by M J Porter
“My father never knew Olaf Haraldsson so I can’t offer you any of his advice, but I met Olaf when he was supporting Æthelred. He’s always been ambitious, and no doubt Cnut’s absence from Denmark has made him see possibilities where perhaps none once existed. You could try telling him that,” he offered thoughtfully, and Leofric smirked.
“You have about as much idea as I do.”
Orkning’s face turned down as he listened to Leofric’s reply.
“Perhaps, but it’s his ambitions that’ll be his downfall. Eventually, every king stops being successful, every war leader and ship’s captain too. We could help his luck run out.”
“I think if he’s responsible for Thorkell’s death, as Cnut seems to believe, that Olaf will be far too proud of his accomplishments to heed our words.”
“Perhaps,” Orkning pondered, “but you don’t have enough ships to be a threat. He’ll know you only have words to offer and that you can’t reinforce anything you say, not at the moment. You need to threaten him with something he can’t foresee to make him even pause in his ambitions.”
“What can I offer him that he can’t get for himself?” Leofric mused as he watched the rolling waves but Orkning was silent, wrapped up in his own thoughts, and Leofric knew a moment of annoyance. Why had he even mentioned it? He could have just stayed silent until they’d reached their destination.
When Orkning spoke again, so long had passed, Leofric had almost forgotten their conversation.
“Every Viking loves silver and treasure,” he stated bluntly, and Leofric nodded in agreement.
“But I have that to offer anyway. I thought you were saying I needed something else.”
“Well you do, but I’m fucked if I know what. Perhaps you’re right to wait and see. We don’t even know where he is. He might be half way to the Rus and that would mean that we could just take his kingdom from beneath his feet. The king would be pleased if he sent you away with half his treasury and you returned with Norway.”
“I imagine he would be pleased, but it’s not about to happen. Olaf fought long and hard for his kingdom and he’s held it for nearly ten years. He won’t be about to give it up just because Cnut’s angry with him. He’ll be pleased he’s enticed Cnut to send me to treat with him. He’ll be overjoyed to know that after all this time Cnut is finally going to try and stop advancement. If he encounters Cnut and kills him, he could claim bloody England for himself.”
“Good to see you’re feeling confident,” Orkning grumbled and Leofric felt his temper flare.
“What can I feel confident about? Cnut’s given me a poisoned brand and expects me to make peace from it, or at least ensure he has enough time to raise his warriors from Denmark and England. He says that if I succeed he’ll reward me, but really, he wants me to fail so that he can mount his attack and all the time Earl Godwine will be growing in stature and power.”
Orkning didn’t reply, and to be honest, Leofric didn’t expect one. The pair of them had rerun this same argument countless times ever since Cnut made his instructions clear to Leofric. They both knew it was a pointless and fruitless task that they’d been given, but equally, they knew that they had to try and make it work. Now that Cnut held England firmly under his control, it seemed that he had every intention of rebuilding his father’s lost kingdom, and Thorkell’s death was giving him just the excuse he needed.
Moodily, Leofric fiddled with the toggles on his cloak, trying to wrap the material more firmly around his body, and as he did so, he thought angrily of Cnut. This wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind when Cnut had called him to the Witan. To give him the sort of position that even Olaf Haraldsson would respect, Cnut had made him Earl of Mercia in a private ceremony, but the title would only remain his if he managed to accomplish whatever it was that Cnut wished him to. The move hadn’t been made official before the other members of the Witan and Leofric understood that Cnut would quickly backtrack if he were unhappy with the eventual outcome.
The ship rose and dipped through the powerful waves and as it did so, Leofric rode the waves as well, standing firm and allowing his body to turn slack when it needed to, tense when it needed to. He enjoyed being at sea, he always had, but now he wanted nothing more than dry land beneath his feet, and a warm hearth and bed to shelter within.
