Other than that it had worked well. The one ship burned, the others damaged. Heathens killed. When it was over Nothwulf had sent a boat out to poke around the hulk of the burned-out ship. They had managed to retrieve a few things of value: some swords, a small chest full of silver, some arm rings. Not all that Nothwulf had hoped for, but something.
And there was the other thing. Leofric had been captured. Ailmar, Leofric’s second in command, had come over himself in one of the boats to give Nothwulf the news. Leofric had been leading the counterattack against the Northmen, he had been wounded, and when the Northmen ran off they took Leofric with them. What they wanted with Leofric Nothwulf did not know. Ransom, likely. Leofric looked like a man of means and some importance. But no word had come.
So Nothwulf waited to see what might happen next. He knew he should act, take the initiative, rather than simply wait for something to happen, but he was not entirely certain what he should do. He wished Leofric were there to advise him. That was not something he cared admit to himself, and certainly not to anyone else, but he knew that it was true.
“Leofric…” Nothwulf muttered. He assumed the demand for ransom would be coming soon and then he would have to decide what to do. He wanted the old man back, certainly. But it was also true that Leofric was growing timid in his advice, like an old woman. Nothwulf found him irritating at times. Leofric was a royal thegn, his lands given to his father by the king himself, and he was close to King Æthelwulf, so there was no way for Nothwulf to lay claim to his holdings even if Leofric was gone. Still, he had to wonder if he was better off with or without the man.
I guess we’ll just have to see how much ransom is demanded, Nothwulf concluded. He would need a price before he could determine whether or not it was worth buying Leofric’s freedom.
But Nothwulf did not hear from the Northmen, at least not at first. His first sign of pending change came in the form of two horsemen, riding in from the west.
Nothwulf understood how exposed he was to an overland attack, and he knew Cynewise was out there somewhere, so he had put sentries far out behind his makeshift fortifications. One of the two riders approaching was one of those sentries, he was pretty sure. Who the other was he had no idea.
He waited on top of the rough log wall as he watched them approach. They stopped a hundred feet from his position and dismounted and Nothwulf could see now who the second rider was: Oswin, the shire reeve. Cynewise’s man.
Now what? Nothwulf wondered.
Oswin climbed up one of the ladders leaning against the wall and made his way over to Nothwulf, moving in the unhurried, self-assured way that Nothwulf associated with the man. He stopped when he reached Nothwulf’s place and gave a nod of the head that might have been construed as a bow. The sort of bow a man might give if he wished to show no real sign of subservience.
“Oswin, what brings you now?” Nothwulf said, careful to sound not at all curious, even slightly bored by all this.
“I came to tell you Cynewise and her army will attack you at first light,” he said, looking Nothwulf in the eye, his expression calm and unwavering.
That took Nothwulf by surprise, and despite himself he let the surprise show.
“She…sent you here to tell me this?” Nothwulf asked. His mouth was speaking those half-considered words while his mind was scrambling to figure out what sort of game they were playing, Oswin and Cynewise.
“No,” Oswin said. “She sent me to watch you. I decided to bring you the warning myself.”
Nothwulf squinted and stared at Oswin, unspeaking, for a long moment. “Do you honestly expect me to believe anything you say? You’re a lying dog and you always have been. And now you lie in service of Cynewise.”
Oswin nodded. “I’ll own up to that,” he said. “Except I’m not lying for Cynewise anymore. I’m done with her. Her father’s dead and his men-at-arms are going back to Devonshire. The thegns who were with her, well, they’re with her still, but their loyalty is shaky at best.”
Again Oswin was quiet for a moment. “You own up to being a liar,” he said at last. “Why should I believe you now?”
“You don’t have to. I won’t pretend that I do anything but what’s in my own self-interest. So…I think it’s in my interest to come to your aid. Because I think Cynewise is done for. And when she’s finished I would hope to keep my office, if possible. If not that, then at least my head.”
“Your loyalty is commendable,” Nothwulf said.
