by M J Porter
“I go all the way to bloody Normandy to tell him to come home. I work my hardest to get the other ealdormen even to consider offering him the throne back and what reward do I get? Nothing, and worse than nothing, I get the alleged ‘honour’ of fighting the slimy little dick that thinks he should be king in his place. If the king wants Cnut gone so badly, then he should face him himself. Why not send Uhtred or Ulfcytel? Ulfcytel hates the little jumped up Danish prince. He’d enjoy fighting him to the death.”
Northman watched Eadric as he strode to a small table and poured himself a cup of mead, before splashing it down his throat. He then grabbed a chunk of bread and began chewing it distractedly, all the time speaking and spewing his venom for the king.
“It’s a test Eadric,” his brother offered in a bored voice. Northman was amazed that Ælthelmær had spoken when Eadric was so enraged. It normally did no one any good to interrupt.
“I know it’s a bloody test,” he spat, flecks of bread flying from his mouth and landing on the floor before him. “I know what it is you, oaf,” he shrilled, his voice gaining in pitch and volume.
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Ælthelmær continued, unheeding of Eadric’s anger. “You can’t expect the king to fall all over himself in thanks for making a little boat trip and presenting him with something that was already his, to begin with.”
“What?” Eadric screeched once more. “You think any of the other ealdormen wanted Æthelred back? Do you not know what I had to do to get him reinstated?”
“Of course I do,” his brother retorted with a little more heat to his voice. “You did as little as possible. You spoke what you wanted and then you waited for Leofwine, Ælfric, Ulfcytel and Uhtred to agree with you. And then you rushed off to tell Æthelred before anyone could change their mind.”
“Leofwine wanted Cnut as the king. Do you know that?”
“Of course I do. It’s common knowledge that the ealdormen were torn between Æthelred and Cnut. If Cnut hadn’t left with the ship-army, then he’d probably be the bloody king now.”
“So what you're saying, dear brother, is that Cnut made the decision not to be king?” Eadric stressed the word ‘decision’ and Ælthelmær laughed openly at him.
“Of course he did. Everyone knows that as well. If it weren't for the ship-army wanting to make him king of Denmark, then Cnut would still be here now, and his desire to be king would be fuelling all sorts of disputes and conversations. Stop being so up yourself and accept that you just took advantage of what was already happening. You weren’t instrumental in having Æthelred back as king. He knows that, and so does everyone else.”
Eadric’s face was turning redder and redder with anger as his brother spoke, and Northman held his amusement in place. It was rare for Ælthelmær to have any opinion that was contrary to Eadric’s and it was even rarer for him to say as much. Typically the brothers would mutter their annoyance but do as their more powerful brother advised without letting him know that they disagreed. It was easier for everyone if they just concurred with the surly ealdorman.
“You’re as ungrateful as the bloody king,” Eadric spat and suddenly Ælthelmær was stood almost nose-to-nose with his older brother.
“And you’re as bloody delusional as he is. Deal with it Eadric and try and make a decent attempt at getting rid of Cnut. Perhaps if you do something decisive, then we can finally draw a line under the last few years and get on with enriching ourselves and gaining more power. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing, isn’t it?” His words were clipped and angry, and Northman watched with amazement, as the rationale behind all of the family’s movements was laid so bare before him.
Eadric glared at his brother and Northman wondered if he’d strike him as his fist curled itself tightly, but then he let it uncurl slowly, and Northman knew that even with his brother Eadric couldn’t follow through with his threats, intended or implied.
“And you, I assume will lead my men?” he said in a taunting voice, only for Ælthelmær to respond just as confrontationally.
“One of us will need to and we sure as hell know that you can’t.”
It was Eadric who stepped away, his rage visible in his shaking body and Northman wondered how the man could be quite so delusional about his skills.
“And you Northman, what will you do?” he barked.
“Whatever my Lord commands,” Northman responded evenly, he wasn’t about to be drawn into this argument.
“Good, at least someone around here can follow orders. Now, go and get Thorkell. I want to know how many of his men he has and therefore how few I need to take.”
Northman rose languidly from his seat, not too keen to be Eadric’s messenger boy, but pleased to be out of the poisoned atmosphere in the room.
“And get Uhtred as well. I want his input and Ælfric and that Olaf, but none of the others and certainly not Ælfric. He’s so old he’s a bloody liability.”
As Northman wandered through the hall, seeking out the men Eadric had asked for, it wasn’t lost on him that Eadric had excluded his father and Ulfcytel from his little meeting. They were the two men who were the most critical of Eadric and always had been. Not that Northman blamed Ulfcytel at all. The man had after all conspired to have his lands invaded by Thorkell and Cnut. That many, many men had died in the attacks was never forgotten, and Ulfcytel had made his feelings of antipathy towards both Thorkell and Eadric wildly known.
And then there was his father. Eadric and Leofwine had long been enemies, witness his precarious situation, but Leofwine never had, even in the very recent crisis, acted other than with the king’s interests as his basis. And that was the real difference between the two men. Eadric served in the king’s name and masked it to achieve his own desired ends. Leofwine always held his own interests second to those of the king. Northman was so used to watching Eadric and deciphering his intent that he was always amazed when the King failed to realise his duplicitous ways.
