by M J Porter
He walked in silence beside his sister as they made their way into the king’s hall. Leofric’s mind was a swirl of questions and unease. It seemed that he might not be the only person who’d overestimated his own skills, and it might just prove his undoing, as it had so nearly done his father before him.
He cursed his bad luck, the timing of Thorkell’s death and the fact that Cnut, as a Danish king, had only Danish and northern men as his allies. His sister was correct when she summed up Cnut’s isolation from other Englishmen. There was none in any sort of position of power who could treat for him in another country, apart from the holy men, and while Denmark was just about Christian, the northern kingdoms weren’t. Only the bravest would want to venture to Norway and Sweden, and Leofric knew that none of them would inspire any sort of respect from the warrior kings and their armies, even in Norway where Olaf Tryggvason had done so much to spread Christianity.
No, he could see the twisted logic that made the proposition so appealing to Cnut, and so disagreeable to himself.
If he travelled north, and if the worst happened and he was killed, Cnut would simply declare war on the man who killed him, or perhaps not, and then quietly replace him in England with one of his Danish men or even one of his brothers. He’d never felt more as though he was a disposable playing piece on the king’s board of players.
It was a dizzying realisation and one that soured him before he’d even spoken to the king.
His sister left him at the door to the king’s hall, slinking her way back to her place amongst the queen’s women and he squared his shoulders and sought out Cnut. He needed to act as though he had no idea why the king had summoned him, and he also needed to appear saddened by Thorkell’s death, although that had not just become an event that terrified him.
If Thorkell hadn’t been safe, then how could he be? Thorkell had been a Viking warrior, the leader of the Jomsvikings, the foster-father of Cnut and then Cnut’s own son.
He found the king moodily staring into a mug of mead at the front of his hall. Leofric was struck by just how young his king was, how similar in age he was to himself. He’d been raised in the belief that the elder generation knew better, that they made the right decisions, he was just beginning to realise that he was now that older generation, that there was no one left to guide his steps other than himself. If he made a mistake now he’d have no one to blame but himself.
Cnut was alone and yet Leofric hesitated to interrupt his thoughts, uneasy with starting a conversation he knew he’d never forget and one that he already knew the outcome of. He wouldn’t be able to refuse the king, not without risking his family even more.
Unremarked at his side, he’d forgotten his hound, Beauty, followed him, and it was the beast that finally penetrated Cnut’s resolve and made him focus his drink addled eyes on Leofric.
“Lord Leofric,” the king said, as Leofric bent his head in respect.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” was his simple reply, and he at least felt as though he meant those words as they brushed through his dry mouth.
“My thanks. I will miss Thorkell. He was … he was like a father to me and I’ll miss him. He deserved a better death but I imagine he was happy to die with his sword in his hand.”
“I hear it’s the way of the Jomsvikings,” Leofric offered but he knew his words were hardly heeded. The king had sunk into a depression.
“I can’t let his death go unavenged,” Cnut finally muttered and Leofric made the appropriate noise in the back of his throat. Cnut was correct in his summation but it made him even unhappier. It was clear to see that he was riddled with grief and anger both.
“I can’t let fucking Olaf Haraldsson and Anund Jakob get away with this. There are reports that they attack the Danish trading routes as well, and that’s dangerous. Denmark needs to trade, just as much as England does.”
“What do you intend?” Leofric asked, even though he didn’t want to.
“I need a peace because I need to build an army. Since coming to England, I’ve let the Trelleborg forts fall to ruin. I didn’t think I’d need to fight my own countrymen.”
“Surely you have the men you originally trained. Can you recall them?” Leofric asked as Cnut fixed him with an angry stare.
“Yes, but it’ll take time and it seems the bastards won’t give me any time. They mean to attack me now, they probably are attacking me now, while I sit here and wait for my earls and bishops to attend upon me.”
