Something Completely Different

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I suppose it only seems fair really, if I'm going to badmouth the English in my History of Ireland journal, to give them a chance to talk back; and to be honest, though I'm still writing that journal it has given me something of a taste for looking into the history of our nearest neighbour and longtime oppressor. Yes, I have a million journals on the go, but when did that ever stop me? I actually tried to talk myself out of this one, but I know me: once I get an idea in my head I can't dissuade myself, and I know it's useless trying, so I gave up and left me to my own devices. All I can say is, if this turns out to be too much work for me, I'd better not come crying to me, because I told me so, but would I listen to me? Would I, as our English friends say in certain parts of their country, hell as like. So let it be on my own head. I'm done with me.

Identity crisis to one side, yeah, that's what I've decided to do, and while I may slag England off as a true son of Erin would, I am quite aware that it has a truly fascinating history, and it should actually be fun getting into the nuts and bolts of it. Naturally, at points the two journals are going to meet, and cross, and in that case, rather than rewrite what I've written in Four Green Fields already, I'll just refer or link to those entries. So events such as the Reformation, or at least, how it came about via Henry VIII, already well documented in the History of Ireland, will be noted but then linked; if there's more to say, as in, events that went beyond how they impacted Ireland, then I'll carry on the story in this journal. I'm sure you get what I mean.

But as I say, England has its own long and very rich history, and that does not by any means rely on Ireland and its oppression. In fact, for probably eighty percent of English history my country doesn't play a part, and that's fine. Linking into the history will be countries such as France, Spain and Holland - with whom England was all but perpetually at war - as well as Italy (Rome invaded England) and Scotland and Wales. Wait, I hear you say: aren't those part of Britain? Yes they are. And shouldn't this then, I hear you say again, be the History of Britain? Who do I look like, I ask: Simon Schama? No, though the history of England will invariably end up as that of Britain, I'm concentrating here on the English bit, as both Wales and Scotland have their own separate histories, and much of what happens in England doesn't really involve them. So it's the history of England, at least until the Kingdom of Great Britain comes to be, and there's a lot happened before then.

What to expect here? Well if you've read my History of Ireland journal you'll know. A timeline reflecting the greater (and lesser) events that went to make up the story of how England rose from being a tiny little insignificant island to being one of the biggest and baddest powers in the world, at least up until about World War II, when America pushed her aside and said "It's all right, honey, we'll take it from here." Kings and queens, England has had more than you can shake a sceptre at, many of whom didn't do a lot, many of whom are unforgettable, both in the history of England and that of the world, or at least Europe. We'll be looking at them all. Battles? You want battles? We got battles. One thing England did better than almost anyone else in the world was pick fights. It seemed, at times (and may in fact have been) that they just got bored and wanted a war, or, to put it in the words of Captain Edmund Blackadder, it was just too much trouble not to have a war.

The English navy, or Royal Navy, grew to be the terror of the high seas, and was, almost single-handedly, responsible for the growth of England from an unregarded bit of land floating in the Atlantic Ocean to a force to be reckoned with, an empire on which it was said the sun never set, though of course eventually it did. The Royal Air Force alone kept the skies over Britain free of Nazi fighters and ensured Hitler would not be having tea in Windsor Castle any time soon, something for which I think nobody can deny we owe them a huge debt of gratitude. English artists, architects, musicians and writers spread His or Her Majesty's fame far and wide, and of course they gave us names like Wren, Constable, Wellington, Nelson, Shakespeare and Dickens, to name but a very few. Speaking of Dickens, they were also one of the most inhumanly cruel people the world ever saw, at least when it came to the poor, who were treated almost worse than the slaves from Africa were by Americans.

As in all histories, there is good and there is bad, and unless history has already done so, I will try not to make judgements. I do have a bias against the English, merely by virtue of being Irish, my ancestors have suffered so much under them, but I don't intend to let that influence or interfere with my chronicling their history here. I will try, as I always do, to be as even-handed as possible. And as in all histories too, it would be impossible to relate every event and talk about every character who featured in the story of England, but I will try to ensure nothing important is left out, while also trying to dig a little behind the scenes as it were and talk about some of the lesser figures we may not know about, but who may be important to English history.

There will not be, however, a rousing or otherwise chorus of "God Save the Queen". I have to draw the line somewhere.

All right then. Let's get started, shall we?

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Part One: Albion Rising -
In Fire and Blood, a Nation is Forged

Chapter I: Ruled Britannia: The First Conquest of Britain

Timeline: Approx 6,000 BC - 87 AD

There are certain sectors of English society who believe, rather naively or perhaps in a pig-headed way, that they are "true" Englishmen, original inhabitants of England, proper English and the only pure English. They are, of course, wrong; as is the case with just about any country, the original population are long gone, destroyed or gone extinct, they have vanished into the mists of time with often very little to mark their passing. I mentioned in my History of Ireland journal that even the Celts, seen by many as the original Irish, are not the first to have lived on the island, and so it is with the English*. Although the island (not an island at the time, as I'll explain in a moment) has been occupied for about a million years, in common with every other habitation of humanity we have no written records to go on, and must glean the scant details of these disappeared civilisations through the artefacts and structures they left behind.
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With stone tools and footprints thought to date back 900,000 years on the Norfolk Coast, this makes that area the oldest known part of England to have been inhabited by humans, Sussex providing the oldest human fossils (about 500,000 years old) and Neanderthal fossils found in Kent which date back 400,000 years, it's clear England was occupied long before human history began being recorded, and this is probably, almost certainly, true of any country you look at. Possibly fleeing from advancing ice and rising seas, for about 120,000 years England was unoccupied by humans, with Neanderthals coming back about 40,000 years ago but only lasting a mere 20,000 years before becoming extinct. With the end of the last ice age, about 11,700 years ago (ah I remember it as if it were only yesterday!) modern humans, or Homo Sapiens, repopulated England and have remained ever since.

For a long time, as alluded to a short while ago, England and indeed Ireland were connected to the mainland of Europe by a chalk ridge known as the Weald-Artois Anticline, which ran from southeast England to southern France, but rising sea levels as ice sheets melted and glaciers retreated, about 425,000 years ago, swamped the bridge and no longer made it possible for Englishmen to pop over to France by way of Shank's mare. In place of the Weald-Artois Anticline was the English Channel, and as this now made of England an island, it was effectively cut off from the technological and cultural advances taking place in Europe at the time. Paul Pettitt and Mark White writing about Britain call it, rather fatalistically and quite dramatically, an island of the living dead.
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* Note: though much of this concerns the history of Britain as an island, I'm mostly going to refer to the inhabitants as English where I can, as I want to differentiate them from the Scottish and the Welsh, with whom this history is not concerned. Initially though, they're all going to be called the Britons, because, well, that's what they were called back then.

Pytheas of Massalia (fl 310 - 306 BC)

The first written records of England come from the Greek navigator Pytheas, covered in my World Exploration journal, from which I'm going to shamelessly paste the article concerning him.

Pytheas is said to have travelled south to Spain and Portugal, and thence across to Britain and Ireland, becoming perhaps the first one to use the word "Britain" for the island country. His impressions of the British seem to indicate that he found the land cold and wet (quelle surprise!) which to a native of France would be quite a shock, that the people lived in thatched cottages and were ruled by many kings - another odd thing to a democratic Greek - but were at heart a simple people who lived in peace with each other. When they did war, he says, they rode in chariots just like his own people.
(From The Men Who Drew the Map of the World)

The origin of the word Britain is disputed, but seems to have been coined by Pytheas (or at least, he seems to have been the first to use it) to denote a "people of forms", meaning that the British understood and used pictures and shapes, as they tended to tattoo their bodies for war or decoration. He described three "corners of Britain", these translating as Kent, Orkney and Cornwall. By this point the English are already what could be called civilised, as engaging in commerce. They make tin ingots and sell them in France and other countries, and as they have to deal with buyers Pytheas says they are quite approachable.

There's probably a lot more to be said about Neolithic Britons, but who cares about them? They couldn't even be bothered to leave us any written record, so fuck them. The next period therefore in which we're interested in some thousands of years later.

Settling Down (200 BC - 43 AD)

Expansion by the Roman Empire forced refugees from Gaul to migrate towards England, and probably Ireland too, bringing with them their Celtic language and customs, and also sophistication to the English way of life, Kent, Hertfordshire and Essex becoming the centre of the pottery trade around 175 BC, with iron bars replacing, um, whatever they had been using as currency up to that from about 100 BC.

What's quite interesting about this is that unlike we Irish, who knocked seven bells out of the original Celts and then snaffled their country (Go Tuatha!) England does not seem to have proceeded along the same lines at all, with their peoples moving to and from Britain as it got  colder or harder to live there, and returning when the weather or the living conditions improved. Nobody seems to have kicked anything out of anyone, and really, for a country that ended up being the bully of the world for a very long time, the top dog and the one all others would bow and scrape to (while secretly plotting their overthrow beneath the doffed cap, so to speak) that's quite remarkable. So other than the likes of Neanderthals and so on going extinct, there was no major shift as to who controlled England. Makes us like the aggressive ones!
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As temperatures began to rise and weather improve around about 5,000 – 6,000 BC, the hunter-gatherer population began to settle down a little more, and some animals, like the dog, were domesticated. DNA in human remains seems to indicate the migration of people from what would become Finland and Estonia, as well as other European countries, so it could possibly be said that the first real Englishmen were in fact what are now considered by certain sectors of their society as "foreigners". Take that, English Defence League! Around 4,500 BC the idea of farming and raising crops seems to have been considered a good one, and more settling down occurred as the woodlands grew and hunting became more difficult. In fact, a program of extensive deforestation began around 4,300 BC to provide more land for crops and farming.
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The original inhabitants of Britain were soon supplanted by what were known as the Beaker people. No, not them! These people came from all over Europe, and are so-called due to their creation of and usage of the inverted bell-shaped beaker which became prevalent everywhere. I don't know, but I presume the precursor to that was a normal tumbler-style thing? Not sure, but anyway this is the reason they were called that, and by about 2400 BC they had more or less taken over Britain. They were able to exploit the vast reserves of tin in England, especially in Cornwall and Devon, and this provided them something to trade with other countries, and a form of commerce began.
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Evidence of a certain belief in some sort of religion began around 2,500 BC – 2.000 BC, when huge stone monuments, burial chambers and possibly sites of religious worship, began to appear all over Britain. The most famous of these of course is Stonehenge, still a popular attraction in England today. Nobody has ever been able to work out definitively what Stonehenge was intended for - some say burial mounts, some say a place of worship, others say something to do with astronomy or even a place to gather at certain times such as the Summer and Winter Solstice (June and December 21 respectively). In addition to burying their dead the Britons also cremated them, with the urns then buried in cemeteries.

Manufacturing processes were changing too. From around 2150 BC British people learned to smelt copper and then bronze, heralding the arrival of what is known as the Bronze Age in Britain. As the previous age, the Stone Age, receded then, bronze became the go-to material, replacing stone in things such as weapons and tools until about 750 BC, when this great new thing was imported from Europe. They called it iron, and it was even stronger than bronze, making better weapons and better agricultural implements, and so improving the lives of the Britons and ushering in (say it with me) the Iron Age. This saw the organisation of people into clans headed by chieftains, and almost by default, the first proper wars between tribes.

They would soon have a new and powerful enemy to fight though, and would have to band together and forget old enmities, or perish under the onslaught of the greatest empire the world had ever seen.

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Romans go home (55 BC - 43 AD)
One man, of course, would make it his business to attempt to bring Britain to heel, and he was perhaps the most famous of all the Roman emperors. It is pretty amazing to hear that Romans feared the area in which Britain was said to lie, the island existing, as it was seen at the time, on the edge of the known world. It's even more intriguing to find there were Romans who refused to believe Britain existed at all! Fake News, huh, in the Empire! Nevertheless, news of Britain's vast stores of tin (very much a coveted item in those times, it seems) had reached the empire, and so they naturally assumed they could just go and take it.

And they did.

Well, they tried.

I'm not going to run a profile of Julius Caesar, as I don't think it's warranted. Anyone who doesn't know him or of him, or know something about him clearly has not been paying attention, or has been holidaying on Alpha Squiggle IX for most of their lives. I hear it's lovely there. But back down here on Earth, I might as well try to tell you about Hitler (which I do, in my World War II journal, but that's different). So suffice to say we won't be going too deeply into Caesar's biography.

Part of the reason for invading Britain seems to have been a matter of revenge, as the Britons had supported the Gauls in their war against the Roman general, and as already noted, some of the refugees from that defeat had fled to the shores of Britain to escape the advancing Roman hordes. Caesar landed in Britain in 55 BC but did not have things his own way, the capricious English weather proving as much an enemy to him as the Britons, swamping his low-built ships and driving them against each other, wrecking some. In essence, Caesar's first attempt at subduing the Britons failed miserably, on just about every level, but with his usual talent for turning potentially bad press about him to good (in other words, Julius Caesar was as good a propagandist as Goebbels, if not better) he claimed victory in having successfully sailed "beyond the known world" and come back alive. The Senate agreed, and ordered a twenty-day holiday of thanksgiving in his honour. It wasn't quite the triumph he had hoped for, but it was a good result for him that papered over the cracks in his campaign, and ignored the fact that he had utterly failed in his objective.

He would not, of course, leave it at that.

The next year, armed with his experience of England and with better-built boats (and also with hundreds of allies, traders who were willing to shift loyalties in return for the chance of earning more than a few sesterces) Caesar was back. This time, whether due to the size of the fleet or as a delaying tactic while they prepared defences, the Britons did not oppose him, and the legions marched inland, where they met a British force in Kent. These guys did offer opposition, but to no avail. Rather oddly, it seems our man Julius had not taken on board (sorry) all the lessons he had learned in the previous year's campaign, as once again the high tides and wild winds that plagued the English coast damaged his ships, and he had to return to oversee their repair. Having done so, he returned to Kent, where he met his first real challenge.

Cassivelaunus

If we want to frame it in such terms, seeing Caesar as Hitler, trying to advance across England as Der Fuhrer swept across Europe in 1939, then it would seem that Cassivelaunus was the equivalent of perhaps Churchill, or maybe Montgomery. He was the one who marshalled all the English tribes together to resist Caesar, realising that no one clan could hope to defeat him alone. However, such alliances have always been fragile and hard to hold together, and given that Cassivelaunus had defeated the king of the Trilobites, sorry Trinovantes, and caused his son Mind Your Braces sorry Mandubracius to flee to Gaul to seek Caesar's aid in regaining his father's kingdom, well, you can see where this is going, can't you?

As almost always happens in history, and as we've certainly seen happen time and time again in Irish history, the deposed and vanquished look to a foreign power to restore them to their throne, in return for which they will sell out their countrymen. And so it was with Mandubracius, who revealed the location of Cassivelaunus's stronghold, which was then put under siege by Caesar. Although he fought well, and enlisted four other kings to his cause, Cassivelaunus had to surrender, and Mandubracius was crowned king of the Trinovantes, his erstwhile enemy having had to undertake not to engage in war against him. With things wrapped up and unrest simmering back in good old Gaul, Julius Caesar once again bad farewell to the shores of old Blighty and left for friendlier climes.

An interesting point to note here is that, until he beheld them being used in Britain, Caesar had never seen chariots used in war, in fact no Roman had, and the intelligence of these he brought back to the empire surely set in motion their own love affair with the things, which in turn must have been of great assistance to them in winning future battles and wars. He notes, with obvious deep interest, "Their mode of fighting with their chariots is this: firstly, they drive about in all directions and throw their weapons and generally break the ranks of the enemy with the very dread of their horses and the noise of their wheels; and when they have worked themselves in between the troops of horse, leap from their chariots and engage on foot. The charioteers in the meantime withdraw some little distance from the battle, and so place themselves with the chariots that, if their masters are overpowered by the number of the enemy, they may have a ready retreat to their own troops. Thus they display in battle the speed of horse, [together with] the firmness of infantry; and by daily practice and exercise attain to such expertness that they are accustomed, even on a declining and steep place, to check their horses at full speed, and manage and turn them in an instant and run along the pole, and stand on the yoke, and thence betake themselves with the greatest celerity to their chariots again."

He also reported back on other aspects of Britain, such as the geographical layout (such of it as he got to see anyway) and the climate: "The climate is more temperate than in Gaul, the colds being less severe. The island is triangular in its form, and one of its sides is opposite to Gaul. One angle of this side, which is in Kent, whither almost all ships from Gaul are directed, [looks] to the east; the lower looks to the south. This side extends about 500 miles. Another side lies toward Hispania and the west, on which part is Ireland, less, as is reckoned, than Britain, by one half: but the passage from it into Britain is of equal distance with that from Gaul. In the middle of this voyage, is an island, which is called Mona: many smaller islands besides are supposed to lie there, of which islands some have written that at the time of the winter solstice it is night there for thirty consecutive days. We, in our inquiries about that matter, ascertained nothing, except that, by accurate measurements with water, we perceived the nights to be shorter there than on the continent. The length of this side, as their account states, is 700 miles. The third side is toward the north, to which portion of the island no land is opposite; but an angle of that side looks principally toward Germany. This side is considered to be 800 miles in length. Thus the whole island is about 2,000 miles in circumference."

He had things to say too about the people: "The interior portion of Britain is inhabited by those of whom they say that it is handed down by tradition that they were born in the island itself: the maritime portion by those who had passed over from the country of the Belgae for the purpose of plunder and making war; almost all of whom are called by the names of those states from which being sprung they went thither, and having waged war, continued there and began to cultivate the lands. The number of the people is countless, and their buildings exceedingly numerous, for the most part very like those of the Gauls... They do not regard it lawful to eat the hare, and the cock, and the goose; they, however, breed them for amusement and pleasure.

The most civilised of all these nations are they who inhabit Kent, which is entirely a maritime district, nor do they differ much from the Gallic customs. Most of the inland inhabitants do not sow corn, but live on milk and flesh, and are clad with skins. All the Britons, indeed, dye themselves with woad, which occasions a bluish colour, and thereby have a more terrible appearance in fight. They wear their hair long, and have every part of their body shaved except their head and upper lip. Ten and even twelve have wives common to them, and particularly brothers among brothers, and parents among their children; but if there be any issue by these wives, they are reputed to be the children of those by whom respectively each was first espoused when a virgin."

Shipbuilding: "[T]he keels and ribs were made of light timber, then, the rest of the hull of the ships was wrought with wicker work, and covered over with hides."

Religion: "The institution [of Druidism] is thought to have originated in Britain, and to have been thence introduced into Gaul; and even now those who wish to become more accurately acquainted with it, generally repair thither, for the sake of learning it."

And resources: "[T]he number of cattle is great. They use either brass or iron rings, determined at a certain weight, as their money. Tin is produced in the midland regions; in the maritime, iron; but the quantity of it is small: they employ brass, which is imported. There, as in Gaul, is timber of every description, except beech and fir."

For all his bluster however, the greatest general the world had ever seen since Alexander the Great proved unable to subdue Britain, leaving without so much as a Roman garrison in place, although he did sponsor two separate kings to rule over Britain, and in that way made it part of the Roman Empire, if in name only. It would be almost another century before Rome would try again to take on this mysterious land beyond the known limits of the world.

The British would probably have been conquered by helpless laughter alone, had they seen the so-called preparations for war laid by the unhinged emperor Caligula, who lined his troops up at the sea facing in the direction of Britain and ordered them, without prejudice and without mercy or quarter, on pain of death to... gather seashells! Yeah, well, the guy was a nut, we all know that. You only have to read a little history to see what he was like, or if you prefer to give my Serial Killers journal a look... Oh well, coming soon.

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The next, proper invasion would be prosecuted by, again, one of the greatest Roman emperors ever known, and here's a clue as to its success or failure: it's gone down in history as the Claudian conquest of Britain.

It's one thing to set up client - which is to say, puppet - rulers in another country, but unless you have a way of reinforcing your wishes (in other words, unless you have an actual force that will ensure they're carried out) there's nothing to stop your new king being deposed by another who seizes power.

And that's exactly what happened once Julius Caesar left Britain. Wars broke out - or, I should probably say, resumed, as the Britons had been at war with each other for yonks, only ostensibly joining forces to oppose the invader - and our man Mandy Brunches sorry Mandubracius was unceremoniously (or perhaps with great ceremony; it amounted to the same thing) kicked off the throne of Britain, the throne basically given to him by Rome, and another chieftain, Cataractus sorry Caracatus had taken his place.

The problem here for Rome was not the deposing of Mandubracius; his tribe had already fallen out of favour with the empire for the heinous sin of allowing a stronger enemy to defeat and supplant him, and they left him to his fate. What they did not take kindly to was that chieftain ignoring the edict of Rome, which held that Verica, of the Mastur - sorry Atrebates clan was the officially sanctioned ruler of Britain, and taking the throne for himself, in the process exiling poor old Verica. Who, as had his predecessor, went crying to the emperor, demanding his throne back.
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With the supposed intention of reasserting the claim to the throne of Verica,  Claudius set sail in 43 AD for the shores of merry old England, to have a frank exchange of views and see if they couldn't sort this out over tea and crumpets. Possibly.

Now it wasn't just a case of taking their lands and resources due to the Hillary principle, ie because it was there. No, now it was personal. Caratacus had given the finger to the world's mightiest empire, and the world's mightiest empire did not take that sort of insult lying down.
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Caratacus

Probably one of the first great leaders of the Britons, and given how he stood up to Claudius, possibly one of their first real heroes. Caratacus was a member, and later leader of the Catavellauni, one of the two most powerful and respected tribes in Britain at that time. He was a prince, son of the king Cunobelinus, taken under the wing of his uncle Epaticcus, who was responsible for expanding the territory of the Catavellauni as far as that of their rivals, the Atebates, whose leader, Verica, as already explained, had been chosen by Rome as king.

That didn't matter a red deer's jawbone to Epaticcus though, and after his death in 35 AD his protege carried on his work, eventually defeating the Atebates, exiling their king and setting himself up as ruler of Britain. After Claudius invaded Caratacus had enough sense to see that the only way to deal with the Roman legions was with guerilla warfare, and in this he was quite successful. For a time. But unlike Julius Caesar ninety years ago, Claudius had come to Britain with the very definite intention of conquering it, and to that end brought with him three legions, as well as other allies, so Caratacus would have been well outnumbered and would not have stood a chance in open, direct combat with the battle-hardened and well-armed and armoured Roman legionnaires.

Not surprisingly, Caratacus's stronghold at Camulodunon - where the city of Colchester now stands - became the focus of the Roman efforts, and he and his brother fought but lost two major battles, the Battle of the River Medway (no I said MEDway) and the Battle of the River Thames, where his brother was killed.

Caratacus could only hold out so long, and eventually he was defeated and fled to Wales, where he took up the fight again, but when his wife and daughter were captured by the Romans and his other brothers surrendered, Caratacus legged it to Yorkshire (then called Brigantes) seeking sanctuary there with its ruler, Queen Cartman I mean Cartimandua. She, however, betrayed and sold him out and he went back to Rome in chains.

Sentenced to death, he earned himself an unlikely reprieve due to the eloquence of his speech, which he made before the Senate, proving, perhaps surprisingly to them, that he, and indeed all Britons, might not be the unprincipled, ignorant barbarians they had been told they were. Caratacus was allowed to live in peace in Rome, and marvelling at its wealth and opulence, wondered why such people would covet a crappy land like Britain?
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Not on your nelly! Living engines of war

If, when Julius Caesar had first visited Britain, Romans had never before seen chariots being used in war, they were able to repay the compliment by bringing as part of their invasion force something no Briton had ever laid eyes on: elephants. And not just any elephants (though the mere sight of the beasts was enough to send the Britons into a panicked rout) - war elephants. Elephants armoured for war, carrying men on their backs who fired spears down from their great height advantage. This was enough to force the surrender of most of the tribes of southeast Britain, and the conquest continued apace.

By 47 AD there was a Roman governor of Britain, Publius Ostorius Scapula, and he launched an invasion of Wales. The Welsh, however, proved harder to conquer than the English, and Claudius decided to leave them to it. What, after all, was there of worth in Wales? Nero, when he came to the throne, thought differently, and consequently many Welsh druids were killed when he had the new governor, Quintus Veranius, invade Anglesey. He was almost directly responsible for the creation and rise of one of Britain's first true legendary figures, and as you might expect, she was a woman.

Wait, what?

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Boudica (died c. 60/61 AD)

Boudica's story is that of one woman being pushed way, way too far, and an arrogant, overbearing occupier who believed he was invincible, had no reason to fear a mere female, and acted accordingly. It is surely also one of regret for Rome, partial triumph for Britain and a legend for the ages. Boudica did not start out as a rebel, far from it. She and her husband had signed treaties with Claudius during the conquest of Britain in 43 AD and had remained loyal to his successor, Nero. In fact, her husband, Prasutagus, was such an arselick that when he died he left half of his kingdom to his two daughters, and the other half to Nero. I suppose it's expensive running an empire, and every little sesterce helps.

Nero however didn't see it this way, and sent his emissary to take the lot. When Boudica protested that these were not the terms of her late husband's will, said functionary is reported probably not to have said, "are you calling the emperor a liar? That's treason, that is!" and proceeded to have her whipped. Humiliating enough, you would think, for a woman who was now queen of the Iceni tribe, and for someone who had thrown in her lot with the very people who were now abusing her. But no, apparently it was not enough. Spotting Boudica's two daughters, the unnamed centurion directed his men to rape them, which they did. In the final analysis, and understandably, this would have been the last straw. It would lead to the first proper revolt in Britain under Roman rule.

Waking the Lion: the Revolt of Boudica

"'But now, it is not as a woman descended from noble ancestry, but as one of the people that I am avenging lost freedom, my scourged body, the outraged chastity of my daughters. Roman lust has gone so far that not our very persons, nor even age or virginity, are left unpolluted. But heaven is on the side of a righteous vengeance; a legion which dared to fight has perished; the rest are hiding themselves in their camp, or are thinking anxiously of flight. They will not sustain even the din and the shout of so many thousands, much less our charge and our blows. If you weigh well the strength of the armies, and the causes of the war, you will see that in this battle you must conquer or die. This is a woman's resolve; as for men, they may live and be slaves."


I've said it in the History of Ireland journal, and it holds true for most peoples: you can only push them so far, and if you think a populace is so beaten into submission that you can ride roughshod (perhaps literally) over them, then all I can say is you have not been reading your history, my son, and you had better sleep lightly, because when you least expect it, when you feel at your most secure and are at your most arrogant, that's when they'll come for you.

Believing the Britons no threat (he had, after all, subdued their entire island) Nero was surely taken by surprise by the uprising that broke out, and cost so many Roman lives. Gathering all the disaffected tribes to her - for she was not the only one with whom the empire had broken faith - she marched on Camulodunum, the Roman capital as already noted, modern-day Colchester.

Here many Roman veterans had retired, and the people there had been mistreated by them, forced to build a temple to Claudius at their own expense, so they were just in the mood to kick some Roman butt. All they needed was an impetus, which arrived in the form of Boudica and her allies. Laying siege to the town they took it easily, destroying a large bronze statue of Nero and knocking its head off, which Boudica took as a trophy.

The rebels scored another huge victory when a Roman legion, coming to relieve the town, was met by them and roundly defeated, leaving its few survivors to fly for their lives. On hearing of the comprehensive defeat, and of the fall of Camulodunum, Catus Deciamus, the Roman procurator decided Gaul was a much safer place to be, and departed English shores. With the rebels on the way, the governor, Gaiuis Seutonius Paulinus, decided to abandon Londinium (anyone?) and evacuated all his people from the city, everyone left behind tortured and slaughtered by the rebels when they arrived. Whether they discriminated between their own people and the Romans is not made clear. What is made clear, apparently, is that being a woman did not imbue in Boudica any pity or sympathy, or indeed weakness shown towards others of her sex.

The Roman historian Dio - that's Cassius, not Ronnie James! - tells us that the Britons were not taking prisoners, slaughtering, hanging, burning as they came, and that the noblest of the Roman women were impaled on spikes (that's a real pain in the arse. Sorry) and as if this wasn't enough, also had their breasts cut off and sewn to their mouths. Must have felt like right tits. And left tits. Okay, I'll stop now.

As, eventually, did Boudica, whose revolt was of course doomed to failure, if a glorious one. Once the Romans regrouped, there was no way a ragtag band of pretty much untrained and undisciplined barbarian warriors were going to get one over on the cream of the empire, and this was only going to end one way.

As ever in such battles, he who controls the terrain controls the battle, and from Scotland to Agincourt we've seen that strength in numbers can mean nothing if the territory is used to best advantage. Despite being outnumbered by Boudica's forces by a factor of, say some historians, twenty to one, others claim thirty to one, Suetonius had fought many a campaign whereas this was Boudica's first. Not a good time to be learning!

A seasoned soldier, though not of course a native of Britain, Suetonius selected a narrow gorge with a forest behind him opening out into a wide plain. The forest protected him from an attack from the rear while the gorge of course meant his forces could not be outflanked. In contrast to the well-armed and drilled legionnaires, Boudica's people were poorly armed, their tribes having been disarmed previously by Suetonius prior to their revolt. The Roman governor disdainfully told his men "Ignore the racket made by these savages. There are more women than men in their ranks. They are not soldiers—they're not even properly equipped. We've beaten them before and when they see our weapons and feel our spirit, they'll crack. Stick together. Throw the javelins, then push forward: knock them down with your shields and finish them off with your swords. Forget about plunder. Just win and you'll have everything."

It was a good speech, and in truth it seems that overconfidence was Boudica's undoing. The tribes even brought their families along and set them in wagons behind the battle lines, promising them a mighty victory they could enjoy. A real day out, huh? Except of course, it didn't quite turn out that way.

Perhaps naively, perhaps desperately, perhaps arrogantly, the warrior queen led her army in a frontal attack, playing right into Suetonius's hands. Javelins launched by the Romans at the Britons killed many and damaged the shields of others, forcing them to discard them and thereby leave themselves defenceless.

The legions attacked, and once their cavalry joined the melee it was all over for the Britons, who tried to flee but found their exit blocked by their own wagons. A mass slaughter ensued, as even the women, children and animals were butchered by the victorious Romans. Boudica herself is said to have taken poison rather than be captured.

A rather amusing side-note concerns a Roman centurion who was believed to have robbed his legion of a share in the triumph by not turning up for the battle and who fell on his own sword in disgrace. His name? Poenius Posthumus. :laughing:

Despite her defeat, Boudica is recognised as a true hero of Britain, an example of the fighting spirit and a role model for women in a time when they did little but support their men. Indeed, her revolt shocked Nero so deeply that he seriously considered pulling his forces out of Britain, but decided to let them remain, not wishing to lose face in front of the Senate. It would be another nine years before Britain would rise again in revolt, and this time it would be in the north.

Having defeated Boudica comprehensively and shown Britain that it was unwise to awaken the wrath of Rome, Suetonius pillaged the land around, carrying out reprisals against anyone suspected of having supported, agreed with or perhaps even heard of the warrior queen, or who he just didn't like the look of. His blood was up, and Nero decided so too was his time in Britain, the emperor removing him before he could do more harm than good, and provoke further rebellions. It was, however, a little late for that.
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Rumblings in the North: the revolt of Venutius and Cartimandua

You'll remember the second name; she was the queen of the Brigantes who delivered up poor old Caratacus to his hated enemies when he went seeking shelter from her. So why did she and her husband turn against Rome? Well, apparently it was all down to marital strife. No, I said marital, not martial, though of course that figured in the deal too.

See, apparently Cartimandua had lost interest in her husband and had abandoned Venutius to go with, of all people, his armour bearer, a guy called John. well no actually he was called Vellocatus (didn't anyone in this age have a name without ten or twelve letters? Sounds like a very soft kitten, doesn't it?) Hey, at least she chose someone whose name began with the same letter, so that if she and Venutius had ever carved their names on the bark of a tree (or more likely, in the skull of some enemy) the sentiment would still stand. Anyway Venutius initially went to war against the old lady because she had set Vellocatus up on the throne that was his, you know, by right. The little woman was, however, well protected by her Roman masters, but Venutius wasn't having any of that.

History does not record their conversation but it's entirely unlikely he said "I'm not having any of that!" while she smiled sweetly and invited him "Come at me, hubby dear. I'll wipe you out," and that he responded "Oh yeah? You and what army?" and that she grinned and said "This one." Even if she had, this guy was no coward, or alternatively, thought only with his sword, and so might have snapped back "Think you can hide behind them? I'll do you, and your bloody Roman lapdogs!" And so he did. Or tried to.

