The King's Earl

by M J Porter

  “He is a Dane, and a norseman through and through. He thinks only of money and war,” Armand offered with a hint of annoyance.

  “He’s not adjusted well to his life as an earl then?”

  “Not at all, and certainly not as far as I can determine. He was almost pleased with the rebellion. I saw him ride from here with a wide grin on his bearded face as he went to face down the rebels. I wasn’t surprised to find him enjoying the disturbance.”

  “And what of Cnut, what do they think of him?” Leofric asked. He was always keen to know what the English people thought of Cnut. He was a distant figure to most of them and yet every so often, as with Cirencester, Cnut stepped momentarily into the lives of the English, and the impressions he left were the key to success of his kingship, or so Leofric thought.

  “They’ve seen more of his household troops than they have of him. The Danish shipmen are well intentioned, and they do leave their weapons with their ships. The household troops, though, they’re more caustic and hold themselves aloof from the townspeople. I think it causes unease amongst the people here to see so much metal on display. This area didn’t fall victim to a significant amount of fighting during the years of war. It makes people worry that it could when they see warriors.”

  “Perhaps we should mention it to the king,” Leofwine uttered, his face pensive as he thought about Armand’s words. Leofric agreed with his father.

  “He probably doesn’t even realise it’s a problem. For him, there’s been little let-up in the violence. He’s fought his way to the kingdom here, and then he’s done the same in Denmark. Not that the people here will much care. Denmark could be in hell for all they care.” Armand chuckled at Leofric’s comment.

  “You’re right. The people of Cirencester are proud of their heritage but not overly adventurous. Are you attending upon the king today?” he asked, his gaze wandering from Leofric to settle on Leofwine. Leofric held his annoyance in check. Men would always defer to his father, but Leofwine declined to answer, and Armand turned to gaze at Leofric, quick to realise Leofwine’s intent.

  “No, tomorrow will be soon enough. The king plans a grand service of thanksgiving for his safe return from Denmark in the church and then I imagine; he’ll turn to business later in the day.”

  “Have you seen Æthelweard since he was apprehended?” Armand asked.

  “No, I haven’t. I don’t feel the need to either. I tried to speak to him, warn him away from his folly, but he failed to listen. I’m just pleased that Thorkell turned away from injuring the people of the Western Provinces. It would have caused greater resentment towards the Danish men,” Leofric offered, translating his father’s silence into a command for him to speak. Armand didn’t seem to mind which man spoke as long as he received answers to his questions. Leofric began to relax.

  “Yes, it would. But Thorkell’s still caused outrage by ransacking Æthelweard’s home and burning it to the ground. Old Ealdorman Æthelweard’s daughter barely made it out of there alive.” Leofric stilled at the news, stifling his annoyance. It didn’t seem to matter which of the Danes he spoke to, not one of them could turn themselves away from the violence they’d been raised with.

  “Well, I suppose the king was going to deprive him of the property anyway, but even so, I don’t approve. It was bloody Earl Æthelweard who caused all the problems, not his wife and their children. Where are they now?”

  “Sheltering with family, I think. I don’t know whether she plans to leave with her husband or not.”

  “Well, if she doesn’t, some provision will need to be made for her. After all, she’s the only direct survivor of Ealdorman Æthelweard’s. She can’t spend her life in misery just because her husband tried and failed to oust Cnut from power.”

  “No, you’re right. I wonder if the king will see it that way?”

  No one answered that question because no one knew the answer and it seemed a waste to speculate on the mind of the man.

  “Ealdgyth, I take it you’re here to search for a husband?” Armand queried with raised eyebrows, quickly changing the subject. Leofric tensed, expecting an outburst of annoyance from his volatile sister, probably equal to the king’s anger at the uprising, but she surprised him.

  “If that was some sort of proposal it was wholly inadequate,” she said, her face a little flushed from the good wine and the heat of the fire at the centre of the hall, but smiling all the same.

