The Earl's King

by M J Porter

  Hrani had outlived many of his fellow Danish earls, and yet his hair had long since disappeared, and even his beard and moustaches were thinning. He was a Danish warrior, but one who should have met his death in battle many years ago.

  “My Lord King,” Hrani called Harald back to their impromptu gathering, fury on his face.

  “I’m needed in Herefordshire. Why have you called me to bloody Northampton?”

  “My Lord, you forget yourself,” Lady Ælfgifu jumped to her son’s defence, but Hrani irritably moved to pass her.

  Harald watched Hrani’s approach through narrowed eyes.

  “My Lord King, I would have answers,” Hrani called, striding directly to the king, no hint of a bow or an apology on his lips.

  “I’m needed elsewhere, but your man made it clear if I didn’t attend you would take it as a sign of treason. So here I am, but every moment that I linger imperils the good men and women of Herefordshire. We are ready to ride out. We must do so.”

  “Hah,” Harald barked. “You concern yourself with your earldom, do you? All know that you really have no care for the English, none at all, and would be back in Denmark if my Aunt would allow you entry. Just like Eilifr.”

  Even from the back, Leofric could tell that Hrani was furious.

  “Tell me, My Lord King, what is so urgent that I must leave the borderlands? My men were ready to ride out, ensure the borders were being maintained. If I’ve been summoned to talk about bloody Harthacnut again, I’ll leave, immediately. I’ve better things to do than debate the possibility of an attack when I know where one is actually intended.”

  “You’ve news then, of an imminent attack on Herefordshire?”

  “I do, My Lord King, yes. I have informants who tell me that Gruffydd has no intention of achieving only one victory against the English this year. He has claimed Powys and Gwynedd for himself, and now he eyes Gwent as well.”

  “And yet you left Herefordshire? At a time such as this?” malice glinted in the eye of the king, and Leofric could not understand what drove him to taunt Hrani as he did.

  “I did yes, at your express command. If I have your leave to depart, then I’ll do so. My horse can yet ride.”

  “No, My Lord, you do not have my leave to depart. You must hope that whoever you left to rule in your place can manage without you. There are English affairs to discuss, not just your own.”

  “Where then are Earls Siward and Eilifr? I don’t see them in attendance upon you. Have they been excused from this pointless meeting?”

  The king, unused to being so publicly questioned, was growing angrier by the moment. Leofric admired Hrani for speaking so bluntly. He wished he’d been given the opportunity to.

  “The earls will arrive, in time for the meeting, which is not pointless, as you say. Despite your ties to my father, Earl Hrani, you must remember that I’m king now, not him. I’ll not forgive more disrespectful words.”

  “My Lord King,” and finally Hrani sketched a bow, filled with condescension. “I would that you were more like your father. He understood the need for actions over words.”

  While the criticism was fair, Leofric winced to hear it. Only the laughter of Earl Godwine dispelled the ugly atmosphere swirling through the hall.

  “My Lords, and my king. I fear we should all spend some time apart. Consider our own needs for the time between now and sunset. It would be best, I believe.” Godwine’s tone was smooth, but Leofric immediately resented the interference. He’d felt as though something might actually be accomplished while Hrani harangued Harald.

  Yet Harald stifled his next words, and instead grunted his agreement.

  “We’ll meet once more, then, and I believe that Siward and Eilifr will have arrived by then. Once our discussions are complete, all are free to leave and defend the country, as they see fit, and in the name of the king of England, myself.”

  If the words were meant to calm Hrani, they failed. Instead, the earl stomped his way back to the doorway he’d only just entered through and could be heard issuing harsh instructions to his men as a way of venting his frustrations.

  Silence quickly filled the hall once more, and Leofric returned to his chair.

  Harald was not endearing himself to any of the earls, apart from Godwine, and that sat uneasily with Leofric. It should have been he the king turned to in moments of crisis, and likewise, it should have been he the king listened to, but he didn’t. If anything, Harald went out of his way to do the opposite of anything that Leofric suggested. And the relationship between the king and his son had become even more fraught of late.

