by M J Porter
“They’re making an even bigger fool of you now that you’re back than they did when you were away. Tread carefully, my king, it seems that your enemies are so adept at masquerading as allies that you’ve lost sight of who is your true supporter and who your life-long enemy. I’ll go, and I’ll take my sister and her children with me, but believe me. I won’t be coming back when you come calling. No chance.”
With that, and his Hund already at his side, Olaf and Orkning also awake from their nighttime activities, Leofric leapt over the wooden bench he’d been sitting on, and marched from the hall, his friends falling in beside him, even his sister, her face stony and her daughter’s hand clasped tightly, her son in her arms.
Leofric took the time to turn and face his king, but in Cnut’s face he saw only the anger he’d once exhibited when sentencing his brother to his execution.
He dismissed him from his thoughts and instead considered the future.
No matter what Cnut thought, Ælfgifu would relish this public disagreement between Leofric and the king. And Leofric knew that it was to her that he’d now fully pledge his family’s support.
After spending two years trying to dissuade Ælfgifu from separating the ancient kingdoms of England back into their constituent parts, he thought he’d help her do so now. Give the north to her sons and Cnut could fail with his perfidious allies at his side as he tried to hold onto the southern kingdoms.
The king had become what Leofric had always thought he had the slightest chance of becoming. A man who didn’t listen, believed only what he was told, and couldn’t use the sense he was born with. Cnut had become, as Æthelred before him, a man in awe of his strongest earl and it seemed that his strongest earl had even managed to sway the queen to his side.
There was a rotten core at the heart of the royal court, and while he’d been trying to ignore it, it was now abundantly clear.
Godwine was no more than Eadric come back. The man he’d always hated for his family’s disgrace had done what Leofric had always expected him to do. He’d become the very image of that which he professed to hate.
Leofric wished them all luck. When he next came to the king’s hall, he could only hope that Harald or Swein were wearing the king’s crown.
Anglo Saxon Chronicle Entry for AD1028
This year went King Knute from England to Norway with fifty ships manned with English thanes, and drove King Olave from the land, which he entirely secured to himself.
Chapter 24
AD1029
He sank to his knees before his father’s grave. The last six years suddenly receded and he was there once more, at his father’s bedside as he spoke his last words. Grief swelled behind his eyes and he allowed it to fall, blanketing the earth that covered his father’s final resting place.
He’d come here to speak with him, to offer his apologies for his actions throughout the last year but now he realized that he had nothing to be sorry for, and more importantly, that his father would never have judged him, even if he had done.
The revelation was astounding. All this time he’d feared that his father, if he’d still lived, would have been angry with him, but he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
His father had done whatever he’d found necessary to survive in the poisoned atmosphere of his king’s court. Leofric had been forced to do the same. An ungrateful king had used his skills and his desire to serve. A spiteful queen had turned on him as soon as she’d thought the friendship was of no further use to her. And the earl? Well Godwine had never fully reconciled with the House of Leofwine and somehow, and Leofric now knew what it was, he’d coerced the queen into supporting his actions.
Leofric pitied the lot of them, but no longer himself. For too long he’d thought he had only himself to blame for his lack of success. But he’d ultimately realized it was none of those things, it was the self-important queen and the king’s over-mighty earl that had scuppered all of his attempts to gain what he was owed.
He’d been cast from the king’s court with no opportunity to make his own case, and the king had barely listened to him when he’d told him that he was being made a fool of by his earl and his wife, but soon, very soon, the events would come full circle and Cnut would realize the extent of the treachery against him.
Until that happened, Leofric had come to make his peace with his father, and to honor him on what would have been his birthday. It had been something he’d been planning on doing for a long time, but now he was pleased he’d taken the time and the effort to do it.
He’d found Deerhurst, under the care of his younger brother, in excellent condition, and his brother, well he’d been entertaining a hall filled with men and women who were loyal to the family from the local area. Leofric mused that they’d never really lost their support, but for a time, after his father’s death and with Cnut so often absent from England and Earls Hrani or Hakon ruling in his stead, it had often felt that the support from Deerhurst had simply evaporated.
And his brother, Godwine wasn’t the only one to have made great in-roads into gaining his own following, loyal to the might of the House of Leofwine. Eadwine had made many allies as well, and his wife, well Godgifu was a firm supporter of Ælfgifu, and between the pair of them, Leofric knew that more than half of the nobility of the Mercian heartlands paid only lip-service to Earl Hrani. To them all Leofric should be their earl, and Swein and Harald should be their kings.
Leofric had himself been to visit the king of Gwynedd and Powys, rekindling an old family loyalty there and although he’d never stood so far distant from the king as he did now, he also knew that he was the most formidable opponent he’d ever been.
The king might have looked to him and been forgiven for thinking he was disloyal when both the queen and Earl Godwine were so adamant in their assertion that he was, but if the king wanted to see disloyalty, he only needed to see what Leofric had accomplished since then.
Cnut might have thought that England was safe and secure in his absence, but he should have looked further than the missives from Earl Godwine and his wife. Essentially, Cnut was king of the southern lands, the heartlands of Wessex almost as far north as London, but after that, his support bled away with each mile and Leofric knew the king was completely unaware.
