The King's Earl

by M J Porter

  Not for the first time, Leofric wondered about Cnut’s intentions. Would he be happy now he held England or would he turn his gaze elsewhere?

  Eilifr had succumbed to silence after Leofwine’s words and Leofric could see that the altercation didn’t sit easily with the man. He considered speaking but held his tongue. This was his father’s home, and these men were supposedly his allies, although why they’d ridden with over fifty horsemen between them as guards, Leofric couldn’t understand.

  The English men and women would mean them no harm. The time for rebellion was long past. Cnut had won the throne, and the two older sons of Æthelred were dead. There was none other apart from babes and the less than capable Eadwig, Æthelred’s surviving older son, who could challenge Cnut now. Still, northmen infected his father’s hall, the commanders being fed and watered as their earls were, their own acquisitive eyes doing more to undress the timbers of the hall than they were the serving women who did their bidding. His mother watched them all closely while pretending not to. Leofric was pleased.

  He didn’t like to see his family home filled with men of war. They might well have left their weapons outside, but they all bristled their intent. Not since the night his father had returned from his attack against Swein when he’d been a mere child had so much metal and leather gleamed under candlelight. It didn’t fill him with fear or dread but firmed his resolve to ensure England didn’t once more descend into chaos.

  It had been too long since England had known true peace and he’d been one of the lucky ones. His father had been a great man, able to employ men skilled with sword and shield and to speak his way through the demands of men he didn’t agree with. The common people had been less fortunate, and they craved peace under the new king. It little mattered to them if he was from an ancient line, or a newer one, provided they could grow and harvest their crop without fear of losing it.

  He kept his melancholic thoughts in check as he watched the swirl of activity within the hall. The servants and Leofwine’s own household troop moved with an awareness they didn’t usually have. No one was comfortable with the Danish men there. It was a sad state of affairs.

  Still, no conversation flowed between his father and the Danish Earls, and while Leofric could have felt uncomfortable, he felt the silence was good. Until someone once more spoke and broke the spell nothing could upset the delicate balancing act going on before an active audience.

  “The king tells me your son is buried in my church,” Eilifr finally snapped out. Leofric felt his temper flare at the insolent tone and allusion to the church belonging to him, and he almost let his anger fly from his mouth, only Hrani placed a comforting hand on his arm and let out his own exasperated huff of annoyance. It was Leofwine who spoke, and his words fell like arrows on a battlefield, silent and deadly.

  “The Church of St Mary’s belongs to the Abbot. I have endowed it repeatedly, as did my father before me. They hold what they have without recourse either to the king or you. Once more Eilifr you need to learn the ways of the English, and I’ll not be the one to teach them to you. Goodbye,” he said, his eyes clear and bright, his face looking at Eilifr, his hand raised in dismissal.

  There was nothing further to say. Hrani squeezed Leofric’s arm and stood, his hand now going to guide Eilifr to the doorway. Eilifr looked furious but had no choice other than to leave. Leofwine was secure in what he’d said and what he’d done, and despite what Eilifr had implied, the king wouldn’t take any action against Leofwine, because he couldn’t.

  “I will be your friend,” Hrani bent down to whisper to Leofric as he passed him on his way out of the door. “I think you’ll need some,” he cautioned, and Leofric nodded with understanding and some contempt. “Good luck with your marriage.”

  His father knew his own mind; he would do what needed to be done. There was no need to fear.

  Leofric didn’t respond to Hrani but watched his father with a pensive expression. He was old and tired and broken, but he was still a man of steel and unyielding honour. Leofric didn’t worry about the future, but he was curious to see what it would bring and not just for himself.

  Chapter 3

  Leofric

  Early AD1018

  Deerhurst

  He observed his father. He was negotiating with Godgifu’s father for her hand in marriage, and Leofric knew just how delicate the discussion was proving to be.

