by M J Porter
Harald listened with pursed lips and unhappy eyes.
“Bloody brothers,” he shouted, his voice filled with resentment. Harald been almost ignored by his father. His older brother, and his younger half-brother, had always been given more of their father’s trust than he had.
“Am I never to be free of my family?” Harald almost screeched, standing and pacing behind his chair. Godwine continued to watch him with a raised eyebrow, whereas Leofric, despite his best intentions, felt a surge of pity for the young man. For that’s all he was. Barely in his early twenties, and king of a country that had been shackled under his father’s reign and now tried to break free. Further, Harald was left with the men his father had once ruled over, and they had split loyalties and their own agendas, whether they coincided with the king’s or not.
“It’s family that makes us strong,” Earl Eilifr intoned. “The ties of family, kinship and friendship. The ties of warrior leaders and their men.”
Leofric shook his head. This wasn’t what Harald needed to hear. Harald knew all this only too well.
“Each king must make his own mark. You can’t be remembered as your father’s son. You need to make your own policies and earn the respect of the English in such a way. It will not matter then what the Welsh, the Scots or the Danish do. You’ll be England’s King.”
“But how should I do that without war? That’s what you suggest – my father was king because of his battle prowess.”
“Your father was king because he set man against man, woman against woman, and was lucky enough not to die in the twenty or so battles he forced King Edmund to counter. Your father was king because he married Lady Emma and promised continuity from King Æthelred. Your father was king because he was England’s enemy, the last in a long, long line of them, and when Æthelred died, it was easier to invite the enemy in than continue the fight. But it also helped that Lord Edmund died as well.”
Leofric had spoken similar words to these in the past. Harald had never believed them before, and yet there was nothing else he could say to convince Harald of the correct tactics to employ in the future.
“But,” and Leofric said the words quickly. Once before Harald had only heard half of Leofric’s advice. He wanted to prevent the same from happening this time. “All those deaths were natural, apart from Edmund’s who died from battle wounds. None of them were engineered.” Leofric spoke as a caution. He knew the mind of his foster-son too well. It was not always a pleasant experience.
“So we leave Harthacnut and his mother to plot as they will. They’ve half of Europe they could arrange against us!” There was almost a squeak of outrage at the end of Harald’s words.
“Lady Emma has managed to alienate most of her children. Even now, as I said, she goes to Flanders, not to Normandy or the Vexin or even Denmark. She might have family relations all over Europe, but I doubt they want to be reminded of that.”
Leofric spoke with some heat. These arguments weren’t new. Harald understood his predicament only too well. Half-English and half-Danish, he held the hopes of the English in his hands, but should he fail there were many others who could rule England in his place.
Leofric swept Earl Godwine under his gaze, curious to see what the other made of his words. Earl Godwine sat very still, his hands clasped on the table before him. He looked every inch the relaxed king’s counsellor, and yet Leofric detected a small tick of unease around his left eye. Godwine knew something that Leofric didn’t. That worried him and also annoyed him.
Harald’s eyes, by contrast, were intense as he gazed at Leofric. It was evident that he wanted a new solution to his problem, but at the moment there was nothing that could be done.
“Your men, will they travel to Denmark, find out all they can about Harthacnut?”
The request was, surprisingly, made without fervour from the king, and Leofric nodded.
“Of course, My Lord King. My men ply their trade in Denmark and Norway. As you know, Olaf and Orkning have family there, and it means they can travel without the fear that other Englishmen have.”
But the king hadn’t finished with his demands.
“The same for you Earls Godwine, Hrani and Eilifr. You three all have family in Denmark. Instruct them to find out all they can. If Harthacnut and Magnus look likely to make a peace, I must know about it, make suitable preparations.”
Earl Godwine again looked unhappy at his king’s words, Eilifr too, but Hrani was nodding.
“Of course, My Lord King. I’ll share with you all I know, but my concern is with the Welsh, not the Danish.”
