The Earl's King

by M J Porter

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  March AD1040 Northampton Ælfgar

  He rode quickly through the dull landscape. It was not that late in the day, but dusk was upon him, and he cursed softly, wondering whether to go on or stop for the night. It would be a cold night by the side of the road, but perhaps to be preferred to riding in the murkiness. But no, Ælfgar urged his horse onwards.

  They’d intersected with Watling Street, and that meant that Northampton would only be a short distance further. He resolved to ride until he got there. Once in Northampton, he had two tasks to accomplish, and neither would be pleasant.

  The men surrounding him, even Wulfstan and Ælfwine, had been mostly quiet during the journey. They all knew that Ælfgar had offered to fulfil this duty, but they knew it would be onerous. Lady Ælfgifu would not take kindly to the loss of her son, and certainly not to the dismantling of her carefully laid plans, once more.

  Ælfgar thought of his own small children. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be told of the death of either of them, and they were both still so young. What would it feel like to lose a son who was in his early twenties, who’d already fulfilled so much potential and yet had so much more to give?

  Abruptly Ælfgar thought of his father. His own brother had been executed on the orders of a king when he’d been a similar age to Harald. So much life left to live! It made little sense to him.

  Ælfgar shook his head once more, grimacing as he considered the quantity of blood that had poured from King Harald. Such a terrible death, and yet, there was no one to blame for it but himself. Not in the grand scheme of things.

  He knew all about King Harald’s violent outbursts. He’d witnessed them first hand.

  Within sight of Northampton, the enticing glow of the settlement’s smoke haze just a faint whiff on the wind, he reined in his horse, turning to his cousins.

  “We’ll first go to the home of Alfifa. It’ll make things easier for Harald’s mother.”

  Wulfstan turned to him in surprise. “My Lord?” he questioned, so surprised, he used Ælfgar’s honorific, but Ælfgar shook his head.

  “It’ll become clear, and you’ll understand. Don’t fear. We’ll reach Lady Alfifa shortly.”

  “As you will.” Wulfstand offered darkly. Ælfgar reached over and punched Wulfstan in the arm.

  “You can trust me,” he tried to joke, but no one was in the mood to laugh.

  Heading for the western gateway into Northampton, as opposed to the more direct southern one, Ælfgar considered how he’d approach Alfifa.

  Her relationship with the king had been a little-known secret. He was one of the few who’d known, but mostly because of his wife, not because his foster-brother had ever told him.

  Now he was grateful for that knowledge. He’d tell Lady Ælfgifu about her son’s unfortunate death, but he could soften the blow. Provided Alfifa agreed with his intent.

  If not, well if not, Alfifa would continue to live her life in secrecy. For a moment he paused. He might save the child from a life of being scorned for having no father, but would he also place him at significant risk? There was little chance that Harthacnut when he arrived in England, wouldn’t seek to exact his revenge on any family members who still lived.

  But no. Lady Ælfgifu and her daughter-by-marriage would be able to grieve together. They’d need each other now that Harald was dead.

  So resolved, he entered the western gateway into Northampton just as the gate wardens were pulling the gates tightly closed. He greeted them, flicking shimmering coins toward them as a thank you for admitting him and his men with no fuss. But the gate warden recognised him, that was obvious from his half-bow, so really, Ælfgar considered, he could have saved his coin.

  The street inside the gateway was quiet in the on-coming gloom of night, the shop fronts long since barred and shuttered, and for a moment, Ælfgar was disorientated before he spotted a familiar sign for a blacksmith. He led the way, the sound of horse hooves loud in the quiet. Inside his cloak, he shivered just once and then resolved himself to the difficult task ahead.

  The house he stopped outside was not the biggest. He could see that the garden area was neatly wickered off, the chickens that roamed during the day, locked away for the night. The small plot of herbs that he knew normally grew there, were sparse, the continuing winter evident.

  He slid from his horse, calling for Wulfstan to hold his animal tight, and then he opened the small gate and slid inside. The gate moving silently under his touch. The ground was hard underfoot, the frosts of recent nights keeping the mud from forming. Pausing briefly, he took the time to allow himself to reconsider one final time, before the shuttered doorway opened.