“I am utterly loyal,” Oswin said. “To myself and to whoever I think can do me the most good. And more and more that seems to be you.”
“Your words make perfect sense,” Oswin said. “And yet…I have a hard time seeing past your lying, sniveling, boot-lick past.”
“Of course,” Oswin said. “So let me say this. Cynewise knows that you’re caught here on this point of land with your back to the channel and half your army, Leofric’s half, stuck on the other side. She still has more than enough men to crush you and they’re on the move as of now. You can believe me or not. But when this is over, and if you’re still alive and ealdorman of Dorsetshire, I would beg you remember I gave you valuable information, and I gave it truthfully and willingly.”
Nothwulf was not certain what to say to that. Oswin would not be the first to turn on that little bitch Cynewise. Aelfwyn, too, had been driven to abandon her and had also provided him with valuable information.
He was about to reply with something noncommittal when the sentry, fifty feet away, shouted, “Lord Nothwulf!”
“Yes?”
“There’s a boat coming, Lord,” the sentry called, pointing out over the water. “Coming from the heathens, I think!”
Nothwulf and Oswin looked off to where the man was pointing. A single boat, about a quarter of a mile away, was pulling toward them. It did indeed seem to be coming from the direction of the sandbar on which the heathens were encamped. There seemed to be two men at the oars and one in the stern, though it was hard to tell from that distance. In any event, they did not seem to pose any significant threat.
“Ah, yes, the heathens,” Oswin said. “As if this all wasn’t complicated enough.”
“Coming to seek terms, I should think,” Nothwulf said. “We did them great hurt yesterday, have them fairly well trapped in that sandbar.”
“Hmm,” Oswin said. The sound dripped with disbelief.
“You may wait there,” Nothwulf said to Oswin, indicating the ground on the landward side of the wall. He did not want Oswin to know that Leofric had been taken hostage, or anything else for that matter. Oswin gave a quick bow and climbed down the ladder to wait, and Nothwulf sent two guards to help him with the waiting. Then he turned back to watch the boat’s approach.
Here comes the demand for ransom, Nothwulf thought. He moved to the far end of the wall, eyes on the Northmen, his mind racing around like a rabbit trying to get away from a dog. Oswin’s words had unsettled him because he believed them. He knew that he was vulnerable where he was, with half his army on the other side of the channel. They were only about two hundred feet away, he could see them perfectly well, but they might as well have been in Frankia for all they could join with him.
It was not as if he hadn’t seen this coming from the start. But he always had a vague idea that they would be able to capture at least one of the Northmen’s ships, and that would allow them to move men back and forth with relative ease. But it hadn’t worked out that way, and now all they had to move the men were a couple of little boats.
To fight Cynewise he needed his army all together. To fight the Northmen he needed them on both sides of the channel. He had no quick or easy means to get men from one side to the other. And now here came the Northmen, and God alone knew what demands they would make, how much worse they might make the entire situation. Nothwulf wanted to scream in frustration at times, but he kept it to himself.
Nothwulf climbed down the ladder that led to the beach and walked over to where the boat had run up on the sand.
The three heathens climbed out in the face of ten of Nothwulf’s men, standing in a half circle with spears lowered.
The guards stepped aside as Nothwulf approached, making an opening in their circle but never lowering their spears or their vigilance. Nothwulf stepped through the gap and stopped ten feet from where the Northmen stood waiting, calm and unmoved by the weapons pointed at them.
So how do we talk with these whores’ sons? Nothwulf thought when one of them took a step forward. He was not terribly tall, but very broad and powerful-looking. A young man with long blond hair tied in a braid down his back and the wispy attempts at a beard on his jaw.
“Good day,” the heathen said in passable English, passable enough that Nothwulf could understand him. “My name is Harald. I come from the camp of the…fin gall.” He said that last word as if he knew it was not right but he did not know what else to say. And he was correct insofar as Nothwulf had no idea what it meant, but he guessed it meant the Northmen.
