The Crossed Hilt

Chapter 5

Gainsborough, Lindsey, 1013 ADIf 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.

Annus horribilisI 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!

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.