The 'Evil' Women of Mercia

Adultery, poison, witchcraft, murder, incitement to murder, and being murdered. Exciting times for the noblewomen of Mercia...

King Edward receives a drink before his stepmother kills him

In my second novel, Alvar the Kingmaker, I wrote about two such women: one stood accused of romping three-in-a-bed with her husband (the king) and her own mother, and being too closely related to her husband. The other stood accused variously of being complicit in the murder of her first husband, of torturing and then murdering an abbot, of being in an adulterous relationship with her second husband, (king, and brother of the previously mentioned king) and finally of colluding in the murder of her stepson, who succeeded her husband as king.

King Edgar meets, and is enchanted by, Ælfthryth

One of these women had no connection with Mercia, but her husband did. One might almost say that he wouldn't have become king without Mercian help. The other lady may well have been related not only to Alfred the Great, but also to a great Mercian family too. I've examined the primary sources and come to my own conclusions about these stories. But they are by no means the only women to be afforded such notoriety.

These women featured in my book Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom published in hardback by Amberley in 2018 and due out in paperback later this year, and recently I've been reacquainting myself with them and a few other 'evil' women, for my new book, Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England, due out on May 30 from Pen and Sword Books. On the face of it, the following women are deserving of the epithet 'evil'. 

Allow me to introduce them:

Alhflæd was the daughter of King Oswiu of Northumbria, nemesis of Penda of Mercia. The kings met on the battlefield in 655, and Oswiu was the victor. And yet, for all that these two kingdoms were bitter enemies during the seventh century, there was a lot of inter-marriage between the two royal houses. Penda's son married Oswiu's daughter, and Oswiu's daughter married Penda's son. This son was named Peada, and Bede remembered him for converting the peoples over whom he was made king, the Middle Angles, to Christianity. According to Bede:

He asked for the hand of [Oswiu's] daughter Alhflæd ... and gladly declared himself ready to become a Christian. He was earnestly persuaded to accept the faith by Alhfrith, son of King Oswiu, who was his brother-in-law and friend. (HE iii 21)

It might be nice to think of these young royals all getting on famously well, but only around three years later, Peada was dead, 'slain', according to one version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, and specifically by his wife according to Bede, who said that he was murdered:

by the treachery, or so it is said, of his wife during the very time of the Easter festival (HE iii 24)

Yet another marriage took place between the two families, this time between the last of Penda's sons to become a king in Mercia, Æthelred, and the daughter of Oswiu and his second wife. This daughter was called Osthryth. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, it was in 697 that 'the Southumbrians slew Osthryth, Ethelred's queen and Ecgfrith's [King of Northumbria] sister.'

No explanation is given for the murder. It is known that Osthryth oversaw the removal of the bones of St Oswald, her uncle, to the abbey at Bardney, in an area where he might not have been that fondly remembered. Oswald had been an enemy of Mercia, so perhaps they didn't like her highlighting his memory, but this seems a poor excuse for killing her. Was it retribution for her half-sister's murderous act? Again, it seems a bit of an over-reaction, especially given the amount of time which had elapsed.

Image of St Oswald in Durham Cathedral

It must, however, have been a tense situation, given that her husband had waged war on her brother, and in the ensuing battle, another brother of hers had been killed. Bede noted that this young man was about eighteen years of age, and beloved in both kingdoms.  

It's clear that even while these marriages were occurring, the two royal houses were still bitterly opposed to one another and that there were conflicting loyalties. It is perhaps in this context that the murder should be viewed, but whatever she had done, or been accused of, we shall never know.

Eadburh's crimes, on the other hand, were written down in great detail, and publicised. She was the daughter of King Offa, and she was married to Beorhtric, king of Kent, whom she accidentally poisoned. Asser, writing the Life of King Alfred, was scathing indeed of this woman, who had behaved 'like a tyrant after the manner of her father'. She loathed all of her husband's friends, and decided to kill them with poison:

This is known to have happened with a certain young man very dear to the king, whom she poisoned when she could not denounce him before the king. King Beorhtric himself is said to have taken some of that poison unawares: she had intended to give it not to him, but to the young man; but the king took it first and both of them died as a result. (Asser Ch 14)

The murderess then went to the court of Charlemagne, who established her as abbess of a large convent. But this irredeemable woman apparently lived even more recklessly than before, and was caught 'in debauchery' with a man of her own race, and having been ejected from the nunnery, died in poverty. Asser claimed to have heard this story from witnesses who saw her begging in the streets.

