Captive Nuns

Anglo-Saxon abbesses were often members of royal families. Penda, the famously pagan king of seventh-century Mercia, had at least two daughters who became abbesses and were subsequently created saints. Oswiu of Northumbria promised his infant daughter to the Church if God would grant him victory in battle. St Æthelthryth, despite being married twice - once to a king - managed, we're told, to preserve her chastity and founded the abbey at Ely. Her sister succeeded her there as abbess. Both were daughters of King Anna of East Anglia.

St Æthelthryth

A noble and pious occupation. These were wealthy women, and no doubt lived comfortably. But safely? Not always. These women belonged to prestigious royal houses, and there are a few instances which prove that being an abbess, or nun, or merely a noblewoman living in an abbey, was to be vulnerable. Yes, such places were raided by invaders, but sometimes the perpetrators came from a little closer...

I've been looking into this subject in preparation for my new book - Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England - so I'll save any analysis for that. But here, in case you don't know the stories, are three examples of high profile abduction of nuns:

The first of these cases involved the family of Alfred the Great. When Alfred succeeded his elder brother to the throne, that brother had left a - presumably very young - son, Æthelwold. With hindsight, it was probably a good job that Alfred took the throne, and even though the 'Viking' wars were still raging when Alfred died, he left the kingdom of Wessex in the very safe hands of his son, Edward the Elder.

By this stage, Æthelwold was a grown man, and decided to make his own bid for the throne, with the aid of the Northumbrian 'Vikings'.  Initially, though, Æthelwold took his forces to Wimborne, and holed up there with a nun whom he had kidnapped, stating that he would live there or die. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, the woman had been taken 'without the king's permission and contrary to the bishops' orders - for she had been consecrated a nun.'

Wimborne Minster by Bellminsterboy via CC Commons

It may be that the lady was in fact a nun from Wimborne. It has been suggested that she was none other than Alfred's daughter, Æthelgifu. Some historians think that Æthelwold married the captive lady, while others are not convinced. Her identity is not proven, nor is it established that a marriage took place, but whatever the truth, it seems clear that Æthelwold's actions were driven by a desire to strengthen his claim to the throne. This woman, whatever her identity, was clearly of high status and politically important.

His threat, to live there or die, was not carried out. He escaped in the night and went to join the Viking army in Northumbria, who swore allegiance to him as their king. 

In 902 Æthelwold and his East Anglian Viking allies harried Mercia and went as far as Cricklade in Wiltshire. When he crossed the Thames into Wessex, Edward chased him, harrying in Essex and East Anglia, ‘all their lands between the Dykes and the Ouse, as far north as the fens.’ When Edward then ordered a withdrawal, he sent seven messengers to the men of Kent, who lingered behind, counter to his commands. The Danish army then overtook the men of Kent at the – unidentified - Holme. In the ensuing fighting, there were losses on both sides. Two are significant: one being the father of Edward’s future wife and the other being Æthelwold himself.

The second case concerns King Edgar, a little later in the tenth century. Edgar's marital history is a little hazy, with some people thinking he had children by three women, two of whom were his wives, while others - including me - are not so convinced that his first 'wife' even existed.

King Edgar

Edgar’s second ‘woman’ and possibly wife, was Wulfthryth, later Saint Wulfthryth, who might have been promised to the Church before Edgar impregnated her. William of Malmesbury said that she ‘initially was not fully professed as a nun of Wilton, but assumed the veil for fear of Edgar, but had it torn off before being forced into the king’s bed. Edgar was reproved by St Dunstan and served seven years of penance. As for her, once Eadgyth (Edith) was born, she returned to the nunnery.’ 

William (c. 1095- c. 1143) is not the only source of these stories, although none is contemporary. Osbern of Canterbury (c.1050-1090) said that the baby Edward was the son of a professed nun of Wilton, whose seduction earned Edgar a seven-year penance. 

