Northman Part 2

by M J Porter

  Campfires stretched into the distance, twinkling like stars in the sky, and sending smoky plumes into the air. They weren’t trying very hard to arrive by stealth. At their very centre sat the king’s own tent, erected there because the king would only be safe amongst all his warriors, allegedly, but really so that he could be seen by everyone he now commanded. As commander of a vast force, and still, on shaky ground within his recently reacquired kingdom, Æthelred needed to show his face as often and as much as the men demanded it of him.

  Thorkell and Olaf were in constant attention upon the king, and their warriors were sheltered within an outer ring of the Englishmen, the king having to reiterate that these were men he trusted no matter that they shared the same heritage as Cnut. Northman couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow everything was profoundly wrong and mixed up. Why was the English protecting the northmen? And why was the king relying on them before the men of his country?

  Eadric fluttered around the king as if he was some demented butterfly, whereas Olaf and Uhtred tried to stay as far away from him while still being visible. If they did have to go into battle against Cnut, Northman worried that everyone would be so mistrustful of the others that Cnut would win by default as the Englishmen attacked the shipmen of Thorkell and Olaf. He kept his fears to himself. His friend Olaf Horicsson was no fool. He was uneasy and that was why his inane chatter drifted through the still night air as all the men ate and drank at their leisure.

  In his tent, the king was feasting his commanders, and although Eadric had tried to include Northman in his arrangements, Northman had made himself scarce, pretending not to be aware of his Lord’s wishes. He’d not wanted to spend the night listening to the men wax lyrical about their loyalty or their military prowess. He had too much thinking to do, and he needed some time alone. He missed his wife, and he missed his sons, and late that night when everyone slept except the watchmen, he contemplated packing his things and leaving. He’d be protected by his father, and Leofwine would resolve any problems with the king, but he knew, as surely as he could without any substantial proof, that England stood on the brink of something monumental and Eadric was going to attempt to exploit the opportunity to his ends. As they would be self-serving, he had no choice but to stay where he was.

  Resolved and resigned, he turned on his small camp bed and finally found sleep.

  Chapter 13

  May AD1014

  Northman

  Gainsborough

  Northman was ready and fully armoured and so were the rest of the force. Olaf was at his side, and he took a moment to look at his men and feel pride in their battle readiness. There was no need to sour the moment by realising that Eadric was as far from the front line as possible. No need at all.

  “They’re still talking,” Olaf said to him out of the corner of his mouth. He’d just executed a perfect turn so that he could determine what the other battle commanders were doing, including the king. Northman just nodded and held his place for the time being. They knew where Cnut was and what they needed to do was attack now, before news of their arrival reached Cnut. It would be best to take him by surprise, and yet the king and his commanders seemed to have other ideas.

  Northman shook his head and walked out of formation and towards them all where they sat around a table laden with food and drink. It was as though they simply feasted on a balmy summer day. There was no heated debate, and there was little talk. Instead, they all seemed to be waiting for something and Northman had endured enough of waiting. He wanted this done, and Cnut gone or victorious. There was no need for everything to be still hanging in the balance.

  Eadric saw Northman approach and excused himself from his seat beside the king, where he was enjoying a cold lunch of meat and bread and excellent wine. Northman held his temper in check as he waited for Eadric to explain what was happening.

  “The king has sent a messenger to Cnut, with Thorkell and five of his men to keep him safe. An answer hasn’t yet been received.”

  “Couldn’t he have bloody done that before he called us out in our armour,” Northman grumbled, his discontent easy to hear.

  “Yes, he could have done, but then, Cnut wouldn’t have been quite as intimidated as he is now.”

  “I’ve not seen Cnut, how do you know he’s intimidated?”

  Eadric waved Northman’s concerns aside.

  “Of course he’s intimidated. We have Thorkell and Olaf and the men of England all lined up to attack and kill him. He has to be intimidated.”

