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
