Northman Part 2
Page 1
Northman Part 2
The Earls of Mercia Book 4
MJ Porter
Copyright notice
Porter, M J
Northman Part 2
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.
Cover design by MJ Porter
Cover image Illustration 36043783 © Mr1805 - Dreamstime.com
Dedication
For my grandad W.M. Fullerton
We miss you.
See you on the beach.
Contents
Northman Part 2
Dedication
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
Historical Notes
Cast of Characters
Meet the Author
Chapter 1
AD1014 February
Leofwine
London
The room was uncomfortably warm, but still, the king shivered in his oversized bed that so recently had belonged to another king, Æthelred. Leofwine, Uhtred, Ulfcytel, Ælfric, the new ealdormen Godric and a brooding Eadric had been summoned before King Swein, first of that name, by his son Cnut. Cnut’s face was hooded, his expression difficult to interpret in the light of what was about to happen. He was a youth and yet he covered his thoughts well.
Archbishop Wulfstan was at the king’s side, mumbling to him and when speech became too much for the mortally ill man, Wulfstan uttered prayers instead, Swein’s eyes closing either in pain or joy at the words he heard. It was difficult to tell.
Uhtred and Ulfcytel were evidently alarmed by what they saw. They’d had no inkling that the king had been wounded in battle as he successfully usurped the crown of England. But then, Leofwine had only been aware because he’d seen the tell-tale signs at the coronation feast a few weeks ago. He’d hoped the king would recover, but he hadn’t and now the events of the last six months were going to culminate in the waste of a good man’s life for a crown he’d never really needed. Not when he already had one.
Eadric’s feelings were difficult to interpret. Swein had made no pretence of his distaste for the man and had not allowed him to leave his sight in London. Eadric seemed as disturbed as Uhtred and Ulfcytel. Clearly, he’d been too caught up in his concerns to pay any close attention to the king. He’d spent his time reconciling himself to the reality of what had happened. Æthelred, his little puppet king, was gone and he no longer had control over the king of England.
Swein had brought his commanders with him when he’d set out to take the English throne, and they stood within the room as well. Erik, Olaf, Ragnar, Harold, Sigurd and Halfdan. Leofwine had spoken with the six men often in the last few weeks, although Swein had made it clear that they were the commanders of his ship-army, not men he planned on rewarding with land in England. No, those men would come soon from Denmark as soon as word reached Harald of his father’s triumph, or rather, they would have done. Leofwine hoped news would reach them soon of their king’s death so that any unfortunate altercations could be avoided.
It made for a strange scene, the men of Denmark, grim-faced and subconsciously standing close to Cnut. Leofwine was unsure if they meant to protect him, or if they were protecting themselves.
And then there were the English men. All had now bowed their knee to Swein. All apart from Eadric had become his commended men and yet other than the name of their king little had changed for them. Leofwine was unsure what tomorrow would bring.
Wulfstan’s eyes met Leofwine’s one good one, and he beckoned him forwards. Bending to speak to the man who knelt before the king, Wulfstan spoke,
“The king wishes to speak to you, but I’m not sure if he’s capable. You’ll stay in case he regains his senses?”
Nodding to show he would, Leofwine stood silently behind Wulfstan, mouthing the prayers along with the priest. He’d not often stood a death vigil and sought comfort in the familiarities of the prayers his own Abbot intoned in their family church.
There was silence apart from the rasping of the king’s breath through his weak lungs.
A bead of sweat formed on the tip of Leofwine’s nose, and he angrily brushed it aside. Time passed slowly, the noise of the royal hall continuing beyond the thin wooden walls as normal, the yelps of trodden on dogs and the crackle of the larger cooking fire coming through the transparent screens, but no one in that small space dared move, not even Eadric.
Leofwine glanced at the man and noted a faint smile gracing his face and that he stood more proudly than he had done since Christmas Day. Eadric was clearly already plotting, but who would he choose as his next king? Would he recall Æthelred back from his temporary exile, or would he look to Swein’s son, Cnut? To Thorkell or even to the ætheling Athelstan?
Leofwine pondered the same. He’d made his promise to Æthelred that should Swein die he’d work for his reinstatement. But now he quaked a little at that pledge. While it might be the right thing to do, the honourable way to act, he couldn’t deny that the prospect of peace under a powerful king was far more appealing. With Cnut set above them as their king, young as he was, it had to be hoped that he and his brother back in Denmark would work to deflect any more raiders. Cnut as their king could be their salvation, provided the brothers stayed firm allies.
But then, he’d made a promise to Æthelred, sworn an oath as his commended man and he should follow through with that promise. After all, he’d given his word, and his honour depended on it.
