Northman Part 1

by M J Porter

A flurry of activity woke him early as the first faint stirrings of better weather enveloped the land, and made him cast aside his heaviest fur covering. Coupled with the warmth, a commotion inside the king’s hall alerted him that there were visitors.

  Crawling to a spot where he could see who’d disturbed his rest, he was dismayed to recognise the man speaking with Eadric. Hemming. What was he doing here?

  The men were not exactly comfortable with each other, but there was an intimacy that Northman wouldn’t have expected after their last encounter. Words were exchanged, and then Hemming hastily left the room, the sound of his horse being ridden away reached Northman’s ears. He’d not been alone either.

  Eadric was quickly joined by his brother Brihtric and then spoke quietly and swiftly before Brihtric himself went outside and rode off as well.

  Northman’s unease grew.

  What was happening?

  What was with all the secrecy and why was Hemming within the king’s hall, speaking to Eadric on what appeared to be friendly terms?

  When nothing else happened, Northman returned just as quietly to his bed, but he didn’t sleep again, his mind whirling with implications.

  The next day was his usual day to ride out to Oxford, only on this occasion, Eadric announced that he’d come too. Annoyed, Northman rode in an ill humour that worsened the closer he came to Oxford. He had a feeling that Thorkell and his men would no longer be there, and he was proved right.

  Cursing aloud, he first noticed that the gates were flung wide open, and then he noticed the lack of ships that had until last week, been drawn up tight to the Western gates. And thirdly, he saw the tide of figures limping through the open gates, the smell of smoke drifting in the warming day.

  Spurring his horse on, with no heed for Eadric lagging behind him, he was amongst the refugees in no time at all. He dropped from his horse and walked amongst them.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, “Where are the Raiders?”

  An older man, his eyes dulled with hunger, came staggering towards him,

  “They’ve gone. This morning. Hemming, he came with supplies and riches, and then they all left. They told us we could have our lives, but they’ve taken all our food and animals. We have nothing left.”

  Nodding in understanding, Northman looked about for Eadric, and glimpsed in the distance, a lone horseman who he hoped was one of Athelstan’s men. No doubt, they would get word to the king.

  “Were they good to you?”

  “Some of the time,” came the reply, “until the food and the wood for burning ran small, and then they were not so good to us.”

  “Thank you for your answers. Here,” and Northman fiddled with the saddle bag on his horse, “take what food I have, but please, share it as best you can.”

  The man grabbed the food readily enough, but stilled himself,

  “My thanks, young Lord. Your generosity is welcome.”

  Belittled by the man’s gratitude, Northman continued his ride into Oxford. His curiosity was thoroughly aroused. What would he find within?

  Inside, the privations of a long winter could be clearly seen. Some of the buildings nearest to the wall had been torn down, no doubt for fuel. The roadway was worn thin, but still glowed with the traces of the metals that ran through it, and the defences had not been repaired at all. The debris of too many people had been tidily swept to one side, nearest the wall, and would soon be crawling with flies, when the weather turned much warmer.

  But it was the people he cared most about, they streamed out of Oxford, with anything they could carry. They were thin and bedraggled, but alive. He wondered how many hadn’t been so lucky. He didn’t find the cause of the smoke and hoped that if fires had been deliberately started, they’d been quickly brought under control.

  He came across the Church closest to the Western gate and noticed disturbances in the ground. Those were the poor wretches who’d died with the winter. And then he found someone of note, the head of the Church. He was a gaunt man, made thinner by the winter shortages, but his face was creased with a smile, and joy shone from within him. He hummed as he worked, tidying the small graveyard, and Northman called softly to him.

  “Priest, you are well?”

  With glowing eyes, the man turned to look at him,

  “Yes thank you, young Lord. Fairly well.”

  “The Raiders are gone?”

  “Completely, and they’ve vowed not to come back again. They’ve had all they can from the men and women of Oxford.”

  “Where have they gone?” Northman pressed. By now the others of Eadric’s reconnaissance trip had arrived, and Olaf was close beside him.

