Contains spoilers 

England: The Second Viking Age

Five ealdormen bestride King Aethelred II’s Witan offering wise counsel whilst serving their King as his representative in the old Saxon Kingdoms, united now for nearly a hundred years.

Leofwine, injured on a trip to the Outer Isles with Olaf of Norway, by Swein of Denmark, returns to his King in England fearing that he is no longer able to carry out the duties required of him. Faced with a King who sees his injury and not his potential, and with three of the other ealdormen happy to highlight his infirmities, Leofwine knows that he must convince his King to act aggressively against the Viking raiders who attack the land.

Involved in another altercation with a group of raiders on home territory, he works hard to convince the King to attack but fails to convince him. When Aethelweard, the aged ealdorman of the western provinces, another proponent of the plan, dies, Leofwine fears that the King will never heed his advice, especially when the other ealdormen are so keen to maintain the status quo.

As the raids intensify, Aethelred is finally convinced to attack by the sheer ineptitude of his ealdormen and announces he will lead the army himself. His chosen target – the kingdom of Strathcylde, allies of the raiders. Ealdorman concludes in the year 1000 after a successful military action against the Kingdom of Strathclyde near Chester. Ealdormen continues the action immediately after the end of Ealdorman.

Leofwine sat on his camp chair, feet propped on his dog lying at his feet. Mud and grime still streaked his face and he’d not removed any of his fighting equipment apart from his helm, which lay discarded, upside down, on the floor.

Rain dripped incessantly outside, a steady torrent that pounded in his head in time to his over fast heartbeat. His eyes were shut as he reclined on the chair, paying scant regard to its unsteady position. On any other day he might have cared that he was only a dog’s favour from falling on his arse on the mud splattered flooring. Not today.

But he did not sleep, instead seeing every image of the battle before him, and every possible outcome of the future that had just been snatched from him. He knew he needed to face his King, inform him of the words of Swein, and normally, he would have sprung smartly to attention. Not now though. His King did not realize how personal the threat to him was. The words may well have been that he was coming for England, however, his audience had been Leofwine, and that meant the threat was specific to him.

They’d stumbled back into camp, bone weary and dripping wet from the heavy shower that had covered them only a short distance from their original camp, drenching them instantly as it seemed could only happen in the mountainous region they were currently residing in. Wulfstan had barely been sitting in his horse’s saddle as he passed in and out of consciousness as the pain of his wound consumed him. Leofwine felt sick just watching him. A cold fear had overcome him as he’d watched his friend and surrogate father fade from his normal colouring to a deathly pale blue, almost as if the very life was seeping from him with each plodding step of the tired horse.

He’d insisted on Wulfstan being carried to his tent and stripped of his filthy, dirty clothing, before being laid on his bed, as soon as they’d stumbled into camp. Those who had not heard the stray horseman’s message were jubilant and had joyfully skipped to their own shelters.

Their healer had been waiting for them and had cleaned and bound the shoulder wound as Wulfstan had uttered faint protestations before falling into deep unconsciousness when the pain had engulfed him. His snores now filled the small space, and rather than being annoyed, Leofwine was finding comfort from the noise. His echoing snores, coupled with the drumming rain made the tent feel noisy and lived in, and was a valiant effort to distract him from his unsettling thoughts.

The healer had spoken words of reassurance, but all the same, he’d had the camp priest come and perform rites for his friend. It had made him ill to even consider his commander dying, but he knew he needed to face the possibility. The healer had looked at him in disbelief at the words of the priest, and that more than anything else had made him think he might have over reacted and his friend would be well.

Outside the tent, the camp was now quiet and strangely subdued. His men had retired to their shared tents to sleep off the battle, and mourn those they’d lost. There was little point in doing anything else. Whilst the rain fell as heavily as it did anyone stepping outside would be soaked instantaneously. It felt a little surreal; to go from the heat and intensity of battle, to a rain induced silence. He could hear nothing other than Wulfstan’s heavy snores and his own, slightly too fast, breathing.

He craved the calm of sleep but it would not come, even with the aid of a bit too much mead. He’d tried thinking of Aethelflaed, knowing that normally she brought peace to his mind, but that didn’t do the trick either. If anything, it made it worse because it reminded him of his two young boys and his baby growing even now inside her. He idly wondered if this one would be a boy or a girl, not that it really mattered, but he thought his wife would like a girl, someone to teach how to run a house and keep the men in check; someone to buy ribbons and delicate clothing for.

Still his heart raced, and his head pounded with the falling rain. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to talk to someone, speak out loud the fears that were running through his head. Normally he would have turned to Wulfstan, but he was incapacitated, and Horic, his next choice, was over-seeing the men, allowing them to drown their sorrows or their triumph without getting out of hand. He should be with him, but Horic had insisted he stay and watch Wulfstan. Leofwine had a suspicion that his man knew how hard it would be to smile and join in the rejoicing or the grieving. He was grateful for his insight.

Really there was only one option available to him, and that was to seek the King. He hesitated though. He did not want to face his wrath just yet. Pulling the gifted wolf pelt nearer to his chin, he closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply of the slightly musty smell that being carried around in a travel pack had imbibed the fur with. It was an almost pleasant smell, reminding him of his journey across the sea to the Shetlands, with a man now long since dead, who had remembered him from across the waves. Leofwine wondered whether it had been with guilt or fondness that Olaf had remembered him? Had he blamed himself for the injury inflicted by his own enemy? Or had he given it no thought at all?

