by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)
The executioner poised on Cnut’s decision, but the King was still trying to recall the boy. He played with his beard. ‘You say we met at Gæignesburh?’
‘Ja, it is so, my lord! But I have grown since then. We would wrestle and go fishing together… until you found better sport in the Lady Aelgifu.’ The boy prayed his artful comment would provoke recognition and could have cried with joy when Cnut turned his face to the sky in laughter.
‘You were the one who ran after her wagon for me!’ Weak with relief, Sigurd performed a vigorous nod. ‘Ja – your little dog.’ Sweat trickled down his brow. A cool wind brought awareness of how damp his shirt had become.
‘How couldst I forget?’ Cnut signalled for the guard to release the prisoner. ‘You were very angry with me, I think.’
Heart still beating fast, the boy delivered a sickly grin and with it a question: ‘How fares the Lady Aelgifu, my lord king?’ His voice tremored.
Cnut grinned back. ‘She is most healthy, as is my son.’ He nodded and studied the lad with the unruly fringe. ‘So, you come to help me again, Sigurd… A pity there are not more like you.’
Sigurd was pricked by guilt and it showed in his face. ‘In truth there are, oh noble one. I durst not say before, in fear that your guards would ride out and kill them, but I bring two friends with me. They are back there aways.’ His arm came up to point. Having quickly outgrown the clothes provided by Thorald, the cuffs were halfway up his forearm. ‘I came ahead to vouch for them.’
Cnut laughed. ‘And almost got yourself killed.’ He turned to one of his officers and commanded, ‘Bring them here – gently.’ The man rode off with a group to find Ulf and Eric, whose nervousness at being encircled by the King’s men was soon blown away when they witnessed the boy seated alongside Cnut like some courtier. His expression was vain as they were brought into the King’s tent to swear their allegiance. A hungry Eric licked his lips as the boy polished off the bread that had just acted as a trencher for his stew, and looked around hopefully. A meal was provided and as the newcomers ate, Cnut enquired, ‘What is the mood of other Jorvik citizens?’
Much easier in spirit and voice, Sigurd replied for the three of them. ‘My lord, we have listened to the gossip and believe most of the people are loyal to you. They do but wait for you to release them from the Englishman’s yoke.’
‘Then we must go forth and test their hospitality,’ announced Cnut.
‘Lord King, mine will be the first table you eat off when we arrive,’ vouched Sigurd, and grinned in triumph at his two friends.
Chapter Five
During that autumn of 1015 Cnut’s army ravaged Wessex. Sigurd was elated that the King adopted him as favourite but was dismayed when he found that all this qualified him to do was hang on Cnut’s arm like a talisman. The King disallowed him to join the fighting, voicing the opinion that Sigurd was far too amusing to waste on battle; who would make him laugh if the boy died?
Then, one morning a sentinel gave word that there were ships massing off the coast. As Cnut prepared for attack, a messenger came and knelt before him.
‘My lord, I come from Ealdorman Eadric of Mercia who offers his army to your bidding. He craves permission to speak with you.’
Upon short consultation with his officers, Cnut gave leave for Eadric to enter the camp. As the waiting party marched forward Sigurd recognized another of its number. ‘Thorald!’
Ulf cuffed him. ‘I thought you to say he plotted against Cnut! Have we gone against him just to feel his wrath?’
‘I swear I did not mishear!’ Sigurd mirrored his apprehension. ‘Come, we must warn the King.’ Whilst Eric and Ulf grumbled at his stupidity, he ran to Cnut. ‘Lord, these are the men of whom I spoke – Thorald who stole my land and Eadric the turncoat. I beg you, do not trust them!’
Cnut stilled the babble of concern with a raised hand. ‘You must not presume to offer your King advice.’
The dangerous group moved nearer. Sigurd could barely contain his impatience. ‘But I know Thorald! I heard him bargaining with Ethelred’s man.’
‘Then why do both come?’
Confused himself, Sigurd was unable to answer this but prattled away in a last attempt to prevent the influx of evil.
Cnut was indisposed to listen. ‘We shall hear what they do say.’
