Northman Part 2

by M J Porter

  “Northman can watch his own back, and Olaf is with him in the case of any major problems.”

  “Yes, but he’s still going to face Cnut and his shipmen. I worry he’ll be wounded, not that my uncle will turn on him. Eadric is reassuringly blind where Northman’s loyalties truly lie.”

  “Well, you do have a valid worry. But Northman is an excellent warrior, and I can’t imagine that Cnut will put up a huge resistance. He’ll be content to bide his time and wait for Æthelred to die, he said as much to me when I last spoke to him.”

  Mildryth nodded at the words, but her eyes were far away, and Leofwine pitied the girl her worries. She’d do herself no good and Leofwine couldn’t offer any news of when Northman would return.

  “You plan to stay with us?” he asked instead, keen to know her plans.

  “As long as I can yes, if Eadric sends messengers to me I may have to move to Northman’s lands, but until then I plan to remain here if that’s allowable?” she said, uncertainty making her voice wobble a little.

  “Of course you must stay here. Æthelflæd will want to care for you and the two boys. In fact,” and his voice dropped a little so that it was as though he shared a great secret with her, “you’ll be doing me a favour. Without you here, she’ll do nothing but worry.” Æthelflæd huffed her annoyance at him, but she did it with half a smile, and he smiled crookedly at her. She was worried, he was worried, and Mildryth was concerned.

  But then his youngest son Eadwine appeared, and the adults all attempted to compose their faces and pretend as though everything was all right. He was surrounded by at least five hounds, all of differing ages and sizes and Leofwine chuckled at his son as he came and stood before his father, and his young face keen and apprehensive at the same time.

  “Eadwine, you’ve grown,” he said reaching out to tumble his son into his lap and hug him tightly.

  “I know, mother says I’ll be the tallest of all us boys when I’ve finished growing.” Leofwine looked at his wife over his son’s head, and she shrugged to show she had indeed said that. “And she says my feet are far too big for my age and that’s why I keep falling over.” He sounded aggrieved, and Æthelflæd was trying to hide her amusement at his outraged tone.

  “I’m sure you’ll grow into them soon,” Leofwine offered, and his son settled a little in his lap and made himself comfortable although it was difficult to do. He appeared to be all legs and arms and very little body.

  And then Eadwine straightened abruptly and stood once more.

  “I forgot what I came to give you,” he said, his unease of earlier returning.

  “I know that Hammer is old and that you’ve sent him home but I’ve been busy training a new hound for you. And here he is. I’ve named him Cyneweard, and he’s a loyal hound.”

  At the sound of the name, the hound looked alertly at Eadwine and watched his hand carefully. Eadwine called him again, and the hound came to stand beside him as the youth introduced him to Leofwine.

  Leofwine was delighted with the new dog. He was apparently descended from his original hound, Hunter as he shared her colouring, but his eyes were bright blue and looked far more intelligent than hers ever had.

  He reached out and ran his hand over the hound’s muzzle. He recognised the hound from the previous year's litter and was amazed that he’d been gone for so much of the past year that he’d seen them as puppies and now as nearly full-grown dogs.

  “Hello Cyneweard,” he murmured, and the hound licked his hand in welcome and sat at his side.

  Eadwine was delighted with the hound’s easy acceptance of his new master.

  “I’ve been training him since the summer,” he said proudly. “He’ll do everything that Hammer and Hunter could do, only he’s very keen and might even be more useful than they were. I can walk anywhere I want with him on our lands with my eyes closed and he’ll always bring me home again.”

  Leofwine was impressed with his son’s efforts on his behalf and was about to say as much when Eadwine carried on talking.

  “I wanted to keep him for myself, but he’s too clever to be a hunting dog. He wants to do more. He’s nosy, and you need to be strict with him.”

  Leofwine held his amusement in place as he listened to his son as though he were an aged old man, complete with the knowledge of fifty years of life. His wife cautioned him with her eyes and so he didn’t allow his humour to show.

