by M J Porter
With that Hakon bade Leofwine goodbye, opening the door on a chilly winter’s day, but Leofwine didn’t watch him go, leaving the task to his youngest son. Instead, he sat, and he pondered. With Denmark on the agenda, there was suddenly much more than just England to consider. He applauded his unintended forethought all those years ago that had brought him into the same orbit as Olaf Tryggvason, Swein Forkbeard, Thorkell the Tall and Cnut. He would never have been the remarkable man he’d remained throughout his long life if it hadn’t been for his injury and his feud with Swein.
Absent-mindedly he touched the damaged side of his face, the eye that saw little but light and shade. How apt it had proved to be. It had guided him through his life, but before he died, and he knew his death was coming, he could feel it in every ache and pain he woke with. But he would ensure his son’s futures, no matter what he had to do.
Chapter 18
Leofric
Summer AD1022
The Isle of Wight
Leofric rode the waves as confidently as he did a horse. He had his father to thank for that, and also Horic, and his sons. Between them all, they’d managed to maintain the magnificent ship his father had been given nearly thirty years ago by the king, although as his father was often heard reminding everyone, it wasn’t really the same ship anymore. Every single piece of timber had been repaired and then replaced, even the mighty figurehead having to be re-carved after it fell to decay.
He often hazarded the thought that he could feel the spirits of the ships old shipmen parading up and down her, hearing their voices and their raucous singing. It was as much a part of his family’s heritage as the house at Deerhurst.
Leofric and the men shushed his father when he took to being querulous. It was the ancestry of the ship that held its special allure to them all. Men were honoured to ply the waves with the old beast and they didn’t much care if they sat on new timber or old, provided it kept the sea out, and the craft afloat.
Now he sailed it around the dragon’s tail of the Western Provinces, keeping land in sight, but allowing the shipmen to enjoy the thrill of being at sea after the long winter. The king had called his earls to a meeting on the Isle of Wight, telling all who could bring their ships to do so. Leofric hoped it was a muster of some sorts, the efforts of a king about to command his men to return to Denmark to oust Thorkell from his lair there.
He wanted nothing more than to show his prowess in a ship to the king, to his men. To bloody Olaf and Orkning who spent so much of their time teasing him for his English ways and meticulous attention to the ship. As true north men, they trusted the ship to do what it was designed to do. Leofric preferred to check before he stepped foot on it.
His father had commanded him to come in his place. He’d not argued with him. His father was old and shrunken, recovering from a long winter illness. He walked well, reasoned well but he no longer had the vigour he’d once had, and so Leofric had likewise commanded Oscetel to stay behind. The two older men could while away their time together, reminiscing about the past, while the younger men did the work that needed doing. Not that Leofwine had relinquished his earldom to his son. No, that wasn’t his to bestow. Only the king, and the king was too much distracted with Denmark. So he needed to be as well.
“Leofric,” Olaf called to him from his place at the back of the ship, and Leofric looked where he pointed. In front of them, he could see a vast array of tiny ships slowly coming into focus, as too did the island of their destination.
On land, he could see flags flapping in the stiff wind, and assumed the king had arrived before him and had made his presence known.
Quickly, they brought their ship into the harbour that was heaving with men and ships both, and Leofric, with his trusted household troops, went to present himself to the king.
Cnut greeted him pleasantly enough, even remembering to ask after his father, but Leofric could tell he was distracted, so much so that he brought their meeting together that very evening, calling all of his followers before him. He wasted no words on pleasant introductions.
“This place was once the refuge of the men from the northern lands who wished to claim a piece of England for themselves. My father spent a miserable winter here once, and Thorkell too, on more than one occasion. This island was a bastion that kept the northern men safe when the English evicted them from their shores.”
No one quite knew how to respond to that speech. It was hardly conciliatory, and so the silence clanged loudly, earning a sharp smile from Cnut.
“And why do I tell you this? Because this island will be the place that I would retreat to if the English ever threw me from their shores, banished me back to Denmark. It would be from here that I mounted an expedition to gain back my kingdom, my land, and my people. But I don’t need to, do I? The people of England love me, embrace me, and appreciate my gentle kingship.” His voice turned bitter, and now Leofric understood the charade being played out before him.
“Instead, it's from here that I must send my ships to reclaim Denmark for my people. The men and women I grew up with, for whom I conquered England, try to turn their back on me, take the disgraced Earl Thorkell as their king, and displace my beloved brother by marriage from his regency. I’ve come here today to inform the people of England that while I know this isn’t their fight, I would welcome their support, would be stronger with it. And so I call on my earls, English and Danish both, my thegns, English and Danish and my household troops, mostly Danish admittedly, to come with me to Denmark, to regain what is mine. To take back the land my grandfather won for himself, and to banish Thorkell from Denmark as well as England.”
Now his words were greeted with cheering from the majority of the men and Leofric felt a flush of excitement. This could be his opportunity. If he went with Cnut to Denmark, with his personal ship and the others that his father paid for and paid the wages of the men for, he would have the opportunity to show he could be as great a warrior as Earl Godwine had shown when he first went to Denmark.
