A Church Called Saint Discord

By Kim Rendfeld

When the churchman Virgil arrived at Mayor of the Palace Pippin’s residence in Quierzy-sur-Oise in late 743 or early 744, did he foresee his role in a dispute between a ruler of Francia and his brother-in-law, the duke of Bavaria?

Virgil apparently had been abbot of Aghaboe in Ireland before deciding to embark on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There is some dispute over his nationality. He might have been an Irishman, from a high-ranking family, perhaps a descendant of the legendary King Niall. Or he could have been a Frank or Bavarian who had studied in Ireland. For my work in progress, I’m leaning toward high-ranking Irishman. If he was from the nobility, he would have been familiar with the role of politics in his homeland and understood the need to make the right allies.

Saint Virgil, photo by Karin Rager
(CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

The summer before Virgil arrived at Quierzy, Pippin and his elder brother, Karlomann, mayor of the palace for a different region of Francia, had been at war with Bavarian Duke Odilo. The brothers were probably still steamed that their sister, Chiltrude, had run off to marry Odilo, the father of her unborn child, two years earlier. After the most recent war, Pippin and Karloman claimed victory, but in reality, the fighting had dealt heavy losses to both sides.

Nevertheless, Odilo remained in power, without ceding territory or paying tribute. A few months after the war, the episcopal chancery of Freising gave Odilo the title “gloriossisimus,” also used for Frankish kings and mayors of the palace. At that time, Francia had a king, Childeric III, who gave the brother moral authority, but he owed his position to the mayors of the palace, who had found him in a monastery and installed him on the throne.

It’s not too much of stretch to think that residents of Quierzy were still talking about the recent war, grousing about how Odilo sent a papal legate to Pippin on the eve of battle to tell him to back off. Perhaps they were furious when they learned Odilo had the title of “gloriossisimus.” That spring, Virgil likely knew about Pippin’s reaction to Karlomann making a separate peace with Odilo, perhaps with Bishop Boniface as a mediator.

We don’t know exactly what Virgil and Pippin talked about or how often they interacted. Apparently, Pippin was impressed with how learned Virgil was. Another thing might have impressed Pippin even more: he could count on Virgil as an ally.

Pippin needed allies in Bavaria. The bishops, three of whom were appointed by Boniface in 739, were loyal to Odilo. If Boniface did broker Karlomann and Odilo’s peace agreement, Pippin probably thought he couldn’t trust the Anglo-Saxon bishop, either.

At Niederaltaich abbey church, the founder, Bishop Pirmin,
plants a new oak with Odilo (photo by Wolfgang Sauber,
CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

After a few months or two years at Quierzy, Virgil went to Salzburg, the see held by Bishop Johannes. In the mid-740s, there might have been speculation about Johannes’ health. Johannes died in June 745 or 747. Close to that time, 746, Virgil and another cleric complained to the pope that Boniface had enjoined them from administering baptisms. Boniface and Virgil’s disagreement centered on a priest who had botched the Latin. Instead of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the priest had baptized the child in the name of the fatherland, daughter, and Holy Spirit. Boniface said the baptism was invalid, while Virgil argued it was. Perhaps realizing that bad Latin was common, the pope sided with Virgil.

Boniface and Virgil still clashed. Probably in 747, Boniface complained to the pope that Virgil was sowing discord between Boniface and Odilo, and he accused Virgil of teaching doctrine contrary to Scripture.

In 747, Virgil became abbot of Saint Peter monastery in Salzburg. A fellow Irishman, Dobdagrecus, served as bishop, apparently at Virgil’s direction. The Irish had a different hierarchy than the Continent. There, bishops were under the authority of abbots. Soon after he became abbot, Virgil picked a fight with Odilo and asserted his abbey rights over the site of a small monastery in Bischofshofen.

Photo by Wolfgang Sauber, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The site of a miracle, monastery dedicated to Saint Maximillian had been founded before 716 by Salzburg Bishop Rupert, Duke Thedo, and two brothers from the noble Albini clan, Tonanzo and Urso. Although the land in question officially belonged to the Church, the Bavarian donor family expected to maintain control of it, a common practice. The Albini brothers’ nephews or sons trained as clerics at Salzburg. They asked for and received at least half the property from Rupert. The monastery was later destroyed by Slavs and abandoned.

After Odilo returned from exile in 741, he entrusted the property to his archchaplain, Urso, who was either one of the founders or a relative. Urso had accompanied Odilo to exile in Charles Martel’s court, and the duke might granted Urso’s request as a reward for loyalty.

Odilo also needed someone he could trust at Bischofshofen. It was strategically placed on the upper Salzach River, across the Lueg Pass south of Salzburg, near an old Roman road traversing the High Tauern Alps. Odilo would have been loath to let someone loyal to an adversary have it. At first, Odilo offered Virgil property somewhere else, but Virgil turned it down. After a while, Odilo gave Virgil half the property at Bischofshofen.

Virgil built a church on his side, still demanding the rest of the property, and Urso, with Odilo’s support, constructed a church on his portion. Urso went so far as to have a bishop without a see consecrate the church. Virgil retaliated by banning priests from practicing rites there, calling Urso’s church “Saint Discord.”

Odilo died on January 18, 748, and his six-year-old son, Tassilo, succeeded him. Likely serving as regent, the widowed Chiltrude might have sought support for her son when she and Tassilo made a generous gift to Salzburg in Odilo’s memory.

After another war in 748-49 over who would rule Bavaria, ending with Pippin restoring Tassilo to his duchy, Virgil became that bishop of Salzburg. He and Tassilo had an alliance that would last until Virgil’s death in 784. Yet “Saint Discord” remained under ban all that time.

Sources

From Ducatus to Regnum: Ruling Bavaria under the Merovingians and Early Carolingians by Carl I. Hammer

Unjust Seizure: Conflict, Interest, and Authority in an Early Medieval Society by Warren Brown

Land and Landscape: The Transition from Agilolfing to Carolingian Bavaria, 700-900 by Leanne Marie Good

Conflicting Loyalties in Early Medieval Bavaria: A View of Socio-Political Interaction, 680-900 by Kathy Lynne Roper Pearson

"History and Memory in Early Medieval Bavaria," History and Memory in the Carolingian World by Rosamond McKitterick

"St. Vergilius of Salzburg" by William Turner, The Catholic Encyclopedia

“St. Virgilius,” EWN


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In Kim Rendfeld's Queen of the Darkest Hour, Queen Fastrada must stop a conspiracy before it destroys everyone and everything she loves. The book is available on Amazon, iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.

Kim has written two other books set in 8th century Francia. In The Cross and the Dragon, a Frankish noblewoman must contend with a jilted suitor and the fear of losing her husband (available on Amazon). In The Ashes of Heaven's Pillar, a Saxon peasant will fight for her children after losing everything else (available on Amazon). Kim's short story “Betrothed to the Red Dragon,” about Guinevere’s decision to marry Arthur, is set in early medieval Britain and available on Amazon.

Connect with Kim at on her website kimrendfeld.com, her blog, Outtakes of a Historical Novelist at kimrendfeld.wordpress.com, on Facebook at facebook.com/authorkimrendfeld, or follow her on Twitter at @kimrendfeld.