  Alfifa herself opened the door, a query on her face that turned to confusion when she recognised Ælfgar.

  “My Lord,” she said, looking around quickly and beckoning him inside. Ælfgar was pleased she couldn’t see the six horses in the gloom.

  “My Lady.” Hastily, she opened the door wide, and he stepped into the smoky hall of her home.

  It was a fine establishment for a young woman, but Ælfgar knew she wasn’t there alone. Her mother would be somewhere, and so too, her young son.

  “Why are you here,” she asked with curiosity, indicating the seat before the hearth, but he shook his head.

  “I bring news. Most unwelcome news and I ask for your help.”

  “Harald?” she gasped, fear making her voice wobble, although she looked behind him, as though Harald might at any moment stride through the door.

  “Harald yes, but terrible news.”

  At that, she searched his face quickly, and a stray tear fell from her eyes.

  “He’s not coming here?” she demanded, just to be sure, and he shook his head.

  “He’ll never come here again.” A sob sprang from her mouth, and she reached out, as though for support. He took her arm in his hands, willing her to be strong in the face of the shock of the news.

  “No one knows?” she stumbled. “I was in the market today. There was no word. None at all.” He could already tell that she was trying to deny what he told her.

  “No one knows. It only happened last night. I’ve been sent to inform Lady Ælfgifu.”

  “But you come to me first? That’s most thoughtful of you.” She spoke softly, while tears continued to fall from her eyes, and he admired her courage. She didn’t yet understand why he’d acted as he had. It wouldn’t be long though. She was an intelligent woman. The only thing he’d never understood about her was why she’d allowed herself to be treated so poorly by the king.

  “Lady Ælfgifu will be most distressed,” Alfifa finally said, taking the seat before the hearth that she’d just offered to Ælfgar.

  “She will yes.”

  “Young Ælfwine will never even have the chance to know his father,” she mused softly, despairingly.

  “Would you have allowed him to?” Ælfgar asked, but then waved his hand. “Not that it matters. But I’d ask a boon of you, and I’d ask that you listen to me before you dismiss it without thought.”

  “You need not ask,” she demurred, as Ælfgar went to open his mouth.

  “I’ll do what you request. I … I’ve been considering it for some time. It’s hard for a woman alone with a small child, even with the support of you and your wife, and my own mother.”

  Ælfgar shut his mouth at her words and listened instead.

  “Shall we go now,” Alfifa asked, standing unsteadily, and peering into the recesses of the hall. “Ælfwine sleeps, but we can wake him. It would be best to take him with us?”

  She asked the question but was already moving toward her son’s sleeping quarters.

  “Do you think Lady Ælfgifu will stay in Northampton?” Alfifa spoke over her shoulder, busy about her work.

  “I think she must be advised not to. Lady Emma will make her life a misery, and Harthacnut, well he might demand her death.”

  “Ah,” understanding flooded her face, as
she turned to face him once more. “If I go to her now, then my son and I will also become targets for Lady Emma and her son.”

  “Yes, you will. But, I fear every day you’ll be discovered, and I urge you to stay with her. She’ll protect you as I’m unable to do. She was a powerful woman even before her marriage to Cnut. She has greater reach than the king will have.”

  “I agree with you,” Alfifa admitted. “I wish I didn’t, but I do. I’ll do as you suggest. You and your wife have only ever tried to help me, and there’s no reason for you not to now.” She spoke softly, but decisively.

  “Come then, we should go now.” Alfifa nodded but looked around in a panic, her mother watching her with concern. The older woman was silent in the wake of the news of Harald’s death. Ælfgar considered the relief she must feel. Harald had been a constant threat for them, even hidden away as they had been.

  “What should I take with me?” Alfifa seemed mystified.

  “Just yourself, and young Ælfwine. The rest can be sorted later,” her mother stated, matter of factly.

  “Of course,” Alfifa muttered, turning to the screened off section of the room, where her son clearly lay asleep. Ælfgar listened as she spoke softly to him.

