The Æthelflæd Paradox - My Tamworth Litfest Talk

On Saturday 14th July, I gave a talk about Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, and how I gave her a 'voice' in fiction. I was invited to do this as part of the Tamworth Literary Festival. Here is a transcript of the talk I gave, as part of the celebrations to commemorate her 1100th anniversary.

During my introduction I thanked those involved for inviting me to talk about Ethelfled, Athelflatt, Ethelfleda… and said that the pronunciation of her name is just the smallest of the problems we have to deal with when piecing together her life...

"I could talk for hours about the Anglo-Saxons – don’t worry, I won’t! – because I spend my life reading and writing about them, especially the Mercians. But I want to talk today about what we know about her childhood, her husband’s presumed illness, and her ‘rule’, because they are central themes in the novel.
I couldn’t interview anyone who knew her, obviously, and I didn’t go digging about in archaeological trenches! So inevitably, I fell back on the primary sources but, whilst we think we know a lot about her, there is precious little in the way of documentary evidence.

I’d like to start though by talking about her husband, Æthelred. He was not a king, although he seems to have had high status – we just don’t know quite what it was, or where he came from. There’s no evidence that he was even a leading ealdorman prior to becoming leader of Mercia.
Background
Of the two kings before him, one was Burgred, who was married to Alfred the Great’s sister, and who fled when the Vikings occupied Repton, in the Mercian heartland, with the help and connivance of the next king, Ceolwulf II, who was described as a ‘foolish king’s thegn’ but was very probably a member of a rival royal dynasty. 

Æthelred
And the next ruler of Mercia was Æthelred. We don’t know how he came to lead when there seems to have been no power struggle and he was not of royal stock, nor if he was ruling independently of Alfred at this stage. There were even members of the royal family still alive, but I’ll come back to them in a moment.

Joint Campaign
The campaign against the Viking invaders is quite long and complicated, but I just want to highlight a couple of incidents. One is when Alfred came to an agreement with a Viking named Hasteinn and where Hasteinn gave oaths and hostages, and his sons were baptized with the sponsorship of Alfred and the ealdorman Æthelred. 
   Another was when Alfred’s son, Edward, besieged the enemy and ‘Earl Æthelred lent his aid to the prince [Edward].’ 
   So the three leaders were clearly working together and are named as doing so in the annals. This is an important point.

Alfred's Will

In his will, Alfred left Æthelred a valuable sword but there is no mention in the document that Æthelred was his son-in-law. This omission could of course be accounted for if the will was drawn up before the marriage took place, but then it seems unlikely that he would have bequeathed anything at that stage to a man whom he hardly knew. This is interesting, because if we relied on this document and the ASC (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle), we wouldn’t know that they were married at all. Only a later Anglo-Norman Chronicler tells us that they were "united in marriage." We don’t know exactly when the wedding took place, and it’s safe to assume that she was younger than him, by some margin. 

So...

Æthelflæd
There is very little mention of her in the chronicles. Asser (the Welsh monk who knew Alfred and wrote his Life) is clear that she was the first-born, and it is sometimes assumed that she was raised somewhere other than the court of Wessex, because Asser said that the two youngest children were at all times fostered at the royal court. But it is a large leap to assume that the other children were not brought up at the Wessex court, and nowhere does Asser specifically say that Æthelflæd was raised elsewhere. If she were, then Mercia would have been a possibility, since her mother was Mercian and her aunt was married to the king of Mercia. Presumably though, had she been sent there, she would have returned to Wessex when her uncle the king fled after the Vikings overran Repton.

Even the later chroniclers don’t have much to say about her. William of Malmesbury (12th century) has barely ten lines about her. He's the one who gives us the story that she refused sex after a difficult labour with her only child. Now, I don't know about you, but my view is that had this lady decided to cease all 'marital relations', it's unlikely that she would have told anyone, much less allow them to write it down...

Henry of Huntington (also 12th century) proclaimed that:

Heroic Elflede! great in martial fame,

was

A queen by title, but in deeds a king.

Heroes before the Mercian heroine quail'd:

Caesar himself to win such glory fail'd.

Henry was clearly rather taken with her, but he got a bit muddled when talking about this family. He seems to think that Æthelred was Æthelflæd’s father and that Ælfwynn was her sister, when in fact they were her husband and her daughter respectively. It's possible that he knew Æthelflæd succeeded Æthelred, but that he didn't know why, so he assumed that she was his daughter.

