by M J Porter
“My Lord, I present Cnut, son of the Danish king Swein,” Northman spoke by way of an introduction before stepping aside. Northman had not forgotten that Cnut had once been a hostage at the king’s home, he merely wanted to proceed in the correct manner.
A squire hastily appeared and presented Cnut with a warmed spiced mead that he took in his hands after he’d painstakingly removed his gloves. He was clearly a man of much show and knew how to hold his audience.
When he’d drunk his fill, he strode towards Æthelred and spoke openly.
“My father sends his greetings and hopes that you’re well.”
Æthelred inclined his head at the formal reception but didn’t speak. In the silence, Cnut took a moment to survey his surroundings with acquisitive eyes.
“This is an elegant hall Æthelred. I may claim it as my own.”
Æthelred still didn’t rise to the bait, waiting to see, as everyone else would, just what Swein’s demand was.
“Ah, Thorkell, I see the rumours are correct, that you’ve chosen to ally yourself with the weak English king,” Cnut now side-tracked as his eyes alighted on his foster father. There was little warmth in his words, and Northman was pleased not to have them directed at him.
“Cnut, son, you have finally finished growing,” the massive warrior countered, not answering the allegations of disloyalty.
Cnut flushed a little at the personal reminder of the time they’d spent together when he was just a boy.
‘King Æthelred, as you would expect, I’ve come here with news of the terms my father will accept your surrender on and let you leave this country without further loss of life. However, I would rather have the discussion in more private surroundings.”
A rush of voices greeted the words, and Northman looked to where every warrior and household troop member was quickly conversing with their closest neighbour. He wished that Cnut’s words had been greeted with a little less relief, but he was not one to chastise the men.
The king looked around at the faces and gestured for Leofwine and Eadric to step a little closer towards him. A brief conversation ensued and then Eadric walked away towards where the cook pot was being stirred, and two huge pigs were being roasted. The smell was appetising after the cold and slow day Northman had endured.
Leofwine gestured for Northman to come towards him, and then he imparted his instructions. The king wished to speak to Cnut closer to the fire but in an area that was devoid of others. They’d share a meal together.
Æthelred stood and walked towards Thorkell, his eyes never leaving Cnut’s face as he asked or had a previous question answered. Northman wasn’t too sure.
Cnut remained where he was, comfortable as the object of everyone’s attention.
Quickly, the table the king had been sat at the day before was brought before the fire and laid out with food. At the same time many of the household men were filing out of the doorway, disgruntled voices unhappy at being forced into the snowstorm now raging outside. For their sakes, Northman hoped the king and Cnut would talk quickly.
Along with his father, he stood to one side as the king and Cnut ate and discussed their terms. Northman watched carefully, waiting for the king to show some tell-tale body language as to how well the talks were going but nothing happened. Instead, Cnut ate and spoke much, while Æthelred ate and talked little. Only when Cnut stood abruptly did Northman even realise that any agreement had been reached.
Hastily, he stepped back beside Cnut, wondering if he was needed to escort him back outside into the fully dark night, lit only by the moon, stars and the whiteness of the freshly fallen snow.
“My thanks, Northman,” Cnut thundered, his voice carrying to the far reaches of the hall where those lucky enough to have been allowed to stay inside had been quietly watching the king.
“I’ll return to my father now and let him know of developments here. And Æthelred, may we never meet again,” Cnut said, turning his back on the man with disdain, and stepping briskly forward. Northman snapped to attention and walked promptly to open the door for the Danish prince. It was evident that he was going to offer no word of explanation but was going to leave that to Æthelred, and that meant that Northman would have to wait until he returned from escorting Cnut away to discover what had been agreed.
Cnut’s horse was ready and waiting outside. The squire must have run to retrieve the beast, and Northman thanked him loudly for his timely actions.
Cnut offered no words, so Northman only turned and began retracing his steps of earlier. The air was bitterly chill, especially after having been inside for so long next to the roaring fire. He tugged his cloak tightly around his face and watched the figure of Cnut where he strode purposefully in front of him.
Snow had been falling the entire time that Cnut had been speaking to Æthelred, and there were no footprints in the snow. Still, Cnut apparently knew the way and Northman wondered if he’d been in London before. Then he remembered he had, with Thorkell a year earlier, when the archbishop had met his unfortunate death.
At the wall, Cnut turned towards Northman and held out his hands for his horse’s reins. Only once mounted did he speak,
“Be thankful that my father is such a sentimental old fool. Your entire family will be safe when he’s king. But, I've allied myself with another Mercian family, enemies of your foster-father. I suggest you switch your allegiance, and quickly at that. I’d not want to give an open invitation to your father, and have to temper it with the provision that it not include you.”
With no further words, Cnut mounted his horse, and extending his hand impatiently for a lit brand; he rode off into the dark night, a speck of light in one of the darkest nights Northman had ever known
Northman watched him go with dread. No, surely not. He tried to deny those final words but knew there and then that he and Cnut would never be allies, and that his foster father would never reconcile with their new king, Swein.
