by M J Porter
“Do you take Wulfie out into the fields for a run?”
A dramatic sigh escaped his son’s small body.
“I want to, but mother won’t let me unless someone comes with me. Orkning sometimes does, and so does grandfather, but Eadwine takes all the hounds, and sometimes he takes him hunting as well. But Wulfie doesn’t like hunting.”
Northman saw the dog stiffen at those words and he felt a moment’s pity for the beast. He thought he probably did enjoy a good hunt, but that Wulfstan wouldn’t always let him go. He might have to ask his younger brother to ensure the hound got the exercise he needed.
“Do you like hunting?” Northman asked his son, who pulled a face at the question.
“I’ve not been yet, but I don’t like all the blood that drips from the dead animals when they come back. It makes me a bit sad.”
Northman hugged his son a little tighter at that admission. He’d need to harden him up in the years to come, but for now, and being as he was only nearly three years old, it seemed too young to try and make a seasoned warrior out of him.
Mildryth appeared then, his other son alert and awake in her arms, and they all wondered slowly back into the hall for their meal, Northman enjoying the sanctuary of home life for what it was. He was sure it wouldn’t last long, but he was going to bloody well enjoy it while he could.
Chapter 19
September AD1014
Northman
Deerhurst
The reports that reached them were piecemeal and garbled, and no matter how much his father cautioned the messengers when their hysteria ran away with them, it took five messengers before anyone understood the significance of what had happened.
Northman found himself rushing from the hall to his horse and to the cart that had been called into service in an almost dizzying rush of emotions.
A flood had come in the night, a tremendous wave, and though it had caused little or no damage at Deerhurst where the rivers were closer to the sea many had been caught up in the flood, and many were missing, presumed dead.
His mother was a whirl of activity, and yet she exuded calm as well. She knew what their hall could afford to offer to those who’d been affected by the flood and she knew where everything was. She had her servants cooking and baking, sorting through the store chests for furs and extra clothing, and somehow, she did it all without even raising her voice. If Northman could have spared the time, he'd have just stopped and watched his mother.
Mildryth caught him stood with his mouth opened in shock as his mother commanded every single man of the household to some menial task, beneath all the warriors, and yet accomplished without so much as an argument. She nudged him and gave him a sad little smile.
“She is the mother of four boys, a daughter and the wife of an important ealdorman. Of course, she commands respect and never more than in her house. Now, do as she asks before she notices you stood around doing nothing.”
He leapt to his task, silenced and awed in equal measure. He wished he could command as she did. He even caught his father watching his wife with an admiring glance, and he suppressed a smirk. It was no secret that the pair of them was as infatuated with each other as they ever had been. He only hoped his marriage held up under the strains of married life as well.
In a matter of only half the morning, the household troops were fully loaded with provisions and on the way to Gloucester. The river had massively swelled and the most coherent messenger, the one the Abbot had thought to send, were telling of houses by the river that had been washed away in the ferocity of the storm and of people stranded in trees and hedgerows.
The man had been as shaken as all the others, but he’d realised that without the correct information, Leofwine couldn’t act or deploy his men to help as best they could.
The ride was accomplished as quickly and yet safely as possible. There was no point in rushing off and injuring the horses or themselves on the way. And as they raced towards Gloucester, Leofwine issued commands and instructions to everyone based on the realities they might find.
Before they even reached Gloucester itself, people fleeing in all directions greeted them, and they were directed away from Gloucester to the lands further south and nearer to the swell of the river. That was when the situation became bleak.
They followed the run of the river as far as they could, noticing the swollen river almost over its banks in many places. What caused the most distress was the floating lumps of detritus, here a simple looking branch but in other locations what looked liked clothing, or a body, or even the roof of a house. The river was filled with the remains of fences, and the carcasses of animals and other, more worrying items.
They rode on, trying to find the places where their help was most needed and finally, they came to a village that was marooned in the overflow of the river. People waded through the knee-high waters, while others sat on the higher ground and looked on with the faces of those who’d lost everything.
“Who’s in charge here?” Leofwine called, and a stone-faced woman greeted his question.
“My husband was, Huda, but he's missing. I'm Judith, his wife.”
“Do you need our help or will you manage?” he asked with some urgency.
“Your assistance would be gratefully received,” she simply said, and then turned away, but they all noticed the small wooden doll she held in her hand and the way she kept glancing at the river.
“Northman, you and Olaf stay here with five of your men. Do what you can to retrieve belongings and animals, but don’t venture into the river. It’s still too full, and the currents will be dangerous.”
Northman nodded in understanding and watched his father ride off further down the damp path the river had carved through the lush riverbanks.
“You’re looking for someone?” he asked the woman calmly, as he turned to tie his horse up out of the way of everyone.
“My husband went into the river after our young daughter,” she quietly said, and that was all Northman needed to hear.
Signalling to Orkning that he should get a fire going in one of the homes that hadn’t been affected by the flood, he led the woman inside and sat her before the hearth with one of his mother’s furs draped around her shoulder. Another woman smiled tiredly at him and came to rest beside Judith.
