by M J Porter
He blamed his wife. She’d prepared her entire family too well for her eventual death, and none of them had even realised before she was gone. Even the thought made him smile. Of them all, she’d been the strongest, the one who’d made her death seem a natural extension of her life, so different to when their son had been killed. Even now that still burnt inside him, his heart contracting with the lost chances his son would never know.
His wife, she’d made it clear on many occasions that her life had been full and valued, that she’d felt loved, respected, needed. He was pleased.
His children knelt with him. Even his grandsons had tried to be still and honour their grandmother, but he’d sent them away with Cyneweard as their protector. Young boys didn’t need to see the grief of those they loved again. He feared it would bring back memories of their father’s death and he didn’t want that, not when they were almost healed.
He stood on shaking legs, Healer at his side instantly, his stick in his hand, and her head under his other hand. She’d never faltered throughout the ceremony and the strange tasks that accompanied any death. Even Cyneweard, loyal as any hound could be, had been unhappy when the coffin had been placed in the deep earthen pit. He’d let the animal run and have its head. He would have done the same if he could have done.
“I miss her,” his daughter said, as she threaded her arm through her father’s and Leofwine turned to gaze at his beautiful if stubborn daughter. She looked very much like her mother, and he’d thought it would bring him pain to look upon her, but again, he was comforted to see that Æthelflæd’s kindness, and resilience, would live on in their daughter.
“It’s good to miss people who are gone from us too soon,” he offered, and tears fell silently down her young face. She had soft skin, a delicate mouth, for all that foul words often poured from it.
“But I didn’t think I’d miss her this much,” Ealdgyth said, her tone rebellious, touched with anger. He patted her hand in comfort.
“You know she did it on purpose just to vex you,” he grinned. Ealdgyth’s horrified face showed him that he’d succeeded in pulling her from her grief.
“Your mother told me to say that,” he said, with a small, warm smile. “She was right. I didn’t think she would be.”
“What, she knew that I’d miss her too much?” Ealdgyth screeched, only remembering she was still in the church when her voice echoed back at her. She cringed at being so rowdy.
“She knew you down to your little toe. She knew how sad you’d be. She asked me to make sure you never forgot to smile. Oh, and she might have mentioned you making sure my old age was never peaceful, but I don’t think I want to tell you that.”
Ealdgyth laughed with real joy for the first time in days, only for her happiness to turn to a flood of tears. He pulled his daughter into his arms, holding her tight as she let her grief flow from her.
“She said you needed to laugh and then you’d cry. She begged me to say those things to you. It’s better to mourn than hold it all inside,” he murmured softly, while Healer caressed her trainer as well as her owner. The hound was as good at offering comfort as his wife had been.
“I do miss her,” she sobbed into his shoulder, and he stroked her long blonde hair, his eyes also filling with tears, as he realised he needed to cry as well.
“I miss her too, as does everyone, even your brothers, for all that they’re not good at showing it.”
She pulled away from her father then, her nose red from crying.
“We’ll honour her,” she said and reached for her father’s arm again. “And I’ll bloody well make sure the boys do as well,” she muttered under her breath, her fierce resolve evident, and Leofric met his father’s eyes. They were shadowed by grief but held a hint of humour. Ealdgyth, as the only daughter in the family, had, against her mother’s wishes, long been allowed to run a little wild, train with the boys, think like the boys, but they’d all known she’d take the death of her mother hard. There was nothing Æthelflæd wouldn’t have done for Ealdgyth and vice versa.
Leofwine knew he needed to find her a new project, perhaps even a husband. He’d discussed it with Æthelflæd, but neither of them had known whom she’d make a good match with, and it was important to them both that she had choices. They’d been lucky when Æthelred had arranged their alliance. They wanted to ensure that Ealdgyth had either the same luck or was allowed to make her decision.
