The Earl's King

by M J Porter

  A wry smile touched Leofric’s lips at his son’s complaint.

  “Allow her to enjoy the moment. And when she’s done with you, I don’t doubt that she’ll move onto your cousins.” With outraged cries, his nephews turned to look at him, as Leofric winked at them. It was well past time that the older boys were married.

  Their mother, Lady Mildryth thought the same, for all Wulfstan and Ælfwine clearly enjoyed being bachelors.

  “Young men must have heirs,” Leofric cautioned them, watching as they jostled for the right to return to Northampton with their cousin, and therefore catch the eye of their indomitable Aunt, or remain in London, where they’d have to step just as carefully around the king and the Court, but at least wouldn’t end up married.

  In the end it was Ælfwine who returned to the king’s palace to claim his horse, and Wulfstan who agreed to remain in London with his Uncle. Although most recognised the brothers by sight, they were easily interchanged and Leofric had no concern that Ælfwine would be noted as he went about his business.

  For his son, and the rest of the men, Leofric eyed their horses with compassion. They had ridden far but not at great speed, and he thought them capable of returning to Northampton without too much worry of injury.

  “If you have to ride on from Northampton, change the horses,” he advised his son and companions. “We don’t need to kill the horses to stop a war. Not one I don’t believe is going to happen anyway.” The men hardly needed telling, but Leofric offered the words all the same. His son would always be his son, and he would always be his father, and offer cautions even when they weren’t needed.

  Chapter Seven

  AD1037 Northampton Ælfgar

  Ælfgar arrived in darkness, as he’d thought they would. It had been impossible to outrun the sunset, not with his horse so exhausted, and anyway, they’d carried brands with them to light the way.

  If his quick return hazarded any surprise from the gate wardens of Northampton, none spoke it, as they allowed him inside before sealing the gates up tight for the coming night. Even with England seemingly peaceful, many large settlements took no chances. Not when the inhabitants had to perform the task of repairing the walls and ditches each year to maintain the ancient burhs, raised to protect England from the Viking’s over a hundred years ago. As such, a small force of men was always watching the gates, wary of strangers, but not of traders. Traders were always welcome for the goods and the news that they carried.

  Sliding from his horse’s back, Ælfgar decided to walk the rest of the way to Lady Ælfgifu’s hall. He was still slightly perplexed as to why he’d not seen her when first leaving Northampton, but doubted there was much to worry about. Lady Ælfgifu, living in and around Northampton all her life, no doubt knew shortcuts that he had no knowledge of.

  Stabling his horse, while his companions saw to their own animals, Ælfgar strode into the hall, unsurprised to see his mother and Lady Ealdgyth still deep in conversation. His mother noticed him, and an expression of confusion crossed her face, as though she couldn’t remember where her son should be, but knew it wasn’t in Northampton. Hastily, he made his way to her side, aware he smelt strongly of horse and sweat.

  Wrinkling her nose, she watched him with eager eyes that cleared as she perhaps realised how much time had passed, by the number of candles burning, and the discarded goblets before her.

  Ælfgar was her only son, her only child. He knew it had long wounded her to have only borne one child, and he felt the pressure to be everything those unborn children had never been. He was always pleased he could share at least some of the burden with his cousins when his mother remembered about them.

  It wasn’t always an easy task. For any of them. He was an only child, and his older cousins, the sons of a man murdered for treason against the king.

  “I’ve returned, at father’s command,” he whispered into his mother’s ear, a smart bow for his future mother-by-marriage. Lady Eadgifu smiled softly at him, perhaps pleased to be able to take some time away from the haggling his mother was so fond of.

  “Why?” his mother demanded to know, a hint of petulance to her voice. The on-going disagreement between his parents concerning Lady Ælfgifu was something that had marred his childhood, and it was evident his mother already suspected his father’s motives.

  “I’m to bring Lady Ælfgifu’s messenger to the Court,” Ælfgar replied serenely. This was always the best way to approach his mother’s vexations. Only that way would he get a swift answer.

