by M J Porter
During the night, Leofric was rewarded for his decision to stay on board. When the moon was shadowed by cloud a figure crept toward his ship and even in the dull gloom from the gently swelling sea and the fiercer wind, Leofric knew who was seeking him out, the priest Snorri. There could be no one else within Trondheim who had the need to speak to him under the cover of darkness.
He whispered to his men who’d been unfortunate to draw guard duty during the day that they were to let the priest on the ship when he finally arrived and he waited to see what it was he truly wanted to tell him and had been unable to when Olaf Haraldsson had been stood beside him.
The harbor wasn’t deserted during the night, and Snorri moved stealthily from shadow to shadow, trying to ensure his movements weren’t tracked. Leofric thought he managed it well, only his keen eyes finding him because he was looking for him. He’d been expecting him, another of the reasons he’d chosen to stay on his ship, in full view but also hidden all at the same time.
Snorri’s step into the ship made it rock slightly, but none of the sleeping men stirred, and Leofric quickly joined him and gestured that he should sit on the raised platform at the middle of the ship, with his face turned away from the lamp burning from its place on the ship’s figurehead, an embellishment added long ago by the northern men who’d sought to serve Leofric’s father. It was the face of a bird, but he’d never worked out which sort, and had just accepted it as a whimsy of the man who’d carved it.
“Well met,” Leofric spoke quietly so that their voices wouldn’t drift in the sporadic wind.
“My Lord Leofric,” Snorri replied, his words quick and clipped. His eyes were wild with the fear of discovery and Leofric knew there was nothing he could do to ease his worries. He had no power here. If Snorri plotted treason against Olaf, Leofric would be long gone before it came to light and would be powerless to help him.
“I wished to speak to you further, to warn you about Olaf.”
“You’re brave to speak against him, here in Trondheim,” Leofric replied, awed by the risks he was prepared to take for someone he’d only just met.
“I was an ally of Erik’s and Hakon’s. I would serve them again if I could,” he responded, his words sharp as a blade through the ice-cold air.
Leofric nodded to show he understood, but kept silent. It seemed Snorri had much to tell him under the cover of darkness. The ship stirred and shifted on the waves and Snorri glanced about in concern, but settled quickly when he realized it wasn’t the steps of men come to blunt his tongue.
“Olaf’s force isn’t here. It’s gone already, as soon as the thaw came, the ship’s captains were instructed to sail to Skåne. Those who weren’t ready will travel overland, they have Anund Jakob’s permission to do so, and they’ll meet their ships there and wage war on Cnut and his allies. I fear you’re too late to stop the attack, and more, I fear that Olaf will keep you here for so long that you won’t be able to warn Cnut and Jarl Ulfr.”
Leofric absorbed the impact of his statement with a sharp grunt of unhappiness. He didn’t like to think that he’d been taken for a fool but it seemed that was the case.
“You saw the men?” he asked, and Snorri nodded, once, sharp and concise.
“There were many, many ships. Olaf has called in all his allies and chieftains, made them promises of wealth and bounty, of England falling open at their feet. Those who weren’t ready with the ships have set out as soon as they can. They don’t wish to miss out on English coins and England’s treasures.”
“So the treasure I have here will do nothing?” Leofric probed and Snorri shrugged his shoulders.
“I imagine that Olaf, as gluttonous as he is, will convince you to give it to him, under false pretensions, and then you’ll lose the ear of your king, who’ll think you were stupid for letting Olaf deceive you.”
“When do they plan to attack?” Leofric pressed.
“Very soon. Olaf only arrived yesterday. He said he was here to collect his favorite weapons and to ensure that his kingdom is governed as he wants it to be while he’s way. Your arrival will have delayed him.”
Leofric nodded solemnly. What could he do now? He could rush from Trondheim, try and find Jarl Ulfr and Cnut, or he could try and delay Olaf even further and upset his plans. Or perhaps he should just slink away, under the cover of the darkness, take his king’s treasure and his men back to England, and deny that he’d even met with Olaf Haraldsson.
Yet he knew none of those options was palatable. He needed to do something to both delay Olaf and to warn Cnut.
“I did try to send word to King Cnut, but I fear my men were intercepted, that’s why Olaf watches me so closely, and coverts the wealth of the church. He speaks as though he’s a Christian, but he’s no such thing. All he sees is the value of the church, and not its symbolism and he certainly doesn’t share our beliefs.”
Snorri was deeply disturbed, his eyes flickering constantly from side to side, as though daring one of the shadows to morph into one of Olaf’s men and Leofric understood both why he’d been unhappy at having Olaf within his church and why he now came to him.
“If we leave, you must come with us. You can’t stay here in case Olaf is successful. He’ll know that you tried to help us.”
“I must stay here. I can’t leave. Just like the original priests from England, I have a mission here, amongst the people of Trondheim. They mustn’t be punished because of the sins of their king.”
“I understand that, but if you’re not here to assist them, because Olaf has killed you, or worse, made you a martyr, they’ll suffer just as much. You should come with me, and then when Norway is safe once more, you can return. Reclaim your people and your church.”