His king had made him promises, had reneged on all of them, and even those promises he’d had him speak to Ælfgifu on his behalf had shredded and blown away on a light breeze instead of being enacted.
Cnut had seriously underestimated the mood of the English people, and soon, he would be made to see the error of his ways. If Harald and Swein had only been a little older, then the kingdom would already be broken in two. As it was, there was an expectant hush over much of Mercia and Northumbria. When the time came the nobles and their household troops would do what had to be done to make the boys their kings but in the meantime they allowed Cnut to rule more by their own wishes than by Cnut’s.
Leofric didn’t think that even Æthelred had been so immune to the threat of danger to his kingship. He’d been weak and old when Leofric had first come to know him, many of his mistakes already in the past, but he’d been grudgingly tolerated. Cnut would never be accepted in the same way.
For now it was as though Mercia, Northumbria and part of East Anglia slept in winter’s hibernation, but when the thaw came they’d all awaken and demand to be removed from Cnut’s orbit of influence. And Leofric felt not even a trace of remorse for his king.
No, Cnut had brought the situation firmly onto his own shoulders, with his risky undertakings to recreate his father’s Empire, and his disregard for England and her people.
Leofric’s visit to Deerhurst was also an act of remembrance for the rest of his family who’d perished before him; his mother, brother and his grandfather and Wulfstan, the man who’d been almost a grandfather to him, and Horic and his wife as well. But now two others joined them as well; old Oscetel, his infirmity becoming so great that he’d perished through the long winter, still thinking
himself no more than a man of thirty years old. He’d become lost and disorientated one snowy night and by the time they’d found him, the chill had attacked his lungs and he’d died a shivering wreck only a few weeks later. And added to that loss, Finn, the old scribe who’d once served Olaf Tryggvason had also died in his sleep, but not before he’d managed to record all he could of Olaf’s reign and also the history of the House of Leofwine.
Leofric had shared with him the story told him by the priest of Trondheim, Snorri, and Finn had at first looked troubled and then offered apologies that Leofric had waved aside telling him that it all added to the legend of the House of Leofwine. Finn had liked that, but had offered no apology for stealing the family cross from the church’s altar. Leofric wondered if he’d be punished in heaven or if their God would simply accept it as the actions of a grief-stricken man. The abbot at Deerhurst had assured him that Finn wouldn’t be punished and Leofric could only hope that the man spoke the truth.
He wore his double-headed eagle emblems, his sword at his side, and he knew his father was proud of him. He’d accomplished a great deal during the last year but the real moment of understanding had come when he’d discovered what it was that Godwine had managed to bribe the queen with.
He thought the queen had always been clever, but her hatred of Ælfgifu had forced her hand, and Leofric knew the depths that the queen would go to in order to rid herself of her rival, and it seemed that Godwine knew the same.
It seemed such a stupid mistake, but Leofric understood just what rage could do to a person, and so, when she’d tried to have the king’s first wife poisoned by ensuring a fine wine vintage was sent to her, she’d miscalculated in the man she’d chosen to share her secret desires with, and he had quickly informed Godwine.
It seemed that Godwine had spies everywhere. It was a pity that Cnut didn’t. Yet for now, Leofric held the information close to his chest, and the man, the merchant, was being well paid by Lady Ælfgifu to do very little but stay safe in Northumbria, as far from Godwine’s sphere of influence as it was possible to be.
When the time came, and it would, he would swear on any holy relics offered, that he not only spoke the truth about the queen but that Earl Godwine had bribed him to impart his secrets as well.
The news had made Ælfgifu very careful in all of her dealings with men and women from the southern kingdoms, but it had also calmed her. Now that she felt as though she was accomplishing something, she was far less brutal in her demands on her followers, and while she’d initially ridiculed Leofric for his trusting nature, she’d soon quieted her voice and accepted the support that Leofric and his family were pleased to offer her.
Yet, the king, Cnut, had finally returned to England, and had, as good as his word, overwintered in England with his wife and his allegedly most loyal earl. Even now tendrils of his power tried to undermine Ælfgifu but until he kept his promise to her, Ælfgifu was ensuring her supports remained loyal, providing them with anything and everything they felt they needed to resist Cnut’s attempts to win back their trust and support.
Cnut seemed to have started to grasp that England was divided, but he didn’t appreciate that he had his discarded wife, and his disgraced Sheriff, to thank for that situation. He was perhaps starting to realize.
Ælfgifu had sent word only that morning that Cnut had sent word to her of his intention to visit with her. Ælfgifu’s message hadn’t been a panicky request for assistance, but all the same, when he returned to Deerhurst he knew that his wife would be packed and waiting to return to Worcester so that they would be closer to Northampton and able to rush to Ælfgifu as soon as her resolve left her, because it would.
Leofric rose quickly to his feet. He’d not come here to think about the future, only to dwell on the past and so he stood and with a lingering glance for his father’s grave, his mother’s as well and of course, Northman’s, he walked back to consult with the abbot and to then take his leave of the religious house.
