Viking Enemy

by M J Porter

  Swein of Denmark took the opportunity to skirt perilously close to Leofwine’s ship, not quite within boarding range but not far off either. From his place at the front of his huge ship he called mockingly, “My blind Lord, you escort your precious cargo well. But I could’ve caught you if I’d wanted to.”

  In the half-light, Leofwine struggled to focus on the man and his ship. It was a massive vessel, containing far more than the sixty men that Leofwine’s own held, and for a moment, doubt entered his mind. Could he have caught them? Had this all been a ruse to scare the King, his new bride and his ealdorman?

  “If only that were true, King Swein; your men couldn’t have caught us even if we’d dropped our oars into the sea and paddled with our hands.”

  Behind him, Leofwine heard Horic’s quiet chortle of appreciation at the barb.

  “And now if you would be so good, I suggest you leave these shores. You’re not welcome and neither, I’m afraid, is the one-time ealdorman who you harbour.”

  Swein glowered angrily at Leofwine, his ugly countenance easy to determine even at a distance and in such bad light.

  “Mark my words, Leofwine, we’ll meet again and you’ll be my enemy, and I will be your nemesis.”

  “As you will, Swein. Now, before the King’s fleet surrounds you, I suggest you and your men leave, and I’d also request that you do not return.”

  Swein glowered ineffectually at Leofwine for a long moment, but Leofwine felt his fear for the man dissipate. He was just a man – a man with a lot of ships and men, but a man just the same. And he was not going to have England’s future Queen.

  Turning his back boldly on Swein he signalled for the men to resume rowing and as they did he felt more than saw the mass of the King’s ship army swirl around his own ship and out towards where he assumed Swein was turning away, his threats hanging limply in the damp evening air.

  1002 – Part 3

  Athelstan had mounted a guard at the port waiting for Leofwine to reappear. His brother had returned to the King to report that the escort had left and that the King should muster to meet his new bride.

  When Leofwine stepped ashore, the King’s son was busily introducing himself to Ǽlfgifu, or Emma as she must now be publicly called, and Leofwine noted with wry amusement that he quickly fell under the spell of the lovely young woman. The King would perhaps have been wise to let his son marry her after all. In only a few stilted sentences, he had her laughing quietly, and her alert eyes were bright as they took both him and her surroundings in.

  “Thank you, Athelstan, for awaiting my return.”

  “My pleasure, my Lord; I wanted to personally ensure that both you and … Emma made it to the King in one piece. Do you know who’s been chasing you?”

  Athelstan nodded towards the sea, where the specks of the fast disappearing ships could still be seen. “Regrettably, yes: Swein of Denmark and his men.”

  “Swein,” Athelstan repeated, suddenly looking far more intently out to sea, “Do you think he planned it or was it just an unhappy occurrence?”

  “Oh, planned it, definitely. Swein was at Duke Richard’s court with the disgraced Leofsige.”

  Athelstan didn’t speak, taking his time to consider his next words.

  “Then, I think you’ve done admirably well, my Lord. The King will be pleased.”

  Athelstan’s face was grave, his concern palpable as he considered what could have happened. Leofwine nodded in agreement.

  “Let’s hope the King agrees, for the Duke has made a final stipulation in a letter that Ǽlfgifu … sorry, Emma … carries about her person, and I’m not aware what it is. I can’t imagine it to be anything too catastrophic, but I have my fears.”

  Athelstan’s young face twisted in worry at yet more disturbing news.

  “There’s little point in worrying now. We’ll just have to wait until we see the King.”

  In a flurry of activity, Athelstan escorted Emma and her small band of servants towards the welcoming lights of the nearby hall, and Leofwine turned back to his crew.

  “Aren’t you coming, Lord Leofwine? I’ve arranged for a welcome meal.”

  “I’ll be in shortly, my Lord. I just need to speak to my men and relay some messages.”

  “With thanks, my Lord Leofwine, for your care of me,” a small voice spoke up, and Leofwine bowed towards the young girl he’d escorted across the sea.

