by M J Porter
He’d slept poorly, his eyes grainy with a lack of sleep, and he’d have liked nothing better than to roll over and remain in his bed. He knew he couldn’t though. If he let this opportunity to see Cnut slip away, he’d being doing himself and his country no favours at all.
The morning was chill and dark, a fine layer of ice covering the dirty snow that littered the walkways between the houses in London. Huddled inside his fur cloak, he thought longingly of his wife’s warm body and open arms. He’s not seen her for months now, and he missed her. Once this crisis was over, he’d take his own advice to his oldest son and return home for some much needed time alone with his family. But before that could happen, he needed to ensure the country had not only the right king but also the assurance from the wrong would-be king that he’d not cause trouble in the meantime. England needed time to recover from the fighting of the year before.
His horse was as unhappy as he was to be roused from his bed, and when the coffin of Swein was carefully carried onto the waiting cart, his grief at the events of the last day threatened his sour mood further. This was not a good day for his people and his country.
The only advantage to the bone-numbing cold was that it meant the day was bright and as the weak winter sunlight stole through the land, highlighting the frigid fields and bare hedgerows, Leofwine took a good look at him. He’d been in London for almost three months now, and he was pleased that while he felt he’d been put through the wringer, the land seemed peaceful and calm, no visible battle scar marring the day.
It made him feel out of step with the land around him. So caught up in his own emotions he’d forgotten that the people he fought for and the land he loved existed physically as opposed to just inside his mind. A tired smile sprang to his face as he watched those animals brave enough to venture forth from their cosy hiding places, a robin on a bare twig, deer walking through the crisp landscape. The fields were empty, but they wouldn’t be for much longer, and the domesticated animals too would soon be released from the sheds they lived in during the colder months. The land would soon spring afresh, and he hoped that by then the matter of the kingship would be settled and peace would be restored.
The smell of the smoke of Cnut’s campsite reached his nostrils long before he saw it, and he felt sympathy for the men who’d made the hard earth their bed for the night. It was no weather to be sleeping under canvas or on the chill waters of the great Thames.
Their small party was expected and greeted with the required amount of sombreness for the burden they brought with them. Cnut looked as tired and cold as Leofwine felt and in a moment of impetuosity, he leapt from his horse and forgetting Cnut wanted to be his king, reached for him and embraced him. After all, Cnut was little older than Northman, and he couldn’t imagine seeing such sadness on Northman’s face and not acting to comfort him.
Cnut relaxed into the unexpected embrace, and Leofwine was assaulted with the memory of his own father’s death. War was a bloody business, and peacetime even more so.
“My thanks my Lord,” Cnut muffled into his shoulder, before pulling away, his eyes swinging between his assembled men and the coffin of his father.
“Cnut, you have my deepest sympathies for your loss. He was a great man, a bastard as well, but I was and always will be honoured to have known him and called him my friend, even after everything we put each other through.”
Cnut stilled a little at the emotional speech and the unexpected show of communal emotion, and Leofwine wondered if he’d taken too great a liberty.
“I’m glad you reconciled,” he quietly said before turning away and walking back to the tent he’d sheltered in for the night. Leofwine entered and instantly felt warmer as the three braziers inside warmed the small space. As he dipped his head inside he watched Northman’s men load the coffin reverently onto one of the ships. He wondered if they were taking Swein home, but thought better than to ask. Cnut would tell him soon enough.
Cnut handed him warmed mead, his hand cupped around his own drink and slouched onto his campstool. Leofwine sat upon the other empty stool and waited for Cnut to speak. He might have asked for this meeting, but it was Cnut’s thoughts that would drive it forward.
Finally, Cnut spoke, not meeting Leofwine’s eyes as he did so.
“Leofwine, I have the support of my men here, they want me as their king in Denmark. I must return home, but first, I’ll bury my father in England, the land he was king of.”
“And you’ll stay in Denmark?” Leofwine asked the question he most desperately needed an answer to.
“No, I’ll not. I’ll return as soon as I’m able and have the support of my brother, or as soon I hold his kingdom and he isn’t a threat to my kingship.”
Leofwine nodded as he absorbed the impact of the words. He’d expected them.
“And in the meantime, Æthelred will return as king,” Leofwine spoke softly.
Cnut nodded as he contemplated what those words meant.
“No kingdom can stand without a king. I understand that.”
As Cnut spoke, a disturbance at the opening of the tent saw a young man entering whom Leofwine thought he recognised, although he couldn’t quite place his face. He was of an age with Cnut, his hair long and curling down his back, his dark beard framing a sharp mouth and high forehead. Leofwine wondered who the man was and why he’d know him. He waited patiently to see what would happen now.
“My Lord Cnut,” he said, his voice sincere and respectful and very clearly from the lands of Wessex, and with the next words Leofwine understood why “the coffin is loaded and ready to depart. The tents are being dismantled as we speak.”
“My thanks, Godwine,” Cnut said, his eyes not raising to note his man, his shoulders sagging a little at the words, another unwelcome reinforcement of the reality of his father’s death.
