by M J Porter
“My kings,” he began turning to make eye contact with both men. Neither wore a crown, but that was only out of politeness. Leofwine had laboured to ensure neither tried to outdo the other with elaborate clothing or jewels. They were warriors at that moment, warriors who’d made a treaty born from death on the battlefield.
“It’s my pleasure to stand before the two new kings of England. I will speak only briefly and reiterate only what has already been agreed. The two kings of England will govern separately, have their Witans, and have their ealdormen, thegns and if they choose, ship-armies. Neither is to attack the other, and if a matter of importance affects all of England, the king’s must act as one for the good of everyone else. They are kings of the people, not the other way round.”
He paused for a beat, his deep voice filling the available space effortlessly.
“All who fought on either side of the dispute are hereby exonerated. No one will be punished for what happened in the past. No one.” He spoke this firmly, his eyes flickering once more to his two kings. This had been a sticking point in all the discussions. Edmund wanted Eadric’s head, and Cnut wanted to keep him as his own. Finally, Leofwine had been forced to tell some half-truths, hint that the one would allow the other his way if he only relented first on another matter. He felt deceitful but he’d spoken to Wulfstan at length about it, and Wulfstan had added his sage advice.
“It’s as it must be. Think not of the kings but England. That will lead you down the correct path. It always has in the past.”
Leofwine had taken that to mean that he needed to do this, to make the peace as formalised as he could.
Now Leofwine’s eyes flickered to his son Northman, and he saw a little start at those words. Cnut had not informed him of this.
“And those who now wish to change their allegiance are free to do so. No one need stay with the king they no longer support. But that is to be done privately and with the understanding and support of both kings.”
Leofwine had expected an angry response to that, but there was nothing. His eyes flicked around the assembled men and women. Everyone looked tired and defeated whether they were on Edmund or Cnut’s side. Too many had lost a loved one, and too many would now find themselves trying to bow their knees to two kings. It was a mess, and Leofwine felt no pride in the agreements he’d managed to extract from both men.
He felt eyes on him and looked to find Northman staring at him, his eyes pleading, and he nodded slowly. He’d do what he could, but he wasn’t sure that Cnut would let Northman go. Edmund would, but then, Edmund knew the truth.
He nodded again and turned away. He had no need to hear more or see more. As the assembly broke up around him, he walked tiredly to the boat waiting to take him home, his hound at his side. Cyneweard. What a name his son had chosen for his animal. Royal guard indeed! But whom did he guard against whom?
Chapter 41
December AD1016
Leofwine
Bath
His horse’s hooves kicked up clumps of snow as it laboured through the snowdrifts that covered the path. The landscape was still, silent, apart from the sound of his breathing and his horse’s heavy breaths. It was as though there was only him alive in the entire world.
So much for his retirement to Deerhurst. Barely a month had gone by and all of it in a swirl of activity and now this.
He didn’t like to be proved right, but he had been. Edmund was dangerously ill. His brother Eadwig had sent a messenger to recall Leofwine to the king’s side, and now he was trying to do just that, but he was being thwarted at every turn. First a snowstorm and now the visible sign of just how severe it had been. It was freezing and he was chilled to the bone.
In front of him, his hound looked at him with disgust. The animal was almost marooned in snow. It reached past his legs and every so often, rubbed against his chest. The animal was as cold and chilled as Leofwine, as were the other men who accompanied them. Oscetel as always, and also Leofric and Godwine. It was important that his two sons saw what happened when a king died.
“Here boy,” he shouted to his hound, and the animal limped to his side. They’d not done this often but he had once or twice carried his hound on his horse and he would do so now if he were able. The dog glared at him as he tried to find room for his large body on the horse. Behind him, Leofric hollered.
“Father, let him ride with me. There’s a lot less of me than there is of you.”
Leofwine scowled at the reminder of his heavier weight, but when Cyneweard pinched his trouser legs sending pain screaming up his body, he relented and let the animal go to his son. It would be better for all of them.
“How much further?” Godwine called from his place in front of Leofwine. He was using his horse to make tracks that the others could follow. “I can’t make out any of the usual landmarks.”
Leofwine peered into the too bright day, the winter sun casting a shimmer of jewels over the snowy surface.
“I think we must nearly be there. How long have we been travelling?” he asked, pulling the fur cloak tighter around his body and making sure the hat covered his ears.
“Too bloody long,” Oscetel answered gloomily. He’d not wanted to accompany Leofwine on this journey. He’d wounded his leg in the battle at Assandun and although Leofwine had no problem with taking just Orkning and a few others of the men, Oscetel had decided that he couldn’t let his lord go anywhere without him. Not when he expected he’d soon be taking the news to Cnut of his succession to the whole of the English lands. He'd done nothing but moan and bitch for the long journey and Leofwine was beginning to think he should have stayed coddled in his warm bed.
From far in front Godwine’s voice broke the silence with a shout of joy.
“I can see smoke. We must nearly be at Bath.”
