The Crossed Hilt: A Collection Of Medieval Historical Novels

By John Broughton

A collection of three medieval historical novels by John Broughton, now in one volume!

Sward And Sword: Amidst the bloodshed of 11th century combat and conquest, Saxon Godwine elevates himself from landless youth to trusted confidante of the most powerful man in England. But the pursuit of power is not without peril, and his skillful diplomacy and battle prowess are constantly tested by the schemes of distant, formidable enemies. His allegiance to the monarchy pledged by sward and sword, Godwine seeks to maintain his influence as the Normans attempt to thwart him. Beset on all sides by bold and bitter adversaries, who will prevail?

The Purple Thread: It is 733 AD in Anglo-Saxon Britain – a time of warriors, war and religious extremes. Young Begiloc's world turns upside down when the Briton and his best friend Meryn are ordered away to protect English missionaries in Germany. For a man accustomed to brutality, Begiloc has a soft spot for the purple-tinged mountains, waterfalls, lakes, animals, trees and flowers – beginning to muse whether they, rather than Man, do not better embody the essence of God. Mission follows mission across the continent, and Begiloc is driven ever further from his loved ones. His ultimate foe is the corrupt and cruel Bishop of Rems, Milo. Will Begiloc ever be free from his obligations to the Church, and reunited with those whom he has been so long separated?

The Rebel Scribes: Christ Church Priory, Canterbury, 990 AD. Orphaned by vikings, Folcwin and his elder brother Aelfwynn have become excellent scribes. Enlivened by sibling rivalry, their lives are upset by a competition to illuminate a commissioned psalter. After Folcwin is selected the victor, his brother is accused of murdering another competitor, and he escapes. While Aelfwynn begins a patriotic battle against Viking raiders, Folcwin’s fame as a scribe increases. Even with their imbalanced fortunes, the paths of the two brothers are bound to cross with powerful kings and strong leaders, including King Aethelred, Thorkell the Tall and Edmund Ironside. But can they overcome the Viking menace?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Jul 8, 2022

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The Crossed Hilt

THE CROSSED HILT

A COLLECTION OF MEDIEVAL HISTORICAL NOVELS

JOHN BROUGHTON

Copyright (C) 2022 by John Broughton

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

This book is a work of fiction. Apart from known historical figures, names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Other than actual events, locales, or persons, again the events are fictitious.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

CONTENTS

Sward And Sword

The Purple Thread

The Rebel Scribes

About the Author

SWARD AND SWORD

Special thanks go to my dear friend John Bentley for his steadfast and indefatigable support. His content checking and suggestions have made an invaluable contribution to Sward and Sword.

GLOSSARY

Aetheling: a potential heir to the throne, generally of royal descent.

Burh: a fortified town

Fyrd: Anglo-Saxon levied fighting force

Hide: a land unit of variable acreage

Hundred: an administrative area of about 100 hides; a subdivision of the scir.

Jómsvikings: an order of Viking mercenaries or brigands of the 10th century and 11th century.

Moot: a meeting

Nithing: a coward, a man of no honour.

Scir: a shire

Scop: a bard or poet

Thegn: a landowner and fighting man, many, like the horse thegn, had a specific duty on the noble's estate.

Wends: a historical name for Slavs living near Germanic settlement areas.

Wergild: blood price; payment for killing or maiming, according to rank.

Witan: the king's council, made up of nobles, bishops and thegns

Witenagemot: the meeting of the Witan

I have used modern place names to aid readability, with these exceptions:

Places:

Cumtun: Compton, Sussex

Brighthelmstone: Brighton

Selsea: Selsey, Sussex

Hamtunscir: Hampshire

Heidaby: today's Busdorf municipality, Haddeby County, in Schleswig-Holstein, Germany

Skåne: Scania County, southernmost county in Sweden

Upsal: Uppsala, Sweden

ONE

Cumtun, Sussex, 1009 AD

I'm the first to admit I have not lived an exemplary life. In all honesty, I've acted my entire existence out of self-interest, which is the price paid for leadership. I have a natural ability in that respect, born of my impressive personality and physical courage. Would it not have been a wasted life, had I not taken action and decisions to seize personal advantage from the portentous circumstances surrounding me? This is my story and I will not gild it like the Norman witch, who paid a lickspittle to write her Encomium Emmae Reginae: a paean to Queen Emma – dross!

More than any other, and at an impressionable age, one event shaped my character. I will not hide behind it since it explains what drove me to become the most powerful man in England.

The year was 1009 and I had but eight winters behind me. My childhood had been carefree and privileged as the first son of Wulfnoth, a mighty and well-connected thegn with estates at Cumtun, upon the greensward of the rolling hills of Sussex. My fondest infant memories are of the farmstead with the animals I helped feed, rear and slaughter.

But in the summer, it might have been late-August, while Father was away at sea, men bearing the crest of the Aetheling Aethelstan overran our lands. Those men seized Mother and me and turned us out on the road. They accused my father of high treason and the commander of the Aetheling's force labelled us Wulfnoth's whore and whelp and added, who had to suffer. What could I do? A boy of eight against a troop of warriors? Seething with shame and resentment, imagining what I would have done had I been a grown man, I trudged behind Mother as we made our way to seek more friendly faces in the town of Winchester, where my beloved Downs find their western end.

There, Father's cousin related his understanding of the events leading to our expulsion. My father was one of the commanders of the fleet of three hundred and ten longships stationed off Sandwich to protect the country from Viking raiders. I now know what my cousin did not at the time. It was an age of intrigue, when the cunning, sly counsellor, Eadric Streona, was a prominent man at Court. This villain took it upon himself to destroy those whom he presumed stood in the way of his advancement.

His brother, Beortric, another leader of the fleet, was no better and I believe he trumped up charges against my father, incensing him to mutiny, causing him to take with him twenty longships. The accusations were unjust but my parent ought not to have turned to piracy, raiding along the south coast, wreaking every kind of harm. When a member of this family becomes vexed…

Beortric chased after my father with eighty ships, vowing to bring him to account. But his vessels foundered in a violent storm, typical of the Channel, to be cast ashore – so much for Beortric's seamanship – only to be burnt by my father, who meted out his own justice. Hearing of this misfortune, King Aethelred fled to London, leaving the reduced fleet in confusion in Sandwich. The crews decided to row down the Thames to London. Hence, there was no deterrent against the Danes, who duly invaded Kent at harvest time and ravished Canterbury. That is why Father was outlawed and our lands confiscated.

