by M J Porter
Northman wondered if when he’d gone, Wulfstan had crumbled to his chair, as if content to have watched his Lord’s son on his way and know that his work for the day was done. It was a thought that made Northman appreciate the old man’s stubbornness and respect.
His mother had reacted in an equally perverse way when he’d been leaving. She’d not allowed herself to show her fears or her grief, but had stood, fiercely proud and fiery in her demands of the household troop. Northman had watched with fascination as she’d stepped forwards and spoken her commands to Oscetel while giving her own son barely a look.
His father had told him to expect no less from her, and so it’d come as no surprise that she’d not let her emotions show at all. It had been his sister that he’d had to turn to for tears and wailing. She was deeply unhappy that her two oldest playmates had been denied her. Her tantrum had echoed through their house on both Leofric’s departure, and now on Northman’s own.
As a parting gift, he’d given her his wooden training shield and sword. She’d grinned with joy at her new trophies, and he’d held his reservations in place. She was old enough and intelligent enough to look after herself. And he’d be far enough away that his mother’s wrath wouldn’t reach him.
His father had spoken to him the night before, not to issue any last moment commands, but rather to assure him of his support and love. Northman knew that he’d been trying to tell him something but without actually using the words, but he hadn’t yet deciphered the hidden meaning of their conversation. His father had smiled sadly at his evident confusion and then offered him both an embrace and also the opportunity to make himself his father’s commended man.
Northman had been relieved that his father had remembered his desire, and he’d spoken the words with pride as the men of the household troop had looked on, his mother with pleasure on her face, and his sister with a petulant look on her own. He wondered how his father would deal with her when it was time for her to marry for surely she’d rather be her father’s commended woman than anyone’s wife.
The words had burst with gratification through his chest, and he’d known then what it was to be an adult. He knew he’d not regret his choice. His family would always come first, no matter what the bloody king or Eadric tried to impose on him. After all, he’d been recognised by another king only recently, Swein of Denmark, and an imposing man. His gift he carried with him now about his belt, and he was looking forward to explaining to the other boys and Eadric himself where he’d obtained such an excellent treasure.
Beside him, Horic’s son rode with him, a broad smile on his face. Olaf, named after his father’s one-time war leader, was almost Northman’s twin, born when his father had been escorting Leofwine home from the Outer Isles. He’d grown up with Northman, and the two could be best friends or best enemies, as brothers should be, and that was how Northman regarded him. He was ecstatic that his father had arranged that he not go alone.
Eadric greeted their small party close to his home, early the same evening. He’d been hunting with his men, and a dizzying array of similar looking men all milled around Northman as though he was a prized pig to be examined.
Northman, trained by his father to endure such scrutiny, didn’t let it upset his carefully fortified façade. He was courteous, although with a slight veneer of anger. His father had told him that Eadric would probably look upon him as some project, to be broken and torn away from his father’s loyalty. Northman wished the man well and realised, now that the nerves in his stomach had quietened, that contrary to what he’d thought, he might hold the upper hand in the situation.
Eadric was desperate to make him his friend, his son and his viper in the nest for the man he thought of as his enemy, Leofwine. Northman had no such agenda at play, although he had a sneaking idea that he might develop one soon enough, and that meant that he could act as naturally as he chose to, or not, as the mood took him.
The inspection over, and an almost bewildering mass of introductions later, Northman and Olaf were escorted to what would be their new home for at least the next two to three years.
It was a well-maintained hall, a little smaller than his father’s, but not by much. It was well cared for and showed the markings of recent repair work to the roof and the walls. Northman supposed that if the king’s daughter were soon to live here, she’d need to be accommodated in suitable surroundings. And that was why his father had not brought him here.
In only seven days time, Eadric was to marry Edith, in right royal splendour. By rights, Northman should have travelled to the wedding with his father and then been handed over to Eadric’s care, but Eadric had made so much fuss because he was marrying into royalty that Leofwine had agreed to the boy going a few days earlier. That way, Eadric had decided, he’d be able to make Northman welcome in his household before his royal wife arrived.
He jumped to the ground with some elasticity. It had been a long day’s riding to get here. Beside him, Olaf too jumped from his horse, and the two beasts were led away to be cared for.
Oscetel milled around on his horse, not having been offered hospitality by Eadric, and for an awkward moment, Northman worried that he wouldn’t be. Only with a loud cry of exclamation, Eadric finally mouthed the words of welcome required, and ordered a drinking horn be passed around.
Olaf rolled his eyes at the attempt at circumventing the regular duties of hospitality, and Northman giggled with unease as he stood, a little uncertainly, unsure what to do next. It wasn’t the most auspicious start to his fostering.
“You’ve grown boy,” Eadric mouthed from where he stood directly in front of Northman, sizing him up.
“So my mother says,” Northman offered, meeting Eadric’s eyes for the first time. He was a younger man than his father, but not by much, and when he spoke wrinkles formed around his mouth.
He had brown eyes, and auburn hair, hanging low down his back, but it was his clothes that drew Northman’s attention. They were fine, very fine, for a man who’d been out hunting, as the dead carcases of the animals now being lifted from the back of at least five different horses attested.
