The Prince of Manhattan Read online

  THE PRINCE OF MANHATTAN

  1.

  Prince Leofric kept an eye on his uncle as he drank from his cup of mead. Aethelred sat across the other side of the room, brooding over his cups while his followers drank merrily. He’s always been a miserable sort, and to think he wants to be king. Leofric had always been wary of his uncle but his mistrust had increased ever since his father had started having health problems. The old king was not long for the world and unscrupulous figures had begun eyeing opportunities for when the monarch kicked the bucket. Aethelred was one of them, the king’s brother was exceedingly ambitious and notoriously conniving, a bad combination in any man. Leofric was the next in line for the throne but he had a very strong suspicion that Aethelred had plans to interfere with his accession. The old snake would drink his own blood if it gave him a crown. There was a cheer as Leofric’s father downed a horn of mead in a single swig, the ailing sovereign was still living as though he was half his age and twice as healthy. Leofric raised his cup as a mark of respect for his father and then returned to scanning the crowd in the hall. Aethelred’s eyes were still darting from side to side, his face gloomy and drawn. Fun had never been something that the viper had ever been introduced to, he was all seriousness and plotting. His brother still loved him though, the old king had never realised what exactly went on in his jealous brother’s head. When he had been chosen by their father to be the next king he never realised just how much spite that had created in his brother. Aethelred still nursed that hatred like a raw wound and Cedric, the king was totally oblivious.

  Leofric let his eyes drift over the rest of the assembled feasters. At least two hundred men had been gathered into the great hall for a feast celebrating the king’s victory against the Picts. The howling mad raiders from the north had descended upon the kingdom in the early summer, looking for plunder and loot. Leofric had accompanied his father with the army, assuming second in command and consulting with the king’s advisers and nobles. When the battle came Leofric had taken charge of the cavalry and led them into the heart of the enemy, seeking to slay their chieftain. They had been victorious and the king’s victory was esteemed far and wide, it was reckoned that such a blow had been struck that the Picts would be stuck licking their wounds for years. Although the king had taken much of the credit for the successful battle, the truth was that Leofric had been as much if not more responsible for the outcome. He didn’t mind that his father took the glory though, the old war house could use one last hurrah before entering the twilight of his life. That and Leofric still grimaced when he thought back to that bloody day. The slaughter had been incredible and he had little desire to relive the memories he had accrued on that day. For weeks after men, some familiar and others strangers, would come up to him and congratulate him on his performance. They would wax lyrical on his bravery and sword skill and even some of the local bards had taken to singing songs of his feats. It didn’t please him as much as it did other men, despite his martial prowess he shuddered to think of the horrific sights he had been witness to that day. Many of the men in the hall had been present at the battle, some of whom bore scars from the encounter. Aethelred didn’t, when the battle came he was nowhere to be found, he had written a letter to his brother claiming sickness for his absence. The king had believed it and written back in condolence, Leofric knew better though. His uncle would never put himself in a situation that could risk himself, better to use knavery and scheming to get what he wanted.

  The men cheered again as servants entered with the first course of the feast. Many of the men were already drunk and Leofric envisaged that the servants would have to do a lot of cleaning come the morning. Platters of roasted boar and seasoned bread were laid down in front of the prince and his retinue. The cheering started to fade as men tucked into their meal with gusto. Leofric felt a nudge on his elbow and he turned to look at his side. “Fair’s the one with the pot full of leeks” Cyneric said in an eager tone. Leofric followed his friends gaze and looked over to see a fair haired servant girl carrying a pot of leeks from table to table, serving them out to hungry men. “Why don’t you try her then?” Cyneric continued. “You need to get married sometime and you might as well get married to a Northumbrian lass”.

  “She’s pretty” Leofric admitted. “But I’m sure my father has other plans in mind”.

