Northman Part 1

by M J Porter

  Cnut turned in surprise to look at Leofwine, and for the first time in a long time, Leofwine felt the white-hot pressure of having someone examine his face in detail, noting the scar tissue and the blood shot remains of his useless eye.

  “Your injury, it came at my father’s hand?” the lad spoke carefully. His English was excellent, with only the hint that it was not his usual language.

  “Well not at his hand, but by his command. I was keeping company with Olaf and your father didn’t approve.”

  “Ah, I remember the story. Olaf was a slithery bastard,” Cnut commented his speech easy to understand, his disdain for Olaf even clearer to hear. Leofwine was impressed that the youth had taken the time to learn the language of the land they raided and attacked, even if he didn’t share in his dislike for Olaf.

  “I only knew him for a brief period, so can’t really comment.”

  “No, but I understand he thought highly of you.”

  “He remembered me upon his death. That’s certainly true.”

  “And why was that?” Cnut asked, his eyes narrowing. Leofwine had the distinct impression that Cnut knew exactly why, but he honoured his question with a quiet answer.

  “He killed my father at the Battle of Maldon.” Even now, that admission cost him dear and at his side, both Oscetel and Horic stilled in readiness for what might come next.

  Beside Cnut, a tall warrior stepped forwards, his eyes carefully watching Swein’s every move and yet seeming to be completely aware of the situation developing between his Lord’s son and Leofwine. He whispered something to Cnut and with a visible start Cnut swept the assembled men a brief look.

  “Apologies my Lord Leofwine. I spoke without thought for your loss. Yes, I would be honoured, as your son has been, to receive a small token from you.”

  Pleased that someone had interrupted their unpleasant conversation, Leofwine turned to speak quickly to Horic. Horic, who was himself carefully watching the taller raider, nodded in agreement to his Lord’s command and shouldered his way through the dense throng of men to where the horses were being minded by some of the squires. He returned quickly and handed a small cross to Leofwine. Leofwine looked at the cross carefully. He’d been planning on adding it to the geld, but had changed his mind at the last moment, thinking that he didn’t want to let another family heirloom fall into the hands of the Raiders. But now he felt a little differently.

  “This is a replica of the cross that Olaf returned to me upon his death. I had it made to remind me of my father’s greatest treasure. And now I give it to you, and I hope it will work as a token of our friendship, as it once did with Olaf.”

  Surprised by the nature of the gift, Cnut didn’t immediately step forward to take the pro-offered gift, and Leofwine suddenly wondered if he’d miscalculated. Abruptly, with a flicker of fire in his eyes, Cnut reached out to take the cross, the jewels that embellished it flashing in the bright sunlight.

  “An elegant gift Lord Leofwine, and I echo the sentiment behind it. You may not realise, but my father is a convert to the Christian faith, and I follow him, for all that it is sometimes a little too easy to slip to the older doctrine of many Gods. But I will treasure this, and count it as a personal gift from you.”

  Bemused, Swein watched his son at work, again, the pride in his son clear to behold.

  “We’ve done a good job here today,” Swein said into the sudden silence that fell as everyone watched the exchange between Leofwine and Cnut. “Let’s hope that our past differences are now all healed and we can look forward to long and prosperous lives.”

  Amongst the men, a drinking horn began to circulate, and when Athelstan and Edmund had both taken their fill, they passed it to Swein who gulped greedily, letting the fluid splash down his full beard.

  “Taking gold this way is thirsty business,” he offered by way of an apology before offering the beautifully carved horn to Leofwine. Leofwine reacted as he knew he should, raising the horn to toast Swein’s success before handing the cup back to Cnut. They might well have done excellent work that day, but Swein was still the winner in the contest and his king the poor loser. He could only hope that they’d either never see Swein again, or that his king would agree to a much more robust defence of their lands.