A small spot of blood marred his face, and down his soft blue tunic, more splatters of blood could be seen. Northman couldn’t help but hear his mother’s voice chastising him in his head if he’d acted so rashly.
“She struggles to keep me adequately clothed, but she’s sent many new clothes with me so that I might grow into them.”
“Your mother is a thoughtful woman, but if she thinks that you’re finely dressed now, then she's mistaken. For the wedding, you must have far more elaborate garb. I’ll ask my servants to begin work on something immediately.”
Eadric turned aside then to start a conversation with his steward and Northman, still unsure what to do with himself, stood in the dusty courtyard. Beside him, Olaf shuffled from one foot to another in impatience, and he caught a sympathetic glance from Oscetel as Eadric busied himself giving directions on how his kills were to be treated as if Northman wasn’t there at all.
He felt annoyance war with amusement, and for the first time began to appreciate the pettiness and meanness of Eadric. He wondered how his father had ever tolerated his small slights, intended only to annoy.
“My Lord Eadric,” Oscetel broke into his conversation, and Eadric flashed him a look of annoyance. “I’m sure your people know how to butcher the deer, should you not welcome your new foster son into your house and make him comfortable? It’s been a long day for the lad.”
Oscetel spoke blandly, his voice showing neither annoyance or petulance. The same couldn’t be said for Eadric, his face creasing into a scowl as he looked at Northman with a little contempt.
“Go, inside boy, make yourself at home. Surely you don’t need a nursemaid to assist you.”
“Come, my Lord, that’s no way to speak to the boy. He’s here at your request after all.”
“Not my request, Oscetel, the king’s, as you well know. I’ve only agreed to the arrangement beca
use the king demanded it.”
Oscetel smirked then,
“Ah my Lord Eadric, if that were the case then you wouldn’t have approached the lad last year. Now, stop with your delays and distractions. We’re all hungry and thirsty and need excellent hospitality. Clearly, you can provide it after such a good day’s hunting.” Oscetel nodded to where the fourth deer carcas was being lifted down from the backend of one of the horses.
Annoyance once more flashed across Eadric’s face,
“You may speak to your own Lord in such a way, but not in my household will the hired help talk so openly.” His words were heated, his face flushing to be reminded so publicly, and Northman’s fear returned as Oscetel visibly bristled at the phrase, but then Eadric continued.
“But, you may have a point. I’ve not been the most welcoming of hosts. Come, lads, bring your things and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. And you, Oscetel, you may take your horses to the barn and see to them yourselves. I’ll ensure a meal is prepared for you.”
Without further thought, Eadric strode inside his house, and Northman followed unwillingly, his thoughts too confused to voice.
The interior of the house, like the exterior, showed recent signs of having been repaired and in its centre a massive fire roared and above it, one of the deer was already being slowly roasted. The smell was tantalising to hungry stomachs, but it wouldn’t be ready until late in the evening. Olaf, realising this, groaned a little at the delay. Northman caught a smirk on Eadric’s face and realised that this too had all been planned.
The hall had been recently cleaned and refreshed. From the rafters, crowds of fresh smelling herbs hung, and discoloured wood marred the far end of the hall, showed that the hall had recently been either repaired or extended slightly. Looking up, Northman saw a small second floor and reasoned that this was the new addition. He assumed it was probably a new room for the use of the king’s daughter.
At the other end of the hallway was a rickety looking ladder, extending into a darker and dustier looking space and it was that way that Eadric now walked.
“This is a house for men, not families, well not yet anyway. For the time being, you can bed down up there,” Eadric pointed up the ladder, “and hopefully in time, I’ll have the space refurbished like the other end of the hall. If you’re unhappy, you can always bed down on the hall floor with the men.”
There was some contempt in Eadric’s voice that Northman shrugged aside. Clearly, he had little good to say about the young. Climbing the ladder when Eadric beckoned him to, Northman was pleased to encounter a clean area, although quite full with equipment and sacks of cloth. He wondered where he and Olaf would find space to sleep.
Noting the lack of rails to the raised platform, Northman strode as far forwards as he could, before he was forced to bend because of the sloping roof. Looking around intently, he noticed neither mouse droppings nor pools of water and decided that here was as good as anywhere. He even found some hooks around the rafters from which he could hang his possessions.
Olaf followed him to the same spot, and dumped his bag of belongings onto the floor, causing the space to vibrate a little. From below them a cry of outrage rang out from whoever had just been covered in age-old dust and filth. Northman tried and failed not to giggle at the strange situation and Olaf joined him. Then they heard heavy footsteps on the ladder and a dusty head appeared over its top.
“It’s not funny boys. You two had better be careful,” it growled before disappearing again, and the boys giggled soundlessly at the strange apparition. When they’d controlled themselves, they set to work unpacking their few belongings, hanging their tunics from the rafters and leaning their weapons against the roof.
Northman looked around for some furs or bedding but didn’t find anything. Shrugging to himself he looked at Olaf and found him busily pulling a huge fur from his bag.