Leofric was surprised to find the king so miserable. He’d expected him to be angry, grieving, not feeling sorry for himself, and yet he seemed as petulant as a child deprived of his favourite toy.
“I need you to do something for me,” Cnut said, and already his tone was wheedling and Leofric felt his own anger begin to flame. He’d tried to remain calm; to think clearly about the words his sister had shared with him, but it was almost too much for him. He only wished he’d known much, much sooner, been given time to prepare his answer, but really, he had nothing further to offer than his agreement.
Still, he studied Cnut in the brief moment he was quiet, trying to find the right words to phrase his request.
Cnut was a young man, his vigour evident in the way he moved, the tug of the tight fabric across his chest, and in the fine blond that threaded his beard and moustache and which crowned his head. His eyes were bright and alert, his skin still free from wrinkles. Leofric could only hope he looked as fit and well, as full of verve for his life and for his future. But then, Cnut was the king of two countries and had two women to bed. Leofric had his sheriff’s duties and his father’s lands, and just the one wife. Yet his future was uncertain, perhaps more now than at any time in his life.
“Of course my lord, I’m yours to command.” Despite his best efforts, some of his anger must have shown in his words, for Cnut wracked his face quickly, looking for the lie to the spoken word. For whatever reason, and Leofric doubted it was because he was a good liar, Cnut didn’t comment.
“I need you to step into your father’s shoes, visit my enemies, Olaf Haraldsson and Anund Jakob, and see if you can make a peace with them. I’ve no one else to send, not even Godwine. He’s too Viking. Olaf Haraldsson and Anund Jakob would never even listen to him. They know that Godwine’s future is entirely tied to my own. You, well, I hope your father’s reputation as a peaceful man, but one not afraid to use weapons when he must, will make the men listen to you. They need to understand that they can’t attack my allies or disrupt my trade routes.”
“My lord?” Leofric managed to gasp, without even having to pretend. Hearing the words directly from his king made it all seem hideously real. It was bad enough to hear them from his sister, but to realise that his king genuinely meant to command him to leave England’s shores was a shock once more.
“If you do this for me,” and Cnut’s voice was suddenly insistent, his dejection of moments early forgotten, “I’ll reward you well, make you as powerful as Earl Godwine.”
In that moment there was nothing further from Leofric’s mind than being as powerful as Godwine, but he could understand why his king spoke as he did.
“I don’t know the men, my lord, why would they even speak with me let alone make a peace with me?”
“Because of who you are, what you represent. Your father was my father’s enemy, and then ally and then your father did all he could to make me king. Your father could read the political landscape as well as one of the Northmen.” Cnut’s voice was insistent, broaching no argument.
Leofric was amazed by how quickly Cnut seemed to have forgotten their bitter relationship after Northman’s death but he knew that it wasn’t the time to mention it, and he also appreciated that everything Cnut was saying was a compliment. Still, he wanted to deny the logic of those words.
“And all the time you’ll be readying your men to make war anyway. You’ll undermine everything I say?” Leofric hoped his bitterness sounded less to Cnut’s ears than his own but Cnut’s suddenly intense look ma
de him doubt it.
“You’ll do this for me Leofric. Your family and mine have long ties, but they could be severed easily enough, and I don’t want that. I’m no fickle man like Æthelred. I want to give you the opportunity to succeed.”
“Or fail magnificently,” Leofric muttered darkly and Cnut sneered.
“Or fail but if you fail I’ll have no one else to fall back on. None of the other families I trust is English. If you fail, England will have lost her last English earl and she will become ruled by the Danes, for the Danes.”
There was as much threat in those words as truth and Leofric only just managed to bite back an angry answer. Why must it fall to him to keep England, English? Why couldn’t another? Perhaps his father’s efforts were a curse after all.
“And Godwine?” he asked then and was rewarded for his efforts by a flash of annoyance on Cnut’s face.
“Godwine will remain in England.”
