Northman Part 1

by M J Porter

  Instead, he looked at Brithelm’s son. In the ten years since his father’s death, the lad had never once spoken of his death in the Battle of Chester, but he carried the wound with him, and Leofwine couldn’t deny him the opportunity to seek some redress from any who dared to attack this land.

  Brithnoth’s eyes lit with fire, and three of his closest comrades agreed to go with them. The strangling remainders of the war band returned to the horses and prepared them for their brothers in arms.

  “You’ll need to take different paths, and, and this goes no further,” Leofwine said, fixing them all with his eye for a brief moment, “you’ll need to avoid any who look to the Mercian ealdorman, he’s possibly implicated in this.”

  Horic’s head bobbed with the news, and anger flashed across the other men’s faces, but none spoke. They all had a shared abhorrence for the man, and it was long past time to worry about giving voice to it. Eadric was a force none of them understood or respected. That was enough.

  “And when you reach Ulfcytel, the king has asked that you do all you can to protect his daughter.”

  As the men turned away to see to their duties, Leofric approached his father, his eyes a little angry. Leofwine more than admired his son, but at twelve, he was not yet man enough to be in a small, stealthy operation such as this. The other men would trust him implicitly, but whether he had the presence of mind was something that Leofwine had yet to be convinced off.

  “And you Leofric, we’ll raise the fyrd from the Hwicce and make our way to the East as well.”

  Mollified, Leofric turned away without speaking, but he called to those he knew, excitement high in his voice.

  Behind him, Leofwine felt a soft swirl of air and turned to see the queen, her young daughter tottering on her feet behind her.

  “Is it right about Eadric?” she asked quietly.

  “I imagine it is, but as the king says, we must give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “You’re going to approach him?” she pressed.

  “I might just come across him, yes my Lady. I think it’s high time that I extradited my son from his greedy hands.”

  “I agree, now go with speed,” she said, “and get rid of these bastards once and for all.”

  With no further words, she turned, scooped her daughter into her arms and returned inside the hall. For a moment Leofwine wondered what it would feel like to command people to face their death on your behalf. An unpleasant thought, but there all the same.

  The archbishop, Wulfstan came to him then, his face concerned,

  “I fear that God has abandoned us all,” he began without preamble.

  “No Wulfstan, he just acts in perverse ways sometimes. Surely, there must be a lesson for us all to learn here.”

  “Humility?” Wulfstan queried, glancing around him at the splendour of the king’s hall.

  “Perhaps, but I think it’s more to do with righteousness.”

  Wulfstan smirked a grin at him,

  “I like talking to you Leofwine,” he said, before walking away and then turning back, “you always put a different spin on things.”

  Chapter 25

  AD1010 - Northman – East Anglia

  He’d given up trying to untangle the web of lies and deceit that Eadric had concocted during the winter months. What had plagued him most was the knowledge that Eadric appeared content to let Thorkell raid where he wanted and not to mount any resistance.

  But the king’s messenger had finally tracked him down, long gone from Wantage, and it seemed as though he just couldn’t get away from the king and he’d been left with no choice but to raise the fyrd and march towards East Anglia.

  The news was dire. Thorkell, his fleet now swelled by so many men the messengers had trouble counting them all but imagined a fleet of over a hundred and fifty ships, manned by the warriors of Swein of Denmark, had mostly sailed to East Anglia and attacked Ipswich in a devastating raid. The fyrd of Ulfcytel had been in the process of meeting but they’d not been able to put together an effective resistance. Only after Thorkell had taken Ipswich, had the fyrd partly-assembled around it, trying to block any further incursions.

  Eadric had muttered and moaned and groaned about raising the Mercian fyrd, but finally, they’d marched towards the eastern tip of East Anglia. Along the way Northman had seen other assemblies marching the same way, but Eadric made no effort to meet up with them. He was resisting but complying with the king’s orders all at the same time. He was foul tempered and Northman was avoiding him at all costs.

