The King's Earl

by M J Porter

  Llewelyn appraised him with his hairy raised eyebrows and then let a small smile slide across his face.

  “I think you might be right. We could be allies you know. A pity I have no son of an age to wed your daughter. It would be a good match for us. It would secure the kingdom for your king and ensure that you and your sons would rush into battle for me if I ever needed you. I assume Leofric fights as well as you do. Certainly, Northman did.”

  “A pity indeed,” Leofwine only responded. The matter of his daughter’s marriage was starting to plague him. It seemed as though there was no one she could wed who was neutral enough not to anger someone else. The Danish earls, since he’d spoken to Earl Godwine, had become a definite no. He didn’t want her to have to struggle with divided loyalties if, as Godwine had warned, the Danish earls didn’t work for the king’s good. He was pleased that for now, she was with the Queen. Emma had been more than happy to take his daughter into her household. Leofwine hoped she still was.

  “A pity I’m too old,” Llewelyn also uttered, and Leofwine shot him a glance, pleased to see the grin on the king’s lips at his aggravating comment. He was merely trying to raise a smile.

  “A pity indeed, but alas, you’re far too old for a young lady, and I doubt you’d approve of all of her ways. She’s a feisty character. She’ll need a careful husband.”

  “I’ll take no offence at that,” Llewelyn said.

  “The king also bid me speak to you about another matter.”

  Llewelyn’s face fell at the news that there was more negotiating to be done.

  “What else concerns him?” Llewelyn asked.

  “This matter of Prince Eadwig. He’d like to enter an agreement with you whereby you don’t support any pretenders to his throne, real or imagined.”

  “Ah, I had wondered if he’d ask that of me.”

  “In response, he commits to support your son, and no other claim to your kingdoms.”

  “A generous offer from a usurper king.”

  “A king by conquest,” Leofwine restated calmly. Llewelyn needed to be reminded of how alike they both were.

  “I know what he is. He has my agreement in that matter as well, but if he should decide to support another, or not support my son, tell him that I’ll actively seek out those with a better claim to the kingdom. That he had to ask for my agreement is insulting to a man who rules in the same way I do. If there can’t be honour amongst conquerors of other men’s lands, then I’m offended by his approaching me at all. And you can tell him that from me. He needs to know that on this, he was too overzealous.”

  Leofwine had known the king was asking too much of Llewelyn, he’d cautioned him as such, but the king had been adamant and in the end, he was the king’s man and had to act on his explicit instructions.

  “My personal apologies,” Leofwine said, bowing his head low. The atmosphere between them had chilled considerably, and that was to the detriment of the agreement they’d just reached.

  “I know the words aren’t yours, Leofwine. I don’t want your apologies. Tell the king; that’s all I ask.”

  “Of course Llewelyn, I’ll do as you ask.”

  “Good, and get your daughter married before half the eligible men on the Borderlands decide to take her as their wife. It unsettles the men.”

  “I will and my personal thanks.”

  “I hope to see you again in another fifteen years.” Once more, Llewelyn wheeled his horse around and made his return into his lands without speaking further. Little had changed in fifteen years.

  “That could have gone better,” Oscetel said into the sudden silence.

  “Yes it could, but the king has been tested recently. I don’t think he doubts himself, but I believe he wants to ensure everyone knows their places.”

  “I can’t help thinking that his skill with the norsemen must be greater than with the English and the Welsh.”

  “Perhaps, but he wants England peaceful so he can advance his claims in the northern lands, I’m sure of it. Upsetting Llewelyn is no way of ensuring that.”

  “Well, you better hope he hasn’t caused too much damage.”

  “I do and I will. Llewelyn is preoccupied with his lands; surely he can’t want anymore to rule? But if he does, we’ll have to advise Cnut to support one of the other challengers for Deheubarth or Gwynedd. I can’t imagine his hold is quite as secure as he implies.”

