The King's Earl

by M J Porter

  His mother had also had the example of a powerful woman to show her how to rule, Æthelred’s mother. His father said she’d been a genuinely clever woman, but then his thoughts turned sour again. Æthelred’s mother was another person having her place in history white-washed by the new king and his family. It didn’t rest easy with him, but he knew he was helpless to do anything about it, apart from commission a history of Æthelred’s reign, and that could prove catastrophic in the uneasy atmosphere that pervaded the king’s court.

  He was startled from his ruminations by a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped when he noticed the King looking at him with kind eyes.

  “The service is done Leofric, but walk with me before the feast. I would speak to you of your father.”

  The words were jovial as the king was full of high spirits for his work done today, and yet Leofric sensed something else. An unease. Almost as though the king was so bright because he was hiding something.

  With Orkning and a handful of members of the king’s guard in relaxed but alert attendance, Leofric walked with the King outside into the bright day. The warmth was building, and he almost wished he’d worn less elaborate clothing. He could feel sweat starting to pool down his back, and his face grew warm under the heat. He needed something to drink.

  The king guided him away from the Church and towards the small graveyard, already starting to fill and in which a commemoration stone was being chiseled for those who’d lost their lives in the battle, on either side. Cnut had ordered it saying it was only fitting that the dead be remembered together now that one king ruled over England. With no reference to the battles, or the peace accord of St Ola’s Isle, that had followed Assandun, Leofric once more saw the king rewriting history to make it as he wanted it to be.

  “I’m pleased with the building,” Cnut said, standing some distance from anyone who might overhear the conversation. “I wish it would cure all the tensions running through England and Denmark at the moment, but alas, stone can’t accomplish what flesh and blood can.”

  “It’ll take time yet, My Lord King,” Leofric offered. He didn’t want to sound as though he wasn’t taking the king’s concerns seriously but until he knew the king’s motives he was unhappy to speak openly about his thoughts.

  “Time, it’s always about time, and yet the sands of men’s lives run faster than the ability of men to change.”

  “You seem melancholic,” Leofric uttered, surprised by the king’s tone.

  “I am. I once saw success in everything I did, but now I realise that everything I envisage can only solve some of the problems, never all of them. No solution will make England and her earls happy, or Denmark and her jarls happy either. Men want to pull me in as many different directions as they can, and all of it is to satisfy only them. They say their prayers, attend their Church services as they must and yet their actions do not mirror the words they utter.”

  “Men are fickle, my Lord. They always have been.”

  “Men are fickle yes, but not your father, and nor, I hope, are you?”

  “My Lord?” Leofric asked, confused again. Sometimes he thought the king forgot he wasn’t as skilled as his father in the intent behind the words that people spoke.

  Cnut sighed deeply, his expression pensive.

  “Denmark is a great country, and so is England. My jarls and my earls are great men, and yet combined; they do not give me what I need to be a great king over my northern lands.”

  “What would you have them do?” Leofric asked. Was the king trying to tell him that he needed to present himself in a set way?

  “I want men I can trust, admire, honour. I don’t want to have to build blood ties with everyone to call on their family duties as well as their duties to me as a king. My family is simply not big enough. Many of my sisters are married already, and as many of them as there are, I know them little because I’ve spent so many years trying to win England.”

  Leofric didn’t interrupt the king. He was curious to see where his meandering thoughts would take him, to discover if there was a point to all of this.

  “I have tied Earls Eilifr and Ulfr to my family. Ulfr’s sons will be powerful men in Denmark when they’re older; they’ll carry my sister’s name and be remembered as grandchildren of my father. Erik is tied to my family through his marriage to my father’s sister. Hakon and I are cousins. We love each other as brothers would. Godwine will marry into my family as well. He’s made his intentions clear towards Eilifr and Ulfr’s sister, and I have only to give my agreement, when I feel he’s earned it,” the king added as an afterthought. “That means that of all my men only your father, and by extension, yourself, are free from any connection to my family. That makes you unique.”

  Leofric was listening intently. The family relationships of Cnut and his earls were hideously complex, not helped by the tendency of the Danish men to espouse their familial relationships even on the most tenuous of links. Still, it was unpleasant to have the obvious pointed out by Cnut.

  “You are married already, to a beautiful woman, so I hear,” Cnut offered with a quirked eyebrow. It seemed as though Godgifu was well known to Cnut’s first wife, Ælfgifu, and Leofric almost shuddered to think what accounting Ælfgifu had offered Cnut of his young bride.

  “Your father is widowed and will never marry again; I know that. Your sister has chosen to serve the queen. It’s all worked out well for me because it means I truly have an independent observer to my choices, to the actions my Witan takes. I want you to understand that not gifting you a wife from my family is not because of a lack of trust but more because I need someone to stand aloft.”

  Here Cnut sighed deeply.

  “I know I made promises to your father, and I made promises to myself as well about not allowing your family to become involved in the conflicts of the Witan, but I need you Leofric to stand by my side, but apart. At least for now. I need you and your family to infiltrate my family and tell me where the weaknesses are, tell me who wishes to undermine me and who genuinely wants to work to bring a golden age to England and Denmark. I need you to do something that no other can do.”