  “My apologies my Lady,” Armand winked at her and then they were all laughing. It felt good to joke and smile. His mother had been wise when she’d commanded that his father immediately resumes his duties as Earl. He hoped he learned to think as far ahead.

  Leofric woke in the predawn grey of the morning and staggered to his feet from his crowded sleeping place on the floor. Armand’s hall might well be well appointed but it was no bigger than half their hall at Deerhurst, and it meant room had been hard to find to sleep. His father had been found a bed and even his sister, but for him and his two younger brothers, and the men who’d escorted them, it had been a cramped night on the hard wooden boards of the floor.

  He wound his way through the still sleeping bodies and creaked open the front door to allow a blast of chill air to torment the embers of the fire. He grimaced against the necessity but quickly went outside to see to his needs. The ground was crisp underfoot, a late frost covering the ground, and against the shadows of the coming dawn, he could see much of Cirencester arrayed before him.

  He stood at the front of the house for a few moments, enjoying the silence that was abruptly shattered by the sound of hooves on the hard road. The same men who’d constructed the strange structure within the town had built it, the amphitheatre as those in the know seemed to call it. He almost wished Cnut had decided to use it for his meeting, but with more thought, he realised it was too cold to spend the day sat outside. Still, perhaps if they ever had a Witan in the summer, it would be a good place to hear the king speak.

  A parade of horses was making its way into town, with no regard for the noise they were making so early in the morning. He assumed it must be one of the Danish earls, come late to the Witan, and he was surprised when he was hailed by an English voice.

  “Good morning,” the voice said, and Leofric squinted upwards to see who called to him from their place at the front of the procession of twenty or so horses.

  “Good morning…” he looked for some sort of clue as to whom he was addressing and then realised when he saw the man’s face emerge from shadows. “Earl Godwine.”

  “Is Earl Leofwine stopping in the hall as well, or is he not here?” Godwine asked without any further niceties.

  “Yes my Lord, my father is in the hall, but I think he still sleeps.”

  Godwine, his expression once more cast into shadow, sat and considered for a while, his horse quiet beneath his legs, the flash of a lantern at the front of the row of horses revealing that the beast was black as night, and not just a figment of Leofric’s imagination.

  “I had hoped to speak with him before the Witan convenes.”

  Leofric felt the cold chill of premonition running down his body.

  “He still sleeps my Lord,” he repeated, feeling stupid not being able to offer another explanation. “Perhaps if you returned with the sun, he’d be available to speak with you.”

  “Perhaps yes if I have time. Although for this, I feel I should make some time. Inform your father for me that I’ll be back presently. I need to stable my horses and eat before I discuss business and politics.”

  “As you will my Lord, I’ll let him know. Excuse the question, but do you wish to speak to him of Northman?”

  Earl Godwine’s visible jump at the mention of Northman made Leofric realise his intention had not been about that at all, and that Northman’s name had been an unwelcome reminder of his past dealings with his family.

  “No, something else,” Godwine stumbled. And then he reconsidered, “Why, do you think I need to speak to your father of Northman?�
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  Leofric felt as though he’d been caught in a trap. Godwine had never offered an apology to his father, and he needed to, but at the same time, Leofwine was his own man. He’d not like it if he knew that Leofric was coaching those who wished to speak with him about Court politics.

  “It’s as your conscious dictates, my Lord. I can’t speak for my father.”

  Earl Godwine glared at him for a few moments longer, apparently thinking about what to say next, and in that time Leofric examined the man. He was older than him but not by a huge number of years. Godwine’s advance into manhood had been made in the shadow of his father’s altercation with Ealdorman Eadric’s brother and the allegations made against him that had caused him to take his ships away from the Great Fleet over a decade ago.

  Godwine had long been an ally of Cnut’s although before that he’d been close to Prince Athelstan, gaining land from him in his will. Leofric had yet to make his decision about the energetic Earl, and he didn’t want to make an enemy of him. At the same time, he knew that Godwine was a direct threat to his father and his power base, and to him. He was all too aware that Godwine’s historical ties to Cnut made him valuable to the king, a position he craved for himself.

