by M J Porter
A knock at the wooden door flung hastily open by Leofwine himself, found him facing one of the queen’s lady’s on the other side. She was shocked to see him answering the door and took a moment to recover her wits.
“My Lord Leofwine,” she stumbled prettily, “the queen wonders if you might have a moment to visit with her.”
Not used to a royal summons from the queen, Leofwine immediately agreed and followed the girl from the room. Behind him, Oscetel strained to see what was happening while Horic leapt to his feet to escort his Lord, but Leofwine pulled the door closed, not unkindly, but right now, his curiosity about the queen was something he didn’t want to share.
Emma, as he still always called her in his mind and in private, was pacing within her own suite of rooms, and he smirked at the similarity of their state of minds.
“My queen,” he spoke, dropping to his knee before her.
“Oh stand up Leofwine,” she sharply demanded, and he did so with elasticity. “By now you must know better.”
“Of course I do Emma, but I must still show you the respect you deserve. And you know I should.”
She waved her hand briskly to dismiss his words, but he knew he’d acted correctly, even if she was unhappy.
“My mind is awash with unease,” she said into the companionable silence. “Æthelred is too quick to agree to this Thorkell’s demands, and I fear that in letting him get his own way, especially in respect of your own son, that firstly the king does you no honour and secondly that he shows Thorkell greater recognition. It is wrong, and I want you to know that.”
She stopped her pacing before him and grabbed his hands within her own.
“You did much for me when I first came to this land, and I know that although you’re friendly with the king’s elder sons you look upon my own children as just as eligible for the throne should the worst befall the king. You and your wife are good people. Neither of you should be punished further. You must act. I must act, but I don’t know what to do.”
Seeing the queen’s distress was a balm to Leofwine’s tortured soul. To hear her say that the king was treating him unfairly soothed his own anger.
“Emma, I’m more pleased than you can imagine hearing you speak so. I thought that my own anger was born directly of selfishness. But, and I stress this, I don’t think there's anything we can do to dissuade the king. We know that he always looks for the simplest solution to any problem and he sees this as that.”
“But it’s not right,” she cried, dropping his hands and resuming her pacing.
“I’ve tried to speak to him about it, but he dismisses me and tells me I know nothing about the stresses he’s under. As if I could be his queen without knowing what distresses him.”
Her anger was magnificent to behold and once more he thought the king, a lucky man to have her as his bedfellow. By rights, she should have been with Athelstan, and there was not one person in the kingdom who didn’t know that.
“Your sons are precious to you. I do all I can for Northman here, and I know that Athelstan does the same. But Leofric, he can’t go to Thorkell. He’s a thug, a warrior without thought or care past his own profit and his own needs.”
“You know him by reputation?”
“Yes and no. I know of who he was from my youth in Normandy. He was one of those names that were uttered in hushed whispers. No one wished to say his name out loud for fear he would physically manifest once given voice.”
“And yet Swein of Denmark trusts him with his son.”
“Of course he does. What king wouldn’t want his son to learn to be as ruthless as his most revered commander? Cnut’s reputation will grow by his association with Thorkell.”
“And so might Leofric’s,” Leofwine couldn’t quite believe that he was counter-arguing for his son to go to Thorkell, but it felt good to have a new voice to reason with. Perhaps this discussion with Emma would help him put the matter into the correct perspective.
“How old is your son?” Emma snapped.
“He’s just turned eleven,” he answered.
“Eleven,” she all but squeaked.
“My lady, boys grow quickly once they’re out of childhood. I know you look to your own boys and make comparisons, but really, Edward is only a baby still at five years. Think how far he’s come in five years, and think how far he’ll come when he’s added that same amount of time to his age.”
Unconvinced, Emma strode to where her two boys and baby daughter were being cared for in the corner of her rooms. Her baby daughter lay squirming on thick furs, naked before the fire. Her boys were sitting quietly, as one of the maids regaled them with stories of royal saints.
“Look at them,” she said pointing needlessly to them. “They are babies, to be cherished and cared for and nurtured. Not to be sent out as hostages to some strange warrior who lays claim to land unlawfully.”
Not wishing to infuriate her further, but unable to resist stating the obvious, Leofwine spoke almost abruptly,
“Then be grateful he does not demand your children.”
She cast him a disdainful look as she swept passed him again to resume her aggravated walking.
“And your wife allows you to say such things?” she spat in exacerbation.
“Of course not, my Lady, and in all honesty, I am merely answering your valid arguments the way that the king will if I raise them with him. I don’t agree. Not at all. My sons should be home and safe, either with their foster parents, or with us well Leofric should be, not Northman. Not with a warrior I’ve only met once or twice.”
“Good, at least you have some sense,” she spoke, a little mollified, and finally met his eyes again.
“What will we do?” she asked desperately, but he shook his head slowly.
“We can’t do anything. We’ll have to do as the king commands. We can’t be divisive, not when the country is threatened again.”
She stepped forward and looked him in the eye,
“Do you think you can do that?” she whispered. “Again.”