He sighed loudly, unhappy with his predicament. He’d turned Cnut’s wishes through his mind, examining them from every available possibility, from the result to action, and still he had nothing firmly set in his mind. Unlike Olaf Haraldsson, he’d not spent all of his life trying to determine how to accomplish what he wanted, to claim a kingdom for himself, and yet he thought that even if he had, he’d still not have been able to think what needed to be done to either stop the coming war, or make Olaf a proposition that he’d find more appealing than being king of Norway.
It was simply impossible, and as the coastline came into view, Leofric felt his spirits lower even more.
He had five ships in total, his own plus four from the king’s ship army, but it was too few to be anything more than a flashing show of strength. Whether Olaf believed the threats he came to deliver or not depended less on the ships and her warriors, and more on whether he was prepared to allow his personal knowledge of Cnut to colour his thinking, allow himself to appreciate the danger he truly was in. Whether or not he chose to appreciate that he’d awakened a sleeping monster with the murder of Thorkell, and one that would be twice as angry now.
Most men never foresaw their own deaths, never quite believing that their time could ever come to an end, and Leofric had never experienced the phenomenon more than when dealing with the trained men of the ship army’s that made lightning fast raids along England’s shores and along the rivers to the East, where they flowed to the exotic lands of the Rus. He’d not be able to use the threat of death against Olaf Haraldsson that was a certainty. Whether he lived or died, Olaf Haraldsson would be content with what he had managed to gather under his own control and would be content to know that on his death he’d be remembered and that skalds would write poetry about his accomplishments.
He’d already beaten Cnut, thwarted his ambitions in Norway with his murder of Earl Hakon’s uncle. What more could he truly hope to accomplish other than Cnut’s death?
No, he would need something else, and he didn’t think that treasure was the answer either.
These Norsemen liked to be challenged; they revelled in trying to overcome any huge odds stacked against them. Olaf was probably waiting for Cnut to mount an expedition against him so that when it failed he would grow his reputation as a mighty warrior.
Once more Leofric considered how his father must have faced the challenge given him by king Æthelred, to rid England of the menace of Olaf Tryggvason, and ensure he never returned to England. In one huge aspect, he’d had something far more valuable to barter with than Leofric now had, for Olaf had accepted the Christian faith, had used it to conquer Norway and make her part Christian. Leofric understood that he wouldn’t have that advantage. The work begun by Olaf had continued, and many in Trondheim and the other large settlements were enjoying their conversion. The Duke of Normandy had baptised Olaf himself before he even claimed Norway with the murder of Hakon’s uncle.
Yet for all that there were rumours that Olaf Haraldsson used his Christianity only as a means of enriching himself and his kingdom. He would, or so it seemed, pretend to be any religion to anyone who wanted to ally with him, provided they paid him handsomely.
That he was firmly allied with Anund Jakob of Sweden was also a problem. He’d married one of Anund’s daughters and that meant that Leofric was unable to use marriage as a tool to barter for his allegiance, even if Cnut had sisters and relatives available to marry, which he didn’t.
No, it seemed that Cnut might have finally met his match in Olaf Haraldsson and that it was unlikely that he’d ever regain his influence in Norway, or avenge Thorkell’s death.
Yet, Leofric was convinced that Olaf Haraldsson was th
e best person to start with. He thought he had more chance of appealing to Olaf Haraldsson than he did to Anund Jakob, who fiercely hated Cnut for all that they were almost related, Anund’s grandmother having been married to Cnut’s father, although the relationship had soured on Swein’s death.
Before he’d left England, Earl Hakon had sought him out, to offer him what advice he could. Hakon had, after all, far more experience of Olaf Haraldsson than Leofric did.
“He’s a warrior,” were the first words out of his mouth, as they sat through the early evening gloom, drinking sparingly, and trying to put together some means by which Leofric could accomplish what his king had commanded him.
“He thinks with his weapons. He believes he should be a warrior with a reputation to equal Thorkell’s own, and that’s why he went after the Jomsvikings in such a way. He was never a Jomsviking and believes that no one else should be one either. His attack was to accomplish that and to send a message to Cnut, that he would never have what his father accomplished.”
