A king, an earl and the terrible death of a prince

Edward the Confessor came to the throne after his half brother Harthacnut died in June 1042. Harthacnut had designated him as his heir, however it was not a foregone conclusion and Edward would have needed to rally the support of the English nobility. One of those whom it might have been necessary for him to ingratiate himself with would have been Godwin of Wessex although Edward would most likely have loathed the man. Godwin was a dominant figure in the politics of the time and had control of a large part of what was once Alfred the Great's Kingdom of Wessex. Godwin must have played a large part in rallying the other nobles and thegns to Edward’s cause and for this, Edward may have felt obliged to agree to wed Godwin’s daughter Edith. 

No doubt Edward’s animosity toward Godwin, as we shall see by his attitude later, was driven by Godwin’s part in the death of Alfred, Edward’s younger brother. Alfred’s unpleasant demise had occurred when in 1036, the brothers, living as exiles in Normandy for more than 20 years, had received a letter allegedly written by their mother Queen Emma,  inviting them to England and seeking their help. In 1036, Alfred and Edward had for some reason decided to travel separately to England. The expedition appears to have been a failure for both of them but at least Edward was to escape with his life. Unfortunately for Alfred, he did not. Some sources lay the blame for his death totally at Godwin’s door and others were less inclined to show Godwin in a bad light. What appears to have happened is that Alfred and his party were met by Godwin who was to escort them to meet with Harold Harefoot, then the monarch of the time. At Guildford, however, they were intercepted by Harold’s men and taken from Godwin’s custody. What happened next ended with poor Alfred being blinded and dying of his wounds at Ely.

This is what the Abingdon Manuscript (C) tells us

            “But then Godwine stopped him, and set him in captivity,

             And drove off his companions, and some variously killed;

            Some of them were sold for money, some cruelly destroyed,

            Some of them were fettered and some of them were blinded,

            Some maimed, some scalped,

            No more horrible deed was done in this country

            Since the Danes came and made peace here....

            .....The atheling still lived; he was threatened with every evil;

            Until it was decided that he would be led to Ely town, fettered thus

            As soon as he came on ship he was blinded, and blind thus brought to the monks,

            And their he dwelt as long as he lived,

            Afterwards he was buried as well as befitted him,

            Full honourably, as he was entitled.......

            ....His soul is with Christ.

            It seemed that Edward would forever hold it against Godwin for what happened to Alfred even though he was to be cleared before the court on oath more than once. To Edward, Godwin was like a boil on his backside that would never go away and when one day, the opportunity came for Edward to be rid of the whole Godwin family, he grasped it firmly in his hands. Robert Champart of  Jumièges was the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury and a longstanding enemy of Godwin's. According to the sources he began whispering in the King's ear that Godwin had murdered his brother Alfred and was now plotting to murder him. A visit from Edward's brother-in-law Eustace of Boulogne seemed to fuel the fire that was burning in Edward's heart, when on his way home to Boulogne, he and his men stopped at the town of Dover and caused a fight with the townspeople. some of Eustace's men were killed in the fight as well as an equal number of townfolk. Godwin was ordered by the King to punish the town by razing it to the ground. He refused. Dover was in Godwin's jurisdiction and he may have heard the Doverian townsfolk's side of the sad, sorry tale. In anycase, his refusal to punish them resulted in a stand off between the Godwins and the King and his supporters. They were all consequently exiled and although Edward accepted Godwin back, restored his lands and in his office as Earl after a year in exile, their relationship would always be strained.

            Edward’s unforgiving attitude towards Godwin later shows in his behaviour at the Earl’s death in 1053 at a court reunion with his family and the King. During the feast, Edward is allegedly said to have made acrimonious remarks toward Godwin regarding his involvement in Alfred’s death. It was said that Godwin is so enraged that it causes him to have a stroke and he dies later in Edward’s private apartment. Perhaps Edward felt a pang of guilt and offered him the comfort of his own chamber and doctor.

References
Barlow F (2002) The Godwins Pearson Educated LTD, Edinburgh.
Barlow F (1970) Edward The Confessor, Yale University Press, London.
Stanton M Translationof the Anglo Saxon Chronicle.

