by M J Porter
The news wasn’t dire, but neither was it good.
“What does the king intend?” Leofric asked, feeling a moment of remorse for the tall Viking warrior. He’d been the very epitome of what it meant to be a Viking raider. As a child he’d terrified Leofric, but as he’d become a man he’d learnt to appreciate some of Thorkell’s actions. He'd come to realise that he’d spent much of his life building a reputation for himself and he almost had a duty to ensure he maintained it by constantly reinforcing his status as a great Viking warrior.
Thorkell and his father had often been enemies and allies, but they’d always respected each other. He imagined that the king grieved for the death of his foster-father, especially coming so soon after the death of his father, but he didn’t want to ask the messenger about that. He wanted to know what this all meant.
“The King has called a Witan, for three weeks from now, at Oxford. He requests your attendance and asks you to consider options for how Denmark and England should face this combined attack.”
The messenger managed to speak with a straight face, but Leofric felt his quirk. The king was determined to make his English earls care about Denmark and vice versa. Leofric, for all that he’d been to Denmark with Cnut and fought for him, wasn’t convinced that there were many Englishmen and women who shared Cnut’s love of the place and fierce desire to keep the two kingdoms combined.
“The king’s son is safe?” Leofric thought to ask as an after-thought, and the messenger grunted an agreement.
“He is, yes. He’s well guarded by his uncle and his aunt.”
“Good,” was all Leofric responded before indicating that the messenger should be fed and offered ale. It was his father who’d convinced the queen, Emma, of the necessity of having her oldest son with Cnut brought up in Denmark. With the king yet to bestow his father’s position, although everyone assumed it was just a matter of time, it would be disastrous if he lost the support of the queen. She and his father had always had a good relationship, and she would speak favourably for him, whenever others cast doubt on his abilities and his household’s counsel. He had a feeling he was going to need her unfailing support.
Cnut didn’t so much have a short memory, as rather have a preoccupation with events in his home country. For a man who’d spent so much of his life attacking England, and then trying to claim her as his own, Leofric thought it would do him well to spare more thought for the English and their kingdom. Although, well, he couldn’t deny that now they had a Danish king, the attacks on her coastline had ceased.
He doubted there would be another man with the same ambitions as Swein for the length of his lifetime. Such determination, such fierce desire only infected certain men, and Leofric, just like his father before him, had ensured he was as aware as he could be of all the men that might apply to. Those who could lay their hands on ships and warriors both, and he was fairly certain that Cnut was now the most worrying of them all, and as he ruled England he was almost certain that barring a strange occurrence, England would be safe from external attack.
What happened within her borders was another matter entirely.
Chapter 2
Oxford AD1026 The King’s Witan
For all that Leofric was no stranger to Oxford, he rode into her streets unsure of himself. The king had called him to Oxford, but he’d used a different messenger to normal, and he’s made no illusion to when, or even if, he’d give him his father’s title as Earl of Mercia.
He’d always thought the position was a given, but there was no such thing as hereditary earldoms, a lesson that poor Æthelmaer of the Western Provinces had learned under Æthelred. For nearly twenty years he’d held the power and the thread of his father’s power, but it had never been granted to him, not until Æthelred’s return from his exile in Normandy.
Leofric hoped he wasn’t about to suffer the same fate, but he couldn’t deny that he might.
Cnut had respected his father, relied on him to ensure his transition as king of England had gone as smoothly as possible, but even then, he’d killed his oldest son and the relationship had been fractious and difficult to judge. Cnut had made the effort to attend Leofwine’s funeral, to offer his condolences, but his grief had been for himself and for what he’d lost, and there’d been no thought for the future of Leofwine’s family then, or now.
Neither was Leofwine the only man to have held power within the Mercian kingdom. Cnut had also appointed three of his men to positions there, and while they’d come to realise that they needed Leofwine to become acceptable to the men and women within their areas of power, that time had long since passed. Many had managed to conveniently forget that Cnut and his Danish allies had not always held power within England.
No, Leofric didn’t know if he came as an earl or a sheriff and that meant one thing to him, something that had muddled his mind whenever he tried to think of what Cnut might want from him now, and that was a simple problem. Where should he sit when the Witan convened? Was he to sit where his father would have done or was he to sit further back, with the sheriffs? The not knowing had made his journey to Oxford anything but pleasant and he was beginning to wish that he’d followed his wife’s advice and sent a messenger to his sister to ask her, to ask the queen on his behalf.
He didn’t want to be presumptuous, but neither did he wish to willingly accept his family’s demotion below their rank of earl. He didn’t want Godwine to grow his powerbase at his own expense. As he’d not been summoned to one of the king’s formal meetings since his father’s death, the unease was new to him. In the past, he’d always understood his place within the King’s Witan, but no more.
