by M J Porter
“And you will teach him this?” she asked incredulously, “the precious only son of a man who wouldn’t let you out of his sight? Who died in your stead at Maldon?” In an instant, her anger had returned full blown, and Leofwine was taken aback by her hastily flung words. Never before had she alluded to his father’s death or the circumstances surrounding it. Even after all these years, the knowledge of what his father had done still caused his heart to stutter and grief to overwhelm him. He felt his anger ignite, but before it flared, he felt his wife wrapping her arms around him, as tears flowed freely down her face.
“My apologies my Lord. That was beneath you and me. I hope you know that I don’t think like that. My rage simply got the better of me.”
Wrapping his arms tightly around her and burying his face in the gentle warmth of her breasts he allowed himself to be comforted briefly, before he turned to kiss her, lovingly on her pliant lips.
Gently pulling away from her, he held her loosely and looked at her for the first time in a long time. She’d aged in their time together, but her beauty hadn’t diminished. He still desired her and would have much rather coaxed her to their bed for something other than this conversation.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I know it’s fear for your boys that cause you to lash out. And you are correct to say what you did. My father pampered to me. I never spent more than a few nights away from home until I was much older than the boys and he sent me to the king’s court, which then was ruled with steadiness by the king’s mother, a wise woman for all the rumours that have circulated since her death. This, this is completely different, but I think we shouldn’t underestimate the boy. Wulfstan has given it much thought.”
“I thought he might. He’s had a shifty look in his eyes ever since we came here. For all that he is a little slow in his movements, his mind is sharper than your blade.”
“I think he hones his mind instead of his sword,” Leofwine joked, pleased to have left the subject of his father behind.
“You must speak to Northman then, prepare him for what will come, but we’ll not let him go without a fight.” She nodded as she spoke, her eyes far distant and Leofwine wondered what she thought of.
“No, we’ll wait until it’s a command from the king before we act, and Northman must go as a sulky youth, not as a boy keen to do his duty for his family.”
Nodding again, she slipped her arms from his shoulders.
“But you said, boys? What other plans do you have?”
“Wulfstan suggested that perhaps Leofric should be fostered too.”
“Did he now?” she stood abruptly pacing the room. “Next thing he’ll be sending Eadwine to be fostered.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Æthelflæd,” he countered calmly, secretly enjoying watching his wife work herself into a state. She looked truly beautiful with her hair tied back and her dress coming open at the front to expose her full breasts as she marched from one side of their bedroom to the other.
“And where is Leofric to go?” she almost shouted, only remembering the thin walls when she heard an abrupt cease in the noise coming from the hall. Guiltily she looked from Leofwine to where she imagined her son was standing with his ears pressed against the wooden wall.
“With Horic,” Leofwine answered succinctly, wondering how she’d react to that news. Instantly she quietened, her agitation forgotten for the moment, and her furrowed brow lifting.
“Well if you’d said that first, I’d not have been so angry would I? Horic’s a fine choice. He’s a good man, and his wife an even better woman.”
Hiding his smile of amusement at the abrupt change in emotions, he pulled his fur covers aside and stood up. A quirked eyebrow from Æthelflæd at his apparent interest in her, and she was in his arms, kissing him passionately. Only then she pulled away from him and turned aside.
In concern, he reached and pulled her face level with his own so that he could see the set of her face. She laughed a little nervously as she retied her dress with fumbling fingers. He looked at her quizzically.
“I think, that for all Wulfstan’s sage advice it’s time you finally learnt the truth about what passed between him and your father fifteen years ago.”
His arousal forgotten, he sucked in a sharp breath.
Reaching forwards to run her hands over his face, she looked away again, and then gently planted a soft kiss on his lips. Holding his head still with her hands, she spoke to him urgently.
“He is ageing Leofwine. It can’t be denied any longer. You both owe it to your father to know what happened. Otherwise, you’ll not be able to instruct your sons.”
Shaking his head roughly, he pulled away from her embrace and turned his own back on her.
“You know I’m right Leofwine,” she added softly.
He growled his response,
“It doesn’t mean I have to bloody like it, does it.” Shrugging his tunic over his head, and his trousers up over his long and well-muscled legs, Leofwine strode from his bedroom, while a deep sigh escaped Æthelflæd’s mouth at his unhappiness. He chose to ignore it for now.
Hammer rushed from his place near to the fire, to escort his master, and feeling a little mollified by the show of absolute devotion, he scratched his hound between his upturned ears and made his way carefully through the press of snoring bodies that littered his floor.
At the fire, he came across a grumpy looking Leofric, sat with his shoulders hunched in defiance on the wooden bench he’d shared with Wulfstan last night.
“Morning son,” he offered and received a glance from a filthy tear-stained face in response.
“What’ve you been doing now?” he asked calmly, as he picked up and added more wood to the fire.
“Nothing,” sullenly burst from his lips.
“So why you crying then?”
With a loud sniff, Leofric launched into a complicated account of how he hadn’t tormented his sister by tying her hair to the bedpost. Suppressing an amused sigh at the discord in his own house, he spoke again.
“So, if you didn’t do it, then who did?”