Snorri shook his head, and Leofric knew he’d never win the argument. Instead of pressing the man further he reached out and grabbed his arm.
“I understand. But if you change your mind, let me know.”
The priest nodded in the dark. It was clear that Leofric’s offer had disturbed him, made him question his commitment to the Christians of Trondheim.
“You should know, My Lord,” and Snorri met his eyes squarely, “that I only felt able to come to you because of your father’s association with our foundation. Although he never came here, the men who did escape with Olaf Tryggvason thought well of him, hoped he lived after the battle. If Cnut had sent any other man, one of his Danish jarls for instance, I wouldn’t have been able to tell him because I wouldn’t have trusted him.”
Leofric opened his mouth to speak but Snorri was fiddling with something under his cloak and he stayed his words, perplexed by the man’s actions.
“There’s another reason I needed to come under cover of darkness,” Snorri explained as he struggled to pull something free from around his waist. Leofric watched with a ripple of unease as Snorri pulled a shining blade from beneath his concealment, and extended it toward Leofric. He couldn’t make out all the design but as his hands touched the hilt he felt intricate decoration beneath his fingers, the edges smooth and silky, clearly cast by an expert blacksmith. His mouth dropped open in surprise as he stretched his arm along the full length. His fingertips just managed to quest to the sharp tip, and the length of his thumb almost stretched across the sword’s greatest width, and yet there was little else he could see in the dark.
He didn’t understand why Snorri was giving him the weapon and Snorri; quickly reseating himself didn’t initially offer any explanation, as though Leofric should know what it was.
Snorri, all worry fled from his face, wore a triumphant expression, and Leofric understood that it was the burden of this part of his clandestine visit that had caused so much concern.
“Snorri?” he asked, and the priest reached out to run his own hand along the length of the blade.
“Finn came under cover of darkness and with stealth, replaced your father’s cross without asking and because of that he never knew that there was another part of Olaf’s will. Olaf truly respected him. This is
his sword. He wanted your father to have it, to adopt the emblem on its helm.”
Leofric gasped in amazement. Even across the years he could feel his father’s friend reaching out to grant him a greet boon. He wished he could see the emblem but it was simply too dark to pick out the intricacies of the design.
“It came into our keeping after his death. One day it was simply left on the altar, for all to see, but the priest back then understood its significance and hid it away. It’s why we’ve always known that Olaf was truly dead. He’d not have parted with his sword if he still lived. But it’s worked in our favor to have people think he yet lived. There’s a feeling, a strange tension, whenever conflict sweeps through our kingdom, that Olaf Tryggvason might yet live and might yet come and reclaim Norway for himself. It keeps some men honest.” His voice held wonder as he spoke, and Leofric held a passing thought that all nations seemed to have a great warrior steeped in myth that they hoped would one day save them. Norway wasn’t alone in that regard, not at all.
“Olaf Tryggvason might not have wanted Swein to be King here, but he’d rather it was Cnut than the current Olaf. King Cnut, or whomever he sends to stand in his place, will ensure our religion flourishes. Olaf’s conversion was very genuine. He truly was the Viking king who came to realize that the truth of our faith was greater than his own.”
Leofric tried to order his thoughts but found them a strange mixture of sadness that his father had never known of this gift, and fear that Olaf Tryggvason had given him something with which he was to ensure Norway stayed true to his faith. It seemed like a huge bequest for a man who was no more than a sheriff, but then he realized it was supposed to have fallen into his father’s hands, and not his, and if his father had proved one thing with his injury and his service to his king, even in the early years of his ealdormany, it was that he was a loyal man who kept to his word, no matter what others did to him.
“My thanks for taking such a risk and for keeping the sword safe for all these years. My father would have been honored. I will visit his grave, show him of the gift, and then, as Olaf wished, I’ll adopt the emblem, keep it as my own. Only, what does it mean?”
“The two-headed eagle is a symbol of continuity and strength from when the Empire ruled much of Frankia and the Empire. That it also vaguely looks like Odin’s twin ravens was also an advantage,” Snorri shrugged the comment and Leofric instantly understood the potent symbolism although he couldn’t see it.
Continuity and strength was just what he needed to preserve his family’s lost position, and the intermingling of the new and the old faith was a further representation of how his family could interact so well with the Norsemen and his Danish Ling.
“My thanks,” he said, still rubbing his finger over the design. He glanced toward the lamp, but decided against having it brought to him. Snorri had taken a great risk in bringing the sword to him, he couldn’t risk anyone else seeing it, and so he swung his cloak from around his shoulders, and wrapped it tightly around the precious heirloom.
“Your cross?” he thought to ask and Snorri smirked.
“A replacement. The monks realized what had happened and ensured it was replaced as soon as possible. Finn should have asked, but he was grief stricken. The monks forgave him quickly enough.”
“I should give you payment for it, recover your losses for its recovery.”
“There’s no need. The church was fabulously wealthy at the time and it was no hardship. The biggest problem was finding the rubies but it was done soon enough, and now I must go. I’ve lingered too long. But remember, Olaf means to detain you. You need to act to either leave or stay, but you need to do it quickly. He means to leave as soon as possible, and you need to make the right choice to banish him from our kingdom. Few like him, and those who do, only do so because they benefit from his harsh ways.”
