The King's Earl

by M J Porter

  Erik reminded Leofric of his father. Once more, he’d managed to err on the correct side of the battles he’d been involved in, and now he held a position of trust, eclipsed only by Thorkell. He’d stood slightly aloof from the battles between Cnut and Edmund, instead trying to keep the men and women of the northern lands loyal to Cnut. He’d only accomplished his feat, so rumour had it, by involving the ancient house of Bamburgh and relying on their support in the borderlands with the Scots.

  People spoke of a rugged land, but Leofric’s father often dismissed the comments as being expressed by individuals who didn’t understand what it meant to live on the edges of one country and so close to another. Leofwine had travelled almost to the ancient wall and met people along the way after the Battle of Strathclyde. He said only that men and women so distant from the heartlands of any country were likely to hold themselves apart from other countrymen, to not know the names of the king or the queen, or even whom they owed their tithes to.

  “I wish to congratulate you on the birth of your son and offer him the support of my family, just as I once pledged myself to your father, and to you and your brother on your births.”

  Cnut accepted the words with a faint grin. Leofric mused on how easy it was to find support when you had the happenstance of family connections to call upon. It should have been like that for him, if only his brother ... Well, that wasn’t something to question now.

  “I also pledge, as do the people of the northern lands, that payment will be as directed for the men who fought on your behalf.”

  Erik sat then, and Leofric felt his frustration mount. He’d not wanted to come to the Witan. If it was going to be little more than men prostrating themselves before the king, he was going to find the whole thing very dull. He’d only been there for a short space of time. Already he wished for his bed and more sleep.

  Earls Eilifr and Hrani both followed the examples that Thorkell and Erik had provided and Leofric squirmed his way through their words of congratulations and calls for their countrymen to be well compensated for their sacrifices and bloody victory. He didn’t like the self-aggrandizing that the men were doing. It made them appear self-satisfied and smug, as though they thought their work was already done. Didn’t they realise that in conquering England their life’s work had only just started? This wasn’t the end of their struggles, not by a long way. They would need to find acceptance, learn the ways of the English.

  Suddenly his father’s argument with Hakon and Eilifr made a lot more sense. Leofric could only hope that one day he would command the wisdom his father did. He seemed to see dangers where none yet existed and yet where they soon would.

  After the four Danish Earls it was the turn of the English men to speak, and in Leofwine’s absence, the part of first English Earl went to Æthelweard, grandson-in-law of the renowned and scholarly Ealdorman Æthelweard. Æthelweard was one of the men who’d taught his father so much about the minds of men and kings, in particular, the man who’d spoken of rebellion to him only yesterday.

  Although they shared a name, Leofric had heard his father mutter that Æthelweard had none of the older man’s wisdom. His advancement at the Witan was more down to his failure to offend Cnut than through any great skills on his part. Once more it was his lineage that had gained him his position, not his abilities. Leofric was intrigued as to what the man would do and say.

  He was married to the granddaughter of Æthelweard, a woman who, likewise, was not tempered with the wisdom and knowledge her grandfather had patiently taken the time to learn. He looked uncomfortable under the gaze of so many men and women and yet when he spoke his voice was calm.

  “My Lord King,” he said, his expression amused when he met the king’s gaze. “I would also add my congratulations and hope for a long and prosperous reign.”

  He sat almost as quickly as he’d stood and even Cnut looked surprised by his brief words.

  It then fell to the new Earl, Godwine, and the man Leofric had already decided he despised, to make it appear as though the English people were less abrupt and more effusive in their wishes for the future.

  “My Lord King,” Godwine said, standing as he spoke, exquisite jewels on his cloak and tunic, his cloak over his back so that everyone could see the many arm rings he wore in the style of the Norsemen. Leofric suppressed a groan of irritation. Perhaps after all the English only had Æthelweard to rely on. It seemed as though Godwine might be more Danish than even the Danish men, who had tried to look English with their dress, even if they didn’t sound it.

  “I would extend my welcome and my congratulations, and my hope that you have many more sons in the future.”

  That comment was treated with a wry smile from the King and a look of barely defused loathing from the queen. It was no secret that the king had two sons from his union with Ælfgifu of Northampton, his first wife. Godwine, being close to the new king would know how he felt about his other family, and it appeared as though he was more pleased than displeased to have two sets of sons. Leofric noted that information. The king seemed unwilling to learn from Æthelred’s mistakes, for he too had surrounded himself with too many children and too many people who called on him through family links.

  “I would also tell you that the people of Kent are already gathering together their coins to have them re-struck to pay the wages of the shipmen. They’ve endured many years of hardships and attacks and are pleased that from now on peace will rule this kingdom.”

  Slight cheers drifted through the hall, but Godwine hadn't finished.

  “They have also called on me to advise you that the laws of our land need reinforcing, something must be done to stop the threat of violence that runs through the land; that has people too scared to leave their homes. They ask me, on their behalf, to say that they would welcome a return to the time of the old king’s father, when England was held firmly in the grip of the king’s family, before the unfortunate weaknesses of Æthelred became known.”

