Oathbreaker (The King's Hounds series)

by Martin Jensen

  Winston let go of Alfilda’s hand and slowly got up.

  “That, my unknown friend,” Winston stated, “is beyond your abilities. As long as I can draw, which I can, the monasteries will want my work. But I never work for people who threaten me after I have said no to them.”

  I saw Prior Edmund blush all the way down his neck. The friar looked like he wanted to roll up the sleeve of his cowl and punch Winston. I warily loosened my sword in its sheath as I watched the three freemen, who apparently weren’t planning to intervene.

  Then the prior’s body deflated a little. He nodded to his companion and, still looking angry, slowly turned away from Winston. To me he said, “We ride north in three days. For your and your master’s sake it would be best if you changed your minds before then.”

  I shrugged, giving him a helpless look, and waited until they were out of earshot before I snarled at my artistic friend, “You just turned down a job that could have earned you a fortune.”

  “You’re too thirsty for silver,” Winston said, waving his hand flippantly. “I have something here that’s better than money.”

  Only now did Alfilda speak: “Halfdan will never understand this, Winston.”

  Now I was angry. Did I not know the joys of a woman? I, who so rarely lacked a bosom to sleep against? But I refused to be drawn into a war of words with a tavern worker.

  “It may not be wise to antagonize your superiors, Winston.”

  “Superiors?” Winston’s voice was mocking. “Surely you don’t believe that? From what I hear, you’re only inferior to a man if you behave like you are.”

  Winston had a way of twisting a man’s words.

  Chapter 2

  I stormed off, steering clear of the tavern. I didn’t want to sit there and glare at Winston, who would no doubt be making eyes at Alfilda the whole time. Instead I roamed through town and sat for a bit in an ale tent. I had a slice of bread with blood sausage that smelled of thyme, along with a tankard of sweet ale. Then I went to the house where my wild Saxon servant girl, Engelise, worked. But when I tried to enter the kitchen, her mistress brusquely dismissed me.

  Instead I returned to the ale tent, which was full now that the sun was kissing the trees in the woods on the far side of the river. I found a seat across from two Viking soldiers, who gave me blasé looks and didn’t bother to lower their voices as they continued their heated argument about which of them should sit on the outside, closest to the oar, in the longboat that would transport them and their spoils back to Scandinavia.

  I gulped my ale while cursing Winston, who had apparently decided to keep sitting on his ass.

  In absolute honesty, Alfilda’s inviting body was likely not the only thing holding Winston back. In the time we’d been together, I’d learned a fair amount about him—including the fact that he preferred to be his own lord and master and spend his time drawing what he cared about. I had never figured out why he didn’t like working for churches or monasteries. He did the jobs they hired him for, of course, but he just never seemed at ease in such places—though he certainly enjoyed the considerable income from the work. Which meant that Winston was not a poor man; he could afford to say no to Edmund and bide his time in Oxford with Alfilda and his art supplies precisely because he was so well paid.

  I knew that Winston’s aversion to churches and monasteries had something to do with his past. He’d been a novice at a monastery when he was younger, although I’d never found out where. The only time I’d asked him why he left, he gave me a vague answer I hadn’t understood about faith being hard to explain.

  Faith is not something we soldiers concern ourselves with. We have priests and monks for that. All men like me need to know is that when death strikes, if we’ve lived the way the clergymen tell us we’re supposed to, we will open our eyes in Paradise.

  Prior Edmund had dug his own grave when he accused Winston of being a runaway monk. I could have told the good Benedictine that was the stupidest thing he could say, as was abundantly clear from Winston’s reaction.

  It didn’t seem to bother Winston that I found ambling around with nothing to do maddening. I worked for him, so I went where he went. That’s how it was, unless I wanted to quit, and I’ve already explained why that did not seem to be the wisest choice.

  I had another tankard of ale and then returned to the kitchen door, where to my joy I found Engelise waiting for me. Her mistress had forbidden her from receiving me in the room she shared with two other girls, but that didn’t stop us from seeing each other. It had finally grown dark out, the night was warm, the meadow grasses were soft and inviting, and Engelise’s embrace was just as welcoming under a starry sky as on her bed’s straw mattress.

