by M J Porter
“Oh no, not at all. People misinterpret how much of what happened was Northman’s wishes. I wanted him home, but he was too embroiled in the lies himself. He thrived on it because he thought he was acting for the king, either king. I’ll rephrase, he thought he was spending his life helping the English people live a more peaceful life. It’s strange that it was his death that brought greater peace.”
Emma turned aside then, her expression brooding as she watched her sleeping child. It almost pained Leofwine to talk of sending the boy away, having him a placeholder for his father while he lived in England. The child was so innocent, his face framed with blonde curls and his cheeks rosy from sleeping while sucking his thumb. He was so small and fragile.
“You would think it too much to do?” she asked then, and he nodded.
“I would, but I would do it all the same, and we both know it.” He smiled sadly. What would his life have been if Northman still strode beside him, hale and hearty, flanked by his own sons? Would the king even have still wanted him if Northman had lived?
“I’ll see what’s demanded of me,” the queen said with finality, “and in the meantime, you’ll come to me every day and we’ll laugh and talk and educate Harthacnut. He’ll love and honour me if and when he’s taken from me, and I’ll ensure the king knows that it’s down to your wise counsel and nothing else.”
“My Lady?” he questioned, but she smiled softly, reaching forward to pat his hand.
“You’ve never offered advice that wasn’t reasoned and sound, to anyone, whether it be Æthelred, Swein, Cnut, Athelstan or Edmund. Cnut would never have convinced me with his demands and accusations. Your softer approach is more measured. It makes me see the sense in what must be done.”
“My apologies my Lady,” he said then. He didn’t much like knowing that he’d convinced her to something she was so adamantly against.
“Never apologise to me Leofwine. We’re old friends. Friends need never apologise.”
Chapter 20
Leofric
Late AD1022
Denmark
Ulfr had evaded them. It seemed inconceivable but somehow he’d either received word that King Cnut was on his way to Hedeby. Or he’d just decided, on a whim, to move from the prosperous market town on the border with the Empire and had timed it perfectly to coincide with the arrival of over a thousand men on horseback.
Cnut had been amused, rather than angry, cursing himself for thinking to use horses instead of his ships. Thorkell had been less amused, cursing his spies for not telling him before it was all too late and Ulfr for not keeping him informed when they were supposed to be allies.
So instead, for the second time in two days, Leofric found himself racing through the Danish landscape to the royal site that they now knew Ulfr was residing within. Leofric wasn’t letting the slight change in plans annoy him, not anymore, and certainly not when it was such a delight to watch the glowering Earl Godwine on his horse.
He’d been so offended by Cnut arriving with Thorkell that Leofric had harboured half a hope that Godwine would follow through with his threat and leave Denmark and perhaps even England, for good. The king had spared him little thought, preferring to discuss his tactics with Thorkell, and reunite with Danish men he’d not seen since his last trip to Denmark a few years ago. It was evident that Godwine had been expecting much more recognition from the king than he was receiving.
It seemed as though Cnut was treating much of the journey as though it were a jaunt, and not as though he were an avenging king coming to claim back a kingdom that was his.
Leofric knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. The Danish and the Northmen, in general, had always looked to war and battle with more relish than the English. He’d once assumed it was because of their old religion, the love of Odin and Thor that taught it was better to die in battle and spend the rest of eternity in Valhalla, being feasted than live as cowards. He now thought differently. It was just the way the Northmen were made. They were hardier, more stubborn, and certainly, a lot more violent, if they wanted to be.
Now they rode for Jelling, the vast majority of Cnut’s ships already on their separate journeys to the sites of the Trelleborg forts, or to more prominent trading sites. It would, perhaps, have been easier if they’d kept the ships, but no one was saying that, especially not anyone close enough to the king for him to hear.
At the head of the line of household troops, Cnut could be seen laughing and joking with Thorkell. Leofric had spent much of the previous day with the two men, but today he’d fallen back. He needed to speak to Godwine and also to Eilifr. Find out what their plans were.
