by M J Porter
Cnut’s greeting was far more formal than last time they’d met, but Leofwine didn’t mind. This time, he spoke for the king, not for himself and it was better that way. Whatever understanding he and Cnut had, and sometimes he wondered what it was, now was not the time to mention it. It was an intensely personal arrangement born from a long acquaintance with his father, and it was probably one that many of Cnut’s followers wouldn’t approve of.
“It’s a bitter day?” Cnut said as he stepped from his place to greet Leofwine in the centre of the hall, ensuring everyone saw that it was he who made the first friendly overtures.
“Bitterly cold my Lord Cnut, but not within your great hall.”
Cnut grinned a little at that. His confidence had increased tenfold since Leofwine had last seen him when it had all been about the possibilities not the certainties of his success.
“No, I am well provisioned here, although I could always have more supplies, I imagine that's why you’ve come to speak with me.”
“It is my Lord, yes. I come on the orders of Æthelred, King of England.”
“The bloody bastard still lives then?” Cnut asked, only half in jest.
“He does my Lord, every day he's stronger and keener to promote peace with you.”
“I imagine he is. But come. Sit with me, and we’ll talk. There’s no need for everyone here to know what we discuss.”
Cnut led Leofwine out of the great hall and into a smaller building, filled with just as much heat but far fewer men and women.
“This is my private space,” he explained, indicating with his head that Leofwine and his hound should sit and have food and mead with him.
“You must need it amongst so many men?”
“Yes, I still need to be able to think clearly, especially with some of the men here. I would count Eadric amongst that number.”
“He has changed his allegiance to you?”
“He feared reprisals from the king over his altercation with Edmund.”
“More likely he was just trying to make sure he was on the winning side.”
“You think I will win?” Cnut asked with a hint of hope.
“I don’t see how you can’t. Not with this many men.”
“And yet you come to delay the inevitable.”
“I come to pay you to stay here during the winter season. The king is mending quickly, and he will want to meet you in battle when he is able.”
“Hah, you lie Leofwine, but I don’t mind when you lie to me. It is your role as the king’s spokesman to lie to the enemy. But I know all about the king. I know he will die soon, and if not this week, then perhaps in the new year.”
There was little point in denying the truth of the statement so Leofwine didn’t waste his breath.
“You will continue to take the geld until then? Let the king die as king of his country.”
“I will but only because I bloody hate fighting in the cold and the dark, and more importantly because you ask me. I will need enough to feed all the men, and some hostages as well.”
Leofwine had been hoping that Cnut wouldn’t ask for hostages, not after last time and he winced at the words.
“I was angry before, but I know better now. I assure you, I will not harm them. Send your son, or one of Horic’s sons. I wouldn’t be able to harm one of them.”
“I’d rather not send any of my children or friends, but if I must, I will ask them who would like to come, I’ll not command them.”
“It would be better if you commanded them.”
“No, it wouldn’t. The men of my family and my acquaintance are always prepared to do whatever it is that must be done to secure the family and the kingdom.”
Cnut looked at him a little strangely then.
“Apart from your oldest son?” he asked, forcing Leofwine to look away from him so that he’d not see the truth through his one eye.
“No, all my family,” he managed to choke and quickly changed the subject, although he was aware that Cnut was studying him carefully.
“We will send as much coin as we can provided you don’t attack.”
“I’ll not attack, not until the weather improves or the men go hungry. Whichever happens sooner.”
Leofwine would have liked a firmer promise, but he could tell he wasn’t going to get one.
“And you, will it be you who comes to tell me of the king’s death.”
“I can’t say Cnut. I’m loyal to my king. You know that. Don’t press me any further.”
“I don’t press you Leofwine. I let you have more freedom than almost anyone else I count as a friend.”
“Even Thorkell?”
“Thorkell and I are like father and son. I must forgive him his mistakes, as he must forgive me mine. There’s nothing more that need be said about that.”
“I only say what others think. He is as much your weakness as you are his.”
“He and my father were allies, as you and my father were. That’s what’s important to remember. I honour my father with my actions.”
“And speaking of fathers. Have you met your son yet?”
Cnut’s face darkened briefly at the reminder of his son, whom Leofwine knew he’d never seen.
“No, I haven't, although I would very much like to. Perhaps when the weather is better, I will take my ships as near to Northampton as I can.”
“I could maybe, and with the king’s agreement, arrange for the woman and the boy to be brought here.”
Cnut glared at Leofwine now.
“And why would you do that?”
“Because a child should know it’s father and for no other reason.”
A long moment passed, but Leofwine held Cnut’s stare.
“I believe you Leofwine. But no, the child should not be out in this weather. It needs to be kept warm and fed. I’ll not have him amongst men ready to do battle.”
“You were raised to do battle, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was,” Cnut laughed, “but I was a little older than a screaming babe.”
“I sometimes doubt that,” Leofwine retorted and Cnut grinned.
“The tales of my youth have been greatly exaggerated.”
“I doubt it, but perhaps you’re right. He must still be too young to hold his sword.”