The hall had been cleared of the benches that had littered it during the Witan, and now men and women both were sitting around in small groups conversing and eating. Northman watched Athelstan and Edmund speaking in a darkened corner and wondered how the two felt. The king had made no illusion to his sons when discussing either the imminent attack on Cnut or the changes to the rules of succession that had been discussed. Northman wouldn’t have been surprised if the men had left the Witan rather than take any more of their father’s slights.
If it hadn’t have been for the fact that Cnut wanted the throne, Northman imagined that they’d have long since turned their allegiance to him. If he’d offered them a counter against their father they would have gladly taken it. But he didn’t give them the counter they needed. He wanted exactly what they wanted, and he had the resources to get it. Unlike the king’s sons.
He gazed around looking for any of the men that Eadric wanted to speak to and was annoyed to see Thorkell in deep conversation with his father and ealdorman Ælfric. He’d have to wait to approach the man as he couldn’t be seen anywhere near his father. He didn’t want any of his actions to be misinterpreted by the many eyes that watched him.
Instead, he focused on Uhtred. He was speaking to the archbishop Wulfstan and Northman knew that it would be acceptable to interrupt them.
Ambling his way towards the table where the men sat, both holding cups of mead and eating a meal of baked fish, Northman made no pretence of his intentions. Wulfstan watched him approach with a faint smile of welcome on his face, although Uhtred, his back fully turned towards him, was unaware of the scrutiny he was under.
“Northman,” the archbishop spoke in welcome, and he returned the greeting. “Are you looking for me?” he quizzed, although his tone indicated that he doubted it.
“No, it’s Uhtred that I’m seeking. Eadric would like to speak to him when it’s convenient.”
“I’m sure he bloody would,” Uhtred grumbled, and Wulfstan quirked a smile at Northman that went unseen by Uhtred.
&nb
sp; “Who else is he calling to his little ‘meeting’?” Uhtred queried with resignation.
“Thorkell and Olaf,” Northman responded promptly, the archbishop’s ears pricking as he spoke. Eadric hadn’t told him to keep it a secret, and he had no intention of doing do.
“Have you told the others yet?”
“No, not yet. I saw you first,” Northman said, not wanting to have to voice the reason he’d sought him first.
“Tell him I’ll be along shortly. The king wishes to speak to me first, and I must see what ails him before I do anything else.” Uhtred sounded none too happy about the king’s request and Northman, not for the first time, wondered about the uneasy relationship between the two men. Æthelred was prone to leaving the northern lands in the more than capable hands of Uhtred and liked to interfere as little as possible. But Uhtred was also his son by marriage, and Northman wondered if the request was a personal or a political one.
Standing abruptly, Uhtred bowed his head to the archbishop and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, walked out of the hall. Wulfstan grabbed Northman’s sleeve as he turned to leave and indicated that he wished a private word with him. Northman sat in the abandoned space left by Uhtred and leant towards the archbishop. It was entirely possible he had a message from his father. The words the archbishop spoke surprised Northman.
“I know that you believe you’re doing the right thing here, Northman. But, please, think carefully before you become once more irrevocably associated with Eadric.”
Northman broke away from the archbishop in shock and looked around in concern to see if anyone had witnessed the brief conversation. Satisfied that the men to either side were too engrossed in their own games, he met Wulfstan’s eye.
“I act as I should,” he offered simply and understanding flooded the militant man of God’s eyes.
“I know why you do what you do, never doubt that. But Northman, nothing is as it was before. We might have Æthelred back but our country isn't healed from Swein’s incursions, and Cnut will attack once more. You need to make sure you stand on the side of those who will win the coming battle.”
“I need to watch Eadric and ensure we know what he plans. We can’t have another Thetford.” Northman spoke through thin lips, his words barely above a whisper.
“I appreciate that Eadric is as slippery as they come, but Northman, I fear for you and what you plan on doing. And I know your father does as well.”
“And yet he hasn’t stopped me,” Northman countered and Wulfstan nodded as he glanced towards where Leofwine still spoke with Thorkell and Ælfric.
“He's your father, not your commander. He sees it as his duty to allow you to make your own decisions. He doesn’t want to bind you to his will.”
“He had no such compunction when I was a boy,” Northman said, not bitterly, but a pure statement of fact.
“It was I who pressured him to turn you into our eyes and ears within Eadric’s household, but I had no inkling that you would stay there for so long, that you would adopt it as your reason for waking each morning.”
Northman glanced at Wulfstan in shock.
“He never mentioned this.”
“We both know that he wouldn’t. Eadric was demanding you be fostered in his household, and I merely suggested that you needn’t go as a helpless boy.”
“And my father’s man, Wulfstan agreed with you, I know that much.”
“Wulfstan was far better at reading the political situation than any of us realised. He could see what the king thought before he even thought it.”
“And we can only do that now if I remain with Eadric,” Northman offered with a slight smile on his lips.