  Northman hadn’t been so far east since he’d been a small boy, and the flatness of the land surprised and amazed him as they rode at a desultory pace to reach Ulfcytel. On the borders of the Mercian lands, Eadric left the majority of the fyrd to protect his own back, although he’d said it was to protect the Mercian lands, and now only a small force of a hundred rode to strengthen Ulfcytel.

  The people of his land were staunch in their support of their ealdorman. Northman was relieved to see so much loyalty to their Lord and their king. They gifted what food they could to the men traversing the land, offering shelter in dry barns from the early summer rains and passing on any information they might have learnt from traders.

  That none were fleeing into the Mercian heartlands showed just how confident they were in their Lord. Northman wondered if Eadric noticed the complete contrast to his Lordship.

  Three days riding brought them to Thetford, a thriving community of houses and businesses, with protective walls and gates closed to all.

  A small force rode out to greet Eadric and Northman ambled his horse close enough so that he could listen to the conversation.

  “Eadric, your presence is welcomed,” Ulfcytel spoke respectfully. He was stained and dirty, almost as if he’d been in his armour for days or weeks and had been left with no time to wash or change.

  “Have you bested the Raiders yet?” Eadric asked, his tone difficult to interpret.

  “We’ve made overtures of friendship towards them and wait to see if they will accept our truce. In the meantime, Ipswich is a burnt ruin, and they’ve taken to their ships again and make their way slowly along the coastline.”

  “They’re coming here?” Eadric gulped a little at the unwelcome news.

  “Oh yes, Eadric. Thorkell, Hemming and their new partner, Olaf the Stout, as he’s known, have made their pretensions clear. They believe there are significant gold and treasure to be found at Thetford. My spies have heard the men of the camp discussing it at great length.”

  His eyes glinted with suppressed rage, and Eadric looked away from him to muse,

  “I wonder where they gained that idea, my Lord.”

  “As do I. But now, quick, come inside. We will apprise you of our battle plans, should the truce fail, and your men will assist mine.”

  “How many men does Thorkell have?” Eadric asked as they rode towards the locked down village.

  “Seven thousand,” Ulfcytel commented drily.

  “That’s just an exaggeration, surely?”

  “No, my spies have counted the ships and the men. There are seven thousand of them, or thereabouts. Or at least there were. Some few have perished at Ipswich, but not many. We were not able to mount an attack soon enough after the king’s warning.”

  “The king sent a warning?” Eadric asked in shock. “He knew they were coming to the Eastern lands?”

  “Oh yes, and Leofwine of the Hwicce sent word as well. We were as prepared as we could be given the short space of time.”

  Northman watched Eadric carefully. He looked alarmed and dismayed in equal measure. Eadric turned to meet his gaze, but Northman had already looked away. He didn’t want Eadric to suspect him of working against him and he chose not to feel the sting of his stare. He could suspect all he wanted, but if he had no proof, then he couldn’t act.

  “And you’ve attempted to treat with them? Is the king aware?”

  “The king sent word that we could do whatever needed to be don
e to keep the people safe, if that meant a truce and a geld, then that was what must be. We're much smaller than the whole kingdom, though, and we’ve only been able to offer the modest sum of £10000. With the number of men they have with them, I’m not at all convinced that they’ll accept the geld.”

  “You’re preparing for battle then?”

  “Yes, with all haste. We want to choose the site of our next battle, gain the upper hand. Drive them from our coasts. The fyrd is amassing near Thetford. Thorkell still holds Ipswich as his new base. If he comes overland, or by sea, we should meet him. There was a great slaughter of our men at Ipswich. Many people lost their lives to allow the inhabitants to flee as best they could. Not everyone escaped. There simply wasn’t time.”

  “It’s unfortunate that they left their winter quarters so quickly and without warning,” Eadric said. Northman noted that Ulfcytel’s stance held no rancour. News of Eadric’s treachery hadn’t yet reached him so he was unaware of the terrible irony of his foster father’s words.

