The Earl's King

by M J Porter

  “An ally of Lady Ælfgifu, from Denmark, came to Northampton. What more do you need to know?”

  Ælfgar nodded once more and turned to meet the curious glance of Lady Ealdgyth. There was something in her facial expression that Ælfgar didn’t quite understand. Was she perhaps surprised by his mother’s testy words to him or was it something else?

  “But the marriage?” he persisted, earning himself another huff of annoyance from his mother.

  “It’s all arranged. The wedding can take place soon. Now go to London, find Lady Ælfgifu. I’d not have you linger any longer. She’s already wrathful with you for disappearing.”

  “My cousins could have escorted her,” Ælfgar argued, annoyance finally winning through into his voice, as his mother glanced at him in surprise.

  “I’d forgotten they were here,” she said, her voice high as she replied.

  He shook his head at her.

  “They’re still members of the House of Leofwine, mother, and father relies on them just as much as he does me.”

  “I know, I know. I apologise. But go, all of you. I’m sure you can be put to good use.”

  With a quick kiss to her cold cheek and a bow of his head to his future mother by marriage, Ælfgar turned and strode from the hall once more. He knew his cousins would be pleased by the news that they were all to go to London, but he was confused by the whole necessity of the thing.

  His father had assured him that there was no news from Denmark when they’d last spoken about it. And if they could get no word from Denmark, then Denmark could get no word from them. Ælfgar didn’t see how Lady Ælfgifu’s shipman could possibly carry the news he did. There just hadn’t been the weather for good sea crossings, not yet. The men of his father’s ship had been adamant the last time they’d spoken in London.

  Was this all perhaps some sort of ploy on the part of Lady Ælfgifu? There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her remaining son. Conjuring up an imaginary invasion fleet from Denmark, which would force the hand of the English and allow Harald to have his way about distracting Harthacnut by supporting Magnus, seemed almost a stretch too far. Yet Ælfgar couldn’t dismiss the thought once it had rooted in his mind.

  Rushing back to his cousins, he informed them of all he knew, as they prepared their horses to ride to London. The hounds would travel with them, there was no problem there, but still, Ælfgar couldn’t understand how he’d not seen Lady Ælfgifu as he’d travelled back to Northampton.

  “Why would she not head toward Watling Street,” he complained to his cousins, but they ignored him, too busy with their own preparations.

  “If we’re lucky,” Otryggr eventually stated, when they were settled and about to head off, “we won’t catch her at all, and you won’t have to listen to her litany of complaints and worries.”

  Ælfgar laughed at the tone his cousin adopted, which so perfectly mimicked the great lady, and then turned to lead the way out of the stables. Before he went, he looked around, just one final time, and noticed a woman just outside the closed gateway of Lady Ælfgifu’s hall, watching him intently, and then glancing away when he saw her scrutiny. She was swathed in a cloak of black that covered her clothes, and much of her face as well.

  “Who’s that woman?” he asked Wulfstan, but his older cousin shrugged.

  “No idea, but I saw her yesterday. It looks as though she wishes to speak with you.”

  Ælfgar nodded. He had that impression as well, and so leading his horse, rather than riding, he made his way to where she was doing her best to remain unobtrusive.

  “Good Lady,” he said, bowing his head. “Can I assist you in some way?”

  As the son of the Earl of Mercia, it was not unknown for men and women to seek out his help.

  “Lord Ælfgar,” the woman curtsied, and Ælfgar was immediately struck by her more courtly ways. While she wore a coarse cloak, he hazarded a guess that beneath it she might wear the clothes of a wealthy woman.

  “I’m pleased you noticed me. I’ve a request I can only ask of you.”

  “Of course,” he smiled, wondering what all this way about. “Tell me the problem, and I will see what I can do.”

  “I’m an ally of Lady Ealdgyth, and I know you’ll soon marry her daughter. My own daughter is perhaps known to you.”

  All of a sudden Ælfgar knew who the woman was.

  “Your daughter is the king’s wife?” he whispered, bending his head low so that his words barely reached her ears, and she nodded, although fear showed in her eyes.

