Viking Enemy

by M J Porter

  “Another, my Lord?”

  “Yes, I’ve been contacted by Pallig, Swein’s brother by marriage through his sister. He’s anxious to swear his allegiance to me, and I was going to offer him an ealdormanship. Now, I’m unsure.”

  “An ealdormanship, my Lord? Why would you offer a man you barely know such a position?”

  “I’d foolishly thought it would endear me to Swein. He’s a man I don’t wish to entangle myself with.” He spoke forcefully, stressing his words. “He’s a King and a warrior, and he knows his way around my lands almost as well as I do. It’s a blow that he’s killed Olaf. What little good I can say about Olaf, he did at least give his word that he’d stay away and then do so. He has my respect for that, and for beginning the spread of Christianity amongst his people.”

  “What do you plan to do now?”

  “I’ve not yet reconsidered my plans, or given it the thought it deserves. Luckily, I’ve not given any overtures of friendship yet. And you, my Lord, what do you plan to do with the wolf still baying for your blood?”

  Leofwine grimaced at the brutal voicing of his fears.

  “I don’t know either. I’ll need to give it as much thought as you do regarding Pallig.”

  The King laughed at Leofwine’s rueful tone.

  “Indeed. I suggest we both give it some consideration and then discuss it again in a few days’ time. I’d like you to know that for my part in your feud with the man, I’m sorry. I didn’t consider that you would cross the path of any other warlord, and certainly not the King of Denmark and now Norway, when I sent you away with Olaf all those years ago. It cannot be at all comfortable to have such a personal vendetta against you. Swein may well hate me, but he hates me as a figurehead, not personally. It’s a small consolation denied you.”

  “In the meantime, I still think we have accomplished something good and needed here. It feels right to have vanquished the King of Strathclyde, even if we’ve not killed him. We must, however, press the advantage. We will not be withdrawing yet.”

  “Are we to pursue the King?”

  “No, we’re to claim our land back and lay waste the border region. That should act as a deterrent to the bastard. Your men and my household troops will advance again tomorrow and carry out my orders. You and Athelstan will be the commanders.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll stay here and consolidate the advantage. I have plans for my ship army when I can communicate with them in this awful weather, and I also intend to survey the land here.”

  “As you wish, I’ll seek out Athelstan at first light.”

  “Excellent, and now I’ll let you return to your men. I hope that Wulfstan recovers well, and please tell him that if he’s able, I’ll have a task for him while you’re gone.”

  ****

  Leofwine walked back to his tent with the rain still falling heavily. Soft tendrils of mist rose from the saturated ground as the temperature climbed to an uncomfortably sticky level. The lit cooking fires smoked incessantly, adding to the heat and the mist, and men called to each other as they stood in the rain, shields used to keep it from their heads as they waited for food or cooked it. It was a haunting reminder of the use the shields had been put to earlier on the battlefield.

  He ducked inside his tent and was instantly met by the less than gentle snores of Wulfstan. Hunter quickly lay obediently beside the camp bed and looked at him reproachfully as if it was his fault she’d been forced outside in the downpour. He thanked her, and she closed her eyes and quickly fell to sleep, her snores joining Wulfstan’s.

  Leofwine checked Wulfstan and once assured that his friend slept naturally he collapsed back onto the camp stool he’d been roused from by the King’s call. It was still uncomfortable, exasperated by his wet clothes unchanged from the battlefield. He now thought there was little point in changing as he was going back into battle the next day. He also doubted that his spare clothes were any drier than his own as they’d spent a day in a saddlebag and then been dragged inside his damp tent. The canvas was doing a good job of keeping the rain from his head, but there was still water seeping in through some of the larger holes in the seams. He bent to retrieve his cross and placed it amongst his possessions ready for his departure the next day.

  He was cold, wet and frustrated by the news Finn had brought him about Swein, while elated to have his cross back, worried about his friend and far from home. He couldn’t imagine that he’d possibly sleep, and yet somehow, no sooner had he sat and made himself comfortable than his snores joined Wulfstan’s and Hunter’s. It was only when Wulfstan stirred in the night that Leofwine’s rest was disturbed.

