by Jorvik- A thrilling tale of Viking Britain (retail) (epub)
‘’Tis the only place that robber Ethelred cannot get at it!’ Ragnhild shoved the fish back, tugged her dress over it, then her face softened. ‘I am sorry if my cooking does not please you, Einar.’
She mistook him for his father quite often these days; that was the chief reason why Sigurd was closeted in this bower away from the jibes of housecarls in the main hall – he was even reluctant to have his old friend Ulf witness his embarrassment. Sometimes, as now, he looked at his old mother slumped in her chair like a sack of corn and he hated her for making him feel old, too. He covered his eyes then shook his head. ‘Your cooking is delicious, usually, but we have servants to do that.’ He bellowed for one to bring fresh meat. ‘Sit you there, Mother.’
A strong whiff of fish clung to the air. Before he sat down Sigurd lifted a cushion; his mother had taken to hiding food all about the house. The servant who witnessed this fun later shared it with the others. ‘The Lady Ragnhild will have them both poisoned! The lord says we are to tell him if she cooks ought in future.’
Black Mary laughed, no more nor less than any of her peers, but the next evening when Sigurd came home it was she who waited on him in his private room. ‘My lord,’ she whispered on approaching, ‘you asked to be informed if the Lady Ragnhild cooked your meal… I fear she would not be deterred.’ Sigurd proffered a tired nod and waved her away. She left, turning only to see her master embark on his meal, and when she returned to the slaves’ abode she made sure that all were informed that Ragnhild had cooked supper.
Not an hour had passed before noises of excitement filled the yard. ‘Fetch the physician! The dame is sick!’
The physician came and pronounced Ragnhild already dead. ‘But what of the master?’ Black Mary asked another, and was informed: ‘Upon hearing that the lady had cooked supper he gave his platter to the dogs! When two of them fell dead he feared for his mother and sent for the physician, but too late.’
‘Doest know what the lady put into the meal?’ Mary tried not to sound anxious.
‘Nay, it could have been ought. I myself have caught her making bread with lime. Holy Virgin, the master said she would poison them one day. A good thing he did not eat.’
Black Mary nodded and put an unconscious hand to her breast where the phial of poison had once been hidden. It had been too much to hope that she would kill both at one sitting. Would he guess that she and not his mother was to blame?
But Sigurd was blaming himself. ‘If only I had stopped her,’ he told the healer. ‘’Twas only in my wish not to offend her that I let her think I ate my own. When the dogs keeled over I sent for you as quick as I could…’
‘Nay, you could not have known,’ soothed the man of medicine. ‘Eight and fifty is a great age, she would not have lived much longer. ’Twas very quick.’
This was the palliative employed by other friends, including the King, whose visit to the Earl of Northumbria coincided with Ragnhild’s demise. ‘Death comes to us all, my friend. I pray that mine own will be as swift.’
Sigurd nodded and directed Cnut to the place of honour in the great hall, seating himself opposite with the hearth between them. The housecarls were grouped along the benches, talking quietly amongst themselves and did not prove an intrusion. ‘When one’s mother dies it brings one’s own death closer.’ However domineering Ragnhild had been, she was his mother, and the sense of loneliness was acute. ‘I ask myself, who is to inherit all of this after me?’ His arm swept the luxurious room then fell upon his lap.
Cnut looked into the crimson depths of his goblet. ‘Tis as hard a decision when one has sons.’
‘Yea, especially when each is as unworthy as the other,’ came the warped reply.
Cnut was magnanimous. ‘I shall forgive you that envious retort and pity your lack of heirs.’
Sigurd abhorred pity. ‘You might have more sons than I but all are worthless. It is hard to credit that he who is lord of half the world would have such weak seed.’
Cnut gritted his teeth and rose to leave, offended not so much by the other’s outspokenness, but the truth of his words.
‘Oh, mighty one, forgive me!’ The housecarls watched in apprehension as Sigurd reached the door before Cnut, barring his exit. ‘You were correct, ’tis envy forms my words. I beg you to consider that my mother’s death has robbed me of right mind. Come back and let me make amends.’
Cnut delayed his exit, his blue eyes piercing the other’s. Sigurd tried again. ‘My lord King…’
‘’Tis not as King that you offend me but as a man! Any man would take insult from such reference to his progeny.’