“Thank you, my Lord,” the servant grunted, “I’ve been trying to get her in here since first light, but she refused.”
“Keep her warm and keep her safe,” he said, “I’ll go and help my men. Are there ….many people missing?” He knew he needed to know, but it was not an easy question to ask.
“I’m not sure my Lord. There should have been about fifty of us, but you’ll need to count up and see how many are still here. Some are a little further up river trying to salvage, but others haven’t been seen since.”
“The flood, it came as a surprise?” he asked.
“Complete, there had been a little rain, but then the day turned black and in the space of a moment or two, the river seemed to double in size. Many were watching it without realising how dangerous it would be.”
He could well understand the fascination they must have felt and armed with the information he returned outside. Olaf and the other four were busily hauling what they could from the hall that had previously sat on the side of the river, in a location similar to the one that Deerhurst enjoyed, only this one had been on the lower side of the river. A small bank seemed to have separated the river from the dry ground around the hall but the bank had been easily breached, and a steady flow of the buildings roof and some of its walls was leeching into the hungry river. He hoped that the flood would subside but he knew little about such things.
“Have you found anyone else?” he called to Olaf as he tried to decide where he could be of most use.
“Yes, my Lord. A few. We’ve got them laid out over there.”
Northman’s fears were confirmed when he heard that. Many would have perished in the floods.
“A young g
irl?” he asked quietly, pleased when Olaf shook his head.
“Not yet my Lord.”
Those who’d survived the flood appeared to be invigorated by the arrival of some help and by the enticing smell of cooking pottage that soon filled the air. Even the smell of the wood burning made the place seem a little less destroyed. Northman worked on clearing the debris, pulling what he could from the great hall, benches, tables and all the cooking equipment he could find. For the time being, he left the equipment that was stored up the walls or even in the higher lofts. Those things would stay dry provided the river didn’t expand any further.
Ideally, he wanted to stop the water from seeping into the wooden struts of the hall because that way it could be rebuilt, but when he sloshed his way outside and toured the building, he realised it was hopeless. The hall was surrounded. The storage barns with their high floors would hopefully survive, but not the hall itself. It would need drying out and then might prove habitable again when the sun had warmed and dried it but at the start of winter, it was unlikely that would happen anytime soon.
A cry from outside and he was rushing for the doorway. Lyfing was waist deep in the river, and he was shouting for help. Northman couldn’t see what he carried in his arms, but it looked half alive, and he rushed towards him, only actually hearing Lyfing’s words when he was almost upon him.
“My Lord, stop, stop. You must stop.” At Lyfing’s frantic cry Northman did as he was told, looking at him quizzically.
“There’s a deep ditch, a deep hole where you’re about to stand. I’ve already been in it once. Be careful, it’s filled with branches and fencing posts.”
“So how do I get to you?” he asked, looking around frantically.
“I don’t know. That’s why I was calling for help. Is there a small boat or a plank of wood you can float towards me?”
He looked behind him and saw Olaf and one of the local men manoeuvring a large plank of wood; it might have been a table or a bench top, around the piles of recovered possessions.
“Who have you got there and where did you find them?”
“It’s a girl, and she was nestled in that tree over there.”
He nodded his head to point at a tree that was now marooned almost in the middle of the filling river. He wondered how on Earth Lyfing had managed to work his way that far out without being swept away. But he didn’t ask; he just wanted to get him back on dry land and then he could berate him as was needed.
He felt the wooden planks bump into his legs then and he turned to grab it. He needed to push it towards Lyfing while keeping a firm grip on it. There were any number of articles floating around in the churned waters, and he didn’t want Lyfing to become the next one.
Olaf came and stood beside him, and as the rain lapped into their boots, they pushed the wood out into the flow of water, and Lyfing reached out with his hand to grab it, dropping his bundle onto it with a grunt of effort.
“Pull her back in,” he shouted, but Northman shook his head.
“No, you hold on as well. The water’s getting deeper every moment that you stand there and I want to know that you’re rescued as well.”
Where Lyfing stood, the water was nearly at chest height by now, and he reached out to grab the wood tightly. With a heave of effort, Northman and Olaf turned to walk the wood back to where they stood. It was a tremendous effort with the weight of two bodies on it, even when one of them was only small.
A disturbance under the water sent a sucking wave of debris battering against Northman’s legs and he stumbled and fell, losing his balance in the murky water.
“Don’t,” he shouted at Olaf who instinctively went to steady him.
“Hold on to the raft, don’t lose Lyfing.”
He worked his way upright without letting go of the raft and forced his foot from the sucking mass, leaving his boot behind in the slippery mud. He powered his way back towards dry land, Olaf heaving with the effort of trying to turn the raft against the flow of water.
The water level rose with each step, and with relief, Northman felt the slightly raised bank beneath his feet and knew that they were winning the battle. A few more steps and the ground would still be saturated but passable.
