by M J Porter
Leofwine quickly dropped to sleep, the shortness of his previous night’s rest enough to ensure he slept soundly and deeply. He dreamt all night of his reunion with his wife and woke disappointed to find himself on a bed of grass, wrapped in his cloak against the slight summer chill, as opposed to in the warm and inviting embrace of his wife. He supposed he should be pleased that, at least, it hadn’t rained during the night. He spared a thought for Wulfstan, hoping he was well again, and then a cry from the men on watch alerted him to a sighting of mounted horsemen.
Well practised, the entire contingent of men was soon in pursuit. Leofwine cursed his limited eyesight that caused him to rely on a running commentary from Horic regarding the people they followed.
“I believe there are about thirty of them, my Lord. They’re all mounted and are fleeing back the way they must have come. I can make out little of their clothing, or what weapons they carry, but the glint of iron from the sun assures me that they’re armed.”
“Let’s just hope they’re not leading us into an ambush.”
Horic grunted in agreement,
“We shall soon see, my Lord.”
Only they didn’t. The ragged band of men before them never grew any closer although they never lost sight of them either. At regular intervals, Athelstan commanded a select group of his men to attempt to catch the fleeing men by shooting forwards as fast as their horses would allow, but those they pursued always outpaced them. Finally, as the sun reached its zenith, Athelstan drew back. He beckoned to Leofwine who directed his horse to the young man’s.
“I don’t think we can catch them. I feared an ambush but the more we follow them, the more I believe they’re just trying to escape with their lives.”
The youth was sweat-streaked and the frustration of the morning’s fruitless chase was evident on his animated face.
“We’ve followed them passed almost all signs of habitation. I think it’d be fair to say that they’re gone for good,” Leofwine responded. He’d been aware of the thinning of any form of settlement for some time. The land they passed no longer showed any signs of management – no wicker fences and even fewer herd beasts. He’d begun to wonder if they’d shot through the land his King was now claiming. Only the lack of seeing the Old Wall gave him comfort that they were still in the English King’s land.
“Yes, perhaps. But I’d prefer to join battle with them just to reiterate our win against them two days ago.” The lad’s tone sounded so wistful that Leofwine laughed quietly in sympathy for his lost opportunity.
“It’s good you’re so keen but it’s not wise to seek a confrontation if none is needed. Come, I think I saw a small settlement not far from where we slept last night. Let’s go back that way and see if the inhabitants are prepared to offer us some insights into the lay of the land here.”
Grudgingly Athelstan agreed, although it was evident he’d rather disobey his father’s orders and venture farther towards the Old Wall. Leofwine felt a moment of remorse for his lost youthful confidence. With his age and his injury conspiring against him, he’d never think to rush headlong into an altercation again. He’d too many responsibilities to his family and his King to see his death so soon. It was an excellent characteristic to see in his King’s son. He hoped that the son’s readiness to seek arms would rub off on his father.
****
They rode back the way they’d come at only a slightly less robust speed. Behind them, he’d ordered Oscetel and some of the men to delay their return to ensure that the men they’d chased away didn’t return. Oscetel had been pleased to oblige and Leofwine happy to command. Athelstan hadn’t considered the move, too bitter in his failure to catch the enemy to consider that the men may not truly be gone.
The building they came upon, close to the beach of the night before, was an isolated farm with neatly demarcated fields stretching far back towards the gently rising hills. Farther out the walls were made of heaped stone; closer to the house they were more temporary and made from sheets of thinly threaded branches. Sheep grazed peacefully in the grassy fields, and a sleepy boy watched the troop of men ride slowly by, just as he’d watched them race past when the sun was first rising. Leofwine wondered how often he saw mounted men in shiny helms race past his home that the occurrence merited so little interest from him.
Horic rode at Leofwine’s side,
“This looks like a fine farm. I’m a little confused by its neat and prosperous appearance. Surely if they’re constantly under attack from the northmen and their allies in Strathclyde, it should appear ramshackle?”
Leofwine took a moment to consider his reply. Horic was correct: the farm was well tended and only had the smallest of defences around it.
“I assume they’re happy to please whoever claims this land as their own. Certainly, they’re rich enough in animals and crops to keep themselves throughout the year, and they probably have some spare to buy off raiders with.”
“I suppose it’s possible. Still, I’d be happy if my home looked like this, and I live in allegedly peaceful England.”
Leofwine smiled sardonically. “Are you saying I don’t reward you well enough?”
Horic turned in shock at Leofwine’s words, “My Lord, not at all, not at all.”
Leofwine laughed at the horror his words had caused.
“I’m only jesting with you, Horic. I know what you mean. I think that we might learn some interesting facts from these people.”
By now, the sound of the horsemen had caused someone from the farm to venture outside. A woman stood, silhouetted by the sun against the side of her home, her arm raised above her head so that she could see who approached. She showed no sign of concern and no men rushed to her defence. Athelstan and two of his men dismounted and strode towards her. Leofwine was too far away to hear what was said, but he could tell from the group’s body language that it was not an easy conversation.
