by M J Porter
“Then let’s hope that the king doesn’t demand to see the bodies himself.” Leofric paused. The news filled him with hope and also sadness. He was pleased that the Mercians hadn’t savagely killed the king’s reeves, but there seemed no way to prove it wasn’t them, and Leofric knew that the king would still insist on punishing them.
“Who were the Welsh?”
“No one knows. No doubt Gruffydd Ap Llywelyn’s men. They can smell out trouble as though smoke on the wind.”
“Yes, they can,” Leofric sighed heavily.
“Can you return to Worcester tonight?” Leofric asked his nephew. He didn’t like to send him back in the darkness, but having just travelled this way, Wulfstan would know the way again.
“Why?” Wulfstan asked, and Leofric hung his head.
“Warn them all. The king is coming. Tell them to flee with what they have, what they can carry. All their wealth, what little they have, anyway. The king will not listen if I try and explain what truly happened. He’ll say I’m only trying to protect my own people. He’ll savage the land, and the people, and he is Danish. He knows how to do it well. I’ve sent word to Ælfgar and Orkning has gone to Deerhurst, but you might be their best chance.” Leofric’s voice was filled with foreboding.
“Can’t you stop him?” Wulfstan pleaded.
“I’ve tried, and I will try again, but please, if you can do this, you may save lives.”
“Where should people go?”
“Anywhere, but far from Worcester. I don’t know how long it will take the king’s rage to burn out. Tell them to go to our estates, any that belong to the House of Leofwine or to Hereford, Earl Hrani will do the same, I’m sure of it. It’ll be a surprise for everyone, but I’ve not had the time to send warnings to anyone, other than to Oxford, and Deerhurst. The king has demanded that Earl Hrani be involved, but I think Hrani is in Hereford. I don’t know if he’ll arrive in time.”
Wulfstan’s back straightened at the words, as though understanding the weight of the task assigned to him.
“I’ll go now, and I’ll do all I can. But speak to the king.”
“I will nephew, I promise. And make sure you’re gone from Worcester as well. If possible, get your brother and hunt down the true perpetrators of the crime. We might not be able to stop the king, but we can make him pay reparations when the truth is more widely known.”
Wulfstan grunted his agreement.
“Can you travel without the king noticing your departure?” Leofric felt worried for his nephew. He didn’t want to risk him, no matter what was at stake, and suddenly he realised that there were many men that Wulfstan needed to avoid to get back to Worcester.
“Yes, yes, I know another way to the main road. I’ll be safe, uncle, don’t worry about me.”
Leofric smiled at his nephew’s voice wheedling, so reminiscent of when he was a child and wanted something that he knew he shouldn’t have.
“Then go with God’s speed. Don’t let anything happen to you. Your mother would never forgive me. If you’re caught, demand to be brought to me. I’ll claim you as my nephew and endure the king’s wrath on your behalf.”
Wulfstan gripped his uncle’s shoulder then.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m a man, and I can defend myself.” The words should have reassured Leofric, but they didn’t. As Wulfstan rode off into the night, the blackness swallowing him before the sound of his leaving faded, Leofric turned back to the camp Harthacnut had allowed them to make.
He didn’t have much time to convince the king, and he had no proof, not yet, but he would try. All the same. But not yet.
First, he needed to give Wulfstan enough time to be far enough away that even the king’s fastest riders wouldn’t be able to catch him.
Moodily, Leofric made his way back to the camp.
He was exhausted but knew he’d never sleep, so called Æthelheard to his side.
“It was the fucking Welsh,” Leofric growled, and Æthelheard expelled a held breath, perhaps as relieved as Leofric to know the truth.
“Bastards,” Æthelheard hissed. “The king won’t listen to reason.”
“I know. I know. Wulfstan will head back to Worcester. I only hope he can get there in time.”
“The king will know that you intervened.”
“Good,” Leofric stated, at the moment uncaring of anything the king said to him.
“Harthacnut is not the man I thought he would be. All of Cnut’s children have been disappointing.” Leofric knew the words were treasonous if overheard, but he hardly cared.
