by M J Porter
“Of course, Earl Thorkell has daughters, but they are too old for my son. They wouldn’t be able to provide the children he needs, and Earl Erik, well it would be one of his grandchildren, not his own children, who might be of age for my son.” Ælfgar didn’t fail to notice that Lady Ælfgifu spoke of Cnut’s oldest, and most favoured allies. It was not lost on Lady Ælfgifu that her son was politically weak. He might have claimed England as his own to rule, but it had been more through luck than skill. Even his father would admit that. If Harthacnut hadn’t been so inconvenienced in Denmark, the death of Cnut would have resulted in a much different outcome, and Ælfgar wouldn’t be speaking with Lady Ælfgifu about the future of England’s royal family.
Aside from his own prior knowledge, which made the marriage of Harald to any eligible woman impossible, Ælfgar would readily agree that there was a dearth of suitable women to make a suitable bride for Harald.
The pair, walking carefully and shadowed by the members of Lady Ælfgifu’s personal guard, had by now reached a street where wooden shop fronts were flung upwards to allow all to see the goods on sale from within the buildings. Ælfgar fumbled his belt, pleased to hear the tell-tale sound of coins against coins from his money bag hung there. If Lady Ælfgifu had a mind to make any purchases, he wouldn’t be embarrassed by his inability to pay for them.
The street was busy, despite the gusting wind and flapping wooden signs that indicated the occupation of each shop-owner. Ælfgifu walked as though consumed only with a desire to make a purchase. But Ælfgar wasn’t fooled. He knew the king’s mother too well. She’d haunted his childhood, and while he’d never say he resented his mother’s friendship with her, it couldn’t be denied that life would have been simpler if they’d not been such close allies.
“Your mother keeps herself away from politics?” Lady Ælfgifu casually remarked as she examined a handful of dress broaches on display. The craftsman, honoured to have the king’s mother at his shop front, was trying his best to keep his distance while also appearing courteous and attentive. Ælfgar thought he did a passable job of it all.
“My mother is your ally, and that is very much all there is to it. Should you have need of her, she’ll come to your side.”
His mother, despite her unswerving loyalty to Lady Ælfgifu, didn’t relish politics, unless she was the one doing the meddling.
“She doesn’t enjoy the contrariness of political discussion,” Ælfgifu asked, holding a pair of matching brooches up to examine them. They were not the most expensive of items, but serviceable. They had elaborate gold work on them, but lacked the jewels that Lady Ælfgifu might normally have expected to find on her clothes, if the ones she wore today were anything to go by.
These items were made for those who didn’t have vast riches to spend on looking fashionable. Still, Lady Ælfgifu indicated she would buy them, and while Ælfgar haggled a little over the price, more for show than anything, and the seller gurgled his thanks when Ælfgar pressed more than twice the agreed price into his pliant hand, using the good coins that Harald had reissued to show his image, Lady Ælfgifu held her tongue.
With the small linen wrapped item in his hand, Ælfgar turned his attention back to Lady Ælfgifu. The sun, suddenly clear of scudding clouds fleeing through the air, cast a rare ray of sunlight over the area, highlighting Lady Ælfgifu in a casual position. She had turned her attention to another shop front, this one displaying necklaces and sigils. She was unguarded as she exclaimed over something that delighted her, and Ælfgar took in the sight of her.
She was older than his mother, by more than a handful of years, and her life, as King Cnut’s discarded wife, had been hard on her. The sunlight highlighted shadows on what had once been smooth cheeks, and a hardness to her mouth that showed she’d spent much of her life deep in thought, plotting her next move. Her hair, once long and intricately plaited, was now shielded beneath a veil of almost translucent linen, that distracted from the threads of silver that made up more than half of her hair.
She was ageing, as all must, but Ælfgar could still see her beauty. He’d never understand why Cnut had set her aside in place of the older Lady Emma. The beauty of the two women had always been filled with such contrasts, but even so, none could deny that Lady Ælfgifu had been the more attractive of the two.
He sighed, as he replaced his unspent, and made to hand the brooches to her.