An Excerpt from Chapter 16: The Exiles

      The Godwinsons have just heard that their kinsmen are to remain in Normandy as hostages for the Duke. Harold and his brothers are unhappy that their sister the Queen and brother Tostig, the King's favourite, are unwilling to speak up for the hostages for fear of compromising their position with the King.


            There had been no more to say. Hakon and Wulfnoth were to remain at the King’s behest in Normandy. It had not been expressly confirmed that they were part of a bargain between the King and Champart and then Champart and the Duke, but it did not have to be said. It was obvious, Harold knew it. The Godwinsons left the Council Chamber, deflated. The King had played his pieces well. He had written to the Duke, he claimed and he was happy to let the boys stay as hostages. They were being well treated and educated. What would be the point in disrupting their lives now? Had not he after all had a good Norman education?

 Harold locked himself in conversation with Bishop Ealdred as they walked along the open passageway to the Godwinsons apartments. His mother walked with them, her arm linked through her eldest son’s. Behind them walked her younger sons, Gyrth and Leofwin.

“What I do not understand is what Edward gains from this?” Harold was saying to Ealdred. He had come to view the older man like a father. He’d missed his wisdom and good judgement this past year when he had been abroad and was grateful the Bishop was now here for him to confide in.

“Apart from revenge on your father?” Ealdred replied. “A promise from Normandy not to harbour pirates and allow them to use their ports to raid our shores?”

“There has to be more.”

“That he would consider William as his heir?” Ealdred answered as if he were making a statement rather than a question.

“Then why send you abroad to find the Exile and his family? Why agree to allow me to go with you to the Holy Roman Emperor’s court to fetch another contender for the throne when he has already promised his crown to William?”

Ealdred shrugged his sturdy shoulders as they turned into their apartments. The room was furnished with cushioned stools and chairs, a stone hearth in the centre of the room and tables at which to sit at. A wicker partition divided off the sleeping areas. Like Harold and Eadgyth’s apartment, it was lavishly furnished. Her family all knew that Edith’s pride forbade her not to provide the best trappings of comfort.

“I have a theory,” Ealdred began, “I don’t believe that Edward ever really meant to offer the Duke his crown. I believe it was a whim that came to him when the tide had turned against your father. I believe that he regrets it now and would prefer to steer clear of any discussions with the Duke about the return of the boys for fear of re-opening the dialogue about the succession. I don’t believe that Edward is so stupid that he does not realise William of Normandy would not be a popular choice but at the same time he would not want to risk angering him by reneging on the bargain.”

“And so, our monarch prefers to ignore the situation and hope that it will go away. But it will not go away unfortunately and that could put our boys at risk also,” Countess Gytha added emotionally. “Oh Lord in Heaven why did that devil Champart take them away from us!” She slunk down into the nearest chair and clasped her head in her hands. Her maidservant knelt beside her to offer her comfort.

“Edward would rather play along with Duke by saying nothing. I wouldn’t put it past him to have not written Normandy at all and that he has fabricated the whole tale into the bargain!” Harold kicked the wall in frustration. “God damn them all, Edward, the Duke, my sister.... Champart!”

Gyrth threw his hands up in frustration. “This is beyond any logic, the King must do something. These boys are his wife’s family. Why does Edith care so much for all the wards in her care and not a jot about her own brother and nephew? And what of Tostig? Is he not currently flavour of the month?  I cannot believe he is not able to influence the King in anyway?”

            They were surprised when without knocking, Tostig opened the door to the chamber, just as Gyrth mentioned his name.

            “Talking about me dear brothers? Well here I am in person. You can say it to my face whatever it was.” Tostig stepped in and closed the door behind him.

            “Don’t you have your own rooms to go to, or do you sleep in the royal bed between the King and Queen? Perhaps Alfgar was right after all,” said Gyrth sourly.

            “I should watch your tongue, Gyrth. That Mercian dog wasn’t that difficult to get rid of, nor should you be, brother or no.”

            “Horningsunu!” Gyrth shouted as he lunged forward and grabbed Tostig by the throat, slamming him into the wall behind him. “Do you only care about yourself? What about our younger brother and Hakon! Do they not deserve some bloody consideration?”

            Tostig pushed his younger brother in an attempt to release himself from his grip. “Get your hands off me you stupid fool! I could have you outlawed, just like that!”

