by M J Porter
He stopped his pacing then and flung himself into Wulfstan’s old chair without even noticing that it was the first time since his death that he’d done so. She had a good point and knew it. She reached over to rub her hand over his fingers where they were drumming on the arm of the chair.
“One thing at a time and prioritise what needs to be done. It’s Cnut who’s the greatest threat to the king, but,” and she lowered her voice even though everyone within their hall was trusted, “that doesn’t mean he’s your greatest threat. So, decide what needs to be done and then work out if it can be done.”
He rubbed his own worn thumb over her delicate wrist and allowed himself to untense his shoulders and smile a little self-consciously.
“You’re right. Thank you.”
“I know I’m right; there’s no need to thank me.”
Leofric and Oscetel both barked a laugh at Æthelflæd’s comment, although Eadwine looked a little confused by the exchange between his parents. Leofwine eyed the growing lad with amusement. He was an earnest young man now, no longer prone to pranks and constantly being in trouble. He also appeared a little devoid of a sense of humour. Leofwine was considering asking the lad if he would prefer to become a religious man as opposed to a warrior. He wasn’t convinced that the gentler soul of his son would welcome the slaughter of a battlefield.
“Fine, so what needs to be done first?” he asked, looking at the three before him with interest to see how they’d access the situation.
“The king is safe, but the people around Sandwich are not if Cnut is there. They’ll remember his maiming of the hostages last year and won’t want to face him knowing how brutal he is,” Leofric offered hopefully.
Oscetel was nodding as Leofric spoke,
“I agree with the lad. The king’s household troops need to stay with him, but the men of the fyrd could be raised and sent to protect the coast although it is harvest time. It would be best, my Lord, if the king’s son took his household troops there and stood in for the king. Obviously, he can’t do that if he’s in Mercia, so perhaps it should be Eadric who goes.”
Æthelflæd sucked in her breath at that statement, knowing it would involve her son, but she didn’t speak against the suggestion. Leofwine considered it and found he agreed with his second oldest son’s initial assessment as well.
“I agree. Well-done Leofric. The messenger from the king should be sent back with instructions that Eadric is recalled from trying to claim the wife of Sigeforth and he should instead be directed to the coast. The household troops of the king should stay where they are and protect him.”
“Is Thorkell not still here?” Æthelflæd asked.
“I’m unsure. The King talked about raising a geld to keep his ships at the Witan, but he never formalised the suggestion, and there’s been no request for additional taxation. I imagine he’s not inclined to fight for the king even if he still is using England as his base.”
“Does that mean he’s with Cnut now?”
“It might but we don’t know that. Not yet.”
Without waiting for further discussion, he called the king’s messenger to him.
“Go back with all haste and tell the king to recall Eadric and have him travel to Sandwich. Tell the king to keep his troops with him, and say I pray for his quick recovery and will follow on in a two days to support Eadric.”
The messenger repeated the words by mouthing them silently, his eyes slightly closed as he tried to remember the message word for word.
“I will my Lord, good day.” He turned to leave, and Leofwine watched him go with narrowed eyes. He hoped the king received the message as he’d said it. He didn’t want him misinterpreting anything he’d said.
“You will go to battle?” his wife asked him as Oscetel stood and called Orkning to his side, both leaving the hall in deep conversation.
“I’ll go to support the king, nothing more. I need to be seen to be acting even if I’m not, and I want to be there for Northman.”
Æthelflæd accepted that without argument, but she took a breath as if she’d say something else and then let it out again.
“Say what you’re thinking,” he said, “come, there’s no need to hide your thoughts.”
She smiled a watery smile and pressed his hand in her own again.
“Do you not think you’re too old for this?” she asked in a rush, and he was taken aback by such a blunt remark, but he didn’t let his anger stir.
“More than likely. The king lies ill, no doubt dying, and I’m not that much different in age to him and yet I insist on riding around the countryside as though I’m my son’s age.”