He hoped that the next time he returned to see his father’s grave, he’d have greater news for him. He smirked as he walked.
He had his family and his ally. He was almost impatience to see Cnut again after so long.
Cnut had returned fairly quickly after taking his son to Denmark, or at least, that was the news that Leofric had heard. He’d been long gone from the court by then, heeding the king’s words, his fury almost making it impossible for him to think clearly, let alone calm everyone else’s rage.
Almost all the way home they’d been conversations between them all about how Leofric could have found himself so badly used, and of them all it had been Ealdgyth and Ælfgar who were the most difficult to console.
Ælfgar had been plucked from the training field where he’d been working with Harthacnut and Brothor, and as they’d ridden further and further away, Orkning being the only one to be capable of rational explanation for the confused boy, Ælfgar had withdrawn further and further into himself.
At times he’d looked scared and worried as his father and Olaf had yelled, not at each other, but in anger, and Ealdgyth had simply cried, her grief uncontrollable. Olaf had eventually calmed down enough to care for his son, while Ælfgar and Æthelflæd had ridden a little way in front, as though they could forget what it was the adults spoke about.
Leofric had only slowly come to his senses and appreciated his son’s upset only to be horrified when Ælfgar found the courage to tell him that Harthacnut had told him to stay away from his father; that the House of Leofwine was cursed and would never again have any sort of position of strength within England.
Leofric had tried to reassure him but it had been impossible. Again, all he’d been able to think about was how one moment he’d been in the ascendant and the next even Harthacnut, most certainly his ally the day before, had warned his own son against his father.
Arriving at his home, Leofric had taken to his room, after sending for his wife, and brothers, and only then, with his distraught sister, Olaf and Orkning visiting their family home near the coast, had they begun to plot their revenge.
Leofric knew little of Cnut’s intentions when he returned to England. He’d held out a small hope that perhaps it had all been a hideous misunderstanding but he’d dismissed it before he’d even fully considered that. Instead, he’d heard small snip-its of information from anyone who happened to go near the king’s court and at other times months had gone by with no news at all. The winter had been a dead time. The countryside had been well coated in snow and the land, and the people had truly slept. But now, well now, it seemed that Cnut was about to make his intentions known and Leofric was keen to begin the war of attrition.
He doubted it would come down to physical war, but he was prepared for the kingdom to descend into civil war if it had to. It seemed that England wasn’t to be a peaceful land, or at least, not for long.
As expected, he returned to his hall at Deerhurst to a wife ready to travel to Worcester and Northampton, and a slightly terse message from Lady Ælfgifu. He also had a message from Earl Hrani, and it was a strange one. The messenger, a Danish man of middle years, was uneasy when Leofric returned to his hall. He’d clearly been given very strict instructions by Hrani. Taking pity on the man, he escorted him outside, so that they could speak by the rushing river which would drown out their words.
“My lord,” the man said with evident relief. “My thanks for your understanding of my situation.”
Leofric made some sort of noise in the back of his throat and the man continued.
“Earl Hrani has bid me seek you out and let you know that the king’s anger has somewhat abated, and that he would welcome you back if you were just to apologize for your transgressions.”
Immediately angered, Leofric glared at the man, but he was waving his arms and looking about him with fear written all over his face.
“He told you not to do it,” he whispered hurriedly, his face white with the shock of what he was saying.
“Pardon?” Leof
ric was forced to say because his anger had been sheering through his ears and he wasn’t sure he’d heard what the man had said. Unhappily, he repeated himself.
“He told you not to do it, and he asked for some token from you so that I could prove that I’d given my message to you as he demanded. Anything will do my lord,” the man said, his eyes still flickering around the enclosure of the hall although no one was near enough to hear anything and especially not over the roar of the stream, in spate after a summer downpour.
Patting his clothing and finding nothing that was suitable, and realizing that the messenger was literally desperate to be away from Deerhurst, Leofric was only inspired when Hund, now fully grown and sleek, nudged past his hand. He reached down and removed the small double-headed eagle emblem that hung on her collar. The man gripped it gratefully and turned to leave.
But he had one more thing to say.
“Tell no one I was here, my lord, please.”
“Of course not, and my thanks. Tell Hrani you served him well,” the man nodded and ran to his horse and was cantering out of the open gate before Leofric could even return to his own hall.
Still considering Hrani’s intent, Leofric left Deerhurst, his decision made to go straight to Ælfgifu but going via his home in Worcester, especially after Hrani’s message. Would the king really forgive him, or was it just a ruse? He thought it was most likely to be an attempt to have Leofric return to Winchester where he might be outlawed or worse, but Hrani’s interference made it seem that Cnut had also lost the support of one of his few remaining Danish earls.
With Hakon in Norway, with Erik and Ulfr dead, and Eilifr fled, Hrani was Cnut’s sole Danish earl. Other than Godwine and a Sihtric who Leofric knew little about other than that he was English, Cnut stood almost alone and isolated. Did even Hrani feel as though he could no longer offer his king good and impartial advice?