by M J Porter
“I don’t think I can do that Wulfstan,” Northman said feeling genuinely sorry to upset the old man.
“I didn’t mean this very moment. But think about it, for my sake. I’ll be gone soon, and I’d like to know that you’ll be allies again. One day.”
“I’ll think about it, but nothing more,” Northman said after a long silence, during which he thought of almost anything but asking his father for forgiveness.
“You’re a good man Northman. Quick witted and gentle but strong and fierce when you need to be. They’re good qualities to have.”
And between one word and the next, Wulfstan slept and Northman felt his loneliness engulf him once more. He prayed for the sunrise and for Mildryth to deliver their child without any problems. Slumped forwards, with his elbows on his knees, he had an inkling that being thought a man would perhaps not be the great achievement he’d always thought it’d be. Already responsibility weighed him down.
Chapter 40
AD1012 – Leofwine
Fuzzy headed, it took him an age to recognise the cry of a newborn baby echoing around his hall.
He’d drunk too much the night before, Horic plying him with cup after cup of mead in the hope of making him relent in his anger against his son. It hadn’t worked, and now Leofwine grimaced. It seemed he had to face the embodiment of his son’s bad decision making, and with a pounding head as well.
At the foot of his bed, Hammer looked at him with accusing eyes, and Leofwine rolled over in frustration. Even the bloody dog didn’t approve of his anger. But, he couldn’t make it go away. He couldn’t just accept what had happened, no matter how much he wanted to.
The door to their room opened, and Æthelflæd entered with a delighted grin on her face.
“A boy, Leofwine, you have a grandson.”
He groaned, and she started to giggle with delight, running her hands over her slim waist. He knew she longed for another child, but he thought it unlikely that she’d have another now. It had been too many years since Eadwine’s birth and she’d not shown any signs since. He knew she’d dote upon this new baby, regardless of its heritage.
“Is it hale?” he queried, knowing that his petulance shouldn’t detract from that important fact.
“Yes, lusty and big. Just like his father before him. Will you come and see him?”
“No, not now, my head pounds too much, and it’s crying.”
Again a smirk of pleasure,
“Newborn babies always cry and old men always drink too much mead, but that's the way of the world.” It was clear that her good cheer was beyond dimming.
Momentarily he considered forgetting his ill humour and greeting his son with the pride and joy he deserved but then, between one breath and the next, his world fell apart.
A loud knocking at the door and Leofric burst, not ungently, through the doorway, his face bleached with shock.
“What is it Leofric?” his mother asked, turning to hasten out of the door. “Is it the baby?”
“No mother, the baby is fine. Listen you can hear him?”
“Then what?” she asked.
But Leofwine was out of bed, his stomach in his shoes. He knew what that look portended.
Staggering from his bed, relieved to find himself dressed, Hammer preceded him into the silent hall. Few were actually out of their beds, most recovering from the excesses of the wedding feast last night. But of those, there was one face missing, and it would always be missing from now on.
On leaden legs, Leofwine walked towards the fire and the wooden chair that Wulfstan had long occupied. Leofwine had insisted on its construction when his back started to ache and sleep became almost impossible.
Now the small form within the confines of the chair covered with blankets, was still and quiet, almost as though he slept, only his eyes were open, and a small smile covered his face.
Bereft, Leofwine struggled to stand. Hammer immediately at his one side, and his wife at the other. Still, his knees buckled and he tripped over his own feet in his desire to get both close to his friend and stay as far away as possible from the truth of what had happened.
Leofric had returned to Wulfstan’s side, reaching out once more to test that no breath came through the still form, but Leofwine knew in his heart that his oldest friend, mentor and dearest father figure had breathed his last.
Hastily, Ealdgyth pushed a stall under his wavering body, and gently he placed himself on the stool beside Wulfstan so that he could take his friend’s hand in his own, and hold it just one last time.
The hands were devoid of their strength that had guided him throughout the last twenty years of his life and grief overwhelmed him. No, not Wulfstan.
He was unaware of the activity going on around him, as Æthelflæd commanded the servants to make ready a place in the outer barn to lie Wulfstan out before his burial, and also called for the local priest to come and sit with him. Neither was he aware of Horic standing beside him, and squeezing his shoulder, or of the sadness on Oscetel’s face.
He sat, as candles burned low and the wind and rain lashed his home, and he did not move. Not once.
He dropped his head to the arm of the chair beside Wulfstan’s hand, and he looked at his friend and took in all that he could. Someone had seen to his eyes, and they were now closed so that he looked as though he slept, and his body had not cooled because it sat before the fire and Leofwine hoped that at any moment his friend would open his eyes and all would be well. But it was a futile hope. Wulfstan was gone.
Soft words were spoken to him, words of condolence and sympathy but nothing permeated his sadness. Nothing could break through the horror he felt engulfed by.
He knew Wulfstan had wanted this. He’d been ill all summer long, and Leofwine had suspected that he’d fought to stay alive, to see his son reconciled with his father, and to see the birth of the new baby, but to know that the birth had caused the loss of his friend caused his blood to boil with rage. And then bitterness consumed him.
