by M J Porter
“And she’ll be alone?” Orkning prodded, but Ælfgar shook his head.
“No, I’ll arrange for her to be joined by her mother, and as many servants as are needed for a respectable, if small, establishment. After all, the child will be the king’s. Even in hiding, it must be raised well. The future is always uncertain.”
Orkning nodded, as though considering the logic of Ælfgar’s response.
“I’ve heard the king has been hunting for her. He knows she’s missing, but has no recollection of his attack upon her.”
“The king can hunt all he wants. If I have my way, she’ll be as far from him as possible. In time it’s possible that they might reconcile, but I doubt it. She’s endured enough already.”
Orkning grunted an agreement.
“Who will support her, financially?”
“My wife is making arrangements. But Alfifa too has property in and around Northampton, and in the Five Boroughs where her father was once so influential. The good woman will not suffer for lack of funds.”
“And if the king ever discovers her?”
“Then we’ll deal with that, when and if, it happens. I can’t see it myself. Whatever love he had for her when they married, he must regret it now. By leaving, she allows him to marry again. If he should choose to. It would certainly please his mother.”
“Damn fool,” Orkning growled, and Ælfgar agreed.
After his mother’s failed attempts at eliciting the Witan to arm the English, the king had vacillated between petulant rages and softly trying to entice his nobility to let him have his way. Neither was a natural state for the king, and he’d grown challenging to predict.
Ælfgar found the situation galling. After everything his father had done to ensure Harald had the support he needed to hold England in his own name, Leofric had been badly repaid. In fact, he and the king were barely on speaking terms, the king citing a litany of complaints against Leofric that included his handling of Lady Emma’s exile as well as his finding out his mother had been misled by the trader. And that was merely the most notable of the many other complaints Harald levelled against Leofric.
Leofric had warned his son that he believed the king would take action to limit their influence in their Mercian lands if he could possibly find a way to do so.
Ælfgar agreed with his father. It was better to be well prepared against whatever the king fixated on next.
The pressure was starting to tell in Harald’s actions, and like his father, Ælfgar thought it likely the king would act soon to limit the power and influence of the Earl of Mercia. No matter what.
Not that the situation was hopeless. His grandfather had habitually seen his area of control change throughout his long years of service to the three kings who’d ruled during his lifetime. Æthelred had promoted Leofwine, only to then promote Eadric Streona over him. Cnut had imposed his Danish earls on the border region with the Welsh kingdoms, and still, Leofwine had clung to his power base. Ælfgar knew his father would do the same.
The House of Leofwine was simply too much a part of Mercia to be cast aside by the King of England. Ælfgar’s own marriage had brought about a closer union with the Five Boroughs, his grandfather had married into the nobility of the ancient Hwiccan nobility, whereas his father had chosen for his wife a woman from the kingdom of Lindsay.
And that was before even mentioning his Uncles. As short as Northman’s life had been, he’d married well, even if Mildryth had been Eadric Streona’s niece. It had still ensured that when Eadric and Northman were executed on Cnut’s orders, that the House of Leofwine had retained the support of the Shropshire nobility so closely associated with Eadric. Lady Mildryth, using all her skills of persuasion, had performed her task admirably last year of keeping the nobility close to her and her husband’s family, following his marriage.
The majority of Shropshire now firmly supported Lord Eadwine as he tried to stem the tide of growing Welsh attacks. Uncle Eadwine had ridden the borders during the summer months last year, just as he’d said he would, and none had risen against him or protested his actions in Shropshire. That, as Ælfgar had been told, was half the battle won.
Leofric and his extended family were an intrinsic part of Mercia. It would take too much for Harald to dislodge them, and who’d take their places? Certainly not the sons of Godwine for they were reviled as bloody Wessex men, and no Mercian had time for the Wessex nobility.
The people of Mercia had too long a memory to allow a Wessex man to hold dominion over them. That was why Harald had been the obvious choice as king, and Cnut had known it, despite his more public assertions that Harthacnut should rule England.