Oscetel stood to wait for Leofwine at the doorway to the church, a hint of summer warmth surrounding him in a haze for all that a strained expression marred his grief-lined face. Only then did Leofwine become aware of someone standing at the back of the Church. He peered into the gloom with his half eyesight, but even he managed to decipher the shape of the king, his head bowed in grief before he was directly before him.
His heart quickened in anger, and then abruptly stopped. This was what he needed. He’d had his time with his wife. He’d had the last year with her, and now he needed to return to his prescribed role. He had a promise to keep to his wife.
“My Lord King,” he said, inclining his head, and ignoring the gasp of shock from his daughter. She’d been too busy drying her eyes to notice anyone else.
“My Lord Leofwine, my apologies for intruding, but I wished to pay my respect to your lady wife.”
“She’d be honoured to know you troubled yourself on her behalf.”
The king eyes him keenly as they walked into the bright daylight. The ride back to Deerhurst would be accomplished in the coming dark, but it little mattered. There were enough men of the household troop to light the way back for them all.
“You seem well; all things considered,” Cnut offered, appraising Leofwine as he stood on his stick, Healer beneath his hand, Oscetel to his left and Leofric and Godwine to his right. Ealdgyth had rushed off to find a moment of silent reflection and no doubt to dry her tear-streaked face before she had to meet the king.
“She prepared us all well, and she had a good and happy life. It’s difficult to mourn someone who was so content. Surely you didn’t come all this way just to offer your condolences, not that it’s not an honour all the same, but I assume you have greater matters to discuss.”
“I do Leofwine, yes, and sadly. I wished to personally thank you for your family’s support throughout my absence. I know it can’t have been an easy time for you.”
“No it wasn’t, but it’s Leofric you have to thank more than me. He’s been the eyes and ears of the family, along with Godwine.”
Leofwine indicated Godwine with a tilt of his head. He’d not yet taken Godwine to the Witan, and he doubted the king would know whom he was. It was time for that to change.
“Then my thanks, Leofric and Godwine, for all that you’ve done. The queen is very thankful, and even Thorkell has spoken of you in glowing terms, and he doesn’t like to offer praise if he can find a fault first.” The king sounded rueful when he spoke. It was evident he’d been the subject of a lack of praise from Thorkell in his time.
“It was my duty,” Leofric offered, a touch stiffly, but the king smiled, all the same, the stress of the situation lifting from Cnut with those words. Leofwine wondered if the king had doubted him in his absence, or if he’d just doubted his reception.
“It was more than your duty. But that’s why I’m here. I have, for the time being, secured Denmark for my family, but there are rumblings there, and I need to ensure England lies peacefully so that I can turn my attention to Denmark if it’s needed again. I need to outlaw both Earl Æthelweard and this Eadwig, who claims to be the old king’s son, but clearly isn’t. I need you to come to Cirencester at Easter. I’ll be holding a Witan, and I need my earls to be there, support my calls for outlawing him.”
“So the decision is outlaw, not death?” Leofwine asked, he’d been expecting the earl to be killed, and probably in secret, the same fate that had befallen his son. He could speak of the matter without rancour now, and he was honestly curious.
“I’ve learnt a hard
lesson, Leofwine, and as much as it pains me to let the man live, I would prefer it to killing him and later discovering my actions were too hasty. I hope that meets with your agreement.”
“Of course, it’s a wise move, although, another that’s fraught with dangers. Has the queen not informed you of when Æthelred outlawed one of his ealdormen, Leofsige?”
The king grimaced.
“Yes, she’s told me, and I remember it well, but there’s nothing else I can do. The man has, unfortunately, lived through his rebellion, mostly because it waned so slowly and without a battle, but I need to be rid of him.”
“You do yes. Ensure his family is deprived of all their land, and ask that the queen intercedes on your behalf in Normandy to ensure they don’t receive sanctuary there. It will be better that way. Remind the royal family there of the close link to England.”
The king looked pensive as he listened.