Leofwine decided that guilt must have guided his actions. Why else send the scribe and the fur to a man he’d little known, and possibly, little regarded. He just wished that he’d thought to send back his father’s cross, but then, he’d never told Olaf that he’d held his own family’s cross. He must ask Finn if Olaf had built his Church and dedicated it with the cross. It would bring him some small comfort to know that the man he’d taken his life changing injury for was a man of his word.

A commotion at the door to his tent startled him and sent Hunter scurrying forwards, upending him, as he’d feared, on the floor, the chair a twisted tangle beneath him. Hunter turned to look at him questioningly not fully understanding what had happened to make him land on the floor, and Leofwine shrugged and pulled himself to his feet, his upper arms and thighs tweaking in pain from the heavy usage they’d taken earlier.

Hunter slipped through the partially opened door outside into the rain, and returned straight away. He didn’t blame her. He strode a few paces forward and released the toggles on the inside of the door. He could vaguely make out voices and wondered who was there.

Swinging the fabric door wide, he caught a whiff of goose grease in his nostrils, and gagged slightly. It might keep his tent dry but the smell was overpowering. The camp appeared quiet all around him, but then he realized, through the low-lying clouds and thick fog that there was someone standing there. The King’s oldest son, Athelstan.

He too still wore his battle equipment and bowed deeply to Leofwine.

“Leofwine, I am sorry to disturb you but my father would like to see you, if it’s convenient?”

There was a question in the words, but too slight to not be instantly obeyed.

“Of course, of course. I will come straight away. Let me just call for someone to watch over Wulfstan,” his voice a little crackly from lack of use.

“Wulfstan? Your commander?” Athelstan queried.

“Yes, he has a nasty shoulder injury, although the healer assures me it will heal well and quickly,” Leofwine replied, busily righting the upended stool.

“Excellent. He is a fine warrior.”

“Yes, and a fine friend.”

Athelstan did not respond to his almost whispered reply, instead standing just inside the open doorway in an effort to keep out of the incessant downpour.

Whilst Athelstan stood and waited Leofwine walked to the nearest tent, splashing through the rapidly forming puddles, and called Oscetel to him, explaining what was needed. The man looked as exhausted as Leofwine felt, but looking from the figure of King’s son, to his own Lord, he obeyed without question, for which Leofwine was grateful.

Stamping through the quickly forming mud was less than pleasant as they made their way towards the King’s camp. Athelstan did not speak, and Leofwine was grateful for Hunter at his side, as she skillfully maneuvered them around tent posts and abandoned equipment, hidden from his partial sight by the gloom of the rain.

Leofwine assumed the King wanted to know whom the messenger was and what they wanted, but he was not sure. Perhaps he simply wanted him to pray with him, as he’d asked earlier. Athelstan gave nothing away with his body language and Leofwine tasted sour bile in his mead infused mouth. He did not know if he should be eager to see his King, or reticent.

When the pair arrived at the King’s tent, Leofwine could clearly make out the voice of the King’s priest raised in prayer, and he immediately found comfort in the words. It was a familiar and calming sound.

Athelstan ushered him inside the tent, and they both took to their knees where a piece of stray tent material had been laid down to shield them and the King from the wet pooling in every available dip of the uneven ground. The King did not look up from his prayers, and neither did the priest, and Leofwine listened to his gradually slowing heart beat as the familiar words swept over him.

He, his King and his possible future King, stayed kneeling for the entire length of the mass, as the priest praised their Lord and offered long prayers of thanks for their victory. Leofwine was comforted by the words of the holy man, and relaxed for the first time since he’d been met by Finn and heard the unwelcome news he’d carried.

The pounding of the rain eased into background noise, and when the words of the priest finally died away and he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see that a meal had been brought into the tent and laid out on the small camp table and that darkness had fallen, meaning candles and lamps had been lit. The King’s second oldest son, Ecgherht was standing quietly in the corner, his eyes closed as he listened to the priest.

As soon as the soft voice faded away, Ecgberht sprang to attention, attentive upon his father, serving him in the position of squire. Aethelred acknowledged the arrival of his son as he stood and then sat down on a campstool close to where the food had been laid. He gestured for his oldest son and for Leofwine to join him on the two other stools and Leofwine hobbled a little painfully over towards the offered seat. He’d been kneeling for so long that his battle weary muscles had hardened and he reached downwards for Hunter to steady himself on the uneven ground.

His King did him the courtesy of not noticing his infirmness as he waved his priest away to other duties and drank deeply from a small drinking horn. He passed it to his son, who then offered it to Leofwine. He took a small sip of the deep red liquid and tasted a wine from the southern vineries, delicately spiced and warmed a little to combat the chill air.

The King sat with a smile on his face as he helped himself to the small selection of meats and breads. Leofwine assumed that they had been provided by the Reeve of Chester’s cooks, as there was no way to roast the fine meats and cook the dark bread in the campfires. He too helped himself to some finely sliced beef and a large piece of bread, and ate quickly and with precise movements. He was suddenly starving but mindful of his host he curbed his hunger. Athelstan was not as inhibited and Leofwine smiled to see the youth cram so much food into his mouth. The King too watched with amusement and then gestured his second son to eat as well. The two boys ate so quickly that both the King and Leofwine belatedly grabbed for a few more slices of meat before it was all gone.

