway into Valhalla.

For the more innocent of us, it was a different emotion. Empathy, sorrow. We had taken human life.

I think Helga recognised my questioning emotions. "Ingrid, it was us or them. It was the right thing to do. If they had survived, we would have been raped, imprisoned as slaves or butchered. It was us or them."