  Leofric had never questioned his son about it, assuring himself that Ælfgar would speak when there was no other option. Until then, he allowed his son to manage the affair in his own way. After all, Ælfgar was a man, with his own child, and another on the way. There was no need for him to offer a father’s protection. Not anymore.

  Again, quiet settled over the hall, broken only by the movements of servants about their daily duties, the occasional whispered command or instruction from the king or Lady Ælfgifu.

  Leofric felt sleep retake him and he allowed it. It seemed pointless to waste an afternoon when he could make use of it, even if it were only catching up on lost sleep.

  He was woken by a hand on his shoulder and the concerned face of Earl Eilifr.

  “You’re well?” the other man asked.

  “Yes, of course, just tired.”

  “Ah, to be expected. I was pleased to hear of Ælfgar’s survival.” Eilifr spoke softly. No one stirred within the hall, even Lady Ælfgifu snoring softly in her chair. Leofric stood, keen to talk more openly, and together the two men ventured outside.

  The night was beginning to tinge the horizon, but as of yet, dark was some time away.

  “Is all quiet on the border?” Leofric demanded to know as soon as they were far enough away from the hall that they’d not be overheard. Not that it was easy to achieve privacy. Instead, they’d been forced to walk far into one of the fields under cultivation, stepping carefully to avoid damaging any of the plants.

  “I’ve heard of no disruption. Still, my men have ridden to the border with Gwent. It’s best to see for ourselves.”

  Leofric nodded.

  “Have you spoken with Hrani?”

  “No, is he here?” At that Leofric turned full circle. Hrani had arrived, vented, and then left the hall. Where was he now?

  “He was. He arrived around midday, angry. I can’t believe he would have left without seeking permission from the king.”

  “Hrani’s a strange creature. He’s always believed he knows better than kings and commanders.”

  Leofric resisted the urge to laugh at the sentiment. Eilifr and his brother had risen against King Cnut, although Ulfr had taken the blame, and in turn, had his life taken from him. Eilifr smiled at his own words then, perhaps realising he spoke without thinking.

  “I didn’t see him on the roadways, and I would have done. No, Hrani must still be here, somewhere.”

  Leofric squinted once more, his hand shielding his eyes, but he shook his head in defeat.

  “We’ll know soon enough. When the king wakes.”

  “Why have we been summoned?” Eilifr demanded to know.

  “Of us all, I would have thought you’d know the best. It’s your brother by marriage who leads the king and not vice versa.”

  Eilifr winced at the words.

  “Earl Godwine treats me as well as he does you and the other earls. I receive no preferential treatment, none at all. I almost think he believes life would be easier were I not related to him.”

  “There’s no denying it though. Godwine’s sons could just as easily be your own, so strong the family resemblance.”

  “Yes, my sister is a fecund woman. I would have wished to have many nephews and nieces, but not this many. There’ll be problems in the future, mark my words. The older boys already believe they should be masters of their own earldoms. Luckily, the king doesn’t
agree.”

  “And your brother’s sons? What news do you have of them?”

  Eilifr raised his eyebrows in approval at Leofric’s question.

  “I like that. So neatly done!” If there was any annoyance in Eilifr, he hid it well, and Leofric admired that as well.

  “I’ve heard nothing since before the attack on Welshpool. Everything is as it was before.”

  Leofric fell to silence. The frustration of not knowing what truly happened in Denmark was starting to test him. It had been over a year since he’d heard from Lady Estrid. He’d had warnings from Lady Emma in the meantime, but as of yet, there was nothing confirmed. Half-whispered rumours would be the death of all of them.

  But then, should he honestly expect to receive any? Who was he but the Earl of Mercia? Why would any think he must know every thought Harthacnut had?

  That evening, with the arrival of Siward as a moonless night made it impossible to see outdoors without the aid of flame, the earls assembled before their king.

  Harald had made some effort to appear in his guise as king. While he didn’t wear his crown, as some insecure men might perhaps have done, he did wear luxurious clothes and had ensured the most elegant glass goblets were being used for refreshments.

