The Earl of Mercia

by M J Porter

  “It was Anund Jakob then who killed him?”

  Olaf’s face turned downward in a scowl at the question.

  “No, it wasn’t. He didn’t raise his sword against him. That fell to another of his warriors. Anund Jakob can’t claim that for himself. I’ve been assured on that account.” Olaf sounded a little as though he was trying to convince himself.

  Leofric absorbed the implication in those words. It seemed that Olaf fell foul of one of the main downfalls of the Viking warriors, the need to have killed a great rival. Leofric already knew that the best way for Cnut to undermine the alliance between the two men was to divide them over their differences and their need to be seen as the greater warriors and rulers, the men most able to provide their followers with arm rings of silver, and swords inlaid with precious jewels. It was as well that he carried in one of his ships a war chest heaped high with just such items.

  Yet he decided not to draw attention to this divide. If Olaf realised how petulant he sounded, he might well try harder to forget his own personal insecurities and desires, and work more closely with Anund Jakob to ensure that Cnut never regained a footing in either Skåne or Norway. That was something that Swein, Thorkell and now Cnut, had always excelled at. It was better to be accommodating in any alliance that they formed than accentuate the disagreements and arguments. Men, especially those skilled with a sword or an axe, were likely to find any half good reason to murder another if they argued, about even the slightest of things.

  “When you leave me, I’ll ensure one of my men goes with you to direct you to Anund Jakob. I’d be intrigued to see how you fare with him.” There was a challenge in those words, as though Olaf had realised he’d shown his true feelings too openly.

  “That would be most helpful,” Leofric spoke softly, his mind was alive with the implications of this meeting, and he thought one aspect of it was already clearly in focus, Olaf didn’t want to make a peace, but neither did he wish to be reliant on his alliance with Anund Jakob. He knew that somehow he should be able to pick a path through the maze that Cnut had gifted to him, one that would mean everyone gained exactly what they wanted, whether they knew that now or not, but at the moment, the future was shrouded in a frozen fog akin to that which could drape London in the drab winter sunshine.

  He needed time to think, but for now, he’d enjoy his meal and his ale and hope that something would present itself to him.

  It seemed that Olaf had reached the same conclusion. Gesturing with his hand he spoke. “Eat man, eat, and drink, and then we’ll visit your church and see how your priests fare.”

  Chapter 4

  Early Summer AD1026 Trondheim

  Leofric well understood the legend of his families most prized possession, the holy cross returned to his father upon Olaf Tryggvason’s death, but as he walked toward the church that Olaf had founded using the very same cross, he felt the swirl of history settle over him, at once comforting and damning. He was pleased to have Orkning and his men at his back.

  His family’s wealth had once adorned the wooden church, and it had been men who’d travelled with his father on that fateful journey who’d enabled Olaf to begin the process of converting the men and women of the area.

  He was at once both proud, and apprehensive. He didn’t know if he might encounter someone who’d once known his father, and if he did, how would they react to him. Would they blame him for leaving them? Thank him because of the work they’d been able to accomplish? He truly had no idea.

  With a little too much ale in his stomach, he followed Olaf through the streets of Trondheim. It wasn’t yet dusk and yet the biting wind still whipped through the street, making it feel as though he rode his ship at sea. He pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and considered the strange chain of events that had brought him to this moment.

  His father had rarely spoken of what had happened in Norway after his injury had sent him back to England with only his one ship full of ship-men, and Olaf Tryggvasons’s death had robbed him of an easy means of finding out what was happening to the men he’d begun his journey to the north with. Yet Finn, the scribe who still lived within his household, had risked the journey from the site of the sea battle at Svølder, to Trondheim, and then to England, for the very reason of returning the family cross to Leofric on his lord’s death, and as he’d requested.

  That symbol had marked his family ever since, his father using it to show his forbearance, and his understanding of hardship and friendship both. Cnut had a replica of the cross, his brother, Northman, had also worn one, and as he walked, Leofric tried not to fiddle with the heavy cross around his neck, hung there with a sturdy leather thong.