The two lads bickered in silence as they fought over every morsel on the table uncaring of the company they kept. When Athelstan succeeded in snatching the last piece of slightly burnt pork, the King shooed the two boys away with a faintly withering look, and they stumbled from the tent out into the continuing rain storm without so much as a backwards glance, finally giving voice to their argument.

A small brazier burned a little smokily to the far side of the tent sending out tantalizing fingers of warmth which only served to remind Leofwine of just how wet he was. He would have liked nothing better than to slink back to his own tent, check on Wulfstan and change his clothes, but it was clear that the King had something on his mind or he would not have called only Leofwine to him, nor sent his sons away.

Leofwine feared he knew that somehow the King had learnt about his visitor and that he was sitting patiently, waiting for him to confess. Leofwine felt uncomfortable with the knowledge and knew that he needed to speak first.

The King sat pensively, his own clothes had long been changed and he was clearly not suffering from the discomfort of wet and sticky clothing. He was finally dressed in a rich tunic, finely embroidered around its edges in an interlocking design. The gold thread caught the light of the candles and dazzled Leofwine’s tired and weary eye.

“My King, I fear …,” Leofwine finally uttered softly.

“I know of what you speak already. Do not fear my friend. The messenger carried a message for me as well and I waylaid him before he could get to you. I assume you have seen to his comfort.” The King’s tone was querying and held no trace of anger or annoyance. Leofwine was temporarily stumped and it took him a moment longer than normal to process the words.

“Yes, yes, of course. Finn is even now amongst the men of my household troops. I think, he thinks, he’s staying there as well.” He spoke with a smile on his frozen face, as he remembered the way in which Finn had slunk inside the tent that housed Horic and his cronies, quickly finding the furthest spot from the tent opening to lay down his bag of possessions with a wary glance towards Leofwine which had almost dared him to tell him to move. Leofwine had left him alone, too concerned with how Wulfstan was faring in his own tent to worry about the rest of Olaf’s message concerning the man. Perhaps he could find space for a scribe in his household after all.

“Did Finn inform you of Swein’s words?” Leofwine asked hesitantly.

“Regarding England? Yes, he did.”

“Does that not concern you?”

The King looked at him searchingly now, and Leofwine felt suddenly laid bare, as though his King could see all his fears etched plainly on his person.

“Well, it should, I know. However, before I left the South I was approached by another and I’m finding it difficult to reconcile what the two men are telling me or asking me.”

“Another my Lord?”

“Yes, I have been contacted by Pallig, Swein’s own brother by marriage through his sister. He is anxious to swear his allegiance to me, and I was going to offer his an ealdormanship. Now, I am unsure.”

“An ealdormanship? My Lord, why would you offer a man you barely know such a position?”

“I had foolishly thought it would endear me to Swein. He is a man I do not wish to entangle myself with.” He spoke forcefully, stressing his words.

 “He is a King and a warrior and he knows his way around my lands almost as well as I do. It is a blow that he has killed Olaf. What little I can say about the man that is good, he did at least give his word that he would stay away and then do so. He has my respect for that, and for beginning the spread of Christianity amongst his own people.”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“I have not yet reconsidered my plans, or given it the thought it deserves. Luckily, I’ve not given any overtures of friendship yet. And you my Lord, what do you plan to do with the wolf still baying for your blood?”

Leofwine grimaced at the brutal voicing of his fears.

“I don’t know either. I will need to give it as much thought as you do regarding Pallig.”

The King laughed at Leofwine’s rueful tone.

“Indeed. I suggest we both give it some thought and then discuss it again in a few days time. I would like you to know that for my part in your feud with the man, I am sorry. I did not consider that you would cross the path of any other warlord, and certainly not the King of Denmark, and now Norway when I sent you away with Olaf all those years ago. It cannot be at all comfortable to have so personal vendetta against you. Swein may well hate me, but he hates me as a figurehead, not personally. It is a small consolation denied you.”

“In the meantime. I still think we have accomplished something good and needed here. It feels right to have vanquished the King of Strathclyde, even if we have not killed him. We must, however, press the advantage. We will not be withdrawing yet.”

“Are we to pursue the King?”

“No, we are to claim our land back and lay waste the border region. That should act as a deterrent to the bastard. Your men and my household troops will advance again tomorrow and carry out my orders. Athelstan and you will be the commanders.”

“And you?”

“I will stay here and consolidate the advantage. I have plans for my ship army, when I can communicate with them in this awful weather, and I also intend to survey the land here.”

“As you wish, I will seek out Athelstan at first light.”

“Excellent, and now, I will let you return to your men. I hope that Wulfstan recovers well, and please tell him, that if he is able, I will have a task for him whilst you’re gone.”

Leofwine walked back to his tent with the rain still falling heavily. Soft tendrils of mist rose from the saturated ground as the temperature climbed to an uncomfortably sticky level. The lit cook fires smoked incessantly, adding to the heat and the mist, and men called to each other as they stood in the rain, shields used to keep the rain from their heads, as they waited for food or cooked it. It was a haunting reminder of the use the shields had been put to earlier on the battlefield.

He ducked inside his tent, and was instantly met by the less than gentle snores of Wulfstan. Hunter quickly lay obediently beside the camp bed and looked at him reproachfully as if it was his fault she had been forced outside in the downpour. He thanked her and she closed her eyes and quickly fell to sleep, her own snores joining Wulfstan’s.

