Viking Enemy

by M J Porter

  She caught Leofwine’s eye as she was escorted to her seat and favoured him with a bright smile that he returned fully. The King caught her glance and looked to see whom she rewarded so freely with her favour. Seeing Leofwine, the King waved in greeting and then gestured to his Archbishop to begin the service.

  Archbishop Ælfric spoke the words of the mass firmly and precisely as if defying all who commented only on his age. Leofwine smirked at his clipped tones and business-like demeanour while appreciating it. He loved his God dearly, but sometimes he did think the churchmen he knew expounded a little too much at all the wrong times. For today’s sermon, Archbishop Ælfric preached on renewal and new life while offering a caveat that what was older and more known was still to be trusted.

  Leofwine looked to the old man with intrigue. It was clear that he was not the only one aware that rumours were circulating that the King planned some form of shake-up amongst his court. Not for the first time he wondered if his time away from the court, when he was busy in the Mercian and the Hwiccan lands, was harming his hard-won acceptance from the King. He shrugged the thought aside; he didn’t serve the King for his gain, but for the good of his people and his King. He took his position seriously but didn’t allow the lines to blur between what was his and what was the King’s. The King could, if he wanted, remove him from his position as easily as he’d given it. While Leofwine didn’t relish his role so far from the fighting and the exposed coastlines, he wouldn’t want to serve his King in any less capacity. He enjoyed his position. Otherwise, he would not have fought so hard to keep it.

  The sermon done, the King welcomed his followers and asked for a brief recounting of activities from Ulfcytel. Leofwine was surprised by the King’s decision to have him speak so openly before the assembled Witan. Never before had the Ealdormen or the Reeves had to justify their activities. It worried him for as long as it took him to realise that the King’s face was creased with a broad smile. Obviously this was not a public humiliation but a public affirmation of the King’s man.

  Ulfcytel spoke well in concise sentences, his description of the battle and his confrontation with Swein of Denmark bare-boned and devoid of superfluous information. Leofwine listened with interest, waiting to see if Swein had reiterated his threats towards England. When Ulfcytel finished speaking and turned questioning eyes on his King, it appeared not.

  “There have been reports directly from Swein’s fleet that he was only able to escape because not all of his ships had been destroyed. He’s gifted you with an additional name – Snillingr. It means ‘bold’, he believes you acted as quickly and concisely as he would have done had the situation been reversed.”

  Ulfcytel looked questioningly at his King and opened his mouth to reply, but the King spoke first.

  “I’m not asking for excuses or apportioning blame, so please, let me speak. Gentlemen …” and the King turned towards his rapt audience, “… I wish to commend the actions of Ulfcytel and the men of the fyrd. I have had masses said for the many that perished in the fighting, driving Swein of Denmark back from our shores and to his poorly guarded ships.” A faint smile played around his mouth as he said the words.

  “The man grows too arrogant as he tries to strip the wealth from my land, and this action by Ulfcytel is what is necessary. I need men who can think as well as fight. I need men who will do what is necessary to keep our land safe. If with one breath we make peace, and it is breached, we must with our next back up our threats with actions that make Swein of Denmark believe that England is not open for the taking. We must make him openly admit after each altercation that he failed in his endeavour because we out-thought him or outwitted him, or – and I know this to be true – we are better than him.”

  There were cheers from those listening to the King and even Leofwine felt pride and hope swell within him. The King continued, clearly enjoying his moment, “And as you would expect, men who act as they see fit and in my name need rewarding. Ulfcytel, please come forward to me …” Ulfcytel did as was bid, standing boldly before his King, his height exceeding Æthelred’s, “… and Wulfhilda, my dear, would you also stand before me.”

  Leofwine felt his head swivel in shock before he could stop himself. He’d not even noticed that the King’s daughters were in attendance. Now he saw that behind Athelstan a row of almost identical girls sat paying attention to their father. The oldest stood and walked forwards. She blushed as she went, uncomfortable with being the object of everyone’s attention but her small steps were steady over the floorboards, and she’d been expecting what was to happen now.