  It had become more than a symbol of his grandfather’s belief and his wealth, it had become something that embodied his family. It stood as a testament to their longevity, their ability to overcome great odds and to always fine their way home again.

  Perhaps after all, it was precisely this that Leofric needed to appreciate now, learn to understand, or so he thought to himself as he neared the church.

  Before it came into sight, he could hear the chanting of the monks, and when he finally cast eyes on the building, made from strong timbers and standing tall and proud close to the center of the settlement, he understood just how strong Olaf Tryggvason’s Christian belief had become, for all his father had believed at the time of his conversion that it had been a political act. He’d been wrong, and Leofric could see just how wrong he’d been.

  The church was every bit as magnificent as the one that Cnut had forced to be raised on the site of Assandun, to celebrate those who’d lost their lives in the battle for the kingdom of England. Yet it had the distinctive elements that made it a church raised by the men of the north, and it was far more elaborate than any English church would ever be, festooned with carvings and with it’s many layers of roofs, each one protecting and protected by another.

  Above it’s doorway, beautiful woodcraft decorated the timber, images that were intended to be images of God and his saints in wild abundance, painted with bright colours, the faces seeming more lifelike than many that Leofric encountered on the chill street as the people of Trondheim hurried about their business, some he thought, perhaps fleeing from their lord as he strolled around them.

  He gasped in both surprise and delight and Olaf chuckled darkly beside him.

  “She’s a beautiful building, I can never deny that, and the men keep it well, using their tithes to ensure it stays watertight and windproof. They have a man who does all the carving, one of the first monks taught him his craft and he passes it to his sons and any who want to learn.”

  Leofric nodded, words failing him as he hesitated before stepping inside.

  He needn’t have feared. Just as at his church near Deerhurst, and every other church he’d ever been within, everything was laid out as it should be, the altar at the front of the building, adorned with precious vestments and on them, a true replica of his father’s cross. He understood at last why Finn had been able to return it to him.

  It seemed that perhaps none knew this wasn’t the original cross.

  He gazed at it from a distance. As far as he could tell it was identical, the red rubies flashing dully in the four arms of the cross, and the delicate gold work that covered it’s front, showing the exact same skill and precision.

  There were at least twenty monks inside the church, their service being led by a priest who looked up and noted first Olaf, as his king, and then Leofric. He spared a quick smile for Leofric and gestured for them to sit and listen or join in, but Olaf indicated that they should explore the church further. Orkning his men sat and listened but Olaf’s were more restive, taking up alert positions near the doorway, their intent to bar entry to anyone else was evident.

  While the service was conducted around them, Olaf proudly showed the wealth of the church, although he seemed to have little regard for what the monks and priest were actually saying, talking loudly over them as they conducte
d their service. Leofric found it distracting, but it seemed they were used to it, and the swirl of the Latin chants echoed around the snug building, as Olaf walked Leofric to a beautiful piece of stained glass, hanging high to the front of the church, past the altar and the priest.

  “Olaf Tryggvason commissioned the work, but it was only completed once I became king here.”

  “What does it show?” Leofric asked in little more than a whisper, but Olaf turned his head slightly and shouted,

  “Priest, come tell me the story of your window again.”

  The priest looked perplexed to be interrupted, and Leofric winced in sympathy. He’d not meant for that to happen, and yet the priest quickly indicated that one of the monks should continue the service and he walked quickly to Olaf and Leofric. His expression was serene, although Leofric thought his steps a little clipped. Was the man showing his unhappiness in such a way?

  “My lord king,” the priest offered, bowing low.

  “This is Sheriff Leofric, Ealdorman Leofwine’s son.” It seemed the priest already knew because he didn’t look in the least surprised by the revelation, although he bowed to him as well, a glint of something steely in his eye.