“I don’t know,” came the outraged reply and Leofwine worked hard to keep his face straight at the blatant lie.
“You know, sometimes it’s easier just to say sorry when you’re in the wrong.”
Leofric sucked in a deep breath of denial, but then let it out quickly again.
“S’pose so,” he muttered and shuffled his way forwards from the wooden bench to go and find his sister, who likewise, was sobbing in pain on the other side of the fire. The maid, who’d so painstakingly plaited his wife’s hair, was now offering words of comfort and shushing the distraught little girl, who seemed to have a rather large area of her head now devoid of hair. Leofwine flinched at the imagined pain of waking abruptly and finding himself unable to move thrusting his head forward and leaving much of his hair behind.
Before her, Leofric was apologising, and with haughty eyes, his sister was sobbing softly and refusing to listen to her older brother, until he stepped forward and held something out to her, by way of an apology. Leofwine couldn’t see what his son gave his daughter, but noted the delighted grin that spread across her face. It was almost sure to be something she wasn’t supposed to have. Having two older brothers had made his pretty daughter crave wooden swords and wooden shields. His wife didn’t approve, but Leofwine knew that her brothers, when they weren’t fighting, often shared their toys with her.
Moving to where his second son and only daughter were now engaged in a fierce conversation about their plans for her new trophy, Leofwine spied the outline of a small wooden dagger under her long dress. Ignoring the contraband, for now, he decided he’d let Æthelflæd deal with that little issue. Personally, he was happy for his daughter to be able to defend herself.
He strode to his front door, finding his cloak near the doorway, and throwing it over his shoulders. Regardless of the cold, he needed some time outside with his thoughts.
Opening the door
only a thin slither so that the cold air didn’t permeate the room, he and Hammer slid from the warm hall and were instantly assaulted by a cold and icy blast of wind. A rueful glance from Hammer, as if questioning the sanity of the idea, and Leofwine was strolling towards the stables. His horse was in as much in need of a bit of exercise as he was. Behind him, the door opened and closed, and when he entered the animal barn, Horic caught him up.
“A ride my Lord?” he queried, his voice rough from sleep.
“Yes, now that the snow’s stopped falling. Are you joining me?”
“Yes, I’ve been banished from my bed,” he grumbled, arousing a laugh from Leofwine.
“I know the feeling.”
“These long nights and short days are starting to test me,” Horic continued.
“Not long now and the days will begin to lengthen.”
“Not before time.”
Amongst the tidy barn, more sleeping bodies were curled up tight against the cold, and Leofwine good-naturedly kicked a few of his men to wake them. Loud grumbles greeted his noisy movements, but before too long, he had a respectable looking contingent of men to accompany their Lord on an early morning canter across his lands.
At the last moment, Northman snuck inside the barn and looked towards his father. With a faint nod of approval, his son mounted his own smaller horse and joined the men milling at the shut gate.
“Now men,” Leofwine called when everyone was as ready as they were going to be. “Remember, we’ve been housebound for over a week, and the animals are only just rested up. No silly behaviour. Just a sedate canter to check that the snow’s not causing too much damage to the roads and hedges.”
Hostile nods greeted his words, causing Horic to lean over and whisper conspiratorially,
“Fat chance of that my Lord.”
With a cry of delight, Leofwine led his men through the now open door, catching sight of a small battle taking place between Leofric and Ealdgyth in the shadow of the house. Her face was ferociously determined as she attacked her brother with her new toy. They’d probably be bruises and a bit of blood before she’d finished with him.
They rode for some time in the crisp day, surveying the snow-coated land as they went.
“Horic, I have a favour to ask of you,” Leofwine finally said, turning to his commended man as they rode side by side at a gentle trot.
“Anything my Lord, you know that.”
“I do, yes,” Leofwine smiled, feeling his cold face crack against the unexpected movement.
“It’s about Leofric.”
“Ah, my Lord, he’s a good lad at heart. He’s just still a bit too young to deal with his temper and his anger.”
Leofwine suppressed his amusement at hearing his burly friend speak so of his own son when he’d not have tolerated such behaviour amongst his herd of strapping lads and strong willed girls.
“There’s no need to make excuses for him. I know he’ll grow and learn to control his emotions better. But, I’d still like you to help him with that.”
“Help him how?” Horic queried, his eyes confused and a little unfocused.
“Will you foster him for me, when you go home?”
Recognition flashed across the grizzled face, and Horic answered with a booming laugh,
“It’d be my pleasure and Agata’s too. She’s too old now for more babes, but she’d enjoy the pleasure of adding another to her household. But can I ask, what of Northman? Should he not be fostered first?”
Leofwine swallowed against the bile in his throat. It was one thing to talk to Wulfstan and his wife about such things, but to mention it to Horic would make it more real.
“He’s to be fostered too,” he finally spat out, and Horic turned quickly to glance at him.
“Ah my Lord, not to that bastard Eadric?”
“I’m afraid so. Wulfstan and I are confident that the king will demand it and so we must prepare him for the inevitable and accept it for what it is.”
Horic’s face had flushed an angry red, emphasised by the white landscape that surrounded them. But he didn’t speak, considering something first.