Godwine briefly met Leofwine’s eyes then as he respectfully bowed to the English Lord,
“My Lord Leofwine,” he muttered. “You have my heartfelt thanks for your care of the old king. He’s been accommodated in a splendour he would have approved of.”
Leofwine was surprised to hear the man speak so openly to him. He was clearly a man whom Cnut held in high respect.
“It was my honour. Swein was a worthy enemy and an even more valuable friend.”
A brief silence filled the warmed canvas as the men thought of Swein and then Leofwine allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.
“Do I know you?” he asked, “I recognise your face.”
Godwine glanced swiftly at Cnut as if asking for permission to speak, and Cnut waved his hand at him in a clear, ‘go on’ gesture.
“My name is Godwine, as Cnut said. My father is the man Eadric accused of stealing the king’s land a few years ago.”
Understanding flashed quickly across Leofwine’s face. He might not have met the son, but he had the father.
“Your father is a brave man,” he said, wondering not for the first time, where the thegn had disappeared to with his and the king’s ships and whether he still lived.
“He was my Lord, and my thanks for your words.”
“And you have sworn yourself to Cnut now?” he inquired, wanting to know the situation before he said anything more.
“My lands are in the area that Swein initially claimed as his own, and I’m related to Cnut’s wife’s family.
“Are you going to Denmark?” Leofwine asked, wondering how closely tied the man was to Cnut. He might, for the time being, only be a man who looked to Cnut instead of to Æthelred, but if Cnut became king of England as well, this man could rise quickly and fast if he was as closely allied with him as Leofwine was beginning to imagine he was.
“Yes, I have my father’s ships and his men. They returned to me on his death, and I plan on supporting Cnut all I can.”
“Then I hope we meet again and under better circumstances,” Leofwine said, wondering just how far Cnut and Swein had infiltrated the other thegns of England. He’d not considered that ot
hers might be keener to have Cnut as king than Æthelred. He’d thought that only he had wrestled with the problem of who should lead England now, but clearly, he was wrong. There were more men than just him who could see that Cnut would be a balm for England’s broken soul.
Standing abruptly, Leofwine realised that Cnut was suddenly keen to be on his way. He knew what he needed to know, but before Cnut exited the tent, Leofwine held him back a little with a gentle hand on his forearm.
“I won’t forget your father’s words,” he offered succinctly. “I’ll do what I can to ease your way onto the throne, but there are many contenders for this kingdom, and I’m closely allied with them all.”
Cnut nodded sharply.
“My thanks, Leofwine, and for all you’ve done in bringing my father here. Like my father before me, I’ll not forget you.”
And with that, the young man was gone in a swirl of damp canvas and freezing rain. Leofwine shuddered a little as he watched Cnut stride to the ship within which his father’s body had been placed. He bowed low to the coffin as he climbed on board, and Leofwine noted his hooded eyes and calculating glance as the ship slowly turned towards the open sea. Cnut was not at all done with England yet, and Leofwine wondered what the future would hold for him.
Chapter 5
AD1014
Northman
London
Despite his words to his mother, and his wife and newborn child, he decided that he must attend upon his father and the king Æthelred when he returned to England. Eadric had scampered like a gleeful sprite to the Court of Richard II of Normandy, the news of Swein’s death, a sweet cherry for the beleaguered king. With little regard for the other ealdormen and their wishes, Eadric had cleverly worded his announcement so that it appeared as though he’d single-handedly arranged for Æthelred’s reinstatement and Northman knew that this would just be the beginning of Eadric’s efforts to worm his way back into the king’s closest confidences. And that meant that he needed to be there, calling on his family obligations that he serves his uncle-by-marriage as best he could.
His wife and his mother had decried his intentions so much that he’d been forced to sneak his way out of his childhood home in the dark morning air and make his way to London. He knew that when he returned they’d both be hurt and full of wrath, but, he hoped, they’d understand why he’d had to go.
That said, the same could not be said of his father. Leofwine had greeted his return with initial annoyance. The events of the last month had made him grumpy and ill-tempered and seeing his oldest son fling himself back into the thick of the politics of the Witan only served to make him even more annoyed.
Northman weathered the storm and when his father was calm enough to admit that he was doing the right thing, was doing exactly what he’d have done in the same situation, they managed to discuss many, many possible outcomes for the events of the last two years.
“Eadric will be sticking close to Æthelred, we all know that, and I need to be there with him.”
“No you don’t need to be there, but you want to be there. There’s a big difference,” Leofwine countered, as they sat around a warming fire in the house that Leofwine had been living in since before the Christmas season.
“I have a duty to be there,” Northman retorted, “because I can be. No matter what else you say about Eadric, he’s still bitter enough towards you that even now, with everything that’s happened, he’ll believe me when I say I want to support him, and not you.”
“And what of Mildryth? She’s living with your mother at the moment. Will that not make him pause for thought,” his father countered, trying to work out any flaws in the plan before it came into effect.