  Northman still wondered what he’d hoped to achieve by paying Thorkell to raid the eastern lands. He also harboured a secret fear that the king may have been complicit as well. There was little love between the king and his sons by marriage. It was no secret that he thought them as disappointing as his sons. The fact that he never gave any of the men the opportunity to prove their worth was not lost to most people, only to the king.

  Their limited conversation over, for the time being, they rode together towards Thetford. Wooden spikes were reinforcing the defences surrounding the walls and men, and women were busy labouring under the gentle summer’s sun. There was an element of fear in the movements of the workers, and yet they called to each other and laughed and joked as they worked. Northman was proud of the stoicism of the English people.

  A week passed slowly for Northman. Eadric was foul tempered and fractious, unhappy that Northman was so content among the mass of warriors and the messengers that rode in and out of Thetford brought nothing but bad news. The Raiders had abandoned Ipswich, only then they hadn’t. The Raiders were travelling overland towards Thetford, and then they weren’t, they were coming by ship.

  Ulfcytel spent as much time as he could riding around his lands, reassuring people, asking them to seek shelter within Thetford, and most importantly, seeking out his preferred place of battle.

  And then in a rush news came that Thorkell would not accept the geld and that they were both marching and travelling by ship to the coast near Thetford. At the same time, Ulfcytel sent out the word that the fyrd was to mass at Ringmere. He was content that it would be an excellent site to join the full battle and his closest friend and comrade in arms, Thurcetel agreed with him. He commanded almost an entire half of the fyrd and had a personal troop of nearly two hundred men. Northman wondered how the man could afford to keep them all.

  Northman felt the faint stirrings of fear that had accompanied his first journey to Oxford as he readied himself inside Thetford. Eadric had made himself scarce by offering to fetch the Mercian fyrd, but Northman knew he wouldn’t be returning, and had spoken to Horic on the matter. Horic had informed Ulfcytel as much, and although he’d been dismayed to hear that his brother in law was not to be trusted, he was too concerned with preparing for the coming battle to concern himself with the matter. He thanked Horic for his words of advice and promptly ignored any possibility of the Mercian fyrd advancing into Thetford.

  Northman and Olaf had purposefully hidden from Eadric, with Horic and Oscetel, and too worried that he’d be caught up in the coming battle, Eadric had ridden out without them. The two young men were prepared to face his wrath if they must if they lived through the fight, and if Eadric was still the Ealdorman of Mercia.

  More reassuringly, news reached them that his father had amassed the fyrd of the Hwicce, and was almost within the lands of East Angles. They might well arrive in time to prove useful.

  Horic, as instructed by the king, was to stay within Thetford and guard his daughter. She’d refused to leave her husband, even at her king’s command, and she’d won much respect for her actions. Ulfcytel had publicly thanked her, and she’d blushed prettily at the praise and then busied herself arranging provision and healing herbs for the wounded.

  They left Thetford early one Thursday morning, the air chill but the sun promising warmth. Outriders had sighted Thorkell’s army, but none knew how far they’d travel that day. Northman was of an uncertain mind, he wanted to engage in his first battle, but at the same time waiting another day longer would have given him the chance to get some sleep after his long night of staring at the ceiling and seeing dead men and warriors all around him.

  He’d thought to leave a message with Horic for his father before he left; assuring him of his love and respect and thanking him for all that he’d done for him so far. He had few possessions, but he hoped that his father would see to sharing them amongst his brothers and sister. Horic for once had not attempted to brush the topic of death to one side, but had kissed both his son and Lord’s son and wished them well. In an aside he’d reminded them both that sometimes the ancient pagan gods could be better patrons in battle, but when Olaf had looked dismayed he’d brushed his comments aside. But, Northman had learnt something vital about Horic then.

  Beneath them, their horses rode well across the flat land. There was no high speed to their advance because the fyrd had amassed there the day before. Northman and the men were going as both reinforcement and the skilled warriors of Ealdorman Leofwine. They would slip into the battle where they were commanded, and throughout the journey, Oscetel gave a steady string of instructions to his young charges, so much so that Northman almost felt it would have been better if Horic had accompanied them. He’d have taken the responsibility a little less seriously, and would have known that no matter what, their Lord wouldn’t blame them if the worst should happen.

