Viking King

by M J Porter

  “Lord Edward will need a wife,” had greeted Leofric when Lord Godwine had managed to way-lay him.

  “And I imagine you would have a daughter for him?” Leofric felt the words erupt stiffly from his mouth. He was in no fit state to argue with him. The king wasn’t yet dead.

  How infuriating the two other men were; one desperate for the king to live, the other hoping for his death and both only concerned with their respective futures.

  “Now, Lord Leofric,” and the smugness on Lord Godwine’s face needed removing. “I can hardly be blamed if events suddenly play into my hands.”

  “They have not yet, remember that,” Leofric had cautioned, before moving to escape the clutches of the earl and his collection of sons. They seemed to haunt the exterior of the king’s hall. No matter when Leofric left the hall, he encountered one or more of them, even in the dark of night.

  Leofric needed sleep and good food, but the longer the king was ill, the more likely it felt that his death was imminent, and Leofric needed to witness it.

  Returning to the quiet of the king’s hall once more, Leofric was unsurprised to find an increasingly large number of bishops and priests praying for the king’s soul. That more than anything stirred Leofric to join Lady Emma besides her son. Those who prayed outnumbered her; they were the ones who’d already acknowledged that the king would die.

  Lady Emma’s eyes were sunken hollows of despair. She knew, as surely as Leofric did, that Harthacnut would never wake.

  When she spoke, her voice sounded as though it hadn’t been used for centuries, rather than just a few days.

  “What will become of England?” she croaked, a stray tear falling down her cheek as she gazed at her son before her, his youth all drained away. Whatever afflicted him, in the last few days, it had taken almost all of him, leaving little behind.

  Leofric was cruelly reminded of Cnut before his death. He’d looked similar but had lived nearly twenty years longer than his youngest son.

  Leofric didn’t wish to be pitiless, but Lady Emma was laid bare before him. The lines and wrinkles that might typically have been masked by artfully arranging her hair, or choosing colours that flattered, were visible in all their glory. She looked old, and he felt it as well.

  How many kings would he bury before his life came to an end?

  How many husbands and sons would Lady Emma bury?

  “What will become of me?” the despair was heart-wrenching, and yet Leofric knew her well enough to appreciate the self-pity wouldn’t last long. He’d been relieved to hear her speak of England. He would wait for her thoughts to return there before he judged her as harshly as he did Lords Siward and Godwine.

  “Your oldest son will be king, instead of your youngest.”

  “That is not right,” Lady Emma gasped, her eyes wide with despair.

  “I know, and I’m sorry for that, but your second husband muddled England’s succession, and now it will be returned to the royal line, the House of Wessex.”

  “As though King Cnut never was?” Such grief almost forced tears to Leofric’s own eyes, Lady Emma’s voice raw with emotion.

  “Yes, essentially. But, of course, those who knew him will not forget him, or his father, or his sons.” Leofric made no mention of Lady Emma’s literary endeavour. Now was not the time to chastise her for attempting to rewrite the past.

  “Where is Lady Ælfgifu, King Harald’s mother?” Of all the questions Leofric had been expecting, this was not the one he’d prepared for. Still, there was a force behind Lady Emma that he found hard to sweep aside. She might well be a woman grieving her son, but right now she appeared as the queen he’d known her as for so long.

  For a moment, Leofric contemplated denying any knowledge of Lady Ælfgifu, but quickly he changed his mind. It hardly mattered anymore.

  “She’s safe, and far from any who would harm her.” It wasn’t a lie, but neither was it the truth. Lady Ælfgifu was safe, as was King Harald’s son and wife. Lady Emma didn’t need to know that Lady Estrid sheltered them. After all, the child was her great-nephew. What else could Lady Estrid have done when Ælfgar called on his father’s friendship with her?

  “So you did help her escape?”

  “I’ve helped more than my fair share of widows to escape from England, yes. I feel no remorse for it.”

