Viking King

by M J Porter

  If Harthacnut suspected Leofric had managed to warn the people inside, he hadn’t mentioned it. In fact, Harthacnut had said nothing, other than to issue instructions about bringing about the greatest destruction. He’s also instructed the abbot to pray for the souls of his dead reeves when he’d briefly visited their gravesite.

  Then Harthacnut had mounted his horse, his intention to ride back to Winchester evident. His face had remained as inscrutable as ever, as the smoke from the fires had quickly enveloped him on the journey south. If Harthacnut wished people to judge him by his actions, then he’d made a considerable statement in destroying Worcester. Leofric had not missed the look of horror on Lord Godwine’s face.

  Leofric quickly ordered his men to do what they could to stop some of the partly standing houses from burning further, but he knew it was an all but useless action. It would be better to simply clear away the charred remains and begin again.

  Earl Hrani was off his horse the moment that Harthacnut was out of sight, the trundling of the ox pulled cart taking much longer to disappear. Hrani’s instructions to his men were quickly followed. It seemed ridiculous to Leofric that they’d had to witness the destruction knowing only too well that everything would be rebuilt as soon as the king was gone.

  Leofric dismounted and turned to face the ruin, his eyes alighting on a small wooden horse, somehow saved from the smoking ruins of the carpenter’s workshop. Leofric bent to retrieve it, wiping the ashy residue from the surface.

  The wood had been polished to a high sheen, two eyes carved into the face of the animal. Leofric knew the skill it had taken to produce such an object.

  His shoulders sagged, as he coughed, his mouth rough with the taste of ash. Eadsige guarded his horse for him, although from who, Leofric was not sure. It seemed the king was the only enemy. And the bloody Welsh who’d murdered the reeves. How King Gruffydd Ap Llewelyn must be enjoying what was happening in England.

  The man who’d claimed his brother’s life in battle two years ago was an enemy of the House of Leofwine. But it seemed that the King of the English needed to be added to that list.

  “What’s to be done?” as practical as ever, it was Orkning who asked the question of the two earls, Olaf listening carefully as well. Hrani had followed Leofric, and he stood, his shoulders sagging, as he viewed the utter devastation.

  “We must rebuild. As always,” Earl Hrani answered Orkning’s question.

  “Yes, but where would we start?”

  “Well, at the least, the king left the burh walls alone. He clearly anticipates that Worcester will be rebuilt. As much as I’d wish to disappoint him, and refuse my aid, some people have lived here for many years. They’ll not wish to go elsewhere.”

  “No, but there are no crops, not now, and the fields will struggle if fresh crops are sown now. They’ll need time to recover from the fires.”

  Leofric nodded while Earl Hrani was lost in thought. It all felt hopeless and useless. Yet, no one had died, apart from the reeves, and that meant that there was always hope.

  “We’ll rebuild. Slowly. If people wish to return to Worcester now, then they can. If not, we’ll arrange a slower reintegration. Everything is too hot and too ruined for much to be done today,” Leofric spoke morosely. He still held the wooden horse in his hands, and Orkning caught sight of the object.

  “Too old to play?” Orkning asked, a sad smile on his lips.

  “I think I’ve always been too old to play,” Leofric quirked wryly, the humour never touching his eyes.

  “Come, we must make arrangements with the priest and the monks. I’m sure that those who sneak back to Worcester in the next few days will go there first. I’ll not allow anyone to starve.”

  Orkning nodded, his keen eyes taking in all around him, and Hrani said nothing to disagree with Leofric’s decision.

  “Too bad they didn’t leave the ox. It would have been helpful to clear away the wreckage.”

  “I pity the daft buggers who thought to take him to Winchester. The king will be furious when he slows them all down.” Earl Hrani spoke with a glint in his eye, but the humour fell flat, and none of them smiled.

  As expected, the monastery was silent when Leofric and Earl Hrani arrived, many of their men remaining in the centre of Worcester, keen to do something useful. As Hrani announced himself in the forecourt, saying the king had gone, people began to appear from every hiding place, until the abbot himself arrived.

