Thursday, 24 May 2012

Scene from Sons of the Wolf: Wulfhere's nightmare

                                                                                                                                                                        
                                                                                     


Wulfhere stands on the crest of the hill and stares in horror at the terrible carnage surrounding him. He surveys the scene with blurred vision. Body parts are scattered indiscriminately. As his eyes clear, he sees that they are set about the bloody slope in congealed masses. His byrnie feels unbearably heavy. Sweat trickles down his skin in rivulets. Instinctively, he clasps his sword, Hildbana, as the perspiration runs from under his sleeve and into his palm. But his hand is soaked and he cannot hold on to it, and the weapon slips down the slope.

The sky is dense with dark clouds. The mist-ridden air is dank with the stench of death and blood. He feels dizzy and wants to gag. Instead he forces himself to breathe, breathe hard, to avoid expelling the bile that rises in his throat.

“Pick up your sword, Lord Wulfhere!” urges a familiar voice.

A terrible throbbing pounds at his temple and he fights his desire to lose consciousness. “I cannot find it…”

“You must!” the voice shouts at him in earnest.

Wulfhere staggers down the hill, recognising the faces of his fallen comrades on the severed heads that he passes by. They speak to him through lips that do not move; words he cannot discern. His feet are slipping in the oozing blood and he feels his heart racing. The voice continues to order him to find his sword. Below him, at the foot of the hill, he sees a morass of jumbled men and spears. His head throbs as he moves toward them, fearing that his sword is lost somewhere amongst the chaos.

Suddenly, he is in the midst of the growling shield wall. The sound of battle deafens him as he is heaved, pushed and stabbed at with spears or axes. The enemy are in front. Snarling wolf-like faces. The points of their spears jab at him. Wooden shields slam into the phalanx, trying to break their way in. Wulfhere is jostled this way and that, as if he is a coracle tossed in a stormy sea. He wants his sword. How can he fight without his sword?

“Where is my sword? Where is Hildbana?”he hears himself shout and, though he knows it is his voice, it feels as if it has come from another.

His head spins. He stares down in an attempt to avoid passing out and sees that his feet are bare and the air is freezing against his naked body. Where is his armour?

Terror grasps at his insides and fear tears through his veins. He is naked. No spear, no sword, no armour to protect him…

“My lord, your sword!” he hears the voice shout again. “Where is your sword?”

He looks up from the ground and stares into faces that are no longer fleshy. Faces of bone. Skeletons wearing dark hoods. He screams...a long, agonising cry that is eventually broken by the familiar voice calling him again.

“My lord! Open your eyes! Can you hear me?”
"I know that voice. Esegar!"
He is pulled by his ankles out of the scrum of the shield wall.
“My lord! ’Tis I, Esegar! Can you hear me?”

Wulfhere lies on the grass, dazed, tries to sit up. His helmet is gone and his head pounds. Around him he hears the screams and roars of the men in the shield wall; the agonising sound of men dying.

“Here, take your sword!”
“You have it?” Wulfhere asks. Relief overwhelms him. He is alive and Esegar has found his sword. He must have passed out.
Esegar’s face flashes above him and Wulfhere feels reassured. Then, almost as quickly as it has appeared, the flesh begins to deteriorate, leaving a mass of hideously rotting flesh, until it is no longer Esegar hovering above him, but the hooded figure of death surrounded by darkness.

Death smiles; a repugnant grim contortion of the jawbone drops open to spill forth evil laughter and, with it, disgusting creatures, bugs, worms and all kinds of ghastly things from hell.

“Your sword is broken, my lord,” the face of death says, rasping and mocking like the voice of an old harridan. A pair of bony hands hold forth his beloved Hildbana, Battle Slayer, the sword that has been handed down to him from his father…it is broken in two.

Wulfhere is lifted to his feet, as if by unseen hands. A scream is rising within him as the world around him spins. The scream pierces through his brain as if his head will break open and scatter its contents in an explosion of agony. Unable to breathe or move, his whole body is paralysed. The noise inside his head grows louder until it reaches a crescendo and, suddenly, he forces his eyes open and breathes in a heavy gasp.

