by M J Porter
“The king has sent a messenger to Malcolm, asking him to open negotiations with him.”
“The king can do what he wants, but to secure this area, we need to shed blood. Malcolm will probably come to terms only after he’s seen Scottish blood spilt in his efforts to annoy the English.”
“Is Malcolm that determined?”
“He is now that Cnut’s here. Perhaps before he would have just been a nuisance but now his plans will be greater.”
“So the king’s made it worse then?”
“No the king’s just made it between kings as opposed to between war leaders. It’ll finish it sooner, that’s a fact. If Cnut hadn’t made the effort then the discord would have raged for years to come. It’s better this way.”
Amused by Ealdred’s comments, Leofric next sought out Siward. He was a typical Norseman, with long blond hair and an even longer beard, tied in an assortment of styles. He also shared their customary no-nonsense attitude and when he saw Leofric he muttered a greeting but then turned immediately to the Scottish encampment before them.
“They don’t look like warriors as I know them but they’re devious bastards.” Leofric held his amusement in check to hear both Ealdred and now Siward speak of the Scottish men with the same words.
“They make great use of their horses and their spears, but on foot I think they’re weaker men than Cnut’s household troop and your own. They’re not as used to being attacked by the Norse, although they hardly missed out on the attacks when my ancestors turned their covetous eyes towards this island.”
“So if we make war we should attack in our normal way, with a shield wall?”
“Oh yes, definitely. If we attack. I think Cnut will prefer a peace.”
“I think he will as well but Ealdred thinks that there’ll have to be blood shed first.”
“More than likely. They remind me of my own people in the far northern lands of Norway. They’re more tribal. Blood and death are all they understand.”
“So there’s little point in Cnut’s efforts?”
“Well, he’s a king, he should try words before his sword,” Siward smirked. “But then, he’s a Viking, so maybe his sword would be better.” The man was in good spirits and Leofric already knew he liked him. If he was, as Cnut had alluded in agreement with the concessions that Lady Ælfgifu and he had once given the tall Dane, to become Earl of Northumbria, Leofric knew that he’d have an ally at the Witan, when he too received his title.
Between them he hoped that they’d balance, and perhaps override, anything that Earl Godwine could attempt.
Little happened that day, other than a great deal of posturing from both sides, but Leofric was summoned by Cnut in the early evening light. He was within his canvas tent and Ealdred and Siward were with him.
“Well King Malcolm is being intractable, as usual,” Cnut offered sardonically. “And so tomorrow we’ll attack. Ealdred, you know the area well. Where would be a good place?”
Ealdred looked delighted at the thought of a battle but then turned thoughtful, considering where would be a good place to attack.
“Is this a full blown attack or just a skirmish?”
Cnut laughed at the longing in the man’s voice. “I think we should ready for a full blown attack. We have many men in the fyrd and young men with us who should get their first taste of battle.”
“Then we should go near the river.” Ealdred said, as though he needed to offer no explanation, although when Cnut looked at him sharply, he did expand.
“The river can be wide, and is often looked on as the border, but it’s a part of Bamburgh not Scotland. Malcolm will be tempted to cross if we line up on the southern bank. He’ll see it as an invitation to take the river and the land north. Even though it’ll be a poor site for him, he won’t be able to resist the lure of an easy gain.”
“Is it far from here?” Cnut asked, and Leofric chuckled as Ealdred simply pointed north, as he had when Leofric had asked him where Abercorn was.
“Down the hill and perhaps half a days advance from here. Malcolm will see us coming so he’ll guess our intent.”
“And if we need to retreat?” Cnut asked. His voice was sharp but he too seemed to be enjoying spending time with Ealdred.
“We’ll just come back here. The bottom of this hill is very steep. The horses won’t like it but it’ll get us out of the way quickly. But we won’t retreat. My men and I never do.” There was a challenge there and Cnut’s face finally cracked with laughter and he slapped his thigh.
“The Danes aren’t known for their retreats either,” he chuckled but Ealdred looked less amused.
“The Danes and the English in general can never understand the mentality of the fyrd and household troop of Bamburgh. We’ll see who retreats.”
“Well it won’t be my men,” Cnut muttered, as though keen to take up the challenge and Leofric determined that the battle tomorrow might be about more than just the Scots and the English. It seemed there was personal honor at stake as well.
The morning dawned cool and misty on the lands below their hilltop camping site, but Ealdred assured anyone who’d listen that the mist would clear soon.
He was dressed and ready for war, once more, as were the fyrd and the household warriors, as well as Leofric, his young son, his nephews and Cnut’s son, Harald.
His son and his nephews had the double-headed eagle emblem all over their equipment, and stitched into their byrnies, while Cnut’s son had been gifted with his own emblem that entwined his mother’s family symbol and his father’s royal status as well. Not just anyone wore the royal lion of Denmark.
At fifteen, Harald had nearly achieved his full height and he looked resplendent, even if he scowled behind his helm. He was not enjoying having his father close. Cnut seemed to almost constantly demand his son attend upon him, and Leofric had heard him complaining to Ælfgar the night before.
