Viking Enemy

by M J Porter

  Gita raced past the pair of them and rushed to the beach and Leofwine became less perturbed. It must be her husband returning from his sea voyage. He followed her hasty path along the rough grasses towards the ship and stopped on the high-tide mark waiting to greet the man whose home he’d found welcome shelter within.

  Cries of salutation came from the ship, and Leofwine counted at least ten different men busily stowing items on board and jumping to shore.

  With her arm draped around a well-built man who trailed a number of youths who must also be their sons, Gita walked towards where Leofwine and Athelstan stood. The man was eyeing them speculatively, but a huge grin split his face when he saw Horic. Leofwine turned a questioning look Horic’s way, but he shrugged in confusion; Horic apparently didn’t know the man by sight.

  “Well met,” the man said, reaching out to firmly clasp both Leofwine and Athelstan’s arms.

  “And you.” He turned to Horic, “Don’t panic for I’ve never met you, but I know you from your brother. Has he never told you about the time we spent together chasing girls? I’d recognise you as his brother anywhere.”

  Gita swatted him on the arm, understanding his words, but Horic stilled. Leofwine didn’t even know that Horic had a brother.

  “I’m afraid my brother died many years ago, off on a raiding trip with Harald of Denmark. I can only imagine that you saw him one more time than I did.”

  “Ah, my apologies; he was an exceptional warrior and even better with the women.”

  Horic smiled at the words,

  “He certainly was good with the women. He taught me everything he knew. His fighting skills were clearly a little lacking, as he’s no longer with us.” Horic stepped forwards and clasped the man’s arm.

  “I’m Osbert. Lord of all you survey here. I hear you’ve had the honour – or the misfortune – to meet my father, whichever you think. I understand that he’s also now met a King’s son – something else for him to constantly remind us of.”

  Athelstan greeted the words with an incline of his head, “He’s a fine old man and his stories of the old wars are excellent.”

  “If you think so, then maybe you should take him with you!”

  Athelstan laughed quietly at the suggestion. “Perhaps not, but I’d wondered if I could send a scribe this way and have him write down what he remembers. It would make a good history.”

  “If you wish; I’d have no problem with that, as long as it wasn’t one of your priests sent to convert us in stealth.”

  “Well, he might be a priest, in all honesty, there are few others who have the skills to write and prepare the vellum, but I’d ask him to keep his faith to himself.”

  Osbert smiled at the honesty of the words, “We do look to the Christian God, but our religion is old here. The people of the North brought their Gods with them, but we already had our own God, and we’re pleased to keep him.”

  “Well, that’s interesting as well. Perhaps I actually will send the priest. And now, and with thanks for your wife’s hospitality, we must be on our way. The King expects us home today, but do keep a look-out for the horsemen we chased away yesterday.”

  “And you, my Lord. There are many ships on the sea the last few days. I knew that something must have happened, but I’d caution you to watch your own back. The King of Dublin and the Lord of Manx are clearly up to something.”

  With that, Leofwine and Athelstan returned to their horses and with a final wave for the old man, Ragnar, who’d stumbled his way to the door, Athelstan led the troops back to the secured border of England.

  ****

  The mood as the men mounted up to return to the King’s camp was a mixture of disappointment and relief. They’d no great glory to regale their King with, but neither did they have any losses to speak of. They’d also gained valuable insight into the land between Chester and the Roman Wall.

  Athelstan was particularly pleased about his encounter with Gita and Osbert, or more specifically, the old man, and he spoke much of the way home about the stories the ancient warrior had regaled him with. He was adamant that they could learn from the ancient fighting techniques of their forebears and had vowed to have his father devote some of his resources to seeking out any other old stories from over a century ago. Leofwine hoped that the news of so many victories against the marauding horde had filled Athelstan with confidence that his father seemed to lack.

  The weather remained fair, but as they drew closer and closer to the site of their camp, a growing sense of unease developed, and as they passed the site of the battle the outriders came racing back, shouting a warning. Every man looked to the skies where a plume of thick black smoke was billowing in the lazy windless day.