Cousin Leof, I squeaked, when I'm a man, I'll wrest back our estates and more besides.

I think his bemused laughter did as much to harden my resolve as the events themselves. I owe a great debt to Leof, a wealthy merchant, trading in iron tools, leatherware and textiles out of Bosham in exchange for goods from the continent. He was also a wise and patient man. My restless, fiery spirit must have taxed this virtue. But not only did he accede to my request for lessons in swordsmanship, he also found me a veteran Irish campaigner who boasted, 'No Viking ever bested me'.

Cousin Leof gifted me my first sword, forged in Frankia. My copper-haired tutor, thickening at the midriff, was no longer nimble on his feet – just as well, given I was but a boy of eight. What he lacked in physical attributes, he compensated with a natural bent for tutoring. Ronain, the name he went by, had the gift of eloquence. He made me laugh and never fanned my always smouldering and ready temper into flames. For this reason, I admired and learnt from his quick wits. I ascribe my prowess with arms to his unbridled disrespect for orthodox fighting. He taught me the advantages of surprise and cunning and his motto, 'All's fair in battle', has ever been my byword.

A profound affection grew between the two of us. Ronain was determined I should develop into a warrior ahead of time. For my part, I resented his slave-driving methods, involving my running with two logs under my arms while he looked on, quaffing ale in the doorway of a nearby tavern. Woe betide me if I took advantage of any distraction – it always ended up with double the workload: turning cartwheels and other exercises, often to his advantage, such as making me chop logs or saw lengths of timber for his hearth. I admit it all served to develop muscles and add inches to my height.

The most important lesson I learnt from Ronain was one he would not have suspected. Given my quick temper and his soothing quick wits and ready laughter, I curbed my temper and channelled it into ready ripostes – Irish-style. This would stand me in good stead for the rest of my life.

Occasional news of Father reached Winchester; snippets, rather than anything satisfying. I did not see him for four years because, outlawed, he had joined the Danes in a place called Gainsborough, where the laws of King Aethelred could not penetrate.

The Danelaw welcomed the invading army of King Sweyn Forkbeard, bent on revenge for the massacre of his fellow Danes, notably in Oxford, instigated by the cowardly Aethelred. Should anyone blame me for wishing to become one of this wretched monarch's enemies? I felt ready, being on the threshold of manhood, to test my newfound battle skills. In 1013, therefore, I joined my father and King Sweyn to help his quest to remove the kingdom from its inept, characterless ruler. My journey was a risky undertaking in those lawless days, especially for a raw youth, but I reached my destination on one of uncle's horses, where a joyful reunion with my father took place that changed the course of my life.

TWO

Gainsborough, Lindsey, 1013 AD

If anyone had told me as I entered manhood that my bitter, lifelong enemy would be a woman, I would have laughed in his face – I swear it's the truth. More dangerous than a berserker Viking, her sharpest weapon is a lying tongue that can make a man believe the Sun sets in the East. When that woman is also a queen, the peril is yet greater. I call her the Norman witch, although her real name is Emma. Whether she practises witchcraft I know not, but I am as sure as the river flows to the sea that she is evil and ambitious. If we Saxons are not careful, she will steal our own land from under our noses.

At this point, I need to explain how fate led me to the person who inadvertently ensured my wyrd would be entwined with that of the said Norman witch. It began when I arrived in Gainsborough, a thriving trading port on the River Trent and Danish stronghold in Lindsey. Having sailed from Sandwich up the Humber to Gainsborough, King Sweyn Forkbeard proceeded to conquer a large part of England, causing King Aethelred and his witch to flee to Normandy.

Annus horribilis – 1014 turned out to be a comfortless year. First, Father died in January. I had enjoyed a reunion with him for less than a twelvemonth, but it was enough to set me on my path of destiny since I learnt so much from him. His decease left me bereft and mournful. On 3 February, King Sweyn, at the height of his power, passed away. He had nominated his son Knut to succeed him and while the lords of Lindsey accepted him as their King, much of England did not. Disgracefully, the Witenagemot met and invited Aethelred and his second wife, Queen Emma, home from exile. It seems they did not want an inexperienced and foreign youth as ruler of England. Imposing conditions of just, respectful behaviour on Aethelred, they gathered an army and marched to Lindsey to oust the Danish fleet.

I had become fast friends with Knut. I had only twelve winters behind me, while he must have been eight years older. Owing to the effects of Ronain's harsh discipline, the age difference did not much show. Still, I admired Knut. As we were both strapping youngsters, my eyes were on a level with his. He was large in stature and very powerful, fair, and distinguished for his good looks. His nose was thin, prominent and aquiline; his hair was profuse, his eyes bright and fierce. We must have sensed our joint path in those early days – it is the only way I can explain our instant mutual friendship. It solidified around the close and successive deaths of our parents and it was this relationship that would lead to my future clashes with the witch.

This, the season of deaths, moulded my life; during those early weeks of 1014, the Aetheling Æthelstan died of wounds inflicted fighting the Danes. He made his will on the day of his passing and it contained many provisions. The one that involved me was the bequest of the Cumtun estates to me as my father's eldest son. Oh, the joy! Restoration by princely act of my childhood lands of high heathland, wooded weald and the worn sward of ancient droveways snaking along the chalk ridges. In short, the priceless emerald gem they had snatched away from me. Whether it was a deed inspired by conscience or politics, I will never know, but I never forget to pray for his soul at this time of year.

Æthelstan was a curious man. I feel sure that, had he lived, he would have made a better king than his father, but he would have had to reckon with his stepmother, Emma. Æthelstan was a warrior prince and by the time of his death, he had accumulated a large collection of swords, precious war horses and combat equipment. In his will, he left his brother, Edmund Ironside, his most prized possession, a sword which had once belonged to King Offa of Mercia.

