The Attack on Llangorse 19th June AD916

It is not often that the early medieval chroniclers provide us with specific dates. And of a period about which the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is almost silent - Æthelflæd's 'reign’ - we are incredibly lucky to have not one date, but two, while the second date enables us to identify a third. The Chronicle tells us that she died on June 12th, 918. But the third, implied, date is the one that interests me today: June 19th.

The 'C' version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, incorporating the annals known as The Mercian Register, tells us:

"In this year before midsummer, on 16th June, the day of the festival of St Quiricus the Martyr, abbot Ecgberht, who had done nothing to deserve it, was slain together with his companions. Three days later Æthelflæd sent an army into Wales and stormed Brecenanmere [at Llangorse lake near Brecon] and there captured the wife of the king and thirty-three other persons."

We cannot know much about the unfortunate abbot, (a search of the Prosopography of Anglo-Saxon England [PASE] reveals only that single mention of him) save that he was sufficiently dear to Æthelflæd that she was prepared to avenge his life in such a forceful manner. 

So what can we discover about Brecenanmere, and the unnamed king, whose wife was captured?

In his book, The Making of Mercia, Ian Walker says that the Mercian Register "... records the destruction of the royal crannog of Tewdwr, king of Brycheiniog, on Llangorse lake in Brecon and the capture of his queen."

PASE lists two kings named Tewdwr. One of them is the father of Elise and both of these men are mentioned in Asser's Life of Alfred [1] as having submitted to Alfred. Alfred died in 899 so either of these men could, in theory, have still been alive and militarily active in 916.

The other Tewdwr is listed as Tewdwr ap Griffi ab Elise, who, as Teowdor, Subregulus, witnessed a charter of King Athelstan in 934. [2] The Welsh system of patronymics suggests that he must have been the grandson of Elise, although Kari Maund names him as Tewdwr ab Elise, suggesting a closer consanguineal relationship [3]

We cannot know why this abbot was killed, or why a king who had submitted to Alfred the Great chose to anger Alfred’s daughter in this way. Perhaps he fancied his chances against a weak female ruler. At this time, the king of Wessex was Alfred’s son, Æthelflæd’s brother, Edward the Elder. He and his sister were engaged in an active campaign of building fortified towns, such as the fortress at Chirbury (on the Welsh/English border, in 915) and perhaps there were hostilities between the English and the Welsh which have gone unrecorded.

In 916 Edward is recorded as being engaged in Essex, building a fortress at Maldon. Is it possible that this King Tewdwr thought that Æthelflæd, a mere woman, would do little in retribution while her brother was busy elsewhere? We cannot know, because as previously mentioned, we have few specific dates and only know that Edward was in Essex in ‘the summer.’ Tempting as it is to join these two facts together, we cannot be certain.

There can be no doubt, though, that Edward was busy, and that he trusted his sister with power and authority. Her husband, Æthelred of Mercia, had died in 911 but had, for some years before that, been incapacitated in some form. Edward, whilst minting Mercian coins in his name, had allowed Æthelflæd to lead Mercia during her husband’s prolonged illness and in 911, although Edward took control of London and Oxford, previously handed to Mercia by Alfred, he left his sister as nominal head of Mercia.

Brother and sister worked as a team in 917: while Edward built fortresses at Towcester and Wigingamere (unidentified), and received the submission of ‘Viking’ armies of Northampton, East Anglia, and Cambridge, Æthelflæd took the borough of Derby, one of the prized ‘five boroughs’ which Edward had vowed to prise back out of the invaders’ hands. [4] In 907, Chester had been ‘restored’ [5] although no mention is made of the person who led the army which starved the occupying Vikings out. Professor Simon Keynes confirmed my suspicion that it is safe to assume that Æthelred was, by this point, unwell, and that in all likelihood it was Æthelflæd who took the fight to the walls of Chester.

We have therefore, enough evidence, however scant in detail, from 907 and 917, to be comfortable with the notion that it was she who took the decision to send an army into Wales. What would they have found there?

The ‘crannog’ mentioned above probably looked something like this:

Credit: Garnet Davies Llangorselake.co.uk Lakeside Bar/Caravan Park

It seems likely that this was the only crannog in Wales and the Museum Wales website [6] has this to say:

The crannog was carefully constructed of brushwood and sandstone boulders, reinforced and surrounded by several lines of oak plank palisade. Tree-ring dating of the well-preserved timbers has established that they were felled between AD889 and AD893. The site seems to have been influenced by Irish building techniques, and was possibly constructed with the assistance of an Irish master craftsman.