Leofwine checked Wulfstan and once assured that his friend slept naturally he collapsed back into the camp chair he’d been roused from by the King’s call. It was still uncomfortable, exasperated by his wet clothes, that he’d not yet changed from the battlefield. He now thought there was little point in changing as he was going back into battle the next day. He also doubted that his spare clothes were any drier than his own as they’d spent a day in a saddlebag and then been dragged inside his damp tent. It was doing a good job of keeping the rain from his head but there was still water seeping in through some of the larger holes in the seams.

He was cold, wet and frustrated by the news Finn had brought him, worried about his friend and far from home. He couldn’t imagine that he would possibly sleep, and yet somehow, no sooner had he sat and made himself comfortable, than his own snores joined Wulfstan’s and Hunter’s, and it was only when Wulfstan stirred in the night that Leofwine’s rest was disturbed.

His friend woke and immediately demanded why Leofwine was not in his bed, and why he was, and started to berate him. Even colder and wetter than before, Leofwine snapped at Wulfstan, causing the older man to cease his moaning, see quickly to his need for water and return to bed, meek as a newborn baby. Leofwine’s head felt fuzzy and his eyes burnt with tiredness.

Dawn was far off and he could barely see in the dim light of the tent. The brazier had long burnt low and he was shivering uncontrollably. Knowing that sleep was a thing of the past, he quickly found his unworn clothes and peeled the clammy ones from his body. In the confined space, he made so much noise, bumping into every piece of furniture in the tent, that he heard the noise of others stirring in the tent next to him. He felt grim satisfaction knowing that others would be as muddle headed as him when they rode out to battle later that day.

Hunter glared at him in the slight light from the feebly smoking brazier and Leofwine remembered that he had not fed her when he’d returned the night before. He wasn’t surprised that she scowled at him. From outside his tent he could hear men calling softly to themselves and smelt the aroma of pottage. As unappealing as camp rations were, his stomach rumbled and Hunter cast him a look of barely veiled disbelief as she walked from the tent.

Leofwine followed behind, intent on informing Horic of the plans for the day. He squelched through the sticky mud mindful of where he placed his feet, pleased that the rain had finally ceased. The mist curled around the tents and the men lending the early morning a spectral feel as thin tendrils of the sun’s rays wove in and out of the temporary camp.

Within his tent, Horic was snoring loudly as a few of the men tumbled from their own low camp beds, groaning and moaning at the noise coming from Horic's wide open mouth. Leofwine stifled a smile of wry amusement and let Hunter do her work of waking the man by licking the side of his face. Hunter was, for an unknown reason, inordinately fond of the huge man.

With a swot of his large arm on the dog's nose, that set his armbands jangling, Horic spluttered awake, a glare of outrage on his face. He wasn't quite as keen on Hunter when she woke him in such a manner. He abruptly stood when he saw Leofwine accompanied the dog, and muttered an apology, grimacing as he stood on his clearly aching legs.

"We've orders from the King to ride out again today, with Athelstan and his men. Can you ready the men and ensure we have enough supplies for three days. The King is staying here, I think, but we have some unfinished business in the North."

Horic's face lit with joy at the thought of seeing more of his enemy and his movements quickly became more alert as he reached for his cloak that had been discarded on his bed.

"I look forward to it," he quipped, deigning to stroke the inquisitive head of Hunter who was looking at him expectantly. Leofwine grunted in agreement and stepped from the tent. He felt light headed. He needed to eat.

By the time the sun had fully risen, Leofwine and his men were assembled and ready to move out. A messenger had sought out Leofwine and informed him that Athelstan and his men would be ready with the light. They were taking no supply wagons with them and instead formed up as a highly mobile force.

Leofwine had woken Wulfstan and informed him of what was happening. Wulfstan had protested feebly that he must accompany his Lord. Only when Leofwine had mentioned that the King had a chore for him, did he subside into silence. He looked far better than the night before but still Leofwine did not like to leave him. He considered ordering Hunter to stay with Wulfstan but realised that then both would be miserable. In the end he walked briskly away from Wulfstan, convincing himself that all would be well and ignoring the stabbing feeling of foreboding in his chest.

The King stepped from his tent to add a few words to his men. He looked little the worse for wear after his day of battle yesterday and none could fail to see the glow of triumph that suffused him. His aura of a warrior king did more than his words to spread a feeling of righteousness amongst the men, and Leofwine swallowed back his own fears of last night and this morning to allow a huge smile to grace his face, that mirrored the King’s own.

It was agreed that the men would ride out for, at the most, a full day and a half. If they’d failed to spot any of the retreating enemy, they would simply establish themselves as masters of the land, and would then return back to the camp. Before they left the King called to Leofwine,

“Your man, he is well?”

Leofwine was taken aback that the King had remembered before recalling that the King had mentioned he had a role for Wulfstan.

“He slept my Lord, lucky sod. I would say another day in bed and he will be well enough. I had feared for him and sent for the priest, much to the disgust of the healer.”

Aethelred smiled tightly at the words,

“It’s always best to be prepared, no matter how much the thought of the ending of this life might be unwelcome. I will ensure that Ecgberht checks in on him today.”

“With thanks my Lord.”