“You must try, all the same.”
“I will, and I know. The bad harvest has made a potential problem, a crisis, and Harthacnut little cares. He should have stayed in Denmark.” Leofric words were clipped with annoyance.
“But then who would have ruled?”
“Lord Edward, Æthelred’s son. We would have been left with no choice but to have him as our king.”
“Lord Edward might have proven to be as difficult as Harthacnut.”
“Only through incompetence,” Leofric complained. “Edward has no kingdom and no experience of ruling. Harthacnut has too much experience, and it’s made him cruel. Perhaps he was always cruel.”
“Has he reconciled with Lady Emma?”
“No, he avoids her at all costs. He blames her for the crisis in England. He’ll always blame her.”
Only as the fire burned low, did Leofric make his way to Harthacnut, through the mass of men who stood to attention, guarding him. Really, Leofric thought, who did Harthacnut fear would attack him on the side of the road?
“My Lord King,” he bowed on being taken to the king’s side and stayed that way until Harthacnut bid him rise.
“You can’t argue with me about this, Earl Leofric. The people of Worcester must be punished for their crime against my reeves.”
“Even when the murder was committed by the Welsh?” Whatever response Leofric had been expecting, it wasn’t the bark of laughter.
“You’ll stop at nothing to protect the Mercians. This lie is beneath you, Earl Leofric.”
“It’s no lie, My Lord King. A rider has come to me, with the details of what happened in Worcester.”
“I know what happened in Worcester. My men were slain, and I’ll respond, as I must. Take your lies away from me, and be warned, I’ll be watching tomorrow, ensuring you fulfil your obligations to me. You’ll not hold back, but inflict the might of your anger on the men and women of Worcester. Should the place be left as a home to nothing but the dead, then I might be satisfied.”
As much as Leofric would have preferred to argue with the king, he knew there was no point. And so, long into the night, Leofric stayed awake, fury making sleep impossible, the inevitability that he’d be found lacking by the king tomorrow, of no concern at all.
Tomorrow, people would die, or their livelihoods would be ruined, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
In all his years, he’d never felt quite so helpless.
Chapter 9
AD1041
Leofric
“Does this land belong to Worcester?” the king’s voice resonated with the command, and Leofric felt himself responding whether he wanted to or not.
“Yes, My Lord King. This land belongs to the Worcester.”
“Burn it,” again, the voice brokered no argument. Leofric could only be pleased that he didn’t carry the brands, as one by one, ten men bent to find something worth burning in the fields rife with green shoots and little else. Harthacnut had clearly made his decision to devastate Worcester. Leofric hoped his cries for clemency hadn’t fuelled the king’s rage further.
It was only May. The summer crops were not yet firmly rooted due to the wet weather. Leofric almost smiled to see such a dismal showing.
The winter weather had been brutal, and following on from the famine of the previous year, England was far from a vibrant land.
Yet, from somewhere Harthacnut’s warriors found old piles of
straw and hay, barely dry, but enough to allow flames to flicker to life across the surface.
Leofric swallowed heavily.
“You will watch,” Harthacnut had forced his mount closer to Leofric’s as the smell of burning began to flavour the gentle breeze. “You’ll watch, and you’ll learn from this mistake. The people of Mercia must be loyal to my kingship.”
Leofric couldn’t help himself.
“They have been, My Lord King. You just won’t accept the truth.”
As he spoke, Leofric felt Lord Godwine’s eyes on him, but the smugness had gone. Perhaps, just perhaps, Lord Godwine was respectful of Leofric’s stubborn defence of the Mercians. Certainly, the other earl would not have spoken so bluntly in telling the king he was wrong.
“Watch it, and I will watch you.” Harthacnut’s threat fell flat as his horse skittered, terrified of the smoke, and desperate to be away from the smouldering fires.
“Ride on,” Harthacnut commanded when he once more had control of his horse. “Ride on, but stop at each field boundary and set new fires. Let the people of Worcester know that we are coming.”