“Yes, he must, and now, I take it we have an agreement. So go, and take your second son and your warriors and run back to your king, and remember Leofwine, I’ll expect the same loyalty from you when I’m your king.”
“And you’ll have it if you earn your place as king.”
“I plan on doing so.”
Chapter 32
Winter AD1015
Northman
Sandwich
The wind was brutal in the front of the ship, and he wished himself anywhere but here. There’d been snow during the night, and it had coated the ships and the sails, and the thought of it made him shiver even more violently, even sheltered as he was in his layers of furs and sealskins.
He knew that Cnut had given his word that he’d not attack until the king was dead, but Eadric had bent his ear for the last few weeks, finding slights in the way that the English were provisioning the ship-army, and his niggling complaints had finally permeated Cnut’s already rocky resolve. A promise made to old family friend Leofwine was as nothing when faced with Eadric’s insistent bitching.
Now they found themselves racing for the Thames on a bleak, windy day, hoping to outrun a storm blowing behind them so that they could raid in the Mercian heartlands before more snow came.
Northman was heart sick that he’d not managed to send word to his father, but yesterday morning they were hunkered down in the hall in Sandwich eating and drinking and then Eadric had started, and Cnut had snapped. Worn down by the complaints of every ship's captain within the hall who, no matter what they thought of Eadric personally, used his list of slights and grievances against the English king as fuel to stoke Cnut’s fire. And it had worked. The bloody bastards.
They seemed
to dwell on these spur of the moment raids, and as the men had all rushed to their sea ready vessels that morning there had been cries of delight and joy, almost as though the whipping wind and the sleeting snow had no impact on the men at all. Northman hadn’t shared any of the pleasure, and he was pleased it was so cold that his face was entirely covered in furs. At least he could scowl without worrying that anyone was noticing.
Eadric had brought forty of the king’s ships to Sandwich and Northman was sailing on one of them. He knew some of the men, and he was there to ensure they stayed loyal to Eadric and Cnut. It would have been far easier if he hadn’t shared their fears and hadn’t wanted to run back to the safety of the English shore as much as they did. As it was, he was saying what Eadric expected him to say, but he didn’t feel it in his bones. Not at all. In fact, he felt disloyal to the English men for forcing them to sail under Cnut’s command.
Eadric was sailing with Cnut, and he thought it was a place of honour. Northman thought it was the opposite, as was his current placement in the middle of the massive fleet. They were locked in, and there was no other way of looking at it. They couldn’t escape to the front or to the rear and that troubled Northman in many other ways. Cnut didn’t trust Eadric. He wasn’t surprised but Eadric was oblivious to it, and that would be all right until he realised. Then Eadric would lash out, or, and this what Northman feared, he’d try to play Cnut for a fool, and he’d fail. However he looked at the future, it was bleak.
Even now Northman wasn’t entirely sure how Eadric had reached the decision to bow his knee to Cnut. One moment he was hell bent on claiming the northern Mercian lands from Edmund, and the next? Well, the next he’d received news that the king was recovering, that an agreement had been reached with Cnut to not attack England while the king lived, and he’d seen all his hopes and dreams, fleeting as they might have been, evaporate around him. It was then that he’d realised he needed to do something to help himself, and he’d decided that Cnut held the key to his problems.
Without discussing his intentions with anyone, he’d led his household troops towards London. There he'd spent some time in discussion with the commander of the king’s ship army and then, having convinced them to attack Sandwich, he’d sailed as their commander, only making his intentions clear when they sighted the ships of Cnut’s men. Then it had all been too late. Eadric had told Cnut’s men that he wished to join their leader, without even thinking of the men he dragged along with him. Cnut had welcomed him, perhaps not as jubilantly as Eadric would have liked, but his offer of rewards when he was king were all that had mattered.
Eadric had given no thought to his wife, his sons, his family, or those of the men he’d turned traitor with him.
Northman watched the coast as they travelled along it. Soon they’d reach the huge gaping mouth of the Thames, and from there they planned to sail inland, claim London and make Cnut king there, just as his father had once done. The idea terrified Northman. There was no way that the ealdormen, his father included, would allow Cnut to walk in and take what he wanted when he’d reached a peaceful agreement with them that he’d now broken.
They would see his disrespect for them as precisely that. Leofwine had asked for the time for the king to recover or die. Cnut had agreed to that, and now he was reneging on that promise. It wasn’t an auspicious start.
At his side, Olaf spoke,
“It’s the worst day for an invasion I’ve ever seen. It’s bloody freezing.”
“I’ll not argue with you about that,” Northman replied but his heart wasn’t in it. He wanted to be left alone, to brood and fume.
“If you get the opportunity,” he whispered to his friend, leaning forward to cover the sound of their words, “escape from here and go to either Deerhurst or to my father wherever the king is. I don’t think he’s at Cosham anymore. Tell them of Eadric and Cnut’s intentions.”
Olaf glared at his friend. Northman saw it for what it was. He was asking his greatest friend to do something incredibly dangerous.
“If I get the opportunity I will. But I won’t be making one. I plan on getting out of this bloody predicament alive.”