It was his turn to look away, his fears rapidly resurfacing as the reality of the situation made itself evident.
“I have no choice.”
She didn’t deny his words. They’d been friends a long time, and she knew what the king had done to him in that time. She knew their shared history as well.
“Then you have my pity.”
“And can I have your word that you will continue to badger the king to have my son returned to me.”
“Of course Leofwine. If he allows your second son to go, I will plague him at every possible opportunity. When he sees his boys, I will mention Leofric. When he sees his grandchild, I will mention Leofric. I will do all I can.”
“That is all I ask of you, Emma, and you have my sincerest thanks for all you do on my family’s behalf.”
“It's too little, and it frustrates me, but I hope you know that I do what I can, and always will. Leofwine, you’re the most loyal man within the Witan, you and Wulfstan the archbishop. You work tirelessly for the king,” and here a note of pleading entered her voice, “please don’t stop.”
Her look was steady, her hand on his arm wasn’t. It was just as hard for her to stay loyal to her husband as it was for him. It was a burden they shared and rarely spoke about, but it always hovered between them.
Bowing his head, he excused himself and wandered back to his rooms, a little consolidated and a little saddened at the same time. If only the king could see his actions more clearly.
Chapter 19
AD1009 - Northman – Outside Oxford
He felt a little sick inside, with more than just nerves. Today was the day, seven days since Thorkell had given his demands, and as yet there was no news from the king about how they should proceed.
Fear for his younger brother had prevented him from sleeping for much of the last six nights. Fear for his brother, and fear for himself and his father, and whichever of the king’s sons was chosen as a hostage for the good behaviour
of the English while Thorkell and his mighty fleet bedevilled their coasts and waterways.
True to their word, Thorkell and his men had not ventured out of Oxford and neither had more ships made the now perilous journey towards their commanders. All was quiet, but an uneasy calm that made the hair on the back of his neck stick up and made him grumpy and short-tempered.
And he wasn’t alone. All the men camped near Oxford were similarly afflicted.
Rising from his sleepless night, he wondered over to the tent of the king’s sons. Since his help a week ago, he’d often been admitted to their counsel, so much so that he no longer thought it strange to be served by the squires when normally he would have been doing the serving.
The brothers were as awake as he was, Athelstan having just returned from a walk along the ridge of the valley, vainly looking towards Winchester where the king was in residence. He was shaking his head to show that there was still no sign of a messenger. Yesterday evening they’d sent yet another messenger, but he’d not returned although the journey could easily have been accomplished provided he’d not stopped long when reaching Winchester.
“Nothing?” Edmund questioned, resignation in his voice.
“Nothing. He better send one soon, or we’ll be thought of as even bigger fools by Thorkell and his men.”
Edmund grunted in agreement,
“You’re not wrong brother. But father will act. He has no choice.”
“I wish he’d get on with it. My patience is frayed and so is everyone else’s. And I bet that within the walls of Oxford, the inhabitants are feeling abandoned, and goodness only knows how the ship-men are keeping themselves amused.”
Although they’d routinely sent a small foraging party towards Oxford, they’d seen no sign of any Raiders nor any fleeing inhabitants. Oxford was locked up tight. Those inside were not getting out, no matter what.
They’d seen to the burial of the bodies of those who’d fought at the Western Gate and lost their lives there, but other than that, all surveillance had been covert.
Silence fell between them, broken only by the crackling of their small fire set in the brazier, and the shuffling of the animals and men who worked quietly around the campsite.
The sun had risen long ago, the summer heat was gently building, and in the abandoned fields around Oxford, crops waited to be harvested. But no one was coming.
“If they stay inside Oxford, or if father doesn’t agree, they’ll have to arrange for the harvest to be brought in.”
“No, they won’t. They can just as easily demand that the king feeds them,” Edmund responded slowly, as though he thought as he spoke.
“But that’s a waste.”
“Yes, but so is murdering the people of Oxford.”
“Yes, but they needed to get inside, and if they stood in their way, then they needed to be removed.”
“Huh, I suppose you’re right,” Athelstan concurred and with the conversation done, for the time being, they fell back to silence.
The day passed interminably slowly. Northman watched the sun work its way around the cloudless sky with a mounting sense of panic. Surely the king would act.
Finally, when the late afternoon sun was starting to lose its heat, a cry from the men on guard duty alerted them to the arrival of someone. Tempted to rush from the tent but knowing he shouldn’t look too keen, Northman walked towards the noise. Who had the king sent? What decision had been reached?
Squinting into the sunlight, Northman felt a jolt of recognition and a cry of joy burst from his mouth. His father had come.
He raced towards his father and his men, forgetting the implications of his father’s arrival until his eyes alighted on his younger brother, with whitened face and fear-crazed eyes. Oh no, anything but this.
Stopping abruptly, Olaf almost knocked him flying where he’d been running behind him. He only just managed to avoid falling forward on his face because Olaf grabbed him roughly and kept him upright. Realisation struck Olaf at the same time and sedately, they walked towards his father, a crazy smile for his brother because he’d not seen him for nearly a year and it was a surprise to see him grown so much.