Chapter 47
Northman – London
Æthelred had gone to the Isle of Wight with Thorkell and his men. His wife was gone to her brother in Normandy, but he’d lingered a few days longer and then the winter storms had come. Aware that he must leave England, as agreed with Cnut, Æthelred had taken the only option he could, he’d retreated away from the mainland and would remain on the Isle of Wight until he was able to make a safe crossing.
All in all, it had been a little anticlimactic.
And now they waited for Swein to come to London for his coronation. Throughout the last week, the other Ealdormen had slunk their way into London without apology on their faces, but a little quieter than normal. The land was still in shock at the rapid change of events. No matter how many times anyone tried to put the rapid sequence of events into order, they still didn’t add up to a change in kingship. Not at all.
Æthelred had made a departing speech to his men, thanking them all for their efforts and wishing them well. He’d made it clear he blamed no one but himself for what had happened. But the meaningful look he’d shot Eadric had not gone unnoticed. And the king had left with Thorkell, not Eadric. Eadric he’d left behind, not entirely abandoned to his fate, but Northman knew he was unhappy, especially as the king taken Edith and his grandsons with him.
The coronation would take place the next day. A hastily arranged affair but well attended for all that. Swein had won support because men liked him more than they ever had Æthelred and it wasn’t hard to see why.
Swein rewarded those who endeavoured on his behalf. When he’d come through the gateway yesterday afternoon, he’d slipped armbands on to Northman’s hand, and liberally distributed coinage that showed Æthelred’s face. Swein may have merely been ridding himself of anything with the former king’s image on, but at the same time, he was showing his generosity to all and sundry, and it was appreciated by every warrior, trader and farmer.
His father had been called immediately to Swein’s presence, joined there by Ulfcytel, Uhtred and Æthelmær of the Western
Provinces, the man who’d taken control of the Western lands and treated with Swein to ensure that battle did not rage there. Only Eadric had been left out, and that had been purposefully done.
Cnut had arrived before his father, issuing instructions and taking charge of the forces left behind by Æthelred, few as they’d been, and bringing with him members of the Mercian family he’d allied himself with. Like Northman, Cnut had married young and hopefully, to good effect. The family he’s chosen had been that of the disgraced Ealdorman of Northumbria when Northman had been a boy, Ælfhelm. There was no hope of a reconciliation taking place anytime soon between Eadric and the new king for Eadric had murdered Ælfhelm, at the bequest of Æthelred or not as the case may be, it didn’t matter to his young daughter, who was now the consort of Swein’s probably heir.
It was a pretty mess and one that Northman didn’t wish to become embroiled in any further. Neither had his honour allowed him to abandon his wife’s family altogether. He’d do what he could for Eadric, but Ælfhelm’s daughter wasn’t the only out for his blood.
Godwine, the son of the Wulfnoth that Eadric’s brother had risen against during the disastrous campaign of 1009 before Thorkell had arrived in England, had made a reappearance alongside Cnut. The rumours were rife that Eadric’s downfall would not be long in coming, and Northman couldn’t deny that Cnut appeared keen to surround himself with the enemies of Eadric.
Whatever had happened during the winter of 1009 when Cnut and Thorkell had been in secret communication with Eadric, it had apparently soured Cnut’s opinion of the man. Thorkell had been more magnanimous, but then, he was a warrior, not a king in waiting.
Northman sighed deeply and beside him, Olaf laughed.
“It won’t be too much longer now. Get the coronation over and done with and hopefully we’ll be allowed to disperse back to our lands, and you’ll see your son again.”
“I hope so, Olaf. I’ve barely been home since he began to sit and gurgle, and I miss him, and Mildryth of course.”
“I think maybe you just miss the warm bed, but I’m too much a courtly man to mention that,” Olaf chuckled, and Northman cast him a thinly veiled look of annoyance.
“You’re just envious,” he retorted and saw Olaf flush a little at the truth of the matter.
A disturbance at the wall and Northman and the men were instantly alert and ready to face what was coming their way, only, it came from within London.
A scrabble of hooves on the icy ground, and Eadric erupted from the nearest street, barrelling his way towards Northman. His heart sank. The bloody idiot was trying to leave.
Quickly he called his men to him and had them stand across the small gateway.
“Move aside Northman,” Eadric demanded angrily.
“You know I can’t. The new king has made his instructions clear. You’re not to leave. None of us is. Not until after the Coronation.”
“Move aside; I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not Eadric, get back to the hall and stop this nonsense.”
His eyes blazing Eadric jumped from his horse and strode towards him. Reaching out he grabbed Northman around the collar of his cloak and brought their faces level,
“Let me pass or your wife will be punished.”
“My wife is with my mother, protected by our household troops and king Swein’s writ allowing my family to retain its position.”
“I’ll still get to her,” Eadric glowered, and Northman looked at him carefully. He was sweating and shaking all at the same time.
“What has Cnut done now?” he asked softly, according to his foster father some respect for all that he was sorely testing him.
“Nothing, and everything. It matters not. Let me pass.”
“If I let you pass, I imperil my family,” Northman retorted angrily, surprised that Eadric could still act in unpredictable ways.
“If you don’t, you’ll imperil them all the more,” he snarled.
