by M J Porter
He quickly rejoined his small group of men and sped away back the way they’d just come.
“I don’t like this,” Leofric muttered, watching the people until they faded to the size of ants in the distance.
“No, it’s very devious. Very devious, and damaging to the king as well. If it’s Godwine, as we all seem to think it is, it means he’s trying to isolate the king, just as Eadric once tried to do.”
“Perhaps that’s why he hated the bastard so much,” Leofric said darkly, causing Leofwine to look at him sharply.
“Explain?”
“Well, he’s never been quiet about his unhappiness with the way Eadric’s brother treated his father. He blames him for losing much of his land, not even Prince Athelstan, when he gifted him back some of it, seems to have managed to make amends in the eyes of Godwine. It might all be because he knows he would have employed the same tactics if he’d only had the ear of the king then.”
“So now he does, he’s trying the same. I suppose you might have a good argument, but even so. It’s extreme. Although, maybe not. We know how far some men will go.” He spoke ruefully, thinking of the extremes he and Northman had taken. It was a bitter tonic, and one he still berated himself for. It seemed strange to realise he was not the only man that desperate to please his king.
“What should we do now?” Leofric asked, but Leofwine already knew the answer to that.
“We go back to Mercia. Pretend we know nothing about it, and see what happens. It’s not our place to find this man, or uncover the truth of the situation. We can stand aloof for now and hope that the matter resolves itself. If it doesn’t. Well, we’ll have to decide who to stand with.”
“So we might have to turn against Earl Thorkell?”
“If Earl Godwine, or whoever it is can make the allegations stick, then yes. We’ll have to stand aside. The House of Leofwineson must be seen to be a firm supporter of the king.”
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for AD1020
This year came King Knute (Cnut) back to England; and there was at Easter a great council at Cirencester, where Alderman (Ealdorman) Ethelward (Æthelweard) was outlawed, and Edwy, (Eadwig) king of the churls. This year went the king to Assingdon (Assandun); with Earl Thurkyll (Thorkell), and Archbishop Wulfstan, and other bishops, and also abbots, and many monks with them; and he ordered to be built there a minster of stone and lime, for the souls of the men who were there slain, and gave it to his own priest, whose name was Stigand; and they consecrated the minster at Assingdon. And Ethelnoth the monk, who had been dean at Christ's church, was the same year on the ides of November consecrated Bishop of Christ's church by Archbishop Wulfstan.
Text of charter naming Leofric c.AD1017-1030
King Cnut to Bishop Leofsige, Earl Hakon, the sheriff Leofric, and all the thegns of Worcestershire. Writ declaring that he grants 5 hides at Bengeworth, which has ben forfeited to him, to his thegn Brihtwine for his lifetime, with reversion to the monks of Evesham for their board.
Cnut’s Letter to the English AD1019/20
(from Denmark to the English)
If anyone, ecclesiastic or layman, Dane or Englishman, is presumptuous as to defy God’s law and my royal authority or the secular law, and he will not make amends and desist according to the direction of my bishops, I then pray, and also command Earl Thorkell, if he can, to cause the evil-doer to do right.
If he cannot, then it is my will that with the power of us both, he shall destroy him in the land, or drive him out of the land, whether he be high or low rank.
Chapter 16
Leofric
November AD1021
Winchester
Eighteen months of rumour and counter-rumour and now they were all called before the king once more, and Leofric knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
The uneasy alliance between Earl Thorkell and the king had suddenly and not unexpectedly ripped apart, and there was nothing anyone could do to make the situation better. The man that Regna had set out to find had vanished with the wind, back to Denmark on some ship that hadn’t been seen since, but the knowledge that he’d even been in England was enough to upset the king and had upset the king for much of the year. Earl Godwine had, true to his word, rushed to the king with his rumours and speculation that Thorkell meant the royal family harm.