Æthelweard the Chronicler - writing in the tenth century, so much nearer the events, and a member of the Wessex royal family - still only mentions her once, when he says that ‘the king’s sister’ departed this life. There is no suggestion that she was anyone’s wife, much less that she was at any time in charge of Mercia.
   
We only really know about her after his death. Not even during his presumed illness. So what can we deduce about that illness?

Well,

Early on in his reign, Edward, her brother, faced a rebellion from their cousin, who allied with the Vikings, but the interesting thing about this episode for me was that fighting alongside this rebellious cousin was the son of a man described as ‘the atheling Beornoth’, a Mercian. If this man was a relative of King Burgred, it suggests some simmering resentment at what might have been perceived as West Saxon influence in Mercia. 
   

But what of Æthelred? Despite the fact that these rebels harried Mercia, the ASC says that it was Edward who chased them and faced them down. Could this be the first indication that Æthelred had been taken ill?

In 906 Edward made peace with the Vikings ‘from necessity’. So in a few short years the English resistance had withered from a triumvirate to Edward working, seemingly, on his own. Gone are the comments along the lines of ‘with the aid of Æthelred, earl of the Mercians’ and in 907 an entry merely states that ‘Chester was restored.’

By whom? If it was Edward, or Æthelred, why not say so? It seems strange that at this pivotal time, a woman was allowed to lead, yet it’s hard not to conclude that she was in charge at this time. 
   
We have a couple of sources for Æthelred’s illness (as well as reading between the lines where he’s suddenly no longer mentioned,) although one is just a passing reference.

The other is a fragmentary annal which comes to us from Ireland and is known as the Three Fragments. It's not considered hugely reliable but it does tell us that when Chester was overrun, messengers were sent to the ‘King of the Saxons [Æthelred] who was in a disease and on the point of death.’ And it seems to suggest that she was acting on his advice.

Neither the ASC nor the Mercian Register records his illness, but when Edward gathered West Saxon and Mercian forces and went harrying into Northumbria, there is no mention of Æthelred. 

And when, presumably in retaliation, the Northumbrians broke peace, and ravaged Mercia, at the ensuing battle at Tettenhall, Æthelred is not mentioned. The year before this battle, it was his wife who was credited with building a fortress at a place called Bremesbyrig.

So it's probably fairly safe to conclude that he was indeed ill, and for some time.

Her Rule 
When Æthelred died, Edward took London and Oxford under his direct control. Why was he happy to leave Mercia ‘proper’ to his sister? 
   
Perhaps it was taking him some time to secure his reign. Viking activity was strong, and early on in his reign he had been forced to counter a rival bid for his throne. Perhaps there were other similar incidents. It is possible that by taking Mercia under his direct control he would have been spreading himself too thinly. But, if that were the rationale, why not appoint an ealdorman to rule the province for him in his name? To have a woman leader was not unprecedented but was still rare. He did not allow her daughter to succeed so maybe personal qualities came into play. Because, the question also needs to be asked: why were the Mercians happy to have her as a ruler?
      
We don’t know that Æthelflæd wielded a sword, or even led Mercian troops. The Mercian Register, even though it calls her Lady of the Mercians whereas the ASC only calls her Edward’s sister, focuses on her building programme, rather than the fighting.

So, what is the Mercian Register? It is, or rather they, are a series of entries contained within the ASC and it/they concentrate exclusively on Æthelflæd. It records her death with the words ‘the eighth year in which she had held power with right lordship’. There are only two mentions of Æthelred, once at his death in 911, and once as Ælfwynn’s father. There may have been a lost chronicle, one in which Æthelred played a much more prominent role, which would explain why the chroniclers got confused and also hints again that his status may have been higher than ‘mere’ ealdorman. Note that Ælfwynn is described as his daughter, rather than Æthelflæd's. But, if there were such a chronicle, it's lost to us now.

The focus as we have it now, is very much on Æthelflæd’s role as ruler. But, typed out, it still only covers one A4 sheet of paper. I know, because I've done it!

The years following Æthelred’s death saw his widow and her brother busy with the building programme, with Edward building five fortresses and Æthelflæd building nine and both had the enemy submitting to them. The campaigns appear to have been strategic & coordinated. 