It was Eilifr who worried him the most now. It was after all his brother that the king was seeking and treating as his enemy. Would he try and plead with the king for his brother’s life or would he try and distance himself from his traitorous brother. It was, after all, Ulfr who was married to the king’s sister, it was Ulfr who was the father of Cnut’s nephews. As such he was still a member of the king’s family group, if only Eilifr could manipulate events so that men remembered he was the brother of the enemy less than they counted him as the uncle of Cnut’s nephews.
He didn’t want to force a confrontation with the Danish man. He’d rather speak to Godwine than Eilifr, and that was another conversation he didn’t want to have. Not at all. He could only hope that Godwine hadn’t realised how amused he was by the entire situation. The reconciliation between Thorkell and Godwine had been witnessed by many of the men, Thorkell with a huge smirk on his face, Godwine with a glower on his own.
It would be interesting to see how long they remained allies. Leofric harboured the belief that Cnut had made a wise decision in asking Thorkell to be his regent for him. As such Godwine and Thorkell would spend little time together in the future. It was probably for the best.
Eventually, he spurred his horse forward and hailed Godwine. The Earl glared at him from under his long hair, his face twisted in annoyance.
“Earl Godwine, may I speak with you.”
“If you must, Leofric, son of Earl Leofwine,” Godwine muttered. Leofric was amused by his need to draw attention to the fact that it was his father who was the Earl, not himself.
“I must Earl Godwine, son of a disgraced man.” That made Godwine glare at Leofric, but he merely raised his eyebrows as though daring him to continue with his petty words. It was about time Godwine started to accord him some respect. The king and Thorkell were happy to, and one day, far sooner than he’d like, he'd be the Earl of Mercia in his father’s place. Cnut had made it clear that his loyalty and support would not go unrewarded.
“He was only disgraced because of your sister-in-law’s uncle.”
“Now Godwine. That relationship seems somewhat extended. You must have spent some time considering just how I might once have been related to Ealdorman Eadric.”
Godwine was furious. It was easy to see. Even Eilifr had listened to their conversation and had a grin on his face. He had precious little to smile about at the moment so it was a real sign of how irked Godwine was. Leofric tried to calm the tension.
“My apologies Earl Godwine. It’s been a strange few days.”
Godwine muttered something unintelligible under his breath that Leofric took as an apology, although it might not have been.
“I would like to speak with you about the king and the future,” Leofric said, trying to sound conciliatory.
“Why would I talk to you of that?” the unhappy earl demanded, and Leofric sighed in frustration.
“Godwine, you can be many things to the king, but you can’t be the only man he turns to for counsel and support. You need to accept that, sooner rather than later. I’m going nowhere.”
“No, but your father is,” Godwine said abruptly. Leofric felt as though he’d been slapped by the retort, and although he knew he was feeling overly emotional about his father’s coming death, he sharply reined his horse in and allowed the beast to return to its position beside Olaf and Orkn
ing.
“Bastard,” Leofric muttered under his breath as he did so. He and Godwine would never be friends or even allies. He assumed the king must realise that, and if not, he would do soon.
“What?” Olaf asked, but Leofric shook his head.
“He rebuffed me, nothing more. I’m not in the correct frame of mind to deal with his crap.”
Orkning chuckled, while Olaf looked offended.
“What did he say?”
“He tried to remind me of my position. I repaid the favour.”
Orkning still chuckled, whereas Olaf looked impressed.
“Really?” he asked, and now Leofric felt his dark temper lift. It was rare that he managed to elicit any response from the two brothers. They often seemed to know what he was thinking days before he reached the same conclusion. If nothing else, he could enjoy that.
“Really. Jumped up little prick. I was trying to heal our rift, but he doesn’t want to. He made that very clear.”
“He’s miserable about Thorkell,” Olaf said, his gaze settling on the swaying beast before them upon which Godwine sat.