Behind him, he heard Lyfing talking to someone, and then they were at the waters edge, and he was helping Lyfing to his feet. His warrior grabbed the bundle he carried, not caring that he shivered uncontrollably and his face had turned blue in the chilly water. Assured that Northman and Olaf were on dry land, he strode towards the hall where the inhabitants of the village were sheltering.
Northman was bent double with the exertion, but he felt invigorated. He only hoped that whomever it was still lived and breathed.
His breath recovered he looked at his other men and the gathering gloom.
“We should stop and eat and get dry,” he said, holding out his arms to show just how wet he was.
“But what about anyone else?” Olaf asked a little plaintively.
“It’s getting dark, the waters rising. We need to ensure that everyone is safely above the high water mark and we need to stop for the night. There’s no point in hunting in the dark. Look at Lyfing; he only took about twenty steps, and he was marooned.”
Grudgingly Olaf nodded his head and turned to leave, his gaze lingering over the destruction.
“Northman this could so easily have been Deerhurst?”
“I know, I know,” he said a little dolefully. The thought had crossed his mind too many times that day. He’d need to speak to his father about putting in some more flood defences. No matter that this must have been a freak high tide, if they could take create more precautions, then it might prevent another such occurrence.
Chapter 20
AD1015
Leofwine
Deerhurst
Messengers came and went throughout the long dark months of the winter, but the people and the land were calm and settled, recovering from the trauma of the high tide that had left countless dead and many without a home. The king and his ealdormen did all they could for those in need so much so that even Æthelred seemed assured in his position as king. Although Eadric sent the occasional messenger demanding to know when his niece and nephew by marriage would be returning to his house in Shropshire, there was little to disturb the piece of the family.
After the summer witan, the king had allowed everyone to disperse back to their own homes and that’s where they’d been ever since. For all that Leofwine paid handsomely for any news of Cnut and how he fared in Denmark, he learnt little and wondered more than he’d thought he would about what the expelled would-be king was plotting.
News reached him that his wife, Ælfgifu, had given birth to a son, named after his grandfather, Swein, but she was still in her Mercian homelands, and neither Cnut nor Æthelred made any efforts to visit her. Æthelflæd worried about the young girl and her firstborn child, but really, she’d never met her and knew her not at all. It was only her mothering instinct that made her spare more than a moment's thought for her and what she must be feeling, her experience so similar to that which Æthelflæd had endured when he’d been presumed dead and missing.
Leofwine spared a thought for the girl but nothing more. He wanted peace, more than anything. He wanted his son at home, with his wife and their children, for all that he hated to be called grandfather by his well-spoken grandson who went everywhere with his hound, and he wanted the happiness on his wife’s face to stay there.
He took the time to order repairs on his hall and reinforce and re-dig the ditch around it and to have repair work done on the watermill. He also had his ship brought up the river so that she could be sheltered from the winter storms and recaulked to endure sea voyages again. That swelled his men within his hall to an almost uncomfortable level, but it also brought men with much needed new tales to share and stories to recount when the wind howled, and the snows lay thickly on the ground.
For the months that travel was almost impossible, Leofwine felt as thou
gh he truly was a king in his household, able to dictate who did what and when and finding that he quite enjoyed it. There was sadness too when his old hound finally breathed his last, and he shed tears for his old faithful friend, while he smiled at his skewed memories of the beast who’d gone out of his way to trip him and misdirect him and be almost more of a hindrance than any assistance. Hammer had been a good if contrary friend he finally decided. Æthelflæd joined in his tears, and his daughter mourned the beast faithfully for a whole week, before forgetting all about him and becoming concerned instead with the small family of robins sheltering in the eaves of the wheat store who seemed to be struggling in the freezing conditions.
Leofwine didn’t forget him though and that winter he made frequent trips to the local abbey to visit the grave of his father, Wulfstan and a more personal trip to the field where Hunter and now Hammer had their burials. He felt confident and forlorn in equal measure, fluctuating from one emotion to another as he felt his age creeping up on him, as he viewed his sons and daughters, now almost all adults, and his grandchildren. How had all this happened without him noticing? His focus had always been on the kingdom of England. Now he wished it hadn’t been, for what had he accomplished? Would anything have been different if he hadn’t been so involved?
His thoughts often turned to his father as he now found himself at a similar age to his at his death, and in a somewhat similar predicament. Would he die for his son? Of course, he would. He knew that. He’d do anything to ensure his son’s safety, despite his son’s attempts to circumvent everything he did. But, would he go into battle against the king or Eadric or even Cnut if it meant his son would live?
And that was the problem. He no longer knew who his enemies and who his friends were. Who could he rely on? Who could he share his secret with about him and Northman? And more worryingly, who already knew about it? If word leaked back to Eadric, at the moment, when he was so fully in the king’s good graces, Leofwine knew that his family would tumble as low as it was possible to get, and while Æthelred remained king, there’d be no possibility of them recovering their position and wealth.
