by M J Porter
Leofsige’s words didn’t anger Leofwine. Instead, he felt curious,
“Are we not the King’s servants, to be commanded to do as he pleases?”
“No, we are our own men, and as such, we must guard our own interests if they run counter to the King’s own.”
“That sounds more than a little treasonous; and I wonder if you’re still able to differentiate those lands that are yours alone and those that were gifted to you by the King.”
Hatred glittered in Leofsige’s eyes.
“The lands are mine, gifted by the King or not. I’ve held them and maintained them, and I will gift them to my family after my death if there’s anything left by the time we pay these raiders off.” He growled his retort, his voice dangerously low.
“Then I think, my Lord, you don’t understand the commitment you made to your King, and I think that is why your heart is never wholly devoted to the King’s cause. I suggest you reconsider your options, or you risk losing everything, raiders or not. The King will not tolerate such disloyalty.”
Again, Leofsige barked a short laugh, “Well what do you think Ælfric has been doing for the past twenty years?”
Ælfric jumped at the mention of his name and turned to glare at the glowering form of Leofsige.
Leofwine could feel his anger rising, a situation made worse by the cool looks Pallig was casting his way. He didn’t trust the huge man and cursed Leofsige for speaking so openly in front of him. If he were working for Swein of Denmark, it would be a source of amusement to the Danish King to know that discontent ran through the select handful of men who allegedly supported the English King. There was a weakness that could be exploited if Pallig was not loyal to the English, and Leofwine held to that resolve.
“I think your King’s councillors are as riven with strife as those in the northern lands,” Leofsige said, his carefully chosen. He smiled slightly to ease the sharpened edge from their intent, but Leofwine scowled at him. He didn’t trust a word he said. The barb was pointed and meant to wound.
“Ælfric has been the King’s councillor for many more years than you. His position is ingrained. Yours I fear, like my own …” Leofsige’s grimace at the casual reminder of the words that he’d just flung in Leofwine’s face was instant, “… can be taken away whenever and wherever. I’d suggest you do the King the courtesy of supporting him.” Leofwine spoke honestly, trying to win some understanding from Leofsige.
“Why, what have you heard? Does he plan to replace me?” There was panic in Leofsige’s voice and his total change of tack shocked Leofwine. A moment ago he’d been bragging about his land and the King’s land being indistinguishable, and now it appeared as though he did fear to lose them.
“I’m merely the King’s servant, as you so rightly point out. I don’t know the innermost workings of his heart and what he has planned for you. I do know that you disappointed him in the battle last year, and I don’t suppose you’ve the sort of easy, forgiving relationship that Ælfric has with him.” Ælfric, silent until this point, visibly jumped at being mentioned in the conversation by Leofwine.
“Give it some thought, my Lord – and you, Lord Pallig. My man Horic has regaled me with tales of your youth and your relationship with Swein of Denmark. If you intend to double-cross the King, I assure you I’ll pledge my intention to seek you out and kill you just as your brother in law has done to me.”
Pallig laughed loudly at Leofwine’s darkly muttered threat and smacked him heartily on the back.
“I’d wish you well with that. I’ve the use of my eyes and see much that you don’t. However, I assure you, I plan no double-cross against your people or the King. Rest assured.”
Leofwine was not confident in the words that Pallig so blithely spoke. The humour he exhibited only went so far, and as he turned away he realised that the laughter, smiles and words Pallig spoke were never mirrored in his cold eyes. They held malice and were constantly watching everything around him. His protracted silences before he spoke were not a result of him trying to find the correct words in the English language to voice his thoughts; no that was the implied reason, but he was taking the time to decide how best to play every angle. He was devious, and his King had fallen for it. Leofwine cursed the King’s naivety, still evident decades into his reign.
His back burned as he walked along the wooden, rush-strewn floor to where Wulfstan was officiating over a rowdy discussion. Reaching for Hunter for support, where she mirrored his steps, he turned and swept the three men a meaningful look. They were watching him intently, muttering to each other. Leofwine cracked a smile to his face and offered a little wave of goodbye.