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

Quick Facts About Thegns






Thegns in Anglo Saxon times were important nobles of different ranking.They were well equipped for war and would owe military service as part of their role. A law of Cnut's that shows the heriot of thegns of different status is as follows.
Cnut’s Secular Ordinance [II Cnut] (Liebermann 1903, 356-8)
clause 70: If a man departs from this life intestate, be it through his carelessness or be it through sudden death (ðurh færlicne deaþ), then the lord is not to take any more from his [movable] property (æhte) than his due heriot (butan his rihtan heregeate). But the property is to be shared most correctly according to his deliberation (be his dihte) by the wife, the children and near kinsmen – each in accord with the measure (mæðe) that belongs to them.
clause 71: And the heriots are to be determined (beo... gefundene) exactly as is appropriate (mæðlic):
- an earl’s as befits him: that is 8 horses (4 saddled and 4 unsaddled); and 4 helmets (helmas) and 4 bynies (byrnan); and 8 spears and as many shields; and 4 swords (swyrd); and 200 mancuses of gold.
- and then the heriots of the king’s thegns, who are nearest (nyxte) to him: 4 horses (2 saddled and 2 unsaddled); and 2 swords; and 4 spears and as many shields; and a helmet and a byrnie; and 50 mancuses of gold.
- and of the more ordinary thegn (medemra ðegen): a horse and its tack (gerædan); and his weapons or his healsfang in Wessex; and in Mercia £2; and in East Anglia £2.
- and the heriot of a king’s thegn among the Danes, who has his soke (socne): £4
- and if he has a closer relationship (furðor cyððe) to the king: 2 horses (1 saddled, 1 unsaddled); and 1 sword; and 2 spears and 2 shields; and 50 mancuses of gold.
- and for him who has less and is less close: £2.
clause 78: And the man who on a campaign (fyrdunge) falls in front of his lord, whether within the country (lande) or outside it, is to be forgiven his heriot and the heirs are to succeed (fon) to his land and movable property (æhte) and are to divide it very justly (swiðe rihte).
Thanks to Nicholas Brooks of the University of Birmingham: The Staffordshire Hoard and the Mercian Royal Court http://finds.org.uk/staffshoardsymposium/papers/nicholasbrooks
The heriot would most likely have been presented to the king in a ceremonial style manner and after he had declared his loyatly to his sovereign or Lord, it was gifted back to him.
Even some more wealthy or important thegns who had service in the court of the King, could also have under him his own thegns who would have been quite distinguishable for the higher ranking peasantry. The minimum land holding for a thegn would have been 5 hides. One hide was the amount of land that a family would need to live on and was roughly around 120 acres. Essentially by the mid 11thc, many lesser thegns were also farmers, such as Wulfhere, the main character of the Sons of the wolf, who attends court with others on a rota basis. Wulfhere is a man of the Domesday book so was very real. Nothing is known of his true character or his doings in life, his story is my invention. It is an interpretation of how his life might have been.

Thursday, 19 April 2012

The Mystery Woman of the Bayeux Tapestry: Part Six




 In this final examination of this mystery, I do not aim to prove, necessarily, what the image of Alfgyva and the priest represents, but to explain my theory, why I believe it is possible and how I came to that conclusion. We will never know the full truth behind the image and what the artist was trying to convey, the real message has been lost down the tunnel of time and has died with those who have long since lived. I imagine that in the same way one might glance at the front page of a modern newspaper, read the first line of a headline story and know exactly what the author was referring to, so the reviewers of the Tapestry would also know about the well-known scandal of the time.  For the people of the 11thc, it may not have needed any more explanation than the image of Alfgyva and the priest or - it might be that there was some secret underlying message contained within the borders of the tapestry that reports something else only known to certain people. No one can be sure.

So we have discovered who the lady in question is and to my mind this is indisputable. She was Aelfgifu of Northampton, handfastened wife of King Cnut of England and it was J Bard McNulty (1980) who first identified her. She was sent by Cnut to Norway to govern there with their oldest son Swein, however her heavy handed taxation and policing did not endear her to the Norwegians and they were ousted after some years. Poor Swein died in Denmark where they had both escaped to after the debacle in Norway. Nothing was heard about her after 1040. She became the subject of a scandal when she was accused of presenting Cnut with two sons that were actually neither hers nor his. One was rumoured to be the son of a priest and a serving maid and the other was the son of a workman and perhaps herself or the same servant maid.

Now, regards her connection to the Bayeux Tapestry, we have established her identity, but what could she possibly have had to do with the story of Harold’s sojourn in Normandy. As I explained previously in  part 5, J.McNulty Bard (1980) states in The Lady Aelfgyva in the Bayeux Tapestry that the scene depicting Aelfgyva and the priest is not what happens next at William’s court, but what Harold and William are  discussing in the previous scene.

In order to reach the point where we can consider their conversation about the lady in question, we need to discuss the scene with William and Harold in detail. This is the one before the Aelfgyva one. William and Harold have just arrived at William’s court from having ridden from Ponthieu where Harold had been kept, probably for ransom, by the young Count after washing up on his shore. Somehow, an Englishman, a huscarle of Harold’s, had escaped and called upon William for his help in releasing his lord from the clutches of Count Guy. William was the Count’s overlord and demanded that Guy hand Harold over immediately. Now, William sits on his throne in his hall with a Norman guard standing behind him with a spear. This man appears to be pointing at Harold. The viewer can differentiate between the Normans and the English by their hairstyles. There is no or little disparity with the English and Norman clothing of the day, but their hair styles are very different with most Normans wearing their hair short and shaved at the back to just above the ears. The artist has obviously marked these out to give the viewer a clear idea between the two races. The Image of Harold is shown with his hair covering his ears and just above collar length. Curiously, the guard standing directly behind him as he converses with William, is not shown as a Norman. This man is also sporting an English style hair cut and a beard. The Normans are generally shown as being clean shaven. The English either have beards or moustaches. As we can see, the rest of William’s household guards are looking very Norman-like in contrast to the one that Harold appears to be indicating to.