  Leofwine watched understanding dawn on Ulfcytel face as the young woman approached him. His looked a little dazed and clearly appreciated the girl’s beauty. She had the look of her father and shared his bright eyes and blond hair, artfully arranged in layers of plaits down her back.

  Wulfhilda, her head scarf gleaming with stitching and jewels, curtseyed for her father and placed a kiss of welcome on each of his cheeks before turning back to face everyone in the church as her father clasped her hand in his.

  “I know you are barely acquainted, but hopefully time will cure that small impediment to this marriage between you and my daughter.”

  Audible gasps could be heard from the farthest reaches of the Church, and Leofwine shook his head in amazement that the majority of people hadn’t realised the King’s intent already.

  “My Lord, you honour me, and I hope I will honour your daughter,” Ulfcytel spluttered in shock.

  “I’m sure you will. Shall we celebrate the wedding today or would you prefer tomorrow.”

  The poor man gasped again, and opened and closed his mouth in shock, “I’d prefer today please, Father. I don’t wish to delay my marriage any longer.” Wulfhilda’s voice was young and clear and yet assured all at the same time. As the light caught her face, Leofwine had a flashback to her grandmother, Elfrida. The thought flashed through his mind that Ulfcytel might well have just received a gift from the King that he might not always appreciate, just as the King had said to Leofwine when handing him the Mercian lands.

  The King laughed at his daughter’s boldness, “As you wish then. Perhaps one of my holy men would do the honour when we are finished here.”

  Archbishop Ælfric jumped to his feet, an act that astounded Leofwine. Did the man not appreciate his own age?

  “It would be my pleasure, my Lord, and I’m sure that Bishop Wulfstan will assist me.”

  Bishop Wulfstan stood as well and bowed to show he concurred.

  “Excellent! Excellent! But my dear …” and he turned to his daughter, “… first we must discuss some important matters. Perhaps you and your sisters would prefer to return to the Palace and wait for the wedding.”

  Wulfhilda curtseyed to her father again, and with a last lingering look at her new husband-to-be, she walked demurely from the Church accompanied by her three younger sisters, all speaking in whispers as they went. At the end of the aisle, Wulfhilda abruptly stopped, “Father, apologies, but would it be acceptable if Emma accompanied me?”

  The King’s calculating look passed from his daughter to his Queen, but Emma was already on her feet, beckoning the woman who carried her son to follow her. “It would be my pleasure,” she trilled, her voice rich with amusement.

  “I must prepare her for the wedding; as her mother, she is correct.” Considering Wulfhilda was older than her new mother, Emma was pushing the boundaries a little with her choice of words, but it was clear that she was keen to help her stepdaughter. Leofwine doubted the King was quite as pleased with their closeness as he ushered his wife down the aisle.

  Ulfcytel stumbled back to where his followers sat, overwhelmed by what had just happened, and Æthelred returned to his place on the dais. The enjoyment of moments ago had drained from his face and it was clear that he still had more to say and that it was not going to be agreeable.

  “My Lords and gentlemen, now that the pleasant part of the day is over we must turn back to the bus
iness of defending our land and our people. Swein of Denmark toys with us at every opportunity, and we must act to stop him.”

  The King abruptly stopped speaking. His eyes focused on someone further back in the Church. Leofwine turned and was not unsurprised to see that the man Athelstan had pointed out to him was on his feet.

  “Yes, Eadric, you wish to speak?”

  “With your leave, my Lord King, I would.”

  “As you will,” the King replied.

  Eadric nodded to his King in thanks, and then, to the shock of Leofwine, stepped from his seat and strode confidently to the front of the Church. He stood beside his King facing all before him. The King hadn’t been expecting his actions, and from where he’d retaken his seat he glowered a little at the actions of the youth.