Cnut might have tried to ignore it, but the reappearance of the man, in the custody of Earl Godwine, a mere few weeks ago, had reignited the already frosty relationship that Leofwine and Hakon had spent so much of the year trying to patch. That the king wouldn’t even listen to Earl Thorkell anymore meant that the earls and bishops had been called before the king to witness the banishment of yet another earl from Cnut’s England.
His father had tried his best to sway events so that the king would at least entertain some reason, at least see the possibility that Thorkell was being set up by Godwine, but Cnut seemed unable to see past his hopes and his fears, his crushed ideals that his foster-father would never turn on him. He was interpreting it as a personal attack, something that went beyond his kingdoms of Denmark and England, something that sat close to his heart and which made it impossible for him to forgive his ally.
To make matters even more untenable, Cnut had allowed Godwine to take Thorkell into custody and bring him to Winchester, the home of the Treasury, the ancestral home of the Wessex king’s who’d ruled England before him. It was an act of potent symbolism.
His father, wanting nothing more than to sit within his warm home at Lichfield, had grudgingly agreed to travel to Winchester, Leofric at his side, but his face had been bleak and even angry for much of the way. Their brief conversation as they’d made their way into Winchester had encapsulated all of his father’s lost hopes and dreams.
“The king is no better than Æthelred. He’s let himself be swayed by those who tell him only what he wants to hear.” The outburst was uncharacteristic and yet clearly needed. His father, riding on his old horse, covered with thick furs and his cloak to ward off the chill, had spoken with a red face, not from the cold, but from anger. He couldn’t understand the king. Why would he want to alienate his staunchest supporter, he’d often muttered throughout the last year and a half? Thorkell was the leader of the Jomsviking, although it was almost impolite to speak of Thorkell in such a way. He had armies at his beck and call.
“The king feels that Thorkell is grown too powerful,” Leofric had offered. He’d spent more time with the King in recent months than his father. He’d seen the way his mind worked. He could, almost, if he hadn’t known better, have understood it.
“The king should be growing into his power, not running away from those he thinks are stronger than him. That’s not how kingship works, and believe me; I think I know.”
Leofric hadn’t wanted to argue with his father when he’d already been convinced that he was correct in what he said. Even Earl Hakon, cousin as he was to Cnut, had been unable to speak any sense into Cnut, and of all men, Hakon was the one Cnut often relaxed the most around. In the end, Leofric had cautioned Hakon to stop discussing the matter with his cousin. He hadn’t wanted to see their relationship suffer as well.
“Whatever else people say about King Æthelred II, it can’t be denied that he broke the power of families who’d ruled England alongside their king for too long, causing disruption at the Witan. Wulfstan told me all about events with the two ealdormen who wanted to take responsibility for making Æthelred their king. He said that as much as Ealdorman Ælfhere was my father’s mentor, he was a poisoned spear, he and Ealdorman Æthelwine both. They were as bad as each other. The king benefited greatly from their deaths when he grew older. I expected more from Cnut,” Leofwine ended bitterly, and Leofric felt his father’s anger and dissatisfaction. He’d helped Cnut claim the kingdom, as one of the few English men to survive the purge after Æthelred, and Edmund’s deaths, Leofric knew that he felt as though he’d been let down, and the people of England as well.
Now, sat within the king’s Palace at Winc
hester, Leofric watched events unfolding in disbelief.
Somehow, Godwine had managed to ensure that Thorkell arrived looking no better than the Viking raider he was more commonly known as, rather than as an educated and valued member of the Witan. His hair was long and greasy, his beard in need of a good trim, and his clothes were past their best. He looked as though he might have been wearing them for a week.
Leofric shook his head in disgust, and just managed to stop his father from standing to protest at the treatment and then stood anyway. The king’s razor sharp glare turned his way, but he didn’t flinch. Not anymore. He knew the king. He was aware that he had a place in the Witan, no matter how he spoke to the king now.