  About a week later I spent an afternoon playing dice on the alehouse table in the pleasant company of some Saxon freemen. It had not been a bad day for me.

  When I made my way that evening toward the house where Engelise worked, I saw a burly soldier riding across the square in front of the large hall where King Cnut had stayed.

  The man sat very upright on his well-nourished horse. There was no spear at his side, but a gold-bedecked sword hung at his left hip. The sword bumped against his saddle as he rode. His helmet was edged in silver, and his belt was richly embroidered with both silver and gold thread. Such a splendidly equipped soldier was undoubtedly the housecarl of an important man. Indeed, when he briefly turned to look back, I recognized Godskalk, thane to King Cnut and captain of his personal housecarls.

  Our eyes met from across the square. I greeted him with a subtle bow and was surprised when he raised his right hand and called me over.

  There weren’t many people about. The workday was over, and the market stalls were all closed. Most people were probably having their evening porridge, so I had no difficulty crossing the square. Godskalk dismounted and handed his reins to a servant, who had apparently been waiting by the door to the stables behind the hall.

  Godskalk turned to me, and casually gave each leg a shake to loosen his thigh muscles after the ride. He let me walk all the way over to him before he greeted me.

  “Halfdan,” he said, “Just the man I’m looking for.”

  “I’m the man you’re looking for?” I said, looking at him in surprise.

  “You’re one of them,” he said, flashing a quick smile. “Is your master in the tavern?”

  “Presumably.” I didn’t bother to elaborate, despite the puzzled look on his face. Godskalk served the king. I served Winston. He probably had as little idea where Cnut was right now as I did about Winston.

  “Do you have a message for him?” I asked.

  His nod kindled a little hope in me. Cnut had not dispatched the leader of his housecarls merely to inquire how Winston was doing.

  “You can lead the way,” Godskalk said, gesturing that I should go first.

  As expected, Winston was in the tavern. He sat in his usual spot, at the table closest to the counter. He always sat with his back to the door, facing the counter. That way he and Alfilda could carry on a conversation while she took orders and made sure that Emma was serving the food and drinks to the right tables.

  I noted a touch of worry in Alfilda’s expression when she realized who was behind me. Then she nodded a welcome to Godskalk, who strode through the establishment, greeted her politely, and then sat down directly across from Winston, who looked at me in silence. I smiled at him.

  “Jarl Godskalk has a message for us, Winston.”

  “Have you ridden far?” Winston asked.

  Godskalk nodded and looked over at Alfilda behind the counter. “A round of drinks would be welcome.”

  Alfilda set a tankard of ale before each of us, and Winston and I drank to our guest.

  “Well?” Winston asked. My master was not in the mood for small talk and wanted to know why the king had sent his most trusted man to Oxford.

  “The king sends his greetings. He has a job for you.”

  Winston grunted that that much was clear while
I watched Godskalk in curiosity. He took off his helmet and ran his fingers though his sweaty hair.

  “You’ll have to go north, to Mercia,” Godskalk said. He gave Emma a look of gratitude as she set a dish of peas and fried pork shank in front of him. “To Peterborough,” he continued.

  A small gasp escaped my lips, and Godskalk looked at me in surprise.

  Winston leaned forward calmly and said, “So Prior Edmund…?”

  “Was asking around in Canterbury for a good manuscript illuminator, and the king remembered you fondly to him.”

  It was clear from Winston’s face that he didn’t believe this any more than I did. I wondered if maybe things hadn’t happened the other way around. Perhaps Cnut had been the one asking around, for a monastery in Mercia that might be enticed to hire a certain illuminator. Not that it mattered, it occurred to me, since the outcome was the same: either way, Winston would be getting off his ass now. Finally.

  Chapter 3

  Winston tugged on his nose and glanced at Alfilda before looking back to Godskalk.