  The House of Leofwine might well be restored in the eyes of the king, even after his brother’s supposed treason, but to the men and women of England, for whom the news was still a new thing to be discussed and debated, and Godgifu’s father, Godfrid, it was a way of ensuring he gained from the marriage, when he shouldn’t. Leofric couldn’t quite shake the belief that he was haggling so forcefully over Godgifu’s marriage lands because he could see a future where Leofric had been executed for treason as well, and the dower lands would fall under the remit of his family.

  It made him angry and concerned at the same time. He hoped he’d never be in a position where the king accused him of treason but did Godfrid know something different?

  Godgifu was from Northampton, the hometown of the king’s other wife, the one everyone knew about but little talked about. Ælfgifu was, for the time being, behaving herself within her homeland. But as the daughter of an ealdorman who’d been murdered on the orders of the previous king, and with two brothers who’d been blinded on that king’s orders, Leofric hazarded a guess that she was a force to be reckoned with. How else would she have snagged the attention of Cnut and convinced him to marry her?

  Leofric knew his father was more alert to events in Northampton than he was, the family link with the other victims of a purge by Æthelred, Morcar and Sigeforth, meant that for all his father’s loyalty to the king, he had still been aware of unease.

  He knew he should ask him, but his father had made it clear he would only tell him when he asked. He said that some information was too dangerous for him to carry in his head unless he truly wanted to know it. Leofric knew he didn’t want to know it. Not yet. He was struggling enough as it was.

  Beside him, Godgifu rolled her eyes at her father’s difficult manner. Luckily, his mother and father approved of his choice of bride and were happy to barter away whatever must be done to ensure that the child growing in her belly was born to married parents. They all knew how difficult Godfrid could be, and Leofric was pleased that his father had taken it upon himself to settle the manner.

  Whether he was the Ealdorman of the Hwicce or the Earl of Mercia little mattered. It was the fact that he negotiated with the power of the king behind him that mattered. No matter what Godfrid thought he was or wasn’t gaining, it would be with the king’s agreement. For a man who might, or might not, be deeply involved in the movement in favour of the king’s first wife now supplanted by another, and his two young sons born to her, it was imperative that he be seen as being for the king, not against him.

  The complications of the marriage treaty were making Leofric wish for something simpler. Maybe he should have just run away with her, as his brother had done. But then, when Northman had married England had been at war. She no longer was, not with the northmen anyway, and the king had decreed that all negotiations for land and marriages should return to a simpler time, a calmer time.

  His mother and his father sat in front of a long board, Godfrid and his wife opposite them, and Finn, his hair all grey, and his beard all white, presiding over the meeting, with the Abbot of Deerhurst there to ensure that everything was agreed with the sanction of God. Finn would write the treaty, everyone would sign it, and then hopefully tomorrow the wedding would go ahead. Leofric couldn’t wait, and he knew that Godgifu shared his impatience.

  In front of them, young Wulfstan eyes them with interest, his eyes swivelling from the young woman he’d never met before to Leofric, and then on to his sister, Eadgifu. She was watching Wulfstan with amusement, and Leofric quickly realised why when his nephew strolled to Godgifu.

 
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice quiet but resolved. He wanted an answer. It was clear to see.

  Godgifu tore her eyes away from her father and looked at Wulfstan with appraising eyes.

  “That’s no way to speak to a lady,” she said, her tone a little too sharp for it to be a jest. At his side, Eadgifu chuckled darkly while Leofric shot her a furious look.

  Leofric looked around for Mildryth, but she was busily working on some new clothing in the corner of the hall and was paying no attention whatsoever to her son. Leofric sighed deeply. He didn’t want to be distracted, but he knew Wulfstan would stay until he received his answers.

  There was nothing for it. He looked at Godgifu and winked, hoping she would find some humour in the situation.

  “Apologies Wulfstan, I should have introduced you sooner. But I’ll do so now. Wulfstan is my nephew, son of my elder brother,” he said, turning to Godgifu and smiling. She didn’t return his amusement. “and this, well this is the Lady Godgifu who I hope will soon be my wife.”

