Monthly Blog Post: June (and a bit of murder...)

 June already! In Old English this month was called Ærra Līþa "Before Midsummer", or sometimes Brāh-mānod "First Summer".

June is quite the month - it's a time for haymaking, harvesting early crops such as barley and, especially in Anglo-Saxon times, enjoying fresh dairy produce. Of course the summer solstice happens in June too.

Historically June is a month when big events happened: the sealing of the Magna Carta (15th June, 1215) and of course, more recently, the D-Day landings (4th June, 1944). 

But this month, there are two standout stories from the Anglo-Saxon era. They both tie in nicely with my new book, and the first apparently occurred on 1st of this month. So let's talk murder... child murder at that!

The Anglo-Saxon Crypt at Repton - my photo

We start with a royal power struggle in Mercia in the ninth century, and on the face of it, it's the story of a spoiled brat of a 'prince' *, Wigstan, who objected to his mother's remarriage. It seems as though Wigstan's mother had been married to a former king of Mercia, and her suitor was the son of his successor. On the face of it, it looks as though Wigstan, being of that age, was resentful that his mother was choosing to marry again. Things took a nasty turn though when he was murdered. Quite an extreme reaction, you'd have thought.

However, there's more to this than meets the eye (isn't there always?) because whilst it's not entirely clear whether Wigstan's father was ever king - though it does seem likely - there is no doubt that his paternal grandfather was. And here's where it gets complicated, because his maternal grandfather had also been a king of Mercia, which means that Wigstan had very blue blood indeed.

Mercian politics at this time was dominated by the power struggles between various branches of the royal family. It's a list of confusingly similar names and easiest described as a rivalry between kings whose names began with B, C, or W. For simplicity - it's explored at much more length in my new book - let's just say here that one of Wigstan's grandfathers was a C king, the other a W king, and the king who was trying to marry his son off to Wigstan's mother was from the rival B branch.

With this borne in mind, it starts to look as though the B king, having seen off his rival and was now sitting pretty on the throne, wanted to marry his son to the widow of a previous king, to bolster his credentials and strengthen any resulting dynasty. It looks as if Wigstan was just a bit too much of a threat to those plans, and it may be that he never objected at all to the wedding, but was sidelined - permanently - anyway.

This story is representative of so many of the murders in the book. It has a young victim, bloody coups, and many legends attached to it. There's also something less common about it, for it is possible to visit the crypt where Wigstan's bones were laid to rest, near his grandfather's. Underneath St Wystan's church in Repton, Derbyshire, the Angl0-Saxon crypt still exists. It's thought that this is where another Mercian king, Æthelbald, also murdered, was laid to rest. The Repton Stone, thought to represent this king, can be viewed in Derby Museum.

The Repton Stone - my photo

Do visit if you get the opportunity. You can get a 'three-for-one', because next door to the church in the grounds of the vicarage is where archaeological teams have been excavating a Viking burial ground. At the museum in Derby you'll also see the sarcophagus of St Alkmund, another alleged murder victim!

The next story from June is the death of King Harthacnut on 8th June 1042. It was not recorded as murder, but the description of his death does suggest that it might have been poison. 

Harthacnut came to the throne after the death of his half-brother, Harold Harefoot. They were both sons of King Cnut and after their father died an unedifying struggle for control ensued, largely spearheaded by their mothers, Queen Emma and Ælfgifu of Northampton respectively. Harthacnut’s inability to get back to England after his father’s death was a major deciding factor in Harold's election as king.

Harold only reigned in total for around five years, and Harthacnut only two. The family had a disposition for dying young, it would seem. Or did they?

We have a description of Harthacnut’s death: 

He was attending a wedding and, ‘He was standing at his drink and he suddenly fell to the ground with fearful convulsions, and those who were near caught him, and he spoke no words afterwards.’ It does look suspiciously like death by poison. Who would have wanted him dead?

One chronicle said that Harthacnut did nothing worthy of a king, and had Harold’s body dug up and thrown into a fen. 

In the year before his death he’d sent tax collectors to ravage Worcestershire and gather eye-wateringly high amounts of tribute, and two of these collectors were killed by the people of Worcester. Harthacnut was clearly making enemies. And matters weren’t helped when he then sent a large force to burn the city and ‘lay waste the whole province.’