  Deciding it was pointless to argue with Eadric, whom Northman noted wasn’t even wearing his armour or carrying his war axe he asked,

  “And when will we know. The men are grumbling.”

  Eadric narrowed his eyes at him.

  “And you are as well so shut up and get back in line. You’re the king’s men. You’ll wait in line until he tells you not to wait in line.” His tone was smug, but his eyes showed his anger at Northman’s questioning of him and Northman had to look away before his anger flashed too fully in his own eyes. Eadric had never learnt to command men, and he and Æthelred together were a sure way to cause mass unhappiness amongst the warriors. For a moment Northman wondered if it would be possible to have all the men suddenly turn on Æthelred and Eadric, have them slain here and now so that Cnut could be king and the country could be at peace. The thought allowed him to compose his face and his response.

  “As you will my Lord. You know where I’ll be,” and he returned to his place at the front of the disbanded shield wall, passing the king’s two oldest sons as he went. Athelstan was apparently ill. Ever since his father had returned from Normandy, Northman had been watching him. And every slight from his father seemed only to make it worse. Surely the king had noticed his son’s pale face and lack of vigour?

  Northman listened from his place in the mass of warriors, and he watched too, so that when the order finally came to get ready to attack he was both ready and unsurprised. Pity that in trying to negotiate with Cnut, they’d lost their element of surprise. Still, Cnut’s men had been forced to rush to make themselves battle ready, so that when Northman and the mass of men behind him encountered Cnut’s shipmen, on a handy rise outside Gainsborough, they were a little out of breath and clearly unprepared.

  They were ready to fight, and Northman noted dispassionately that Cnut’s men were armoured and ready to engage. He was trying to ignore the flickers of recognition that crossed both his face and his opponents. He knew most of the men, of course, he did. He’d been in London for almost as long as they had, and his father’s close connection to Swein had meant he’d had open access to Cnut and his father’s followers.

  He tried to stamp out the anxious thought. He must simply see the men as his enemy and attack them as he would any other. But it wasn’t easy.

  On a whim, he tried to imagine that every man before him carried Eadric’s smirking face. That calmed him and focused his mind.

  Northman was sweating under his helmet and coat of mail. Before him Cnut’s men were doing the same, only there were, as far as Northman could tell, far fewer than he was expecting. Not that it appeared to be upsetting any of them. They had angry faces and the stances of men keen to blood their axes and swords. He’d not yet seen Cnut, but couldn’t imagine him waiting behind his men. No, he’d be as ready to fight as any other.

  Suddenly there was a cry from behind and Northman settled himself to the fighting he needed to do. Cnut’s shield wall was well constructed but not as long as the one Northman, Athelstan and Edmund had formed. And neither was it as well reinforced. Behind Northman stretched the men under Olaf and Thorkell’s command and even further behind them were the king’s own household troops, held in reserve in case the king came under attack.

  Cnut’s shield wall was only occasionally reinforced, and that meant that if they could break through the thin wooden wall, they’d be able to attack the men from every conceivable angle. If they could just make a breach in the wall.

  Northman
squinted into the bright sunlight and chose his first opponent carefully. Then, his voice loud in battle glory; he yelled for the attack to commence. Up and down the line, his cry was taken up and carried further, undulating up and down the line of men as though it were a wave crashing on the shore, one moment quiet and distant and then the next, close and roaring in his ears.

  A swirl of activity and he was running, his armour suddenly no longer a hindrance and his annoyance and anger at the long delay put to good use as he crashed against his opponent’s shield. He was a huge hulking giant of a Norseman and Northman wished that he didn’t know him. They’d drunk together and pissed together, and now he must slay the man, whom he knew had a wife and five children at home waiting for his return.

  Olaf moved quickly beside him, already focused on the man he fought. Swallowing his bile at the carnage to come that he must cause, he raised his war axe and hammered on the shield of the man. He tried not to meet his eyes, tried not to use the knowledge he’d gained from watching him fight one of his fellow shipmen in a wager, and yet he also had to win the match if the killing was to be curbed as quickly as possible.