  Leofric was shocked by the king’s words. He couldn’t deny that. He’d wondered if the king would have provided an advantageous match for him if he’d not met Godgifu, and now he knew the truth. He would not have done, and purposefully so. But was what he was offering him in exchange more priceless than a place in his extended family? Was he indeed providing the role of disinterested overseer? Or was he once more putting the House of Leofwine in danger?

  “I would have thought you’d have turned to Godwine for a task such as this?” Leofric asked. He was truly curious to see how the king had decided upon his actions.

  “Godwine had already proved himself less than reliable,” Cnut spoke softly, there was no need for either of them to mention Northman by name, not here, not in this churchyard surrounded by a testament to men he’d killed in error when thinking he was fighting for the English. “And yet neither can I hold my kingdom without him. I bartered away too much of my good faith when I involved so many men in my conquest of England. If only bloody Æthelred had been less willing to fight for his kingdom, and his sons afterwards, I would have gained England without giving much of its control away.”

  Leofric watched the king very carefully as he spoke. He noticed the wind rustling his neatly trimmed beard, his mouth turning downwards as he spoke, his bright eyes alert and angry, and he realised that Cnut had a balancing act to perfect and it seemed to be draining him already, only three full years into his acknowledged full kingship of England.

  Leofric offered a wry smirk now.

  “Men will fight for what they believe in. Until the death.”

  “Yes, and in doing so, they use up the resources of their enemy. I know all that. Still, I would wish to hold England more fully than I do. When I left to return to Denmark, I expected greater results from Earl Thorkell. I was disappointed with the momentum that the rebellion against me gained, an
d I can do little but accept it now. Thorkell will tell me he did what he could, and as my foster-father, I must accept his accounting in public even if in private I let my anger and frustration fester.”

  “Do you think he means to undermine you on purpose?”

  “No, I believe he thrills to see me struggling to keep control of everything. I don’t think he’s jealous, I don’t even think he wants to be king in my place, but he doesn’t crave the same sort of peace that I do. He needs war and unrest to feel alive. I, I’ve discovered, do not.”

  Leofric just stood and absorbed the words. He’d not thought the king would take him into his confidence in such an open way. In the distance, he could see Earl Godwine watching him intently, and it almost made him smirk with delight.

  “Your younger brothers, they have positions within Mercia as well?” Cnut pressed, more business-like now that he was discussing what he wanted to happen, not what was going on.

  “Eadwine yes, Godwine is too young yet. He’s a lad of only fourteen years.”

  “He could be fostered then?” the king pressed and Leofric bit back his ready acceptance. It was for his father to decide, not him.

  “Perhaps, but that’s a matter for my father, not for me.”

  “He could go to one of the earl’s households, perhaps even Godwine’s. It would be a good way for your family’s to reconcile.” The king was thinking out loud; his words tossed carelessly into the breeze until he stiffened, and his face tightened, a faint flush warming his cheeks. He’d realised what he’d said, what he’d implied.

  “My apologies Leofric. I didn’t think.”

  “It’s of no consequence, but my father will not play with the lives of his children again, or his grandchildren. He’s made that very clear.”

  “How old are the boys now?” Cnut asked, and there was no need to seek clarity as to whom he meant.

  “Eight and six, or near enough. They’re good boys. Their mother dotes on them.”

  Cnut’s glance, this time, was sharp. Leofric suppressed a groan of annoyance. The king had forgotten that the mother of Leofwine’s grandchildren was Eadric’s niece and that she yet lived, shielded by Leofwine’s power.

  He almost feared the next words that Cnut would speak, but Cnut kept his peace instead.

  “Will you help me?” he asked instead, and Leofric nodded, all the time cursing himself. He held the honour he so decried in his father. It had brought the family nothing but trouble, and yet he was prepared to step back into the fray at the command of his king.

  He would always be plagued by the honour that ran through the House of Leofwine. It was not the blessing he thought it should be.

  Chapter 15

  Leofwine

  Late Summer AD1020

  Lichfield

  He met his son on the road outside Lichfield when he was enjoying a gentle ride in the warm sun, his grandsons at his side, their glee at escaping their mother almost as high as his own. He felt as though he was watched much of the time now, someone just waiting for him to falter in his steps. With his horse and his hounds he always knew he’d be safe.

  His grandsons had inherited the family likeness, and although sometimes he looked at them and saw Northman, it was more of a whim than an actual. The boys were strong and sturdy, and quick with their tongues. They respected their mother, as they should, but he knew they revered him. It was a lot to live up to the expectations of young boys.

  It was a warm summer’s day, the breeze just enough to prevent him from feeling the uncomfortable effects of a hot summer’s day in the heartland of England. He rode without his byrnie, and with only his dagger as a weapon. His grandsons carried dull bladed weapons, as though they were his guards and not vice versa. Although Ælfwine showed some fear when he noticed the advancing horsemen, he quickly covered his fear, holding firm to his sword and allowing his horse to sidestep its way as close to his grandfather as he could.