Sigurd gave a weary nod. ‘And he would have right to do so. If you let fly your hand as my mouth let fly the words I would understand, my lord.’ He presented his bearded chin for the blow.
Cnut glanced at the inquisitive housecarls who immediately looked away. ‘’Tis only you I would forgive for that insolence, Sigurd.’
‘My lord King, I thank you.’ Sigurd kneeled, grabbed Cnut’s hand and pressed a fervent kiss to it. ‘Whomsoever you name as your heir, then I shall follow him.’
‘Harthacnut, as the son of my rightful queen, shall reign after me.’ Cnut managed a stiff smile. ‘But I hope ’twill be many years yet.’
‘I, too, lord.’ Sigurd coaxed him back to the hearth, attempting humour. ‘Er, tell me, have you yet written your Will?’
Cnut gave a genuine laugh. ‘I have, but take care that your name is not erased from it after recent remarks about my offspring.’
‘Oh, shame!’ Enacting disappointment, Sigurd cowered like a dog. ‘I did not include all your offspring – why, your daughter Gunnhild is extremely fair.’
The monarch cuffed him lightly. ‘Well, you need not think I shall bequeath her to you. She is already claimed by a mightier suitor.’
‘My heart is broken!’ Sigurd waited for the King to take a chair then sat alongside. ‘Who can be mightier than Sigurd Einarsson?’
‘The Emperor of Rome asks that I give the hand of Gunnhild to his son, Henry, and in return he promises to surrender that land which he holds north of the Eider.’
It was an important coup and more than made up for the loss of Norway. Sigurd looked impressed. ‘My salutations, oh lord.’
Cnut’s reply bore a note of lament. ‘It is unworthy, I know, but much as I dislike Robert of Normandy I would sooner it were he who was negotiating.’ There had been no improvement in the relations between England and Normandy.
‘Pooh, the man is an idiot!’ Sigurd kicked at the hearth in an act of contempt.
‘True, but he is the only ruler whom I have failed to be on good terms with and he is too close to home to ignore. One day he will attack.’
‘Then let us attack him first,’ came the cheerful proposition from Sigurd before he downed his wine.
Cnut gave a wishful nod and reached for his own goblet – but recoiled in dismay. There on a limb of the table was a hibernating moth, upon its back the head of Death.
Chapter Fifteen
November brought catastrophe. ‘Oh, Ulf, the most terrible news!’ An anguished Sigurd burst into the house at Peseholme, startling not only his friend but Eric’s widow, her four little girls and a number of servants. ‘The King is dead!’ He took the role of emissary himself, the news too important to leave to others.
The occupants around the hearth gasped, Eric’s widow mopped at her eyes with her apron though Sigurd witnessed no sign of a tear. ‘When?’ Was all Ulf could say.
‘Two days ago.’ A shocked Sigurd took the place that had been made for him by the fire.
‘Was there foul deed involved?’ Ulf held out a goblet to be filled with wine then put it into Sigurd’s hand.
‘Nay.’ Sigurd drank and stared into the fire. ‘The King is to be buried at Wintanceaster – will you come there with me, Ulf?’
Ulf replied that of course he would, and some days later enacted his promise.
‘What is to become of England now?’ he enquired as th
e two braved a wall of November fog to row for Wintanceaster in the company of thirty housecarls.
His friend snorted, adding more moisture to his beard which was already well-dampened by mist. His mood of sadness had been tainted by the revelation that Cnut had not used his Will to grant an earldom to his old friend as Sigurd had hoped but had instead bequeathed land. ‘Only the gods know that.’
‘Will you be loyal to your promise to Cnut?’
‘To support Harthacnut?’ Sigurd was honest. ‘I do not know, Ulf, for it would mean siding with his mother Queen Emma, a woman who was once married to Ethelred.’
‘You surely cannot let old grudges tarnish your promise to the King?’ said Ulf, chin buried into his mantle as he rowed. ‘Besides, who else would you support?’
‘Oh, I do not know. Perhaps we will find the answer when we get to Wintanceaster.’
