Anglo-Saxon Women who left their Husbands

By Annie Whitehead

When were women legally allowed to petition for divorce? Perhaps one might guess at the late nineteenth or even early twentieth century?

In fact, the laws of King Æthelberht of Kent (c. 589-616) state that ‘if [a maiden married with proper payment of bride-gift] wishes to go away with the children, she is to have half the goods.’ I must admit, though, this is a little vague and hard to interpret.

However, even up to the eleventh century, women couldn’t be forced to marry a man whom they disliked, and widows could not be forced into remarriage. Women were not necessarily trapped in wedlock.

There are certainly a number of high-profile cases where women decided that married life was not for them. True, their (eventual) destinations were abbeys. But ‘Get thee to a nunnery’? No, it was more a case of ‘I’m off’. They weren’t banished, they chose to go. And in rather spectacular style, too...
Let’s meet some of them.

Cuthburh

Wimborne Minster (Image credit)

Cuthburh was a West Saxon princess, a sister of King Ine of Wessex. She was instrumental in founding the first West Saxon monasteries. The Anglo-Norman chronicler William of Malmesbury recorded that she ‘was given in marriage to Aldfrith, king of the Northumbrians, but the contract being soon after dissolved, she led a life dedicated to God.’ William’s notes echo the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle which tells us that Cuthburh founded a monastery at Wimborne, and that she had been married to Aldfrith but that they separated ‘during their lifetime’. Clearly then, it was acceptable for a marriage to end and although the result was the religious life for Cuthburh, we don’t know if that’s the reason why the marriage was dissolved. It was, remember, ‘soon after’ dissolved, so maybe the couple took an instant dislike to each other?

In the next case, the yearning for the religious life probably was the driving force behind the divorce, but the route to that life was rather more dramatic.

Domneva (Sometimes Domne Eafe, or Eormenburg)

The Saxon remains of Minster (in Thanet) Abbey
by kind permission of the Sisters

Domneva, daughter of a king of Kent, married Merewalh, who might have been the son, or son-in-law, of Penda of Mercia. The marriage lasted for a little over a decade before Domneva left Mercia and returned to Kent. The circumstances under which she left are recorded in a text known as the Mildrith Legend and the story concerns the murder of Domneva’s brothers by their cousin, Ecgberht, or rather by a servant of his, Thunor. Whether he ordered the killings, or was merely guilty of failing to stop his servant from committing murder, King Ecgberht was deemed liable. A wergild (man price) was owed in compensation, and Ecgberht paid this wergild to Domneva in the form of land on Thanet for her to found a monastery.

According to the Mildrith Legend, Domneva requested that she have as much land on Thanet as her tame hind could run around. As the hind ran, it was followed by the king and the court, but Thunor attempted to stop the animal and was swallowed by the earth. When the hind had finished running, Domneva was able to claim forty-eight hides of land, compensation had been duly paid, and Thunor got his comeuppance. As we’ve seen, seventh-century traditions allowed for royal couples to separate in pursuit of the religious life and Domneva would have been free to leave Merewalh even without her brothers being murdered. Were their deaths really the catalyst, and is the story true? If it is, it shows a shrewd woman who was wily enough to ensure the maximum grant of land for her religious foundation.

Perhaps the most fascinating story, though, is that of our next lady.

St Æthelthryth

Æthelthryth (Image info)

Æthelthryth was the daughter of King Anna of East Anglia and in fact she was married twice, the first time to a man named Tondberht who was a high-ranking member of an elusive tribe known as the South Gyrwe. That first marriage lasted only a few years and she was apparently still a virgin when Tondberht died. Given what we know of her later life and the fact that, according to one source, she resisted for some time before agreeing to her first marriage, it is perhaps surprising that she agreed to the second, but it’s interesting to note that this indicates a certain amount of choice in the matter of marriage. She had retired to Ely Abbey and been a widow for five years before her marriage to Ecgfrith of Northumbria.

Ecgfrith was young, perhaps around 15, when he married Æthelthryth in 660. Æthelthryth was older than Ecgfrith by some margin, perhaps as much as a decade. Bede records that Æthelthryth refused to consummate her marriage and was encouraged in this by St. Wilfrid. In around 672, Æthelthryth became a nun, and apparently received her holy veil from Wilfrid.

Bede relates a simple tale, that ‘at length and with difficulty’ Æthelthryth gained her husband’s permission to enter a monastery, staying first with the abbess at Coldingham and then becoming abbess of Ely.

But what of her initial escape from the clutches of her husband? There is another version of her story. The Liber Eliensis, (the history of Ely Abbey) relates how Ecgfrith, having initially agreed to the divorce, then tried to remove her forcibly from the convent. The abbess of Coldingham advised Æthelthryth that her only option was to escape. The king set off in pursuit, but Æthelthryth and her two lady companions climbed to the top of a steep hill where divine intervention caused the water levels to rise. The king could not get near, and eventually returned to York.

In reality, it’s likely that Ecgfrith would have been glad to be rid of an older wife who refused to give him children. Nevertheless, whichever version one chooses to believe, note that even in the more dramatic version, Ecgfrith had initially agreed to the divorce. Æthelthryth clearly had a lot of say over her marital status.

(Incidentally, it is from her that we get the word ‘tawdry’ from her modernised name, Audrey. A fair held in Ely on her feast day became popular and items which had apparently touched her shrine were of low quality, hence ‘tawdry’.)

It must be remembered that life as an abbess was no punishment. Many of the abbeys were double houses, where monks and nuns lived, and it was not an isolated life. Abbesses ruled rich estates and were highly influential politically. They just didn’t always retire quietly!

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Annie Whitehead studied History under the eminent Medievalist Ann Williams. She is a member of the Royal Historical Society and an editor for EHFA.  She has written three award-winning novels set in Anglo-Saxon England, one of which was long-listed for the Historical Novel Society (HNS) Indie Book of the year 2016, and a full-length nonfiction book, Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom. She has contributed to fiction and nonfiction anthologies and written for various magazines, including winning the New Writer Magazine Prose Competition. She was the winner of the inaugural Historical Writers’ Association/Dorothy Dunnett Prize 2017. She has recently been a judge for that same competition, and for the HNS Short Story Competition. Annie’s new book, Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England, is published by Pen & Sword Books.

For more information, visit Annie's Website or her Author Page. Also connect with Annie through her Blog and Twitter (@AnnieWHistory)

Bede’s Life of Cuthbert: The Remarkable Life of a Mediaeval Best-seller

By Katharine Tiernan

Any visitor to the magnificent Romanesque cathedral in Durham will be drawn to the tomb of Cuthbert, the great saint of the north in whose honour the cathedral was built. His shrine is in the most sacred place in the cathedral, immediately behind the high altar. Originally hung with an ornate canopy, his tomb is now covered with a simple block of stone with his name, Cuthbertus, inscribed upon it. 

The visitor may ask, who was this Cuthbert? How did a seventh-century monk from a remote corner of Northumberland come to be at the heart of one of the most powerful and influential cults in mediaeval England?

Title Page - Bede's Life of St Cuthbert

Part of the answer to these questions lies at the other end of the cathedral, in the Lady Chapel. In these more secluded surroundings our visitor can find another tomb, that of the Venerable Bede. Bede was thirty-nine years Cuthbert’s junior, and the two men never met. But without Bede, Cuthbert might be nothing more than a vague legend, like many other saints of the period, and the great cathedral at Durham might never have been built.