In the middle of all this frenetic activity she sent an army into Brycheiniog (Llangorse Lake). The Mercian Register tells us that this was to avenge the death of an abbot.  

 The following year she took the borough of Derby and
   
in 918 The Three Fragments says that she directed a battle against the Dublin-Norse, ordering her troops to cut down the trees where the ‘pagans’ were hiding. Thus we are led to believe that as well as partnering her brother in an extensive and well-co-ordinated attack on the Danes, she was conducting her own campaign against the Norse.
   
Was she literally leading these armies; where did she learn to do this? It was unprecedented. We are told that an earlier queen of Wessex, who ruled for a year after her husband’s death, was expelled because ‘they would not go to war under the conduct of a woman,’ and notice that it’s only the Three Fragments which states that she was leading troops. 
   
On 12 June 918, as we know, Æthelflæd died here at Tamworth. Her body was taken to Gloucester for burial,  so probably quite a speedy funeral procession, given the time of year! 

The Annals of Ulster recorded the death of the ‘most famous queen of the Saxons’ and the Annales Cambriae recorded that ‘Queen Æthelflæd died’. Is it possible though that they afforded her the royal title because they simply didn’t know what else to call her? The only time they mention her is on the occasion of her death. 

In December 918, Æthelflæd’s daughter was taken into Wessex. The Mercian Register complains that she was ‘deprived of all authority’. Why was Edward content to let his sister govern Mercia, but not her daughter; was it a simple case that the daughter did not match the mother in terms of ability? Timing may be a factor here; it should maybe be noted that by this stage, Edward had adult sons, who needed more inheritance than could be provided by Wessex alone.
   
But that Edward left his sister in charge, firstly after her husband’s incapacitation, and then again after his death, when he could have marched in and brought Mercia under his direct control, surely tells us a lot about her and their relationship. Especially bearing in mind that he did exactly that once she’d died.  

It speaks to me of her personal strengths.

So, how did I go about giving her a voice, without straying from the documented history? 
   

Fictionalising
It's sometimes difficult to know where to begin a novel, but in this case I knew I had to start with her childhood, because here is where I think the relationships must have been forged, particularly her bond with her brother. 

So this family, which included a disaffected cousin, who in all likelihood grew up with the royal children, and a father who must of necessity have been a distant figure (and he's portrayed as such in the book) - how did the campaigns affect his wife who was waiting at home? That’s something I explore.

I did send her to her aunt’s court in Mercia early on. It was important for the novel’s story that she had vague memories of the place, and that she was surprised upon her return to find that she wasn’t welcome. I have no idea if this was true, but if, as we think, there was Mercian resentment to losing power and kingship, it makes sense that they might have been initially hostile to this princess of Wessex. And what the marriage signified for Mercian independence.

Æthelred’s illness was an interesting challenge. It had to be something which laid him low, but that allowed him to be compos mentis, to still be able to give strategic advice, if the Three Fragments is to be believed. It had to be something which allowed him to linger, for the best part of a decade, but that still eventually killed him. 

If I’d stuck to what we know about Æthelflæd, then ironically the book would have been very short. So I did send her to Wales, even though there’s no clear evidence that she went. She ‘sent’ an army into Wales, we're told, but drama is not much good if it’s all happening off-stage, so I let her go with them.

And remember those hostages of Hasteinn’s? I decided to send them to Æthelflæd in Mercia for safe-keeping. This was interesting, because a central theme of the book is that throughout her life, the enemy has been fearsome, destructive, but also unseen. Suddenly, she has to face her demons.

And I used the ‘myths’ that surround her life, but tried to ground them plausibly. The Three Fragments, as I said, not hugely reliable, gives us some juicy detail about the siege of Chester and in particular of certain things which were thrown over the walls at the enemy. So early on I gave her the trait of chucking things when she's in a bad mood, and the things that she throws are also introduced early on, so that when the idea comes to her it's a logical progression rather than appearing from nowhere.

She only had one child – that seems to have been established - but I weaved in a reason why that might have been. And it has little to do with William of Malmesbury's assessment!

People need to trust what they’re reading when it comes to historical fiction so it’s important that we don’t change the facts but we interpret how the characters react. Always asking the question: Why? And we must ground the story in reality:
A sentence in history becomes years of relationship. We can say simply that ‘In around 886 they were married and he was probably older than her by some years.’ But this short sentence becomes chapters and chapters of a novel, where we explore how the relationship developed, how each partner viewed it and what it represented.