  Anger built within him, and he allowed it to simmer and boil over and then, only then, did he attack with all the strength of his pure rage. He hammered over and over again on the wooden shield before him, his own shield hanging almost limply in his hand as he thought only of forcing the protection from before his enemy. The sooner it was done, the sooner he’d be through to the other side of the shield wall. He’d make his peace with his God at a later date.

  But his opponent, Bjorn, was not to be beaten quite so quickly. His eyes flashed just as angrily as Northman’s own and his jaw was clenched firmly as he fought off the ferocious attack. He swung his shield from side to side, working to protect himself and he watched Northman’s every move as though he were a small child first learning to totter and he needed to catch him before he fell and hurt himself. Northman didn’t appreciate the scrutiny, and he used it to fuel his rage.

  Over and over he attacked, always using his right arm, but feigning each and every time with his left arm so that there was the possibility that he might drop his shield and attack from Bjorn’s more exposed side. And that kept Bjorn alert to his every move and a little unsure of how best to counter the attack.

  Northman wanted him a little distracted, a little uneasy. If he could disturb his typical fighting stance enough, he knew that at some point he’d get an opening where he could either stun him with his war axe or slash at his exposed neck. He just needed to get to that moment.

  He was aware of a roar of noise around him, the cries and grunts of the other men, and Olaf fighting at his side but other than that he saw nothing but Bjorn and his own flashing axe.

  The ground underfoot was firm for so early in the growing season, but it was quickly turning to muck under the press of his feet, and he felt himself slip a little, and he took a quick step to catch himself before he fell. Into the briefest of moments of inattentiveness, Bjorn swung his sword and Northman hastily raised his shield and tightened his grip on it. He wasn’t going to be the one who lost here.

  Moving with a speed that amazed him, he swung his war axe directly at Bjorn and heard a satisfying wet noise as his axe impacted on Bjorn’s exposed neck. It had taken his slip for him to get inside Bjorn’s carefully constructed defensive position.

  Northman hollered his battle rage and leant forward as Bjorn stumbled, blood pouring from his wound. The man’s eyes were a little frantic and also defiant as Northman pressed his sword into his hands. He knew the man was half a pagan.

  “You bastard,” bubbled through Bjorn’s bloody lips, and he nodded in understanding.

  “I know, and my apologies.”

  Chapter 14

  AD1014

  Leofwine

  Deerhurst

  Æthelflæd greeted him with an anxious face, and he was sure that his tired countenance did nothing to allay her fears but she did him the courtesy of not demanding news before he was inside his home and comfortably seated before the blazing hearth. The early summer night had grown surprisingly chill, and the servants had built the fire high both to cook and to warm his family home.

  He took a deep breath and sighed in contentment for the first time since the year before. His shoulders ached with constantly being tense, but he allowed them to fall at his side, and for his daughter by marriage to present her second son to him. He even managed to smile as she introduced the new and far younger Ælfwine. Thankfully, his wife had warned him in advance, and he didn’t flinch at hearing his father’s name bestowed on the bundle of pinkness before him.

  His relationship with Mildryth was still difficult. She'd forgiven him his anger at the birth of her first child, coming as it did at the same moment of Wulfstan’s death, but she was clearly angry with him because of Northman’s on-going absence. His anger at himself made it difficult for him not to understand and agree with her slightly steely gaze and own tensed posture.

  With the child in his arms, he had no choice but to share the news of his son.

  “He’s gone with Eadric to face Cnut and drive him from the English lands.”

  While both women had apparently been expecting the news; they were unhappy at having it confirmed.

  “And he went willingly?” Mildryth asked, as though that would somehow make it either all better or a whole lot worse in her eyes.

  “Yes, he begged to be allowed to go. He has too much of me in him, I’m sorry,” he ended on a feeble note, relieved when Æthelflæd leant forward and squeezed his arm in comfort.