  “What you mean that East Anglian munter that your father tried to snag before she realised how ugly your mug was?” Cyneric joked, his breath smelling of alcohol. Leofric sighed, his father had tried to negotiate with the king of East Anglia to provide one of his daughters as a marriage partner for his son. The plan had fallen through however when the East Anglian king had decided that he was better off marrying his daughter to a Mercian prince. Leofric had yet to be married therefore and it was becoming quite the topic of nosy court gossips. As a prince he was required to marry a woman of equally noble stock, one that his father approved of. There was no choice in the matter, his father and another father would bargain and haggle until they both decided to marry their respective children together. At times Leofric envied the common folk of his kingdom, they were poor but they chose their husbands and wives, and even more they chose them on love. Something which Leofric had been stung by in the past.

  “Your uncle is looking like a proper wet sparrow this evening” Cyneric judged. His friend spoke brusquely but it was the truth. Leofric was unsettled enough being in the same room as his uncle, he didn’t need his friend to bring notice to the fact. Aethelred’s ambitions were the most open secret in the whole of Northumbria, a blind monk could see that. “Is Offa here tonight?” Leofric asked his friend. Cyneric took a moment to think before responding. “No my lord, I haven’t seen him all evening. Funny that, I didn’t even notice that until now, usually he’s never away from your father’s side”.

  “It is strange” Leofric replied, “and don’t call me that”.

  “What? Lord?” Cyneric grinned.

  “You know I don’t like it when people I’m close to speak like that” Leofric stated. “I’m your friend Cyneric, I’m not your liege, at least not yet”.

  “Yes my lord” Cyneric replied. Leofric let it go rather than respond, it grated him but he knew his friend was just being cheeky. Ever since his father had started coming down with bouts of sickness Leofric had been faced with the reality that soon his head would be the one bearing the crown. It was a confronting thought, all of the responsibilities and pressures seemed overwhelming. He prayed nightly that he would have the strength of character to follow in the footsteps of his father and do his ancestors proud. His father had been known as a good king, under him the realm had prospered and the common folk had been safe. To carry on his legacy was a daunting task indeed.

  “I think I know why Offa didn’t show up tonight” Cyneric mentioned after downing a leek.

  “And why is that?” Leofric responded.

  “Because this food is piss poor” Cyneric grumbled. “Who cooked this? A Pictish slave? This tastes more like the slop they feed to pigs, not the food of a royal feast”.

  Leofric didn’t respond, he wasn’t very keen on the food either, though in his case it was his appetite that was lacking and not the cuisine. He couldn’t get the queasy feeling out his stomach that had developed since he had noticed that Offa was missing. The burly nobleman was his father’s closest adviser and friend, the two of them had served in countless battles together and as a boy Offa had been almost as an uncle to him. More of an uncle than Aethelred that’s for sure. That the big man was missing from the feast meant the something was likely very wrong but Leofric didn’t know what. He suspected foul play even though he knew that rationally it could be merely coincidental. Whatever the case it gave
him cause for concern and added to his already considerable list of stresses. “A toast! A toast!” one of the chief nobles said standing up. There was a chorus of cheers and when they died down the noble continued his speech. “To the finest king in all the seven kingdoms! To the sovereign who slew the chief of the Pictish devils and saved Northumbria!”.

  More cheers went out and Leofric bit his tongue at the last bit. He had been the one who had slain the Pictish chief, cut his head from his body and presented it to his father. He let the unctuous praise go uninterrupted though, there was no need to ruin his father’s night. “Hail the king! Hail the kingdom!” another toaster cried out. “Let the battle against the Picts go down as the finest in Northumbria’s history!”. There was a commotion of acclaim and men started thumping their feet onto the ground while bellowing in a bellicose fashion. The king raised his hand and the hall fell silent as the old man stood up and looked out over the assembled feasters. The silence was total, every man in the room stared at the king with a mixture of respect and subservience, waiting for him to speak with bated breath. “My comrades” the king began in his deep voice. “My friends, I am honoured to have your company on this fine winter evening”. Men slammed their feet onto the floor while cheering before the king raised his hand for silence again and his request was granted. “Tonight on this night as we celebrate our victory and warm our cups I only wish to say one thing”. There was a pause and Leofric felt a few pairs of eyes glance over him from among the guests. Men had started to judge him now that his father was coming closer to death’s door, starting to judge what kind of man he was and what kind of a king he would be. “I wish to say that everything I did in my life I did for Northumbria” the king continued. “Every man in this hall has bled for this land, many have lost sons or brothers, other still have lost their homes and hearths. We have all suffered and he have all endured things that would drive lesser men to madness and yet here we are glowing in the warmth of our friendship and contentedness”. There was a chorus of cheers in response to this and the king smiled and let it go on for a bit before gesturing for further silence. When his wish was granted his looked over the crowd and continued. “I have said my part and I will not hold you any longer and keep you from eating your meat before it goes cold. I will just leave you by sayi-”. The king choked and coughed out of nowhere.