To nobody's surprise - and no doubt his wife's delight - he was quickly beaten, but that was in the AD 50s, and by almost the time of the 70s he was ready again. This time the Romans weren't so quick to come to Cartimandua's rescue, being a trifle more concerned with matters at home. Nero had finally pissed off and died, having burned Rome almost to the ground before he went, and in that year, 69 AD, no less than four emperors came to the throne in quick succession, each gone almost before he could warm his arse on the seat. This, as you can imagine, caused great unrest and political turmoil in the empire, and Britain was not seen as a priority. Thus, when Venutius attacked his ex again, they really weren't that interested and thought best to leave them to it, no point getting involved in petty family squabbles.

In the end, all they could do was get Cartimandua out of England, and this left Venutius possibly beating his chest and standing on some high mountain roaring "YES! I am the BEST!" and according to some sources (all right: according to me) giving Rome what was traditionally referred to in Britain as the Finger.

They weren't going to stand for that.

And they didn't.

Now, you see, the problem here is that the only written accounts that we have left are those made by Roman historians such as Tacitus and Dio, and invariably, and unsurprisingly, these are written with a strong Roman bias. So mostly you get a version of "the brave Roman army pushed the barbarians back" and so forth, leaving us with little hard detail - indeed, any detail - about the nuts and bolts of the battles. But from these sources and archaeological finds it appears that Venutius was relatively easily beaten, though his people, the Brigantes, made life tough for the occupiers for the next few decades. The Scots, too, rose in revolt but that's another story, and one we're not concerned with here, though it does deserve a short mention.

So here it is.

Suffice to say, by around 87 AD Britain was more or less completely under Roman control, and for the first time the people of Britain felt what it was like to be under the heel of an oppressor. It wouldn't be the last time.

Mother Should I Build a Wall? Scotland Attacks

Although Britain as an island had been subdued by Rome, they certainly did not have it their own way, and rebellions and uprisings continued to break out for another eighty or so years. Much of this resistance to Roman rule came from the far north, the area they called Caledonia but which we know as Scotland. While the Scots - Picts, mostly, at the time - had no love for Britons (Englishmen) and there would be strife between the two for centuries (and even still is, to some extent) they weren't going to sit back and let this foreign power invade their homeland, and they fought fiercely, more savage and with more abandon than Romans had ever seen, even with the English. Although this journal isn't concerned with the history of Scotland, as such, it is impossible to imagine the eventual forced withdrawal of the Roman Empire from Britain without the constant attacks on them from there taking place.

This so concerned Rome that in 122 the new emperor, Hadrian, commissioned the building of a wall at the northern border, which would effectively provide a barrier between the "barbarians" and his people.
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Hadrian's Wall, as it came to be rather unoriginally known, is still there today, stretching from Wallsend on the river Tyne to Bowness-on-Solway, more or less bisecting the island from west to east and cutting off Scotland from what is now England. Of course it's a ruin now, and a tourist attraction, but that any of it at all survived is testament to the prowess of Roman engineering and construction. The wall was, and remains, seventy-three miles long, and originally was said to have reached to twelve feet in height, though of course most of that has now fallen and it's much lower.

Hadrian's Wall marked the "boundary of the civilised part of Britannia" (as they came to call England) and the unconquered, barbarian, mostly unknown land of Caledonia, Scotland, though it is built entirely in England and does not form a true border between the two countries.
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Of course, the wall was also a physical representation and reminder of the might of the Roman Empire in Britain. Its construction provided employment for thousands of soldiers who might otherwise have been idle and restless, and helped to control the flow of commerce, and people, through that part of the empire.

It wasn't just a wall though, being supplemented by a number of forts and milehouses along its length, staffed by Roman soldiers. It took six years and three legions - approximately 15,000 soldiers - to build. After three more emperors had unsuccessfully attempted to subdue the Scots, the last of them, Septimius Severus, withdrew to Hadrian's Wall around 211 and it became the northernmost border of the Roman Empire in Britain. Even so, Picts breached it in 180, killing the commanding officer. Roman soldiers and officers were beginning to resent being in Britain, and a withdrawal was on the cards as events further afield began to occupy the empire's attention.

But first...
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(Note: I have no idea if this is a real flag that was used or not, but it's pretty damn cool, isn't it?)

The Britannic Empire (286 - 296)

There were two things every man needed to possess in order to progress, even survive, in the Roman Empire, and those were ambition and a sense of ruthlessness. If you were squeamish, if you were weak, if you were idle or just not prepared to do what needed to be done, you didn't last long. Most of the emperors had risen to power by one of two means: bribery or murder, often both. Even when there was a clear line of succession to the throne, a prospective claimant could be unseated or even prevented ascending if his enemies - often from within his own family - were powerful or rich enough, or had enough support to oppose him. Thus, while Greece was the world's first democracy, Rome was anything but, and the men who sat on the throne were forever restive, anticipating - sometimes with cause, sometimes without - a challenge to their reign.

It was enough to drive you mad. And some emperors did indeed descend into madness, such as Nero and Caligula, and surely others too. But then again, it could be seen perhaps as a good thing that, unlike the line of royal succession a millennium later in England, in effect any Roman could rise to be emperor, somewhat like the American presidency. Of course, he usually had to be from the right background, but theoretically, once enough money had crossed enough palms or enough knives had been sunk into enough backs, the way was often clear for a man to take power who should, and often did, have no such claim to the throne.

Thus it was with Marcus Aurelius Mausaeus Carausius, who was a commoner who had clawed his way up the ranks of the Roman military and was given command of keeping the seas around France clear of Saxon and Frankish raiders. However accusations that he was in fact in league with the pirates, that he allowed them to loot and then they paid him a percentage, in a sort of perhaps ancient foreshadowing of the Mafia, led to the order being given for his execution by the then-emperor, Maximian. In response, Carausius declared himself "Emperor in the North" (shades of Game of Thrones, huh?) and with the fleet at his command he was able to back this up. Maximian sent a force to take back Britain from him in 288 or 289 but suffered a defeat, and Carausius remained emperor of that part of the world.

He also made alliances with the natives, who were at this point weary of Roman rule, and set himself up as Restitutor Britanniae (Restorer of Britain) and Genius Britanniae (Spirit of Britain). In this way he presumably hoped to show or prove that he was the great liberator who would release Britain from the yoke of its longtime oppressor, and allow them some form of autonomy. Whether he had any intention of doing this or not is unknown, but he needed the support of the Britons and, like most Romans, was ready to say what was needed. He could always go back on his word later.

He therefore set up what became known as the Britannic Empire, which was not to last long, with the end beginning in 293, when the emperor Constantius Chlorus cut Carausius off from his Gaul allies by besieging the port of Gesoriacum, modern Boulougne-sur-Mer, and invading Batavia. After seven years in power, Carausius fell victim to the favourite Roman pastime, assassinate-my-leader, when his treasurer, Allectus, did just that, taking the title of emperor for himself. He was not to hold it long, as an invasion fleet arrived in 296, quickly routing his army and once again Londinium was the scene of a massacre. The Britannic Empire had lasted ten short years, and direct Roman rule was once again established over the island.
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Barbarians at the Gates: The End of Roman Rule in Britain, and the Beginning of the Fall of the Roman Empire

I'm sure that, to someone living at the time, especially those living under Roman rule, it must have seemed completely inconceivable that this mighty empire could ever fall, but as history tells us, nothing lasts forever, and while Rome may not have been built in a day, for an empire that had lasted a thousand years she certainly fell within a couple of hundred. Incursions by German (Teutonic) tribes such as the Goths and the Visigoths and the Franks proved too strong for the empire to resist, perhaps as a result of being spread too thin, or perhaps due to internal politics or bad management, or arrogance and overconfidence, or bad strategy. I'm sure scholars have many reasons why Rome fell, but the barbarians didn't care why, they just intended it should.

And it would.

Certainly, internal power struggles which often erupted into civil war did not help the cause of the Romans, and to some degree the Visigoths and their allies had only to sit back and watch the greatest empire the world had ever known tear itself apart, though of course they made sure they did some of the tearing themselves. As the situation became increasingly desperate for Rome, they began to consolidate their forces to defend the empire against the encroaching hordes, and this meant that Britain became less a priority, as troops were shipped back home to assist in the defence of the motherland.

By about 383 the north and west of Britain had been cleared of any Roman presence, and around 407 Constantine III took what troops remained from Britain to aid in the defence of Rome (or actually, to try to set himself up as emperor), but neither he nor the currently-serving emperor, Honarius, could prevent the Visigoths breaking through and Rome was sacked in 410, effectively bringing to an end the mighty Roman Empire.

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Chapter II: Dying Groans, Birthing Cries - A Nation is Born

Timeline: 446 - 770

After the end of the Roman Empire Britain entered the medieval age, the Britons once again faced attack from the north, from the Picts, and appealed to the emperor for help, in a letter which has been recorded by history as "The Groans of the Britons", but he was rather busy fending off barbarians. Historians argue (as they invariably do) over what was in the letter, and what was the reply, if any, but a part of it seems to have been this:

To Agitius [or Aetius], thrice consul: the groans of the Britons. [...] The barbarians drive us to the sea, the sea drives us to the barbarians; between these two means of death, we are either killed or drowned.

The message is believed to have been sent between 446 - 454, and when it was not responded to (or was, but not favourably; at any rate, when no assistance was sent) the Britons battled, were invaded by and eventually defeated by German troops from the region of Saxony, known as Saxons. On their settlement of Britain, and in order to distinguish the new inhabitants from their German cousins, the new race were called Anglo-Saxons, as some had come from Anglia (not to be confused with the later English county) on the border between Denmark and Germany.
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Saxon Violence: The Second Conquest of Britain

Though Hitler failed in his attempt to conquer, or even invade England, Germans did succeed, albeit fifteen hundred years before the dictator was even born. As you might expect, with the withdrawal of Roman troops and the end of Roman rule, Britain descended into a kind of anarchy, with kings elected who had no interest in anything other than keeping power, ignoring the suffering of their people as famine gripped the land. According to the British monk Gildas:  "Britain has kings but they are tyrants; she has judges but they are wicked; they plunder and terrorise the innocent, they defend and protect the guilty and thieving, they have many wives, whores and adulteresses, swear false oaths, tell lies, reward thieves, sit with murderous men, despise the humble, their commanders are 'enemies of God'"; the list is long. Oath breaking and the absence of just judgements for ordinary people were mentioned a number of times. British leadership, everywhere, was immoral and the cause of the "ruin of Britain."

Into this chaos came the Saxons, and they were determined to put their stamp on the country, and as the English were to prove, to a degree, centuries later in Ireland, one way to do that was to destroy the culture and traditions of the people you are trying to supplant. A very effective way of doing that, in turn, is by abolishing their native tongue and substituting your own.

You're Speaking my Language! The Decline of the Celtic Tongue in Britain

Up until about 400, most people in what was then Britain spoke the Celtic language, their own version which was called Brittonic. When the Saxons arrived they spoke German, which in time would metamorphose into Old English, and become the dominant language in the country. A form of British Latin had also been spoken, which is not surprising, as if nothing else, constant hassle by Roman soldiers and governors and functionaries would have meant that the Britons would have picked up at least some sense of the language of the occupiers, and that in some places, perhaps even merely as an expedient so that one could understand the other and avoid unfortunate incidents (what is the Latin for "Your mother hangs around with sailors" anyway?) it may have been adopted as the dominant language. It's also possible that it may have been forced upon the populace, as it's hard to give orders if the people you're talking to don't understand what you're saying.

However, with the decline of the Roman Empire and the withdrawal of Roman troops, and the end of Roman rule in Britain this became less and less popular and eventually faded out altogether. The later establishment of the Christian Church in England would have prompted a revival, or resurgence of Latin, and hastened the death of the Celtic language, its final death-throes occurring when the Saxons arrived. I've always wondered why Old English bears little or no resemblance to modern English, and now I know: it's essentially German. The other three countries in, as it were, the British Isles continued to retain the Celtic languages, and even today Wales and Scotland speak their own tongue (the latter a sort of bastardisation of the English one) and of course Ireland was eventually driven so far under the English boot that all but the most rural and western areas now speak English.
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What's it worth to ya mate? Buying national identity

Might seem strange indeed, but it appears that one theory advanced for the success of the Anglo-Saxon takeover of Britain points to the possibility of people being technically bribed, or if you prefer, incentivised to change their allegiance. The question has often been asked, down through the ages, what price a man's life? Hell, Jesus is even reputed to have said "what shall it proft a man if he gain the whole world but lose his soul?" Well, according to the ancient system of personal value practiced by the Saxons, that all depended on how rich or important you were.

The weregild was not, as you might at first think, an exclusive club for those of a lycantrhopic bent, but was in fact the established "man price", which was levied on every man in the kingdom. This meant that, should someone be killed and his family seek restitution, there was a ready-made scale by which to award compensation. Another story goes - I can't remember from where - that a man is asked to tell a king, to a penny, what is he worth? Obviously not using the weregild system, he replies that Jesus was sold for thirty pieces of gold, so a king - who could not, and should not, put himself on the same level as our Saviour - would be worth twenty-nine. All very well reasoned, but in reality, the Saxon system had a king valued at thirty thousand pieces of gold, or thrymsa, as they were called in sixth century Saxony, with an archbishop half that, and a bishop slightly more than half that (8,000) all the way down to the common men, where a "prospering" peasant was only worth 2,000 and a non-prospering Welshman a snip at only 80 shillings.

This system, then, the theory goes, may have been used to attract Britons to foreswear their Britishness and become instead Anglo-Saxons, by which they increased their weregild by one hundred percent, an Anglo-Saxon man being worth twice as much as a Briton. This naturally increased their social status; if you're worth more, then you must be better, so why are you clinging to those old ties to Britain when you could be like us, living it up as an Anglo-Saxon? Not to mention that I'm sure those who did not "climb up" were then looked down upon by those who had. Kind of reminds me of the Protestant Ascendancy, though without the cash incentive. Or, indeed, any chance to rise in the ranks.

Those who just did not want to, as it were, take the king's shilling (see my History of Ireland journal under Oliver Cromwell) may have emigrated, most of them moving to Brittany in France, originally called, believe it or not, Armorica (but not the united states of) and changed to reflect the influx of Britons. No doubt there were plenty of wars, skirmishes, forced resettlements and good old fashioned plague (always a reliable source for cutting down populations) too, but one way or another by about the sixth to eighth century the Anglo-Saxons were well in control of Britain, or at least the part that would become England.

Emergence of a Kingdom: From Britannia to England

It was under the Anglo-Saxons that England was born, as various chieftains claimed areas of the country and renamed them, giving rise to the first English kingdoms, the names of many of which survive today in English counties.
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The Kingdom of Kent

It might be hard for English people to contemplate a small, market county like the so-called "Garden of England" forming the first proper post-Roman settlement in the country, but it is said to have been the first real English kingdom. Settled by two of the very first Saxon chieftains, Hengist and Horsa, two brothers who, finding their native Germany a little overrun with warlords and would-be kings, answered the call in 449 or 450 from Britain for assistance against the marauding Picts and Scots. Warriors born, the Saxons were easily able to defeat the northern invaders, bringing 1,600 men with them. This however turned out to be a two-edged sword, and the Britons soon had reason to regret having sought help from abroad.

The Picts and Scots had been so easy to defeat, and yet the Britons so unable to fight them before the arrival of the Saxons, that Hengist and Horsa looked at each other, looked at England, nodded and said "We'll have some of that" and proceeded to relay details of how puny and ripe for conquest these Britons were. So in the event, Britain swapped one occupying force for another, and the Saxons came over in their droves. They were clever though, careful not to reveal their true intentions at once; coming as saviours, defenders, paid mercenaries to protect the Britons from the wild Scots, they quickly found a way to quarrel with their erstwhile allies, claiming they had not been paid, and made alliances with the far more warlike Picts and Scots, joining them in oppression of the Britons.

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Vortigern

The man who had inadvertently opened the door to invaders was the so-called King of Britain, Vortigern. He does not seem to have been overly popular, accused of incest - he is said to have had a son by his own daughter - faithlessness (though that might be due to his being essentially tricked by Hengist and Horsa) and, well, unlucky, which would be for the same reason I assume. He is linked to the myth of Dinas Emrys, recounted in another of my journals, which states that when a great lord (presumably meant to be him) wished to build his castle at this rocky hillock but it kept collapsing, Merlin (yeah, that's how much we can rely on this tale - a fictional wizard. But it gets better...) advised him to have the foundations excavated, and they found two dragons asleep there, one red, one white. When the dragons were disturbed from their sleep they fought, the white triumphing, showing that England, the white dragon, would prevail against the red one of Wales.

Vortigern is supposed to have married Hengest's daughter, Rowena, giving him most of Kent in exchange (hope she was worth it!) and is said to have perished in "fire from heaven" brought down by the prayers of the monk Germanus (later Saint Germanus) of Auxerre, because sure why not? I imagine incest doesn't go down too well with holy men, but as usual there's no real way to verify these things, and he could have been hit by lightning, or died by the sword, or who knows? Nobody seems to have a good word for the guy though. Here's what the foremost English historian of the twelfth century, William of Malmesbury, had to say about the first King of the Britons:

At this time Vortigern was King of Britain; a man calculated neither for the field nor the council, but wholly given up to the lusts of the flesh, the slave of every vice: a character of insatiable avarice, ungovernable pride, and polluted by his lusts. To complete the picture, he had defiled his own daughter, who was lured to the participation of such a crime by the hope of sharing his kingdom, and she had borne him a son. Regardless of his treasures at this dreadful juncture, and wasting the resources of the kingdom in riotous living, he was awake only to the blandishments of abandoned women.

I guess these Britons were still getting the hang of this king lark, but it seems odd that Vortigern was king, then succeeded by his son Vortimer (sounds like something out of Harry Potter, doesn't it?) and when he was killed, dad snatched back the throne. I've never heard before of a line of royal re-succession, but that seems to be how they did it back then. Not that it mattered much, as Vortigern was defeated and replaced by Hengist, the throne (I guess basically of Kent) passing from father to son to father to father-in-law. Hey, there are even historians who think the name Vortigern doesn't even refer to an actual individual, but stands as a sort of honorific or title. If he was real, I bet he's rolling in his grave now. Well, rattling. Well, probably gone to dust by now. But I bet those dust particles are agitated.

Horsa didn't last too long in merry old England, going down at the Battle of Aylesford (455), as related in the ninth-century Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: This year Hengest and Horsa fought with Wurtgern the king on the spot that is called Aylesford. His brother Horsa being there slain, Hengest afterwards took to the kingdom with his son Esc.

Press escape, huh? Sorry. Hengist is said then to have enlisted help from Saxony from his son, Octa (no, as far as I know he only had the two arms) who settled in Northumberland while Hengist ravaged the southeast, sparing "neither age nor condition nor sex", which I think we can take to mean men, women and children, old and young, sick and well. He established the Kingdom of Kent, comprising Middlesex, Essex and parts of Surrey, and fixed his royal seat at Canterbury, from where he ruled for forty years until his death in 488 or thereabouts.
(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/71/Hengist_King_of_Kent.jpg/440px-Hengist_King_of_Kent.jpg)
News of his success soon spread back home, and the Saxons, Angles and Jutes - all more or less the same and going under the one title of either Saxons or Angles - began arriving in numbers. The next kingdom to be set up was that of South Saxony. The Angles were so eager to come to Britain that they all did, leaving their country all but deserted and settling in (anyone?) Anglia, as well as Northumbria and Mercia.

Esc seems not to have been the greatest of kings, nothing like his father anyhow, and under his son Octa part of Kent was lost, taken or acceded to the East Saxons, who took Middlesex and Essex and formed the kingdom of East Saxon, or Essex. To some degree, under successive kings it seems that Kent could indeed have been called "the sleeping kingdom". Esc's son reigned for twenty-two years but seems to have done nothing of note, while his son reigned for ten years less but did as much, or as little, all leading up to AEthelbert, who appears to have been the first king of Kent to actually get his arse off the throne and do something for his kingdom.

What this was initially was to make war upon Ceawlin, king of Wessex, in 568, but his army was defeated and he retreated home to Kent. He then had to acknowledge Ceawlin's authority over not only his but all the Saxon kingdoms, affording him the title of bretwalda, or Britain-ruler. Later (it isn't clear when) he led the armies of other Saxon states (again, no information but we can assume East Anglia and Sussex were part of his "association", as it is described) and this time Ceawilin was defeated, Aethelbert taking the title and also helping himself to the throne of Mercia. Aware that his allies might turn against him though, he cleverly returned the Mercian throne to Webba, son of its founder, Crida, but more or less as a puppet king.
(https://catholicphilly.com/media-files/2015/03/PERU-MARTYRS2.jpg)
More to the point, he almost single-handed converted his people to Christianity. This was due to several factors. The Saxons were a warrior people, loyal to their god Woden, god of war, and Thor, god of thunder, hoping to win valour in battle and enter Valhalla. But as  their enemies diminished (despite still regional skirmishes, battles and even small wars among the Heptarchy) and the Saxons began to settle down, like the Vikings who would follow them in three or four centuries' time, and consider more the benefits of farming and commerce than war and plunder, the idea of paying homage to a god of blood and violence began to appeal less. Also, their people back home had mostly already been converted by missionaries sent out from Ireland and Rome, and they might have felt sort of like the poor relations or the backwards brothers in clinging to old, outmoded beliefs. Maybe it was time to change.
(https://www.catholicireland.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/greg-the-great.jpg)
There is also the story told of a kind of epiphany had by one of the Pope's prelates. "Gregory, sirnamed the Great, then Roman pontiff, began to entertain hopes of effecting a project which he himself, before hemounted the papal throne, had once embraced, of converting the British Saxons.

It happened, that this prelate, at that time in a private station, had observed in the market-placeof Rome some Saxon youth exposed to sale, whom the Roman merchants, in their trading voyages to Britain, had bought of their mercenary parents. Struck with the beauty of their fair complexions and blooming countenances, Gregory asked to what country they belonged; and being told they were Angles, he replied, that they ought more properly to be denominated angels: It were a pity that the Prince of Darkness should enjoy so fair a prey, and that so beautiful a frontispiece should cover a mind destitute of internal grace and righteousness. Enquiring farther concerning the name of their province, he was informed, that it was Deïri, a district of Northumberland: Deïri! replied he, that is good! They are called to the mercy of God from his anger, De ira. But what is the name of the king of that province? He was told it was Aella or Alla Alleluiah, cried he: We must endeavour, that the praises of God be sung in their country.

Moved by these allusions, which appeared to him so happy, he determined to undertake, himself, a mission into Britain; and having obtained the Pope's approbation, he prepared for that perilous journey: But his popularity at home was so great, that the Romans, unwilling to expose him to such dangers, opposed his design; and he was obliged for the present to lay aside all farther thoughts of executing that pious purpose.

Well, you have to admire the old guy's cheek, making so much out of so little. Had it not been for those pesky Romans though (what did they ever do for us?) he probably would have been on the next galley or trireme or whatever, on his way to England, accompanied by a heavenly host, or at least a whole shitload of monks, bishops, priests and clerics. Not sure what kind of reception he would have got in then-Pagan Northumberland though!

Instead he chose his shock-troops, led by a Roman monk called Augustine, later to be canonised as Saint Augustine, but they were so fearful of the Pagans that they decided to layover in France for a while, and sent their leader back to the Pope asking if he was sure it was safe. Gregory basically chased them out of France with a broom, telling them to go do their job, and duly admonished they landed in England and met with Aethelbert. Their first impression must have been "damn rainy here" (though being holy men and not wanting to profane the name of the Lord they probably said something like "Has God not in his wisdom blessed this land with an abundance of his bounteous rain, that the crops may grow and the land be fertile?" Possibly adding sotto voce, "but thank Christ he hasn't seen fit to endow our eternal land with the same gifts, as I like to take the air in the gardens of my Italian monasteries, and there's nothing as certain to ruin a nice walk as a heavy fucking shower of rain, beg your pardon Lord, pardon my English." ) That was a long bracket! Get used it it: I do that all the time.

Their second though may have been "this isn't such a bad place is it?" and when monsters completely failed to rise up out of the ground and swallow them whole, fire did not rain down on them (though rain surely did) and the approaching contingent of Saxons, led by Aethelbert, were only normal size and had the standard number of heads each, they must have breathed a sigh of relief. Aethelbert, for his part, was still suspicious, expecting magic and sorcery (being an ignorant pagan and all) and so had ensured he met the Christian missionaries in the open air, as if that somehow negated any magic they were perceived to have.

Finding, possibly to his own relief, that these unbelievers also possessed only the regulation number of heads and did not try to suck the soul from his living body, Aethelbert may have grumbled "Look, I still don't know about you guys... Hey!" Turning on one of them fiercely who had begun muttering a prayer. "No trying to convert me when I'm not looking!" And back to Augustine as their leader "I suppose you can have the Isle of Thanet. It's not very big and we're not doing anything with it at the moment. Kind of a dumping ground for old weapons and odds and sods. Kick back there and we'll see how you go. But no," again turning with a fierce eye, "sneaky trying to steal my soul behind my back, you!" I'm sure Bede himself would back up such a conversation. Oh no wait, he's dust now. Oh well, you'll just have to take my word for it I guess.

(https://www.coburgbanks.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/handshake-smaller-400x400.jpg)

Trollheart's Hilarious History presents... Converting the Heathen in Anglo-Saxon England, a Beginner's Guide

I suppose in fairness you can see how, to pagans who had struggled all their lives to live up to a certain code in order to be included on Woden's guest list, Christianity must have been almost like a free meal ticket.

Let's imagine, for the sake of it, a typical conversation (soon to be conversion) between an unnamed Saxon and a Christian monk, the latter kind of the medieval equivalent of those military recruiters that haunt college campuses in search of souls they can snare and trap in a lifetime of servitude to the war machine.

Monk: "So what's the current deal with your god?"
Saxon: "We get to go to Valhalla when we die, where we will feast and sing and carouse with the prettiest women for all of eternity."
Monk: "Our God does not allow drinking or feasting or sex in his house."
Saxon: "Goodbye."
Augustine: "Nice try brother, but remember page one of Converting the Heathen, a Guide for the Novice Missionary: never tell them anything they won't approve of."
Monk: "But surely, Father, tis a sin to lie?"
Augustine: "I told you before, I'm not your father. I don't care what your mother says, she's a bitc - ah, where was I? Yes, a lie. Well, brother, as the Good Book says, there are lies and there are lies."
Monk: "Where does it say that, Fa - ah, brother?"
Augustine (annoyed): "Ah, somewhere at the back I think. It's not important. The point is, if you're lying for the glory of God, it's not a lie really, and since you're dealing with pagans, the lie does not apply. Got it?"
Monk (doubtfully): "Got it, brother."
Augustine: "Good man. Now here's another. What's your name friend? Really? Egthel, Slasher of Throats. Jolly good. My, you are a large fellow aren't you? Look at those muscles. Er, over to you, brother."

Monk: "Ah, well, I'm, ah, that is, I'm told that you can get into Valhalla if you...?"
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "S' right. All you need do is die a hero's death, be valiant in battle, kill all your enemies, rape their women, take their land..."
Monk: "That's, ah, rather a lot of conditions."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "I don't care to be interrupted."
Monk: "Sorry, do go on."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Sacrifice animals, obey your king, teach your children the ways of worship, never show weakness..."
Monk: "."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "I think that's it."
Monk: "I see. And if you don't, well, fulfill all those conditions?"
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Well, you don't get in."
Monk: "But what if there is no way for you to die in battle? What if you're at peace with all your neighbours?"
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Well, you go out and look for some enemies, don't you?"
Monk: "And what if you can't find any?"
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "There's always enemies." A little less certainly "Aren't there? I mean, stands to reason. Man got to have enemies."
Monk: "But if there are none? What do you do then?"
Egthel (worried): "Well, I suppose you might - urgh - have to die a peaceful death, die in (spits) bed!"
Monk: "And then what?"
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Well, then you don't get into Valhalla, do ya? I mean, stands to reason. Doesn't it?"
Monk: "Ah, but what if I told you that MY god will take you into HIS house NO MATTER HOW you die?"
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "You're winding me up, son!"
Monk: "No, really. I promise."
Egthel (still suspicious): "You're telling me (grappling with the unfamiliar concept) this god of yours will let me in even if I (whispers, looks around guiltily) die in bed?"
Monk: "Yep."
Egthel: "Sign me up, son! I never really liked all this dying in battle lark, if I'm honest with you now. All that rushing about with axes and swords and hammers - fella can get really hurt that way! Sides," (guiltily) "I haven't slashed a throat in yonks now. Wondering why I continue calling myself Egthel, Slasher of..."
Monk: "Throats, yes."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Exactly. It's like, I'm more into farming these days, so maybe not so much throat slashing, more herding of sheep. I don't know," looking doubtful, "You think Egthel, Herder of Sheep works better?"
Monk: "Definitely."
Egthel, Previously Slasher of Throats, potential future Herder of Sheep: "You really think so?"
Monk: "No doubt about it at all. I mean, look at it this way: anyone can, um, slash a throat..."
Egthel, Previously Slasher of Throats, potential future Herder of Sheep: "Not like I could, mate! I was known for it! Famous I was. These kids these days, they don't know how to slash a throat, it's all rush rush hack hack with them. They don't realise there's an art to it..."
Monk: "Ah, yes. So, moving on. You think you might be interested in converting?"
Egthel, of no current occupation: "Could be, could be. Tell me, how do you deal with your enemies?"
Monk (uncomfortably): "Well, um, that is, we're taught that if someone strikes us on one cheek..."
Egthel: "Break his arms, right?"
Monk: "Um, no..."
Egthel: "Gouge out his eyes? Smash his teeth? Break his nose?"
Monk: "Not exactly."
Egthel, nodding, winking: "Ah, I got you! You're a cutting people, right? Why fuck around with breaking and gouging when you can cut. I can respect that. What do you cut? Arm? Leg? (eyes shining with a sudden manic light) Throat?"
Monk: "No! Listen, I..."
Egthel: "Gotcha. You go for something more (looks down, winks again) personal, right?"
Monk: "No! No! Bloody no! We don't gouge, cut, break or smash anything!"
Egthel (mystified): "So... what do you do?"
Monk: "We offer them the other cheek."
Silence.
Egthel, eventually: "Sorry, my helmet must be on too tight. Wife is always getting me one size too small. She says my head's too big but I know it's her. Can you repeat that? I almost thought you said..."
Monk (miserably): "I did."
Egthel: "You... offer them the... other cheek? Why? They're just going to strike it too... oh wait!" (Brightening) "I think I have it now! Very clever, yeah. You turn the cheek so they don't see your mate coming up behind them with a big axe..."
Monk: "No, no, there's nobody coming up behind them."
Egthel: "Then why... I mean, how do you wreak your, you know, bloody vengeance?"
Monk: "We don't. We're a peaceful people."
Egthel: "Yeah, well, me too, son, but I got my limits. And if anyone hits me on the cheek, he's going down, and hard."
Monk: "It's not son, it's brother."
Egthel: "You're not my brother (confused). I bloody hate my brother. (Suspicious again) Hey! You're not, are you? You're not... you're not Egthorn, in disguise? (shaking head) "Nah, couldn't be. That bastard is about a foot taller than you."
Monk: "I think we're getting sidetracked again."
Egthel: "Look, you seem a nice guy, but if you're not into wreaking bloody vengeance, what's in this for me?"
Monk: "A free pass into Paradise? No dying gloriously in battle required? Those dying peacefully in bed welcome?"
Egthel (scratching chin): "Oh yeah. Forgot about that bit. I do like that idea. Not so keen on turning the other cheek though."
Monk: "Tell you what, let's put a pin in that for now, eh?"
Egthel: "Good idea. Where to put the pin though? I prefer the centre of the eye, driven hard..."
Monk: "It's just an expression."
Egthel: "An expression of violence, yes."
Monk: "Let's go back to this god of yours, shall we. Woden, isn't it? He demands a lot of you, does he not?"
Egthel, Previously Slasher of Throats, potential future Herder of Sheep: "Well yeah, I mean, your god must be more powerful than Woden if he can guarantee me a place in - what did ya call it? Pair of dice? He must be really strong! What's he like?"
Monk: "Well, he died on the cross for our sins..."
Egthel, Previously Slasher of Throats, potential future Herder of Sheep: (frowning) "Hold on just one Saxon second, son. You telling me - now, you seriously telling me your god is, well, dead?"
Monk: "Well, yes, but he rose again and..."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats, no longer considering a change of name: "Sorry son, you lost me. Give me a god that can kick Woden's arse, I'm there, but some Johnny who let us mortals hammer him up onto a cross and didn't come back to wreak bloody vengeance..." (Pause. Hopeful look) Did he come back to wreak bloody vengeance? Cos, I could be down with that. That speaks to me, god that gets killed, rises from the dead and then goes looking for his killers with a big axe in each hand. Did he go looking," another hopeful look, "for his killers with a big axe in each hand?"
Monk: "Well, not exactly, no."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "One big axe in both hands?"
Monk: "Um..."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Two small axes, one in each hand?"
Monk: "The thing is..."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Any... kind of axe at all?"
Monk: "He doesn't..."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Doesn't have to be an axe." Sense of desperation. "Any weapon will do. Sword? Hammer? Big stick with nails in?"
Monk: "He's, well, he's not that kind of god I'm afraid." Brightening slightly. "Love is his weapon. And brotherhood. And..." Trailing off... "Peace."
Egthel, Slasher of Throats: "Nah, ya lost me pal. Any god who thinks peace is a weapon deserves all he gets. And any god who allows himself to be nailed to a piece of wood and doesn't avenge himself in - I should make this very clear - the most awful and bloody manner, is not a god I can get behind. I'll stick with the All-Father, if it's all the same to you."
Augustine (shaking head): "Brother! Page one, brother! Page fucking one!"