Not that he didn’t like Godwine, he almost did, but he was almost the only person that stood in-between him and the king. Just like Æthelred before him, Cnut had bound many of his allies to his family through marriage links. That path was denied to Leofric because of his alliance with Godgifu. He had brothers, yes, but Cnut’s sisters had all married and Leofric didn’t think they’d consider marrying anyone but an earl of England, especially when they had the pick of warriors from their homeland to choose from.
No, Leofric was at a disadvantage from the moment his old father had died, and he’d had no chance to grow his reputation since then.
What happened at the Witan might have important and long-standing ramifications, and that worried him more than he thought it should because he worried he’d not be able to offer his own voice to the argument.
Damn, he wished he’d asked his sister about his status in Cnut’s mind. Was he just a sheriff or about to become an earl. What was it that Cnut even wanted to do anyway?
His thoughts so preoccupied, he almost rode past the house he was stopping in while he visited Oxford, and only Orkning’s yanking on his horse’s rein managed to stop him from riding right through the town and past the house of Armand, one of his father’s oldest allies.
He offered Orkning a quick thank-you, which was returned with a wry smirk, and then he decided he could wait no longer.
“Orkning, will you see if you can find my sister, ask her about, about … about all this,” he offered lamely but Orkning already knew him mind and his fears and simply turned around and headed into the middle of the busy settlement, leaving his horse behind.
Orkning was also her brother-in-law and while everyone knew of their relationship, no one but perhaps Godwine, would know how important it was for Orkning to speak with her. It would allow Leofric to save some of his shame by not making a mistake when the Witan convened.
As he made his way into the home of Armand, he ducked his head low and tried to find a friendly greeting in his tense shoulders and angry thoughts, but it seemed he didn’t need to. Armand stood to welcome him.
“Lord Leofric, it’s a pleasure to have you within my hall,” yet his eyes said something entirely, and for a moment, Leofric worried about what he knew. Not that he had to wait.
“The king has sent word that he wishes to speak with you, as a matter of so
me urgency, but the messenger would tell me little else.”
For a brief moment, Leofric knew a moment of hope, that he tried to dampen down, but Armand had already seen the flash of possibilities in his eyes and he shook his head in sympathy.
“The king is much distracted by events from his homeland. I don’t think he’s even considered what’s happening in England.”
Leofric took the caution well and thanked Armand.
“You should just go, get it over and done with. Find out what it is that the king wants from you, because it will be something. I imagine your ship and your men and your promise of support. Bargain hard with him. He’s given you nothing yet.” Armand spoke with years of experience in dealing with the kings who’d ruled England, and Leofric was strangely relieved to hear someone telling him what to do. Perhaps it was this direction that he so missed.
Leofric heeded his advice, and turned and began to walk through Oxford, following in Orkning’s footsteps of earlier.
The place was crowded. The king had given the farmers and traders enough notice to ensure that an almost festival-feeling market had sprung up along the through fares that ran across Oxford, making use of the well-made road surface, glinting with the metal embedded into its construction, in the bright sunlight. Men and women called to him as he walked, followed closely by two members of his war band, and yet for all that, he was too distracted to even listen to their words let alone look at the goods they were offering for sale.
His distraction almost ended with disaster when a mounted rider barged his way through the tightly congested street, but at the last moment, he managed to avoid the crowd, although he cursed as he did so and neither was he alone. Angry cries followed the warrior as he forced his way through the crowd of revellers and market stalls to get to wherever it was he wanted to go. Leofric’s thoughts were filled with black and angry images and he instinctively knew that his visit to the king would be one filled with disappointment and unhappiness.
Once more he wondered how his father had managed to contain his own discontent when he’d been forced to serve under Æthelred. Until his father died, he’d maintained that Æthelred wasn’t the man he’d come to be reviled as and Leofric had once tried to hold to that idea, but as time had gone on, the rumours about Æthelred had started to coalesce into truth. It was a brave man who spoke well of Æthelred while his successor held the kingdom, and his second wife yet lived. Emma had built an image of herself as the repressed wife. Whether it was true or not little seemed to matter. Popular opinion now ‘blamed’ Æthelred for the Viking attacks, conveniently forgetting that if it hadn’t been for them, Cnut wouldn’t be their king.
The king’s residence in Oxford was situated close to the Church and within no time, Leofric found himself standing outside the gate, guarded by a handful of Cnut’s elite fighting force and he wished himself anywhere but there. Yet he took a calming breath and squared his shoulders.
Perhaps Cnut would be pleased to see him?
Yet it wasn’t Cnut that he encountered first, having gained admittance into the king’s palace, but rather his sister.
His sister had been deep in conversation with Orkning, outside the well-constructed wooden hall, but as though sensing her brother was close, she turned and watched him walk toward her.
Leofric was taken aback by the intelligence in her eyes. Their father had treated her in very much the same way as he had his sons, and it had given his sister a fierce delight in her own abilities as a person and a woman. Her place within the queen’s circle of close advisors had made her appreciate that she was possessed of acumen and wit that many of the men would have been jealous of.