  This time, louder cheers filled the hall, and Leofric realised he was sitting forward in his chair, not quite believing the words that Godwine had just uttered. Was it true? Was an attempt going to be made to whitewash the events of Æthelred’s reign? As though by pretending it hadn’t been the fault of the aggressive northmen, it would be possible to set England back on her road to recovery both economically and agriculturally? The audacity of the plan amazed Leofric, and yet he knew it would work.

  It was too easy to rewrite the past when you were the victim. That had been one of the many life lessons that the old Æthelweard, ealdorman of the Western Provinces had taught his father, and his father had taught him in turn but he’d never expected to see it in his lifetime. Never.

  The king, grinning from ear to ear, was clearly more than pleased with Godwine’s words as he signalled for Archbishop Wulfstan to take centre stage. Leofric watched the older man with interest. He professed to his old age and yet he moved quickly, his actions precise and clean. He possessed an amazing ability, an indefatigable desire to see England and her people be the best that they could. It had been unlikely that he’d shy away from his life’s work just because England had a new king, and it now seemed he was pleased to work in concert with Cnut.

  “My thanks, Earl Godwine for your words about law, order and justice. As you know, the Church takes its responsibility in these areas very seriously, and the king and I have managed to reach an agreement as to what law codes should now apply within England. They will be written down and distributed throughout England, and I would add my honest hope that they allow England to be governed well, and to provide the peace and tranquility that has been missing of late.”

  With that the Archbishop sat and Leofric, uncomfortable on the hard bench he sat upon, took the slight interlude to shuffle around and try and find a position that didn’t make him feel as though the wood was rubbing every bone in his body. It seemed as though the day was going to be long and dreary. Nothing, other than the words of Godwine about returning Englan
d to the days of Edgar, had proved controversial.

  The king stood once more, and silence returned to the hall.

  “As we are all together in one place, and although it pleases me so much to see everyone here, I must talk about the future, because there will be occasions when I must leave England and travel to Denmark.”

  A ripple of unease swept through the hall, but Cnut waved it aside, a smile on his face.

  “That is why I wish to make it clear who will rule in my absence. My queen, my son and my country must be protected when I’m away from it, and as such, I’ve given the matter great thought and decided that in my absences, which I hope will be few and far between, Earl Thorkell will rule in my name. He'll do so with the support of my queen and the men and women who already hold power within the royal household. During those times, he'll have the authority to act in my name in matters relating to the government and justice, to the religious needs of the land, and to the protection of the country from attack.”

  The lack of any response from the assembled crowd alerted Leofric to the fact that this must already have been widely known.

  “I will of course, on those occasions when I must leave England, have some of my earls as my companions on the journeys I make, and as such, I will call upon everyone within the hall to ensure that they have sufficient men and women who can in turn rule in their absences. My needs will be varied, and I can’t say who I will take with me, but some of you will be lucky enough to see my homeland and others of you will be tasked with keeping England whole in my absence.”

  Leofric might have been the only person to whom the king’s words were new, but it didn’t stop him feeling unhappy at them. The king had held the throne for such a short space of time, and there were too many who already wanted him removed, that Leofric knew any absence would cause difficulties. And the thought that Thorkell, a man who might now be on the right side of the King, but who in the past hadn’t been, would be ruling in his name and with his powers worried Leofric as well.

  He should have pushed his father to come here. It should have been him to whom the King delegated in the event of any absence. He, at least, had the interests of the English people at his heart, and he had nothing to gain from ousting another king from power. Thorkell, well Thorkell had the authority of the Jomsvikings behind him and liked to be paid well for his loyalty.

  The geld, the harking back to the old laws, the news that the king planned on leaving England, these were all things that Leofric didn’t want to hear about, and he knew the knowledge would upset his father. He needed to find a way to reconcile his father to the king before it was all too late and the king only had self-interested men to rely on, just as Æthelred once had.

  The rest of the day passed in a tedious round of stifled debates. It seemed as though the king had ensured every avenue of discussion had been settled before the Witan began. He wondered again why he’d been summoned to hear the details of how the king would pay off his warriors and order the future governance of the country. Had it been because the king wanted him to hear and inform his father, or had it been the work of someone else, the queen perhaps, who’d wanted him to understand and take his worries back to his father.

  Whoever it had been he almost wished they’d not bothered. Nothing he’d learnt wouldn’t be common knowledge before too long. As much as he wanted his father to see the possibilities for him to return to his place within the Witan, the way the king had made any decision before the Witan had convened alerted him to the fact that Cnut was trying to keep close control on the men of the Witan. There was no possibility for argument or counter proposal. What could his father do in such an atmosphere?

  It was only during the resultant feast that evening that Leofric learnt who his benefactor had been and it made no sense of what he’d been forced to endure that day, for it had been none other than the king who’d sent for him. Calling for Leofric to be brought before him as the feast neared its end, the king watched him with slightly mead-fuelled eyes. Leofric bowed deeply and presented himself as best he could after a day sat around in his finest clothes, but he felt a lesser man before the king than he’d ever felt before.