None of the chronicles records foul play, and it’s probably unlikely that any citizens of Worcester made their way into the wedding, but could any erstwhile supporters of Harold Harefoot have got close enough to put poison in the king’s drink? 

Both these stories, and many more, are explored in my new book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England: Justice, Wergild, Revenge.

*this term was not used at the time

Monthly Blog Post: May, and Edgar's Coronation

The year is flying by, and I can hardly believe we're already in May.

In Old English, this month was known as Þrimilce-mōnaþ "Month of Three Milkings", because of the plentiful production of milk by the animals at this time of year. In this period, animals were 'dry' over winter, not milked all year round. This produced a glut in summer months, and so any cheeses made over the summer were soft, and any surplus then smoked for the autumn/winter. (There would still be a 'hunger gap' in the early spring, when preserved supplies ran out before the new crops etc were ready.)

We usually have two bank holidays in May, one at the beginning and one at the end. The first one is a fairly modern thing, but Whitsun is not. The late Spring Bank Holiday was still known as 'Whit Monday' until the 1970s.

Whitsun appears to be a contraction of 'White Sunday', a reference to the white garments worn by those baptised on that day.

In the year 973, it was an important time for another reason...

One of my favourites from this period is King Edgar, about whom I've written many times, in fiction and nonfiction. He had quite the reputation as a philanderer, which may or may not have been deserved.

King Edgar as depicted on the frontispiece of
the New Minster Charter, mentioned below

He came to the throne in 957, possibly as a boy of only 14. His father, Edmund I, had been assassinated when Edgar and his brother were infants, and was succeeded by their uncle. When he died, the kingship past to Edgar's elder brother, Eadwig. Described by most chroniclers* as a foolish boy, Eadwig gave away vast tracts of land in order to bolster support, but Edgar's foster-father, the powerful Athelstan 'Half-king' of East Anglia, helped to secure Northumbrian and Mercian support for Edgar, and for a while the kingdom was split, with Eadwig still in control of Wessex, and minting coins, and Edgar controlling the midlands and the north, and issuing charters as 'king of the Mercians'.

It wasn't a tenable situation, and in 959, aged only around 19, Eadwig died** and Edgar became king of a united England.

His epithet is Edgar the Peaceable, and it's true that there were no 'Viking' raids during his reign. He also facilitated the Benedictine Reform, spear-headed by archbishops Dunstan and Oswald and Bishop Æthelwold. The coinage was reformed during his reign, too.

The Monastic Reform was not to everyone's liking, and in its wake there was a bit of a free-for-all regarding Church land, and in fact after Edgar's untimely death in 975 the political situation descended into chaos, with land disputes, fighting, and an unedifying argument over the succession, which was resolved when his eldest son, Edward, was killed, leaving the way open for his youngest son Æthelred, to succeed. His epithet was rather less prestigous than his father's: 'unræd' (ill-counselled). 

Æthelred's mother was Edgar's last wife. It is said that he had three wives, but there is little evidence that the first, Æthelflæd Eneda, existed. Tradition has it that his second wife, Wulfthryth, was a consecrated nun who was tricked into marriage by Edgar. This story is an amalgam of several reports by later chroniclers, and it is likely that she had not taken her vows. She seems to have been the mother of the hapless Edward (epithet: the Martyr) and Edith, later St Edith of Wilton.

His last, and I think second, wife, was Ælfthryth, who had previously been married to his foster-brother, son of Athelstan Half-king. Again, stories abound: this first husband tricked Edgar into thinking she was not attractive, and married her himself; Edgar had him murdered; she duped Edgar into marrying her... Again, all probably untrue. She was also implicated by some sources in the killing of her stepson Edward, and was at various times accused of witchcraft and another murder.***

Edgar, as mentioned above, became full king in 959, but did not have a coronation ceremony until that Whit Sunday in 973. Many historians, myself included, believe that he might have been crowned earlier, and that this ceremony had added meaning. It took place in Bath, on the border of Mercia and Wessex, perhaps to signify his dominion over both erstwhile kingdoms, and happened when he was 30, the canonical age for a bishop. There was certainly an element of show. We are told that after this ceremony in Bath, Edgar went to Chester and was rowed along the River Dee and paid homage by several other kings, who now were deemed to be sub-kings. It was, by the looks of it, a show of Imperial Power, and again, the siting of the ceremony, the old Roman city of Bath, adds weight to this notion.