Harold had travelled to Normandy with the intention of negotiating the release of his brother Wulfnoth and his nephew Hakon as stated by Eadmer in his History of Recent Events in England. These two particular Godwinsons had been taken into Edward’s care as hostages to ensure the good behaviour of their father Godwin.  In 1051, Godwin found himself in trouble with Edward for his refusal to punish the people of Dover for their ‘maltreatment’ of the King’s brother-in-law Count Eustace of Bologne and his men (Barlow 2002) Godwin had rallied his supporters to him to side with him against the King. At that time, the great nobles of the day were reluctant to support a civil war and so Godwin had no choice but flee, leaving his son Wulfnoth and grandson Hakon behind, most likely in the household of his daughter Queen Edith. It is not exactly clear how Wulfnoth and Hakon, both young boys at the time, came to find themsleves in Normandy, but it was quite possible that the Archbishop, Robert Champart took them with him when Godwin forced his way back to England from exile a year later.  Champart had helped to engineer Godwin’s fall from grace and so he feared for his life and fled back to Normandy where he had come from. It is believed that he may have brought the boys with him to present to William as surety for the promise of the crown and perhaps to ensure him a safe departure from England.



So we have two versions of the tale of Harold’s journey to Normandy, the English, as told by Eadmer and the Normans. Eadmer’s version somewhat different to that of the Norman sources. According to Bridgeford (2004), Eadmer has Harold travelling to Normandy on a mission to secure the release of his kin with a stark warning form Edward that this may not be a good idea and that he will be inviting trouble for himself and ‘the whole kingdom’ if he does indeed embark on this journey.  Eadmer states that he warns Harold that the Duke is ‘not so simple’ as to give the hostages up. Edward apparently also states that he wanted no part in this. And yet Harold still went, frivolously, one might think, considering Edward’s warning about the nature of his second cousin. This also shows the strength of Harold that the King was unable to persuade or force him not to go. But frivolous an act it might have been, Harold must have been disturbed by the plight of his brother and nephew, languishing in Normandy long after the need for them to be hostages had gone. The original purpose for their detention had been to ensure Godwin’s good behaviour and he had long been dead. Harold I am sure wanted only to bring them home.

 The Norman sources insist that Harold had been sent by Edward to confirm the succession upon him (Harriet Harvey Wood 2008). I prefer Eadmer’s version. He was said to have had access to people who might have had first hand information about Harold’s intentions when he went to Normandy. It is a plausible suggestion and upon studying the images of the tapestry, I have not seen anything that might not support this idea.

So now, what are my conclusions? I shall keep you no longer in suspense! :





Imagine someone wants to tell you some gossip about your neighbour Joe Bloggs, something quite scandalous and outrageous. Imagine that person has already heard it from someone else and perhaps that person has heard it from some other person. Imagine that somewhere along the line, facts have become distorted or left out. Perhaps someone has mistaken Joe for a different Joe or for a John, who looked a lot like Joe? Imagine that by the time the rumour reaches you, the whole episode has been mixed up? Well, this is what I believe has happened in the Bayeux Tapestry with the Aelfgyva tale. After studying the tapestry, the possible candidates and the possible links to the story quite thoroughly, I can come up with no other explanation other than it is a case of mistaken identity where a certain lady’s story has been wrongly attributed to another. One can imagine it would not have been that difficult to mistake one person for another when there were so many women with the same name around at the same time. Especially if you were a Norman, hearing scandalous tales passed from one person to another like a Chinese whisper. It was said that the Normans found English names difficult and laughable which may have compounded the confusion.



So what are the implications of such a suggestion? This is what I believe could have been what the Bayeux Tapestry was trying to convey. It is not a hypothesis that can be proven, but merely a suggestion and an interpretation of what this scene might signify. I am not in any way stating that I have cracked the mystery, or that I have finally found the answer. I am however presenting you with a possibility, having been unable to discover any other indisputable explanation for the woman’s role embroidered into the legend.

 So this is my theory. The woman is definitely Aelfgyva of Northampton and I believe the priest touching her face is doing so to signify some sort of collaboration with her.  For some reason, the two men, Harold and William are discussing in the scene before, the Earl’s reasons for turning up on the Duke’s shores.  The scene in which Aelfgyva and the priest are portrayed is part of their conversation also. But why are they discussing this woman? It all seems very strange because it has been difficult to tie her into the story with what we know of her and what we know of the events in 1066.

Andrew Bridgeford has alluded to the fact that Harold is explaining to William that he has come to negotiate the release of his brother and nephew, hence the man that Harold appears to be almost touching with his finger is presented with a beard in the English style of dress and not the Norman clean shaven manner as all the others in the scene are apart from Harold. It seems quite reasonable to me to assert that this bearded fellow is Wulfnoth. But William only understands something other reason for Harold’s visit. He is convinced that Harold has come to declare his fealty to him and assure him that when Edward dies, he will support him as his successor. Why else would he come with such wealth to offer him? Could William’s mindset have been so focussed on the crown of England that he cannot not hear the words Harold is trying to say to him? Harold mentions carefully, very carefully because he knows how ruthless Duke William can be, that Edward has declared his great nephew Edgar, grandson of Edmund Ironside as the atheling, someone who is throne-worthy, therefore he would be considered as a candidate to the throne (William was never declared atheling as far as the documentation goes). But William is not daunted by this news. He has already dismissed Edgar, having heard the scandal of Edmund Ironsides’ mother Aelfgyva, who it was said, had tricked her husband into believing her sons were his when they were really the sons of a priest and a workman. He laughs at Harold’s suggestion that the Witan should prefer a boy over a man such as him, a boy descended from dubious lineage. Is he not (the Duke) a man who has cheated death many times and earned the respect of his enemies. Harold tries to put him straight about Aelfgyva, desperately trying to make him understand that he is mistaken and that the woman in the scandal he was referring to was not Edmund Ironside’s mother, but Harold Harefoot’s mother, wife of Cnut. Yes, Aethelred’s wife was also called Aelfgyva, but there was no such scandal about her and Edgar’s lineage was of the true line of Wessex.