And so they were. Slowly the smell of burning wood filled everyone’s nostrils and with it the thought of warmth cheered them as well, even though their journey would have a sad ending. Leofwine had once thought he’d never be at a king’s deathbed, but in just as many years he was now about to stand vigil at the third. It made him feel blessed to have lived so long and also angry. Edmund, Athelstan, they’d deserved far better.
Bath was shrouded in snow; many of the roadways not having been cleared as people huddled in their homes and miserable animals huddled in their winter sheds. The palace was quiet as the grave when they came across it and Leofwine knew that they were too late. Edmund must already be dead.
He walked sedately into the great hall, trying not to shiver at the intense heat that greeted him, such a welcome change from the chill outdoors.
The room was almost in blackness but there were a few candles to light his path to the covered shroud in centre place.
He bowed deeply to the body of his dead king and allowed his eyes to fill with grief. Edmund, a good lad, a fine king, born at the wrong time to the wrong man and with an enemy who was relentless and remorseless. He couldn’t have imagined a life more tragically wasted.
“It was a wound from the battle,” a voice said at his side, and he turned to look a little blearily at Eadwig. He’d never known the younger son as well as the two older ones, but his similarity to Edmund at that moment was dizzying, and he felt the room swirl menacingly around him as he grabbed for Cyneweard’s steadying presence.
“It festered and there was nothing anyone could do. His wife is mourning in the church with the rest of his followers. Archbishop Wulfstan is comforting those he can.”
“He was an excellent king,” Leofwine found himself saying. He didn’t know if he meant it but it seemed like the right thing to say.
“He was my brother,” Eadwig only said and turned aside, motioning to servants waiting in the recesses of the hall.
“Come, you must be frozen. My apologies I didn’t get my messenger to you until it was too late. Edmund wished to speak with you and I denied him his request. I don’t even know what he wanted to say because he lapsed into unconsciousness three days b
efore his death. I fear I’ve failed him.”
Leofwine placed his hands on the shoulders of the shaking youth and tried to lend him his strength.
“You were with him. That’s what matters. As it does that his wife was with him too. In death, there is little else we can do.”
“I don’t even know what he would have written in his will.”
“It’s a small matter Eadwig. He made the important decisions throughout his life, those he trusted he gave his friendship to, and those he loved, his love. Remember that.”
Eadwig turned haunted eyes to look at Leofwine.
“I wish I had your wisdom.”
“I wish I had your youth,” and Eadwig smirked sadly.
“Has anyone taken the news to Cnut?”
“No my Lord, they haven’t. I hesitated.”
“I’m sure you did. In the mess of the treaty you and your needs were ignored. I don’t blame you for hesitating, but nothing else can be done now. Cnut is king of England. I will go. I will tell him. You stay here, mourn your brother, comfort his wife and make yourselves safe. Cnut will still have to abide by the terms of the treaty but I need to know that you are protected from any reprisals.”
Eadwig’s eyes were filled with a flash of understanding.
“I’ve taken measures already my Lord. And for our father’s wife? She’s in her stronghold in Exeter and we’ll be going to Winchester. Edmund will be buried with our grandfather at Glastonbury along the way, I know he at least wished that, and Winchester is a stronghold for my family. We’ll be safe there.”
“Good, good. And now, I'd rather rest, but I don’t want Cnut to hear about this from anyone but myself. I'll see you soon Eadwig. Keep safe.”
As much as he wanted to stay, he knew his duty now, and his honour demanded that he do what he’d always said he would. He had to deliver a message to Cnut.
Chapter 42
December AD1016
Leofwine
London
He came unexpectedly upon Cnut as he was nearing London. Godwine shouted in warning, and suddenly they were surrounded by red-faced men wearing layers of fur, and with a dead deer draped across one of the saddles. Only when the fur hood had been thrown back had Leofwine recognised Cnut. And then, and against his protesting legs and stiff back, he’d slid from his horse and bowed before him.
Cnut had been taken by surprise by the action.
“You come to pledge yourself to me?” he asked in disbelief. After all this time it probably was a surprise for the man.
“No, my king, I come to carry out the duties of my oath sworn to your father. I’ve made you king of England, and I offer you my oath and that of my sons and my men.”
Caught completely off guard it took Cnut a moment to process what he was being told. His mouth moved as he repeated the words and suddenly his eyes brightened, and he laughed, long and loud and joyfully, the sound reverberating through the silence of the wintry landscape. In the distance, a few birds took hurriedly to their wings but other than that nothing stirred.
“You make me king?” he asked imperiously.
“I make you king, by my oath to your father, and, the terms of the treaty of St Ola’s Isle.”
Cnut leapt from his horse and pulled Leofwine into a hug of joy, slapping his back roughly as he did so.
“Edmund is dead?”
“Yes my Lord King. Edmund is dead.”
He whooped with joy.
“And you come to make me king?”
“As I said my Lord, I do.”
The news had permeated its way through the men who rode with Cnut. Erik and Godwine were the only two Leofwine recognised. They too made a move to dismount from their horses.
“No, no, stay where you are. Come, we must return to our feasting and send messengers far and wide. Let Eadric know, and my brother in Denmark, the bastard will be relieved to hear this. Quick, quickly, ride back. I will be there in but a moment.”