  “To the east,” the priest sang, still in his singsong voice. Olaf raised his eyebrows at Northman and mouthed, “Is he not quite right in the head?” but Northman didn’t yet know.

  “Why did they leave and travel to the East?”

  “They received something this morning, and they were content and joked about it. And now they’ve gone to the East, as they’d been told to.”

  Frustration creased Northman’s forehead,

  “Who told them to?”

  “Whoever sent them the box of coins,” the priest responded blithely, and Northman felt his anger building. Surely Eadric had not paid the Raiders to attack their people in the East? Surely not? These must just be the strange ramblings of a man apparently pushed too far by the months he’d been a captive of Thorkell and his men.

  “Have you had any visitors at all during the winter?” Northman continued to ask, desperate for some denial to his dark thoughts.

  “No, but often the Raiders have ridden out, to the north, or so they say, but never very far for they could make the journey in a day. They often came back laughing and joking.”

  Olaf was quick to catch on to Northman’s thoughts, and his face clouded. This time, he whispered, “Eadric?” and Northman found himself nodding while looking for the man they discussed. He suddenly felt fearful for the Priest. If Eadric overheard him talking so freely, he’d be sure to silence him.

  Just then more monks rushed from the Church, calling the name of the Priest. They stopped abruptly when they saw Northman, but he beckoned them on.

  “Take him from here. Keep him away from the Lord Eadric. And try to stop his ramblings.”

  The two monks nodded in understanding and began to lead the man away. A third stayed where he was, looking from Northman to the open gateway.

  “Does he speak the truth?” Northman asked impatiently, “about the Raiders leaving here once a week?”

  “Yes he does, but we’ve been told not to mention it or face death. But yes, someone has bribed Thorkell and Hemming, and they’ve taken the bribe right enough. They’re heading to the East to steal land and coin and kill the men who pledge allegiance to the king’s son by marriage. It’s a shameful thing.”

  “My thanks,” Northman said, mindful that he not put the monks in any further danger or harm. Hastily, he pulled forth his small amount of coin from inside his money sack and pressed it into the hand of the monk.

  “Take it. Use it to repair the church or buy food. I’ll try and get word to my father of your need.”

  Just then a commotion at the gate alerted Northman to the arrival of Eadric, and he all but leapt back into his saddle, as the monk scurried away. Olaf had moved his horse so that it blocked any view from the gate, but still, Northman was unsure if he’d been spotted speaking to the monk.

  “Northman,” Eadric bellowed, “get out of there. No doubt there’s disease and contagion inside the place.”

  “But my Lord, we must check for any remaining Raiders. They might have left their sick and dying to fend for themselves.”

  “They might, yes, but it’s not our place to discover them.”

  “But they might know where they’ve gone.”

  “They’ve gone, that’s all that matters. Now come. We must travel home, and then get word to the king.”

  “Would it not be best to seek
the king directly?”

  “No, it wouldn’t. Now come, and be quick about it.”

  Without further conversation, Eadric turned his horse around, shooting out the gate in a swirl of mud and muck, unaware of those who staggered around him at his passing. Northman winced for the man who fell under the horse’s hooves, rushing to help him to his feet. The man was aggravated but welcomed the support and the coin that Olaf pressed into his hand.

  “Where will you go?” Northman asked.

  “To the outlying farms. They’ll help us and feed us and then we can come back to Oxford and rebuild our lives. The Reeve says he’ll stay, and his men will guard our homes and businesses.”

  “There are some of the king’s men near to the South,” Northman muttered under his breath, “If you see them will you please let them know that the Raiders have gone to the East, to the lands of Ulfcytel.”

  Surprised eyebrows greeted his words, but the man nodded in understanding.

  Northman clambered back onto his horse and rode more sedately out of the gate. Eadric was already almost out of sight, and once clear of the refugees, he spurred his horse to catch his foster-father, never having wanted to do anything less in his life. The man was a traitor. He worked actively against the king and had been doing so all winter, even leading him astray. Anger and anguish warred within him, but it was a calm vengeance that filled him. He would make Eadric pay for this. Somehow.

