The Earl of Mercia

by M J Porter

  It was their time now, and yet Olaf looked as unwilling to participate in the coming strife as Leofric knew he was. War was one thing; the petty arguments of women and sons quite another.

  “We must work for that peace,” Leofric thought to argue but Godwine placed his hand on his arm, shaking his head as he did so, and now Olaf too stood and walked away from their discussion.

  That left him with his son, nephews and his brothers.

  Leofric looked at Godwine, his eyebrow raised.

  “There is a lethargy here,” Godwine tried to explain. “Everyone feels it and yet no one does anything to arrest it. It’s as though England is stuck in a winter freeze and can’t break free, as though nothing can happen until Cnut returns home and makes some decision as to how England will function in the future.”

  “So everyone shares my frustration then?” he probed and looks to his nephews and his son for confirmation.

  None of the boys could yet be classed as men and yet Leofric could remember being their age too clearly to dismiss their thoughts and aspirations.

  “We can do nothing without fear of doing something wrong,” the young Wulfstan spoke first and Leofric heard the agony of boredom in those words.

  “Our mother cautions us to being careful, and Olaf trains us to fight but we can do neither of those things without offending someone, somewhere,” Ælfwine chorused and Leofric knew exactly how they felt.

  “When I was your age, my lord,” Wulfstan continued, “you were at the king’s court, taking part in momentous occasions, we are sat here, trying not to remind anyone who our father was, while still working for the good of the House of Leofwine.”

  At the mention of their predicament, he felt his heart contract. He’d thought to protect his nephews, to give them the opportunities that their own father had been denied to ensure they lived a good and productive life, but so far he’d failed them. He was a respected man in his local area, the king, the queen and Earl Hakon relied him upon, but none of those things were enough to ensure the future of his family.

  He needed to do better and to accomplish something in return for his loyalty.

  “You shouldn’t be ashamed of who your father was,” Eadwine said. He was really little older than his nephews, and perhaps knew them better than Leofric but he spoke words that Leofric wished he’d said. Their father had died over a decade ago now, he hoped that few people remembered it anymore, although he knew there were some who’d always hold it against the House of Leofwine no matter the words his father had forced Cnut to have written in the chronicle of his reign, and also, in case that failed, in the hand of Finn, Olaf Tryggvason’s old scribe. In fact, Finn had written a great sprawling history of his father’s involvement in the reign of Æthelred and Cnut. It was a true account of what had really happened. It made Leofric proud to know that it existed.

  “We should do something to ensure that everyone knows we’re of one family,” Leofric said, his thoughts turning to his two-headed eagle device gifted to him via the priest in Trondheim.

  Eadwine smirked as he said the words, and his two nephews watched him intently. He thought Eadwine’s words had affected them, and he certainly wanted them to feel included in the future of the family. Already, they were good with the hounds, the animals becoming an important part of the legend of his household, and it would be good if they too were festooned with the same device.

  “I’ll speak with the blacksmith, and my wife. I think we should embrace our emblem and then begin to make small in-roads into our local community. The people respect me as Sheriff, and Godwine as such when I’m away. We also need them to understand that we’re valued by the king, that we have our own standard, and that we’re men and women who can make things happen. Too long we’ve lain totally dormant. We must begin to build our own powerbase before we can be of much use to anyone else, especially those who aren’t intimately connected with the royal court.”

  “We must start small and build up our presence and our abilities. We should train the men as though war might come, because it might. Cnut has many enemies and I have a few men who don’t much care for me. We should begin to build our own landed interests. We have Deerhurst still, but Earl Hrani is effectively ruling there. We should look to gain more land close to us here and find a new monastery to endow with our patronage, and we should seek out the Welsh kings. Let them know that we’re still here. They once treated with both our father and our grandfather.”

  “But everything should be done carefully. We don’t wish the king to think we’re making our own faction, we merely want to be more helpful to him than we already are.”

  He saw faces light with an inner fire, and he hoped he’d managed to inspire them a little. Yet as he spoke the words, he also knew that he needed to hear those words as well.

  Too long he’d waited for the king to name him as earl. He could wait no longer.

  Chapter 22

  AD1028

  Winchester

  For once the news reached Leofric before he received his summons from his king to attend upon at the Witan, and quickly he dispatched a messenger to inform Lady Ælfgifu that her husband had been victorious in Norway, that Earl Hakon was now it’s regent and more, that he’d returned to England.

  That done, he waited impatiently for news from the king, hopeful that he’d managed to find Orkning in his journey to the northern kingdom. He received a message back from Ælfgifu the same day he received his summons from the king to attend upon him, and left his home with his son and Olaf, his wife meandering her way north to reinforce her alliance with her, just as he moved south to do the same with the king.

  Their argument was very much behind them, especially now he’d given the entire family leave to be more proactive within their small sphere of influence, at the same time deciding to use his own family as effectively as Cnut was using his own.

