The Earl's King

by M J Porter

  But it was a younger man who stood and turned to face the assembly, no doubt one of the scribes from the royal scriptorium who’d studied England’s royal family for much of his life.

  “The sons of Godgifu and her first husband, Drogo, the Count of Vexin, would have a more distant claim to the English throne, but should still be considered as æthelings, although I believe Walter, the older, rules at the Count of Vexin following his father’s death.”

  The young man, with rheumy eyes, and a constantly running nose, which he wiped into a raggedly looking piece of linen, spoke as though he were alone in a room with only Siward. Those at the rear of the hall strained to hear, and Leofric could hear the words being repeated for those who’d not caught them.

  “Of course,” the young monk continued, although he’d not been asked to. “The sons of King Edmund would also share a claim to the kingdom. They too must be considered as æthelings.” With the pronouncement made, the monk returned to his seat, no doubt scribing for the assembly, while a wave of unease swept through the Witan.

  There were many options to be considered, although Earl Godwine’s scowl of annoyance indicated that he didn’t agree.

  Leofric hoped to retain his seat, but could feel the expectations on his shoulders, and so stood before the men and women of the Witan.

  “England has two choices,” he stated quite simply, having given them great thought since Harald’s death. “It can continue with the House of Swein, or it could revert to the House of Wessex. In all honesty, if the argument hinges on Lady Emma and her ability to smooth the coming choppy waters, she must be content with the reinstatement of either of her sons.”

  “If Lord Edward returned, England would face an attack from Harthacnut,” a voice strained to be heard over others, and Leofric nodded.

  “Yes, it is believed that Harthacnut is at peace with Norway. He’s in Bruges with his Lady Mother, his ship-army assembling.”

  “So Lady Emma has cast her lost in with Harthacnut,” another voice questioned.

  “I don’t know the outcome of their meetings. I can’t tell you that.”

  “But she caused the death of Lord Alfred?” another asked. Leofric swallowed heavily at the reminder of that tragedy.

  “Lord Alfred died in England, yes,” he wasn’t prepared to be forced to pass judgment either on King Harald and his family, or Earl Godwine. Not before so many people, and so spoke without censure, as Earl Siward had.

  He tried to return to his seat, not willing to be questioned before so many, but strangely pleased that the English would ask questions of him, but not Earl Godwine.

  “Is Lord Edward a warrior?” the question came from so far to the back of the hall, that Leofric only just caught the words.

  “I’ve not met Lord Edward. I understand that he’s not had the training of a warrior, but I may be wrong. I don’t know enough about him. I know he came to claim England on Cnut’s death but was unable to come ashore with his attacking force.”

  With that answer, Leofric settled himself once more in his seat, while all around a hubbub of conversation swelled.

  He sat silently. He knew all the arguments for and against each of the possible æthelings and held his tongue regarding the revelation that King Harald had his own son who should also be a ætheling. This was not his decision to make, not this time.

  When Cnut had died, there had been a clear and easy to understand division in the Witan. That had led to England being divided between the two rival claimants. There was no such clear demarcation this time. In fact, Leofric expected Harthacnut to be proclaimed as king almost immediately, and yet there was a fierce debate raging amongst those in attendance.

  Still, Leofric stayed silent, pleased he didn’t need to point out the difficulties inherent in any decision made.

  Beside him, Earl Godwine shifted his position, turning to watch the interaction of all behind him. There was little doubt in Leofric’s mind that Godwine would have ensured those who held allegiance to him were primed on what they must say to convince their neighbours. Leofric had done the same, although he’d left the ultimate decision to the determinations of those men and women. He’d not impose his own conflicted decision on any other. Not unless compelled to.

  Time seemed to pass slowly, and Leofric felt his head nodding. The great hall had been kept warm against the chill of outside, but the day was proving to be more temperate than thought, and now it seemed excessively hot indoors. He shifted himself, removing his cloak and draping it over his knee, but still, the debate continued amongst the majority of the Witan.