  “We have to go to Mercia?” Winston asked incredulously.

  Godskalk nodded.

  “And arrangements have been made for us to accompany Prior Edmund?” Winston sounded insulted.

  Godskalk shrugged. I guess a thane who led Cnut’s housecarls was used to having things decided for him. Godskalk was plainly puzzled why this bothered Winston.

  “And the job?” I asked.

  “You are to be the king’s eyes and ears,” Godskalk said mysteriously.

  As Winston and I exchanged glances, I tried to ascertain whether he knew something I did not.

  “And who are we supposed to watch and listen to?” Winston asked, confirming that he didn’t.

  Godskalk looked around the tavern. People still sat at a few of the tables, most of them just finishing their tankards after having eaten. The evening rush of men looking for a place to pass the time together had not yet started. The tables nearest us were empty, but Godskalk remained silent, eyeing Alfilda warily.

  “You can speak freely in the presence of the tavern mistress,” Winston said with a bite to his voice.

  Godskalk’s shoulders rose slightly, and then he invited Alfilda to join us at the table so he didn’t have to speak so loudly.

  “The king wants to know what people are talking about in Mercia.”

  I couldn’t suppress a snort. “Fall is coming,” I said. “They’re talking about how hard times are and the good old days.”

  Godskalk grunted before raising his tankard. He set it back down and leaned in over the table.

  “You know who Cnut placed in charge of Mercia,” he said.

  “Leofwine is Cnut’s ealdorman there,” I said, taking a drink.

  “The king doesn’t trust his own man in Mercia?” Winston asked, cocking his head at Godskalk.

  I saw a glint in Godskalk’s eyes, which I took to mean that the king didn’t trust anyone, but Godskalk wisely bit his tongue.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, pausing to think. “Leofwine doesn’t control all of Mercia.”

  “Quite right,” Godskalk said, nodding in approval. “Mercia is divided. Leofwine rules the larger part, in the northeast. Other men control the south and the east.”

  “Viking jarls,” I observed. Now I saw what this was about. “Leofwine is the only Saxon ealdorman up there.”

  “And a man who has reason to harbor ill will toward the king,” Winston said, nodding to himself.

  “Like thousands of other Saxons—” I started, then realized what Winston had meant. “Oh, because of Leofwine’s son.”

  When the joint session of the Witenagemot and Thing had concluded, with the ealdormen and jarls unanimously declaring Cnut the sole and true king of England, Cnut had promised to rule the land by the old laws and not impose new ones.

  Some compromise had been required to reach that decision. Saxon thanes, Viking chieftains, Danish noblemen, and Angle freemen had all had to bend toward each other, an exercise that did not come easily to such men.

  The king had paved the way for this compromise the previous year by assassinating those noblemen who opposed him and those whom he didn’t trust to submit to his rule—suspecting that they would continue to undermine him.

  One of the most powerful Saxon ealdormen, for instance, had fallen victim to the ax of none other than Erik of Norway—carrying out the king’s order: “Give the ealdorman what we owe him.”

  Jarl Erik had had no doubt what Cnut meant by that order, nor had he hesitated. To the contrary, he’d separated Eadric the Grasper’s head from his body with a single swing, thereby eliminating one of the most contemptible of contemptible creatures from the earth.

  If I hated any man, it was Eadric, that grasping scum pot, who had always put himself first. The traitor had switched allegiance faster than the swallows change direction. Eadric’s greatest treachery had occurred at the Battle of Assandun, when he abandoned Ironside’s army midbattle, taking all his men with him to fight with Cnut. My father and brother died in that battle. Of course there were many casualties, but at least the fallen died true to their word, shoulder to shoulder with the finest soldiers in England, killed by a man who saved his own skin by betraying those who trusted him.

  That single slice of the ax that severed Eadric’s head was why I was willing to follow Cnut now. And if I should ever meet Jarl Erik of Norway, I would extend my hand to him in gratitude.