The kings of Brycheiniog claimed to be descended from a part-Irish dynasty, and their use of such an unusual and impressive construction may have enhanced their political standing and strengthened their claims to Irish ancestry.

Of Æthelflæd’s army's attack, the site says: “This record of an attack probably refers to the crannog, and the capture of the wife of king Tewdwr ap Elisedd. During excavation, a charred, burnt layer was uncovered - probably representing this attack.”

If this was indeed the structure which the Mercians attacked, and where they took a queen prisoner, then this place was being used at a royal ‘llys’, a high status secular site. Tewdwr himself obviously survived this battle, but of course we cannot be sure if he was even in residence on the day in question. The only information we have is that his wife and thirty-three other persons were captured. Conjecture is the preserve of the novelist, and I had a lot of fun filling in the gaps of this particular incident, but the historian cannot afford such luxuries.

Medieval Wales showing Brycheiniog

What we can infer, though, is that retribution was swift but relatively merciful. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle mentions the killing of the abbot, but no revenge killings of any high-status Welsh. Æthelflæd had no further trouble from beyond the border. As we have seen, she went on to retake Derby (although the chronicle laments the loss of “four of her thegns, who were dear to her.”)

Early in 918, she obtained control of Leicester (another of the five boroughs) and, later in the year, the second battle of Corbridge, involving Ragnall against the Scots with the English Northumbrians, seems to have brought the people of York, wishing for a strong southern ally against Ragnall and his Norse Vikings, to Æthelflæd’s court, seeking her assistance.

We must be careful how we interpret the events at Llangorse. In my novel, I had Æthelflæd personally leading the army into Wales but the Mercian Register says only that she 'sent' the army and we cannot be sure whether she was in direct command. Even so, that she either sent, or led, an army into another country to avenge a death of a friend, seems remarkable yet plausible when we piece together all we know of Æthelflæd’s life. However few those facts are, they add up to one - that she was indeed, a remarkable woman.

[1] Asser Vit.Alfredi 80

[2] Charter S425 King Athelstan to Ælfwald, minister; grant of 12 hides (cassatae) at Derantune (probably Durrington, Sussex).

[3] The Welsh Kings - Kari Maund (Tempus)

[4] the five boroughs: Derby, Leicester, Lincoln, Nottingham and Stamford.

[5] Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

[6] http://www.museumwales.ac.uk/

(all images in the public domain, unless credited)

Read more about her life: HERE

A version of this post originally appeared on the EHFA Blog

The life story of the Lady of the Mercians is told my novel To Be A Queen and the life and careers of her and her husband are included in my history Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom - paperback available for pre-order at Amazon 
The Lady also has a section in my new book, Women of Power on Anglo-Saxon England, available now: Amazon

Research Trip - Finding Æthelflæd

My history of the ancient kingdom of Mercia inches ever nearer to its publication date and I needed some additional pictures for the photo plates in the middle section of the book. This requirement found me in a special place at a very special time.

I'd traipsed all around the north midlands, and the east of England, and now I needed to head off to the western part of Mercia, specifically, Gloucestershire, the ancient homeland of the Hwicce Tribe.

Those who know me and/or regularly read this blog, will know that my daughter summed up my research trips by saying that I 'stand around in fields getting emotional.'

The Anglo-Saxonist has little choice but to do so, because quite often all that's left of an original Anglo-Saxon site is an empty field.

This trip was different though. This time I was visiting places which could be photographed, places with links to Mercian history, places which were much more than mere fields.

My first port of call was Deerhurst where, unusually, you can find not one, but two Anglo-Saxon buildings. I went first to St Mary's. The outside of the building gives little away with regard to its Anglo-Saxon origins:

But pause a moment in the porch, look up, and you'll see the most exquisite Anglo-Saxon carving of the Madonna, with the child Jesus in her womb (I described this carving in To Be A Queen, along with the 'Angel' high up on one of the outside walls).

Inside this chapel there is a wealth of original Anglo-Saxon stonework, from the font, to the walls and doorways, to the windows:

What struck me most about this beautiful building was the sense of calm. Its crisp white walls are plain, there are no fancy adornments (unless you count the lovely carved animal heads). This is a place used for worship over many centuries. I felt a deep connection to those who'd been in this place before me.

On the way out, I paused to photograph the carved animal head

and the 'Angel'

before walking a few hundred yards to Odda's Chapel. Odda of Deerhurst was an ealdorman in the eleventh century. Some thought that he was related to Ælfhere (Alvar in my novel) but it seems unlikely, and the connection seems to have been assumed simply because both held jurisdiction over the west midlands. The chapel was discovered by chance, in the nineteenth century. It had been incorporated into a farmhouse, hidden under the plaster. It's no more than an empty shell, but it's a gem of a find, and gives one a good idea of the typical proportions of such a building.

