by M J Porter
Before Leofwine could reply, Horic had grabbed Eadric about the shoulders, and in a parody of the support he’d earlier offered him, dragged the drunken boy away. Eadric didn’t even fight the Northman, but continued to laugh and shout insults to Leofwine as he was hauled away.
At a nod from him, Wulfstan followed Horic to ensure he did no real harm. Horic had been tempered by his years of living amongst Leofwine’s men, but when the mood took him he could still adequately act the Viking marauder. For all the Eadric’s current lack of position within the court, it was evident that some saw him as a man of importance. It would be impolitic if he should come to harm at Leofwine’s hands.
Leofwine watched the shuffle of Horic and Eadric, and the more sedate walking pace of Wulfstan, with disgust on his face. Who was this upstart? Why did he think his opinions counted for so much at the King’s Witan? In frustration, he grabbed his cup of mead, missed it with his outstretched hand, and dashed it all over himself. Hammer growled in disgust at being covered in the sticky substance and shook himself roughly clean, covering Leofwine as well.
In revulsion, Leofwine stood abruptly. With a bow to where the King sat surrounded by his daughter and son-in-law, laughing and enjoying his brief moment of triumph, he stalked from the hall, his anger fuelled by the knowledge that the young fool was more than half correct in his interpretation of his relationship with the King.
1004 – Part 3
The atmosphere of the Witan, like Leofwine’s mood, turned sour the next day.
The King may well have temporarily distracted his officials with the marriage of his daughter and the raising of Ulfcytel to a new position of prominence, but it wasn’t enough to distract from Swein of Denmark. The rumours that abounded about Ulfcytel’s new position – not quite an ealdormanship, to be sure, but something else entirely – were swirling with high speed.
None now failed to see that the King had never before been able to offer his daughters as some sort of reward to his men. Leofwine knew he’d not be alone in wondering if it was to be a new policy. No more ealdormen, but instead men beholden to him through marriage and more personally accountable to him because of that.
Others within the Witan had thought long and hard about the implications of yesterday’s activities with the young men of the royal court calling for a concentrated attack on Swein of Denmark. They jostled amongst themselves and the King laughed to see the lot of them, the next more keen than the previous, to ride forth in the name of the King and defeat the enemy and claim their royal bride as a prize.
Whether the King intended chaos to rule after his actions of yesterday, Leofwine didn’t know. If he hadn’t, he’d stumbled upon the means to call his men to arms in a way that Leofwine had never seen before. Even Ealdorman Ælfric seemed a little keener to face the raiders. Perhaps he was dreaming of royal grandchildren, even at his age.
Only Ealdorman Ælfhelm of Northumbria seemed bemused by the complete change within the Witan. He’d arrived late yesterday, offering words of apology that rang too hollow for Leofwine’s liking, and he’d snarled and bluffed his way through the council meeting and wedding ceremony. Now he sat surrounded by his followers, openly glaring at his King.
King Æthelred was not enjoying the scrutiny and often stared back at his ealdorman. Their relationship, always precarious in the past, appeared to have reached a new impasse and Leofwine wondered what he was ignorant of that had made Ælfhelm so angry with his King.
Luckily, he didn’t have long to wait. When the young men of the Witan had gained the agreement of the King that they could command a small raiding force of their own and scour the countryside for Swein and his men, Ealdorman Ælfhelm rose slowly to his feet.
“My Lord,” he bowed low and Æthelred hailed him with a faint narrowing of his eyes. Leofwine was confident that he knew exactly what Ælfhelm was about to say, but he had no option but to let him speak; it was after all the Witan, the place where the King was answerable for his actions. “I’ve come here, as you bid, but I’m unhappy to be leaving my lands when we’re so vulnerable. More than that, I’m unhappy that my people are being forced to pay to finance expeditions against the raiders which occur far from their land and have no impact on them.”