  “Yes, I am. I knew that your future bride had spoken to you of the marriage. But I’m fearful for my daughter. She’s too young and too foolish to be with the king. I’ve heard that he flaunts her as his whore.”

  The woman’s voice was filled with raw emotion, and Ælfgar felt instant pity for her.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked, turning to ensure his cousins were out of earshot. They didn’t know about Harald’s marriage.

  “I’d beg you to intercede for her with the king. I know he’s your foster-brother.” She left the rest of the sentence hanging, but he understood what she wanted.

  “He doesn’t often listen to me, I confess, and I fear he’s keen to play a trick on his mother, but I’ll do all I can for her. If I’d but known sooner, I’d like to think I could have prevented the whole thing from happening.”

  “My thanks, My Lord, but I care not for the king, only for my daughter. He’s a cruel man. He, well, my daughter has spoken of some of the activities he delights in, and they disgust me. I only wish I’d kept my daughter away from his lecherous ways.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but I can promise nothing. He is, as you say, a difficult man.”

  Ælfgar refrained from calling his foster-brother cruel although as a child he had been.

  “Then you have my thanks, Lord Ælfgar. I. Please tell my daughter it’s no disgrace should she steal away from the king and return home to her father and me.” As she spoke, the woman rushed away, but her words reached Ælfgar’s ears. He admired her resolve.

  “Who was that?” his cousin called, but Ælfgar shook his head. This sort of terrible secret needed to be kept, even from his cousins, as well as his father.

  “A woman asking for help with a legal matter,” Ælfgar commented, hoping to distract his cousin, and when Wulfstan opened his mouth to ask a further question, Ælfgar mounted and kneed his mount on so that the words fell by the wayside.

  As he’d promised, he’d do what he could for the king’s secret wife, but if Harald failed to acknowledge her, and she refused to leave his side, Ælfgar would be powerless to act.

  Chapter Five

  AD1037 London Leofric

  Harald paced once more around the hall of his home in London, his eyes wild with fury, his footsteps punctuated by his fist slamming into the palm of his other hand.

  Lady Ælfgifu had arrived from Northampton, her message dire, and quickly shared with the two earls who were in London attending upon the king.

  Leofric pursed his lips, as he rubbed his chill hands together. An icy wind blew from the Thames, and right through the closed door of the hall, yet no matter what, he couldn’t get warm.

  Leofric had hoped to spend the day riding and working some heat into his body, but it seemed that the decision had been taken from him with the unexpected arrival of Lady Ælfgifu.

  The king had taken the news badly. Even now, as he paced, he gesticulated and loudly complained about his counsellors and how they’d left England open to attack with their refusal to seek an alliance with King Magnus of Norway.

  Leofric tried to mirror the young king’s fear, but he couldn’t. Even if Lady Emma had managed to have word sent to Harthacnut of all that had befallen her in England, including the death of Lord Alfred, he still couldn’t determine how it was possible for Harthacnut to have already decided to attack England. Let alone for that news to have reached Lady Ælfgifu in Northampton.

  It had only been a handful of weeks si
nce Lady Emma’s banishment. Leofric knew that enough time hadn’t lapsed, not when the sea crossing to Denmark was so perilous at the moment. Crossing to Bruges, across the Narrow Sea, as Lady Emma had done, was a different matter to getting to Ribe or Hedeby. Unless the messenger had gone by land, but even that would have taken longer. Leofric was sure of it.

  The only part of the mess that was occasioning any respite for Leofric was the stormy expression on Earl Godwine’s face, as he spoke with his entourage. He’d been joined at Court in recent weeks by two of his older sons, Sweyn and Harold Godwinesson, and they supported their father, listening intently to his conversation.

  The two boys were a little younger than Ælfgar, and yet it was evident that their father was keen to involve them in politics as soon as possible. Leofric knew that one of the son’s had been with his father when he’d met with Lady Emma at Shrewsbury Abbey, but the boys looked so alike, he struggled to tell them apart. He’d have to wait for Ælfgar to return to London. His son knew the boys much better than he did.