“Not at all, not at all. Now, off with you all and happy hunting,” his face twisted slightly at the words, clearly showing that, still, he did not relish the thought of the deaths of more men at his hands.

It took less time than Leofwine could have imagined to reach the site of the battle. He saw with some satisfaction that the bodies had all been buried, only the disturbed earth showing where a mass grave had been dug; the sticky mud splattered up the sides of the rise he’d fought his way up, a testament to the slaughter that had taken place. Hunter stood stoically by his side, clearly unhappy with the after smells of the battle as Leofwine took a long moment to remember his friend who had lost his life here. Brithelm’s death had not fully punctured his consciousness but on this spot, the reality hit him and grief temporarily rendered him speechless. Around him he noticed Horic and Oscetel also had their heads bowed in memory.

Athelstan’s men were a way in front, riding out in a huge swathe of a scouting party. There was some disturbance, and Leofwine instinctively called for all his men to be ready to dismount and armed if necessary. He sent Horic and Oscetel forward to determine the cause of the commotion. They returned quickly with reassuring grins on their faces and Leofwine relaxed a little in his saddle, and signalled for his men to be a little less alert.

“It is only Aelfhelm and his men. They’ve had the same thought as the King and are running a sweep of the area. Come, he and Athelstan are discussing tactics.”

Leofwine nudged his sturdy horse forwards to where he could see a gathering of men. He was too far to make out any form of facial expressions, but as he crested the hill he’d so painfully fought up yesterday, he was greeted by the joyful voices of the Athelstan and Aelfhelm’s men raised in a cacophony of noisy laughter. To the side of them Aelfhelm and Athelstan were in conference.

Aelfhelm’s large bulk looked as flushed with triumph as the King had earlier and he was clearly enjoying having the ear of the King’s son to himself. He turned and greeted Leofwine with a respectful nod of his bearded head, devoid of his helmet, as he spoke to his King’s representative. He did not disrupt the flow of the conversation by speaking, and Leofwine, likewise, inclined his own head to his fellow ealdorman. He might still find him a force to be reckoned with, but they had reached some sort of accord over the years they’d known each other for. They too often shared similar concerns in the former Mercian lands.

He quickly tuned into the conference between the men, realising they were discussing the integrity of Aelfhelm’s borders and how they were to be maintained now that the enemy had, hopefully, been sent scurrying away. Aethelstan was also informing Aelfhelm of his father’s plans for his ship army.

“He intends to meet them and order them to attack either the land across the sea, or slightly closer to home if the weather stays so bad.”

“Perhaps the Isle of Manx? It is not far, and often used as a staging post for those travelling between here and Dublin.”

Athelstan nodded at Aelfhelm’s words.

“Yes, the King mentioned to his commanders that Manx would make a good target. Perhaps, they will even find some of the stragglers from yesterday. There is a feeling that the people of Strathclyde do not act alone, but enough of the ship army,” he shook his head as if to clear it of thought.     “What are your plans now?”

Aelfric did not hesitate in responding.

“I intend to go as far as the old Wall and seek out any who may still be retreating. I know they have their own small horses, and so may be long gone, but for peace of mind I wanted to check. I do not want to inform my people that the menace has been cleared unless I check for myself.”

Athelstan smiled tightly at the words, so roughly spoken by the burly man.

“I suggest we take separate routes then. We will cover more area that way. We’ve been ordered to travel for a day and a half towards the old Wall before returning. We were going to hug the coastline, but can travel elsewhere if you wish that route for yourself.”

Aelfhelm nodded in understanding.

“It’s a good idea. Then if there are any stray ships either from Dublin or their own King, you will be able to deflect them. I was going to travel via the coast myself but instead, I will back track and travel along the area that has long been disputed. I can inform the people that they need now look to our King for protection. It might even be an opportunity to survey the state of the people, make sure they have what they need to bring in the harvest. I do not want the worry of hungry people on my hands.”

Athelstan acceded to Aelfhelm’s words with a sharp nod of agreement and quickly returned to where his household troops were milling around. Aelfhelm watched him with narrowing eyes before turning to Leofwine.

“He is a strong-willed lad. He must take after his grandmother.”

Leofwine nodded in general agreement,

“Yes, but he has the King’s more easy nature with people. He commands his men well, for all his youth.”

Aelfhelm did not immediately respond, and Leofwine wondered what he was thinking as he watched the youth canter away. Almost so quietly that Leofwine wondered if he’d really heard the words Aelfhelm finally spoke,

“We will see what the future holds.”

Leofwine fixed him with a stern stare, confused by the intent implied in the words but Aelfhelm did not elucidate, instead turning towards his own troops, and shouting a goodbye over his shoulder. Leofwine sat for a moment, watching the older man issue commands to his men before he too turned on his way with another burden to add to his already overwrought mind.

The weather improved with every step towards the old Wall, and before long, bright sunshine was drying the damp land and the men who traversed it. Leofwine watched the land around him with interest. On his journey home from the Outer Isles, he and his men had travelled along the coast in their ship but he had seen little or nothing of the land. He was astounded now by the sight of the hills rising steeply towards the lands of Aelfhelm ealdormanship, festooned as they were with lush grasses until their rocky peaks. He could see why the King was not happy that the land had been appropriated by the Kingdom of Strathcylde for all that it appeared to be little inhabited.