  Godwine held Kent for the king, and would, so the rumours had it, also gain from Earl Æthelweard’s outlawing. He was a younger man than his father, rising high in the king’s estimations. As one of only two English Earl’s it seemed to make more sense that he and Leofwine were allies, but then, well then there was the issue of Northman, and it would not be easy to resolve.

  Godwine’s long hair was held away from his face, a dark beard covering his chin so that he looked more than half a Norseman. Only when he spoke could his English heritage be discerned.

  “Tell your father I would speak to him at his convenience. I’ll be staying overnight in the Abbey.”

  He rode away then; his expression was still pensive. Leofric felt a cold anger smolder deep within him. The man seemed to have forgotten his deeds concerning Northman or thought them unworthy of further discussion. It didn’t bode well for a future where the two families needed to work together, not apart.

  The sound of the horses and Leofric’s conversation had woken the majority of the men when he returned indoors, the grumbling from stiff shoulders and backs making Leofric grin in shared horror. It was not the best way to spend a night, no matter the furs piled high to ease the hard wooden floor.

  His father joined him as soon as he entered the hall. It looked as though he’d been making himself ready to come outside anyway and see whom Leofric spoke to. He was more than half dressed, with his hounds at his side.

  “Was that Earl Godwine I heard?” Leofwine asked, and Leofric grunted to acknowledge that it was.

  “What did he want?”

  “To speak with you. I think he forgot it was closer to night than daytime.”

  “To speak with me? I wonder what he wants,” Leofwine mused as he broke his fast with some of the previous night’s meat and some fresh bread that had baked overnight.

  “He didn’t say, just asked that I tell you he was staying at the Abbey and could you seek him at your leisure.”

  “Hum, a double weighted blade if ever I heard one. Come at your leisure, but make sure it doesn’t take too long.” His father sighed deeply as he thought.

  “You’ll go with me. He needs to see you with me, see that you’ll be my natural successor when I’m no longer here.”

  Leofric was so used to his father speaking of the future that he no longer denied his father’s words when he talked about his death. It was inevitable that one day his ageing father wouldn’t be around to offer advice anymore, although he could seem a little less keen on it, Leofric thought darkly.

  “Why, are we going now?” Leofric asked, suddenly wishing his father had thought to step outside sooner.

  “No, we’ll make him wait. Seek him out after the ceremony the king’s ordered. That way, I’ll have time to prepare myself for a meeting with him. I’ve not spoken to him since your brother’s death and no matter that people are saying Earl Erik was the motivating force, I know it was Earl Godwine. He’s always hated Eadric, and I doubt he gave any thought to Northman’s fate until he was faced with the problem of what to do with him as soon as he’d apprehended the pair of them for the king.”

  Leofric didn’t want to tell his father that Godwine seemed to have forgotten his part in the tragedy of their family. He knew it would only make matters more fraught between the two men. He only hoped that Godwine learned from his mistake with Leofric. If not, well, relations were already so poor between Leofwine and Godwine it seemed unreasonable to expect Leofwine to ally himself with the man who’d killed his son.

  The church was a short walk from Armand’s hall and with his entire family surrounding him, Leofric set off early enough to allow his father the added time he needed to make his way there. Leofric bit his lip over advising him to take his horse. He didn’t wish to see his father’s upset face. He was reinvigorated since his mother’s death, but he still carried his wounds, just as he had every day for over twenty-five years. As he grew older, they became more pronounced, his limp reasserting itself, and his face appearing painfully tight where his wounded eye had healed.

  Leofric had never known his father without his wounds, but he saw the shock on the faces of others when they came face to face with his gaunt father. It was a reminder of the many years Leofwine had served the kings, and the people, of England.