  Luckily Wulfstan didn’t notice his younger brother’s fear, and Leofwine thought he showed more wisdom than his older brother, who moved his horse to stand between his grandfather and the men.

  Leofwine knew who it was before the boys did, so used to the sight of his son’s horse and the men of his household troop. The massive beast that Orkning rode was hard to miss.

  He’d not thought to see Leofric so soon and surmised he must have rushed home from Assandun and Leofwine almost wished he didn’t have to ask why.

  He’d enjoyed meeting with Llewelyn, seeing how someone his age fared, but distancing himself from the Witan also made life easier for him. In Lichfield, he could always rely on his age and injuries to send apologies when he didn’t want to attend meetings, provided no one ever tried to use his infirmities against him. That Leofric was keener to attend upon the king was good enough for Leofwine.

  But meeting his son on the road, he worried about what he’d missed. Leofric was quick to regale him with details of the intrigue from Assandun, and Leofwine understood then that no matter how much Cnut had styled himself as a strong king, the sort of leader that England needed, he was still infected with the same seeds of dissension that had run through Æthelred’s court.

  No matter how much men and women now derided Æthelred and his dead sons, there was no denying that Cnut had all the same problems, only with the slight advantage that he had a standing army to call his own and if need demanded it, another kingdom to run away to as well. Æthelred had never been lucky enough to claim two kingdoms. When he’d lost England to Swein, he’d lost everything.

  Leofric was reinvigorated by the king’s demands on him, and Leofwine understood that only too well. It was an honour to be valued, wanted, singled out. His son was yet too untested to realise that he would, ultimately, be disappointed by what the king gave him in return, but it wasn’t Leofwine’s role to inform him. No, this was a life lesson his son needed to learn and grow from. He already carried the family’s conviction that it was their duty to serve their people and king both. He needed to learn that little was as it seemed.

  “What do you think father?” his son asked him. He was excited as a child when showing off his prowess with his wooden shield and sword.

  “I think the king is more aware than Æthelred ever was and that it could hamper his actions. I think his plan is a good one, but it’ll leave you open to attack from the others, who’ll be able to call on their family ties with Cnut. You’ll be alone and apart. It has as many advantages as disadvantages.”

  “It’s interesting the king didn’t frame it in quite those terms,” Leofric spoke slowly. He’d apparently not considered the alternative viewpoint, too caught up in the possibilities, not the inherent problems.

  “The king wants you to agree to be his spy, his eyes and ears at the Witan. Why would he tell you the dangers?” Leofwine tried to keep his voice light as he spoke. He didn’t want his son to think the king had tricked him, just that he should have seen the truth behind the honey-coated words.

  “Should I not do it?” Leofric asked, but Leofwine was already shaking his head.

  “Of course you should do it. The king has asked you. But you should be wary, even more, wary than those who are plotting against the king. You’ll need to ensure your total impartiality, or at least enough that you can convince the king that you’re looking out for his best interests in everything you do.”

  “Would you rather not do it?” Leofric pressed, but Leofwine held his hand up to stop the sentence.

  “This is for you. Not me. I’m too old, and I see plots everywhere. I’m no longer impartial. I’ve never been wise enough to stand back and watch as old Ealdorman Æthelweard was. I always wanted to be involved. If you think you can do it, then you should do it. I can’t imagine it’ll be much more onerous than how you currently spend much of your time in the Witan.”

  “I thought as much, but the king asked after Godwine as well, I told him Eadwine was too young.”

  “My thanks for shielding Eadwine but he too will need to learn, as
you are. He should have been fostered, but you know as well as I do why that never happened. He’s an introspective child. I think he likes his letters more than he does the thought of Court intrigue.”

  “Could he not be fostered with Archbishop Wulfstan? He’s another who likes to hide behind his speeches and his laws, but he always seems to know what’s happening.”

  Leofwine gave the idea the attention it deserved. It would probably be something that both Archbishop Wulfstan and his serious younger son would be interested in, but he and Wulfstan were both ageing men. Perhaps it would be too much for the lad. He thought it would be a bad idea. It would be better if the boy stayed with him and learned to fight. He could see it might be a more valuable skill in the future.

  They rode back towards Lichfield, slowly, resting Leofric’s sweating horse, while his grandchildren rode seriously behind them, Orkning having made them take up real positions of defence in Leofric’s household troops. Leofwine thought Wulfstan might burst with pride, but Ælfwine looked as though he was scared of the larger Norseman. Perhaps he was. He would think about it later.

  Later, when he did have time to reflect on the day’s events, Leofwine felt frustration overwhelm him at Cnut’s tactics. It was frustrating to realise that Cnut only had the same tricks he’d once employed to fall back upon when faced with uncertainty about the men he surrounded himself with. He was beginning to realise that no matter how much he planned and plotted his sons would still be insecure when he died. Their fate lay in the hands of a man who seemed aware of his weaknesses, his need to rely on family, not allies, but ultimately, who seemed unable to do anything about it other than watch and wait for what happened next. He needed to command events, not be tossed and turned by the flood when it came.