  “We should have called for refreshments,” he muttered, licking dry lips and thinking of when he’d broken his fast, so long ago.

  “We’d never had an answer then,” Earl Siward complained. “But everyone would be drunk,” he spoke with a spark of humour. “Then we’d all be good Danes.” There was a hard edge to his soft voice, and Leofric stared at him in surprise. He’d thought Siward would support Harthacnut and had been taken aback when he’d spoken of Lord Edward. Perhaps he didn’t wish another Danish overlord.

  Yet Siward forbore to say more, subsiding into the same silence that Leofric quested for. Of them all, it was only Earl Godwine who showed any sign of impatience. No doubt, he wanted to be the one to say that the English had heeded his demand that Harthacnut be offered the throne of England. In that way, he’d be able to win the support of Harthacnut, following his desertion of him in favour of Harald.

  Leofric shut his eyes with this the foremost thought in his mind.

  Earl Godwine, late to the party as always, had not welcomed Harald as king, and yet he’d still managed to manipulate the younger man, and win high regard for himself. Only the fact that Thuri had been granted the title of Earl of Gloucestershire had assured Leofric that Godwine’s control over Harald had not been complete.

  What would Godwine be like with a young, Danish king, keen to know all and grateful to the great Earl of Wessex for restoring England to his command? With a sideways glance, he took in the figure of the earl.

  Godwine had many, many sons, almost too many to count. The oldest of which was not a wise young man, no one would ever say he was. Already he was renowned as a drinker and a man of careless thoughts. But Godwine had another son, Harold, who showed far more of his father’s skill and guile.

  Both youths, younger than Ælfgar, were vying for positions of power and wealth, Sweyn Godwinesson as the eldest son, Harold as the most politically astute. Either of them could have been gifted Earl Eilifr’s earldom in Gloucestershire. King Harald had shown wisdom, and that he ruled his own mind in not allowing that to happen.

  But what would happen when Earl Hrani was dead? Who would fill his position? By rights, it should be Ælfgar, but Leofric wasn’t convinced Earl Godwine would allow that, no matter who was king.

  No, it was likely that he’d demand the position for one of his sons, although neither had experience of Mercia and the Mercians.

  Ælfgar had replaced his dead uncle as Sheriff of Shropshire and had also been gifted many of his lands, as Eadwine had been unmarried. The two younger men were desperate to leap-frog their rival for greater influence and control.

  Maybe, as Leofric had thought at the time, the argument between Lady Emma and Godwine had been a farce, put on only for Leofric’s sake. Perhaps Lady Emma had forgiven Godwine his part in the murder of her son. She well understood the need for political expediency.

  Or perhaps she didn’t.

  But then, there was no reason to believe that Harthacnut truly needed his mother to assist him in England. Was it not just as likely that Harthacnut held a grudge against his mother for failing to secure England for him in the first place?

  “The Archbishop will speak again,” the voice was that of Earl Siward, and Leofric’s eyes opened quickly. It would not be good to be caught apparently sleeping when the future of England was being decided.

  Archbishop Eadsige, perhaps wearied by the constant discussion, or ju
st keen to have the inevitable conclusion reached, held his hand in front of him for quiet, as he stood before everyone.

  It took a long moment before all sound died away and all eyes focused on Eadsige. Leofric watched him with mild interest.

  There were so many split loyalties amongst the English nobility and clergy. So many who would benefit or be punished should Harthacnut become king. It made it almost impossible to fix a solution in the minds of everyone. Leofric didn’t doubt he was not alone in thinking his mind made up, only to consider yet another possibility.

  “I believe we must now cast our opinions,” Archbishop Eadsige said, when the room was so quiet a mouse could have been heard scratching at the floorboards.

  “There are many options, but I believe most would choose this one, and so I offer this first. Should there be no consensus, then we can consider what else is available.”

  Leofric wasn’t surprised that Eadsige wished to only cast a vote for Harthacnut’s return. That would be reported to Harthacnut and might earn the archbishop his high regard, allowing Harthacnut to overlook the fact that Eadsige had crowned his rival.