Despite my somewhat lame attempt at humour there (sorry if you had to read through all of that but I can't help myself sometimes) the idea of eternal life being granted just as long as you obey and lead a good life had to be more attractive than one only attained through a glorious death in battle, especially as, like I already pointed out, battles and the opportunity to die gloriously in them were becoming few and far between as the Saxons settled down. So it wasn't quite the slog that the missionaries had originally envisaged.

But if you want a job done properly, send a woman to do it. Aethelbert married Bertha, the only daughter of the king of Paris, Carlbert, on the condition laid down by her father that she should be free to practice her religion after being married. She brought her priests and bishops with her, and between their zeal (nothing like converting heathen to get a bishop out of bed in the morning!) and her popularity at court, most of Aetehelbert's people were won over (and those that weren't were probably given friendly advice that it might be in their best interests not to upset the queen with all those icky blood sacrifices and praying to the thunder like children) and by somewhere in the early seventh century all of his kingdom had converted.

In 602 or 603 Athelbert pronounced a series of laws, known to be the first written examples of Anglo-Saxon, which aimed to set penalties for crimes and create a code of conduct for his subjects. Penalties and fines were set by social status, though I'm not sure whether those on a higher level were fined more or less; the rich usually get the better part of the deal so I would assume the latter. Maybe not, but it's unclear. At any rate, Aethelbert left his kingdom in a far better state (no pun intended) on his death than it had been in before he rose to the throne.

Rather annoyingly for him, his son promptly undid all his father's good works, getting jiggy with his mother-in-law, which outraged Christianity and plunged all of Kent back into paganism, and surely made Augustine, if he was still there, throw up his hands in despair and say "That's it! All my work up in smoke because this kid wants to get into his mother-in-law's nether garments! I have had it with you Saxons! The Devil take you all - I'm going back to Rome, where they know how to make proper pasta!" Or words to that effect.

However his successor, Laurentius, gave it the old college try, appearing before Eadbald, the son and new king, all marked with bruises and weals and stripes, and when Eadbald asked who would dare to beat a holy man so, Laurentius told him it had been Saint Peter, who had taken him to task in a (surprisingly tactile) vision for failing. In reality, he probably did it himself or had some monks do it, they surely not loath to do so, hating England and its pagans and its rain, and yea verily most eager to take out their frustrations on the boss man. Whatever the truth of it, his ploy worked and Eadbald kicked mum-in-law out of bed and begged Laurentius's forgiveness, returning his people to Christianity, while the holy man went to anoint his body with some much-needed Savlon.

The return to Christianity did not bring peace to the kingdom. On Eadbald's death his own son reigned for another twenty-four years, and was famous for establishing the custom of Lent and also for getting rid of all those unsightly pagan idols and altars, but his son, Egbert, was a little too free with the sword and fearing the challenge of two of his uncles for the throne, removed them from the picture, precipitating unrest and eventual virtual civil war across the kingdom until finally Wessex defeated and took Kent in 686, later itself absorbed into the huge and mighty state of Mercia, as King Offa consolidated all the kingdoms together and dissolved the Heptarchy.

(https://sussexflag.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/bbc-scr-flag.jpg?w=640)
Kingdom of Sussex

Things didn't go so easily here for the invaders, and they suffered massive losses at the Battle of Mearcredes-Burn, so much so that although they won the battle it was all but a pyrrhic victory. They took their revenge on the defenders of Andred-Ceastar, when they slaughtered all the inhabitants once they took the town. Aella, the Saxon chief who led the assault, set up his kingdom here, taking Sussex and parts of Surrey, but was prevented from moving into Kent as Hengist was already established there, and wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon.
(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d2/Flag_of_Essex.svg)
Kingdom of Essex

Half-inched, as related in the entry above on Kent, from that kingdom when its ruler grew weak and feeble, Essex basically comprised, not surprisingly, Essex, Hertfordshire and Middlesex. Reading its - very sparse - history, I can't understand how such a weak kingdom was able to take territory from what was one of the larger and more powerful ones at the time, Kent, but so it says. Anyway it seems that for most of its existence Essex swung from paganism to Christianity and back, the latter not helped by a particularly virulent plague which, as you might imagine, convinced the Saxons that this new god wasn't any better than their old one, and they went whingeing back for forgiveness, hoping Woden would show the pestilence who was boss. He didn't, and back to Jesus they went, like some sort of religious tennis match or one of those roly-poly toys.

Listen, when your kings carry the epithet "the Good" and "The Little", you know you're not exactly destined to make your mark on history, and one of the kings - one of the last, in fact - though he had married, took and was determined to keep a vow of chastity, went on a "pilgrimage" to (read, ran away to) Rome and shut himself away for the rest of his life in an oyster. Sorry, cloyster. Cloister. This Old English can be hard to interpret sometimes. A later king than him also took the same path, dying in the eternal city, and his successor shrugged and called up Egbert, wondering if they could do a deal: did the King of Wessex fancy adding Essex to his portfolio? The king did, and Essex was absorbed too.
(https://britishcountyflags.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/insert-image-29-fear-flag.jpg)
Kingdom of Wessex

Cerdic arrived around 495 and was attacked on the very day of his landing, but though victorious he suffered heavy losses and, perhaps surprised at the stiff resistance from the Britons, when he had been told they would be a pushover, found it necessary to enlist help from Kent and Sussex as well as the homeland. He engaged, with this reinforced army, the Briton king Nazan-Leod, whom he defeated with the loss of over (it's claimed) five thousand of the enemy. It seems even the mythical King Arthur himself came to the aid of his fellow Britons, taking on Cerdic and his son Kenric, though how much of that is embellished legend for effect you can never be sure, and I don't think there's been any historical evidence found to prove the man existed at all. Still, I guess it makes a good story.

Even Excalibur though was not enough to stay this army, and the Saxons prevailed, taking Hantshire, Wiltshire, Dorset and Berkshire, as well as the Isle of Wight, and naming the new kingdom West Saxon, or Wessex. Cerdic ruled till his death in 534, succeeded by his son Kenric, who died in 560.
(https://www.crwflags.com/fotw/images/g/gb-eang.gif)
Kingdom of East Anglia

When your entry in the account begins "the history of this kingdom contains nothing memorable", you know you're on to a loser. However, small as this state was it did give us Sale of the Century (what do you mean, you're too young to get that reference? Get out of here before I take me old man's stick to ye!) so we should at least look into it briefly, if only for the sake of Nicholas Parsons (I said, get out!)

Named, like Wessex, for the people who settled/conquered/created it, the East Angles (no, not the Right Angles) this was one of the smaller of the Saxon kingdoms, and as such only survived less than two centuries before being absorbed into the much larger one of Mercia. It comprised the counties of Norfolk and Suffolk. Wehha (sounds like he was named after sitting on a tack!) is said to have been its first king, but history tells us nothing about him, is not even sure if he existed, but if he did, seems reasonably certain that he was part of the ruling Wuffingas dynasty, and that his son, Wuffa, succeeded him. If he existed. Or his father. Not much evidence to prove it either way. If the name of that dynasty sounds like it was that of a pack of dogs, you wouldn't be far wrong. Wuffingas means "descended from the wolf".

A point of interest though is that the kingdom of East Anglia seems to have been established on the ground once ruled by the Iceni, of whose greatest leader, Boudica, we have already heard. And like her tribe, though small, the kingdom of East Anglia was, for a short time in the early seventh century, one of the most powerful in England, as it was developing into being, its third or fourth king, Raedwald, powerful enough to defeat the king of Northumbria, Aethelfrith and replace him with his own choice, Edwin, thus securing the loyalty and support of the northern kingdom.

(Note: Many of these names use the Saxon/Old English habit of joining an A and an E so that they're inseparable one from the other. I can't do that with my fonts, and can't be arsed copying and pasting each time, so just take it that the two will be separated at all times. If you have a problem with that, try doing this yourself. It ain't easy).
(https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/31rn3WjH96L._AC_SX425_.jpg)
Kingdom of Northumbria

Originally two separate kingdoms - Deira, ruled first by Aella and then by Aethelfrith and Bernicia, Ida its first king - Northumbria (literally, north of the Humber (river)) was one of the more powerful of the Saxon states. A darkly humorous tale from the reign of Aethelfrith concerns the Battle of Chester, where the Britons opposed him with the aid of 1250 monks from nearby Bangor, who did not take part in the fight but prayed for their success. Aethelfrith was not pleased about this. Essentially he pointed and said "What are those guys doing?" When told they were praying for victory for his enemy, he is reported most definitely not to have said (but maybe thought) "Fuck that! Then they're my enemies too. Let's see if their prayers can save them from the sword! Or spear. Or pike. Or big pointy stick. Records from this era are spotty and nobody's sure what the weapons used were, but one thing is for sure: it will hurt!"

And so his forces massacred the praying monks (whose God seems to have sauntered away whistling nonchalantly and did not bring down fire and thunder or smite their enemies in any other way) almost to a man, proving the simple truth of war: if you're not with us, you're against us. Or perhaps disproving the maxim that the pen - or prayer - is mightier than the sword. The Britons, for their part, considering this hardly at all cricket, were shocked and quickly overwhelmed, defeated completely and lost Chester. Aethelfrith rather snippily then had the monastery pulled down. What happened to any spare monks left inside is not recorded.

Having exiled Edwin, son of Aella, the landless noble found refuge with Raedwald, King of East Anglia, and Aethelfrith wanted him. Hand him over or, you know, just kill the dude, he requested of Raedwald. I'll make it worth your while. The East Anglian king demurred, but as the promises of gifts grew richer and richer he became inclined to think, hey, what's this guy to me? Why not hand him over? Or... he could have a very unfortunate fall - onto a sword blade. Not to mention, that when the carrot failed to motivate Raedwald, Aethelfrith tried the stick, and threatened war if the kid was not handed over. His mind made up, Raedwald was all ready to do the deed when his queen stepped in. "Oh no you don't!" she snapped. "That nice young man sought sanctuary with you, and it is your sacred duty to uphold that and protect him. Unless you feel like going without for the next few months - YOU know what I mean! - you just go tell that Aethelfrith he can sod right off."

And so he did. In person. Believing it best to get his retaliation in first, Raedwald attacked Northumbria, defeated the rather surprised Aethelfrith, lopped his head off, probably - killed him anyway - and set Edwin on the throne. No doubt the ex-king's final thoughts were "should have left the little bleeder where he was!" And probably "Arrrggh!" too. However, establishing Edwin on the Northumbrian throne wasn't purely an act of philanthropy on the part of Raedwald, of course, nor was it because he didn't wish to wear his right hand out if his queen withheld the goods. He knew that by placing Edwin in charge he had secured the loyalty of Northumbria, and had expanded his sphere of influence, to say nothing of the good it did to his reputation. No doubt he showed his queen his appreciation for making him do the right thing when he got back to his own kingdom.

It turned out to be a good move. Sort of. Edwin became one of the most successful and, unusually enough, best-liked kings in all the land. Under his reign, crime was reduced to almost nothing - robbery, rape, murder, all sort of violent acts outlawed and dealt with, and drunkenness curtailed. THAT must have made him popular! And yet, it did, for a strange story is told of king Cuichelme of Wessex who, unable to best him in arms, determined to send an assassin to take Edwin out. When one of his guards saw the man rush at the king, and with no other weapon to hand, he threw himself in the killer's path, literally taking a bullet for the king, except of course bullets had yet to be invented. Now that's a popular ruler!

When Raedwald's nobles revolted against and killed him, and offered the throne of East Anglia to Edwin, he, remembering how he would not have been where he was but for his benefactor, refused, ordering instead that Raedwald's son be given the throne. Edwin further cemented alliances by marrying the daughter of the king of Kent, and she, a Christian, convinced him to convert. But it seems that he was the only man who could hold Northumbria together, and on his death Penda of Mercia again divided the kingdom, as related further, under the entry for Mercia. All the effort to convert them was wasted as Northumbria returned to paganism until Oswald defeated Penda and finally reunited the two kingdoms into one.

After Penda was killed by Oswiu, things got a little, well, bloody.

The new king slew Oswin, son of Osric, who was to be the last king of Deira. His own son, Egfrid, died without heir as his wife refused to violate her vow of chastity (some confusion over the idea of being a wife there!) and his brother Alfred ruled for nineteen years, leaving the kingdom in the charge of his eight-year-old son Ofsted sorry Osred, who, despite his tender years managed to rule for another eleven before he was slain by Kenred, who only got to sit on the throne for a single year before he was done in. With me so far? Next up was Osric, then Celwulph, until Eadbert, coming to the throne in 738, decided this was not a healthy occupation and like Sigebert legged it to a monastery so fast that the crown was still ringing on the floor of the throne room where he had dropped it, possibly.

From then on you have this guy and that guy ruling for a year here, a year there before being brutally murdered, betrayed or proven a pretender (and then betrayed and brutally murdered) until finally the people had had enough and invited King Egbert of Wessex to take the throne, to which he responded "Ta very much, don't mind if I do." And that was basically the end of Northumbria as an independent power, and nobody can say they didn't deserve it.

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Kingdom of Mercia

For a long time the most powerful of the six kingdoms established by the Saxons, Mercia (border kingdom, or march) covered huge swathes of England (you can see from the map above how big it was) including South Derbyshire, Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire, Staffordshire, Northamptonshire and northern Warwickshire. Like the establishment of many of these early kingdoms, little actual evidence is left to us as to who founded them, but the earliest ruler of Mercia - assuming he existed (yes, that again) - seems to be someone called Creoda, and that's as much as we know about him. However the next king is a different matter.
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Panda, sorry Penda, was supposedly one of the descendants of Woden (Odin) - though how you can be descended from a makey-up figure of fiction you'd have to ask the Saxons I guess - and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle gives his lineage in a sort of Biblical "Ham-begat-Sham" sort of way like this: "Penda was Pybba's offspring, Pybba was Cryda's offspring, Cryda Cynewald's offspring, Cynewald Cnebba's offspring, Cnebba Icel's offspring, Icel Eomer's offspring, Eomer Angeltheow's offspring, Angeltheow Offa's offspring, Offa Wermund's offspring, Wermund Wihtlæg's offspring, Wihtlæg Woden's offspring". So now you know.

We're told Penda came to the throne in 626 and ruled for thirty years - none of these Saxon kings seem to have had anything like a short rule; whether that was because they were very popular or very strong, or because the idea of usurping was not part of the Saxon mindset, I have no idea, but in general as the English royal line got established later on, kings were always being murdered, challenged, deposed and basically the throne was almost interchangeable, a game of musical chairs (or thrones) being played by all claimants. But that's in the future. Of England's past. If you know what I mean.

The Battle of Hatfield Chase

Penda teamed up with Welsh king Cadwallon, ruler of Gwynedd, to take on the most powerful Saxon king at the time, Edwin of Northumbria (you probably recall that Raedwald, king of East Anglia, had him set up as ruler) and they met at Hatfield Chase, in Doncaster. It was a revenge battle, as Cadwallon had been defeated by Edwin some years earlier, but having secured the alliance of Penda he was able to return and kill not only Edwin but his two sons, weakening the kingdom and it's said paving the way for Penda to take the throne of Mercia. Using the old axiom of "divide and conquer" he did exactly that, splitting Northumbria back into the two separate kingdoms it had previously been, Deira and Bernicia.  Cadwallon's triumph would not last long though, as he was defeated and killed the following year at the Battle of Heavenfield, when Oswald, an exile under Edwin, returned from Scotland and attacked Northumbria.
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With supposedly the saints on his side - he having dreamed the night before the battle of St. Columba, who promised him victory, and to whom he prayed - Oswald defeated the forces of Cadwallon (this time the Welsh king was alone, without aid from Penda) and killed him, taking the throne of Northumbria as he reunited  the two kingdoms into one. His reign would last eight years, after which Penda decided Northumbria had become enough of a threat for him to march against it again, and he met Oswald at the Battle of Maserfield in 641 or 642, where, if this can be characterised as a fight between pagans (Saxons) and Christians (Britons) - which is very much oversimplifying the situation - then the pagans triumphed, as Oswald was not only killed, but dismembered, his head stuck on a pole along with his arms. Poor man went to pieces! Disarmed and lost his head. All right, I'll stop now.

Maserfield left the kingdom of Northumbria weak, as it again divided in two, and secured Penda the title, at the time, of the most powerful king of Mercia. He would push his luck though, always driven by his hatred and/or jealousy of, or covetousness for the kingdom of Northumbria, and it would end up being his undoing. In 655 he marched with a huge force to take Northumbria, now under Oswald's brother Oswiu (although he had only taken reign over one of the two kingdoms in the split realm). Initially, Oswiu capitulated, buying off the Saxon king, but as Penda began the march home in heavy rain, and as many of his followers and allies deserted him, Oswiu struck, and they fought at the river Winwaed.

Oswiu emulated his brother and appealed for divine assistance, this time cutting out the middle man and going direct to the Big Guy, promising he would have his daughter take the veil (become a nun) if God gave him victory - nobody knows what she thought about it, though I guess back then women did what they were told - and would also build, and I quote*, a shit ton of monasteries. God may have considered it, thought hell I could always do with another nun, and who doesn't need monasteries, shrugged and said sure, you got a deal. Besides, he may have winked, I don't particularly like these pagans with their blood sacrifices and their strange rituals, coming over here, taking our jobs, stealing our women. Or not.

* not a quote

Anyway, the upshot was that Penda's army - or what remained of it after many had decided that there were perhaps better occupations to pursue in seventh century England - got the shit kicked out of it, the Venerable Bede, noted monk, historian and know-it-all citing the heavy rain as one of the bigger factors in the victory of Oswiu, where "many more were drowned in the flight than were destroyed by the sword." Never rains but it pours, huh? In a slice (sorry) of true poetic justice, Penda was beheaded, and all of his chieftains killed also, along with the East Anglian king, Ah here now, sorry Aethelhere.

Mirroring the fate suffered by its king, Mercia was now beheaded, as in, divided into two, just as Northumbria had been by him, with the victorious Oswiu taking one half, while Penda's son, Peada, who had converted to Christianity in order to get it on with Oswiu's daughter, was allowed to rule over the other half. Much good it did him though, as he was murdered a year later, betrayed by the very woman for whose love he had given up his pagan ways.

The defeat of Penda and the death of his son, along with the annexation of Mercia shifted the balance of power back to Northumbria, and also turned the formerly pagan kingdom into a Christian one, meaning that now the two most powerful and influential realms in Anglo-Saxon England were of that faith, and the rest could not be long falling into line, willingly or not.

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(Look! Another stained-glass window. Well, a lot of the time it's the only way I can get any sort of a picture of these guys. It's not like they had cameras back then, and even artistry was all but unknown except to monks, who preferred creating, you guessed it, stained-glass windows. I guess they were like the JPEGs of their day, or something).

Sigebert, the Reluctant King

Before we move on, I've found this account and think it's amusing, in a dark kind of way, to take a look at. Sigebert was believed to be either the son or stepson of Raedwald, ruler of East Anglia from 599 - 624, and was sent into exile in Gaul during Raedwald's reign, where he converted to Christianity, returning around 629 and bringing with him Saint Felix, to help convert his subjects. Under his rule, Latin made a comeback as he established a school for its teaching to young boys as part of Christian education. This being a time coinciding with the great push from Irish monasteries to convert the heathen in the wake of the decline of the Roman Empire, it seemed saints were everywhere in England. You couldn't turn around without bumping into one, or, as Mrs Doyle once remarked in Father Ted, it was wall-to-wall saints. Columba, Felix, Fursey, Aidan... if saint-spotting was your thing you would have been in hog's heaven in England during the seventh century. Paganism didn't stand a chance.

Eventually though, Sigebert decided he'd had enough of this kinging lark and abdicated his throne, going into a monastery he built himself - you might say it was his personal retirement home. But he was not to be left to die in peace, oh no. Famous and popular as he had been, when Mercia attacked East Anglia they tried to make him come out of retirement and lead their people, but he was having none of it. "Fuck off," he's rather unlikely to have said, "I just want a quiet life, talking to God and tending my rose bushes, probably." His subjects were unmoved. "Plenty of time to talk to God later," they surely did not respond. "One more job, Your Majesty, or Your Grace, or Your Kingness, or Your whatever we called a king back then. One more job and you can retire."

Left with no choice - I mean, literally: they dragged him out of the monastery! - Sigebert plumped for passive resistance, a thousand years before Gandhi, determined it should not be worth their while to have called him from his solitude. He refused to hold a sword, going into battle armed only with a staff, and the enemy understood, and let him go back to his prayers. Oh no wait, they didn't: they killed him. And all his army. Well I never. He became a Christian martyr and saint (I'm sure he'd rather have been a live Christian monk than a dead martyr and saint) and his church at least lasted longer than he did, remaining the church of East Anglia up to about 840.

The above incident I think illustrates some sort of point probably: if you're forced into battle it's a good idea to use a weapon that can at least protect you, and a staff ain't it, or perhaps you actually CAN take the king out of the monk, but not the monk out of the king. Or something.

Seven Saxon States: The Heptarchy

And so were established the seven Saxon kingdoms, called the Heptarchy, which spread right across what is now known as England, and more or less civilised or pacified the country (take your pick), bringing, perhaps oddly enough given that it had been a pagan invasion, Christianity to the shores of Britain. Scotland, as ever, was left alone, though Northumbria did encroach on its border, running as far as Carlisle, destined to become the "gateway to the north" (or south, depending on which direction you were coming from, of course). While it might be hard to believe or accept now, the Saxon conquest of England was nothing more or less than an ethnic cleansing, in the same way as the original Irish had been destroyed by the Celts in Ireland. I started this journal off by remarking that the kind of annihilation practiced on the original inhabitants in my own country had not occurred in Britain, but it seems I was wrong to a degree.

Although not the original inhabitants of Britain, the descendants of Roman invaders were at this point in time the native population, and the  Saxons had no interest in either living with them peacefully or even making slaves of them. They were hungry for land, and as it says in History of England from the Invasion of Julius Caesar to the Revolution of 1688 by David Hume, John Clive and Rodney W. Kilcup:

"The Britons, under the Roman dominion, had made such advances towards arts and civil manners, that they had built twenty-eight considerable cities within their province, besides a great number of villages and country-seats: But the fierce conquerors, by whom they were now subdued, threw every thing back into ancient barbarity; and those few natives, who were not either massacred or expelled their habitations, were reduced to the most abject slavery. None of the other northern conquerors, the Franks, Goths, Vandals, or Burgundians, though they over-ran the southern provinces of the empire like a mighty torrent, made such devastations in the conquered territories, or were inflamed into so violent an animosity against the ancient inhabitants.

As the Saxons came over at intervals in separate bodies, the Britons, however at first unwarlike, were tempted to make resistance; and hostilities, being thereby prolonged, proved more destructive to both parties, especially to the vanquished. The first invaders from Germany, instead of excluding other adventurers, who must share with them the spoils of the ancient inhabitants, were obliged to solicit fresh supplies from their own country; and a total extermination of the Britons became the sole expedient for providing a settlement and subsistence to the new planters. Hence there have been found in history few conquests more ruinous than that of the Saxons; and few revolutions more violent than that which they introduced."

Until the Britons were defeated, the Heptarchy acted almost like I suppose a modern coalition of forces, banding together (though not always, as we have seen) against the common foe, the native. But once they had been pushed into Cornwall and Wales, no longer a threat, the deal was over, and each kingdom looked to secure its own borders and, if possible, extend them, leading to wars between the kingdoms that might have rivalled anything in the imagination of George R.R. Martin.

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Chapter III: A Game of One Throne:
The Rise and Fall of the House of Wessex
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Terror from the North: The Vikings Arrive in England

The last time we left England, the previous inhabitants, the Britons, had been more or less completely wiped out or subdued by the Saxons, now the Anglo-Saxons, who had divided the country up into seven separate kingdoms, most of which survive today in the names of English counties: Sussex, Wessex, Essex and so on. But the first millennium of England's history was one filled with conflict, invasion and conquest. Whereas the Saxons had come from relatively nearby Germany to settle in England, the next invaders would come from far north, and would certainly leave their indelible mark on the country. In their case, England would not be their only target, as they ranged south in search of lands and plunder, glory and battle. Indeed, by the middle of the tenth century there would not be a country in Europe which had not heard of, feared or been attacked by the mighty northmen from Scandinavia.

The third invasion of England was strange in comparison to the previous two. The Romans had basically come there as a matter of westward expansion of their empire, on tour as it were, conquering all before them, ready to literally take on the world. They installed governors and praetors, left garrisons and laid down Roman law. They administered and oversaw the people they had conquered, and considered them now part of the Roman Empire. In an effort to get rid of them, as has already been noted, the Britons as they were pretty much shot themselves in the foot, inviting the Saxons, who, on seeing how weak they were, emulated a later businessman and decided they liked the country so much they'd buy it. Or, actually, steal it, take it by force of arms.

The third invasion though, was nothing to do with empires, and came out of nowhere. Vikings were not particularly interested in building communities, taking territory or passing laws. They were more of your smash-and-grab merchants, not that interested in the land, but they'd take your gold, your coinage, and if women were going, well they'd take them too, much obliged. Livestock? Nah, not so much. It's this old Mark II Longship you see. Now, had we the Mark III with all the bells and whistles and all the latest gadgets, as Olaf Bloodsword writes in the November issue of What Longship? "a roomy and practical ship for the discerning raider of today, rating five axes," then sure, but only your earls and your kings owned them. Expensive to build, a bitch to maintain, just not worth it. Not even for the fluffy dice.

Had we one of those babies, then yeah, maybe we'd take your horses and oxen and sheep, though to be honest the smell might be a bit much. Forty or fifty unwashed Viking warriors crowded together over the course of a sea voyage of many months might offend the animals. And then of course we might have to sacrifice them. To our gods, you know? Just not worth it, pal. Must say, your wife looks pretty tasty though, What? CLONK! Sorry, my mistake: your widow there looks pretty tasty.

Probably the hardest foe to fight is a man who wants to die, and while probably few if any Vikings wanted to actually die, they weren't completely against the idea. As is widely known of their culture, to die in battle was the greatest honour any Viking could achieve, and Vikings were all about honour. From a very young age they were taught to fight, and how important reputation was. No young man worth his salt would want to hang back in the village or settlement while his bros went off pillaging and raping. The chance to make your name in battle was something every Viking craved, and certainly affected his standing in society. Men were measured by how many people they had killed, what battles they had won, what scars they had picked up. A Viking wasn't really expected to have enemies, at least, living ones. Not if he was doing this Viking thing right anyway.

So when a chance came for glory every Viking of qualifying age wanted to pile into the ship and strap on his axe or hammer and head off for adventure and violence. He knew he might get killed, but if he did, well, that was just a bonus wasn't it? Free entry into Valhalla and the honour left behind for his family of a true, fallen warrior. In many ways I think Vikings could be almost likened to unpaid mercenaries. They would fight for king and country, sure, and for family and friends, but they were always up for a fight and if some local earl or king had trouble and wanted a few likely lads to crack (or maybe hack) some heads, they were your men. They were even known to team up with rival lords as long as they got a share in the booty. There was no standard going rate for a Viking warrior, no flat fee for his services paid by the leader of the expedition, but they could certainly help themselves to whatever they found during the raid and thus enrich themselves that way.

Apart from material wealth though, taking part in daring battles and raids helped Vikings store up stock in the Bank of Odin, where valorous deeds and mighty victories would all be chalked up to their account, checked when they finally popped their clogs and, assuming their quota was met, they would be welcomed into the halls of the heroes. Or so they believed, and belief is a powerful thing. If you think that by fighting and dying you can attain for yourself immortal fame and glory, well, it's a lot easier to throw yourself into the fray, isn't it. And harder for your enemies to cow you.

The first time a Viking ship is said to have docked at the English coast was the year 787, less than fifty years after the Saxon Heptarchy had been established, setting the seal on Anglo-Saxon rule of England. When the king's envoy, however, rode out to treat with these new arrivals, they killed him (and presumably anyone with him) - not, one would have thought, the most diplomatic opening of negotiations with a foreign power! But then, Vikings were never about talking. Well, they were, but on their terms. They generally preferred conquest over conversation, might over mediation and brute force over a nice cup of tea and a scone. That Elvis song could have been written for them, as they definitely preferred a little more action, as they showed when, only six years later (barely time to catch your breath, in terms of history) they launched an all-out attack on the peaceful monastery of Lindisfarne.

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Meet Me on the Corner - and I'll Kill You: the Lindisfarne  Raid (793)

It must have come as something of a shock to the quiet, pious monks on the island of Lindisfarne, on the northeast coast of England, also known as the Holy Island, and with good reason. No less than four saints were said to have resided there - including the one who set up the monastery, Saint Aidan - and it was one of the most important centres of early Celtic Christianity. Although this was not the very first Viking raid, it shocked the English because of not only its ferocity, but its sacrilegious nature. One just did not attack holy men, to say nothing of defenceless holy men. But the Vikings were a breed apart. They were not Christians, and did not believe in one god, but a whole pantheon of them. Not only that, their gods were warlike and vicious, and viewed such things as mercy and compassion as weakness. Well not really, but they would have kicked the Christian God's arse in a fight, that's for sure.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle puts in words the outage such an attack engendered: "In this year fierce, foreboding omens came over the land of the Northumbrians, and the wretched people shook; there were excessive whirlwinds, lightning, and fiery dragons were seen flying in the sky. These signs were followed by great famine, and a little after those, that same year on 6th ides of January, the ravaging of wretched heathen men destroyed God's church at Lindisfarne."

Alciun of York, a scholar from Northumbria, gives us a more PG-rated account: "Never before has such terror appeared in Britain as we have now suffered from a pagan race ... The heathens poured out the blood of saints around the altar, and trampled on the bodies of saints in the temple of God, like dung in the streets."

So Vikings probably saw no reason to exempt, or exclude monasteries from their raids. In fact, they would have been drawn to them due to the riches to be found there. As related in the History of Ireland journal, monks were poor and took a vow of poverty, but the works they created were some of the most beautiful and used the richest materials that could be obtained. Gold, silver, precious stones, expensive cloth, inks, all of these went into their illuminations and books, and the statues and ornaments that decorated the chapels were richly furnished of gold and other precious metals. The Vikings wanted these, and the fact that the monks put up very little or no resistance (not that they could) surely enraged and disgusted them. They were used to fighting enemies who fought back, who could be killed and who might kill them - a fair fight, well matched. But these men! It must have been like skinning rabbits, or whatever equivalent they had up there in the frozen north.

Not a lot of fun then, and certainly not many opportunities for glory, but plenty for plunder. Rape was probably off the menu (unless, you know, some of them had particular preferences) as to my knowledge there were no convents on the island, but the raiders would have been able to slaughter at will, collect up all they could hold in their brawny arms, fire up the monasteries (Vikings liked a good blaze) and then fuck off back across the sea, hoping their Mark II's didn't sink under the weight, and considering perhaps checking out the new issue of What Longship? to see if those Mark III's were worth looking into.

