by M J Porter
Northman simply made himself as comfortable as he could on the hard wooden benches and studied those around him. When the King spoke, it was an ideal time to see who was listening and who wasn’t, who believed in the king and who didn’t.
The Queen sat beside Æthelred and listened attentively. Her two sons sat with the other athelings in the first row on the right-hand side of the king. She seemed serene and yet tense. She kept trying to make eye contact with someone on the front row, and Northman hazarded a guess that it was his father. What could she want with him other than to make his life even more complicated by asking for his allegiance? She should know better by now, but then, Emma and Leofwine had long shared a relationship that saw them both excuse faults in the other that they’d not have forgiven in others.
He couldn’t see Eadric’s face from where he sat, but Thorkell’s head was easy to see over the mass of other heads. He was so tall that it was impossible to miss him. He sat amongst the ealdormen for all that he wasn’t one, and he sat so still it was as though he was a carved statue from the ancient times. Northman admired his resolve to be so attentive and still. It was a skill he’d never fully acquired, and he had a tendency to fidget when the debates grew tiresome, or he had no interest in them.
Edmund was stonily still, just as Athelstan had always been before. He listened, and he breathed, and that was all he could say with any confidence from his place behind and to the side of him. He was another who could be as emotionless as stone. Edmund was dressed as a prince should be, and beside him sat his younger full brothers. All similar to their older brother and all carefully keeping their eyes forward. Not one of them glanced at the two young boys sat where their elder brother had once held his position. No, there was no sign of any resentment against Edward and his brother Alfred.
Eadric was busily bobbing his head from side to side, watching with narrowed eyes any he didn’t particularly care for and smiling when he could catch the eyes of the young heirs to the throne, making absolutely no pretence that his loyalties were firmly to the king’s sons by his second wife. Northman stifled a grin. He couldn’t imagine that Emma was having an easy time dealing with the knowledge that of all the men sat before her, there was only the traitorous Eadric who had openly placed his support behind her sons. He wondered if she lay awake at night worrying about it all, or whether she just accepted it for what it was and schemed even harder to turn someone else to her cause.
His brother was sitting behind him and to the right, flanked by Oscetel. They sat amongst the other king’s thegns for all that Oscetel was only his father’s thegn. With them were two men Northman had heard a lot about from Eadric, Morcar and Sigeforth. Eadric had developed an irrational hatred of the two men, almost worse than the contempt he now held the family of Cnut’s English wife in. He’d spent days and days railing against the ungrateful attitudes of these prominent Mercian families, asking why they’d not come to him, why they insisted on siding either with Cnut or with Athelstan but he’d not yet found the answer because he couldn’t blame himself for the rift. And neither did the king.
It was easy for Northman to see from the sidelines. Morcar and Sigeforth were resentful of the king’s slighting of his eldest son, whereas Cnut’s English family, the daughter of Ælfhelm of Northumbria who’d been murdered by Eadric, and sister to his son’s, Wulfhead and Ufegeat who’d been blinded by him, just plain hated Eadric and by association Æthelred. When the girl had married Cnut, she’d thought she’d soon be a queen or at least a queen in waiting. No one could have foreseen Swein’s death so soon. No one.
Suddenly he heard his name being called, and a dig in his ribs from Olaf at his side. He stood, looking around uncertainly. What was it that was wanted from him now? Olaf hissed to him,
“The king has called you to him, go and kneel before him before he realises what an ignorant pig you are.”
Feeling his face flush a little and wishing he’d paid more attention to proceedings now than to what had happened in the past or might occur in the future, he struggled past Olaf and made his way towards the king, only then realising that his father too was on his feet, his hound beside him.
The king gave Northman a slightly annoyed look, and Eadric was glaring at him menacingly, but Northman had eyes only for his father. There was something there, something in his eyes that was urging him onwards and yet he felt sure that no one else would have noticed anything different to normal.
When he reached the king, he bent his knee and waited for the king to tell him to stand. He did so quickly, a smile back on his tired face. Whatever the King thought, he was showing his age with his every movement.
“Our nation has been divided by raiders and by would-be kings, and we have lost those we love.” Somehow he managed to stumble over the words, although apart from Athelstan, Northman could think of no one the king had loved who’d died.
“But it is our families who’ve suffered most, and we must heal the rifts if we are to make England whole again.”
Northman knew what the king was going to ask of him then, and why his father was looking at him with a little bit of hope. If the king publicly reunited them, as it seemed he was about to do, then Northman would be free to see his wife once more without arousing any suspicion from Eadric. In fact, the king would more than likely command him to do as much.
“And so before us all, I’m begging my loyal Ealdorman Leofwine, and his fiercely loyal son, Northman, to put aside their differences and reunite their family.”
Northman was pleased by the turn of events but knew that he’d have to put up some token resistance if Eadric was to continue to believe the lie that it went against his wishes. He stood beside his father, as the king instructed, but he made no move to do anything else, other than to place his hand over the muzzle of the new hound in greeting. The dog had been agitated at his place at the front of the assembled Witan, but he calmed when he smelt Northman and realised that he belonged to his master’s litter.