“Well, yes,” she said slowly, “that’s my point exactly.”
“While I live I’ll do as I always have. Æthelweard was the same. We don’t stop; we don’t let our age temper us. No, Wulfstan had the right of it. We live for the moment. Don’t fret so. Nothing will happen to me. I doubt Cnut will even make landfall. No, it’s the Edmund and Eadric problem that concerns me most. I think the two should be kept apart as much as possible.”
Æthelflæd stood before him and ran her hands over his chest, her eyes a little distant. He watched her hands, noticing that his chest was still tight and toned. He’d not let his age stop his training. Yes, he might not be as strong or as fit as he’d once been, and his muscles had never ached quite so much when he was a youth, but he was still in good condition. Unlike the king, and certainly, Eadric who somehow ruled by surrounding himself with strong men as opposed to being one himself, he’d not let his age stop him. His ailments were something to be combatted, not borne out on a long-suffering sigh.
He bent forward and kissed his wife on her lined forehead.
“We both age my love,” he offered, and she smiled at him a little sadly. “It doesn’t make us useless.”
“I never said I was useless,” she said, a little acerbically, and he kissed her briefly on the mouth, pleased to see her returned to her usual self.
“And I didn’t either,” he countered, before following Oscetel outside. He had people and animals to organise.
Two days later, as he’d promised, he rode into Cosham, a tiny place on the far southern coast with little to call it anything other than an inconvenient stopping place for the dangerously ill king. There was a church and a small hall that belonged to the local thegn, and neatly planted fields and animals grazing, but that was that. Around the hall, a small tented village had sprung up to service the king and the flood of men and women who could be seen either coming or going as they received instructions on where they were needed and went about their tasks as they must.
He dismounted from his horse and was greeted by archbishop Wulfstan, who’d hurried towards him as soon as he’d been sighted.
‘My Lord Leofwine,” he began his voice strong and concerned. “The king is dangerously ill, and Cnut is menacing the coast near Sandwich. He’s made a series of lightening raids but has made no permanent base yet. Eadric seems to have disappeared, and Edmund is refusing to leave the north Mercian lands.”
Leofwine smirked dolefully, “No great problems to deal with then?” and Wulfstan barked a laugh at him, something he’d clearly not done for some time.
“The king, is he aware of what’s happening?”
“No, not at all, he lapses in and out of wakefulness, and when he is awake, he doesn’t know who anyone is.”
“Will he live?”
“The men and women who tend to him will not say. They say it is in the hand of God and urge me to pray more and longer.”
Leofwine could tell what Wulfstan thought of that response by his caustic tone. He was a little surprised. He’d always thought the man unflappable.
“It seems unlikely then.”
“Yes, and Eadric and Edmund are at loggerheads, and Cnut is menacing the coast.”
Leofwine, still standing beside his horse stared off into the distance. At the edge of his vision, he could just determine where the clouds hugged the coastline, and he wondered.
“The fyrd has been called out near where Cnut raids?”
“Yes, it has. Ealdorman Godric has taken command of it. The king’s son, Eadwig, wished to but he’s been advised to stay with his father.”
“By whom?”
“By me. I think it best to have one of his own children with him.”
“The queen is not here?”
“No, she’s retreated to her palace at Exeter. She’s taken her sons with her.”
It was unwelcome news, but Leofwine was unsurprised. Emma would want to ensure her son's survivals against all the odds. She also had a healthy fear of Cnut and his allies, never really having forgiven his father for chasing her across the sea.
“Is Godric confident in what he has to do?”
“He doesn’t have much battle experience but the men respect him.”
“I should go,” he said, not wanting to but realising that he had the experience and the wherewithal to deal with Cnut that Godric would be lacking.
“Yes, you should.”
If even the archbishop thought it, then Leofwine realised he did have no choice.
“I’ll see the King first,” he announced, and handing the reins of his horse to Oscetel who’d wisely stayed mounted, he followed Wulfstan across the churned earth to the hall.