            “Just like Alfgar?” Gyrth spat as he wrestled with him. He lashed out and Tostig caught his arm and thrust his free fist into his stomach.

            Harold shouted at them to stop. The Countess was crying and pleading for them to desist.            “Why must it always be so with my children!” she cried.

            Harold cried out for Leofwin to help him separate them and Ealdred grabbed one of Gyrth’s arms to assist. Harold grasped Tostig by his shoulders and pulled him away. He had caught Gyrth in a head lock, but Harold’s action forced him to release him. As they were separated, Gyrth managed to free his arm from Leofwin’s grasp and swung out one last punch at Tostig. Harold pre-empted it and caught it with the palm of his hand deflecting it.

            “What are we, animals, or men?” shouted Harold. He pulled Tostig out of Gyrth’s reach.

            “You men are not fit to be earls! If your poor father, God rest his soul, could see you all now, he certainly be turning in his grave!” Gytha had risen to her feet and was wringing her hands in anguish.

Harold grabbed hold of Tostig and dragged him behind the partition and into the sleeping area.

            “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. He saw that Tostig was shaking. In the other room, they could hear their mother berating Gyrth in between loud sobs.

            “Mother is upset,” Tostig said. “I did not come here for this.”

            “What did you come here for then?”

            “I came to join my family. We are still family, or so I thought. Now I realise that you are all against me.”

            “And what makes you think that, brother?”  Harold found that he too shook with anger. He paced before Tostig, gesticulating furiously. “Why on earth would you think we are all against you? Tell me what leads you to that conclusion?”

            “I cannot for the life of me know Harold, what it is that I have supposed to have done to make all of you behave thus with me. I came here to tell you that I promise that when the time is right, I will speak for Wulfnoth and Hakon. I endeavoured before the King to tell you that it was not a good time to speak of the matter. Edith tried to tell you also. The trouble with you is you never listen to anyone but yourself!”

            Harold was astounded. “You manipulative bastard! You think I am stupid enough to think you are telling the truth? You intervened because you want to keep his favour, not because you care a jot for our brother, nor Edward for that matter! Time for his afternoon nap indeed!” He paced the room, then stopped and folded his arms, glaring hotly at his brother.

            Tostig looked wounded. “Why is it so difficult for you to believe me Harold? We are brothers! Does that not count for anything?” Tostig threw him a beseeching look. “What has happened to you brother, that you are filled with such suspicion of your own flesh and blood?”

            “What has happened to me? Nay brother, ’tis you who are the changed one!” Harold threw his head back as if he were seeking aid from the heavens. There were words on the tip of his tongue that he did not want to let loose should he forever regret them. Instead he breathed in deeply. He knew Tostig was lying, for he had turned his face and would not look him in the eye.

            “The boys are safe, Harold. I do not know what all the fuss is about. They are receiving a good education amongst the Normans, you heard what Edward said.” Still Tostig refused to look at him.

“And what will happen to them when William finds out that Edward is dangling his crown in front of others? He has been doing so with Swein of Denmark for some years and Ralph for that matter.”

“They say that William is a devout Christian. We must hope this is so and that they will come to no harm. They will be treated well, William is an honourable man, this much I do know.”

“Just how do you know?”

“Are you forgetting his wife is my Judith’s own kin? Besides, it would be futile for William to harm them if he is keen to get his hands on the crown. They are his surety, after all.” Tostig sat down on a coffer and folded his arms defensively. “Whatever you think of me Harold, I do care about our brother....and Swegn’s boy. I am not so ambitious that I would put myself before their welfare.”

Harold leaned against the opposite wall facing his brother. He sighed heavily. He wanted to believe his brother, but he knew that when a man did not look you in the eye, chances were that he was lying. He gazed at Tostig. His brother was looking at the floor.  In their silence, their mother   could be heard still arguing with Gyrth who fumed about Tostig’s ‘selfishness’. Harold had not realised how much of a hothead his younger brother could be. As the thought came to mind, he remembered what Gyrth had said earlier when he had been fighting with Tostig; “Just like Alfgar?!”

            “What did you do?” Harold asked as the significance of what he had heard dawned upon him.

            “What?”

            “Alfgar. You set him up didn’t you? You said ‘That Mercian dog was easily got rid of!’ What did you mean by that?”