I still think, magnificent as was this bequest, the silver-hilted sword he left me, also of Frankish manufacture, bettered it – not in lavishness but in balance. I cannot be sure of this, unless, one day, I have the chance to wield Edmund's, but it is a sensation of mine. What a wonderful gift! Brought to me on the day of the Aetheling's funeral by a messenger with tidings of the Cumtun inheritance. How can I describe my emotions? The weapon my cousin gave me still has a special place in my heart, but it cannot match the splendid, rune-engraved blade Æthelstan bequeathed me – fit for a king. It would become my constant companion, lethal and loyal.

The speed of the English attack took us by surprise and Knut was nowhere near the great leader he was to become. He upped anchor and led his fleet away from Gainsborough in ignominious flight, deserting the Lindsey lords and leaving them to their terrible fate.

The first test of our friendship came some days later when we landed in Kent. There, Knut ordered the English hostages entrusted to Sweyn to be set ashore. I had seen their wrists and ankles bound and watched them disembarked across the broad shoulders of the Vikings. What could it portend, I wondered?

This is a breach of honour!

Did Knut read my thoughts and doubt me? Would this explain why, with wild folly in his eyes for what he saw as a Saxon betrayal of his rightful claim, he chose to pass me his battle-axe? Why me, otherwise? Likely because I am a Saxon and he wished to test the extent of my loyalty. He selected a hostage, the son of a mighty ealdorman and ordered his bound hands to be placed on a log.

Take off his hands! he commanded me, disguising the petulance in his voice with a cough.

I wanted to argue and reason with him but, at twelve, I already possessed the wisdom born of self-interest to guide me. I could not afford to offend my new and powerful friend.

Lord, lord, spare me! I beg you! I need my hands!

The merciless Vikings laughed and mocked the wretch. Ignoring the pitiful pleas and wailing of our victim, a lad a little younger than me, with a ferocious swing of the whetted axe, I lopped off the hands at the wrists. One unforgiving blow sliced through both rope and sinews. Knut laughed and slapped me on the back.

It was well done, Godwine, my friend! Wrenching the axe from my shaking hands, he didn't pause for breath but ordered the blinding of two other hostages and similar mutilation and maiming of yet more.

Thankfully, I was not called upon to enact these atrocities. In my immature mind, these acts were not so atrocious, but rather the actions of a young man determined to exact revenge and incur respect. In short, he had my full support. Neither, at the time, did I question his abandonment of the Lindsey Danes. Later, I saw it for what it was – a terrible act of disloyalty. I was also smart enough to realise the end it achieved served its purpose, and sufficiently wise to keep my own counsel.

We sailed from Sandwich to Denmark, the first time I had crossed the sea. I had evidently passed Knut's test of loyalty for I was honoured and excited to spend the voyage in the bows of the leading longship, standing next to him. We were as brothers: he took me into his confidence in spite of my tender years. Thus, with misgivings, I deduced his intention to wring co-operation from his brother, Harald, by claiming joint sovereignty over Denmark.

I knew he could not be dissuaded, but I still wanted to express my doubts. Is it not a hazardous venture, Sire? I ventured.

This, my dear Godwine, is but an idle threat. With it, I mean to extort a fleet of ships from my brother to regain England.

But you must bargain, Lord, I suggested timidly.

At which, he bellowed a laugh and said, Smart fellow! Of course, I'll offer to renounce my claims to the Danish throne.

Knut loved the game of chess and I believe he saw international affairs as a similar game of strategic moves and countermoves.

We sailed upriver into an estuary whose name I learnt and promptly forgot, then marched some leagues overland to the court at Heidaby on the Baltic coast. This route, Knut told me, saved many miles of sailing around the long peninsula and into notoriously difficult seas. King Harald received us with a show of affection, gifts and feasting. For the first time, I had an inkling of the opportunities that were opening before me. What was to stop me, the intimate confidant of the claimant to the English throne? I sensed I could be the important lord I had dreamt of becoming ever since my father lost his Sussex estates, now restored. Observing the mood swings of Harold from warm welcome to smouldering resentment of Knut's claims, I also learnt about the dangers of dealing with volatile monarchs.

Knut was in complete control, although he appeared to outrage his brother and risk being sent packing out of Denmark. Here were the first signs of a great king. Skilfully playing his sibling like a hefty fish on a delicate line, he got what he wanted – a large number of warships and men in exchange for renouncing a claim he never truly intended to pursue. As soon as the spring weather set fair, we would sail for my homeland, send Aethelred into exile once more and install Knut on the English throne.

I grew excited at the prospect of my best friend becoming King of England. What might it mean for me? My fervid imagination could neither foresee nor match what was to become reality.

THREE

Bosham, Sussex, 1017 AD

Surely a man should base his antipathies on actual experience? In the case of Queen Emma, I confess aversion arose at a distance out of sympathy for another. During the brief presence of Sweyn Forkbeard in England, his son, Knut, met a beauty from Mercia and fell in love with her on the instant. The lady, a young noblewoman from Northampton named Aelfgifu, was equally smitten. Fatefully, they married by performing the hand-clasping ceremony, as was Danish custom – a pagan rite. Later, she bore him two sons in quick succession.

I flatter myself that I was Knut's closest friend and confidant. I am, therefore, in a position to state without doubt that he never stopped loving his wife. After Aethelred's death in April 1016, the royal council in London – the Witenagemot – elected Edmund, known as the Ironside, and Emma's stepson, as King. Edmund, so different from his father, was a warrior I admired. His death, from wounds inflicted in a battle against us, saddened me deeply.

In the autumn, the Ironside met with Knut on an island near Derehurst to negotiate peace terms. Emma, ambitious for her eldest son, must have been disappointed at the agreement that was thrashed out. All England north of the Thames was to be Knut's domain, while Edmund would keep the south, including London. The realm would pass to the other man if one died. In November, Edmund succumbed to his wounds and left the crown to Knut, whose coronation took place in January.

After this event, my acquaintance with Aelfgifu began. I had heard so much about her beauty, patience and charm from Knut that I longed to meet her. Before we met, Knut took me aside and revealed his predicament.

The Church will never accept Aelfgifu as my Queen, my friend. She is not a Christian and our wedding was sealed with the Norse hand-fasting rite. They tell me that my Council will declare that I must marry a baptised wife and abandon Aelfgifu. What am I to do, Godwine?