  “Eadwine, you have my thanks for training Cyneweard for me. It’s true that I’m almost lost without Hammer but I’d not expected to be gifted with another trained hound. Not that I don’t mind being surprised.”

  His son was grinning with delight as his father congratulated him.

  “It was my honour father,” he said and bowing, scampered off to be with the rest of the hounds and the other younger children who ran almost unheeded throughout the hall and through the closed doorway into the enclosed yard beyond. They clearly didn’t feel the cold as they ran.

  The hound stayed exactly where he was and didn’t even make a movement to leave his new master’s side. Leofwine reached down and stroked his new hound. He’d missed Hammer badly, but was amazed at his son’s generosity.

  He opened his mouth to speak to his wife, but she began to speak first.

  “It started as a punishment for him. I demanded he trained the hound for you although he loved him and wanted him for his own. But he had … well, there’s no need for you to know exactly what your youngest son had been up to, but suffice to say, he had to be punished, and this was the best way I could see of doing so. Luckily for you, he’s a natural with the hounds, and Cyneweard is amazingly good at knowing where he is and understanding instructions.”

  “I should gift him with something as thanks.”

  “Normally you should yes, but on this occasion, your thanks will have to be enough for him, and he knows it.”

  Knowing his wife as he did, he dropped the matter, turning his attention to the hound instead, and allowing the whirl of activity within his hall to return to normal. Outside he could hear Oscetel commanding the men, and the high-pitched voice of Eadwine as he and his friends ran amongst the horses, chickens and pigs.

  His wife stood and busied herself with her latest embroidery while Mildryth sat quietly at his side. He allowed himself to be lulled, the new hound beneath his fingertips, and he watched with joy as his old hound, his eyes blinder than those he’d been replacing throughout his long life, his movements slow and laboured, walked towards him and flopped across his feet. Leofwine felt a twinge of guilt that he’d not first gone to Hammer, but the hound didn’t seem to care, and the whoosh of air from his lungs made him smirk. Hammer had always been a little too dramatic.

  Mildryth leant forward then; her face worried as she glanced to ensure Æthelflæd was occupied and unaware of their conversation.

  “My Lord,” she began but Leofwine tutted at her, and she tried again.

  “Father,” she said, and he turned to look at her.

  “Yes daughter,” he said solemnly, and she looked as pleased with the title as he was with his.

  “I worry about Northman and more. I worry about his future. Eadric is a fool, but the king is not, and Cnut. Well, I’m not very sure that Cnut ever liked your son.”

  “There are enemies everywhere, I know, and it’s not easy to know who’s a friend and who an enemy. The only assurance I can give is that Northman is not as alone as you might think he is. He has friends where he doesn’t even realise. But you might be right about Cnut. If, as I suspect, Æthelred fails to hold the country against any renewed attacks from the north, then Cnut will make a move for the kingship and Northman might then need all the protection that my family name can offer.”

  “You don’t offer the assurance that I want,” she said lightly, although her fear showed in the flicker of her voice.

  “I don’t offer assurances if I can’t be confident of them. It’s never been my way.”

  A tear fell gently down her curving cheek,
and he felt his heart constrict with grief, but he couldn’t lie to the girl.

  “We can pray for him, and I will work to keep him safe if the worst should happen.”

  “You have my thanks,” she said and made to stand.

  “I want him back as much as you do but he’s as stubborn as I am. But if I know my son, right now he’ll be regretting his choices and wishing he could come home to you. He’d not want to miss watching his sons grow. But the land is in flux and those who should know better don’t. Be proud of him. He deserves to know that you support him.”

  She nodded solemnly, cradling her youngest child to her chest, and walked away to check on her older boy. Leofwine watched her go with uneasiness. She was right to be worried. If he could have ridden to Gainsborough and retrieved his son, forcefully if necessary, he would have done. But his son was an adult now. He must make his choices and he, as his father, must allow him to. His anger at his own father’s decisions when he was Northman’s age stopped him from making the same mistakes and demanding that he do as he was told, not as he wanted.