Eadburh's crimes though seem rather run-of-the-mill compared with the next 'evil' woman on this list.

After Offa's death, the Mercian throne passed briefly to his son, Ecgfrith, who reigned for only a few months. He was succeeded by Coenwulf, who reigned until 821.

After this, things get a little hazy. What we do know is that Coenwulf had a son, Cynehelm, and a daughter, Cwoenthryth. William of Malmesbury recorded that:

At Winchcombe rests Cenwulf [Coenwulf] with his son Kenelm [Cynehelm]. At the age of 7 the boy had been left by his father to be brought up by his sister. In her greed, she entertained the illusory hope of the throne, and assigned the job of eliminating her little brother to the retainer who looked after him. He took the innocent child off on the pretence of a hunt, killed him, and hid him in some bushes. (Gesta Pontificum iv 156 3) 

So far, so traditional. But this concealment was for naught, because a piece of parchment, carried by a dove, floated down onto the altar of St Peter in Rome, revealing the whereabouts of the body. Thus the body was carried to Winchcombe and when the murderess saw what was happening, she began chanting a psalm backwards as some kind of evil spell, but by God's power her eyes were torn from their sockets, with blood splattering to an extent that William of Malmesbury, writing in the twelfth century, proclaimed, 'the bloodstains are there to this day.'

Detail from a page of the Winchcombe Psalter

There is very little recorded evidence about Cynehelm, and all we really know is that he existed, and predeceased his father. His sister had been in dispute with the Church over monastic property. Unlikely, then, that she was to be remembered fondly in William's Gesta Pontificum (Deeds of the Bishops of England). 

For those beginning to think that there was either huge prejudice among the chroniclers against Mercian women, or indeed that these women were all deserving of opprobrium, let's not forget one woman who surely must have broken that mould, if it existed. Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians features in both my nonfiction books and in my novel, To Be A Queen. No accusations of murder of evil deeds there. Not by her, anyway...