  “Those in favour of the Witan appealing to King Harthacnut of Denmark to add England to his dominion, please make it known.”

  A bellow of ‘ayes’ filled the room, and something like relief flickered in Eadsige’s eyes, to be quickly replaced by apprehension.

  “Then we must now decide who will form our delegation to Bruges.”

  This was perhaps a harder decision than whether to offer England to Harthacnut or not. There were many there who wouldn’t want to be the first to face Harthacnut and his rage.

  “I’d suggest that Bishop Brihtwold formed the basis of the party. He’s held his position for many years, and I hope Harthacnut will recall him.” Eadsige looked to the bishop with a query on his furrowed brow. Leofric wondered if Eadsige had even consulted with the Bishop of Ramsbury before his announcement. He somehow doubted it. Just as he suspected that Harthacnut would remember anyone from his formative years in England, other than perhaps his mother, Leofric and Godwine.

  By rights, Leofric thought that Eadsige should have made the journey, or perhaps Ælfric of York, but they both feared Harthacnut’s wrath for making Harald king in his place.

  “I’d also suggest Ælfweard, Bishop of London.” Again, Leofric wondered why these men were being considered for such an onerous task. But they’d been named by the archbishop, and it would be impossible for them to refuse and still retain the good wishes of Harthacnut now.

  Seemingly content with his decisions, Eadsige made to retake his seat.

  “And what of the nobility?” Earl Godwine asked. His tone was inquiring, perhaps he and Eadsige had discussed this as well. But maybe not. The archbishop swallowed thickly, not keen to be made to speak for other men.

  “My Lord,” he bowed. “I’d leave that to you and the rest of the nobility to decide. I’ve made enough decisions for one day.” From his tone, it was clear that Eadsige hadn’t been happy about any of them.

  Now Earl Godwine made to stand, his own face pensive. Leofric doubted he’d be as keen to name members of the entourage as the archbishop had been. Would he risk one of his sons? By rights, it should have been Sweyn who spoke for Godwine, but Sweyn was a mercurial character, just as likely to speak against his family, as for it.

  Godwine, his eyes ablaze, stood before the assembly.

  “We must send men of high status, so as not to insult Harthacnut. Just as the archbishop has arranged, it would be best if one of the earls went and perhaps some of the older sons. But there would need to be a consensus to what can and cannot be agreed to.”

  Earl Godwine’s eyes didn’t turn to the earls, and yet Leofric felt his scrutiny as a pressure building around them. He hoped his son didn’t offer. Leofric had made it clear to Ælfgar that he wasn’t to travel to Bruges. No matter what. But his son didn’t always obey his wishes. Sometimes he knew far more than Leofric thought was good for him.

  “I would go,” it was a voice that Leofric recognised, too well, and his heart sank. But when turning, he wasn’t met by the stern face of his son, but rather that of his surviving brother, Godwine Leofwinesson. Leofric was both surprised, and not surprised by his brother’s statement of intent. Since Eadwine’s death, their friendship had grown, and Leofric had spoken to him at some length about the tricky nature of the delegation to Harthacnut.

  Like Ælfgar, Godwine Leofwinesson was well aware of the ties of family and the need for the Earl of Mercia to recuperate what they could from the collapse of all their plans with Harald’s death. Not that Harald had been as biddable as Leofric had thought he’d be. But that was no longer even worth considering.

  Earl Godwine’s face settled into a scowl as he eyed Leofric’s brother.

  “Very well, you’ll speak for the Mercian kingdoms. But someone of equally high status from the other earldoms must also be included.” Here, Earl Godwine hesitated, running his tongue over his lower lip. He might be gifted in sons, but Earl Godwine had no siblings of his own, the death of Earl Eilifr last year depriving him of even the possibility of sending a close relative in his name.

  “My son, Osbjorn, will travel to represent Northumbria,” Earl Siward spoke clearly. There was no hint of hesitancy in the announcement, and Leofric suppressed a smirk at the response. It placed Earl Godwine in an uncomfortable position.