  His wife could rekindle her friendship with a childhood friend just as Leofric could keep loyal to the king and his wife. Leofric had cast aside his fears and worries. Now was the time to be bold and to make advances wherever his family could.

  All of them travelled with an image of their new family emblem emblazoned around them. His wife had woven the two-headed eagle into her cloak and had commissioned some small pieces of jewelry and earrings that showed the same. Leofric had his sword, now housed in a scabbard to suit its exquisite craftsmanship, the leather of the scabbard heavy with an image of the two-headed eagle, and he also had a new heavy ring, with a silver etching of his eagle picked out in tiny garnets.

  For his son he’d gifted him with a ceremonial arm ring, similar to the one that Cnut had given him in Hedeby. Its two ends were crowned with an eagle each and the two glared at each other with their sapphire eyes. It was as good to remind his king that he could be just as Danish as the rest of his supporters.

  He’d had the same made for his grown-up nephews, and also for his sister’s small son at court. He’d present it to her when he saw her there. And the craftsman had made a further four rings, one for his younger brother’s newborn child, and one for his two brothers as well. Between them they all looked as though they finally belonged to one family, one mighty house, that could rival both Cnut’s longevity and that of the queen, Emma, not to mention Earl Godwine. It was time that those in contention for power began to appreciate that the House of Leofwine had so far outlasted them all and would continue to do so.

  Neither had he overlooked his sister, or her husband and the men who formed his household troop. All of them now in some small way, carried something with the family’s device emblazoned all over it, and he’d something made for Orkning as well. He was convinced that his friend was alive, and if he wasn’t, well, he’d already decided that he’d bury it at Deerhurst, the only reminder of his friend that he’d ever have.

  As he rode out of the stables on his fine horse, he fingered the leatherwork of the rein and saddle, delighted with the tiny picked out emblem there as well. He’d been advised that
the working might well fray quickly or fill with muck and filth from rough handling, but for now he felt as though he was proclaiming himself to the world. It was an exhilarating feeling, and he watched his wife, surrounded by a small contingent of his household troop, set out for Northampton, his brother Godwine remaining in his place, both because of his newborn child, but also because he had spent more time in the vicinity recently, and he had great plans to entice others to demand that the House of Leofwine become their commended lord.

  With him he also took a puppy, spindly on its legs, but intelligent and keen to learn for all that. He’d taken the time to start training the beast, and with his son’s assistance, he knew he’d be able to continue that training. It would be counterproductive to leave the hound behind, and so it travelled in front of him, its long paws stretched out over the horse’s neck. His horse wasn’t impressed but the hound was and Leofric fingered her collar, once more festooned with the double-headed eagle.

  The Witan was to be held at Winchester, and he traversed the road for what felt like the hundredth time. He was too keen to arrive and he found the pace of his horse to be too slow, and he knew that Olaf shared his frustration. The messenger had mentioned nothing about Orkning when he’d arrived, but he’d been sent only with information about who was expected at the king’s court and it seemed to be a small number of people but such a momentous occasion, and Leofric had felt pleased to be included.

  When Winchester finally came into view, he allowed Olaf to gallop ahead and seek his wife, and hopefully his brother, while Leofric dawdled a little more, keeping his son company and allowing the hound to stretch her legs. Her initial enthusiasm had faded with the passing days on horse back and Leofric was sure that the animal would be able to run the full length of England soon enough. She never seemed to tire, and had the added advantage of always returning when she was called.

  Leofric had yet to think of a suitable name for her, and knew that she was in danger of being known as Hund all her life.

  In the far distance he could see the king’s palace, flanked by both the New and the Old Minster and he smirked. Two other buildings that hadn’t been named adequately and so had ended up with names that hardly befitted their heritage and status within the kingdom. Perhaps Hund would be okay after all.

  Upon arriving at the king’s palace, he wasn’t surprised to find the stable area bustling with activity. Everywhere he looked he could see men bristling with weapons, and he searched for some sort of order in the chaos, and most importantly for Olaf and his sister. He didn’t see either of them, and his heart contracted with fear. Surely Cnut wouldn’t have forgotten about Orkning?

  With Hund and his son in attendance, his household troop seeing to the horses, he walked on leaden legs toward the king’s hall. He could hardly contain his hope, and when he heard the growl of another dog, and Hund rushed around the corner to greet him, closely followed by another hound, he knew that he’d find his sister soon. The sight that greeted him on seeing her, had tears sheeting down his face so that he could barely take in the sight of Orkning embracing his brother.

  He felt his strength leave him, and despite everything he’d done to make himself feel the master of the House of Leofwine, it was only now that he felt truly complete.

  His son rushed to Orkning and flung his arm around him as well, while his Hund and his sister’s hound, circled each other warily and then began a heated game of chase between the legs of all those assembled there.

  Unable to speak, Orkning reached down and embraced Ælfgar, and then, extracting himself from his family, turned to face Leofric.