  Cnut was only a few years older than him and yet he possessed the innate confidence that was needed to rule whereas Leofric felt as though he was almost drowning with his byrnie on.

  “Young Leofric,” the king said almost jovially before his eyes turned hard as ice. “Return to your father, tell him everything, and I mean everything, that happened today.”

  He dismissed him just as quickly, and Leofric walked back to Olaf and Orkning his head swirling with the king’s words and his censorious tone. What had he missed in the day’s activities that his father would see straight away? What did the king even want Leofwine to know?

  Chapter 6

  Leofwine

  Late AD1018

  Deerhurst

  He watched his two frolicking grandsons with laughter written into the deep lines of his face. Here, with his sons, grandsons, wife and household troops, he could almost forget what was happening outside his carefully guarded walls.

  He half fancied, when he slipped into sleep at night time, that if only he could pick up his home, move it to the fabled land where the ancient King Arthur had gone to his death, or so the poets said, he need never be troubled again by war or king. It was a folly and one that every morning came crashing down around him when he first opened his one good eye and remembered where he was and why he was there.

  He missed his son; he knew he always would. The thought of the years stretching out empty before him, of knowing that he would meet his own death without his son’s compassion to guide him to his grave, without Northman knowing the full joy of being a father, almost crippled him again each day. Somehow, he staggered from his bed and even tried to listen to the demands the king insisted on sending to him. He tried to guide him as best he could, but in this new twist in the saga of the kingdom of England, he felt out of his depth.

  He’d spent his life trying to keep England safe from attackers, to have been finally conquered by them, presented him with all new problems.

  Leofric had returned from the Witan at Oxford, the king’s words weighing heavily on him, his confusion easy to interpret, for what was it that Cnut had been trying to teach the Leofwineson family? Did he want them to see that loyal allies or disloyal enemies and friends surrounded the king? The words of the men, as they’d been told to Leofwine, and both Olaf and Orkning had confirmed that Leofric spoke the truth, meant little and everything. They newly came to England, and Cnut owed them a debt of gratitude. But did he want them as his Earls? Did he want the Danish men to expect their rewards or did he somehow hope to have the Danish men removed?

  Within his hall, his son sat alone, within Wulfstan’s old chair, pondering the future and Leofwine pitied his son for having the same fears that he did. He felt that he, at least, had once been given opportunities by his king as a young man, he’d taken them as well. Leofric had no previous experience to draw upon. He wanted his place amongst the king’s men, but it seemed to rely on his father being there first. It was not a situation any young man would have enjoyed, and coupled with the family’s complicated relationship with Cnut since Northman’s death; it was no great surprise that Leofric was conflicted.

  “Morning son,” Leofwine said, walking to the seats beside Leofric. Leofric grunted a response and Leofwine almost smirked with amusement, but reconsidered. His son deserved more than being mocked by his own father.

  “Are you ready to make a move to Lichfield? Is Godgifu?” he asked. He wanted to draw his son into the conversation, but it was difficult to choose a topic that wouldn’t cause his mood to deteriorate further.

  “Yes. I’m looking forward to it,” he said, and Leofwine understood that as well. Sometimes it was better to run away for some time, not make rash decisions that could affect the rest of his life. “I don’t think Godgifu is quite so pleased.”

  “I’m happy as well,
” Leofwine offered. “I’ve missed the place.”

  Leofric flashed him an unreadable stare and then stood abruptly.

  “I need to make the horses ready,” he offered as an explanation, but Leofwine knew that his son simply wasn’t ready to talk yet. He still needed time to reconcile his hopes with the reality of their new king, his new responsibilities of becoming a father. Leofwine hoped he’d found the wisdom he needed from Wulfstan’s comforting presence.

  He too sat heavily on the old chair. He’d decided not to take it with him. Wulfstan was a part of his past life, his life under Æthelred; he didn’t see how Wulfstan would be able to offer advice on a situation he’d never experienced.

  Still, he rubbed his hand over the worn wood, enjoying the feel of something solid beneath his hand. No matter what, Wulfstan would be in Deerhurst, guarding it as best he could.

  It comforted where perhaps it shouldn’t.

  Five days later Leofwine surveyed his old home with interest. It had been over a decade since he’d even visited the place, and yet already he felt as though he were home. It was a good feeling. The thought of leaving Deerhurst for any considerable length of time had worried him for over a year, to find that not only had it been readily accomplished but that he relished the change as well had come as a pleasant surprise.

  He almost felt as though he’d left his grief behind him, as though the ghosts of his son, father and Wulfstan had stayed in Deerhurst and left him free to roam across England as he saw fit. It was liberating and also a sober reminder of the ability of men to heal from even the deepest cuts, the greatest wounds.

  Not that he’d forgotten about the men who’d been so important in his life. Never. But he hoped that when he woke tomorrow they might not be the first thing he thought of, that he might summon the strength to leave his bed before his grief dragged him down.