He seethed with rage, but how could he defy them all and maintain his throne? I wrestled with this problem but could not bring forth advice before he blurted, I will never cast aside Aelfgifu, Godwine. She will not be shut away in a nunnery – discarded like an old shoe!

What? Will you defy the Witan, my King? Is it wise?

I will not set aside the kingdom won by the strength of our sinews for this nonsense.

Of that, I had no doubt, else why had Knut ordered the overseas murder of Aethelred's other son, Eadwig? Emma was our prisoner at this stage, but only because she chose not to flee to Normandy, where she had wisely sent her sons, Edward and Alfred, for safety. Knut had met with her – a courtesy visit to the former Queen of England. On his return, I witnessed his earlier resolve waver and dissolve.

She is fair of face, Godwine, and a woman of rare intelligence. Poor wretch, she spent years with a man a score of winters her elder. What a cold match it must have been!

I gazed at him in horror.

You do not mean to reverse the situation?

I am only ten years her junior.

Then you are serious? But what about Aelfgifu?

Think of the advantages, my friend. At one stroke, I pacify the Witan and I present myself as an English king by wedding her – and a Christian one, to boot! No support for her Norman sons from Emma's family will be forthcoming. The Vikings will no longer use Normandy as a base to attack our land. All told, it would be a feat of political astuteness! Do you not concur?

What could I say? I looked at his keen eyes and nodded. I knew him well enough to fear crossing him. Above all, I recognised the advantages of such a move.

But what of Aelfgifu?

Ah, that's where your role is crucial.

Strange thoughts flashed through my mind which maybe he read, for he laughed and hastened to explain.

As I said, I will not set her aside. I have made plans for my wife. Your estates are in Sussex, are they not?

At Cumtun. Where was this leading him?

It is well. I find I possess lands in my gift at Bosham, in the same county. My advisers tell me but three leagues separate the two places.

It is so.

Then I will make them over to Aelfgifu. From Cumtun, you will keep a watchful eye over her.

I bowed my assent, but as I did, my heart sank. Was I to be isolated to guard a woman – however important – when I had other ambitions for my future?

Some things you know nought of, Godwine.

My curiosity aroused, I scrutinised his thoughtful face.

Aelfgifu hates Emma and this loathing began with the murder of her father and the blinding of her brother. It happened before we met, and occurred before her terrified eyes. Aethelred ordered the deed, but only after Emma convinced him to revoke the pardon he had in mind for Ealdorman Aelfhelm. The commander carrying out the act was a Norman, named Hugh – no wonder my wife hates that race.

And now you – I bit my tongue in my haste not to finish the thought.

Will marry her enemy? You grasp the gist.

The situation was more complicated than Knut realised. That I saw, even as an inexperienced youth, before thinking it through in the fullness of time. The one thing on his mind was the danger Emma posed to Aelfgifu and any children she might bear him. It would have been so much easier to repudiate her, but his love was too enduring. At that moment, I cursed my ill-luck, believing myself condemned to a life of reclusion, a hermit in the Sussex countryside, however mellow and apple-scented the surroundings.

There can be little doubt which of the two women suffered the greatest shock after the wedding. I believe Emma expected Knut to cast Aelfgifu quietly aside soon after their marriage, but he showed no willingness to do so. From then on, the two women became unforgiving rivals. I know of the distress afflicting Aelfgifu, because Knut commanded me to escort her to Bosham at the end of June.

The sweetness and vulnerability of the lady stole my heart during that first meeting. I would lie if I denied her comeliness. She had a perfectly oval-shaped face, crowned by long, golden tresses framing beguiling violet-blue eyes. Her nose was straight and narrow, her lips as red and soft as a robin's breast. I swore to myself I would never let anyone harm her. Anyone? My King excluded, of course! The mental torment he had wreaked on Aelfgifu by his wedding to Emma was indescribable. Her dignified conduct on the journey to Bosham in the knowledge her husband was making marriage vows to her hated foe, could not have been more admirable.

Two women, two competitors, one so unlike the other: Emma, comely, dark-haired, vindictive and Norman; Aelfgifu, winsome and blonde, sweet-natured and Saxon. In common, they were beautiful and both fiercely protective of those they loved. Another difference; Aelfgifu had a personal hold over Knut that Emma never did. The witch, however, gained rapid influence with the King. They wed on July 2 and, breaking with Saxon tradition, she ensured she was crowned beside him at their wedding, six months after his own coronation. This was the first time a queen had been bestowed this honour. On this occasion, she extracted an oath from Knut that any son they had would be Knut's heir in preference over any child born to Aelfgifu by him. The witch had cast her spells.

Showing the sweet lady around her homestead at Bosham, I revelled in her limpet-like friendship. It was as if she knew from the first, by instinct, that she would need my support one day. There were moments when I dwelt on the future, praying I would not become a woodland recluse, much as I loved the Sussex sward. A life of inactivity was inconceivable – I was not one for sitting around idly.

I do not know whether Knut suggested to Aelfgifu that she ought to confide in me before we departed. Whatever, her hospitality, even on a difficult first day in her new surroundings, was such that she installed a relationship of mutual trust as we consumed mead and honey cake. I prefer salted food but, willing to please her, I partook of the sweet delicacy with hearty endeavour.

Lord Godwine, may I ever count on your friendship? she asked, her violet-blue eyes brimming with tears.

Lady, were you not the wife of my dearest friend and sovereign, I would give you even my soul.

"One of his wives," she said, her natural sweetness embittered for the first time.

Nay, Lady, affairs of kingship! His heart belongs to one only.

Her grateful smile as a tear rolled down her cheek made me want to take her in my arms to offer comfort, but it is perilous to embrace a queen.

I fear for my life, Godwine. The words were uttered so quietly and tremulously that I could barely make them out.

No harm will come to you while there is breath in my body, I swear this to you, here and now.

I am proud to say that this is an oath I managed to uphold.

Oh, would that it were so! Do you think Knut will leave me alone in Bosham? Of course, she said hastily, maybe aware of my origins, there are worse places. She stared around and made a brave effort, but her sigh was worth a hundred words of lamentation.

He will spend some days with his… I hesitated, wishing to spare her, "… consort, I chose the word with care, for the sake of appearances. He cannot afford to offend the Church and the Normans. What Knut does is for political necessity, not out of love."