The really significant thing, though, is that Ælfthryth was consecrated queen alongside him. This was the first known instance of a queen consort being crowned.**** In an important document, a charter confirming the privileges of the New Minster in Winchester, it is clear that the eldest son of this union was given precedence over Edgar's son by Wulfthryth, Edward. Sadly for Queen Ælfthryth this did not stop his being elected king when Edgar died, at a comparatively young age in 975, just two years after the coronation. And she is always likely to be remembered as the wicked stepmother who ordered his killing, as shown in this image, where she welcomes her stepson to her house at Corfe, while her henchman prepares to kill him.

*One chronicler, Æthelweard, wrote of Eadwig in glowing terms, but was probably related to him and therefore biased.

** For an in-depth look at Eadwig's ill-fated reign and the political importance of his short-lived marriage, see my article here: https://t.co/uTmElKcyPR

***If you'd like to read more about Ælfthryth, please do check out my latest book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England, which lays out all the accusations made against her, and challenges almost all of them! It also looks at the convenient, and timely for some, death of Eadwig, and challenges what is usually thought about the assassination of Edmund, father of these two young boys.

**** You can read more about Ælfthryth's life in general in my book Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England.

I've also written a novel about Edgar's leading nobleman: Alvar the Kingmaker

Of which the Historical Novel Society said:

'Alvar is closely associated with both kings. Young, but mature and trusty, he helps protect, support and guide them and soon regards himself as a kingmaker. The novel develops his character along with the narrative. He does not have an easy ride. In love and respect he has to bide his time.

The conflicts between different factions and rival individuals surrounding Alvar’s life are convincing. They keep the drama flowing, and the women in the novel are nicely drawn, fulfilling the lifestyle expected of females at that time yet showing their individual personalities. They also have key parts in the action; Kata, for instance, the love of Alvar’s life, is depicted as quiet yet emotionally strong and open-minded.'

Well, I did say I'd written an awful lot about Edgar's reign! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy May, with all its wonderful blossoms. (Blossom is another lovely Old English word!)

Monthly Blog Post - April

 And just like that, we're into April already. 2025 has gone really quickly. Let's dive in with some facts about this month:

April was known in Old English as Easter-mōnaþ which is perhaps not surprising. Bede, the Northumbrian monk, said  that Easter Month was so named because it was the month of the goddess Ēostre. There's a lot of debate about this last point, and whether Bede invented this pagan goddess. Arguments rage, too, about the rabbits, hares and eggs and what they symbolise.

Ostara (1884) by Johannes Gehrts

There was also, back in the seventh century, a great deal of debate about when to celebrate Easter, something which I illustrated in my novels about the lives of King Penda of Mercia and his family, Cometh the Hour and The Sins of the Father.

In the first, a young Kentish bride travels north to her husband's kingdom of Northumbria, there to find that while she, having been brought up in the 'Roman' faith, was still observing Lent, her husband, brought up in the 'Celtic' tradition of Christianity, had already observed Easter and was feasting.

In the second book, the king and queen are at odds, for many reasons, one being her patronage of the troublesome Bishop, later Saint, Wilfrid. King and queen (or at least, her representative) were on opposing sides at the Synod of Whitby in 664 where, amongst other things, an agreement was finally reached on the dating of Easter.

I had cause to mention this event in my new (nonfiction) book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England, too, since that king, Oswiu, was also at odds with one of his sons, another friend of Wilfrid's. That son disappeared from the records after the synod. Was Oswiu to blame? He certainly had form, having earlier in his reign ordered the murder of a rival king, who just happened to be a second cousin of his wife's. Read more about that HERE. I'm amazed they remained married as long as they did!

Wilfrid himself, definitely a 'turbulent' priest, died in April, on 24th in 709. He'd presented himself to the queen, Eanflæd, when he was just fourteen, asking for her sponsorship. Bede brings us this story in his Ecclesiastical History, and it's an example of proof that queens ran their own separate households at this time. Wilfrid had a habit of annoying people and could be considered haughty - he famously decided that there was none fit in England to consecrate him when he became a bishop, and went off to Gaul to find someone suitably qualified.

He also caused uproar when King Oswiu's son, who succeeded him, married Æthelthryth of East Anglia. She'd been married before, and apparently was still a virgin and wished to remain so, and in this endeavour she was encouraged by Wilfrid who thus made himself unpopular with yet another king. There are various versions of her escape from her husband, and you can read about her HERE. (Image is my photo of a painting at Hexham, taken and published with kind permission of the rector of Hexham Abbey.)