“Because he’s English?” Leofric pushed. He wanted to make the king think about his words. He was asking too much of him, especially when Godwine was just as English as Leofric was.
“No, because he’s married to my sister-in-law and as Danish as I am.”
“Your wife’s married to you?” Leofric found the words fleeing from his mouth before he could stop them and thought he’d taken a step too far until Cnut began to laugh.
“Yes, but which bloody one would you chose?”
It was rare for Cnut to even mention the fact that he had two wives and Leofric allowed the consideration that Cnut must have put into his plan to percolate through his angry thoughts. Cnut was in a just as unenviable situation as Leofric was. He couldn’t, as he’d said, allowed Thorkell’s death to go unavenged, but neither was he simply a Viking leader. He couldn’t just jump in his ship and track down Olaf and Anund Jakob.
He was the Christian conqueror of a Christian country, of two Christian countries, and he needed to act accordingly.
“What would you like me to offer them?” he found himself saying, and Cnut nodded at his acceptance of his king’s wishes.
“Offer them both a geld, as I was once offered, as my father was. Offer them men from our Church, men from Rome, and drag out the negotiations as long as you can. And when you think it’s too dangerous, come home.”
“What if they agree to a peace?” he asked, finally taking a seat beside Cnut so that they could have their discussion in more privacy.
“They won’t fucking agree,” Cnut barked. “They’re warriors. They’re not like my father, although they both admired him. They thought Swein’s agreement with your father was a sign of weakness.”
“I didn’t think any knew of my father’s visit to Swein?” Leofric interjected, but Cnut winked.
“Amongst my people, your father is regaled as a brave man who went to face a mighty beast and returned alive. He’s respected and revered and not just because of his association with Olaf Tryggvason and my father. You should have faith in your father’s legend, whether you believe it or not. Legends amongst my people can have more influence on the future that you might think possible.”
“And when I return?”
“When you return I’ll give you your father’s lands to rule, just as he did, and you’ll be an equal with Godwine. It’d make my wife happy and I’ll be pleased to do so.”
Leofric didn’t think to ask which wife. His father had been allied with both of Cnut’s wives in the past, always eager to ensure his family remained on the right side of any political fall out. Leofric imagined he meant Emma, but he could just as easily mean Ælfgifu of Northampton.
“What will you say at the Witan tomorrow?”
“I’ll lay my plan before them, but miss out your part in my endeavours.”
“So men will see you standing with Earl Godwine and think he’s your closest ally?”
“Of course. I need to be seen with Godwine. He helped me gain the kingdom.”
“You said earlier that my father did?”
“Your father did more than anyone but it’s no secret that we quarrelled I can’t just give you what he had, and I can’t have men and women think that Godwine isn’t rewarded for his open show of loyalty.”
Cnut was speaking quickly, his words merging one into the next. But it didn’t matter, Leofric understood what he was saying and he cursed once more. Even after all his father’s efforts, even after his son’s execution, no one knew the truth of his father’s complete involvement with Cnut, and neither it seemed, would they ever.
“I’ll gladly do as you ask,” Leofric said. There seemed no point in arguing anymore. Godwine would be rewarded with an open show of trust in him whereas he would be sent to the far north to barter with nothing but lies and a handful of warriors. It was not at all what Leofric had been hoping for, but if it won him the support of his king that his father had once enjoyed, then he would do it. Or die trying. Just as his father had so nearly done.
Chapter 3
AD1026 The Northern Sea
His father’s ship leapt through the waves beneath his feet, and he found true joy in the speed and the exhilaration of the moment, in the flapping of the great sail, and the sound of the shipmen talking and jeering amongst themselves.
It was early summer; the sea fluctuating between calm and stormy waters, grey clouds and blue both, and yet being freed from the confines of his country had infected Leofric with an excitement he thought he’d never feel again.