  The man wasn’t old, in fact far from it, and he looked distinctly Norse, or at least to Leofric’s eye he did, with a firm jaw and wide face. Leofric knew that the man couldn’t possibly be one of the original priests who’d been sent with Olaf thirty years ago.

  The priest looked to the window then, and a small smile played around his lips. “My name is Snorri,” he offered and then continued, “It represents one of Olaf Tryggvason’s favorite saints,” he offered and Leofric tried to determine what it was, and then smirked a little as realization swept over him. Of course, it was St Oswald, the warrior king of Northumbria, who’d used his own cross to obtain a great victory over one of the men who’d killed his brother, a Welsh king no less.

  Still, the priest began to explain and Leofric listened attentively while Olaf pretended to listen, his hand repeatedly returning to where his seax nestled on his weapon’s belt. Leofric knew a moment of pity for the priest. He couldn’t imagine that Olaf was very attentive to his teachings, and yet he did seem to allow the church to flourish within his settlement. He’d be interested to speak to the priest and know how he managed.

  The glass window was brightly lit for all that the day was drawing to an end, and he marveled at the reds and blues, golds and silvers that threaded through the image of the saint and his wooden cross.

  In the background, Leofric could tell that the service had come to an end, and he listened to the quiet shuffle of the monk’s feet over the wooden floorboards. He mused on just how similar the sound was in any church he’d ever visited. There was a comfort in that, as though he’d found himself a home away from home, even in this place that he’d feared coming to.

  As soon as the priest had finished his long and rambling explanation, Olaf began to drift away but Snorri stayed close by Leofric.

  “I’m honored to meet with you,” he said quietly and Leofric returned the greeting.

  “When my predecessor was here, he spoke highly of your father, and of his unease at what happened to him at the hand of Swein. I know that the matter has long been resolved, but this church has always prayed for your family, even when it wasn’t politically astute to.”

  Leofric was genuinely touched by the words.

  “You have my thanks. My father was always concerned by what had happened to the priests who came here.”

  “I understand it was difficult until Olaf became established as king, but that the people were anxious to share his faith. The years have been kind to this church, but our ambitions to expand outside Trondheim have always failed.”

  “But you’re wealthy and respected here?” Leofric pressed, frankly interested. Over the years his father had heard bits and pieces of information about them, and they’d also known that communications had been kept open with the Archbishop of Canterbury, who had originally organized for the priests to travel north, although even that had been haphazard, especially in the years that Swein had claimed the kingdom as his own and had concurrently been at war with England.

  “We do very well, My Lord Leofric, there’s little to fear. Even Olaf is half convinced of the truth of God’s word, and Earl Erik and his brother were firm believers.”

  Leofric allowed those words to absorb before he spoke again. He thought the priest was trying to tell him something without using words, and he needed to consider carefully what it might be.

  Snorri watched him with mild interest as behind his back, Leofric watched Olaf eyeing up the cross on the altar. A clatter of falling gold on the altar table had the priest rushing to prevent his most prized possession from toppling to the floor.

  Olaf looked both embarrassed at his clumsiness, and amused at the priest’s fear filled face.

  As Snorri righted the cross, Leofric bent to examine it. To all intents and purposes it was the exact same cross that sat on Deerhurst’s altar, complete with flashing ruby gems, and the delicate gold-work that ran along the arms of the piece. Without realizing he did so, he reached out to caress it, closing his eyes as he remembered how the smaller replica beneath his cloak felt.

  The priest allowed him the action without words, but at his side Olaf hissed angrily, and Leofric’s eyes shot open.

  “My apologies my lord,” he stuttered, dismayed that he might have caused offense, but Olaf was hissing at the priest who wore a serene expression on his face. It seemed the relationship between the two might have been less harmonious than Leofric had first thought.

  “You like the piece,” Snorri asked and Leofric was stumped. Did the man not know of the connection to his family? Wary of saying something that might upset either Snorri or Olaf, Leofric simply nodded.