Do you really believe that, Lord Godwine?

I do, I said, with heartfelt conviction.

She raised her glass. To a long and true friendship.

She smiled and, like the sun, her smile lit up my being.

With time, it proved to be an auspicious toast. I did not suspect that day, as I departed for nearby Cumtun, how fateful this new amity would be.

FOUR

Cumtun, Sussex, 1017 AD

The misconception that I had been condemned to a life away from the King lasted less than two months. I soon learnt his forays to Bosham, but three leagues away, under an hour by horse, would become frequent and intense. They would also include consultations with me, his friend and counsellor. I flatter myself that his preference was for an hour with me over the same time with the entire Witan.

On this first visit, he confided in me that he had ordered Uhtred, the Ealdorman of Northumbria, to come to him with a guarantee of safe-conduct; all along, he planned to have him killed.

"You see, Godwine, Uhtred grew too mighty when he wed Aethelred's daughter. You know, he fought against us at Assandun. After our great victory, he fomented unrest in Northumbria, north of the Tees, whilst to the south of the river, the people remain loyal to me. In other words, a traitor!

Hence, I sent for him to discuss peace terms, but we did not talk. Instead, I had my faithful thegn, Thurbrand, hide behind a curtain spread across the width of the hall. Had you been there, Godwine, how amazed you'd have been! He and his men sprang out in mail shirts to slaughter the Ealdorman and forty of his chief men who entered with him. What better way to start my reign?"

Men will fear you all the more, for sure, my King, and now you hold Northumbria in your power. Those were the measured words he wanted to hear. My real feelings, that the King was an oath-breaker, I kept well hidden behind a mask of false earnestness. Knut was not a man to be crossed.

My visit today is not one of simple courtesy, Lord Godwine, for I find you wise and most cautious in counsel. It is these attributes I seek.

Flattered, I stared at my sovereign, a man some eight winters my senior. In his countenance, I found no trace of insincerity. The tale of Uhtred's treacherous murder confirmed what I knew of Knut's character. On the surface, he appeared loyal and amiable, but woe betide anyone he saw as a threat to his power.

In what way may I be of service, Sire? I mumbled.

I installed my man, Eric of Hlathir, as earl in Northumbria and tasked him with guarding our northern frontier and imposing public order on that unquiet province. Eric of Norway is a true ally, he will pose no danger to my throne. He will be too busy! he chortled.

And yet, I see from your expression that you are troubled, Lord.

In an instant, his face relaxed and he said, with a smile Will you not offer your friend a drink, Godwine? I yearn for a fine ale.

My servants, nothing if not solicitous, bore down on us with drinking horns frothing at the brim. Knut is a man of awesome stature and with a thirst to match. Before I had half-emptied my horn, he was smacking his lips and holding his out to be refilled.

Knut threw his sturdy frame into my favourite seat and grinned as he seized the slopping vessel to quaff another long draught of ale. His piercing eyes, the light green-blue of bullfinch eggs, studied my face. At last, he wiped his bushy whiskers with his sleeve and spoke.

I dragged a chair closer to him and waved away the servants so he might talk at ease.

You serve a fine beer, my friend. His brow creased. Much better than the horse-piss Aelfgifu keeps in her cellar. Can you give her the name of your brewer?

Is it this counsel you seek, King Knut?

For a moment, crossed, his eyes flashed dangerously, then he roared with mirth.

"I like you, Godwine! I have too few loyal friends… those I can really trust."

What, then, assails you, Sire? I felt it wiser not to protest his affirmation because Knut hated contradiction.

"Assail? Ay, that's the word. I said you were wise. Look, Godwine, I presume I cannot continue my reign by slaughtering everyone who is a threat to the throne?"

True. How a monarch is seen by his subjects is even more important than who he is, in truth.

Knut's deep, thunderous laugh echoed from the roof rafters.

By Christ's wounds, Godwine, you are a wise one!

To be honest, I was growing uneasy at having so much wisdom attributed to me. I have a natural intelligence – or rather, acuteness of thought allied to cunning and quick wits. But wisdom…?

I hoped not to disappoint him. Impatient to understand his unease, I assumed he would tell me in his own time, so I elected to drink more ale. My horn was still half-full whereas his second was empty. His unabashed belch followed the resonance of his laugh and testified to the speed of his drinking.

Another?

I clapped for a servant, who trailed my gaze to the drained vessel and hurried off to tend to a refill, without my uttering a word.

Your servants are well-schooled, Godwine. Admirable! Admirable!

I waited but admitted to curiosity. What did he want of me?

The King insisted on proposing a toast to his wife. I refrained from asking which one, presuming he meant Aelfgifu, and nine months later had confirmation, with the birth of Sweyn, that it was she he referred to. Not that I had any doubt. His love for her was as evident as was Emma's hatred for the poor woman. The arrival of a male child would make matters worse in that respect, but the event was still in the future. As it happened, it was not women the King wished to discuss.

What shall I do with Thorkell?

He blurted his problem, spitting the name. The King owed a debt to Thorkell the Tall, the fearsome leader of the Jómsborg Viking mercenaries. It was thanks to his support against Aethelred and Edmund Ironside, that Knut held his throne.

There are few men I would not relish facing in battle but Thorkell is one such. His stature and strength are those of a giant, as his name suggests and his fearlessness renders him a nightmare to oppose in deadly hand-play. Feeder of blood-geese, creator of corpse-piles, there can be no mightier warrior under the hall of the high mountains – I mean under the sky; when I think of Thorkell, I think in the heroic language of the sagas. Thorkell was such a hero and worthy of a scop's song.

Surely, King Knut did not wish to make an enemy of the Viking chief? I hoped not.

I see it is your turn to wear a troubled visage, my friend.

I was thinking it would be an error to make of Thorkell an enemy, Sire.

Indeed, that is my worry, Godwine. From his manner and bearing, it is clear he does not see me as anything but his equal.

I fought the shaking of my hand and placed the drinking horn on the table to make it less obvious. Not being able to offer my ruler the sound advice he sought, beset me, springing a torrent of thoughts.

As I relaxed, I settled back in my seat. The king, whose eyes had not left my face for a second, smiled.