  And now at the Witan, Leofwine sat amongst the select band of ealdormen, aware that in all likelihood he was being held responsible for the geld that had been paid. He’d physically transported the payment and met with Swein no matter that he’d also fought him twice the previous year and sent him back to the Isle of Wight. If the king hadn’t already agreed to the geld, Leofwine thought it most likely that Swein would have returned home with nothing. After all, he had another kingdom to govern. If no payment had been forthcoming from the English king, he’d have earned nothing for his troubles, and dissent amongst the men would have, in all likelihood, forced him to seek plunder elsewhere or an agreement to pay them from his treasury at home.

  Eadric was smirking slightly where he sat, deep in conversation with Ulfcytel of the East Angles and Uhtred of Northumbria. Leofwine didn’t want to get close enough to the select band of men to discover what they spoke of.

  In many ways he was now the odd man out, Ulfcytel was married to the king’s daughter, and Eadric had made no pretence of his intention to do the same. It was also believed that the king had given permission for Uhtred to marry his remaining daughter, when she was old enough. Although that would be many years in the future. For now Uhtred had another wife, and sons already. Leofwine wondered whether the poor woman was aware that her marriage would not last forever.

  Amongst them all, there was only he who wasn’t related to their king, or likely to be soon. There was only him who was expendable. Although, Leofwine reconsidered, being related to the king had not always proved to be key to a long and secure tenure of ealdorman. Not many years had passed since the king’s father-in-law had been swept from his position as Ealdorman of Northumbria following his failure to prevent the invasions of the Raiders.

  Feeling a little mollified by the thought, Leofwine surveyed the rest of the assembled Witan. The king’s son’s were in full attendance, with even his first born by Emma, Edward, now taking his seat beside Athelstan, small and blond, a picture of innocence.

  Leofwine admired Athelstan’s resolve for not flinching when the small boy was seated in a preferential position to himself. The king had far too many sons vying for a position. He really needed more daughters, not more sons with his young wife.

  Emma too was attending the Witan. She’d grown into her position as England’s queen but she still often sought out Leofwine’s attention within the crowded witan, a mark of his favour with her that Eadric did not share.

  Emma was regal in her bearing, and she’d survived many storms at the hands of some of the English who still didn't fully accept her as their queen. Only the previous year she’d been accused of colluding with Swein and his Raider ships.

  Leofwine knew it was a ludicrous sentiment. She’d never forgive Swein for chasing them across the sea when she’d first come to England. She’d told Leofwine in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t happy that he and Swein were now more friends than enemies.

  It hadn’t been an easy conversation the previous day when she’d sought him out upon his arrival at the palace. He’d apologised to her for any upset he’d caused, and she’d immediately forgiven him, but still, she’d not been best pleased. He was relieved that their private conversation appeared to have had no impact on their public appearances. He enjoyed having the ear of the queen, especially when his king could be so changeable in his attitudes towards him.

  The king seemed cheerful, a fact Leofwine didn’t approve of. He’d just forced his people to raise a massive tax, admittedly one they could afford, to clear the land of a menace that had already been defeated. He didn’t seem concerned by that knowledge, and Leofwine wondered what would happen if the population as a whole ever learned the truth. While he'd defeated Swein, Eadric had dem
anded the king raise a geld to pay the self-same Raiders off, and it was the geld that won the battle. Leofwine knew such a chain of events would outrage the men and women who worked the land. And yet the king had apparently not considered it.

  He wondered if the king would be so content if he weren’t related to the vast majority of the ealdormen. It was an intriguing thought and one that filled him with even more apprehension. Of them all, he was the odd one out. Perhaps, when Northman was fostered by Eadric, that would assure the king even more of his loyalty.

  Still, he chafed to be constrained. The king had acted rashly and without due consideration of all the facts. No matter how Wulfstan tried to push that blame onto the men who counselled the king, Leofwine knew in his heart that the king was at fault, and it was an uncomfortable realisation.