There was also Athelstan or even Edmund, both strong warriors, good at commanding their men and far more in tune with the needs of the people and the country than their father had ever been. Neither of them had fled England, preferring instead to hold their lands and see what Swein had planned for them. It now appeared that they’d face no retribution for being the sons of the old king, none at all unless Cnut took the throne. Then they could still lose all.
Uhtred shuffled in the quiet, his eyes glancing at Leofwine. He too was thinking of the future. Uhtred had quickly succumbed to Swein’s devastating attack. Quickly he’d bent his knee to save his people from the terrible violence that Swein had promised. Would
Æthelred even want him to remain as his ealdorman if he came back? Would it not be safer to turn to Cnut? Cnut had hinted that, like his father, he’d keep the English men, even with their ties to the old king through their marriages and children. He’d not made the same promise for the king’s sons.
Ulfcytel had not been as quick to accept Swein. He’d held out longer in the face of the attack, even when Swein had established his counter-kingdom at Gainsborough, almost in Ulfcytel’s lands. He might have turned his allegiance in the end, but he’d not been as happy to do so as Uhtred, and that could cause him problems with Cnut. He had swung his allegiance away from Æthelred, and if Æthelred came back, he would more than likely punish the man.
And then there was the gloating Eadric. He’d been miserable for weeks, a quiet menace at the back of every meeting, too stupid or too intelligent to not present himself for the king’s meetings of the Witan even though he was not the Ealdorman for Mercia anymore.
No, Cnut had allied himself firmly with another strong Mercian family and had made a good marriage there. That it seemed to have been done for love was not lost on Leofwine. Just like his oldest son, Cnut was headstrong and guided by his feelings. Not the best quality to find in a king but also not the worst.
If Cnut were king, then Eadric would never regain his position as Ealdorman of Mercia. Of them all, Eadric would want Æthelred back as king. He’d think no further than that. If Æthelred were king he'd once more be the king’s son by marriage, his power would be returned to him, and he’d be a powerful influence on the king. Eadric’s allegiance to Æthelred was a certainty.
Swein’s eyes fluttered open then, glazed with pain but bright with intelligence. He wasn’t allowing himself an easy death. He looked blearily around and met Leofwine’s eye with a rye smirk on his pain-lined face.
Leofwine stepped closer, and knelt at his king’s side, Wulfstan shuffling un-elegantly out of their way.
“Leofwine,” Swein rasped through his dry lips, spittle on his bearded chin.
“My Lord King,” Leofwine replied, as Swein smiled more widely, his teeth flashing yellow.
“My friend,” Swein continued, his voice a little stronger, his hand moving to grasp Leofwine’s. “My apologies for the ills I ever did you and for my misjudged efforts to kill you.”
Leofwine shrugged the apology aside. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it and now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.
“And now as friends, I beg you, do what you can for my son. Make him king in my stead for if you do not, he’ll let the men run riot, and the devastation will be vast and sweeping. He doesn’t have my power of restraint.” Swein smirked at the irony of his words for what Englishman could think him capable of restraint after his conquest?
“Swein, you ask much for a youth who has no experience of ruling men and land,” Leofwine said. He’d been expecting something like this from the king, but his blunt words still caught him off guard, and he said what he was thinking as opposed to the politic thing.
Swein’s eyes hardened at the words,
“I know the importance of what I ask, and I demand it from you. Make my son king.” The grip on Leofwine’s hand was increasing, and Leofwine was shocked that so much strength yet remained in the dying man.
“Swein, you ask much,” he attempted to sidestep the issue.
“I know what I ask, my friend, and I would have your word that you will do it, and if not tomorrow, then in the next year or two. I can’t think what will immediately happen on my death, but as you say, Cnut may not be everyone’s first choice, but promise me, in fact, swear to me, that you will work to restore my family line to this throne. Only then will England ever be free from attack from the men of the north. She is a shining jewel in a generous sea, and too many of my countrymen point their ship’s bows towards her.”
Leofwine dipped his head at the words. Swein was no fool. He knew the likely outcomes should Cnut sit upon the throne, and Leofwine could clearly see the logic. It made sense, if only he hadn’t already committed to Æthelred.
“Swein, my friend,” he replied, raising his head and watching the eyes of Swein lighten at the warmer tone he used, “I swear that I will do as much as I can to make Cnut king of England.”
Swein smiled at the words, grasping his hand once more in thanks, and then his eyes closed in pain and they never opened again.
Rising stiffly to his knees from his position on the floor, and releasing the dead man’s hand, Leofwine looked at all those assembled in the room. Swein’s commanders had grief-stricken faces. Wulfstan looked sombre, while Eadric openly smirked with joy. But it was to Cnut that he turned first, swallowing hard as he looked at the dead man’s son. The youth stood proud and tall, he and his father had apparently discussed what would happen upon his death, and he glared at Leofwine as if defying him to say that he was not now king.