1001 – Part 4
Leofwine’s mood was sour the entire way back to Mercia. The Witan had split with a plan to drive away the raiders, but it was not entirely to Leofwine’s liking, especially the part where he was sent back to guard Mercia when it was clear that the raiders were only going to attack the South.
To make matters worse, it was Pallig, Leofsige and Ælfric who’d been called upon to guard the South. Leofwine trusted not a one of them, and the disbursement of the King’s Reeves amongst the threatened lands ‘to assist the ealdormen’ was a damning indictment from the King that he didn’t wholly trust the men either. That he seemed to believe them more than Leofwine made his blood boil.
The Reeves were there to report back to the King, but the King apparently still expected the ealdormen to obey his commands and do as they were told, even if they didn’t want to. The King was both blind and deaf to the defects of the three men where Leofwine wasn’t. He’d tried to speak to the King, in private, about his concerns. The King had thanked him for his efforts while at the same time brushing them aside. He acknowledged that the ealdormen were disgruntled with the situation, but that was as far as he went.
Not content to let the matter rest, Leofwine next approached the King’s sons. Athelstan, Ecgberht and Edmund had all shared their worries with him, but none wished to stand against the King, and so Leofwine had left the Witan feeling far less confident than when he’d first spoken in support of attacking the raiders. He didn’t want to be on the periphery of the fighting, waiting to hear of who’d died. He wanted to be in the thick of it, fighting for his King and his land and his family – and keeping his eye on the sly ealdormen.
Ælfhelm of the Northumbrian lands had been sent home as well. The King didn’t want Strathclyde to take advantage of the country’s Southern problem to retake the ground they’d lost last year. Ælfhelm was happy to do his King’s bidding, but then, he was as likely to be called into battle as those in the South. Only Leofwine, stuck in the middle of his King’s lands, would not be able to defend the kingdom as he wanted to.
The constraints the King had placed on him rattled him. Of all the ealdormen, he was one who’d been in battle. Leofsige had done so little last year at Chester that it was not worth mentioning. Ælfric was a coward of a man, more than happy to spend the King’s money than defend his land. And then there was Pallig, an unknown quality with connections that made him a true adder in the grass, waiting to attack when the opportunity presented itself.
In frustration, Leofwine kicked his horse to greater speed, and behind him heard his men race to catch him. At least they were receptive and responsive to his needs and his suggestions.
The King had arranged for watch fires to be set along the coasts of the Southern lands, and a ready supply of mounted and armed messengers had been sent to every religious house in the South. It was hoped that this would allow news of any attacks to reach the King quickly. The fyrd of Hampshire was still on the move, as was the fyrd of the Western Provinces, under the command of their old ealdorman’s son, Æthelmaer.
Æthelmaer had been pleased with the trust the King had placed in him, and Leofwine hoped that he’d show himself far more worthy of the position than Pallig. It was Pallig who grated on him most. Leofwine would have felt far happier if the man hadn’t been in the country, let alone an ealdorman of an
area that could be attacked by his own countrymen at any moment.
Wulfstan had tried to calm Leofwine, but his attempt had been a little half-hearted and finally he, too, had admitted that his conversations with Horic made him believe that Pallig could only mean the country harm. Leofwine wished he’d not left Horic behind to guard and manage his home near Deerhurst. The King had listened to his advice before, and Leofwine wondered whether if he’d had Horic with him to speak against the man the King would have been keener to listen.
Shaking his head in frustration, he reined in his horse, and attempted to complete the journey home with less speed, and actually enjoy the ride.
He didn’t though, and when he arrived home to a riot of excited children and animals his anger got the better of him, and he marched sulkily inside his home, speaking to no one as he went. He shrugged out of his sweaty, muddy clothing and returning outside, upended a bucket of cold water over himself. The children squealed with delight at the game, and he received an appraising look from Ǽthelflaed for flaunting his nakedness so openly. He shot her a challenging look as he walked back inside where his men were laughing at his exploits, a welcome relief from the stresses of the last few days.