  Still, Leofric couldn’t tell Lady Emma that her husband had a grandson. That knowledge must never reach her ears. She’d already meddled too much in the lives of her sons, as much as he regarded her, Leofric appreciated it needed to end with Lord Edward.

  “You’ve interfered far more than you should,” Lady Emma confirmed but said nothing further. Tears dripped down her face, and Leofric wished he could walk away, perhaps join Lord Edward, but knew he couldn’t.

  Just as he’d once helped Lady Ælfgifu when her son died, now Leofric would do the same for Lady Emma.

  “Tell me what my husband said to you before his death?”

  Once more, Leofric was unprepared for the question and too slow to deny the meeting had ever taken place. It seemed he would have to sacrifice some secrets to keep others.

  “Your husband wanted me to ensure Harald could be king after his death, but that one day, Harthacnut would also be king. He didn’t wish to spend his final months arguing about the succession.”

  Lady Emma was already shaking her head, to deny the words, only then her hand reached out, icy cold, to grip Leofric’s wrist.

  “Tell me he did no such thing.” She hissed, her grip too tight, her touch a promise of the cold of death.

  “I’ll not lie when you’ve asked me for the truth. You shouldn’t have asked if you didn’t wish to know.”

  “No,” Lady Emma continued to complain, shaking her head vehemently with denial. “King Cnut made it clear that Harthacnut would rule after him.”

  “Yes, he did, to you and Lord Godwine. To me, he left a different task.”

  “What is it about England’s kings and the House of Leofwine? Why do you and your father cause men to act, in their last actions, with more honour than ever before in their entire lives?”

  The accusation was far from ill-founded, and yet Leofric resented it all the same.

  “I’ve no idea what you mean. The House of Leofwine, as you well know, has never stinted from the obligations placed upon it by their kings and their allies. Perhaps you should ask yourself why your husband couldn’t make the request of his wife? It’s that which would concern me.” Leofric knew his words were too loud, his anger too pronounced. Yet, Harthacnut had also tasked him with an impossible oath. Now Lady Emma dared to complain about the ones he’d already been forced to fulfil.

  “You know only too well what I mean.” Finally, Lady Emma released her grip on Leofric’s arm, leaving behind a white imprint on his skin. He shook his hand, the fingers tingling with a lack of feeling.

  “The House of Leofwine always serves its kings, you know that. You’ve taken advantage of that often enough.”

  “As have you, Lord Leofric. You and your father have always used your own interpretations of events to justify what you do.”

  “As have you, Lady Emma. Even now, what is your monk from St Omer doing? Rewriting the past to suit your purpose?” As much as he’d meant to stay silent, her accusations wounded him and Leofric responded with what he knew.

  Her hiss this time was audible to all, and Leofric felt some small satisfaction when all eyes turned her way. Even the soft sibilant words of prayers fell away to nothing.

  The silence stretched, but Leofric refused to look away from Lady Emma, just daring her to say more, to blacken his family’s name.

  Lady Emma stayed silent, her eyes on Harthacnut, and her expression furious.

  Leofric exhaled slowly, and met the eye of Bishop Ælfweard, encouraging him to resume his prayers, which he did, hesitantly, until other voices also joined in.

  “What has my son said to you?” Lady Emma’s voice was barely civil.

  “Which son?” L
eofric asked, although he well knew which she meant.

  “Harthacnut,” now her eyes were wild with grief and betrayal. Leofric was pleased he hadn’t been the one to undermine the few facts that Lady Emma had always thought irrefutable. He couldn’t change what Cnut had told him to do.

  “The words of the king were not for your ears. Otherwise, he would have shared them with you.”

  Leofric couldn’t repeat Harthacnut’s instructions, not in front of so many. And anyway, he had no desire to share further with Lady Emma, not after her previous reaction.

  “If he’s told you to exile me again, I would know.” Leofric choked off his cry of laughter, wincing at the loud sound, too similar to a nail being scratched across a piece of slate.

  “So it really comes down to your own preservation once more? What of England?”

  “What of me?” Lady Emma demanded to know, her eyes defiant.