            “Come on brother, it would only have been a matter of time before Alfgar got himself exiled. His behaviour has always been arrogant and dishonourable. He was not fit to wear the office of an Earl.”

            Harold found Tostig’s own conceit deplorable. He shook his head and shifted uncomfortably. “So I was right in my suspicions. You contrived the whole thing. It was you and Ralph wasn’t it? God knows I had not wanted to believe it!”

            “And so what? Do you think there is a man in the whole of Englalond who cares?” Tostig rose to his feet. His expression was dark.

            “Do not be so sure, brother, that there isn’t. Can you not see what this means for the kingdom?”

            “Aye, I see a brighter future!” Tostig smirked.

            “Jesus, Tostig, do you think that Alfgar will be idly twiddling his thumbs somewhere on an island, living his days out quietly in peaceful retirement?”       Tostig shrugged and sat back down. He was still smirking and that riled Harold even more. “Bloody Hell, Tostig, your arrogance offends me. Get out of my sight before I do something to you that I would regret.”

            Tostig stood to his feet again. “I did Englalond a favour, Harold, if you would but see it! Do not worry, I am leaving. I would not want to sully your presence with mine!”

            As Tostig moved to leave, Harold caught his arm. “Alfgar went with a band of followers, Tostig.... and money. I have heard that he went to Ireland to seek aid and gather forces. What do you think will happen if he succeeds?”

            “Then we will fight him, brother and rid ourselves of him once and for all!”

            “What if he allies himself with Gruffydd, it would not be the first time as we know!”

            “Then we kill two birds with one stone!”

            Tostig pushed past the petition and Harold let him go. When Gyrth saw him, he leapt to his feet with his fists at the ready. Harold and Leofwin restrained him.

           

“No Gyrth, leave him be. He is not worth it,” Harold muttered. He waited for Tostig to leave the chamber before he released him.

            “I cannot believe how close we once were,” Gyrth said bitterly when Tostig had gone.

            “What has happened to him to make him like this?” Leofwin asked innocently.

            “Edith happened to him,” Gyrth replied.

            Ealdred laid gentle hands on Harold and Gyrth’s upper arms. “My sons, we should pray for him.”          

Horstede: Setting the scene

My novel, Sons of the Wolf is mainly set in a village in East Sussex called Horstede. It was listed in the Domesday Book as being land held from the king by Wulfhere before 1066. Holding their lands from Wulfhere, were 9 villeins and 6 cottars. Between them they own 7 and a half ploughs with a team of 8 oxen each and 1 with a half team of 4. Now-a-days, it is little more than a hamlet just beyond Uckfield and called Little Horsted. Besides a single row of houses, a parish church and a school, there is also a Golf club and a hotel. Surrounding the place there are farms and  fields. There is even a roundabout called the Little Horsted roundabout but nothing much else is there.

 What made me choose this place for the setting of my book? I was inspired to write something after viewing the annual Battle of Hastings re-enactment back in 2004. I had been looking for a suitable subject to write about since I decided that I would fulfill my child hood dream and set about the mammoth task of writing an epic historical novel. I had worked on projects in the past but life events had served to drift me away from realising my dream. Eventually I lost my confidence and my aspiration did not return until I attended a college course for Health and Social care. Doing this course helped me to realise that I could still write.

 Having come across Helen Hollick's fantastic novel about Harold the King, I decided that another book written about Harold himself would need to be really well written and a master piece if I was to better hers. As it was my first attempt, I decided to keep it simple and I thought, why not tell the story of Hastings through the eyes of the ordinary men and women? That way I could still use the historical background and characters but centralise the story around a family whose experiences through the events of the 11thc I would be free to play with.

Eventually, the real inspiration for Sons came in the form of a different book. I found David Howarth's little gem 1066 The Year Of The Conquest  at a medieval fare. He tells the story of 1066 from the standpoint of a Sussex village. He chose Little Horsted as it was his own home and describes the holding as it was in the Domesday Book. I already had the basis of a story that I wanted to write, I just needed a character. I had thought to invent my own village and my own thegn but here was Wulfhere (Howarth calls him Ulfer, simply a different spelling) just waiting for me to find him.