  Spurring their mounts, they galloped onwards, fearful that somehow they’d missed another advancing force from Strathclyde. Or that the arrival of a ship army from the King in Dublin and their King was even then engaged in battle.

  What they finally found was a small force of the King, led by a pained-looking Wulfstan, still in agony although he sat mounted on his horse. They were setting fire to a great swathe of the countryside, or rather watching fires that they’d already set. The smoke blew fiercely away from them, taking with it the smell of the fire. Leofwine frowned at the wanton destruction while at the same time understanding the significance of the King’s actions. It was imperative that the raiders understood England was not open for the taking; destroying the good land close to the coastal regions would act as an immediate deterrent.

  “I see the King’s role for you was not particularly to your liking,” Leofwine muttered up to his friend, having dismounted from his horse so they could speak in some privacy.

  “No, it’s not. It’s a waste of the time and energy that’s gone into seeding these fields. The King at least gave the men some time to harvest what they could, but it’s early in the year, and the yields would’ve been higher had he resisted the urge.”

  “I agree, Wulfstan. But how do you fare? You look uncomfortable.”

  Wulfstan shrugged off the question with annoyance, “It’s nothing – a minor wound. It’ll heal and leave me with a scar to scare your lads with, nothing more. Now stop fussing. I let the King send me off with this lot because I was fed up of the healer fussing, and the King fussing and Finn fussing and just about everyone else who could.”

  Leofwine laughed at the exasperation in the voice of his friend. It was evident he was healing, even if it didn’t look like it just yet.

  “Okay,” he replied, holding his hand up as if to ward off blows, “I won’t mention it again. The King, he’s well?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. Enjoying himself like a child with his toys. He’s managed to make contact with his ship army and has sent them onwards to Manx. And you, how did you manage?”

  “Nothing of real importance; we did see a band of warriors, but they stayed out of reach as we chased them ever North. Other than that, we met some natives of the lands up there and met up briefly with Ælfhelm. He was on a similar route to check that the lands were clear of any retreating warriors. I don’t know where they all went, but they’ve melted away as quickly as they appeared. They’ve clearly learnt much from the Vikings. And Athelstan thinks we should as well, but that’s a story for another day. Come, I must return to camp. Are you coming?”

  “Yes, I can stomach no more of this today.” The troop of Leofwine’s men had already intermingled with the returning party and in a rowdy crowd they returned to camp. As Wulfstan had said, the King was full of enthusiasm for tackling his enemy and highlighting the might of England. Ealdorman Leofsige was high in the King’s favour as well, and Leofwine felt his old annoyance with the man surface immediately. Why did the King tolerate him when he did little but make excuses for his failures and grow ever fatter?

  1000 – Part 4

  Winter colours were starting to streak the leaves by the time Leofwine rode through the wooden enclosure of his main residence. It wasn’t yet cold enough for any of the men to
be complaining, but Leofwine was looking forward to a warm fire and a warmer bed, devoid of wildlife or pieces of grass irritating his nose as he slept.

  He’d dispersed the men of his fyrd and travelled only with a handful of his household troop. Horic had departed to check on his family and Wulfstan was a grumpy presence hunched over his saddle. His wound had festered slightly after his abrupt return to duties at the King’s request. Leofwine damned the man’s stupidity for not telling the King while accepting that he wouldn’t have done so either. He cursed them equally loudly for fools.

  The King’s easy demeanour had lasted throughout the military operation, which should have made Leofwine happy, only it had been marred, for the King had extended it to all of his ealdormen, even Leofsige. His incompetence had been forgiven far too quickly and with little or no repercussions. In fact, Leofwine had returned from his three-day foray into the North to find Leofsige and the King closeted inside the King’s tent, feasting and thinking no more of the campaign.

  Leofwine supposed he should be pleased that the King had directed his ship army towards the Isle of Manx. They’d heard some rumours regarding unrest amongst the Dublin Kings. Leofwine had wondered if the attack against Strathclyde had been so easy to accomplish because many of the Dublin raiders were involved in a war on their home territory. He was unsure, though.