As the group neared, Sigurd took a backwards step and placed himself behind the King, but Thorald could not fail to notice him at such close proximity, and with him Ulf and Eric. For a moment he faltered, his expression one of murder, but in the last remaining strides up to the King his quick mind found a solution. ‘Ah! I see that my men arrived, lord. I despatched them ahead to bring tidings of my coming.’ After bowing, he extended an arm to pat Sigurd who ducked away.
Cnut regarded him without passion. ‘Come you to plight obedience?’
‘It is so, my lord.’ Eadric came out of his bow and though he spoke to Cnut he held the boy with cockatrice eye. ‘King Ethelred is failing and in my view England would be a lesser place under his son.’
Cnut interpreted the situation a different way. ‘Nei, you fear that Edmund will not reward you as I would.’
The stoat inclined his head. ‘If it so pleases you to reward me for my loyalty I shall present no argument, my lord.’
‘And what wouldst you consider apt reward for your bravery?’
Eadric pretended to think deeply. ‘If you were to grant the title Earl of Mercia, I believe it would sit quite prettily upon these shoulders, my lord.’ Sigurd had never known a grin to look so malicious.
‘And what of you?’ The king turned to Thorald.
‘Oh, I have no such lofty ambitions, King.’ The uncouth bear tried to appear servile. ‘To follow you is my reward.’
‘We have over forty ships at your disposal, my lord,’ announced Eadric.
‘Then I thank you, and accept your terms of allegiance,’ replied Cnut. Sigurd could have thrashed him.
When Thorald and Eadric backed away from the King to make camp, Sigurd kept a sharp eye on their whereabouts, so too did Ulf and Eric. Bowing, the boy petitioned for leave to sleep within Cnut’s own circle of guards. ‘You may trust Thorald, lord, but I do not. Given half the chance he will kill us.’
Cnut granted the favour. ‘But when did you hear me say I trusted him? I trust neither of them. Alas, if I am to win England I need all the help I can get, even that of rascals.’
Sigurd watched his shaggy antagonist’s every move. ‘Thorald may turn against you just as he turned against Edmund.’
‘We shall see,’ was all the young King replied, leaving Sigurd and his friends with the prospect of much insomnolence.
Contradicting all fears, the King’s decision appeared to have been right, for by the arrival of winter the West Saxons had submitted to the greater force. Cnut, his brother Harald plus Eadric and the combined fleet crossed the Temes, took Mercia and during Christmas captured Wæringwicumshire, here outmatching any massacre that Ethelred had committed. Edmund tried to gather support but now men were refusing to assemble without the presence of Ethelred who languished in Lunden. In his absence they began to desert and return home. Edmund, pushed further and further north by Cnut’s army, resorted to threats: any disaffection would invoke heavy penalty. Failed threats gave way to encouragement: if they held loyal he would do as they wished and ask his father to join forces with him.
But the invalid King, fearing a plot to betray him, decided at the last moment to stay in Lunden. Desperate, Edmund rode to Jorvik to enlist the help of Uhtred, the jarl or Earl of Northumbria. Well informed of this, Cnut prepared for another attack but it did not come. Spies returned with the news that Edmund had used Uhtred’s support to take private retribution over Eadric’s desertion! With his main opponent engrossed in destroying Eadric’s lands, Cnut ordered the army to march on Northumbria.
Uhtred, learning of this, left Edmund to his private vengeance and sped home to Jorvik, but it was too late. Twenty thousand enemy soldiers conve
rged on the prize and Uhtred was forced to yield.
For Sigurd it was a hollow triumph. His friends maintained their disbelief over what he had told them of the conspiracy between Eadric and Thorald no matter how he denied it. ‘I promise you that I did not mishear!’
‘You also promised us that we would each be rewarded with a share of your land.’ Eric was huddled into his sheepskin cape, nose and cheeks red from the biting wind, fingers seemingly frozen around the reins, and his mood at odds with the victorious re-entry to Jorvik. ‘Yet here we are back to where we started. We risked our lives…’
Sigurd made angry defence. ‘How could I have known then that Thorald would keep changing his colours and get round Cnut?’
‘Your argument is useless.’ Ulf was suffering from a cold, making his expression even more surly than normal. Each word that he uttered rasped his throat and in consequence were kept to a minimum, but he was angry enough to make a contribution now, however painful. His nose streamed as he got down from his horse, elbowing aside the crowds of jubilant people in the marketplace and responded to their glad tidings by snorting the mucus indiscriminately from his nose. This provided more room for movement. ‘You are still landless – Cnut is not about to dispossess Thorald when he needs his help. Nor can any of us even rely on Thorald’s charity for a roof over our heads.’