But William is still not listening. He interrupts, rebuffs and insists. Harold is having problems pressing home his point because William has made his mind up. It is a game that only William can win. Harold, William declares, will support him in his quest for the English throne, and consider allying himself closely to him by marrying a daughter of his.  William suggests this proposition in such a way that if Harold should refuse, he may inflict great insult upon his most congenial host, who has saved him from the humiliation and torment of being held as Ponthieu’s prisoner.... and in Harold’s mind, he is thinking that if he wants to leave there alive, he will have to play the game that William has already won. Perhaps it is then that Harold realises what a terrible mistake he has made.  

I believe that this is the basis for the artist’s insertion of the scene with Aelfgyva and the priest. Whether or not my theory is right, the creator wanted to convey to the viewer that this particular scandal had some link to the conversation, William and Harold are having. The small, crude images in the border further enforces the story of Aelfgifu of Northampton’s scandal leaving me with no doubt that they represent the labourer and priest who were supposed to have fathered the children said to be Cnut’s sons. I cannot, although I have tried to, locate any other evidence that would identify a believable rationale for this scandal to have been placed in the tapestry.  If I were a contemporary of it, I may have been privy to the tittle-tattle and also that perhaps William had wrongly identified the woman and would not have had to use my imagination to work out the innuendo of the illustration. But this is my interpretation. Unfortunately I have no way of knowing I am right, however I do not think this has been a pointless study, for it has identified the woman and shed some light on some other mysteries of the tapestry also. I hope that you all have not been disappointed.

I would love to know what you think.



If you would like to know more about the Bayeux Tapestry and its characters, follow my new blog http://threadstothepast.blogspot.co.uk/ and join me on a journey back to the 11th Century.



References


Bridgeford A. (2004) 1066 The Hidden History of The Bayeux Tapestry, Harper Perennial, London.

Eadmer Eadmer’s History of Recent Events in England

 Harvey Wood H, (2008) The Battle of Hastings: The Fall of Anglo Saxon England, Atlantic Books, Chatham.

 McNulty J.B. (1980) The Lady Aelfgyva in the Bayeux Tapestry, Medieval Academy of America, vol 55 (4) pp 659-688.

Friday, 23 March 2012

Aelfgyva: The Mystery Woman of The Bayeux Tapestry Part Five

        

            We are getting closer to the end of this discussion, but I have by not finished it by a long shot. For those who have not read any of my earlier posts about this puzzling enigmatic woman, Aelfgyva, whose image is portrayed in the tapestry with a priest, we have been exploring her possible identity in an effort to ascertain who exactly she was. Furthermore, it is my aim to try and shed some light and interpret what or how she came to be sewn into this tragic tale about the story of Harold’s fateful trip to Normandy. After discounting the known candidates except for one, it would appear that the identity of this Aelfgyva is Aelfgifu of Northampton, as she was generally known according to one of the Anglo Saxon chronicles, in the early 11thc when she lived. She was a consort of Cnut, enjoined to him in the more danico tradition. Marrying her in this way meant that Cnut could take another, more politically convenient wife at a later date, as he did when he married Emma of Normandy, whose English name was also a Aelfgifu.

            Aelfgifu of Northampton was the daughter of Aelfhelm, a major ealdorman of Northumbria whose familial origins were from Mercia. His mother was a wealthy woman named Wulfrun and I have not been able to find a source for his father, perhaps his mother was of higher standing. Regardless of her grandfather’s status,   it was obvious that Aelfgifu came from a very important family. Her father was put to death by his enemy Eadric Streona and her younger brothers were blinded. All this was done with the connivance of King Aethelred. Aelfgifu may never have forgotten or forgiven this deed and it quite possibly could have shaped her personality from then on.

            Because of her father’s status in the north, Swein of Denmark may have sought an alliance with her kinsmen and father’s followers, taking advantage of the rift Aelfhelm’s death may have caused between them and Aethelred. So she was either loosely married or handfastened to his son Cnut.. This was not an unusual practice, some years later Harold Godwinson was to do the same with his longtime love, Edith Swanneck. Many years later her puts her aside and marries the daughter of Alfgar of Mercia, wife of Gruffydd of Wales in order to enlist the support of her brothers, Edwin and Morcar who were earls of the north. The Normans were to make much of this when their propaganda machine got their claws stuck into Harold. He was promulgated as an adulterer who liked women although he seems to have stayed faithful to Edith Swanneck throughout their time together. They  referred to her as being his mistress, although in legal terms she was considered his ‘wife’ and his children were treated as legitimate. However, perhaps she was not cast aside quite in the manner one would think, for legend alludes to her having been on the battlefield looking for his mutilated body at Senlac.  This may have meant that their relationship was still very much an entity at Harold’s death.