  Rumour also had it that Manx was under the control of the once-met Jarl of Orkney, and he pondered whether he was working for or against Swein of Denmark. He couldn’t imagine that Sigurd would welcome the influence of Swein, but perhaps he’d had no choice. He was certainly a force to be reckoned with and the Northmen he’d met so far didn’t seem keen to keep to alliances that were no longer favourable to them.

  He’d tried to discuss the situation with the King, but Æthelred appeared to have changed his opinion about Swein and the threat he did, or did not, present to the Kingdom of England. He’d decided, on Leofsige’s advice, that he should welcome Pallig into his kingdom. The decision had been made to gift him with an ealdormany in the Western provinces. Æthelmaer, old Ǽthelweard’s son, had made his view of the situation clear to his King and to Leofwine, outraged that his King had overlooked him in favour of a man he’d never met and knew nothing about.

  Pallig of Denmark was to be informed of the King’s decision and was to be formally introduced to the Witan in the coming weeks. He would then be escorted by the King’s troops to the property that had been settled upon him as part of his new position.

  Æthelmaer wasn’t the only member of the Witan in uproar at the advancement of the man; he was simply the most vocal. Leofwine had himself chosen silence on the matter. The King didn’t like to be thwarted, as had been proved by his past experience, and so he’d determined, unwillingly, to let events play out.

  His unease was profound. England was more than ever surrounded by enemies, and his King had by all accounts not quite learnt the lessons he’d hoped he would. His King was not a fool as such, but he was foolish to think that a victory in one battle would drive the concerted efforts of the raiders to look elsewhere.

  His relief at being home, if only for a short time, was profound. Word had reached him that his wife had safely delivered a girl in the early days of high summer, and he was excited to have a new baby to be delighted by. His wife was well, or so she said, and he hoped she might even appreciate some attention from him if the babe was not too demanding.

  A handful of his men whom he had left to guard his wife and children greeted him cheerfully when he dismounted in the neat and tidy forecourt outside his front door. A whirlwind of activity around his unsteady feet alerted him to the presence of his small sons, and as he picked them both up and turned to walk inside his home, his wife appeared in the doorway, her daughter safely cocooned in a sling strapped to her chest. A bright smile graced her face, and Leofwine rushed forwards to envelop everyone in his arms, hampered by Hunter who managed to tangle amongst his legs.

  His sons screamed with laughter as he embraced everyone. Once deposited back on the ground, Northman and Leofric were besieged by an over-excited Hunter who sniffed them and licked them from head to toe, as if to ensure that they were still who she thought they were.

  Ǽthelflaed was occupied with both showing off her daughter and checking on Wulfstan, who laboured behind Leofwine to dismount from his horse. Leofwine heard her gasp with shock and he shushed her gently, his breath hot against her neck where he was gazing down at his new child and simultaneously kissing her in welcome.

  The baby girl was a pretty little thing, although he could discern no noticeable difference between her and his sons at the same age. Covering his hasty conversation with his actions he muttered, “He’s a stubborn old goat. We’ll need to nurse him as best we can, but he doesn’t need to realise that we’re doing so. He was injured in the battle and didn’t take enough time to heal before returning to his duties. Try not to act too concerned.”

  More loudly he continued, “She’s a beauty. Have you named her?”

  A wicked gleam entered Ǽthelflaed’s eye. “I might have done my Lord, but I will let you get to know her a bit before I tell you her name. Now, here, hold her and get acquainted. I wish to go and see how obstinate Wulfstan is.”

  Still wearing all his travelling clothing, including his cloak, Leofwine found himself juggling a sleeping baby as well as his two sons. Ǽthelflaed swished past him in an enticing aroma of summer herbs and new baby, and he watched her with amusement. She would apparently not be taking his advice about Wulfstan.