Nothing is known about what sort of man Wulfhere was, what he did in his life and what the names of his family were. Things like that were not recorded for simple folk in those days. However, I hope that if he were alive today, he would not be offended by the life I created for him. Equally, Helghi of Gorde also was a man of the Domesday. Again I hope I would not offend him too much by my villainous portrayal of him. But this is a fictional interpretation and their story is my telling alone. I believe it is how life might have been for men and women of this time and although I have written this story from a 21st century point of view, I have tried to create an Anglo Saxon mind set and at the end of the day, these were people like you and I. They laughed, they cried, they loved and hated much like us, after all.

Edward II: Edward II In Fiction: A Spoof

Edward II: Edward II In Fiction: A Spoof

A Segment from Chapter 7: The Betrothal; Helghi is caught trying to rape a servant girl

Helghi staggered out from the doorway and lurched down the steps of the porch, belching and breaking wind loudly as he did so. He had no wish to leave the comfort of the hall but was unable to contain his need to relieve himself any longer.   He’d made sure that he’d had more food and mead than was considered gracious of a guest. After all, was it not small compensation for the troubles that Wulfhere had caused him over the years? He made a mental note of them in his head; a crippled son for one, that was definitely Wulfhere’s fault. Then there was the loss of his crops over the years.... of which he was convinced was the doing of Wulfhere’s wife, Ealdgytha and her evil eyes. Hadn’t the witch poisoned Helghi’s wife and caused her to die?... Then there was Alfgyva….ah yes beautiful, dark and bewitching Alfgyva. The woman should have been mine, dammit! And she would have been had it not been for Wulfhere’s interference.  There were countless more reasons for him to hate Wulfhere that stretched back over the years and Helghi was convinced that the Horstede clan had for generations, been responsible for Helghi’s family not having advanced their status.

 He made his way along the side of the Longhall, hands groping like a blind man’s, flinching as a splinter from one of the timber posts caught his finger. It was useless for a man to try and find the midden pit in this state, he thought and then a smile came over his face as he pulled up his tunic. Squatting unceremoniously on the grass, exposing his bare buttocks to the chill of the night air, he defecated effortlessly on the ground, right beside his host’s hall. He smiled at the thought of Wulfhere or one of his grubby barefoot children stepping in it. His hands found the ground in front of him and he levered himself to his feet, adjusted his clothing and turned to go back inside, stumbling drunkenly as he did so. Rounding the corner of the front entrance he paused. Swaying unsteadily, he stood aside to allow a girl to hurry down the steps into the yard.

Sigfrith was making her way out into the dim moon-lit darkness to Lady Gerda’s bower to check on her as she had been doing throughout the night. Intent on her purpose and used to drunken men’s stares, she paid no heed to Helghi’s lewd observance of her.  She made her way along the coarse pathway and paused for a moment to observe two figures stealthily dart across the yard and disappear amongst the darkened shadows of the out-buildings. They appeared to be a male and female, one being tall and slim of build and the other much smaller and slighter. In the darkness she could not have been sure, but was almost certain that it was Edgar and Freyda. Her tongue clicked the roof of her mouth, scornful of their disregard. If they are caught…she thought to herself, they will be whipped.

***

She made to move on when suddenly she felt an unexpected hand on her shoulder. She turned in surprise only to have a big hairy face with foul stinking breath, shoved into hers. Slobbering thick wet lips sucked at her own as she was pushed roughly up against the outer wall of the hall. Sigfrith tried to fight, but despite his inebriated state, Helghi was strong and she felt her skirts whipped up and his hands groping at her groin.

“Son of a…! Look at that fool!” exclaimed Tigfi, who had just been sharing a joke with Esegar on their way back from the urinal pit. “Not the best place to seduce a wench, in full view of anybody on their way for a piss. The man must be as full as a cow’s udder on a winter’s morn!”

They both laughed but they stopped laughing when they heard the girl’s muffled cries.

 It was dark and light was sparse, but it began to dawn on them that the girl’s cries were not moans of pleasure after all and that she was struggling with the man who had her pinned against the outer wall of the Longhall.

“’Tis no seduction, my friend, that girl is the Lady Ealdgytha’s servant girl, the baker’s daughter. Looks like that filthy scum Helghi is attempting to be free with her and she is not liking it very much!”

“Nor would I, for that matter!” Tigfi replied in disgust. “Best we put a stop to it, my friend.”