My next port of call was Winchcombe, site of a long-since disappeared abbey, and a royal Mercian centre. It's said that some of the stones from the abbey were incorporated into other buildings, like this pub:

How I wished I could have seen the abbey itself, where one intriguing woman was abbess for a while there (she was Cwoenthryth, daughter of King Cenwulf, and I wrote about her in this blog post). There are some of the original abbey stones at nearby Sudeley Castle, but not enough to give any impression of the original building:

A relatively short walk away from Sudeley castle is the site of St Kenelm's well. This is reputed to be the site where the funeral procession rested, on its way to burying Kenelm (brother and supposed murder victim of the afore-mentioned Cwoenthryth) at Winchcombe. The path leading to the well is overgrown with nettles, but I'm nothing if not intrepid!

I was having a great time, visiting sites where we can say with near enough certainty that my 'characters' had been present.

Not so in Gloucester cathedral, which is a much later building. Here, there is an effigy of the sub-king of the Hwicce, Osric, who is reputed to have founded the original abbey which stood at this site.

Gloucester Cathedral is a magnificent building, and you can read more about it in an upcoming post of mine on the EHFA (English Historical Fiction Authors) blog on June 15th. But this was not the main draw, for me. As I said, I was thoroughly enjoying visiting all these sites, taking photos for the book, and really feeling a connection with the past. But just a short walk away from the cathedral was a really rather special site.

Originally dedicated to St Peter, St Oswald's Priory, Gloucester, was renamed when the bones of St Oswald (former king of Northumbria, nemesis of Penda) were translated there from Bardney Abbey in Lincolnshire. It is also the final resting place of both  Æthelred, lord of the Mercians and his wife, Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, daughter of Alfred the Great.

I've written about this lady, both in my novel, and in the upcoming history of Mercia. I'm revisiting all my notes about her in preparation for a talk in Tamworth in July. To stand here, at the spot where she's believed to have been buried, was a truly emotional experience for me. Last Sunday, there was a procession from here to the cathedral; just one of the many celebrations of her life on this, the 110oth anniversary of her death.

My trip to Gloucestershire was timely. It was a research trip, of sorts, since I needed the photos. But it also became something of a writer's pilgrimage, and it took 'standing around in fields getting emotional' to a whole new level.

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[all photos by and copyright of the author]

You may be interested to learn that there is a possibility of a tower having been discovered on the priory site. Read more about it here: BBC News Gloucestershire

My novel, To Be A Queen, is available in kindle, paperback and hardback versions - and the kindle version is on offer all this week. Here's a link

Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, is available now:

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Amberley Books

Since I wrote this article, I've had another book published, which also features Æthelflæd and is called Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England. You can buy it HERE

A New Look for To Be A Queen!

A very short post today, just to announce that there's a special anniversary coming up...

June 18 2018 marks 1100 years since the death of Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, subject of my novel, To Be A Queen

There's lots going on to celebrate this anniversary, not least a talk at the Tamworth Literary Festival.

But really, I just wanted to share the beautiful new book cover, designed by the very talented Cathy Helms at Avalon Graphics

I also have a revamped website, which you can find here:

www.anniewhiteheadauthor.co.uk

But mostly I just wanted to share this beautiful cover. I hope you like it as much as I do!

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.

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

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.
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Recent Posts: ~
The 'Evil' Women of Mercia
The Battle Site of 'Heavenfield'
Anglo-Saxon Childhood

Kings' Sons Who Didn't Make It

There are some well-known younger sons in history, who became kings because their elder brothers died young, or left no heirs. 

Henry II was succeeded by more than one of his sons, the last being John. 

Edward III should have been succeeded by his son, the Black Prince. Had he been, perhaps the Wars of the Roses would never have happened.

Henry VII should have been followed by his eldest son Prince Arthur, but instead the country got Henry VIII and the seismic changes which accompanied his reign.

Henry VIII then of course famously had a bit of difficulty siring a legitimate male heir and the one he finally produced, Edward VI, also died whilst still a teenager. What would the country have been without the reigns of Mary I or Elizabeth I?

Charles I was not destined to rule; his elder brother Henry was the heir, but died when still a teenager. Would there have been civil war if Henry had lived and reigned?


Back in Anglo-Saxon times there were also some occasions where the elder brothers' deaths had far-reaching consequences.

A few instances even in the early part of the period leave me thinking, what if?