When the men hesitated, Cnut shooed them on their way.
“Ealdorman Leofwine is now my man. I need no protection from him. Go, go, all of you. And you four, Leofwine’s sons and men. You go too. Everyone is to be made welcome in my hall. I will feast you all and talk of the future.”
Cnut stood still, waiting for the men to do as they were told. When they stood alone, he looked at Leofwine.
“My Lord Leofwine.”
“Yes my Lord King.”
“I thank you for what you’ve done for me. Men of honour are strange beasts, and I’ve found that you’ve tested my resolve on too many occasions, yet I thank you. You have held true to my father’s request, and I thank you for that. And more than that. You’ve honoured the peace treaty and, I take it, you’ve informed me of my new position with all haste.”
Leofwine dipped his head to acknowledge the words. He’d not been expecting them.
“Yes, Edmund died only two days ago, and with the snow, it’s been heavy going.”
“I imagine it has been. You'll be rewarded for your support of me. But now. Now I must reward those who’ve been far more vocal in their support of me. Come, drink and feast with me.”
He returned to his horse and kicked the beast to follow the hoof marks in the snow.
Leofwine watched him go with mixed feelings and then he laboriously climbed back into his saddle, with only Cyneweard as his companion.
He considered heading for home, leaving the new generation to their feasting and drinking. But his king had commanded him, and he was honour bound to obey.
Chapter 43
AD1017
Leofric
Deerhurst
The commotion at the gate roused him from half asleep to full wakefulness in an instant. He’d spent the last few years ready to rouse himself at the slightest disturbance. That was the only way he and his family had stayed on top of the dizzying array of changes sweeping the country.
He cursed silently, wondering what had happened now.
The men were guarding the front gate, and he heard an urgent conversation and then shouts echoing in the still winter’s night. It sounded urgent.
Rushing from his bed, he met his father staggering into his clothes. He wore a grim expression on his weathered and tired face. He needed to rest and sleep, but before he could, he needed Northman back under his roof. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon with Eadric still in the ascendant. Leofric nodded in greeting, and they both rushed to the front door. The thought of his brother had given Leofric a sinking feeling. Somehow, he knew exactly what this was going to be about.
He swallowed down his fear and was greeted by one of Horic’s many sons who’d taken service with his father or with him when he’d grown his household troops. The son looked so much like the father that in the half-light of the early morning he did a quick double-take before remembering that Horic was dead and buried and had been for the past year.
“My Lord’s,” Orkning said, his voice urgent and concerned.
“There’s a messenger at the gate, from King Cnut. He wishes to inform you of the impending execution of your eldest son for his traitorous actions.”
His eyes were wide; he’d clearly decided that as the older of the men on duty that night, the terrible task of imparting the message must fall to him and like his father before him, he’d chosen an honest and straight forward approach. There was no point in hedging his words.
Leofric opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lost as he reached to steady his father, his half-sight making him trip on an uneven floorboard, his hound whimpering with an apology for not having warned him. Leofwine landed heavily on his right knee even with the hasty support of both Leofric and Orkning.
Between them, they gathered him up and sat him on the closest bench in the great hall. He was shaking under their hands, and Leofric, still not having processed the dreadful news, was momentarily stumped as to what he should do. His father seemed beyond words as they noted the blood pooling lazily down his calf. He must have broken th
e skin when he fell.
Leofric and Orkning shared a look of concern. Leofwine was an old man now, yes, but this was unlike him.
Oscetel’s voice floated through the hall then, demanding to know what was happening, and signalling to Orkning that he should share the terrible news; he bent to his father, trying to get him to look him in the eye.
Leofwine had his hand up to mouth, his hand quivering while with his other hand he stroked the back of his hound, gazing at his master with remorse. Leofric heard the conversation of Oscetel and Orkning and then the voice of his mother. Leofwine still didn’t speak, and Leofric noted the tears on his father’s face, falling into the coarse fur of his hound. What should he do? He wanted to ask his father but knew that for perhaps the first time in his short life, he was going to have to be master of the house.
His mother cried in grief and shock when she was told the news, but Leofric was barely listening. In his mind's eye, he was plotting what needed to be done now.
“Bring the messenger,” he commanded, and hastily Orkning jumped to do as he was bid, pleased to have someone telling him what to do. He’d been stood with as much uncertainty as Leofric.
The man who walked into the hall was travel weary and exhausted. With a flick of his wrist, Leofric commanded food and ale for the messenger on the wintry morning, someone he recognised but whose name he couldn’t recall in the heat of the moment.
“Tell me at once the full message,” he commanded, and the messenger looked a little shocked at being spoken to quite so abruptly.
“My Lords, the king is sending you the news that the enemy of your household, Northman and his accomplice Ealdorman Eadric, have been found guilty of treason and are to be executed at the king’s pleasure. He sends his apologies if the news is upsetting but hopes you will understand why the sentence must be carried out quickly. The King also added that he was sure it would be no great inconvenience for you when Northman has only ever acted to undermine the alliances between the king and yourselves.”