“Aye, but we must not make a fuss. Wulfhere cannot know of this or he will fly into a rage, end the betrothal.... or worse still, kill Helghi and thus incur the Earl’s displeasure!”

            Esegar knew that the fortune of his lord affected all of his people. It was of the utmost importance that the hostilities were not resumed.

Tigfi nodded. “There is nothing like a good feud to alienate Lord Harold. He hates feuding amongst his people. He says there are better enemies to fight than ourselves.”

            “Then it is up to you and I, Tigfi to keep the peace,” Esegar said and the two men hurried to the girl’s aid.

Sigfrith was fighting hard against Helghi’s groping hands and was holding her own, but she didn’t know how long she could maintain it. It was with great relief that she felt Helghi pulled forcibly away from her. She stared with pure hatred at her assailant as he was held back by the two men, spitting and snarling like an angry bull.

“Are you alright lass?” Esegar checked as Helghi struggled to break free.

Sigfrith took a deep breath and nodded, then, with her skirts lifted, she swung back her leg and kicked her attacker full between the legs. The blow took them all by surprise and as they staggered back, Sigfrith took the opportunity to hurry away.

Tigfi and Esegar chuckled as Helghi bent double.

“The bitch! Fucking wild cat! ” He spat as he rubbed his private parts in agony. The blow had taken his breath. “She was asking for it all night!” he spluttered in a poor attempt to excuse his behaviour.

Enraged, Tigfi swung Helghi and slammed him up against the wall of the hall, eyes blazing in anger. He was only a youth, no more than twenty, but powerfully built from the rigorous training that huscarles were expected to partake of. Helghi even when clear-headed would have found himself no match for the younger man.

“You dare to dishonour the Earl and Lord Wulfhere by forcing yourself on his servant girl in his own home?” bellowed Tigfi angrily. “At your own son’s betrothal feast?”

The young huscarle held Helghi by his fleshy neck.

“What are you going to do about it?” Helghi snarled defiantly.

“Nothing, Helghi. It’s what you are going to do that is important.”

Helghi stared at Tigfi uncomprehendingly.

“You are going to get your fat arse back inside and behave as a good guest should,” Tigfi continued, “...and behave with the grace and decency a man should toward his host and lord.”

“What if I said I didn’t want to?” Helghi said through clenched teeth.

“Now now, Master Helghi. Let’s not be childish about this.” Tigfi tightened his grip on the older man. “I don’t want to have to explain to the Earl why your bollocks are impaled on my seax. If you follow my advice, then we won’t tell and the Earl won’t have to punish you for raping a servant girl. What’s the punishment for rape these days, Esegar? Is it still castration?”

“I didn’t rape her,” protested Helghi. He gave them a frustrated look.“Didn’t get the chance!”

Tigfi grasped Helghi’s balls in his other hand and squeezed them painfully as if to emphasise what he was threatening.

“OOOW! ALRIGHT!” Helghi gasped as excruciating pain struck him in the crotch. “Don’t you think they’ve had enough for one night?”

“Good man. Good man. Then we won’t have to tell the Earl that you raped a servant girl?” Helghi shook his head. “Good. We won’t tell him as long as you conduct yourself in the manner of a gracious guest from now on. Now run along like a good little peasant!”

Tigfi wheeled Helghi around in the direction of the Hall and watched him stagger back up the porch. Just as he entered through the door way, a group of young men came out on their way to relieve themselves. Seeing his dishevelled appearance, they smiled suspiciously at Esegar and Tigfi as they passed, for the two of them were  loitering as if they had just been up to some mischief.

“What of the girl? Do you think she will tell?” Tigfi asked when the others had passed out of ear shot.

“I will speak with her,” Esegar replied.

Tigfi looked thoughtfully at a coin he had pulled from his pouch. “Maybe this will ensure that she keeps her silence.”

“That and your good looks,” smiled Esegar.

Tigfi grinned broadly. “They have been known to work for me before.”

“She won’t mind, but she’s evidently choosey, that one.”

“Apparently so, judging by her treatment of Helghi. Where do you think she was going?”

“Probably to check on the old lady in one of the bower huts over there,” Esegar replied and pointed into the darkness.