Annoyed Northman worked Eadric’s hand loose from around his neck.
“I’ll take my chances, now go back to your lodgings. Don’t think that just because we’re family; I’ll let you run free. We all know the damage you’ve caused over the years. If it weren't for you, Thorkell would never have attacked East Anglia and set the chain of events that lead us to today.”
Eadric’s face turned whiter,
“What do you know of East Anglia and Thorkell?”
“Everything you fool. Why do you persist in thinking you can do whatever you want Eadric and no one will ever know.”
“Does the king know?”
“Which one?” Northman countered angrily.
“Æthelred of course, the rightful king.”
“Of course he knew. Why did he never mention it to you? I’m surprised. He was angry beyond words.”
“And how did you know?”
“You were being watched by Athelstan’s men. They waited all winter long and saw everything you did.”
Eadric pulled away from Æthelred then and looked about in panic.
“Then all is lost. Æthelred will not want me and nor will his daughter, and Cnut has made no bones of his intention to drive me from England. What am I to do?”
“I would suggest you bow your knee to the new king and make the best of it,” Northman offered softly, “like the rest of us.”
Eadric barked with laughter at his words,
“You are your father’s son that’s for sure. So easy for you to see the good in people and accept that they will act in your best interest at heart. Cnut hates me. He longs for my death.”
“He’s not the only one either is he, Eadric? You’ve survived this long by the excess use of your glib tongue. I’m sure you’ll do the same again.”
“Am I to get no pity from you, my nephew by marriage?” he implored.
“No, get from here and return to your lodgings, and let’s hope that Swein and Cnut have not heard of your attempt to escape. Neither of them appreciates disloyalty. You’d do well to remember that and then you might keep breathing a little longer.”
So defeated Eadric remounted his horse, with his select band of five followers and turned his horse back towards his lodgings. Northman sighed with relief when he watched him go.
Behind him, Olaf spoke angrily,
“Why did you do that? You should have just let him go.”
“I know Olaf, it would be far easier to rid ourselves of him, and I believe that Cnut will do so quite happily, but, he is our foster father.”
“He’s an arse, just as Oscetel once said, and the sooner he’s dead, the better.”
And so said, Olaf turned away from Northman, anger evident in his stance and Northman watched him with interest. He wished he could see the world in such shades of black and white. It was, after all, the greys that undid him.
Chapter 48
Christmas Day AD1013 – Northman - London
Considering the bitter weather, the attendance at Swein’s coronation was high, and not just with the warriors who’d escorted him from Denmark. As many of the English thegns and ealdormen had come as were welcome.
Swein was magnificently dressed in a warm fur cloak, and fine trousers, his boots brightly polished, and hung with jewels, as was the rest of him. At his side, Cnut was equally resplendent, and Northman traitorously thought that they did both look the part of king and king in waiting.
For all that rumours of Swein’s ill health were circulating violently and he didn’t look quite as vibrant as when Northman had met him as a child. He imagined that the years would have worked their worst on him, but still, he wasn’t convinced that he was in good health. Not at all.
Regardless, though, he was determined to wear the English crown, and so he’d endured the long ceremony of coronation. The new archbishop of Canterbury, Lyfing, had carried out the coronation. Swein had been anointed, given a massive golden ring, had a sword placed into his open hands, and also given a golden sceptre. And so he’d pledged himself to protect the E
nglish people and to do so with God’s assistance and acceptance.
Northman watched with tired eyes. He was unsure how far any of them could trust Swein and his son, and for how long Swein would even be their king but at least he would be called upon to pledge his oath as Swein’s commanded men. That was more than Eadric understood he was to do. Sullen eyed and casting baleful looks towards Northman; he was fidgeting his way through the ceremony and all the time Cnut watched him with contempt.
Leofwine as ever appeared calm amidst the upheavals taking place, and Northman didn’t think it was because he’d been offered neutrality from Swein. No, it ran deeper than that and Northman anticipated that it had far more to do with a discussion he’d watched his father have with the king than anything else. He wanted to query his father about it, but for all that their relationship was outwardly healed, asking for his father’s confidence was pushing things a little too far. In time, maybe, in time.
Before him, Swein was proclaimed king to rousing cheers from all assembled, and Swein, in a most un-kinglike move, grinned wickedly from ear to ear. How long he’d been planning on securing England’s crown for himself, Northman didn’t know, but rumour had it that he’d made his eldest son Harald regent in his place when he’d set out for England. That forethought made all his actions appear preconceived.
Northman had a worry of fear that it had been his father’s attempts to involve Swein in recalling Thorkell that had given him the idea of not just attacking but taking the crown. He shared those thoughts with no one. Especially not his father.
Northman grinned along with this new king, Swein of England, his good cheer too infectious to rebuff even at such a distance, and when it was his turn to kneel before his king and offer his pledge, he did so willingly. The congregation of the Church seemed invigorated with their new king, a feeling of hope sweeping through those assembled. It might not be ideal to have the Danish king now as the English king, but one thing was determined. It would, once and for all, put an end to the devastating and cataclysmic raiding parties that had decimated the land for so many long years, almost without let up.