            Handfastened wives perhaps were not necessarily cast off when the man married politically and the evidence is inclined to show that like Harold may have done, Cnut kept his affections for Aelfgifu and did not wholly put her aside for Emma. In fact initially, he may have considered her with great respect, if not affection. She had given birth to two sons, Swein and Harald, named in respect for Cnut’s father and grandfather. When Swein was old enough, Cnut sent Aelfgifu with him as regent to rule for him in Norway around 1030. He may have done this to keep her out of the way of his relationship with Emma, though this is not founded in any source, but one can picture that the two women were serious rivals for Cnut’s affection and that they probably felt threatened by one another. On the other hand, Cnut may have simply been keeping the interests of the Northern thegns alive by continuing to honour her and the alliance with her family.  Emma may have had the upper hand, however, being the recognised queen. And it is natural to think that Emma, an astute woman that she was, would not have agreed to marry Cnut if her children by him would not have had precedence over Aelfgifu’s.



One might have been forgiven for intuitively assuming that the nature of Aelfgifu of Northampton’s character was somewhat harsh when some four years later she and Swein had to flee Norway for her apparent heavy-handed rule. The Norwegians rebelled against her heavy taxation and it seemed, preferred Magnus I as ruler to Cnut’s harridan. Her son, young Swein, was to die in Denmark shortly after.  In the Norwegian Ágrip  Aelfgifu is mentioned by the Skald Sigvatr, a contemporary of her’s:        

Ælfgyfu’s time

long will the young man remember,

when they at home ate ox’s food,

and like the goats, ate rind

 She may have died sometime around 1040. Nothing much was heard of her after this. The story about her deception of Cnut is strangely alluded to in the Anglo Saxon chronicle, Abingdon edition (C) where it is mentioned:  “And Harold, who said that he was the son of Cnut – although it was not true-..” This appears to be referring to the story about Aelfgifu’s sons not being Cnut’s, or indeed not even Aelfgifu’s.  In my search for the truth, I have discovered that the Encomium Emmae Reginae makes the allegation that Harold was really the son of a servant girl smuggled into Aelfgifu’s bed chamber and passed off as Cnut’s son.  John of Worcester elaborates further and tells us that Cnut’s sons by Aelfgifu were not his or hers even. That Aelfgifu, desperate to have a son, ordered that a new born son of a priest’s concubine be presented to Cnut as his own son by her. This was the child called Swein. Harold, he states, was the son of a workman, like the one seen in the border underneath Aelfgyva’s scene in the tapestry (Bridgeford 2002). Bard McNulty (1980) first drew the patrons of the Tapestry to the theory that this was Aelfgifu of Northampton. Bard McNulty also theorizes that William and Harold had a discussion in the previous scene whereby Harold reassures William that the English will not call upon Harald of Norway to become King when Edward dies. I have already rejected this theory because apart from her connection with Norway where Harald Hardrada invades England from in 1066, her connection to Harald Hardrada is neither tenuous nor existent.

            What I do, however agree with is Bard McNulty’s idea that the Aelfgyva scene is  not meant to be read as what is happening after the scene before it, rather that it represents what they were discussing, an issue involving a priest and Aelfgyva. So, if they were not discussing Harald Hardrada, then what were they discussing about Aelfgyva and the priest? And what had it to do with the tapestry and Harold’s time in Normandy?

            Look forward to the final conclusion in Part Six where I will explain what my theory is.

Sunday, 19 February 2012




Aelfgyva The Mystery Woman of the Bayeux Tapestry: Part Four



The woman in the Bayeux Tapestry called Aelfgyva has given commentators trouble for centuries. As we have seen in my earlier parts, there have been plenty of Aelfgyva’s mentioned in the 11thc but none that quite fit the bill as much as Aelfgifu  of Northampton. We have discounted Emma/Aelfgifu and also that Earl Harold had any daughter or sister of that name. I have also set aside the idea that she may have been a child of William’, whom he offered to Harold as a wife in return for an alliance. Aelfgyva was a purely English name and although it may have been a possibility, it was not likely to have been given to a Norman woman; it was thought that Norman’s had no liking for English names. So why then, am I going with Aelfgifu of Northampton, King cnut’s first wife? What is it about this Aelfgifu that draws me to believe the woman they are referring to is her?

Aelfgifu was reported by Florence of Worcester as passing off the bastard child of a priest as Cnut’s son after failing to provide an heir of her own. This child was Swein. Later Worcester states that she passed off another ‘son’ Harold Harefoot who was reputed to have been a child of a mere workman or a shoe maker. Interestingly, if we look once again at the image of Aefgyva and the priest, we see that in the lower border a naked figure of a man with a large member is mimicking the stance and gesture of the priest. There is also another image of a naked workman.  The priest who touches her face is either fondling or as some might say slapping her face. The scene is also iconographic, which means it is supposed to be a representation of what perhaps, William and Harold may be discussing. Unlike the other scenes in the tapestry, this one is not to be viewed as part of the story but more as an illusion of some sexual scandal. Interpreting  the face fondling/slapping aspect is a bone of contention, however. At first I favoured the idea that the priest was slapping her but upon further research I came across some intriguing suggestions that were submitted by J Bard McNulty in the Lady Aelfgyva in The Bayeux Tapestry (1980).