  Thinking it best to leave her be, he walked inside his home, enjoying the comfort and noise of his busy household. He was amazed by how much both boys had grown. Leofric was chattering away quietly to Hunter. Northman was standing proudly with his small sword, desperate to show his new skills to his father.

  Leofwine sank gratefully onto the wooden bench nearest the fire as he was handed a welcome horn of mead with his spare hand, and Northman began showing him his skills with the assistance of one of the other small boys who seemed to run riot around his home. He wondered to whom the boy belonged; it was sometimes difficult to keep track.

  The doorway darkened as Ǽthelflaed led Wulfstan inside the room. He was trying in vain to convince her that he was fine. Sadly his actions were belying his words as he shuffled in, his back hunched against the pain and his face a little green from the effort.

  Ǽthelflaed called to her maids, who ran to do her bidding, and in only moments, Wulfstan was sat deeply ensconced in Leofwine’s favourite wooden-backed chair in front of the fire, furs piled high around him and a bowl of broth in his hands. He turned tortured eyes towards Leofwine, but he shrugged helplessly, hiding his amusement. He felt relieved for Wulfstan; the old man would now get the much-needed rest and care he needed to ensure he recovered fully.

  While Wulfstan slept, Ǽthelflaed left his side, her face still concerned.

  “Why did you let him ride with his wound so infected?” Her voice was an angry hiss. He’d been expecting a loving tone now that the evening had slowly wound its way down, with his children sent to bed and his daughter fed and calmed in the maid’s arms.

  “You know I’ve no control over what he does?” His response was sharper than he’d meant but he’d been thrown by the vitriol in her voice.

  “Well, I suggest you teach him to take commands, or you will lose him. Remember, he’s the same age your father would have been. Your father would have been almost akin with Ǽthelweard and he was deemed an old man at his death, for all that he’d kept his wits about him.”

  “Ǽthelflaed, what would you have me do?”

  “I’d have you look after the man who treats you more like a son than he does his children. If he dies, you’ll be without your main adviser. Horic and the other men have their life experiences, but it’s Wulfstan that you turn to whenever life becomes a little too involved and you need options.” Her tone was matter-of-fact for all that it was heated as she spoke.

  “Look, t
he healer assured me he would be well. I called upon the priest and the healer grew angry with me. I didn’t let him travel to the Wall with me. It was the King who commanded him when he should have been abed, not me.” He spoke defensively, his words falling quickly into their debate.

  “The King should have known better, and you should have known that leaving him behind would not ensure that he rested. Honestly, Leofwine, for a man in your position you on occasion display the common sense of a child. Now come – bed for you! Wulfstan will be easy throughout the night and the maid is on hand if he needs help during the night.”

  Her tone had not softened as she spoke, but as her tirade continued he’d realised that it was fear and exasperation that coloured her mood and her words. He reached out to pull her to him, and with a sigh, she relented and tumbled into his lap. He held her there, whispering nothings into her hair, as the fire burnt low and finally after she’d again fed the daughter whose name he still did not know, he guided her towards their bedchamber.

  He was reminded of the night of their reunion after his disastrous trip to the Outer Isles, only this time they were both a little older and a little better versed in how to please each other. Still, she’d not long birthed their daughter, and that knowledge inhibited him as he gently caressed her full breasts and rounded stomach. He was inclined to comment on how well she’d kept her figure, for all that she’d birthed him three children, but he knew better. Horic had sat him down one day and explained that woman didn’t like to be told about any changes to their lithe bodies brought about by childbirth. He’d remembered the lesson well. Better to enjoy the slight changes without comment than have them denied to him.

  Now he steadfastly bit back any remark, preferring instead to enjoy the touch of his woman for the first time since the early summer. He kissed her tenderly on her lips, thanking her for his daughter, while she giggled away his compliments and tried to act severely against his intentions. Her resolve was dissolved quickly though as he trailed kisses all along her naked back before straddling her so that he could carry out the same attention to her breasts and stomach. Her gasps of pleasure at his touch mirrored his own as she turned the tables, and began caressing his battle-hardened chest and arms.