“Northman,” his father greeted warmly, his eyes kindly and resigned towards his oldest child.
“Father,” Northman answered, “it’s good to see you. And Leofric, you as well.” He grabbed his younger brother in a hug, not caring that he’d never shown so much affection to him in the past.
His brother’s slender body trembled in his arms, and although he tried to impart some of his strength to him, just using a simple hug, he knew he’d never be able to give his brother the strength he needed, not on his own.
Then his father wrapped his arms around both of his sons, pulling Olaf to him as well, and they stood like that until the atheling caught up with them.
“My Lord Leofwine,” Athelstan spoke courteously, and Northman felt himself being released by his father.
“My apologies My Lord, for not coming to you straight away,” Leofwine said, emotion heavy in his voice.
Smiling Athelstan brushed the comment aside,
“I’d not expect it, Leofwine. Not in the circumstances. I take it from your son’s presence that the king has agreed to their demands.”
Leofwine’s face darkened slightly, but he spoke clearly,
“He has but with some provisions. Thorkell isn't to get everything his way.”
“Excellent, but come, we must speak more privately.”
Northman thought they might be left where they were, but his father pulled them both beside him, so stumbling back towards the campsite, he followed his brother. They didn’t speak as they walked, but Northman noted the faces of those who he’d trained with at the king’s hall in Winchester. They clearly saw him, and his brother, who looked similar to him and who had his father’s features, and a murmur of understanding spread through the camp.
By the time they reached the tent of the athelings, Edmund had been appraised of the situation, and he grinned at Leofric, and spoke words of welcome to Leofwine and then other men who accompanied him for he’d not come alone.
The king had sent a number of his advisors with Leofwine, including the archbishop, Wulfstan. With no time for pleasantries, the archbishop spoke first,
“The king has agreed to the exchange of hostages, Leofric here, and also one of his sons. Edmund, I must inform you that your father has decreed you must go as his hostage.”
The archbishop spoke succinctly, and surprisingly Edmund shrugged aside the news,
“I’d thought he would. Athelstan has been trying to tell me that he wouldn’t agree to one of his sons, but I know father better. He has many sons, and although he loves us all, I think he would do anything to keep our kingdom safe. Please tell him I understand his reasoning and accept his decision.”
Northman was dismayed and overjoyed at the same time. Edmund was honourable and courageous. He would keep Leofric safe within the camp of Thorkell.
“He's also decided that the other ealdormen in the kingdom should send hostages to Thorkell. That is why we were delayed. We understood that Eadric’s youngest brother was to join us, but sadly, he didn’t arrive in time. It's hoped that tomorrow Uhtred of Northumbria’s oldest son will come, and so too will Ælfric’s son. Ulfcytel has agreed to send one of his older brother’s.”
“And what of the demand for food and payment?” Athelstan asked, speaking to the archbishop but looking at his brother as he was talking.
“Food can be arranged. The king has arranged for people from near about to come and harvest these fields. The food will then be gifted to Thorkell. As to the payment, the king refuses. He has offered £5000 instead if they leave within seven days and never return.”
Shocked eyes looked at the archbishop, but he held his ground,
“It wouldn’t be prudent to bow to their demands immediately. It is to be hoped that we can reach an agreement somewhere between the two amounts. Remember, the people of the land had alr
eady been heavily taxed to build the ship army. It’s not possible to ask for more.”
“And I am to pass these details to Thorkell?” Edmund asked.
“No, well, not alone. It has also been decided to send a man of God in the hope that he can convert these pagans from their Gods.”
Here a pale man stepped forward; his fingers ink-stained, his clothes the brown of a monk.
“My name is Cynwulf, and I'm one of the archbishop's monks from Worcester. I will come with you, give you all the word of God as you need, and hopefully, practise some of my conversion skills on the men.”
He had small beady eyes that shot about him nervously, but for all that, Northman instantly liked the monk. He seemed honest from his stance to his words. He thought that Wulfstan had made the right choice.
“And now, and if you’re ready Leofric and Edmund, I believe that we should approach Oxford and arrange the exchange of hostages. I wonder who Thorkell will send as a hostage for his behaviour.”
Leofwine looked suddenly shrunken at the thought of handing Leofric over to Thorkell, and he commented sourly,
“Let us hope it’s not the Danish king’s son. I’m sure that Æthelred would find much to gloat about if Cnut was the hostage.”
But Leofwine’s words proved to be accurate in their assessment. While Northman ran with the rest of the armed force, Leofwine, Leofric, Edmund and Wulfstan, rode to their rendezvous at the gates of Oxford.
No sooner had they arrived than the gates opened, almost as if they’d either been waiting for them or had known of their imminent arrival.
It was Hemming who came first, followed by Thorkell and Cnut, but no others.
Northman was not close enough this time to hear the exchange between the men, but he watched his brother with a lump in his throat and narrowed eyes, as his father escorted him down from his horse and up beside Thorkell astride his great horse. His father lingered for some moments, and Northman wondered if he was making use of his knowledge of his language to entreat the man to look after his son.