  Leofric knew Abbot Ælfhere well but was shocked to find the man so unsteady on his feet.

  “My Lord Leofric, My Lord Hrani, such, such,” abbot Ælfhere’s voice trailed away as words failed him.

  “I know, good man, I know. But the monastery and its buildings still stand, and I’m sure that Archbishop Ælfric will send aid when he knows of the plight of the people here.

  Earl Hrani offered the words, and Leofric kept from saying that he worried that Archbishop Ælfric would do no such thing. He, like Lord Godwine, was still far from restored to the king’s good graces.

  “For now, can you feed everyone?” Only now did Leofric appreciate how many people had been unable or unwilling to entirely flee Worcester. There must be close to two or three hundred people watching the conversation between the two earls and the abbot.

  “It won’t be rich fare, but it will be filling,” the abbot stated firmly, as he too turned to gaze at all those erupting from his priory buildings.

  “Then do what you can. We’ll need to build shelters for everyone and ensure the water from the river isn’t fouled.”

  “It’s as though the Welsh came,” the abbot spoke dejectedly. Leofric grunted his agreement, pleased that the abbot had not said the Vikings. That would have caused no end of problems.

  But Leofric knew that he now faced two problems, his king and the Welsh and he couldn’t see how either of the difficulties would be resolved quickly.

  And then Orkning sought him out.

  “My Lord,” when Orkning used his title, Leofric knew to be worried what the next words would be. “Is the king a well man? I’ve heard rumours?”

  Leofric lifted his eyes to meet Orkning’s, a question on his lips.

  “I’ve heard nothing.”

  “Well I have, and not just from amongst the king’s men, but from Denmark as well, and Olaf has heard the same.” Leofric groaned. The tidings were not what he wanted to hear.

  “Find out what you can. I’ll do the same. Good God, what must we do to have a stable king?”

  Orkning wisely stayed silent, the scene of destruction around them, eloquent enough to speak to the king’s current state of mind.

  And neither was that the sum of it all.

  Exhausted and dejected, Leofric left his nephews to assist in Worcester. First, he’d pronounced his verdict on the guilty Welsh men found by Wulfstan and Ælfwine when they’d ridden out to hunt down the real cause of the problems in Worcester.

  Olaf had stayed to help, as had the men from Deerhurst, but Earl Hrani had returned to Hereford, and Leofric knew he was needed elsewhere as well.

  He needed to return to Coventry, to Lady Godgifu.

  It had been months since he’d last visited, and he could sense that something was amiss from what little he’d learned from her messengers. If it helped keep him away from Winchester and the king as well, Leofric was wise enough to take the option when it was offered to him.

  Far from a loving wife, when he and Orkning rode into the forecourt, Lady Godgifu appeared, fury on her face.

  “My Lord,” the words were clipped. “You should have been here a week ago.”

  “Yes, My Lady, I should, but I’ve been to Worcester.”

  The hiss she emitted told him all he needed to know about her thoughts on that.

  The news of Harthacnut’s swift revenge had spread throughout Mercia far more quickly than the fires he’d tried to use to torch the fields around Worcester.

  “The king is a bloody fool, and if he continues like this, Coventry will be n
ext. I warn you, Coventry is too poor to pay this awful geld imposed by the king.”

  “That’s why I’ve come. I’ll speak to the people of Coventry, determine what can be paid.”

  “A fraction of it,” Lady Godgifu snapped, trailing him into the hall. Inside, her women were busy with their work, and they were not alone in trying not to listen to the conversation taking place between Leofric and Godgifu. Leofric noted that Orkning had absented himself, in the stables, and he almost envied him.

  “Then, another way will need to be found.”

  “And what way is that?” While he reached for a jug of ale brought by one of the servants, a worried look in her eye, Lady Godgifu paced from one side of the hall to the other. She swept anything in her path to one side, and Leofric noted how the hounds rushed to be outside the range of her boots.