[all above images are in the Public Domain]

~~~~~~~~~~

Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England is available for pre-order now

Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom is available as an e-book and the paperback is available for pre-order now.

To read more about Oswiu, Oswald, Penda et al, try my latest novel Cometh the Hour 

To read the fictionalised account of the two infamous queens who scandalised tenth-century England, read Alvar the Kingmaker

And to read the fictionalised story of Æthelflæd, try To Be A Queen

Winchcombe & Its Anglo-Saxon History

Winchcombe is a pretty Cotswold town, not far from Tewkesbury in Gloucestershire. Walking or driving along its main street, one can immediately see that it has history.

Quaint cottages nestle side by side, the yellow stone seeming to soak up and yet reflect the sunlight. But the history of Winchcombe goes much further than these old buildings would suggest. In fact, at one time, there was a separate 'county' of Winchcombeshire.

The town lies in what was once the ancient tribeland of the Hwicce, an area which was absorbed into the greater area of Mercia, but which originally had its own kings. These kings gradually had their status reduced, eventually issuing and witnessing royal charters as sub-kings of Mercia.

Osric, Sub-king of the Hwicce, founder of Gloucester Cathedral

Winchcombe first made the 'headlines' in the eighth century, when Cenwulf became king of Mercia. Cenwulf succeeded after the death of Ecgfrith, son of Offa. Ecgfrith's reign was short - a matter of some five months - and Cenwulf had no direct links with the previous kings. It is possible that he was descended from a sister of Penda, the pagan king of Mercia, but equally he may have been connected to the Hwicce, for he made claims to 'hereditary lands' in the heart of the Hwiccian territory.

Cenwulf was no less a warlord than previous kings, and in 801 he was attacked by the king of Northumbria. He also, notoriously, captured the king of Kent, who went by the name of Eadberht Præn. Cenwulf put his own brother on the Kentish throne, thus bringing the kingdom of Kent under direct Mercian control.

But Cenwulf's hold on Kent was weakened by his long-running dispute with the archbishop of Canterbury, and it is perhaps this for which he is most remembered. His argument centred around Kentish minsters and the question of whether there should be lay control of ecclesiastical lands. Cenwulf went so far as to threaten to exile the archbishop unless the matter was resolved, and the dispute involved not only Cenwulf, but his daughter, too.

Carving of Cenwulf at Winchombe

Cwoenthryth was not only the daughter of the king, but she was an abbess too. She was the first abbess of Winchcombe Abbey, and her father had also appointed her abbess of the royal minsters of Reculver and Minster-in-Thanet in Kent. The arguments about whether Church or State should control these lucrative sites rumbled on. Some believed that the archbishop even forged documents to support his case.

When Cenwulf died (he was buried at Winchcombe), Cwoenthryth was named as his heir. This doesn't mean that she succeeded to the throne, but that she inherited his property, which included the minsters. The Councils of Clofesho* debated her right not to be an abbess, but to own the abbeys themselves. The councils found in favour of the archbishop, but Cwoenthryth was allowed to remain as abbess and retained possession of Winchcombe, although she had to surrender the lands in Kent.

There is a legend surrounding her, which may or may not have something to do with her long-running dispute with the Church. According to this legend, she arranged to have her young brother Kenelm murdered because she wanted to be queen. A dove dropped a message on the altar of St Peters in Rome, alerting people to the whereabouts of the body, which was then re-interred with all ceremony at Winchcombe. The story goes that when she saw the funeral procession, she recited a psalm backwards in order to cast a spell, and her eyeballs promptly fell out, splattering the psalter in front of her with blood.

Winchcombe Abbey fell into decline in the latter part of the ninth century, and in the tenth it was reformed as part of the Benedictine Monastic Reformation in Edgar's reign, when the clerks were replaced with Benedictine monks.

In the eleventh century, Winchcombe was once again in the 'news'. One of the most reviled earls of Mercia went by the name of Eadric Streona - whose epithet has been translated as 'the Grasper' - and it is possible that part of his notoriety stemmed from his treatment of Winchcombeshire. By this time, Mercia was no longer a kingdom, but its earls were still powerful men, ruling vast areas of land.

Eadric made his career in politics and warfare, and famously vacillated at crucial moments. He was accused more than once of murder, and he was a notorious turncoat. Supposedly on the side of Æthelred the Unready - he was married to the king's daughter - he went over to Cnut's side, changed his mind to fight with Edmund Ironside - son of Æthelred - before once again changing sides and leading his men from the battlefield at a pivotal moment in 1016, ensuring that Cnut had the victory over Edmund. After this it was agreed that the country be divided between the two, but Edmund died shortly afterwards, and Eadric's family were, according to some sources, involved in that death, too.