  Chapter 15

  AD1014

  Northman

  Gainsborough

  The king had his victory, and Cnut had his defeat, the mantra ran through Northman’s head as he bent to clean his sword from the splattering of blood that he’d smeared along its length. The death and destruction he’d just been forced to inflict on the shipmen sickened him a little. There’d been no need for anyone to die. Cnut should have just left once he knew he didn’t have the support of the Witan. That was the way their land was ruled. To be king of the English he needed to know the law of the land, not disregard it when he found it inconvenient.

  Olaf was vocal at his side. He was angry and exhilarated in equal measure at the victory they’d achieved.

  “And then they just turned and ran,” he crowed with delight, the other men of his fighting force adding their chorus of derision to show what they all thought of the easy victory they’d achieved. Northman stayed silent, working his residual anger from his body with the sanding he was giving to his shield and his sword.

  Eadric and the king were at that moment riding with all haste into the heartlands of Gainsborough and rounding up as many of the men who’d supported Cnut as they could discover. Northman feared what would happen to them but knew he had no power to prevent any atrocity that Æthelred might have planned.

  Olaf nudged him from his anger, and he glanced around in shock. Stood before him were Athelstan and his brother Edmund. Surprised that they’d sought him out, he stood abruptly, his sword falling to the ground beneath him.

  ‘My Lords,” he said, noticing as he stood that Athelstan looked white but flushed from the battle, whereas Edmund looked hale and hearty. Unease quivered up his arm.

  “Northman,” Edmund said, his voice quiet and urgent, “may we speak in some privacy?”

  “Of course we can. Come, we’ll walk down to the river,” he said, gesturing to Olaf that he should stay behind as commander of his force.

  No one spoke as they walked away from the carnage and towards the full river, across lush grasses that reached to ankle height. Only when they were at the river, watching it flow over the hidden rocks and pool in dips and shallows did Athelstan open his mouth. His voice was laboured, and he spoke with a softness that went against anything Northman had ever heard before.

  “Northman,” he said, “my brother and I have come to you as we hope you and your father are still our allies, despite your association with Eadric.”

  Northman nodded but said nothing, waiting to see what the men wanted.

  “I am ill Northman,” Athelstan said, the words seemingly wrenched from inside him. “I'm sick, and I'll die, and soon. My holy men have warned me, and I've made my will and know that my time here is short. And yet, I must do all I can to assist my brother and his bid for the throne.”

  Northman was shocked to hear Athelstan’s words even though he’d had his suspicions that Athelstan was ill since Æthelred had landed back on English land.

  “And how do I come into this?” he asked, a little concerned.

  “I want you to support Edmund, against any other. Against Cnut or my younger brothers. I want to die knowing that with my father’s death, Edmund will become king.”

  Northman met Athelstan’s burning eyes and then looked to the calmer face of Edmund. He seemed stoical, acceptance of what was to happen evident on his face.

  “I’m unsure what I can do? I have only the confidence of Eadric, not the king and certainly no one else.” He spoke a little bitterly for all that he’d isolated himself in that way.

  “Yes, but your link to Eadric is what’s important. He’s the one we don’t trust. When our father dies, Eadric will make a play either for the kingship himself or to be the man who makes the next king.”

  Northman sucked his breath in at such a blunt statement. He’d never thought that Eadric would want to be king himself, but then, he was married to the king’s daughter, and he had his own sons. Perhaps the king’s sons were speaking sense.

  “Eadric has power in the Mercian lands, Cnut has tried to forge his own power base in the Mercian lands, and even now, Athelstan and I are growing a power base as well. It is the ancient lands of the Mercians and who controls them that will determine our next king. You and your father, either as enemies or friends, together or apart, are invaluable to the next king.”

  Northman had never considered the Mercian lands in such a way. He’s always thought of them only as a through-fare to everywhere else.

  Edmund continued to speak.