His father took his cue, and turned to his son, with a wink of his good eye, and took his arm, winding his own around it with a strength that still surprised Northman. His father was a warrior despite his injuries, and he always forgot that.
Initially, he acted reluctant to return his father’s efforts at reunification, counting softly in his head to thirty and glaring at Eadric the whole time. As normal, Eadric had obviously been aware of the king’s intentions, and he smirked at seeing Northman looking so uncomfortable.
Only then did Northman relent and return his father’s greeting, wrapping his hand around his father’s wrist and pulling him close so that they embraced. He felt his father’s strength in that small movement, and heard his father’s whispered,
“My thanks, son,” and then they both turned to face the assembled throng and the king, with a beaming smile invited them to sit together before him. Whatever play-acting the king had devised to appear magnanimous and all-powerful seemed to make him happy. Emma was beaming with joy now, and Northman had the distinct feeling that she’d orchestrated this. She’d probably thought she would reclaim Leofwine’s loyalty if she were able to reunite him with his son.
Northman didn’t much mind. Not really. As soon as he’d grasped his father’s arm, he’d thought of only one thing, home and his wife and sons. With impatience, he sat through the rest of the Witan that day, relieved when it was over, and he could think about making his escape. Only it wasn’t to come too soon. The king commanded him home at the feast that evening, but Eadric, with steely eyes, wasn’t about to let him go so easily.
“Remember where your loyalty lies,” he counselled that night as he staggered rather drunkenly to his bed. “The King isn’t your Lord, I am, and you serve me first. You can go to your father’s home at Deerhurst, and you can tell your wife to get her arse back to Shropshire, and then we’ll not have this charade again, and I’ll know what you do every waking moment. You are mine, not your father’s.”
And with that, the drunken fool stum
bled to his bed, and Northman, relishing their quiet moment, took a moment to bend over Eadric and whisper,
“You’re the bloody idiot, and you don’t own me or my wife or my sons, you arrogant bastard.”
He’d much sooner have punched the man he reviled, but he didn’t want Eadric to question any bruises he might wake with. Instead, he contented himself with his speech and marched from Eadric’s room. He knew his father was waiting up to speak to him, and so was Leofric.
Chapter 18
Late Summer AD1014
Northman
Deerhurst
He woke slowly, his bed warm and soft, and beside him, Mildryth even warmer and softer. He reached for her, and she settled into his embrace sleepily. He smirked as he manoeuvred himself into a comfortable position around her body.
She’d been overwhelmed when he’d strode through the doorway of his father’s hall with the setting of the sun, and her welcome had been effusive. He’d ridden faster than the wind to see her and his sons, leaving his father far behind as he and Oscetel discussed the mundane events of the Witan, and only Leofric had managed to keep up with him. Olaf had fallen behind as well to gossip with Leofwine, keen to know what had been happening in his absence. But Northman had not given a hoot about anything but seeing his wife and sons.
He’d made his goodbyes to Eadric, promising not to enjoy himself when he was at Deerhurst and being assured that once he returned to Shropshire, Eadric would think no less of him for going along with the king’s plans. Eadric’s voice had grated and groaned, and Northman had worried until the last moment that Eadric might yet change his mind. It was some minor miracle that he hadn’t and had more to do with wanting to please the king than wanting to please Northman.
Northman hadn’t minded once he’d left the king’s hall. Being away from Eadric was like leaving behind a cloak of clay, liberating and freeing, discarding something sticky and claggy at the same time.
His mother had squealed in surprise when he’d picked her up and swung her around, but really, he’d had eyes only for Mildryth. Wulfstan and Ælfwine had been sleeping when he arrived and although he’d stared at the sleeping boys, the baby grown beyond all recognition in the half year he’d been gone, it had been bedding his wife that had filled his thoughts. And clearly, hers as well, for she’d retired to bed soon after his arrival and he’d followed, his mother not even bothering to comment on the way of young married couples.
The room Mildryth shared with the boys was a little too warm in the residual summer heat, but he’d just used it as an excuse to remove all his clothes as soon as the door was shut. Although she’d raised her eyebrows in admonishment at his forwardness, she’d melted into his arms soon enough her lips finding his and not letting go.
It had been a long time since they’d been together and although he wanted nothing more than to rush his way through their reunion, he’d taken his time. It was almost as though it was their first time together all over again, only a little less inhibited.
She’d been wearing a tunic to sleep in, but with handy ties that would allow her to feed the baby when he needed it. He took advantage of them to examine her in detail, revelling in her full breasts and warm skin. His hand had cupped her, and she’d growled a little in embarrassment, but he’d not released her lips from his own, or allowed her to push him away. She’d relaxed under his touch, her hands gripping his back before working their way to his chest and resting on his flat stomach and tight muscles.
Any desire to take his time had melted away under the onslaught of need that had surged through his body, and he’d lifted her so that he could lie her down on their bed. Her passion had been thoroughly aroused, as she’d crushed him to her, winding her legs around his back and forcing their bodies to meet in need and want.