  His friend woke and immediately demanded why Leofwine was not in his bed and why he was, and started to berate him. Even colder and wetter than before, Leofwine snapped at Wulfstan, causing the older man to cease his moaning, see quickly to his need for water and return to bed meek as a new-born baby. Leofwine’s head felt fuzzy and his eyes burnt with tiredness.

  Dawn was far off, and he could barely see in the dim light of the tent. The brazier had long burnt low, and he was shivering uncontrollably. Knowing that sleep was a thing of the past, he quickly found his unworn clothes and peeled the clammy ones from his body. In the confined space he made so much noise, bumping into every piece of furniture in the tent, that he heard the noise of others stirring in the tent next to him. He felt grim satisfaction knowing that others would be as muddle-headed as he when they rode out to battle later that day.

  Hunter glared at him in the slight light from the feebly smoking brazier, and Leofwine remembered that he’d not fed her when he’d returned the night before. He wasn’t surprised that she scowled at him. From outside his tent, he could hear men calling softly to themselves and smelt the aroma of pottage. As unappealing as camp rations were, his stomach rumbled and Hunter cast him a look of barely veiled disbelief as she stalked from the tent; Leofwine followed behind, intent on informing Horic of the plans for the day. He squelched through the sticky mud mindful of where he placed his feet, pleased that the rain had finally ceased. The mist curled around the tents and the men, lending the early morning a spectral feel as thin tendrils of the sun’s rays wove in and out of the temporary camp.

  Within his tent, Horic was snoring loudly as a few of the men tumbled from their low camp beds, groaning and moaning at the noise coming from Horic’s wide-open mouth. Leofwine stifled a smile of wry amusement and let Hunter do her work of waking the man by licking the side of his face. Hunter was, for an unknown reason, inordinately fond of the huge man.

  With a swot of his large arm on the dog’s nose that set his armbands jangling, Horic spluttered awake, a glare of outrage on his face. He wasn’t quite as keen on Hunter when she woke him in such a manner. He abruptly stood when he saw that Leofwine accompanied the dog, and muttered an apology, grimacing as he stood on his own clearly aching legs.

  “We’ve orders from the King to ride out again today with Athelstan and his men. Can you ready the men and ensure we have enough supplies for three days? The King is staying here, I think, but we have some unfinished business in the North.”

  Horic’s face lit with joy at the thought of seeing more of his enemy, and his movements quickly became more alert as he reached for his cloak that had been discarded on his bed.

  “I look forward to it,” he quipped, deigning to stroke the inquisitive head of Hunter who was looking at him expectantly. Leofwine grunted in agreement and stepped from the tent. He felt light-headed. He needed to eat.

  1000 – Part 2

  By the time the sun had fully risen, Leofwine and his men were assembled and ready to move out. A messenger had sought out Leofwine and informed him that Athelstan and his men would be ready with the light. They were taking no supply waggons with them and instead formed up as a highly mobile, mounted force.

  Leofwine had woken Wulfstan and informed him of what was happening. Wulfstan had protested feebly that he must accompany his Lord. Only when Leofwine had mentio
ned that the King had a chore for him, had he subsided into silence. He looked far better than the night before but Leofwine didn’t like to leave him. He considered ordering Hunter to stay with Wulfstan but realised that then both would be miserable. In the end, he walked briskly away from Wulfstan, convincing himself that all would be well and ignoring the stabbing feeling of foreboding in his chest.

  The King stepped from his tent to add a few words to his men. He looked little the worse for wear after his day of battle yesterday and none could fail to see the glow of triumph that suffused him. His aura of a warrior king did more than his words to spread a feeling of righteousness amongst the men. Leofwine swallowed back his fears of last night and this morning to allow a huge smile to grace his face, a mirror of the King’s own.

  It was agreed that the men would ride out for, at the most, a full day and a half. If they’d failed to spot any of the retreating enemy, they’d only establish themselves as masters of the land, and then return to the camp.