He was accompanied on his father’s old ship, painstakingly repaired each and every winter by her captain and her men, by Orkning and Olaf both, the men adamant that Leofric could no more travel to Norway without him than he could command the ship himself. Leofric was pleased to have his men with him, but also worried. It left his family exposed and he wasn’t keen. His younger brother, Godwine, had stepped into his position as Sheriff and protector of his family and while he was as skilled as the rest of his war band in the art of war, his tongue wasn’t always the silkiest. He hoped his wife managed to deflect any problems he might cause in his absence, especially with the men and women on the borders of the Welsh kingdoms.
“My lord,” he heard his name being called and turned to see who shouted for him. Orkning, at the rear of the ship, was looking to the south, and Leofric followed where his finger pointed.
Amongst the rolling surf he could just make out the sleek bodies of whales surging through the crashing waves, and he watched them until they sailed passed them, and the whales swam on, intent on their own business. He couldn’t imagine trying to capture such a massive animal with just the skills of the men on one of his ships, but he’d been assured that was exactly how the mammals were caught far to the north. He was both awed and amazed in equal measure.
He had no problem hunting on land, but he thought he’d be rather less inclined when an icy death could be the only reward he received.
His ship’s commander, Jon, had told him the journey to the southern tip of Norway would take a little over two or three days and in the interval, he was spending his time speaking to those men who might have any experience of Olaf Haraldsson. After all, Olaf Haraldsson had supported Æthelred against Cnut after Swein’s death, so he was less of an unknown than Anund Jakob, who few knew, even by name. As Norway was the first place he would make landfall, Leofric had decided to try and find Olaf first. He hoped he wasn’t making a bad tactical decision, but only time would tell.
True to his word, Cnut had informed his Witan of his desire to go to war against the men who’d killed Thorkell the Tall, but hadn’t even mentioned Leofric’s mission to speak with Olaf and Anund Jakob, and even now, that upset Leofric. He was the man taking the risk to give his king the time he needed to amass his forces and his ships, and yet he would receive no recognition, not now, and only in the future if he were successful. His wife had been angry and also resigned when he’d told her and he’d admired her resolve in keeping her opinions to herself.
Their parting had been frosty though and he feared
what would happen to his family if he didn’t return to her side. Yet he pitied Cnut more. If something happened to him he knew that Godgifu would punish the king.
“What do you plan on doing?” Orkning asked Leofric, and not for the first time, Leofric wished he hadn’t. Leofric wondered if he’d called him to the rear of the ship simply so he could harangue him with his own fears and ideas. He really didn’t know what he’d say to the man who’d claimed the Norwegian kingdom after killing Earl Erik’s brother. Not for the first time, Leofric wished it were Earl Hakon who travelled to meet with Olaf, and not himself. Hakon had far more experience with the kingdom. Yet, Olaf’s murder of his uncle meant that Hakon had much to avenge and Leofric could understand why he might not be the best person to speak with Olaf.
Yet, because he knew the area, it would have meant that Hakon could have turned the men and women to his cause before facing Olaf, could have appealed to their desire to live in peace with Denmark once more. Leofric knew he had no way of turning the people against their king. He would need to go straight to Olaf and determine what his intentions truly were.
“It’ll depend on where we find him,” Leofric said slowly. He was thinking as he spoke, trying to find the correct words for what he hoped he’d be able to bring about. “If he’s already on his ships, there’s little I can do but offer him a geld, even if we manage to find him. If he hasn’t yet assembled his fleet I’ll be able to offer less. It’ll all be about just how prepared Olaf Haraldsson is.”
Orkning listened, his face wrinkled against the chill salty spray from the sea. Orkning was older than Leofric, and his face was beginning to show his age. Soon, his hair might start to sprinkle with grey or white, but not just yet.
“I think you need a better plan than that,” he said and Leofric realised he had a good point. He couldn’t very well just happen upon Olaf and expect him to know who he was.
“What would you do?” he asked instead, and Orkning looked thoughtful.