Eadmer (c.1060-1126) believed his contemporary, Nicholas of Worcester, that Edward was the son of Æthelflæd Eneda, Edgar’s supposed first wife, and thus not born of a consecrated nun, and tells the story of the seduction of the young laywoman and says his offence was worse because he already had a lawful wife. ‘For on a certain occasion this same king came to a monastery of virgins, which is located at Wilton, and there, captivated by the beauty of a certain young girl, who took her lineage from the English nobility and was being raised and protected by the nuns though she had not taken the veil, he ordered her to be brought to him secretly to speak with him.

Edith of Wilton, Edgar's daughter

While she was being led to him out of fear for her chastity she placed a veil snatched from one of the nuns on her own head, hoping in this way to protect herself should the king by chance wish to demand anything dishonourable from her. When Edgar saw her wearing the veil he said, “How suddenly you have become a nun.” He grabbed and dragged the veil from her head while she resisted in vain with whatever strength she had.’ 

Goscelin of Saint-Bertin (born before the 1040s) wrote in his Life of St Wulfhild, that it was she (Wulfhild) who became the object of Edgar’s attentions, resisting by escaping naked down a sewer, and that he took Wulfthryth, a laywoman being educated by the nuns, instead. He presents her as Edgar’s wife.

Thus there seems to be some confusion, and Edgar was described by William of Malmesbury as being ‘libidinous in respect of virgins’. But if Edward was Wulfthryth’s son, he was certainly considered of high enough birth that the Witan had no qualms in electing him king upon his father’s death, even though his reign was short and unhappy. 

The third of these cases moves us into the eleventh century and into the reign of Edgar’s grandson, Edward the Confessor. During Edward’s reign, the Godwin family reached the peak of its political power. But 1046 saw the first acts of disobedience from within the family’s ranks, as Swein teamed up with Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, king of Gwynedd and Powys, and went into South Wales. On the way back, according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, he ‘ordered the abbess of Leominster to be brought to him, and he kept her as long as he pleased, and then let her go home.’ In revenge for being forced to give her up, he deprived the church of Worcester of a number of estates. 

Leominster Priory Church by Captain Jae

From John of Worcester: ‘Meanwhile, Earl Swein, son of Earl Godwine and Gytha who had left England earlier because he was not permitted to marry Eadgifu, abbess of the convent at Leominster, whom he had seduced, went to Denmark, and returned with eight ships, saying dishonestly that he would henceforth remain faithful to the king.’ 

What might we make of the statement that he ‘kept her as long as he pleased’? Was she kept against her will, or was she a willing concubine?

Eadgifu was, according to one source,  with Swein for about a year: ‘A tantalising note in 1086 Domesday Book says: "The Abbess holds Fencote. She held it herself before 1066." Fencote, in Docklow parish, had belonged to Leominster nunnery. Was Eadgifu given Fencote? Did she retire here and was she still living here in 1086 with her memories of Swein?' (Blanche Parry - Absolute Herefordshire)

It is thought that the abbey was suppressed after Eadgifu’s abduction (David Knowles - The Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales 940-1216.)

So it does seem that even in times of relative peace (Edgar’s reign was known for its lack of ‘viking’ raiding) it does seem that to be an abbess, or even a nun, was still a hazardous occupation.

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These women's stories all feature in my new book, Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England, out May 30th 2020 from Pen & Sword Books.
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And all are mentioned in Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, paperback available for pre-order now.

It's also available to pre-order direct from Amberley Publishing

Anglo-Saxon Gossip

The word 'gossip' is derived from the Old English godsibb and didn't mean then what it means now. 

Originally it meant something more akin to sponsor. Perhaps its modern meaning came about from the women who lived together, and especially those women who assisted in the birthing chamber, who may have then played a similar role to that of godmother; although the word often used is gefædere. godsibb had much the same meaning and might have denoted a relationship (sibb = sibling).

However, read the contents of the chronicles and there is plenty of modern-day gossip.

As regular readers of this blog will know, it pleases me enormously when those who were writing centuries ago, about even earlier times, let their feelings show on the page and remind us that even historical figures were human, as were the scribes who recorded their lives.