‘That is soon remedied. I will ask the King for protection.’ A confident, pink-cheeked Sigurd kneed his horse.
‘Do not be surprised if we are dead when you return!’ called Eric, performing a theatrical look over his shoulder.
Sigurd laughed. ‘Have no care. My eye has never left Thorald. He is ov… oh, he was there a moment ago.’ He swivelled his head. A pall of white breath hung over the crowd of townsfolk who cheered the conquering army. With so many faces it was impossible even to pick out one so easily distinguishable as Thorald’s. ‘No matter, he will have headed for Peseholme.’
‘That is not so far away that he cannot sneak back to issue vengeance!’
But Sigurd ignored Eric’s comment and urged his tired horse along Conyngstrete, packed with joyous townsfolk, minstrels, beggars and vendors towards Earlsburh, the fortified quarters of the King and the Northumbrian earls.
Had he not been mounted it would have been almost impossible to forge a passage. The horse also offered another advantage. Why Sigurd turned to look back he could not say, perhaps it was from force of habit over these past months, but it was lucky that he did so for he saw Thorald with two henchmen not five yards behind him. The hair on his body rose. There were insects all over him, beneath his arms, creeping round in his groin and along his thighs. Panic almost caused him to abandon his horse – maybe it would be easier for his thin body to slip through the crowd – but no, you fool! Thorald would then run you down. He kicked his mount. The horse grunted and lurched forward, harness jingling. The crowd parted on a note of disapproval. Sigurd flung a look over his shoulder. Thorald was still there.
‘Go on! Go on!’ He raised his heels and gave the horse a vicious kick in the flanks. It tossed back its head and set into a canter. ‘Out of the way!’ roared Sigurd. The crowd parted, women screamed, baskets of bread and fruit were knocked into the road and trampled in the mud, men lashed out as the horse threatened to trample them too. One after the other people jumped out of the way as a terrified Sigurd rode at them with Thorald in pursuit. He lashed and kicked the horse all the way along Conyngstrete, fighting the panic that threatened to send him out of control. The gates of Earlsburh were in sight. One last look over his shoulder. The flared nostrils of Thorald’s mount were almost touching his own horse’s rump! Thorald had a sword in his hand! Sigurd could not help the yell of fear, pressed himself flat to the horse’s back as it galloped for the entrance. His mouth bled from contact with the wooden saddle bow as he crouched over it, but he was oblivious to all save his pursuer. He was through the gates! Guards came running to investigate the rude entry. The horse slewed around as its rider hauled on the reins. Sigurd was about to bawl for assistance against his attackers but as he turned to point he noticed that Thorald had remained on the other side of the gates – and was laughing heartily with his henchmen, all of them pointing at Sigurd.
Feeling an idiot, Sigurd uttered a glowering curse and turning away hauled his unfortunate horse after him. Cnut had only just dismounted from his own horse and did not appear pleased to see the young man, turning away with a look of weariness.
‘My Lord!’ Sigurd, hair plastered to his brow despite the cold, dropped the reins of his steaming nag and ran after the King.
Cnut paused, closed his eyes, then turned back with impatience. ‘Do you never rest?’
Sigurd was still shaking from his mad dash, and his unpreparedness for this reaction caused him to falter. ‘My lord, I beg your pardon if my presence tries you. I came only to ask for your protection from Thorald.’ He crumpled his hat, looking downcast.
‘Do you think I have nought else to worry me than this pretend feud you have with the great bear?’
‘It is not pretend!’ Sigurd looked aggrieved. ‘He has just chased me down the street with sword in hand! If I had not possessed the faster horse he would have killed me for sure.’
Even though he regarded this to be an exaggeration, Cnut held onto his temper because of his liking for the lad. ‘Sigurd, if it appears that I have no care for your welfare then you must forgive me, but I have just been greeted with the news that Olaf Haraldsson has taken the chance of my absence to kill Jarl Swein and make Norway his own!’
