by M J Porter
“I went with the first of the ships, as did the rest of your ships, Earl Ulfr commanding us to follow him, and then when we neared the mouth of the river, to spread out and fill the entire width of the river. He didn’t want to let any men escape. Both he and Cnut wrongly assumed that they’d caught Anund Jakob and Olaf by chance and that the men weren’t expecting to be assaulted in such a place.”
He went on to explain, using his hands to do so.
“The river is wide at its mouth but tapers quickly as you go upstream. Unless the enemy men hauled their ships out of the river, and tried to escape overland, Ulfr could see no way for them to evade his huge force.” For a moment his face had been as animated as his hand, but then his voice dropped. “Sadly, in our excitement, none of us noticed that the river was flowing strangely, that the levels were lower than we should have expected them to be. As I said, none of us had much experience of the river. The mistake was costly.”
Leofric had a strange idea that he knew exactly where Jon’s story was heading, but still he didn’t interrupt. He thought the ship’s commander perhaps needed the opportunity to talk about what he’d experienced.
“It didn’t take long to come upon the combined fleet of Olaf and Anund Jakob. They were stretched across the river, in a duplicate of our own intentions, but none of the ships seemed to react when they saw us, other than to ensure they were tied to the ship next to them by a long procession of hempen rope. It was strange to see, because I’ve not fought in a ship battle for a long time, although the skalds tell that that’s how Swein attacked Olaf Tryggvason at the Battle of Svølder. And anyway, I’m but a ship’s commander, not the battle commander so I followed Ulfr’s instructions and arranged my ship and my men ready for the attack, the other two ships close by but not next to us. Our crew had become mixed with that of other ships, the men meeting old friends and making new acquaintances as we waited for news that Olaf and Jakob Anund had been sighted.”
“We didn’t know how long it would take the men of Skåne and the Norwegians to attack but we knew they wouldn’t wait long. Not stretched as thin as they appeared.”
“There was no attempt to treat for peace, none at all. I realize now that they were so confident of their victory that they didn’t think it was necessary.”
“All afternoon more and more of Ulfr’s ships were moved into position, the line of ships filling the width of the river. We were all in good spirits. We could see that we outnumbered Anund Jakob and Olaf’s force, and we could also see that Anund Jakob and Olaf kept looking at us with some fear, and then back up the river with worry. We thought it meant that they knew they couldn’t retreat that way. Only when the attack came did we understand their decision to wait and their fearful glances back upriver.”
“We’d had a weather report that they’d been days and days of rain while Cnut’s scouts watched the enemy, but the river was low and so we thought that the excess water must have drained away into the sea. We were wrong about that as well.”
“In the late afternoon, we finally noticed some activity on the enemy ships, but still it puzzled us. The men were removing their heavy byrnies, making sure their equipment was tightly lashed to the decks, and they all raised their sails even though there was no wind to power them in the mouth of the river.”
“I watched them with curiosity, but no fear. I thought they were just trying to confuse us. Only when I was fully armed and ready to call my men to row us toward the enemy, as Ulfr was about to command, a murmur of unease startled the men, and we looked on in shock as the enemy ships seemed to rise high above us. Only then did we understand.”
Leofric looked away from the haunted eyes of his commander. He’d not yet asked him how many men he’d lost, but he knew the number would be great.
“The bastards had only dammed the river further upstream. It must have taken them weeks and weeks to accomplish. There was so much water behind the dam when they tore it apart that it ripped down the river, doubling the water levels, and along the way their own men were toppled from their ships as they lifted high in the air, or worse, were forced side on by the huge tide and tumbled to the watery depths below. There were screams of terror and rage and our own men desperately tried to turn the ships, to raise their own sails to ride out the surge of water and wood and filth from the dam, to shrug off their byrnies and make themselves lighter, but it was all too late.”
“So many men,” he uttered, lost in his memories and Leofric allowed him the time he needed to compose his face, where tears dripped down his wind-roughed cheeks and nestled in his moustache and beard, the most out of character behavior that Leofric had ever witnessed from a ship’s commander. Just watching Jon, Leofric knew that what the ship crews had experienced had been crueler than the most horrific of deaths inflicted on a battlefield.
Leofric pitied the dead and the survivors both.
“The enemy suffered greatly as well,” Jon began to speak once more, his tears still falling but anger on his face. “The fucking idiots. The flimsy ropes and the anchors they’d set onto the riverbed, no more saved them than it did the English and Danish ships. I’ve never seen two kings act in such a callous manner toward their own people. We were their enemy, I can accept their actions as such, but not when they inflicted the same on their own men.”
“I imagine the river bed will wash away bodies and weapons for hundreds of years to come. I imagine the fucking skalds will sing tales of the riches to be made from simply fishing.”
The man was trying to find some sense to the situation but Leofric could feel his bitterness and he mirrored it as well. He almost didn’t want to ask any more questions; to determine how Cnut reacted and what became of Olaf Haraldsson and Anund Jakob, but he needed to know everything. And he needed the courage to ask about Orkning.
He called for more ale, and replenished their food, and he waited.
