Viking King Page 9

  “I would have a reasoned response. Not one obtained through anger.”

  “And I would have loyal followers, both amongst my people, and my earls. You either ride with me, Earl Leofric, or you lose your position, and I’ll have you exiled from England for treason against your king.”

  Lord Godwine chuckled at that, the sound clearly audible in the strained silence, earning himself a sharp rebuke from the king, while Leofric sighed heavily.

  It was always the same with Harthacnut. There could be no compromise. There could only be total loyalty. Many events could make Harthacnut question even the most loyal of men.

  Leofric glanced at Lord Godwine, fury spilling from him.

  Harthacnut had forced Lord Godwine to do unspeakable things since he’d become king. Godwine’s total acceptance of each and every depraved action assured Leofric that he’d not be the voice of reason. Not today. Not ever.

  “My Lord King, the people of Worcester should at least be allowed to name the culprits, and then pay their geld, before the area is devastated.”

  “Earl Leofric, the people of Worcester have squandered that chance. Now, they will know what it means to go against their king.”

  “Why do you argue in their defence, threatening your own position? They’re Earl Hrani’s to command, not yours. You’re not earl there, you told me that.”

  Without pausing for an answer, Harthacnut was through the door and into the bright sunlight beyond. His raised voice could be heard giving imperious instructions, and Leofric glared at the man who had brought such tidings. The messenger met his gaze without flinching.

  There were ways and means of imparting bad news. This messenger clearly came from the school of thought that determined it was better to just off-load all knowledge, with no idea for the consequences.

  There was nothing for it. He’d need to do as his king commanded, but Harthacnut’s angry replies raised some interesting questions in Leofric’s mind. Harthacnut demanded total loyalty, but it also seemed he assumed everyone would only be concerned with their self-interests. What had Harthacnut learned in Denmark about the motivations of others? What did he think should be his own motivations?

  Leofric tried to think of a solution to the problem, but Ælfgar wasn’t in Winchester but in Oxford. There was no chance of anyone arriving in Worcester before the king did, on his fast horse, surrounded by his household warriors, and his earls.

  “Well Earl Leofric, let us go and punish the Mercians.” Lord Godwine swaggered as he strode past Leofric, calling for his horse and his sons, and his cloak and anything else he might need, which seemed to include his oldest son.

  Leofric agonised but could think of no way to sabotage what was going to happen.

  Unhappily, he followed Lord Godwine and his king into the bright day.

  Why, Leofric thought, had the people of Worcester acted as they had?

  And where was Earl Hrani, and more importantly, what would he do? Leofric wasn’t sure that Hrani would wish to anger the king, but neither did he believe Hrani would allow the king to punish the people of Worcester. He hoped he wasn’t proved wrong.

  Outside, Leofric’s own household warriors were preparing to leave Winchester. They, of course, had no idea of where they were bound, but Leofric had commanded Orkning to always be ready if the king’s warriors made any action to move, and now they were. Leofric should have been pleased, but his blood ran with fire.

  “What’s happening?” Orkning demanded to know when Leofric strode to his waiting horse.

  “Worcester has rebelled. The king rides there to harry the land and the people for refusing to pay the geld. Two Danish reeves have been murdered.” Leofric felt it necessary to make the distinction between English and Danish reeves. The country had splintered once more. The Danish and the English didn’t wish to associate with one another. Whereas in the past it had been because the Danish were Raiders, now it was because the Danish were rapacious and superior.

  It would have been easier to solve everything with a battle to see who truly ‘owned’ England, but Leofric knew the thought was only a fancy. The realities needed to be dealt with on a day to day basis.

  Orkning blanched at the words.

  “Lord Leofric, our men have family there. Our men’s family were probably involved.” Orkning’s voice reflected his horror.

  “I know,” Leofric spoke tightly. He didn’t want Harthacnut to overhear the conversation.

  “I know, and I’m as helpless as you in this. The king has made his demands. If I don’t comply, he’ll only become more aggressive. I already fear he’ll savage all of Worcestershire, not just Worcester.”