Editors Weekly Round-up, April 7, 2019

by the EHFA Editors

Never miss a post on English Historical Fiction Authors.

Linda Root takes the spotlight in this week's round-up. Enjoy!

Katherine, Countess of Suffolk 

and the Fall of the House of Howard

by Linda Fetterly Root

Katherine, Countess of Suffolk and the Fall of the House of Howard

by Linda Fetterly Root

When researching my recent novels focusing on the Gunpowder Treason and its aftermath, I uncovered a list of seven English aristocrats who were on retainer to the King of Spain. Had their identities become public after the events of November 5, 1605, there would have been a public outcry demanding they be tried for treason. Some were persons in high places. The list was closely guarded, even from the king. The last thing James wanted to hear was news of a handful of embedded spies at court so early in his reign. Of the five men and two women on the list, some were no doubt closet Catholics, some sought political gain, and others were in it for the money. The best known of the seven was Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, a notorious antipapist and no friend of the King of Spain. Motives behind his duplicity are still debated. But the most dangerous of the lot was one of the women. She was Katherine Knyvet Howard, Countess Suffolk, and of the motives mentioned, she possessed all three. Others were prosecuted for plots she promulgated, and some of them died. Her only punishment was banishment, forcing her to do her scheming on a smaller stage. The fall of her husband’s mighty house is often blamed on her conniving

Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk

Katherine, Countess of Suffolk

Two of Henry VIII's wives were Howards, and both Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard ended their lives before the block. Yet, the House of Howard withstood the stigma. Great Harry's Dynastic claim was new and tenuous. He and his offspring needed the military prowess, wealth and prestige inherent in the Howard bloodline. Although Henry VIII did not trust them as he once had, by the time Elizabeth ascended in 1558, the Howards had reacquired much of their former precedence. Even when Elizabeth's cousin, the mighty Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Howard, was executed for secretly plotting to marry the captive Queen of Scots and ostensibly restore England to the Catholic Faith, the performance of Charles Howard, 1st Earl of Nottingham during the Armada threat had restored the family to high favor before Elizabeth died and the crown passed to James VI of Scotland, Marie Stuart’s son.  At the time, the leader of the Howard faction was Thomas Howard, then known as Baron Howard de Walden.  He had been a child when his father was executed at Tower Hill in 1572.

When James I ascended to the English throne in 1603, one of his first official acts was to make an earl of the man who might have been his step-brother had the Duke of Norfolk married the Queen of Scots. By then, the new Earl of Suffolk had married the widow of Baron Richard Rich, the clever and attractive Katherine Knyvet. The new Countess of Suffolk was a noted beauty, an heiress, and a woman possessed of an insatiable thirst for power. She and the Earl had several children including three daughters who figured prominently in the ambitions of their redoubtable mother, who traded them as commodities.  But the Countess was more than an overly ambitious parent.  Among other questionable activities, she was a paid agent of the King of Spain. Despite the dominance of males in the society of her day, she was the most richly compensated of Felipe III’s agents and one of few amongst the Seven who knew who most of the others were. She was Cecil’s courier and a Hapsburg spy using the codename Rodan.

However, five new names came to dominate the politics of 1605: Cates, Fawkes, Percy, Winter, and Wright, to which others were added as what we know as The Gunpowder Conspiracy expanded.  The plan to blow up Parliament on its opening day when the Royals were in attendance came surprisingly close to fruition when it was thwarted. Its principals were scions of aristocratic Catholic Midland families. The King, and his minister Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, was certain the handful of primary suspects had not acted alone. The Jesuit Mission to England and anyone who harbored or supported it were also targeted. It was a bad time to have ties to the Midland Catholic families who had priest hides in their mansions. Among others, suspicion fell upon the well-known recusant relatives of the deceased Lord George Vaux, whose sisters Anne Vaux and Eleanore Brooksby were disciples of the Jesuit Superior, Father Henry Garnet. Also, their sister-in-law Eliza, the self-styled Dowager Lady Vaux, was believed to have kept the most flamboyant of the Jesuits, John Gerard, as a member of her household for as long as six years, sometimes in hiding and at other times, using aliases of Brooke, Standish, Lee, and Tomson while frequenting the drawing rooms of Midland aristocratic families and charming the ladies.

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However, in early November 1605, Gerard’s link to the Vaux estate at Great Harrowden presented a problem for the Countess of Suffolk, who could not risk being identified as a possible traitor. She had just negotiated a beneficial marriage of her daughter Elizabeth to the youthful Lord Edward Vaux.  The young people were eager to wed, for unlike participants in most arranged marriages, they were very much in love. To avoid impropriety on the part of the lovers prior to the nuptials, Eliza sent her son to the Low Countries for a tour. But when the Gunpowder Treason surfaced, and the Dowager Lady Vaux was hauled off to London to be interrogated, the Countess lost no time before insulating her family from taint. Taking advantage of the absence of the Vauxs, she arranged a hasty marriage of her daughter to aging Sir William Knollys and sent her distraught daughter to his bed in virtual bondage. The details of the forced marriage might have gone unnoticed by historians were it not for litigation in modern times over claims of Elizabeth Howard’s descendants to Lord Knollys’ earldom of Banbury. Apparently, both of her sons bore striking resemblances to Lord Edward Vaux, who Elizabeth married before her octogenarian husband’s body cooled. The competing claims to the Banbury title on the one hand and the Vaux inheritance on the other spawned a case at Common Law establishing the rules governing uterine bastardy, some aspects of which survive in current British and American family law litigation (The Case of the Earl of Banbury, 1813).

 Lady Suffolk’s role in her daughter’s heartbreaking marriage must have inspired her to do better in the future. She married another of her daughters to the son of Lord Robert Cecil, a match which increased her husbands’ power at court.  But soon she faced another marital misadventure in need of correction, one that provided England with a scandal even she could not control. It began with another ambitious betrothal of a daughter, Frances, when she was a lass of fourteen, and ended with the fall of the House of Howard.

2nd Earl of Essex

The Duke of Norfolk was not the only peer to lose his head during Elizabeth Tudor’s reign. Her young favorite, the handsome and opportunistic Robert Devereux, 2^nd Earl of Essex, resented his treatment by the Queen after his military failures in Ireland and launched an abortive rebellion.  He was executed on Tower Green in 1601.
When James Stuart came to England in 1603, he restored the lands and titles to Devereux’s young son, who became a close companion to Prince Henry Frederick.

3rd Earl of Essex as a child

The new Earl of Essex was thirteen when the Countess of Suffolk, probably with support from her brother in law Northampton and the Earl of Salisbury, arranged a marriage between Essex and 14-year-old daughter Frances. In those days, sex between couples of so young an age was considered dangerous, so the marriage went forward, but the bedding was delayed. Robert was shipped to Europe before the marriage could be consummated and his adolescent Countess remained at court in the care of her parents. A noted beauty, she soon became highly visible.