Edward Freeman (1869) suggests that the woman they are discussing was a woman at the duke’s palace. I would disagree. As we have explored before, there could not have possibly been a woman with this name in Normandy at this time.

Then, if we accept that the woman referred to in the tapestry must be Aelfgifu of Northampton, we have to ponder upon why on earth Harold and William would be discussing her at this stage of the story. Aelfgifu would have been long dead at the time of this meeting (around autumn of 1064). But let us not discount her, for she was, like her counterpart and rival Emma of Normandy, a formidable woman. Unfortunately, she was perhaps not as tactful or astute as Emma.

Aelfgifu was Cnut’s first wife, most likely he married her in the more-danico fashion rather than officially as he was later able to marry Emma. It was quite customary in those times for nobles to ‘handfast’ themselves to a woman so they could at a later time marry for political reasons as Harold Godwinson did with Aldith of Mercia. The Norman propaganda machine was to later make much of Harold’s relationship with Edith Swanneck, referring to her as his mistress rather than his wife, but under English law, she was just as entitled to the same considerations as an official wife was and her children would not have been viewed as ‘bastards’ or illegitimate and had the same entitlements as legal offspring would have.

Cnut must have valued Aelfgifu and her children by him, for he sent her and Swein to rule Norway for him and as Swein was a mere child at the time, she was to act as regent. But she was unpopular with the Norwegians, her rule being ruthless and harsh and so she and Swein were driven out after some years and Olaf’s son Magnus the Good replaced Swein as King of Norway. One would imagine that Cnut’s feelings toward Aelfgifu if Northampton would have changed after she lost Norway for him.                  

          Noble women of the period

Eventually, Magnus would make a treaty with Cnut’s son by Emma, Harthacnut that would become the basis for Harald Hardrada’s claim to the English throne in 1066. Harthacnut and Magnus of Norway made an oath to each other that should one of them die, the other would inherit their kingdoms should they die without issue. Although Magnus claimed his right to England, he never pursued it beyond a threat after Harthacnut died. When Harald Hardrada succeeded to the kingdom after his nephew Magnus died, he claimed that Magnus’ and Harthacnut’s oath should still stand and egged on by Tostig, Harold Godwinson’s brother, he planned his fateful invasion of England.

But if the stories that had been circulating about Aelfgifu’s deception of Cnut were to be believed as truthful by the general consensus, the two men, Harold and William, should they be discussing all claims to the throne, would have both agreed that Harald’s claim should be dismissed. McNulty’s suggestion is that Harold was reassuring William that the English had discounted Hardrada’s claim, a decision that they both agreed about and happily they both ride off to campaign in Brittany.

Sounds plausible? No it doesn’t. Because what had Aelfgifu’s  indiscretion got to do with Hardrada’s claim to the throne? After all, she was not mother to Harthacnut who had made the oath with Magnus and she is definitely not the Aelfgyva depicted in the tapestry. Just when I think I am there, another ‘but’ pops up!

In the words of the great man Sir Walter Scott, “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive”. More in the next part of this amazing mystery.



                                                            Emma and her sons by Ethelred

Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Synopsis to Sons of the Wolf

1054, pious King Edward sits on the throne, spending his days hunting, sleeping and praying, leaving the security and administration of his kingdom to his much more capable brother-in-law Harold Godwinson, the powerful Earl of Wessex. Against this backdrop we meet Wulfhere, a Sussex thegn who, as the sun sets over the wild forest of Andredesweald, is returning home victoriously from a great battle in the north. Holding his lands directly from the King, his position demands loyalty to Edward himself, but Wulfhere is duty-bound to also serve Harold, a bond forged within Wulfhere’s family heritage and borne of the ancient Teutonic ideology of honour and loyalty.

Wulfhere is a man with the strength and courage of a bear, a warrior whose loyalty to his lord and king is unquestionable. He is also a man who holds his family dear and would do anything to protect them. So when Harold demands that he wed his daughter to the son of Helghi, his sworn enemy, Wulfhere has to find a way to save his daughter from a life of certain misery as the daughter-in-law of the cruel and resentful Helghi, without comprising his honour and loyalty to his lord, Harold.

On Battle fields he fights for his life, but the enemy is to be found closer to home, a far sinister and shadowy enemy than he can ever know...

Sons of the Wolf is a snap shot of medieval life and politics as the events that lead to the downfall of Anglo-Saxon England play out, immersing the reader in the tapestry of life as it was before the Domesday Book. With depictions of everyday life experienced through the minds of the people of the times; of feasts in the Great Halls to battles fought in the countryside, it cannot help but enlighten, educate and entertain.

Sunday, 8 January 2012

A little taster from the Novel: Sons of the Wolf


Wulfhere couldn’t stand it any longer. His mind roared: why do they not give the order? They must either charge forward to meet the onslaught, or retreat. He heard neither command. His heels gently nudged his horse’s flanks and Hwitegaast dutifully cantered over to the Norman section behind the lines.