“So I should appeal to his martial side?” Leofric had asked in surprise, barely understanding the purpose behind Hakon’s words. It seemed that he was also telling Leofric that his king had commanded him to do something that was impossible.
“Yes, you should bait him. Fill him with tales of Cnut’s bravery, and Thorkell’s both.”
“That, well, that doesn’t seem very conciliatory,” Leofric uttered, earning a grimace of delight from Hakon.
“Cnut doesn’t really want you to be conciliatory. He genuinely wants you to simply buy him the time to decide where he’ll stage his attack on Olaf and Anund Jakob. While you delay Olaf, and you will have to delay him, Cnut will be readying his fleet and his attack.”
“And yet you think I should appeal to his warrior’s nature? Will that not make him want to attack even quicker?”
“You have a good point there,” Hakon admitted but didn’t change his advice.
“Olaf Haraldsson is similar to all the Viking warriors you’ll have ever met. You can charm them but it’s doubtful that they’ll listen. But at some point, you’ll realise you have something that they want. It might be as simple as a piece of gold or it might be a priest or a woman, but it’ll be something. Watch for it carefully and then offer it.”
Leofric thought of those words now, and how unhelpful they were, while at the same time being helpful as well. It was the rest of their conversation that had helped Leofric to form an opinion of Olaf.
“He’s the same age as Cnut, give or take a year or two, and he believes he’s accomplished the same as Cnut, and that he too could take England. All that needs to happen is for Cnut to die, or be killed in battle, and England will once more be in need of a new king.”
“He’s an ambitious man then?” Leofric teased, feeling his face turn down as he absorbed the knowledge.
“No, he’s a bloody Viking,” Hakon joked, a true smile spreading across his shadowed face. “We see no limits to the possibilities before us. We see no constraints, only the things that we’ve not yet done, and which we could. Offer him gold and treasure, or ships, or women, but don’t offer him the kingdom of England, no matter how much it would make the negotiations go smoother. News of such words will get back to Cnut, and whatever the intent, or not behind the words, he’ll begin to doubt your word.”
Once more Leofric had realised just how compromised his position was. He was to fail, but attempt to succeed. He was to represent his king, and yet also act as though he might just deny him. Even now, he was unsure how he’d proceed, even after all the advice from his king, his wife, his earl and his friends.
Too soon, the haze of land in front of him became solid and within easy reach, and he sighed deeply. He would still need to find Olaf, but he was sure he would be found at Trondheim, the place his father’s Olaf, Olaf Tryggvason had founded and caused a church to be built inside. It was understood that the younger Olaf allowed the church to flourish and grow, and if all else failed, he’d already decided that he would simply ask to visit the church, to see if any of the original English priests yet lived. It wasn’t the most inspiring of ideas, and yet it was the only one he had.
Yet, it seemed, he needn’t have worried. Barely had his ship begun to make its way into the harbour, buzzing with activity and filled with ships as far as the eye could see, when his ship was flagged down by a man at the front of a small war-band of no more than ten men on the wooden harbour. He gestured for Orkning and Olaf to stand with him. He spoke the Norse language well, but sometimes, he preferred to have another listen as well, just in case he missed something.
As he’d thought, the spokesman for the group began to speak in the Norse language as soon as Leofric had pulled his ship alongside the wooden struts, and Leofric tried to listen as he took in the man’s stance. He’d decided to make no secret of his English heritage and he flew his father’s sail proudly, the bright colours easy to see even from a great distance. It did surprise him that the man didn’t speak English or know who he was, but then he reconsidered. He didn’t know the sails of every man either and perhaps this man had no idea who he was or where he came from.
Yet the words the man spoke quickly made him realise that he was all too aware of his intentions.