I presume you have an answer for me, Godwine. Let us hear it!

I tried to deepen my voice, aware of being his junior.

Many a monarch would be glad to have the support of Thorkell.

"But can I count on him?"

The way is unobstructed, Lord. You made it so with Uhtred.

Knut leapt to his feet, his visage red and contorted with ire, a vein throbbing in the neck.

Did we not establish I cannot slaughter everyone who challenges my authority? Am I wasting my time with you?

When his hand dropped to his belt, I feared his wrath might stretch to wielding his seax, but in the face of my calm expression, he sat down and glowered.

You take ill my meaning, Sire. I refer to the solution, not the means.

Knut glared at me, mystified. Speak clearly, Godwine.

I mean, Sire, your brilliant solution to Northumbria – gifting it to Eric. You must do the same with the rest of your kingdom. Those you mistrust, endow with power and wealth.

Are you mad? So they can sweep me from my throne?

But they will not be able to, Sire. You will call for aid upon the others who owe you their position and riches. They will hasten to succour the man to whom they owe everything.

I scrutinised the King's countenance as he struggled to come to terms with the idea, so much did it seem back-to-front to him. At last, his brow unwrinkled and, to my relief, he grinned.

You are wise beyond your years, my friend!

Whereas two minutes earlier I'd feared his blade, I now feared his bear-like hug as he leapt to his feet. I remained entrenched in my seat.

Ingenious, Godwine! He paced the hall. I will divide England into four great earldoms. Eric already has Northumbria. Let's see… East Anglia, Wessex and Mercia. The senior earldom is East Anglia and I shall give it to Thorkell. That should placate his ambitions. To make sure he does not overreach himself, I will place Mercia under Eadric, on his borders. That leaves Wessex, which…

I will be honest and admit I expected him to add, I give to you, my friend. But no, he continued, … I will keep for myself!

Knut offered me his hand. On taking it, he hauled me up into the ferocious embrace I so dreaded. I thought my spine might snap, but it survived and he bellowed in my ear, half-deafening me, Godwine, how can I ever thank you enough?

Sire, your goodwill is all I crave.

Liar that I am! But I managed to keep my voice free of deceit.

By giving me the earldom of Wessex, I thought.

But those words remained unspoken, proving to myself, at least, that wisdom is, after all, one of my attributes.

FIVE

Cumtun, April 1018

One of Knut's lesser-known characteristics is he can move with remarkable stealth for a sturdy man. One day, in the following year, 1018, the door flew open unexpectedly and the King, sword drawn, burst into the hall at Cumtun. His grin widened as I scrambled for a weapon, reacting without time to recognise the intruder.

Hold, Godwine! Unless you wish to fight your King!

Hearing the familiar voice, I turned and must have cut a pathetic figure, gaping at him.

It's not good enough, my friend, not a dog, goose or donkey to warn of a furtive approach.

From between clenched teeth issued a piercing whistle, so shrill it hurt my ears and into my home bounded a shaggy-haired hound. Steady on, Godwine, cautioned the monarch, do not draw near it. The creature is battle-trained and will rip out your throat sooner than look at you. What do you think of my gift?

What was I supposed to think? A gift… to rip my throat out…?

Come! Do not look so glum! It's Irish and cost a princely sum. You will have to give him a name! He laughed as I cowered while the beast slunk toward me, growling and slobbering.

The creature was endowed with a rare intelligence because, after Knut strode over and embraced me, laughing at my discomfort, it made no further aggressive move. Instead, it gained confidence in its new owner by sniffing around my leggings and wagging its tail.

There! Knut chortled. When you feed him, you'll have a friend for life.

Do you fear for my safety? In that case, I confess to feeling safer before yon beast arrived.

A man cannot be too careful.

His tone and expression alerted me. Is aught amiss, Sire?

Maintaining his habit of taking my favoured seat, he sat and sighed.

Your idea of raising Thorkell to an earldom might have proved unwise.

How so?

For some months, I've suspected he plots to take my throne.

Denial sprang to my lips but I quelled it, because of the usual fear of contradicting my volatile sovereign. Instead, I mumbled a well-judged query.

What leads you to this conclusion, my King?

The hound flopped down beside my chair and laid its enormous head on my crossed feet.

Observing its behaviour, Knut's expression changed from extreme anxiety to childlike pleasure.

See, the fellow has quite taken to you, Godwine. Animals know a thing or two and we can learn from them. I knew I could trust you. You should know, the hound is not all I wish to give you. I'm giving you eastern Wessex. You will be its ealdorman. Ealdorman Godwine! It has a ring to it, does it not?

It certainly did! My dream was coming true, at least in part. Although I aimed higher, I muttered incoherent words of gratitude. But he ignored them and reached inside his tunic to pull forth a roll of parchment, attached to which was a ribbon, from which dangled a seal.

You can read what you own in Wessex when I leave you. It is signed by me and the other earls, among them, Thorkell. Ah, that's what we must discuss – Thorkell.

He continued, Did you know, Godwine, my brother Harald is unwell? Not long for this world, I reckon. When he dies, Denmark comes to me through birthright. The problem is, there are many who would not see England and Denmark under one crown.

Including Thorkell the Tall?

Knut gazed at me appreciatively. As ever, you are nothing if not astute, my friend. You will know that the King of Norway and Thorkell were former associates.

It was well known that Thorkell had taken the young Olaf under his protection and trained him in fighting skills. As a Jómviking chieftain, Thorkell still owned substantial lands in the southern Baltic area. I nodded and considered the circumstances. For Knut to find himself under pressure from Norwegian designs on Danish territory and from Thorkell at home, made for a political nightmare – one that might reveal itself imminently.

The last thing I wanted was to lose my benefactor.

To our mutual amusement, the grim silence in the hall was broken by the hound, which raised its huge head to produce an enormous, curious yawn. We both laughed, only to gain a malevolent glower from the beast whose baleful stare cut short our mirth, restoring clarity to my thoughts.

Do you have evidence of his plotting, Sire?

Knut's wide brow creased in a frown. Apart from the restlessness among the Danish lords? He shook his head.

And yet, that is to be expected if your brother's health is as poor as you say. They will look out to sea and consider you to be too far away to be a threat to their ambitions in the sorrowful event of Harald's decease. This does not imply Thorkell's fomenting of unrest.