“I am Lord Nothwulf. I am ruler of these lands around.”
The young man Harald nodded. “I am looking for you,” he said.
Who told you to look for me? Ah, Leofric! Nothwulf thought, and he said, “Well, here I am.”
“My father is chief of the people there,” Harald said, indicating with his thumb the sandbar a half a mile away. “You blocked the channel. We’re stuck. But we have Leofric. Hostage.”
Nothwulf wondered if this Harald was going to suggest he let the Northmen leave in exchange for Leofric, which he was not about to do. It would cost them a lot more than one man’s life to get through the channel.
“Yes, go on,” Nothwulf said.
“You’re in danger, too,” Harald continued. “Leofric’s men are there.” Harald pointed to the eastern bank. “Can’t cross the channel. And your enemy is ready to attack.”
How did he bloody know that? Nothwulf wondered. Did they torture Leofric?
“Leofric and my father have talked,” Harald continued. “Found a way out of all this. Good for you and for us.”
Nothwulf was listening now.
“Leofric sent me to tell you this,” Harald continued. “Leofric and my father, Thorgrim Ulfsson. We have ships and we have men. We don’t care about your fight. We only want to leave. You clear the wrecks from the channel, we bring the ships there.” He pointed to the eastern shore. “When your enemy attacks, we get Leofric’s men, bring them to join you. And then we’ll go.”
Nothwulf nodded, but every word Harald spoke made him think, This is a trap. He folded his arms and stared at Harald, looking for some sign of a trick. Finally he said, “Why should I believe that Leofric is helping you?”
Harald dug into a purse that hung from his belt. “Leofric sends this, as a sign to you.” He held out his hand, a ring resting on the palm. Nothwulf picked up the ring and looked at it closely. A gold ring with Leofric’s device worked into it. It was certainly Leofric’s, he had been wearing it for years.
“For all I know you cut that off Leofric’s finger,” Nothwulf said.
“Maybe,” Harald agreed.
Nothwulf was silent as he considered all this. If the Northman was telling the truth then here was an answer to his biggest problem—how to bring his army together in the face of Cynewise’s attack.
“You Northmen won’t come ashore?” Nothwulf asked. “You won’t fight?”
“No,” Harald said. “Your fight, not ours. We’ll bring your men across. Or if you don’t agree, we’ll watch your army be killed by this woman, Sinwhy…” Harald stumbled over Cynewise’s name, but added, “It will be fun. Entertainment.”
Nothwulf pressed his lips together. He needed to think on this, give it a few hours, even better, sleep on it before making a decision. But he did not have that luxury. A decision was needed and it was needed immediately. So he made one, made it with his gut because he could not get his mind to work fast enough.
“Very well,” he said to Harald. “I agree. I think Cynewise—my enemy—will attack first thing tomorrow. Have your ships ready to go. Land them out of sight around that point of land.” He pointed to the shore across the channel, just south of the entrance where a ship would not be seen from the side Nothwulf was on. “Once you hear the fighting start, bring the men-at-arms across and land them here. Leofric included.” Nothwulf was starting to think he might get away with not paying any ransom at all.
Harald looked at the point to the south where Nothwulf indicated, then back at Nothwulf. “And you’ll have the channel clear for us?”
“Yes, we’ll do that tonight. Once the men are landed you can be on your way.”
Harald nodded. “Good. I’ll tell Leofric. And my father. You see that the men on the other side know of our bargain.” He turned and climbed into the boat, then the other two heathens shoved the boat into the water, hopped aboard and took up the oars. Soon they were underway, back to their sandbar encampment.
Nothwulf watched them go. It seemed to him things were working out, moving in his favor at last. And then he remembered that his entire plan was based on what he had been told by Oswin and by one heathen who barely spoke English and he felt the panic rising again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Three things
threaten a man's existence
before his final hour:
either illness, old age
or sword's-edge-malice.