  Wulfstan, his young face serious, regarded his soon to be wife with no warmth at all and still Eadgifu chuckled beside him. Leofric wondered what was wrong with the boy.

  “Do you have a hound?” Wulfstan demanded, and Leofric began to realise what the problem might be. Godgifu, her expression flickering between her father and her soon to be nephew, didn’t give him the attention he deserved, not even answering his question. Now Leofric winced in anticipation of what was about to happen.

  Eadgifu chuckled again, but Leofric was watching Wulfstan walk directly in front of Godgifu, ensuring he held her attention entirely, with Wulfie at his side, and his new pup in his arms. The hound was so massive it spilt out from his arms on either side and because it slept, it drawled.

  “Lady Godgifu,” Wulfstan said, with all the respect he could muster, and slowly Godgifu turned her annoyed eyes his way and flinched away from the massive hound and drawling one in his arms. “I asked if you had a hound?”

  “Get that thing away from me,” she squealed, and now Eadgifu began to laugh more loudly. She’d seen this coming, and while Leofric had wondered if his soon to be wife might not like the huge hounds that littered his father’s household, he’d not considered it would be a problem. Not when she’d met Beauty so many times before. It seemed he should have thought about it, as her next words revealed.

  “No I don’t have a hound, and neither do I want a great big smelly beast anywhere near me.”

  Wulfstan kept his annoyance from his face as he stepped closer to Leofric, but he didn’t go without a final word for his uncle.

  “She’s not a good breeder,” he offered, cradling his pup in his arms. “She’s too temperamental.”

  Eadgifu’s amusement could no longer be held in check, and her peal of laughter echoed inside his head as he watched his nephew walk away with an open mouth. He turned quickly to Godgifu, but it seemed that she was unaware of what the lad had said. Leofric was pleased. She might have held it against him.

  “Shut up Eadgifu,” he muttered darkly, but she laughed more, and louder.

  “I think he has a good point,” she could only mutter as she followed her nephew outside as well. Leofric looked once more at his wife, and then at his wife’s father. They both wore similar expressions, determination shining from their faces, and not a little arrogance. He could only hope that he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

  Angrily he shook the thought away. What right did his nephew have to caution him against something he knew nothing about? But Eadgifu’s words hung heavy in the air. If there was one thing she knew it was about breeding hounds and for all that Godgifu was already pregnant, he knew he needed a horde of sons, just as his father had been given, if he was to rule well and have something to pass on after his death.

  He huffed angrily, Godgifu glancing at him with raised eyebrows. He merely shook his head.

  It was too late now. The marriage agreement had concluded and all that remained was for them all to sign it, and then this time tomorrow he’d be married. Suddenly it didn’t seem like the good idea he’d thought it would be.

  His fears quickly abated, and the next night he faced his new bride, a smile of joy on his face that Godgifu returned. The strains of the day before were gone. They were married, and no one could force them apart.

  Alone in one of the private rooms at Deerhurst, he turned to his wife, noting the pale blue of her eyes and the long blonde hair intricately plaited around her hair. She was beautiful, and she knew it.

  She smirked at him and then sauntered towards him, her hips swaying enticingly. He felt a stir of desire and reached gently for her. Only she stopped him with a giggle, her finger resting on his lips. He kissed her finger, and she giggled once more. This was going to be different to their one short night together when he’d sought solace in her arms, and his desire had overwhelmed him. This time they both wanted to take their time.

  “Husband,” she said, savouring the word.

  “Wife,” he retorted. He was prepared to play her teasing game.

  “It seems that from now on we must share a bed.”

  “We must, must we?” he asked lightly, and she nodded, her eyes downcast as she tried to behave with a modesty he knew she only pretended to.

  “Yes, we must.”