My generous interpretation was countered at once, because Knut had held back his most devastating news.

Then, why do you suppose Thorkell has moved his fleet of longships to Poole harbour?

By God, he has?

In my agitation, forgetting our shaggy-furred companion at my feet, I leapt up, only to set it off barking in a deep and fearsome manner.

Look what you've done, Godwine – alarmed both your King and… you'll have to give it a name, you know.

I began to pace back and forth and the hound, to Knut's amusement, tracked my every step. Great matters were on my mind.

I have it! I cried.

Eagerly the king seized on my words. What to do with Thorkell?

No, the dog's name.

What? Geri?

No. Guess!

Freni?

No. Guess!

Fenrir, then?

No! How many times must I tell you?

Knut stared at me uncomprehendingly. All of a sudden, he bellowed a laugh that set the hound barking again.

"By the stars in heaven! You've called it Guess! A fine jest!"

Now, about Thorkell… I said, resuming my serious face because, in spite of my tomfoolery, I had been thinking, … Sire, you must show him who is King in this land. Muster all your longships and their crews and station them off the Isle of Wight. We will see, then, how grave a threat Thorkell the Tall is to your throne. If I am right, he will disband his fleet and hurry to beg forgiveness. In that case, you will slay two wood pigeons with one slingshot.

I don't follow –

The longships will be on standby and we will sail to Denmark to assert your authority and quell any rebellion there.

Who will look after my interests in England?

I felt sure he expected me to suggest myself, but I am too astute for that.

Not I, Sire. I must accompany you to Denmark. The trick is to make Thorkell Regent in your stead.

Thorkell? I might as well put my head on a chopping block!

Not so, Lord. Think about this… When you install Thorkell as Regent, he will realise you trust and favour him. Above all, he will understand you do not fear him. That will induce the opposite effect in him.

Knut shook his red-blond mane and scowled at me, unconvinced.

I took a deep breath and considered the worst possibility.

If he convinces Earls Leofric and Eric and the lesser lords to betray their King, he will still have to face your vengeance when you return from Denmark. The man is no fool. Brave, ambitious, ay, but no simpleton.

By God, you are eloquent – a veritable statesman, Ealdorman Godwine. I did well to come here today. It shall be as you say. I leave lighter of heart, lands and hound.

With that, he was gone, to see his beloved Aelfgifu, whom he would find heavy with child.

I settled, with my hound's head resting on my knee, to study my new estates in Wessex, knowing that if I survived the dangerous expedition to Denmark, I would be entrenched in his favour. These lands were the beginning of a far bolder venture that was formulating in my imagination.

SIX

Heidaby, Denmark 1018 AD

Excited voices and cheering greeted our approach to the Danish stronghold – decidedly not the reception we expected. Our curiosity aroused, we neared the gate into the city with the realisation that the hubbub did not concern the appearance of our armed force.

On horseback, Knut had set a forced pace for the warriors who made up the crews of our longships. He intended the march of a few leagues from the river across the neck of the peninsula to be swift, with a surprise arrival to counter potential opposition.

The absence of guards demonstrated this precaution served no purpose. The amazement was complete when we passed through the gates unchallenged, to behold the reason for the din. A clapping, swearing, shouting crowd – perhaps the entire population of the town – men, women and children jostled, cursed and shoved to gain a better view of the spectacle.

Compelled by curiosity, I drew in among them, momentarily forgetting the purpose of our mission.

What's going on? I asked a tall onlooker, who winced and clenched his fist at each blow received by one of the two combatants.

The oddity of my question caused him to wrench his gaze from the improvised arena. He declared, in an incredulous tone, You come from some distant land, stranger, if you know not what's happening.

From England… and I'll not know if you don't tell me.

It's the festivities in memory of King Harald. Our Danish champion challenged anyone brave enough to take him on, but no-one wanted to risk their skin – except Gytha.

Gytha? Isn't that a woman's name?

Ay. But she's no ordinary woman. Gytha is a shield-maiden. See, that's her in the silver helm.

I felt my excitement and curiosity mount apace as the two fighters matched each other blow for parry and, as a warrior myself, I could see that the woman, dwarfed by the stature of her adversary, nonetheless held her own through consummate skill.

Gytha will better your hero, I stated with conviction, to the sardonic merriment of my newfound companion, who bellowed his scorn.

That proves how stupid you Saxons are! No man can beat Erik Larsson, let alone a woman.

Yet I say that Gytha will win the contest.

If you are so cocksure, stranger, why not wager with Tove? he said, beating his broad chest with a clenched fist.

Nobody calls me stupid and lives to vaunt it.

Why not? But the wager must be on my terms. I chose to smother the vindictiveness that threatened to sour my voice.

Anything you say. I'm going to win our bet, anyway.

Right, if Erik wins, you gain an English silver pound, but if Gytha triumphs, I win your tongue.

Tove's eyes bulged, but, credit to him, he spat on his huge hand and stuck it out for me to do the same, to clasp it and seal the deal. His serene confidence in Erik rattled me, but one fewer silver coins did not perturb me in the least.

Our interest in the combat redoubled and, with satisfaction, I noted that Gytha moved with a rare nimbleness allied to noteworthy resistance. I imagined my money lying snugger in its purse.

How long have they been at this?

Since the sun was over yon roof. Tove pointed to a building to our left. I tore my eyes from the contest and traced the faint yellow disc to its hiding place behind a grey cloud farther to the right.

As long as that! I cried incredulously.

She's as brave as Freyja, I'll give her that! Gytha aims at toughness, not at kisses.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Knut bearing down on me.

Ah, there you are, Godwine! What's going on?

It took a hasty explanation for Knut to slap me on the back and agree with Tove that Erik would soon overpower the relatively slight frame of Gytha. Next to another woman, I'll wager she would seem a giant.

Erik will win. Do you wish to bet with me, too? Knut and Tove exchanged knowing grins. All the while, the clash of steel served to remind us of tiring muscles and human frailty. I groaned.

What can I propose that you do not possess, my King?

Knut pressed closer and whispered in my ear. I nodded. As custom demanded, he spat into his palm and offered it to me. I did likewise and the accord was settled. It did not placate my vengeful soul, I'm ashamed to admit, but a wager must be respected.