“My Lord King, I must protest on behalf of Earl Thorkell. He’s not yet been found guilty. He shouldn’t be treated as a criminal. Please allow him to dress adequately enough to be in your presence.”
Thorkell looked his way, met his gaze, but didn’t turn to look at the king whose face turned grey with the words. The entire audience had become deathly silent, but Leofric knew he spoke with his father’s support, the whisper of fabric at his side showing that he stood as well, to offer his support, to show he wasn’t the only man who thought the same.
Around the hall, a gentle swell of grumbling erupted, and when the king’s eyes flickered from his face, he turned and looked to see who else stood with him. Archbishop Wulfstan, Earl Hakon, even somehow, Earl Eilifr stood facing the king, and those were just a few he could see. In the distance he thought more and more of the lesser nobles stood as well. Relief flooded his tense body. He was pleased to see that he wasn’t the only person who felt that there was little point in ensuring the laws of the kingdom were enshrined on parchment, in great books of law, if they weren’t to be applied to everyone.
He turned once more to face Cnut; his face still grey with anger and shock at having his Witan co-opted in such a way. Earl Thorkell watched Leofric, not the king, and Earl Godwine, who’d been stood proudly holding his prisoner, flashed such a hate filled look Leofric’s way that he knew there would be no rebuilding that begrudging friendship. Not anytime soon, and no matter how powerful Godwine happened to be in relation to Leofric, whose official title was simply a sheriff. If he’d not made an enemy of the king by holding to his father’s honourable ways, then he’d certainly made one with Godwine.
“Earl Godwine,” the King finally spoke, his voice somehow devoid of all emotion. “You do the Earl Thorkell a great disservice in bringing him before me in such a state. Allow him to clothe himself adequately, and then return. In your absence, we’ll discuss matters of less importance. Earl Leofwine,” at his side he felt his father stiffen. “Please escort the two earls. Ensure they treat each other as they should.”
Leofric had his mouth half open to say he’d go instead. He knew how badly his father had slept the night before, how stiff and sore he was from the journey, but his father was already moving, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he’d carry the same political clout with Godwine as his father would.
His hounds at his front, his father made his way to the king, even affecting a small smart bow before him. Healer, in an act that shocked and amused Leofric in equal measure, walked to the king and almost carried out the same movement, offering her snout to his open hand. The king accepted the dog’s submission with an unreadable expression on his face and returned the slight bow to Leofwine. Leofric could only assume that the hound had just managed to uphold the family’s position with their King by showing their complete subservience. He suppressed a smirk. He’d have to ask his sister what other magic she’d brought to bear on the hound.
Earl Godwine also nodded smartly to his king and then turned to lead Earl Thorkell away.
“Remove his chains,” the king said softly, but so that everyone could hear and now Thorkell did glance at his king and foster-son. His grime-covered face didn’t soften, but something flashed between the two of them. Leofric knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the king banishing Thorkell, but in that look, he felt some hope. In the last four weeks the king’s attitude to Thorkell had been implacable, but now faced with him, and a slightly too self-satisfied Godwine it seemed that he might be starting to think clearly, as opposed to letting his anger and disappointment guide his actions.
There was a brief flurry of movement and then Thorkell strode confidently but slowly from the hall, mindful that Leofwine was not as quick on his feet as other men might be. Leofric returned to his seat. It was not the best way to come to the attention of the king, but he’d vowed not go along with the king just to pacify him. The king was not one of his nephews or even his son; he needed to learn that there were unacceptable actions and that he couldn’t change the law to suit himself.
It had taken most of the morning before the three Earls returned. The king had been courteous in his discussions, his ire seemingly forgotten about, but he watched Earl Godwine pensively as he returned to the front of the hall, a now bathed and finely dressed Earl Thorkell walking Earl Leofwine convivially to his seat beside Leofric.
His father offered a sad smile of thanks to Thorkell, as Thorkell likewise spoke softly.
“My thanks, Leofric. I feel more myself now.”