Offa of Mercia went to a great deal of time and trouble to secure the legitimate succession of his son, Ecgfrith. Offa and his predecessor, Æthelbald, were only distantly related, and neither was directly related to the kings who had come before. In Mercia during the eighth century there were several contenders for the throne upon every death of the king, and Offa was determined to make the way easier for Ecgfrith. Bloodshed was one of the preferred methods, and letters show that it was not approved of . Alcuin of York wrote a letter in 797 in which he said of Ecgfrith: 'You know very well how much blood his father shed to secure the kingdom on his son.'

But Offa went further, having Ecgfrith anointed by Hygeberht, bishop of Lichfield. (It's probable that the archbishop of Canterbury had refused to do it.)

It was all for nothing, however. Ecgfrith died only a few months after becoming king. The history of Mercian kingship for the next almost one hundred years is one of rival families vying for the throne. The secure dynasty which Offa envisaged was not to be. It might not be stretching a point to suggest that had there been a stronger dynasty, Mercia would have remained an independent kingdom instead of being absorbed by Wessex.

Probably one of the most famous kings who should never have expected to rule was Alfred the Great. He was the youngest of the five sons of King Æthelwulf of Wessex (839-858.)

Æthelwulf went on pilgrimage in 855, taking with him his youngest son, Alfred, and leaving his domains in the hands of his eldest son Æthelbald (Wessex) and second eldest Æthelberht (Kent and the Southeast.) When he returned, he had with him his new wife, Judith of Flanders.

The welcome was perhaps not what he was expecting.  Æthelbald refused to hand back Wessex, and for a while the kingdom was divided - although historians argue the precise nature of this division. Upon his father's death, Æthelbald married his stepmother Judith, which earned him the opprobrium of the chroniclers, particularly Asser, who said that his actions were 'against God's prohibition and Christian dignity, and also contrary to the practice of all pagans ... incurring great disgrace from all who heard of it.' Asser went on to report that the king controlled Wessex for only two and half 'lawless' years after his father.

So the crown passed to his brother, Æthelberht, but he died in 865, and was succeeded by the next brother, Æthelred, who died in 871. He had children, one of whom later rebelled, but who must have been too young to rule in 871. Thus Alfred, the fifth son, became king. 

His grandson, Athelstan, famous victor of the battle at Brunanburh, was said to have been a particular favourite of Alfred's. But he was not supposed to be king.

When Alfred's son, Edward the Elder, died in 924, it seems that his legitimate son, Ælfweard, was declared king in Wessex, while it's generally accepted that the supposedly illegitimate Athelstan was chosen as king of the Mercians. The case might not have been quite so simple, but it's irrelevant because a mere sixteen days later, Ælfweard was dead. Another brother, Edwin, described as a king by Folcwin, deacon of St Bertins, drowned in rather suspicious circumstances. 

Athelstan died without issue and the throne passed to two of his half-brothers, and eventually to the young son of one of those half-brothers. This young son, Eadwig, was famous for having reportedly being caught in bed with his wife and her mother, and banishing the cleric, later saint, Dunstan. He lost half his kingdom two years later and was dead by the age of nineteen. He was almost universally loathed, whereas his younger brother, who succeeded, was known as Edgar the Peaceable, whose reign was free from Viking raids, and renowned for monastic reform.

Edgar

Edgar left two sons, the eldest of whom, Edward the Martyr, gained a reputation for having a fierce temper. He was king only for three years and his murder - said by some to have been arranged by his stepmother - ushered in the long, and troubled, reign of Æthelred, whose nickname was Unræd (ill-counselled.)

This reign saw the renewal of Viking raids, and the invasion forces of Swein Forkbeard and then his son, Cnut. Fighting Cnut for control of the country was  Æthelred's son, later known as Edmund Ironside. Energetic, successful as a military commander, he was nothing like his father. Unfortunately, as mentioned in my last blog post he died, possibly murdered, in 1016. He was probably still only in his twenties. 

In fact, Edmund was a son who didn't make it, having followed a brother who didn't make it. His brother, Athelstan, died while still young, and left a will which provides a wealth of information. From it, we learn that his grandmother, usually reviled for her supposed involvement in the murder of Edward the Martyr, played a huge part in his upbringing. It also shows that he was good friends with a family of Mercians who had strong links with Edmund Ironside.

With some of these cases, it might have been viewed as a good thing that the reigns were cut short; Eadwig, who tried to buy the loyalty of his noblemen, was perhaps no huge loss to the monarchy. Edward the Martyr was not shaping up to be the tactician that his father Edgar had been. 