The reminder of Hrani’s real concerns caused Harald to flinch, but he grunted his agreement all the same.
“Yes, the Welsh. Earl Leofric, determine what you can about the cause of the unrest there. If we need to send some of the household troop, or call out the fyrd, then that must be done. England must be secure on all her borders in case Harthacnut does turn his eyes to England.”
With that, the king stood and strode from the hall. Leofric watched him go with an uneasy feeling that only intensified when Earl Godwine chuckled darkly.
Godwine too stood, his cloak pooling down his long body.
“You shouldn’t caution the king to peace. He should do what his instinct is telling him to do. Harthacnut will not be forgiving when he has the time and resources to direct toward England.”
The words fell like stones into the silence, and for a moment Leofric had no idea how to respond.
“Ah, but King Magnus is a wily enemy. He has the support of the entire Norwegians, a rare occurrence for any king there. Not since Olaf Trvyggason has a king united so much of Norway. None have any love for Harthacnut, or his father’s memory. And in the North, they have much longer memories than the English.” Hrani’s reply was filled with foreboding as he made his own exit from the king’s hall, alongside Eilifr, and Leofric hovered, wondering if Earl Godwine would speak again and add his own dire predictions to Hrani’s. When he didn’t, but rather followed Hrani and Eilifr out of the door, Leofric stayed seated, his face pensive.
England had an English king, or rather, a half-English king, but at what cost? And would it last? So many others had a valid claim to the kingdom, although of them all, Leofric thought only Harthacnut had the resources needed to claim England as his own.
But then, the English had once thought they’d never have a Danish king and now they’d had two.
Standing, Leofric strode from the hall as well, his mind whirling with possibilities.
Chapter Four
AD1037 Northampton Ælfgar
Ælfgar watched his mother’s conversation with a wry twerk to his mouth. She was clearly enjoying her current role, and it pleased him to see her in her element.
She hadn’t always been an easy woman to love as a mother, but now that he was a man in his own right, he could appreciate her sharp tongue and caustic humour a little more. Especially when it wasn’t aimed his way.
His mother sat around a small wooden table, in a conference with Lady Ealdgyth and Lady Ælfgifu. He thought they only need add Lady Gunnhild and Lady Gytha, the wife of Earl Godwine, to their discussion and all the most formidable women in England would be deciding his future.
It was an unsettling experience, to know he was being spoken about, rather than to. One of Ælfgar’s cousins had joined him, supposedly for some moral support, as had Orkning’s son, Otryggr, but really they were just there so they could ridicule him about his future. They were both good men, but he’d happily have killed them both if only to stop their merciless teasing.
Even his own father had abandoned him to the tender mercies of the women, giving his wife full control over the marriage arrangement, to both please her, and Ælfgar thought, to avoid the penetrating stare of Lady Ælfgifu.
Quite why the king’s mother had to be involved in the minutiae of the marriage agreement, Ælfgar wasn’t too sure, but she was, and that was the end of the matter.
He only wished Elgiva were in
Northampton for the discussions, but her mother had commanded her to remain at her family home, and so, as the women discussed his future, he and his intended wife were kept miles apart.
It all seemed a bit too much, and Ælfgar wished he too had been forced to stay in London with his father. He wasn’t even included in the discussions, so why he had to witness them was beyond him.
The three women wore their wealth with pride, mindful that this visible reminder would make the marriage agreement easier, or harder to decide upon. His mother, however, had made a visible effort not to outshine Lady Ælfgifu. It would have been easy for her to do so. Ælfgar had no illusions that his family, so influential for over forty years now, were the more powerful of the two, despite Lady Ælfgifu being the mother of the king.
As the women spoke, sometimes with heat and sometimes with laughter that bubbled across the room to where he sat, Ælfgar tried to sit comfortably and not squirm like a child, but he found the entire situation unbearable, and with a final oath, he stood and strode from Lady Ælfgifu’s home in Northampton.