  “Thank you, my Lord, for allowing me to address everyone. As some of you may not know who I am, I’ll introduce myself. I am Eadric, and my family was once a member of the Mercian royal line.” His gaze flickered to Leofwine as he spoke and Leofwine admired the audacity of the man, to stand so prominently and make his intentions so clear.

  “We have for many years shared a border with those of the Britons, or Welsh as we know them, who live in the north and central regions. Like Swein of Denmark and his men, the Britons are fond of lightning strikes and causing as much devastation as possible in as short a space of time as possible. I think we should learn valuable lessons from those altercations of the past, and I believe that if we attack in as random a fashion as they do, that we’ll have some success.”

  Leofwine stifled a cry at Eadric’s words, for surely he was merely suggesting what Leofwine had told his King so many years before.

  The King turned his suddenly hooded eyes onto Eadric, “And just where would you have us attack?”

  “I suggest we take the fight to them, as we were forced to do with Normandy. I propose that we attack their homeland, Denmark.”

  There was a huge roar of sound at the carelessly tossed words and even the King rose from his chair, his broad fur cloak sliding to the floor to pool at his feet. At Leofwine’s side, Horic muttered a foul oath before apologising to the Christian God for speaking so in his house.

  Wulfstan looked at Leofwine with amusement, “Now that’s how to get a reaction from everyone. Suggest something so daring that it might just work.”

  Leofwine looked from Eadric to Wulfstan, intrigued.

  “You think the King should attack that blatantly?”

  “I’m not saying he should, no, but it’s a tactic worthy of Swein of Denmark himself.”

  “It is. Swein would think more highly of him if he did attack,” Horic interjected.

  “We Northmen, we see honour in our adventures, but few have ever dared to attack us in our own homeland. We believe our reputations protect us from attack from any but other Northmen. It’s a worthy and audacious thought. One, I think, the King will not appreciate.”

  The King was outraged by the suggestion but was doing his best not to let it show as he watched heated words fly between his advisors and councillors. The King’s son, Athelstan was glaring at Eadric with hatred and beside him Ecgberht was shouting into his ear, his words unintelligible from such a distance. Leofwine could only imagine what the King’s two oldest sons were thinking.

  With an effort, the King called his Witan back to order. His face flushed with the effort. Eadric had not moved, enjoying the chaos his words had caused.

  Finally an unhappy silence was restored and the King gestured for Eadric to reclaim his seat. Eadric bowed to his King and did as he was bid.

  “With thanks to Eadric for his interesting ideas on how to defeat Swein of Denmark. I see that his idea has some merit, but I’d ask that we don’t rush to make any decisions. Eadric …” and he looked squarely at the man, “… I assume you’ve investigated this idea thoroughly before presenting it to the Witan. Do you have ideas of costs and the number of men involved and if we have the resources to mount such an audacious attack?”

  Eadric reddened at the King’s words, “In truth my Lord, I’ve not done so. It was just an idea that I thought should be considered.”

  The King’s eyes narrowed, “I believe it is, but first, you must give the matter greater thought. My ealdormen and senior royal officials already know this, and I’d request that you do the same. If after due thought has been applied to the idea it’s deemed worthy of consideration by the entire Witan then we’ll do just that, but for now the idea can’t be pursued.”

  Eadric’s face dropped with disappointment, but he nodded to show he understood the King’s words as he retook his seat.

  With a more pensive expression, Æthelred took in the mass of faces looking at him and quirked an eyebrow at Leofwine. He took his cue from the King and stood. Clearly, it was his duty to make some good from Eadric’s upset.

  He stood and bowed to his King, “My Lord King, I think young Eadric has the right of it in another area. His mention of our neighbours in the West makes me realise that we should make more efforts to reach an accord with them, one more lasting than any before. While there have been some small incursions in the past, I’d imagine that at some point they’ll realise that they can take advantage of our preoccupation with Swein of Denmark and his men.”