  Before they left, the King called to Leofwine. “Your man, he is well?”

  Leofwine was taken aback that Æthelred had remembered before recalling that he’d mentioned he had a role for Wulfstan.

  “He slept, my Lord, lucky sod. I’d say another day in bed and he’ll be well enough. I’d feared for him and sent for the priest, much to the disgust of the healer.”

  Æthelred smiled tightly at the words,

  “It’s always best to be prepared, no matter how unwelcome the thought of the ending of this life might be. I’ll ensure that Ecgberht checks in on him today.”

  “With thanks, my Lord.”

  “Not at all, not at all; now off with you all and happy hunting,” his face twisted slightly at the words, clearly showing that still he did not relish the thought of the deaths of more men at his hands.

  ****

  It took less time than Leofwine could have imagined to reach the site of the battle. He saw with some satisfaction that the bodies had all been buried, only the disturbed earth showing where a mass grave had been dug. The sticky mud splattered up the sides of the rise he’d fought his way up, the only testament to the slaughter that had taken place.

  Hunter stood stoically by his side, unhappy with the after-smells of the battle as Leofwine took a long moment to remember his friend who’d lost his life here. Brithelm’s death had not thoroughly punctured his consciousness, but on this spot the reality hit him, and grief temporarily rendered him speechless. Around him, he noticed Horic and Oscetel also had their heads bowed in memory.

  Athelstan’s men were a way in front, riding out in a vast swathe of a scouting party. There was some disturbance, and Leofwine instinctively called for all his men to be ready to dismount and armed if necessary. He sent Horic and Oscetel forward to determine the cause of the commotion. They returned quickly with reassuring grins on their faces, and Leofwine relaxed a little in his saddle and signalled for his men to be less alert.

  “It’s only Ælfhelm and his men. They’ve had the same thought as the King and are running a sweep of the area. Come; he and Athelstan are discussing tactics.”

  Leofwine nudged his sturdy horse forward to where he could see a gathering of men. He was too far to make out any form of facial expressions, but as he cleared the hill he’d so painfully fought up yesterday he was greeted by the joyful voices of Athelstan and Ælfhelm’s men raised in a cacophony of noisy laughter. To the side of them, Ælfhelm and Athelstan were in conference.

  Ælfhelm’s vast bulk looked as flushed with triumph as the King had earlier and he was enjoying having the ear of the King’s son to himself. He turned and greeted Leofwine with a respectful nod of his bearded head, devoid of his helmet, as he spoke to his King’s representative. Leofwine didn’t disrupt the flow of the conversation by talking, merely inclining his head to his fellow ealdorman. He might still find him a force to be reckoned with, but they’d reached some accord over the years they’d known each other. They too often shared similar concerns in the former Mercian lands.

  He quickly tuned into the discussion between the men, realising they were discussing the integrity of Ælfhelm’s borders. The conversations concerned how the border was to be maintained now that the enemy had, hopefully, been sent scurrying away. Athelstan was also informing Ælfhelm of his father’s plans for his ship army.

  “He intends to meet them and order them to attack either the land of the kings across the sea or slightly closer to home if the weather stays so bad.”

  “Perhaps the Isle of Manx – it’s not far and often used as a staging post for those travelling between here and Dublin?”

  Athelstan nodded at Ælfhelm’s words.

  “Yes, the King mentioned to his ship army commanders that Manx would make a good target. Perhaps they’ll even find some of the stragglers from yesterday. There’s a feeling that the people of Strathclyde don’t act alone, but enough of the ship army.” He shook his head as if to clear it of thought. “What are your plans now?”

  Ælfhelm didn’t hesitate in responding.

  “I intend to go as far as the Old Wall and seek out the enemy who may still be retreating. I know they have their small horses and so are probably long gone, but for peace of mind, I want to check. I don’t want to inform my people that the menace has been cleared until I’m convinced myself.”

  Athelstan smiled tightly at the words so roughly spoken by the burly man.

  “I suggest we take separate routes then; we’ll cover more area that way. We’ve been ordered to travel for a day and a half toward the Old Wall before returning. We’re going to hug the coastline, but can go elsewhere if you wish that route for yourself.”