His companions, chuckling at his obvious annoyance, left him to go, content to watch and continue their on-going interpretation of a conversation they could only see and not hear. Ælfgar knew that if he’d been less worried, he’d have found their antics funny.
Once outside, he stopped to take a deep breath of the brisk air, and pull his cloak tighter. It was very early summer, and the weather was proving stubborn to let go of the winter frosts.
He made his way to the stables in search of something better to do and quickly found himself saddling his horse. He didn’t have any fixed destination in mind and knew he couldn’t be long, but he did need time away from his mother and her ambitious plans. It didn’t seem to be enough that it was an excellent political and romantic match. No, his mother was keen to make even more of her only child’s marriage, and even now, he knew she’d be quibbling over the terms of the union, just because she could.
He sighed unhappily and kneed his mount forwards. He was joined by a handful of his cousin’s hounds. The animals were so well trained, he often forgot that they mirrored his every move, but now he used them as an excuse to escape the confines of Northampton, and just ride.
The hounds were all reasonably young, and in need of a great deal of exercise, so Ælfgar suddenly had no qualms about riding a long way before he returned.
Surrounded by his barking host, he quickly spurred the horse onwards, enjoying the rush of the cooling air around his heated face. He allowed his thoughts to turn blank, a rare occurrence in the current political situation. Ælfgar believed that his father, and his king, should have been far happier with recent events, but they were not. Their constant need to discuss the matter was trying his patience.
Ælfgar wished only to think of his coming marriage and the possibility of war on the border with Powys. Anything else seemed irrelevant to him.
His foster-brother, the king, couldn’t stop events from unfolding as they would in Denmark and Norway, and nor could his father within England.
Much was far from settled, but it would be, in good time. Or so Ælfgar hoped.
As he rode, Ælfgar watched the men and women busy about their work in the fields. Even now small green sprouts could be seen peeking above the tilled earth, and he offered a quick prayer for a bountiful harvest. Yet he rode ever onwards, his destination a small stream that cut across the roadway he travelled, and where the hounds would be able to rest and take their fill of water.
They still ran with too much enthusiasm, and Ælfgar allowed himself to be caught up in their excitement, enticing his horse to ever-greater speed. His horse didn’t mind either, and the hounds were well trained enough to keep far from the horse’s fleeing legs so that none risked injury, no matter their speed.
Only when he arrived at the stream, did Ælfgar realise that he hadn’t thought to bring himself anything to drink. With a wry smirk of amusement, he took his place upstream from the animals and scooped some of the icy water into his mouth. Sitting back on his heels, he laughed at the sight of the six hounds lapping at the stream, his own horse by their side. If only everything could be ordered so neatly, he thought with amusement. How good it would be to line up all the earls of England and have them drink their fill from the same stream as the king, only slightly below him, as they must?
He didn’t envy Harald his position as king. It seemed to him that there was actually less scope to do as he wanted than Ælfgar had. Not that he often felt pity for Harald. Harald had never been a good playmate when they were children; always too loud and bossy, and little had changed in the intervening years.
His thoughts turned to his future wife. Elgiva was a sweet-natured woman, a little older than him, but only by a few years. She’d been raised almost with Harald and his brother Swein and had told Ælfgar stories of their youthful antics that even he’d never witnessed. Overwhelmingly, it had left him feeling that his own ambiguous feelings toward Harald weren’t the result of any jealousy. No, he and his future wife held very similar opinions about Harald, opinions he’d never share with his father, unless it became imperative that he did so.
Being king was not likely to force Harald to better behaviour, and Ælfgar knew he’d need to be on his guard. The matter of Harald’s marriage was likely to cause some consternation.