Earl of Essex 

Countess of Essex

Robert Carr, Somerset

 When, at age 17, Essex came back from his European tour with plans to deflower his bride, the long-delayed bedding ceremony did not go well. Frances snorted, and Robert snored, and there was no need to check the sheets to know the outcome.  It soon became apparent the couple detested one another. It was equally evident that Frances Howard, Countess of Essex, was smitten with the king's favorite, Robert Carr of Ferniehirst, a Scot. He was a posthumous son of Thomas Ker of Ferniehirst, one of Marie Stuart’s lifelong champions, and possessed mannerisms ideal to the court of James Stuart, who preferred the company of men. Initially, the king’s minister Salisbury, promoted him because his presence at court kept James occupied and out of Salisbury’s hair.

Thomas Overbury

Carr had an older friend named Tom Overbury, an Englishman he had met in Edinburgh earlier in his youth, who had the skills and education needed to help Carr navigate the politics of Court and Council.  Soon Carr was giving advice to the king on topics headier than where to buy the best Belgian lace. Rabie Carr had looks and charm, but Overbury had brains. Concurrently, it was becoming obvious to the Howards that Frances and her dashing husband were irreconcilably estranged. Katherine and her brother-in-law, the Earl of Northampton, hatched a plan to end the Essex marriage on grounds it had not been consummated.  Essex did not oppose if his wife confirmed her allegations of his impotence was limited to attempts with her. Books have been written about the litigation, which became a cause celebre at court. There was open wagering as to the outcome. Frances agreed to submit to a physical examination of her hymen by a group of midwives, on condition she could insulate herself from embarrassment by wearing a veil. Whoever appeared shrouded, probably Northhampton's daughter was declared a virgin and an annulment was granted.

Carr was not so easily snared. Frances was enthralling, but Tom Overbury urged restraint. He considered Frances a tart and cautioned that marriage to her would be a step-down, not up. To silence him, her uncle Northampton convinced James to offer Overbury an ambassadorship to Russia, but Overbury was having none of it. Overbury went to the tower for declining the offer. In September 1613, he died, ostensibly of natural causes. Carr was named Treasurer and granted the Somerset Earldom. On December 26, 1513, he married Frances in a service attended by the King.

The Howard triumph did not last. In September 1615, with Carr’s power at its pinnacle, a Tower warder shouted ’Poison!’ Rumors abounded, yet King James did nothing until Carr audaciously carped at him for showing favor to the charming sycophant George Villiers (Buckingham). The anti-Somerset faction included Chief Justice Edward Coke and Attorney General, Francis Bacon, who prosecuted the Somersets for the Overbury murder. Only Frances confessed. Both were convicted and sentenced to death, but always quick to pardon those he had held in affection, James spared them both. Their commoner co-defendants were not as lucky. Trial testimony implicated  Katherine in obstructing justice through bribery, but she was not charged.  

In 1619, in a final scandal, the Suffolks were convicted of embezzling from the Crown. The Countess spent only ten days in the Tower but was forever banished from the court she had used as a marketplace for influence peddling. The Somerset marriage deteriorated, and without a male heir, the line was doomed. To the Countess of Somerset's credit, Essex had similar problems with his second wife.
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Editors Weekly Round-up, March 31, 2019

by the EHFA Editors

Enjoy this week's articles from English Historical Fiction Authors.

Cormac MacArt – Ancient Ireland’s King Solomon

by Arthur Russell

Sir Kenelm Digby and His Closet

by Lauren Gilbert

Sir Kenelm Digby and His Closet

By Lauren Gilbert

Earlier this month, author M. J. Logue wrote a fascinating article for this blog titled “Slipcoat Cheese” (HERE ) which referenced THE CLOSET OF SIR KENELM DIGBY KNIGHT OPENED. Having an interest in old cookbooks, I decided to look into this book and Sir Kenelm Digby himself. What an interesting character! The following is a brief sketch of Sir Kenelm’s life, and a glance at his Closet.

Sir Kenelm Digby. Line engraving by R. van Voerst,
1646, after Anton van Dyck

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Sir Kenelm Digby was truly a renaissance man, not only because he was born during the Renaissance era, but because of his wide-ranging interests. He was born July 11, 1603 at Gayhurst (or Goathurst) in Buckinghamshire, England. His father was Sir Everard Digby of Drystoke, Rutland, England, and his mother Mary Mulshaw (or Mulsho) of Gayhurst. The family was Roman Catholic, and Sir Everard was executed in 1606 as a party to the Gunpowder Plot. It appears that Gayhurst came to the Digby’s through Mary, as James I allowed Kenelm to inherit the unconfiscated lands which brought him a significant income annually.

Gayhurst House at night - Brian Tomlinson Photography
(modern view)

In 1618, Kenelm entered Gloucester Hall at Oxford (Gloucester Hall is now Worcester College) where he studied the physical sciences under the tutelage of Thomas Allen, mathematician, astrologer and occultist. Allen left his books and manuscripts to Kenelm, who ultimately donated them to the Bodleian Library. Kenelm left Oxford in 1620 without a degree. At some point, it is thought that he met, fell in love with and wanted to marry Venitia Stanley but both families disapproved so he left to travel the Continent from 1620 to 1623. He met Charles, then Prince of Wales and subsequently Charles I, in Spain and joined his household. Kenelm returned to England and was dubbed a knight by James I. He was also granted an M. A. from Cambridge during the king’s visit.

Portrait of Lady Venitia Digby by Henri Toutin,
1637 after her death (Walters Gallery)

In 1625, Sir Kenelm married Venitia Stanley. She was a famous beauty, about whom Ben Johnson wrote poetry, and she was painted by Van Dyck several times. They were apparently much in love and happily married, producing four sons and a daughter. (Venitia did have a somewhat questionable reputation, but it did not seem to disturb their relationship, so we shall not address that here.)

In 1627, Sir Kenelm undertook privateering, venturing into the waters of Gibraltar, Algiers and Majorca among other places. Among his adventures were battles with French and Venetian ships. Subsequently, he returned to England and became a naval administrator, and at one point was a governor of Trinity House (responsible for beacons, markers, lighthouses etc. to warn ships of dangers).

During the period of his youth and young manhood, Sir Kenelm’s Roman Catholic faith lapsed. Venitia died suddenly on May 1, 1633 and was buried in Christ Church, Newgate. This blow led him to isolate himself in scientific studies at Gresham College and, at some point, to Paris and a renewal of his faith by 1636. In 1638, he wrote a treatise on religion, defending the Roman Catholic faith as the one true faith. Ironically, during the 1630’s, Sir Kenelm was also studying astrology, medical matters and alchemy. He returned to England in 1639.

Unfortunately, the climate was bad for Catholics; his activities roused Parliament and in 1643, Sir Kenelm’s property was confiscated and he was compelled to return to Paris. He wrote two philosophical treatises while in Paris, “The Nature of Bodies” and “On the Immortality of Reasonable Souls”, released in 1644. He met Queen Henrietta Maria while in France and became chancellor of her household and engaged in diplomatic missions to Pope Innocent X for the English crown. Sir Kenelm ultimately returned to England in 1654, where (rather surprisingly) he became an associate of Oliver Cromwell and he was engaged in several diplomatic ventures.