The few people who crossed their path were well dressed and looked prosperous, for all that they’d had more skill at conversing with Horic in the native tongue of his land, than in Leofwine’s own. Leofwine wondered how long the raiders had been settling this land and how many of the small population were a holdover from the time before the first raiders had come over two hundred years before, or so the Chronicles said. Those he encountered were more of a kin to the people who dwelled on the borders of his own land, with their own quilt work of petty kingdoms, as England had once been, before Alfred and his son had worked to defeat the Vikings and to unite the disparate land.

By the time the sun was bleaching from the summer sky, late in the evening, they had encountered no one from the original raiders, but had found a sandy cove to shelter near.

“Horic, this land. Have we been here before?” Leofwine called.

Horic glared at the stretch of beach and rough grass as though it had done something to offend. His eyes narrowed slightly and his brow knit together,

“I think not my Lord, although it does look similar to places we have been to.”

Leofwine grunted in agreement, a hazy memory tugging at his consciousness of a time when he’d been barely healed from his eye wound and on his long journey home through the worst that winter and spring could bring a tired ship and her men. They’d been forced to make many stops down this stretch of the coast before they’d fetched up at the court of the King far in the south. He assumed that many of the stops must have looked similar.

“I think you might be right,” piped Oscetel, “I too remember a stretch of land such as this. And look over there, I am sure we pulled up on that stretch of land that juts out towards the sea.”

Leofwine followed where his man pointed and felt a jolt of recognition. Horic looked too and memory flashed on his face too.

“I think Oscetel may have the right of it after all.”

That night, they made a rude camp above the beach. Athelstan joined Leofwine for a meal of hardened bread dipped into a tasty pottage as conversation flowed easily between the King’s son, the ealdorman and a few of their trusted housetroops. The others kept vigilance high on a number of surrounding hills, primed to attack if any of their enemy should make an appearance, but none did. The sun finally dipped low and an eerie half darkness fell under the bright moon that enabled men to sleep or stay awake as they were commanded.

Leofwine quickly dropped to sleep, the shortness of his previous night’s rest enough to ensure he slept soundly and deeply. He dreamt all night of his reunion with his wife, and woke disappointed to find himself on a bed of grass, wrapped in his cloak against the slight summer chill, as opposed to in the warm and inviting embrace of his wife. He supposed he should be pleased that, at least, it had not rained during the night. He spared a thought for Wulfstan, hoping he was well again, and then a cry from the men on watch alerted him to a sighting of mounted horsemen.

Well practised, the entire contingent of mounted men were soon in pursuit. Leofwine cursed his restricted eyesight that caused him to rely on a running commentary from Horic regarding the men they followed.

“I believe there are about thirty of them my Lord. They’re all mounted and are fleeing back the way they must have come. I can make out little of their clothing, or what weapons they carry.”

“Let’s just hope they are not leading us into an ambush.”

Horic grunted in agreement,

“We shall soon see my Lord.”

Only they didn’t. The ragged band of men before them never grew any closer although they never lost sight of them either. At regular intervals, Athelstan commanded a select group of his men to attempt to catch the fleeing men, but those they pursued always outpaced them. Finally, as the sun reached its zenith, Athelstan drew back. He beckoned to Leofwine who directed his horse to the young man’s.

“I do not think we can catch them. I did fear an ambush but the more we follow them, the more I think they are just trying to escape with their lives.”

The youth was sweat streaked and the frustration of the mornings fruitless chase was evident on his face.

“We have followed them passed almost all signs of habitation. I think it would be fair to say that they’re gone for good.” Leofwine responded. He had been aware of the thinning of any form of settlement for some time. The land they passed no longer showed any signs of management, no wicker fences and even fewer herd beasts. He’d begun to wonder if they’d passed the land his King was now claiming, only the lack of the old Wall giving him comfort that they were still in the English King’s land.

“Yes, perhaps. But I would prefer to join battle with them just to reiterate our win against them two days ago.” The lad’s tone sounded so wistful that Leofwine laughed quietly.

“It’s good you’re so keen but it is not wise to seek a confrontation if none is needed. Come, I think I saw a small settlement not far from where we slept last night. Let’s go back that way and see if the inhabitants are prepared to offer us some insights into the lay of the land here.”

Grudgingly Athelstan agreed, although it was clear he would rather disobey his father’s orders and venture farther towards the old Wall. Leofwine felt a moment of remorse for his own lost youthful confidence. With his age and his injury conspiring against him, he would never think to rush headlong into an altercation again. He had too many responsibilities to his family and his King to see his own death so soon. Yet, it was a good characteristic to see in his King’s son. He hoped that the son’s readiness to seek arms would rub off on his father.

They rode back the way they’d come at only a slightly less robust speed. Behind them, he’d ordered Oscetel and some of the men to delay their return to ensure that the men they’d chased away did not return. Oscetel had been pleased to oblige and Leofwine happy to command. Athelstan had not considered the move, too bitter in his failure to catch the enemy to consider that the men may not truly be gone.

The steading they came upon, close to the beach of the night before, was an isolated farm, with neatly demarcated fields stretching far back towards the gently rising hills. The farther out, the walls were made of heaped stone, closer to the house, they were more temporary and made from sheets of thinly threaded branches. Sheep grazed peacefully in the grassy fields, and a sleepy boy watched the troop of men ride slowly by, just as he had watched them race past when the sun was first rising. Leofwine wondered how often he saw mounted men in shiny helms race past his home that the occurrence merited so little interest in him.