  But another man cut down at Cnut’s bidding was Leofwine’s son, Norman. One rumor was that Norman had somehow been involved in Eadric’s schemes. Another was that he had tried to lure Jarl Thorkell the Tall into leaving Cnut. But whatever the reason, everyone knew that King Cnut had had Norman killed.

  “But,” I began, “I thought Leofwine reconciled with King Cnut.”

  Godskalk apparently hadn’t expected me to be so dimwitted, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Ealdorman Leofwine, honest man that he is, gave Cnut his word,” Godskalk said, not quite hiding his sarcasm.

  “Even an honest man must avenge his fallen heir,” Alfilda said.

  Godskalk looked at her in surprise. She smiled quickly.

  “But Leofwine has other sons,” Winston said.

  “So Cnut thinks Mercia might rise against him?” I asked, stretching my legs out beneath the table.

  “What Cnut would like to know,” Godskalk said, slowly shaking his head, “is whether there is anything to suggest Mercia might pose a threat.”

  “But—” I began and then paused. Winston gave me a look of encouragement, so I proceeded. “All right, we know that Viking jarls rule southern Mercia. Jarl Erik of Norway now rules northern Northumbria. East Anglia belongs to Thorkell the Tall.”

  “Halfdan’s right,” Winston said, adjusting his position and leaning toward Godskalk. “Leofwine holds his station because Cnut permits him to do so. North, south, east, and west—Leofwine is surrounded by Viking and Danish jarls every way he looks. Is Leofwine somehow a threat to Cnut?”

  Godskalk laughed grimly, which made us nervous enough that I whistled softly and Winston tugged on his nose. But Alfilda was the one who actually spoke.

  “Cnut doesn’t trust his own jarls?” she asked.

  I wanted to point out that Erik was technically Norwegian, but realized it didn’t matter—maybe Cnut had good reason to be suspicious. Instead, I asked if there were any indications that Thorkell was going to go back on his oath to Cnut again.

  “Next to Cnut, Thorkell is the most powerful man in England,” Godskalk said, shaking his head. “He’s drunk on power, yes, but he’s not stupid.”

  Now I understood! “It’s Leofwine’s family you fear.”

  “It’s his family that the king wants to be sure of,” Godskalk said, pushing his empty tankard across the table to Alfilda, who got up and refilled it. He waited until she was seated again before continuing. “As you pointed out, Winston, Norman has brothers. Apparently they accepted their father�
��s reconciliation with Cnut, but they’re young and hot-blooded. Leofwine put the eldest, Leofric, in control of the fyrd, the local militia. And this puzzles Cnut. The king appoints jarls to lead the fyrd’s soldiers. So now why would Cnut’s appointed jarl hand this power over to Leofric, who is merely one of the king’s many thanes?”

  The answer was obvious. “His son has some hold on him,” I said.

  “His family might have some hold on him,” Winston corrected me. “Leofwine’s relatives accepted his reconciliation with Cnut, but they want assurance that Mercia’s fyrd is controlled by a man loyal to his own and not bound by any promise to a conquering king.”

  “Exactly,” Godskalk said, nodding. “Leofwine gave the king his word, but is his family or his son Leofric also bound by that? The king would like you to head north into Mercia with your eyes and ears open. Listen to what people are saying. Look for signs about what the local soldiers are up to.”

  “But,” Winston began, “wouldn’t it be easier to simply get rid of Leofwine and his sons and name someone else jarl?”

  “So soon after promising to keep the old laws and govern England by the joint resolution of the Witenagemot and Thing?” I asked. I couldn’t help but smile. “There is only one Saxon ealdorman left in this entire land, and a living Leofwine is the proof the Saxons need that Cnut means what he says. If an ax struck Leofwine down, or even if he suddenly fell out of the king’s favor, the joint resolution adopted here in Oxford wouldn’t be worth anything in the eyes of the Saxons.”

  “And that is why you’re going north,” Godskalk said, leaning back.

  “And that is why the king arranged for a job at the monastery in Peterborough to land in my lap,” Winston said, resting his hand atop Alfilda’s.