  Beside him, Earl Thuri stirred. He’d been given his position by Harald and was the only one of the earl’s to owe his elevation to the dead king.

  “I’ll represent my own earldom,” Thuri announced, a slight twist to his mouth. He might not want to go to Bruges, but Leofric thought him right to face the beast full on. That way, he might well retain his earldom.

  “I’d also ask that I be accompanied by a number of local churchmen and some of the king’s thegns for the kingdom. I believe Harthacnut will be pleased to be so honoured.” Thuri masked his worries well, and Leofric hoped that he’d retain his earldom. It would be too problematic to unravel his web of influence now.

  Still, Earl Godwine didn’t speak, despite the expectation of all within the hall. His cheeks had grown ruby under the intense speculation, yet Leofric admired him for making no rash decisions.

  “I’ll ask my wife, and my eldest son to represent Wessex. After all, Lady Gytha shares blood with our hoped for king.” The words were greeted by a howl of annoyance, no doubt from some of Godwine’s sons, while a smirk lit Godwine’s face. No doubt he was pleased by his solution to the seemingly insurmountable problem.

  “And now, their remit. On what terms do we offer the kingdom to Harthacnut?”

  Here, strangely, the Witan actually had a precedent to follow. The scribes, busy about their work in the royal scriptorium, had shown their findings to Archbishop Eadsige. The archbishop had ensured all knew about the terms imposed on king Æthelred when he’d been invited to reclaim the kingship of England following the death of king Swein only weeks after claiming the victory over England.

  Now one of the scribes stood before the assembled Witan and cleared his throat.

  “My Lords and Ladies,” he began. “I’d share with you, on the archbishop’s request, the words as written down in the great Chronicle of our history.”

  “they said that no lord was dearer to them than their natural lord, if he would govern them more justly than he did before. Then the king sent his son Edward hither with his messengers and bade them greet all his people and said that he would be a gracious lord to them, and reform all the things which they hated; and all the things which had been said and done against him should be forgiven on condition that they all unanimously turned to him without treachery. And complete friendship was then established with oath and pledge on both sides.”

  Leofric suppressed a smirk. The scribe had missed an important part out of his speech, but he was not about to mention the part about Danish kings being denied the kingdom of England in the future. It would not go down well. N
ot when so much was already uncertain in the future.

  The scribe quickly hurried from the front of the gathering, no doubt back to his inks and vellum, while conversation sprang up again.

  Only now did Leofric feel able to rise and address everyone.

  “Our situation is somewhat different,” Leofric began, silence falling quickly. “But I believe the same general stance should be taken. As the English Witan, we’ll appeal to Harthacnut to rule us justly, and in response, he’ll forgive previous, supposed, transgressions.” Leofric had chosen the final two words carefully. He didn’t think for a moment that Harthacnut would be at all forgiving. Although he would be wise to be.

  Harthacnut might well feel comfortable leaving the rule of Denmark in the hands of his cousin, Svein Estridsson, as Leofric had been informed by Lady Estrid in a secret missive, but England was a different matter entirely. As Harthacnut would discover to his peril.

  “I do foresee that Harthacnut will demand, like his father before him, that the English people are held accountable for the cost of his ship-army.”

  Leofric expected this to cause some unease and was surprised when only a general murmuring began.

  “King Cnut was, on occasion, extreme in his demands for payments. Perhaps we could agree on an amount we’re happy to pay, to ensure that England doesn’t face war, and is also gifted with a satisfied king.”

  This was always the problem. The English understood the implications of the death of Harald and that they’d have to pay for Harthacnut’s good wishes. It was also recognised that Harthacnut, despite any oath to forgive all that had gone before, would want to see the tax as a cruel punishment, perhaps unmanageable, and a burden to his new subjects.

  But, England was prosperous. Her country was wealthy, her land rich in crops, and the traders keen to come to every market, no matter how small. If the Witan could decide on an amount suitable for the payment of the ship-army, Leofric felt sure the king would accept it.