“Wretched, but it’s hardly my fault, or my father’s. He needs to blame the king, not me, and he needs to be man enough to tell the king he’s unhappy with him.”
“Why, did you?” Olaf asked.
“Of course I bloody did. I was fuming. I thought the King had played me for an idiot and dragged me away from my father when we all know he has only months left to live.”
“What did the king say?” Olaf quizzed.
“The King answered all my questions. So did Thorkell.”
“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Orkning asked. Now even his voice sounded censorious.
“Why would it matter to you?” Leofric asked, perplexed that they were growing annoyed with him.
“Because Leofric,” Orkning said speaking slowly to emphasise his words, “the King has just taken his trust and acceptance of you a huge step forward. He’s accepting what’s about to happen with your father, and he’s turning to you instead. It means he’ll let you replace your father.”
“I know it does. Surely you knew as well,” he almost shouted, exasperated with the two men.
“We only know if you tell us,” Orkning answered in a slightly sing-song like voice. He seemed more aggravated than angry now.
“Oh, I see, apologies. You know, much of this is new to me. I mean, I’m more used to informing my father than I am you and the rest of the household troops.”
“Be that as it may,” Olaf said, his tone surprisingly gentle, “when your father’s gone, it’s us you’ll have to come to, just as he once did with Wulfstan and Oscetel. We can only provide you with our opinions if you tell us all the facts. Just like the King and you.”
“Well, I can see your point. I’ve been remiss. I apologise, but it’s been a distracting few days.”
“And they’re only going to get stranger,” Olaf said, stopping his horse and looking before them all. “There’s Jelling, and look, I can see a small fleet of ships in the harbour. Ulfr is here. There might be time for war yet.”
Leofric walked his beast up beside Olaf, looking at the main Danish royal site. He’d imagined it would be similar to Winchester in England, but it seemed he was wrong. Jelling was far smaller than Winchester. Although Olaf had told him of the great church built by Cnut’s grandfather and of the family monuments, both pagan and Christian to Cnut’s ancestors, as they rode into the place he simply didn’t feel as awe inspired as he hoped the Danish were by Winchester. Winchester was famous for its twin ministers and the royal palace, bustling marketplace and large selection of homes and crafts.
The people of the town watched them ride by with curious eyes, but there was no shout of alarm, and no hasty appearance of men with weapons, for all that close to a thousand men had descended on the place.
Leofric was once more concerned. The king had told him there would be a battle with Ulfr. Thorkell had agreed and yet if Ulfr was within Jelling, as the presence of his fleet indicated, it seemed he thought that the horsemen came in peace, or more likely, he was simply not within Jelling. Again.
Cnut hailed the men and women of Jelling as he rode towards the centre of the town where Leofric assumed his royal palace was situated. Within sight of a well constructed wooden hall, a small party of people rode towards them. Cnut reined his horse in and waited patiently.
“Who is it?” Leofric queried of Orkning. He seemed to know who everyone was even in Denmark.
“The king’s sister,” he answered without even hesitating. Leofric looked at him in surprise. How did he know that? As far as he knew, Orkning had never met the king’s sister. He shrugged at Leofric.
“It makes sense that’s who it is. I’m not a mystic. Go forward. Listen to what’s being said,” he gestured.
“Right, I’ll do that then.” Once more it seemed as though the battle was not about to happen.
“Brother,” he heard the woman call. He looked at her now and could see the family likeness with both Cnut and with Swein, although she was far more attractive than either of the men had ever been. He wondered if she took after her mother, and then he shook the thought aside. He could see she was heavily pregnant and it reminded him of who the father of her child would be and what they were doing in Denmark.
“Sister,” he heard Cnut call. “You look well.” The king’s tone was amused. She did make a fine sight, though, heavily pregnant and still astride her horse.
“It makes for healthy sons,” she answered, non-plussed by his amusement. “You should try it with your wives,” she offered, stressing his multiple wives with some slight disdain.
Cnut only smirked again.