Yes, Vikings were almost the epitome of guerilla warfare. They struck hard and fast, and then disappeared as quickly. They would have pitched battles, especially as the Anglo-Saxons got their shit together and began defending themselves, but they did not hang around. They might make a base camp for a short while, but once the battle was over they would head off back home. They weren't about settling in England, and they certainly were not about ruling it. Plunder, rape, burning, pillage, booty, no problem, do that all day. Passing laws though? Keeping order? Balancing budgets? Ah, no thanks. Feeling a little homesick as it goes. Catch you next time. Probably with the blade of my axe.

Mind you, the Vikings didn't have it all their own way. I'm sure it wasn't the monks themselves who resisted, but the year after Lindisfarne was done over another band of the raiders headed up north, across the Tyne to take out the monastery at Jarrow. Here they met with stiff opposition, and their leader was even killed. It seems they were ambushed on their way home, carrying their ill-gotten gains, as related here in, again, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: 'And the heathens ravaged in Northumbria, and plundered Ecgfrith's monastery at Donemuthan , and one of their leaders was killed there, and also some of their ships were broken to bits by stormy weather, and many of the men were drowned there. Some reached the shore alive and were immediately killed at the mouth of the river.'

So they not only lost their leader - what effect that had on morale I don't know but it surely could not have been expected, given the easy time the other group had had on the island the previous year - but also their ships, which would have been of greater concern. After all, without their longboats they couldn't get back home, and I imagine, as sea raiders, the loss of their ship might have been viewed as more of a dishonourable event than that of losing their leader, who they surely believed was living it up in Valhalla with a maiden on each side.

Due to this, perhaps humiliation, Viking raids on England stopped for a while as they concentrated on the "softer" targets of Ireland and Scotland. It would be decades before a proper Viking raiding party would attack England, and when they did, well, it would be an army, and in the words of the Venerable Bede maybe, they were not fucking around.

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The Great Heathen Army Goes to War: This Time it's Personal! Maybe.

In 865 a huge army of Vikings, known to history (and from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle) as "the great heathen army" arrived in England. Ostensibly, they were there to avenge the death of the legendary Viking king, Ragnar Lothbrok, portrayed with varying degrees of historic licence in the series Vikings, he having been killed by King Aella when he attempted himself to extract revenge for the slaying of his own countrymen in Ireland, according to some accounts. In the army, the Chronicle faithfully reports, were Ivar the Boneless, Hvitserk, Sigurd Snake-in-the-trousers, sorry eye, Sigurd Snake-in-the-eye  and Bjorn Ironside. This account has been disputed however, and as with most events so far in the past, it's impossible to be sure, as often these sagas and chronicles exaggerated or were biased on one side or the other. It's possible Ragnar's sons were not in the army at all.

If that's the case, and the assault was not retaliation for his death, then the main thrust of the force may have come from Francia (the Kingdom of the Franks, which seems, so far as I can see, to cover most of near Western Europe - France, Germany, Netherlands, Austria and so on, almost as far as, but obviously not including, Italy) where a power struggle between the emperor and his son had resulted in the assistance of the Vikings. During the war, they discovered what easy pickings monasteries on the coast were and started harassing the Franks, but improved fortifications along the Frankish coast made this a non starter, so they turned their eyes further west. It's probably more than likely then, given the Vikings' way of life, that rather than a concerted effort to avenge the king Ragnar this was a pure for-profit mission, opportunism which spoke to all the various Viking chieftains, who banded together not out of love for or outrage over the slaying of Ragnar Lothbrok, but for pure, hard cash. And women. And anything else they could carry away.

Wary of landing in Sussex, where King Aethelbert had been successful against a large fleet in 851, the Great Heathen Army turned its attention to East Anglia, and landed there in 865. Once again the Isle of Thanet featured (you may remember when hopeful Christian missionaries arrived in the sixth century the Briton king let them stay there) as the Vikings were given the island in return for Danegeld (protection money, basically) but decided they had not come all this way without slaughtering - Odin, you gotta slaughter something! - and so went on a binge of murder, burning, looting and, one would comfortably assume, an ample amount of rape. A Heptarchy there may have been, but nobody could show the East Anglians anything in writing that said they were part of any Saxon version of NATO, so they looked after themselves and bought the fierce northmen off with some horses. The Vikings said ta muchly and set up their invasion base.

They spent the winter there (a warmer winter than back home, I'll wager, Olaf! You're not wrong there, Thor me old buddy!) and then set their sights on Northumbria, which was basically part of the kingdom of Wessex by now, as we've seen. They headed for the capital, York, which was a really good idea, because even if they didn't know it (and they may not have; there's no real information on the sort of intelligence Vikings in general or the Great Heathen Army had on its enemies at that time, though Clare Downham in her book Viking Kings of Britain and Ireland: The Dynasty of Ivarr to AD 1014 seems to believe there was information, noting that it was "likely the Vikings had been tipped off concerning events in the north") King Aella was in the middle of a civil war, and his army was basically knackered. The city walls had been built by the Romans but not maintained, and so were crumbling by the time the GHA arrived. Aella probably dropped his head into his hands and groaned "Oh guys! You could not have picked a worse time!" and rode to meet the new invaders.

Aella decided the enemy of my enemy and all that, and he and the rival king he had driven out, Osberht joined forces. It didn't matter. There are no sources which confirm the size of the GHA, but various scholars talk of it being from about 1,000 to being in the "low thousands". Either way, it was pretty big and considered the largest invasion army to set foot in England. The Battle of York didn't last long, and both kings were killed. There's no real historical evidence to back this next bit up, but it's fun and gruesome so let's consider that it may have happened.

Those of you who have seen the series know what the "blood eagle" is, and for those of you who have not, no, it is not a nosebleed you get from listening to Hotel California at full volume. This is the punishment supposedly meted out to Aella, who is said to have been the one to have thrown Ragnar into the pit of snakes (though again, this may not have happened), by his sons (who may also not have been there). Here's how it goes. For those of you who are squeamish, talk amongst yourselves or skip ahead; I'm not spoilering this. Pussies.

First the victim was laid on his stomach and his shirt torn to expose his naked back. Then a sharp tool was used (watch those edges, kids, and always ask mother if you can borrow the tool) to break the ribcage. The lungs were then pulled out through the gap made, to resemble two (very bloody and slippery) wings, hence the name of the punishment. Traditionally, this was only practiced on members of the royal family, which would back up why Aella would have been singled out for such vengeance, but also makes it unlikely, given that it was a specifically Scandinavian thing. Also, most well-known brainbox spoilsports say this is all made up, but fuck them, it's fun. Not, of course, for His Majesty.

Anyway, whether that happened or not is kind of immaterial, as the Battle of York won, the Vikings now had Northumbria and turned towards Mercia in 867, taking the town of Nottingham. Unable to withstand the invaders by themselves, Mercia looked to Wessex for help, and the two kingdoms joined forces, but even at that they were unable to best the GHA and had to eventually sue for peace by paying Danegeld. For pretty much the next year the Viking army was quiet, wintering in Nottingham and then returning to Thetford. In the winter of 869 the king of East Anglia, Edmund, launched an attack but was defeated, his lands now coming completely under the control of the Viking army.

A year later, another huge army arrived to bolster up the Great Heathen Army, this one going under the title of the Great Summer Army, presumably not because they all arrived in shorts and shades and carrying surfboards under their arms. The combined armies now marched on Wessex, but, rather surprisingly, given that the forces of Wessex and Mercia could not defeat the GHA, this "double-army" was repulsed by the Anglo-Saxons at the Battle of Ashdown. This was in fact preceded by the Battle of Englefield, four days prior, which I think I'm correct in saying appears to have been the first victory for the Saxons against the Vikings since the GHA arrived.

It wasn't, to be fair, the full army that encountered the forces of King Aethelwulf, just a "large scouting party", but when one of the earls in the party was killed, it is again the first time I see that even part of the Great Heathen Army broke and ran. They redressed this four days later at the Battle of Reading (pronounced red-ding, not reed-ing, in case you were wondering) where they faced Aethelwulf again but this time with the future king Alfred the Great. However, glory and fame in his future didn't impress the Vikings and they kicked their arses, killing Aethelwulf and forcing Alfred to leg it. That's more like it, the Vikings may have grinned. Normal service has been restored. But it wasn't to last.

As I said, the Battle of Ashdown would see the GHA (and presumably the GSA too, though probably not the GOP or GPS, sorry) roundly defeated for the first time. Not just a scout party this time, King Aethelred and King Alfred faced the might of the two huge Viking armies and the leader of the Great Summer Army, Bagpuss sorry Bagsecg was killed, duly despatched to his reward in Valhalla no doubt. Interesting stuff in this one. And here it is. The Viking army arrived first and took the high ground, which should have given them the advantage. Alfred (not yet a king, much less a legend) decided to copy their formation. Aethelred, on the other side, decided it was time to pop off for a quick prayer. No harm in having God on your side, eh?

Except it turned out not be so quick. As Alfred advanced up the hill and gave bloody battle, his king was still down in his tent mumbling prayers, no doubt something along the lines of "If you could see your way clear, Lord, to smashing our enemies, that would be just great." Alfred's frantic cries from on high finally reached his ears - the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle clearly does not relate his words as "Any time you're ready, Your Majesty! Getting a bit hairy up here!" and it absolutely does not record his later cry "Jesus fucking Christ! Enough with the prayers already, Your Kingship! God helps those who help themselves, so help us!" Aethelbert did finally end his prayers, probably offering profuse apologies for the swearing of his bondsman, and advising his Lord that no doubt in his wisdom he knew what it was like, and hurried off.

In the end, his joining the battle turned the tide and the Vikings were scattered, Bagpipes sorry again Bagsecg killed and with cries of "They're on the run! God has given us the victory! Get them heathen bastards, lads!*", Alfred and Aethelred charged after them. It was indeed a mighty victory, but it would be overturned two weeks later at the Battle of Basing and again two months after that, in the decisive Battle of Meretun. Not, it would appear, at the battle, but Aethelred died (possibly due to natural causes, as the Chronicle records his death as "he went the way of all flesh" although - wow! Only 26 at the time of his death! Not old age then) and was succeeded by Alfred as King of Wessex.

Alfred took on the Vikings, now led by Halfdan Ragnarsson (who, as his name suggests, is believed to have been one of the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok) and was again defeated at Wilton and only secured peace by buying the Vikings off. After this he more or less waged a guerilla campaign, with the Vikings almost completely in control of the midlands. He made his stand at Edington, where he completely defeated Guthrum, the then Viking king of East Anglia, and internal divisions with the Viking armies ensured they would not be able to band together for much longer. Guthrum's defeat was followed by a treaty in which he swore to be baptised, and to remove his arms - huh? Sorry: his armies from Wessex.

In 878 another army arrived, but due to the defeats the two great armies had suffered, and looking east to the instabilities at the Frankish court after the death of their king, Charles the Bald, they are likely to have muttered "Fuck this lads; let's head over to Francia. I hear there's rich pickings there." And so, off they fucked. The final army to land in England also shook their heads, shrugged massive shoulders and either joined their comrades - who were now living in peace in what was known as Danelaw, farmers and merchants and all sorts of respectable trades that hardly ever needed an axe or hammer, except as a tool - or also fucked off to Francia.

For over a hundred years Saxons and Vikings lived in a kind of uneasy truce, the Vikings establishing what was known as Danelaw - basically the Scandinavian laws which governed the areas they held - until the Saxons again attacked and drove them out of Northumbria in 954. Even at that though, they fought back under Cnut (no it's not a typo, smartarse!) who held Wessex up to his death, his heirs only defeated by William the Conqueror in some unremarkable and forgotten battle around 1066 or thereabouts.

By 890 the main Viking threat to England was all but over, with no more overseas armies arriving and any further conflicts a matter of internal dispute. Alfred, who had done much not only to defeat them but to put in place treaties and reforms that made it difficult for their like to seize towns and cities from then on, was remembered as one of England's first great kings. Well, they did call him "the Great", didn't they? Wonder why? Let's find out.

* Actual quote from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle**

** Not an actual quote

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A Hard Reign's Gonna Fall: Birth of the English Monarchy

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Alfred the Great (847/848 - 899)

While not technically the first king to rule England, Alfred is more or less accepted as the first "true" English monarch, in that he ruled over all of England, defeated the Viking invaders and began the royal line of the House of Wessex. His predecessors, notably Offa and Egbert, are mostly discounted because the former was not interested in English unity, just power for himself, and the latter only ruled Mercia and soon lost control of it, so Alfred is seen as the first great unifying force in what would become England, and therefore accepted as the first English king.

With three breaks in between when other Houses ruled, and including so-called disputed claimants, the House of Wessex saw a total of fourteen monarchs sit the English throne, from Alfred's reign in 871 to Edward the Confessor in 1066, though the final king to rule before the ascension of William the Conqueror later that year was of the House of Godwin, Harold Godwinson.

The year of Alfred's birth is disputed, but believed to be generally somewhere between 847 and 848, in Berkshire, then part of Wessex. He had four brothers, one of whom would be sub-king of Kent, the other three all taking the throne of Wessex over a period ranging from 858 to 871. His only sister married the king of Mercia, Buggered, sorry Burgered sorry... Burgred. Yeah. Burgred. Alfred came to the throne, as we have seen, on the death of his older brother Aethelred at the hands of the Great Heathen Army, which he continued to battle and eventually subdued.

Alfred would also marry into Mercian nobility, taking Ealhswith for his wife in 868, and travelled twice to Rome, perhaps (though I can't confirm) the first of the Saxon kings to do so. His exploits during the war against the Great Heathen Army have already been related above, so there's no need for me to go into them again. Therefore we begin our history of Alfred the Great proper with his years after the defeat of the Vikings, apart from this one anecdote, which has followed his history and legend down to today, and may or may not be true. It's the story of the "burning of the cakes", and it's really not as interesting, I feel, as it sounds.
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While on the run from the Vikings Alfred is said to have taken shelter with an old woman in Somerset, who, unaware of his identity (which he was careful to conceal, being on the run  and all) set him to watch some oatcakes she was baking. Distracted, and thinking of his kingdom and how he would save it from the northern invaders, Alfred is said to have not noticed the cakes burning, and when the old woman came back she gave him a piece of her mind. It's not recorded as to whether he ever revealed himself, or whether she, later, found out who she had castigated. There: like I said, hardly worth waiting for, was it?

Anyway, back to the good stuff. Under the Treaty of Wedmore (sounds like an adjuration to marry as many spouses as possible, doesn't it?) in 878 Guthrum was granted the part of England which became Danelaw, basically East Anglia and some of Mercia, while Alfred ruled over Wessex. A further treaty in 880 sealed the deal, and though Alfred had to fend off some smaller sea incursions by Vikings throughout the first half of the decade, the threat of land invasion was pretty much gone by then. The only real battle - as such - of note was at Rochester in 885, where the Vikings seem to have shit their pants and legged it for their ships, buggering off altogether.

Whatever about the treaties signed, Alfred was not averse to plundering his old neighbour, and a weird kind of see-saw battle took place soon after the Rochester rout, when he sent his fleet to East Anglia on a raiding mission, succeeded, was on the way home when the Viking fleet (I'm not sure if it was the same one he had defeated or a different one) appeared and took him on, defeating him and, presumably, either making off with the spoils or, if they were the same fleet, bringing them back home. Either way, it was an interesting case of turnabout, kind of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

The next year he took London back and began refortifying and redesigning it. This year, 885, begins the period historians typically accept as Alfred being seen as the first proper King of England, but he wasn't to have it all his own way. The death of Guthrum in 889 created a power vacuum, and though he had been Alfred's foe he was a known quantity, and they had come to a general understanding, leaving each other's kingdoms alone apart from the odd raid here or there, men being men and all that, fills in the long boring evenings, you know how it is. But now, with the passing of Guthrum and no heir to speak of, unrest broke out across East Anglia. This was exacerbated by the arrival of over three hundred Viking ships in 892. Having had no luck on the continent, they hied them back to the shores of Merry England, where they engaged the forces of Alfred, now pretty much the only thing standing against a complete colonisation of the country. The Vikings, in preparation, had packed up the wives, children and probably a few chattels (never go anywhere without your chattels, never know when you  might need them) and were all ready to hammer in - probably literally, and perhaps with Saxon thigh bones - the "SOLD" signs they had brought with them, for planting in Wessex and East Anglia.

"No you fucking don't!" thought the new King of England. "I've spent the last few years getting this shiny new kingdom of mine just how I like it, and I'll be thrice-damned if I let you bastards mess it up with your filthy marauder boots and your pagan ways!" And off he rode to meet them. Actually, he didn't plunge into screaming battle (getting a bit old for that now, at the ripe old age of forty-five!) but opened negotiations instead. While he was so engaged though, one of the two divisions decided to attack Appledore and were chased by Alfred's son Edward, who met them in battle and kicked their arses at Farnham in Surrey, taking back the booty they had half-inched and sending them scurrying across the Thames. No doubt this provided his dad with a crucial piece of leverage with their boss, Hastein, when he learned that not only had one of his divisions broken the truce (to his entire surprise, honest, your Majesty! Swear on me wife's grave, and I should know: I put her there myself. Not in the mood for sex, indeed! But I digress) but also fucking LOST the battle, he was more amenable to Alfred's terms.

Well, no actually. That's kind of the opposite of what Vikings do, after all. Fuck this sitting around and talking lark, I'm gonna kill me something, is more their style. Well actually no it isn't - Vikings often held conferences and mediated rather than fight, but who wants to hear that? And so Hastein saddled up and went to war too, placing Exeter under siege. His first division (commander's name not recorded) rather stupidly took refuge on an island after the Battle of Farnham, where, surprise, surprise! They were surrounded and forced to surrender, booted out of Wessex. They then tried their luck in Essex, but got short shrift there too. Hastein is reported to have said "Hold on lads I'm coming!" and promptly got caught in the middle of a battle at Buttington. No, seriously. And again they were besieged. You would think by now they would have realised how dangerous and counterproductive it is to make your stand somewhere where you can be surrounded, but no, off they went, and our friendly local Chronicler tells us how bad it was for them.

"After many weeks had passed, some of the heathen [Vikings] died of hunger, but some, having by then eaten their horses, broke out of the fortress, and joined battle with those who were on the east bank of the river. But, when many thousands of pagans had been slain, and all the others had been put to flight, the Christians [English and Welsh] were masters of the place of death. In that battle, the most noble Ordheah and many of the king's thegns were killed."

Like anyone in a siege situation, there are four possibilities: surrender, hope the besiegers get tired and go away, starve to death or break out and make a battle of it. The Vikings, you won't be surprised to hear, decided to break out and make a battle of it. They lost. Meanwhile, the lads who had been turfed out of the Siege of Exeter tried their luck at Chichester, but those people had seen bigger and more scary attacks when their local football team played their rivals in a friendly, and they beat the shit out of them and nicked their ships. It was all going a bit, as they say, Pete Tong for the Vikings. After a few more years of wandering around disconsolately, trying this or that attack, they eventually shrugged and gave up and went home, probably muttering "Too much fucking rain in that country anyway. Who's for the Riviera, lads?"
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With the kingdom basically at peace now, Alfred set his mind to reorganising the military, changing the very structure of manner in which men were marshalled at a time of need. By 897 he had a full standing army ready to repel any invaders, a bigger and much improved navy, and a network of garrisons across the country. He streamlined the administration and taxation system, and set up a system of burhs (fortified settlements) so that help would always be no more than a day away, no matter where the raiders might strike. Many of these were sited at strategic points such as rivers or protecting bridges, and perhaps taking his cue from the Roman occupation of England, Alfred made sure there were roads connecting each burh to the next, and also used the Romans' expertise (and that of the Greeks) to construct better ships than the Vikings had. From these burhs comes the word now in use, borough. Just thought you'd like to know.

However, with no seaborne weapons such as cannon or other guns, and with his ships faster and bigger than the longships, but not suited to manoeuverability, battles between the ships of Alfred's navy and those of the Vikings presaged the pirate attacks of almost a thousand years in the future, where the two ships would be roped together and then men would swarm from them to engage those on the other ship in hand-to-hand combat, basically making the deck of the attacked ship a battlefield. Hey, at least there was no need to bury those who fell in the battle!
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He set about repairing, to some degree, relationships with the Welsh and Irish, and eradicating forever the stain of paganism from his kingdom, as he instituted religious learning and endeavoured to improve literacy in a country in which few people outside of monasteries could read or write; he had a chronicle written that appeared to trace his family's ancestry right back to Adam, which showed that his authority then came directly from God; he built monasteries, many of the originals having been sacked by the Vikings during their time in England, and he invited foreign monks to come minister there. He was however hands-off about religion, believing this best left to those who had trained for it all of their lives, and had dedicated themselves to it.

Aware that Latin was declining, particularly with the twin factors of the fall of the Roman Empire and the depredations of the Vikings, Alfred began ensuring English people were taught to read not in the ancient tongue but in English. This meant many important books had to be translated into what would now be the mother tongue of his kingdom.

From what I read about him, Alfred seems to have been the first king who truly cared about his people, not about power or riches or standing. I'm sure he wasn't the paragon he's being painted as, but he does genuinely seem to have believed that the welfare of his realm was paramount, and the worship of and devotion to God part of his mission. Seeing the attacks by - and eventual repulsion and defeat of - the Vikings as an assault on Christianity, I don't know whether you could make the case that kings like Alfred and those who came after him lent weight and legitimacy to the ultimate holy wars, the Crusades in Palestine and Jerusalem, but certainly later kings such as Richard I must have taken their cue from him, a man who was determined to bring God back into the hearts, and worship, of his subjects after they had been partially enslaved by the heathen.
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Alfred almost made it to the tenth century, dying in October of 899 (gonna party like it's... yeah yeah all right) of some sort of bowel disorder from which he suffered most of his life, most likely Chron's disease or, um, piles. Well, now ain't that a pain in the arse. Sorry. His bones, however, were not to be allowed to restus in paxus. When William the Conqueror defeated Harold in 1066 and a new dynasty began in England, many of the Saxon monasteries were destroyed as the Normans started redecorating, and one of those to go was the one where Alfred had been laid, or rather, not quite. He was laid in Old Minster, the cathedral in Winchester at Wessex, but had left instructions before his death for the building of the abbey of New Minster, which he had intended would become the family mausoleum. His body was moved there when it was ready, and it was here that the Normans decided they fancied putting up their own abbey, and knocked his down. Luckily, there was time to move the remains, although after over 200 years by now there can't have been much to move but bones.

Reinterred just down the road in Hyde Abbey in 1110, Alfred and his family were again at rest. But four hundred and fifty-odd years later, King Henry VIII, in a snit because the Pope wouldn't grant him a divorce so he could marry Anne Boleyn, declared all Catholic monasteries "dissolved", and in the case of Hyde Abbey this was literal: it was reduced to rubble and this time there was no time - or perhaps, inclination - to save the bones of the first great English king. They lay under the ground, the abbey not even built on but left as a quarry, until 1788, when the land was needed for the construction of a jail. Catholic priest Dr. Milner gave this account:

"Thus miscreants couch amidst the ashes of our Alfreds and Edwards; and where once religious silence and contemplation were only interrupted by the bell of regular observance, the chanting of devotion, now alone resound the clank of the captives chains and the oaths of the profligate! In digging for the foundation of that mournful edifice, at almost every stroke of the mattock or spade some ancient sepulchre was violated, the venerable contents of which were treated with marked indignity. On this occasion a great number of stone coffins were dug up, with a variety of other curious articles, such as chalices, patens, rings, buckles, the leather of shoes and boots, velvet and gold lace belonging to chasubles and other vestments; as also the crook, rims, and joints of a beautiful crosier double gilt."

The bones were not exactly revered either, sadly. The convicts, never the most respectful of people and certainly not giving two shits about the old historical bones of some geezer who had lived almost a thousand years ago, smashed open the coffins they found, ripped out the lead and flogged it for two guineas, then, for added indignity, threw the bones carelessly about. They were said to have been rediscovered a hundred years later, in 1866, and given over to St. Bartholomew's Church, but later advances in radiocarbon dating in 1999 proved them only to date from about the fourteenth century. Finally, in 2014 one other bone found in the same place as the now-discredited ones did turn out to be dated to the right period, and though it can't be proven conclusively has been tentatively accepted as being, um, the pelvic bone of maybe Alfred or his son. It's no way for the first king of England to be remembered, that's for sure.

Alfred left behind him a country that was, well, a country: no longer several separate kingdoms, no longer divided by Danelaw, and with a real sense throughout the kingdom of everyone working together. That's totally naive of course: Englishmen would continue to fight Englishmen when they could find no common enemy to fight, and there would always be rivalries, but overall the actual idea of an "English people" as opposed to "people from Wessex" or "Those who come from Northumbria" or whatever began to coalesce as a real possibility thanks to his reign. He also solidified, or perhaps re-solidified the hold of the Catholic Church on England, bringing back the idea of Christianity to a country that had suffered much under both the original Saxons and Romans and later the Vikings. Perhaps an appropriate motto for his House might have been MEGA, huh?

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Edward the Elder (874 - 924)

On the death of Alfred his son Edward the Elder ascended to the throne, but not unopposed. As is often the case when the king dies, there was another claimant to the kingship, and this was Aethelwold, the son of Alfred's older brother Aethelred, who claimed he had been too young at the time of his father's death to take the throne, which had passed to Alfred as next in line in the succession,  but that it was his birthright. And he intended to assert that birthright. And how did nobles in tenth-century England assert their birthright when challenged? By sitting down and talking things over calmly, of course, putting all points of view on the... yeah. Right.

Aethelwold raised a small army and seized Wimborne, in Dorset, where his father was buried. He then took the surrounding area and waited for Edward to respond. When he did, Aethelwold refused to engage him but instead rode to York to seek support from the Vikings still in control there. They crowned him king, while Edward was crowned in Kingston-Upon -Thames in 900. It wasn't the last time England would have two competing kings. Aethelwold began a campaign against Essex and Mercia, trying to weaken his cousin's powerbase, but he came unstuck at the Battle of the Holme, in which he was killed. End of challenge.

Alfred had been proclaimed as the first "King of the Anglo-Saxons", and so Edward also took this title when his claim was established beyond doubt and supported. Alliances were further forged between his England and Francia (with the marriage of his daughter to the king, the hilariously-named Charles the Simple) and Germany, where another daughter was wed to Otto, the king and later Holy Roman Emperor. Alfred had proven that he was good at developing networks with his burh line of defences, now his son extended those networks into a socio-political one, linking three great countries and tightening the bonds of interdependency of each on the other. Edward then set about retaking the area of England currently under Danelaw, defeating the Vikings in the Battle of Tettenhall in 910, so comprehensively in fact that all territories south of the Humber were at his mercy and Edward was able to take most of East Anglia and Mercia including Derby, Lincoln, Stamford, Nottingham and Leicester.

The next year, on the death of the ruler of Mercia, Aethelred, Edward moved in on London and Oxford, and, with the help of Aethelred's widow Aethelflaed, began to fortify Mercia against incursions by the Danes. One of the last major Viking attacks was in 914, when a force from Brittany invaded South Wales, but they were pushed back. By 918 he had defeated all opposition and basically ruled almost all of England. Those Vikings left in the country submitted to his authority.

Soon after he took the throne, Edward obeyed his late father's wish and began to have built the new abbey at Winchester which would be called New Minster, to which the dead king's remains were transferred, until the arrival of the Normans. Edward continued his father's policy of trying to educate his people - in English - and in passing new laws, one of which led to a process which persisted through England well into the medieval era.

Trial by Ordeal

From what I can see, two things characterised the idea of Trial by Ordeal: one, that no man was considered innocent until proven guilty (in fact, possibly the opposite) and two, that God was literally expected to be the star witness. Sounds weird huh? Well, it was, but the thinking seems to have been that God would not allow the guilty to escape, and so would send some sign that they were guilty. The most simple and basic - and slightly understandable - version was Trial by Combat, which surely needs no explanation. However, not only were the two parties in the dispute allowed to fight each other, they could also nominate a champion to fight in their stead. Seems a little unfair. What if you're innocent, but your opponent chooses well-known pillar of the community (literally; he once held up a post that was bringing down the roof of the community shelter!) Harry the Glass-Eater, built like yon brick privy and with a head like a bullet? He's going to win, isn't he, and then the law says you're guilty. So that's literally a case of only the strong (or clever) survive.

What were the conditions or criteria for choosing a champion? No idea; I can't find any. But over time this practice, until it was done away with, seems to have evolved into the later modern idea of a duel. That was only trial by combat though. You also had trial by fire, in which the accused had to walk across burning coals, and if innocent would either receive no burns or God would heal them rapidly (three days was usually the time period allowed; trial by water, both hot and cold. Trial by hot water involved picking some object up out of a cauldron of boiling water, while trial by cold water seems to have been concerned with the accused man throwing himself in a river and if he survived he was innocent. Then there was trial by cross, not nearly as brutal as it sounds. The accuser and the accused would stand on either side of a cross and stretch out their arms. The first to drop his arms was deemed to have lost, so basically an early version of using the stress position.

There was also trial by ingestion, where an accused person was given blessed dry bread and cheese, and if they choked were guilty, and trial by poison. Wait, what? No, that's right: the person accused would be given a poisoned bean to swallow and if they puked it back up they were cleared, if they died, well, they were guilty and deserved to die. Stupid, yes, but not as pointless as trial by turf. No, I'm not having you on and no it was not an Irish custom, you racist, but in fact an Icelandic one. Not very complicated: the accused walked under a bale of turf and if it fell on him he was guilty. Possibly where the phrase "turfed out" comes from? Could it be that illegal wagering on such an event led to turf accountants? I'll get me coat.

No, I won't. I have much more to bore you with. But it should be noted that not every facet above of this trial by ordeal was practiced in England, just that it sort of began there to be seen as a legitimate practice and hung on really into about the sixteenth century, though rarely used by then. Of course, a version of it figured in the witchcraft trials of the tenth century. But it was being more or less phased out by about the thirteenth.

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Aethelstan (894 - 939)

Edward died in 924 at his estate, shortly after having put down a revolt at Chester, and was buried alongside his father Alfred in the New Minster. He was succeeded by his son, Aethelstan, who, even more than Alfred and certainly more than Edward, has been recognised by historians as the first true King of England. Like his father though he did not come to the throne unopposed, as many believed his brother Aelfward was next in line. However he died only ten days after Edward, which kind of made the situation moot. Rather oddly perhaps for a king, who were usually obsessed with passing on their power, maintaining or creating a dynasty, which naturally requires progeny, Aethelstan took a vow never to marry or have children. Al Bundy would have respected and envied him! But it didn't help the line of royal succession, of which more later.

Nonetheless, the coronation of Aethelstan is recognised as the first time an English monarch wore a crown, instead of the usual helmet used, which certainly lends weight to the argument (not really an argument; for once all these usually squabbling historians agree) that he can be said to have been the very first proper King of England. Winchester hated  him though, its support behind the late Aethelward and seeing him as a bastard; they even plotted to blind him, this certainly a crime but not as serious a matter as murder (sure I only blinded him, Yer Honour. The bastard had it coming. Yeah, Doubt it would go far as a plea for clemency) and the Bishop of Winchester returned all RSVPs unopened when he was invited to ceremonies. He didn't even bother going to the coronation. I bet he wasn't missed.

The death of Athelstan's remaining step-brother, Edwin, who perished at sea while possibly legging it from a failed coup attempt in 933 helped bring Winchester into line. With nobody left to challenge the king they more or less shrugged and said "Fuck it, he'll do." Not like they had any choice. Kings are of course notorious for failing to keep their word, and when Aethelstan promised Sitric, king of the last remaining Viking strongholds, York, that he would not invade his kingdom, sealing the deal with the marriage of his daughter to the Viking king, he seized his chance once old Sitric was knocking on the door of Valhalla requesting entrance and bearing a long scroll, no doubt, of his valourous achievements. York was easily taken, and when Northumbria had to submit too, Aethelsan became the first southern king to rule the northern kingdoms (yes yes, go on, you know you want to say it: King in the North! There; feel better now? Can we continue?) and in effect became the first King of England.

He ventured over the border in 934 to make war upon Scotland, though there are no actual accounts of what he did up there. He was accompanied by four Welsh kings, and while this might not be the first time Wales attacked (or participated in an attack against) Scotland, it's the first time I've read of them venturing that far north. At any rate, the campaign did not last long and was over by September, having begun in May. His next conflict though was a pretty major one, and even if we have only sketchy details of what went on, it has been acknowledged as one of the most significant battles in the history of what was becoming England.