How dare the baby be born so soon? He’d not had the time to say his goodbyes, to thank his friend, to tell him how much he loved him and respected him.
How dare Northman be the cause of all this upset?
Before him his son materialised, his eyes shining with joy, his child cradled in his arms as he held him out for his father and Wulfstan to inspect.
Leofwine reacted angrily, not even looking at the child, or meeting his son’s eyes, but striding out of the door into a maelstrom of wind and rain.
He didn’t notice the confusion on Northman’s face or the grief as it crumbled as he realised that no one had told him of his father’s loss. But by then, it was all too late.
Chapter 41
AD1012 - Northman – Deerhurst
Anger infused his every step, thought and word. No matter how much his mother tried to smooth the waters it was too little too late, and he couldn’t, just couldn’t forgive his father for his dismissal of his newborn son. Regardless of Wulfstan’s sudden loss, his father should have shared his joy. Wulfstan would have wanted that, demanded it in fact.
He’d been forced to return to Mildryth, a smile of joy plastered on his face, telling her of how pleased everyone was with their joyful news. He knew she’d not commented on just how little time he’d been within the hall or the outpouring of grief she’d heard, too tired to note anything.
As sleep had claimed her, he’d slumped to the bed beside her, clutching his son, and holding his wife’s hand as tears pooled down his face. Not Wulfstan, not now!
His mother had found him there, her grief enveloping her, slowing her actions and clouding her face. She’d held her son and wept with him, and finally, their tears had turned to joy at the tiny bundle he held in his arms, protectively.
She’d spoken of her joy and her love for his new son, but when she’d tried to apologise for his father’s actions his heart had hardened, and his anger had resurfaced. And all credit to her, she’d realised and quickly changed the conversa
tion. Her eyes worried and hooded at this devastating occurrence.
Later than night, when he’d been sat by the fire, nodding himself to sleep, his father had come to him, face all apologetic, his grief weighing him down so that his footsteps were uneven although tired old Hammer kept pace with his master. Northman had heard his words of regret and apology, but he couldn’t forget what had happened. Ignoring his father had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he’d made his decision as to his next actions, and they didn’t involve his father. No, he was going back to Eadric, to demand to become his commended man, to swear his oath and live on his lands. At least with Eadric, he knew to expect disappointment.
The next month had passed painfully slowly while Mildryth recovered from the birth. With no word to anyone he’d hustled his son and his wife from his father’s hall in the chill early morning without forewarning anyone, not even Mildryth.
She’d been confused and concerned as she’d held her son close to her chest, but it was Leofric who’d spoken, his brother coming upon him in the animal barn as he made his horse ready for their journey.
“What are you doing brother?” he asked.
“Leaving. I think it’s pretty obvious.”
“So why sneak away like this?”
Northman didn’t answer his question,
“What are you doing here Leofric?” he asked instead.
“I’ve been watching you, and mother’s been watching you. We both knew that you were planning something, but this, I would have expected more from you.”
“And I would have expected more from my father, but then, it looks like we’ve both been disappointed.” His words were angry, rage flooding through his body at the reminder of what drove his actions.
Atop her horse, Mildryth looked confused and concerned in equal measure.
“Your father?” she queried. “What’s he done?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we leave here. Now.”
“You’ve not even told her then?” Leofric pressed, and Northman felt his anger surfacing at his brother.
“There was no need,” he replied in a quietly raging voice, his eyes boring into his brother’s in the hope that he’d not speak further. He couldn’t, just couldn’t tell his wife the truth of what had happened.
Shrugging Leofric looked at him but held his tongue,
“As you will brother, but remember, he’s just a man and men make mistakes. All the time. And brother,” he’d been in the process of turning around but looked back to meet his eyes once more, “remember that your mother loves you, as do I and your other brothers and sister. We’ll assist in any way we can. And so will father.”
And without so much as a backwards glance, Leofric was gone, and Northman felt his resolve crumble, but then his son cried out, and he looked at his innocent face, and his anger returned full force. No, he’d not ignore what his father had done.
The journey to Shropshire had been hazardous and slow going. Mildryth, still weak and sore from her birth, had grumbled not once, but he’d been aware of her slow movements and gasps of pain. The short winter’s day had afforded them little time to make headway in the weak sun, but somehow they’d made it to Eadric’s hall.
Swallowing his fear at coming back to this place, he’d walked calmly into Eadric’s hall, Mildryth carrying her son with pride and at last, and quite unexpectedly, he’d received the welcome he’d been hoping to receive from his father.
Eadric had spoken not one single derisive word, instead of saying he’d arrange for them to have a home to call their own shortly and that in the meantime they were welcome within the hall. Mildryth, worried to be back with her Uncle and Father, had been greeted with delight by Edith who’d secreted her away so that they could discuss babies and children and motherhood away from the men. Brihtric had handed Northman a mead cup full to the top and together he’d toasted his son’s birth and spoken of the future.