As a result of his situation with Henrietta Maria, Sir Kenelm was in favour at court after the Restoration. He continued his studies, corresponded with scientists, mathematicians and other intellectuals, and was one of the founding members of the Royal Society in 1662. In addition to the treatises mentioned here, Sir Kenelm wrote a number of works; a list many of them which can be read on line is available HERE . He did have difficulties with Charles II, and was finally banned from court for a while. He died June 11, 1665 at age 62 in Covent Garden, London, and was buried next to his wife.

This brings us to THE CLOSET OF SIR KENELM DIGBY KNIGHT OPENED. Although Sir Kenelm is shown as the author, it was actually published some years after his death (about 1669) and is considered to have been compiled by a gentleman named Georg Hartman, one of his servants. It contains fascinating recipes for a wide range of things ranging from meads (a large number), cosmetics, possets, soups and stews, plague-waters, puddings, roasts, savoury pies, cakes and sweets, and includes multiple recipes for the slip-coat cheese. However, one of the most fascinating recipes is in Appendix II and harks back to Sir Kenelm’s studies of medicine and, possibly, alchemy: the Powder of Sympathy.

The Powder of Sympathy is a magical healing powder derived from English vitriol, dissolved in water, filtered, boiled and set aside for a few days; when the liquid is then poured off, green crystals are found. These crystals are dried, exposed to the sun until white, then beaten to powder, which is the Powder of Sympathy. To cure a wound, one takes some blood on a cloth, puts some of the powder on the bloody cloth, wraps it up and keep it safely. The wound itself should be kept clean and wrapped in clean linen, and should heal without other medicinals or pain. As we can see, the Powder of Sympathy is not directly applied to the wound itself. There are further instructions for an inflamed wound and to stop bleeding. One has to wonder how efficacious this was. I would think any healing that might have been attributed to the Powder of Sympathy had more to do with keeping the wound clean than anything else.

SOURCES INCLUDE:

Digby, Kenelm. THE CLOSET OF SIR KENELM DIGBY KNIGHT OPENED. Introduction by Anne MacDonnell (Chelsea, 1910). Reprint 2019: Amazon Services, Inc. Columbia, SC

Britannica.com “Sir Kenelm Digby English Philosopher and Diplomat” by the Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. HERE

The Catholic Dictionary. “Sir Kenelm Digby” by Charles Boothman, 1908. HERE

JSTOR.org “Sir Kenelm Digby, Alchemist, Scholar, Courtier and Man of Adventure” by Wyndham Miles. Chymia, vol. 2, 1949, pp. 119–128. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/27757138 .

The Online Books Page. “On-line Books by Kenelm Digby (Digby, Kenelm, 1603-1665). HERE

ILLUSTRATIONS:

Sir Kenelm Digby. Line engraving by Robert van Voerst, 1646, after Anton Van Dyck. Creative Commons. HERE

Gayhurst House at night by Brian Tomlinson, Jan. 12, 2017. Creative Commons. HERE

Portrait of Lady Venitia Digby by Henri Toutin, 1637 (painted after her death). File provided to Wikimedia Commons by the Walters Gallery as part of a cooperation project. Creative Commons. HERE

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An avid reader, Lauren Gilbert was introduced to English authors early in life. Lauren has a bachelor of arts degree in liberal arts English with a minor in Art History. A long-time member of JASNA, she has presented various programs at the South Florida Region, and a breakout session at the the 2011 Annual General Meeting in Ft. Worth, TX. She lives in Florida with her husband. Her first book HEYERWOOD: A Novel is available. She is finishing a second novel, A RATIONAL ATTACHMENT for release in 2019, and doing research for a biography. For more information, visit her website HERE

Cormac MacArt – Ancient Ireland’s King Solomon

by Arthur Russell

King Cormac Mac Art (reigned AD 204 – 244) is considered to have been the 116th Ard-Ri [High King] of Ireland who ruled for 40 years from the Royal palace on the Hill of Tara, located on the eastern edge of Ireland’s Central Plain. The Annals of Clonmacnoise, written centuries after his time; and drawing on a huge volume of legends and stories that were circulated and were added to after his death, glowingly described Cormac’s reign: “absolutely the best king that ever reigned in Ireland before himself; wise, learned, valiant and mild, not given causelessly to be bloody as many of his ancestors were, he reigned majestically and magnificently”.

He was known as Cormac Ulfhada (Cormac Longbeard); an epithet that denoted not just his facial hair but also his great wisdom and statecraft as King of Meath and Ard-Ri [High King] of all Ireland. His reign is associated with the great wealth that accrued to his own, as well as the other four kingdoms of Ireland (Ulaidh [Ulster], Mumhan [Munster], Laighin [Leinster] and Connacht), over which he ruled for 40 years.

“In his reign the rivers of Ireland were overflowing with fish, forests were difficult to travel due to the amount of fruit on the trees, and the plains were difficult to travel because of all the honey. Peace reigned supreme, crops grew copiously and cows had a massive milk yield”. High praise indeed; but who was Cormac Mac Airt?

His birth

There is a rich body of colourful legends surrounding all aspects of Cormac’s life, including his parentage, and how he came into the world. Some of these began to grow during his lifetime, but the more colourful ones probably developed in the centuries after his death, with a view to enhance not just his reputation, but by extension to help validate the ruling dynasty he left behind him, by imbuing them with possible magical (and ultimately political) power and significance in the eyes of their subjects – and more importantly their rivals.

There are far too many stories and legends about Cormac MacArt to mention here.

Cormac’s grandfather was King Conn, known as Conn Cetchatrach [Conn of the Hundred Battles]. His father was King Art MacCuinn (Art son of Conn). His mother was Achtan, daughter of the druid Olc Achta from the western province of Connacht. Accounts say that as a baby he was carried off by a she-wolf and raised with her cubs in the caves of Kesh in Sligo on Irelkand’s western shore. (Could this story be the Irish/Celtic version of the Roman, Romulus and Remus? - Though Ireland never came under the rule or influence of the Roman Empire as neighbouring Britain was). In any event, and happily for Cormac, a hunter eventually found the child and restored him to his mother much to her relief and happiness. The birth and carrying off by the wolf happened after his mother had to flee from Tara after King Art had been killed by his uncle Lugaidh Lama who was allied to another Lugaidh, a cousin of Cormac’s, who usurped the High Kingship of Tara. No doubt, this Lugaidh dearly wanted to eliminate the baby Cormac thereby removing another rival to his own and successors’ hold on the throne. Because of this, Cormac spent the first 30 years of his life in hiding with his mother’s people in Connacht, where he learned of his royal parentage and title which he determined to win back when he grew to manhood.

Cormac’s rise to power

Aerial view of Cormac's house enclosure at Tara (right).
The royal court (with Lia Fall) is behind (left).

