Northman Part 1

by M J Porter

  Northman Part 1

  MJ Porter

  Copyright notice

  Porter, M J

  Northman Part 1

  Copyright ©2014, Porter, M.J

  Kindle edition

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  Contents

  Northman Part 1

  The Story So Far….

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Cast of Characters

  Historical Information

  Meet the Author

  For my cousin Sam, and his beautiful wife, Heather, on their wedding day

  31st July 2014

  All my love for a happy and bright future together

  The Story So Far….

  Leofwine is the ealdorman of the Hwicce in eleventh century England.

  Wounded in an attack led by king Swein of Denmark in Shetland a decade ago, Leofwine has no vision in his left eye, and uses a hound to guide his steps. Leofwine’s wife, a prominent member of the Hwiccan nobility, gives legitimacy to his governance, and he’s the father of four sons and a daughter.

  King Æthelred, initially sceptical of Leofwine’s abilities, has come to rely on his ealdorman, and took his advice in waging war on the kingdom of Strathclyde in AD1000 as a step to preventing further Viking Raider attacks on England.

  The offensive was a success. But the king returned to England and was plunged into deep grief by the death of his wife, more Viking Raider attacks, the treasonous actions of Ealdorman Pallig, king Swein’s brother-in-law, and then the death of his long domineering mother, Lady Elfrida.

  Leofwine has been promoted to the ealdordom of the whole of Mercia, having saved the king’s mother and his children from a deadly attack by Thorkell the Tall and Erik, allies of king Swein. And the king has remarried, to Emma of Normandy, a much younger woman than the king, the result of an alliance with Normandy to prevent them assisting the Viking Raiders in attacking England.

  Following yet another attack on England by king Swein of Denmark in AD1005, which Leofwine repelled, only for Swein to reappear, king Æthelred has decided to punish Leofwine by restricting his area of governance back to only the Hwicce, while Eadric, an upstart from Northern Mercia gains favour with the king.

  Although Leofwine has now beaten Swein in battle once more, and driven him from England in the midst of winter storms, that information has yet to reach the king, and Northman Part 1 begins as news of Leofwine’s disfavour with the king becomes a reality.

  Chapter 1

  Midwinter AD1006 – Northman

  He pulled his cloak tighter around his shaking body, to ward off the chill air and streaming rain that was hitting him directly in the face and pooling down his frozen cheekbones. His eyes were steely and fixed in place, the only thought in his mind that he must reach his father as soon as possible.

  His mother had come to him and told him that they were to leave the house in Lichfield with all haste and that he’d need to assist her in getting his brothers and sister ready for the journey. He hadn’t questioned her words, completely out of character for him, but then, he’d never heard such seriousness in his mother’s voice. It was the first time in his ten years that he’d heard fear in her shaky voice.

  He wondered if he’d have leapt to his duties quite as promptly if he’d not overheard the archbishop’s message delivered by one of his household troops. He shrugged the thought aside. It was irrelevant. He had heard the message, and he knew of his father’s, if not disgrace, then dressing down. Rage burned within him, bright and pure. His father was a good man. The best. Even he knew that. He was respected and feared in equal measure. He was fair and honest, always taking the time to discuss issues with both sides of the party. Men vied to have his support at the shire courts, and quaked in fear when he refused to give it.

  To know what the king had done to his father filled his heart with hatred. He knew he shouldn’t think so, but while the thoughts were his own, they could bubble happily through his mind, in time to the pounding of his horse’s hooves on the hard frozen ground they traversed.

  Beside him, Leofric sat miserable atop his horse. He was a little more forthcoming with his anger, his slender shoulders rigid where they held the reins of his horse and every so often, he muttered something foul that he’d learnt from a member of his father’s household troop. Northman wanted to chastise him, but as he agreed with his every word, he was letting him alone. Time would come soon enough when they’d be forced to guard against everything they thought, let alone said. This time alone, in the sheeting rain was theirs and theirs alone.

  For now, all he wanted was to see his father, and the same determination had coloured his mother’s every move that day. Brisk and to the point, she’d ruthlessly rushed through their home packing, scrupulously only what was theirs to take, her face white and set with suppressed anger.

  And then there’d been old Wulfstan. His hair all but white, he’d trembled at the news, as he had when Eadric had made his unexpected visit earlier in the year demanding to foster Northman. That time his father had miraculously appeared and headed the situation off. This time, he’d not, despite Wulfstan’s longing glances at the doorway that Northman had watched with sadness. Northman had felt pity for the man, as close to his grandfather as he’d ever had, and he’d gone to him and helped him pack his possessions, mindful to keep him out of the way of his mother’s bustling and efficient servants. His slow movements would have occasioned much muttering and frustration, for all that they’d not have meant it. No one in the household did not respect the ageing man. No one.