  “Why?”

  “The king would speak with him.”

  “Yes, no doubt your father would have him speak to the king. But why? Does your father not believe Lady Ælfgifu?” She spoke as softly as he did, but Lady Ealdgyth’s ears pricked up at the words, and Ælfgar glared at his mother for her candid revelation of the discord that sometimes ran between his parents.

  “There’s no possibility of corroborating his words. No one has sailed from London for many days, and they say it won’t be safe to leave for perhaps another week. A ship arrived from Ribe, but it was a trading vessel that had come down the coast and then across the narrow sea. Everyone on board suffered. How this ship of Lady Ælfgifu’s captain got through from Denmark is a miracle, and the king wishes to speak with the ship’s commander.”

  Her face twisting in annoyance at the sound reasoning, Lady Godgifu looked at those within Lady Ælfgifu’s hall. Squinting slightly, the light from the fire casting much into shadow, she huffed with aggravation.

  “I can’t see him. Perhaps he’s left.”

  “No, no, I see him. He’s over there, by the hearth. I think he might be sleeping.”

  Ælfgar nodded a thank you to Lady Ealdgyth, for her attentiveness, and strode to the slumped figure. It seemed Lady Ealdgyth had been paying more attention than his mother. That didn’t surprise him. His mother was a very singular woman. She would only have been focused on her son’s marriage. England could have crumbled around her, provided she negotiated the terms that she wanted for the dowry and marriage to take place.

  Ælfwine and Otryggr joined him, and they converged on the sleeping form together. Perhaps, Ælfgar considered, the man would have run had he been given half an opportunity, but instead he slept, oblivious to the world around him.

  “Good man,” Ælfgar’s hand on his shoulder, made little impact, although he’d been expecting him to jump, hand perhaps going to an imaginary blade on his weapon’s belt. When that didn’t happen, Ælfgar shook the man more firmly, fearing he was blind drunk.

  Again, there was no response, so Ælfgar forced his hand between the man’s head and the arm his head was cushioned upon to ensure there was breath coming in and out of the man’s mouth. There was, and bending closer, Ælfgar pulled back in disgust. The man was more than blind drunk, he was totally unconscious, with a pool of drawl growing on the wooden table he leaned on.

  “Hold his head up, let your mother and Lady Ealdgyth see him,” Ælfwine suggested. “If it’s him, then we can take him as he is.”

  The thought of returning to his saddle with no rest or food was unappealing to Ælfgar, but it would be easier to transport the prisoner if he was dead to the world.

  Lady Ealdgyth had followed Ælfgar to the slumped form, unobserved by Ælfgar, and now she peered over the shoulder of Ælfwine to inspect the man once more.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice rich and clear. “That’s the man. He spoke with Lady Ælfgifu, and then she left.”

  “Have you ever seen him before?” Ælfgar thought to ask.

  “No, not in Northampton, and not speaking to Lady Ælfgifu. You fear he’s not who he says he is?” She asked the question softly, for their actions had garnered interest from everyone within the drowsy hall, even Lady Godgifu had stepped from her place on the dais, and scrunched her face in horror at the drunken form of the man.

  “We do, yes. It’ll be best to question him before the king, and the earls.”

  “Yes, it will,” still Lady
Ealdgyth watched Ælfgar with mild interest.

  “Lady Ælfgifu has long been my ally and friend,” she offered, her voice unflinching, “but she’s desperate for at least one of her son’s to succeed where the other has failed.” Her voice sharpened as she spoke.

  Ælfgar held his tongue. He had heard a lifetime of explanations for Lady Ælfgifu’s actions. It never excused them, no matter how understandable they were. Like her son really. Ælfgar believed he understood what drove his foster-brother, but he still couldn’t support him without seeing the failures as easily as the successes.

  “It’s not the intention to humiliate,” Ælfgar sought to explain.

