by M J Porter
Leofric felt it was a trial for Earl Hrani, but the older man stood with a proud look on his face. Earl Hrani had chosen Harald as his king, over Harthacnut, and had absented himself from Harthacnut’s welcoming ceremony at Sandwich. Yet Hrani was fearless.
He’d served the father and the grandfather of Harthacnut, proudly. Then he’d tried to maintain order over the English in Hereford and the surrounding area. Leofric liked the older man, probably too much. Leofric had forgiven him for transgressions and turned to him when the House of Leofwine needed help.
Still, Leofric couldn’t help but worry that Earl Hrani was nearing the end of his life. When the only surviving Danish earl did die, that would leave a void for Harthacnut to fill. How Harthacnut chose to do that would be telling.
Head bowed, eyes lowered, Leofric listened to the service conducted in Latin by Archbishop Eadsige. He only raised his head to watch when the new king was touched with the holy oil and anointed before God and his fellow men and women.
As a golden crown was placed on Harthacnut’s bowed head by the archbishop, a shiver rippled down Leofric’s spine. He tried to ignore the strange feeling of premonition that unnerved him, concentrating on his own part to play.
It was Leofric who then presented Harthacnut with his golden sceptre. It was dotted with rubies along its length and around the golden sphere and its end, the item heavy and unruly in his hands.
Leofric bowed low before the upright Harthacnut, no doubt grown weary with the length of the ceremony, as he confidently handed the sceptre to his new king, respect on his face, despite his inner unease. Harthacnut gripped the sceptre tightly, his fingers turning white with the force of physically holding one of the elements that marked him as the king of the English.
Harthacnut’s eyes bored into Leofric’s, and he met them without flinching. Leofric might not know Harthacnut well, but the same could also be said, for Harthacnut didn’t know Leofric well. It was a stand-off, and for the time being, Harthacnut had his position as king, while Leofric remained the Earl of Mercia.
While Leofric stepped away, when Harthacnut finally broke the look, Earl Hrani replaced him. The older man bowed before the king, although the movement was less deep due to age, before presenting a silvery orb dotted with priceless diamonds to his new king.
Earl Godwine then handed over the elaborately decorated rod, and Earl Siward had the honour of presenting the ceremonial sword. The sword was a valuable item that had once belonged to King Athelstan.
Earl Siward appeared as Danish as their new king. Even in the church the threat of menace swept from him, and Leofric was unsurprised when even Harthacnut seemed to take his time accepting the sword from a man who’d been tasked with keeping the unruly north of the country under control by his father. Earl Siward’s appearance, with his long hair, and beard, his own arm rings on prominent display, could be honouring his king’s Danish heritage, or threatening him. It wasn’t easy to decide.
Earl Thuri went last, as the newest of all the earls. He presented Harthacnut with a ring that was slipped onto Harthacnut’s long finger. The gem on the ring so large, Leofric imagined even those at the rear of the church would be able to see it. This ring wouldn’t be removed until the king met his death. It was not, Leofric noted, the ring that Harald had worn when he’d been king.
Each man was held in the grip of Harthacnut’s gaze before being released. It was a powerful statement by the king.
The items were all heavy and difficult to handle, apart from the ring. Yet, Harthacnut gripped all four confidently, his eyes staring outwards, before turning to place them one by one on two tables, arranged next to his throne. The king seemed overly keen to ensure this part of the ceremony flowed smoothly, determined not to drop any of the items, as awkward as they were, and start a flood of premonitions.
Only then was Harthacnut escorted to his throne by the archbishop, his back briefly turned on the audience, before he was seated, the crown resting on his upright head and straight neck.
With the ceremony concluded, Archbishop Eadsige faced the audience.
“I present King Harthacnut,” the archbishop intoned.
“Long live the king,” lifted from the lips of everyone within the church, and Leofric joined his voice to acclaim his king, aware that Earl Hrani’s voice was pitched too low at his side. Leofric filed away the information to consider later when the fuss of the coronation was over.
