Revenge: Part 2 (Walingeford, Berkshire: 1013 A.D.)

By the time the sun rose, Svein Forkbeard, King of Norway and Denmark, soon to be King of England, could see the thatch roofs peeking over the fenced earthworks of Walingeford in the distance.

They docked on the shore a mile south of the city and set up camp in a cattle field. They herded the cows several miles west to make room to encamp. Once they were set up, Einar Thambarskelfir began, as he always did, to tell tall tales of his exploits back in Norway. He’d told all of them before, but they changed so drastically with each telling that one couldn’t help listening, if only out of curiosity.

“And I said, ‘Such a mighty king you are, but such a weak bow!’ and I flung the bow aside and took up my sword and shield, leaping to Eirik’s ship.”

He had forgotten his audience again. “You forget I was there, Einar, close enough to see Tryggvason’s deck from where I stood. If you were there, you were too cowardly to come out and fight.”

“You must be mistaken, Lord Svein.”

Olof Skötkonung patted Einar on the shoulder as the others snickered audibly.

Just then, one of the guards on duty opened the tent flap. “Lord Svein, there’s a rider from Walingeford.”

They all filed out of the tent and looked in the direction of the city. Far away down the path they could see a horseman clothed in bright orange. He held a white cloth in his hand; Svein knew he didn’t have to tell his men not to shoot. As the rider grew closer, Svein and Olof rode out to meet him.

He spoke haltingly, nervous and out of breath. “Lord Svein. The lord of Walingeford submits to you, and swears his fealty to you. I have been told to escort your men to the city.”

“Do lead the way,” Svein said.

He led his army single and double-file along the narrow, rocky horse path that wound itself beside the river.

The gates were opened wide when they reached the town. Svein and his men were led through streets filled with people, some shouting curses, some more curious than anything. One man attempted to climb atop Svein horse, but his grip failed and he fell into the street to be trodden on by eighty hooves.

Finally, they reached the lord’s palace, a timber and thatch longhouse surrounded by a wooden fence. The inside of the house was lit warmly by candles and a fireplace at the end of the long room. Stairs led up to a loft above them, supported by wooden columns that made the room look a little like a leafless forest. At the far end of the table, a man was rising from his seat.

He was a man of medium height, well-built, with short-cropped hair and a long dark coat adorned with silver. The most penetrating thing about him was his mustache, which flowed out from his upper lip like a broken dam.

He took a scabbarded sword from where it lay against the wall and knelt before Svein, sword in front of him.

“I, Lord Æscwine of Walingeford, pledge fealty to you, Lord Svein. Shall we discuss peace?”

Svein already didn’t like the man. Too cheerful, too eager to compromise.

“I’m willing to offer a guarantee,” Æscwine said, as if he had any leverage to negotiate. “Rosamund!” he called, and a woman opened a door from another room and walked serenely into the room, avoiding her father’s gaze.

“This is my daughter. I offer her as a hostage in return for peace.”

An odd name for an Anglo-Saxon. “Rosamund? Are you a Norman?” Svein asked her.

“My mother is a Norman,” she replied.

“Are you the daughter of Æscwine?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“I accept your hostage, Lord Æscwine. She will remain unharmed as long as you remain loyal to my empire.” He gestured for his men to escort Rosamund away. What an interesting girl, he thought. Einar will be pleased.

He sat down at the head of the table and gestured for Æscwine to sit. Olof sat beside him next to his wife, Ælfthryth. Einar sat across from them. Svein noticed Æscwine’s smile begin to slip. No doubt he realized that Svein had no intention of giving a hostage in exchange, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

“You know,” Svein said, “it’s been a very long day for us. We need some food in our bellies if we’re going to talk about tribute and trade.”

Tribute and trade were really the last topics Svein wanted to talk about, so he ate the gratuitous meal served by Æscwine’s servant and let Olof and Ælfthryth do the talking. Einar left part of the way through. Svein assumed he was going to see Harald, his lover of late.

When they were finally done, Svein stood up. “It’s time I got to bed, I think,” he said, yawning. He retired to Æscwine’s room with his wife Sigrid, and slept soundly.

During the next several weeks, there was much rejoicing, much planning, and the acceptance of many surrenders.

“I, Æthelmær, ealdorman of Devonshire, pledge my fealty to you, King Svein.”

“I, Sigehelm, ealdorman of Kent, am loyal to your kingdom, Lord Svein.” And on and on it went. Lords and ladies, ealdorman and thegns, priests, all came to pledge their loyalty to Svein’s new empire. Once the people of London had sent a messenger declaring their fealty, it was time to go. He had to return to the capital of Gainesburg, to solidify his reign.