“I will suggest it to the Lady Emma, but I fear she may have produced all her children for me already.”
Estrid offered him a steely stare that Leofric found impossible to interpret.
“Where is your husband now?” Cnut asked. “Thorkell understood he was at Hedeby, but then we heard he was at Jelling, and yet that seems to be false as well.”
Now she turned her gaze to Thorkell, appraising the older warrior with a smug smile.
“Thorkell doesn’t know everything that happens in Denmark. Just as he doesn’t in England.” Her tone was taunting, and Leofric tensed at the intended slight although Thorkell seemed to take it well.
“Thorkell knows much that you don’t sister, and I would appreciate it if you only told me where the traitor was.”
“I wish I could, but he’s gone, taken half his fleet and disappeared, all overnight.” She sounded aggrieved. “I know I chose him, but I find him to be a complicated man. I no longer feel quite so keen to take him to my bed, and I certainly don’t want him to rule Denmark in your name.”
“Is it a recent change of heart sister?” Cnut queried, eyeing her expanding belly.
“Yes, quite recent. I tried very hard to bend him to my will, but well, he’s a man with a weapon and twenty crews of shipmen. He thinks he can do whatever he wants.” Her tone was bemused, her anger festering under her calm demeanour.
“So you have no idea where he is then?” he pressed, but Estrid only shook her beautiful head.
“We must speak in private brother,” she answered instead. “There are things you need to know, conspiracies you need to be aware of.”
“Is he at least in Denmark?” Cnut pressed. Even his social mood was being tested.
“No, he’s gone elsewhere. Come into the hall, release your men to wander the town. There’s no danger here, brother. You have my word.”
Cnut turned to gaze back at his array of fully outfitted warriors, and Leofric saw him sigh with disappointment.
“As you will sister. Thorkell, inform the men they need to make a camp for the night. Between here and the harbour would be best. I don’t want to be caught by surprise by Ulfr if he’s playing games with me.”
Thorkell grunted in agreement and turned aside to organise the men, only then he turned back.
“It’s always good to see you Estrid,” he offered and then rode slowly away, a great smile on his face. Leofric wondered why the two didn’t like each other anywhere near as much as they should.
That night Leofric was summoned by the king to attend upon him inside the great wooden hall. For all that he’d compared Jelling unfavourably with Winchester, he couldn’t help but be awed by the huge wooden hall the king was staying within. It was long and so well built that he didn’t feel the faintest stir of air when he was inside. The men who’d built the hall had ensured it was as watertight as any ship they might have constructed.
Olaf accompanied him, Orkning having decided to stay with the men instead. He said he’d seen enough pomp for one day, but Leofric knew he was in a bad mood because he’d once more been denied a battle. It seemed he was keen to earn a name for himself as great as his father but that he was to be deprived of the opportunities he needed to do so.
The hall was filled with men on the warm evening, and yet, even so, a huge fire burnt at its centre and Leofric removed his cloak before he was more than halfway inside the hall. He’d left all of his weapons with Orkning apart from a short dagger around his weapons belt. He noticed that all of the men wore the same, and in fact, many of the women as well.
Inside the hall, he made his way to his king and was welcomed and offered a seat at the table Cnut sat behind at the front of the hall. He looked regal before the assembled crowd and Leofric could see why the Danish were keen to have him as their king in their country. He looked every part a Viking warrior, his silver armbands extending far up both arms, his face sporting a small scar, his clothing functional but battle ready. He seemed more a northern king than ever before.
The king sat beside his sister, who was well dressed in a long tunic embellished to accentuate her belly. She was proud of her pregnancy, even if she’d decided she didn’t care for the child’s father anymore. Her long blond hair was intricately plaited and secured around her head, and beside her, a small boy also sat. He assumed it was her oldest son, Swein, named for her father. He reminded Leofric so forcefully of his son that he quickly wished himself gone from Denmark and home with his wife and son. The whole expedition had become a farce.