The images of how well he might acquit himself played before his eyes, almost before the king had finished speaking. At his side, Olaf seemed as keen as he was, whereas Orkning, for once, appeared to be the one most ill at ease.
“Cnut and Thorkell can’t go to war,” he muttered under his breath. “They’ll bloody well kill each other.”
Leofric, whether he was supposed to hear the words or not, did so, and he inclined his head as he considered them. Thorkell was Cnut’s foster-father. He’d taught him everything he knew. If there were one man who might stand a chance of upsetting Cnut, it would be Thorkell. But then he reconsidered, Thorkell was old. Older than his father, and men who were ageing didn’t always realise just how weak they’d become.
On consideration, Leofric ignored the warning words of Orkning, concentrating on the king’s words instead.
“We’ll sail by the end of the summer, before the storms. In my absence, the queen will be my regent, with the aid of Earl Leofwine. All able-bodied men who don’t come to Denmark will protect the queen, my sons and the kingdom. All those who come to Denmark will help me evict Thorkell from my lands, and a new regent will be placed in command there.”
Again, a cheer rang out from the crowd. Leofric had never before appreciated just how huge a force forty ships worth of men could be, and yet that was just the beginning of the troops that Cnut could claim. Those men formed his standing ship-army until now little used but well paid all the same. On top of those men the king also had others, his earls all owed him men for the ships, and some of the fyrd in those places close to the sea also counted men amongst them who were shipmen or would be shipmen, not warriors who fought on the land.
He knew that Thorkell would face a mighty force when Cnut arrived in Denmark. He only hoped that Earl Godwine was going to Denmark as well. He didn’t want to leave his aged father in the care of Earl Godwine. Their relationship was still uneasy after the upsets of the year before, and Leofric thought that Godwine had had enough of
the old man, who always seemed to suspect what he was trying to accomplish.
“Who will be the new regent?” Earl Eilifr asked, but the noise of the cheering men drowned out the words so that Cnut didn’t deign to offer. Still, it was a worthwhile question. Leofric wondered if it would need to be a Danish man or whether he might leave one of his earls behind? Indeed using a family member had not been well received by the nobility of Denmark once Thorkell had returned.
And then he fought a moment of panic. Surely the king wouldn’t leave Earl Godwine to be his regent in Denmark? Surely not. But perhaps that was what Earl Godwine had been angling for all along; a kingdom to almost call his own, a position of power as vast as the one Earl Thorkell had carved for himself.
At least England would be safe then. Or so he hoped.
The journey to Denmark was accomplished quickly, and with little fuss as the weather turned slowly towards winter. Cnut had made it clear that he intended to land late in Denmark, upset Thorkell and his attempts to usurp his position, and then when all was quiet again, he would spend the winter at Jelling, or wherever he was needed. He’d told the English earls who wanted to accompany him, Godwine foremost amongst them, but also Leofric in his position as his father’s subordinate, that they need not stay in Denmark once it was restored to his kingship.
Leofric wasn’t sure what he’d do. Not yet. His father had bid him goodbye from his place with the queen, his sister, now one of the queen’s favourites and the king’s sons at Winchester, but even Leofric had been dismayed by his weakness. Getting to Winchester had almost killed him. If any rebellion occurred in the king’s absence, the queen would need to rely on the fighting might of his father’s troops, not on his father taking his place at the forefront of any unrest.
It had almost made him reconsider his decision to leave, but his father had shooed him from Winchester with the words, “that there was time aplenty for him to die. There wasn’t the same to be said for Leofric’s efforts to insinuate himself into the King’s confidence.”
In an aside, the Queen had assured Leofric that his father would be well cared for and that his two brothers would be on hand to assist him if he needed anything. Oscetel had demanded to be allowed to go with Leofric, but somehow he’d managed to turn him aside. While he didn’t carry the same injuries his father did, they were both old men now, slow to wield a weapon and Oscetel wouldn’t be able to defend himself if they did face an attack from Thorkell.
Earl Hakon had also opted to remain in England. A curious choice, but one that Leofwine had understood. Leofric knew that while he was off with the king, his father and Hakon would be bending the queen’s ear. He just didn’t know what about. Not yet.
He’d dreamed of leaving England, of visiting Denmark, but when he arrived amongst the king’s flotilla of ships at Ribe, Leofric wondered what exactly it was that he’d been hoping to find because the landscape was so similar to England. He laughed at himself for being an idiot, expecting the land to be filled with bristling weapons and hairy warriors both, the monsters and wraiths from the tales Horic had filled his head with as a child.
He didn’t need to share his surprise with Olaf and Orkning. They’d travelled to Denmark many times since Horic had first pledged his support to Leofwine. Nothing was new or unexpected to them, not the shoreline, the jagged cliffs, or the easy way they’d found a mooring not far from their intended landing place of Ribe. Or rather none of it was, apart from one thing, the presence of Earl Thorkell at Ribe, waiting for his king.
The news reached the king as soon as he’d put ashore, and Leofric was close enough to his interrupted conversation with Godwine to know that Godwine was unhappy with the turn of events. It was difficult to know if Cnut was. He seemed to register the news without blinking, or sending men to ensure the truth of it.