Leofric could only do so much for the boy, as sadly, Cnut was his king as well as Harald’s father.
They descended the hill into the chill mist, that did begin to dissipate as the morning advanced, and Leofric found the ride to war to be the most enjoyable he’d ever had. He’d fought with his father on Æthelred’s behalf when Cnut had invaded England, and he’d fought for Cnut in Denmark, but this felt more like a summer’s excursion, with just the possibility of war at the end of it all.
Neither was he alone. Everyone was in good spirits and that meant that when they finally arrived at the river Ealdred had spoken off, it was a sobering experience to see Malcolm and his men waiting for them, also in their battle gear.
Leofric quickly counted the men, initially concerned that they were outnumbered, but then relaxing when he realized that the Scottish contingent included everyone from the squires to the cook boys. It seemed that Malcolm had realized he was heavily out-numbered and had taken steps to discomfort the English force.
It had been a vain effort, but it did show that Malcolm was committed to a battle between the two sides. Neither had he remained on the northern side of the river, but had already crossed it, perhaps using the small wooden bridge, or simply swimming the horses across. The river was low, the weather had been dry, or so Ealdred had told them all.
Cnut had given his instructions before they set out on their short journey, and now he looked at his warriors and his fyrd expectantly. Quickly, they either dismounted from their horses, or formed up in their intended shield formation if they’d walked to the chosen battle site. There was a wide space separating the two forces, but Leofric could still see that Siward was right. The Scots all carried spears and he swallowed back a moment of worry and fear for his son, nephews and his foster-son. He didn’t want anyone to be injured today, but neither would he refuse their requests to join the shield wall, even if it was at the rear and about as far away from danger as it was possible to be.
He’d spoken to all the boys the night before. He’d not terrified them, but his warnings had been dire and had temporarily lost the
humor from their faces, while Ælfgar had looked white and shaky.
Now, with the enemy before them, all of them had succumbed to silence and Orkning was watching the lads carefully. Realizing that, Leofric knew that he could stride to the front of the shield wall and stand with his king. Cnut wanted all of his earls and would-be-earls to stand with him. This was intended as a show of strength and unity, a rare sight in the far north.
It took little time for the shield wall to form and quickly Cnut called for the men to advance. There was a lot of noise from the shield wall, as men shouted one to another, spurring each other on, and Leofric suddenly recalled his own horror of such war craft, but he steadied his resolve. He couldn’t show any fear before his son and other family members even though he’d not been in a shield wall for eight years.
The Scots began with a light hail of thrown spears and Cnut ordered his men to form up tightly to stop the spears so that the hail fell relatively harmlessly. Within only ten feet of the enemy, Cnut called a brief halt and the front row, Leofric amongst them, thunked their shields with their axes or swords and gave Malcolm and his men the opportunity to ask for a peaceful resolution. No voice shouted above the roar though, and suddenly Cnut called for an attack and the entire shield wall moved forward, just about keeping its tight formation together. They were all lacking experience of working together, but they were trying hard to do so all the same.
The Scots, although they should have expected it, were far less organized and Leofric thought their shield wall looked shabby and would be easy enough to break, unless of course, that was what he was supposed to think, and they were trying to fool the English. Yet Ealdred had made no comment to confirm the thought and Leofric wondered when the English and the Scots had last faced off against each other in such a concentrated way.
The English force broke against the Scots and immediately the Scots gave away three of four steps because they were so poorly prepared. It was as though they’d never fought in such a way.
Although he’d brought his sword with him, and had it with him, it was his war axe that Leofric had chosen to fight with, and immediately he began to attack his enemy from behind his own shield. His axe was light in his hand. He might not have used it in battle for a long time, but he’d never put aside his training.
Around him men from his household troop stood shoulder to shoulder, and Olaf accompanied him, while Orkning watched the younger generation to the rear of them all.
A lone voice rose above the grunts of the Scots and the men there redoubled their efforts, finally appreciating that they needed to fight back if they were going to have any chance of success.
Leofric was trying to work his axe behind the shield of the man in front of him, but the man was strong and he seemed to cling to his own shield as though it were a piece of wood keeping him afloat in the river. No matter what Leofric did, he couldn’t force his opposition’s shield down and so he concentrated his weight on the shield, trying to unbalance the man.
His fellow warriors were being met with the same amount of resistance. It seemed it was to be stalemate from the word go, almost as though, as he’d thought, the Scots had been trying to downplay their prowess in battle by their lack luster response but were now putting the lie to their efforts.
It had given them all a false sense of security but he couldn’t understand why they’d done it, if all the men could do little but heave against each other in the shield wall. He could hear no cries of fear or pain, but he could sense the heaviness of men as they tried to simply outweigh each other. It was more tiring than fighting with sword and axe.
He sweated and he heaved, and he put all of his weight behind his shield by resting his shoulder on it, and around him and behind him, men were doing the same. He could feel the press of the man behind him, and knew a shield was protecting his head, but still, no one seemed to have actually managed a strike on an enemy.