Olaf Guthfrithson, Viking king of Dublin, having secured his position by that ancient Norse expedient of slaughtering all his foes, decided the time had come to reassert his control over what had been Danelaw and sailed to England in 937, intent on taking York. The Scottish king, Constantine, probably smarting from his earlier defeat, joined up with him and they met at the Battle of Brunanburh, which nobody can seem to decide a location for, much less pronounce. It's probably not that important. What is important is that Aethelstan kicked Viking arse and Olaf retreated, limping back to Ireland for a well-earned Guinness or ten, while Constantine fucked off back across the border, one son less. It was a great victory for Aethelstan and ensured his enemies, both foreign and domestic, would think twice before taking him on again.

Under his rule, the emerging England (land of the Angles, or Angle-Land) began to see the growth of a true government, with officials such as ealdormen at the top (often ex-earls or leaders from the Danelaw) who administered in the name of the king, then reeves, landowners who seem to have their closest contemporary in mayors or burghers, ruling over a town or estate in the king's name, and the witan, or royal council, which was not set in any one place but could be convened by the king, a sort of travelling committee. He seems to have had a particular thing about theft, prescribing in his laws the death penalty for anyone over the age of twelve years caught stealing more than eightpence. Why twelve years, and why eightpence? I have no idea, but it seems that Aethelstan equated robbery with a breakdown of the laws of society, and he may, following his predecessors' devout views, have considered that since it was a literal breaking of one of the Ten Commandments, that it deserved harsher punishment.

Aethelstan devised the system of tithing, which is nothing to do with giving away a tenth of what you earned to the Church, as happened almost a millennium later in Ireland, but was in fact a subdivision of a parish or manor. Tithingmen appear to have been the very first rudimentary police force in England, or at least a precursor to the Watch. Ten men would be sworn to ensure to keep the peace in a particular area, and would be responsible for anyone who broke the law, sort of in effect standing guarantor and vouching for them I guess. It's a little complicated and I don't quite understand it, so here's what Wiki tells us: "The term originated in the 10th century, when a tithing meant the households in an area comprising ten hides. The heads of each of those households were referred to as tithingmen; historically they were assumed to all be males, and older than 12 (an adult, in the context of the time). Each tithingman was individually responsible for the actions and behaviour of all the members of the tithing, by a system known as frankpledge. If a person accused of a crime was not forthcoming, his tithing was fined; if he was not part of the frankpledge, the whole town was subject to the fine."

Yeah, still don't get it really.

In Aethelstan's time, and long after, there was no such thing as a separation of Church and State, the two intermeshed and bound together, and who could truly say where the real power lay? A king who lost or had not the backing of the bishops might not last long, while represtantives of the Church were chosen by Rome, where the Pope had very much a veto, and to go against him would not be good for any king. People of course were almost fanatically religious, obedience to the Church and obedience to their king one and the same in the minds of most folk, and heretics would be mercilessly dealt with, as we saw with the Druids and indeed the original Britons themselves, to say nothing of the Picts to the north. At that time, it was probably impossible to even contemplate the existence of one without the other - the Church supported and gave legitimacy to the Crown, and the Crown ensured the Church was revered and obeyed as a matter of law. It wasn't of course until six hundred years or so later that this all changed when Henry VIII couldn't get his way.
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Aethelstan was free to appoint bishops to whichever diocese he preferred, though it seems likely that he would have to secure the permission, or at least agreement of the Pope for these appointments, and he certainly would not be able to ordain any new ones. That power rested solely with Rome. He also fostered closer relations with other countries, including Germany, the spiritual birthplace of the Saxons who now ruled England, and of whom he was a descendant. In a move which will seem insulting to us today, but was probably common practice in the tenth century, and perhaps for some time beyond, he sent one of his bishops with two of his half-sisters to the court of the Holy Roman Emperor Otto, basically inviting him to take his pick, choose one for his wife. He probably didn't care which, and I doubt the woman was allowed any say in the matter: this was all about building alliances and securing territories.

Aethelstan was the first real English king to establish the prestige and power of the young country outside of its own borders, his and his forebears' victories against the Vikings making England quite the power in the west, and if there's one thing kings and emperors and princes and dukes are drawn to it's power. Aethelstan married off many of his sisters and half-sisters to foreign nobility, as we have seen above, and created strong bonds both military and political with countries such as France and Germany. He was also popular in Norway, where he helped Hakon Haradlsson reclaim his throne, and he is, probably more than any other English king before or since, responsible for the mixing of the royal bloodlines, and the eventual close relationship between England and Germany, as the latter assumed the English throne in the centuries to come.

When he died in 939, Aethelstan chose not to follow the example of Alfred and Edward, his father and grandfather, by being buried at Winchester, but chose instead to have his remains laid to rest in Malmesbury Abbey in Wiltshire, the only Saxon king to be buried there.

Unfortunately, all the good work he had done driving out the Vikings came undone after his death. York, rising again perhaps in confidence now that the king was dead, crowned Olaf Guthfrithson, who you may remember had been sent running defeated back to Dublin, and he immediately invaded the east midlands, as the Viking threat, thought subdued but really only brooding and waiting across the sea in Ireland, reared its head again.

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Edmund I (920/921 - 946)

Aethelstan had died without issue, and so the crown passed to his brother, Edmund. He now had to deal with the resurgent threat of the Vikings, this time as a force from within his own country, but despite battles and truces, he had to surrender the part of Danelaw that had been taken back, the five boroughs of Lincoln, Derby, Stamford, Nottingham and Leicester. He was quick to regain them a year later though, when Olaf died in 941. His successor, Anlaf Sihtricsson, accepted baptism and so, having acknowledged the authority of Edmund, it wasn't long before he was expelled from York and the king took back the city. Nevertheless, the Northumbrians continued to resist his rule and that of his successor Eadred, until finally submitting in 954.

Edmund passed more laws, some of them dealing with the celibacy of clerics. You wouldn't want to risk a quick wriggle with a servant girl or lady-in-waiting in Edmund's time! Just not worth it  mate. Your remains would be denied burial in consecrated ground (and really, if you're going to go into the clergy business that's the very ground you've staked out for your mouldering bones, surely, while your soul ascends to Heaven maybe), and more immediately and importantly, your lands could be snaffled by the king for being a bad boy. Nah, just take cold showers and think about gardening, son, much more profitable, both for your immortal soul and your property portfolio, whichever you value the more.

Murderers were not allowed come into the presence of the king. Now here I'm confused. If you were a murderer, then surely you would be executed or at worst in jail, and given this was the tenth century I don't think too many killer were cooling their heels in cells! So, is this not a pointless law? Also, how do you identify a murderer? The law said apparently that he had to have done penance for his crime, though it doesn't state exactly what that penance was. I'm willing bet it wasn't three Hail Marys and an Our Father, though. It also uses odd language: "not allowed to come into the neighbourhood of the king". What does that mean? The city he rules over? But as King of England (or at least, all the Anglo-Saxons) he ruled over every city, didn't he? Or maybe it meant where he was sitting at any one time, where his court - which in those days was quite mobile and moved from town to town something like a travelling mummers' show - was set up? Vague, to say the least. And what if he lived in that town, village, city, and then the king arrived? Had he to leg it until His Majesty had buggered off somewhere else? Perhaps it just meant in the actual presence of the king, as in, maybe occupying the same room or building, and if he kept his head down while His Majesty visited, he'd be ok?

Edmund also condemned false witness and the use of magical drugs (I guess standard drugs were okay then), and was greatly distressed by violence (for a man who put down Viking rebellions, this sounds a little hollow, but I guess he meant non-Crown-sanctioned violence, yes?) in particular wishing to put an end to blood feuds and vendettas. He proclaimed that any relatives of someone murdered could not go after the murderer, but that he, the murderer, would have to pay weregild to the relatives of the victims. Weregild we discussed earlier, but basically it was a price levied by the Saxons on people as their worth, also called a man price (I guess women weren't worth anything), so essentially compensation had to be paid. If the murderer told the relatives where they could stick their compensation, they were allowed to practice their vendetta, but mind they keep away from churches and royal manor houses. All this blood feud business seems to have been imported by those pesky Vikings, and Edmund was eager to stamp out as much of their influence as he could.

He wasn't too easy on slaves either. I suppose, as usual, we have to remember this is all taking place more than a thousand years ago, when slavery was not only permitted but seen as a natural part of the fabric of society, a holdover from when the Saxons were warriors and raiders in Germany I guess. Even so, it is pretty nasty and seems quite unfair. "we have declared with regard to slaves that, if a number of them commit theft, their leader shall be captured and slain, or hanged, and each of the others shall be scourged three times and have his scalp removed and his little finger mutilated as a token of his guilt".

But that was life in tenth-century Anglo-Saxon England, as the country slowly metamorphosed from a motley collection of villages, to seven separate kingdoms and finally, eventually, into one cohesive nation.

Edmund is the only king I've read of so far (at least, the only English king) who died in a brawl. How this could have happened I'm unsure, but maybe back then kings did not have the kind of protection that they did later; you can't, for instance, imagine Henry VI or Edward III going essentially into a pub to rescue a servant and getting killed. I could maybe seen Henry V or Richard I, but even so, it seems a shocking lapse in royal security to allow such a thing to happen. According to John of Worcester: "While the glorious Edmund, king of the English, was at the royal township called Pucklechurch in English, in seeking to rescue his steward from Leofa, a most wicked thief, lest he be killed, was himself killed by the same man on the feast of St Augustine, teacher of the English, on Tuesday, 26 May, in the fourth indiction, having completed five years and seven months of his reign. He was borne to Glastonbury, and buried by the abbot, St Dunstan."

There have been other, perhaps more plausible theories that this was an actual assassination, but even if so (and it's certainly not proven, nor ever will be, and most historians shrug and say no) again I can't remember any king up to now being actually assassinated. Killed in battle, yes, but taken out? At any rate, he was succeeded on his death by his brother, Eadred, making this the third son of Edward the Elder to sit on the English - or at least, Saxon - throne.

Eadred (923 - 955)

Eadred faced two new Viking threats - well, one old and one new. First the deposed Olaf Sihtircsson, booted out of Dublin, returned to take York and was for a time tolerated by Eadred, but later defeated and supplanted by the brilliantly-named-for-a-Viking Eric Bloodaxe. He in fact set himself up as king of Northumbria, which for Eadred was a bridge too fucking far, sunshine, and so he marched against him. He kicked the shit out of him and was on his way home in triumph when he was jumped by Eric's allies, but he warned them he'd be back, bigger and a hell of a lot more angry if they didn't fuck off back to Northumbria, and so they did, realising their king had been knocked for six and that their best bet was to play nice with the English king.
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Eadwig (940 - 959)

Eadred died at the ripe old age of thirty-two, having reigned for ten years but sired no children. He was therefore succeeded by Edmund's son, Earwig, sorry Eadwig. Ah, not though for King Eadred the glory of dying in battle, or even the slightly lesser glory of having your guts ripped out by a thief's knife down your local, or even like Edwin, way back, drowning as your ship went down. No, his was a death that seemed somewhat common to the men of his age, and no surprise, given how and what they ate. It is recorded as a "disease of the stomach" which forced him to "suck the juices from his food, chewed on what was left and spat it out." Well, you certainly wouldn't have wanted to be invited to dine at the royal table, now would you?

Eadwig sat the throne for less than half the period his uncle had reigned, a mere four years, and his rule did not get off to the perfect start. Fresh from his coronation, he felt he wanted some copulation, and went off from his banquet, probably leaning nonchalantly against the wall and saying to likely maids, "I've just become king, you know," or possibly "Fancy some Wes-sex with the new king darlin'?" Or possibly not. He was caught with not one, but two ladies - a mother and daughter - by the terribly religious and utterly spoilsport Saint Dunstan, who, king or no king, apparently grabbed him and dragged him back to the banquet, with possible boxing of the ears and grunts of "Here you, you're only king a few hours and already you're trying to father bastards!" The king was, of course, very penitent and understanding, forgiving the abbot entirely, and the loss of Dunstan's abbey and his own sudden urgent need to flee the country was surely all down to a clerical error. Well, certainly an error for that cleric! In the event, Eadwig married one of the women. Guess which? Well, which would you choose, if it was between a mother and her daughter? Oh, you liar!

There's a belief that the whole account could be bollocks, made up by the miffed Dunstan, but then we do have the word of our buddy John of Worcester, who so faithfully chronicled the killing of Eadred in that pub brawl, so, you know, maybe. It's all over a millennium ago, and we all know how historians like to bicker and argue over just about everything. But given Eadwig was only sixteen at the time and had just become the most powerful man in the country, well, I think I can understand where he was coming from. Dunstan had his revenge from exile though, as he made sure the marriage got annulled, citing the ancient ruling of "seven degrees of consanguinity" which basically means I think that you couldn't marry anyone who had any sort of relationship to you, and there was a connection there. Weak, but enough for Dunstan to run blabbing to the Pope, who no doubt shook his head and tutted at the kids these days.

Not satisfied with breaking up the lovebirds and ensuring any children they had would now be illegitimate, our Dunstan started supporting Eadwig's brother and rival, Edgar, who himself found allies in the eternally-disgruntled Northumbrians and Mercians, and with civil war looming the two decided to split the kingdom, Edgar becoming (yes, again!) king in the north while Eadwig ruled Wessex and Kent. Not for long though. Two years later he was brown bread, and Edgar took the lot, becoming the next King of England.

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Edgar the Peaceful (943 - 975)

Now I'm not certain titles such as "the Good", "the Peaceful" or "the Okay" are the sort of things you really want to hear in connection with kings. All right, I made that last one up, but Edgar was known as "the Peaceful" or "the Peaceable". I mean, it's not quite as impressive as "The Great" or "The Brave" or "The Wise" now is it? Not that there's anything wrong with being peaceful, even for a king, and there are worse titles - we've got Charles the Simple, Ethelred the Unready, John Lackland and of course Ivan the Terrible - but it doesn't bode well for expanding his kingdom does it? With predecessors such as Eadwig and Alfred the Great, Edgar the Peaceful just sounds like he's kind of letting the family down a little. Is he? Let's find out.

Perhaps it might be fair to say that, with Eadwig's death removing all claim of the former king on the lands he held, Edgar, the new king, had no reason to wage war upon Wessex, as it automatically became his property when the power-sharing agreement was nullified on the death of Eadwig. So maybe he didn't have to be a warlike king, and historians seem to agree that England pretty much solidified into the country it is today under his rule, whereas previously Eadwig had allowed parts of it to slip back into separate kingdoms (most notably, as already mentioned, Northumbria under the Vikings and then of course the part yielded to Edgar), so Edgar could be seen as the first king of a "united" England.

But while he may not have been a war-mongerer, there's evidence to suggest Edgar was far from peaceful. When one of his ealdorman, Aethelwald, sent to suss out the beauty of Aelfthryth, whom Edgar was considering marrying, did the dirty on the king and married the girl himself, reporting her as not worthy of his affections, Edgar was not best pleased. At least, he was not best pleased when the deception came to his notice, and decided to head out and see the lassie for himself. Fearing the jig would be up, Aethelwald instructed his new wife to go against centuries of feminine instinct and make herself un-pretty, but Aelfthryth, knowing a better deal was on the table, unwilling to hoodwink the king and possibly fed up already with the ealdorman, ignored him and put on her best. King Edgar, on seeing her, said "that'll do for me" and proceeded to battle his disobedient representative, killing him to teach him a lesson.

Having been an ally of Saint Dunstan during Eadwig's time, it comes as no great surprise that on taking the throne Edgar invited the disgraced bishop back, awarding him with the Archbishopric of Canterbury. This union of Church and State as it were, compared to the fractious relationship that had existed between Dunstan and the previous king, gave Edgar the power to force through reforms and strengthen the hold of the Church over England, while also bolstering up his own power, now supported by that of the Church in the shape of Archbishop Dunstan. There were no sides to be chosen anymore, as both clergy and King were in concert, so there was little if any opposition to Edgar's rule.

This was cemented by his Council at Chester in 973, when the King of Scotland, the King of Strathclyde (who had long fought against Eadwig's incursions into his land) and several kings of Wales all came to pledge their homage to Edgar, perhaps giving him reason to claim being the first true king of Britain, not just England. To symbolise their submission to him, the six (or possibly eight) kings rowed Edgar personally in his royal barge down the river Dee. Edgar was also equated with Christ, this further binding him to and identifying and allying him with the Church (and, oddly, not pissing off the Pope, who was and is supposed to be after all God's rep on Earth, and surely this has to have been seen by him as a demotion?), making England once and for all, and forever a Christian nation.

Also oddly, Edgar's coronation did not take place on his ascension to the throne but fourteen years later, seen not as the beginning but the culmination of his reign. Ironically, two years later he would be dead, having ruled for almost sixteen years. Unlike his predecessors however, Edgar had not been shy about putting himself about, and so there was a ready-made heir available when he popped his royal clogs.

Another Edward.
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Edward the Martyr (962 - 978)

Okay, well if "The Peaceful" is the sort of title that as a king you would prefer to avoid, "The Martyr" is a whole lot worse. Poor Edward only lived to rule for three years, and as often happens when a strong (if "Peaceful") king dies, disputes arose over who should succeed Edgar. It was widely believed (though not possible to prove beyond doubt) that Edward was a bastard, said to have been born to a nun whom his father abducted from Wilton Abbey, while his other son, Aethelred, raised the suspicions of Dunstan, as his mother had been already wed to Aethelwald before Edgar did him in. With no divorce proceedings - other than divorcing her husband from his life - the future saint ruminated on whether the marriage was therefore legal and legitimate.

In the end, both men would rule England, one as I say for a mere three years before meeting his end at the point of an assassin's knife, the other for almost forty. Details of, and reasons for Edward's murder vary, but there seems to be some basic agreement that it was perpetrated by men loyal to Aethelred, supported either tacitly or openly by his own wife the queen Aelfthryth, or possibly just because nobody really liked him. Under his rule, a lot of the land granted to Benedictine monasteries under his father's reign were given back to nobles, while Dunstan appears to have shoved his hands into the pockets of his vestments (do vestments have pockets? Well if not, then into each other, very monklike) and done precisely nothing to stop this reversal of Edgar's edicts.

It's interesting to see how disliked Edward was, given that he later became known as "The Martyr", as his body is said to have been buried "without honours". Doesn't exactly say they kicked him into an open grave and spat on him, but they certainly didn't give him anything like a state funeral. Later though when they dug him up it seemed his body had not decomposed - and this was a year afterwards - so he was pronounced a vampire and a stake driven through... no? No, apparently. Would have been my first thought. Body failing to age, still looking as young as when the coffin lid was hammered down? Vampire, mate. Got to be. Trust me, I know about these things. But no, they decided he was in fact a saint and his remains reinterred in Shaftesbury Abbey. I guess, given that there are no surviving reports of old King Edward taking a stroll after midnight and bothering the local talent, can't argue with that. Possibly.

Soon afterwards a cult grew up around him (you sure he wasn't a vampire?), however I personally have problems with calling him a martyr. Isn't that supposed to be someone who dies for their faith? Edward died because his rivals wanted rid, and that's happened before without the unfortunate obstacle being canonised. I bet if you asked him if he wanted to die for God's glory, Edward would have said "No thanks, I like living just fine."

With the threat of his brother removed, the way was clear for Aethelred to take the throne. He is one of the few English kings from this period of history whom we can still remember today.
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Aethelred (the Unready) (966 - 1016)

Let's get one thing out of the way here from the start . Aethelred, known as "the Unready", was not a man who was unprepared for battle or whatever. The word doesn't refer to our one, though it has been changed into that meaning in recent times. His actual epithet was unraed, which means badly-advised. He was, however, one of the worst kings England had ever had, as well as, perhaps paradoxically, one of the longest-reigning up to that point. As we've noted above, Aethelred was one of the two sons of Edgar, and on the death of his father doubt and confusion had arisen over the parentage of both boys, and therefore their legitimacy to rule the kingdom. Aethelred's brother, Edward, was chosen but again as we've seen this didn't last long, as he slipped in the shower and ran right into a handy knife, or something. Anyway, on his death Aethelred took the throne.

The youngest to ascend at that time, the boy was at best twelve, possibly as young as nine years old when his brother was murdered, and so for several years the kingdom was administered by his mother Aelfthryth and Dunstan, as well as Aethelwold, Bishop of Worcester. During this time, and after it, the English court would be plagued by scandals and coups, and the ordinary man would suffer as never before, with taxes raised to all but unsustainable levels. The bad blood between those who had supported his brother and wished to avenge Edward's murder would help to stymie the response of the English to, not a new, but a fresh and renewed threat, believed disposed of.

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Return of the Vikings: Can't Keep a Good Dane Down

Despite the absolute rout of the King of Dublin in Aethelstan's time and the breaking of the power of the Danes soon afterwards by Eadred, the Vikings were not yet finished with England and they attacked again in 980, streaming over from Denmark, and though originally carrying out lightning raids on the coast only, and these spread out over almost a decade, with some years of respite in between, the lacklustre and uncoordinated response from England emboldened them. Aethelred tried to placate them by buying them off ("paying tribute") but their blood was up and conquest was on their minds, and in 991 they sent a huge fleet to sack Ipswich, and in August came face to face with the English at Maldon in Essex. This was to be not only the first major defeat for the English but the nascent beginnings of the later Norman invasion of England, something that was to shape the country's future forever.

With the soundest of defeats against the English under their belts, the Vikings - though demanding, and getting tribute - rampaged across the country, and you can't help but call to mind the rather self-defeating invitation of the Saxons by the Britons two hundred years ago, sealing their own fate. The Vikings had not been invited, no, but the resistance of the English under Aethelred - who really could be accused of being actually unready, as it seemed he certainly had not been expecting this massive fleet to attack - was so weak that the Vikings were able to make it as far as London with impunity. England's defence, such as it was, became more a desperate rearguard action, and there was really no chance the Danes, now supported by the French in Normandy, were ever going to be defeated.

The best the English could hope for was a truce, and this they got in 994, when King Olaf Tryggvason, suitably paid off, took much of his force to Norway and promised never to darken England's doorstep again. He kept his word, but some of his men stayed on, as mercenaries loyal now to Aethelred, who thought he could control them. Big mistake! Three years after their prince had returned to the comforting icy wastes of Scandinavia, these soldiers of fortune seem to have fashioned their own fortune, and turned on Aethelred, deciding it was, say it with me, pillaging time!
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And so in 997 the coastal attacks began again, until as the new millennium dawned, the Vikings decided to check out their new pals in Normandy, and Aethelred, as any king faced with such a sudden and unexpected respite in hostilities would do, gathered his forces, shored up his defences and... attacked Strathclyde. Um. The reason for this rather unreasonable attack is, according to historians, "lost in the history of the north", but I would be willing to bet he was paying back some old scores, as Strathclyde had been one of the kingdoms to support Danelaw. He was caught rapid, as we say here, the next year though, as the Vikings returned, bored with eating frog's legs and snails and hankering for some Yorkshire pud, or maybe Yorkshire puss(!) and back they came. I hope Aethelred and his court partied like it was 999, cos from 1001 onwards there wouldn't be much cause for joy.

The Danegeld, already mentioned several times, would have been one of the main reasons taxes skyrocketed, as the Vikings demanded more and more tribute for not knocking in English heads (that much) or setting English cities on fire (well, maybe a small one here or there, but nothing serious), and Aethelred, with no real army to oppose them, had no choice but to cough up. Which meant making the people cough up. Which presumably left a less than glowing impression on the minds - and wallets - of his subjects. Eventually, he decided he'd had enough.

St. Brice's Day Massacre

Herod would have been proud. Well, maybe not, but Al Capone would. When word came to Aethelred that the Danes were rising and would kill him and all his people, and take their land, he decided to get his retaliation in first, and ordered the massacre of all Danish men in England. This was on, appropriately enough, November 13 1002 (I don't know if it was a Friday, but how cool if it was, eh? My phone's calendar doesn't go back to the eleventh century, cheap piece of crap) and is the first time I've read of an English king ordering what amounts to all but genocide. I mean, these people weren't even prisoners of war. For all Aethelred knew, the accusations could have been what we would call today "fake news", an attempt to stir up local hatred of those who belonged to the peoples who had attacked them, but who might not themselves have had anything to do with those attacks.

I find the king's matter-of-fact recounting of what is on the face of it surely a savage and un-Christian act chilling, the more so because it was only related in reference to explaining why the funds were needed to rebuild the church.

"For it is fully agreed that to all dwelling in this country it will be well known that, since a decree was sent out by me with the counsel of my leading men and magnates, to the effect that all the Danes who had sprung up in this island, sprouting like cockle amongst the wheat, were to be destroyed by a most just extermination, and thus this decree was to be put into effect even as far as death, those Danes who dwelt in the afore-mentioned town, striving to escape death, entered this sanctuary of Christ, having broken by force the doors and bolts, and resolved to make refuge and defence for themselves therein against the people of the town and the suburbs; but when all the people in pursuit strove, forced by necessity, to drive them out, and could not, they set fire to the planks and burnt, as it seems, this church with its ornaments and its books. Afterwards, with God's aid, it was renewed by me."

Here the king is saying, without any sense of outrage or regret, the cheek of these guys! Instead of letting us exterminate (note the use of the word) them, they took refuge in a church! And because of that my people had to burn the church! The nerve! So now, like, we have to rebuild it so dig deep people!

It's an act of pretty much wanton savagery on a par with the worst excesses of Cromwell in Ireland, or Lake later on in Ulster. Sure, Henry V would later execute French prisoners of war, and that was a reprehensible deed which has been more or less glossed over by English historians, but at least it has the very small saving grace of those men having been fighting the English, and being military prisoners. Yes, in fairness, the skeletons of 36 men excavated at the site in 2008 and analysed in 2012 does seem to support the fact that the Danish corpses were all warriors (and all men) so probably those mercenaries all right, but even so, once again English historians shrug and treat the whole incident with a kind of they-had-it-coming attitude. One even describes the incident as a "so-called massacre". How there can be any doubt, when the king lays the entire case out in a fucking royal charter, you got me there son!

In the end, as nobody will be surprised to hear, this massacre of their people led not to pacification of England but further reprisal attacks, and the coming end of the House of Wessex.

I don't quite understand how (unless the order was open to misinterpretation, or it happened accidentally as she was trying to shield her husband or lover) but the rumour was that Gunhilde, sister of Sweyn Forkbeard, the King of Denmark, was among the slain, and her brother did not take this well. I can just see Aethelred now: "Was I not fucking crystal clear here? Did I not say men? Is this woman a man?" And one of his disgruntled warriors muttering "She looked like a man", whereupon the king might have turned sharply and demanded "What?" But the warrior who spoke had suddenly developed a deep interest in the tapestries on the wall, or something.

And so a proper Viking invasion of England kicked off in 1004, ploughing through East Anglia while Aethelred remained in the south, unable to engage the enemy while his court began to self-destruct under coups possibly instigated or at least supported by his second wife, Emma. There were some victories against the Vikings, but mostly they had everything their own way, and for the next five or so years England was under constant attack, the latest, an invasion launched in 1008 was only bought off in 1012. A year later Forkbeard attacked again.
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Sweyn Forkbeard was the son of Harold Bluetooth (yes that one, from whom we get the word) and was to be reckoned one of the greatest ever Viking generals. His fleet hit English shores in 1013, this time with the intention not just of raiding and plundering, but to take the English throne. Sweyn was unstoppable, and by the end of the year England was his, and he was crowned its king, Aethelred fleeing into exile. His reign did not last long though, as he died a mere year later, leaving his son, Cnut the Great, to take his place. We'll be hearing much more about him later. The English weren't having this though, and invited Aethelred back, provided he fulfilled a lot of their wish list, including forgiving any bad stuff any of them may have said about or to, or done to him. Basically blackmailing a king, it would seem, but Aethelred shrugged and said sure, let ye bygones be ye bygones, swore to implement all the reforms they requested (demanded) and when he returned to battle Cnut few Vikings and hardly any Englishmen supported the son of Sweyn, who was quickly defeated and Aethelred reinstalled on the English throne. I'm not sure, but I think this might be the first (only?) time in English history when a king ruled, was deposed, went into exile and was then restored to the throne.

Though he beat Cnut, Aethelred walked into more trouble on his return, as his son, Edmund Ironside, established himself in the Danelaw and revolted against his father. Later, when Cnut (it's so hard not to misspell that name!) returned both father and son allied against him, but in 1016 both were defeated and soon after Aethelred died, perhaps ironically, given his fractious rule of the country, on the day most revered by Englishmen, St. George's Day, April 23. This left Cnut as king, initially sharing power with Edmund (though Aethelred's son was only permitted to rule over Wessex until his death a little over a month later, whereupon Cnut became king of all England) the first not of the Wessex line, in fact the first non-Saxon king since Alfred the Great, discounting the very brief forty-odd-day reign of Sweyn Forkbeard. Cnut's ascension meant power passed for the first time in almost a hundred and fifty years from the unbroken line of the House of Wessex, and though it would be temporarily restored with the rule of Edward the Confessor, he would be the last Wessex king to sit the English throne.

Although Sweyn Forkbeard had subjugated England and become its king, he ruled for a mere couple of months before his death, after which the throne reverted to an Englishman. But Cnut, as the first true Viking king of England, was to remain in power for nearly twenty years, a reign only bettered by Aethelred and the two original Wessex kings, Alfred the Great and Edward the Elder.

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Edmund Ironside (990 - 1016)

An interesting fact about Edmund II's rise to the throne would be reflected later in the ascension of one of the most notorious and divisive kings of England, Henry VIII. Like the Tudor monarch, Edmund was not the eldest son and so not actually in line for the throne, but his two brothers died. We might suspect foul play, but this does not seem to have been the case; indeed, Aethelstan, the eldest, left a sword in his will to Edmund, one that had belonged to the legendary King Offa of Mercia. The brothers did not follow their father into exile when Sweyn Forkbeard took the English throne, but with Aethelstan dying before Aethelred's return, his other brothers also dead,  there was only really Edmund whose aid his father could call upon. However Edmund, as we have seen above, decided instead to rebel, stealing the wife of one of the disgraced (and executed) brothers who had run the Danelaw, marrying her and setting himself up as king there.

He did however join his father in the later fight against Cnut, when his own borders were threatened, and Cnut was so impressed with him that a compromise was reached. On the death of Aethelred, the people of London elected Edmund king and he continued to fight against Cnut, hopelessly outnumbered. He won many battles though, and when he was defeated Cnut, probably fearing an English civil war,  allowed him to rule in Wessex while he took the rest of England for his domain. As we've said though, this was not to last long, as he died in November 1016 and Cnut then became the first non-Wessex King of England.

The manner of Edmund's death is disputed, but some accounts claim he died on the toilet, in a scene which surely must have inspired George R.R. Martin when he was writing the death scene for Tyrion Lannister. One account says Edmund was stabbed multiple times while taking a dump, another uses - wait for it - a crossbow as the weapon, but others shrug and think yes, he may have been murdered, probably was, but he might just as easily have fallen in battle. You've got to hope, don't you, that the latter case is closer to the truth, as otherwise it's a shitty way to die. Sorry.
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Cnut the Great (d. 1035)

Also known as Canute, he was the first Viking king of England, and the first to rule Denmark and Norway as well. The son of Sweyn Forkbeard, his date of birth is unknown but may be around 980 - 990, even 1000. However the latter seems unlikely at best, as he conquered and was crowned king of England in 1016, which would make him, what, sixteen years old? I can't really see the English accepting a "callow youth", no matter his fighting prowess or their position, as their king, can you? At any rate, the real year will never be known as there are only hints for historians to guess at. He was said to be "exceptionally tall and strong, the handsomest of men", and on the death of his father returned to Denmark to request of the king, Harald (who may have been Harald Bluetooth, though this would then have been his grandfather) a power-sharing deal, which the king refused. No wait: I see it was Harald II, Cnut's brother. Right, well that makes more sense. A brother is more likely to tell a brother where he can shove it than a revered grandfather. Cnut instead set sail in 1016 for England, with a fleet that was to result in his defeating Aethelred and Edmund Ironside, and winning for himself the English throne.

