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.