She became abbess of Ely, and the modern version of her name is Audrey. It is from her that we get the word 'Tawdry', or rather from the inferior quality of the souvenirs that were sold to pilgrims.

Wilfrid's death on that April day was, according to the Old English Martyology, quite the spectacle. The house in which he was born was seen burning by the neighbours who rushed to put out the flames, but when they got nearer, there were no flames at all. When Wilfrid gave up the ghost a noise was heard like the sound of large birds and a host of angels took him to heaven. I rather suspect that Wilfrid would have had no qualms in arguing with God when he got there!

The 7th-century crypt at Ripon, built on the orders
Of Wilfrid. Author's own photo

Another Anglo-Saxon character who's not noted for his sense of humour (with good reason, given his stomach ailment and the waves of Danes wanting to take over his kingdom) was Alfred the Great. And yet it seems that we have him to thank for the notion of Easter being an official holiday. 

Search on the internet and you'll find that "Taking a break for Easter actually dates back to 877 when Alfred the Great decreed that the fortnight on either side of Easter Sunday should be a national holiday. This lasted until the thirteenth century when the first week was dropped. Instead, a further two days, known as ‘hocktide’ were tagged to the end of the holiday."

Now, hocktide is certainly a 'thing', referring to the Monday and Tuesday in the second week after Easter. And in Alfred's laws we find this: "To all free people let these following days be granted as holidays but not to slaves and servile workers, twelve days at Christmas (Gehol)... and seven days before Easter and seven after." *

Alfred's statue - Pixabay chrisjmit

And there is an episode in Alfred's life connected to Easter. We are told by Asser, a monk commissioned to write Alfred's biography, and by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that after his hall at Chippenham was attacked by Vikings on or just after 12th Night, Alfred led his followers to Athelney, arriving there at Easter 878. It has been noted** that this might be symbolism, with Alfred rising victorious just as Christ had done that first Easter Day and the sources do not specify that it was Easter Sunday, with one saying 'after' Easter and one 'around' Easter.

Still, as we know, and despite the ruling at Whitby, Easter is still very much a movable feast! However (and if) you celebrate, Happy Easter!

* Griffiths: An Introduction to Early English Law. See also English Historical Documents Vol I, ed. Dorothy Whitelock 

**https://thepostgradchronicles.org/

King Oswiu and a Touch of Murder

Today, 15th February 2025, is the publication date of my new book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England: Justice, Wergild, Revenge, and it's rather apt that 15th February (AD 670) is also the date of the death of King Oswiu of Northumbria, who features early on in the book.

The book opens with the assassination attempt on the life of King Edwin of Northumbria. He had been forced into exile by a rival king, Æthelfrith of Bernicia (the kingdom which eventually formed the northern part of Northumbria). Æthelfrith had killed the king of Deira (the southern part) and driven his family, including Edwin, into exile.

Well, not all of the family. He married Edwin's sister (I doubt she was a willing bride) and had a number of sons by her, of whom Oswiu was thought to be one. I say 'thought' because while it is almost always said that Oswiu was the product of that marriage, and therefore half Bernician, half Deiran, he had tremendous difficulty establishing his rule over the southern kingdom.

Edwin had defeated Æthelfrith in battle in 616 with the help of King Rædwald of East Anglia (he of alleged Sutton Hoo burial fame), causing his sister's sons to retreat into exile, and ruled both of the Northumbrian kingdoms until he was killed in battle by King Penda of the Mercians. First, his nephew Oswald came out of exile to rule both of the kingdoms, until he, too, was killed in battle by Penda.

Oswiu then stepped forward, but was unable to secure his grip on Deira. It took him some time to travel south to retrieve his brother's body from the battlefield, which suggests that he did not feel secure enough to leave his power base. He may well not have been Oswald's full brother, something which is hinted at in Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English Peoples, and this might be one of the reasons why he chose as his bride a princess from Kent, whose name was Eanflæd. In fact, she was only half Kentish, because her father was Edwin of Deira. This marriage must have been designed to help him get a surer footing in Deira.

The trouble for Oswiu was that there was another claimant to that kingdom. Oswine was the son of Edwin's cousin, who had been exiled at the same time as Edwin. He now ruled Deira and Oswiu was not happy.