  “No, it’s the intention to find the truth. But that’s never possible, not where kings are concerned,” Lady Ealdgyth spoke bitterly, and Ælfgar wisely held his tongue. His future wife’s mother was just as much a victim of bad kingship as his own family was. Only, Lady Ealdgyth’s grief had come from the murder of her husband by King Æthelred. The House of Leofwine had fallen victim to King Cnut.

  It made for strange alliances and fractured loyalties when different kings had been guilty of the same crimes.

  “You should travel in the morning,” his mother directed from the dais, not hearing the conversation between Ælfgar and Lady Ealdgyth, or more likely, choosing not to listen to it. The alliance between the two women, like so many others, was tempered by their own experiences of kingship. Harald, as a Mercian, was to be honoured and revered as their king, and that had to override all other selfishnesses. Sometimes.

  “We’ll go now. We need fresh horses, but the sooner this can be resolved, the quicker Harald can concentrate on what needs doing within England, as opposed to outside of England.”

  “Yes, and his mother can continue her quest to see him married.” That comment, coming from Lady Ealdgyth, brought Ælfgar up short. Did she know, as she intimated, with her delighted snarl? Had his future wife told her mother?

  “And speaking of marriages,” his own mother said, moving aside so that Ælfwine and Otryggr could move the sleeping form and make him ready for travel.

  “Agreement has been reached on your own wedding. It can take place as quickly as you would like. I’d thought it might need to be delayed, because of this pesky war, but it seems not.” Lady Godgifu spoke with joy in her voice, and Ælfgar flushed with happiness, turning to meet the eyes of Lady Ealdgyth.

  What he saw there was such a reflection of his intended wife’s determination that he paused once more. It was a marriage of love, and also convenience, but would it be to his convenience or that of his wife and her mother?

  Shaking his head to dispel the thought, he instead turned to kiss his future mother by marriage on both cheeks, and to murmur his thanks.

  She gripped his arm between her two hands as he bent in close.

  “You’ll do the right thing, by all of them,” she cautioned, all the while smiling, and appearing as though she were the happiest woman in the world. “Kings are fools. You’ll not be swayed by any of them and will ensure my daughter is cared for and never made to suffer as I did.”

  He nodded, his throat suddenly dry with worries for the future, before bowing his way from the presence of his mother, and his future mother by marriage.

  Lady Ealdgyth was demanding more of him than he thought he could give, and suddenly, just like his father and grandfather before him, his Uncle as well, he understood how easily the layers of expectation settled over seemingly harmless events.

  He must do the right thing for his wife, his family, his country and the king.

  It was unlikely, Ælfgar thought, striding from the hall to settle on a new horse, that he would always be able to achieve harmony between all those vying demands.

  Chapter Eight

  AD1037 London Ælfgar

  The man, name unknown, tied to a horse to prevent him from obtaining any injuries, snored all the way to London.

  Ælfgar watched him carefully, not at all convinced this was a natural state, but whenever he and his cousins, and fellow companions, rested, he checked the man still breathed and found he did.

  Not that they’d ridden all night. No, exhaustion had overtaken them all, and so they’d slumped to the side of the roadway, taking it in turns to guard their hostage and the horses, so that they could all have some well-deserved sleep.

  His father had asked them to return in all haste, but Ælfgar was sure his father wouldn’t expect him to have succeeded as quickly as they had. Far from it. No doubt Leofric had assumed they’d have to chase the man and his news almost to the coast. Ælfgar was pleased it had proven to be so much easier, and yet he still worried about the man’s non-responsiveness.

  If he never woke, he could never be questioned, and then the dash back to Northampton would have been for nothing. His father would still be faced with the difficulties that Lady Ælfgifu’s scaremongering were causing, and the king would still be demanding that action be taken against Harthacnut’s pretensions to the English kingdom.

  Yet, for all his apprehension, Ælfgar struggled to fret about the king’s concerns, now that he knew his marriage had been arranged and could proceed as soon as the current crisis had been averted.

  He’d first spied his intended wife on his endeavour to find Lord Alfred the year before. While that had ended in disaster, and Alfred’s death, Ælfgar was grateful for his father’s zeal to find Alfred and try to avert the unavoidable. He’d found his future wife that day, in the inn, although he’d not known it at the time.