Leofric watched Harthacnut with only thinly disguised hatred. He prayed that Wulfstan, or Orkning, or Ælfgar had managed to alert the people of Worcester long before they spied the bank of smoke on the horizon.
Leofric had taken the time, while he was awake during the night to speak to all of his men and caution them from taking any action that might endanger themselves.
Godwulf, Winhus and Æthelheard had been sullen and Cena furious. Leofric had assured them he shared all of their feelings, but still, he’d asked them to be stoic in the face of such atrocities.
“We can always rebuild,” he’d assured them all, but the words had rung hollowly, even as he’d said them.
This was too much. What would Harthacnut do next?
The smell of smoke followed them as they rode closer and closer to Worcester.
They met no one on the road, and there were no shouts of horror at the advancing fires. They were small things, but deadly, all the same. They would do considerable damage, and Leofric was already trying to determine how he’d feed the people of Mercia for a second winter. Perhaps he’d need to trade with East Anglia or even West Frankia, or sell a property to one of the greedy bishops always keen for more land?
As his thoughts turned to something he could be proactive about, he heard the sound of hooves on the road and turned to find a force of twenty or so men coming toward the king. Leofric recognised the standard and held his horse steady.
Earl Hrani had come.
Leofric didn’t know whether it was because the king had summoned him, or whether he’d come to plead with the king on behalf of Worcester. Leofric was merely relieved to see the older man.
In shouting distance, Harthacnut’s voice cut through the air.
“You’re late,” there was denying the intended recipient of the words.
“I’ve received no summons, My Lord King. I’m surprised to find you here. My warriors told me of an attack on Worcester by the Welsh, I came to defend it.” Earl Hrani’s voice was filled with confusion.
“Is it so bad that you’ve come as well. I…” Earl Hrani’s words trailed off as he noticed the look on Harthacnut’s face.
“You’ll not defend Worcester. It’s not the Welsh who attack it, but rather your king.”
Earl Hrani was close enough now that Leofric would see him clearly. Hrani had always been older than Leofric, but he seemed to have aged ten years since he’d last seen him. And, Leofric noted, Earl Hrani sat uneasily on his horse, as though it pained him. Leofric met his eyes, a warning in them that Hrani noted before turning back to the king.
“My Lord King, why are you burning your own land?” Earl Hrani sounded angry.
“It’s filled with traitors who’ve murdered my reeves, I would punish Worcester for such treason.” Harthacnut’s voice was edged with steel as Earl Hrani turned to his men.
“Stand down. We must obey the king.” Words of outrage filtered through the waiting men with their anxious horses, but they, like Leofric’s own men, were astute enough to obey the instruction.
“Then what of the Welsh? A young child arrived in Hereford. They’d escaped from a steading the Welsh had taken during the night two nights ago. The boy said the men were bragging of a murder they’d committed, in Worcester.”
Leofric observed the king, considering whether he would heed Earl Hrani’s new information. Only then Leofric heard the sound of more hooves on the road, and he peered anxiously ahead. The group that materialised was far from the orderly arrangement that Earl Hrani had ridden in with. Horses, both tall and small, long-haired and short, with, and without saddles, carried men and women on their backs, all wearing determined expression.
“My Lord King,” the voice that called to their king was one that Leofric recognised, and he had an idea of what was about to happen. Leofric watched Harthacnut as the king’s horse, still unhappy at the stench of smoke coming from behind them, bunched its hind legs as though to make a run for it. Harthacnut slapped the animal with a whip over the streaks of red that already glistened on the animal’s right thigh.
“Who are you?” Harthacnut thundered.
“We are the people of Worcester, come to beg your forgiveness and to pay the geld, as demanded.”
Leofric closed his eyes, amazed at the bravery of Edmund, the blacksmith, and yet also aware that it was too little, and far too late, even with Earl Hrani’s corroborating story.
“You can’t save your settlement. It will be razed to the ground as will your crops.”