  Oscetel didn’t respond to that dour announcement, not that Leofwine expected him to speak. They both knew that England and the Welsh kingdoms had mainly been peaceful towards each other under the entourage of attacks from the northmen, but with peace and Cnut as the king of England, anything was now a possibility.

  “What are you going to do with Ealdgyth?” Oscetel asked Leofwine, stressing the ‘are’ as he spoke. They’d discussed the matter until they were both heartily sick of it.

  “I have no idea. I was going to ask her, but she seems as incapable of making a decision as I am.”

  “Maybe you should ask the king?”

  “No, I don’t want to saddle her with a political tie. It worked for me, but I was lucky. She needs something else. I just don’t know what it is yet, but I will speak to the queen in the meantime. Time at court might allow her to find a man she wants to marry.”

  “We can only hope,” Oscetel muttered, and together, the two old men started their slow plod back to the house at Lichfield, their horses as tired as they were.

  Chapter 14

  Leofric

  AD1020

  Assandun

  Leofric mingled amongst the men and women who’d come to witness the king’s hallowing of the minister at Assandun, the site of one of the great battles against King Edmund four years before, and one of the battles where his brother had been wrong-footed by Eadric. He’d thought he was fighting for the English, only to discover with horror that he’d been tricked and he was killing his countrymen. His remorse had been profound when he’d realised his error. Leofric could remember the grief-filled conversation they’d shared.

  This was a personal pilgrimage for Leofric, one he’d been happy to take when his father had given him the task, citing his need to meet with Llewelyn of Gwynedd as an excuse for not following the king around the country like a lost sheep. Leofric hadn’t questioned his father’s motives further. There was no need. He knew why his father didn’t want to be here. Although his grief was nearly healed, he didn’t need to see the place where Eadric had fooled his son into fighting against his countrymen and he never would.

  The minister that Cnut had caused to be raised in honour of the fighting that day and as a means of reconciling the English with his kingship, was a splendid thing, made entirely of wood but with the intention that soon stone would replace those wooden structures. Only the Church itself stood tall and proud and made wholly from stone. It was a real testament to how much Cnut had learnt in his short time within England about how he could legitimise his conquest.

  First, he’d waged war, then he’d coerced and made alliances, then he’d taken an English wife, birthed an English son and now he was raising his first monastery in the English tradition. Few might visit here, but those that came would be reminded that this was the work of Cnut. Leofric approved and disapproved all at the same time. This was, after all, how men ruled England, the church giving a man almost as much power as his weapons if he could just learn how to use it.

  His father knew the same. He’d granted land to the church at Deerhurst, but also other establishment’s, most notably Peterborough, with a small parcel of land his father had once owned. He might not yet be able to endow his new monastery, but Leofric understood that was what was expected of great men and women. To labour in the name of God was a way of winning the affections of the Church and the men and women of England both.

  One day, well, if he had his way one day he would do the same and have prayers said for his soul, and that of his wife and son, for eternity.

  The placement of the monastery, on a
small rise that gave just the hint of being able to see all the way to the far away coast, had been chosen well. The site of the battle was a little further away but here, on this site, there was the possibility of alluding to the king’s homeland as well as his new kingdom. Leofric grinned sourly to himself. Everything was about having the ability to make a visible representation of the king’s power. Whether Cnut’s belief in the Christian God was genuine or not little mattered. He just had to show that his belief was real.

  “Leofric,” Olaf spoke to him from beside him.

  “Yes Olaf what is it?” he asked. He felt strangely lifeless now that he’d arrived at Assandun. Perhaps his father had been right to stay away.

  “Earl Thorkell wishes to speak with you.”

  “What? How do you know that?” he asked, he’d been immersed in his memories of his brother. To be recalled to the here and now was disorientating.

  “He sent a messenger,” Olaf said, speaking softly still. Being here was difficult for him as well. They’d talked about it on the way here, but nothing had prepared them for actually walking on the ground where Northman had won renown, for all the wrong reasons.