“Sister,” he greeted her, hugging her to him and smelling the herbs that she’d refreshed her hair with. She was a slight woman, just as his mother had been and yet even in that brief squeeze of welcome, he could feel the strength that ran through her body. She was just as much a warrior as he’d been trained to be and he was reminded of her lessons with wooden swords and axes. His father had ensured that she could always care for herself.
“Leofric,” she exclaimed with delight, although her eyes were less enthusiastic. It was clear that she’d heard something and it didn’t please her.
“I was speaking with Orkning, but it seems the king’s messenger has already reached you.”
“You know what it’s about?” he asked and she nodded unhappily.
“The king has been sent a challenge by his enemies with the death of Thorkell. He thinks to learn from Æthelred’s policy and try and sue for peace, and he intends to have you stand in his place with Olaf Haraldsson and Anund Jakob.”
Leofric hadn’t been expecting to hear those words and he looked at her in shock to see if she meant what she was saying.
She hissed angrily.
“It’s a test for you. He knows you can swing your sword and kill in his name, now he wants to see if your mouth is as silken as our father’s was.”
“He wants me to speak to men I’ve never even met?” the news was almost more terrible than if he’d been denied the earldom outright.
“He forgets you’re not our father, and simply looks to our house to resolve his problems for him, as father managed to so many times in the past.”
Her thoughts on the matter were clear to see and yet she had one more sentence to add to her already disastrous news.
“If you succeed, he’ll make you earl, if not, he won’t.”
Too stunned to speak, Leofric looked at his sister as though waiting for her to disavow the words she’d spoken.
“You know this for a fact?” he eventually asked into the silence that had fallen between the three of them, choosing to ignore any implication in her words that he was not the man his father had been and that he didn’t have his skills of persuasion or even his reputation to bargain with.
“Emma told me, she’s angry about it, but won’t speak out against it. She sees it as a good opportunity for you.”
He felt the world swirl alarmingly around him as he considered the implications of her words. Their father had once left the shores of England, in fact, he’d done so twice, but on the first occasion he’d almost died from his injuries and had spent years rebuilding his shattered body and reputation both, while his clandestine meeting with Swein was a closely guarded secret, known to Cnut and his father, of course, but not to many other men, and even then, his father had relied on his previous links with Swein, on their growing respect for each other, to try and bring about a peaceful resolution to Thorkell and Cnut’s devastating raiding on England.
Until he spoke with Cnut, he didn’t even know which of the two men he blamed for Thorkell’s death, and in all honesty, if Thorkell was unable to counter the attack with blunt force, he had no idea how he’d manage to use diplomacy.
“He wants to be shown that our Christian ways work,” she further hissed, her ire growing by the moment. “And more,” she said, and now she looked uncomfortable.
“What more?” he asked but he had a feeling he already knew.
“While you try and bring about a peace that’ll never happen, he plans on launching an invasion anyway, and on having Godwine stay here in his place.”
He felt his breath desert him as he considered the consequences of his sister’s words. It seemed that he was being more than tested, he was being punished as well, and by a king, he thought he’d already earned the respect of.
“Why me?” he asked but he knew she could only offer the same words again, even if they were couched in a different way.
“Every other man who owes him allegiance has their own arguments with the men of the north. There’s only you who stands truly aloft from it all, who can even try and make a peace.”
“So he wants peace then?” he pressed and he shook her head and shrugged her shoulders at the same time.
“I don’t know. I’ve only heard some of his thoughts. He’s angry and he mourns for Thorkell and in his rage, he wants to kill everyone responsible for hi
s death, for threatening his son and his foster-father both, but then in the next, he knows that peace is the answer. He’s like a small child who doesn’t know what he wants, and he expects you to make it all better for him.”
“How can I?” Leofric exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’ve no power of my own, no reputation to use other than my father’s, and we’ve already seen that father’s reputation doesn’t protect us. Each generation must fight afresh the battles of the previous one and in doing so undo their efforts.”
“I’ve no answers for you Leofric, none at all. I can only listen and pass on what I know. The queen can reason with him, but only so much. She’s angry as well that her son stands in harm's way. In some ways, the idea is a sign of trust and faith. Cnut knows he can rely on you, just as he did our father, but at the same time, I think he knows you’ll fail and as such, he’s offering you something you can never have and expecting you to accomplish something that no one else could.”
“Huh, so I should be pleased and honoured, and not at all fearful for my life?” he muttered and he knew from the silence that greeted his words that neither Orkning nor his sister could offer him any words of comfort.
“Well,” he said after long moments of silence, “I may as well get this over and done with. “Where’s the king?”
“Follow me,” his sister offered unhappily and turned her back on Orkning. But before they could walk away, Orkning placed a hand on Leofric’s back.
“It never does to tell a king no,” he offered wryly, trying to find some humour in their situation and Leofric placed his hand over that of his friend’s.
“I know. Thank you for the reminder. I’ll see what I can do, but I think we might be sailing to the far north before too long, and I don’t look forward to that anywhere near as much as I might once have done.”