After some gesticulating from Athelstan, one of his two men stepped away and strode to where Leofwine and Horic stood beside their horses. He dipped his head respectfully, for all that he was one of the King’s own reeves, raised high by his hand, and began to speak, his voice encouraging despite his appearance of seasoned traveller and dirt stained clothing.
“My Lord and Horic, the lady doesn’t seem to understand all my Lord Athelstan’s words and we wondered if perhaps Horic might be able to assist us?”
Horic flushed slightly with the praise and rushed forwards,
“Of course, of course … is she from the North?” he asked as he strode confidently through the remaining muddy puddles from the storm of a few days ago.
“I’m unsure. Some of her words seem to be your own, and yet others are those I’m used to speaking. I wonder if she’s been taught a mixture of both the language of the English and that of the Northmen.”
Horic stopped abruptly as he considered the idea,
“I suppose it’s possible, but it would be a little … odd.”
“See what you think when you speak to her.”
And so Horic did. He looked travel-stained himself and yet somehow he still stood tall and proud. His shield he’d left on his horse along with his sword, so he walked unarmed but confident towards the well-maintained house with its rounded walls of finely woven sticks and densely layered with fresh-looking daub. Smoke puffed excitedly through two small holes in the roof, and Leofwine was struck with how warm the house looked, and also how similar it looked to those he’d seen on the Outer Isles that had housed the people who’d sheltered him while he’d healed.
Horic greeted the woman calmly in his tongue, and immediately her face lit with recognition and she began to gabble away to him. Leofwine stood and watched the exchange patiently. He knew that Horic would inform them soon enough of what she said. In the meantime, he looked at her with interest. She was a handsome woman with long brown hair securely tied back from her face in an intricate pattern of braids. Her clothing was simple but well made, and the brooches that adorned her dress we
re beautifully designed, flashing green and red with the slowly setting sun. Her eyes were a bright green and her face interesting to watch as she gesticulated and spoke.
With a bellow of laughter, Horic turned to where Athelstan stood waiting a little impatiently.
“It would appear that by some complicated arrangements that even I find difficult to fully comprehend, that Gita and I are somehow related, or at least we think we are. She is from the Northlands near where I grew up. Her husband, who is away on a fishing trip, has lived here all his life, and his family dates back years and years. They aren’t chieftains or lords or anything like that; they simply farm this land and keep on the right side of all who attempt to claim it.”
“Will they give their allegiance to my father?” Athelstan interjected, clearly less than impressed with Horic’s reminiscing.
“I don’t think she will be, my Lord, but I’ve not asked her. I think to pay allegiance to any specific person will harm them. She says raiders from Dublin and the far northern lands often stop here when they see the smoke from their fires.”
Athelstan grunted in grudging acceptance.
“Well, can we at least stay here tonight? I crave a bit of dry shelter from the elements.”
“Oh yes, my Lord, apologies. She’s offered us hospitality for the evening. She says there’s also a barn a short distance away in the fields where as many of the men as would be comfortable can spend the night. However, she can only feed a handful of us. I’ve assured her that we wouldn’t expect her to feed us all.”
“Indeed,” Athelstan muttered but when Horic returned to gossiping he coughed loudly to remind Horic that he would welcome being allowed inside the house.
“Sorry, my Lord, step inside, only she’s not quite as alone as we thought, so please be careful.”
Athelstan froze mid-step and looked at Horic with some concern,
“Are they armed?”
“No, but I imagine that they’re quite fierce. I’ve found that those who live for such a long time in virtual social isolation are.”
Athelstan gestured for his two men to precede him inside the house and hovered slightly uncertainly on the periphery. Horic was deeply engrossed in conversation and, with a nod to Athelstan, Leofwine turned and went to inform the men of their respective troops that they were to stay here for the night. He pointed out where he could faintly make out the roof of the barn a few fields over, and a frantic discussion ensued about who would take shelter there and who would camp between the house and the exposed beach. In the end, Leofwine’s men won the honour of guard duty, and the small shepherd boy appeared to direct Athelstan’s troops to the barn.
Leofwine eyed the little lad with amusement. He was no higher than the waists of most of the men and was unfazed by the flash of steel and metal that must have caught his eye. A sleek hunting dog followed him, similar to Leofwine’s own Hunter, but the dog stayed firmly at the lad’s heels, barely even noticing Hunter. The dog and the boy took in everything before them with appraising eyes that belonged to a man grown, not a young lad, and Leofwine wondered what horrors the boy had seen.
“Come this way,” he called, in a high boyish voice, “Mother has clearly allowed you to stay the night, so I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
He spoke with a slight lilt to his voice, but he understood and spoke their language. Leofwine wondered why his mother’s words were such a mixture of the two languages.
With Oscetel busy mustering and organising the fifty warriors within his war band, Leofwine and Hunter meandered back towards the house, where Horic and the woman were still loudly conversing. As he drew level he realised that Horic was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Horic noted Leofwine’s approach and turned to him,
“Gita here was just reminding me of a famous incident back home. It’s an old, old story but she tells it well. Would you like to hear it?”