  No, it had taken another meeting, at the king’s court, for him to finally speak with Lady Elgiva and to realise his infatuation with her was more than based on their chance meeting in Northampton when he’d never even talked to her.

  He’d endured a great deal of teasing from his older cousins, but he was the one to marry first, whereas they looked far from keen to begin their own families. For all their father’s treasonous death, long since retracted and apologised for, his cousins were eligible bachelors within Mercia. Any tie to the House of Leofwine was to be pursued, despite what his cousins might think, and perhaps, hope.

  Ælfgar spared a thought for them. It would take braver men than they to put his mother off forever. With the passion for organising marriages foremost in her mind, he doubted it would be long before they too were married. He smiled at the thought. Then he’d be the one teasing them and enjoying it all the more.

  Within sight of London, he called a halt to their riding. His father hadn’t been specific in his demands about bringing the man to London, and he was unsure whether they should take him straight to Harald’s palace or not.

  Ælfgar considered the possibilities, as he allowed his horse to drink from the small brook close to the roadway. He peered into the distance, looking for answers, and it was at that moment that the man woke from his seemingly endless slumber.

  A low moaning came first, and all eyes swivelled to glare at him, and then the man’s eyes slowly opened, as he whimpered and tried to move his hands. But they were tied to his saddle, just as his legs were fastened below the horse’s belly he slumped on.

  Confusion furled the man’s face, and his eyes shot wide open with a groan of complaint.

  “What the fuck,” the man shouted, looking around in surprise.

  His eyes flickered against the brightness of the day, and a shiver passed through his body, as his gaze met Ælfgar’s. It was evident he knew who Lord Ælfgar was.

  “I need to pee,” the man complained, “and water, I need water. I feel like I swallowed a cowpat.”

  More amused than outraged at the tangle of demands, Ælfgar indicated to Ælfwine that he could release the man’s legs and hands.

  “You were tied only to keep you on your horse. What did you drink yesterday?”

  “Is that bloody London?” the man muttered, as he staggered to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him, so that he grabbed hold of Ækfwine for support, wincing as he realised how stiff his body was. His hand briefly po
inted toward the settlement ahead.

  “What am I doing in London?”

  Without waiting for an answer, the man ambled to the edge of the brook, and a splash of urine could be heard hitting the hard ground, quickly followed by another demand for water.

  Ælfwine, rolling his eyes comically, handed the man a water bottle when he’d finished relieving himself, and they all watched in amusement as the man drained the water bottle and looked around for more.

  “Who are you?” Ælfgar demanded to know, watching as the stranger bent to refill his empty water bottle in the low brook.

  “I’m Artair,” the informer muttered. “Trader by profession. Is there food?” he demanded. “I’m bloody starving. I’ve no bloody idea what they put in that ale.”

  His complaints were clearly just beginning, as he manoeuvred his way back to the side of his horse, and then quickly dashed back to the undergrowth bordering the road and was violently sick.

  Ælfgar felt disgust well in his own stomach at the noisy wretching, but he held his own stomach tighter. He didn’t want to be found vomiting in sympathy.

  “What the fuck?” Artair still complained. “I think I’ve been bloody poisoned.”

  Ælfgar reserved judgment on the accusation but didn’t dismiss it. The man looked both embarrassed and pained.

  “Drink some more,” Ælfgar commanded. “It’ll flush whatever’s upset your stomach from your system then.”

  But Artair was looking furious.

  “Damn bitch,” he muttered. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her.”

  Ælfgar didn’t ask who he meant.

  “We’re taking you before the king. You must repeat your warning given to Lady Ælfgifu before him.”

  Immediately, Artair looked rebellious, anger touching his scrunched face that bore the imprint of the horse’s harness he’d been tied to so that he appeared sunburnt in patches.

  “I’ll say nothing before the King that I didn’t say to the Lady. I can only report what I’m told.”