One of the main targets for gossip was Æthelred the 'Unready' who came in for a fair amount of abuse. William of Malmesbury said that he occupied, rather than governed the kingdom, and his assessment of the reign was that it was said to be [my italics] cruel in the beginning, wretched in the middle and disgraceful in the end. William is often careful to say that he has 'heard' the stories he writes about, and this to me is what gives the sense of him passing on gossip. He says of Æthelred: 

'I have read, that when he was ten years of age, hearing it noised abroad that his brother was killed, he so irritated his furious mother by his weeping that, not having a whip at hand, she beat the little innocent with some candle she had snatched up.'

Apparently, he was so traumatised by this incident that he dreaded candles thereafter and would not 'suffer the light of them to be brought into his presence.'

Henry of Huntingdon was not above passing on embarrassing stories. Of course hindsight is a wonderful thing, and he would have known about the Viking onslaught which took place during the reign: 

'An evil omen ... had happened to him in his infancy. For at his baptism he made water in the font; whence [it was] predicted the slaughter of the English people that would take place in his time.'

William of Malmesbury was rather keen to pass on stories about the king's mother, too, and, indeed, his father. But once again, he was careful to state that he was only repeating what others had said. Before he tells his tale of Æthelred's father, he says: 'There are some persons, indeed, who endeavour to dim his exceeding glory by saying that he was ... libidinous in respect of virgins.'

He then goes on to report a story about how Æthelred's parents met. The short version is that King Edgar had sent one of his ealdormen, who was also his foster-brother, to 'check out' a young woman. This the ealdorman did, but he deceived the king regarding her beauty and married her himself. The king then met the woman, was bewitched by her, slew the ealdorman and married her. She was Ælfthryth, who was to be accused of witchcraft, the murder of a bishop, and the murder of her stepson.

Ælfthryth greeting her stepson Edward, just before his murder

The stories are not all so scandalous though. Sometimes the gossip is little more than small talk, as in the case of a letter sent by (Saint)Boniface to an abbess. In the letter, he is responding to a request for advice, regarding whether or not the abbess should undertake a pilgrimage. Boniface answers her concerns, but then turns to other matters.

He apologises for not having yet copied some passages for her, 'owing to pressing labours and continual journeys', but he promises that he shall have the copies for her as soon as he has finished. He then asks her to pray for him, because of his weariness, and the fact that he is disturbed by anxiety of mind more than bodily affliction.

It's almost modern in its tone: 'Sorry I haven't got round to doing that job for you, but life has been mad. To be honest, I'm busy but I'm not sleeping that well; my mind keeps whirring.'

Not all letters were so friendly. King Burgred of Mercia must have blushed a bit when he received a letter from Pope John VIII which begins:

Since, as we have heard, the sin of fornication is especially rife among you...

Bad enough when your neighbours gossip about you, but when news reaches the ears of the pope in Rome, it's a slightly bigger problem.

Ælfheah was bishop of Winchester from 984-1005 and later archbishop of Canterbury, and is famous for his martyrdom, having been stoned to death by Cnut's forces (some sources say he was killed by the blow from an ox bone.) But earlier in his career, which began at Deerhurst in Gloucestershire and continued at Bath, he was concerned with more prosaic matters.

We find the details among the writings of that incorrigible story-teller, William of Malmesbury. 

One of the monks at Bath was in the habit of keeping up his 'carousing all night long and be still at his drinking at daybreak.'  God sent two huge demons who battered the life out of the drunkard, who begged for help but was told, 'You did not listen to God, and we shall not listen to you.'

Bishop Ælfheah witnessed this attack and, according to William, when he told the other monks about the incident in the morning, 'it is not surprising that his drinking companions turned teetotal.'

From Harvey the Giant Rabbit to pink elephants and any 21st-century hangover,  the declaration that 'I'm never drinking again' is an oft-chanted mantra.

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Ælfthryth features in my new book, Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England, out May 30th 2020 from Pen & Sword Books.
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Pen & Sword Books

Most of these stories, and many more besides, feature in my book Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, available for pre-order in paperback now.
Amazon 
Amberley Books

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