  Leofric almost stood up but his father waved with his hand and regained his composure. It wasn’t unusual for this to happen, his father had been increasingly afflicted as of late and spontaneous bouts of coughing weren’t uncommon. For them to happen during the middle of a toast was something else however. “As I was saying” Cedric said, before he could get any further another bout of coughing enveloped him and he nearly bent over. There were a handful of murmurs in the crowd and Leofric heard concern in their voices. The king managed to halt the coughing and stand up straight before more coughing wracked his frame and bent him forward. Leofric was on his feet now, he couldn’t let his father disgrace himself in front of his subjects, his heart was full of worry for his aged dad. Then before he had made more than a few paces, the king collapsed to the ground. There were cries of shock from the men and screams from the few women. People were standing up and exclaiming to each other and the hall became a hive of voices. Leofric ran over behind the head table to where people were crowding around the fallen king. “Stay back!” cried Cedric’s bodyguard, motioning with his hands to make space. He lowered his hands when Leofric approached, letting the prince kneel next to his father.

  Leofric took his father’s hand in his and looked at his father in the eyes. “Father” his voice cracked from distress. The king’s face was dazed and his eyes seemed to staring into space. There was a faint trail of blood running out of the side of his mouth. Leofric’s heart dropped like a rock when he realised what had happened. Poison. He gripped his father’s hand harder and yelled out for a healer to be brought in. The room was still in pandemonium but Leofric ignored it, his gaze was squarely on his father. “Son” the king eked out in a faint voice.

  “Father” Leofric replied.

  “Don’t let him be king” Cedric wheezed out.

  Leofric felt his face go white when he realised what his father was saying.

  “You must be king” his father drawled out faintly. “You must rule them well”.

  “Father” Leofric urged gripping the hand more tightly. “There’s a healer on his way”.

  “Don’t let him be king” his father repeated once more.

  Leofric felt something roll down his cheeks and he realised that they were tears. The man who had created and raised him, taught him how to fight and how to ride a horse was now dying in front of his eyes. “It’s going to be fine” the prince insisted as the tears came freely.

  “You were always a good son” his father whispered out before his face went limp and his eyes rolled back. Leofric refused to accept what was happening until he felt the large hand of his father’s bodyguard on his shoulder. Leofric looked up and saw the bodyguard staring at him with sympathetic eyes, tears were rolling down his cheeks too.

  Leofric gulped down and then stood up and faced the panicked crowd gathered in the great hall. “Everyone!” he cried out in the most commanding voice he could muster. A hush descended on the assembled and they all focused their gazes on the young prince. “The king has been murdered!” Leofric shouted out barely believing his own words. It was a huge accusation but he was sure of it. And he was sure of the culprit too. Men exclaimed in breath across the hall and Leofric continued without waiting for further silence. “There is a murderer in the kingdom!”. Pandemonium threatened to break out once more when a messenger pushed open the unbarred wooden doors and rushed into the room. Everyone watched the man ran through the hall and up to the front of the building where Leofric was. “Offa has been slain!” the messenger declared to the guests. Leofric’s world seemed to turn upside down, first his father and now his father’s closest and most trusted companion. There was no doubt in his mind who the culprit was now. That slimy snake had orchestrated all of this and Leofric was determined to make him pay. “Where was the body found?” Leofric called out to the messenger, barely able to suppress his rage. Everyone was silent as the messenger puckered up the courage to answer. “It was found” the man said slowly. “It was found” he started again.

  “Speak up!” Leofric shouted out, his rage hardly able to control itself. “Where was the body found? Which scoundrel did this?”.