“I understand, and I agree. Only if there’s an opportunity that would make more of an idiot of us if we didn’t take it.”
Olaf smirked with displeasure at that.
“We had no way of knowing.”
“But I should have done. I’ve seen how his mind works. I should have realised.”
“Well you can berate yourself about it, or you can just deal with it and get on with it.”
Northman was tempted for the briefest of moments to punch his friend, but he didn’t. It was always the same. It was your closest friends that hurt the most when they spoke the truth. He shouldn’t punish Olaf for that.
He returned to gazing moodily at the rolling sea. He’d always enjoyed sea voyages before. Not now. Now he wished he’d stayed on dry land.
All too soon the coastline split and the opening to the river came into view. Northman glared at the great river, cursing it for the easy access it would give Cnut to the heartland of England. He took a deep breath. This might just be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Chapter 33
Early AD1016
Leofwine
Oxford
The hall was a wave of noise as Æthelred made his first public appearance in months. He’d missed the Christmas feasts, but now, with the minuscule lightening of the days, he’d deemed himself fit enough to preside over a feast in honour of his son, his wife and his other sons. And also to thank those who’d stayed loyal to him throughout his long illness.
For the first time in many years, Leofwine had called Æthelflæd to the king’s presence, mainly because he’d not seen her for so much of the previous year and he wanted to rectify that. She was a balm for his weary soul, but she brought an unwelcome guest. Or rather a guest who carried unwelcome news.
Olaf.
He was windblown despite any ministrations he might have received at Deerhurst, and his face was downcast. Immediately his joy at seeing his wife evaporated as Olaf told him of Eadric and Cnut’s current endeavours. With barely a kiss on the forehead for his wife, he was running back to the king and his councillors. Archbishop Wulfstan was a constant at Æthelred’s side, and so was Edmund. In as few words as possible, he told them all of what he’d learnt.
The King was incredulous and almost before his eyes; Leofwine felt as though he watched the King age and almost die. This would knock back his recovery. His voice was strong when he spoke.
“Edmund, you must go and defend the Mercian lands, stop Cnut from coming any closer. Leofwine, I command you to seek out Uhtred, have him defend the northern lands and if he can, come to the aid of Edmund in Mercia. Leofwine, you can then return to me here, or wherever I may be and if Cnut is still a threat, we’ll seek an alliance with the Welsh kingdoms, and we’ll have Æthelmær from the Western Provinces join us. We’ll make haste, but first, we'll feast. We can do nothing today to stop what has already happened.”
None of Æthelred’s advisors spoke, and he looked at them with surprise and raised eyebrows.
Leofwine broke the tension with a grin on his face.
“It’s good to hear you commanding us as our king once more. Long may it continue.”
Edmund was smiling as well, a little sadly perhaps and Leofwine wondered if he was thinking of what appeared to be his last chance of becoming king once more. This time, the king was according to his son his trust. That was a huge leap forward for the two men and long past time.
After Olaf, more messengers arrived, their news coming from London, and the lands to the north of the Thames. Cnut appeared to have well and truly broken his word, and Leofwine felt his anger flare. Not another fool being led around by Eadric’s wishes and desires! Would England never have a king who could think past Eadric’s machinations?
Amazingly the king made it through the feast and Leofwine was able to spend some much-needed time with
Æthelflæd. She spoke to him softly and carefully of Horic. He was ill and would soon die. Leofwine wiped tears from his eye as she spoke. His friend hadn’t been an active member of his household troops for many years now, but still, he often heard his voice in his head. When he was talking to Oscetel, offering his take on what he’d do in particular circumstances, and he wished that he could return home to see him one last time. Æthelflæd was morose. She didn’t think it likely, but Leofwine demanded that Olaf go in his stead, with a personal message and a promise that he’d stay with his mother and father until the inevitable happened.
Olaf was torn, he wanted nothing more than to return to Northman but he also wanted to be with his father. Leofwine took the decision from him. He might well be his son’s best friend and warrior, but he was the father’s commended man, and he could command him home. And so he did. Olaf had thanked him before he left, his face grief stained.
“Tell him I love him,” Leofwine added, and Olaf gulped back a sob.
“And if you see Northman, tell him I’m sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, and you know it. Now go. And be safe. And if the worst happens, and you need something to occupy your mind, please take some of the men and Godwine and seek out our Welsh allies. We might have need of them in the coming months.”
“I will my Lord, and once more, my thanks.”
Leofwine watched him go with a mixture of sadness and jealousy. He wanted nothing more than to go home as well. But he pitied him his father’s death.
The feast passed with no great difficulty, although the talk was almost exclusively of what was happening in the east of the country. Those who’d stayed loyal to the king, and despite how it felt, the majority of men were still loyal, were outraged and bemused by Eadric’s latest stunt. There were those who, like Leofwine, wished Eadric had been removed from the Witan many, many years before.
Aged Ælfric came to Leofwine as he was preparing to travel to the north. He was a little shaky in his movement, but he wore his mail coat and had his sword at his side.