Into the silence, no one spoke. Not one word. Leofwine almost dared not breathe.
What should he do?
Cnut looked at him expectantly, and he met his gaze calmly. Cnut was no fool, he’d know that it was impossible for him to be declared the next king here and now, but still he must have hoped because he turned in disgust when Leofwine didn’t immediately speak.
“Cnut,” Leofwine said, and the youth turned back towards him, angry eyes flashing, chin high in defiance. “You have my condolences on your unexpected loss,” Leofwine spoke into the quiet room. As yet no one had left the super heated room. No one else knew that the king was dead.
Cnut visibly swallowed against his grief before he spoke,
“My thanks, Leofwine. My father would have been glad to have you at his death bed.”
It was Leofwine’s turn to swallow back his grief now before he spoke.
“We must talk about the future,” he said, moving on to those in the room and meeting the eyes of every man there.
Leofwine could feel Cnut’s heated gaze on him even though he looked at the other men.
“But not here. No, we must leave Swein to the priests and the women and seek somewhere to discuss the future.”
Wulfstan raised his head from where it was bowed low over Swein and beckoned Leofwine towards him,
“Use the church. My man will show you a secret room where you can hold your discussion.”
“My thanks, Wulfstan,” Leofwine replied, pleased to have that part of the conundrum solved.
A priest that Leofwine hadn’t marked within the room but who’d been kneeling in the shadows openly extolling God on Swein’s behalf, stepped forward at the words from his master and bowed reverently to the body before striding towards the door.
Eadric looked a little murderous, as though he couldn’t wait to speak of what had happened, as though he would take the opportunity to exit the room and spread the news of Swein’s death before anything could be decided. When Cnut stepped in line beside him, his face lost its mischievous look and softened to something more subservient. Leofwine thought he’d need to thank Cnut for his intervention later if Cnut was still even speaking to him by then.
Leofwine was perplexed and thinking frantically as he followed the priest and the other men, he the only one to spare a lingering look at the lifeless form of Swein. When the room was empty apart from him and Wulfstan, the archbishop looked at him,
“Choose wisely Leofwine. It’s your voice that they will listen to.”
Leofwine nodded in understanding, cursing Wulfstan for his correct assessment of the situation. What was he to do now?
The people in the hall watched the strange procession without a word as it wound its way out the main doorway of the hall and into the frigid street beyond. The shipmen’s commanders who were sheltering within the hall temporarily watched with lifeless eyes, and Leofwine had the uncomfortable feeling that they all knew what had happened already. He wondered as Cnut swept passed them all if they’d already chosen to follow him.
The church was merely fifty feet away, but the walk seemed to take a long time and
Leofwine knew that he was fatigued and weary with the worry and the stress of it all. At that moment, he could be honest with himself and say that he wished Swein had lived. Swein might well have been the enemy, but he was a good king to his people in Denmark, all the shipmen and even Thorkell had said as much. He would have been a good king for the English. His son, Cnut. Now he was more of an unknown quality.
Once inside the Church, the priest rushed to a hidden doorway and beckoned the men inside a small room, warmed with not one but two braziers. Leofwine assumed that this must be a room that Wulfstan had claimed as his own amongst the busy streets of London.
There were too few stalls for everyone to sit in the chamber, and Ulfcytel, noticing the lack, quickly returned to the main church and returned with one of the wooden benches the congregation sat upon. Leofwine suppressed a smirk of humour when Ulfcytel, Uhtred and Eadric all sat along its length.
Cnut had still not spoken although the three ealdormen were quietly conversing. Leofwine couldn’t pick out their exact words and as he made himself comfortable on a wooden stool wondered if they spoke of great matters or family issues.
Hammer, his old and trusted companion, flopped gratefully to the floor between the braziers and Cnut’s sombre face creased a little at the dog’s disregard for important matters of state.
“He gets old,” Cnut said, aiming his statement at Leofwine.
“He does, but I loath to replace him with a younger animal. We’ve grown old together, and I appreciate his slower movements that match my own.”
Cnut’s bark of laughter had Hammer rolling back to an alert position, carefully watching all within the room.
“Apologies,” Cnut offered, stepping forward to rub the dog behind the ears until he settled again. “Your master makes me laugh with his assessment of himself. He thinks himself old and yet he isn’t. He has many more years stretched out before him in which he can serve his king, whoever that may be.” His voice had darkened as he spoke, and Leofwine glanced at him in surprise. Cnut was angling for his support, and not quite threatening him to get it, but the implication was none too pleasant.