There are legends about Cormac’s ousting of Lugaidh after he had girded himself with his dead father’s sword and made his way to the royal palace on the Hill of Tara and the court of his cousin King Lugaidh. On arrival in disguise at Tara, Cormac was present as Lugaidh was delivering judgement about a widow’s sheep, that had strayed into the queen's private lawn, and eaten the grass. The sheep had been impounded, and the case brought before the king for his ruling on the trespass, which was that the offending sheep should be forfeit. Cormac objected to what he considered an unjust verdict, by telling the assembly that as the sheep had only eaten the “fleece of the land”, they should only forfeit their own fleeces before being returned to the widow. Lugaidh was forced to recognise a superior judgement from the young stranger and exclaimed “That is a judgement of a king”. After saying this, he immediately recognised Cormac for who he was and gave orders to have him arrested. Cormac escaped and gathered an alliance to challenge Lugaidh for the throne.

Lia Fal (Stone of Destiny) at Tara which was reputed
to  magically proclaim the rightful king of Tara.

No doubt, Cormac’s youth and manly bearing as described by bards of his own and subsequent generations of the first millennium; may have been a deciding factor in how he so quickly found favour in “Tara’s Halls”. How much would a celebrity of any era pay to have the following bardic words written about them “in the full glow of beauty, without defect or blemish”.

"His hair was slightly curled, and of golden colour: a scarlet shield with engraved devices, and golden hooks, and clasps of silver: a wide-folding purple cloak on him, with a gem-set gold brooch over his breast; a gold torque around his neck; a white-collared shirt, embroidered with gold, upon him; a girdle with golden buckles, and studded with precious stones, around him; two golden net-work sandals with golden buckles upon him; two spears with golden sockets, and many red bronze rivets in his hand; while he stood in the full glow of beauty, without defect or blemish. You would think it was a shower of pearls that were set in his mouth; his lips were rubies; his symmetrical body was as white as snow; his cheek was like the mountain ash-berry; his eyes were like the sloe; his brows and eye-lashes were like the sheen of a blue-black lance."

Cormac was successful in ousting Lugaidh, for there were many who had grown tired of him and were ready to recognise the lost heir of King Art as the rightful King of Tara. Lugaidh fled south to Munster where he was killed by the poet Ferches MacCommain, thereby leaving the way open for Cormac to claim his birth-right.

Cormac had more fighting to do before he could sit securely on the throne. The next challenger was Fergus Dubdetach, king of Ulster who attacked Tara and forced Cormac to again retreat into Connacht to mount his fightback. Again he gathered a formidable alliance which included many of his own kinsmen among whom was Lugaidh Lama, his grand-uncle who admitted to having killed Cormac’s father at the Battle of Maigh Mucruime when Cormac was a baby. Cormac forgave his granduncle but imposed as eraic (penalty) that Lugaidh should present him with the head of Fergus, the latest usurper in his battle for the throne. The issue was finally settled at the battle of Crinna where Fergus was killed, giving Cormac undisputed claim to Tara and the accompanying title of Ard-Ri (High King) of Ireland. His victory allowed him to award huge tracts of Ulster territory to his allies.

Cormac then needed to proceed to exert the High Kingship of Tara over the other provincial kingdoms of Ireland, which of course brought him into conflict with them. This meant that Ireland had to endure a further period of disturbance while Cormac restored the hegemony of Meath among the five kingdoms.

Cormac’s Legacy

With all claims and titles settled, there followed a long period of peace and prosperity which allowed Cormac to devote his kingship to legal and cultural pursuits. He is credited with formulating and codifying the laws of the land (called Brehon laws), most of which endured until the middle of the second millennium and contained many enlightened principles and elements on gender equality and equitable property and inheritance rights, which were arguably well in advance of what was evolving across Europe of Cormac’s time.

On the cultural front, Cormac is credited with the compilation of Saltair Teamhair [Psalter of Tara]; a collection, possibly the first of its kind; of the chronicles of Ireland containing the exploits and synchronisms of the kings of Ireland. The Saltair also stipulated the limits of rights and responsibilities of provincial kings towards the High King and to their subjects. The Saltair predated by almost a millennium, William the Conquerer’s Domesday Book in the neighbouring island of England in recording “the boundaries and mears of Ireland from shore to shore, from the provinces to the cantred, from the cantred to the townland, from the townland to the traighedh of land”. The Saltair has not survived, though an extract from it, the “Instructions of Kings” did. It became established practice to read this at the inauguration of all Irish Kings and Chieftains for over thirteen hundred years after Cormac’s time.

Following is a very short extract of the “instructions” he gave to his son and successor before he vacated the throne:

Let him (the king) restrain the great,
Let him exalt the good,
Let him establish peace,
Let him plant law,
Let him protect the just,
Let him bind the unjust,
Let his warriors be many and his counsellors few,
Let him shine in company and be the sun of the mead-hall,
Let him punish with a full fine wrong done knowingly,
and with a half-fine wrong done in ignorance.
And more --------------------

Cormac also established 3 schools at Tara – for military discipline, for history and a third for jurisprudence.

Cormac’s marriages and family

Cormac married Eithne Taebfada daughter of Cathair Mór, daughter of Dúnlaing, King of Leinster. According to the 17th century historian Keating, Cormac took a second wife, Ciarnait, daughter of the king of the Cruthin. Eithne out of jealousy of her rival’s beauty, forced Ciarnait to grind nine measures of grain each day. Cormac freed her from this “daily grind” by building what is reputed to be the first watermill in Ireland at Tara.

Cormac’s marriages were blessed with 3 sons; Daire, Cellach and Cairbre; and ten daughters; two of whom Grainne and Ailbe, married the famed hero Fionn MacCumhaill, leader of the band of soldiers called “na Fianna”. Grainne was betrothed to Fionn but chose to elope with another younger member of na Fianna, Diarmuid (Dermot) ua Duibhne. A reconciliation was made between Fionn and Diarmuid, but the story goes that Fionn contrived Diarmuid’ s death during a boar hunt, for which he was subsequently forced by his own son Oisin to atone by marrying the widowed Grainne. This resulted in Grainne persuading her sons by Diarmuid not to take revenge on Fionn for their father’s death.

Site of Cormac's House at Tara (on left).

Among the structures Cormac caused to be built at Tara are the great Banqueting Hall, Grainne’s Enclosure, and his own enclosure (Cormac’s House) which is beside the Forraid where he held court. The site of the mill he built for Ciarnait is also on the hill

In the fourteenth year of his reign Cormac is reputed to have made sail with a force to Roman Britain to make some conquests there. (This could have been the start of raids into western Britain, with the object of capturing slaves to work in Ireland; as was the case of St Patrick, who was abducted as a boy to spend years herding pigs on Slieve Mish in Antrim over a century later).

Cormac leaves the Kingship

After 40 years, Cormac’s reign came to an end after he had lost an eye in one of seven battles he had with the recalcitrant Deisi tribe who he was expelling from his kingdom. Under Irish law, no king with a physical defect could continue to rule, so Cormac ceded the throne to his son Cairbre and moved to Teach Cleitig [now a townland called Sletty] on the southern bank of the River Boyne. Here he devoted himself to reading and matters cultural and, according to legend, heard of the new Christian religion that had by then taken hold on Continental Europe and Britain, but had yet to reach Ireland’s shores. According to that legend he lost all faith in the ancient gods and deities as practised by the druids, who expressed serious concern over the old king’s “heresy”. They cursed Cormac “in his flesh and bones, in his waking and sleeping, in his down-sitting and his uprising” weaving “mighty spells against his life”. Not long after, the curse would seem to have had its way when Cormac choked on a salmon bone as he sat eating in his house at Sletty on the Boyne.