  Alfifa’s mother turned to him while she was distracted, a question on her face.

  “Yes, it would be best if you stayed together,” he offered.

  Pausing for a moment, to extinguish the small hearth fire, he turned to the three of them, when Alfifa again stood before him, her son cradled in her arms.

  “Come, I’ve horses, and the men will allow you to ride into Northampton itself. Wear your cloaks and keep young Ælfwine hidden from view.”

  With caution still on his lips, Ælfgar opened the door and stepped into the night once more. It was full dark by now, and Ælfgar stumbled as he stepped through the gate and back onto the roadway.

  At his oath, Wulfstan called his name.

  “I’m fine. Just fell over my own feet. Do you have a brand?”

  Almost immediately, Wulfstan appeared, a brand held out to the side that Ælfgar walked along.

  “My thanks,” he called softly. “Can we arrange for the women to ride? And be careful, the younger has a child.” By now, whether Wulfstan, Ælfwine and his men knew what was happening or not was irrelevant.

  “Of course. Come, My Lady,” as Wulfstan leapt from his own horse, and held the animal steady while Ælfgar took control of the brand. It sparked lazily but was enough to worry the animal. He looked back along the roadway, where his other cousin, Ælfwine, was already hurdling from his horse and knew that everything would be ordered quickly.

  There was the smell of rain hanging in the air, and Ælfgar wished to reach the secluded property of Lady Ælfgifu quickly. He hoped that she’d go softly with him, on account of his mother’s friendship, and the secret he now wished to reveal to her. But Lady Ælfgifu was a difficult woman. Anything could happen during their meeting. Anything.

  Between them all, they managed to settle the young and older woman on horses, and quickly set out once more. Lady Ælfgifu lived on the far side of Northampton, almost so far away it might have been quicker to exit the gate they’d just entered through, and travel to the eastern one, but Ælfgar didn’t want to run the risk of falling foul of the gate wardens, and find his small party excluded for the night.

  Instead, he mounted his own horse and led the way, the brand still in his hand.

  Northampton was a thriving settlement, and they quickly passed through the affluent areas where the blacksmiths and moneyers lived and worked. Further on, they encountered a church, and then another one, and for a moment Ælfgar was disorientated,

  “Keep going straight,” Alfifa’s soft voice advised, and Ælfgar knew then that she’d often walked this path, perhaps hoping for a sight of her child’s grandmother. He knew then, as sorrowful as his heart was about Harald’s death, that at least this wrong would be righted now that his foster-brother was dead.

  Ælfgar swiftly followed her advice, and although voices sometimes called out in annoyance at them for the noise of their passage, no one actually came to see who rode horses through Northampton late at night, when the gates had long been closed.

  As soft rain began to fall in earnest, his brand extinguished, but it had done its work, and in front of him, he could see the hall of Lady Ælfgifu. It had once been her father’s home, but it had passed to her care when he’d been murdered on the orders of King Æthelred, and her brothers had been blinded as well.

  She’d ensured her brothers were well cared for throughout their lives, and Ælfgar never stopped admiring her for taking such decisive actions following her father’s death. To all intents and purposes, she’d kept her family’s position strong enough that she’d been an enticing wife for Cnut, both regarding physical attraction and also in politics.

  The death of her youngest son would be her undoing, and he felt great pity for her.

  A voice called out of the darkness, demanding to know who was there, and Ælfgar replied with his name.

  “It’s late, My Lord,” the surprised reply came back, and Ælfgar grunted in agreement.

  “It is yes, and I’d seek an audience with Lady Ælgifu and shelter for my men and horses.”

  “Of course, My Lord. Please, be welcome.”

  The gate warden’s voice rose in warning to the men at the door and those in the stables, and quickly, they were all escorted inside the enclosure. While his horses and men made their way to the stables, Ælfgar turned to the two women who accompanied him. The child still slept in his mother’s arms, and Ælfgar was pleased. It would make the conversation less complicated if the child remained silent. Wulfstan and Ælfwine hovered uncertainly.