  With the help of Leofric, they’d taken the old man outside, almost speechless with shock, and they’d saddled his just as old but sturdier horse, and wrapping him in two thick wolf pelts and cloaks, had assisted him into the saddle. Only then had Northman run back inside what had once been his home, and gathered his small collections of possessions and stuffed them into a handy sack that he wore strapped to his back. An old and much loved wooden sword, a board an
d wooden pieces and most importantly, a tiny shield Wulfstan had gifted to him when he could barely walk.

  He now purposefully rode beside Wulfstan, and while the old man didn’t speak, his more sociable horse was clearly pleased to have the company. Between the mutterings of Leofric, and the silence from Wulfstan, Northman sat hunched and miserable, but braver than he’d ever felt before. His mother had, by her acceptance of his actions, made him responsible for his brother and his father’s closest confidant on the way back to Deerhurst. It filled him with pride.

  Irritably he wiped the bitter tears that fled down his face. His responsibility came as a bitter tonic when it was thrust upon him at such a time of crisis. Beside him, Wulfstan glanced at him and coughed drily,

  “Come, lad, no need for that. Your father will be hale no matter what the king does to him. He’s a wise man, more than aware of the king’s sometimes contrary nature.”

  Northman glanced at the steadiness in the man’s voice in shock. The state of him earlier, he’d not expected such stoicism.

  “But, none of it makes sense.”

  “Nothing about court politics will make sense to a ten-year-old.” Wulfstan chuckled, not unkindly. He wiped angrily at the rain that drizzled into his face. “The king has his favourites, and he has his men who he can rely on to do what needs to be done. Sadly, on occasion, he confuses the two. He’ll come to his senses soon enough, or he won’t, and your father will recover his position anyway. In the eyes of all who know him, he loses nothing. If anything, the king loses more because he shows how little regard he has for those who are his genuine, loyal followers. The respect most men and women hold your father in should be obvious to you. The hasty actions of the king won't devalue him in anyone’s eyes. And certainly, shouldn't in yours.”

  Northman looked away to consider the words and realised with a start that Wulfstan too was according to him more respect than before. He was speaking to him as if he was a man grown.

  “Thank you for your words,” Northman uttered, incredulity colouring his voice, “I’ll think about them further.”

  “I know you will, lad, and that’s why I’ve spoken them to you. And you have my deepest thanks for your assistance earlier. You’ll be as wise and just as your father with a few more years under your belt.”

  Northman felt his cheek flush with embarrassment at the compliment from the man who he’d always held in high regard.

  “And just remember who taught you everything you know,” Leofric interjected into the conversation, his voice boyishly high with delight at undermining Wulfstan’s words of endorsement. Northman cast him a barely veiled look of annoyance, but was greeted with an enormous cheeky grin on Leofric’s face, and he heard Wulfstan chuckle. Huffing quietly to himself, he turned back to his thoughts. Younger brothers were well and good, most of the time.

  At his horse’s feet, his hound ran swiftly beside him, and he peered into the slowly descending gloom. Mid-winter; not a time to be on the road. He was looking frantically for the abbey where they’d find shelter for the night, but he feared they wouldn’t reach it before full dark fell. With a quiet word to Leofric to stay beside Wulfstan, he rode to his mother’s side.

  Her face was white and pinched; blue tinged with cold, and a shot of fear pierced Northman’s heart. She’d not long since had his baby brother, and this rushed journey was the last thing she needed in the black of winter. A smile touched her face as she saw her oldest son.

  “Mother, are we far from the abbey? Only it’s growing dark. Should we light brands?”

  She peered into the gloom as she considered his question.

  “It shouldn’t be far now, but perhaps you should check with Lyfing. He’ll know better where we are.”

  With a tight smile for his mother and a poke of his tongue at his younger sister who sat beside her and had been doing the same to him throughout their conversation, he turned his horse and cantered back towards the front of their tightly formed line. Sisters, or at least his only sister, never seemed to see the severity in any situation. She even appeared to be enjoying this furtive canter through the winter landscape.

  The majority of his father’s men had travelled with him first to the Witan in Shropshire, and then to do battle with Swein, but enough remained that they were adequately protected as they cantered through the cold day. In total ten men rode with the small party of children and servants and the veritable herd of hounds who, only by the intervention of God, managed to avoid the horse’s hooves.

  Lyfing was taking his duties seriously, and when Northman called to the man, he pulled his horse up short and waited for his Lord’s oldest son to catch him.

  “What is it Northman?” he queried, “Does your mother have some new command for me?”