“What’s that for?” he whispered in query.
“My mother warned me that Eadric wouldn’t be the sort of man who’d think about our comfort. She made me bring this with me.”
“I wish my mother had thought the same,” Northman muttered darkly, eyeing the creaking floor with disdain. He was used to a warm and comfortable bed, not the unyielding floor.
“We’ll share, don’t worry about it. We’ll get sorted eventually.”
A shout from below for Northman had him scampering back down the ladder where he found Oscetel standing carrying a huge sack stuffed with something.
“You’ve forgotten this boy,” Oscetel commented, handing the load to Northman with a twinkle in his eye, and Northman thought a little more kindly of his mother. Clearly, she had thought of everything.
“Thanks, Oscetel,” he replied in delight and turned to throw the sack towards where Olaf was hanging over the ledge in a precarious position. His eyes were dancing, Olaf caught the bag and then, making sure it wouldn’t fall, made his way down the ladder.
“You sleeping up there?” Oscetel asked quietly, his eyes busily taking in all there was to see in the hall.
“Yep.”
“Any bed?”
“No,” he responded sourly, and Oscetel smirked in sympathy.
“It’ll make you more manly,” he quipped, while Northman glared at him.
“Not you as well.”
“What d’you mean, not me as well?”
“Eadric says this isn’t a house for boys.”
“Eadric’s an arse,” Oscetel muttered under his breath. “Make friends with the servants and his wife when she gets here and try to ignore the fool. You’ll be fine.”
Momentarily tears clouded his eyes, and Northman shook his head angrily. Now was not the time. Maybe later when he slept, he could give into his despair and grief. Not now, though. Now, he had his father’s work to do.
Chapter 9
Summer AD1007 – Northman
In discomfort, he rolled his shoulders and tried to flex his arms, but the embroidery on his tunic was simply too stiff. No matter that the item he wore had been made to fit him by his mother and her women, the work of Eadric’s seamstress, as beautiful as it was, was simply too much. The cloth was pulled too tightly in places and barely let him breathe.
Beside him, Olaf was no less uncomfortable as he too shuffled in his seat.
The two boys were sat within the great Church waiting for the wedding to be over and done with so that they could escape the watchful eye of Eadric and more importantly, as they’d soon learnt, his cantankerous father. While he allowed his sons to run wild within the household, acting more like children than the men they were, every little thing that Northman and Olaf did was carefully scrutinised and if he could find fault, he’d lay a hand on them both soon enough.
The number of sharp slaps across the backside that they’d both endured during the last week had quickly become too great to keep a record off. Now he sat in his own beautifully embroidered tunic, which Northman noted sourly fitted him perfectly, and glared at the two boys. Northman decided he’d rather endure the scrutiny of the king over his new foster grandfather. Not that he dared to call him that. He’d done it once, and his legs had smarted all day long. For an old man, he had a wicked strength about him, and Northman didn’t doubt that he’d prove lethal if they ever had to fight him.
Now Northman sat as still as he could, and tried not to make it too obvious as to how keen he was to see his father, mother and sister. She’d been deemed old enough to attend the coming royal wedding, and while their mother had fretted about what to dress her in, she’d scowled and poked her tongue out at Northman. She was more likely to be found in a tunic and trousers than a fine dress, and Northman was looking forward to seeing her look as unhappy as he did.
At his side Olaf fidgeted again in the hush of the interior of the Church and even Northman was annoyed by him.
“Keep still. The old man’s watching us.”
“I know he is, but I can barely breathe. My chest feels tight.”
“Take smaller
breaths and take them more often.”
Olaf quieted beside him, and Northman attempted to take a deep breath himself. He was started to feel a little dizzy and could only hope that the wedding would soon get under way so that he could stand. It was easier to tolerate the tight clothing when he stood.
A hushed silence greeted the arrival of the king and his wife, both finely dressed, although Northman doubted that as much embroidery had gone into the king’s outfit as his own. Only as the king took his seat did he see his father and mother. Unbidden a tear came to his eye, and he swept it away with annoyance. It was good to see his parents, that was a certainty, but there was no need for him to be quite so emotional about the whole thing.
The ceremony was over quickly, and Eadric, in his elaborate clothes and mass of armrings flashing in the candlelight, beamed with triumph at everyone assembled before them.
Northman took a moment to eye his foster father’s new wife. She was a well-measured girl, perhaps a little too tall for Northman’s liking, but her hair was beautifully plaited with trailing ribbons. She didn’t exude satisfaction, as Eadric did, but neither did she look unhappy at the match her father had made for her. Again he had a flash of his sister’s future wedding, and he took the decision that she must be married under his father’s directions. He’d not be held responsible for making her a match she was less than pleased with.
The prayers and the sermon over and done with, Northman filed out of the Church behind his foster father, and for the first time managed to catch his father’s eye. Leofwine smiled with real joy at him, and Northman felt himself relax a little. Well, at least until he heard the angry hissing of Eadric’s father behind him, asking him to hurry up. He’d not even realised that he’d stopped where he stood.