  “Well, I suggest you wait for your son to actually breathe his last, and then you’ll know for sure.”

  Leofric immediately regretted his hasty words but held to them defiantly. He wouldn’t apologise to Lady Emma, or Harthacnut, or even Lord Edward. He’d joined them, his posture relaxed although it was evident he came to listen to the argument taking place.

  Lady Emma smiled tremulously at her oldest son, but Lord Edward had eyes only for Harthacnut and Leofric. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as though he would ask something, but stayed silent.

  “I would know if I’m safe in England,” Lady Emma persisted.

  “Then you should ask your son,” Leofric replied, although the heat had left his voice, and now he just wished to be released from the unpleasant conversation.

  “You’ll have to wait, Lady Mother, to see what the future holds for you,” Lord Edward answered with his disinterested voice. His gaze was fixed on Leofric’s, as he entirely ignored his mother.

  Leofric felt exposed under Lord Edward’s stare and yet he stayed silent. Just as Leofric couldn’t share what Harthacnut had said with his mother, neither would he share it with Lord Edward.

  It had been between the king and his earl, and more, if he spoke it aloud now, Lord Godwine would hear of it. Then Leofric would never have the opportunity to help Lord Edward anyway.

  “I hardly think it the time, Lady Mother, to be discussing such anyway. Harthacnut still lives, although I think it won’t be for much longer.”

  As though recalled to the realities of what was happening, Lady Emma’s face crumpled with tears again.

  Leofric bit his tongue and tried to allow his simmering anger to drain away, but it was difficult. While Lady Emma sobbed and moaned, Leofric now knew that much of it was for herself. It disappointed him.

  Lady Emma had never made Harthacnut an ally, and neither had she succeeded with Lord Edward. At least when Harald had been made king, Lady Emma had known exactly what her position would be.

  Leofric knew, from a conversation Lord Edward had shared with Ælfgar, that Edward blamed his mother for the death of Alfred, just as much as he blamed Harald. That hadn’t changed since Lord Edward’s return. Just like Harthacnut, Edward had shunned his mother as much as he could. Her attempts to reconcile the family, with the production of her literary work, had not yet worked, and now probably never would.

  Leofric wished to be away from the intimacy of this family grouping, and yet, he also knew his place was here.

  Outside, the ruling of England continued apace, only who ultimately led England remained a problem. With the death of a king, the administration should collapse, everyone only concerned with ensuring his or her own survival. But Cnut’s death, expected as it had been, at least by the king, had put some rudimentary provisions in place to ensure England didn’t suffer.

  These provisions had guided England after the unexpected death of Harald, and they would after the death of Harthacnut as well. Unlike in the past, everyone was instructed to retain his or her position. It was then up to the new king to determine whether they kept it or not.

  Leofric knew the earls were a necessity in that situation. In the void that would occur after Harthacnut’s death, the earls would again be vital. Only this time, Lord Edward was already in England, willing and able to become the king. But still, he feared. Harthacnut had warned him against Lord Godwine, but Leofric had needed no prompting. He already knew that Lord Godwine was not to be trusted.

  But in the past, he’d had Lord Siward as his ally and also Lord Hrani and Thuri. Thuri was dead, Hrani nearly so and Lord Siward had become an unknown. It was possible, as much as Leofric didn’t like to think it, that Lords Siward and Godwine would attempt to outmanoeuvre him.

  Leofric found he was in an unenviable situation.

  Harthacnut had extracted an oath from him, not necessarily unwillingly given, but would he be able to fulfil it in the way that Harthacnut expected?

  Equally, what should he do about Lady Emma?

  She was the king’s mother. In fact, she’d been the mother of Harthacnut, and the step-mother of Harald, for all they’d hated each other, as well as the wife to Cnut and Æthelred. As much as Lord Edward seemed keen to overlook that, Lady Emma was a source of continuity. She should perhaps not be discarded too quickly if it was continuousness that Lord Edward desired.

  Leofric gazed down at Harthacnut’s face.