  “Now?” he quizzed, still confused. He didn’t want to talk politics, not when he was remembering his brother.

  “Unfortunately yes. The messenger was quite insistent.”

  Sighing heavily, Leofric turned aside from looking at the site of the battle. The ground had been smoothed over, the dead long since buried, and yet he could see it in his mind's eye. Could he not just take some time for himself? Clearly not.

  “Come with me,” he said, and Olaf looked surprised even to be commanded by him.

  “I was Leofric, was I not supposed to?”

  “No, no, that’s good. You can stand with me, give me your impressions of Thorkell when the meeting is done.”

  As they all were, men and women of the kingdom mingled outside the buildings of the new monastery, a soft summer breeze blowing to ruffle hair and headscarves. It was a beautiful day to remember a terrible battle.

  The king was being entertained inside the monastery, being shown around by the new Abbot with Archbishop Wulfstan in attendance. He imagined the king would be leisurely, the pace of the day having been slow all morning long. At some point, the ceremony would begin, but until then the earls and the king’s thegns had time to themselves, to plot as they saw fit.

  Earl Thorkell was stood some way from the monastery, his expression pensive despite the good weather and pleasant atmosphere. Leofric wished he didn’t have to speak to the man who had far weightier matters on his mind that Leofric did. He’d come here as an act of remembrance. Earl Thorkell seemed determined to make the day about politics.

  “Earl Thorkell,” he began, drawing attention to his arrival when he was still some steps from the man. The Earl was ageing. His legendary frame was tall but he wore the signs of wrinkling skin around his eyes, and his hairline was slowly walking backwards across his head. His eyes were quick, his reflexes fast, but all men are mortal and show their age, even the great Thorkell the Tall, or so Leofric thought, hoping his feelings didn’t show on his face.

  “Leofric, my thanks for meeting with me. I understand your father isn’t here.”

  “No, he’s meeting with the king of Powys, as king Cnut commanded him to do.”

  “Ah, I understand now. It would be important for Cnut.”

  Leofric wasn’t sure what Thorkell meant by that, and so he stayed silent.

  “I would have preferred to speak with your father, but I know you, and he are of one accord, and so I’ll talk with you instead.”

  “Of course my Lord,” Leofric uttered, his brow creasing as he tried to fathom out what Thorkell wanted with him and his father. Then he remembered Godwine’s words. Was this something to do with him?

  “The king is much disturbed by events with Æthelweard and the Prince, Eadwig. He seeks … greater reassurances from his men.”

  “My Lord?” Leofric asked. He didn’t like where the conversation was going. He and his father’s loyalty could not be doubted, by anyone. But Leofric thought Thorkell was pressing for something else entirely.

  “He sees deceit and conflict where there is none. I would only ask that you and your father maintain an open mind should you hear anything about myself that is particularly … unsettling.”

  Still, his words were unclear. He seemed to be asking for a promise, nothing more.

  “My father and I never jump to conclusions,” he finally uttered, unsure what else to say.

  “I knew I could rely on you,” Thorkell said, his face clearing. “And my thanks.” He walked away then, and Leofric watched him go in surprise. He’d not realised their conversation was over, or that he’d offered anything. But unease gnawed at him. What was Thorkell up to? The words of Earl Godwine coloured Leofric’s perception of all of the Danish men, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them. Perhaps if his father had added his weight to counter Godwine’s words he could have ignored it, but now, now he was not so certain.

  “Leofric,” another voice and he turned to see Earl Godwine trying to corner his attention.

  “Earl Godwine.”

  “Your father is not here?” he asked, without any further form of introduction.

  “No, he’s meeting with the king of Powys.” Leofric wondered how many times that day he’d need to offer the same response. Could men not just be pleased to see him?

  “Ah.” A similar response from Godwine, as from Thorkell. What were the two earls thinking with their enquiries and forced friendliness?