  No matter that Godwine had reconciled with King Harald, it was evident that he wasn’t keen to play a part in any action against Harthacnut. While Leofric agreed with him, he was doing a much better job of hiding his emotions before the king than Earl Godwine was of hiding his own. Godwine tried to reason with the king, in between debates with his sons, and the whole was descending into a bitter argument that none would win.

  “We must send to the quayside,” Leofric interrupted King Harald as he criticised and gestured, and Godwine, who simply downplayed the king’s concerns. “As ships must be sailing between England and Denmark, as your mother’s warning shows, there must be other traders who carry similar news. We need to hear of it, immediately.”

  As he spoke, Leofric turned to include his nephew in his pronouncement, and the young man quickly understood and made his departure. Ælfwine understood the Danish tongue. He’d spent most of his childhood, and adulthood, surrounded by men who were Danish, half-Danish or just vaguely Danish. Even Leofric could speak the language, although Orkning liked to berate him for his terrible accent.

  “You doubt my mother’s word?” Harald exclaimed on hearing this, and Leofric shook his head quickly and decisively, already prepared with his answer.

  “Never, My Lord King, never,” and he bowed to Lady Ælfgifu as he spoke. “I simply mean that others will carry the same news. They may even have details such as the date of the muster in Denmark and where the attack will come from. If England faces an assault, we need to know all we can.”

  A sly smirk slipped onto Earl Godwine’s face at Leofric’s tact. Leofric wasn’t sure if he appreciated having Godwine approve of his dissemination.

  “A fine idea,” Earl Godwine concurred, turning to his own sons. They were also half-Danish by birth. They’d have no problem conversing on the quayside with any Danish men. Quickly they too left the room, leaving the two older statesmen with their king, and the king’s mother.

  “We have the proceeds of the new coinage, My Lord King,” Leofric spoke as though a war was truly coming, even though he doubted it. It was better to humour his young king, assure him of the support of Mercia. “We have funds for the warriors and any mercenaries we may have to employ.”

  At the mention of mercenaries, Harald’s face leapt, only to fall when he realised that Leofric spoke of the coin they should already have, and not of taxes that could be raised through a new geld.

  “Of course, but the minting isn’t yet complete. Not all coins show my image, but rather my father’s. We might yet need to raise a further tax.” Harald spoke hopefully, but Leofric was shaking his head at the words.

  “My Lord King, the people pay all that they can as it is. England is as wealthy as ever, but to keep her wealthy, her people must be allowed to spend the coin that they earn, and not just on the possibility of a war.” Again, Leofric infused his voice with tact.

  “I’m sure they’d pay rather than face losing everything if Harthacnut came to England’s shores with thirty or forty ships,” Lady Ælfgifu chimed in, her expression less than serene. Some high colour had risen in her cheeks, and Leofric was sure it was the embarrassment that her ruse might soon be discovered. Why had Lady Ælfgifu chosen to act in such an outrageous way? It surprised Leofric. He’d never thought Lady Ælfgifu rash in her actions before. But then, he’d not been a witness to her joint rule in Norway. Perhaps with power and influence at her fingertips, she was a different beast to the abandoned first wife of the king.

  “I’m sure they would,” Earl Godwine tried to charm, finally reaching the conclusion that it would not be the right strategy to call the king and his mother an outright liar, even if his twisted expression put the lie to his own words. “Once they’re assured of the threat.”

  Godwine continued. “The English understand the violence of the Northmen only too well, but for too long we’ve all been allies, marrying, trading, but not fighting.”

  Earl Godwine spoke with the oily confidence of a courtier used to being listened to, but that was not the case with Harald and his mother. Leofric detected a burst of fury on Godwine’s face as he was seemingly ignored when Harald consulted with his mother, their heads bowed low as they spoke too quietly for any other to hear, merely ignoring Godwine’s words.

  Earl Godwine turned to glare pointedly at Leofric, and he took his cue, as intended, even if didn’t want to be dictated to by the other man.