The story begins with a young Anglo-Saxon warrior, who at the age of seventeen took the decision to enter a monastery. Cuthbert’s monastery was close to the old Roman settlement of Trimontium, now Melrose in the Scottish Borders. At that time it was part of the great Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Northumbria. The year was 651, and the Christian faith had only recently arrived in the kingdom.

Cuthbert spent the rest of his life as a monk, but not in seclusion. He was an evangelist for the new religion and was also involved in the bitter power struggle which was to take place between the original Celtic Christianity of Northumbria and the nascent power of the Roman Church. In the latter part of his life he became a hermit on Inner Farne for eight years, bearing witness to the austere values of the Celtic tradition. While he was there, his fame as a wise man and miracle worker started to spread. As the Roman Church under his contemporary, Bishop Wilfrid, grew in wealth and power to rival the state, Cuthbert embodied the alternative values of the Northumbrian Church. When Wilfrid eventually fell from power, the King himself sailed to Inner Farne to implore Cuthbert to return to lead the Church as Bishop of Lindisfarne, which he eventually agreed to do. He went from the solitude and contemplation of a hermit’s life to the busiest job in the Church.

Cuthbert was already regarded as a saint by the time he died in 687. But the final proof of his sainthood was discovered eleven years after his death. The Lindisfarne monks wished to move his relics into the church for veneration, and opened his coffin, expecting to find a skeleton. Instead, they found his body incorrupt, the grave clothes fresh.

This was sensational proof of Cuthbert’s sanctity. Lindisfarne was to become a major pilgrimage centre and the monks decided a record of his life and miracles was needed. A Life was compiled by one of the monks of Lindisfarne, now known as the Anonymous Life. It must have been widely copied and circulated, and a copy reached Bede, a monk in St Peter’s monastery at Monkwearmouth.  He clearly felt a strong affinity with the saint’s story. In 716, when Bede was in his early forties and already a distinguished scholar, he composed a version of the Life in Latin verse.  Impressed, the Lindisfarne brothers begged Bede to write a new and more comprehensive prose life of the saint. He undertook the task with his customary scholarly rigour.  In his Preface to the Life Bede tells us that he ‘has passed on nothing to be transcribed for general reading that has not been obtained by rigorous examination of trustworthy witnesses’. Of particular importance was a monk named Herefrith, who was with Cuthbert when he died. Bede quotes verbatim Herefrith’s account of the days leading up to Cuthbert’s death, and the death itself.

19thC Image of St Bede

The new Life was a great success. It is not difficult to see why. Although it is in some ways a conventional hagiography designed to give proofs of Cuthbert’s sainthood, it is also full of human interest and lively description. Bede loves a good story. He gives us a clear idea of Cuthbert’s character, and some of the miracles described are endearingly mundane – when the brothers forget to bring over a suitable plank to construct his latrine on Inner Farne, God obligingly arranges for a suitable piece of wood to be washed up on the shore.

Some of the stories have become iconic, for example the tale of St Cuthbert and the otters, reported by one of the monks. He saw the saint leave the monastery where he was staying late at night and followed him, curious. He saw Cuthbert go down to the sea where he remained all night in prayer, standing in the icy waters. When he left the sea at dawn, two sea otters followed the saint out of the water and dried his feet with their fur. The watching monk was overcome with guilt at having spied on the saint and fell at his feet to beg forgiveness.

Cuthbert Praying in the Sea

Bede completed his Life of Cuthbert in 721. He went on to include an abridged version in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People, published ten years later. Bede’s monastery, St Paul’s, was one of two Benedictine monasteries at Monkwearmouth established in the Roman tradition. It was a thriving centre of scholarship and culture with a busy scriptorium. It was here that the Codex Amiatinus, the earliest complete Latin bible, was produced as a gift for the Pope. We can be sure that once completed, the Life of Cuthbert would have been copied many times and circulated to churches and monasteries in the other Anglo-Saxon kingdoms as well as Northumbria and further afield in Frankia and Italy. It was a true mediaeval best-seller.

This wide distribution was essential to the survival of the work. A hundred and fifty years later the Viking invasions destroyed the monastic culture of Northumbria. The monks and nuns were an easy target for pagan raiders who had no compunction in looting the monasteries and enslaving their inhabitants. The written word had no value for the Vikings. The monastic libraries with all their books, deeds and records were destroyed; St Paul’s at Monkwearmouth became a roofless ruin. In 875, with the Danes now in command of York and heading northwards, the monks took the coffin containing the incorrupt body of the saint, together with the illuminated Gospels created in his honour, and left Lindisfarne.

 Seven years later, in 882, they established a new monastery at Chester-le-Street after the miraculous intervention of the saint enabled them to make terms with Guthred, the Danish king of York. The cult of St Cuthbert, together with its lands and possessions, survived. It continued to attract pilgrims, not least from the royal house of Wessex.  We are not told whether a copy of Bede’s Life had been popped into the coffin alongside the Lindisfarne Gospels, but certainly copies would have still existed elsewhere in parts of the country which had escaped the brunt of the Danish invasions.

Chester-le-Street was the only surviving monastery in the north of England for close on a hundred years. Although the Community diligently preserved the Lindisfarne traditions associated with the cult, monastic discipline started to slip. Monks married and had families, and the senior positions in the Community became hereditary, with each family holding a portion of the lands owned by St Cuthbert. The monastic reform movement of the tenth century which sought to end such practices was confined to the southern half of England, which enjoyed more stability than the north. For the Community the main aim was survival.

By the end of the tenth century, renewed threat from Danish armies led the Community to move again, this time to a promontory above the River Wear. Uninhabited at the time, it was cleared with the loyal help of the local population and the saint’s new shrine was established at Durham. It proved to be an excellent choice and highly defensible.

Cuthbert Welcoming Visitors

However, 1066 saw the arrival of a new and different threat to the Community: the Normans. The threat this time was less physical – the Normans were, after all, Christians – but ideological. The Normans regarded Anglo-Saxon culture, including their saints, as backward and inferior.  As the Normans started to take over the English Church, they often replaced Saxon saints with their own continental saints. Although St Cuthbert’s incorrupt body gave him claim to special status, King William was not convinced. On a visit to Durham he demanded that the Community open the coffin before him and threatened to kill all the senior clergy if it proved to be a fake. However, during a mass for All Saints’ Day, which was to be followed by the opening of the coffin, the King was visited by a terrible heat and fever. He leapt up, called for his horse and galloped out of the city. He was never to return to Durham. The Community was reprieved – for the time being.

Sometime after this incident King William appointed a Norman to the bishopric at Durham. The man was Walcher, a cleric who had been a canon at Liege, one of the great centres of learning in mid-eleventh century Europe. What view would he take of Cuthbert’s claims to sainthood? Walcher was an educated man with access to monastic libraries. Before he came to Durham he read Bede’s Ecclesiastical History and his Life of Cuthbert.  They convinced him of the exceptional status of the saint and in turn, he convinced the King of the importance of the cult. Its future was secured – thanks to Bede.