They were not to hear anything definite until after Cnut’s funeral when a witan was held, of which Sigurd was part. It appeared that Harthacnut had refused to leave Denmark for fear that someone would steal that throne. Harald Harefoot, son of Aelgifu, had been quick to stake his own claim.
Sigurd thought on this. Harald might be even less suited to the task than his brother, but he was a man who could be easily manipulated and in this Sigurd glimpsed for himself an earldom. His alliance was beginning to shift.
But many of the witan were against Harald, especially Earl Godwin. ‘I promised Cnut that I would support Harthacnut and I cannot go back on my word.’
Sigurd damned his rival’s holier than thou attitude, and proposed what he saw as logical action. ‘But we must have a king and Harthacnut is trapped in Denmark!’
Earl Godwin merely laughed. ‘Who else if not Harald – you?’ Sigurd looked away under Godwin’s chastizing gaze.
Leofric, Earl of Mercia and Cnut’s other chief adviser, jumped in to alleviate the tense atmosphere between the two men. ‘We do not have to make Harald King, only Regent until Harthacnut can safely leave Denmark.’
‘That may be years,’ said another. ‘We need a king.’
‘I find myself in favour of making Harald Regent,’ said an archbishop, ‘but I feel that it may be unwise to entrust him with the King’s treasure chest.’
‘Nor Queen Emma neither,’ muttered Sigurd, but was condemned by Godwin who had appointed himself her protector.
‘It is well-known that you bear a grudge against anyone who has any connection with Ethelred, however tenuous!’
A suggestion came from another member which received nods of approval. ‘Perhaps if Earl Godwin were to take charge of both the queen and the treasure chest, he would feel more disposed towards making Harald Regent?’
Godwin’s lower lip jutted out in thought, then he nodded. ‘I am agreeable to the first suggestion but I cannot go back on my word to our dead King. He wished me to support Harthacnut and in all conscience I must do so.’
Without reaching full agreement the witan broke up and England was plunged into turmoil. The future of the country became a game of hnefatafl and Sigurd was unsure which way to move, kicking himself for antagonizing his rival in so petty a manner. Only an idiot would choose such a crucial time to oppose the powerful Godwin who ruled much of southern England – especially with him now in charge of the treasury – but perhaps the Earl of Wessex could be made to heed sense. He paraded his ideas before Ulf as they rowed home to Jorvik. ‘If only Godwin can be won over from Emma I could find myself in a very strong position indeed.’
Ulf was uneasy. ‘Do not tell me any more.’
His friend looked surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Just do as you must do,’ said Ulf. ‘I am a simple man and have no mind for politics. If I say I will support one lord then I support him.’
‘And so do I!’ objected Sigurd. ‘But…’
‘Just do as you must do,’ repeated Ulf. ‘But leave me out of it.’
And Sigurd decided that perhaps his friend was right. The fewer who knew of his plans the better.
* * *
Acting independently of his own overlord, Sigurd journeyed to Godwin’s estate some weeks later with the intent of bridging the rift between them. As expected Godwin was none too receptive to his visitor but heard what Sigurd had to say.
Their meeting took place in the yard where Godwin watched a friendly sword-fight between his sons, the eldest Harold against the gawkier Tostig who looked about sixteen. Sigurd began by complimenting Godwin on their agility, and watched until the fight was over, whence he offered congratulations to the winner, Harold, and pleased the shamefaced Tostig by saying that it was a closely-fought match. ‘I am certain you would give even a seasoned warrior like me a hard fight.’
‘I thank you, my lord.’ Tostig disposed of his sulk and bowed.
‘Such gracious manners,’ observed Sigurd to Godwin. ‘And so handsome. Would that my daughter were still alive. She and your son would be of an age. Young Tostig here would make a most attractive son-in-law.’
The pimply Tostig, unaccustomed to such flattery, was easily won over and clung to Sigurd as the men walked towards the house in the hope of further compliments. Normally it was the more attractive Harold who received them. Sigurd, of course, had recognized this, and also the fact that Godwin had a soft spot for his uglier son. If he could win over the petulant Tostig he would be halfway to winning his father too. Harold did not need to be told that he was handsome, he already knew it. Sigurd put aside his dislike of Godwin and his sons to spend a few moments chatting with the young men, glad that they laughed at his jokes and hoping that Godwin could not see through his motives.