According to Bede, the two rival kings raised armies, but Oswine decided that the odds of victory in battle were too heavily stacked against him, and withdrew. He went with one retainer to the house of a man named Hunwold, whom he assumed to be loyal. He was not; he betrayed Oswine and the Deiran king was killed. Oswiu had removed his rival and now ruled both kingdoms.

But this was not quite the happy ending he might have wished for, because Oswine was related to Eanflæd, and she was not best pleased that her husband had had her second cousin killed.

The subtitle of my new book mentions wergild, a man price. Every life was measured in terms of worth, with the wergild payable to the kin of anyone unlawfully killed. Thus Eanflæd demanded the payment due, but not in the form of coin. Rather Oswiu, in expiation of his crime, had an abbey built at a place called Gilling, where prayers were to be said for the murdered king and for Oswiu. The first abbot was another kinsman of Eanflæd's.

This is one of two notable examples of wergild being demanded by royal women after their kinsmen had been killed and that payment being made in the form of the establishment of religious houses. The other case will be detailed in a future blog post.

This is not the only reason Oswiu features so prominently in the book. He had a complicated love life, and it's thought that he had children by three different women. One of his sons, Alhfrith, appears to have ruled Deira as a subkingdom for his father, but their relationship was strained.

In 664 the famous Synod of Whitby took place, remembered chiefly for establishing once and for all the method by which the date of Easter is calculated. Father and son were on different sides of the debate, and Alhfrith disappears from the record after this. Perhaps he died of a fever, or in battle. But he was not the first Deiran subking to disappear from the records - along with Oswine, we also might wonder what happened to Oswiu's nephew who also held that precarious title for a short while before again, vanishing from the chronicles - and there is a tantalising hint as to what might have happened to Alhfrith.

In Bewcastle in Cumbria, in the region where Alhfrith's mother called home, there is a huge stone cross, which appears to have been erected in memory of Alhfrith. Did he challenge his father, lose the battle, and end his days in exile? Or was his death more sinister?

More detail and insights into these incidents can be found in the book: 

Murder in Anglo-Saxon England: Justice, Wergild, Revenge

'We all love a good murder story. Historian and author Annie Whitehead has collated around 100 cases in Anglo-Saxon England, from regicides to robberies gone wrong, and from personal feuds to state-sanctioned slaughter, examining their veracity and asking what, if anything, they can tell us about the motives of those who recorded them and about Anglo-Saxon governance and society. The records contain many stories of murder, some of which include details of witchcraft and poisoning, or of betrayal of the worst kind, leaving us with the impression that this period was one of lawlessness and rebellion. But how many of these tales are true, and how do they square with a period known to have had lengthy, detailed law codes and harsh punishment for unlawful killing? Was the ‘Viking’ practice of killing by blood eagle – with reference to King Aelle of Northumbria, an alleged victim – a myth or real? Annie Whitehead also makes a few accusations herself – invoking the old adage that there is no smoke without fire…' 

 Available now from Amazon, Amberley Publishing, and all good book stores.

February Monthly Post & A New Book

Last month I mentioned that the Anglo-Saxons had very descriptive names for the months of the year and February is no exception. It was known as Sol-mōnaþ (mud month). Bede said it was "the month of cakes, which they offered in it to their gods." Perhaps the cakes looked like they were made of mud due to their colour and texture, or maybe it was literally the month of mud due to wet English weather, although presumably this month name came over from the Continent with them.  And this image, from the fifteenth-century Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, certainly shows a snowy, cold scene, rather than mud!

This year, 2025, February begins on a Saturday, which in Old English was Saeterdaeg, perhaps not so strange to the modern eye.

The Old English Martyrology says that when the Sol-mōnaþ is over, 'the night is fourteen hours long, and the day ten hours.'

But almost right in the middle of the month something is happening and I'm quite excited about it, for on February 15th, my third full-length nonfiction book will be published.

Murder in anglo-Saxon England 626-1076: Justice, Wergild, Revenge is published by Amberley Books and draws together around a hundred recorded cases of murder during the anglo-Saxon period. I've looked at the sources, contemporary and later, to see if we can't get to the truth behind some of the more sensational murders, and I've also made a few accusations of my own, where I'm convinced that the story is a bit too coincidental...

If you want tales of poison, bloodfeud, the legendary 'Blood Eagle', eyes being put out, infanticide and general treachery, this might be the book for you! But I've tried to put everything into its political context, and I've also examined the law codes and the role of kingship as well as taking a look at execution cemeteries and burial practices.