Late into the night, they’d drunk and spoken of trifling matters, no mention of Leofwine or the king or the Raiders and Northman had reached the drunken decision that he’d acted as he should have done. In this house of his father’s enemy, he would always be welcome, and now, finally acknowledged as a man by all, he hoped he’d be gifted with land and his household troops. He’d work for the benefit of Eadric in everything he did, hoped he’d forget all about his father. He’d abandoned him long ago, and now Northman felt that he could abandon him back. No more would he look to be recognised as the son of the Ealdorman of the Hwicce. No more.
Chapter 42
AD1013 - Northman
Northman and Mildryth had pondered long and hard about what to name their son before his birth, but the death of Wulfstan had made them change their mind so that despite his rift with his father, he decided that he needed to honour his grandfather in all but name. So little Wulfstan grew well and strong within the household of Eadric, the idea that Northman should have his own home somehow forgotten in the rush of everyday activities, as was his demand to become his commended man. Eadric was not often at home, called to serve the king often. Without him, it was almost as if they didn’t dwell within Eadric’s home.
Mildryth, pleased to have Edith as her companion, never complained and Northman, happy to be back amongst the household troops, training daily, was pleased not to shoulder the burdens of fatherhood all on his own. If any had dared to comment that he had the responsibilities of a man and yet seemed to be sidestepping them all, he’d not have reacted well, but while he lived a little in denial, he was content.
Eadric had found him a willing accomplice in his efforts to further undermine Leofwine and any initial unease at what he was doing, soon evaporated when the king presented him with his first grant of land within the Mercian lands. Eadric assured him that it had been his work that had ensured his favour with the king, and at the Witan to confirm the grant, Northman studiously ignored any overtures from his father to reach an accord. He didn’t care that even the king commented on his father’s virtues. He’d made his decision, and he would stick with it.
Leofric congratulated him heartily, as did Oscetel when they chanced upon each other, and neither mentioned his father. Northman was grateful and relieved all at the same time. Even Eadric rarely mentioned his father and somehow, the year turned slowly towards the summer with Northman thinking that his life was complete and fulfilled. Gifts came from his mother for the baby, and Mildryth crowed with delight over them all and gently pressed her husband to arrange for them to meet again. Northman agreed happily, content in the knowledge that his father would be busy about his duties. And so, with the summer sun high overhead, a stark contrast to the wintry night he’d left his home on, he returned to his childhood home to reunite with his mother and allow her time with her grandchild.
It was on that journey, on a pleasant patch of meadowland bordered by a gently gurgling stream where Northman received devastating news. Leofric, apparently looking for him, came upon them in a shower of churned mud and foaming horse, his eyes haunted and relieved to have found his quarry all at the same time.
“Leofric,” Northman gasped, “what brings you here?”
Instantly, and traitorously, his thoughts had turned to his father. Had something befallen him?
“Northman come, you must get to Deerhurst immediately. A calamity has befallen us again. Swein, Swein of Denmark has attacked Sandwich.”
Shock and horror and a screech of terror from Mildryth had Northman moving without thinking. Swein? What the hell was Swein doing attacking England?
“Where did you hear the news,” he asked, roughly helping Mildryth to mount her horse. He passed Wulfstan to her, and then mounted his horse, his hound lagging at his feet. The old beast was too old to have made such a long journey, and he more than anything, was the reason they’d stopped. Looking from his wife to his brother, to his son and his hound, he hauled the dog up beside himself on his saddle. The old dog looked relieved and embarrassed all at the same time
.
“Father has sent news from the Witan. The king has received messengers, at least five of them from the eastern coast, and they all confirm the details. It’s a massive fleet, Northman, even surpassing Thorkell’s.”
“And there was no warning?”
“None, not even Thorkell knew of what was to come. His fleet was at London undergoing repairs, but they’ve sailed out to try to counter Swein, but I fear it’s too late. He already has a foothold on English land.”
There was no chance for talk to continue then as they all turned their horses towards Deerhurst. What had started as a pleasant summer's journey suddenly taking on a whole new impetus. Northman felt a cold certainty take root within his body. Somehow, and he didn’t know how he knew this, this new invasion signalled something far more concerning than anything that had gone before. Olaf, who’d murdered his grandfather, Swein in the past and Thorkell more recently, they’d come only for easy money and easy plunder. Swein, now the very well respected and revered king of Denmark and part of Norway, able to snap his fingers and have four thousand specially trained troops do his work, was a whole new challenge.
The land, so tired of the constant attacks of the recent years, had thought itself free from the depravations the Raiders inflicted, and an almost fair-like spirit had infected everyone. No one was ready for another attack. The ships from the ship army were still in good repair, but they were beached high above the water lines at Sandwich and London, the king content to let the effective command of Thorkell keep his lands safe. Once more, it appeared he’d put his trust in the wrong man.
His mother greeted them at Deerhurst, her face both concerned and joyful at the same time. His father’s household troops had been busy amassing and in a conflicted moment Northman didn’t know what to do. Should he rush home to his men, or stay here and travel with Leofric and the men to where Leofwine was awaiting them?