  “It was my pleasure,” and he meant every word of it. Even meeting Swein had been a delight for he felt he’d learned a valuable lesson in preserving his future.

  ****

  The following day they were to meet the King at his palace in Canterbury, a straightforward and short enough journey to make.

  In the mid-morning sun they set out happily enough, escorted by Leofwine’s men and those of Athelstan’s. Athelstan rode with his soon-to-be stepmother while Leofwine and his men rode on ahead, ensuring the way was clear. There’d been no clear indication that Swein of Denmark and Lord Leofsige had left their shores the previous evening and Leofwine was nervous. They could easily have come ashore further along the coast and ridden to try and intercept the bride before she could be wed to her new husband. Leofwine would be surprised at nothing either of the two men tried.

  The still morning air didn’t herald any attackers but then, almost within sight of Canterbury, a mounted force came upon them. Belatedly Leofwine remembered the river they’d but recently crossed. It was probable that Swein of Denmark had ordered the attack, although he wasn’t part of the force as far as Leofwine could see. Leofwine thought the river had been too small for the large vessels to navigate along, but clearly he’d been wrong.

  Athelstan, alert to the threat almost as quickly as Leofwine, had his men surround the young queen to be and her entourage, and she’d disappeared from Leofwine’s sight behind a human screen of men who’d dismounted from their horses and were in a fighting stance, shields raised and weapons of choice in their hands. The horses were being led away by the younger men not yet members of Athelstan’s household troop.

  “Lord Leofwine, I believe you may have misunderstood my intent,” a large northern man called, his thick accent slurring the words, as he stood blocking the road they were following, his warriors to either side of them. On the bright day their weapons flashed dully and Leofwine could tell just from looking at them that the men were warriors by trade.

  “When you’ve put down your weapons I’ll apologise for my misunderstanding, and if you’d be so good as to tell me your name, I’ll name you as you name me,” Leofwine retorted, his sword firm in his hand and his helm in easy reach if he needed it, even though he still sat on his horse, able to see the land clearly for some distance to either side.

  “I fear this will not go well for you, my half-blind ealdorman,” the warrior quipped. Leofwine was pleased he’d not noticed that he also faced one of English King’s sons. He was sure that it would have made the man even more determined to beat them.

  “You slur me with words which have no impact on me and are those, I assume, of your King, Swein.”

  “I’m doing what needs to be done if that’s what you mean,” the man said, still not mentioning his name but pulling his helm firmly over his face, twirling his weapon in his hand as though it were no more than a toy.

  Leofwine glanced behind him to ensure his men were ready, and happy that they were he too pulled his helm over his head, marvelling at the man’s utter stupidity for attacking in broad daylight, and worrying the matter at the same time. He seemed confident, and Leofwine hoped that was not an indication that there were others nearby who would lend support to him. He slid from his horse, and ordered Hunter to lead the animal away.

  “As you will, stranger; I hope your death is quick and brief,” Leofwine hollered.

  The man growled a response that was lost amidst the war cry that arose from the men behind Leofwine as they slowly advanced toward the crew of forty men. Horic’s roar of anger almost deafened Leofwine as the man took up his pr
eferred position at Leofwine’s side and from his mouth angry words burst forth,

  “You’re a coward, you horse’s ass, and now I’ll enjoy watching you bleed. Don’t think I don’t know who you are, Ulf.” Horic’s words cemented Leofwine’s belief that he faced one of Swein’s trusted warriors.

  Horic ripped straight into Ulf, the force of his first hammer blow unbalancing the man, and Horic screamed in triumph as Leofwine raised his shield to ward off the blow from the man immediately before him.

  “Swein of Denmark has called for your death,” the man roared, and Leofwine found himself laughing at the fury on the man’s barely visible face.

  “I care not for your King Swein!” Leofwine screeched. “He’s just a man, and he will fall before my blade, as will you.”