It would be lovely if I could tell you that one of these murders was committed in the month of February, but alas no, at least not to the best of my knowledge. 

However, it is my intention to publish some blog posts throughout the year highlighting some of the stories in the book, so keep popping by.

Monthly Blog Post - January

 Happy New Year!

January already and the start of 2025. January in several languages is pretty much instantly recognisable:

French: Janvier

Italian: Gennaio

Spanish: Enero

These of course are 'Romance' languages.

What of the Teutonic?

German (and Danish): Januar

Not much change there, really.

How about Welsh then?

That's Ionawr, so again, you can see the similarity.

In Anglo-Saxon times, though, January was Æfterra Gēola "After Yule", or "Second Yule" and it makes sense, doesn't it?

The Old English months of the year are not so much names as descriptors, and a lot of Old English seems to be a case of 'say what you see', so that we have  earmboga for elbow - literally 'arm bow', ēagduru for window - literally 'eye door', and mereswīn for dolphin or porpoise - literally 'mere swine' (mere being a body of water).

The lovely image of the snowdrops at the top of the post reminds me too how many Old English names for flowers/plants are almost identical to our modern words. See if you can work out what these are: cūslyppe, grundswylige, īfig, oxanslyppe, rōse

[they are: cowslip, groundsel, ivy, oxslip, rose]

The Old English Martyrology gives us some dates for January: January 9th is the Feast of St Pega, the sister of Guthlac the Hermit. He was the son of a Mercian warrior and he lived in a hermitage at Crowland in Lincolnshire and was great friends with the then-exiled Mercian king, Æthelbald. You can read about those two men in my book Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, about Pega in Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England, and there is a blog post about Crowland HERE

January 20th is the Feast of St Sebastian, famously shot through with arrows. When the emperor, Diocletian, found that this had not killed Sebastian, he then had him battered with poles until he gave up the ghost.

An equally gruesome tale is that of St Agnes, whose Feast day is 21st January. The OE Martyrology tells us that she was martyred aged just thirteen. A Roman reeve tried to force her to become his son's wife and when Agnes refused he took her, naked, to a brothel, where she was given a garment by an angel so fine no 'fuller, that is no cloth-worker, could ever have produced on earth.' The reeve's son tried to rape her in the brothel but he was attacked by devils. She was not safe, however, for she was then accused of witchcraft and had a sword thrust down her throat.

On 30th January, 926, the Viking leader of York, Sihtric Cáech, married the sister of Athelstan of Wessex at Tamworth in Mercia. That sister was probably Edith of Polesworth, and you can read a blog post about her HERE. 

The gatehouse at Polesworth Abbey - my photo

But perhaps the most famous event in January is one that happened early on in the month, in the year 1066. The death of Edward the Confessor on January 5th really sounded the death knell for Anglo-Saxon England. He had no children, and the witan, the king's council, elected his brother-in-law, Harold Godwineson, as king. Perhaps all would have been well, perhaps Harold would have died in his bed and been succeeded by his legitimate son (he had a whole family with his hand-fast partner, known as Edith the Swan-neck but actually called Eadgifu) who was said also to be called Harold. We are told that, at the time of the battle of Hastings, the king's official wife was pregnant and later gave birth to this young Harold. That wife was Ealdgyth, a Mercian, granddaughter of Lady Godiva. But of course even if the stories of her bearing a son are true, she became a widow, for her husband died in the battle which is probably the most famous in English history. Certainly almost everyone can remember the date: 1066. (It's also a great piece of quiz knowledge, 1066 being a year which saw three kings on the English throne.) 

As this new year begins, I'm hoping for a bit of 'quiet' time, before things ramp up next month with the publication of my new book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England 626-1076: Justice, Wergild, Revenge. More about that in next month's blog post, but for now, it's up for pre-order HERE

Monthly Blog Post - December

Here we are already in December, in Old English Ærra Gēola "Before Yule", or "First Yule".

This year 1st December falls on a Sunday, or in Old English, Sunnandæg. I don't think any of this really requires a translation, especially when we remember that often-times a 'g' is soft, like a 'y' and so it's easy to see how Gēola becomes Yule, and dæg becomes day.

Christmas, too, is easy enough: Cristes Mæsse.