For all that the hall was far smaller than even his own home, it was a beautifully maintained property. The roof was freshly covered, the wooden struts reinforced and the door robust and sturdy. The thegn had every right to be proud of his home.
Inside, Leofwine was hit with the heavy smell of illness, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. The king was apparently suffering from more than just a fever of delirium. He was lying in the main hall itself, close to the blazing fire, and even from the doorway, Leofwine could see his lifeless form. His hair hung limply around his face, and his body seemed sunken under the pile of furs and blankets that covered him.
Unfazed Leofwine stood beside his bed.
“My Lord,” he roared, hoping to wake him from his slumber. The eyes of his king fluttered open, and for a moment he knew who stood before him.
“Leofwine,” he croaked.
“Yes, my Lord. I have come as I said I would.”
“Good and my thanks.”
Leofwine turned to glance at Wulfstan, his brow furrowed.
“He has moments of lucidity. They don’t last long,” he whispered by way of an explanation.
“Do you have any commands for me?”
“Yes Leofwine, I do.”
“What are they?”
“Protect my sons,” he groaned.
“My Lord?” Leofwine asked, not expecting that answer, but he heard nothing else, the King snoring before the words had fully left his mouth. He stood, a little stiffly, and walked outside once more. Wulfstan followed him.
“Has he commanded anyone else?”
“No, he’s never been awake long enough to speak to anyone else. Only you.”
That knowledge sat uncomfortably on Leofwine. He’d not decided how he was going to approach Cnut, but he’d thought to use his previous friendship with his father as a bargaining chip. He groaned in frustration. Once more he was being pulled and pushed in directions he didn’t want to go.
“Are you staying with him?” Leofwine asked. He’d not yet seen Eadwig, and he felt he shouldn’t leave the king unprotected.
“Yes, I will as long as I can. Provided I’m not needed elsewhere. What will you do?”
“I’ll go to the coast, attempt to speak with Cnut and determine if he can be turned aside without the throne. If he can’t, well, that will depend on what happens to the king and his sons. I suggest you pray for everyone Wulfstan. I think that there’ll be much death before this is resolved.”
Wulfstan settled his features in what amounted to a scowl.
“I thought that might be the case. I’ve sent letters to my monasteries with instructions on prayers.”
“I’ll send word when I know more,” he said, and Leofwine mounted his horse once more. It was only just past midday, and there was no point in wasting any more time.
“Where will I find you?” Wulfstan asked, but Leofwine didn’t know what to answer. “I’m unsure; your messenger will have to seek me out. If Eadric returns, send him to the east. If Edmund returns, although I doubt he will, do the same.”
With that, he spurred his horse on towards Sandwich where he didn’t know what he’d find, or more importantly what he’d do.
Chapter 27
September AD1015
Northman
The weather was wild, but that didn’t account for his foul mood. No, Eadric’s current intentions accounted for that. Why the malicious bastard couldn’t just accept that he’d won this round of the unspoken war between him and Edmund was beyond him. Certainly, though, he couldn’t.
As soon as he’d realised just how ill the king was, he’d rushed to his side at Cosham, not to offer him support but to convince him that he should take irrevocable actions against the Mercian families who’d dared to support someone other than Eadric. The king in his weakened state had agreed with everything that Eadric had asked. Northman had been in the room at the time. The king had barely been awake, his thoughts flickering from one topic to another, and yet somehow, Eadric had taken this as confirmation that he could abduct the pregnant widow and take her lands, and those of Morcar’s as well.
Northman had watched Eadric with mounting horror, not quite believing what he was seeing, and unable to prevent it. He’d felt physically sickened by Eadric’s rapacious desire to win and win everything, with no thought of the hardships to anyone else, or of the damage he was causing the king’s reputation. He knew that it would be this act that his king would be remembered for, an attack on a pregnant woman. His long and sometimes illustrious reign would be remembered in a sentence, ‘he allowed a pregnant woman to be abducted in his name.’ He didn’t add, ‘and killed’ because he hoped to prevent that.