  Ælfhelm nodded in understanding.

  “It’s a good idea. Then if there are any stray ships either from Dublin or their own king, you’ll be able to deflect them. I was going to travel via the coast myself, but instead, I’ll backtrack and move along the area that’s long been disputed. I can inform the people that they need now look to our King for protection. It might even be an opportunity to survey the state of the people, make sure they have what they need to bring in the harvest. I don’t want the worry of hungry people on my hands.”

  Athelstan acceded to Ælfhelm’s words with a sharp nod of agreement and quickly returned to where his household troops were quietly milling around. Ælfhelm watched him with narrowing eyes before turning to Leofwine.

  “He’s a strong-willed lad. He must take after his grandmother.”

  Leofwine nodded in general agreement,

  “Yes, but he has the King’s more relaxed nature with people. He commands his men well, for all his youth.”

  Ælfhelm didn’t immediately respond, and Leofwine wondered what he thought as he watched the youth canter away almost so quietly that Leofwine wondered if he’d heard the words Ælfhelm finally spoke,

  “We’ll see what the future holds.”

  Leofwine fixed him with a stern stare, confused by the intent implied in the words but Ælfhelm didn’t elucidate, turning towards his troops and shouting a goodbye over his shoulder. Leofwine sat for a moment, watching the older man issue commands to his men before he, too, turned on his way with another burden to add to his already overwrought mind.

  ****

  The weather improved with every step towards the Old Wall, and before long, bright sunshine was drying the damp land and the men who traversed it. Leofwine watched the land around him with interest. On his journey home from the Outer Isles, he and his men had travelled along the coast in their ship, but he’d seen little or nothing of the land. He was astounded now by the sight of the hills rising steeply towards the lands of Ælfhelm ealdormanship, festooned as they were with lush grasses until their rocky peaks. He could see why the King wasn’t happy that the land had been appropriated by the Kingdom of Strathclyde even though it appeared to be little inhabited.

  The few people who crossed their path were well dressed and looked prosperous for all that they had more skill at conversing with
Horic in the native tongue of his home, than in Leofwine’s own. Leofwine wondered how long the raiders had been settling this land and how many of the small population were a holdover from the time before the first raiders had arrived over two hundred years before, or so the Chronicles said. Those he encountered were more akin to the people who dwelled on the borders of his lands near Deerhurst, with their quilt work of petty kingdoms. England had once been the same, before Alfred and his son had worked to defeat the Vikings and to unite the disparate land.

  By the time the sun was bleaching from the summer sky, late in the evening, they’d encountered no one from the original raiders, but had found a sandy cove to shelter near.

  “Horic, this land … have we been here before?” Leofwine called.

  Horic glared at the stretch of beach and rough grass as though it had done something to offend. His eyes narrowed slightly and his brow knit together,

  “I think not my Lord, although it does look similar to places we have been.”

  Leofwine grunted in agreement, a hazy memory tugging at his memory of a time when he’d been barely healed from his eye wound and on his long journey home through the worst that late winter could bring a tired ship and her men. They’d been forced to make many stops down this stretch of the coast before they’d fetched up at the court of the King far in the south. He assumed that many of the stops must have looked similar.

  “I think you might be right,” piped Oscetel, “I, too, remember a stretch of land such as this. And look over there … I’m sure we pulled up on that piece of land that juts out towards the sea.”

  Leofwine followed where his man pointed and felt a jolt of recognition. Horic looked too, and a memory flashed on his face.

  “I think Oscetel may have the right of it after all.”

  ****

  That night, they made a rude camp above the beach. Athelstan joined Leofwine for a meal of hardened bread dipped into a tasty pottage as conversation flowed easily between the King’s son, the ealdorman and a few of their trusted housetroops. The others kept vigilance high on a number of surrounding hills, primed to attack if any of their enemy should make an appearance, but none did. The sun finally dipped low, and an eerie half darkness fell under the bright moon enabling men to sleep or stay awake as they were commanded.