A page from Hemming's Cartulary

But it seems that Eadric's nickname, which might more accurately be translated as 'Acquisitive' came from his administrative dealings. Hemming, a monk of Worcester, compiled what has come to be known as Hemming's Cartulary, and in it, Hemming reports that ‘He [Eadric] joined townships to townships and shires to shires at will; it was he who amalgamated the hitherto independent county of Winchcombe with the county of Gloucester.’

There has been huge and long-standing debate about when and how the shires of Mercia came into being. The old territories such as that of the Hwicce disappeared, with new boundary lines cut through traditional areas. Whether or not Eadric can be blamed for this, it is clear that Hemming thought him to be a grasping man, acquiring lands at the Church's expense to line his own pockets, and local men would have no cause to remember Eadric fondly.

So Mercia's status had been reduced from that of kingdom to that of ealdordom and then earldom, and the independent county of Winchcombeshire was no more. There is no trace left of the original abbey building, although it is said that stones from the abbey have been incorporated into other buildings in the town, and some of the stones are housed in a collection at nearby Sudeley Castle.

If you are immune to nettle stings and don't mind climbing steep hills, you can visit St Kenelm's Well, a site where the funeral procession rested before the little murdered king, Kenelm, was buried at Winchcombe. But your intrepid researcher has done all that for you:-

So, instead, take a walk through the pretty town of Winchcombe and wonder where the stones of the once famous abbey now hide within the walls of the newer buildings.

[all photographs by and copyright of the author. Illustration of Hemming's Cartulary is a Public Domain image via Wikipedia] * Clofesho has never been conclusively identified.

Cwoenthryth's story features in both of my nonfiction books. Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England is available from Pen & Sword Books and Amazon

Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom is available from Amazon and Amberley Publishing

To read about the mother of Æthelred the Unready, a woman who was also accused of murder, check out Alvar the Kingmaker

And for details of my other books,

find me HERE

Mercia Vs The Godwines

The story of the last earls of Mercia is linked to the powerful Godwine family. At the start of 1051, Godwine’s earldom stretched from Kent to Cornwall. He was father-in-law to the king of England, and his son Harold was earl of Essex, East Anglia, Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire. 

After an incident in Dover - when the count of Boulogne was attacked and Godwine refused to punish the citizens - before a meeting in London could consider the charges against him, Godwine and his family fled. His son Harold’s earldom of East Anglia was given to Ælfgar, son of Earl Leofric of Mercia.

The banishment was short-lived, however, and by 1052 the Godwines were back, which meant that Ælfgar was displaced from East Anglia. But in 1053 Godwine died and his son Harold became earl of Wessex in his place. So Ælfgar was back in East Anglia and suddenly the Godwinesons were isolated.

But political wheels turn quickly and when in 1055 the earl of Northumbria died and Tostig Godwineson became earl in his place, Ælfgar was outlawed, possibly on trumped-up charges. Ælfgar, with the aid of Irish pirate ships and the assistance of Gruffudd, king of the Welsh, advanced on Hereford where the earl, the ‘timorous’ Ralf, took flight before battle was joined. Ælfgar was re-established in East Anglia.

When in 1057 Earls Leofric and Ralf both died, it raised the question of what to do about the territories and how to deal with the Welsh. Ælfgar was a bit of a troublemaker, and Ralf’s son was still a child. In the end, Edward permitted Ælfgar to succeed his father in Mercia, while the Godwines carved up the remaining territory among themselves. 

In 1058 Ælfgar was banished for a second time. ‘But he soon returned with violence through the help of Gruffudd.’ It was possibly around this time that Ælfgar’s daughter, Ealdgyth, married, or was given in marriage to, Gruffudd. 

Had Ælfgar lived, it is unlikely that he would have supported Harold Godwineson’s election to the throne in 1066. He had reason to resent the Godwines; he had been banished twice, and both times Harold had been involved. 

Ælfgar died around the year 1062. His - presumably - eldest son, Burgheard, had predeceased his father. Ælfgar’s surviving sons were probably only in their teens when their father died. The eldest, Edwin, succeeded as earl of Mercia. In 1063 the Welsh raiding began and Harold Godwineson – who had been in charge of Hereford since 1057 – decided to retaliate. In May he sailed from Bristol while his brother Tostig invaded North Wales. Gruffudd escaped from this two-pronged attack but was killed by his own men. 

In 1064 Harold went to Normandy, where he famously either swore, or did not swear, an oath to support Duke William’s claim to the English throne. Meanwhile in England, his brother Tostig was stirring up resentment.

In 1065 the northerners rose up in rebellion to avenge the deaths of three northern thegns. They were also said to be objecting to a huge tribute which Tostig had unjustly levied on the whole of Northumbria. The rebels called for Morcar, the younger brother of Edwin of Mercia, to replace Tostig as earl. 