It was done. Harthacnut was officially the anointed king of England, and no one could put him aside. Ever. Unless they did so with military might, and Leofric didn’t believe that would happen. The only other potential æthelings had no real support behind them.
England was struck with Harthacnut, whether it wanted him or not.
But Leofric couldn’t help but think that equally, Harthacnut was stuck with England.
Chapter 2
AD1040
Ælfgar
He watched his father more carefully than he did the king.
Ælfgar was only too aware that his father’s participation in the king’s coronation rested more on Harthacnut’s determination that his earls should support him than any genuine feelings of affection for Leofric.
Harthacnut had made his threats when he’d first arrived at Sandwich only a few weeks ago, and Ælfgar was already prepared to respect them for what they were.
Not so much Earl Godwine.
In the wake of Harthacnut’s humiliation of him at the welcoming feast, Earl Godwine had grown belligerent and difficult half of the time, and subservient and desperate the other. Ælfgar could feel no pity for the man, but neither could he enjoy it as much as he might once have hoped.
Ælfgar feared that Harthacnut was merely storing up problems for himself in the future. And indeed, Earl Godwine served the king as a standard-bearer, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Ælfgar had expected Earl Godwine to be worried about what had happened when Harthacnut had arrived. Still, if he was, the earl was doing an excellent job of pretending the humiliating scene had never occurred. It was making others feel unsure of what was truly happening. Was Earl Godwine in favour with the new king or not? And if he wasn’t, then why was he so pleased with himself, if he genuinely was happy with himself?
Leofric had been far less overt with his own feelings. Harthacnut had made some concessions toward Leofric, in thanks for supporting Lord Alfred before his death from his terrible injuries, and for not being involved at all in Lady Emma’s and Earl Godwine’s scheming. But Ælfgar knew that it would only take his father so far. After all, Harthacnut had never met Lord Alfred, and Lord Alfred was his mother’s son, not his full brother. With Lady Emma so out of favour, it was challenging to understand the family dynamic. Was Harthacnut simply prepared to overlook that he shared a mother, not a father with Lord Alfred?
Bereft of true family, was Harthacnut attempting to rewrite the past so that it better suited him? Ælfgar couldn’t be sure, but once thought, the idea wouldn’t leave him.
Ælfgar had reached the conclusion that it was merely a better opportunity for Harthacnut to punish Earl Godwine.
It was Earl Godwine who’d been tasked with holding the kingdom for Harthacnut on his father’s death. Leofric had been given a different task, a more complicated task, and yet he’d accomplished it. While some might see Leofric as the treasonous one for supporting his foster son, it was actually Earl Godwine who’d ensured Harald was crowned as king of England by supporting Harald.
If Earl Godwine had kept fighting for Harthacnut and had kept asserting his right to rule, then he’d have earned the respect of Harthacnut, even if in doing so, he had injured the nation of England. Ælfgar imagined that Earl Godwine was ruing his decision to bow in the wake of Harald’s success and Harthacnut’s indifference to make his way to England with any speed.
At the front of the church, brightly lit with fat white candles, sending their small smoke trails high into the air, Ælfgar rested his eyes on Harthacnut, trying to deter
mine what sort of man he truly was, as he went through the ceremony of being anointed and then crowned as king of England.
Harthacnut seemed cold, indifferent, and yet Ælfgar suspected that he was driven by rage, directed at almost everyone. The English who’d abandoned him, his mother who’d failed to hold England for him, and of course, his father who’d sent him from his side when he was a young man, tasking him with the responsibilities of adulthood in Denmark. And then had the audacity to die at a truly inconvenient time.
Archbishop Eadsige seemed poised to begin the ceremony, his face sombre and yet also flecked with joy. Eadsige’s loyalty had always been to Cnut, and he owed his elevation through the ranks of the church to his close ties with Cnut and Lady Emma. It was perhaps a kindness for Harthacnut to know that at least one person in the church was keen for him to take up the mantle of the kingship.