  “My Lord King, we must wait for confirmation of your Lady Mother’s fears. England can’t be put on a war footing over the remarks of only one individual. Neither is there a need to tax the people, not yet, and anyway, if an attack were imminent, it would take too long to announce and administer a new geld. As you say, the reminting of your coins is not yet complete, and the work began on that many months ago. I understand the treasury is well stocked. We must simply devise a means of defending England which can be paid for by the funds already gathered.”

  Yet Leofric’s words were little heeded, other than a sharp stare from his foster-son. Leofric lapsed into frustrated silence. Around him, and despite the threat of an attack, the men and women who frequented Harald’s hall went about their duties as though the talk of war and taxes were an everyday occurrence.

  The woman who’d interceded on Leofric’s behalf when he’d returned from escorting Lady Emma from England caught his eye. She was sat before the fire, sewing diligently and trying not to wince whenever Harald raised his voice, which was often, while other servants scrubbed the wooden boards clean or tended the hearth. Not for the first time, Leofric wondered who she was. She certainly reminded him of someone.

  Two servants hovered close to the king, one with a jug of wine in one hand, and another with two ruby glass goblets, for when the king and his mother decided they needed refreshment.

  All was very much an oasis of calm, apart from the king and Lady Ælfgifu, and also Earl Godwine, who had started to pace, his face contorted with annoyance at the king’s rejection of his advice.

  Harald and Lady Ælfgifu whispered frantically to each other, and Leofric wished he were close enough to hear what they said.

  “I take it you have no news from your own ship?” Earl Godwine asked softly, turning away from the king so that his words couldn’t be heard or deciphered, as he came to a stop before Leofric.

  “No, they were only able to leave the quayside last week. They need more time to reach Denmark and then return. I understand the seas are rough once more. It will hamper them.” Leofric spoke quietly, his hand before his mouth, even though he continued to watch the king.

  He and Earl Godwine agreed on very little, but taking England to war against a perceived threat was one of those few things. And they had memories of what it was genuinely like to find England under assault. Not like their king. No Harald’s memories of his father’s attacks were non-existent. Harald would have been raised on the stories of his father’s triumphs, but with no actual experience. It made a huge difference in the perc
eption of war.

  “I’ve no news either. My wife has sent for one of her kinsmen, but as yet, nothing.”

  “There’s simply not been enough time for Harthacnut to make a decision such as this,” Leofric reasoned, relieved when Earl Godwine grunted an agreement.

  “The king is scared of his own shadow,” the earl mumbled, and while Leofric didn’t like to agree, it seemed that Godwine might have a point.

  “What do you know of Harthacnut?” Leofric thought to ask, as a means of trying to unravel the complex man he must be allied to. “As family to him, what have you learnt?”

  For a moment, Leofric thought that Earl Godwine might refuse to answer, but it seemed he was merely composing his thoughts.

  “I know only what he shared with his mother in their correspondence, and what I hear from others who’ve met him. I believe him to be a man worthy of following, but as yet untried in many aspects of ruling. He might have been his father’s figurehead in Denmark, but Cnut didn’t allow him a great deal of leeway, and neither did his aunt. Lady Estrid is a true daughter of Swein Forkbeard.” There was respect in Earl Godwine’s voice as he spoke.

  “A pity she was saddled with such a useless, traitorous husband, in Earl Ulfr. The boys though, I understand, are a credit to their mother and share none of their father’s faults. They take her name, not Ulfr’s.” This was not unheard of in Denmark, but still, Leofric was somewhat surprised to hear it.

  “Does she still help Harthacnut to rule?” Leofric asked, intrigued by the powerful woman who’d once helped him find Orkning when he’d been lost and thought dead after a great sea battle in Skåne.

  “I don’t know much of what’s happened since Cnut’s death. News from Denmark is sparse, especially since Lady Emma and I ceased to be allies, and with Earl Eilifr restored to his English lands.”

  Earl Godwine spoke with no inflexion to his voice, and Leofric looked at his feet rather than stare too deeply into Godwine’s face. Leofric feared to see through Godwine’s ready lies.