  “No, just my question Lyfing. Should we light brands or are we nearly at the Abbey.”

  Lyfing, as Northman had done moments before, peered into the gloom and then gave a cry of delight.

  “Over there my young Lord. I can see lights, as I was expecting. Now come, I need a warm fire and some food in my belly.”

  Lyfing, calling attention to the faintly glowing lights of welcome, and the occasional waft of smoky air, directed their party to the abbey.

  Northman felt himself relax a little at the news. Not home yet, but more home than not. He’d see his father, soon, and then he could assess the value of Wulfstan’s words for himself.

  They found a warm welcome within the abbey where concerned monks assisted his mother and sister and old Wulfstan, settling them around the huge roaring fire and feeding them a warming soup. There had been exclamations of surprise when they’d first arrived but in no time at all, everyone had been settled, the horses stabled out of the rain, and a strange calmness had settled around the great hall. Northman, counting himself amongst the men, had slept within the hall, wrapped in his cloak, exhaustion and outrage warring with each other only briefly before he’d fallen asleep.

  When he woke in the morning it was to a day dark and gloomy, the sun still some time away from fully rising. He’d glanced around in confusion, before recognising the men who milled around the hall. His father’s men. Jumping to his feet, he’d wound his way to Oscetel, talking quietly to an alert looking Lyfing.

  “Your father’s not here Northman, but I’ve come with another ten men to escort you all home.”

  Nodding to show he understood, he turned away to rouse his mother and sister. He liked Oscetel; he was always to the point and didn’t hold with the view that it was acceptable to keep young boy’s waiting for answers. But, he wasn’t his father, and he couldn’t help wishing that he’d come too. Turning back abruptly he thought to ask,

  “Is father well?”

  A grimace fleetingly crossed Oscetel’s face.

  “He’s well. A little sick of heart when I left him, but he’s not injured. We had an excellent time with Swein. Now hurry, and then you can see for yourself.”

  Relieved his father wasn’t missing due to an injury, he quickly set about rousing his mother, and then went to find Wulfstan. The old man slept deeply, and for a moment he worried that his stillness alluded to something a little more sinister, but with a few shakes and nudges, Wulfstan woke. Confusion creased his face as he looked from his young Lord to his surroundings, but it cleared quickly enough.

  “Oscetel is here with more men to escort us home.”

  “Good, I’ll let my guard down a little today then,” Wulfstan, quipped, and Northman smiled at the attempted humour.

  “Perhaps I will too,” he retorted, hunting around for Wulfstan’s boots and cloaks.

  Wulfstan laughed dryly at him and once dressed, rubbed his hair affectionately as he walked from the small cubicle he’d slept within.

  “You’re a good lad, don’t forget that.”

  A hasty breakfast of hardened bread and cheese saw them mounted and on their way. The day was clearer than the day before, but the dampness chilled even inside huge cloaks, and it was a miserable day of persev
erance. Even having Oscetel and the other men recounting tales of their newest encounter with Swein and his men couldn’t lift Northman’s spirits, and he almost cried when the familiar sight of his birth home came into view, smoke puffing in welcome through the thatch.

  This was his home and his birthright, so different to the house in Lichfield. Here, he could be himself, let his guard down a little, play with his brothers and sister without fear of who might see or comment on what he was doing.

  Sitting straighter on his horse, he wiped his listing hair from his eyes, setting his face in a bright smile while beside him Leofric kicked his horse to a tired gallop, desperate to see their father. His attempts at acting the young Lord abandoned, he too kicked his horse onwards, the beast as eager as him to be near home. He just wanted to see his father. Nothing else mattered.

  The wind rushing around his clammy face, his eyes focused on the door of his house; he shouted with joy when his father ambled through the front door, his hand shielding his eye so that he could see who approached his house.

  All attempts at maturity beyond his years evaporated as he flung himself into his father’s waiting arms, and he sobbed with relief. His father. He was here, as immovable as stone, as unchanging as Heaven.

  Chapter 2

  Early AD1007 – Northman

  They’d only just made it home in time. As the horses and people had been settled within the suddenly, a little too crowded, house near Deerhurst, the faint whispers of snow had begun to fall and by the time the short day was over, the land was coated in the snow that reached high up the legs of the hounds.

  And it didn’t stop there either. A full week of snow followed, sometimes soft and gentle, at times tumultuous in its ferocity and always settling to the ground, the layers increasing daily. Those who were forced to venture outside grumbled at the severe cold and the wet, while those indoors complained at the opening of the door that presaged a sharp blast of harsh wind. Tempers did not flare because the mood within the house was sombre anyway. The realisation of what had happened to Leofwine slowly being accepted by all.