  Æthelred nodded in appreciation of his attempts at changing the direction of the Witan.

  “I agree. Perhaps you and Eadric should spend some time together and agree on a way forward.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eadric sit a little straighter at the mention of his name, and Leofwine broke eye contact with the King to offer him a look of acknowledgement. He would have the perfect opportunity to root out whatever this young man had on his mind, and that was fine with him.

  Ealdorman Ælfric then claimed the King’s attention with a long discourse on the state of his fyrd and his land following Swein’s despoiling. The King listened attentively, although Leofwine doubted that anything he heard was new to him. Ælfric was often with the King, not that he didn’t need to be: his actions were so ineffectual that he needed to excuse himself continually.

  Finally, the King declared the Witan over for the day, his frustration with excuses threatening to chase away his good mood at the impending marriage of his daughter.

  1004 – Part 2

  Leofwine was true to his word, and he had Horic seek out Eadric during the feast for Wulfhilda and Ulfcytel’s wedding. The King’s pleasant disposition had made a welcome reappearance, and the young couple had been pleased with each other as they’d exchanged the words that married them before the Archbishop and Bishop, and the rest of the Witan.

  Eadric appeared a little the worse for too much mead, staggering and holding on to the casually offered arm of Horic. Horic looked unimpressed and unceremoniously dumped him onto the wooden bench Leofwine occupied at the wedding feast.

  “I think this might not be the best time to have any sort of discussion with him. He’s clearly had too much to drink.” Horic’s words made perfect sense to Leofwine as he glanced at the younger man. Eadric’s eyes were glazed as he swept yet more mead into his mouth and Leofwine felt a twinge of concern. He’d not expected the slightly rash young man to lose his self-control so completely in the King’s hall. He’d thought to offer him advice on how best to advance into the King’s confidence.

  “My Lord Leofwine,” he slurred, “I’m come at your request.”

  “Eadric, you have my thanks. I’d hoped to speak with you about your Welsh neighbours, but perhaps, now is not the best time.”

  “Why is that my Lord?”

  “You’re enjoying the feast?”

  “What of it?”

  “I think you might have enjoyed it a little too well.”

  Eadric laughed so hard at the words that spittle spilt from his curved mouth.

  “I think you might enjoy it too little, my Lord,” he mocked, careless of the shifting of Horic behind his shoulder. “You, my Lo
rd Leofwine, are always the most proper and most attentive of the King’s ealdormen, and yet it does you no good. The King still sees you only as his puppet to manipulate as he sees fit. You mark my words, my Lord,” he spat again, “the King doesn’t value you, and I’m going to use that to my advantage.”

  Now it was Leofwine’s turn to spit, in amused outrage.

  “Your words are brave, and my role in life is to serve my King. If he sees me as his puppet to command as he sees fit, then I’m content. You would do well to learn the lesson. The King is his own man.”

  “The King is no more his own man than I am,” the youth chortled into his mead.

  “He’s constrained by rules and regulations and constraints that prevent him from acting as he wants.” He coughed a hard laugh, banging his cup of mead against the table. “And when he does act as he wants, as he did with the Danes, all the gates of Hell break forth, and Swein of Denmark comes pouring through; and if it’s not Swein, it’s another of the northmen.”

  Leofwine was growing outraged by the words boiling from the lad’s mouth, and that he spoke so openly of his contempt for his King.

  “Eadric, I must protest at your words.”

  “You can protest all you want, you half-blind bugger. Your words mean nothing to me and neither should they to you, or the King. Your opinions count for nothing. The King has shown that to you so many times and yet you, the faithful puppy, come running back to do his bidding whenever he decides he might benefit from you. Even today, after I spoke out, he turned to you to repair the problem. He didn’t ask his other ealdormen, the men he respects, even though they’re self-centered fools. No, you’re his man through and through. I imagine that before you even piss at the Witan, you seek his approval.”