Cormac’s death and burial

He was to have the final say when before he died, he instructed that he should not be buried at the traditional burial place for Irish kings at Bru na Boinne on the northern side of the river, but at Ross na Righ where there is a sunny eastward sloping hill to “await the coming (from the East) of the sun of truth” (= Christianity).

When the time came for his burial, the druids along with most of the nobles, tried to frustrate this last instruction of what they considered an old man who had lost his mind saying that “Ross na Righ is but a green hill of no note”.

The river Boyne took a hand in the affair and rose in height so that the funeral cortege could not cross at a shallow ford due to suddenly rising water driven by a tempest which forced them back, not once but three times. Finally they handpicked a party of tall bearers to brave the crossing with the bier. In mid-stream a surge of water overcame them and bore the bier away towards the sea. On the following morning some shepherds found the bier and the king’s body washed up on the south side of the river, and not knowing who the body with noble bearing belonged to, simply buried Cormac where they found him – at Ross na Righ, laying green sods over him at a place where he still sleeps.

Samuel Ferguson describes the simple burial of Ireland’s greatest High King on “a green hill of no note” to “wait the risen sun”.

At morning on the grassy marge
Of Ross na Righ the corpse was found
And shepherds at their early charge
Entombed it in the peaceful ground
A tranquil spot: a hopeful sound
Comes from the ever-youthful stream,
And still on daisied mead and mound
The dawn delays with tenderer beam.
Round Cormac, spring renews her buds:
In march perpetual by his side
Down come the earth-fresh April floods,
And up the sea-fresh salmon glide;
And life and time rejoicing run
From age to age their wonted way;
But still he waits the risen sun,
For still 'tis only dawning day.

~~~~~~~

Arthur Russell is the author of Morgallion, a novel set in medieval Ireland during the Invasion of Ireland in 1314 by the Scottish army led by Edward deBruce, the last crowned King of Ireland (a Medieval “what if moment” in Irish history). It tells the story of Cormac MacLochlainn, a young man from the Gaelic crannóg community of Moynagh and how he, his family and neighbours endured and survived that turbulent period of history.

Morgallion has been awarded the indieBRAG Medallion.

Editors Weekly Round-up, March 24, 2019

by the EHFA Editors

Join us every week on English Historical Fiction Authors. Our contributors give you saints and sinners, politics and war. Learn about kings, queens, and nobles, or the common man and woman, and legends from ancient to post-WWII. Subscribe to the blog, follow us on Facebook, or Twitter. Never miss a post. 

Alfgar, The Recalcitrant Earl 

by Paula Lofting

Mary de Morgan: Subversion through Fairy Tales

by Marilyn Pemberton

Mary de Morgan: Subversion through Fairy Tales

By Marilyn Pemberton

Mary De Morgan was the youngest of seven children, born in 1850 into a family of intellectuals, non-conformists and dissenters. Her father, Augustus, was a brilliant mathematician who described himself and his family as “Christians – unattached” and who once resigned his professorship at University College London because he considered it unfair that a candidate was not appointed a Chair just because he was a Unitarian. Mathematicians today still discuss the De Morgan law and compete for the triennial De Morgan Medal. Mary’s mother, Sophia Elizabeth (née Frend), was a spiritualist who supported social reform, in particular the prison system and the provision of children’s playgrounds, and was a fervent campaigner against vivisection and slavery.

Mary’s eldest brother, William, designed and produced still very collectible tiles used by William Morris’s company and eventually became a best-selling novelist; his wife, Evelyn (née Pickering) was a well-known and well-respected painter. Another brother, George, co-founded the London Mathematical Society and would have been a mathematical genius had he not died at an early age of tuberculosis - brother William called it the “De Morgan curse.”

Mary de Morgan - possibly

Mary moved in William Morris’s artistic and political circle, so it is perhaps not surprising that her own literary and social achievements have been overshadowed by those of her family and friends. Mary is best known today, if she is known at all, as a writer of fairy-tales but she also wrote short stories, some of which were published in English and American magazines such as The Ludgate Illustrated, Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly, Sylvia’s Home Journal and The Home-Maker. Other unpublished short stories are gathering dust in Senate House Library, University of London, being a very small part of the De Morgan Archives, created primarily to house her father’s documents.

Mary also tried her hand at a two-volume novel called A Choice of Chance written under the pseudonym of William Dodson, but the disappointment of poor reviews caused her to abandon attempting another. She also edited her mother’s reminiscences, Threescore Years and Ten: Reminiscences of the Late Sophia Elizabeth De Morgan and wrote serious articles on such diverse subjects as “Co-operation in England in 1889,” “The New Trades-Unionism and Socialism in England,” “The Jewish Immigrant in East London,” and “The Education of Englishmen,” published in such journals as The Westminster Review and The Chautauquan.

According to A. Stirling, Evelyn’s sister, who wrote the biography of her brother-in-law William, as a child Mary was extremely lively and full of fun – and also rather precocious. At 13 she asserted to Henry Holiday, who was a painter, stained-glass designer, sculptor and illustrator, that “all artists are fools.” She did not mellow with age. In a letter in 1885, for instance, when Mary was 35, William Morris describes how she came into a tea room where he was drinking with a friend and straightway fell to tackling them on socialism with, as Morris says, “rather less than her usual noise; but with rather more than her usual ignorance.” Despite this rather derogatory description, Mary was a regular visitor at the Morris household and she often told her stories to the Morris and Burne-Jones children and to the young Rudyard Kipling. The multi-talented Mary also apparently cured William Morris of his fear of snakes; she was also one of those who nursed him during his final illness and was at his bedside when he died in 1896.

Mary never married, and although Shaw suspected that she was flirting with him when she squeezed his hand one evening, there is no evidence of any romantic relationships. Whatever the reason then, whether from choice or otherwise, Mary, like many other women at the tail end of the nineteenth century, remained unmarried, and because there were no male members of the family with sufficient funds to keep her, she had to earn her own keep.

It does not seem likely that she made sufficient money from her writing alone. In 1876, for instance, she received £14 18s 6d (less than £2,000 in today’s money), being a third of the year’s profit from the sale of her first volume of fairy tales, On a Pincushion  – another third going to the illustrator, her brother William, and the other third to the publishers, Seeley, Jackson and Halliday. She may not have earned enough to live on from her writing alone but she also received dividend payments from stocks she owned. She once told her sister-in-law, Evelyn, that “I am so thankful I have only a small income – it is so delightful planning things and deciding what one can afford. It would bore me to death to be rich!”

No one woman can epitomise the “New Woman,” of course, but Mary De Morgan certainly had many of her attributes. One definition, which seems to suit Mary, is one in which the “New Woman” is considered to be someone who is lacking in many, if not all, of the attributes usually associated with ideal Victorian womanhood such as having a penchant for self-sacrifice, a talent for home-making, and a willingness to defer to men. There is nothing about Mary to make anyone think that she was ever such an “Angel in the House.” She did follow in her mother’s footsteps and do her social duty by visiting the poor families in the East End and running a mothers’ club, but she was also a member of the Women’s Franchise League and she signed the Declaration in Favour of Women’s Suffrage in 1889. She was an independent woman who had very strong views on the society in which she lived and the place of the woman within it. She could have written political articles, spoken at rallies and waved flags, but she chose instead to make her voice heard and her opinions known through the genre of the fairy tale.

