The new trouble came from the Angles—or more precisely, from a band of Anglian farmers who had returned after fleeing.
Two years earlier, when the Viking host stormed York and slew King Ælla and his queen, Northumbria fell under new rulers. At that time, the news spread like thunder: terrified, many of the folk abandoned their homes. Tynemouth lay deep in the north, and nearly a quarter of its farmers fled across the border into Pictish lands.
Yet in the years that followed, tidings trickled back. Contrary to their fears, the new overlords had proved neither wantonly cruel nor ruinously greedy. Taxes remained little changed from the old king's day, and the Viking warlord had even taken to wife a daughter of an Anglian landholder.
Yearning for their homeland, many of the exiles grew unwilling to endure life as dependents on strangers. One by one they turned their faces south.
But when these families returned to their villages, they found their crofts already seized by those who had stayed behind. Their fields were ploughed and sown by others, their houses turned into byres for cattle and pens for swine and geese. The stench and quarrels this provoked were beyond bearing.
By mid-June, more and more Anglian refugees gathered before the gates of Tynemouth, begging Lord Rurik to do them justice.
From the standpoint of morality, he ought to have ordered the lands restored and compensation paid.
From the standpoint of advantage, matters were otherwise. The stay-at-home villagers had rendered him their dues; these returnees had given him nothing. He had no obligation to defend them.
After conferring privately with Helgifu, Rurik summoned the local thanes and village elders on the thirtieth of June, demanding they devise a remedy.
"Since summer began, the number of refugees has swelled. Near a thousand now linger about Tynemouth, and their presence vexes me sorely. This trouble springs from your doing—find a solution, before you drive me to act with my own hand."
His mother-in-law, Elise, emboldened by her kinship, spoke first:
"My lord, this is against all custom! They forsook their land and fled north. Last year they paid no tax. By right those fields became no-man's property. Why should we return them?"
Others took courage and gave voice. The portly squire Harry spoke most persuasively:
"My lord, it was not theft. Each household shared in the division. Some took cottages, some the farmland, others the pots and pans. It is already a settled matter. There is no need to stir up discontent over a handful of people."
"They went to Pictland; let them live there as Picts."
"Send them back!"
When the hubbub subsided, Rurik's face was dark.
"Since you will not yield the fields, I shall take another course. We will settle these refugees upon new-cleared land south of the Tyne."
At this, relief lit the elders' faces—until Rurik rose suddenly, and his tone hardened with open menace.
"But hear me: for two years of clearing and settlement, their bread and their beasts must come from you—from the very villages whence they fled. Those who took the fields will give more, those who took a cottage less. Yet together you will provide enough to sustain them."
He strode before them one by one, holding their eyes.
"Remember—you took the gain; do not think to lay the cost upon me. If any man delays his due, then matters will turn… unpleasant."
There was no denying it. In the feast of plunder left by the exiles, the gentry and petty lords had gorged the most, taking perhaps a third of all fields and stock. Should they keep the profit while their lord bore the trouble? Unthinkable.
Rurik was angry. He gave them a poor meal of fish broth and bread, then dismissed them in cold displeasure.
As she departed, Elise pressed Helgifu:
"Come home to visit, child. Horsa longs to see you."
"I am much occupied now," Helgifu answered, "perhaps another time." Then she returned to the solar where Rurik waited.
"Micham is tallying the refugees' origins. He will finish within two days. He bids me ask: how much land shall each family be allotted?"
"The old measure—thirty acres apiece," Rurik said carelessly.
When the rolls were complete, boats ferried the refugees across the Tyne. There were over nine hundred souls, about two hundred households, divided between two new villages. By Rurik's decree, all their fields must follow the three-field rotation.
Truth be told, there was ample land left uncleared on the north bank. But Rurik deliberately placed the returnees south of the river. He did not trust them. If ever they were roused to rebellion, the Tyne itself would grant him time to muster a response.
Thus he planned: the north bank for Vikings to guard his stronghold, the south bank for Angles drifting back from exile.
Over the next fortnight, carts of grain, stock, and tools trickled from estates across the shire. Though the refugees grumbled at their losses, they bent themselves to building homes and breaking new earth. Two months remained before the sowing of winter wheat; they had no choice but to labour with all their strength.
Rurik reckoned that as many more would yet return. Once the south bank grew thickly peopled, he might even consider raising a floating bridge across the river.
In those weeks he often rode out to survey the lands, sometimes speaking with the new settlers. By chance, he heard tidings of his elder sister Brita.
Six years before, in the year of our Lord 839, her second husband Helgi had been persuaded by friends to settle in Britain. Husband and wife had since vanished from word or sight. Rurik could not restrain his trembling voice:
"Are you certain?"
The peasant stammered before his lord's burning gaze.
"My lord… while I laboured in Edinburgh, I oft heard my master rail against the Vikings on the northwest coast. One of their chieftains was called Helgi. His wife was named Brita."
Rurik at once questioned others and gathered that Helgi held sway among the scattered Norse settlements of the Hebrides. Recently he and several other leaders had forged the "Isles Alliance," a force to be reckoned with.
Overjoyed that his sister and brother-in-law yet lived, Rurik resolved to sail at once. With twenty of his shield-men he would pay them a visit—and quietly learn what strength this Isles Alliance might lend, should he one day march north.
Choosing a swift, sturdy oak longship, he steered along the coast, sometimes hailing Viking fishermen at sea.
From them he learned at last the name of Helgi's dwelling-place: the Isle of Skye, far to the northwest of Scotland.