  Leofric detected the hand of Lady Ælfgifu at work and wished he didn’t approve of her manipulative ways.

  “My Lords,” Harald’s tone was conciliatory, for all that he faced the angry faces of three of his earls, only Godwine looking as though he was at ease. And that was to be expected. Only Godwine’s territory lay without threat.

  “I would thank you for your prompt attendance. I appreciate that you must question my resolve in having you here, but there is much to discuss.”

  “Earl Godwine,” and Harald turned gloating eyes on the earl of Wessex. “Has discovered the true reasoning for the attacks on the borders, and I’m indebted to him.”

  Leofric held his tongue, although he wanted the king to hurry up and just explain what it was that Godwine somehow knew. Neither had the king’s words wiped the fury from Earl Siward’s travel-weary countenance. Siward had barely taken the time to clean his boots before stamping his way into the king’s presence. Leofric was surprised he couldn’t smell shed blood on the other earl, fresh from the battlefield.

  “England has not been threatened by so many for years,” Harald continued to vacillate. “And Godwine knows why.”

  At this announcement, the king lifted his hand to indicate that Godwine should take up the story. The earl, delighting in being the centre of attention, inclined his head slightly before he began to speak.

  “As you know, I have a Danish wife, and she has a Danish family, and they are much in the ascendant at Harthacnut’s Court. They tell me, at great risk to themselves, that not only has peace been secured between Harthacnut and Magnus, and that Harthacnut and his mother are reconciled, but that Harthacnut has employed the devious tactic of encouraging both Gruffydd and Donnchaid to attack England.”

  “Harthacnut has raised a geld from his Danish subjects, reinforced the Trelleborg forts, and he expends the remaining geld willingly, on unsettling the English.”

  “To what purpose?” Leofric demanded to know. His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears, but he was determined to know if there was any truth to Godwine’s words.

  “So that he can claim England for himself. He plans on raising a ship-army and attacking England. While attention is to the West and North, he will sneak in through the South.”

  “Through your own earldom?” Hrani jibbed.

  “Yes, through the earldom of Wessex, as it’s the closest to Bruges, where his mother is. For no other reason.”

  The other reason hung heavy in the air. Leofric doubted any there didn’t think Earl Godwine capable of inviting Harthacnut to England, even if he now sat as the king’s favoured man.

  “We must take action,” Harald interjected, his face unreadable, for once. Leofric looked at the young man who was his king, and fury claimed him.

  “Let me guess, My Lord King. You plan on sending all your warriors to Wessex, and the warriors of your other earls as well. You will leave the borderlands to the West and the North unmanned, and instead, concentrate on defeating Harthacnut?”

  Harald grinned impishly at Leofric’s summation.

  “Exactly, Leofric, exactly. I’m glad you agree with my plan. It makes all this much easier.”

  Leofric could barely contain his rage at the king’s flippant words. His brother was dead. He would not be just another victim of the demands of stupid kings.

  “Men have died, My Lord King,” he spoke, his voice like falling snow, soft and yet containing a hidden danger.

  “Yes, and more will die if Harthacnut is allowed entry to England.”

  “And what of the borders?”

  “What of them. They are not the main priority, now that your son is returned alive. It is Harthacnut. It’s always been Harthacnut. If you’d only allowed me to arm England in the past, even to pay Magnus to prolong his war, as Harthacnut now pays England’s enemies to do the same, this could have been avoided.”

  “And this you’ve decided based only on the intelligence from Earl Godwine?”

  Leofric had eyes only for his king but knew he was not alone in his incredulity.

  “Yes, his intelligence can’t be doubted.”

  “Then why is he alone in hearing it?” Eilifr demanded to know. Leofric turned to glance at the other man. He too had a face filled with anger. It seemed there was no love lost between the two earls, family ties or not.

  “Brother,” Godwine tried to placate.

  “I’m not your bloody brother, and I never have been,” Eilifr ground through gritted teeth. “And I say you lie. These attacks on the borders are the work of opportunistic men, both trying to build their own empires, not the work of Harthacnut.”