Mary published three volumes of fairy tales, On a Pincushion in 1877 (illustrated by William De Morgan), The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde in 1880 (published by MacMillan & Co and illustrated by Walter Crane) and The Wind Fairies in 1900 (published Seeley and Co. and illustrated by Olive Cockerell). In each anthology there are fairy tales that challenge the prevalent ideologies by subverting the traditional fairy-tale conventions and therefore also societal ones. After all, many of the things that were concerning people at the time, such as the institution of marriage, the role of women in society and the effects of materialism on the individual and on society as a whole, are actually inherent components of many a fairy tale.

It is perhaps ironic to use the fairy tale to challenge the benefits of material gain, or the conventions of marriage. Fairy tales by Charles Perrault, the Grimm brothers and Hans Christian Andersen, for instance, were often used to maintain the patriarchal status quo and to endorse the values and social codes of the time, including the premise that wealth and/or marriage equates to happiness and that the woman’s role is to be patient and wait for the active man to save her. Without a doubt, many of the traditional fairy tales are typically very materialistic, with the “happy ever after” being assured due to the gain of a kingdom through marriage or enormous wealth. Patient Griselda, along with Snow White and Cinderella, became exemplars of Victorian womanhood, veritable “Angels in the House.”
Whilst sticking to the accepted fairy-tale conventions and intrinsic structure of the fairy tale, however, Mary met the readers’ expectations of plot, character and ending, yet challenged core attitudes.

Princess Fiorimonde

There is no room here to give more than a few examples but most of her fairy tales are on the internet and are well worth a read. In “Dumb Othmar,” for instance, it is a female who is the active, questing protagonist whilst the male is the passive victim who waits patiently for her to return having rescued his stolen voice. In “The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde,” the beautiful princess is not the personification of goodness, as expected, but is instead evil and turns her suitors into beads she collects on a necklace - it is now the men who are the adornment. 

In “The Hair Tree,” the flora of an island is in fact various parts of a female body that as a whole would form a beautiful woman but as individual parts have teeth and are deadly. In “Siegfrid and Handa,” a village is almost destroyed when the villagers start to buy cheap, shoddy shoes rather than the more expensive and better made ones produced by the local cobbler, thereby illustrating the damaging effects of mass-production on the individual and on society and doubtless pleasing William Morris immensely.

Again, in “The Hair Tree,” Mary writes of how a young girl is turned into a vegetarian tiger by the mother of a spurned suitor thus describing how women who choose not to marry are ostracised and de-humanised. In “The Toy Princess,” Mary shows how ludicrous it is when a royal court prefers an automaton that merely nods and says “Yes” to the real human, crying, screaming, independent Princess.  In the traditional fairy tales female readers had had only passive, victimised role models to empathise with; now they were being introduced to females who were active, strong-willed, and sometimes downright rebellious, rather like Mary, perhaps.

However, it is only now that Mary’s voice is being heard. Contemporary reviews failed to read between the lines or to scratch the surface and considered the stories to be delicate, naive and simple, such as children will delight in. “Even adults, if they retain the least spark of the childlike in their nature, will be attracted by the freshness, the simplicity, and the pathos of the little stories.”  They were not little stories but it is only over the previous couple of decades, when fairy tales have been put under the academic microscope, that Mary De Morgan has been recognised as being one of the forbears of such twentieth-century feminist writers as Angela Carter and Margaret Atwood, to name but two, and her fairy tales being more than just simple stories for children.

De Morgan's last resting place

By the turn of the nineteenth century Mary was a relatively well-known and respected published writer, albeit not a very well paid one, who lived very much in the world of artists and intellectuals. She does not seem to have written anything after 1900 and at the beginning of the new century she went to live in Egypt, for health reasons, where she somehow became a directress of a girls’ reformatory in Helouan. She died of tuberculosis - the “De Morgan curse” again - in 1907 at the age of 57 and is buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Cairo. Her plot has no stone to mark her last resting place, there having been subsidence many years previously.

There is no photograph that can be 100% authenticated as being Mary, so all we have are her words to know her. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Marilyn Pemberton is a member of the Society of Women Writers & Journalists, the Historical Novel Society and The Society of Authors. Her PhD research on the utopian & dystopian aspects of Victorian fairy tales and the ensuing obsession led her to Mary De Morgan and to the book, Out of the Shadows: The Life and Works of Mary De Morgan, followed by a fictional novel based on Mary’s life, The Jewel Garden, published February 2018.

       

Marilyn has just completed her second novel, Song of the Nightingale, about two young boys in eighteenth-century Italy, who are bought from their families, castrated and then trained to be singers. It tells not only of singing, but also deceit, murderous revenge, passion and reconciliation.  Marilyn is hoping a literary agent will be willing to represent her.

Marilyn is just starting a third novel called Grandmothers’ Footsteps that will tell of the battle of three generations of women to get their voices heard through story-telling. 

The Jewel Garden can be purchased at https://www.amazon.com/Jewel-Garden-Marilyn-Pemberton-ebook/dp/B079ZY877T

Out of the Shadows can be purchased at https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1443841951

Alfgar, The Recalcitrant Earl

by Paula Lofting

The king with his witan

Hexateuch

It was March 1055, and as every year, all the nobles in the land that could, would make their way to the witanegemot, and in this year the council were set to elect the next earl of Northumbria. There were two men in the running: Ælfgar, son of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, and Tostig Godwinson, as his name implied, of the number one clan in the country.

Ælfgar had been elevated to earl of East Anglia in 1051 when Harold Godwinson was forced into exile with other members of his family. In 1052, the Godwinsons made a successful comeback and all their lands and properties were once more restored to them, which meant that Ælfgar had to hand back the earldom to Harold, leaving him with nothing to run. That must have gone down like a treat. However, in the wake of Godwin's death, it was restored to Alfgar after Harold's appointment to Wessex. Tostig had been waiting in the wings for his first appointment since his brothers, Harold and Swegn (the latter now deceased) had both been invested in earldoms 10 years ago. With Harold in Wessex, and Alfgar sorted in East Anglia, Tostig obviously thought that he was up for the Northumbrian post.

Photo c/o Christopher Doyle
and members of Regia Anglorum

And so, at that gathering that year, the proverbial gossips must have had a field day, and anyone with a leaning to intrigue might have found themselves weaving in and out of each contestant's supporters to stir up trouble faction had they a mischievous mind.