  He looked for Hund but knew the animal wouldn’t be there. Hund was old, almost too old, and he’d been left in the house in Oxford after Harald’s death. Leofric missed the steady presence of his trusty hound and had refused to take a replacement, even though Ealdgyth had offered him one.

  “I hardly know, not yet, but I won’t allow the king to ravage Coventry as he has Worcester.”

  “I don’t know how you’ll prevent it. There’s been a drought, followed by a winter of famine, and people have spent all they have on just staying alive. This tax is too much. Why did you ever agree to it?”

  Leofric eyed his wife over the rim of his beaker. The accusation had taken longer than he thought it would to surface.

  “I didn’t agree with it alone. The entire witan agreed to it. It was better than a war.”

  “It wasn’t,” Lady Godgifu stalked through his line of sight, and then onwards once more. There was nothing for it but to endure her anger.

  “You’ll have to pay the geld on their behalf.” She made the statement as though the amount was insubstantial.

  “How would I do that? Already I’ve had to forward the funds to the king. I need the geld to be paid so that I can be reimbursed if nothing else.”

  “But we have so much more. Why can’t we pay the geld?”

  “Would you have me pay it for the whole of Mercia? If they hear I paid Coventry’s and assisted Worcester, they would all ask the same of me. I would be beggared, and so would you.”

  “It’s only money,” Lady Godgifu rounded. “It’s worthless. Lives are more important.”

  Leofric didn’t disagree with his wife, although it surprised him to hear the words fall from her lips.

  Now she sat before him, reaching over to grip his hand.

  “We must do something to stop the king.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Renegotiate with the king. He’s lived in England for a year. He can’t be blind to the hardships.”

  “The king sees England as wealthy. He’ll not accept that drought and a bad harvest would impoverish her. He’s also entirely unreasonable and has no concept of the word ‘compromise.’”

  “Then you must teach him.” Leofric reached out to grip his wife’s other hand, desperate to make her understand.

  He met her blue eyes evenly.

  “If the king were prepared to renegotiate, he wouldn’t have savaged Worcester. You ask the impossible.” Leofric squeezed her hand, to take the sting from his words. But Godgifu snatched her hand away, standing once more.

  “It’ll mean more deaths. Could you live with yourself knowing that you could have prevented it? It’s like a war, only the victims will be the weak, the poor and the sick.”

  Leofric winced. The words wounded him.

  He’d agreed to the geld for the king. He’d hoped it wouldn’t beggar the people of Mercia, but he’d been wrong.

  Leofric gazed after his wife, as she once more stormed from one side of the hall to the other. He sighed heavily. How could he make this any better? He had no idea, but he was tempted to approach the king. Maybe he would be able to appeal to the king. He thought it might be an easier option than trying to convince his wife that he was helpless.

  Chapter 10

  AD1041

  Leofric

  “My Lady,” Leofric bowed low before the Queen Dowager. He hadn’t seen her alone since Harthacnut’s return to England last summer, but Orkning’s words and Harthacnut’s lethal response to the problems in Worcester had forced him to take action.

  Yes, his mother might not be high in Harthacnut’s regard, but if anyone knew everything about the king, it would be her. Or so Leofric hoped.

  “Lord Leofric,” Lady Emma bowed her head, her lips making the shape of a smile of welcome, although it didn’t reach her hooded eyes. “Have you come to cause me trouble?” The words were meant lightly, and yet even Lady Emma grimaced as she said them.

  “That didn’t sound right,” she apologised. “You’re most welcome. It’s been too long.”

  Leofric sat where indicated by her hand and nodded his agreement.

  “It has, I should have come sooner. You have my apologies as well.”

  “No need to apologise when I know the king watches you as keenly as he does me. There are spies in my household. I know it and yet I can do nothing about it. It’s not pleasant to realise your own child doesn’t trust you.”

  Leofric thought better of replying. What could he say? Certainly, he wouldn’t lie to Lady Emma. They’d both been players at the king’s court for far too long to do that.

  “Tell me, how is your son, and his wife, and Lady Godgifu?”

  Leofric paused, waiting while Lady Emma poured wine for him and then settled back to listen.