  “The Northumbrian lands are already half Norse and so is much of East Anglia, despite Ulfcytel’s best efforts to counter the influence of the settlers from a century ago. It is Mercia and Wessex that hold the key to the kingship, and Wessex will always vote for their own royal family, us, but for anyone else, Mercia is needed because it’s a counterweight to Wessex.”

  “So what it is you want me to do?”

  “Exactly what you are doing, only, we need to know as much as your father.”

  Northman sighed at those words. It was hard enough to get word to his father without Eadric noticing, without also trying to let the brothers know.

  “We have a man we can leave with you. You know him anyway. And when he can he’ll slip away and let me know what Eadric has planned.”

  Northman turned to face the camp, his left hand rubbing his forehead where a dull ache was starting to form. It all suddenly seemed so complicated and so much more important and bigger than he’d thought. It was no longer just about him and that worried and scared him in equal measure. It was too much for one man to do alone, and yet, that was what he was being asked to do, not by his father, but by himself and now by the king’s elder sons. It no longer seemed like the game of youth, but rather, the decisive actions of a wiser man, a husband, a father and a warrior.

  He turned back to face the worried eyes of Athelstan and the insistent ones of Edmund.

  “I’ll do what I can. You have my oath and my word. And my Lord,” he said and then hesitated, but Athelstan was watching him intently as though he knew what he was going to say next. “My sympathy and sorrow for your illness.”

  Athelstan nodded but didn’t speak, but he did swallow heavily, and Northman wondered if he fought his tears and his grief if he was really as resolved to his own death as he’d implied. Edmund reached out and grabbed his brother’s shoulder in comfort, his eyes shining with grief for all that he smiled with joy at having obtained Northman’s agreement to his requests.

  “I have, despite what you might believe, reconciled myself to my death. We have contacts in the Mercian lands. Morcar and Sigeforth have already allied with us, although they have admittedly been my friends since childhood. And now we have you and your father. I’ll speak to your father myself, or if … I’m not able Edmund will carry on our work. I'll never be king, I accept that, but neither will my father’s new sons and neither will Cnut.”r />
  Northman was astounded by the resolve in Athelstan’s voice, and he watched Edmund with interest, noticing how his back stiffened and he seemed to stand a little taller. It was hard to believe in yourself. Far better when someone else believed in you first. He knew that feeling well.

  “Is that why Cnut married Ælfhelm’s daughter? I thought it an odd choice at the time, but my father said Cnut simply fell in love.”

  Edmund barked a laugh at that.

  “Oh no, he knew what he was doing when he married her, and now she carries his child, and so he’s further allied with the Mercians.”

  “Did my father know that?” he asked suddenly, wondering if his father had failed to notice the coincidence or whether he’d withheld the information.

  When Athelstan shrugged as a response, Northman felt a little calmer. Perhaps the brothers were finding a conspiracy where none existed. He was sure his father would have mentioned something so important.

  “But Cnut will leave now he’s been defeated, and that’ll not sit comfortably with him.”

  “No it won’t, but he’ll be back,” Athelstan said ominously, and Northman had a premonition. The dying Prince was right. Cnut would not let England go quite so quickly.

  Chapter 16

  Summer AD1014

  Leofwine

  Deerhurst

  The men were practising on the dusty ground when Leofwine wondered outside to enjoy the summer heat. His time at home had mellowed him a little, and yet the news was not all good. Leofwine had been saddened by Athelstan’s death the previous month and over and over again he’d prayed for the safety of his children and offered thanks that they seemed healthy and well. Even Northman.

  He’d had a little news from Northman other than knowing that he’d fought well in the battle against Cnut and that Cnut had left England’s coast, although not without a final judgement on those who’d been entrusted to his care as hostages for the good behaviour of the English. Even now there were boys and men who’d been maimed or lost their sight at his hands, and Leofwine felt sickened by the waste. He’d expected far more from Cnut, and he was bitterly disappointed in him.