“A gift,” Lady Ælfgifu smiled, white teeth flashing above pink lips. “For your cousin.” She spoke as though she did his cousin a great honour, and he held his flare of anger in check. After all that he’d just thought about her, perhaps he could detect, in her temperament, why Cnut had much preferred Lady Emma to the poisonous snake of Lady Ælfgifu.
“She’ll be most pleased,” he bowed, doing his part, as he knew he must. His cousin would never receive the gift. It was beneath even her. Instead, he’d hand them to one of the servants in his mother’s household. They need not know that the gift had even come from the king’s mother.
“You’ll marry soon?” Lady Ælfgifu suddenly announced, turning her back on the hopeful face of yet another merchant, and Ælfgar nodded his thanks and his apologies to the man. He’d need to return later and make a purchase if only to make up for such disappointment.
“I’ll marry as soon as the king grants his permission and the details are confirmed,” Ælfgar offered, trying not to trip over the words as he spoke them. Talking of his own marriage was strange. He almost couldn’t believe that he’d soon settle with his own wife, and hopefully, have his own children.
“Then let’s hope your father manages the king as well as you do the king’s mother,” she laughed, a little too high, a little too brittle, and Ælfgar simply nodded at the words. What more could he say?
Chapter Three
AD1037 London Leofric
Earl Hrani spoke first, a wry smirk of amusement on his lined face. He knew, as they all did, that the King wished to speak of the banishment of Lady Emma, and his anger at Earl Leofric. But the small meeting of four of the leading earls with their king had been convened to discuss the border with Wales, and not Lady Emma. Still, it was no surprise that the king twitched to be denied his right to complain.
“I’m reliably informed that the problem stems from an old family feud. But it begins to spill across the border. I’ve complaints from the people of Shropshire and Herefordshire that the Powysians are restless. Trade has been disrupted, and there has been sporadic, and opportunistic raiding.”
“Should we call out the fyrd?” the king complained, “for such a trifling matter?”
“Not the fyrd, My Lord King, and it’s not a trifling matter to the women and men affected. They worry the planting and harvesting of the crops will be affected if some show of force isn’t made.”
“Why would they want English land this time? The King of Powys can barely hold what he already has.”
“I don’t believe it’s the King of Powys who’s behind the attacks. I believe some relative of his tries to cause disharmony along the border. Perhaps he hopes the English will attack if the raids become too disruptive.”
“So this other man, what’s his name, expects the English to fight his battles for him?” Harald had grasped the heart of the matter quickly, and Leofric nodded along with his summation. His brother, Eadwine, had told him much the same.
“These Welsh kings, I believe this new man is a Gruffydd Ap Llewelyn, are always keen for someone else to fight their battles for them.”
“I’ll not be forced into a war with Powys or Gwynedd. Our focus must remain on England and ensuring we’re safe from attack from Harthacnut should he ever triumph over King Magnus. Can your brother not control the situation for the Crown?”
Leofric looked at the king in surprise at the words. His brother was no earl, but rather the Sheriff of Shropshire. Earls Hrani and Eilifr were infinitely more powerful than his brother.
“My brother shares the concerns of Earls Hrani and Eilifr. He’s mentio
ned it to me in recent years. I believe Lord Eadwine would control it, if he could.”
Harald grimaced at the statement. Even he couldn’t deny Leofric’s words.
“Do we have no alliance with the King of Powys?”
“We occasionally have alliances with any number of kings from the many Welsh kingdoms. The problem is, that they prefer to fight amongst themselves rather than hold to any alliance with the English, and that is when there are border problems.”
Leofric spoke from long experience. His grandfather had fought to keep the borderlands safe, his father as well. But, with Vikings in Dublin and the King of the Isles based in Manx, ever keen to meddle in the affairs of the notoriously fractured Welsh kingdoms, peace never lasted long.
Harald growled under his breath.
“We’ve more important concerns. We must keep Harthacnut contained in Denmark, and Lady Emma free from meddling as well. Perhaps they’re behind the unrest?” No sooner had Harald spoken the words out loud, in frustration, than Leofric watched as the idea took hold of the king. There was, Leofric couldn’t deny, always the possibility that they were somehow involved, even as far fetched as it sounded.