  Chapter 24

  AD1010 - Leofwine – The King’s Witan

  The winter had been as productive as most. The weather had been grim, the snows deep preventing any messengers from reaching him from either the king or his son. But now, the coming summer brought an impetus to everyone. Leofwine, deciding that the lack of news was a worry had sought the king at the earliest opportunity and found him at Enham. He arrived at the same time as a small and ragged collection of mounted men did, and Leofwine knew that something monumental had happened.

  The leader of the men greeted Leofwine abruptly, his rush to see the king evident, and so instead of stopping the men; he rode quickly to keep up, dismounting at the same time as them.

  Forgetting he was grimy from the road, he followed the leader inside and gained admittance to the king at the same time.

  Æthelred was eating his dinner to muted conversation, but the king’s son Athelstan stood on seeing the man and the colour drained from his face.

  “Burghed, what news is there?”

  “My king, my Lord and my Lady,” he began noticing, as Leofwine hadn’t, that the queen accompanied the king,

  “Thorkell and his men have left Oxford. They’ve gone East, to the lands of Ulfcytel.”

  Dismayed gasps greeted the words, and Æthelred stood at the unexpected news, before sitting again, a little surprised by his actions.

  “How do you know this?” Athelstan asked, signalling that his man should be served with food and mead, both of which were gratefully accepted.

  “We’ve seen it with our own eyes, and we also saw the refugees leaving Oxford. They’re all but starved and will need to seek bounty from their neighbours and yourself.”

  Nodding in agreement, the king gestured that he should go on.

  “And as to where they’re going, one of the refugees told me. But, there was another development which I think should be shared in more private surroundings.”

  Æthelred shot once more to hit feet, indicating that Athelstan should also come with him, as should Leofwine, who he’d now noticed, and a select few from his permanent household. Once inside one of the smaller rooms, Æthelred turned to Burghed.

  “My Lord, it pains me to inform you so, but I saw Lord Eadric and his men in Oxford. They arrived within moments of Thorkell leaving, did nothing to help the fleeing men and women and promptly rode back to Wantage. Your son, my Lord Leofwine, arranged for the messenger to seek me out with the news that they were going to the East. I know nothing more, but I suspect much.”

  “What do you suspect?” the king queried, although his flat voice made all aware that he knew what the man would say next.

  Swallowing around the news and with a nod of encouragement from Athelstan, Burghed spoke,

  “I think Eadric has paid Thorkell to raid the Eastern lands. A small party of men was absent during the night, but returned at cock crow, weighed down with something that was small enough to be concealed on their body.”

  Æthelred’s paced as he heard the words,

  “You’re sure of this?” he asked, his teeth clenched, his words forced past those teeth.

  “As sure as I can be. There have been comings and going all winter long. Whenever Northman and the men rode to Oxford to check on the Raiders, a small party would already have left Oxford. They’d return once Northman was gone.”

  “And where did they go?”

  “We didn’t have the men to follow them, but we suspected it had to be somewhere close.”

  Athelstan was incensed,

  “We must do something father. Call out the fyrd to assist Ulfcytel and banish Eadric once and for all.”

  “We must call out the fyrd, yes, but we have no proof that he paid Thorkell to attack Ulfcytel. Bring me the proof and I will act. For now could you please take your household troops to the East and try and track down Thorkell. Send word so that we know where to attack.”

  Athelstan wanted to argue. That much was clear, but for once, the king was giving him the opportunity to act independently and on behalf of his people. His joy at that warred with his frustration, and it was his desire to serve his nation that won. With a hasty word of goodbye, he sped from the room. Outside Edmund had loitered, waiting for his brother, and he quickly joined up with him and strode from the hall.