“Wish me luck my friend. Let’s hope my bollocks get better treatment! ” he said as he disappeared across the yard to a cluster of out buildings.

“Rather you than me,” Esegar called to him and returned alone to the hall.

Comments please?

Thought I would post a short thankyou to everyone for reading my blog. Over the  last few weeks stats have increased on average by at least 600 views per week. Thats incredible and I am so pleased people are interested in my blog. I would, however love to have some feedback and get very little in the way of comments. I would be so grateful if people would be kind enough to take the time and comment on my posts as it would help me to find out what works and what doesn't. Now I am sure I have opened myself up for all sorts, but I will be prepared!

Currently, the subject of my blog, my first novel Sons of the Wolf, which is the first in a quadroligy of stories about pre and post Norman Conquest of England, is being edited and hopefull will be published by Silverwoods books soon.

Thanks to all of you again. I look forward to reading some comments soon!

Aelfgyva, the mystery woman of Bayeux: Part Two,

Welcome to the second part of the post concerning Aelfgyva, the woman, who over the years has caused many a historian to scratch their heads in wonder. In this piece of work we will examine one of the possibilities as to who this woman could truly be. There are a number of theories, all of whom have been thoroughly discounted by others, myself included. I would like to examine here one particular source that  alludes to her representing Emma, who, as I previously stated, had taken on the English name Aelfgifu upon marriage to King Aethelred. Eric Freeman in his Annales de Normandie explains through a story that was circulating in the 14thc that Emma had been involved in an unorthodox relationship with a bishop of Winchester and had proven her innocence through trial ordeal. She was said to have achieved this by walking barefoot across 9 red-hot ploughshares. What followed is even more absurd; her son King Edward, who had instigated the trial and had always shown harsh resentment toward his mother anyway, begged her forgiveness and was duly beaten by both his mother and the accused bishop Aelfwine. So, could this ridiculous tale be the scandal that we think the Bayeux tapestry is referring to? Bearing in mind that it is only an assumption of a scandal, however, the lewd depictions that accompany the image would indeed strongly suggest so.

My research of this strange anecdote has turned up no other contemporary source. Quite how it shaped its way into the fourteenth century one will never know, but what it does show is the mediaeval mind-set that could so effectively create the believable in the unbelievable; but if we take this story as having some basis in truth, it would be a credible subject, if not for the trial by ordeal which would have been impossible to survive. So, if we put that aside and concentrate on the rest of it, what do we have? Emma/Aelfgifu, depicted as a bishop-loving adulteress whose scandal has somehow enmeshed itself into the threads of the Bayeux Tapestry.

Now here comes the why, the how and what for. If we consider the scene and its place in the tapestry, the images before it show Harold standing before William having some sort of discussion. Incidentally, Harold appears to be touching the hand of one of William’s guards, but that is another story we will go into in part three . Our gaze next rests upon Aelfgyva and our priest, who is definitely not a bishop, otherwise the tapestry would have read Unus Episcopus rather than Unus Clericus. If we can imagine that the two men are deep in conversation about some important topic, could the image of Aelfgyva have been inserted to allude to something that may have been better known at the time? If it was meant to be a representation of William’s great aunt Emma, she may well have been referred to by the English artist by her English name and this would be plausible.  Yet the insertion of a bishop touching her face and the lewd creature underneath them in the border is a strange way to portray so great and noble a lady such as the former twice Queen of England. Not only is she William’s great aunt, but also the basis for his claim to the English crown. Through her, he was a first cousin once removed to the reigning monarch, Edward the Confessor. It was because of this kinship that William sought acceptance as heir to Edward’s throne. Emma, in her time was often criticised but despite this, she was respected by her English subjects. It is not likely that she would have been denigrated in this way on the tapestry by the creator unless she was involved in something pertinent to the story of the conquest. And I think considering the lack of a contemporary insertion in the sources for this story, we can safely assume that there is no credence to this legend.
It would seem that there is no other connection with Emma and the tapestry and the absence of a bishop and the presence of a priest, although perhaps an error but this is unlikely, means that this cannot be the Aelfgyva story the artist is referring to. In my next post on the subject, I will be exploring with you another Aelfgyva in the final concluding part of this story.

We must give credit to the intriguing artistry of the creator who at every turn and twist manages to confuse us all.