  He’d known her for more of his life than he cared to recall. He’d known Lady Emma when she was at the height of her beauty, and when she’d been too young to genuinely care about politics. Now, it seemed she did care about politics, and her beauty was a shadow of its former self. Yet, he could still see it despite the wrinkles around her eyes, and the lines that rimmed her neck. Her hair, all turned to grey in recent years, was modestly hidden under a wimple. Her dress was cut to flatter her figure, the womanly curves of youth long gone, but still appealing all the same. She was old, and so was he.

  “My son is well. He enjoys being a father. As to Lady Godgifu, she’s joyful at being a grandmother, and a little resentful, all at the same time.”

  Lady Emma’s mouth quirked in amusement at both the comments, and probably, at his attempt to avoid saying anything derogatory about the king.

  “And how is Worcester?”

  “Destroyed, but out of the ashes will grow a new town. The stone buildings survived, and the wall as well. It’ll take time, but Worcester will be the settlement it was before. Earl Hrani had sent as many skilled people as he can spare as well.”

  “And the people of Worcester?”

  “Scarred and unrepentant. Their hatred has been turned on the Welsh, thankfully. After all, it was their fault, in the end. The perpetrators were found. They’d not escaped without their own injuries, and my nephews brought them to me for justice.”

  “What justice did you give them?”

  “They must pay the wergeld, of course.”

  “Ah, not death, then?”

  “One death doesn’t assuage a previous death. Sooner the three surviving men were made to work for the good of Worcester.”

  “A tidy solution.”

  “Perhaps. But not the one that would have spared Worcester in the first place. King Harthacnut is not open to reason.”

  The sigh that escaped from Lady Emma’s mouth was heartfelt.

  “I don’t think my son can reason, and I don’t think he has a heart. Like his father, he can be a cold man.”

  “Men who know their time is limited can be ruthless.” The gasp that escaped Lady Emma’s mouth this time was filled with horror, but Leofric kept his eyes firm on hers, refusing to allow her to look away.

  “How did you know?” Lady Emma eventually asked, reaching a hand to grip her wine goblet, the fluid shivering as she shook.
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  “I’m not without eyes to see what all should realise,” Leofric commented. He was unwilling to say that it was Orkning who’d told him of the king’s problems and that otherwise, he’d have been totally without suspicion.

  “What is it?” Leofric pressed. He knew no facts, only the hint of Orkning’s concern.

  “The king has developed a condition in adulthood. It can lead him to shake uncontrollably, although it stops, in time.” Lady Emma spoke bluntly, her eyes reflecting her worry and concern at being caught in such a lie.

  “And can this be cured?”

  “I don’t believe so. Not from what little I’ve managed to glean. I’ve made some discrete enquiries, and I know my son is concerned about the problem. He has three trusted men so that one is always with him, to help if the problem should reoccur. They’re all Danish. They pretend not to understand my questions, as do Lords Beorn and Otto who know everything and supervises the men.” Her mouth curved with displeasure at the admission.

  “Has it happened? When he’s been in England?”

  Lady Emma’s gaze was unflinching when she met Leofric’s eyes.

  “I don’t know. I’m not often in my son’s company, but I believe it has happened, yes, on many occasions.”

  “And doesn’t this concern you? Harthacnut has no heir.”

  “Harthacnut does have an heir. His half-brother, and King Æthelred’s son.”

  “But none know of Lord Edward. Certainly, Lord Edward has not been to England since he was exiled all those years ago.”

  “I’m not aware of the king’s intentions.” Her tone had turned haughty, but Leofric couldn’t stop his questions. He needed to know the truth.

  “Then what do you think he will do? Does Harthacnut plan to marry?”

  “Again, Lord Leofric,” and Lady Emma smiled, although it was a sorrowful attempt, “I’m not high in my son’s confidences. I don’t know what the king plans to do. I would welcome grandchildren, but I don’t believe it likely to happen from Harthacnut. Not anytime soon. It seems I must be content with Lady Godgifu’s three children as my allotted amount of grandchildren.”