When Swein Forkbeard, and then Cnut, had claimed England as their own, they’d simply brought to its ultimate climax the extent of Danish meddling with England. With Norwegians and Swedes also keen to exploit any weakness in England, it was impossible to dismiss any idea, even as absurd as it might appear. The Vikings would ally with anyone, anywhere, provided coin was exchanged.
“It’s more likely that something has happened in Dublin, if the Dublin Vikings are involved,” Earl Godwine stated strongly. It seemed he was keen to divert the King from his thoughts. Leofric nodded along with Godwine, but he couldn’t help the tendril of suspicion that slithered through his mind.
Perhaps Godwine knew more than he was prepared to admit? Perhaps it was Lady Emma?
“Surely, it’s just unrest amongst the Welsh? A show of strength from the King of England will suffice, nothing more is needed, and then they’ll go back to their bitter in-fighting?
Earl Hrani spoke to dismiss the King’s wild suggestion, and Leofric felt the same snaking thought enter his mind. Perhaps even Earl Hrani knew more about the real cause of unease on the Welsh borderlands. Maybe Earl Eilifr knew as well?
“And you’ll lead and command this show of force?” Harald pointedly asked his Danish earl.
“I’d be honoured, My Lord, but we all know that the English don’t take kindly to a Danish commander.” Here Hrani spoke the truth as Leofric suppressed a sigh of annoyance. It was often this way. The Danish Earls had always been keen to complain about their land holdings. They were always too slow, and too unprepared to counter any problem themselves though. For that they turned to Leofric and his brothers, nephews and son.
“So you’ll do it, Earl Leofric?” Harald directed, and Leofric allowed his thoughts to turn to the inevitable. Had this been Harald’s wish all the time? Was he keen to rid himself of as many of Leofric’s relatives as possible? Disrupt, perhaps permanently, the influence the House of Leofwine held in Mercia?
“Who will I take, where will I take them, and who, exactly, is the enemy?” Leofric tried to keep the lethargy from his voice that he felt at such an order. He was being punished for his part in Lady Emma’s less than forceful banishment from England. Leofric knew he should have expected no less.
“Ask Earl Hrani, Earl Eilifr, ask your brother?” was Harald’s testy reply, and Leofric thought it best to hold his tongue. At his side, Earl Eilifr was fuming at the king’s dismissal of his concerns, and Leofric already knew he’d be forced to endure a long, and potentially, tedious conversation with the Danish Earls after his meeting with the king.
“My Lord King,” Leofric bowed his head, accepting the dubious honour, while Earl Godwine smirked from his place beside the King. Harald was glaring at Leofric, his fury evident in his heavily furrowed brow.
“Do what must be done, and bring me proof of who leads these attacks. I would know who my enemy is.” The king further demanded, and again Leofric bowed his head low. It seemed that he and his men would have the opportunity to ride out in the King’s name, and commit revenge on, well, on someone they didn’t yet know was at the heart of the problem.
“And now to Harthacnut,” Harald spoke the words with menace. Even though he was King, he had no illusions about his half-brother’s intentions toward England.
“Everything we know, suggests that Harthacnut is still embroiled in attacks from Norway.”
“Good,” Harald crowed. “But I’d ensure the situation continues. I believe that for the good of England, the crown must support King Magnus. We must make an alliance with him, to ensure he continues his war against Harthacnut.”
The argument wasn’t a new one for Leofric to hear, but Earl Godwine, hearing it for the first time, looked furious at the suggestion whereas Hrani and Eilifr simply shook their heads.
“The kings of the English don’t make alliances with kings of Norway,” Hrani said with heat, but Harald was already denying his argument with a shake of his own head.
“Yes they do, and they have, in the past. Ask Earl Leofric. His own father was instrumental in the alliance with Olaf Tryggvason.”
“The King made the alliance, my father simply worked to reinforce it,” Leofric felt compelled to state, even as Harald glared at him for refusing to agree with him.