I also needed to recreate the Anglo-Saxon world – the food, clothing, lifestyle, agriculture. This involved much reading, research, and I talked to a number of generous and gracious leading academics. I needed to know things such as whether we can say that the ages of puberty & menopause were similar to those of today. I also needed an explosion, set in a world which didn't have gunpowder or cannons. And I was delighted to discover the flammable properties of flour dust! 

Summing Up
She wasn’t a queen because he wasn’t a king. Simple. But why not? Other kings of Mercia had taken the title before, with no direct claim. So, was he Alfred’s vassal then? (Not that they would have used that word.) Their status as a couple is anomalous; unique.

I think that her whole life was lived under the threatening shadow of the Vikings. Her marriage was beyond her control and was only to seal a deal. What interested me was how she then might have dealt with that reality. How did she get the Mercians to accept her? 

I’m going to be a little controversial and say that I don’t actually buy the whole ‘warrior woman’ scenario. People often say that she had an agenda, that she was determined from the outset to make her mark, fight the Vikings, drive them away. I’m not convinced. 

I don’t think the fight would have been easy, or natural for her (Asser focuses on the royal children’s education, not sword practice.) My focus is on her continuing her husband’s fight, not her father’s, which gives a slightly different perspective.

I’ve portrayed her as a woman of her time – she had to fit into her historical setting – but within that, she was still extraordinary, and I wanted to explore how she became so.
I thought about how this woman in a man’s world might have felt when asked to lead a country in a time of war. There must have been a deal of soul-searching, of doubt over whether she could take on the role.

For me, she is a heroine, because of that: the woman I’ve portrayed is one who reacts to her circumstances, develops as she grows, and makes choices which she’s not always happy about. She is, above all, driven by duty – she’s the daughter of a king, after all – and this means personal sacrifice. How would her new life, in an unprecedented role, have affected the mother-daughter relationship?

I think she had to step up, despite her fear. By the time she goes to Wales, she’s exhausted, and battered by the losses she’s suffered. Remember, also, that by this stage, this woman was probably around 50 yrs old. Warrior woman or not, what she achieved was remarkable.

Remarkable, yet barely remarked upon. In this ‘year of women’ it’s a great boon to her reputation that it’s also her anniversary. People are talking about her, and yet we really can fit what we actually know about her into a few short pages. The paradox is that those few short pages can easily expand to fill an entire novel. And yet, hardly anyone has done so. For me, even after years of studying her and writing about her, in fiction and non-fiction, she remains an enigma. And a fascinating one."

To Be A Queen is my novel about The Lady of the Mercians, while she and her husband and daughter have a chapter to themselves in Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom, available for pre-order now, to be released in September 2018 by Amberley Publishing [This is now out in paperback too and in 2020 Women of Power in Anglo-Saxon England was also published.]

Odda of Deerhurst - Omitted from the Novel?

A very short walk from Deerhurst Church, in Gloucestershire, there is another Anglo-Saxon place built for worship. It’s known as Odda’s Chapel.

In 1675 a tree fell down in the orchard outside a half-timbered manor house and revealed an inscription stone embedded in its roots. The stone recorded - in Latin - the founding of a chapel by Odda in remembrance of his brother, Ælfric, who had died in 1053. Odda died in 1056, only a few months after the consecration of the chapel. It was originally thought that the stone referred to Deerhurst Church, but in the nineteenth century renovations to the house revealed the chapel, which had been incorporated into the later building.

Even today, repairs are ongoing

The dedication stone reads: Earl Odda ordered this royal hall to be built and dedicated in honour of the holy Trinity & for the soul of his brother Ælfric who died in this place. Bishop Ealdred dedicated it on 12 April. The fourteenth year of Edward, king of the English (1056)

A replica of the dedication stone

Odda and his brother both died at Deerhurst, but were buried at Pershore.

Pershore Abbey today (public domain image)

Talbot & Whiteman's book has this to say about Pershore: that the monks were ejected shortly after King Edgar's death in 975, probably by Ælfhere of Mercia. They were reinstated when Ælfhere died. His grandson was Earl Odda, who founded the Saxon chapel at Deerhurst in memory of his brother, and who was a benefactor of Pershore.