There were to be changes, though. Having read Bede, Walcher knew that Cuthbert had been a celibate monk and that the original guardians of the shrine had been celibate monks also. Walcher’s plan was to oust the married canons and found a Benedictine monastery at Durham whose monks would be the new guardians of the saint.

Astonishingly, Bede was to play a role here too. A few years earlier, the prior of Winchcombe Abbey, a Saxon man named Aldwin, had acquired copies of Bede’s Life of Cuthbert and the Ecclesiastical History for the monastic library. They had an electrifying effect on him. The chronicler Simeon of Durham records:

He understood from the History of the Angles that the province of the Northumbrians had previously been peopled with numerous bands of monks, and many troops of saints … .these places, that is, the sites of these monasteries, he earnestly desired to visit, although he well knew that they were reduced to ruins, and he wished, in imitation of such persons, to lead a life of poverty.

Aldwin travelled north and with two companions set up camp in the ruins of St Paul’s Monastery. His single-handed revival of northern monasticism caught on, and others came to join him. By the time Walcher was planning to establish a monastery at Durham, there were local monks ready to help him.

Before Walcher could realise his plans he was murdered in a feud with the local Northumbrian nobility. The bishopric went to another Norman cleric, William St Calais. The new bishop energetically followed through on Walcher’s plans. Not only did he successfully found the new monastery, he went on to initiate the construction of a new cathedral in St Cuthbert’s honour to replace the existing Saxon church. The magnificent cathedral and the shrine of St Cuthbert would become the leading pilgrimage destination in the country. Bede’s Life of Cuthbert gained new popularity with lavishly illustrated versions appearing. The best-seller was back – and the fame of the saint it chronicled. 

REFERENCES
Two Lives of Saint Cuthbert, trans. Bertram Colgrave Christ the King Library
The Age of Bede, trans. J.F. Webb, ed. D.H Farmer Penguin Classics
Simeon’s History of the Church of Durham Llanerch

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Katharine Tiernan is a writer, teacher and passionate nature-lover. She grew up close to the dramatic coastline of North Northumberland and continues to draw inspiration from its history and landscape. She is currently working on a series of historical novels based on the legacy of St Cuthbert and his Community. Her first novel Place of Repose: A Tale of St Cuthbert’s Last Journey was published by Ningaui Press in 2013. Following its publication Katharine went on to hone her writing skills with an MA in Creative Writing (Distinction) at Newcastle University.

Her latest novel, Cuthbert of Farne: A novel of Northumbria’s warrior saint, published by Sacristy Press, traces Cuthbert’s life and spiritual journey against the background of his turbulent times.
Katharine lives in Berwick-upon-Tweed, with a view from her writing desk across the Tweed estuary to Lindisfarne.

Buy Cuthbert of Farne: https://www.sacristy.co.uk/books/fiction/cuthbert-novel

Connect with Katharine: www.katharinetiernan.com

The Aristocracy in the Seventh and Eighth Centuries

by Annie Whitehead

Last time I looked at the social organisation of the seventh century. Now, I'll be examining in more detail the role of the Aristocracy. At this time, a freeman’s value was expressed in terms of wergeld (literally ‘man-money’), the sum with which a feud could be averted. It was more than a man’s price; it determined the scale of compensation due to him for injury, or for the breach of his peace, or injury to his servant’s. It also defined a man’s status in society.

Characteristic terms used of the nobility in 600-735 were eorl and gesith, the former being found in Kentish documents. As well as the gesiths, there were the thegns - servants of the king not yet rewarded with land, or old enough to have received an inheritance. Possession of land often involved service and it is likely that, in the late seventh- century, connection by blood with a kind, service to a king, and particularly service at a royal court were important factors in determining noble status.

Of the principes and comites (gesiths) mentioned by Bede, many were of the royal kin, and most had some service to perform at the royal court. But they were not only courtiers in the literal sense. The famous story of Imma gives real insight into the nature of the nobility of the age.

Bede depicted in the Nurumberg Chronicle

A young man named Imma is struck down in battle, and sets out to find his friends to take care of him. Instead he is found and captured by men of the enemy army and taken to their lord, who is a gesith of the king. Imma is afraid to say that he is a thegn, so he tells his captor that he is a peasant who came to the battlefield only to bring food to the soldiers.

The gesith has his wounds attended to and as Imma begins to recover, the gesith orders him bound at night. After he has been a prisoner for some time, the gesith begins to notice that by Imma’s “appearance, his bearing and his speech that he was not of common stock as he had said, but of noble family.” The gesith calls Imma to one side and asks him to declare his origins, promising that no harm will come to him as long as he is honest. Imma confesses that he is a thegn, and the gesith says, “I realised by every one of your answers that were not a peasant, and now you ought to die because all my brothers and kinsmen were killed in the battle, but I will not kill you for I do not intend to break my promise.”

The first implication of this story is that a social gulf already separated the skilled fighting man from the peasant; manner of speech and knowledge of courteous ways betrayed the man of superior social status. The gesith himself was a significant figure; he was settled on an estate, in command of a powerful section of the royal army, and a victor in battle. He possessed a strong kindred of fighting men, and held the power of life or death over his captives. He was loyal to his oath, even though loyalty meant failure to take the correct vengeance for his kinsmen.

Other references in Bede’s Hist. Eccl. build up a similar picture of the typical powerful noble as a holder of land. When King Sigebert of Essex was assassinated, Bede considered it as just retribution for his failure to correct moral abuses on the part of his two comites (gesiths) who were his kinsmen. He was slain on the ham, that is to say the substantial estate, of one of his comites. In Northumbria two comites are said to have founded churches on their estates. So a picture emerges from the narrative sources of a great nobleman as a powerful military leader, possible of royal kin, settled on an estate, possessing a hall, and surrounded by retainers.

With the conversion to Christianity, the bond between noble and king, originally so much that between household retainer and lord, was knit more strictly by Christian oaths. Kingship developed too, with the king no longer being regarded merely as in the folk, but over the folk. Royal blood and an honourable genealogy were essential for a successful king. Christianity emphasised the value of the blood royal, and established legitimate kingship was accompanied by an established legitimate nobility, and the ability to exercise lordship over freemen developed into the most obvious mark of nobility.

king, saint, and gospel

The law codes surviving from this period give an insight into the position of the nobility in society, and its relationship with the classes beneath it on the social scale. These codes have enough in common to give a picture of aristocratic society in what HR Loyn called an heroic age. Special privileges granted to the nobles included higher payment for infringement of their house peace, of their own personal surety, of the lives and property of their dependants and above all for their own persons.

Clause 50 of Ine of Wessex’s code (688-94) reads:

“If a gesithborn man intercedes with the king or the king’s ealdorman or with the lord for members of his household, slaves or freemen, he the gesith, has no right to any fines, because he would not previously at home restrain them from ill-doing.” 

One thing that may be noted from this is the implication that one gesith may be under another’s lordship. More importantly, it is clear that the state imposed on every lord some responsibility for his men’s behaviour. We are not told how the West Saxon lord exercised his coercive power, but the lord’s right of jurisdiction, with the right in normal circumstances to take a portion of the misdoer’s fine, is clearly visible.

Other illustrations of the lord’s position exist: in seventh-century Kent a noble could clear himself of an accusation by his unsupported oath, while a ceorl would only do so with three of his own class (Whitred19;20). A lord could expect to have the faithful service of his men, and when they died, they were expected to render one final gift: their heriot, (literally ‘army gear’) varied with the status, not of the lord, but of the man.