“I missed your sound advice when I was away.”
“Denmark is not as pleased with your kingship?” he probed. He’d heard little about the king’s movements, too concerned with what had been happening in England, and with Æthelflæd to worry about Denmark as well.
“It’s not the people. It’s the jarls and the kings of the many petty kingdoms in Sweden and Norway. Our people don’t take well to a designated king. They see ruling as very fluid. All the kings of the northern people think they should have more land to command than they do. It … well it causes problems, and I know I’m as guilty of it as the rest of them, but I’d hoped that they’d accept me as their king and that would be that.” Cnut sounded rueful.
“You’ll need to return then?”
“I think so, but for now Earl Ulfr, my sister’s husband, rules in my name. He’ll ensure the stability of the kingdom. Or rather my sister will. She’s a woman who knows her mind, just as her mother did.” The respect in his voice was evident to hear. Leofwine had never met Swein’s wife, but he imagined she’d been a strong woman. She’d have needed to be.
The king sounded amused by his words, and Leofwine grinned with him. Rumours of the wild nature of his sister had long reached England, many saying she would have made a far greater king than her brother.
“And Earl Godwine, he was helpful to you?”
The king stilled at the question, and Leofwine knew that in his desire to have Godwine gone from England, he’d allowed the man to grow closer to the king than he would have liked. Silently he cursed himself for not insisting Leofric journey with the king. He hoped that Leofric’s work in the king’s absence would ensure the king never overlooked him in favour of Godwine.
“Earl Godwine is a great warrior. He led a nighttime attack against our enemies that was very successful. I don’t owe him my life, but I owe him the speed we were able to return to England.”
Leofric stiffened at the praise from the king, and Leofwine pitied his son. He should have gone to Denmark with his king, but then he’d have missed his mother, and that would ultimately have caused him greater suffering.
“Then it seems you’re fortunate in your choice of men. Thorkell has kept England safe, and Godwine has helped you calm Denmark, whereas Ulfr will keep it safe for you from now on” He stopped from going as far as to question his use to the king. Now was not the time. He and the king needed to work hard to ensure their healing friendship continued. In the meantime, it was evident the king would make other allies. He felt that Cnut’s presence at the church spoke of his firm desire to be seen as fully reconciled with his disillusioned earl. He would have to content himself with that.
“I am, but I need to root out those who are against my kingship, beginning with Earl Æthelweard,” Cnut spoke with a vein of anger in his voice. For all his smiles and good humour, Leofwine knew the king would be angry at Æthelweard. He’d tried to take away his most hard-won prize.
“Will he not just flee the country?” Leofric asked. His voice sounded neutral. Whatever the king had implied about his relationship with Earl Godwine, it seemed that Leofric had mastered any disappointment he might feel.
“He can’t. Thorkell has him in custody.”
“Ah, we weren’t aware the rebellion had been crushed quite so effectively,” Leofwine offered levelly. This was news to him and his sons. For the last week, they’d done little but mourn Æthelflæd. It seemed events had finally moved having dragged for much of the last year.
“No, a recent development, but again, I understand it was Leofric who begged Earl Hakon to appeal to the people of the Western lands, ensure that they didn’t follow Æthelweard and Eadwig. I’d not have thought to do so.”
A lop-sided grin spread over Leofric’s face at the praise and Leofwine let him enjoy it before speaking his mind.
“That’s the difference between your earls. Those who came as conquerors think to rule men and women with force, when really, and most of the time, it’s words that are needed.”
“Yes, and words from an English lord, so, again, Leofric, my thanks. Now, my apologies for coming and seeking you when you were burying your wife. I wished to mourn her with you.”
“It allowed you to pray for my wife’s soul, and I’m grateful for that. You’ll come back to my hall? We have a small feast being prepared to celebrate the life of my wife, and you’re welcome to join it.”
“I’d be grateful.”