Wait, what? A grandson of Ælfhere? But I've written a whole novel about the grandfather without once mentioning the existence of this progeny. Had I made a terrible mistake?

John Leland (the 16th century antiquarian) suggested that Odda was ‘Elfer’s (Ælfhere) son’. Son? This was even worse!

So, grandson, or son? Well, as I'd always believed, neither.

Ælfhere, who was probably around twenty in 956, died at a date which makes it unlikely that he was Odda’s father. (Odda first appears in the records in 1013) So was he his grandfather?

The two men certainly had landholdings in the same area of Mercia, and both were seemingly connected to the West Saxon royal house.

There also seems to be some shared link to Pershore. Annals recorded by Leland seem to assume that because Odda restored lands which had been allegedly seized by Ælfhere that there must have been some family connection.

But Ann Williams has suggested that Odda was more likely to have been related to Æthelweard, ealdorman of the Western shires (also known as Æthelweard the Chronicler - and in this capacity he informed us that he was descended from King Æthelred I, Alfred the Great’s brother).

The presumed connection to Ælfhere seems to stem partly from the association with a man named Godwine, who appears on a charter from 1014, along with Odda. This Godwine may well have been a nephew of Ælfhere’s.

Does this confirm the idea that Odda was related to Ælfhere? Another charter attestation shows Odda preceded on the list by a man named Ælfgar mæw, a man associated with monasteries at Tewkesbury (nearby) and Cranborne (not so near, in Dorset). The Tewkesbury chronicle recorded that he, and his father, Æthelweard, were related to the royal house of Wessex. If this is the same Æthelweard as the man who was ealdorman of the Western shires, then some conclusion may be drawn from the fact that in 1051, after the ealdordom had passed through the hands of the powerful Godwin family, it was then given to Odda, as if there were some family connection.

Pershore, too, had associations with Ealdorman Æthelweard, where Odda was remembered as a benefactor, and where he and his brother were buried. 

The precise nature of their relationship to  Æthelweard is not clear, but the suggestion of kinship seems more plausible than that Odda was a son or grandson of Ælfhere’s.

Ælfhere was succeeded as ealdorman of Mercia by a man named Ælfric cild who was probably his brother-in-law, rather than a son. 

None of this is provable beyond all doubt, but it seems that I was right, after all, not to have a character named Odda in the novel.

Still, that’s not to say that the chapel is not of interest to me. Anglo-Saxon buildings are rare enough, and this one, though only a shell, is a site worth visiting.

According to John Blair, the precinct of the minster of Deerhurst was divided, with the northern half being retained by the monastic community and the southern half becoming the earl’s residence. The chapel was built a small distance from the church and, although it is unusual in that the dedication stone exists, the building is very typical of its age, showing similarities with many parish churches of that time with what Blair calls ‘overlap’ details.

Deerhurst Church contains many fine examples of Anglo-Saxon carvings, walls and windows, and the atmosphere inside it is calm, peaceful and conducive to contemplation, for this is a building which has been used continuously for worship for more than a millennium. Odda’s chapel is equally quiet, but in an almost eerie way, for it stands empty, showing not the same signs of continuous use, but as a stark and rare reminder of how these buildings looked, and it spoke in its own way of the passing of time.  If only more of these buildings had survived.

My novel, Alvar the Kingmaker, tells the story of the life and career of Ælfhere, ealdorman of Mercia

Further reading:

Gloucestershire People and History - Richard Sale
The Heart of England - Rob Talbot and Robin Whiteman
Land, power and politics: the family of Odda of Deerhurst - Ann Williams
The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society - John Blair
Princeps Merciorum gentis: The Family, Career and Connections of Ælfhere, Ealdorman of Mercia, 956-83 - Ann Williams 
All photographs unless otherwise stated taken by and copyright of the author.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was I doing there? Well, I’d been up at the church, taking photos of the Anglo-Saxon architecture for my new book about the history of Mercia. Odda himself doesn’t feature in the book because, whilst he clearly had associations and lands within Mercia, his area of jurisdiction was in Wessex. And, for most of the book, Wessex is the ‘enemy’...

Available from Amazon and Amberley Publishing

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.

~~~~~~~~~~

[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:

Amazon
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.
Amazon
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

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