Recalling his lessons with Horic and from the brief conversations he’d forced Orkning into during their sea voyage, Leofric introduced himself to the man, who made it clear that the ship was welcome to land, but not the other ones behind him. Leofric was pleased that two of his ships had been sent to the north and south of the river opening to Trondheim, and that Olaf thought he only travelled with three ships filled with fighting men.
“King Olaf will meet with you,” Loki, the warrior said, still in his own tongue. “He’s been waiting for your king Cnut to send someone to bargain with him. He’ll be surprised that it’s you.”
Leofric was bemused by the condescension in his voice but chose to ignore it. There was no need for Loki to know that he thought the choice a strange one as well.
Leofric ordered five of his men to follow him, half the number that Olaf had sent and yet he knew they were all men with a Norse or Danish background, Orkning with him but Olaf remaining behind with the ship, and they’d be alert to any whispered conversations and attempts at subterfuge that his Englishmen might not hear. Not that the men spoke to Olaf’s warriors, keeping their mixed heritage to themselves, just as Leofric had commanded them to do.
As soon as he leapt ashore, Leofric commanded his ship to steer its way back into the centre of the harbour. Loki seemed unhappy with the movement as they began to walk along the wooden planks of the harbour, slick with fish oil and water in places although mostly well maintained, but Leofric ignored his gesticulating. There was no need for him to put his men in any greater danger.
As he followed Loki onto the firmer footing of the settlement itself, he looked around with interested eyes. He’d been told there was little difference between the places he’d visited in Denmark and what he’d find in Trondheim and he found it to be mostly true. There was a clear area set out for those who wished to trade, and then, as he went further inland, more and more houses sprang up, some with small enclosed gardens with herbs trying to find roots in the tough soil, and others with evidence of metal work or brewing taking place.
He didn’t allow himself to relax, but he did begin to feel more at ease. It seemed that Trondheim was little different to Denmark, and Denmark was little different to England. That said the men and women he walked past as he made his way up a slight incline were wearing far heavier clothes than he was, and he shivered slightly in the chill. At home, summer had taken firm root, but here it was still some weeks away. He understood now why there was both a rush to get to Trondheim and also no fear that Olaf would leave before Leofric even arrived.
Leofric and his men were escorted to a well-built hall, the grass roof still showing some lingering snow on its peak, but with a welcoming puff of smoke emanating out of the smoke hole and wi
th the door flung open. The sides of the hall were heavily reinforced with thick tree trunks, and Leofric paused for a moment to consider just how heavy the roof might become under a thick layer of snow. He supposed the additional wooden supports made sense.
A raw wind drove through the collection of wooden halls, and Leofric was pleased to step inside the hall he’d been admiring and feel the welcome spread of warmth along his lower legs. It had been nippy on the open sea, but it was even colder on land. He could only assume that the wind was blowing from an unusual angle. If not, the settlement had been poorly planned, and Leofric found that doubtful. The Norse understood only too well the importance of keeping warm and using every possible way of doing so.
Loki bid his men and him stand in the doorway and wound his way to the front of the hall where a small selection of men was engaged in a heated debate. At Loki’s words, one of the men stood and gazed toward Leofric. Leofric raised his hand in greeting and waited patiently to see what would happen now. He thought the man was Olaf Haraldsson but he had little to go on.
While he waited he looked around the hall, noting its sound construction and cheerful colours daubed over the walls, and with shields and huge axes on display. The place must surely double as home and armoury both. Leofric smirked at the idea as it flittered through his mind.
Orkning was silent beside him but he knew he was watching the movements of every person within the hall, while Leofric tried to feel as confident as he could. He wasn’t used to bartering with kings on behalf of his king, but he’d been given his commands and as his father had before him, he would carry them out to the best of his ability.
Loki stayed at the front of the hall and another man walked toward him. He was someone that Orkning perhaps recognised as he gave a little start beside him. But there was no time for Orkning to inform Leofric of whom he was before he was standing before him, his gaze taking in both Leofric and Orkning at the same time.
“Earl Leofric?” the man asked with the inflexion of a question at the end of the two words.