But the loss of Edmund Ironside was perhaps more significant. He didn't die without issue, but these Anglo-Saxons' nicknames are very telling. Edmund's son became known as Edward the Exile, because he spent a considerable amount of his life abroad, some of it in Hungary. His son was a contender, for a while, for the throne in 1066. But whilst being a teenager was no bar for succession, by the time Edward the Confessor died, powerful court factions and a family named the Godwines had changed the political landscape. 

All these kings feature in my book, Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, available HERE or HERE

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.]

Feast or Symbel?

Where can you eat beans, but not vegetables?
Where can you give your cows fodder, but not eat the beef?
Where can you plant garlic, but not carrots?

Yes, in Anglo-Saxon England.

There are two problems facing the researcher or novelist who might wish to provide some detail to the daily life of their characters:

Firstly, did they know of the items, be it food, or plants?

Secondly, did they have a name for the item which would be recognisable today?

Some of the terms are commonly known. The Anglo-Saxons ate cow; the Normans ate beef. Sheep/mutton, pig/pork - the differences are explained by the Norman words becoming the more 'civilised' option. Thus a stool becomes a chair, an arse becomes a derriere, and so on. 

When I'm writing fiction, I don't stick rigidly to the system of using words derived from Old English. It's not easy putting dialogue together when you can't use words like because, or try, or sky.

But sometimes the word will give me a clue as to whether an item I'm thinking of including in my Anglo-Saxon world has any right to be there.

What if, for example, you want a character to describe another's eyes as almond-shaped? If the Anglo-Saxons didn't know of almonds, then they simply wouldn't think in those terms. Well, it seems that they did know about them, although they were at the time quite an exotic import. So, a rich person, maybe only even a royal person, would know of such a delicacy, or perhaps only someone living near to a port.

The jury is still out, I believe, about rabbits, and whether the Romans or the Normans introduced them to England, but for safety's sake I make sure my characters only talk about hares.

So, assuming that we make sure only the meat, fruit and vegetables that go into the story were known to the Anglo-Saxons, would the names be familiar? Would it be possible to concoct a feast that not only used produce known to them, but with nouns derived from Old English? ('Feast' isn't by the way, the word would be symbel)

We could start with our meat course, and have cow. We wouldn't eat veal, but if we did, we'd have to call it calf. We might have goat meat, especially kid, but that would be called ticcen. Chicken would be fine, and so would goose. Fish, too, and eel, if you like that sort of thing. Herring, fluke and oysters are all okay, too. But sorry, if you want some plaice, you'll have to say facg.

Cheese will be plentiful, but if you want a ploughman's lunch you'll need to ask for a loaf, not bread, and I'm afraid you'll have to forgo the pickle and just stick with butter.

You could have a nice pottage, but you'd need to call it a briw, and in it you might find the afore-mentioned garlic, along with peas, beans, leeks and beets, but the onion would be ciepe. You'd maybe add some herbs for flavouring, but they wouldn't be called herbs. 

For pudding, you might have some fresh fruit, but if you want strawberries then you need to ask for earthberries, and raspberries would be hindberries.

It is difficult to know, when researching, what is meant by 'native' plant. I decided that if a plant or flower had a name derived from Old English, then it's probably safe to assume that it's a pre-Conquest inhabitant. 

So, happily, we have cress, mallow, hemp, hemlock, (not that you'd necessarily want to put that one in the pot!) nettle, hawthorn and hazelnut, but we'd probably have to do without parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. 

I say 'probably', because it's not a fail-safe method. It's known that the Anglo-Saxons ate cabbage, grew barley, and oats, but of those, only oats have a name that looks anything like the modern-day noun. 

The Anglo-Saxons drank wine, but not from 'grapes', (they called them wineberries!) although beer and hop are both derived from Old English, as is apple, but they turned their apples not into cider, but apple-wine.

Little Miss Muffet had curds and whey, but only whey is recognisably derived from Old English.

I'm not a fan of spices, and I like quite traditional food. I could live without that modern invention, the potato, and I think that this diet of dairy produce, meat and veg would suit me quite well. But it seems there were 'nasties'; not only did they have radishes - they called them rædic - but the vegetable called more might refer to carrots (yum) or parsnip (not so yum, unless I can roast them in honey.)

Ah, what about honey? Yes, it was available, but seemingly not used for sweetening foods, certainly not for cakes or fruit dishes, but possibly for drinks, and there is a recipe for pea soup sweetened with honey, which in Old English was called hunig. 

Still, if you are worried about the food tasting bland, there were many salt works, for instance at Nantwich and Droitwich, but even if we didn't know that, the name, sealt, makes it clear that the Anglo-Saxons were familiar with the condiment.

Ketchup though? Probably not.