Ælfgar watched everything intently. If he was ever asked to stand as a witness to the events of the day, he wanted to ensure he did it well. As such, he took careful note of who was in the church, and who had been excluded from the celebration.
Unsurprisingly, Ælfgar found that more people had been included than excluded, even the king’s mother, Lady Emma, the Queen Dowager, sat at the front of the church, proudly watching her son. Ælfgar couldn’t deny that it was a wise policy for Harthacnut to have adopted as a virtual stranger to England. Perhaps less sensible had been his insistence that he be crowned wearing his armrings won in battle, which hinted at Harthacnut’s true intentions toward England.
Yes, England was not at peace with her neighbours, but amongst her people, she had been for many years. Ælfgar thought it a poor choice for Harthacnut to have made. Not since the coronation of King Edward the Elder, well over a century ago, had a king been crowned with a helmet rather than a crown. And England hadn’t even existed then. Instead, Edward the Elder had been crowned as king of Wessex. It had been his son, Athelstan, who’d first worn a crown rather than a helmet for the coronation ceremony.
If Harthacnut thought to undo the century of change, he would find it poorly received. He might be called a Viking King, but England wouldn’t wish to return to the time when Viking Raiders overran the kingdom. After all, why else had the English allowed his father to become king after the death of King Æthelred, if not to stop the ravages from the Danish Raiders?
And it was not only Harthacnut’s clothes that marked him as different to the kings who’d gone before. Edmund Ironside had also been a warrior, as had Cnut. Leofric had regaled Ælfgar with stories of the past. In them he’d offered the suggestion that there had been something softer about these warrior men in their moments of triumph.
They’d both been hard men, if fair, but in the triumph of being declared the king of the English, they’d seemed to grow into better men. Ælfgar almost wished he didn’t have such knowledge of what had happened before, and then his perception of Harthacnut would be based only on the here and now.
Then Harthacnut could only have been compared to Harald, and there the potential for Harthacnut to appear more favourably would have existed.
The ceremony seemed long, although not tedious. When Archbishop Eadsige proclaimed Harthacnut as king, Ælfgar joined his voice to the roar of approval. Cynically he thought the sound was less impressive than when Harald had been proclaimed as king.
While the king took a seat, ready to take the oaths once more of all his earls and court officials, Ælfgar sought out his father. Leofric had been one of the first to bend his knee and speak the sacred oath over the holy relic that Archbishop Eadsige had provided for the occasion.
This would be far from Leofric’s first oath to a king, and yet it would bind more than just himself to the new king. Ælfgar knew the matter concerned Leofric, although at their family meeting last night, it had also been agreed that there was no other choice than to give the oath.
The House of Leofwine had won its position by maintaining its oaths and by serving the king, whoever that king was. And wherever he’d come from. The fact that the House of Leofwine was further known for winning the acclaim of Olaf Tryggvason and King Swein, two men who’d hated each other, only added to the awe, and suspicion his family could be held in.
But Ælfgar knew that while his family had been tested in the past, that examination of them was far from over, and he feared that it might be about to get worse, not better.
Turning from his father, Ælfgar swept his gaze over Earl Godwine.
While the king had made his position concerning the House of Leofwine clear, his intentions toward Earl Godwine were far from that. Those at Sandwich had witnessed his displeasure, but since then, Earl Godwine had done nothing to show he was out of favour with the king. Many would assume that the earl was as favoured by Harthacnut, as he had been under King Cnut. The reality made it difficult to know Earl Godwine’s intentions toward the new king and the House of Leofwine.
Earl Godwine had been smugly confident in his position for many years until Cnut’s death. Since then, matters had been complicated for the family, and they threatened to continue to be. Still, Earl Godwine was a powerful and influential man. It was unlikely he would be brought low by the king, not with his vast family of children, and his ties to the Danish royal family as well.