Leofwine turned then, the fading light of the early summer’s day turning the sky into a riot of pinks and mauves, soft colours to herald the end of a sad day. He half wanted to go back inside, to offer more prayers yet as the melancholy of night threatened to engulf him, but he knew better. His wife had arranged all this, the funeral and feast. Perhaps not the king, but maybe she had. He wouldn’t put it past her. It seemed that in death, as much as in life, she knew what was best for her family.
He turned his back on Deerhurst, signalled for his horse, and limped his way onto the back of his favoured animal. It would be a short journey home, and when he got back, he would eat and drink as his wife had commanded, and tomorrow. Well tomorrow, he’d turn his attention to the king, and securing his family’s future.
Chapter 10
Leofric
Easter AD1020
Cirencester
They’d come in force, the whole family. Never before had his father allowed all of his brothers and sister to attend the king at his Easter gathering, but with no one to call them home with their mother’s death, there was no need to stay behind. Even his youngest brother, fourteen-year-old Eadwine had been allowed to come. Their scribe Finn was, to all intents and purposes, tasked with keeping Eadwine out of trouble, but really, they were all there to show the strength of the House of Leofwine.
Somehow, the death of his mother had woken his father from his slumbering of the last few years, and he seemed keen to be at the hub of events, not even the appearance of Earl Godwine troubling him, nor the troublesome Eilifr. If anything, his father seemed to thrive on the challenge. Leofric suddenly saw the man he must once have been reborn; the honourable man, the man that other men wished to speak to, even, it seemed the Danes.
The geography of Cirencester's placement also helped matters, almost within a day’s ride of Deerhurst, it made it easier on his father and Leofric hazarded a guess that the king had chosen this little visited royal site with the needs of his father in mind. He was either desperate for his support, or truly thoughtful. Leofric imagined the truth lay somewhere in-between.
Cirencester was a place Leofric had often visited, and he was familiar with the old ruins of the past, as well as the remote bowl-shaped grassy area that people were adamant had been built by the men who’d made the ancient wall further to the north. It was where Eilifr held his hall, and it was there that the king was staying during the meeting, taking place within the large church.
It was not quite Oxford or Winchester, but Leofric felt more at ease. It was somewhere he could relax, no matter the events due to take place at the Witan, with the English Earl Æthelweard about to be exile
d for his attempt to derail the Danish King. Surrounded by his family, he also felt far calmer than in the past at the Witan.
Olaf and Orkning were skilled warriors. Yet when it came to diplomacy, he thought his father and his sister might prove to be better equipped to handle the tense atmosphere that enveloped them as soon as they entered Cirencester, from the King’s household troops protecting the gates to the men and women peddling their wares in the hastily convened Easter market. Everyone seemed on edge.
Everyone apart from his father, that was. Leofwine went out of his way to greet everyone he knew, ensuring that the people of Cirencester didn’t see the king’s arrival as too much of an imposition.
The family had arranged to spend the nights in Cirencester staying within the reeve’s magnificent hall. It wasn’t overly large, but it was a comfortable and well-maintained home, set back from the main through-fare, and with lush herb gardens enclosing it. Leofric thought that if he ever had to stay within one of the towns, he’d choose a home similar to this one. He could almost have been at his house in Deerhurst.
The Reeve, Armand, was a family friend. Although he’d worn a cloak of grief when he’d come to meet them from their journey, as soon as he realised the family had opted to cast their grief aside, he discarded his pain and regaled them with tales of the arrival of Eilifr and then Cnut amongst the townspeople.
“Eilifr is not loved, but neither is he hated. He doesn’t spend enough time within Cirencester to make a nuisance of himself. He’s made more of a home for himself in Gloucester, or so we hear. Although, when he is here, he sets people on edge. There’s no calmness to him, only tension and battle. He never seems to take his weapons from his weapons belt.”
“He’s a Dane,” Leofwine cautioned, his eyes dancing with meaning.