  Earl Godwine, all traces of his smugness evaporated in light of this seemingly unexpected attack upon his honour, growled a response.

  “You’ve always been a fool,” Godwine uttered at Eilifr. “Your father always knew it was your sister who had the brains to make much of your family. You and your brother are an utter disgrace.”

  “Rather a disgrace than a disloyal bastard who only ever seeks his own profits.”

  “My Lord King,” Eilifr turned to Harald now. “I do not believe these lies that fall so glibly from the tongue of a man who wants Harthacnut to claim England. He wants you dead. Only then will he have achieved what he wants. You, My Lord King, have not been grateful enough to him for all that he’s done for you. He would replace you with a more pliant man. Tell me,” and now Eilifr’s fury filled face turned back to Earl Godwine. “What has Harthacnut promised you and your sons in payment for misleading the king, as you do?”

  “Why would I arm the South against an invasion by Harthacnut if I wanted Harthacnut to be king?” Godwine spoke aggressively, as though his own rage made his point more valuable.

  “Who knows why the fuck you do anything?” Eilifr roared. “Your mind is as twisted as a thread, tumbling in the wind. You act only for yourself. Perhaps you hope earls Leofric, Hrani and myself will die in the border disputes, perhaps you hope the same of Earl Siward as well, and then there’ll only be you, and you can get rid of Harald and rule with Harthacnut, or perhaps rule for yourself. You would like royal blood, wouldn’t you?”

  Godwine laughed then, the sound deep and disturbing, dismissive of all Eilifr said.

  “You think me capable of much more than I am,” Godwine spoke softly, the sudden changes in his temperament unsettling Leofric.

  “My Lord King,” Leofric tried to bring the conversation back to the Welsh and the Scots, and away from a family dispute.

  “The Mercians will protect the border to the West, not Wessex to the South.”

  “The Mercians will do as they’re commanded,” Harald spoke with a hint of iron to his voice, but even he seemed disturbed by the allegations against Godwine, as thoug
h suddenly unsure if he was doing the right thing.

  “Is that a threat, My Lord King?” Leofric pressed the matter.

  “It’s a royal command, and one that must be obeyed, or there will be terrible consequences for your family, no matter the love my mother holds for your wife.”

  “My Lord King, you must govern with the support of your Witan, not without it. Three of your earls have no proof of a possible attack on Wessex, and a great deal of knowledge about attacks on the Welsh borders. It is to the West that Mercia will look, not the South.”

  Wrathful, Harald glared at his foster-father.

  “The Earls of Mercia, your family, in particular, have always been treasonous bastards, Leofric. I’ve long known it, and only wonder that my father allowed you to snake your way back into his good graces. Mercia will not engage with Gruffydd. He’s but a passing menace, gone now, swallowed up by his own problems in Gwynedd and Powys. You will muster your men and ride for the South coast. Earl Godwine has determined where the men should be sent.”

  Looking from Hrani to Eilifr, Leofric nodded sharply at them, as he also took in Siward’s furious expression.

  “The Mercians will fight, of that, you can be assured. But not for Wessex.”

  With that Leofric stood, Eilifr and Hrani joining him, Siward only a blink behind.

  “My Lord King, if you’ll excuse us,” Hrani taunted, “we have real enemies to fight. Not ones who yet shelter in their mother’s skirts.”

  As one, Harald’s earls deserted him, and Leofric didn’t even spare a glance behind him. He had no need to see Earl Godwine’s smug expression.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  AD1039 Shropshire Border with Powys Leofric

  The wind howled fiercely, and Leofric strove to keep his cloak around his shoulders, against the assault.

  As far as the eye could see, trees were bowed low by the force of the wind, and no one could walk upright, let alone ride. Not that many even attempted it. The weather had forced everyone indoors, to huddle where they could, avoiding flying debris.

  Leofric turned his back on the wind to breathe freely. His chest felt tight from his determination to ride into the gale, but even he could tell he was losing the battle.