Tostig accused Harold of fomenting the rebellion against him and Harold had to swear an oath to clear himself of this charge. King Edward wanted to use force to crush the rebellion, but his counsellors were against the idea, it was late in the year and so they gave in to the demands. Just before Christmas, Tostig and his wife Judith left for Flanders, where her half-brother Count Baldwin gave them welcome.

The Kirkdale Sundial, with Earl Tostig's name in the dedication

At some point, probably after 1063, Harold married Ealdgyth, sister of the earls Edwin and Morcar, and widow of Gruffudd. 

In May 1066, the ousted Tostig came harrying, causing a nuisance as far north as the Humber. Edwin and Morcar drove him into Scotland.

But later in the year Tostig returned, in alliance with Harald Hardrada of Norway. Harald anchored his fleet at Riccall on the Ouse, and before King Harold could get there from the south, Edwin and Morcar had to face the might of the Norwegian forces. At Gate Fulford, outside York, battle was joined. For most of a day, they blocked the road and stopped the Norwegians advancing, but they finally gave way and their men were cut down or drowned. 

Harald landing near York (left), and defeating the Northumbrian army (right),
from the 13th century chronicle The Life of King Edward the Confessor by Matthew Paris

Though Edwin and Morcar survived the battle, they would barely have had time to regroup in order to provide any assistance at Stamford Bridge, and it is not certain whether they were at Hastings (although at least one source says they were there) but it can probably be said in their defence that they would have had few troops to bring with them, having suffered such heavy losses at Fulford.

By March 1067 those who had sworn to William included Edwin, Morcar and Waltheof, son of Siward of Northumbria. But in the summer of 1068 Edwin and Morcar left the court and went north to join an ill-fated rebellion.

In that same year there was a Mercian revolt which spread as far as Cheshire and Stafford. William marched against them and crushed them. Castles were erected at Chester and Stafford, and William returned to Wessex. He had made sure that the devastation would mean that Mercia and Northumbria would never again rise up against his rule.

There is no evidence that the brothers Edwin and Morcar had been involved in the uprising, but Edwin’s death came about when he was on his way to Scotland, presumably in flight, although it seems his demise was brought about by his own followers under circumstances which are lost to us now. Morcar went to Ely where he joined Hereward the Wake. 

The stand-off at Ely was also fated to fail. William surrounded the area, defeated the rebels, Morcar surrendered and was flung into prison.

And that’s pretty much where the Mercian story ends. Little is known about the fate of Ealdgyth, or her son/s by Harold.

In my new book about the history of Mercia I’ve looked in detail about the relations between the two rival families, the Godwines and the Mercians, and the theories about the various alliances and rebellions. I found it fascinating.

But what if either Edwin or Harold had lived, or maybe both? Because there is another family dynamic which interests me: Edwin was brother-in-law to the king, just as Harold had been, but he would also have been uncle to Harold’s infant son. The Mercians had no love for the Godwines. How different the political landscape might have looked …

   Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom
   1066 Turned Upside Down

Died of Wounds? Apparently Not...

When writing my books, especially nonfiction, I have to report quite a few deaths. This was certainly true when I was writing my history of the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Mercia.

In a book spanning five centuries, and featuring a lot of kings and noblemen fighting over countries, earldoms, and any old patch of grass, generally, it's inevitable that not many died in their beds of old age.

War is a bloody business. Doesn't really matter which century you pick, it's just a bloody business. With the odd exception - Henry V springs to mind - if you were wounded in battle in pre-penicillin, pre-Florence Nightingale days, that wound was going to kill you at some point, even if you managed to survive the battle itself.

So, obviously the chronicles reporting on Anglo-Saxon matters, which let's face it, were pretty much pre-everything, are going to be stuffed with detail about men dying from their wounds, aren't they?

Well, here's the thing. The answer, I've found is, 'not so much.' Just to give a few examples, working our way through the centuries:

• Wulfhere, seventh-century king of Mercia

As with most warlord kings of the period, he wasn't averse to the odd knockabout on the battlefield. Of one of his campaigns, it was reported by William of Malmesbury that, 'On he came, confident that he would make good the loss, or win a kingdom.' On that occasion he was not successful, but he didn't let that discourage him.