As the settlement of Northampton came into view, Ælfgar directed his household troops, and the accompanying wagon, to make their way to one of the houses owned by his wife’s family. From there he’d set in motion the plans needed to ensure Harald’s estranged wife was safe and secure for the future.
Ælfgar knew he needed to consider as many possible futures as possible when he did so. The easiest future, where Harald remained king, meant that Alfifa would need to be shielded from him until her child was old enough to claim the relationship, and perhaps become king after his father. Should Harald fail to hold the English kingdom, then Alfifa must be protected from whoever became king after Harald, should the child survive and be a possible heir. In reality, if the child should die, Alfifa would be safest, but Ælfgar didn’t wish that on her. She’d suffered more than enough already.
Ælfgar had considered making a hasty marriage for her, perhaps to one of his cousins, so that she’d forever be protected by her husband, but that too seemed cruel. She’d married a man whose regard for her had been too little even if he had professed love for her, and at whose hands she’d suffered beatings. Ælfgar couldn’t imagine that Alfifa would ever welcome another man to her bed. And neither did he wish his cousins to have the leftover pickings from Harald.
No, to ensure that she was well protected, he needed to turn to the Church. It was the role of the Church to protect widows, and that was what Alfifa would be portrayed as when she was well enough to be about her business. A wealthy widow, under the oversight of the Church, and of course himself and his wife, and then she’d thrive and recover from her ordeal, with her mother at her side.
Not that he’d asked Alfifa about any of this. No, he was content to leave the persuasion to his wife. As childhood friends, he knew his wife would, eventually, convince her of the necessity of their actions. No matter her love for the king, it was not safe for her to remain with him. In time he hoped Alfifa would understand, even if she never accepted it, and always held him responsible for interfering when he shouldn’t have.
He only wished he could take such an easy option for his own family. But the Earls of Mercia would not abandon the people of Mercia to the precarious rule of Harald alone. They had their own share of responsibility in making Harald king, and they’d stand and acknowledge their mistake, if a mistake it proved to be. Certainly, it felt like a mistake at the moment, but then, Ælfgar appreciated his view of the king was jaundiced by the treatment of Alfifa. That, more than anything, was making it difficult for Ælfgar to acknowledge any of Harald’s successes, slight as they were.
Certainly, Harald needed praise for failing to allow Earl Godwine’s influence and reach to expand. No matter his demands to the king, none of Godwine’s children had been raised to prominence. They still owed all they had to their father’s wealth, and not to their own. Ælfgar was curious to see just how long Harald managed to maintain his careful management of Earl Godwine.
The fact that the older son, Sweyn, was a challenging character was playing into the king’s hands. Sweyn, lost in Denmark for a few months, had finally reappeared, safe and well, and filled with stories of his adventures. Sadly, none of his long-awaited news had been about Harthacnut’s actions. That had angered his father, and Sweyn, in retaliation, had refused to play a part in Godwine’s plans, for the time being.
&
nbsp; Both the king and Earl Godwine needed the support of the other, but the degrees of need were starkly different. Earl Godwine needed the king to remain his ally so that he could keep his livelihood and his wealth. King Harald needed Earl Godwine because he was one of England’s premier earls, but as king, he could rely on the support of his other earls, and the power of the Witan. He was not in Earl Godwine’s debt as much as the earl might want him to be. And that was careful bargaining power, and Harald was good at ensuring that position continued, despite his many other failings.
Ælfgar was not blind enough to say his own father was not in a similar position to Earl Godwine. Whereas Harald had once relied extensively on Earl Leofric to take the kingdom of England as his own, that was no longer the case. King Harald was accepted by all, and just like Earl Godwine, his father could be dismissed should he prove difficult. In that respect, the bond between his mother and Lady Ælfgifu was imperative for the continuing survival of Ælfgar’s family.
Neither of the two women would ever abandon the other. Never. They’d been allies for far too long, despite not always agreeing with each other, and despite circumstances trying to force them apart.