Leofwine hadn’t heard Ælfhelm complain quite so publicly before, although he knew there had been mutterings to that effect from among the general people. He’d encountered some small disagreements from those in the Danelaw. They didn’t need to defend themselves from their distant relatives or pay for them to leave. The Northmen left them well alone, accepting that they may well live in the land of the English, but they were not to be taxed by the activities of their old countrymen.
The King shifted in his chair as Ælfhelm spoke but it was Wulfstan of York who answered him, having garnered the King’s attention by standing even while Ælfhelm still spoke.
“My Lord, you do of course talk with the views of your countrymen paramount, and I perhaps more than anyone else in this room, can understand their frustration. They’re hounded from the north by the kingdoms from beyond the Wall, and the lands are not free from Strathclyde’s menace, but still, we’re a united country and we must work for the good of all.”
Ælfhelm’s face twitched as he listened to the holy man. It was obvious that he respected Wulfstan for all that he was now advocating the policy of the King in contrast to his own complaints.
“Archbishop, you’re correct that you more than anyone would know, but surely, you’ve heard the rumours and discord amongst the people. They can’t fight battles and pay for actions elsewhere. They need to maintain their borders and their own way of life. But …” and here he held his hand up to forestall any other from interjecting, “… we don’t ask that we go free from the burden of protecting this land. We only call for some acceptance that we have our own fyrd to maintain, and our own household troops. We would simply like to negotiate for a smaller sum to be paid from the Northumbrian ealdormany.”
The King’s face had lost its pleasant cast and he scowled at Ælfhelm.
“My Lord, these words are not mine alone; I’ve been approached by the farmers and the nobility and as their representative at the Witan. I must relay their unhappiness.”
“Indeed, my Lord Ǽlfhelm,” Æthelred spoke through tight lips. ‘But you must remember that you are my representative and that you have to talk with my voice as well.”
“I do, my King, but even you must recognise that the lands of the North are far away from the fighting here in the South. You have never stepped foot within the Northumbrian lands. The people see you as a faceless name.”
“I’m no anonymous name. My name is on our coinage for God’s sake. And the people of the North are most welcome to journey to the Witan or my palaces and see me in person.”
“I appreciate that, my Lord, I simply ask for your consideration.”
“I know what you ask, and I ask you back: what would my people of the Northern lands do if the fyrd of the South were not able to protect these lands? What if the Northmen ran amock and attacked them from the Mercian lands because all the men of England had fallen for lack of resources and funds.”
Ælfhelm’s gaze swept the room looking for who knew what, but he must have found it for he turned back to the King.
“My Lord, we are all aware that this land is rich – richer than even you can adequately determine. That wealth and its portability drive Swein of Denark and his men to attack us. Our currency is the envy of all our neighbours and news of our wealth travels far and wide, but – and here is the problem – some of that wealth must stay in the hands of those who work for it. That is the argument of the Northumbrian men and women. They work hard and see too little for their efforts.”
Realising that the two men were content to argue the matter away for the rest of the morning, Leofwine abruptly stood, unsure what he was going to say but keen to avert a war of words that would carry far from this room. Their enemies didn’t need to know of yet another rift between
the King and his ealdormen that could be exploited.
“Might I suggest, my King and my Lord Ǽlfhelm, that as with young Eadric yesterday, some thought be put into both what the men of the North would count an acceptable sum to pay and what the Treasury knows is the amount that needs to be paid. I’m not saying that it’s a viable option, but perhaps we could appease the Northumbrian lands if we consider it, at the least.”
Smouldering eyes turned his way, and Leofwine felt his resolve waver under the King’s gaze. Ælfhelm glared his way, too, and Leofwine felt, as was often the case, that he was stuck in the middle, trying to appease when it was unlooked for by the two protagonists.
Wulfstan of York was still standing and he, at least, didn’t glare. “I think the Ealdorman has the right of it. I’d be happy to assist in this matter. My priests would be more than willing to garner opinions, and I could report them back, say at the Winter Witan.”