“We helped as many men as we could, because for some reason, perhaps the grace of God, I don’t know, I’m not a great believer in miracles, but perhaps I should be, our ships stayed upright. The men managed to hold onto their oars and get the sail up, although I think only because we’d trained so much that it was second nature to them all. As we outran the surge of water, we pulled men on board, and we kept pulling until there was barely room to stand, let alone sit. The men and the odd woman, because they weren’t all English but many Danes as well, were all bloodied and battered. I think their anger at such underhand tactics had helped them to stay alive.”
“There were even some of the Norwegians. Some of the men wanted to throw them back into the turgid water, but I forbade it, with my blade to the throat of one of the men, and instead, we off-loaded them on the side of the river, and took on more survivors who’d scrambled ashore there. It served us well. Those who’d manage to survive and make their way to the riverside were under attack from some of the local people. The enemy men we rescued protected our own warriors until we could get them ashore.”
Now Jon lapsed into silence, but Leofric hardly noticed, too caught up in the images that Jon had brought to mind.
“My lord?” a hesitant voice at his side, and Leofric looked to Jon in surprise. There was clearly something he had to admit to and which he felt remorse for. He wondered what it was. Had he killed recklessly, taken his revenge on some of the local attackers?
“Jon whatever it is, I’ll hold no malice against you,” Leofric offered, but still the other man looked troubled. He opened his mouth a few times to begin to speak but shut it again.
“I paid those who helped to protect the English and the Danes. I used your coins to thank them.”
Ah, such a little matter and one that Leofric approved of.
“I would have done the same,” Leofric offered. After all, a handful of coins as such a small price to pay to save lives.
“The men thought I acted dishonorably,” Jon admitted.
“The Danes or the English?” Leofric asked but he didn’t need to know the answer. It would have
been the Danes, the very men whom Jon had saved.
“The Vikings only understand that the English have money to pay them with. You did the right thing. I won’t take any action against you and neither will the king.”
Jon didn’t look convinced but he resumed his story all the same.
“When the ship had as many men as it could carry on board, we started to make our way back out to the sea. There were other ships still upright, and they too were trying to rescue those they could, but not one of the ships could mount an attack against the enemy ships, even though they were in as much disarray as we were. We could have won the victory there and then, but only if we’d left those we saved to die. Instead, under Ulfr’s command, as his ship had also survived, we turned to make our way back toward the sea, hoping to avoid anymore of the enemy and to find Cnut so that we could direct him to where the enemy was.”
“We were lucky, Cnut was close by and he roared for his ships to ignore any in the water and make straight for the straggling mass of the enemy ships. I don’t know all the details, I confess that I was too busy trying to redistribute the men and women between the other ships that had survived to pay much attention, but I know that none of the kings lost their lives, not like their men, but I also know that Cnut didn’t pursue his enemy.”
“So many men died, and the area is still under the control of Cnut’s enemy?” Leofric pressed but Jon shook his head to deny those words.
“Many men died, yes, but Olaf Haraldsson hasn’t been seen since and Anund Jakob has slinked back to his home near Birka. Skåne is Cnut’s.”
“A victory of sorts then?” Leofric mused only to be surprised with Jon grabbed his hand firmly.
“It’s a victory. Cnut has decreed it as such. He made a great speech to his surviving men. Told them that many lives had been sacrificed but that it was a great achievement, returning the area to his control after it was stolen from him when his father died.”
Jon’s eyes were fierce and he could see that he was conflicted by the words of Cnut. Leofric nodded slowly, accepting the words.
“My thanks my friend,” he said, using his other hand to squeeze the man’s shoulder. “My thanks.”
Jon was clearly convinced that Leofric had understood his message and so subsided to silence, eating his meal with determination, as though each bite banished a bit more of the memory of the battle.
Leofric didn’t know what to say, but turned his thoughts to Orkning.
“Did all the men return safely who went in our ships?” Orkning had gone with the shipmen, but he’d not seen him return, not yet.
Jon breathed out deeply.
“Not all of them no, but most of them. I know that ten men were killed. I saw their bodies. There were others, seventeen in all, who haven’t been seen since. It’s possible they might still be alive, but if they are, they’re not with us. They might be on some of the other ships, perhaps still in Denmark.”
“Twenty seven men,” Leofric breathed softly. He couldn’t believe it. How could so many men not return? How would he explain it to their wives and families? And how could he think to ask after Orkning when there were so many other men who’d lost their lives.
“They died for their king,” Jon said with conviction, as though trying to preempt him to say how honorable their deaths must have been, and Leofric, as hollow as the words sounded to his own ears, managed to splutter what it was that Jon needed to hear.
“They died for their king. We’ll remember them with the honor they deserve, as will their king.”
Jon nodded decisively to hear those words, and then stood abruptly.
“I need to speak with the rest of the men, ensure they have what they need.”
“I’ll come with you. I should thank them and reassure them and make sure you all have what you need to get home.” He also needed to see if Orkning was amongst the survivors, perhaps Jon had overlooked him.
“I think you should return to the queen.” Jon said, “You need to tell her what happened. We’re one of the first to return. Cnut won’t have had time to send a messenger to the queen and to Earl Godwine.”