Had it all been a ploy while the Scots did something else? After all, they’d been waiting for the English to arrive. Had they deployed some of their men elsewhere, was it all a distraction while they caused further trouble elsewhere?
Yet he had no time to think of that because suddenly there was a significant slackening in the force in front of him, and he could finally work his axe behind the shield and managed to impact, something. He still couldn’t see what it was he hit, but just the thwack of his axe was enough of a reward. He hooked the edge of his axe and started to pull the enemy shield down, and as soon as it was low enough, he caught a brief glance of a dented helm, and then from behind him, Olaf used his own axe to strike the nose of the warrior, and blood immediately spurted down his nose before he managed to yank his shield back in place.
Leofric breathed deeply. First blood had been shed and now he was ready to kill his enemy. Once more he lifted his axe, only this time he went for the left hand side of the shield, hoping to move it away from where it protected the man’s legs. It was an awkward movement at the best of times but now he found he was met with no resistance at all, and suddenly, he felt himself fall forward, Olaf at his back desperately trying not to stand on him.
As he landed on the floor his shield beneath him, he griped his axe tightly, ready to attack anyone who tried to take advantage of his suddenly vulnerable state, but there was no one there. No one at all.
He looked about in concern and worry, and then felt the hand of Olaf patting his back and offering him his hand.
“They’ve gone my lord,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in surprise. “Just gone.” As Leofric stood and looked around he could see the Scots rushing back toward the river in retreat, yet Cnut hadn’t called for them to follow and now all the men looked around with uncertainty.
Worried that something untoward might have happened, Leofric shouted for Olaf to go back to Orkning, while he jogged down the line of confused men to find Cnut.
Siward followed him while Ealdred and his men were halfway to following the Scots, their blood rage fully roused.
“My lord?” Leofric called as he ran but he didn’t hear a reply from where he expected there to be one, and instead found himself rushing through the back of the shield wall to find his king standing, laughing with delight as he raised his son’s arm in triumph. Harald had finally lost his slightly surly expression and was, for the first time ever, pleased to be receiving any recognition from his father.
In his arm, the lad held a blooded war axe, dark red pooling from its surface to land on the upturned face of a man stilled in death at his feet. Leofric swallowed thickly. It seemed that the Scots had tried to attack from the rear, and had encountered the king’s son, the most vulnerable of all the men.
Leofric knew panic as his eyes looked for Ælfgar, Wulfstan and Ælfwine beside or behind Harald. When he failed to find them he felt as though he’d been robbed of all speech, only then, Orkning called for him. He was stood almost beside him now, a smirk on his own face, as he too held Ælfgar’s hand high. His weapon also dripped maroon blood onto the still body of one of the Scots, and Leofric, his heart beating too loudly for him to hear, finally understood what had happened, his eyes also wracking in his nephews who were grinning and slapping each other on the back as they embraced. They’d taken their own first blood and were now men.
Despite every precaution Leofric had taken, it seemed the battle had been at the rear of the shield wall, and the younger generation had reacted well and made their first kills.
Orkning shouted to him.
“There were ten of them, from the rear. They thought the boys would be easy prey but now they’re all dead.”
He was crowing with delight, and Leofric realized that his weapon hung loosely in his own hand and showed no sign of having been involved in the attack.
“You let them fight?” Leofric said, his voice rising through the octaves in shock.
“I did my lord,” Orkning continued to laugh, still congratulating all of the boys. “The Scots were outnumbered two to one, but they were all clearly
grown men against mere boys. They paid the ultimate price for thinking that they could kill young men by sending their oldest warriors to kill them.”
It seemed that Malcolm had tried to win with stealth, and had completely failed. It made sense now why the men had retreated and why Leofric hadn’t been called to follow them. Malcolm had lost and would need to treat for peace.
Still, Malcolm had shown himself to be a wily tactician and this was no great victory. Malcolm had simply tried a tactic that had failed, and now he could retreat with half a victory.
But that wasn’t what concerned Leofric now. No. He fixed Orkning with a firm gaze, angry with the man but Orkning completely ignored him. And then he shrugged, in the same way that every Northman he’d ever met had done when faced with a task already accomplished, and he joined in the celebrations his son, nephews and foster-son were making.
The boys were now men, and in the future they would all be a potent force within England. He could hardly wait.
Anglo Saxon Chronicle Entry for AD1031
This year returned King Knute (Cnut); and as soon as he came to England he gave to Christ's church in Canterbury the haven of Sandwich, and all the rights that arise there from, on either side of the haven; so that when the tide is highest and fullest, and there be a ship floating as near the land as possible, and there be a man standing upon the ship with a taper-axe in his hand, whithersoever the large taper-axe might be thrown out of the ship, throughout all that land the ministers of Christ's church should enjoy their rights. This year went King Knute to Rome; and the same year, as soon as he returned home, he went to Scotland; and Malcolm, king of the Scots, submitted to him, and became his man, with two other kings, Macbeth and Jehmar; but he held his allegiance a little while only.
Chapter 30
AD1032