Inside his bedchamber he lay fully stretched on his bed, trying to breathe the frustration from his body in calm, even breaths. But there was too much noise, and he was about to dress again when Ǽthelflaed entered the room, shooing Hunter outside.
Belatedly Leofwine realised that he’d not greeted his wife as he should, and he made a move to stand, which she stopped by coming to stand over him.
“My Lord, is there something the matter?” she said, her tone playfully acidic. He didn’t immediately respond, and into the pointed silence she spoke again, her face almost a stern grin, “Is there, perhaps, something I could do to help my Lord?”
Leofwine growled low in his throat as she undid the workday apron that covered her elegant dress and dropped it to the floor, before concentrating on undoing the shimmering buckles that held her dress up.
“Well, I might have an idea or two,” he dryly muttered, as her overdress hit the wooden floor and she tugged her underdress over her head to stand naked before him, her body enticing.
“Indeed, my Lord, as do I. Shall we see if you can at the least find some pleasure in your own household?”
He smiled at her choice of words and watched with mounting enjoyment as she stepped forward and straddled his naked body. Her hair was tied back in a complicated array of plaits which she hastily released as their skin touched. He gasped in pleasure, and she winked at him.
“Perhaps my Lord could be a little quieter and a little less keen,” she grinned, fixing her eye on his evident need for her.
“Perhaps he could,” he said, pulling her to him so that her body lay pressed against his own, her warmth covering his own body, still chilly from the bucket of cold water. Their lips touched, and he whispered, “Or perhaps he could be quite quick and then take his time in a bit.” She giggled around his open mouth and kissed him passionately on his lips.
“Perhaps, he could just shut up and enjoy whatever he’s got coming to him,” she muttered before it became impossible to speak because they were too busy becoming reacquainted.
Her kisses became more and more fervent as he ran his hands up and down her naked sides, desperate to touch her breasts that lay between them, but unable to because she’d effectively glued herself to him. In frustration, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled over her, so that he now lay atop her, but her legs wound so tightly around him that still, he was restricted to what parts of her pliant body he could reach.
A further growl of frustration, and a delighted giggle from her, and he realised that no, not even in his home, could he be master. He relinquished himself to her needs, and found, at last, a release for the pent-up frustration of the last few days.
1001 – Part 5
It didn’t take long for news from the South to reach him, even in Lichfield. As expected, the raiders decided to move on. They left their haven near the Isle of Wight, having licked their wounds for a space of a few weeks. For a day or two, the King and the Reeves worried that either the men had left for good and that the precautions were no longer needed, or that they would simply reappear somewhere else. The news, delayed by two days when it reached Leofwine, filled him with foreboding.
The King’s ship army did manage, after a day, to find where the raiders had gone to ground. In what could have been a well-practised manoeuvre instead of a hastily thrown together plan, they alerted the nearest town, Exeter, of the presence of the raiders and waited for the fyrd to reach them. Before the raiders had even left their ships to attack the religious houses near the coast, a messenger was on the way to the King to inform him of the next likely place of attack. That news was slowly relayed to Leofwine, and dread consumed him. Why had the attackers gone west? Were they going to meet up with Pallig?
Leofwine wrote to his King to inform him of his concern, but events had already happened that were beyond his control.
By chance, the messengers en route to the King met Athelstan and his household troops running a sweep of the area, and they raced towards the beleaguered town to find it already under a bitter attack from the raiders. They were able to drive the raiders off and sent word to the King of their victory.
However, the next day events took a turn for the worse when the raiders turned their attentions to the outlying religious houses of the area. They burnt as they went, leaving a trail of destruction until they met the fyrd, led by Æthelmaer with the assistance of the King’s Reeves, at Pinhoe. The battle that day was bloody and by the end of the day, two of the King’s Reeves, Kola and Eadsige, lay dead and the raiders were claiming another victory.