  “Fuck,” Orkning’s response was exactly how Leofric felt as the other man moved to mount his horse.

  “The king will ride quickly. I can see no way for any warning to be sent. Ælfgar is in Oxford. I could do with him here.”

  “It’s a journey of more than one day to Worcester. Will the king not rest throughout the night?” Orkning’s face was lined in thought.

  “I believe he’ll ride all night, just to ensure Worcester is taken by surprise.”

  “Then, if we do stop, I’ll have Otryggr ride to Oxford. We can’t despair.”

  Yet Leofric already knew that he did.

  He’d once been the sheriff of Worcester. Leofric knew many of the people of Worcester personally, and it had already suffered enough, losing Bishop Lyfing and having him replaced with the absentee archbishop of York.

  “This is a dark day,” Leofric muttered, heaving himself into the saddle of his trusty horse.

  “I never thought we’d go to war against our own people,” Leofric complained to his horse, but the animal made no response. Instead, it followed the stream of over fifty men as they headed for the palace gates.

  Cnut had been a hard king to please. Still, Leofric couldn’t remember Cnut taking up arms against his subjects, not after what had happened to Northman, and after he’d been declared the king of all England. It was a dark day. A very dark day.

  They rode hard throughout the day. Leofric was aware that every so often, one of his men peeled off, no doubt attempting to make it to Worcester before Harthacnut. But in front, the king set a fast pace and Leofric knew it would be hard to beat it. Harthacnut was not one to be thwarted in his desires for revenge for his Danish reeves.

  Leofric thought back over the other events of Harthacnut’s short reign, his mind settling on his treatment of King Harald’s body. The Danish of London, with Leofric and Ælfgar’s help, had rectified that mistake. But it had been done in secrecy, and they’d had the advantage of time. Well, some time at least, to gather allies. There was no time now.

  Leofric knew the road they’d take to Worcester, intimately. And each marker closer sent a stab of fear and fury deep inside him.

  They were the same roads and pathways that he’d ridden down when news had reached his father that Cnut had meant to execute Northman for treason. It didn’t hold happy memories, but Leofric felt a spark of hope.

  The way would take them close to Deerhurst, where his sister and Olaf still lived. He turned to Orkning, but the other man seemed to have already had the same thought.

  “I will go myself,” Orkning stated, refusing to be denied the opportunity. “The household warriors there know the area intimately. They may arrive before the king. It’s worth the attempt.” Leofric nodded. He wasn’t about to argue, not when his thoughts had settled on his older brother.

  The murder of Northman had, for a time, destroyed the relationship between Ealdorman Leofwine and King Cnut. This might well do the same for Harthacnut and himself. Leofric knew he’d never be able to forgive his king for the atrocities he planned to commit in Worcester. He doubted Earl Hrani forgave the king either, but that remained to be seen. Leofric could never say he knew the mind of another man as well as he might like to.

  Neither would he forgive himself for failing to stop them.

  In front, Leofric eyed Lord Godwine’s back w
ith distaste. Lord Godwine had fought hard to retain his position with Harthacnut, stooping to all sorts of new lows to endear himself to the king. So far, none of those attempts had worked. Godwine’s family remained under the king’s pronouncement of the year before. If Lord Godwine died, the family would suffer.

  This attack on Worcester would allow Lord Godwine to show his loyalty to the king. And Lord Godwine would enjoy it as well. Everyone knew that Leofric prided himself on governing Mercia well. This would strike at Leofric’s heart and could do untold damage to his strained relationship with the king.

  In the past year, Leofric had not acted to help Lord Godwine win around the king, but neither had he taken any steps to seal his fate. Lord Godwine had earned the king’s ire for being the man most loyal to his kingship, and yet who’d eventually agreed that his hated brother should be king. It was that, more than anything that had turned the king against him, Leofric was sure of it.

  Leofric knew Harthacnut was a man to respect honour and loyalty above everything else. Earl Godwine had shown himself to be too politically fluid for such foibles as honour and loyalty to deter him.