The earl appeared to be impressed by the attention paid to his sons, particularly Tostig for he was often overshadowed by his siblings, if not the eldest then it was the youngest. Eventually though, the hour forced him to dismiss them and bid Sigurd state his business. ‘My sons appear to like you but I doubt that they are the reason for your visit.’ He told a servant to pour them wine.
The ealdorman smiled. ‘Delightful though they are, I must confess that it is to you I wish to speak, my lord, on a matter most urgent.’ He tried to appear earnest, spreading his palm in a gesture of veneration. ‘I understand your loyalty towards Queen Emma…’
‘Do you?’ Godwin drank from his goblet.
‘I do, and I admire you for your steadfastness in the face of such opposition – most of the witan is determined that Harald Harefoot be King.’ Sigurd, too, drank.
Godwin was firm. ‘And I am of the mind that he will not.’
‘Yea, I appreciate the debt you owe to our great Cnut, my lord. He did much for me, and I too am loth to go back on the promise I made to him, but have you thought that you would more easily retain your power under Harald? I have thought long on the dangers of waiting for Harthacnut to come forth. Whilst the country is without a proper king there is the threat from other sources.’
Godwin knew immediately that Sigurd referred to Ethelred’s sons who were exiled when their mother married Cnut. ‘You think that you can win me over by playing on my dislike of a return to Ethelred’s line? Save your breath, Ealdorman Sigurd, I do not think that will come to pass. Now, if you would pardon me…’
And no amount of argument could dislodge Godwin from his views. However, before a defeated Sigurd left for Jorvik, Providence leapt to his aid: news arrived that Alfred, Emma’s son by Ethelred, had landed in England ostensibly to visit his mother.
Immediately Sigurd revisited Godwin, telling him in urgent tone, ‘There! Already they start to creep from under their rocks. Will you not change your mind and support Harald? What matter if it is the wrong son who fills the throne, he is still Cnut’s son!’
The Earl was forced to agree and was already shouting orders to his men. ‘We must prevent the Ӕtheling from reaching the Queen – will you ride with me?’
‘It will be my pleasure!’ replied Sigurd.
With Godwin at its head the party of soldiers rode out to intercept Alfred, easily dispe
rsing the Normans who had accompanied him and putting the Ӕtheling under arrest. When this was done Godwin, eager to inform Harald of the small invasion, gave Sigurd command of the prisoner. ‘Ealdorman Sigurd, I hand this usurper to your charge and ride to tell the King what has occurred. Treat him as you see fit.’
‘I will, my lord, but what of the Queen? Should King Harald not also be told of her conspiracy to rob him of his throne?’
The Earl looked suitably grim. It was evident as he rode away that he had learnt where the key to his power lay. Pleased with himself, Sigurd watched Godwin’s departure then gave orders of his own.
Encircled by housecarls, a quivering Alfred was transported to Sigurd’s ship and taken on board. The young man, without friend to aid him, was terrified by the violence in the Norseman’s eye, but held the cold stare bravely and demanded, ‘What will you do with me?’ The accent was French.
‘I have not yet decided.’ Sigurd crossed his arms.
Alfred clung to his own royalty. ‘If you harm me I wouldst warn you of the consequences.’
The gingery moustache twitched. ‘You think I care ought for the threat of Ethelred’s spawn? If I kill you I should have every right; your father butchered my father, my brother and sisters too. I swore that I would see him dead and likewise all his kin. So far I have kept my vow.’
Alfred’s wrists twisted to be free of his bonds. ‘And like a coward you would slay a fettered man! Free me and I shall match your threat.’ Sigurd’s beard took on a firmer edge. He glared at Alfred and Alfred glared back uncowed. The youngster’s eyes challenged as he mouthed deliberately, ‘Oh, dunghill cock!’
Sigurd whipped out his knife, gripped Alfred’s head beneath his left elbow and with his right hand gouged out each disrespectful eye whilst his victim screamed and gurgled and lashed his legs, then fainted.
When Sigurd let go, the mutilated Alfred fell to the deck.
One housecarl braver than most, observed with dismay, ‘I fear you should not have done this, lord.’ But when Sigurd turned on him still with knife in bloodstained hand he withheld further criticism.
