King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and CnutWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
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King Olaf's Kinsman: A Story of the Last Saxon Struggle against the Danes in the Days of Ironside and Cnut
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Olav II, King of Norway, 995-1030 -- Fiction
But the words of Streone prevailed as ever, and the council broke
up, and the nobles fell to feasting, while this foolish message was
sent to Swein's veterans in their towns.
Then Sigeferth and Morcar made no secret of their belief that
Streone was playing into Cnut's hands for reasons of his own.
Wherefore Streone sent for them in friendly wise, as if to recall
his words, and they went, and came from his house alive no more.
Then their men went to avenge their lords' deaths, and were driven
into St. Frideswide's church, and that was burnt over their heads.
"Now the seven boroughs will welcome Cnut," said Ulfkytel, "and
Lindsey looks for him; so he has a clear road into the heart of
England."
Then I saw that Streone surely wrought for Cnut, else was he a more
foolish man than was thought, for all held him as the most skilful
at statecraft in England.
Then said Ulfkytel:
"Utred has gone to mind his own land, and I have come to ask you to
help me in East Anglia."
And in the end it came to pass that Olaf gave his new fleet into
the hands of the London thanes, for Ethelred seemed to care nought
for it, and took his own ships only, and we sailed first of all to
Maldon. Little trouble was there, for the Danes who held the place
submitted, being too few to fight us, and we gave their arms to the
citizens, and mounted all of our men whom we could, and so left the
ships and marched towards Colchester, along the great road that I
had last passed as a fugitive in the years that seemed to me so
long ago.
It was strange to me as we went, and the mist of time seemed to
pass away, so that all began to be as plain to my mind as if that
flight had been but yesterday. There was nothing of the wayside
happening that I could not remember well.
But all the roadside was changed, for the cottages were gone, and
the farmsteads stood no longer in the clearings. I know not what
tales of terror I might have heard concerning the burnings of these
homes. Where the thralls' huts had been were but patches of nettles
and docks hiding heaps of ashes, and the farmhouses were charred
ruins. And we saw now and then a man, skin clad and wretched,
seeking shelter in the woods in all haste as we sighted him. But I
had no need to ask aught--I knew only too well what manner of tales
might be told here, as everywhere in Swein's track.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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