  “It’s a beautiful piece. Something similar sits within my own church. The two could almost have had the same designer.”

  That seemed to please both men equally, and Leofric hoped he’s eased whatever difficulty he’d inadvertently stepped into.

  “You’re most welcome to join us for any of our services while you remain with Olaf,” Snorri offered, his eyes on the king as he spoke. Leofric was left feeling that Olaf rarely attended his own church and that Snorri was keen for him to, despite his current disregard for it.

  “My thanks for your offer. I don’t know how long I’ll remain, but if I’m able I will of course come and join my prayers with yours.” While that seemed to satisfy Snorri, Olaf grunted once more, his hands still stretched before him, as though he itched to touch the ruby encrusted cross, and Leofric thought the man was plagued by a desire to possess everything he saw. Perhaps his treasure would have more impact on Olaf than he’d at first thought. Perhaps he was simply trying to bait Leofric into offering more than he intended.

  Or perhaps it was all a smoke screen, and while Leofric stood within the church, Olaf’s men were busy plundering his ships and stealing all they held within them.

  The thought wasn’t a comforting one.

  Leofric and his men returned to his ship as soon as they left the church, with a request that he’d meet with Olaf the following day being agreed upon. Stepping foot on his ship, he allowed a bark of laughter to erupt from his mouth, not shared by a grumpy looking Orkning, and then began the task of having his men who’d not had the pleasure of meeting Olaf, tell him all that they’d learnt in his absence.

  It was as he’d suspected. There was an underlying unease within Trondheim. They accepted Olaf as their king because they’d been left with little choice after the death of Earl Hakon’s uncle, but most would be keen to have Cnut as their king, a return to when his father had ruled the area.

  It also seemed that Olaf was a wealthy man, but one with an evil temper and a reputation for killing any who stood in his way. And while he tolerated the church within Trondheim, it was said that he practiced his old religion whenever he was away from Trondheim. Leofric reflected that none of these
things damned Olaf, not within Trondheim itself, but it was only a small part of the area that Olaf claimed kingship over.

  If Cnut decided to reclaim Norway for himself, he’d do as well to infiltrate the kingdom with men loyal to him as he would to launch a full-scale attack. It seemed he’d be able to quickly turn many men to his side if he just took the time to speak with them as opposed to simply attacking Olaf outright.

  Yet none had news of when Olaf planned to meet with Anund Jakob or where they hoped to attack Cnut, although it was common knowledge that their king meant to make war against Cnut. Leofric had also taken the time to scour the harbor on his journeys to and from his ship, and had seen no sign of ships being made ready for a long journey or of supplies being gathered.

  “It’s early in the season,” Orkning offered as an explanation, but they both knew it was unlikely to be the reason for the inactivity.

  “Do you think Olaf knew we were coming? That he’s hidden his ships away?” Leofric quizzed, his face troubled.

  “Well I suppose it’s possible, but how would he know? Who would have come to tell him that you were coming to bargain? It could have been a trader but what would they have to gain?”

  “Men will do anything for a bit of coin,” Leofric countered, and Orkning had no answer for that because it was true. Men, especially those desperate for the reassuring weight of a coin in their money pouches would sell out anyone’s secrets.

  In the end, assured that none of them were in immediate danger, Leofric allowed the men to sleep on their ship as it lay at harbor. It wasn’t the warmest of sleeping arrangements, but Olaf had made no mention of a bed within his hall and it seemed best to remain together.

  The few halls and workshops close to the harbor might have provided space for some of the men, but they’d not have remained together, and Leofwine had often castigated his son on that part of his folly, when travelling to Norway with Olaf Tryggvason. He thought that if he’d kept all his men together, he might have been better able to defend himself, rather than relying on the good will of Olaf Tryggvason, to do so, when Swein attacked. Orkning agreed with the decision and none of the men complained either. It seemed that no one was feeling easy on the diplomatic mission for Cnut.