Eadric had caught a glimpse of Northman’s unhappiness, and he’d laughed at him, openly. In front of everyone within the hall, he’d hollered,
“He’ll be dead by the end of the week. I need to get what I can now. And that means getting their land. I need it to secure what I already have. You all know that Edmund and I don’t see eye to eye. This area will ensure my son’s future claim to the throne. And if word of this reaches Edmund or anyone else for that matter, I’ll know that someone here is a bloody traitor and I’ll kill him myself when I discover them.”
Northman had felt temporarily paralysed with fear at Eadric’s words until he’d realised what they were. The empty threats of a scared man. He’d sent the man that Edmund and Athelstan had given to him two years before to archbishop Wulfstan. He was always a good person to keep informed of events in the country, and he’d have the resources to let his father and Edmund know what was being planned in the king’s name. It also protected the messenger from Eadric’s wrath. There was far less problem with keeping Wulfstan informed than there was informing Leofwine.
Northman’s fear had been that they’d make their way to the northern Mercian lands before Edmund could intercept them, but his worries had been ill founded. Eadric never did anything in haste. He’d squandered any advantage he’d had by insisting on travelling at a slow, steady speed and spreading the news of the king’s coming death to any who’d listen.
Eadric had been trying to sample the tenor of the land, find out whom everyone would support when the king was dead. While Northman didn’t blame him, in fact, it was good that he was so desultory in his journey north; it infuriated him to know that Eadric thought himself so much better than the other ealdormen.
Æthelred had raised a dangerous man to be his most virulent supporter, and with Æthelred ailing so quickly, Northman had a real fear for the future. He didn’t want Eadric to be king or even regent for his young son. No, Northman wanted Eadric dead and gone, only then could England be said to be governed by her king.
&n
bsp; The first three days of their journey were pleasant enough, but as they were nearing the Mercian heartlands, a messenger reached them with news of Cnut’s arrival. Eadric’s curse could be heard as far as the border with Scotland. Suddenly all his plans and hopes faded away to nothing. Cnut was a deadly enemy, and there was no chance that he could keep both Edmund and Cnut at bay and claim the throne in their stead.
When a further messenger arrived in a haze of dust and speed with the demand that Eadric turns aside and confront Cnut, Eadric’s anger grew with each breath he took. He ranted, and he raved, and then, despite everything, he made no movement, instead pitching his camp and retiring to his tent so that he could fume and decide what to do for the best.
“Northman,” he called through the closed doorway, his voice loud and angry, “I want you in here with me now. We need to plan our line of attack.”
Northman had expected as much. Eadric liked to ask his opinion and then disregard everything he said and do exactly what he’d planned to do all along. Northman was tiring of the game but Eadric was not.
“My Lord,” Northman said bowing his way into the tent. Eadric was sitting on his campstool, a cup of mead in his hand, staring moodily at nothing.
“What would your father do, boy?”
Northman held his temper. Eadric never ceased to tire of the slightest put-down and ‘boy’ was just one of the few he liked to drop into conversation.
“About Cnut?”
“Yes about bloody Cnut. What would he do?”
“He would protect the coast, get the king’s son or an ealdorman and his household troops to stand guard.”
“So he’ll send Edmund to Cnut?”
“I would have thought so my Lord. But where is Edmund? He wasn’t with the king. I’m not sure Leofwine will be able to find him, and he’ll want to know that the coast is protected. He might well go himself.”
Eadric watched Northman carefully.
“What would you do if you were me?”
“I’d turn aside and confront Cnut.”
“Why?”
“Because Cnut is the greater threat here. It’s common knowledge that you and the king’s son are now enemies. Cnut must know as much, and he’s come to exploit those divisions. The king’s illness makes the whole situation even more to Cnut’s advantage. What needs to be done is that England needs to be kept secure.”