Unlike everyone else at Court, Ælfgar knew that Harald wasn’t eligible to marry anyone. Not anytime soon, for he’d already conducted his own secret marriage to a woman close to Ælfgar’s future wife. Even now, Harald paraded her at Court as though she were just some whore, right under the nose of his mother and the powerful earls. But she was the king’s legitimate wife, and as unsuitable as the marriage might be construed by the nobility of England, Ælfgar knew it was the only means of controlling Harald and his lust for women.
Better to have him married to someone he shouldn’t, than have him bedding any attractive woman he could entice to his bed.
But, well, even then the situation wasn’t ideal. Ælfgar almost wished his future bride hadn’t told him of the secret marriage. Now Ælfgar found himself in a position he little liked. He couldn’t even confide in his father. His father would take the news poorly, and Ælfgar feared being blamed for something he’d only known about after the fact.
Worse though was the thought of Lady Ælfgifu’s reaction. The king’s mother would not take kindly to having such a vital bargaining counter taken away from her. No, Ælfgar wished Harald luck in keeping his secret and putting off his ambitious mother.
On his eventual return to Lady Ælfgifu’s hall in Northampton, Ælfgar was greeted by his companions. Their joyous expressions had fallen away, and now they looked concerned and aggrieved with their cousin and young lord. They strode toward him, questions already on their lips.
“Where have you been?” Wulfstan demanded. But before Ælfgar could reply, he began talking.
“There are reports, from Denmark. Lady Ælfgifu has rushed to London to sit in council with the king. She wasn’t happy that you weren’t available to escort her.”
“But I saw no one on my ride?” Ælfgar looked from Wulfstan to Otryggr in confusion. “Where has she gone, if not by the road south?”
“You must have missed her, I don’t know how,” Wulfstan complained, while Ælfgar looked behind him in confusion. He still clutched his horse’s reins as he considered the next move.
“What was the news, exactly?”
“They didn’t tell us that,” Wulfstan complained.
“Even your mother forgets who we are sometimes.” Otryggr rejoined, and Ælfgar nodded. They were right to complain. Unlike his father, who never forgot all his nieces and nephews, Lady Godgifu seemed to find them a nuisance to ignore whenever possible.
“Is Lady Ealdgyth still within?” Ælfgar asked. It was likely she knew far more than his cousins.
“Yes, she and your mother still twitter about the marriage agreement.”
“Right, well, you take car
e of my horse, and I’ll enter the affray.” Ælfgar tried to make light of interrupting his mother. He doubted it would be quick or satisfying. His cousin sniffed him as he took the reins.
“With that stench, you might get away with it.” And just like that, their good cheer returned, and Ælfgar strode into the hall of Lady Ælfgifu wishing his life could be as simple as his cousins.
“Lady Mother,” he broke into the conversation quickly. “Lady Ealdgyth, I trust all is well?” he spoke to disrupt their current discussion, and neither of them smiled at him as he did so.
“Where were you?” his mother berated, and he bowed his head in apology.
“What’s happened? Shall I go after Lady Ælfgifu?” He decided he didn’t mind being chastised provided he got the answer he needed, and quickly.
“Some worry from Denmark, and yes, you should follow on.”
“Has she journeyed via a different route? I didn’t see her when I returned from my ride.”
“No, she’s gone South, to London. Immediately. She was upset by word from the messenger and has gone to inform the king.”
Ælfgar tried to make sense of the words, only eventually realising that while he assumed the messenger had come from the king, his cousins had never actually said as much.
“The messenger came from Denmark, for Lady Ælfgifu?” he qualified, and his mother nodded her head quickly.
“Of course. Where else would the man have come from? He brings news that Harthacnut plans to send ships to England, despite his conflict with Magnus.”
The information made little sense to Ælfgar. Why would Harthacnut choose to act now, ignoring Magnus, when he hadn’t wanted to in the last two years?
“You’re sure of this?” he asked, just to be sure, as his mother shooed him away from her with her hands.
“Go, son, go. Your father will have need of you, and so will the king.”
“Where did this messenger come from?” Ælfgar persisted, only to be met with a furious glare from his mother.