  Not that Leofric’s relationship with Harthacnut was truly any better than Lord Godwine’s. Even now, after a year, it was Lords Beorn and Otto that Harthacnut turned to for advice and support, and to his three commanders when he needed military might.

  Leofric swallowed heavily, his horse jolting him from his thoughts, as the road beneath them ran rough for a few horse’s lengths. Better to consider the past, than the future.

  The king pushed them onwards, the early summer day affording them more light to ride by than Leofric would have liked. Better for a rainstorm to have forced them to take shelter. But the sky stayed stubbornly devoid of cloud, and Leofric realised that come the morning, the people of Worcester would wake to fire.

  The thought angered him, and he knew his household warriors who followed him were uneasy. Too many times they’d been issued orders by the various kings they’d all served that had angered them, but never before had they been forced to attack their own people.

  Leofric felt Orkning fall away from the rapidly moving force, but he refused to turn and watch. He would do nothing that might imperil his loyal commander.

  Only when the black of the night fully fell, the sickle moon too feeble to illuminate the road did Harthacnut finally call a stop to their headlong rush to Worcester.

  Leofric dropped from his horse, patting the animal’s nose, as exhaustion threatened to swamp him. But he knew the tasks he needed to accomplish to have any chance of his horse continuing the next day. On leaden legs, Leofric walked his horse to the stream to take his fill, and only then turned him around, removing the saddle and harness before rubbing down his sweaty back.

  The movements were routine, a welcome action to cling to as Leofric sought for some normality.

  “My Lord,” the harsh whisper of his nephew, reached Leofric’s ear, and he turned, surprised to see Wulfstan.

  “How did you get here?” Leofric demanded to know, his senses coming alert to the danger Wulfstan might be in if the king saw him.

  “I came from Worcester. I was coming to Winchester to find you and let you know what happened there. I should have known that Harthacnut would already know.” Fury sharpened Wulfstan’s words, and Leofric moved to hush him.

  “Come, walk with me.” As Leofric spoke, he beckoned for Æthelheard to come closer. Æthelheard’s eyes opened wide with surprise at seeing Wulfstan, but he wisely held his tongue.

  “Watch the men. Try and keep them from speaking too openly of their disgust.” With that, Leofric led Wulfstan away from the few fires that had sprung up, and into the darkness of the nearly moonless night.

  “Tell me,” Leofric demanded when he felt they were far enough away not to be overheard. He needed to know what had happened, but equally, Leofric knew that nothing he could say to Harthacnut would sway him from his current course.

  “My Lord, it was, it was horrible,” Wulfstan babbled, and then took a moment to catch his breath and decide on his next words.

  “I’ll start again,” the younger man said, and Leofric grunted grimly, not surprised to find Wulfstan so upset and lost for words.

  “It started well enough,” Wulfstan began. “The reeves had made their demands known. Everyone was aware the geld needed to be paid, but some were worried because they couldn’t afford all of it. The men of Worcester decided the best action was to speak with the reeves, inform them of the hardship after such a bad winter and sluggish start to the growing season.” Here Wulfstan paused.

  “I’m afraid the men of Worcester are too used to dealing with the House of Leofwine and with Earl Hrani, who, it must be admitted, has become more English the longer he’d lived here. They expected the reeves to listen and hear what they were saying. And more, to understand as well.” Leofric swallowed down the bitterness of that admission.

  He and his brothers had been careful leaders, and Earl Hrani had learned from watching them. They’d all discovered that listening could resolve many problems, and the people had come to expect it. Somehow, it made him feel even more responsible for what happened.

  “Reeves Bjorn and Liofa are Danish. They’re harder men than the English. They began to speak angrily to those who couldn’t pay. They threw out the delegation of men who came to bargain with them, and that’s when things turned ugly, but only because Bjorn ordered his warriors to visit the houses of those who couldn’t pay. When they returned with nothing more valuable than cooking pots, Liofa demanded that the men and women sell their children into slavery to raise the funds.”