For a moment Edmund the blacksmith looked as though he would personally leap from his horse and throttle the king with just one hand, but words passed between him and the seven men and women who rode behind him. All of them wore their best clothes, but they seemed a pitiful thing next to the king’s gleaming shirt of mail, his leather boots, and his arms covered by gold and silver arm rings
“Then, that is what you must do, but still, we would have it known that the people of Worcester have paid their geld.”
Behind the party of Worcester residents, Leofric could see an ox yoked to a cart, upon which four sealed wooden chests held the king’s treasure. Where, he wondered, had they obtained so much coin?
“No, the people of Worcester do not pay their taxes, for I’ve just doubled them, and of course, the wergeld for my men must also be paid. The people of Worcester have paid some of their geld.” The king’s voice lacked any emotion, but the words were revealing enough.
Without waiting for further words, Harthacnut slapped his horse’s bleeding rump, and the animal leapt forward, rushing through the small party, and on along the deserted road toward the settlement of Worcester itself.
The rest of the king’s men quickly followed him. Soon Leofric and Earl Hrani were alone with the eight people from Worcester, the oxen having been turned and led behind the king by three of his men, their faces betraying no emotion at all.
“My Lords,” Edmund spoke deferentially to Leofric and Earl Hrani.
“Edmund, you’re a brave man,” Leofric confirmed, angling his horse closer to the one Edmund tried to ride, with his long legs just about dragging along the side of the road. Earl Hrani’s face was perplexed rather than angry, as he peered after the king.
Those of Hrani’s warriors who knew the people from Worcester mingled with them, exchanging news less calmly than Edward did with Leofric and Hrani.
“The king is in no mood to be reasoned with. My apologies.” Leofric’s voice was laced with dismay.
“Ah, well, it was worth a try,” Edmund confirmed, a wistful look on his face as they all watched the first of the houses on the outskirts of Worcester catch fire in a whoosh, even from such a distance. The damp weather hadn’t been enough to save the wooden houses.
“Worcester is empty. The warning came just in time, from Wulfstan and Ælfwine. I think we have you to thank for that, My Lord Leofric. The
men came from the south and the west. I don’t know if more will come.” Leofric assumed that Ælfwine had come from Oxford, on the instructions of Ælfgar.
And now, we will be going to join our families. We’ll see you soon, Earl Leofric, Earl Hrani.” For all Edmund spoke reverentially, Leofric was stung all the same.
He’d failed, and he knew it. Earl Hrani’s face also showed his bitter disappointment.
“Any of my settlements will support you if you have the need, and I’ll rebuild Worcester.” It was Earl Hrani who spoke, and eight firm glances met his words, not one of them accusatory, but they didn’t need to be.
“And I’ll assist as well. Worcester is close to my heart, even though I’m no longer its sheriff. If anyone needs anything, they must come to me, or to Earl Hrani.” Only now did Leofric glance at Hrani, but he saw only firm resolve there and knew he hadn’t misspoken.
“Then we’ll see you in better times, Earl Leofric, Earl Hrani.” And with that, the people of Worcester were gone. Leofric and Earl Hrani were faced with the ravages of their king and the unpalatable truth that Harthacnut was disappointing them, just as much as he had disappointed the people of Worcester.
Around Leofric, his own warriors waited, the animals growing more and more nervous as smoke crawled around them all, and then he made a decision.
“Come, we need to get to Worcester as well. We need to be seen to be involved in this utter travesty.”
No one spoke, but together with Earl Hrani’s men, they rode along the fields, some smoking in places where the flames had faltered, others burning. Vast swathes seemed entirely unaffected where the rain seemed to have saved the crops.
What was happening in Worcester was more devastating.
Leofric watched the king ride away from Worcester with relief. Harthacnut had not left a single building inside Worcester’s walls standing. All around was smoking ruin. At least, he tried to console himself, no one had been killed in the attack. The majority of the inhabitants had fled, thanks to the many warnings they’d received in the end. Even Orkning had made an appearance, accompanied by Olaf and the household warriors from Deerhurst.