The duties expected of the nobility extended further than that of keeping their own freemen and dependants under control. The nobility featured strongly in what could loosely be termed as local government, particularly administration and judicial proceedings. The clause in Ine’s code already referred to, has a further implication, which is that the nobleman had the duty of interceding for members of his household in the pubic courts. Knowledge of such public courts is vague. Presumably they owed much of their authority to the dignitary who presided over them – king, ealdorman or great lord. There were matters that demanded interpretation by wise men, by elders of the moots. At the highest level of the kingdom such men were drawn together in an assembly to give special sanction to the promulgations of dooms (judgements, pronouncements.)

the king with his council

The king legislated with the advice of his council, in fact some enactments seem to have gone out in the name of the latter alone. Copies were sent to the ealdormen in charge of the various provinces. These ealdormen were royal officials appointed by the king. Sometimes they were related to the royal house, quite often they belonged to the family that had ruled the province before its absorption into a larger kingdom. According to Dorothy Whitelock, they were most often drawn from the king’s thegns. Within his own area of operations, the ealdorman was the king’s representative. He led the forces of this district in war, and presided at its judicial assembly (as we have already seen). Like the king, he had official estates, and rights of claiming hospitality for his officials and messengers. It has been suggested that the ealdorman had two wergelds: one as his right as a member of society and one for his position as a royal official.

We have seen that the nobility were the top rank in a carefully structured hierarchical society, closely connected to the king by blood, or service. To sum up their functions in society and government, here’s a quote from Whitelock’s The Beginnings of English Society: “From early times kings were in the habit of granting to private landowners, the profits of jurisdiction over their own lands or over their own men, and sometimes over wider areas. This is so already at the date of Ine’s laws.”

The nobleman was a respected member of society, owing service to the king in military, judicial, and administrative capacities. In reward for these services he was given grants of land. His duties involved the lower end of the social scale in that he had an obligation to protect the people under him. The nobleman was a central figure in the social organisation and government of Anglo-Saxon England.

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Annie Whitehead is an author and historian, and a member of the Royal Historical Society. Her first two novels are set in tenth-century Mercia, chronicling the lives of Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, who ruled a country in all but name, and Earl Alvar who served King Edgar and his son Æthelred the Unready who were both embroiled in murderous scandals. Her third novel, also set in Mercia, tells the story of seventh-century King Penda and his feud with the Northumbrian kings. Her history of Mercia will be released by Amberley Publishing in Sep 2018.
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So, Who is Ambrosius Aurelianus?

by Tim Walker

Ambrosius Aurelianus, to give him his full name, was a high king of the Britons in the early Dark Ages, some time after the exit of the Romans in the year 410. The exact dates of his reign, chronological details and physical evidence remain scant, and we must rely on the written accounts of three monks – Gildas (c. 650), Nennius (c.750) and Bede (c. 790), as well as the more fantastical History of the Kings of Briton by Geoffrey of Monmouth (c. 1140). The Britons shared a culture and language with similar Celtic tribes across northern Europe, a language similar to modern day Welsh.

The closest in time of the surviving accounts of events in the fifth century come from the gloomy On the Ruin of Britain by Welsh monk Gildas, written around the year 550. Here is what he said about Ambrosius:

The poor remnants of our nation… that they might not be brought to utter destruction, took arms under the conduct of Ambrosius Aurelianus, a modest man, who of all the Roman nation was then alone in the confusion of this troubled period by chance left alive.

The Roman legions marched away between 409-410 never to return, and the Britons were left to defend themselves from various ‘barbarian’ raiders – the Angles, Saxons and Jutes from modern day Denmark and northern Germany, are not deemed to be invaders because they were employed to fight by an early high king named Vortigern (quite possibly a continuation of a tactic employed previously by the Romans). They clearly developed ambitions to settle having seen how green and pleasant England’s countryside was in comparison to their own salty marshes. They were also under pressure in their lands from other barbarian tribes pushing westwards.

Geoffrey of Monmouth is responsible for popularizing the legend of King Arthur and his knights, although there are earlier mentions of Arthur in the writings of Nennius in the eighth century. He more or less has a fifth century line-up of kings of Britain, starting with Constantine, who ‘wore the purple’, presumably as a provincial governor, and who was quickly murdered by ‘cruel and sly’ Vortigern. Vortigern is then defeated by Ambrosius Aurelianus and his brother Uther Pendragon. Uther then succeeds Aurelius, and is in turn succeeded by his son Arthur, with much sorcery from Merlin thrown into the mix. All of this is unproven in terms of hard archaeological facts. What happened where and when and who were the key players remain unanswered questions.

Taking up the story of Ambrosius from Geoffrey of Monmouth, we find the sons of Constantine, Ambrosius and Uther arriving in Britain from Gaul with an army to confront Vortigern. He was already unpopular with the people for his brutal acts, constant wars and for employing Saxons to fight in his mercenary army:

As soon as news of his [Ambrosius’s] coming was divulged, the Britons, who had been dispersed by their great calamities, met together from all parts… having assembled together the clergy, they anointed Ambrosius king, and paid him the customary homage.

The brothers defeat Vortigern in battle and pursue him to his fortress, called Genoreu, where their attempt to burn him out results in his death. Ambrosius is then the unchallenged high king of the Britons, and ready to form resistance to the spread of the Saxon, Angle and Jute colonists, under brothers Hengist and Horsa.

Therefore, the Saxons, in fear of him, retired beyond the Humber, and in those parts did fortify the cities and towns… this was good news to Ambrosius, who augmented his army and made an expeditious march towards the north.

Geoffrey goes on to describe the two armies meeting in battle on a field called Maisbeli, though to be somewhere in South Yorkshire. Again, a date and exact location of this battle is unknown. Another major battle in the late fifth century between the Britons and the Saxons often mentioned is Badon Hill, but again where this is and on what date it happened, and who commanded the Briton army – Ambrosius, Uther or Arthur – remains unknown.

It is widely thought that Geoffrey of Monmouth had supplemented the written sources of information he could muster with a fanciful imagination, perhaps also setting down folk legends that had been passed by word of mouth for generations. It is a masterful work, and all the more tantalising for the sparseness of other historical evidence of those misty days after the Romans departed and before Saxon kingdoms were established.

In my historical fiction series, I have woven a family saga – the Pendragons - taken from the writings of Gildas, Nennius and Geoffrey, surmising that if King Arthur was a real military leader who may have died around the year 537 at the Battle of Camlann (as mentioned in two sources), then there is 127 years of mayhem leading up to this point from the date of the Roman’s departure. My guesswork is that Vortigern ruled some time from 410-440, followed by Ambrosius, perhaps 440-470, then Uther from 470-500 and Arthur from 500-537. This is a conjectural framework for my storytelling in my three-part series, A Light in the Dark Ages.

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Tim Walker is an indie author based near Windsor in the UK.

His latest book is an historical fiction novel, Ambrosius: Last of the Romans, set in Britain in the fifth century. This is book two in a series - A Light in the Dark Ages - and follows on from book one, Abandoned! Part three of the series is a work in progress, which will be entitled, Uther's Destiny

He lives in Datchet Village, near Windsor, beside the River Thames, the inspiration for his book of short stories, Thames Valley Tales. His thriller novel, Devil Gate Dawn, was exposed on the Kindle Scout programme in March/April 2016, and is doing well due to its predictions of a post-Brexit Britain beset by political turmoil.