Ælfgar often thought the friendship as close as the bonds of family that tied his father to his brothers and sister, and then to his nephews and niece. There would always be disagreements and clashes of opinion, and yet the common goal never wavered.
The same couldn’t be said for the ruling family. No, Harald would never have allied with his half-brother, ever. Even if it might have saved the kingdom and prevented a war between the two brothers that could, ultimately, only damage both of them.
With a sigh of annoyance, Ælfgar stepped foot inside the hall. No word had been sent of their arrival. The servants, surprised by the appearance of their mistress and her husband, leapt to build the hearth fire higher, and organise food, apologies on their lips. Ælfgar shook his head.
“A surprise visit. No apologies will be needed, but Lady Elgiva will need assistance with her injured friend.”
As he spoke, Ælfgar shrugged from his soaking wet cloak and watched with objective amusement as a small river formed beneath him. Hastily, he handed the cloak to a male servant.
“Hang it in the stables. In fact, put all of the cloaks out there to drain off and then they can be warmed before the fire once they’re not sopping wet.”
Outside, it had finally stopped raining, and Ælfgar cursed the bloody weather. How much easier would the journey have been if it had just stayed dry, as opposed to drying up only when they arrived?
Heaving his soggy boots from his feet was a task that almost defeated him. Only the return of the same servant, nimble hands quickly undoing the ties allowed his boots to land on the floor with a wet squelch, one after another.
“My thanks,” Ælfgar moaned, rubbing some feeling back into his numb feet.
“Will you be staying long?” the servant asked, not a rude question, more a matter of supplies and food. Ælfgar considered the answer.
“A week, perhaps, it’s difficult to say. I’ve some delicate business to handle, and then I must return to London.”
This seemed to please the servant, as he placed Ælfgar’s boots to the side of the hearth. The rest of the party had quickly made themselves at home within the stout sided hall, and Ælfgar listened to the general complaints about the weather and wet clothing as he lounged in his chair, allowing the heat to thaw his damp face and hands.
The matter of Alfifa, he left to his wife. She would see to her comfort and then join him. Now that they were far from London, the haste that had seemed to drive them along the roadway, even in the rainstorm, had evaporated just as quickly as the puddles were now doing in the gentle heat of the sun. For the first time in a week, Ælfgar allowed himself to relax. Here there were no malicious eyes continually watching to see if he was involved in any intrigue that might affect someone at Court who would pay for the information.
No, in Northampton, he could relax and sleep, and so he did.
The small dwelling he was escorted to was rising in his estimation. When he’d first been directed to it, by the Reeve of Northampton, who knew the property was for sale, he’d been less than impressed with the grey coloured wooden strakes and the seemingly sagging roof. The house had looked small, the yard covered in overgrown greenery and the door slightly off-kilter, although closed.
However, on stepping inside he was reminded that looks could be deceiving, and the ragged exterior concealed a stoutly built home that had stood the testament of time.
The roof, while saggy, was only saggy in one place, and despite the torrential downpour of the previous day, only one small puddle had formed on the upstairs balcony. He prodded the thatch, just to be sure, but only a small squeak from a rat or some such, protested his action, and no further water seeped through. No, the roof was a simple fix, and the wooden struts were dry and free from any weakness that was easy to see.
The floorboards were made of richly mellowed Mercian oak, and while they creaked a little as he walked over them, it was just the groan of wood that had been unused for too long, and had both swelled and contracted in the meantime, perhaps many times.
In the main living area, a well-built hearth dominated the larger space, and to either end of the hall were screened off rooms which also benefitted from the same wooden floors and which, surprisingly, smelt fresh and clean, and not of damp.
To the rear of the property, a herb garden was just starting to become overgrown, and there were also two smaller wooden buildings, a store and a stable or briar for the animals who could graze on the expanse of grassland that stretched far into the distance.