  From his place amongst the men of the cloth, Wulfstan, the man who’d warned him of the king’s intentions before the New Year and who’d sent word to his wife of the king’s actions, met his eye with a sedated nod of his head. Leofwine looked around expectantly wondering who else had noted the exchange and found the pulsing glare of Eadric fixated on him. Leofwine raised his eyebrows in a query as he met the man’s gaze, and was pleased when it was Eadric who looked away first.

  During the dark winter months, he’d given much thought to Eadric. And then had decided to act decisively and made the decision to send Finn to discover all he could about the man. He’d hardly disguised himself to do so, but neither had they been entirely truthful.

  Finn had found for himself a position within Eadric’s house, acting as a scribe for the man. Only when the weather had improved had Finn made his excuses and left to return to his real Lord with tales of Eadric. Leofwine had not been pleased with what he’d learnt, but neither had he despaired for his son.

  Eadric was just one of many brothers, albeit the most successful by far. Brihtric, Ælfric, Goda, Æthelwine, Æthelweard and Æthelmær had all made themselves comfortable in their brother’s home, and along with their father, Æthelric, they’d spent the winter months conniving and deciding how best to profit from their close association with the king. The first thing they’d decided was that Eadric was not to be associated with the geld and its delivery. Jokingly, they’d decided it was best if Leofwine was the one tainted with that task.

  Finn had barely been able to contain his anger when he’d reported to Leofwine. His words had rushed from his mouth as his face had grown angrier and angrier. Only the calming words of Wulfstan had settled Finn, and only firm words from Leofwine had convinced Finn that he shouldn’t give vent to his anger in front of Northman.

  For all that, it had transpired that Eadric was not a harsh man for his people to deal with. While he wasn’t as conscientious in his new duties as Leofwine had been, he still appreciated that people would only seek him as their lord if he proved himself able in the matters of justice and tax collection. Indeed, he’d been a little lax in his efforts, using it an excuse to further blacken Leofwine’s good name by putting it about that he’d been overzealous in his duties.

  Without ever saying anything to the effect, or at least not in Finn’s hearing, Eadric had managed to convey the idea that he was a far better man than Leofwine had ever been. And that knowledge had been worth sharing with Northman. He needed to know that there would be many within the household who’d seek to blacken his father’s name in his hearing, and Northman would need to learn to take the intended slights with good grace, even if it burned him inside to hear such slanderous words.

  Finn had also determined that Eadric and his brothers intended to infiltrate the king’s court in anyway they could. Already their father Ælfric had acted as one of the king’s thegns. His sons now strove to do the same. Eadric had high hopes that he’d soon have a faction at court who’d support him, even if, and when, that meant going up against the king. Leofwine had not liked that item of information.

  With feigned disinterest, Leofwine glanced to the seating area of the king’s thegns. He wondered who amongst the men were Eadric’s brothers, and then he had to think no more for he could clearly see the resemblance in the bearing of five men, one of them older and the other four much of an age with Eadric. He wondered how he’d not noticed before that so many of the men were alike. And then he dismissed the thought. It wasn’t that rare for one family to have multiple representatives amongst the king’s thegns. Indeed, many of the men looked similar, and Leofwine smirked as he pondered just how many of them were related to each other.

  Certainly, it wasn’t rare for the ealdormen to intermarry, one marrying another’s daughter, or even for the king to marry one of the ealdormen’s daughters. He needed to stop looking for a conspiracy where none existed.

  The king quickly brought the summer witan to order, his mind focused on the future, although strangely devoid of any thoughts of how the land should be defended from the Raiders. Leofwine felt his anger mounting. The king had once again decided that with the payment of the geld there’d be no more Raiders, instead focusing on his daughter, Edith’s, marriage to Eadric, and matters of law and precedence amongst his sons.

  Luckily sense prevailed, and Edward was accorded no greater priority than any of the other sons when it came time to witness the charters. But Leofwine could already sense an undercurrent of unease amongst the older sons. For the first time in his life, he was pleased he was an only son.

  It was when the work of the day was done that the king called Leofwine to him, and the smirk on Eadric’s face as he approached his king was all he needed to know. It was going to be the conversation he didn’t want to have.