“Then my Lord, if you will, I demand you let my youngest go with him.”
Startled, it was Leofwine’s turn to study his friend’s face.
“Really?”
“Yes, Northman will need someone to watch his back for him, and the two are good friends.”
“Shouldn’t you check with Agata first?” Leofwine re-joined.
“Contrary to what everyone thinks, I'm able to make my own decisions about my family. Anyway, she’ll probably suggest it before I get the chance when I speak to her of Leofric. She’s a quick-witted woman, and more honourable than I,” he added ruefully.
Leofwine laughed at his friend’s contrite expression.
“Then, yes, I think Northman would like that very much. But for now, let’s not talk of this to the boys. I need to break the news to Northman in the right way, and this isn’t it.”
“As you will, my Lord. And Leofwine,” he turned to where Horic was plodding along slowly beside him, fiddling with his horse’s harness as an excuse not to look at his Lord, whom he never referred to by his first name. “You have my thanks for your trust and for all you’ve ever done for my family.”
Leofwine was aghast with surprise, to hear such words from his friend, a man he’d thought capable of taking nothing seriously, ever.
“You saved my life. Never forget that.”
And before the conversation could take any more of an uncomfortable turn, Leofwine spurred his horse onto a fast canter. Sod the snow and the ice, he needed to feel the speed of his mount beneath him and just run away from his problems for the time being.
Chapter 5
Early AD1007 – Northman
The fire was blazing hot, warming his wind-reddened cheeks almost painfully but he didn’t want to move. Once again, he found himself sat beside Wulfstan, seeking comfort from the old man’s steady presence. He knew the older members of his family and their entourage were discussing something about him, and he feared he knew what it was. Shaking his head, he noted his father walking towards him, and his stomach turned icy with dread.
“Wulfstan, Northman,” his father greeted as he sat before them, having brought a small wooden stool with him.
Wulfstan turned his face to glance at Leofwine and a half-cracked smile towards Northman.
“Um, my lad. This isn’t good when your father seeks out both of us so nonchalantly. I think one of us, or maybe both of us, might be in trouble.”
Leofwine’s countenance creased with dry humour at the words.
“I’m afraid it might be you alone that doesn’t appreciate this conversation.”
“Well then, my Lord, that can mean only one thing, and I’d first like to thank you for not asking the question before today.”
Northman glanced between the two men wondering what they spoke off. And then Wulfstan began to talk, and it all became clear.
“It all started well enough, but then, all battles do, until someone is the victor and someone the loser. Your father and your grandfather Northman,” Wulfstan nodded at him as he was included in the conversation, “was in good spirits that day. Brythnoth had roused us all to battle with fine words, and an excellent strategy. We had high hopes that a few slashes of our swords, a few thrusts of our axes and the enemy would be the ones making a meal for the scavengers, and turning to dust under the harsh sun’s rays. We were wrong, but only because Brythnoth was a man of his word, an honourable man, and a pleasure to be commanded by.”
Wulfstan paused then, his eyes far away, and Northman looked at his father. His face was keen to know and yet a little hooded at the same time. He was aware from discussions within the household that Wulfstan had never before recounted the tale of Maldon because Leofwine had never before asked him to. Northman wondered what had changed his father’s mind now, and why he was being included in such a profoundly private matter.
“He spoke
beautiful words that to this day I recall as if it were yesterday,
‘Do you hear, sea-wanderer, what this nation says? They will give you spears as tribute, the poison-tipped javelin and ancient swords, those warlike trappings which will profit you nothing in battle.’
And we screamed and shouted our support of him.” Wulfstan’s face had smoothed as he spoke, and Northman had the strange idea that the old man suddenly thought himself as young as he was on the day he was talking about.
“The sun rose higher and higher, and the Raiders took advantage of Brythnoth’s generosity in letting them cross the marsh land so that they fought on an equal footing. They sent one of their men, or maybe more, to slay him where he stood, and when they succeeded the men who only that morning had shouted their acclamations, melted away, leaving behind only those men honourable enough to fight and die by their Lord’s side, as was right.”
Tears wetted Wulfstan’s eyes, and Northman held his breath in wonder at tales of a battle fought before his birth.
“Your father, who was a principled man, would not stand aside, he would not run as the others did, but I saw the conflict in his wary eyes. I saw him stop and think while the battle raged around him. while men and swords and axes beat their way to his side, he stood, and he looked longingly towards home, the spectre of his son dancing before his eyes. I saw it all, and I pitied him but knew his resolve, and his honour would find him making the decision he would be able to live with, even if only for a few short lengths of time longer.”
“What I didn’t factor in, was his need to ensure the safety and survival of his son but neither could I ignore his request. I, who had far less to live for than my Lord, was tasked by him to return home; to tell his son of those final moments, and to speak to him of all that his father had hoped and prayed for him. I didn’t want to leave him there, to die without me, but he left me little choice. He bid me speak to you of old conversations and yet I’ve never done so, for you’ve never wanted to hear, and I’m grateful for that. Now an old man, I want to reminisce, to look back on a life I’ve lived well. He chose wisely that day when he told me to live.”