There was a silence as the King considered the words moodily, his face clouded as he weighed up the limited options he was faced with.
“Very well, you may do so, but Ealdorman Ælfhelm, I’m unhappy that you’ve allowed the views of those in the North to influence you so. Remember, you’re merely my representative, and you must govern and act in my name. I’m surprised that a man whose primary wealth stems from those Mercian lands you talk about so freely should allow the Northumbrian men to worry you so much.”
Ælfhelm bobbed his head to show his understanding of the situation, but his eyes flashed dangerously as he swept both Leofwine and Wulfstan a fuming look. It was apparent that the King had angered him, and Leofwine thought King Æthelred a fool to do so. Ælfhelm was his barrier in the North; his view of the Northern lands being subsumed under a wave of Viking raiders could so easily be reversed if the borders of the North were breached and the men of the lands of the Scots rushed through. They could reach his Mercian lands within days and with the focus of the small army almost exclusively on the borders and the exposed rivers, it could be disastrous.
Unease inundated Leofwine. His hard-won security in the Mercian lands suddenly felt compromised in a way he’d never considered before. He’d always thought his family safe, his appointment almost more of a punishment than a reward, just as his King had laughingly told him on the day he’d given him the post. It deprived him of the opportunity of facing the raiders when they attacked, and he’d chafed at the constraints. Now he thought himself a fool for not realising before just how exposed his protected lands really were.
1004 – Part 4
The Witan that Bishop Wulfstan of York had hinted at as occurring in the early winter months was ultimately delayed by months, forcing Leofwine to journey to Headington in the dark days of December. His temper, already frayed, snapped at the thought of being compelled to travel through the frozen landscape. Winter was his time at home, to spend with his wife and his children. He should not be playing court to his fractious King, even if he served only as the King saw fit and acknowledged that openly.
Ǽthelflaed laughed at his foul temper and drove him from his house with promises of things to come when he returned while Wulfstan point blank refused to attend. His injury from the battle four years earlier had healed well, but in the chill of winter it twinged and made him as grumpy as Leofwine on his worst day. Ǽthelflaed didn’t appreciate his caustic humour, but she agreed with him with a roll of her eyes and a conspiratorial look above the whitening hair of their friend when he told Leofwine he was staying where he was.
Stomping from his hall as his second son would do when thwarted by his older brother he called his hound to him and grouchily set out, his thick winter cloak pulled tightly around his neck. He would go. He would serve his King, but he didn’t have to be bloody happy about it.
Neither did his temper improve at the King’s court when he discovered that Ealdorman Ælfhelm hadn’t even bothered to attend; he’d sent a messenger to say that concerns with the border kept him away from the Witan. The King received the news with a rage that Leofwine shared. Ælfhelm had already publicly quarrelled with the King and his no-show, as inconvenient as it was to travel from the far North with snow lying on the ground, could only be interpreted in one way: a direct defiance of their very public agreement.
Wulfstan of York had made the journey but then, as he made public knowledge, he’d arrived some time ago to attend to his other diocese in Worcester. He’d gone on at some length about the depth of snow even in November when he’d travelled south, and the King appeared to be mollified, but Leofwine was unconvinced. Once again, he had a fear that the King was considering, as he’d done once before, having a clear-out of men he thought no longer useful to him. This was a perfect excuse to get rid of another one.
Ealdorman Ælfric, stumbling around the palace, was not doing the reputation of the ealdormen much good either, and neither was the knowledge that once again Swein of Denmark was overwintering on the Isle of Wight. He was a potent menace, waiting to show his head when the weather improved.
Leofwine was overly aware of the young faces presented to the King. Eadric with all his pomposity was there, if anything grown a little in the King’s estimations. The King now spoke to him and asked for his opinions during discussions, much to the annoyance of the King’s oldest son who sat mostly silent throughout the proceedings, his brothers also conspicuous by their absence. Leofwine wondered if they’d been warned off or had simply decided that if their father would not heed their advice they wouldn’t offer it.