  Into the thunderous silence, no one spoke or coughed, or breathed. Leofwine watched his king with interest. How would he react to this new treason when he’d not yet fully forgiven the last one?

  Anguished eyes turned his way, and Leofwine felt for the man who was the only master he’d ever known. Who could he call his friend when everyone worked for their ends? Not for the first time, Leofwine acknowledged the loneliness of power.

  “My Lord,” he began quietly, and Æthelred nodded to show he should continue, although his eyes stayed firmly on his feet. “We should act on the news of Thorkell’s movements. Athelstan will travel fast and well and inform us as soon as he can. But we must get word to Ulfcytel. He needs to be aware of what is coming his way.”

  “Of course Leofwine, we must inform my son by marriage. Can you arrange that for me? I don’t think they’ll be able to travel directly to the East. Not as a few lone men. God only knows what they might encounter.”

  The king’s dismay rang loudly when he blasphemed, but Leofwine didn’t react, and neither did his household priest. Treacherous times, when, for want of a better explanation, God did seem to have abandoned his people, called for harsh words.

  “I would suggest sending the men via the sea, but I don’t think that would aid us at all. If Thorkell is at loose near the Eastern coast, our messengers will surely be spotted. No, I’ll send a few small parties with the news. And my lord king?”

  “Yes, Leofwine?”

  “Would you like my men to bring your daughter home?”

  Visibly gulping at the reminder of his daughter’s precarious position, Æthelred met Leofwine’s eye.

  “If it’s possible, yes. If not, have your men stay and offer more protection. I know Ulfcytel will not let any danger befall her, but still, I’d feel reassured.”

  Bowing and excusing himself from the king’s presence, Leofwine rushed from the room, or as much as he could with his leg stiff from riding, and his hound weaving between his legs.

  In the hall, the queen was eating sedately, her efforts at calm working wonders on the women of the king’s hall. While men shot hither and wither, collecting supplies and clothing and food, the women of the court went about calmly, handing our packages of food to Athelstan and his warriors, while healing her
bs were carefully placed within the horse packs of the healer who would accompany Athelstan.

  Just for the briefest moment, Leofwine stopped and watched all the people at work. Who would still be here within a week, a month, and a year? The vagaries of time would alter the makeup of this hall, and it saddened him to know that he could no sooner say goodbye to those who would die than he could predict who they’d be.

  Beside him, Horic came into view, and Leofwine waved him outside. He wanted this conversation in private.

  Horic had heard much of the news, and the men who’d only just ridden in were making ready to leave again. Leofwine looked at his men. Who should he send on this perilous journey? Not Horic, and not Oscetel and not Horic’s sons. But who then? He could ask for volunteers, but it would be Horic and Oscetel who shouted the loudest for the honour. He didn’t want to lose his men for all that they’d walk through the fires of Hell for him.

  “I need three groups of men, four in each cluster. You’re to travel East, and avoid Thorkell and his Raiders, and find Ulfcytel. He needs to know that Thorkell is coming to him next.”

  A grin split Horic’s face. He’d grasped the subterfuge needed instantly, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he turned to Oscetel and spoke,

  “Shall we go together or apart?” he queried, a playful tone in his voice. The chance of a battle, any battle, drove other thoughts from his mind.

  Oscetel raised his eyebrow and looked a challenge,

  “I say you shouldn’t go at all. Send your boys old man.”

  Horic smirked at the transparent attempt to rile him.

  “My Lord Leofwine,” he said, turning towards Leofwine with a cocky stance, “I volunteer. I’ll take my oldest son, and also two other men who’d like to come with me. We’ll ride like the wind and get to Ulfcytel first.”

  Heavy hearted, Leofwine accepted his friend’s wishes, watching the men of the war-band vie for the honour of being with Horic. Immediately afterwards Oscetel spoke the same words, and again, men competed to go with him.

  That just left the third group. If Northman had been here, he’d perhaps have let him lead the third party, but he was not, and although Leofric was frantically trying to catch his eye, Leofwine knew he was too young to understand the word discreet.