  “Stay close to me when we enter, and then find seats near to the hearth. I’ll summon you when Lady Ælfgifu is ready.”

  Alfifa nodded at the command, shivering in the rain. When they stepped inside, he noticed how pale she looked, and he worried about the strain this was having on her. Yet, as he turned to greet Lady Ælfgifu, she offered him a blistering smile of gratitude. She might well be nervous, but she was happy for this to happen.

  The thought cheered him as he greeted a puzzled-looking Lady Ælfgifu.

  She’d been sitting halfway between the raised dais and the hearth, and now watched his movements closely.

  “An unfortunate night to be travelling,” she tried to smile, as Ælfgar bowed his head low.

  “An unfortunate night to carry a terrible message.” As he spoke, he watched Lady Ælfgifu still before him. He might well be a regular visitor to the household, but it was evident that the noblewoman was braced for him to tell her something dreadful.

  “Yes, yes,” she agreed heatedly, her voice filled with worry and a little breathless. “I’d not expect you to travel through the rain just to tell me that the king has stubbed his toe.”

  Ælfgar winced then, and something in his action must have terrified Lady Ælfgifu as she began to tremble.

  “Just tell me, and tell me quickly.”

  “I regret to inform you that this morning, your son, the king, was found dead in his home in Oxford.” At his words, she grasped one of his forearms between her two hands. Her grip was intense, her fingers colder than the grave.

  “Tell me it isn’t so,” she gasped in horror, her eyes wild and filled with disbelief.

  “I can not, My Lady. I’ve come, on the instructions of my father and Earl Godwine, but also because you are my mother’s oldest friend, and therefore you hear this from someone who cares for you.”

  “Tell me how it happened,” she whispered hoarsely, tears beginning to flow unnoticed from her eyes.

  “Again, I tell you the truth, but others know it only as natural causes. Your son was killed, from a cut to the throat, possibly self-inflicted, but more than likely not. A tragedy, I believe, after one of his,” and he struggled to find the words, but Lady Ælfgifu’s pursed mouth showed she understood only too well what he fail
ed to say.

  A low moan came from her mouth, and Ælfgar looked for a servant to serve strong wine, only to find Alfifa at his side. She held a wine goblet out to Lady Ælfgifu, although her hand shook. He glanced behind her, wondering where her son was, but the child’s other grandmother cradled him tightly, and Ælfgar relaxed.

  “My thanks,” Ælfgar said, and she nodded. The hall, which had been sparsely populated anyway, was slowly emptying of more and more people. The arrival of five warriors, drenched from the rain, made it clear there would be little drinking that night, and fewer places than usual to sleep. While it meant braving the storm, many preferred the seclusion of their own sleeping quarters to the more communal one.

  Lady Ælfgifu took the wine and drank it as though her life depended on it, her hand shaking so violently Ælfgar was unsurprised when it clinked on her front teeth.

  “My boy,” she was moaning softly under her breath.

  “It’s a terrible catastrophe,” Ælfgar mumbled, concerned she’d accepted his words so quietly. He’d expected her to rant and rave, demand proof and even then be disbelieving. He was surprised by her immediate acceptance of what she said.

  “Who are you,” Ælfgifu abruptly asked, turning to Alfifa. “You’re not a member of my household, and yet I know you.”

  Lady Ælfgifu turned accusing eyes on Ælfgar, a shriek on her lips as she contemplated the wine she’d drunk without thought.

  “Do you mean to murder me as well?” she half yelped, but Ælfgar quickly shook his head, fumbling to find the correct words.

  “My name’s Alfifa,” Alfifa said, her voice soft yet assured. “I’m the daughter of Edith, your friend and I’m the mother of your son’s child,” as she spoke Alfifa gestured for her mother to join them. Ælfwine lay fast asleep, but as Edith walked across the room, the coverings fell away from his body, revealing his mass of blond curls, and childish form. Ælfgar watched with worry.

  “My son’s child?” Lady Ælfgifu demanded, her hand reaching to her throat in surprise. “My son had no wife, no child. I longed for him to take a wife, to have grandchildren.”