As an aside, you have to love these epithets. We've had Alfred the Great, Edward the Martyr, Edgar the Peaceful and of course Aethelred the Unready - though most of these were affixed to the names of the various kings after their deaths, often long after - now we have the future King of Poland, Boleslaw the Brave (no not Coleslaw!). We also have Eric the Victorious and Gorm the Old, Harold Bluetooth of course and even Sigrid the, um, Haughty. No, not Naughty. Now that would have been interesting. Anyway, back to the story of Cnut.
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Responsible for the palace coup at Aethelred's court, Eadric Streona, ealdorman of Mercia, must have seen which side his bread was buttered and deserted the English cause, throwing in his lot (and forty of the latest ships) with that of Cnut. Thorkell the Tall, another previous ally of Aethelred, also came over to the new king's side. This of course weakened the forces then being led by Edmund, as he and his father - who was soon to die - never seemed to be able to meet up together, sending force after force back without its expected reinforcements. Cnut set about subduing Northumbria, and then turned his attention towards London, wherein Edmund had been proclaimed king on the death of his father.

Unable to stand against the invader alone, and with his ex-allies deserting him in droves,  Edmund made a run for Wessex, hoping his ancestral homeland would provide him the troops he needed to muster an army and take on Cnut. It did, and he returned to London, relieving it, but only temporarily, and for the next while each faction struggled to hold, or take, what would eventually become England's capital. Eventually Cnut gave it up, hopping over to harry Essex instead, and with typical turncoat skills, and perhaps feeling that the wind of change was again blowing in Edmund's direction, Eadric changed sides and offered his help to the English king. Cnut would deal with this treachery soon enough.

The decisive battle that would settle the matter of who ruled England took place at Assandun, in Essex, in October 1016, where Edmund's forces met those of Cnut. Instrumental in his defeat (as perhaps had been his intention all along) was the withdrawal of the forces of Eadric Streona, who went back over to Cnut's side. With all that turning of coat, the man must have been positively dizzy! After the battle, Cnut and Edmund divided England, the former taking all land south of the river Thames (including his stronghold, London) and everything north would be ruled by Cnut. As already related though, this was academic really, as Edmund died only a month later and Cnut then became king of all England.

If, six hundred years later, Oliver Cromwell would declare himself Lord Protector of England (or Britain) then Cnut did it first. Not the actual declaration - he had nothing against being a king, insisted on it in fact - but he became England's defender against outside attack. Being monarch of most of Scandinavia he was easily able to forbid further raids by the Vikings on England, and so under his almost twenty-year rule England enjoyed an unparalleled period of peace and prosperity. As bad a king as Aethelred has been said to have been, and as ineffective, Cnut was one of the greatest kings England had had since Alfred. Not that that meant he didn't take revenge on his enemies, of course. He was, after all, first and foremost, a Viking.

Heads literally rolled, with Aethelred's remaining son, Eadwig Atheling, at first only exiled, later murdered on Cnut's orders. Edmund's two sons were exiled, while Cnut ensured the troublesome and unreliable Eadric Steona had no further opportunities for betrayal, having him executed, and I doubt anyone cried. The new king paid off his Viking army and sent them home, keeping a small standing force in England, just in case. In a somewhat Viking tradition, he married Aethelred's widow, Emma, and had a son by her, Harthacnut, whom he declared to be his heir.

You have to hand it to Cnut. In addition to being the - now uncontested - King of England, he also secured his position as King of Scandinavia, taking on Sweden and Norway and beating both in 1026. You would think that, distracted by such a war, his return to England might have seen some rival taking advantage of his absence and making a play for the throne, but no. So untroubled and unrivalled was his reign that he was able to take a leisurely trip to Rome (the first Viking to do so with peaceful intentions?) to witness the installation of the new Holy Roman emperor. He took the opportunity to discuss certain things with the new emperor, as below:

... I spoke with the Emperor himself and the Lord Pope and the princes there about the needs of all people of my entire realm, both English and Danes, that a juster law and securer peace might be granted to them on the road to Rome and that they should not be straitened by so many barriers along the road, and harassed by unjust tolls; and the Emperor agreed and likewise King Robert who governs most of these same toll gates. And all the magnates confirmed by edict that my people, both merchants, and the others who travel to make their devotions, might go to Rome and return without being afflicted by barriers and toll collectors, in firm peace and secure in a just law.

And

... I, as I wish to be made known to you, returning by the same route that I took out, am going to Denmark to arrange peace and a firm treaty, in the counsel of all the Danes, with those races and people who would have deprived us of life and rule if they could, but they could not, God destroying their strength. May he preserve us by his bounteous compassion in rule and honour and henceforth scatter and bring to nothing the power and might of all our enemies! And finally, when peace has been arranged with our surrounding peoples and all our kingdom here in the east has been properly ordered and pacified, so that we have no war to fear on any side or the hostility of individuals, I intend to come to England as early this summer as I can to attend to the equipping of a fleet.

There's a lot of stuff in Cnut's reign about his attempts to secure Sweden, only ever styling himself as "king of some of the Swedes", which sounds a little unimpressive until you add "all of Denmark, Norway and England" - that's a sizeable chunk of real estate! But I don't want to go too deeply into his Scandinavian adventures as this is the history of England, and while I had to detour through histories of England and Scotland in my Irish history journal, that was necessary in order to frame certain subjects. Here, in reference to England, these diversions don't matter, so let's just say Cnut was away from England a good deal and leave it at that.

Cnut's relationship with the all-powerful Church was delicate at best. They knew him to be all but unseatable (if they wanted to unseat him) and he had been baptised, renouncing his Viking ways (though only in religion, and perhaps only in public) and he built churches and monasteries, but there was the small matter of his having two wives. I believe somewhere in the Bible it says that a man marrying his brother's wife is a sin, and while Aethelred and Cnut were certainly not related, I wonder if the Church still frowned on the idea of marrying the wife, now widow, of the man you defeated, surely more a Viking tradition than a Christian one? That might be bad enough, but Cnut didn't do the decent thing and divorce or even send his first wife to a convent, but kept both around, so that he had two wives. The Church would not have liked that at all.

But what could they do? Cnut was powerful, more powerful really than any king of England since Alfred the Great, and more importantly, well liked. He didn't have any real enemies, at least, none left living, and there were no discernible divisions in his power base that could be exploited. Besides, though I can't confirm this but will try later, it seems to me that Cnut was the first king of England to award land to the Church, something which would really get up the nose of Henry VIII a half-millennium later, when he testily snatched it back with a Trumpish "Mine!" on his snarling lips. Everyone loves land, especially that granted by royal charter, so maybe the bishops just shrugged and said "hell, he's king. If he wants to have two wives, who are we to say no? Now, what about this new church?"

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God Save the Queen!

While technically no woman ruled over the English until the ascent of Mary I in 1553, two claim the title in the Middle Ages, this being Judith of France, who really seems to have held the title more symbolically and on account of her husband, Aethelwulf and later his son Aethelbald, and only for a short period on both occasions. Then there was Aelfthryrh, who was anointed as queen but does not seem to have held any real power, married to Edgar. For my money though, although not actually recognised as an actual queen (none of the women before the twelfth century were, indeed as we say above, no female actually sat the throne alone until Mary I) the one who makes the best case is Emma of Normandy.

Not only did she become Queen of England through her marriage to Aethelred the Unready, she later retook the title on her marriage to Cnut the Great, but as his consort also was named Queen of Denmark and Queen of Norway. She was the first, so far as I can see, to actually engage in political machinations, making alliances and moving pieces on the board, and at some points can be considered almost the de facto ruler of England. Here's her story.
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Also known as Aelfgifu she was, you'll no doubt be completely unsurprised to hear, French, a Norman noblewoman who was married to Aethelred in 1002 to both heal the rift between him and Richard II, Duke of Normandy, and save England from Viking attacks, most of which were by now being launched from there. On marrying Aethelred she was crowned Queen of England, though at the time it seems this was more just a formality, that her title was empty, depended entirely on her husband the king, and had no power attached to it. She did, however, receive land in Winchester, Devonshire, Rutland, Oxfordshire, Suffolk and Exeter. She had two sons by Aethelred: Edward the Confessor, who would go on to be one of the last kings of the House of Wessex, and Aelfred Atheling, who, well, wouldn't.

When Aethelred died in 1016, his heir was not any of Emma's sons but one from his previous marriage, Aethelstan. Angry at this snub to her sons, Emma began to try to gain support for her eldest son, Edward (later the Confessor) to be named successor, but even though the wily Eadric Streona - of whom we have already heard, and will hear more of shortly - gave his support to her claim, she was overruled and Aethelstan was chosen. Nevertheless, she held London on the death of Aethelstan before marrying the victorious Cnut, and again being proclaimed Queen of England. Cnut, however, had no intention of allowing her sons, the sons of Aethelred, to aspire to the throne and so they were sent away to Normandy on her marriage. Emma later gave Cnut a son, Harthacnut, who became his heir.

In 1036 the two lads returned to England, ostensibly to pay a visit to mum, but in reality probably to try to take the throne. Alfred was captured by Godwin and delivered over to Harold's men, who blinded him, wounds from which he quickly died later, while Edward, having had some success, returned to Normandy until it was safe to set foot on English soil again. When he did, and it was, he ruled jointly with Harthacnut, and as they were both sons of Cnut, Emma became the link between the two kings. In some ways, and to some historians and scholars, she is considered to have been all but a co-ruler of England. She even has part of an important eleventh-century work dedicated to her, the Encomium of Queen Emma, which no other woman from this time does.

There is a legend - almost certainly untrue or at least embellished in her favour - which speaks of her being accused of infidelity, and having to undergo one of the ordeals of fire spoken of much earlier in this chapter. According to the account she walked across hot ploughshares and "felt neither the naked iron nor the fire", and so proved herself innocent. Right. Now, about that asteroid shaped like a dancing moose...

Nevertheless, though she never officially ruled in her own name, given a) her marriage to two of the most powerful kings of the time, b) the fact that two of her sons then went on to be kings in their own right, c) her "stewardship" of London and later much of England and d) her machinations at court, particularly with Godwin, I think there's a pretty good case for seeing Emma of Normandy as the first, shall we say, unofficial Queen of England.

My Name is Earl: The Power Beside the Throne

Originally known as ealdorman, the title was given to a sort of provincial governor of a small town or hundred, with pretty limited powers, all of course very subservient to the king. With the arrival of the Vikings in the ninth century, their idea of erl, as a sort of sub-king, came more into use in England and the word was quickly adopted. With its adoption came its powers, as earls grew to be all but semi-princes, though having of course no royal prerogative that did not proceed from the monarch. Over the next centuries, earls would become some of the powerbrokers, and even to some extent kingmakers of England, and their support would be sought, bought and traded as they enriched themselves like sort of medieval godfathers. Three in particular were important during the time the House of Wessex held sway, and into the reign of the House of Denmark.

Eadric Streona (died 1017)

Although technically not an earl, as at this point ealdorman was still the title, Streona was the precursor to the sort of powerbroker figure earls would later become. Eadric married Edith or Eadgyth, a daughter of King Aethelred the Unready, but though this was a marriage of convenience, meant to ally him to the House of Wessex, Eadric would turn out to be the most double-dealing, traitorous, untrustworthy turncoat in the Middle Ages. He was loyal to nobody, supporting whomever he saw as best placed to advance his own prospects and play into his agenda, and he flip-flopped back and forth so much you might have considered he didn't even have a spine.

His first action of note is reported in 1006, when he is said to have slain an Ealdorman the king didn't much like, called Aelfhelm, using the old tried and trusted "hunting accident" idea, though he was careful not to dirty his own hands, paying someone to do his work for him, a local butcher. Soon after, Aelfhelm's sons were blinded, and King Aethelred was indeed pleased. But Eadric jumped and crossed loyalty lines more than Prince crossed genres, so I'm going to be keeping a record of his various treacheries in this piece. So far, score one for the House of Wessex. It wouldn't last.

Perhaps due to this favour to his king - or maybe he had carried out the murder on the understanding that he would be so rewarded - Eadric was given the title of Ealdorman of Mercia, even then a powerful position. Although he distinguished himself well in the position, fighting for his king against the Viking raiders, when it was clear that the day was lost and Sweyn Forkbeard was temporarily crowned King of England, Eadric decided it was a good time to leg it, and headed over to Normandy with Queen Emma. The king followed them a year later, in 1014. As we've seen though, he wasn't in France a wet day before Forkbeard snuffed it and the English invited him back, and of course with him came Eadric.

In 1015 the treacherous Ealdorman killed two other thegns, Sigeferth and Morcar, possibly as a reprisal for their collaborating with the men of Forkbeard, and in that same year Eadric again sensed which way the wind was blowing and threw in his lot with the newly-arrived Cnut, who would take the kingdom shortly after, and on his death Eadric would pursue his son, Edmund, in the service of King Cnut.

House of Wessex one, House of Denmark One.

Never a man to waste an opportunity, when Eadric, facing Edmund's forces in battle, noticed a man in his army who looked like him, he killed and beheaded him, holding up the head and shouting that he had killed Edmund, and his army might as well surrender. They did, this despite the fact that they were in fact winning the battle. When they saw what they believed to be the head of their leader, they lost all hope and ran.
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They soon rallied though when they realised they had been fooled, and that their king was still alive, and finally defeated at the Battle of Otford, Eadric again changed sides, allying himself to Edmund. House of Wessex Two, House of Denmark Two. When their forces met those of Cnut in 1016 though, Eadric helpfully withdrew his forces from the battle, leaving Edmund exposed. House of Wessex Two, House of Denmark Three. It's been theorised that this was Eadric's plan all along, to lull Edmund into a false sense of security and then betray him when his forces were needed the most. Whether or not Cnut was in on the plan, if there was a plan, nobody has commented.

Eadric then turned peacemaker and mediator, brokering the truce between Edmund and Cnut which divided England between the two kings, but which was not to last as Edmund died a year later, leaving Cnut in complete control of the kingdom. Despite his seeming defection, Cnut forgave Eadric and he was allowed to retain the ealdormanship of Mercia. Or did he forgive him? Cnut obviously knew the kind of man he was dealing with, someone who would sell out his own grandmother if he got him a position, lands or money, and he had an interesting and surprising Christmas present for Eadric. The man who had turned too many times was finally done in on December 25 1017, when Cnut, angered that he had been disloyal - both to him and to Edmund; the point didn't seem to be to whom, but that his loyalty could not be trusted, and he was without honour (remember, Cnut was a Viking, a man who prized honour above most other traits) - ordered one of his men to "pay what he was owed", and the axe literally fell.

Being away most of the time, Cnut realised he had to delegate some of his power, and therefore two men rose in his shadow who were pretty much in all but name co-rulers of England in the king's absence. Unsurprisingly, they were each in control of one of the most important regions of England, the ancient sites of Anglo-Saxon powers, two areas which had once been warring kingdoms, and which to some extent kind of still were.
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Godwin, Earl of Wessex (1001 - 1053)

Certainly an eleventh-century powerbroker, Godwin may have believed from an early age that he was destined for great things, as a fleet sent in pursuit of the man who may have been his father, Wulfnoth Cild, accused of crimes against Aethelred the Unready, foundered at sea. Left an estate by Aethelstan in 1014, Godwin would have been basically rich from his teens, though this estate had originally belonged to his family, so really all Aethelstan was doing here was restoring to Godwin what had been taken from him and was his by right. A mere six years later Godwin, now Earl of Wessex, was in Denmark with Cnut, where he made himself indispensable and also married the sister of the Danish earl Ulf, Gytha. In a sort of exchange-marriage, Ulf had married Godwin's sister, Estrid.

Cnut's death in 1035 did nothing to slow Godwin's ambitious rise to power, in fact it expedited it, as he became the main deciding force as to who should succeed the king. Though he supported Harthacnut, he was in Denmark putting down a rebellion, so it was agreed that Harold Harefoot would rule as regent till he could return and claim his throne. You've read all this already of course. What do you mean, you just skimmed it? Bullet points? I'll give you bullet points! What about hollow points, eh? Anyway, as you will (hopefully) also have read, Godwin thwarted the attempts of one of the sons of Aethelred, Aelfred Aetheling, to claim the throne in the name of his father, and turned him over to Harold's men, who blinded him. He soon died. This of course made him popular with Harold. With no sign of Harthacnut on the horizon any time soon, Godwin decided the best thing to do was make Harold king, and so it came to pass.

Isn't it odd how earls and nobles had such power back then, the power to literally choose the king? But that's how it was. Until much later, when divine right of succession was established within the monarchy, there was no guarantee, no mechanism in place to arrange or accept the issue of a king as his successor. The witan, the king's council, met and decided who they wanted to be the next king. You could say it was better that way, that then someone who may have had no idea how to be a king was not just thrown in at the deep end, but then again, it did mean that the most powerful people in the land chose the man they believed would best serve their interests, so that was hardly fair. The people? What had it to do with the people? They didn't care who was king. They had enough to be going on with just trying to survive. Why should they care if a Dane or an Englishman sat on the throne? Wouldn't affect their lives, and even if it did, there was nothing they could do to change it. Still isn't, now that royal prerogative has been established.

Anyway, as we've already seen, Harold wasn't to last long and Godwin then engineered the return of Harthacnut from Denmark to take his place. This didn't last long either, and eventually Godwin had to choose a successor, which turned out to be Edward the Confessor, Aethelred's son, bringing the whole dynasty of the House of Wessex full circle again. Godwin further strengthened his ties with the new king by having him marry his daughter, Edith, though Edward, swearing celibacy, would have no children Godwin or his heirs could control. Indeed, his time as powerbroker was running out. When he refused to punish the town of Dover when its people caused offence to the visiting Count of Boulogne, he basically said "Fuck this. I'm not killing English people for some filthy frog!" And realising that he took on the king himself with his defiance, he had no choice but to flee to Flanders (seems to have been the place to flee to, back then), exiled in 1051.
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(No, not that one!)

He wasn't prepared to leave it there though, and he and his fellow earls, who had also been exiled (the other two to Ireland) returned the next year at the head of an army, and Edward thought it prudent to let bygones be bygones. What did offence to a French noble Count for (sorry) anyway? Restored to his earldom, Godwin didn't have long to enjoy his victory, as he died the next year, of some unspecified illness, but possibly a stroke, which may have left him speechless and without strength for four days before he finally passed away on April 15 1052.

His son Harold would go on to succeed Edward and be the last king of the House of Wessex, ruling for less than a year before dying at the Battle of Hastings as William the Conqueror led the Normans into a new era in English history.

Leofric, Earl of Mercia (died 1057)

Ah, if there's one thing a man did not want history to remember him by it was that his wife was more famous than he, but Leofric of Mercia is really only taken notice of by history due to being the husband of the famous Lady Godiva, as related below. A contemporary of Godwin, he was earl of the other main territory, the kingdom of Mercia, but supported the claim of Harold Harefoot to the throne, in opposition to Godwin's championing of the right of Harthacnut. He was therefore not best pleased when, on Harold's death and Harthcnut's accession, the new king, enraged at the killing of two of his tax collectors, sent Leofric and Godwin to sack the town of Worcester. This had been his ancestral home, so Leofric, though he obeyed, chafed at the order, and this might indeed have factored into his later decision to support Godwin's disobedience to Edward the Confessor's order to sack Dover.

Initially though he fought against Godwin in the name of Edward, who led an army against him at Gloucester in 1051. Leofric convinced the king not to join battle, as too many of the nobility would be lost and it would damage the kingdom, so Edward instead exiled Godwin, which suited Leofric perfectly, making him basically the second most powerful man in England. His own son Aelfgar however damaged that power by bringing a combined force of Irish and Welsh against the king at Hereford; nevertheless this revolt was settled amicably and on Leofric's death in 1057 his son rose to the earldom.

As we'll see below in the story of Lady Godiva, Leofric was a man who brutally oppressed his people, levying harsh taxes on the people of Coventry, and could not have been a popular lord. The fact that his wife could not appeal to his mercy says a lot about him too. As usual, historians argue and bicker over how true all of this Godiva stuff is, and as usual we'll let them, as we have better things to do.

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There is Nothing Like a Dane, Nothing in the World: Important Vikings in England

Although they came to England as raiders, the effect and influence the men from the North had upon the country is undeniable, and even led to one - alright, two then - of them becoming king of the newly formed land. Here I want to look briefly into the main Viking figures who impacted upon English politics and history from the tenth century to the eleventh.

Olaf (sometimes Anlaf) Guthfrithson

The third Viking King of Dublin, following the expulsion of his people in 902 by the Irish, Olaf  first appeared in 933 hassling the people of Ulster, and fought a campaign against them, then turning south, battling the King of Limerick and taking the throne of Dublin for himself. Secure in his power in Ireland, he then headed across the Irish Sea to take on the English in 937. At this point Aethelstan was the king, and Olaf set his sights on Northumbria, which had always been fiercely independent and which was close enough to the defiant Scots to provide him with allies against the English. Besides, he believed he was only taking back what was his, as his father, Gofraid ua Imair, had been king of Northumbria before Aethelstan had taken it from him. Time for some revenge then, Viking-style!

The allied forces of Olaf and Constantine II of Scotland met those of Athelstan and his son Edmund at the Battle of Brunanburh, where the Vikings were defeated and Olaf hopped back across the sea to lick his wounds. But with the death of Aethelstan two years later he was back, and this time he took Northumbria, setting himself up as king. He fought the new English king, Edmund, and the result was a compromise whereby the area known as the Danelaw was established. Olaf died in 941, but his brother succeeded him as King of Northumbria.

Thorkell the Tall

Leader of one of the major invasions of the first decade of the eleventh century, Thorkell had a sandwich - sorry; landed at Sandwich in Kent in 1009, but the people of Kent bought him off and he tried his luck with London. The Londoners didn't have to bribe him though as their city was too well defended and he gave up, turning towards Canterbury in 1011, and besieging the town for three weeks. It fell finally due to the treachery of a man whose life the Archbishop, Aelfheah, had saved, which was pretty ironic as Thorkell captured the Archbishop and later had him murdered. Thanks a lot, dude! Mind you, it seems Aelfheah may have to some extent brought this fate down on himself, being a constant thorn in the Vikings' side as he continued to try to convert them with the annoying zeal of a Jehovah's Witness who just won't go away even when you shut the door in their face, and eventually, after seven months during which the Archbishop refused to be ransomed, the Vikings had had enough. During a drunken feast (did any Viking know any other sort?) they started throwing meat-bones at him, and then finished him off with an axe.

The killing of the Archbishop had been against the will and orders of Thorkell, which just goes to show I guess that drunk Vikings listen to nobody when their blood is up, and as a result he defected and went to work for Aethelred as a mercenary, taking forty-five ships with him. Though he and his men fought against the invasion of Sweyn Forkbeard in 1013, and escorted Aethelred into exile, Cnut allowed him to fight for him later, and in 1016 the king even made him Jarl, or earl of East Anglia. Although he fell out of favour with Cnut and was banished to Denmark in 1023, it was here that he was given charge of the king's son, Harthacnut, and the earldom of Denmark, though this quickly passed to Ulf. Nothing further is known about Thorkell after 1023.

Sweyn Forkbeard

The first true Viking king of England, even if he only reigned for just over a month and a half, Sweyn was of course father to the man who would become one of the eleventh century's most famous and successful monarchs, Cnut the Great. But his relationship with his own father had not been that great, revolting against his father Harald Bluetooth and taking his throne, having driven him into exile, where he died soon after. Supplanted himself by the incredibly-named Eric the Victorious of Sweden, and himself exiled to Scotland, Sweyn plotted revenge against the English after the slaughter of Danes following the St. Brice's Day Massacre in 1002, and invaded no less than four times, including one headed by Thorkell the Tall. In 1013 Sweyn was victorious, Aethelred Aethel-fled (sorry) to Flanders and Sweyn became the first Viking - indeed, the first non-Saxon - to sit the English throne.

Unfortunately he hadn't long to relish his triumph, as he died only forty-one days later. His son Cnut would succeed him, but not before Aethelred returned and both he and his son Edmund Ironside would rule England.

Ivar the  Boneless

Anyone familiar with the series Vikings will know of Ivar, and while there is evidence for him actually being lame, or having no legs, or weak bones (osteoporosis maybe) there is also belief that the epithet could refer to his being impotent, or even that it was mistranslated and should be more along the lines of the Hated. As with all events so far back in history and with few accounts supporting the facts, many contradictory or at best taking a guess, we'll never be sure. But what is accepted is that Ivar seems to have fathered (in a historical sense) the great dynasty that would one day lead to Cnut the Great sitting for twenty years on the throne of England.

Despite his infirmity, if he had one, Ivar is generally agreed to have been an intelligent and cunning man. When he led the Great Heathen Army against England in 865, but was unable to beat King Aella of Northumbria, he promised to live peacefully if the king would give him enough land to live on. He then tricked Aella into giving him far more than the king had expected (the details of which are probably mostly folklore-related) and settled in York or London. But whether this was a ruse or peaceful farming just did not suit Ivar, he was on the march again the next year, and this time took Northumbria and executed Aella. Alarmed at the success of the Great Heathen Army, the kings of Mercia and West Saxon (later Wessex) joined forces to oppose them, and pushed them back to York, where they remained for the winter.

869 saw Ivar lead his army out of York and into East Anglia, where he and his brothers executed the English king Edmund, to be forever after known as the Martyr. The death of Ivar himself, including its cause, is uncertain, noted by various sources as being 870 or 873, and possibly due to some "unnamed disease", which might possibly hark back to the believed manner of his father Ragnar Lothbrok's death, understood by many to have been a form of bowel disease. An interesting legend says that when he was dying, Ivar commanded that he should be buried in a place "open to attack" and that he would guard England even after death. Not quite sure why, as he had fought the English, but however. According to the legend, this prophecy came true until William the Conqueror had his burial mound excavated, saw the body had not decayed and had it burned, whereafter his invasion of England was successful, and he became the first in a line of Norman kings.

Siward, Earl of Northumbria

Possibly the cousin of Earl Ulf of Denmark, Siward's ancestry is very vague though most historians do at least place him as coming from Scandinavia, most likely Denmark. He was one of the three earls who carried out Cnut's commands during his reign - basically, his enforcers - but survived to serve both Cnut's successors, and even Edward the Confessor for a short time. Legend has it that Odin himself chose him to rise in English politics, but the All-Father could not be contacted for comment at the time of writing. Legends or at least possibly apocryphal stories abound in the career of Siward, who was said to have procured the earldom of Huntington by the rather drastic but simple precedent of killing the current holder of the title after he caused him offence. In fact, he cut off the earl's head and laid it at Cnut's feet in his throne room, to show that the position was vacant, and Cnut agreed to give him the earldom. I'm sure he always knew Siward would get ahead. Sorry.

Around 1041, with the killing and "betrayal" of Eadulf, Earl of Bamburgh, and having already been granted Cumberland, Northumberland and Westmoreland by the king, Siward became the Earl of Northumbria, one of the first to hold the title. That same year he helped put down riots in Worcester, as already mentioned, and when Edward the Confessor came to the throne he was one of his greatest supporters, taking part in the excursion to Queen Emma at Winchester where she was divested of most of her treasures by an angry Edward. He fought against Godwin in 1051 along with Leofric and, um, Ralph the Timid (I kid you not!) whereafter the Earl of Wessex was exiled.

Three years later he made his name by taking on Macbeth of Scotland, the previous king, Duncan I, having attacked Northumbria in 1040. Failing to subdue the kingdom, he was deposed a year later by Macbeth, and Siward sent his son Ozzy sorry Osbjorn against him, resulting in the death of his sprog. Siward then rode himself in revenge to Scotland In 1046, where he defeated Macbeth, placing another - who may have been Malcolm III - on the throne. On his departure though, Macbeth seized his crown back.

Like it seems so many English people, Siward's death was to be a messy and ignominious one, certainly not one fitting a soldier, much less an earl. Like Ragnar and Edmund, he died from dysentery, though a saga seems to insist he commanded that he would not die "the death of a cow" and ensured his armour was put on him and that his sword and shield were in his hands. Makes no difference whether he did or not though, as he still crapped himself to death. Urgh.

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Britannia Does Not Rule the Waves: Cnut and the Sea

Cnut died in 1035, having reigned, as I mentioned at the beginning, longer almost than any English king up to this. But before we write his obituary, I know you've all been  waiting for me to address the legend, story or parable so linked with him, though usually under the name Canute.

And here it is.

The story goes that Cnut, in an attempt to explain the limits of his powers, and that he, as all men, was helpless against nature and God, showed his courtiers that even he could not command the sea not to advance. The story is recounted in Henry Huntington's twelfth century account:

When he was at the height of his ascendancy, he ordered his chair to be placed on the sea-shore as the tide was coming in. Then he said to the rising tide, "You are subject to me, as the land on which I am sitting is mine, and no one has resisted my overlordship with impunity. I command you, therefore, not to rise on to my land, nor to presume to wet the clothing or limbs of your master." But the sea came up as usual, and disrespectfully drenched the king's feet and shins. So jumping back, the king cried, "Let all the world know that the power of kings is empty and worthless, and there is no king worthy of the name save Him by whose will heaven, earth and the sea obey eternal laws."

Over time, this has been taken, erroneously (including, until I read this, by me) as a demonstration of the arrogance of the man, his faith in his own power and his belief that he was, as Monty Burns' high-priced lawyers once pointed out, not as other men. But it makes more sense that it was a sort of parable to show his subjects that even a king had to bow to the majesty of God's creation. After all, Cnut was, from what I've read, neither a vain nor a stupid man, and he certainly was not ignorant. Having no real need to prove his powers, it makes no sense that he should attempt this demonstration unless he was trying to teach a lesson, as it seems he was. There is no real agreement though as to whether this event took place, or whether it was either embellished, misreported or simply made up later.

Despite his promises, on his death Cnut's son Harthacnut was not accepted by the English as his successor, mostly due to his spending most of his time ruling over Denmark, and his mother, Queen Emma, had to flee to safety in Flanders (well, hidely-ho, neighborino!) under pressure from Cnut's other son, by his other wife, Harold Harefoot, who became the next king of England in 1037, having been regent for two years.

We'll certainly come back to him, and pick up the story of the last of the Wessex kings, but right now let's digress a little.
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Death and Taxes

If there was one thing a king loved to do, or may not have loved to do but needed to, it was levy taxes. Whether this was to prosecute a war, for the upkeep of the armed forces, to help build or rebuild churches and abbeys, or to pay off debts, the king or queen was always the nation's principle taxman. And people had to pay. Or riot. Usually they paid, as rioting was so tiresome, with the ever-present danger of imprisonment or death, and the pretty good chance that the protest would avail nothing anyway, except perhaps harsher taxes. What kind of taxes were there in Anglo-Saxon England? Well, there were certainly a few.

The first was not even called a tax, and comes from the time of King Aethelbert of Kent in the closing decades of the sixth century, wherein the king proclaimed that all fines from court cases were to be given to him. Then there was food render or food rent, in which a stipulated amount of foodstuffs was to be presented to the king by each hundred, or small village, but only if the king or his representatives visited. If not, then that hundred was exempt from food rent for the next year. What this meant, in effect, was that when and if the king turned up at any particular hundred, he could be assured of a good feed. It's likely that the food part of the food rent was consumed by the king and his men during their visit, so really not what you'd call quite a tax, more like a catering-on-demand for the king, available wherever he chose to visit.

Possibly one of the first proper forms of taxation though was the Danegeld, which has been spoken of before. Basically this was a tax collected so that the marauding Vikings could be placated and bribed to fuck off and leave England alone, so to an extent it was a justifiable tax. Nevertheless,  some might say it was the responsibility of the king and his nobles to make sure the enemy was bought off, and that the burden should not fall on the common man - perhaps some who said that might regret it as they looked up at the slavering Dane wielding a broadaxe over their shoulder and looming down on them, and think "I wish I had paid the bloody Danegeld!"

It's a curious thing to me that fighting and battles could be decided not just by strength of arms, but by who was willing to pay for peace. I suppose it makes sense: money has always talked, and the Vikings after all were first and foremost raiders, and raiders want plunder. If they can be handed that rather than have to take it by force, sure why not? But what's quite interesting is that this practice seems to have insinuated itself into the English consciousness and the English way of doing things, as more and more kingdoms at war with each other would buy each other off rather than fight to the death, or to a standstill. I guess the Viking ways really did take hold. I doubt Odin would have approved though.

It was probably Alfred the Great who really took taxation to a new level, when he had built the system of burhs, or fortified towns and forts, referred to earlier in this chapter. In order to maintain these and keep them in a state of readiness, he imposed new taxes on his people, so many in fact that they all had to be recorded in a large volume which was called the Burghal Hidage, maybe the world's, certainly England's first tariff of taxes. Edgar later ensured that all coinage was updated periodically, and the dies used were taxed too.