He straightened and walked to the same position at the front of the hall that he’d previously occupied, a bow for his king along the way. Earl Godwine glowered, and his father didn’t speak. He wondered what the three men had talked about during their time away.
“My thanks, Earl Leofwine,” the king said, “and now to the business at hand. Earl Godwine, please bring forth your witness and let him speak to what he knows.”
The witness that Earl Godwine had plucked from seemingly thin air was a young man in his best clothing, nothing as elaborate as Thorkell’s soft tunic, but good enough all the same. His long hair was tied back from his face, and he carried himself like a warrior. His upper body was well muscled, and he had a scar that ran down the length of the left side of his face. If nothing else could be said with any real confidence, he did at least look the part of a warrior.
The man looked to be in awe of the proceedings, stepping smartly around Earl Thorkell who cast him a fleetingly bitter glance before looking away. Thorkell had assured Leofric that he’d never met the man. He believed him, but the king was an entirely different matter.
“Speak your name,” Earl Godwine commanded the man, and he swallowed, suddenly nervous, or so it seemed from where Leofric sat.
“My name is Beinir Sweinson, from Frykat.”
“And what do you do?”
“I am a warrior, raised in one of the Trelleborg forts. I’ve been learning my trade since I could wield a wooden sword and shield.”
“Have you been to England before?” the king asked, his curiosity making him speak directly to the man.
“Yes, my Lord King, under the pay of Earl Thorkell. A man called Sidsel, a man who said he was one of Earl Thorkell’s household warriors, recruited me. He told me that I would be fighting for the kingdom of England and that I would be paid ? per day and when the conquest was complete I’d be given land to farm and own for myself. I had no family of my own my Lord, and so I leapt at the chance to be with my brother. Some of my comrades agreed as well; I wasn’t alone.”
“When did you come to England?”
“Nearly two years ago now my Lord, in a great ship, powered by many men. I understood they were all to join Earl Thorkell and that there would be war quickly when we landed on English ground.”
“And that didn’t concern you? A Danish man coming to fight against your king?”
The king’s voice was cold, but the man was too caught up in his story to notice.
“Denmark needs a king in Denmark, not one in England. Earl Thorkell’s man told me as much. He said it would be better for Denmark when you returned to it.”
“And who would be king in England in my place?”
“I assumed it to be Earl Thorkell, although the man never explicitly said so.”
“And what happened when you landed in England? Where in England did you land?”
“To the east of here, I think, it was a port, filled with men and women who spoke both English and Danish. I felt at home there. We were taken to a great hall and feasted by the man who’d recruited us. It was a good night. We drank a great deal.”
“And since then?” Godwine asked.
“To begin with, we trained, for six months. Every day the man would come and tell us all, and there were near enough two hundred of us, that Earl Thorkell was pleased with our progress and that we would soon be needed in battle. It was no secret,” he added, a swift glance at the king, “that the men in the hall were training for their local lord. The men and women in the marketplace knew it.”
“Did you ever meet your local lord?” Cnut pressed, and Leofric hoped that he was finally getting to the stage where he would accept that not everything appeared as it seemed.
“I didn't my Lord, but he was described to me so that I would know him when we met.”
“What words did Sidsel use?”
“He said he was a tall man, and of course, in my homeland, people know of Earl Thorkell. He’s a Jomsviking, people speak of him over their mead and listen to tales of his prowess on cold winter evenings as the skalds weave their spells with their words.”
Leofric could almost see the king starting to reason out the man’s story for himself. Find ways of questioning the strange little story he was telling, only then Godwine, perhaps sensing that he was losing the support of his king, raised his voice to speak again.
“And what happened to the rest of the men you trained with?”
“When the war didn’t come as soon as we’d thought it would, some went home to Denmark for the winter, to be with family and friends, and the rest, well my Lord Godwine, you’ve rounded up many of them, and they are here, with your household troops.”