Download the e-book, Ambrosius: Last of the Romans from Amazon here:-
http://amazon.com/dp/B06X9S7XQ7
http://amazon.co.uk/dp/B06X9S7XQ7

Find Tim on his Website

Battles and Bias in Bede’s Britain

by Matthew Harffy

Throughout history, conflict has been described by the victors. This is especially true in the cases where the victorious army is part of a civilization that put great store in writing things down, such as the Romans. So it is that there are many accounts of battles from the Roman perspective, and far fewer details from the point of view of the so called barbarians. When we read these accounts by such luminaries as Tacitus and Suetonius, the modern observer must always factor in the politics of the time and what propagandist message the writer was hoping to put forward.

When we come to seventh century Britain, the wars and conquests are often only described in a couple of sources, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation. Both of these works were penned by Christian Anglo-Saxon monks, who clearly had their own agenda in the telling of the rise to power of certain royal dynasties. If you are a monk sitting in a scriptorium in Wessex, you are most likely to give a certain Wessex-centric spin to your history. Where Bede was concerned, Northumbria was his home, what he knew best and the most powerful kingdom of Britain at the time. He was also a devout Christian, so of course, he wished to paint a picture of the history of the land that showed the power of God to work through kings who chose to accept Him. Bede clearly loved tales of kings who chose to be baptised and brought conversion and the teachings of Christ to their people. It is not that Bede, or indeed any of the scribes of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, openly twisted the truth or lied in their accounts, but I think all scholars would agree that those monks allowed their own beliefs and ideological leanings to bias their telling of history.

And so it is that we find there is often no information about the placement of troops in battles, or even where the battles took place. In many cases we have practically no idea of why the conflicts occurred, though it must be assumed that conquest and expansion of land must have been at the root of many disputes. These things were not deemed to be of importance to the monks writing the accounts. Frequently, all we are given are the names of the kings involved, and who was beaten. For example, the entry in the Chronicle for 633 says:

“A.D. 633.  This year King Edwin was slain by Cadwalla and Penda, on Hatfield moor, on the fourteenth of October.  He reigned seventeen years.  His son Osfrid was also slain with him.  After this Cadwalla and Penda went and ravaged all the land of the Northumbrians”

So not much to go on… we know the year, and who killed who and where. Not much else. If we then turn to Bede, we get some more details:

“Cadwalla; king of the Britons, rebelled against him [Edwin], being supported by Penda, a most warlike man of the royal race of the Mercians, and who from that time governed that nation twenty-two years with various success. A great battle being fought in the plain that is called Heathfield, Edwin was killed on the 12th of October, in the year of our Lord 633, being then forty-seven years of age, and all his army was either slain or dispersed.” 

Bede goes on to tell how “great slaughter was made in the church or nation of the Northumbrians” by Cadwalla (also known as Cadwallon). He highlights that “one of the commanders, by whom it was made, was a pagan, and the other a barbarian, more cruel than a pagan; for Penda, with all the nation of the Mercians, was an idolater, and a stranger to the name of Christ; but Cadwalla, though he bore the name and professed himself a Christian, was so barbarous in his disposition and behaviour, that he neither spared the female sex, nor the innocent age of children, but with savage cruelty put them to tormenting deaths, ravaging all their country for a long time, and resolving to cut off all the race of the English within the borders of Britain.”

Here you can see Bede’s faith and his national pride at odds. Both Edwin and Cadwalla are Christian kings and yet Edwin is defeated and Cadwalla perpetrates horrific acts of cruelty in some kind of genocidal retribution. It is hard to know how much Bede has exaggerated the atrocities committed after Edwin’s death, but it is clear that the narrative is not an easy one for him. It is not the Northumbrian Christian king who is victorious, rather it is the pagan and the savage barbarian. And so the tales of battle often go in the seventh century. Bede revels in a good success story for a Christian monarch, but all too often those he deems to be most worthy of Christ’s blessing meet untimely, violent ends.


Such is the ultimate end of one of Bede’s favourite kings, Oswald of Northumbria, later Saint Oswald. But before his demise at the battle of Maserfield and his subsequent miracles and sainthood, Oswald provides Bede with the wonderful tale of his return from exile, his victory over the cruel defiler of the land, Cadwalla, and the expansion of Northumbria into the foremost kingdom of Britain.

Bede describes the decisive battle of Heavenfield between “Oswald, a man beloved by God” and the evil Cadwalla in greater detail than other engagements. But he does not focus on the battle itself, he concentrates on that which is important to him: the intervention of Christ in granting victory to the rightful king of Northumbria.

He tells at great length how Oswald erected a great cross and helped to hold it up while it was set in place. He then bid all of his warriors to pray, saying the following, “Let us all kneel, and jointly beseech the true and living God Almighty, in his mercy, to defend us from the haughty and fierce enemy; for He knows that we have undertaken a just war for the safety of our nation.”

The cross and the place then becomes the site of many miracles and the victory is really the start of the cult of Saint Oswald, which can probably be traced back to this moment and Bede’s subsequent immortalisation of it and the great Christian king of Northumbria.

Bede dedicates less space to the battle itself, describing how Oswald “advanced with an army, small, indeed, in number, but strengthened with the faith of Christ; and the impious commander of the Britons was slain, though he had most numerous forces, which he boasted nothing could withstand, at a place in the English tongue called Denises-burn, that is, Denis's-brook.”

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle describes Oswald’s ascension to power in a rather more matter of fact single line:

“Oswald also this year succeeded to the government of the Northumbrians, and reigned nine winters.”

Would Penda, the staunchly pagan king of Mercia, have been the hero of Bede’s narrative if he had been Christian? He certainly was the supreme power in the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms for decades during the first half of the seventh century, and was responsible for the deaths of five other kings.

Historians must try to peer into the primary sources and find the truth, peeling away bias and prejudice and propaganda. It is hard to piece together a true reflection of events from the sparse writings that have survived.

Conversely, the historical novelist revels in the scarcity of information, as it allows for creativity to fill in the gaps. The novelist relishes the not-so-subtle slant to one side or the other in the written accounts. This shines a light on how people thought at the time and can provide an author with a hook into a story, a flash of inspiration sparked from that very bias.

Battles are described by the victors. It is the historian's job to find the truth behind the victors' accounts. Some would argue that it is also the job of the novelist. I would disagree. It is the novelist's task to tell a good story, and that might just be a tale full of prejudice and untruths. You never know, it might even be from the perspective of the vanquished who never had the chance to write their own story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matthew Harffy is the author of the Bernicia Chronicles, a series of novels set in seventh century Britain.

The Serpent Sword, The Cross and the Curse and Blood and Blade are available on Amazon, Kobo, Google Play, and all good online bookstores.

Killer of Kings and Kin of Cain are available for pre-order on Amazon and all good online bookstores.