He called over to Ralph as he neared their position. “My Lord, we must attack or retreat! We are like sitting ducks! If we stand here any longer we will be cut down. Give the order!” Wulfhere pleaded. He smelt the fear and saw the confusion on the Earl’s sweating quivering features. My God, the man’s a coward! Wulfhere thought in dismay.

Ralph’s companions joined him and Wulfhere noted the anxiety in their faces.

“If we are going to fight, you must give the order to charge, Lord,” Fitzscrob urged and Malet echoed him.

Wulfhere saw to his relief that Ralph nodded, albeit without urgency, as if the fear had dulled his senses. He pulled on Hwitegaast’s reins and he returned to his position.

 

Foreweard hilderæs! Forward charge!” Wulfhere yelled and his unit sped forth, their voices raised loudly in a thundering war cry as they spurred their horses into a gallop. The earth pounded beneath their beasts’ hooves as they dug their stirrups into the horses’ flanks to make them go faster. The Welsh bowmen sent over a volley of arrows and the commands of the Norse leaders followed as their men obeyed with precise discipline, to halt and gather to form a great shieldwall, knowing that the horses would baulk at their man-made blockade.

About a hundred bowmen from the enemy front ranks fired their arrows. Wulfhere was disheartened as some of his fellow soldiers were felled by them, leaving the horses to scatter riderless in confused panic. Wulfhere expected Ralph’s men to be engaging the bowmen in the centre, mowing them down with their javelins and sword strikes, but where the hell were they? Suddenly something did not feel right.

“Wulfhere!” He heard Esegar’s anguished voice calling him. “The Earl and his huscarles are leaving the field, Lord!”

Wulfhere swivelled and turned his head to his right. He reeled with shock and disbelief as Ralph and Malet were running from the field, the Normans and French in tow like fleeing vermin. The right flank, too, had gone and he saw that Gruffydd’s rearguard was charging after the soldiers in flight.

“What are they doing, sir?” Esegar asked, baffled.

Wulfhere’s voice was pitched at an angry growl. “Saving their fucking Norman skins...leaving the rest of us to the wolves to die like sheep!”

Even before a single spear was thrown, the craven Normans had fled, leaving the Earl’s ‘great’ army of mounted men at the mercy of the crushing enemy.

Wulfhere looked across the mud-churned field and gasped as the fleeing Englisc were struck down by javelins and arrows. The horses did not escape the vicious attack either. Their distressed whinnies fused with the howling of wounded men so that the noise became like the sound of hell on earth. In the pandemonium, the horses took flight in all directions, running into each other and throwing off their riders. The warriors were cut to ribbons as they lay helplessly on the ground. Whooping filled the air as the Wéalas leapt upon them with great savagery, slitting their throats and hacking at them in a frenzy of bloodlust.

All this happened within seconds but, as Wulfhere plundered his mind for what to do next, it seemed to him that an age had gone by. He fought with his instincts to run and save his skin like Ralph and, twisting his head back round, he sees that the men of his left flank have no choice but to fight as the Norse break their ranks and charge into the horsemen, using their deadly spears and great axes to hack at them with terrible ferocity. Wulfhere’s eyes captured some of his army fleeing the battle. His heightened sense of fear set off the mechanism needed for survival: adrenalin. The overwhelming rush of blood and energy stormed through to his head. He wanted to run also, but his pride and anger at this debacle that Ralph had created would not allow it. Cowardice may have won the day for Ralph but, for Wulfhere, death in battle was preferable. He would sooner die than sully his name with the infamy of leaving his men to perish without him. His mind inadvertently took him to Dunsinane and the memory ignited his anger as he visualised the terrible carnage of that battle.

Clearing his throat, he spat phlegm from a dry mouth before shouting, “Stand your ground! Do not flee! Are we cowards like the bastards who have left us to die? Retreat back unto me!”

He rode amongst the chaos, roaring and screaming until his throat was hoarse. He derided those who tried to leave for being cowardly, calling them scum, worse than the droppings expelled from a dog’s arse! Men began to heed his call to rally. They were disengaging from the mêlée to regroup the lines, swinging their horses’ heads round and galloping back to gather around him.

The survivors of the left cavalry flank were organised once more, thanks to Wulfhere. Those whose mounts had been killed from under them ran back on foot, or took charge of the horses that had lost their riders. He searched for Esegar briefly, thought he saw him somewhere and was relieved. He heard the bellowing of the Norse infantry as they too were regrouping their lines and the ground shook with the thundering of Gruffydd and Alfgar’s troops as they pursued the fleeing Englisc into the distance. Wulfhere felt as if he was under water and gazed up at the ravens circling in the sky above them, already waiting to swoop on the dead carcasses. Not yet, you dark devils, I am not ready for you yet!

Wulfhere stared at the faces of the snarling enemy. They were banging their weapons against their shields, chanting and calling out insults to them. Some of them were emulating horses by pretending to gallop up and down the field, accompanying their inane stupidity with neighing and whinnying. Their companions found this highly amusing. Wulfhere did not. They were heavily outnumbered and he was appalled. If he had to give his carcass up to the scavengers of the battlefield, he would die like a true warrior, valiantly, as they did in the old days.