“Earl Godwine? Wasn’t he with the king?” Leofric asked, puzzled by Jon’s words.
“No, Godwine never arrived. Cnut waited for him, but then the scouts found where Olaf and Anund Jakob were planning to attack and we had to leave. Why, Sheriff, should Godwine have met us?” Jon asked, perplexed by Leofric’s question.
“No, no. I don’t think he managed to leave quite as quickly as the attack happened. I’ll do as you say, but only if you assure me that you and the men will be all right if I leave. It doesn’t feel right to abandon you when I’ve only just found you.”
“The men and I will be fine,” Jon tried to joke. “We’re shipmen. We’ve faced such odds before and we will again,” but his voice broke as he spoke, and he turned away, as though embarrassed by his show of emotion once more.
“Go to the queen, my lord. I’ll see you soon.” Jon walked away then, his back hunched against the pain of his own emotions and Leofric watched him go with concern and mixed emotions. He needed to know about Orkning, desperately. For a moment he knew real indecision but then his need to know overrode everything.
“Jon,” he called, almost relieved when the older man didn’t turn back, only he called his name again and this time Jon did turn, a look of concern on his face, maybe even a flash of anger.
Leofric tried to look apologetic but his own words choked his throat, only for Jon’s face to soften.
“Apologies my lord,” Jon said, as though realizing he’d erred as well.
“I’ve no news of Orkning, my lord,” he said, the regret clear to hear. “He’s one of the men who’s missing. I know he wasn’t amongst the bodies we found and buried.”
“So he might yet live then?” Leofric asked, his hope all too evident in his voice.
“He might my lord, yes, although I doubt it,” Jon finished by saying, extinguishing all hope in Leofric’s heart. He felt grief threaten to overwhelm him, and he knew himself to be weak then. Jon had walked from the ship, told him the worst of it all, but Leofric felt as though he could face no one, not knowing as he now did, that Orkning was more than likely dead. That he’d seen the last of his commander.
“We prayed for him, my lord,” Jon offered, stepping three steps toward him and then hesitating, as though he had something even more painful to offer.
“He went without his sword. We have it, in the ship.”
When Leofric didn’t speak, Jon looked unsure of himself, and then he swallowed and spoke again.
“We’ll keep it safe my lord, return it your hall when we come home.”
“My thanks,” was all Leofric could say and then he watched as Jon walked away. He felt unsteady on his own feet, learning against the buttress of a house to steady him. He knew what he needed to do, but suddenly none of it seemed important.
What he truly wanted was to see the grinning face of Orkning appear around the corner of the road, to hear his voice greet him too loudly, but what he had to do instead was return to Winchester and tell his queen of what had happened to her husband, and perhaps worse, of what Godwine had somehow not done. He might have left England, but he’d not raced to Denmark to meet his king, and that would cause problems in the future for him. But Leofric didn’t think that he cared. Not anymore, and perhaps not ever.
Chapter 13
AD1026 Winchester
The Queen eyed him uneasily as he informed her of his news.
Just as Jon before him, he tried to force the words through his mouth that spoke of victory and glory, but the queen was no fool. She’d lived through enough ship attacks by Olaf Tryggvason, Swein Forkbeard, Thorkell and her own future husband to know that while Leofric spoke of victory, there was a tragedy underlying it all.
Her beautiful face was grave as he relayed his message and she barely interrupted unless to confirm a small point of detail. The entire court had succumbed to silence, the noise
of the monks singing their praises to their God, audible even over the distance that separated the Old Minster and the king’s palace.
He couldn’t bring himself to meet the eyes of his sister, but he’d heard her gasp of dismay and when she looked for Orkning and failed to find her brother by marriage, she’d been torn, wanting to rush from the hall, but also needing to listen to his words. He only wished he’d managed to tell her in privacy but his return to Winchester had been accompanied far too publicly for that, his mind only on the news he carried and his worries for Orkning and not on the response of other people.
He cursed himself for his thoughtlessness while worry about Orkning with the weight of every word he spoke. He’d been pleased he went to London without Olaf, but he’d not yet had the opportunity to seek him out and inform him of his terrible news.
The queen, keen for any news of her husband, had at least, not asked after Earl Godwine, and for that Leofric was pleased. He didn’t know what he’d say. Any words from him would be damning. The king had made his wishes well known, the queen had tried to force Godwine to action, and yet, in all likelihood, Leofric thought that he would end up being blamed for Godwine’s failure to show up as the king had commanded.
Instead he focused on the queen, and the archbishop, the man who’d been supporting her since Godwine’s departure. The man looked grave at the news, but Leofric imagined he could already see him spinning his tales and making a huge fuss of the king’s ‘victory’. He only wished he could share any sense of joy, but in losing one of his oldest, and dearest friend’s, all he felt instead was hollow and alone. And perhaps more worryingly, anger.
They should have taken more care and they should have been less keen to engage. He wanted to say stupid, but that felt wrong as well. Still, it wasn’t like Cnut to be headstrong and be drawn into action when he’d not fully assessed it.