We did not wait long for the outcome. Exactly when I began to despair of Gytha, who appeared to be weakening – was it a ploy? – she lured Erik into a rash lunge, feinted and slashed a wound across his sword arm. This combat, fought to the rule of first blood drawn, made of Gytha the new champion and my bet was won.

Tove stared at me, the fear and horror of what fate awaited his tongue most gratifying.

On your knees, I ordered the pallid Dane, who obeyed, while I turned to Knut. I need your aid, Sire.

You won your wager fair and square, my monarch acknowledged.

Will you grasp this fellow's hair while he pays his dues?

I drew my knife, ignoring Tove's frenzied pleading and commanded, Put out your tongue!

Enjoying the moment, I held the sharp blade before the poor fellow's tear-filled eyes. By now, most of the excited onlookers had dispersed, but a considerable group had gathered to witness this new attraction. Playing to my audience, in a loud voice, I said, As you know, Tove, a man must honour his wager and your tongue is mine to do with as I will. A fine tongue it is, too. Pity you used it to insult a Saxon.

At these words arose an angry murmuring from the gathering. It was just as well that I had other plans for Tove.

I will not exercise my right to cut out your tongue, my friend, but the offence must be paid for. Will you fight by my side in battle?

The relieved man nodded his head fit to shake it off.

Then we'll seal the pact in blood.

I drew the blade across my palm, then in a flash, lightly across Tove's tongue. I placed my bloodied hand on his bleeding organ and, looking him in the eye, said, So, who's stupid now?

His wound was superficial but enough to make speech indistinct. Whatever he said, it was enough to make the relieved onlookers roar with laughter and disperse in good-natured companionship to set about their daily business.

You can put your tongue away now, Tove. I think a beaker of salted water might help it heal.

Knut hoisted him to his feet saying, Remember your accord with Ealdorman Godwine. I am your King and expect you to fight for my cause, good fellow.

If his tongue had not been wounded, he would have lost it anyway, judging by how he gaped at Knut before sinking in homage to his knees.

Sire, I said, you did not win your bet, but Tove ought to know what would have happened if you had won. I agreed not to punish you, Tove, for your insult if Erik won and you took my silver pound. To some extent, I honoured the King's wish even in victory. Know you, without the King's intervention, I'd have sliced out your tongue and thrown it to the dogs.

My cruel glare made him bow his head, but a woman's voice made me spin round.

Then you'd have needed to fight me, Ealdorman Godwine.

No longer wearing her silver helm, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, Gytha, pink-complexioned following her exertions, smiled at me.

She thrust out her hand for me to clasp but I looked at my bloodied palm.

Come, Lord Godwine, do you take me for a mere weaver? Do you think a little blood bothers me?

After what I had seen, I was certain it did not.

I stuck out my hand and felt it taken in an iron grip. If I had to indicate a moment when I fell in love with Gytha, that would be it.

I wished to meet you, Ealdorman Godwine, when they told me you wagered on my overcoming Erik Larsson. I dare say you were the only one to show faith in me. Still, she did not relinquish my hand and stared deep into my eyes. Even so, I would not have appreciated being the cause of this man losing his tongue. You did well not to cut it out, else I'd have been forced to fight you. Her cold, pale blue eyes did not waver from mine so I knew she meant what she said.

Lady, if ever we tangle, I hope it will be in a more pleasurable way.

Knut roared with laughter and Tove looked anxious. Well he might, because Gytha's face reddened and her hand released mine to grasp her sword hilt.

Heeding the gesture, I hastened to repair the injury by soothing her.

My Lady, I meant no rudeness. The opposite, in fact, such is my respect for your prowess.

She tossed her head like a thoroughbred war steed and nodded, unconvinced, before turning away to march toward the King's hall.

Knut's irritating laugh annoyed me again.

Bested by a woman! A wise apology, my Lord Godwine.

Sire, I am afraid of no man, not even of Gytha.

"But she is no man! Hence you do fear her!"

Knut roared at his own joke and Tove smiled for the first time, before wincing for his trouble.

Do you know who Gytha is? Knut asked.

Scowling, I shook my head.

No? She is the sister of Ulf and Eilaf Thorgilsson. Ulf married my younger sister, Estrid, six Yuletides past.

So, she is your sister's husband's sister…

My, my, you surely have a way with words, Godwine!

… as well as a mighty shield-maiden.

As well as the woman you love!

I protested indignantly, but Knut is as shrewd as a… a… what is it in the Bible? … as a serpent? Anyway, I would not have the courage to say that to his face, but I could not deny he was right.

SEVEN

Heidaby, Denmark, autumn 1018-19 AD

Knut's long strides led us into the King's hall, an imposing building whose glory of writhing carvings on the main pillars captured my attention. Each one related a legend or tale. One, I recognised at once as depictions from the saga of Beowulf. A scop related that story with me clinging to my father's leg, many years ago. As I stared at the grotesque image of Grendel, I sensed eyes on me. I turned to satisfy my curiosity and Gytha smiled and approached.

Do you know the tale of Beowulf, Lord Godwine?

I confessed I had not heard it since childhood, but that at the time it had made a deep impression on me. Gytha laid a cool hand on my arm, sending a shiver of pleasure through me. Her pale blue eyes, warm this time, gazed up into mine,

I never wearied of listening to the tale as a small child and from that day wished to be a great warrior like him.

You fulfilled your dream.

Do not mock me, Earl Godwine. Ice returned to her eyes: twin blue doorways into my heart.

My Lady, I would be honoured to fight at your flank and would fear no attack from that side in battle.

She gasped and flushed, unable to conceal her pleasure at my words, but Knut's booming voice ruined the moment of amorous conquest.

Godwine, if you can bear to tear yourself away from Lady Gytha, I need you here!

Reluctantly, I excused myself from the first and only woman to set my pulse a-racing, but not before she murmured mysteriously, I'll see what can be done about Beowulf.

Godwine, let me present you to Eilaf and Ulf Thorgilsson. They are Gytha's brothers, so have a care, my lad!

The two towering warriors grinned wolf-like at me. Swedes, from Upsal, their appearance matched the tales Knut