His family was already well endowed in terms of land and influence. It would take a strong man to risk all that turning against him. But perhaps Harthacnut was that man. Ælfgar knew he needed to wait and see what would happen at the witan the following day, but it made him uneasy all the same.
When it was finally his turn to pledge his oath to King Harthacnut, Ælfgar trailed his mother to the king’s throne, his wife behind him. Lady Godgifu had dressed carefully, as had all of the family. As the acknowledged ally of King Harald’s mother, he appreciated that his mother wished to show her wealth and influence in every tiny detail.
There could be no denying the threat Harthacnut had made to Leofric on the harbour at Sandwich. It was impossible that Leofric wouldn’t have shared it with his family. Yet, if Harthacnut was concerned with that knowledge, it was impossible to tell.
While Lady Godgifu knelt before the king, her rich skirt pooling to either side of her body, the flickering embroidery of the two-headed eagle catching the candlelight, Ælfgar caught his father’s eyes. He’d stood throughout the ceremony, and would continue to do so until the very last oath had been given. Ælfgar didn’t envy him the tediousness. Yet something in his father’s eyes alerted him to the fact that the task might not be onerous as anticipated.
As Ælfgar listened to his mother clearly pledge her oath, loud enough that those nearby all stopped to listen, he nodded in understanding.
This ceremony was a perfect way for his father to know who spoke willingly and who unwillingly. Just like the king, Leofric would have an actual image in his mind of who respected their new king, and who was merely offering the words by rote.
Ælfgar helped his mother to stand, a tight squeeze on his hand, showing how much she appreciated his assistance, although they didn’t exchange any words. Then it was his turn to speak the oath. Only then did the full importance of what he was about to do form in his mind.
In a voice as clear and loud as his mother’s, Ælfgar spoke the ancient words that bonded him to his king, and he did so proudly, his eyes fixed on the man he had known as a child.
“By the Lord, and these holy relics, I pledge to be loyal and true to Harthacnut, and love all that he loves, and hate all that he hates, in accordance with God’s rights and my noble obligations; and never, willingly and intentionally, in word or deed, do anything that is hateful to him; on condition that he keep me as was our agreement, when I subjected myself to him and took his service.”
Harthacnut’s gaze never wavered, as Ælfgar spoke, and neither did Ælfgar’s on the king. They were sizing each other up, testing the mettle of the other, and Ælfgar knew he was not yet sure of his new king. The initial indications had been poor, but then, that was probably what
Harthacnut thought about the House of Leofwine.
With his oath given, he stood and walked to his waiting mother, while his wife gave her oath, and then his uncle, cousins, and his aunt and uncle. The House of Leofwine was prepared to be loyal to their king if he proved faithful to them.
Chapter 3
AD1040
Leofric
Leofric was unsurprised to find Lady Emma excluded from the witan. Disappointed as well.
Earl Godwine’s exclusion would have assured Leofric that his enemy was just as much out of favour, but sadly, Godwine had been allowed to attend, just as he had the coronation the day before.
The feast held after the event had been presided over by Harthacnut, with his mother, but it had not felt like the joyous occasion it should, just like when Harthacnut had first arrived at Sandwich.
Harthacnut, his face severe, despite his youth, had barely cracked a smile throughout the entire evening, although he’d drunk well, and had been pleased to drink whenever one of his Danish allies had thought to stand and toast the new king in Danish.
And there had been many of toasts.
The divide between the Danish and the English had never felt wider.
Ælfgar had watched his new king carefully throughout the evening, and his description of Harthacnut from his place amongst the lesser nobility had confirmed what Leofric had suspected. Even being crowned as King of the English, had not improved Harthacnut’s outlook on the men he viewed as treasonous to his kingship.
Leofric had been forced to sit on the raised dais of the feasting hall, in a line of fellow earls, archbishops and bishops, unable to see the king himself for much of the evening. To either side of him, had been Earl Godwine and Archbishop Ælfric; two men the new king was deeply unhappy with, and two men who knew they were on dangerous ground.