Website: www.matthewharffy.com
Twitter: @MatthewHarffy
Facebook: MatthewHarffyAuthor

Images:

La victoire de Tullus Hostilius sur les forces de Veies et de Fidena ---- Giuseppe Cesari [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Portrait of Bede ---- By The original uploader was Timsj at English Wikipedia (Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons.) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Holderness Cross ---- By portableantiquities [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Map of Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms ---- Amitchell125 at en.wikipedia [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

Heavenfield Cross ---- Oliver Dixon [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

The Wolf and the Lamb - Wulfhere of Mercia and Ermenilda of Kent

by Jayne Castel

Highborn marriage in 7th Century Anglo-Saxon England was one of political alliances and peace-making. War was a way of life, and kingdoms rose and fell with frightening swiftness. Unsurprisingly, love did not come into noble unions.

Meet Wulfhere and Ermenilda

The marriage between Wulfhere of Mercia and Ermenilda of Kent was no exception. He was a ruthless king, she a pious princess. Theirs was a union that would strengthen the bonds between kingdoms.

Wulfhere was Penda of Mercia’s second son. His father was England’s last pagan king, a powerful warlord feared by his neighbours. Wulfhere followed his elder brother, Paeda, to the throne. Paeda was assassinated shortly after he came to power—many believe by his wife.

Wulfhere came out of exile to claim the throne and take it back from Oswiu of Northumbria—restoring the power of Mercia after its disastrous defeat at the Battle of Winwaed. He ruled from 658 AD to his death in 676 AD, and was the first Christian king of Mercia. However, his path away from paganism to Christianity does not appear to have been an easy one.

Ermenilda was described as “saintly and beautiful”. She was the daughter of King Eorcenberht of Kent, very pious himself, as was his wife, Seaxburgh. After Wulfhere’s death, Ermenilda was said to have taken the veil and become abbess of Ely, like her mother before her. Later, she was sainted. Ermenilda’s feast day is February 13.

An unlikely match

There is quite a bit of evidence to suggest that Wulfhere and Ermenilda’s marriage was one of opposites—the wolf and the lamb. One such version of events (source: Virgin Saints of the Benedictine Order, pp. 59–64, Forgotten Books) paints Wulfhere in a very poor light.

Apparently, Wulfhere had inherited not just his father’s courage and military prowess but also his “violent and cruel temper”. Ermenilda, gentle and virtuous, seemed an unlikely choice of bride.

Although Wulfhere was baptized before his marriage, it appears he did not shed his pagan beliefs. He and Ermenilda had four children: Werburgh (the only girl), Ulfald, Rufifin, and Kenred. Wulfhere did not allow his sons to follow Christianity, yet he allowed his daughter to do so. It did not matter what religion his daughter worshipped—but he wished his sons to grow up to be warlords like him, and his father before him. Christianity had no place in his plans.

The arrival of St. Chad

Meanwhile a monk named Chad—who would later become the Bishop of Lichfield—was living as a hermit in the forest near Tamworth. Ermenilda, flouting her husband’s authority, started sending her two eldest sons (Ufald and Rufifin) to Chad in secret, to be instructed in the ways of God. The youngest, Kenred, was too little to accompany them (which in retrospect was a good thing).

The boys readily accepted Chad’s teachings and begged him to baptise them, which he gladly did.

Werburgh and Werbode

Meanwhile, Wulfhere’s daughter, Werburgh, had reached marriageable age. She was described as “sweet and gentle,” like her mother. However, she repulsed all suitors as she wished to dedicate her life to god.

Her piety did not please a nobleman named Werbode. Chief advisor to the king, and described as a “headstrong and haughty” man, Werbode managed to convince Wulfhere to give him his daughter. However, Werburgh rebuffed all his advances.

Rejected, and blaming her religion for Werburgh’s lack of interest in him, Werbode took his revenge. He had noticed the princes’ secret trips into the forest to visit Chad and informed the king about it. Then, he took Wulfhere to Chad’s hut, where they found the two boys praying.

Wulfhere lost his temper and demanded his sons renounce their beliefs and return home but they ignored him. In a fit of rage, he murdered them both.

Remorse sets in

Ermenilda was understandably devastated by the loss of her sons and by her husband’s terrible act. Wulfhere, himself, did not stay angry for long.

Filled with regret, he listened to his wife and daughter’s advice to seek forgiveness, and went to St Chad to confess his sins. After that, Wulfhere embraced Christianity. His dead sons, Ulfald and Rufifin, were later sainted.

How much of that story is true?

We will never really know. Most of what we have learnt about 7th Century Britannia came from Bede, and his accounts do not mention Ermenilda or her daughter. Also, the early historical accounts were mostly written by monks, so stories like this one were often told as cautionary tales against pagan ways.

However, it appears that Wulfhere and Ermenilda did actually exist, and they would have been an odd match – the Wolf and Lamb, indeed.


Illustration attributions: 

Depiction of Wulfhere on the right at Lichfield Cathedral. By Sjwells53 at en.wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12140418

Saint Chad in a stained glass window. By Randy OHC - Flickr https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Saint Werburga (detail).