There's not a great deal of information about how Christmas was celebrated, but one thought always makes me smile - imagine if the Anglo-Saxons had a similar routine to that of modern times, where offspring and their partners take it in turns to visit parents for the festive period. I'm thinking in particular about the families of Penda of Mercia and Oswiu of Northumbria in the seventh century. It really would have been the perfect set up (let's leave aside the fact that of the extended families, Penda alone was a pagan) as three of Penda's children married into Oswiu's family.

His daughter Cyneburh married Alhfrith of Northumbria, while his son Peada married Alhfrith's sister Alhflæd, and then at some point their half-sister Osthryth married Penda's youngest son, Æthelred. On the face of it you'd think these two families would get along tremendously well but no, sadly not. If you've read my novels about Penda's family, Cometh the Hour and The Sins of the Father, you'll know that this was not the case at all and that two of those marriages ended when one partner was murdered. In case you haven't read them, I'll not give any spoilers here!

Of course while I'm mentioning my books, I should also add that you can read more about the lives of Penda and his family in my history of Mercia, Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom and those murders are discussed in greater detail in my new book, Murder in Anglo-Saxon England: Justice, Wergild, Revenge, which will be out in February.

The new book does feature one particularly brutal incident which took place just around Christmas-time: in 780, two ealdormen burnt the king’s patrician, Beorn, in Seletun on 24 December. Was Beorn in his hall, gathered with his family and sitting down at a feast? He was accused by one chronicler of 'unjust severity' but we are not told the exact nature of his perceived crimes.

Of course, December isn't just about Christmas, which let's face it seems to begin in October or November these days. We can still sometimes experience snow, although it seems to happen less often these days. The Old English word for snow was snaw so again, not a huge difference. 

December 13th is St Lucy's or St Lucia's Day and, according to the Old English Martyrology, she was threatened that if she did not renounce her Christian faith, she would be sent to a house of ill-repute and dishonoured until she was dead. But she refused to move and though she was pushed and pulled, stood her ground. She was eventually then bound with ropes and the order was give for her to be stabbed in the stomach with a sword. Still she did not waver, and prophesied that the governor would die that day, and indeed he was led to Rome and sentenced to death by the senate. Lucy herself did not die before a priest had arrived to give her the Eucharist. In some later accounts, her eyes were gouged out before she was executed but were miraculously restored before she was buried.

14th-Century Image of St Lucia/Lucy

A grim story. One wonders how the Romans must have shaken their heads at such obstinate and staunch unwavering faith. Before the Gregorian calendar reform in 1752, her feast day occurred on the shortest day of the year (hence the saying “Lucy light, Lucy light, shortest day and longest night”) *

In December we also have the Winter Solstice, or Midwinter, which was also another term for Christmas. 

There is limited information concerning how Christmas was celebrated. We can surmise by the lack of daylight that 'indoors' started calling and when working days were shorter then more pleasant activities - feasting, drinking, story-telling - would be more prevalent. How much was available to eat though?

Food was seasonal, so much would be dried or preserved and there would be no fresh dairy produce as such animals were 'dry' throughout the winter months. We might imagine that at such special feasts, there was fresh meat - hunted wild boar perhaps. There is evidence that wine was produced and drunk in 'England' at the time, along with ale and of course, mead. (I like to be authentic, but I've tried mead numerous times and still don't like it much!) 

We could also picture the scop (pronounced shop) playing tunes on a lyre, singing songs, or reciting poetry. A sense of belonging was important to the culture, where hearth really did mean home. Such gatherings would emphasise this sense of community.

In a recent online lecture, Professor John Blair made the point that a culture which produced such items as the Lindisfarne Gospels and the Staffordshire Hoard would not have lived in plain, timber buildings. Yes, they were made of wood, but we must surely imagine those buildings with carvings and paintings and wall-hangings (which would help to insulate) and so more than likely greenery would be brought inside to decorate the hall at this time of year.

Candlelight was not a choice back then, of course, and those candles might have been made of smelly tallow or sweeter beeswax.

Obviously the Anglo-Saxon era straddles the conversion to Christianity, but the assumed differences between pagan and Christian 'yule' celebrations would provide too much content for a short blog post.

And that just leads me to say that whether or not you celebrate Christmas, or any other midwinter festival or festival of light, I hope that at some point during the dark days you can draw near the fire and gather with friends and/or family.

*https://www.almanac.com/content/month-of-december-holidays-facts-folklore