The biggest problem that Ælfgar could determine about the property was that it had no defences. A small wicker fence delineated the front of the building from the roadway, and it was evidently often trampled over by those making their way around Northampton.
It was a pleasant location, one that he hoped Alfifa would be content with when she’d finished inspecting it. It was a good building, just enough for a widow to purchase outright on the death of her husband, and when she wanted to start a new life away from his demanding family, somewhere to the west.
It was a story that Ælfgar had heard many times before and felt no remorse attaching to Alfifa now.
“It needs a little work,” a soft voice said at his elbow, and he turned to meet his wife’s concerned face.
“A little yes, but easily accomplished. What does Alfifa think?”
“She sees potential but is worn out by her injuries. Perhaps when it’s repaired, she’ll feel more warmly toward it.” His wife, ever the diplomat.
“Then we’ll arrange the purchase, and set craftspeople to bring it up to a better state of repair. A few servants, at least one of them needs to be physically dominating, and I hope she’ll be content, at least for now. Once the child is born, she can rethink if she wishes to be elsewhere.”
“She’d like her mother as well.”
“Well, provided her mother doesn’t object to the need for secrecy it shouldn’t be a problem. I’d assumed that her mother would be a good companion for her. We simply need to ensure that Harald doesn’t track her down. She’d go back to him, and that could be disastrous, for her and for her child.”
“Yes, I agree,” his wife concurred.
“This way she can keep her status, and not have to be constantly looking over her shoulder, concerned that someone might recognise her. A clever idea, to hide her in plain sight,” Elgiva mused, and Ælfgar nodded.
“And what of the king?” This had been the unspoken question ever since they’d rescued Alfifa.
“He’s managed to keep his marriage a secret, I’m sure he can keep his imposed divorce the same.” Ælfgar had no sympathy for the king. Provided Harald didn’t make it difficult for him, or for Alfifa, he wasn’t unduly concerned. “This might just be what he’s wanted all along. He married for love. As a king that’s always problematic.”
“Then who would you have him marry?” Elgiva asked, walking with him outside once more so that their low conversation couldn’t be overheard by Alfifa. She and the Reeve were deep in discussion about the potential in the hall, and how to make it more comfortable.
“Earl Godwine presses him to marry his eldest daughter, but of course, that would be calamitous. My father believes he should take a bride from the Northern lands, perhaps someone related to Jacob Anund or one of the other petty kings from Norway or Sweden. It would certainly give King Magnus a new threat to consider. I’m sure the Earl of Bamburgh has more than one daughter, and there’s also the daughter of Lady Gunnhild.”
At the mention of the woman, Elgiva’s face scrunched in disbelief.
“She’s waspish. I’d not want her for a queen, and I doubt Harald would want to bed her. No, forget about her, immediately.”
Ælfgar laughed softly at the vehemence of the reply.
“I’m only offering you the possibilities. Personally, I think he needs to marry someone of such ancestry that he’d never dream of laying a hand on them. A strong woman, able to endure his rages and think nothing of them.”
“Or one who is so beguiling, that she keeps him chained to his bed, and not vice-versa,” she spoke lightly, but there was fury behind those words. Harald should have been a much better husband to the wife he’d beaten. It was that simple.
“Yes, or one like that. The simple answer is that I don’t know. All the best women are taken,” as he spoke, he pulled her to his side, resting his head on top of her head.
He was pleased with his wife. She was softer than his mother had ever been, and yet also politically astute. Elgiva could hold her own against the older women of the Court, the king’s mother, and his own mother amongst them, and while she could show them the desired respect, she could also disagree with them.
Neither was Elgiva as headstrong as his father’s sister. Aunt Ealdgyth saw no reason why she need not rule as her brothers did, and so she did, with the support of her husband. From her home at Deerhurst, she was often to be found meddling in the politics of the region and was a particular problem for Earl Eilifr when he was being difficult, although, more often than not, Aunt Ealdgyth solved Eilifr’s problems for him. Not that Eilifr would ever admit it.