There was also another type of Danegeld called heregeld, which was paid directly to the king for the upkeep and payment of a standing army. Like most taxes, this was extremely unpopular, except I assume in times of war, when people were glad they had the soldiers there to protect them. As Anglo-Saxon England was replaced by Norman England in the middle of the eleventh century, the system of taxation would rise exponentially, as the now-conquered country would be subject to new and cruel taxes and levies forced upon it by its new masters.

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The Naked Truth - Lady Godiva: Fact, Fantasy or Fiction?

Just about everyone knows the story of the famous, semi-legendary figure of Lady Godiva, who is said to have ridden naked through the streets of Coventry, and that's about all we know about it. It certainly is all I knew about it, but as she lived in the time of Cnut - and as her ride is tied in with the idea of taxation - I thought it might be an idea to do a little research and see how true, if at all, this story is. After all, just because she was a real person doesn't mean she actually did what she's said to have done, does it? So let's have a shufty at the legend, and the reality, and see what lies behind (sorry) the legend of what could be termed almost the first streaker in history.

Lady Godiva was the wife of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, with Eadric Stronea one of the two most powerful men under Cnut at the time. Her name may have been Godgifu or Godgyfu, though no Christian or forename seems to have survived. It seems she was a religious and indeed a generous woman, persuading her husband to donate to the Church with projects such as the endowment of a Benedictine abbey in Coventry and the granting of land in Worcester and Lincolnshire. She is one of the only female landowners to have retained her property after the Norman invasion, but when her death is placed between 1066 and 1086, that might not be such a big deal as it seems.

There are no dates for the legendary story, and it was first related three hundred years after her death, in the thirteenth century. Basically nobody believes it, but who knows? Anyway, the idea behind her ride is that she, seeing the suffering the people of Coventry were undergoing as her husband Leofric crushed them with tax after tax, and unable to appeal to him to be merciful and ease the burden, finally received from him a (we assume) laughing ultimatum. He would lift the taxes if she would agree to ride naked through the streets. To - presumably - his great surprise and possibly excitement, she agreed, on certain conditions, quite reasonable ones.

The streets must be deserted. Nobody could come out of their house or look from their windows or doors. There was, essentially, to be no witness, no peeping. This condition was strictly observed, but (according to the legend, and really to nobody's surprise reading this) one man could not contain his curiosity or excitement and did look. He was - so the story goes - a tailor and for his disobedience and debauchery he was blinded, either by God or more likely by Leofric or the townsfolk, the latter probably just jealous they hadn't had the balls to defy the lady. Interestingly, this legend is even less likely to be true, even if Godiva's one is, as "Peeping Tom", as he became known, an epithet now attached to any voyeur, is only mentioned from about the seventeenth century, four hundred years after the original story is first reported, so therefore must be a clever little embellishment. It might be there to try to give the story an air of authenticity. Who, after all, would believe that no man would look, risk the consequences? That there is one who is said to have done so makes this seem more plausible as a story, I think.

The tellings vary on how naked Lady Godiva was. The popular belief is that she was entirely naked, clothed only in her long flowing hair. This seems to me unlikely for several reasons. We have no record of the weather (always assuming this actually took place) and it may have been windy. If so, then her hair is  unlikely to have stayed in place for the ride, which would have caused her to expose at least part of her more intimate charms. Also, the motion of the horse, even at a slow walk, must surely have disturbed any attempt to keep her hair in position. Finally, there's the comfort angle. Leaving out the hair, riding a horse has never been a comfortable proposition, and riding in the buff would surely have been very painful. Is it likely Lady Godiva was ready to risk bruises and maybe welts on her thighs and buttocks just to prove a point? Was she really ready to suffer pain, in addition to humiliation, for her husband, on behalf of her people?

It seems to be more accepted that she wore some sort of close-fitting slip or shift, this mode of dress being linked with penitents at that time, and if she was basically representing a sort of submission to her husband in order to get what she wanted for the folk of Coventry, then that style might be more appropriate. In any event, trying to mount a horse naked (we must assume she got up on the horse herself, as everyone else had been commanded to remain indoors) would be difficult, painful and potentially dangerous. There are certain people who believe "Peeping Tom" may have been her groom, though I reckon that unlikely, but even if so, was she going to let a lowly groom touch her naked body as he helped her up?

There are many supposed symbolisations historians ascribe to Lady Godiva's ride, but though I don't personally believe it happened (wouldn't it have turned up in stories earlier than the thirteenth century if it had, especially given that she was a noblewoman?) I see it more as the affirmation of the gentleness of women as opposed to the cruelty and brutality of men, the idea that the harsh male nature can be softened by the tempering touch of a kind and caring woman. Of course, it can also be seen as the ultimate power man has over woman (or vice versa), as Godiva gave Leofric what he wanted, and in that sense possibly linked right back to Herod and Salome in the Bible.

Though it is, as I say, likely just bollocks.

Not that, of course, she had those.

What's in a Name, Ae?

Just want to digress momentarily here to look at what I believe is an interesting development in England, and in particular in its monarchs. Up until the arrival of Cnut (discounting our forty-day friend Sweyn) the names of all of England's kings have begun with A or E,  sometimes both, as in Aethelstan and Aethelred. Cnut's reign seems to dispense with that, forsaking the Saxon convention of naming boys and replacing it with that of his people. So his sons are called Svein, Harold and Harthacnut. I can't say for certain, but I wonder if this is around the first time the name Harold is heard, or used, in England? Harold of course begets, in a way, Henry (Henrys were often called Harry) a name which would go on to dominate English history in the centuries to come. Harold, or Harald, is very much a Scandinavian name, and Cnut was surely responsible for making it a popular one in England later. I don't see or hear of any mention of any Harold or Henry or Harry prior to this, and soon afterwards the usage of A and E together in names fades out, mostly due, admittedly, to the events of 1066 and the forced decline of the Anglo-Saxon ways, including the supplanting of their language, so do we have Cnut and his successors to thank for the sudden appearance of what would in time become such a regal name?

Anyway, on with the show.
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Harold I (Harold Harefoot) (died 1040)

Though the throne of England would see many bastards sit upon it, we might be able to point to Harold I, known as Harefoot for his supposed skill in running (hare meant fleet or fast) as the first, if you will, true bastard. Of course it's never easy to prove these things, but the accepted story of his birth seems to be this. Queen Aefligu, unable to have a son by Cnut, came up with the rather odd strategy of adopting the children of strangers and passing them off as her own, presenting them to Cnut as his sons. The belief is that Harold was the son of a cobbler, Aelfgifu's other "son", his "brother" Svein, the son of a priest. Some historians dispute these claims, but then, what historian worth his or her salt doesn't dispute historical claims when a chance presents itself? If she was barren though, it does make a certain amount of sense, and given that men back then had no real interest in their sons after the actual birth (and none at all in their usually unwanted daughters) until they were ready to be trained as their heir, it's not such a stretch. I mean, it's not as if he would have demanded to have been at the birth, after all, and money talks, loudly, at court.

Whatever the case, the late Cnut's promise that he would put no other of his children above Emma's son Harthacnut proved unenforceable, as he had to deal with the Danes, and was so long putting down a revolt in his father's other kingdom that the English shrugged decided the kid would do. Now, though there's no date for Harold's birth, it seems to be assumed that he was, at this time, too young to be king, and so was made regent. He didn't have an easy time of it though, as the Archbishop of Canterbury, perhaps mindful of the rumours about Harold's birth and therefore his illegitimacy, refused to perform the coronation, an absolute necessity to ensure the validity of the king's claim. Disgruntled, stymied, Harold renounced Christianity in protest and spent a lot of time hunting, no doubt envisioning the face of the pompous Archbishop in every stag or boar he took down.

But as ever, political pressure and the support of powerful nobles - along with a generous helping, no doubt, of bribery - secured Harold's position, and he was elected (sorry again but it keeps coming up) king in the North, that is, king of all territories north of the Thames, while Queen Emma ostensibly held all the land south of the river in the name of her son. Eventually though pressure told, and the Earl of Godwin, one of the main supporters of Emma, switched sides, leaving her exposed, and unable to resist Harold's claim, and he was proclaimed King of England.

As we've seen though, with her son still too young to be actual king, and more or less serving as regent, Aelfgifu really held the power until he came of age. Emma, also a queen, had held the lands south of the Thames, yes, and in that sense ruled by proxy for Harthacnut, but she was squeezed out and had to leg it to Flanders as her support collapsed (hate that: should have worn a wonderbra!) so never got to rule, even in her son's name, all of England, unlike her hated rival, her late husband's other wife.

Before that though, while her son could not leave Denmark to come claim his rightful throne, two of her other sons did. Aelfred Aetheling and the future king, Edward the Confessor, both sons of the late Aethelred. Their armies proved unequal to the task, however, when they landed in 1036, and Aelfred was captured by the Earl of Godwin, blinded and later died. The Earl would have cause to regret this later, when his brother ascended the throne. Edward, later the Confessor, did win some battles but rightly saw he had not enough support to challenge the son of Cnut for the kingship, and hopped back over to Normandy to bide his time and gather his forces. A year later, Harold was proclaimed unopposed king, and Emma got the hell out of Dodge.

Perhaps a little precipitously, as Harold only lasted four years on the throne, and indeed four years further on the Earth, as he died of some unspecified disease in 1040. Nevertheless, those who were exiled at that time seldom cooled their heels and relaxed into retirement, taking up knitting or bingo, and Emma plotted from Brugges to have her son returned to England and crowned king. She didn't have long to wait.
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Harthacnut (c. 1018 - 1042)

Whether at the urging of his mother (almost certainly part of the reason anyway) or horror at the death of his half-brother at the hands of Godwin, or just because he saw it as his right as Cnut's only legitimate son, Harthacnut landed in Kent exactly three months to the day after Harold breathed his last, and though he had a large fleet he encountered no opposition, the likelihood being that England had been gearing up for his coronation anyway since Harold was sick and soon to die. Crowned almost as soon as he arrived, Harthacnut set about avenging Aelfred Aethling's treacherous death, ordering the body of Harold to be dug up, beheaded and thrown into a marsh, though it was later transferred to the waters of the Thames, where it was later retrieved by Danish fishermen and eventually found its way to Winchester.

The reign of the son of Cnut was nothing like that of his famous father. Though short, it saw taxes rise to unprecedented levels as Harthacnut ruled like an autocrat, as he had in Denmark, and set about expanding the English fleet. Bad harvests added to the poor people's woes, and when the behaviour of heartless tax-gatherers (was there ever any other kind?) pushed them to the limit they rioted, leading the English into conflict with their own king for the first time in centuries, as Harthacnut reacted to a riot in Worcester by having his men burn the town to the ground. Add to this the charge against him as an "oath-breaker" and the people would not be sorry to see the back of him. Oaths were of course seen as sacred in England (and more so in Scandinavia) so when Harthacnut went back on his word, having promised safe passage to one of the earls of Northumbria, who had offended him but been forgiven and had the other earl murder him and take his lands, it really was the last straw.

They needn't have worried though, as Harthacnut was not long for this world. Having recalled his brother Edward the Confessor back from exile, he fell into bad health and during a wedding feast in 1042 died while proposing a toast to the bride. Now, this might be seen as bad luck and not the greatest way to start your married life, to have the man - indeed, the king himself - toast you and then end up brown bread a moment later, and there are various theories floating around, as you might expect, that he was poisoned, most likely by Edward. But while he may have been known as the Confessor, Aelfred Aethling's brother was keeping this one, if he was involved, between him and God, and never said, as was once written, a mumbling word, but quite possibly (though not likely) headed off to try out the throne for size. He'd want to ensure it was comfortable, as his reign, the last major Saxon one, would be a long one.
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I prefer to think though that Harthacnut just died a man's death, drinking himself literally to death at a wedding. I mean, let's be honest: as deaths go, this isn't a bad way to check out is it? And at least he didn't have to worry about the hangover the next morning! It's certainly said that he drank a lot, so it could just literally have been, as has been suggested, a stroke brought on by excessive alcohol consumption. As a Viking, I'm sure daddy would have been proud. I'm also sure the cheers could be heard all over England when the news broke. His reign had lasted just short of two years, his death coming nine days before what would have been the second anniversary of his ascension.
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Edward the Confessor (c. 1003 - 1066)

Although they had no idea of course at the time, the weight of history was pressing down on the line of Saxon kings, and on England, like a remorseless juggernaut, and soon events would transpire which would shake English history to its very foundations, re-order the way the people lived, worked, built and fought, and perhaps kick off the lasting enmity between England and France. After 1066, nothing in England would ever be the same. It would be as if a great flood had washed away the last five hundred years of its heritage and replaced it with something entirely new, and alien. While England had been invaded before - twice - no invasion would ever have the epoch-changing effect the arrival of the Normans would have on the country.

But before then, there were two more kings to rule the land, one of whose reign was short, one who ruled for over two decades. We've already seen how, not long for this world, Harthacnut had invited Edward the Confessor back from exile to England, and on his death soon after, and with the support of the Earl of Godwin, Edward was crowned King of England. Possibly, even probably due to her favouring Harthacnut over him when the son of Cnut was king, Edward was not well disposed towards Emma, and she did not figure in his reign, dying ten years later much poorer and not at all regarded or welcome at court. Edward may also have reviled her for climbing into bed with her husband's rival soon after Aethelred had died, feeling betrayed and since she did nothing to prevent or fight against his exile under Harthacnut.

Despite the support of Godwin though, Edward found himself in a rather precarious position as king. The ancient loyalty to, and power of the House of Wessex was so weakened it was almost non-existent, Danish rule having supplanted Saxon now for over a quarter of a century, and none of the earls, save one, were loyal to his House. Indeed, his own ascension to the throne was in doubt, as Magnus Olafsson, King of Denmark and Norway, claimed he had been promised both the throne of Denmark and that of England by Cnut III, otherwise known as Harthacnut, when he had ruled Denmark. He therefore asserted his claim to the English throne, and told Edward to expect an invasion. Edward, however, pointed out that the English people would never accept Magnus, reminding the Dane that he, Edward, was the son of Aethelred, rightful king of England and last of the royal Wessex line before the arrival of Cnut, that his mother was Queen Emma (whose name and reputation he didn't seem above using to validate his own claim, even if he had no time for her personally and treated her shabbily) and that no matter what army he raised, no matter what invasion he mounted, even were he to attempt to take the throne, he would be resisted. In short, he was told by Edward, "you can never be called king in England, and you will never be granted any allegiance there before you put an end to my life." Magnus is reported to have said "Fair doos, you got me there son" and left it at that.

Godwin, a central figure in eleventh century politics, who you may remember changed sides more often than Bowie changed his look, set about causing more trouble when he rode against the new king in a dispute over the ordered punishment of some of the men of Edward's brother-in-law, and losing the fight he had to flee into exile. In some ways then, Edward the Confessor had worked his vengeance on Godwin for the murder of his brother Aelfred (even though technically Aelfred had only been blinded; he had died of his wounds - having red-hot pokers pushed into your eyes will do that), despite his having needed the support of the earl originally in order to confirm his claim to the Crown. Ah, politics, eh?

And of course, that was the end of Godwin, right?

Was it fuck! :laughing:

Back he came a few years later at the head of an army, and fearing civil war, Edward had to sue for peace, the two shaking hands that were surely as ice-cold as those of a White Walker, Godwin finally did the decent thing and died in 1053, and nobody as relieved I'm sure as the king to see the back of him at last. However Godwin had not been shy about putting it about, and so he had sons. And those sons set about consolidating their power, gaining earldoms here and there, until, with the death of various nobles around the country, England was in all but name under the control of the Godwin family. At this point, around 1057, having successfully kicked the arses of both the Scottish and the Welsh, including defeating the king of Scotland made legendary five hundred years later by Shakespeare, Macbeth,  and seeing the growing power of the Godwins, it seems Edward gave up the kinging lark and decided to concentrate on hunting instead, leaving the sons of Godwin to run the country.

Crumbling support and a lack of respect for him as king led to Edward suffering from a series of strokes in 1065 which led to his death, bringing to a close the longest single rule of an English king since Cnut, and the last before the Norman invasion. The final king to rule would do so for a mere two years before being defeated at some battle you've probably never heard of.
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One of the major building projects begun during Edward's reign, and very much still standing and active today, is the Norman cathedral known as the Collegiate Church of St. Peter, or more commonly Westminster Abbey. A story goes that a local fisherman saw a vision of St. Peter on the Thames at the site where it now stands, and its building commenced in 1042, a Benedictine abbey having stood previously on the site but been destroyed. Most people consider maybe booking themselves a plot or at least checking out places they might wish to be buried, but when you're a king no "six paces of the vilest earth will suffice", and so Edward wanted to rebuild what was then called St. Peter's Abbey as a place to house his mortal remains.

It is the first building in England constructed in the Romanesque style, and therefore the first Norman building raised on English soil. Indeed, after Edward had been buried there the first recorded coronation of a King of England would be the first Norman king, William the Conqueror, less than a year after Edward's passing. It was in fact only completed a mere few days before Edward's death, and is now one of the most important and significant buildings in Great Britain.

As for who was going to take over from Edward, he confessed, he wasn't sure, and his dithering and indecision may have given the Normans the chance they were waiting for. Having professed celibacy, Edward had no children of his own, certainly no son and therefore no heir, so there were several claimants. First up was Edward Aetheling, known, perhaps dismissively, as Edward the Exile, the son of Edmund Ironside who had been banished from England by Cnut, along with his brother, Edmund, and sent to the Swedish court. The orders from Cnut were to do the two children in, but, Snow White-like, the Swedish king had been a mate of Aethelred and so declined to kill them, sending them instead to Hungary (presumably without enlightening the then King of England). When Edward the Confessor found out in 1056 that Edward Atheling was still alive he invited him back to England, intending him to be his heir.  This would allow the ancient House of Wessex to reclaim its lineage and push back against the Danish established House of Denmark.

It was not to be.

Edward the Exile arrived in England and promptly became Edward the Expired. No details are given of his death, but he was only on English shores a matter of days when he died. Given that his presence threatened the claim of the Godwins, you would imagine they had something to do with it, but I can't find out anywhere whether he died of natural causes, an accident, or was murdered. Either way, the end result was that the last of the bloodline of the Saxon kings died with him, or rather with Edward a few years later.

Then there was William I, Duke of Normandy and later to be known as William the Conqueror, whom it is believed had visited Edward when Godwin was in exile and secured from him a promise to be his successor. However in the end the Confessor went with this guy.

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Harold Godwinson (1022 - 1066)

After briefly coming out of a coma from which he would never again rise, admittedly. But still, for whatever reason, it was the son of the Earl of Godwin whom Edward marked as his successor. In the event, Harold's would be perhaps the shortest reign of an Anglo-Saxon king - and the last - as he would sit on the throne for a mere 282 days, only sixty days longer than Edmund Ironside, but still leaving poor old Sweyn Forkbeard with the wooden spoon for his 41 days. Still, Sweyn was not of the House of Wessex, so this certainly makes Harold's reign the second-shortest of the Saxon line. Harold's being picked out by Edward as the go-to guy is depicted in the famous Bayeux Tapesty, though really the king is only pointing to him, and could, for all we know, be saying "anyone but this guy!" They wouldn't have had time to clarify what he meant, as he never again regained consciousness, dying on January 5 1066, a year which, had he known (or cared) was to be a momentous one in English history.

There is plenty of argument about the validity of this, but on the Norman side it was said that Harold, having been shipwrecked on his way to France, was taken prisoner by a French count (no I said count!) but released by William, then Duke of Normandy, and that afterwards he had promised the English throne to William, presumably at the behest of Edward. Back then though, kings didn't decide who would be the next in line (despite the story about Edward's deathbed selection of Harold) and so neither Harold nor even Edward is believed not to have had the authority to make such a promise, if indeed he ever did.

Be that as it may, William was pissed. He had waited for Edward to push off this mortal coil, and now that he was gone, he would be damned if he'd let some little snotnose take the throne that was not rightfully his. So he did what all claimants do when their claim is spurned, and prepared to invade England.

The next great chapter of English history was about to be written, and as ever, it would be written in blood.

Trolls, I haven't read the whole thing obviously so correct me if you've already answered this, but why have you referred to England as an 'Isle' in the title and why have you used the Union Jack as the flag?

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Diamond Life: The Death of the Queen 
and the End of an Era

Britain was shocked and plunged into mourning this week* with the news of the death of the only monarch most of them have ever known, as Queen Elizabeth II ended a seventy-year reign on the British throne. She was 96. To be fair, it was big news around the world too, but more a dark footnote before the news networks got on with the more important news. After all, the position of the monarch of Britain has been, for about a hundred years now, largely symbolic and almost completely devoid of any power, a figurehead who rubberstamps the decisions made by his or her government, with little real choice in the matter and hardly any involvement in the running of their country. As a constitutional monarch, Elizabeth was beholden to, even controlled by her Parliament, and the real power in Britain lies, as it has done for a long time now, with the Prime Minister.

So it wasn't like when a president or a serving prime minister dies; sure, it's bad news and everyone is sorry, but life will go on and there is no threat whatever to the running of the country. There will be no battle for the crown, no pretenders or claimants fighting it out, no power vacuum and no policy changes. To be crude about it, all that has happened in real, political terms is that there is a new arse on the throne - a male one, for the first time in seven decades - and Britain has its third king named Charles*. There'll be a state funeral of course, with all the pomp and ceremony you would expect, but when it's over Britain's new Prime Minister, Liz Truss*, will head to Buckingham Palace (if she hasn't done so already) to meet the new king and talk about this and that, then fuck off back to Downing Street to do whatever she wants to do. Apart from getting certain things signed into law, the new king will not figure in the decision-making process as his country faces life under a new monarch and a new Prime Minister, and tries to come to terms with things like the aftermath of Brexit, Covid and the continuing worry of the war in Ukraine. I don't say none of that will bother Charles - I'm sure it will weigh heavily on his mind - but there won't be a thing he can do about it.

Speaking as an Irishman, I can't say I'm sorry Elizabeth is dead. No Irish person really is. She was the symbol of a country that kept us down and occupied us for seven hundred years, who treated us at times like slaves or even animals, and who tried to force their own religion upon us. She was the queen who presided over the illegal internment without trial of IRA prisoners, who watched impassively as Catholics were driven out of Ulster in the 1970s, who remained silent as the Birmingham Six and the Guildford Four were jailed, erroneously and without a shred of actual real evidence, for bombings they had nothing to do with, and who failed to utter a word of apology to these men on their long-delayed release.

However, before I go on, I would like to make one thing very clear. I am not a closet republican, nor do I, or did I ever, support the IRA. Inasmuch as we experienced The Troubles down here in the south - mostly through news reports, the very odd time it came home to use with bombs in Dublin - and as much as, I suppose, in my youth I kind of did want Ireland united, it was and never has been a big issue for me. I recognise fully that the men and women who call themselves the Provisional IRA and who purport to fight for Ireland's independence are, largely, not interested in such an outcome, and are fighting only for that most ancient of motives, money.

There was never a time when reports of IRA bombings on what was colliquially called by us "the mainland" (Britain) were greeted, by me at any rate, with a raised fist, joy and a "Take that you Brits!" No. Even soldiers being blown up is an occasion for both sadness and revulsion, and the more so when it's innocent civilians, be they shoppers, motorists or people in a pub. Nothing excuses that. Nothing. The IRA never conducted their campaign against the British (or indeed, the Loyalists in Northern Ireland), on my behalf, or with my approval, tacit or otherwise. That's a red line I do not cross. Murder is murder, to rather unfortunately quote and with great dislike agree with former Prime Minister, the late Margaret Thatcher, even if she said those words with a different agenda in mind.

On the other hand, the outright murder - summary execution - of IRA members in a carpark in Gibraltar in 1988, while it engendered in me no sympathy for these people who would have surely gone on to commit acts of terrible violence, is not acceptable either. Britain prides itself on its rule of law, British justice, yet was able to see fit to deny three people due process and pronounced them guilty without trial. The fact that their suspicions seem to have been unfounded is further damning evidence of the then-standing operational procedure of the British Army - and by extension Thatcher's government - of a "shoot to kill" policy. Two wrongs don't make a right.

So while I can deplore, and I think rightly, the internment without trial of political prisoners in Northern Ireland, this does not, to my mind, clash with my abhorrence of the deeds perpetrated by these men and women, and my unshakeable belief that they were not freedom fighters, but paid killers. My views, though, were obviously not held by every Irish person.

So you can see why no Irish tears will be shed at the news of her death. It might not in fact be going too far to say that more than one glass might be raised to her in pubs across Ireland, and not to her health. Old enmities die hard, and while our own government has tried to brush the last seven centuries under the carpet and attempt to move forward - which is fair enough, so far as it goes: simmering resentment and hatred in the end get you nowhere, and hold back progress - to paraphrase something said in Game of Thrones, Ireland remembers.

But it's not just us that have good reason to hate her. Her own subjects have hardly been treated well under her reign either. She allowed her country to involve itself in two wars, one in the Falkland Islands and one in Iraq, and made no comment. She was the one who should have spoken up, perhaps, when the full horror of the evil life of Jimmy Savile and the extent of the co-operation and cover-up involved by the institutions of the British media and government came to light, and yet she said nothing. She watched Britain disintegrate under the hardline policies of Margaret Thatcher, and preferred to remain aloof behind the walls of Buckingham Palace. She all but snubbed the death of Princess Diana, turning many of her supporters against her, and the only time she really emerged from behind the walls of the palace was to visit someone or welcome someone to her fortress home, one of her last real involvements with the public being when she whined about Windsor Castle nearly burning down. An edifice, I should point out, that is paid for with British taxpayers' money, and which she would not have to put her hand into the royal pocket to rebuild.

But all of that aside - and it's only so that nobody can call me a hypocrite by writing this - there's no denying that the loss of their queen is a big deal for the British. As I say, most people will only remember her on the throne. They've only ever had one queen, and yes, she's ruled the longest of any monarch in history, including her predecessor who bears her name, and Victoria. But then, what has she had to do to keep her crown? Nothing. What attempts have been made to depose her? None. How many wars has she fought, prosecuted, or prevented? Same answer: none. So what did her "Platinum Jubilee" represent? Seventy years of not dying, basically. Not a great achievement, in my book.

However, as I say, let's push all that to one side. British people are hurting right now*, mourning the loss of their queen, and we should recognise that. And it would be churlish and indeed disingenuous of me, in a journal which catalogues the history of England, not to mark the event. So we need to depart from the timeline, leaving the imminent arrival of William the Conqueror on English shores, and move almost a thousand years into the future, our present, to look back at the life of what is likely to be, for the foreseeable future anyway, Britain's last queen.

April 21 1926 was the date when the baby Elizabeth Alexandra Mary was born into the world, the first daughter of King George VI, though at this time he was only Duke of York, and would not succeed to the throne for another ten years. Somewhat like her sixteenth-century Tudor predecessor, Elizabeth was not expected to reign. There were two in line before her, her own father George and his brother, her uncle, Edward. The latter ascended to the throne first, but a constitutional crisis involving him and a divorced woman became a famous scandal, and led to the first-ever - and to date, only -abdication of a British monarch. George then became king.
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George VI would then be king at a time when England, and Britain, faced its darkest days, as Winston Churchill and the Royal Air Force held out against the massed hordes of the German Luftwaffe, prelude to a Nazi invasion of the island, the final bastion of freedom remaining in Europe at the time. It's fair to say George played no real part in that eventual victory, though it would also be fair to say he did give the British people heart through his famous speeches on the radio.

In a similar fashion perhaps to her illustrious ancestor, Victoria, Elizabeth fell in love with a foreigner, Prince Philip of Greece and Denmark, and the relationship was frowned upon. Philip had no financial standing of his own, and links through his sisters to the Nazi party. Despite all this, the two were in love and the marriage took place in 1947, just after the war had ended. Almost exactly a year later the couple had their first child, Charles, who was styled Prince Charles and has just become King Charles III. Two years after his birth he had a sister, Princess Margaret.

From 1951 onwards King George's health was in decline and his daughter often stood in for him in official capacities. When he died in 1953, Elizabeth came to the throne as Queen Elizabeth II on June 2. She began her reign, as her father had ended his, and most of the monarchs before him too, with very little power, but a lot to do. She was the symbol of Britain, and as the new queen it was important she be seen, so she spent most of her time on tour, as it were, becoming the first reigning monarch to visit her territories of Australia and New Zealand, where people went wild, turning out in droves to see her. She ended up being the British monarch who visited the most countries and states in history, but then, with no power to hold onto back home and no threat to her crown, what else was there to do? At the beginning of her reign Elizabeth did retain the power to choose a successor as Prime Minister, and when Anthony Eden resigned over the Suez crisis in 1957 she chose Harold McMillan, though it should be understood this was not a unilateral decision, but made in concert with the Cabinet and the Conservative Party Council. These days, they just decide among themselves and then go to the palace to get her royal seal, but the deal has been done long before they walk through the royal gates.
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In 1960 Elizabeth gave birth to her third child, Andrew, and four years later Edward joined the family. It's true to say that Elizabeth presided over the disintegration of the British Empire, though she had no control over events. People who had sworn - or been made or compelled to swear - allegiance to the British crown now wanted their independence, and African and Caribbean countries began to sue for self-governance, so that by about 1978 there was little left of what was now termed "the British Commonwealth". Despite celebrating her silver jubilee in 1977, things were not rosey in the garden. A communist spy was discovered to have been operating almost literally under the royal nose, as Surveyor of the Queen's Pictures Anthony Blunt was tried for treason but for some reason which I'm not going to research now was granted immunity from prosecution. Elizabeth did however strip him of his knighthood. That same year she had to deal with the death of Lord Henry Mountbatten, killed when a bomb planted by the IRA on his boat exploded.

In 1981 she was herself the victim of an attempted assassination, though apparently the bullets used were blanks (why would you bother? Honestly?) and again when she visited New Zealand later that year. This time the bullets were real, but the marksmanship was not. The would-be assassin missed, and after being sentenced to three years in an asylum escaped and tried to do for the future King of Britain too when he planned to shoot down Prince Charles. Evidence of the lack of influence the Queen had over other heads of state, and indeed quite likely the lack of power Britain had to resist the USA, came in 1983 when then-President Ronald Reagan ordered the invasion of Grenada, one of her commonwealth possessions, without informing her. Okay, the Canadian Prime Minister of the time claimed she was a "behind the scenes force" in ending the apartheid regime in South Africa. I don't know how much of that is true and how much is spin, but if more true than not, then I guess you have to give that one to her. How exactly she achieved such an object is a matter of speculation though.

During the 1980s the amount of esteem the public, or at least the tabloid newspapers, held the royal family in became apparent, as every other day brought headlines of scandal within the palace - real or made up, it really didn't seem to matter; Britons will believe what they read in The Sun or The Star or The Mirror as easily and with as little investigation or challenge as Americans will believe Fox News -and the whole thing became a sort of living soap opera. Not that every story was made up, or that the royal family did not give fuel for the fire, with Princess Anne divorcing her husband, Prince Andrew separating from his wife, and finally Prince Charles kicking Diana to the kerb. The institution that had once been viewed with awe, respect and fear and later at least reverence and regard became one of ridicule and gossip. Like the part of Windsor Castle destroyed by fire in 1992, leading her to describe the year as her anus horribilis- wait, what? Oh sorry: that should read annus horribilis - horrible year, the reputation of and regard for the monarchy was beginning to burn down. People began to question why they were being taxed to pay the enormous salaries of these people who basically did nothing and lived off their backs? An underswell of republican sentiment began to rumble through this green and pleasant land, and while they weren't exactly rolling guillotines out into Leicester Square, people were far from happy with their rulers.
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In her travels, Elizabeth scored many firsts. She was the first reigning British monarch to visit China, the first to go to Russia, but when she made a trip to India old enmities boiled over into protest, particularly at the site of the Amritsar Massacre, where hundreds or possibly thousands of peaceful protesters were slaughtered by the British Indian Army in 1919. In 1997, the same year she visited India, Princess Diana, now divorced from her son, was killed in a high-speed car chase. Despite having a state funeral, the silence of the Queen after the funeral and the refusal to fly a flag at half-mast over the palace gained her public condemnation. It was perceived that she was treating her late, divorced daughter-in-law coldly and that she no longer really wished her to be associated with the royal family. Whatever the truth - or not - of that, the Queen's reputation suffered because of it, and she was forced to make a public address to state her position and appear more warm and maternal towards the late princess. In some ways, people never forgave her for this. They may have loved their Queen, but they loved Diana much more, and to see her, or perceive her being snubbed in such a way cut to the heart of British outrage. To a large degree, the Queen's reputation never recovered from this.