  Leofwine raised his shield to ward off a blow from the man’s war hammer and took the opportunity to poke his blade between the man’s exposed legs, sliding upwards as he went. The man howled in rage as he was severed high up his thighs and blood burst in a red-hot stream along Leofwine’s ungloved hand.

  Leofwine continued to laugh, a battle fury he’d never before experienced taking hold of him so that for every shriek of laughter he gave, Horic countered with a booming cry of rage.

  The clash of metal on wood resounded, interspersed with the cries of wounded and dying men. At one point an ear-piercing scream erupted from a female mouth, and Leofwine looked around in shock, recalled abruptly to his real duties here. It was not a cause for concern, though, just Athelstan forcing Ǽlfgifu to retreat with his men, leaving Leofwine and his own to face down the enemy. It was a good move and one that caused the fury of Ulf’s men to double, and as it doubled their fighting skills became less and less accomplished.

  Leofwine cut down at least two more fighters before he found himself standing before Ulf, fighting for his life against the mighty Horic who rained blows from his hammer about the Northman’s shield. Blood covered Ulf’s face and Leofwine noted with no small satisfaction that Horic had ensured a nasty cut now sliced the man’s face. Pity he’d not live to be ridiculed for his injury, but Leofwine had had enough of the man’s arrogance.

  Wading to the side of Horic, he shouted his intent, and then stepped forward and landed a mighty stab of his sword through the exposed back of Ulf. Ulf stilled as the wound registered and then howled with rage as Horic spat in his face.

  “Swein is welcome to you,” Ulf screamed, turning to face the man who’d killed him, recognition flashing instantly on his face.

  “I’m welcome to Swein, I think you mean,” Leofwine retorted, with no remorse for his actions. Ulf crumpled to the floor face first, and Leofwine roughly pulled his sword free from the man’s back, using his foot as leverage.

  “Apologies, Horic – the kill should have been yours.”

  Horic shrugged in easy acceptance, “It is better that you be remembered as his killer. It will ensure Swein of Denmark realises you’re not to be toyed with.”

  “Then you have my thanks, Horic.”

  “If you don’t mind I might help myself to the insufferable fool’s armbands.”

  “Help yourself. I have no use for more treasure. Reward yourself.”

  With little prompting, Horic bent to his grisly task of removing anything of value from the body of Ulf, Leofwine noting with pride that none of the forty enemy men still lived. His men were even then digging a shallow grave for the dead men, and copying Horic in dividing the spoils.

  Leofwine wiped blood from his face. It should have been a beautiful day for a wedding but that it had also proved to be a good day for a fight was not lost on Leofwine. He just hoped his King would be as pleased with the killing of Ulf as he was sure to be with his new wife.

  ****

  The King’s greeting for his young wife was a clear indication that he was pleased with his choice and Leofwine experienced a moment of satisfaction. He had served his King well.

  Sadly the moment didn’t last past the evening, as Æthelred, incandescent with anger, called Leofwine to a personal meeting. Leofwine had been expecting a brief thank you and some form of gift. What he received was very different.

  The King was pacing angrily within his room, alone. Leofwine entered the room at his instruction and stood attentively, waiting. When he saw the parchment crushed in his King’s hand and the angry mask that seemed to have clamped over the King’s usually cheerful countenance, he knew with a sinking heart that whatever Duke Richard had demanded, it was not a good thing.

  “I take it you agreed to … to this?” The King’s voice was a harsh whisper as he pointed to the crumpled letter.

  “I agreed to the addition to the treaty, my Lord, yes. I wasn’t made aware of what it contained.”

  “And do you know now?”

  “No, my Lord, Ǽlfgifu … apologies my Lord, Emma … was faithful to her brother’s word and kept the letter with her. She wasn’t aware of its content either.”

  “Good, then if none know but Duke Richard and me, then hopefully, I’ll not have to act upon it.”

  “My Lord, what has he written?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with it, Leofwine. The Duke has attempted to play you and me for fools. I understand from Athelstan that the bastard Leofsige was there with blood Swein of Denmark.”