  “Then I suggest we must do it now, and be quick about it.” He tugged off his clothes, his haste to lie beside her in the bed making him clumsy so that he had to tug his tunic from over his head because he’d failed to loosen the ties.

  “Such haste husband?” she teased once more, but then she too was stripping from her dress, and as he jumped onto the bed, naked, he lay back and watched her with delight. Her eyes bulged at seeing him naked, and she momentarily faltered in her undressing. Amused, he felt his passion grow further as her naked body slowly came into view.

  He’d been attracted to her voice, her conversation, her body, was a bonus he’d not anticipated as much as he should have done. He reached for her, and she walked towards him slowly. He traced his hands over her hardening stomach, the curve of the coming child already showing. He was pleased they’d married so quickly and that his parents had been so supportive. It would make everything much easier when his child was born.

  “Husband,” she said once more, her voice hesitant. They’d had little opportunity to talk about the coming child in the hurry to wed.

  “Yes?” he mused, trying to guide her towards him on the bed but she stilled, all trace of humour gone.

  “You don’t mind then?” she asked, and for a moment he didn’t know what she meant, and then when he did, he could do nothing else but wrap his arms around her and drag her to his side. He held her close; his passion quenched for a moment.

  “It’s what we wanted anyway,” he merely said, and then he was kissing her, his hands roaming all over her body, and he knew he’d spoken the truth. This was what he’d wanted, almost from the first time of meeting her. He wanted to hold her, love her, and bed her. He would need to remember to thank his parents again.

  She groaned softly under his touch and for what he hoped was only the second of many times to come, he bedded his young wife, thoroughly and without stinting on his pleasure either.

  Chapter 4

  Leofric

  AD1018

  The Great Assembly, Oxford

  Leofric blended into the press of bodies as the great men and women of England wound their way through the crowded streets, mingling with the farmers, monks and children. He was accompanied by only five of his men. His father hadn’t exactly sent him in secret, but neither was he to openly state who he was. Only if he was asked, his father had said, only then.

  His father had refused to attend. The altercation with Eilifr had left him stubborn once more. It seemed that no matter what Cnut said and implied when he spoke directly to him, some of the men he trusted would not see Leofwine as anything other than an unwelcome presence in their land.

  There had been no other open comments
or even visits or messengers from Eilifr or Cnut, but Leofric knew they would come and soon.

  Not that Leofwine was prepared to cut himself off from the great events in the kingdom, and that was why, while he’d been implored to attend, he’d sent his apologies, citing ill health and instead sent his son to be a watcher of events and most certainly, not to take part.

  Leofric had felt nervous about his task, but with his men to support him, and the knowledge that it was highly doubtful no one knew he was here, he meandered through the busy marketplace without fear. He was curious as to who would seek him out and whether the king would even note his presence.

  His father had asked him to attend. It hadn’t been an order. Leofwine didn’t seem to do orders anymore. Initially, Leofric had felt fearful at the request, but now that he was within Oxford, stopping at the house of one of his father’s oldest friends, his fears had evaporated. What did he have to fear? His king had murdered his brother, what more could he do to his family? To him?

  Both of Horic’s sons were with him. Olaf, still haunted by what had happened to Northman, and Orkning, the older brother and just as pragmatic as his father, Horic, had been. Both men looked like their father, and in the swirl of Danish faces, they fitted in far better than Leofric did.

  Still, he spoke much of their language and listened with interest to the stray pieces of the conversation he heard. Oxford was ablaze with men and women from Denmark, and yet it was also clear to see that the English heavily outweighed the Danish, for all that so many of the old English ealdormen and thegns were dead and buried.

  “We should mingle by the Church,” Orkning said, apropos of nothing else and Leofric suppressed a smirk. Orkning was the one who was most annoyed at being denied access to the inner workings of the king’s Witan. The others were happy not to have to sit through days of legal wrangling and men keen to hear their voices speaking, but Orkning, he wanted to be inside the Church, and he wanted to know everything.