With that Snorri was gone with a slight rocking of the ship, and Leofric shivered violently as the icy sea-wind attacked his exposed frame. Despite his best intentions, he slid the sword once more from the fabric, wrapping the cloak around him and enjoying the immediate warmth.
He ran his hands once more around the elaborate design on the sword and wondered what else he would discover on it when he was able to fully examine it. But that would need to wait. Leaning down, he hid the sword in plain sight, amongst the weapons of the rest of his men, and he thought about what he should do next.
His immediate thought was to leave the place. Have his ships made ready and escape on the morning tide, attempt to outrun Olaf and his men who must travel overland to reach the ship-army he’d raised to counter Cnut’s power in his Danish lands, but he wasn’t sure what he’d accomplish.
What if he didn’t find Cnut, or make it to Denmark in time? But what if Olaf had already slipped away, used the cover of night to make his own escape. Torn with indecision, Leofric tried to reason away his fears and think with clarity.
He’d been sent by his king to delay Olaf. That now seemed impossible, so in effect, his orders no longer stood. He should instead do all he could to inform his king that his actions had been too slow and that events were marching forward apace without him.
It seemed like a good idea and also a bad one. Perhaps he should go to Olaf’s hall and seek out the man, determine whether he’d left or whether he still remained within Trondheim.
He rubbed at his gritty eyes. He was tired and yet he’d not managed to sleep even though the majority of his men filled the long ship with their snores and farts. He groaned.
This was what it meant to lead, to rule, to be the person in charge of making decisions. He already knew he was no natural at it, and yet his father must once have been as clueless as he was, and while his decisions hadn’t always been the best they could be, he’d survived all of them, even when he’d been so anti-Eadric.
He could feel the eyes of his watchmen on him and he signaled to them and explained what he wanted to do.
Dimming the lamp at the front of his ship, he and his four watch men each grabbed an oar and pushed the ship into the main channel of the harbor.
If there’d ever been a time to sneak away, now was truly it. He hoped that Snorri had returned to his church without being intercepted, but knew that if he was to give Snorri his wish of a kingdom under the control of Cnut, that he needed to act now.
Chapter 5
AD1026 Near Denmark
Wary of encountering any stray ships under the command of Olaf Haraldsson, Leofric quickly made the decision to direct his ships toward Ribe, as opposed to trying to reach Hedeby first. He didn’t want his five ships to become the property of their enemy, not when he had a feeling that these men, so keen to own the rights to trade over so much of the coastal lands in the Baltic, would ensure that this altercation, when it came, took place at sea.
Running the risk of both angering his king, and being too late made Leofric feel uneasy as his ship once more flew through the waves. Whether their departure from Trondheim had been observed or not, all he knew was that as far as any could tell, they weren’t being followed.
It seemed that they’d both lost nothing and gained nothing.
Orkning, on waking and finding himself far out to sea had been initially perplexed and then angry on not being consulted, but Priest Snorri’s words, once repeated to him, seemed to hold a lot of truth for him, and when Leofric had shared the gifted sword with him, he’d subsided, as though just seeing it meant more than all of Leofric’s words combined.
Now they allowed the wind to fill their sails and hope that they managed to get word to Denmark, where the ship army was amassing under Jarl Ulfr and Eilifr’s command, so that they would know that Olaf and Anund Jakob had no intentions of staging the coming battle fairly. It seemed he’d do anything to ensure his victory, with Anund Jakob. Neither man wanted Cnut to have any authority near their kingdoms, and certainly not to regain what had been lost from the Danish kingship’s influence since his father’s death.
While the wind blew them back
to Denmark, his men made themselves ready for war, instead of manning their oars. Their weapons were already well maintained, but it seemed that no man could ever sharpen his sword or his seax enough, or check the leather strap on his shield. Leofric left the men to their labors as he considered the sword Snorri had given to him.
Far from Trondheim, he’d snuck the sword from the war chest holding the few scattered spares that no one had been working on, and he’d called Orkning to his side.
In the bright daylight, the sword gleamed and swirled with its intricate design, the swirl of the blade reminding Leofric of the effect whale oil had on water, it’s pearlescent design beguiling and intriguing the mind. He felt he could have gazed at just the razor sharp blade all day, but it was the handle that was truly beautiful, the decoration of the two-headed eagle making the animals appear life-like, as though they’d be able to fly away from their etching on the handle if only they could be imbibed with the correct power or essence of life.
Orkning exclaimed in delight and surprise when he saw the blade and joined Leofric to trace the blade with his sword-roughened hands.
“I’ve never heard of the blade,” he said, his voice awed with delight.
“Me neither, but Snorri was adamant that Olaf Tryggvason wanted my father to have it.”
“We should speak with Finn about it when we get back. See if he does know anything about it. After all, he did scribe for Olaf. He must know how the man’s mind worked.”
“Should I use it as a weapon?” Leofric mused, as Orkning pondered his response.