  Hringmara Heath, as the local inhabitants knew it, was one of a handful of places in the vicinity that boosted a small rise that Ulfcytel had commandeered. From its peak, it was possible to see a great distance across the flat land. Even more fortuitously, behind it, there was a far larger peak, almost a mountain, by comparison, an old burial cairn from the ancient people, that Ulfcytel had decided to use to strengthen his stance and to offer a final, final last stand if they should be overwhelmed by the Raiders. From its height, it would be possible to strike them down with bows and arrows and spikes.

  The sheer numbers that greeted Northman almost turned his innards to water. To hear the figures discussed near enough seven thousand men of the fyrd was nothing compared to actually seeing them all. Men and tents stretched as far as the eye could see. Olaf whistled low under his breath, and Oscetel too showed his surprise.

  “I’ve never seen so many men,” Olaf said, his voice tight with nerves.

  “Nor I, not all in the same place. If Thorkell leads his men this way, this will truly be a battle to talk about. Now come, we’ll find where we’ll be fighting.”

  Dismounting from their horses, they lead them to the pens set up for their animals and then found Ulfcytel holding court from a half tent, mostly open to the elements, and from which he could keep an eye on his men and any possible advance from the enemy.

  “We’ve official word this morning that the truce won't last. The geld has been formally rejected by the enemy. It surely can’t be long now until Thorkell's attack. If not today, then tomorrow. I think he’s an impetuous man who, once decided on a course of action, must follow it through as soon as possible.”

  The commanders of the various elements of the fyrd listened attentively to Ulfcytel as he made known his battle plans.

  “We’ll keep watch throughout today, this evening and tomorrow. I envisage an attack with the dawn, but I may, of course, be wrong. Warn those on the watch to be vigilant and report everything that makes their skin crawl a little. We don’t want any of them circling behind us when it's dark. The rest of the men will get what rest they can in the t
ents provided, and will eat and drink as and when they need. At sunrise, if we’ve heard nothing, we will all form up in our respective positions, and we will wait, all day if necessary, although I doubt it’ll take that long. And then we’ll attack and drive them back to their ships, and out from our lands. We will take a few prisoners no more.”

  “And if they don’t come tomorrow, as today, we will send so many of the men back to rest, eat and sleep and we will stand a night watch. Those men will then be excused from forming up on Saturday morning. Instead, they will rest. Is that clear?”

  “My Lord Ulfcytel,” one man asked, his face young and flushed at asking his Lord, a question in front of so many people. “Do you think the rumours are true that there are seven thousand men?”

  Ulfcytel thought for a moment and then called another to him. He spoke to him quickly, and then answered,

  “My outriders have done their best to count the ships and the men who pour forth from them. Seven thousand is a huge number but one that they all agree on.”

  The young lad swallowed at the huge numbers,

  “Never fear Ordulf, we’re just as many, and while we may not be ship-men, our men of the fyrd are strong and have one thing going for them that all these other men do not. They want to protect their land, for it’s theirs. And that's more of an incentive than possible riches, and possible payment can ever be. Thorkell has promised much, but if we thwart them here, their trust in him will start to dissipate.”

  Northman watched with fascination the effect of Ulfcytel’s words on the young lord. He stood a little straighter, held his sword a more tightly, and his face lost its unhealthy flush. One day Northman hoped to instil the same amount of pride into the men who served him.

  The hastily convened meeting broke up then, and Northman found himself following Oscetel to a small open area where they erected the tents they’d brought with them, and shared space at a campfire. They were, as was expected, to fight near to the edges of the battlefield, to bolster the resolve of those who might have to curve round in the shield wall if they wished to cut off the Raiders advance. They would hold the shield wall straight and steady, but if needed they could proceed at a faster pace and attempt to encircle the enemy.