  “He,” and Wulfstan paused, and Leofric wished he knew whether Wulfstan had witnessed these events, or whether his account was second-hand, but he didn’t want to interrupt his storytelling.

  “Bjorn said he would pay only ten shillings for each child bought, and that he’d then sell them in West Frankia. He said he’d only take young girls. Any boys would only be worth five shillings. The bastard licked his lips with delight at the thought, and reached into the crowd and pulled one young girl from their midst.”

  “Bjorn fondled the girl, there, in front of them all. She can’t have been more than five years old, with bright auburn hair, and when her father tried to get to her side, take her back, Bjorn had his guards draw their iron and stop him. Before them all Bjorn stripped the girl naked, while she sobbed, and then smacked her on the bottom hard enough that everyone winced and announced she was only worth eight shillings.”

  Leofric hung his head, shamed by the actions of a man he’d never met, but one who spoke with the authority of their king. It angered him, and he could feel his lifeblood pulsing at his neck. At that moment, Leofric wanted nothing more than to attack his own king.

  Wulfstan’s eyes were haunted in the darkness of the night, his body held too tight, but Leofric knew better than to offer any words of consolation. It was not the right time.

  “By that time the abbot had been summoned, the monks as well. All were trying to reach the child, to cover her nakedness while she sobbed and sobbed. Reeve Bjorn laughed in the face of all those before him.”

  “Only then the girl’s mother arrived, and she wept and wailed, while Bjorn grew even angrier. And then the girl’s uncle arrived, Edmund, the blacksmith, you might know him, and he was mired with the forge and carried many weapons. And he is a massive man,” Wulfstan breathed. Leofric nodded, before realising that Wulfstan wouldn’t see the action.

  “Edmund is a huge man. He’s always been a worthy opponent.”

  “Edmund roared for silence, and of course, he received it, and then he stamped his way to Bjorn’s side, and collected his niece, covering her with a cloak given to him by someone in the audience.”

  “Edmund handed the girl back to her mother, and they left the hall, but Edmund wasn’t done. He bellowed at Bjorn, ‘we don’t sell our little children’ or some such, but Bjorn had already given the command for his warriors to attack Edmun
d. And they did. There and then, in the hall.”

  “Men and women fled the scene, sobbing and crying, but Edmund faced all of his attackers, all ten of them. They didn’t seem to care that their opponent was only one man.”

  “They cut and attacked him, and tried to hack him down.”

  “But Edmund is a massive man,” Leofric interjected, trying not to visualise the scene and yet doing so all the same.

  “Edmund took down the ten men. He didn’t kill them. But they were wounded or knocked unconscious, and then the mood in the room turned against the reeves, and somehow they seemed to realise. With the aid of someone they escaped through another entrance, but they were chased, all the way to the monastery.”

  Here Wulfstan paused, his voice a little lighter.

  “They say they ran screaming and crying for someone to help them, but of course, no one did. They sought sanctuary in the monastery, in a small room, but there, something happened, and I don’t even know how. But, I was told there were many Welsh in Worcester, for it was market day. While the people from the hall dispersed, still angry, but content the reeves were gone for the day, men attacked the monastery. They hacked down the two reeves, unarmed and without their guards, and while the abbot and his monks were still trying to placate the angry mob in the hall.”

  “But Uncle Leofric, it wasn’t the people of Worcester who did it. Not at all. The people of Worcester went back to their business. There was a meeting to discuss what they should do, of course they mean to ask Earl Hrani to intervene with the king, and only then did the news start to spread that the king’s reeves had been murdered.”

  “There is panic and dismay, and so I rode to find you. I didn’t see any of this. I was not in Worcester at the time, but scouting the borders. I came into Worcester last night. But I’ve seen the dead men, and their death was not kind, or quick.” Here Wulfstan swallowed heavily, his eyes distant. Leofric didn’t press him, although he would have liked to.

  “Have the men been buried, now?”

  “The monks were attending to it when I left. They should be buried by the time we return.”