Leofwine smiled at the man’s enjoyment, “Perhaps later, when we’ve eaten and rested a little, and seen what Athelstan is up to.”
“Of course,” Horic sobered immediately, remembering he served the King’s son, and indicated that Gita should walk inside first.
Leofwine was not sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t what he found when he walked through the sturdy wooden door. The display of brightly coloured ceramic pots on a wooden dresser and the neatly stacked pile of swords and shields just by the door indicated that the house was prosperous to a level similar to his home.
The doorway opened into a small space where deep-winter cloaks were stacked, some overflowing from a wooden chest. A small doorway then led into a larger room lined with benches surrounding a huge fire pit piled high with brightly burning logs and rolls of peat. The heat was almost stifling, and he noticed with interest that the select group of inhabitants inside the room, from a wizened old man to the toddler running around naked, were people who were rich enough in resources that a fire on a warm summer’s day was possible.
Athelstan was seated next to the old man who was chattering away to him. He laughed at the man’s words and turned a beaming smile Leofwine’s way.
“Leofwine, let me introduce you to Ragnor, he’s regaling me with tales of his father’s raids on the lands of my forebears. I think he’s trying to shock me, but he tells such a good story. I’m transfixed.”
Leofwine stepped forwards and clasped the hand of the elderly man, whose hand shook with age but who had eyes bright with mischief.
“Have you asked him how he came to live here?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
Leofwine left the lad and his two warriors to the old man’s stories and continued to look around the house. Horic and Gita were busy tending to the fire, and pouring out a warmed spicy wine for them all to enjoy. The small child ran up to Gita and gabbled something to her that made her smile. She shooed him away from the scorching heat and back towards a mat where a number of wooden toys were scattered around for him to play with as he pleased. An older child, probably a girl because her hair was so long and trailing all the way down her back, held out her arms and called in a sing-song voice for the toddler. It had little effect, and with a huff of effort she crawled to her feet and retrieved the boy from under Gita’s feet.
“Here Leofwine, have something to drink. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Leofwine took the proffered wooden beaker from Horic and settled onto one of the benches, Hunter attentive at his side. She’d quickly explored the new house and had then guided him around so that he avoided falling over in the dark interior. It was lit mainly by the fire and by a few small lamps smouldering near to the display of pottery.
The warmth of the fire stole over Leofwine, and he woke with a start when a wooden bowl of steaming meat was placed before him. He accepted it willingly and as he ate Horic finally relayed some of his conversation with Gita. Every so often the old man Athelstan was sat next to interjected with a comment, and Gita would raise her eyebrows in outrage at his words. Leofwine doubted that the couple were related in any way other than through married kin, and he could tell that they didn’t get on well.
“The men who live here are away fishing for a few days. They’ve a large ship that they use to trade with, and occasionally they take it out into the deeper currents and fish for stock for the winter months. Gita says that as almost all their visitors come from the sea, the men don’t mind being away as they know they can chase back any would be attackers. She says it’s rare for men to come on horses. Her husband, Osbert, is Ragnor’s son; Osbert married his mother, who’d lived here all her life, and then Osbert went to seek himself a fine Northern woman to help him keep the farm here. He travelled to my home country and found Gita. She’s happy here, although it can be quite isolated. You didn’t see, my Lords, but she greeted us with her sword behind her back, and her shield hidden behind one of the small wicker walls. She’s truly, a fine Northern woman.”
His voice was warm as he spoke and Leofwine didn’t miss the appreciative glance Hor
ic levelled at the woman.
“Why Horic, I think you might be a little smitten,” Leofwine teased him.
Horic didn’t take offence, merely stating, “As you should be, my Lord.”
Leofwine laughed, and Gita turned to Horic with a question on her face, which he quickly brushed aside.
They slept that night in the space near the merrily burning fire pit, wrapped up in their cloaks and safe in the knowledge that their men were watching for any would-be attackers outside. Horic had eventually turned to the question of the battle, and the men of Strathclyde and Gita had shrugged her shoulders with disinterest. Horic explained to him and Athelstan that few men ever rode the path past their door. They had no concerns that they would be attacked without warning as they could see far out to sea and few men wanted to be lord or king over only one farm. Leofwine appreciated the easy acceptance of the situation but felt that he’d not have been quite so easy-going about the whole thing. He didn’t think he would leave his wife and small children with none but an old man to stand guard over them.
1000 – Part 3
Leofwine was woken early the next morning by an unmelodious noise from outside. He stumbled to his feet, Hunter immediately at his side, and rushed with Horic towards the closed door. Stepping out into the bright early morning sunshine, they quickly realised the commotion was coming from the cove where a beautiful ship was being driven up the beach on the high tide. It was high-sided, crowned with a great ship’s head, and the wood shone in the early morning sunlight. Leofwine was instantly reminded of his own craft and wished, not for the first time, that he’d been allowed to sail north instead of ride.