  “It’s not your fault, well, it’s not all your fault,” she corrected her smile not reaching her eyes for all that it was meant to comfort.

  “I know it’s not all my fault, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The boy looks like you,” he suddenly said, turning to Mildryth as he spoke, pleased when the joy of new motherhood infused her face, replacing her previous anger.

  “So everyone says. Not like Wulfstan. He looks like his father.”

  The older child was slumbering on the knee of Ealdgyth allowing Leofwine to stare at him openly. Nodding he said,

  “You’re right. He’s just like Northman was as a boy. Let’s hope he’s not as stubborn.”

  “A futile hope,” Æthelflæd muttered, and both women laughed as they looked at the boy. Clearly, he was already causing them both troubles.

  “And how is the king?” Æthelflæd asked not to be distracted by the talk of the children.

  “Aged and careworn, and still surrounded by men who flatter him when they should counsel him,” Leofwine answered quickly and bitterly. He’d spent the entire journey home thinking about the king and his counsellors and for much of that time he’d berated himself for not acting sooner. An oath was an oath, yes, but when it threatened to plunge his country back into full-blown war with the norsemen, he couldn’t help wishing that he’d been stronger and surer of himself. If only he’d raised Cnut to the kingship. But regrets were useless.

  “He is as he always was, a little more submissive perhaps, but with Eadric, Thorkell and this new Olaf as his allies, it won’t be long before he’s back to his old tricks.”

  Æthelflæd sighed deeply as she absorbed those words, and Leofwine took a moment to look at the lines of worry on her face and the streaks of grey now running through her hair. Sometimes it was too easy to forget that they were all getting older. He still felt young and vigorous, until he stood next to his sons that were young. He was getting old, and he was getting as frustrated with politics as Wulfstan had been. He finally, after all, these years, felt as able to read the King as his old friend had been. It was almost tedious to realise the predictability of the king.

  “Do you think it’ll be a great battle?” Mildryth asked tentatively, her arms wrapping themselves around herself protectively, as for once she had no baby to hold.

  “No, I imagine it’ll be over almost before it’s begun. Cnut has the loyalty of his fath
er’s shipmen but little else. Æthelred has swelled his army with both Thorkell’s shipmen and also this new Olaf he met in Normandy. There are far too many men with war axes and shields fighting on the side of Æthelred for Cnut to do more than put up a token resistance and retreat to Denmark.”

  “So why doesn’t he just go?” Æthelflæd asked with aggression.

  Leofwine had to laugh at that.

  “Because, as we all know, there’s always the opportunity for Æthelred to make a mistake and if he does, then Cnut will be able to appeal to Thorkell and Olaf and perhaps turn them to his side. There’s still a remote chance that Æthelred will cock this all up.”

  Mildryth smirked at the summation of their king while Æthelflæd looked offended for a moment before she shrugged aside her outrage.

  “You know best,” she said, and Leofwine nodded in agreement.

  “Unfortunately I do, but on this occasion, I hope to be proved wrong. Or at least, I think I do. I’m still not happy about having Æthelred back, but there was little I could do when Eadric went scampering to Normandy. And obviously, virulent rumours are circulating about how close I was to Swein and what my intentions were towards Cnut.”

  “But you weren’t asked to attack Cnut?” his wife asked with confusion furrowing her brow.

  “No, I think Æthelred decided not to test my loyalty on the battlefield.”

  She still looked worried, but her face was also resolute.

  “Why would he suspect you now? You pledged your oath to him before he left?”

  “Yes but now Eadric has his ear, and he whispers of his discontent, and the King is unsure of himself and overly keen to listen to him.”

  Mildryth sucked in her breath in fear at his words, and he reached out and patted her knee reassuringly.

  “Northman will be fine. Eadric suspects nothing.”

  Æthelflæd glanced at the girl too,