Horic rode at Leofwine’s side,

“This looks like a fine farm. I am a little confused by it’s neat and prosperous appearance. Surely if they are constantly under attack from the northmen and their allies in Strathcylde, it should appear ramshackle.”

Leofwine took a moment to consider his reply. Horic was correct. The farm was well tended and only had the smallest of defences around it.

“I assume they’re happy to please whoever claims this land as their own. Certainly, they’re rich enough in animals and crops to keep themselves throughout the year and they probably have spare to buy off raiders with.”

“I suppose it’s possible. Still, I would be happy if my home looked like this, and I allegedly live in peaceful England.”

Leofwine smiled sardonically.

“Are you saying I don’t pay you enough?”

Horic turned in shock at Leofwine’s words,

“My Lord, not at all, not all.”

Leofwine laughed at his confusion.

“I’m only jesting with you Horic. I know what you mean. I think that we might learn some interesting facts from these people.”

By now, the sound of the horsemen had caused someone from the farm to venture outside. A woman stood, silhouetted against the sun, her arm raised above her head so that she could see who approached. She showed no sign of concern and no men rushed to her defence. Athelstan and two of his men dismounted and strode towards her. Leofwine was too far away to hear what was said but he could tell from the body language that all was not going to plan.

After some gesticulating from Athelstan, one of his two men stepped away and strode to where Leofwine and Horic stood beside their horses. He dipped his head respectfully, for all that he was one of the King’s own reeve’s, raised high by his hand, and began to speak, his voice encouraging despite his appearance of seasoned traveller and dirt stained clothing.

“My Lord and Horic. The lady, she does not seem to understand all my Lord Athelstan’s words and we wondered if perhaps Horic may be able to assist us.”

Horic flushed slightly with the praise and rushed forwards,

“Of course, of course. Is she from the North?” he asked as he strode confidently through the remaining puddles from the storm of a few days ago.

“I am unsure. Some of her words seem to be your own, and yet others, are those I am used to speaking. I wonder if she has been taught a mixture of both the language of the English and that of the Northmen.”

Horic stopped abruptly as he considered the idea,

“I suppose it’s possible but it would be a little .. odd.”

“See what you think when you speak to her.”

And so Horic did. He looked travel stained himself and yet somehow, he still stood tall and proud. His shield, he’d left on his horse along with his sword, so he walked towards the well maintained house, with it’s rounded walls of finely woven sticks, heavily layered with fresh looking daub, unarmed but clearly proud. Smoke puffed excitedly through two small holes in the roof and Leofwine was struck with how warm the house looked, and also, how similar it looked to those he’d seen on the Outer Isles that had housed the people who had sheltered him whilst he healed.

Horic greeted the woman calmly in his own tongue, and immediately her face lit with recognition and she began to gabble away to him. Leofwine stood and watched the exchange patiently. He knew that Horic would appraise them soon of what she said. In the meantime he looked at her with interest. She was a well made woman with long brown hair securely tied back from her face in an intricate pattern of braids. Her clothing was simple but clearly well made and the brooches that adorned her dress were beautifully designed, flashing green and red with the slowly setting sun. Her eyes were a bright green and her face interesting to watch as she gesticulated and spoke.

With a bellow of laughter, Horic turned to where Athelstan stood waiting a little impatiently.

“It would appear that by some complicated arrangements that even I find difficult to fully comprehend, that Gita and I are somehow related or at least, we think we are. She is from the Northlands near where I grew up. Her husband, who is away on a fishing trip, has lived here all his life, and his family dates back years and years. They are not chieftains or lords or anything like that. They simply farm this land and keep on the good side of all who attempt to claim it.”

“Will they give their allegiance to my father?” Athelstan interjected, clearly less than impressed with Horic’s reminiscing.

“I do not think she will my Lord, but I have not asked her. I think to pay allegiance to anyone will harm them. She says raiders from Dublin and the far northern lands often stop here when they see the smoke from their fires.”

Athelstan grunted non-commitantly.

“Well, can we at least stay here tonight? I crave a bit of shelter from the elements.”

“Oh yes my Lord, apologies. She has offered us hospitality for the evening. She says there is also a barn a short distance away in the fields where as many of the men as would be comfortable can spend the night. However, she can only feed a handful of us. I’ve assured her that we would not expect her to feed us all.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Athelstan muttered but when Horic returned to gossiping he coughed loudly to remind Horic that he would welcome being allowed inside the house.

“Sorry my Lord. Step inside, only she is not quite alone as we thought, so please be careful.”

Athelstan froze mid step and looked at Horic with some concern,

“Are they armed?”

“No not at all. But I imagine that they are quite fierce. I’ve found that those who live for such a long time in virtual social isolation are.”

Athelstan gestured for his two men to precede him inside the house and hovered slightly uncertainly on the periphery. Horic was deeply engrossed in conversation and with a nod to Athelstan, Leofwine turned and went to inform the men of their respective troops that they were to stay here for the night. He pointed out where he could faintly make out the roof of the barn a few fields over, and a frantic discussion ensued about who would take shelter there and who would camp between the house and the exposed beach. In the end, Leofwine’s men won the honour of guard duty and the small shepherd boy appeared to direct Athelstan’s troops to the barn.