  “Yes, the two men seemed very close.”

  “I do not doubt it, and I know whose idea this … this outrage was. Now go and take with my heartfelt thanks. You’re not to blame for this …” Æthelred shook the letter angrily, “… and you have my permission to remind me that I said it if I ever do.”

  “With thanks, my Lord,” Leofwine stuttered wondering what Duke Richard had enclosed in the letter while at the same time relieved that he didn’t know. The look on the King’s face was one he’d never seen before – a mixture of anger, hurt and defeatism all rolled into one. Hastily, he bowed his way out of the King’s presence and returned to the great hall. The King didn’t appear for the rest of the evening, leaving his new bride-to-be sitting attentively before a mass of men she didn’t know, on show for all to see.

  ****

  The wedding was to be celebrated at Canterbury a week later. That allowed Leofwine just enough time to rush to his Mercian lands and assure himself of his wife’s safety, and that of the King’s lands.

  The King waved him away impatiently when he asked to be allowed to return home, his countenance not quite what it had been on seeing his bride, but it was clear that he was trying hard to brush aside whatever had disturbed him the day before.

  Ǽthelflaed had never attended a royal wedding before, and he returned to a household in uproar and a woman who was almost too busy to do more than offer him her cheek to kiss. He’d been expecting a little more and felt disgruntled throughout his day at home, and even more so as he and Ǽthelflaed rode back south.

  Northman was to accompany them but the other children were left behind in the capable hands of their house servants. Leofric grumbled and grouched the entire time Leofwine was home and he almost crumbled and allowed his second oldest to accompany them. Only Ǽthelflaed’s outraged cry that he had nothing to wear prevented him from speaking out. Leofric had apparently realised his intent though and as he turned to leave the boy finally gave him a hug of welcome and smiled in his direction.

  Ǽthelflaed was flustered throughout the journey south and only when Canterbury came into sight did she relax the tight stance of her shoulders, and smile genuinely for the first time. He wasn’t sure why a royal wedding should cause quite so much worry, but he knew better than to ask.

  As he was thrust into an elaborately decorated tunic on the morning of the wedding, he wished he’d had nothing to wear and been excused from the wedding. The tunic was of the finest quality cloth but as every part of it had been covered with some form of decoration, it was hard to tell. He refrained from saying that actually the costume could have been made from the roughest hemp and instead endured a day of fidgeting and trying not to scratch. Northman’s t
unic was just as finely crafted but without so many embellishments and he spent much of the day strutting around, confident that he looked every part the son of a prominent ealdorman.

  Ǽthelflaed looked stunningly beautiful in her soft gown of pale blue ringed with neat stitching. But it did make Leofwine stop and stare at his wife with a frown for surely her stomach was a little rounder than normal and her breasts a little fuller. She was clearly pregnant again but hadn’t yet informed him. He imagined it was because he might, just possibly, have prevented her from coming to the spectacle of the wedding and so he stayed his tongue. He would speak to her after the wedding.

  Emma, as she was officially known, looked delicate and beautiful in a flowing dress of finest purple linen with a white wimple around her head. Her dress was deeply embroidered around the neck and the tight sleeves with golden threads. Æthelred was dressed in an elegant tunic to match his new wife, and he glowed with happiness.

  The wedding passed with no incident, and the huge feast that followed was raucous with the cries of the King’s young sons and all their friends. Leofwine watched with amusement as cup after cup of mead was consumed amongst a deteriorating quality of toasts to their father. Abruptly he was overwhelmed with a dread that he was getting old, as was the King, and that before him sat the new generation who would be facing the Viking raiders. His young son, face aglow with excitement, would be a part of that next generation as would all his children. The thought was not the most comforting.

  With only four ealdormen, the King’s men were stretched ever thinner over wider areas, and he was the youngest of them all, and they all faced threats from the raiders. What would the King do if he were suddenly to lose all his ealdorman, which was not such an impossible thought? Yes, his sons were getting older and growing in stature, but the King had so far not gifted any of them with great commands.