“I thought Thorkell had taken up residence in Jelling?” Olaf hissed at Leofric when he shared the news with him.
“That’s what I understood as well. I thought that was why we’d come. To oust him from the seat of the Danish kingdom.”
“It seems we have the wrong information,” Orkning offered. “Or Thorkell has decided to reconcile with the king without a battle.”
“I doubt it,” Olaf offered, “but I suppose stranger things could happen. Is the king going to meet with Thorkell?”
“I don’t know. The conversation didn’t develop that far.”
“He’ll sleep on it,” Orkning said. “Then he’ll decide what to do. We may as well pitch our tents while there’s still good positions available.”
Leofric knew better than to argue with Orkning’s interpretation of events, and so he and the crew set about off-loading their canvases and finding somewhere sheltered to spend the night. There hadn't been enough room for all the ships to moor at the harbour at Ribe, or so Cnut had stated, preferring his men to slink ashore to the south of Ribe so that they could shelter along the coast. That way, if Thorkell appeared with an unexpectedly large army, it would be easy for the men to retreat while Cnut considered how to counter Thorkell.
However, it now seemed that their caution was just that, caution and that Thorkell had no intention of attacking them. It was a strange turn of events.
As Leofric ate an evening meal that those more skilled in cooking had prepared, he watched the activity around the king’s tent in the flickering torchlight and the light from the fires that dotted the landscape. He wondered if he should get up and go and join the king. He wanted to see exactly what Godwine and Eilifr were telling their king. Only he felt unsure of himself. His father had told him he went in his name, the king the same thing, but still, the thought of facing Godwine and his fury at Thorkell’s appearance, made him wish he could just spend the evening with his men.
Finally, and only with a kick from Olaf, he stood, straightening his warm clothing, and setting out towards the canvas of the King.
“Orkning, watch the men and the camp. Olaf, you come with me.”
Both brothers leapt to do his bidding, and whether they’d planned it so that he felt more in control than he was, or whether it was a real sign of the respect he now commanded, it made him feel better on the lonely walk toward the king.
He was right to be worried. Still a hundred paces from the tent, he started to pick out the raised voices of Godwine and the king, and he stopped for a moment to listen to what they were saying, only the voices were too indistinct.
“Just get it over and done with,” Olaf offered with a wry smile, and straightening his cloak and his clothing again, Leofric stepped into the bright light around the tent.
No one noticed him, and he heard a ghostly chuckle from Olaf at his back. He ignored it, striding into the king’s tent, having been waved through by his personal household troops, two huge men who flanked either side of the canvas opening. They knew him on sight.
Inside the canvas, he found the king eating serenely, Godwine furiously pacing before him, while Eilifr watched on in amusement, a drinking horn in his hand.
“My Lord King,” Leofric said, groping for the customs of the Court to help him through the situation.
“Good evening Leofric,” the king offered without raising his head. “I’d hoped to see you sooner, but I’m pleased you’re here now.”
Leofric almost apologised for his lateness but then shut his mouth when he met Godwine’s bemused stare. He and Godwine had never rebuilt their broken relationship from his outburst at Thorkell’s sham of a trial. He wondered if they’d ever be friendly again, not that he much cared. It would simply be easier if they didn’t hate each other. Or maybe it wouldn’t.
“Have you heard that Earl Thorkell is awaiting my arrival in the town?”
“I have my Lord King. It perplexed me; I thought he was in Hedeby, or even one of your fortresses, not awaiting your pleasure in Ribe.”
The king smiled darkly at his words. It wasn’t so much that they angered him, but that he shared the same confusion.
“It seems as though I was perh
aps misinformed about Thorkell’s intentions.”
Leofric kept his expression neutral, straining his eyes to keep them from flicking towards Godwine. It was he who’d spread many of the rumours about Thorkell.
“What will you do now my Lord King?” Leofric asked although he thought he knew the answer anyway.
“I’ll meet with him. See what he has to say for himself. Ask for some explanation as to why he thinks being banished from England allows him to keep his claim to land in Denmark.”
“And then my Lord?”
“And then we’ll see. You’ll accompany me,” the King said. “Bring the brothers with you. They know Ribe as well as I do.”
“Of course my Lord,” Leofric offered, surprised by the king’s request.
“You may leave now, but be here at first light in the morning. We’ll have horses by then to travel to Ribe.”
Bowing again Leofric left the king alone with the other earls but not before he’d seen the scowl on Godwine’s face. If this was all a part of some grand scheme he’d invented to earn the respect of the king, it seemed to be going very wrong.
The ride into Ribe allowed Leofric to gain a good understanding of the layout of the local area and also made him ponder why the king had insisted on using horses when a far more impressive display could have been achieved by taking his fifty ships to the bustling trader town.
“Your father came here once,” Cnut said as he rode beside Leofric. “He came to seek out my father, to prevent the attacks on England continuing.”
“He didn’t succeed,” Leofric offered, unsure what else to say.
“No, but he made my father realise that I was spending too much time away from him and that Thorkell was as great a menace to his plans as his sons were. It’s a lesson I should have learned better than I did.”
“Thorkell is like a father to you, though?”