He’d growled with desire, and she’d giggled at that before her urgency became too much, and they’d been kissing and touching almost unaware that anything else existed except the other. Winded with his passion, he’d held against him when he’d released his first need, but that had only been the beginning of what had been a most enjoyable night, and now he hoped to reignite that flame of passion before his children woke.
She was groggy at his side, but he didn’t let that stop him. He reached around and once more claimed one of her delightfully full breasts and began to slide his hand up and down her flat stomach. Two births had left little imprint on her body. She groaned as she woke and turned into his arms, her eyes barely open, although her mouth was, and he eagerly kissed her, running his hand down her long toned leg and back up towards her flat stomach.
A hearty chuckle escaped her mouth, and he opened his eyes to see her amused eyes watching him.
“What?” he said, his attention fully on her arched neck as he kissed and nibbled his way lower.
“Nothing my love,” she giggled, but he knew she was thinking of something, and if he hadn’t been quite so focused on the task at hand, he would have pressed the subject. Instead, he kissed her mouth, shushing her words, and gently covering her body with his own. She giggled softly again but then a small voice spoke.
“Mother, can I go outside please?” Northman looked around in shock to be met with the eyes of his older son, who was looking at his mother with a hopeful smile on his face.
“Of course you can Wulfstan, but take Wulfie with you.”
Northman had stilled at his son’s voice, and he felt embarrassment cursing up his cheeks, but Mildryth only laughed some more as their son called to his hound and opened and then closed the door. In the hall, he could hear his son being greeted by his mother and also by the servants.
“Glad I made an impression on him,” he commented a little roughly, but Mildryth claimed his lips.
“Stop talking and get on with it. Your son is only concerned with hounds and swords and horses. He doesn’t need to know what his mother and father are doing. Although, your mother assures me that you were the same.”
His enthusiasm a little dampened, because he did want to talk to his son almost as much as he wanted to bed his wife, Northman allowed himself to be drawn back to his pleasure by his wife. Then with almost more haste than was necessary, he dressed and with a kiss for Mildryth and one for his sleeping son, he strode outside to find his young son, ignoring Mildryth’s jibe about using and leaving her.
He wished his mother a good morning with a brief kiss and then he stepped outside into bright morning sunshine looking for his son and the hound who had earned the nickname of Wulfie. Poor bugger. It was undignified. He found them without too much effort. His son was talking to the household troops on guard duty that night, and it was evident from the way his son sat on the man’s knee that this was a usual morning ritual. Northman didn’t quite recognise the man until he stepped closer, and his briefly flaring rage evaporated as he realised it was Orkning, one of Horic’s sons.
“Morning Northman,” he said as he walked closer.
“Morning yourself Orkning. I take it that young Wulfstan often comes your way.”
Orkning grinned with delight.
“He does my Lord yes. He likes to talk about the hounds and battles, and I think he’s heard so many stories about his namesake and my father that he has to come and ask me all sorts of intricate details to make sure they’re not made up.”
Wulfstan listened to the exchange but without looking up from his hound, patiently being groomed by soft little hands and a brush. The hound looked embarrassed to be caught in such a position, but Northman reached out and petted the animal. Mildryth apparently trusted him with her oldest son and Northman felt he couldn’t berate the animal.
“And what about this morning?”
“Well my Lord, I just informed him that you and his mother were probably having a hug.” Orkning’s face was red with delight, as Northman punched him playfully in the chest.
“You have my thanks for that as well.”
“I thought I might. I don’t mind explaining the hounds and the horses, but nothing
further to such tender ears.”
Wulfstan still wasn’t listening to their conversation, but he did shuffle towards his father and away from Orkning and Orkning stood and gestured for Northman to sit in his place.
“He usually sits here until he’s called to breakfast. He likes to be outside.”
Northman paused momentarily at the incongruity of not knowing his own son’s routine, but he let his anger at himself slide away. Now was not the time. Instead, he sat and felt the weight of his nearly three-year-old son sit on his knees, and a delighted grin touched his face. Orkning took the opportunity to return to his duties, and Northman watched as his son sang a little tune to Wulfie and combed his fur all the more. His son seemed a contented little soul. As the sun slowly rose in the sky, Northman got to know him a bit better.
“Is he your hound?” he asked, wondering what response he’d get.
“Yes,” was the emphatic reply. “Eadwine said I could have him when he trained Cyneweard for grandfather. He said I shouldn’t choose which one I wanted before grandfather had chosen, but I did, and I wanted Wulfie. And I got him.”
Wulfstan sounded delighted with the outcome, as though he’d have told his grandfather that he wasn’t to have him if he had made a mistake and claimed Wulfie.
“And what’s his name?”
“Wulfie,” came the reply and Northman wondered what it was short for.
“And does your brother have a hound?”
“The baby?” the young voice said with some contempt, “he does, but he can’t brush him, and so I don’t think the dog loves him. Mother looks after him, though. The hound loves her.”
“Why don’t you look after him for your brother?”
“Cause I don’t want to. Wulfie is enough for me. I only have little hands,” and here he turned to his father and showed him his small hands and the brush they held. “See, it takes me nearly all day just to do Wulfie. I couldn’t do the other hound as well. Eadwine does him, and Mildryth helps.”