  If anything, the king looked weaker, not stronger, no movement other than the slight rising and falling of his chest even alluding to the fact that he yet lived.

  His fingers lay to either side of his prone body, his ceremonial rings still in place, although his arm rings and necklace had been removed when the seriousness of his illness had been realised.

  But Harthacnut wore the ring that signified him as king. The heavy gold shone in the candlelight, and Leofric’s thoughts stretched back to the king’s coronation. On that day, Leofric had been filled with worries and misgivings. Those same misgivings disturbed him now. Were they going to allow the childless Lord Edward to become king when there was no guarantee that he would ever father a child? Especially when Leofric knew of others who had an equally convincing claim to the English crown.

  While King Harald’s child, living in secrecy in Denmark, was too young to rule, the sons of King Edmund Ironside still lived. Yes, their claim was one more remove from Lord Edward’s, but would they be better candidates for England? They were younger, and held more promise of fathering children.

  While Leofric was engrossed with his maudlin thoughts, his eyes were fixated on Harthacnut, and only slowly did he realise what was happening.

  Before him, Harthacnut’s coronation ring seemed to shake, and then to quiver. Then, miraculously it moved, as though to point directly at Leofric. He was mesmerised by the movement.

  “My Lady,” only then did Leofric remember to call attention to what was happening. Only then did his gaze slip from Harthacnut’s finger to his face.

  Lady Emma and Lord Edward were as slow to react as Leofric. While he met Harthacnut’s piercing eyes, somehow sharp and intelligent despite his evident illness, the other two voices suddenly seemed distant, as though no one else existed other than the king, and his earl.

  “My Lord King,” Leofric spoke softly, although Harthacnut heard all the same.

  Harthacnut opened his mouth as though to speak, and then shut it again, his eyes wavering on what was behind Leofric, aware that they were not alone. A soft sigh escaped from Harthacnut, but then he seemed to resolve himself to speaking all the same. Leofric would often wish, in the future, that Harthacnut had been far less honest.

  “Your oath,” Harthacnut gasped, and Leofric immediately knew what his king referred to.

  “You have it once more, My Lord King,” Leofric confirmed, no hesitation in his voice. He thought the king had woken from his long slumber and would fully recover, but it seemed that Harthacnut knew differently, and as the king’s eyes closed, Leofric watched in dismay as the king’s chest fell and never rose again.

  “My son.” Lady E
mma’s voice was piercing, too loud, rough, ragged and filled with despair that only escalated.

  “My son,” she called again, her hands frantic over her son’s still chest, as though her touch would recall him to this life.

  Leofric bowed his head in respect, he knew Harthacnut was dead, and that Lord Edward would become king in his place. What he didn’t know, and didn’t expect was the quiet voice of Lord Edward behind him.

  “Lord Leofric, it seems you have an oath to keep, and I have a kingdom to claim.” For one of the first times in their short acquaintance, Leofric heard ambition in Lord Edward’s voice, determination and fierce resolve.

  Leofric couldn’t blame him.

  King Edward, as he now was, had waited a long time for his chance to rule England. It seemed he meant to fully embrace it.

  Leofric could only hope that he’d prove to be the king that England needed.

  Anglo-Saxon Chronicle Entry for AD1042

  This year died King Harthacnut at Lambeth, on the 6th before the Ides of June: and he was king over all England two years wanting ten days; and he is buried in the Old-minster at Winchester with king Canute his father. And his mother, for his soul, gave to the Newminster the head of St. Valentine the martyr. And before he was buried, all people chose Edward for king at London: may he hold it the while that God shall grant it to him! And all that year was a very heavy time, in many things and divers, as well in respect to ill seasons as to the fruits of the earth. And so much cattle perished in the year as no man before remembered, as well through various diseases as through tempests.

  This year died king Hardecanute as he stood at his drink, and he suddenly fell to the earth with a terrible convulsion: and then they who were there nigh took hold of him; and he after that spoke not one word: and he died on the 6th before the Ides of June. And all people then acknowledged Edward for king, as was his true natural right.

  Historical Notes