  “Leofwine,” the king began, his face intent as he watched the milling around of the rest of the Witan, “I wanted to thank you for your handling of the arrangements with Swein.”

  Taken aback by the start of the conversation Leofwine nodded in deference,

  “It was my honour to act as your representative. Athelstan was a credit to you as well.”

  Æthelred turned his attention to Athelstan then, watching as he spoke to some young men similar to him in age, clearly re-enacting either a battle they’d fought or some training they’d participated in.

  “Yes, he’s a good son, handy with his sword, and friendly with the men of the household troop he commands. He is, I think, more warlike than I.”

  “With the relationship with Swein and the other Raiders as it is, it’s good to have bred warrior sons.”

  Æthelred glanced sharply at Leofwine then, his face easy to read, but Leofwine had meant no rebuke by his words.

  “And your son,” the king began, “he is good with a sword?”

  “Yes, he grows into his strength well. The men of my household troop are pleased with his progression.”

  “Yet you’ve chosen not to foster him with another family?”

  Leofwine paused for a beat to compose himself,

  “No, not yet. My wife and I share a special bond with him, born as he was when I was missing, presumed dead.”

  The king waved aside the reminder of those events as if they were unimportant and Leofwine fought his flaring anger.

  “But all boys should be fostered with someone who will see to their well-being if the worst should happen to their parents.”

  “I'd generally agree, my king, but the boy is happy and content with us, and with the men of my household troop he doesn't lack for supporters or comradeship.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t, but I think it's time he was fostered, and if you don't arrange it yourself, then I’m afraid that I must insist upon it. Eadric is a good man, send the boy to him. He’ll benefit from being raised in a household over which my daughter rules.”

  Hating himself for the words he was forced to say, he pushed them through his clenched teeth,

  “You honour my family with your thoughtfulness.”

  “I know I do, but see that it’s done, and soon at that. And Leofwine, you’re not the only one in the room to realise that I have no blood ties to you. Remem
ber that in your dealings with your people and with Eadric in particular. A man could not ask for a finer son in law.”

  Bowing his head as words were beyond him, Leofwine stepped away from the king and walked directly into Eadric who’d been closely hovering. Hammer, unaware that his master had started walking only to stop again, carried onwards only turning when he reached Oscetel.

  “I’ll expect the boy by the summer,” Eadric spoke abruptly, “and don’t be filling his head with anything but the best of thoughts about me.”

  “My thanks Eadric for your kind honour.”

  “You should have arranged it when I first asked,” Eadric mouthed angrily and softly. “You shouldn’t have made me make this a matter for the king. He doesn’t like to be concerned with small issues such as this.”

  “Then you should not have made it a matter of concern for him,” Leofwine responded, just as angrily and just as quietly. “He's my oldest boy, and if any harm should befall him, I will have your head, your father’s, your brothers and anyone else I can think of.”

  Chapter 8

  Summer AD1007 – Northman

  His father had demanded that the best of his men escort Northman to the hall of Eadric, but that didn’t stop the cold dread that curled in his stomach with each breath. For the hundredth time that day he wished himself Leofric, sent to be fostered by Horic and his wife, not Northman, oldest and unluckiest son in the lands.

  Wulfstan had bid him goodbye with a cheerful comment, but he saw the haunted look in his eyes and knew he feared that he’d not see him again. Wulfstan aged almost daily now, carrying his years with care. Belatedly everyone in the household had realised that Wulfstan’s time was growing shorter and slowly, but surely, he’d been asked to do less and helped more to do the things he wanted to do.

  Northman smiled around the hard lump in his chest. When they’d set out earlier that day, Wulfstan had been in his usual spot inside the training grounds. A stout wooden stick in his hand and a small chair behind him for when it all became too much, shouting commands in his firm voice and berating or complimenting the work of the young squires. Until yesterday they'd been Northman’s training partners, but they were now the lucky one’s who got to stay behind and see Wulfstan in his final days.