However, there is some dispute about his final battle. We are not told the outcome of the fighting at a place called Biedanheafde but we are told that Wulfhere died 'later that year.' It seems fairly logical to assume that he died from wounds sustained during the battle, but the sources are confused. Henry of Huntingdon said that he died of disease, while the author of the Life of St Wilfrid confessed that he did not know the cause of death. William of Malmesbury said that he died a few days after the battle. Well, this sounds more likely, except that William was referring to the previous battle, so had clearly got muddled with his dates.

• Æthelred, Lord of the Mercians

The husband of Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, died in 911, and in 910 the 'Vikings' of Northumbria had broken a peace established by her brother, Edward the Elder and ravaged Mercia. According to the Chronicler Æthelweard, they crossed the River Severn at Bridgnorth and battle was joined at Tettenhall. It seems feasible that Æthelred, who died the next year, must have sustained fatal wounds during the battle.  Except, he wasn't there.

A few years earlier, Chester had been overrun by 'Vikings' and the Irish annals known as the Three Fragments record that messengers were sent to 'the king of the Saxons [Æthelred] who was in a disease and on the point of death.'

Roger of Wendover recorded that in 908, Leicester was restored by both the Lord and Lady of the Mercians, but while no other source mentions his illness, there is also no mention of his name in 909 or 910. When Edward the Elder took his forces into Northumbria - which may well have caused them to retaliate by ravaging Mercia - there is no suggestion that Æthelred was with him.

During the campaigns when Alfred the Great was still alive, and he and Edward and Æthelred were working together against the invaders, Æthelred's presence is acknowledged plenty of times. There would be no reason to exclude his name from Tettenhall, had he been there, leading to the conclusion that he was not present at the battle.

•   Ælfhere, tenth-century ealdorman of Mercia 

Ælfhere was an energetic figure, King Edgar's right-hand-man, and the leader of local forces of Mercia. He was involved in a number of campaigns in Wales, in alliance with Hywel ab Ieuaf of Gwynedd. In 983 the two were once again in action, when Hywel asked for assistance against Einion ab Owain, in an attempt to prevent Einion from annexing Brycheiniog and Morgannwg for the kingdom of Deheubarth. He was unsuccessful, and Ælfhere died the same year.

It would be natural to assume that the battle wounds were the cause of death. But Roger of Wendover reported that he died, ‘his whole body being eaten with worms.’ Possibly this was ergot, a common infestation in grain. However, the chroniclers were not especially fond of Ælfhere and perhaps they thought he deserved a more ignominious death. 'Died of wounds' is just not a phrase they liked to use.

• Edmund Ironside

In the eleventh century, sons of kings were fighting for the throne. Edmund Ironside, son of Æthelred the Unready, was locked in a campaign against Cnut, son of Swein. In one year there were five battles, the last of which was at Assandun – most likely Ashingdon - in Essex. 

The Liber Eliensis says that Edmund ‘played the part of an energetic soldier and good commander; he would have crushed all of them together, had it not been for the schemings of the treacherous Ealdorman Eadric [Streona]. And there was a massacre in that place of almost the whole array of the nobility of the English, who never received a more wounding blow in war than there.’ 

However,  Cnut went to Gloucester, having heard that Edmund was there, and they came to terms. Henry of Huntingdon said that Cnut cried out, ‘Bravest of youths, why should either of us risk his life for the sake of a crown? Let us be brothers by adoption, and divide the kingdom.’

Not long afterwards, Edmund conveniently died. This was not the first time that a king had expired shortly after the division of the kingdom, although it has often been stated that Edmund died of wounds. Yet this is not what the chroniclers said. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle says only that Edmund died. Roger of Wendover claimed that it was Eadric’s son who murdered Edmund, concealing himself in the sink whilst the king was answering the call of nature, and thrusting ‘a very sharp knife into the king’s bowels, leaving the king mortally wounded.’ Henry of Huntingdon concurred.

Of course, Eadric Streona was roundly vilified by most of the sources as a turncoat and murderer. It's natural that he or his family would get the blame, but the author of the contemporary Encomium Emmæ Reginæ doesn't suggest that Edmund Ironside was killed by treachery, suggesting that the story was a later fabrication. But neither does it say that he died of wounds, only that God saw fit to remove his soul from his body after the kingdom was divided. One has to assume that he was pretty much in one piece when the division was agreed, for why else would Cnut have agreed, rather than just waiting for sepsis to kill his rival?

Divine intervention, murder, death on the battlefield, eaten by worms - all these things would kill you. But seemingly  a lingering death caused by an infected wound was just not 'a thing.'

[all of these stories and more are explored in detail in my book, Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, available for pre-order in its paperback edition now. The Encomium Emmæ Reginæ and the woman it was written for, Queen Emma, feature in my new book Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England, available for pre-order now.]