Sigurd bit his lip, aware that this was drastic. ‘Oh… my lord, it is I who must ask forgiveness.’ He did not know what else to add, other than, ‘I will give you every help I can to win Norway back!’
Cnut shook his head. ‘I cannot leave the greater prize yet.’ He paused for thought, even now unable to accept the grim blow. Norway was not that important in itself, though the sea around it was, for it gave access to the Varangian Sea, and he had lost it. Then he glanced at Sigurd, who looked so earnest in his offer of help that he found the inclination to smile. ‘But I thank you for your loyalty. When we are done with Edmund maybe then we will deal with Olaf. Now, what did you ask of me?’ He rubbed his eyes to show he was tired.
Sigurd came erect. ‘All I ask is that I and my friends be allowed to camp here under your protection.’
‘Then it is granted,’ replied Cnut and immediately turned away, leaving a wary Sigurd to return to his friends in the marketplace and relate his hair-raising tale.
Henceforth, the three friends bivouacked with the King’s housecarls at Earlsburh, ever on the alert for Thorald’s sophistry. They were wise to do so, for even jarls now succumbed to foul play; when Uhtred of Northumbria came under safe conduct to pay homage he was set upon and murdered, his position given to Cnut’s brother-in-law. No man was safe.
* * *
Cnut gathered more troops to his cause and marched south again, veering well clear of Edmund’s savagery in Mercia. Before Easter 1016 they had arrived at their ships and rowed for Lunden. At last a shred of nous pierced Edmund’s frenzy of destruction. Envisioning the crown of England on a Scandinavian head, he raced to Lunden to be reconciled with his father: together they would beat the viking menace. Alas, there was no time to put their union to the test. On St George’s Day Ethelred’s illness robbed Sigurd of any personal redress; his father’s murderer was dead.
With Wessex fallen and Cnut’s ships bearing down on Lunden, there was only one option for King Edmund. He took flight into the still loyal west country in the hope of raising an army. Meanwhile Cnut’s men moved up the Temes until halted by Lunden Bridge. Whence, they set to digging a channel using this as a means to drag their ships around the obstacle and into the upper river. Once the fleet was through, the crews built earthworks around the walls of Lunden so that no one could get in or out and from where they attacked time after time. Though showered with arrows and bombarded with rocks the Lundeners held firm.
; Throughout this period, Sigurd had been observing Thorald’s every move, his method of fighting, his weaknesses, in preparation for the day that he himself would have to meet the foe in battle. Thorald knew that he was being watched but merely responded with that cunning smile of his, and called to his young adversary during a lull in the bombardment. ‘You look tired, Smallaxe! Art losing sleep wondering when I will creep up on you? Well, you can watch and wait all you like, but you will not see the blow that kills you.’
Sigurd, coated in mud due to leaning against the massive earthworks, responded accordingly whilst making himself look alert, slapping mud on the barricade though there was no visible breech to mend. ‘Who says I shall be the one killed? If you had any courage you would fight me now face to face.’
Thorald was not to be provoked, gesturing idly. ‘Why spoil the fun? There are others who must be attended to first. Time enough to deal with small-fry when Edmund is conquered. Until then it pleases me to watch you sweat.’
Sigurd bared his teeth to offer more, but the exchange was halted by Ulf who had been to relieve himself and had overheard urgent news from down the line. ‘Edmund is on the march again with a fresh army! The King has ordered Eadric to go on ahead and intercept him before he reaches Lunden.’
Thorald looked sharp and prepared to muster his troops to ride with Eadric. ‘Then I go too – do you ride with us, Ulf?’
‘Nay, I will stay and guard the barricades.’
‘Look after the cub, you mean!’ Thorald mocked. ‘Then I will say my farewells and leave you to build mud-pies with Smallaxe.’
‘And when you return I will make you eat them!’ retorted Sigurd. ‘If Edmund does not kill you first!’
Thorald departed on a laugh of confidence. ‘He has as much chance as do you, Smallaxe! We shall have him thrashed within the week.’
But Edmund was not the indecisive weakling that his father had been. He was a hard fighter, easily rivalling Thorald and far superior to Eadric. Under the skilful deployment of his opponent’s west-countrymen Eadric became disconcerted, and in his panic ordered a retreat, thus leaving Edmund to retrieve Wessex.