This was very much a north and south thing, and even as far back as then, the divide between the two still existed. The last native ruler who'd been in charge of Northumbria had been Uhtred the Bold from the House of Bebbanburgh. In 1016 he was assassinated by Thurbrand the Hold probably on the orders of Cnut whom he was on his way to see. Eadwulf, Uhtred's son succeeded him in Bernicia and Cnut later made the Norwegian, Erik Hlathir, the earl in the south of Yorkshire. The killing of Uhtred was to spark the blood feud in the north that would last more than two generations.

The date when Siward, the Dane took over as earl is sketchy, but it seems to have been around 1030. Siward had a good run, and he must have been a tough old pair of boots to step in to. He had reigned for at least twenty-five years or so. What with managing the wild northerners with their violent bloodfeuds, which the north was notorious for, plus supporting Malcolm Canmore to get his throne back in Scotland, Siward was most likely to have been the most warlike of the earls in England at the time of Edward's reign. 

Battles were fought with the Welsh on the borderlands

In 1054, Siward invaded Scotland by land and sea to overthrow King MacBeth, helping the murdered Duncan's son to resume the throne that Malcolm obviously thought was his. Edward sent many of his own huscarles north to support him, and many of them were slaughtered.The hard fought battle saw Siward losing his son and nephew. MacBeth was defeated, but still alive and pushed north-west to recoup. Malcolm was able to take over the rest of the territories gained from the defeat of his rival. Many lives were lost on both sides in the terrible battle of Dunsinane and the loss of his son and nephew might have hastened Siward's death which eventually came a year later in 1055. Although he had not been a northerner himself, he was a Dane, and many of the men of Yorkshire were of Danish descent, he knew how they thought, how they fought, and they respected him.

Photo c/o Christopher Doyle
and Regia Anglorum

 So who were these men, Tostig and Alfgar, who thought they could step into Siward's rather big boots? Tostig was probably born in Suth Seaxa (Sussex) and as a boy grew up in the Godwin family home of Bosham. The winters were milder and the land not as harsh as in the north. From an early age he most likely spent a lot of time at court under his sister's tutelage, well educated and groomed for an administration job which would have eventually have flowered into an office of high standing. He was also schooled in military matters as most noble sons would have been, and brought up to be ambitious as all of the Godwinson men seem to have been. He also had a lot to prove. His older brother, Harold, was on the rise, and fast becoming the king's number one man, and as Tostig's later actions in the coming years would show, he was, I suspect, envious of his brother, the latter day Golden Balls. Tostig had the blood of the Vikings running through his veins with his mother being daughter of Thorgil Sprakalägg, so called because he was fast on his legs, perhaps because he was purported to have been the son of a bear. (Yes, I know!) Tostig's father's lineage is just as mysterious. (though no bears in the tree) and Wulfnoth, father of Godwin, according to Frank Barlow, apparently could trace his family tree back to King Egbert making him a son of the House of Wessex. Despite the possibility of a royal pedigree and Viking blood, Tostig was a 'soft' southerner, brought up in southern ways and unpalatable to the rough, wild men of the north.

Photo c/o
Christopher Doyle and Regia Anglorum

Alfgar was not so much of an alien perhaps, having been born less south than Tostig. He was the son of Leofric of Hwicce, now absorbed into Mercia. Leofric became Earl of Mercia around 1017, after Cnut had taken the crown following the death of Ironside. Alfgar's mother was Godgifu, who appears to have come from good noble stock herself, considering that she held quite a lot of land in her own right. This might have something to do with the fact that she was a widow when she married Alfgar's father. Alfgar was most likely to have had some military experience seeing as there had been quite a lot of conflict with the Welsh, but nothing is recorded for definite, just how experienced he was or whether he'd had the benefit of a court upbringing like Tostig most likely had. It's quite likely he may well have, it seems to have been traditional for the sons of nobles to be educated at court, though he was probably not of an age that he would have been in Queen Edith's school. However, he did have some experience already, having run East Anglia for a year before Harold's return and for a couple of years after Harold had stepped back out of it and into Wessex. With this in mind, Alfgar, might have thought he was better qualified than his opponent, Tostig.

Photo C/o Christopher Doyle

& Regia Anglorum

Court must have been interesting, with Alfgar and Tostig posturing amongst their supporters. The Mercians vs West Saxons. And when it was announced at the council meeting that Tostig was to be invested with the earldom of Northumbria, there must have been some threatening glares across the feasting boards that evening at supper. What happened after the council met gives us some idea that Alfgar was not happy at what had occurred at the council meeting.

The Anglo Saxon Chronicle is sympathetic to Alfgar. Chronicle C  reports that he was 'outlawed without any fault.' And then the E Chronicle says, 'And the king gave Tostig, son of Earl Godwin, the Earldom which Earl Siward owned before.' The D script tells it the other way round, that Tostig was given the earldom and then later Alfgar was exiled, without 'well-nigh any fault'. Chronicle E tells us that his outlawing took place on the 19th March ( 7 days before mid-lent) and the reason being 'that it was thrown at him that he was a traitor to the king and all the people of the land. And he admitted to this,' but the words evidently left his mouth before he had time to think about what he was saying. This latter version seems to explain things a little clearer, though none of the scribes writing the chronicles seem to have been of a mind to tell us what it was that came out of his mouth. One can imagine there was a lot of expletives about a puppet king whose strings were being pulled by a certain family!

Alfgar's Mercenaries
Photo c/o Richard Price & Regia Anglorum

The usual punishment for treason seems to have been exile, however hanging was also an option. But though exile seems a lenient punishment for such a crime, it was not as simple as you think. You were usually given a limited amount of time to get out of the country, which could be anything from 3 days to a week. In that time you would have to make whatever arrangements you could to gather your wealth if you had any and make arrangements for transport. If you lived nowhere near the coast, the further you were, the more time you would have needed, and if you didn't get out within the time allotted you could be killed on the spot by anyone. But at least you were had a chance, and if you made it like the Godwinsons had done in 1051, you were free to gather forces and whatever mercenary help you could get and force your way back to power.
Alfgar was said to have gone straight to Ireland where he stayed some months recruiting men and ships from amongst the Hiberno-Norse. When he had 18 ships fully crewed, he made his way to King Gruffudd in Gwynnedd to recruit him to his cause. Gruffudd also took advantage of the Englishman's pleas by promising to help him invade England, if he helped him to defeat the king of South Wales, thus realising his dream of a becoming king of a united country. Alfgar was obviously obliging, and supported Gruffudd successfully. Shortly afterwards, the two armies, Alfgar's mercenaries and Gruffudd's Welshfighters, joined together to invade England, and razed Hereford to the ground, causing the deaths of five hundred English mounted warriors.

The lesson to be learned here for the English king, was that execution was more effective punishment than exile. You would think, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, the lesson was not learned and the same thing was to happen again three years later.
~~~~~~~~~~
Paula Lofting is an author and a member of the re-enactment society Regia Anglorum, where she regularly takes part in the Battle of Hastings. Her first novel, Sons of the Wolf, is set in eleventh-century England and tells the story of Wulfhere, a man torn between family and duty. The sequel, The Wolf Banner is available now. Paula is currently working on the third book in the series, Wolf's Bane.

Connect with Paula on her Blog and on her Amazon Author Page.