  The messenger looked like he was on the verge of emptying his bowels, his face was framed with terror. “The body was found in my lords chamber” he said in a cracking voice. Leofric felt the blood go out of his face and his rage turn to horror. The room erupted into noise once more as Leofric stared into space, his mind overrun by shock. He did it, he killed Offa and dumped the body in my room. He planned all of this and now he’s framed me and made me look like the killer. I can’t believe this is happening. “Silence!” came a very familiar and very unpleasant voice. “I see now what is clear, the king was murdered by his own son”. Men hissed and murmured in response to these accusations, it was outright treason. “The prince was so eager to become king that he slew his own father and the king’s most trusted companion” the voice continued. Leofric turned and looked at the source of the accusations, his uncle Aethelred. “Guards seize this man and take him to the dungeon, with the authority invested in me as the king’s brother I order this”. The king’s bodyguard did nothing but several armed men stepped forward from the shadows and moved to seize Leofric. He didn’t bother resisting, there was no point, this was all too planned to fight against. The guards grabbed him and led him out of the hall while men shouted and yelled at each other. Most of the men present were sympathetic to Leofric but they were shocked by the revelation of Offa’s corpse being in his private chambers. If it was true then the prince was indeed a regicide and no man wanted to be branded as an aid to the king killer. As Leofric was led out he passed by his uncle, Aet
helred, his eyes displaying nothing but cold, calculating contempt.

  “You won’t get away with this” Leofric uttered, spitting at the feet of his uncle.

  “Take him away” Aethelred said to the guards, “do as I have ordered. I will deal with this cur later myself”. The guards pushed and Leofric was forced to move towards the front of the hall. His mind was consumed by sorrow and rage and he vowed that he would take vengeance on his uncle. I’ll split that rats skull if it’s the last thing I do. He was pushed out into the open air and his limbs began to shiver almost instantly from the winter chill. Despite wearing fur lined robes over his tunic and trousers with thick boots, the cold still got to him. He was manhandled all across the royal compound and down into the dungeons which were warm and damp. A handful of candles blazed off the decrepit walls and rats scurried away from his approach. The guards manoeuvred him into the corner of one of the cells and then pushed him onto the ground. They then turned and closed the creaking cell door behind them, leaving Leofric alone in the bare cell. For the next few hours the prince seethed at his confinement and the events that had transpired that night. In just the space of a song he had watched his father die, be accused of his murder and then locked in a damp, wet cell with no amenities besides some mouldy rocks. He imagined the face of his uncle and imagined slicing the fiend’s head from his neck with one blow from his sword. He had no idea what was going on outside but he prayed that his uncle was dealing with an insurrection from his father’s men. Aethelred was not a popular man and his attempt to seize the throne would not go gladly. Leofric also found it hard to believe that anyone would believe his uncle over him, men would sooner take counsel from a termite than that villain.

  Finally after what seemed like an eternity of solitude Leofric heard the sound of approaching boots. Looks like this is it, my salvation or my doom. It better be the former, if not then I’ll still get my revenge on Aethelred, I swear it. The boots came closer and the prince stood up and walked over to his cell bars. A guard came into view and he had a key in hand which he inserted into the cell door. “Is he slain?” Leofric asked hopefully. “Is my uncle under arrest or have the nobles taken upon themselves to avenge my father”. The guard unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back to allow Leofric to exit. The prince was hesitant but then he took a step forward and nodded to thank the guard. He’s a quiet one, but no matter, I’ll soon find out the truth. That was when he noticed a tattoo on the guards jaw. He hadn’t noticed it before due to the dim lighting in the dungeon but now from this angle he could see it clearly. It was a Pictish tattoo. Leofric’s heart beat jumped and his mind ran through all of the horrifying possibilities that could have led to this situation. This man is a Pict, an enemy of our people. How in Cuthbert’s name did he get into the royal compound? Oh I already know, who else could have let him in then none other than my esteemed uncle. He really has planned for this. Leofric came into the hallway and saw his uncle at least a dozen paces in front of him, his gaze as cruel as ever.