  “You come on his behalf?” Godwine asked, and now Leofric was torn. He didn’t want to mention his brother’s actions before the man who was ultimately responsible for his death. He didn’t want to remind Godwine of the treachery he’d once accused his brother.

  “I do my Lord yes, and at the king’s insistence.”

  “So he tries to make your father be in two places at once?”

  Leofric suppressed a groan. It seemed that Godwine was determined to salt the wound with his pressing questions.

  “This place. It has associations with my brother,” Leofric finally uttered, hoping that Godwine would finally let the matter drop.

  His face clouded for a moment, in thought, and then cleared as he realised the meaning behind Leofric’s words.

  “Of course, my apologies. What did Earl Thorkell want?” he asked, and Leofric ignored the presumption that he would tell Godwine if he only asked.

  “Nothing, as far as I can gather. Just a conversation about my father, as I’ve shared with you.”

  “Nothing else?” he pursued, and Leofric felt his frustration rising.

  “Whatever it is that Thorkell is, or isn’t plotting against the king, he didn’t inform me, and I don’t think he will. He only asked me to be open minded in the tense atmosphere at the Court.” Leofric hissed the words angrily. He was fed up of Godwine’s persistent questions.

  “So he might be about to make his move?” Godwine asked, but Leofric, shaking his head, had nothing further to offer. Abruptly, the earl’s harsh face softened.

  “My apologies Leofric. I see enemies everywhere. It’s not a pleasant situation to be in.”

  “No, I can imagine,” he muttered, wanting the conversation to be over and not wanting to speak with the Earl anymore. This wasn’t why he’d made the journey from Mercia. Not at all.

  Luckily, Godwine moved on then, and Leofric was left alone. He thought he might prefer it that way, but he wasn’t to enjoy his freedom for long because he was summoned inside the Church.

  While on the exterior it looked complete, once inside, Leofric could see that much work remained to be done on the king’s foundation.

  The important parts of the Church were entirely completed. Yet the windows only had leather for coverings, the glass work still under careful construction, and the tall tower he’d been admiring outside, was very much a skeleton awaiting further work, supporting beams weaving their
way across the open space that the tower had created. He felt a moment of disorientation as he looked upwards, the church spinning abruptly in his vision, forcing him to plant his feet firmly and look abruptly away to prevent himself from falling over.

  There was also the telltale sign of stone dust coating some of the surfaces. It appeared that the king, for all that he’d been distracted by a tour of the buildings, had arrived before the Church was fully complete, by about a year, Leofric opinioned to himself.

  Without seats for anyone other than the king and the queen, the rest of the nobility and the lesser council members simply stood where they would normally be expected to and listened to the long service of dedication. Leofric watched the faces around him, amused by men and women in their finery, jewels and fine metals adorning their clothing and their hair, surrounded by stone dust, and yet unperturbed by it all. He assumed they were used to the semi-finished nature of the many religious houses that dotted the landscape.

  Many churches and monasteries had been targeted during the irregular warfare of the last twenty or so years, and even some of the finer religious houses were continuing with half finished churches and living quarters. It was a testament to the faith of everyone that it didn’t seem to matter at all. On the other hand, he also thought that if the surroundings that God’s words were spoken within didn’t matter, why did men and women expend so much wealth on building stone edifices to their God?

  He knew it was all as much about faith as it was governed by political considerations. The Church could legitimise almost any move made by a king or an earl, a thegn or a fellow churchman. It sickened him and yet he also appreciated its value. His father had endowed churches, especially Deerhurst, and if he were to be a great man, he’d need to do the same, with his wife.

  His thoughts turned to his wife then, and he felt a faint smile slide across his face. She was an elegant woman, more than he could ever have hoped to marry, and yet he also knew that she would test him in future years. She was as stubborn as his mother had been, and with the added flounce that youth gave her. She believed she had every right to speak against policies she didn’t agree with. Leofric thought it was the power of the queen that made his wife so unlikely to watch her words, that and possibly the added influence of his outspoken sister.