Little was decided throughout the short, always tense, gathering. Leofwine was little pacified to find he was asked to attest a charter for only the second time in second place; it was no significant advancement when there were only two ealdormen in attendance. If he looked at it in the right light, he was still the least favoured of them all, as he always had been.
On his journey home across the frozen landscape he pushed his horse hard, desperate to be home and shake the dread that was welling within him. For all the King’s preparations and his show of faith in Ulfcytel, Leofwine feared that the following year would test them all and he didn’t relish the thought.
1005
The wintry weather persisted long into the spring months, stunting the winter crops and forcing the farmers to question when they would plant the summer crops.
The Easter influx of new animals shivered and perished in the constant chilly conditions. Those who survived to be led out into the early summer warmth suffered when an unexpected and late snowstorm covered the land, forcing the farmers and the shepherds to return those animals who lived to the comfort of their winter homes.
And then, when the snow finally cleared and the excess water was blown away by ferocious storms, a great drought swept the land, damaging those seeds that had been sown and causing entire crops to fail.
The people groaned under the harshness of the weather, and when Swein of Denmark and his men began to attack again, many fled before him deciding that the little they had was not worth saving. The only highlight of the horrendous year was when Swein himself withdrew from the English shores.
Sadly, as he left their shores he thought of Leofwine, and a messenger arrived on the pretext of sending Horic news of some kinsmen who’d either perished or thrived, Leofwine did not recall the cover message the man carried. He was more concerned with his gifting of a small, blooded knife, intentionally never cleaned and with the message that it was a reminder from Swein of Denmark for him.
Horic had delivered the message and knife personally to Leofwine, his reluctance clear to see. With each passing year, Leofwine quietly voiced the hope to Horic that Swein might have forgotten about him, once and for all. It was evident that was never going to happen.
With so little food for the men because of the drought, and realising that all the gold and silver in the land couldn’t buy that which didn’t exist, King Swein returned to his homeland threatening to return when England’s fortunes improved.
The King stewed throughout the prol
onged summer heat, quick to anger and even quicker to blame anyone who dared put a foot wrong. He called on his churchmen to explain why God punished his people as they did. While they tried their hardest to offer words of support, he began to internalise what was happening to his land, began to see it as some sort of punishment for actions taken by those around him.
Leofwine sought advice from Wulfstan as to how he should deal with the difficult man his King had become, but Wulfstan could only offer words of caution. He remembered the changes that had brought Leofwine his own position. On that occasion, the King had removed all those he blamed for bedevilling his youthful exploits following the defeat at the Battle of Maldon, the battle that had left Leofwine’s own father dead. Wulfstan offered no thoughts to comfort his weary ealdorman.
Little was accomplished through the King’s governance. He didn’t call his Witan together; he didn’t promulgate any new laws. All he managed to do was produce another squalling child, a daughter, to add to the list of those who needed a good marriage, and so his second youngest daughter he gave to the nuns of his mother’s abbey. A man more cynical than Leofwine would perhaps have thought he did it as a way to appease for his own sins in the hope that his God would look more kindly on his people. Leofwine tried to interpret it as a pious act in remembrance of his mother, dead for three years now. He failed.
And rumours and counter-rumours spread about the King’s intentions. Ealdorman Ælfhelm seemed to be embattled in the North, and his sons were much maligned. Their entire party became ostracised and Æthelmaer from the Western lands, their long-time confidant, was forced to distance himself from them. He wrote to Leofwine to express his disquiet with events, and all Leofwine could do was agree with him and assure him that he acted in his own best interests. He’d not yet fully gained the King’s trust as it was. If Ǽthelmaer wished to replace his father in name as well as deed, he needed to ensure the King continued to think highly of him.