“Mildryth has no mother to turn to for help. He’ll think it only natural that she turns to my mother, and anyway, he’s too arrogant to carefully examine the link. He probably won’t even be aware that she’s not on my land.”
“You might have a point there, but still, it worries me, as you know it does. I don’t want your young family at risk of his censure. Not when he does so closely have the king’s ear. Or we assume he will.”
“Eadric probably won’t even leave the king’s side, and he rarely speaks to his brother now that his father’s dead.”
“I hadn’t realised the old man had died,” Leofwine said, his head turning sharply to look at his son and away from the glow of the fire.
“During the inclement weather, yes. He took to his bed and never climbed back out of it again. There was some worry that there might be a contagion, but he was the only one to suffer with it.” Northman mouthed without feeling. He’s never liked the old man, but neither had he wished an early death on him. It had made him look at his father a little too closely.
“I don’t think anyone misses him, apart from maybe Edith, but that’ll only be with relief that he’s gone,” Northman smirked a little as he spoke. Edith had waited a long time to be master of her household, and with the querulous old man gone, and Eadric more often than not at the centre of the politics of the Witan, she would just about have her wish.
“Do you know when they’ll return?” Northman asked his father.
“I would imagine as soon as a safe passage across the sea can be made. So anytime really.”
“And Cnut, has he gone back to Denmark?”
“No, he’s burying his father at Gainsborough.”
“And then he’ll go? Wouldn’t it make the future a lot easier if both Æthelred and Cnut lost their lives at sea, especially at this time of the year.”
“Then who would be your preferred king?” his father asked him, and Northman grinned in delight.
“Athelstan of course. He’s proven himself in battle, and he has the support of his younger brothers, well, apart from Edward and Alfred of course, but they’re his half brothers.”
“Athelstan is good at leading men, and he’s learnt to worm his way through the difficulties of life at the Witan, but do you think he’d be able to unite the country against a man such as Cnut?”
“I don’t see why not. Athelstan has many allies throughout our lands, and he works hard to be seen as a fair man as well, unlike his father. Why, who would you have as king?”
Leofwine laughed then, and shrugged his shoulders,
“I’ve never given it any thought until Swein attacked. I’ve only ever known one king, and the idea of replacing him hasn’t ever crossed my mind.”
“Not even when he demoted you?” Northman asked, intrigued by his father candour, no doubt brought on by the uncharacteristic drinking he’d been doing all day long, as he sat and brooded on what his son’s reappearance meant.
“No never. It’s easier that way. Our people don’t need any wars incited by who has the better claim to a throne, the last six months have shown me that. If there’s one thing, the English don’t like; it's chaos.”
“I think a war will come, father,” Northman responded insistently.
“I believe that you're right, but until it does, we should do as we’ve always done and if that means throwing in your lot with Eadric then so be it, but I’m not happy about it. I haven’t been ever since I sent you to him.”
“I know, and I’ll do all in my power to stay loyal to our family ideals, but it’s not always possible.”
Leofwine growled a little at his statement, and Northman raised his eyebrow at him.
“You can’t have everything you know,” he said into the silence that had fallen between them and Leofwine growled again.
“It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he muttered darkly, and Northman reached out and grabbed his father’s shoulder tightly.
“We do what has to be done,” he offered, and Leofwine nodded but didn’t speak.
“We do what has to be done for our family and our people,” he tried again, and Leofwine pierced him with his sharp eyes now.
“And not because we enjoy it?” he asked provokingly. Northman wanted to react angrily, but he knew better. His father was testing his resolve
.
“Well, I might enjoy watching Eadric squirm his way out of the situations he gets himself into,” Northman qualified, as Leofwine’s eyes lightened and the distressed look lifted from his face, and then returned two-fold.
“It’s just a pity that the King doesn’t see as clearly as everyone else does.”
“The king has lost his land once; I can’t imagine he’ll hold it if Cnut returns with shiploads of men, as his father did.”
“Cnut has yet to inspire the same loyalty in his men as his father did. He’s a prince of Denmark, a king already in the making. Swein had far longer to bend men to his will before he drove his father into exile and claimed his throne. We need to remember that.”
Northman was intrigued by his father’s words.
“Why do you caution?”
“Cnut will make a good king, and he’ll stop the raids from the shipmen, but, he still has much to do before he can ride roughshod over the wishes of his men and our people. I don’t imagine him returning for a few years.”
“I think you might be wrong father, but I don’t wish to argue about it now. The future is as yet unwritten, and Cnut and Æthelred will loom large in it. As will Eadric.”
“And hopefully our family as well,” his father added pensively, and Northman had the first inkling of what truly caused his father to look so sour.
“Our family is strong, and we have many, many allies.”
“Yet we’ve never had the ear of the king, and we still don’t. I often ask myself what I’ve accomplished by playing the game of favouritism.”
Northman snorted at his father’s despondent words.
“What more could you want? You did have the ear of the brief King Swein, you are close to Cnut, who will probably be king soon, you have a good relationship with King Æthelred and his sons, and you, more often than not, have easy access to the Queen.”
Leofwine glared at his son’s succinct summing up of their situation.