“Having you there makes it easier. But, it is a huge risk. For all that the king loves Eadric, no others do, and Cnut has made his disdain for the man clear for all to see. As did his father. Neither of them rewards men who are duplicitous.”
“The king is still young enough to rule for many years,” Northman stated, trying to find some way of fighting Wulfstan’s logic, but he knew it would be hopeless. The archbishop was as politically astute as his namesake, and Northman’s surrogate grandfather.
“The king is a broken man, old before his time. He’s been king for as long as he can remember, and he’s lived a pampered life of excess. His years are numbered, and when he is gone, the political arena will be difficult to navigate, especially for anyone who has stood so firmly with Eadric. Your father, no matter what he thinks, may not be able to protect you.”
“I think you worry too much. My father will do all he can to protect me from any repercussions, and in the meantime, the information I’ll gain is invaluable.”
Wulfstan paused then and turned back to study Northman’s face.
“I know what you sacrifice, and you have my thanks and my support. And know this, I too will do all I can to protect you, but you need to realise that this new arrangement will be short-lived. Take steps to protect yourself. Your father and I will protect your family.”
Northman nodded as he scrambled to his feet.
“My thanks, Wulfstan,” he said, “I will not forget your concerns or your kindness.”
“I know, now, be about your duties for Eadric. I need to attend upon the king as well.”
With that, the archbishop stood and walked away briskly, as though the conversation he’d just had might have displeased him. Northman watched him go with a hint of annoyance on his face that he didn’t feel for it was best to keep up the pretence of an unpleasant conversation.
Abruptly, he turned, and his eyes fastened first on Leofwine, rushing to catch Wulfstan, and then on Thorkell and Olaf. The two men chatted, and Northman walked towards them.
“Eadric would like to speak with you both,” he said when he was within earshot, and without pausing to see if they would follow him or not, he strode back the way he’d come. He’d been gone a little longer than he’d anticipated, but hopefully, Eadric wouldn’t have noticed that another might have waylaid him. As he went, he caught Leofric’s hopeful eye and barely raised his eyebrow in greeting. His brother appeared to look past him, but, at that moment, they’d said all they could without speaking.
Chapter 11
AD1014
Leofric
London
He barely knew where to look and who to make eye contact with. Not that he was an untried youth at the Witan, but right now, there was such a swirl of alliances and counter-alliances that it was almost safer to speak to no one.
That said, his father had instructed him to speak with whom he could and learn what he could, but he felt a little tongue-tied, a little unsure of himself. He was, after all, clearly marked as Ealdorman Leofwine’s son, the good one, and the one who didn’t contravene every action his father made. It was almost as much of a burden as the one his older brother carried. For some reason, because he was the good son, men and women of the Royal Witan felt as though they could ask him anything, allude to all sorts of rumours that they’d heard about Northman, and make him feel uncomfortable. It was difficult to keep up the pretence of outrage sometimes, and they’d been more than one occasion where he’d had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying something that would put a lie to what was happening.
As his brother walked past him, he blankly looked through him, but all the time, he was communicating as best he could with the older brother he felt he’d barely begun to know. He’d enjoyed their time together when they’d been trapped in London, and then had stayed there to welcome their new king. This lightening fast change back to the rift that ran through their family was unwelcome and distressing. He missed his brother already, and it had only been a handful of days. They’d been close as small children, very close and he’d always been a little in awe of him and keen to be just like him. He still held to that belief now, but he knew in his heart that he’d never be able to endure what his brother had. He simply wasn’t strong enough to turn his back on his family. He needed them.
He felt a cold nudge on his h
and and tweaked the ear of his faithful hound. Unlike his brother and his father, his first hound had died three years ago, and now he had a new one, a well-trained female but a magnet for the male dogs anywhere he took her. He’d wanted to name her Hunter after his father’s old dog, but his mother had asked him not to, saying that his father still thought of his old dog too often. Instead, he’d named her Beauty, his mother having told him that Killer was perhaps inappropriate, although she’d said it with a wry smile. She was a good hound and faithful to the end. In this room of people and animals, she was happier than him but pleased to keep him comfortable as he brooded on the events that had befallen his family since Swein claimed the throne.
He’d heard far more of the debates of the ealdormen than they thought, and he’d decided that all of them were fools for not gifting the throne to Cnut. He thought Cnut was the sort of dynamic king that his country needed. He knew how to use his sword and shield, and he also seemed to know when it was better to use the power of his tongue and thoughts. Leofric could admit that he was under the spell of the older youth. He didn’t begrudge him his new wife, but he would have quite liked his ships and the respect he’d earned from his men and his father’s men.
He’d not voiced his opinions to his father because he knew he already half shared them, and that was enough for Leofric. His father was a man of deep thoughts and careful actions. Leofric knew he was rash and more personable and he also knew that if he didn’t watch what he said and did, he’d land himself in trouble, and not with his father, but with his father’s enemies. As such, being at the Witan was difficult for him. He had to watch his every word and his every action.
It was quite simply easier for him to sit with his hound than with anyone else.