  They circumnavigated the remains of the old amphitheatre, the tufts of grass trying hard to obscure its remains. The closer they came to the church, the more people flooded the roadway. Yet none came too close to his family, as though his father, sister and brothers, along with Oscetel, Olaf, Orkning and the rest of the men, had some sort of invisible barrier dividing them from the main flock of people.

  Everywhere he looked, people stared at them, and he wondered why until he realised that the House of Leofwine was perhaps more respected here than in almost the rest of England. Cirencester had long been a part of the area that his father had governed for the king. That was why he knew the place so well.

  Leofric nodded when he saw people he knew, just as his father was raising his hand in greeting. It felt almost as though every member of the town’s population had come out early just to see them all, but not the king, or any of the other great noblemen. It was a huge surge of affection for his family, and it lifted him, made him feel empowered. He could do this, he could sit with his father, listen to the words of men he’d once wanted only to kill, and maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to forgive the king once and for all and move on without feeling the guilt that had so often crippled him.

  It was not, after all, his fault his brother had died so young. Neither was it his father’s.

  A spontaneous round of applause swept through the crowd, and Leofwine stopped, resting heavily on his walking stick, his two hounds at careful attention in front of him, and he looked about himself, a smile on his lopsided face. He turned to face his son, his eye aglow and Leofric grinned at him in delight, his sister reaching to hold her father’s stray hand, and then holding those of her younger brothers, Eadwine and Godwine, much to their disgust.

  Tears glistened in Leofwine’s eye and still the crowd cheered his name and shouted their good wishes. Then at the same time, both Eilifr and the king arrived, followed by their own retinue of people. The crowd stilled, unsure what to do now, but the king saved the moment from Eilifr’s scowl by walking and reaching out to offer Leofwine a firm arm-clasp. At his side, Ealdgyth stepped away shyly to enable the king to stand with her father. The king only exchanged her father’s hand for her own and together they all stood in a long line, the people of Cirencester whooping with joy that didn’t even stop when the king beckoned Eilifr to stand beside Leofric.

  Leofric, swept up in the moment, offered Eilifr a secure arm clasp himself, a delighted smirk on his face that even Eilifr’s stern expression couldn�
��t detract from.

  This was what it meant to have the power of the people behind him. It felt intoxicating!

  The king was dressed in luxurious clothing, a deep cloak edged with fur down his back whereas Eilifr was unadorned. Even there, he looked like a warrior, not a man of the court.

  Eventually, the mass of people fell into silence, broken only by the king’s words.

  “People of Cirencester, I thank you for your excellent hospitality and welcome of my people and of course Earl Eilifr. I know Earl Leofwine governed here for many years and I’d like to thank him personally for his great deeds here, for keeping you safe through the wars, and for agreeing to turn his attentions further north, to guard the borders with the Welsh. There are few men I could trust with such a task, but I apologise if you miss him and his family.”

  The crowd not being used to being addressed by the king were silent for a moment too long, and Leofric shuffled on his feet only for them to burst once more into cheering and shouting. Leofric thought that with those words the king had made the people of Cirencester love him. He was impressed, and as they strode into the church hall, already filled with many of the lesser nobles, the clergy and the men and women of the royal households, he felt comfortable in his own skin, happy to be a member of his father’s family. The future felt good. Sod the scowling Earl Eilifr. If he wanted to be a warrior, he needed to give up his earldom and go back to lands of his birth.

  Chapter 11

  Leofwine

  Easter AD1020

  Cirencester

  The Church service was long and tedious for a man with nagging pains and restless hounds, but finally, Leofwine managed to escape the oppressive atmosphere inside the church and was able to stretch his cramped legs and exercise his hounds through the streets of Cirencester. He’d never before received such a welcome from the town’s people, and it had amazed and upset him in equal measure. For too long he’d thought of the wishes of kings and would-be kings, almost forgetting that he’d always worked for the people of England as well. It felt good to receive some appreciation from them and know that nothing was expected in return. Not anymore. He’d given his life to them. He needed to do nothing else unless he wanted to.