The Seafarer
Well, at least Nothwulf didn’t do anything stupid, Leofric thought as he watched the boat pulling back to the sandbar, Harald’s yellow hair clearly visible. At least, not yet.
This had all been Leofric’s idea, the plan that was unfolding. The heathen named Thorgrim did not know the players in this drama, nor did he understand the complex machinations going on in the shire of Dorset. And why should he? Sometimes Leofric didn’t think that he himself could follow it. But for all that, their needs, his and Thorgrim’s, were simple. Thorgrim needed to get out of the harbor. Leofric needed to get his men across the channel to help Nothwulf in the coming fight. Each was in a position to help the other.
As long as Nothwulf played along. Leofric had his concerns. He was afraid Nothwulf might not believe Harald and get it in his mind to hold the boy and the others in the boat as hostages. Leofric figured that sending his ring would help, but it would be no guarantee, because Nothwulf might well not believe that Leofric himself had actually sent it.
But so far things looked good.
He and Thorgrim were standing side by side watching the boat approach. For Leofric, the hours spent among the Northmen, the heathens, had been the most fascinating he had ever had. He felt like Daniel of old: half a day in the lion’s den and God had thus far preserved him.
Waking up that morning on the deck of a Northman’s ship, head wracked with pain from the blow to his skull, weapons gone, Leofric had figured it was about over, and it was only a question of how torturous the final hours would be. But far from doling out an agonizing death, Thorgrim had proved himself a good host. He fed Leofric and gave him a cup of ale kept constantly filled. They had negotiated like civilized men, carrying on a most enlightening conversation, with Harald there as translator. And after they reached an agreement Thorgrim even restored Leofric’s sword and mail to him.
Still, these Northmen were the enemies of Wessex, and Leofric recognized this as an opportunity to learn more about them, with an eye toward beating them on future fields of battle. When Thorgrim left him to attend to other business, Leofric spent his time making a careful study of the goings on. He wanted to see how this heathen army functioned.
He noticed one thing right off: it wasn’t really an army at all. Thorgrim aside, Leofric had a hard time telling who were the leaders, the captains or whatever the heathens called them, and who were the regular men-at-arms.
Some of the men wore silver arm rings and carried swords and appeared to be of greater importance, and Leofric guessed they were in command, but no one seemed to be telling anyone what to do o
r where to go. They all seemed to know, and they did what needed doing with no orders given. That would not be the case in an English army. A hearth-guard, perhaps, could function on their own, and maybe the more elite of the warriors, but the fyrd certainly needed to be supervised as if they were children.
The Northmen seemed to be organized by ship, the crews of each keeping together, making their own fires and seeing to their own provisions, which made sense. But Leofric did not see any jealousy or ill-will from one crew to the other. They were more like a band of brothers than any army he had ever led.
They fight for themselves, they fight for their fellows. They don’t fight simply because they are commanded to fight, Leofric thought. They fight for plunder that they’ll all share.
Was it any wonder they were so damned hard to beat?
Leofric’s observations were interrupted by the sight of Harald’s boat returning. Once the boy was ashore his news led to another discussion with Thorgrim. This time the meeting also included the captains of the other ships, and Leofric saw he had for the most part guessed right about who they were.
Harald explained, in Norse and English, that Nothwulf had agreed to their plan. He would be ready, and he would expect the Northmen to be ready as well. Leofric could not understand the discussion that took place between the heathens, and Harald did not translate it for him, but it did seem that no one objected.
They have no cause to object, Leofric thought. They only need to play the part of ferrymen once and then they’re on their way. Don’t even have to draw their swords.
Discussion done, Leofric was free to continue his observations. Evening came and the Northmen cooked and ate their supper, and then everything that had been unloaded from the ships was loaded back aboard. They bedded down for the night on the sand, which Leofric guessed was preferable to the decks of the ships, and soon the dark was filled with the rough snoring of four hundred or so half-drunk, half-wild men.
Kings and Pawns Page 34