Leofwine eyed the small lad with amusement. He was no higher than the waists of most of the men, and was unfazed by the flash of steel and metal that must have caught his eye. He was followed by a sleek hunting dog, similar to Leofwine’s own Hunter, but the dog stayed firmly at the lad’s heels, barely even noticing Hunter. The dog and the boy took in everything before them with appraising eyes that belonged on a man grown, not a young lad, and Leofwine wondered what horrors the boy had seen.

“Come this way,” he called, in a high boyish voice, “Mother has clearly allowed you to stay the night so I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

He spoke with a slight tilt to his voice, but he understood and spoke their language. Leofwine wondered why his mother’s words were such a mixture of the two languages.

With Oscetel busy mustering and organising the fifty warriors within his war band, Leofwine and Hunter wondered back towards the house, where Horic and the woman were still loudly conversing.

As he drew level he realised that Horic was wiping tears of laugher from his eyes. Horic noted Leofwine’s approach and turned to him,

“Gita here was just reminding me of a famous incident back home. It’s an old, old story but she tells it well. Would you like to hear it?”

Leofwine smiled at the man’s enjoyment,

“Perhaps later, when we’ve eaten and rested a little, and seen what Athelstan is up to.”

“Of course, of course,” Horic sobered immediately, and he indicated that Gita should walk inside first.

Leofwine was not sure what he'd been expecting but it wasn't what he found when he walked through the sturdy wooden door. It was clear from the display of brightly coloured ceramic pots on a wooden dresser to the neatly stacked pile of swords and shields just by the door, that the house was prosperous to a level like his own. The doorway opened into a small space where deep winter cloaks were stacked and overflowing from a wooden chest. A small doorway then led into a larger room lined with benches surrounding a huge fire pit, stacked high with brightly burning logs and rolls of peat. The heat was almost stifling and he noticed with interest that the select group of inhabitants inside the room, from a wizened old man to the toddler running naked around the room, that these were a people who were rich enough in resources that a fire on a warm summers day was possible.

Athelstan was seated next to the old man who was chattering away to him. He laughed at the man's words and turned a beaming smile Leofwine's way.

"Leofwine, let me introduce you to Ragnor. He is regaling me with tales of his father's raids on the lands of my forebears. I think he is trying to shock me but he tells such a good story, I am transfixed."

Leofwine stepped forwards and clasped the hand of the elderly man, whose hand shook with age, but who had eyes bright with mischief.

"Have you asked him how he came to live here?"

"Not yet, but I will."

Leofwine left the lad and his two warriors to the old man's stories  and continued to look around the house. Horic and Gita were busy tending to the fire, and pouring out a warmed spicy wine for them all to enjoy. The small child ran up to Gita and gabbled something to her which made her smile even as she shoed him away from the scorching heat and back towards a mat where a number of wooden toys were scattered around for him to play with as he pleased. An older child, probably a girl because her hair was so long, trailing all the way down her back, held out her arms and called in a sing song voice for the toddler. It had little effect and with a huff of effort she crawled to her feet and retrieved the boy from under Gita's feet.

"Here Leofwine, have something to drink. Dinner will be ready soon."

Leofwine took the prooffered wooden beaker from Horic and settled onto one of the benches, Hunter attentive at his side. She'd quickly explored the new house and had then guided him around so that he avoided falling over in the dark interior, lit mainly by the fire and by a few small lamps smouldering near to the display of pottery.

The warmth of the fire stole over Leofwine and he woke with a start when a wooden bowl of steaming meat was placed before him. He accepted it willingly and as he ate Horic finally relayed some of his conversation with Gita. Every so often the old man Athelstan was sat next to interjected with a comment, and Gita would raise her eyebrows in outrage at his words. Leofwine doubted that the pair were related in anyway other than through married kin and he could tell that they clearly did not get on well.

"The men who live here are away fishing for a few days. They have a large ship that they use to trade with and occassionally they take it out into the deeper currents and fish for stock for the winter months. Gita says that as almost all their visitors come from the sea, the men do not mind being away as they know they can chase back any would be attackers. She says it’s rare for men to come on horses. Her husband, Osbert, is Ragnor's son. Osbert married his mother, who had lived here all her life, and then Osbert as a young man went to seek himself a fine Northern woman to help him keep the farm here. He travelled to my home country and found Gita. She is happy here, although it can be quite isolated. You did not see, my Lords, but she greeted us with her sword behind her back, and her shield hidden behind one of the small wicker walls. She is truly, a fine Northern woman."

His voice was warm as he spoke and Leofwine did not miss the appreciative glance Horic levelled at the woman.

"Why Horic, I think you might be a little smitten," Leofwine teased him.

Horic did not take offence merely stating, "As you should be my Lord, as you should be."

Leofwine laughed and Gita turned to Horic with a question on her face, which he clearly brushed aside.

They slept that night in the space near the merrily burning fire pit, wrapped up in their cloaks, and safe in the knowledge that their men were watching for any would be attackers outside. Horic had eventually turned to the question of the battle and the men of Strathclyde and Gita had shrugged non commitantly. Horic explained to him and Athelstan that few men ever rode the path passed their door. They had no concerns that they would be attacked without warning as they could see far out to sea and few men wanted to be Lord or King over only one farm. Leofwine appreciated the easy acceptance of the situation but felt that he would not have been quite so easy going about the whole thing. He did not think he would leave his wife and small children with none but an old man to stand guard over them.