Wolfgang Sauber - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0; File:Chester Cathedral - Refektorium Ostfenster 1 St.Werburg.jpg

~~~~~~~
Jayne Castel has published six novels set in 7th Century Anglo Saxon England (The Kingdom of the East Angles and The Kingdom of Mercia). Dawn of Wolves (Book 3, The Kingdom of Mercia) is the story of Wulfhere and Ermenilda and was a Kindle Scout winner. Dawn of Wolves is available on Amazon. She has now started work on the next series, The Kingdom of Northumbria, which will take her up to the end of the 7th Century.

Connect with Jayne through:

Website

Email (contact@jaynecastel.com), 

Blog, 

Twitter (@JayneCastel), 

Facebook 

Pinterest.

Defining 'Nobility' in Later Anglo-Saxon England

By Annie Whitehead

The word ‘nobility’ is a vague term; no society in history could be described as having an upper social tier whose members were all of equal wealth and statues. The Anglo-Saxon aristocracy certainly had more than one stratum, and any detailed study of these men must entail a definition of these different levels.

In the eighth-century, Bede wrote of a group of men called ‘comites’, the Anglo-Saxon translation of which is ‘gesiths'. In origin, a gesith was an honourable companion, usually of the king. Most often he would be of noble birth, and he would be either a retainer or the holder of an estate. By the tenth-century, the word was no longer used to describe a personal retainer. HR Loyn [1] suggests that by this time the gesith may well have been a retired retainer settled on his estate. He suggests further that the pattern in the tenth-century may have been as follows:

seal of Godwin the thegn - 11thc

"The retainer at court was termed ‘thegn’. If he was promoted , he became an ealdorman, and when he retired he became a ‘gesith’."

Whatever the truth of the matter, it is clear that by the tenth-century the thegns were subordinate to the king's thegns and to the ealdormen, and that the gesith was no longer engaged in active service for the king.

One distinction between the gesith and the thegn was that of age; the thegn was a young man, the gesith more mature. Initially the thegn was not a powerful man, the term sometimes merely denoting a servant, albeit one who was free. By the tenth-century, however, ‘thegn’ had taken on a more specialised meaning. The law codes of the period show us something of how the thegns had become more important as servants of the king. They were given the responsibility of helping the king to ensure that the church was observing its rules:

"And I and my thegns shall compel our priests to that which the pastors of our souls direct us (clerical celibacy)." [2]

It is also clear that the thegns now had their own class, with a recognisable rank:

“And my thegns are to have their dignity in my time as they had in my father’s.” [3]

Anglo-Saxon society was not a static one. Thegnship had developed as a class of its own, but this did not mean that one had to be born into that class to belong to it.

“And if a ceorl prospered, that he possessed fully five hides of land of his own, a bell and a castle-gate, a seat and a special office in the king’s hall, then was he henceforth entitled to the rights of a thegn.” [4]

It is doubtful how many achieved this, but the opportunity was at least there in theory.

Thegns were graded according to their relationship with the king. The king's thegns would recognise no other lord than the king [5] and might themselves be lords to other thegns. The lesser thegns would have a lord other than the king. Their heriot (see below) would go to their lord, not the king.

From among his thegns the king appointed ealdormen. These men were the king’s representatives in the localities. The main ealdordoms were Northumbria [6], East Anglia, Mercia and Wessex. The office was not strictly hereditary, although many ealdormen succeeded their fathers. In the king’s lands his presence was felt through his reeves, but increasingly the king’s reeves were used as a check against the ealdormen. A grant of King Aethelred II’s shows that an ealdorman had no authority to deal with a breach of law by a king’s reeve, and had to appeal directly to the king. [7]

Aethelred II (Unraed - 'Unready')

The Witan was the high council, and its members were powerful wealthy thegns, and bishops and abbots. The bishops were powerful men, usually from noble families themselves. The witness lists to royal charters show a strict order of seniority. The king signs first, followed by the archbishops, bishops and abbots. The ealdormen sign next, followed by the king’s thegns. Among the ealdormen, there was also a strict order; the most influential of the moment signed above the others. Usually the order changed following the death of an ealdorman, but it was possible for some to gain prominence without such an event. Eadric Streona, Ealdorman of Mercia in the reign of Aethelred II, headed the lists in the lifetime of men who had at one time been his seniors.

charter showing the witness list

The heriot (war-gear), as defined in II Cnut [8] also demonstrated seniority of rank: among the earl’s heriot is the requirement "eight horses, four saddled and four unsaddled.” The requirement of the king’s thegn is "four horses, two saddled and two unsaddled.” Of the lesser thegn the corresponding requirement is for "a horse and its trappings."

The law of the North People, and the Law of the Mercians [9] show the position of the nobility in relation to lesser men. The Law of the North People sets out the wergild* thus:

• The wergild of the archbishop and the atheling is 15,000 thrymsas
• That of a bishop and an ealdorman 8,000 thrymsas
• That of a king’s high-reeve 4,000 thrymsas
• That of a mass-thegn and a secular thegn 2,000 thrymsas
• A ceorl’s (churl) wergild is 266 thrymsas

(* wergild was essentially the price, or worth, of a man's life; a payment due to the family by the person who killed him)

In the Law of the Mercians a ceorl's wergild is 200 shillings, and a thegn’s wergild is "six times as much." So between the thegn and the atheling, the wergild is doubled each time. In contrast, the thegn’s wergild is six times that of a ceorl. Despite the professed opportunity for social mobility, the Anglo-Saxon aristocracy was clearly set apart from the rest of society by a substantial distance.

Cnut

As well as possessing considerable rights over his lands and his vassals, a lord had a duty to safe-guard his men. The terms of the fealty oath are vague, but there is other evidence which describes more fully the nature of the personal bond between a man and his lord. In the reign of Edward the elder (899-924), a letter was written to the king describing the history of an estate at Fonthill, Wiltshire. [10] It describes how a thief, Helmstan, was required to give an oath to clear himself of the charges brought against him. He asked his lord Ordlaf to intercede for him, which Ordlaf did, even though his man was guilty. Although this practice was forbidden [11] there are many other illustrations in the law codes of the lord’s obligations to his man.

A tenant who did not pay his rent could expect his lord to be lenient and exact no penalty. [12] If an accused man ran away, his lord had the responsibility of paying the man's wergild to the king. [13] Any master who forced his slave to work on a feast day forfeited the slave and paid a fine. [14] An accused man could expect his lord to stand surety for him, and if the man ran away from the ordeal it was the lord who had to pay his wergild. [15]

The betrayal of a lord was beyond compensation, according to the laws of Cnut. [16] The personal bond was a two-way responsibility, and the man must be seen to honour his obligations to his lord. The Battle of Maldon shows how seriously this responsibility was taken. Eadric resolves to serve his lord in battle and "now that the time had come to fight, before his lord he duly kept his vow (hold-oath)." When Byrhtnoth is killed, his men have a duty to avenge his death. Traditionally this means that they have to kill the whole of the Viking army to ensure that they kill the actual soldier by whose hands Byrhtnoth has been slain:

“They all intended one of two results,
To love their lives or to avenge their dear one.”

In this stratified society, every man had a duty to protect the men in his care, and to serve the man who protected him. At the top level, the king of course served no-one, and had only the responsibility of protecting his people. At the lowest levels of society the obligation would be only service. The aristocracy had two duties: they served the king (and their lord if they had one) and in return they were rewarded. They had their own men who served them as lord, and in return they offered their man protection, especially under the law.

[1] Gesiths and Thegns in Anglo-Saxon England from the Seventh to the Tenth century - HR Loyn
[2] IV Edgar 1.8.
[3] IV Edgar 2.a.
[4] EHD (English Historical Documents) Vol 1 52 - A Compilation on Status (1002-1023)
[5] "And no-one is to have any jurisdiction over a king's thegn except the king himself." III Aethelred 11
[6] Because of the Scandinavian influence in the north, the ealdormen in Northumbria were termed 'Eorl'
[7] EHD 117 page 525
[8] EHD 50 page 419
[9] EHD 52 - A Compilation on Status
[10] EHD 102 page 501
[11] II Cnut 20.1 "Many an over-bearing man will, if he can and may, defend his man which ever way it seems to him that he can defend him more easily ... but we will not allow that abuse."
[12] II&III Edgar 1.1.
[13] II Cnut 31.1.
[14] II Cnut 45.3.
[15] III Aethelred 4. & 6.2.
[16] II Cnut 64.

~~~~~~~~~~

Annie Whitehead is a history graduate and member of the Royal Historical Society. Her first novel, To Be A Queen, is the story of Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred the Great, who came to be known as the Lady of the Mercians. It was long-listed for the Historical Novel Society’s Indie Book of the Year 2016. Her new release, Alvar the Kingmaker, which tells the story of Aelfhere of Mercia, a nobleman in the time of King Edgar, is available now, and is the story of one man’s battle to keep the monarchy strong and the country at peace, when successive kings die young.
Find her on her author page HERE
Buy Alvar the Kingmaker
Buy To Be A Queen

A sparrow's flight through King Edwin's great hall at Gefrin

by Matthew Harffy

One of the most famous sections in the Venerable Bede's Eccleciastical History of the English People (Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum) is when King Edwin, king of the Northumbrians calls a council of his wisest retainers to debate whether they should convert to Christianity. Bede reports that one of the "king's chief men" gave the following speech, in which he compared man's life to that of a sparrow flying through a hall in winter:

The present life of man upon earth, O king, seems to me, in comparison with that time which is unknown to us, like to the swift flight of a sparrow through the house wherein you sit at supper in winter, with your ealdormen and thegns, while the fire blazes in the midst, and the hall is warmed, but the wintry storms of rain or snow are raging abroad. The sparrow, flying in at one door and immediately out at another, whilst he is within, is safe from the wintry tempest; but after a short space of fair weather, he immediately vanishes out of your sight, passing from winter into winter again. So this life of man appears for a little while, but of what is to follow or what went before we know nothing at all. If, therefore, this new doctrine tells us something more certain, it seems justly to deserve to be followed.

Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, ed. by A.M. Sellar, [1907]

There has been much debate about whether the words were truly spoken, or merely written by Bede as an elegant explanation of life and the hope that Christianity could provide to shine light into the darkness of where we have come from and where we are heading. Perhaps the words were spoken, but had been rehearsed and taught to the man by Paulinus, the Christian missionary who had come from Rome, by way of Kent, to preach to the people of England. Whatever the truth of the matter, the words eloquently sum up mankind's total lack of knowledge about what lies beyond the realms of this life, using a metaphor that is as easily understood by anyone now, as it would have been in the early seventh century.

Today of all days, the shortest day of the year, Geola (Yule), as the Anglo-Saxons knew it, we can all imagine the hall in winter, warm inside, protected from the winter chill. And yet there are things that conjure up the picture of the great hall of the early medieval period and give us a small insight into what the hall was like. We see that the hall has a fire that "blazes in the midst". The hearth-fire would provide a pleasant smoky heat for all those lucky enough to be inside, whilst the cold blustery British weather beat against the timbers outside, causing the building to creak and groan. The sparrow flies in one door and out at another, so we learn that the hall has more than one entrance. It would have had windows too, though they would have not been glazed. Wooden shutters would be closed against the night and the elements.

It is not clear where this congregation of Edwin's retinue took place, but it could well have been at Ad Gefrin, or simply Gefrin, (modern-day Yeavering, Northumberland), where one of Edwin's royal vils stood. There was a great hall there and several other buildings. Anglo-Saxon kings travelled their lands from hall to hall, at each place reaffirming to the populace their power, presiding in judgement over disputes and accepting tribute. These halls were dotted about the kingdom, and the king and his retinue would journey from one to the next throughout the year. One such hall and royal township was Gefrin.

Gefrin was mentioned by Bede, but its exact location was forgotten and lost for centuries. Until, in 1949, an aerial survey, carried out by Professor J. K. St. Joseph, revealed an impressive series of crop marks in a field just north of Yeavering Bell. The survey was looking for Roman camp remains, but what it uncovered was arguably one of the greatest archaeological finds of the twentieth century.

Aerial photograph taken by St Joseph, 9th July 1949 (enhanced)
Photo: Used with permission. Copyright Brian Cosgrove / The Gefrin Trust.

A young Cambridge scholar, Brian Hope-Taylor, carried out a detailed excavation of the site from 1953 to 1962. Hope-Taylor’s work revealed a complex of great timber halls, some over eighty-five feet (26m) in length. There were also ancillary buildings, such as kitchens, a weaving shed and what may have been a pagan temple, later converted to Christian use.

Brian Hope-Taylor
Photo: Copyright Brian Cosgrove / Gefrin Trust. Used with permission.

One of the most remarkable buildings discovered is a large timber grandstand. It was a tiered, wedge-shaped construction, where many could sit to listen to a single speaker at the bottom point of the wedge, much like a modern-day lecture theatre. It is quite possible that King Edwin’s audience with all of his thegns and nobles to discuss the future religion of the kingdom took place at this very site. Perhaps, it was where Paulinus preached to large groups of people before baptising them in the River Glen, as described by Bede. Whatever its true purpose, it is an unusual and singular find.

Digital reconstruction of the "theatre" building.
Photo: Copyright Brian Cosgrove / Gefrin Trust. Used with permission.

The building work on the site started in the 6th century and the settlement was occupied for over 150 years. There is evidence that many of the buildings were burnt around 633, probably as a result of the war with Cadwallon of Gwynedd (or at least that fits with the timeline).

In September 2013, I was lucky enough to travel to Gefrin as part of the research for my first novel, The Serpent Sword. The site is now owned by The Gefrin Trust. It has placed some plaques and signs at the entrance to the field, but there is little else there to show its historical importance.

I arrived in the late afternoon and the rain that had been beating down all day finally decided to give me some respite. It was overcast, with broken cloud. The sun was attempting to shine through, but failing.

Welcome to Gefrin.
Photo: Copyright Matthew Harffy

The gateway into the field is carved with goat heads and is evocative of the gables of the great hall that stood there in the early medieval period. (Gefrin means "hill of the goats".)

Gefrin: Hill of goats.
Photo: Copyright Matthew Harffy

As I stepped over the stile into the long, plush, rain-soaked grass, I was struck by the stillness. The large area is surrounded by brooding hills. Grey clouds billowed over the peak to the north. To the south, a farmer burnt some refuse on a bonfire, the smoke wafting on the slight breeze.

Brooding hills surround Gefrin.
Photo: Copyright Matthew Harffy

I traipsed through the grass, the rain drenching my trousers and feet (as I discovered that my hiking shoes were not at all waterproof!). A small brown bird, surprised at my approach, burst from the foliage and flew away, squeaking angrily.

I stood there, dimly aware of time ticking by, but for a moment lost from the bustle of modern civilization. As I surveyed the land around me, I could imagine the wooden buildings of Gefrin. The smoke could have come from the forge, where Strang, and his daughter Sunniva, worked the metal for spear points and tools. The view of the hills could have been partially blocked by the great hall, its wooden-shingled roof, bejewelled and glistening with the remnants of the rain. The unusual, tiered, amphitheatre-like structure, would have cast its shadow over the grass.

Flowers after the rain.
Photo: Copyright Matthew Harffy

The same flowers would have grown there. The same grass. It was easy to imagine how it would have been nearly 1,400 years ago.

A car sped by on the road, breaking the silence. I had to leave this place and head back to my hotel in Newcastle.

I drove through hills, small villages and forests, all the time thinking of the characters in my story walking these same lands, traversing tracks and old, crumbling Roman roads.

What there was before we were born is still a mystery to us today. What comes after this life is still as dark to us as to the sparrow flying out of the hall into the stormy night of midwinter. Something about this continuity of mankind’s lack of knowledge through the ages gladdens me. But then I think of the burning of the hall at Gefrin, when different peoples clashed over land and religion, killing those who disagreed with them, or stood in their way. And I think of the world today, at what we see daily in the news, and I realise, with great sorrow, that in 1,400 years so much is different, and yet, nothing has changed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matthew Harffy lived in Northumberland as a child and the area had a great impact on him. The rugged terrain, ruined castles and rocky coastline made it easy to imagine the past. Decades later, a documentary about Northumbria's Golden Age sowed the kernel of an idea for a series of historical fiction novels. The first is the action-packed tale of vengeance and coming of age, The Serpent Sword. In The Serpent Sword you can read what happened to the great hall of Gefrin. The sequel, The Cross and The Curse is released on 22nd January 2016.

The Serpent Sword is available on Amazon.
The Cross and the Curse is available for pre-order on Amazon.

Website: www.matthewharffy.com
Twitter: MatthewHarffy
Facebook: MatthewHarffyAuthor

References:
http://www.gefrin.com/
http://gefrintrust.org/
Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, ed. by A.M. Sellar, [1907]