  “Lord Leofric,” he said formally, and Leofric tried to maintain his pretense of the great lord welcoming his errant warrior home. But he failed, utterly, and instead took three giant steps and found his oldest friend firm and alive beneath his hands. He held him tightly, whispering words of apology for thinking him dead, and thanks that he’d come home.

  Only then did he step back and truly look at his friend.

  The ravaging of the battle had taken its toll on Orkning, as had his obvious dire straits after the battle. He looked skinny and his hair was strangely cut, as though at some point it might have born shorn away and was still trying to grow back. For all that, it was Orkning’s eyes that stared at him from his thin face.

  “It’s I who should apologize. I forgot myself my lord, and I didn’t believe those who told me of my identity. I simply didn’t know who I was, only that I had to help the king in his bid to reclaim Norway.”

  “Was it the king who found you?” Leofric asked suddenly, wondering if he needed to rush and thank him before he forgot to do so, but Orkning shrugged.

  “Both yes, and no. I found myself drawn to the church in Trondheim and a priest there recognised me, as so many others had done before, and still I refused his words until I saw the cross on the altar and suddenly I knew everything. When Cnut arrived I made myself known to him, and I’ve travelled back with his returning ship-army.”

  The story made sense to Leofric and he grinned suddenly at his friend.

  “Fuck, it’s good to see you again,” he muttered, his tears having finally dried, and the spirit in his heart having lifted fully. It seemed he had something else to thank Snorri for now as well as his sword and his new emblem.

  “Come, the king wishes to speak with you,” his smiling sister said, and suddenly Leofric remembered that he had another reason to be joyful. The king had returned to England and hopefully would remain now. It would no longer fall to him to try and referee his bickering wives.

  United, they all strode to the king’s hall and entered, arms linked and smirks on their faces. It felt good to all be together, and Leofric could only wish that his two brothers were with him, his nephews as well.

  Cnut rose to greet him immediately from his place beside his wife, and he too looked cheerful and full of resolve.

  “I see you’ve been reunited,” he said lightly, and Leofric remembered to thank him, despite Orkning’s recovery having little to do with him.

  “He was helpful in the attack on Trondheim. His skill and his heritage meant those who still remained loyal to Olaf Haraldsson were able to reconcile with me.”

  “Olaf is dead then?” Leofric thought to ask, but Cnut shook his head.

  “Merely fled, but a long way from Norway. In his place, Earl Hakon has been installed and now my empire is complete. I’ve come home, but only briefly, I must return Harthacnut to Denmark and then I hope to spend the next year at least within England.”

  “What of Olaf Haraldsson then?” Leofric questioned but Cnut turned away as he spoke. Still Leofric was convinced that he heard the words, “he is being hunted,” on his lips. That was good. Olaf was part of a powerful dynasty. That he still lived was unfortunate and while Cnut might feel that he’d secured his kingdom, he would still need to track down and kill the usurped king.

  Cnut walked back to the front of the hall and Leofric quickly realized that this wasn’t to be a formal Witan. There were too few people within the hall, although of those that were there, Earl Godwine’s inclusion meant that great matters would probably still be discussed. Leofric doubted that Cnut would chastise his earl when he still had to return to Denmark, but Godwine looked unhappy all the same.

  After nearly two years of Cnut’s constant absence, Leofric imagined that Godwine would resent the return of his king. It was an ironic statement to make, but one that felt right all the same.

  It was the turn of Harthacnut to come and speak to Leofric next, fascinated by the whirling Hund who’d quickly examined the entire hall and made herself some enemies and friends as she did so. Leofric hadn’t forgotten about Hund and had kept a close eye on her, curious to see who was welcoming to her, and who not.

  He was unsurprised when Godwine shooed the animal away from him, and amused when Harthacnut immediately made friends with her and brought her back so that he could speak to Leofric and Ælfgar.

  “My lord,” the young
price said, and Leofric noted how much he’d changed in his time in England. He was still no more than ten years of age, and yet he was far less the spoiled child he’d threatened to be and far more grown up. He wondered whether it was his father’s appearance or whether it was a genuine change.

  “It’s good to see you, lord Harthacnut,” Leofric retorted, pleased when the use of his title startled him a little. Not quite a young prince yet then. He still had years of growing to do, but he would be doing that in Denmark and not in England.

  “I hear you’re to be reunited with your Danish cousins,” Leofric said and Harthacnut looked only slightly pained at the news.

  “I hope I have the reach of them now, my lord. I wished to thank you for your help and advice while I’ve been within England. I’ll miss my friendship with your son.”

  The words were formal but Leofric was pleased to hear them all the same.

  “I’m sure he’ll miss you as well,” Leofric uttered, and realized he meant it. Harthacnut had been far gentler with his son than his half-brothers had been, but he’d also made Ælfgar understand that to stand on his own he needed to learn the same skills as the bigger boys. It was that which had inspired and Ælfgar and already he showed real signs of improvement and his prowess had greatly improved.