He gave the order to charge; he knew his men were looking to him for his leadership. It filled him with both fear and excitement, but there was no time to think on that now as he charged ahead of his lines into the cordon of Norsemen who ran head-on into them like mad braying fools, some of whom wear the bearskins of the infamous Berserkers.

His sword arm swept down at the contorted faces of the Wykinga warriors, but for every man he felled, another took their place. He cut and slashed at them with animal-like ferocity, his kite-shaped shield in his other grasp battered at any would-be assassins on his left side. A warrior on the right of him took a blow from him across his neck and shoulder and the man’s blood splattered Wulfhere across his face. He tasted the iron in it as it seeped into his mouth. The man staggered and clasped a hand over the wound as thick blood poured through his fingers. Wulfhere lost him as Hwitegaast lunged sideways with the impact. Another snarling Wykinga came at him with a great axe. Wulfhere saw him aim for Hwitegaast’s neck. Anger and panic filled his very being. No, I am not going to let you kill my horse! his mind screamed. He shortened the reins, pulled them and Hwitegaast reared away from the axe’s deadly blade. He swung his sword arm downwards to smash into his assailant as he sidled his mount. The impact felled the axeman instantly and the man lost his grip on the handle of his weapon, rendering him useless for another assault.

Wulfhere sensed the chaos around him as the men of the mounted unit courageously fend off Alfgar’s crazed mercenaries. Some of the enemy were trampled under hooves, as they tried to unhorse the Englisc, slipping in the mire of blood and entrails that lay on the ground. His vision is filled with unlucky riders, whose horses succumb to the vicious blades of the Norse axes. Their weapons slice into the necks of the horses, almost decapitating them, sending out great jets of scarlet. Their masters were also cut down and the stench of blood and bodily fluids swirled in Wulfhere’s nostrils.  Men were roaring or screaming and the clash of steel rang in his ears. His own dread was glowing hot through his veins, spurring him on with the determination that he would not die without a good fight.

A great collective cry of voices burst through the chaos as about one hundred or so foot soldiers, men of the local fyrd, ran into the havoc, snarling like angry wolves and yelling a rallying call, “Hereford! Hereford!”

Wulfhere’s heart leapt with hope, even though he knew they are still vastly outnumbered. Spotting the exposed flesh of a man occupied in a fight with one of the Englisc foot soldiers, he swung his faithful sword, Hildbana. Wulfhere grunted with the impact, satisfied that it had met its mark as his blade sank into the man’s exposed neck. His victim’s head bent forward and the wound at the top of his spine gaped, showing the white of a broken vertebrae. Blood pumped slowly out onto his mail as he fell to his knees. Dropping his sword, his hands went to the back of his neck. Wulfhere manoeuvred his mount closer to the fallen man so that he can strike him once more. Hildbana thundered down, but his aim was not good and he caught the man’s helmet, thrusting him forward to the ground. Another warrior rode over him unintentionally, the animal’s hooves stamping on head and limbs indiscriminately. There was no more Wulfhere could do to him and he turned to his right just as an axe bit deeply into the horse next to him. The beautiful creature sank onto its front, blood spurting out from the wound and over Wulfhere so that he was covered in a fountain of scarlet droplets. Wulfhere instantly recognised the stallion that he had sold to Ralph and a lump formed in his throat. Its rider screamed and hit the ground as the horse collapsed. The unfortunate rider was then met with a spear to his back, skewering him like a spitted wild boar. Hwitegaast reared and whinnied, a haunting eerie sound as if he recognised the offspring that he had brought forth from his own loins.

As Wulfhere struggled to steady his distressed mount, he wondered if there was any point in carrying on. Men were dying around him. He felt like a dead man already. His eyes flashed round him. Horses were being cut from beneath their riders and he was angry. Men dying was one thing but, Christ on the Cross, not the horses...

He slid from Hwitegaast and smacked his rump hard until his bewildered mount took off, but not before giving his master a questioning look as if Wulfhere was abandoning him. A blow barged into Wulfhere’s shoulder. Thankfully his shield took the brunt of it. He reeled round, swinging his shield from his back and lifted his sword to defend himself, hardly noticing as his assailant’s sword slashed into his leg, close to where previously he had been hit by an arrow.

The man before him was, like him, drenched in blood. Wulfhere raised his shield to parry the sword blow that descended upon him. He was filled with a terrible fury and retaliated with his sword, swinging it upwards and catching the man’s own shield with such a force it knocked him back a few paces. His rage gathered momentum and Wulfhere hacked at the man before he could recover, his sword blows bashing his shield aside, creating an opening for him to deliver a slash across the man’s gut, knocking the Norseman off his feet. He pinned him with his foot and thrust his sword tip into the man’s throat as the enemy lay prone in the morass of mud and guts beneath him. The man’s eyes stared up at him, glasslike and questioning as red spittle frothed from his mouth and trickled into his beard. Wulfhere wasted no time, sensing danger to his rear, he whirled around to ward off a blow from some other warrior. Suddenly he was surrounded and had to fight them off like a madman. His fury continued to enrage him and he battled on, hardly realising he was injured until he began to weaken. Legs buckling underneath him, he dropped into the bloody slough and covered himself with his shield, waiting for the end. He knew his life was over.