“Magnus of Norway isn’t even the true heir to the crown of Norway,” Hrani argued, but Harald’s face was beginning to look mutinous.
“It doesn’t matter if he is, or he isn’t. Norway was ruled by my father. My damn brother lost it for him, and now I’d have it back, even if only as an ally and not as my own to rule. The Norwegians are allies of the English.”
“No, My Lord King, they’re simply the enemy of the Danish and always have been.”
“You would rather not then?” Harald taunted Earl Godwine, as the older man watched him with a quirked eyebrow of surprise. Godwine had favoured Harthacnut as king of England. No doubt Harald considered the possibility that Godwine still favoured that approach, despite making his peace with him. What lengths would Godwine go to in the name of Harthacnut?
“I’d rather not, My Lord King, no. England will only suffer should it be involved in another war. Your father too often embroiled England in the affairs of Denmark and his wide Empire. The English are not keen for a reoccurrence of such events.”
“The English must do as they’re commanded,” Harald countered, colour entering his cheeks at the criticism of his father, levelled by of all people, Earl Godwine, his father’s staunchest ally.
“The English made you King. Never forget that,” Earl Godwine retorted. His voice was even, but firm. Leofric watched in surprise. He’d thought the two men were more aligned in their views. Perhaps he shouldn’t have expected such cohesion in such a short amount of time.
“Lord Leofric, what do you say?” Annoyed at being forced to voice his own thoughts, Leofric paused briefly. He could feel the heat of the king’s wishes and desires in his stare.
“I’m sure I made my position clear. But, I confess, I don’t believe England should seek to infuriate Harthacnut. What you suggest could never, ever, be accomplished in secrecy. Harthacnut would find out, and then he might decide that Magnus is less of a threat than he first thought.”
“Really, Lord Leofric? You’re too scared to take on Harthacnut. He’s just a boy, nothing more.”
“Your half-brother is a skilled warrior, raised in the Danish Court since he was a small boy. I’d not recognise him, should I ever meet him, and indeed, no one here would. Harthacnut is an enigma to the English. His rule would not be welcomed, but neither do the English feel any great animosity toward him. He’s a stranger to all, and a stranger he’ll remain.”
“He’s a threat to England,” Harald almost roared, his fury consuming him at his earls intransigents.
“In time he might be, but not a
t the moment. Not now Lady Emma is gone from England’s shore.” Earl Hrani spoke into the tense atmosphere. He was using his seax to clear something stuck in the wooden planks of the small table, his indifference purely put on. Still, his voice lowered the heat of the exchange.
“At the moment, there’s no sympathy for Harthacnut. Earl Godwine has seen reason and supported your kingship. His mother is gone, as I said. There’s no one for him to form an alliance with.” As he spoke, Hrani watched, not the king, but rather Earl Godwine. Leofric watched the exchange with interest.
Earl Godwine was a great unknown. He’d rarely acted other than for his own good, and that of his family. Initially he’d supported Harthacnut’s claim to the English kingdom, believing he followed the wishes of his friend and former king, Cnut. His transfer of allegiance to Harald was a new development, and one it seemed, Leofric wasn’t alone in doubting.
“I agree,” Earl Godwine stated, his voice manipulating and almost sickly.
The King, Hrani and Eilifr as well, didn’t look convinced. Leofric considered whether any of them would say as much while Earl Godwine was amongst them. Why had the King forced this argument today? If it was just to punish Leofric, then he thought it badly conceived. If they weren’t careful, it would be Earl Godwine who left the hall with thoughts of revenge foremost in his mind.
“But if Magnus and Harthacnut resolve their difficulties, England will be threatened.”
“There’s always the chance, but I can’t see Norway and Denmark ever reconciling. The Norwegians still resent Cnut’s influence over them, no matter if the English and the Norwegians are ancient allies. As Cnut’s Danish heir, Harthacnut is the successor to those resentments, and you, My Lord King, I regret to inform you, would be no welcome addition to their efforts. Your brother was not the most successful of leaders when he ruled in Norway.” Leofric spoke as he understood the current situation.