While the King, cocooned from the worst of the attack in Cookham, praised his son’s skills in battle from the day before, his men fought and died for him.
Another day away in Mercia, Leofwine worried and prayed for his King’s deliverance from the raiders and readied his men to march out if and when needed.
Mercia was calm under his control. No reports of attacks or strangers were made to him or his men, yet unease predominated and the delayed news from the South added to the restlessness.
When Leofwine finally received a full report of events from Exeter, it was not the King who provided it but Horic, and it contained the news that Leofwine had dreaded and that his King had been too blind to see. Pallig had joined with the raiders and had taken his household troops with him. They’d raided and burnt and stolen as they’d travelled along the West and Southern coast.
Leofwine was incensed, and not just at Pallig. The King had, having kept him so reliably informed for months on end, now failed him when it was most important. The King could not hide from events, and yet he appeared to be doing just that.
Leofwine flung the report at Ǽthelflaed, who’d come running at the huge roar of rage that had erupted from his mouth when he’d read it; she glanced at the report and passed it to Wulfstan. The colour had drained from her face whereas Wulfstan flashed an angry red as Leofwine stalked from his house, Hunter at his side instantly. He’d needed fresh air and the time to compose himself before he made any rash decisions.
Ǽthelflaed and Wulfstan watched him ride out with worry on their faces and Leofwine had not felt any remorse.
An afternoon of riding had not calmed him, but he’d reached a steely resolve. He needed to seek out the King, make him listen to his words, as he’d done before, and he was going to seek the support of the ǽthelings.
For once, Wulfstan agreed instantly with his decision without any words of caution or warning. Leofwine had been both mollified by that, and also a little worried. Wulfstan was growing too old, too quickly. There had been the odd occasion recently where Leofwine had worried whether Wulfstan had the will to care anymore. Perhaps, he needed to retire to a monastery and grow old in the calming atmosphere. But as things stood, he couldn’t release the man from his duties
. The monastery he chose could fall prey to attack, and he would never forgive himself if Wulfstan died at the hands of the raiders while doing the work of God.
Ǽthelflaed also agreed with Leofwine’s decision, but only on condition that he let her return to Deerhurst while he was away. He agreed willingly. Oscetel and the Reeves of Mercia could hold the land for now.
Oscetel had spent his summer months productively, training the men of the fyrd and putting together a number of highly mobile fighting units. He always deferred to Wulfstan, but really it was Oscetel who was the titular head of the troops now. Everyone knew it, even if no one mentioned it.
Leofwine determined to leave Ǽthelflaed and his children in Deerhurst with Wulfstan and some of his men while he high-tailed it to the King. If the rumours were correct, Pallig and the raiders were around the tip of the dragon’s tail of the Western Provinces and were not in any hurry to move.
****
The King was holding court at Woodstock, a mere day’s ride from Deerhurst. The fact that the King was retreating further and further north was not missed by Leofwine, and he wondered if the King was beginning to show the first signs of fear; if he was, it was a bad sign. Leofwine curbed his anger as he rode. He couldn’t storm in on the King and demand an apology for being wrong about Pallig, or for being so close to the Mercian lands and yet not sending messages of the events that had befallen the land.
In the late summer sunshine the fields stood full and ready for harvesting and the people who worked the land were busy at work, their fears at the sounds of horsemen approaching clear to see as they scattered from their labours. Leofwine cursed the spread of rumours that had so terrified the people.
Leofwine arrived at Woodstock to the greatest shock of his life, for ensconced with the King and deep in his confidences was none other than Pallig.
Unable to leave without seeing the King, having made such a noisy arrival, Leofwine was forced to speak with the King and the ealdorman, and curb all his frustrations at the King’s foolishness. Pallig was full of himself, excusing his actions as those of a man doing his King’s duty by infiltrating the raiders, a ploy that Æthelred seemed to heartily approve of without questioning what the man had done in his endeavours; Æthelred did not consider the men who’d died, the monasteries and houses that had been burnt, and the people who had been forced to flee.