In 2011, to much protest, none of which was listened to by our government, Elizabeth made the first state visit of a British monarch to Ireland. Well, the first of one who didn't want to crush, convert, invade or kill us, or all four. Prince Philip died in 2021, and unlike her government (and ours) Elizabeth strictly observed Covid-19 protocols, attending his funeral alone. You have to give her credit for that. Elizabeth celebrated her Platinum Jubilee in February of this year, marking seventy years on the throne, the longest of any reigning British monarch. Britain had only just got over all the pomp, excitement and pageantry when they were suddenly dealing with her passing, as the Queen became ill on September 8* and died hours later. No cause was given, though Her Majesty had been in poor health for some time, cancelling engagements and curtailing her traditional state visits. She had also contracted Covid, though this was not said to have played any part in her illness. Then again, she was ninety-six, so her age would not have helped towards any sort of full recovery.

On the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, her son and heir, Charles, formerly Prince Charles, has become King Charles III and is officially crowned since today* as the new King of Britain. For the first time in seventy years, Britain has a male monarch on the throne. Charles accedes to the throne at age of seventy-three, (surely the oldest monarch to do so?) but he has his own heir in his son William, Duke of Cambridge and now Duke of Cornwall (I don't know if one title supersedes the other, or if he holds both). To the best of my knowledge (and it's not great on the recent British monarchy) I think Charles' consort, Camilla Parker Bowles, now officially Queen Camilla, is the first "commoner" to sit beside a King of Britain, as in, she has no title, or had none before marrying Charles. What the British people think of that, I can only guess at.

The official state funeral for Queen Elizabeth II takes place on Monday, September 19* at Westminster Abbey. Until then, ten days of mourning have been proclaimed throughout Britain, but what that means officially I have no clue, as businesses, public services, sports fixtures and public venues have been told they are under no obligation to close, nor are banks, or anywhere, really, other than royal residences.

It just remains, then, for me to offer my condolences to the people of Great Britain and the Commonwealth, and to place the full stop at what is certainly, for most people, the end of an era.

* At time of writing.

(https://i.postimg.cc/PrNkkcGR/norman-castle.png)
Part Two: The Fallen Crown: New World Rising

"No-one would have believed, in the sixth decade of the eleventh century, that English affairs were being watched from the shores of France. Few men even considered the possibility of an attack by the Vikings. And yet, across the English Channel, military minds immeasurably superior to theirs watched that island with envious eyes, and slowly, and surely, they drew their plans against them."

(With apologies to H.G. Wells and Jeff Wayne)

Chapter I: Under the French Heel, Part One
Ruled Britannia: The Third, and Final,  Conquest of Britain

If there is one date, or at least one year every school kid in Britain knows, it's 1066. That was, of course, the year of the famous Battle of Hastings, in which not only English but European life changed forever. The Crown of Wessex, as already detailed the last time we stepped into the history of England, had fallen, and though for a short time others such as the House of Godwin and the House of Denmark carried on, there was about to be a seismic event which would change English politics, policy and the lives of every Englishman and Englishwoman, and in the process both give rise to an enduring hero of legend, and more practically, change the shape of Europe, and even further afield, leaving its mark on the western world for all time. In some ways, you could say that though the Vikings failed to conquer Britain in the eighth and ninth centuries, they did eventually manage it, and more completely than they could ever have hoped to do. By then, though, they had settled in France and become known by another name: the Normans.

The future Kings of England, who would rule unopposed in pretty much an unbroken line for another six hundred years, traced their claim to the throne back to a - mostly disputed, never proven - promise that William, Duke of Normandy,  would be made king on the death of Edward, an assurance supposedly given by Harold Godwinson, who then tried the throne out for size and thought "You know, this ain't bad. Fuck that William. May I may be shot through the eye with an arrow before any damned frog sits on this throne!" Right. Anyway, you've read about that in the previous chapter, haven't you? But before we get to that broken (if ever made) promise and what it meant for England, and wider Europe, just who the damned hell were these Normans? Oh, glad you asked.

Pirates to Princes: The Rise of the Normans

As everyone knows, and as I've already told you, the Normans were the descendants of those jolly old folk, everyone's favourite raiders, five stars in Rape and Pillage Monthly and beloved of shipwrights, the Vikings. Having somewhat failed to hammer down the English like their poster boy, Thor, god of thunder, the Vikings had, in the early tenth century, decided to seek easier pickings to the east. Not very far east, just a hop over the English Channel where they said "Bonjour! Vous est morte!" or something and began harrying the French. They could not have really been expecting an easy conquest, and Vikings generally went where they thought they could pick a decent fight. True, if they could just slaughter and carry off treasure, then that was sehr gut, or something, and Lindisfarne and other monasteries along the coast of England provided them with little to no resistance. But Vikings were at heart warriors, and there's nothing really brave or particularly honourable about slaying men who wore dresses and shrieked like girls from the barest flesh wound, a simple cut deep into the shoulder and through bone, the kind of thing no self-respecting Viking would allow him to stop raping, pillaging and plundering to take care of. Doctor? What's that?

In France, they got the fight they had been craving. Many of them, in fact. Although they folded like umbrellas a millennium later when Hitler's wehrmacht rolled over Europe, at this time there were few fighting machines like the French one, and one thing they loved to do was defend their towns and cities, especially the jewel of la belle france. So when heavily-armed Vikings came sailing up the Seine, they shouted "Non!" and gave them what for. So much so, in fact, that really, the Vikings never managed to conquer France, and had to end up settling there with the permission of the French king. And most of that was probably down to these two.
(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d6/Coronation_of_King_Odo.jpg/440px-Coronation_of_King_Odo.jpg)
Odo (857 - 898)

You've got to love the French. They had three kings, all succeeding one another, all called Charles, so rather than give them numerals, as later became the trend, they identified them by their, ah, characteristics. So we had Charles the Bald being succeeded by Charles the Simple and then Charles the Fat. Oh, and there was also Hugh the Abbot, who was, well, an abbot. Of course he was. Was there a Charles the Costello? No of course there wasn't; don't be silly. Okay, he was never king, just regent. Oh, and Odo's father was Robert the Strong. And for you Star Trek fans, no, he wasn't called Odo the Shapeshifter. Wrong journal. Originally the Count of Paris, he was crowned king after the Siege of the capital, in which he drove back the Viking invaders.

The Siege of Paris (885 - 886)

It should probably be understood that at this time the Kingdom of Francia was not France, but was in fact the territory of the Franks, and encompassed what would become France, also Germany and part of Italy. Most, in fact, so far as I can see, of Western Europe, with the exception of Spain and Portugal. In 843 West Francia became a separate kingdom, which would evolve in time into France, and Paris was its capital city. In 845 the Vikings reached Paris for the first time, and attacked it, eventually sacking the city. How they carried a whole city away in sacks is something historians still debate to this day, but the French (we'll just call them that for handiness' sake, all right? I know they were the West Francians or Franks or whatever, but this is easier) decided that the Seine was too easy a conduit for those big longships to sail up and menace their beloved capital, so Odo's father, Robert the Strong, started having bridges built across the river, thus impeding Viking progress up the Seine and also making of them something of a target.

When Robert fell in battle in 866, his son Odo was made Count of Paris, and when Charles the Bald died in 877 he was succeeded by the other Charles, the fat one, who had barely had time to get comfortable on the throne before those annoying Vikings were back, shouting and halloooing and attacking up the river again. This time though, they meant business, and they weren't going to be driven away by a few poxy bridges. Some say they had 700 ships, but those who hadn't drunk too much wine thought it more like 300, still a big fleet and sure to put the willies up any Frenchman seeing them sailing up the Seine, shouting and hallooing and, you know.
(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/08/NorthmenBarques.jpg/340px-NorthmenBarques.jpg)
As Count of Paris, Odo undertook the city's defence, and though outnumbered (even 300 ships would have carried about 15,000 men, and he had barely 200 at his command) he managed to drive them back. The Vikings had by now settled on a form of protection racket, where they arrived in a town or city and promised not to burn it to the ground and kill every living soul if they were paid off. It was called tribute back then, but it's the same principle as "ooops! Now look what you made me do!" that helped gangs to terrorise shop-keepers in the next few centuries. Anyway, Odo told them where they could stick their requests for a payoff, and possibly after enquiring whether he had anything to do with the All-Father, his name being so similar and all, and if so, could he put in a good word with Odin to aid them in their quest to burn Paris to the ground, the Vikings withdrew and set up a siege.

They mined the river (how did they work if they were on it? Oh right: they had camped on the other side of it. Still, they'd have to go out on it if they wanted to renew their attack. Seems a little self-destructive, possibly literally so). Hold on just one wench-chasing, axe-wielding, tankard-emptying minute son! How did they mine? This was the 9th century! What kind of explosives were available in the 9th century? I'll tell you what kind: none. But the account just says they mined the river, so who am I to question? Though I do. Get no answer to my question however. Bloody typical. Anyway, they used siege engines, catapults and sneering sarcasm probably, but nothing would induce the French to surrender. The city was probably unable to support a bribe, not when they had a king called Charles the Fat, and also knew what happened to those who gave in to the Vikings. So they fought on. The Vikings used battering rams and fire, but the French had a secret weapon: a cross! Yes, the Bishop of Paris planted a crucifix in the outer defences and called on all Christian men to resist the heathen invader. That'd show 'em!

The siege continued on into Christmas and the New Year, the Vikings trying everything to gain access, including shoring up the shallow part of the river with dead bodies (kind of lends new meaning to "close the wall up with our English dead", doesn't it?) but to no avail. They even had a shot at sending burning ships - the dreaded "fireships" - against the wooden bridge, but the damn things sank before they reached the structure, thanks Olaf the Lazy Shipwright! Odin, however, must have been bored, because he took an interest and sent rain that swelled the river and wrecked the bridge. Down it came and in came the Vikings. Go for it, lads! And they did. Seeing their plight was now somewhat up a certain creek without a certain instrument, Odo sent men to Charles, looking for reinforcements. They arrived, but after marching from Germany were too shagged to do any fighting, and sat down for a breather, no doubt to the massed mocking laughter of men who had wrestled ice giants in legend and drank the ocean possibly.

However, they weren't laughing by April, when one of the leaders declared "Fuck this lads, I'm bollocksed with all this sieging. Vikings weren't meant to siege. In and out, hit 'em fast and hard, fuck off back home, that's for me. Hell with this. Who wants their city anyway? Only full of pox-ridden whores, mimes and snooty Frenchmen. I don't really fancy eating frog's legs for the rest of my life, do you?" And with that, he was gone. But it wasn't all roses for the French either. As it tends to do when food runs low and sanitation is at best basic, disease began to break out in the city and the poor old bishop snuffed it. Odo decided to head to Old Fatso's palace, asking for more help. Charles' attendants looked on with horror as the big fat bastard agreed, envisioning the block and tackle and sheer disregard for physics it was going to take to get the king on his horse (his horse would not have been too pleased either) but somehow they managed it and off they went. They attacked and fought their way into the city, turned and mounted its defence.

Realising, as fresh armies arrived in the summer, that there was no way they were getting into Paris without wearing a tie and being on the guest list, the remaining Viking leader, Rollo, of whom we will hear more presently, gave up and, allowed by the king to head up the Seine to attack Burgundy - a handy way of putting down a pesky revolt that had erupted there - he eventually paid him off, (Odo possibly thinking "what the fuck did you do that for? I could have paid him and saved all those lives but I didn't, and now you just fork over the cash? Just wait till I'm king you fat...") but either way, the important thing was that the almost year-long siege was over. And more importantly, Paris had not fallen.

As part of the story of how Odo then became king, it's amusing to chronicle what happened to Charles the Fat. After he paid off the Vikings he was persona non grata (or possibly persona gras, sorry) in the capital, and fell out of favour. When he tried to have his bastard son Bernard made the legitimate heir to the throne in 885, the bishops, to a man, said oh no you fucking don't pal. No fat bastard - excuse our French - will sit on the throne of France while we have breath in our bodies. Unfortunately for them, their boss, Pope Hadrian III, declared that he would recognise the kid, and as long as he had breath in his body nobody would dare to defy him. Then suddenly he had no breath in his body, as, on the way to sort out the bishops and proclaim Bernard the Bastard as the new king, he sort of died (doesn't say whether this was of natural causes, an accident or whether some disgruntled bishop slipped deadly nightshade into his wine or something) and put a real crimp in Charles' plans. Would it be unfair and unkind to mention he was on the way to Worms, but before he got there ended up as future food for worms? It would? Tough. You should know me by now, and if you still don't then just get used to it: this is how I roll.

Quote from: jimmy jazz on Apr 21, 2024, 09:41 PMTrolls, I haven't read the whole thing obviously so correct me if you've already answered this, but why have you referred to England as an 'Isle' in the title and why have you used the Union Jack as the flag?

Hmm. Isle because it's an island (well, Britain is) and I'm also quoting some unremarkable and forgotten poet called Shakespeare on it.

"This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England."
Richard II, Act 2, Scene 1

Also, "this sceptred isle - apart from to the north and that bit on the west, think they call it Wales" doesn't hang the same ring to it. ;)

The Union Jack just more or less stands for the English flag, though I know you'll correct me and tell me it's the British flag. Meh, it just looks better. I know it should be the flag of St. George or whatever; just allow me my little bit of artistic licence, if you will.

Hopefully you will read this journal though, cos your country's history is fucking fascinating, and I'm really enjoying researching it.

(https://media.tenor.com/r50oqaHtmwYAAAAC/you-lucky-lucky-bastard-life-of-brian-you-lucky-bastard.gif)
Another who supported the legitimisation of Bernard was a Benedictine monk called Notker the Stammerer, but nobody paid him any attention, as you could never tell what he was saying. In fact (drum roll) you could say that they did Not ker about his views! Ba-tish! Yeah, well anyway, Charles continued to try to circumvent the fact that he had no actual legitimate children by attempting to cook the books, inserting the word proles (offspring) into the charters, but nobody was fooled. Specially as he did it in blue biro possibly. He then chummed up to Hadrian's successor, Pope Stephen V, but though he agreed to meet him the new pope pulled out at the last minute, possibly claiming he was washing his cassock or something. Charles then plumped for adoption, making Louis of Provence his heir for some reason, but Pope Stephen wagged his finger and said no way pal, not blessing that line of succession!
(https://media.tenor.com/mgb9goqjNFEAAAAC/nope-american-dad.gif)
All this bumbling and fumbling around, trying desperately to get someone to carry on your dynasty, from a man who had never been a great king anyway (well, great in the sense of being fat, but it's widely reported most if not all of his crowns fell to him without any real effort, and he never waged any proper war or got his nose bloodied like any self-respecting monarch) people began to look elsewhere for an heir. Odo headed down to his palace in 887, and may have been confirmed heir there. Either way, there was trouble a-plenty at Chez Charles, as he first accused his wife of infidelity. Having proven her innocence through trial by fire, she quite rightly told him where he could stick it and sodded off to a nunnery. Then he pounced on his hated enemy, Liutward his archchancellor, first minister and also bishop of Vercelli, with whom he had accused his - now proven innocent and convent-bound - wife of having an affair. Nobody liked him, so it was not any hardship to kick his ass out of court. Which he did. Probably with relish. He then replaced him with Liutbert, which really makes me think it was just the archchancellor wearing a funny wig. I mean, come on!
(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/94/46/94/94469476e6b50b75749ab5eb5891c49a.gif)
Proof that he was either desperate or losing it, or both, surfaces when you realise that Louis II, Louis of Provence, whom he wished now to make his heir, was, well, blind, as evidenced by that quaint French custom of naming someone after their main trait, so he was called Louis the Blind. Blind drunk? No, just blind. I wonder what they would have called me? Trollheart the Arsehole, probably. Anyway I digress. Adding to old Fat Boy's woes, one of his nephews decided he fancied the throne and went to war against him. History doesn't record what happened, but it probably involved a lot of huffing and puffing on Charles' part, a sort of "hold on till I get my breath, would you, there's a good lad" and stuff like that. In the end, to nobody's surprise, and probably not even his own, he was deposed, and that was that.

His fall wrecked the Frankish empire, as claimants and challengers to this and that throne popped up all over the place, and the empire disintegrated into separate kingdoms and countries, one of which became West Francia and later France. Which brings us back to our mate Odo.

Elected as the new king of that new country, he went about tearing the Vikings a new one, but as ever, heavy rests the head or something, and yet another Charles wanted to be king. Simple. Yeah. Charles the Simple. Doesn't sound like the kind of guy you want sitting on the throne, does it? I don't know if his title meant simple in the way of the brain, or that he was an uncomplicated man. Tell you what: let's find out, shall we? Well he was also called Charles the Straightforward, so I think we're looking more at a sort of direct, Meerkat Market sort of simple than the drooling, idiotic smile variety. Charles is however important, so we will come back to him very shortly. Meanwhile, Odo was crowned in 888 and would rule for ten years, though as I say his reign would be marred by his struggle against Charles.

In fact, I can't see that he had that great a time after saving Paris. He ended up looking for the support of the king of East Francia, Arnulf, but he must have insulted his wife or his wine or something (Frenchman, more likely the wine) as Arnulf instead threw his lot in with Charles, and Odo was forced to concede territory on the Seine to him. He had battled Arnulf for three years, and on the fourth he died, in 898. That left the throne Charles' for the taking. And he took.
(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/54/Rouget_-_Charles_III_of_France.jpg)

Charles III, Charles the Simple (879 - 929)

We've already spoken a little about him above, but here are some more funny facts. He was preceded by - wait for this - Louis the Child, who wasn't a child. Though he was when he ascended the throne - probably with a bit of a bump-up from someone; he was only six, and died at eighteen. What a bummer. What did he die of? He died of a Tuesday. No, seriously, let's see. Died of terminal depression, it says here. Wow. If an eighteen-year old king can die of depression, how many of his subjects must have kicked the bucket? Anyway enough about him, as he's really not important except for me to point a finger and laugh at. Back to Charles the Simple. His dad was another stammerer, Louis the Stammerer - was he king? Yes. Yes he was, and by all accounts, though not a man to make waves or any impact of any sort, you kind of can't argue with the words of Herman Munster, sorry Sebastian Munster that  "he was a sweet and simple man, a lover of peace, justice and religion."

Oh for the love of - another child! This time Charles the Child, whom Louis succeeded as King of Aquitaine. He also died at age 18, though not from depression, unless you count being depressed by having been hit in the head by a sword while fooling around in mock combat with your own men! The incident left him a little doolally, and he passed away in 866. But as for Charles the Simple, well, he was destined to make his mark on history. Hey, at least he had a mother with a decent name - Adelaide of Paris, because, you know, she was from Paris. In the year 911 (shut up) Paris was again besieged, and again by Rollo, who had come back to finish the job. After Charles had kicked his arse he decided to negotiate with Rollo, and granted him all the land between the river Epte and the sea, and the Duchy of Brittany, naming it all as the new Duchy of, you guessed it, Normandy. Anyone singing "Pass the Dutchie" can leave right now, I'm serious. We don't need your kind here. Where was I? Oh yeah.  In return for this grant, Rollo and all his men were to swear fealty to France, and he himself was to be baptised as a Christian and take Charles' daughter Gisela as his wife.

It was quite clever of Charles to grant Rollo and the Vikings-soon-to-be-Normans the Duchy of Brittany (yeah, you can go too. You! The one singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time"! Out!), as this was at the time an independent kingdom he had been trying without success to conquer. Now all he had to do was sit back and let his new Viking/Norman allies conquer it for him. Well, for them, but it amounted to the same thing. That year, 911,  is also the one in which our friend Louis the Child comes, briefly, back into the picture. With his death, the East Francians elected him king, as they didn't fancy Conrad I. Well, this is not quite true. Bloody fragmented kingdoms within fragmented kingdoms! Right. Lotharingia was part of East Francia, and they were the ones who elected Charles their king, but essentially saw him as king of all East Francia. This didn't bother Conrad too much, not because he didn't care but because he was too busy fighting off claims to his throne, and not only from Charles, but within his own kingdom. So in one way - probably a very wrong way - you could make a very tentative case for Charles the Simple, being technically but not really king of both East and West Francia as being the first actual king of all of France. But you'd be wrong. Also it didn't last. After Conrad kicked it, it looks like Saxons or some form of Germans anyway took East Francia, and it then either became Germany or was subsumed into it.

Despite six tries, our Charles just couldn't muster up a son - daughter, daughter, daughter, daughter, daughter... hold on, hold on! Could it be? Is it poss - nah. Another daughter - so like kings everywhere at that time he blamed it on his wife and dumped her to marry another woman, this time the daughter of an English king. English gels knew how to do it right, and out popped an heir, first time of asking. Jolly good show! This boy would go on to rule as Louis IV, but I don't think he was one of the Bourbon dynasty kings, the likes of Louis the Sun King XIV and zut alors! Where's me head Louis XVII, and since I'm not writing the history of France (yet!) I don't really care.

A sad end really for Charles. His own brother Robert marched against him, with the backing of the nobles who had really got pissed off at him for doling out land that was theirs by right, and though Robert was killed in the ensuing battle, Charles was captured and died in prison in 921. Not a very fitting way to end your reign, even if it was a simple one.

But one thing Charles would always be remembered for was for the basic creation of the Norman state, which would go on to cause such misery and hardship in England (and, by extension, Ireland, Scotland and Wales) but which would also fundamentally change Europe and most of the western world.

(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/af/RolloA.jpg/440px-RolloA.jpg)
Rollo (c. 835/87- - 928/933)

All right, let's just get this out of the way, for those of you who have seen Vikings and think "Oh yeah, that's Ragnar's brother!" He wasn't. At least, so far as history can ascertain (and you can see from the dates of his birth and death that there's not even agreement on those), Ragnar may or may not have lived (I think I went into this earlier, pretty sure I did) but if he did, he wasn't around at the same time Rollo was. Rollo can be definitely traced to a proper historical figure though, and so we have a lot more certainty about him than we do about Ragnar. Some facts about him that Vikings got right are that he was a giant of a man, nicknamed "The Walker", as it was said he was too big for any horse to carry, that he did attack Paris (as we've seen above) and was the father of the Norman dynasties. He also contributed to the history of England in a way which will link us back to 1066, if you'll just bear with me.

But to understand the Normans, and why they so easily defeated the English at Hastings, as I said, we have to know more about them, and it starts with Rollo. We've already seen a pencil sketch of him; we know he was a Viking lord who changed tactics from harrying the English to harrying the French (no doubt to a great big "huzzah!" from the English, one they would live to very much retract and regret) and that he besieged Paris. Unable to take it he came to a compromise with Charles the Fat and settled in the area of France (well, West Francia as it was known at the time) which came to be known as Normandy. But they're only the barest bones, so let's put the flesh on this skeleton.

Although he is definitely believed to have come from Scandinavia (duh, historians!) nobody can say for sure if it was Norway or Denmark where he was born. He was referred to as "Rollo the Dane", but then, Dane was a general catch-all label for all Vikings that Europeans used, regardless of their country of birth (which they were unlikely to have known anyway; it's not like they would ask, as they fended off a blow from a huge axe with a shield, "By the way, where was it you said you came from again?") so that's no proof of anything. There does seem to be evidence to suggest he was chased, harried out of or exiled from Scandinavia though, and the first time contemporary history picks him up is attacking Paris in that siege. There are other accounts, but you know historians: two or three corroborating sources at least please, or we're not interested.

So whatever he did before arriving on the shores of France is mostly unknown, and kind of unimportant anyway, as it is really from the time he became a Norman - the first, you could say - that we're interested in him. So what happened after Charles said to him "That bit there, down to there, that bit, that, you might have to fight for that bit, they don't like me and I haven't been able to subdue them but I'm sure you could. Oh, and that bit too. But not that one. That's mine."? We know Rollo was baptised and became a Christian, and that he then took the daughter of the king for his wife. Before this, there is an account of him carrying off the daughter of the Count of Rennes (well, what self-respecting Viking - still a Viking at this point, 876 - wouldn't carry off a beautiful woman? Went with the territory) and marrying her, she giving him a son, but our friendly historians believe this may be what they term "quasi-bollocks", meaning it might or might not be true, depending on how many rounds you're prepared to buy.

Stories, too, of his friendship with an English king, originally identified as Alstem, later seemingly confirmed as Athelstan, (look, just don't start, all right? The things that show got wrong...) the Danish leader Guthrun whom Alfred the Great baptised and then renamed. Again, this could be true or just "qb", and again it really doesn't matter, because dial the emergency services or stand outside Ground Zero: 911 is the year we're most interested in, as this becomes Year Zero for the creation of the Norman State.

Once the lands had been granted to him, Rollo (now baptised as Robert, but it doesn't seem like he's ever referred to as anything other than Rollo) decided it was time to put manners on the other Vikings in France and show them who was boss. When Charles the Simple was kicked off the throne though, Rollo thought his deal was over, and so it was hell for leather across West Francia as he pushed the borders of his new realm outwards. Eventually the new king sued for peace, giving Rollo more land. Because of their close connection with the native French, Rollo's descendants clove to the Catholic tradition, one of many reasons why England would become, for almost four hundred years, a Catholic country.

Rollo died, cause unknown, sometime between 923 and 928. His great-great-grandson was called William, and this is where we return, as it were, by a circuitous route, to the end of English rule and the coming of the Normans to England in 1066.

But of course, it wouldn't be like me to just go for Hastings now would it? Of course not. First we need to talk about himself.


(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/34/William_the_Conqueror_%28TFA%29.jpg/440px-William_the_Conqueror_%28TFA%29.jpg)
William I, aka William the Conqueror (1028 - 1087)

The man who would change English politics and start a dynasty that would last centuries lost his father early, when the Duke of Normandy, Robert I (also known humbly as Robert the Magnificent) died on the way back from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1035. Before departing, Robert had declared William his heir, and extracted from all his nobles a promise to uphold his claim, therefore WIlliam became Duke on the death of his father at the tender age of seven years. There's no such thing, so far as I know, as a regent for a duke, so though he was far too young to rule, William had to take on the job. He did however have allies, in Archbishop Robert, his great-uncle, and the king himself, Henry I. Things took a turn for the worse though when Robert died in 1037, and the duchy descended into anarchy.

William fell under the protection of various guardians, including Alan of Brittany and Gilbert of Brionne, and others, all summarily slain as the young duke's enemies tried to get to him. He eventually had to seek the protection of the king, but when grown he returned with him in 1047 and retook Normandy, defeating his enemies. He spent five years hunting them down and consolidating his power, but then that power became just a little too consolidated for the king's liking, and, fearing the power the young duke was building up in Normandy, Henry teamed up with his enemies against William. William proved himself an able commander and a charismatic leader, resulting in some of his former enemies joining him against Henry (turnabout is, after all, fair play) and his battle finally came to an end when both the king and his main ally Geoffrey of Anjou died in 1060.

In 1049 William had married Matilda of Flanders, cementing his alliance with Germany, though His Holiness Pope Leo IX, for some reason, refused to allow the marriage. He went ahead anyway, sort of taking a future page from one of his successors, Henry VIII, though he stopped short of creating his own Church.

Eve of the, um, Battle

It's always struck me as odd that a simple duke should decide to invade England. Was this not the prerogative of the king? Was it not kings who invaded and tried to take crowns from other kings? I suppose it's quite possible that if you look through history there have been some instances of other nobles invading foreign countries, but I would have thought that would have been a prelude to their king coming over and sitting on the throne? Did the French king give his blessing to, or even permission for, such a huge and potentially world-changing action? Who was even king at this time? Let's see. Hmm. Philip I is shown as being "king of the Franks" but there's no reference to his being involved in William's campaign. I suppose it's possible he had other things to worry about. William probably didn't feel he owed him any real fealty anyway, as Normandy was essentially all but a separate state, and powerful, so maybe Philip just let him go his own way. I'll try to research that a bit further later, because I find it strange. Would, for instance, say maybe Cnut or Alfred the Great allowed one of their dukes or barons to boogie over to France and try to take the crown? Sounds unlikely.

Then again, perhaps given the story that William had been promised the English crown, his boss thought maybe it gave him that right. Perhaps Philip was too busy fighting (or, considering his suffix, "the amorous", engaged in other activities) and just said "Sure if he promised ye the crown, you go and take it like a good man there, and leave me alone." Why he should have suddenly gained a Dublin accent we will never know. But there is no mention of him, whether he approved, disapproved or was totally oblivious to the ambitions of the Duke of Normandy, and it does appear, on the surface anyway, that he just left him to it.

Winding our way across the Channel and back to Merry Old England, it will possibly be remembered that we left the country in a state very much other than merry, as King Harold Godwinson was somewhat less than secure on the English throne, having in total three claimants to the Crown, one of which was his own half-brother. Four, in fact, if you include Edward Atheling, though he was only fourteen at the time. Tostig, the other brother, had been exiled, and we'll have a shufty at him in a moment. The third claimant, as already discussed in the previous chapter, was the king of Norway, Harold Bastard Hard, I mean Harold Hardrada. He had made an agreement with his uncle, King Magnus, that should Harthacnut die without an heir, then his son would take the crown, but should Magnus do the same, then his heir would be next in line for the throne.

It's been almost a year, and I'm getting a little confused, so let's recap on all these people and sort things out before we go any further.

First, Harthacnut: as everyone knows (and if you didn't know, then you would from his name) he was the son of Cnut, one of the wisest and longest-reigning kings of England, and the first ever Viking one. Harthacnut succeeded to the throne on the death of his half-brother Harold Harefoot, who had come to power after the great Cnut had passed away, he being his son by Aelfgifu, and Harthcnut being busy with trying to establish control in Norway. When Harold died, Harthacnut returned and took the throne, but only lasted seven years, dying, it appears, of terminal alcohol poisoning at a wedding.

Next up was Edward the Confessor, and he died childless, having decided to take a vow of chastity, which kind of threw the succession into chaos. They really needn't have worried, as William was on his way to sort out all their problems for them and take away forever the burden of ruling England. But anyway it was his brother, son of the late great Earl Godwin, and last of the Anglo-Saxon kings, did he but know it, Harold II, known as Harold Godwinson, who became his heir. Harold had to fight off an attempt by his namesake with different spelling, King Harald of Norway, then, having kicked his arse, may have thought, this French William will be a piece of cake. Shoot out my eye if - oh wait: I've done that one, haven't I?

So for whatever reason he was allowed, ignored or just went anyway, William decided the time was ripe to cash in on that "IOU 1 crowne of ye Englishe" and headed west, with a rather large army. His wife may have complained about not wanting to live in such a miserable rainy country, but history records his reply as "I'll give you miserable, you moaning old..." (the rest of the manuscript has sadly been lost to the ravages of time) and Hastings-bound he came.

Well I disagree with it obviously (and plenty of Welsh and Scots would too), it's part of an island but it's your journal. It just stood out to me cos that and the flag are pretty significant bits of information given the subject of the journal.

I will give it a read mate 👍

You can disagree with me but not with the Bard!  :laughing:  :laughing:
I definitely take your point about the flag, though it's probably fair to say that those who aren't Welsh, Scottish or even Irish just look on the UJ as being the English flag, right or wrong.

(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/f/f8/Norman-conquest-1066.svg/840px-Norman-conquest-1066.svg.png)
Back to Harald we go. No, the other one. When he came over from Norway to kick the son of the Earl of Godwin (Godwinson, get it?) off the just-vacant English throne, he brought with him another enemy of the then-king, but paradoxically also a claimant, so not quite sure how that worked. Tostig has already been mentioned, Harold's brother whom he exiled from England, but who believed he jolly well had just as much a right to the crown as his sibling, dash it all, and decided to support the Norwegian king, perhaps in the hope he might be granted a duchy or a baronetcy or some damn title with a lot of land anyway. Okay, let's unpack this.

Tostig had come with his army to take the throne but had been driven off by his brother, and instead decided to head north, where there were always arses to kick. Unfortunately, these arses kicked back, so to speak, and Tostig was harried by the Earls of Mercia and Northumbria, and he lost most of his men. He decided to go to Scotland and lick his wounds, and maybe see if he couldn't scare up some support there. The Scots were always on for a fight, after all, and there was little they hated more than the English. Of course, he was English too, so there was that. As it went, King Harald, the Norwegian one, was cooling his heels on the south coast, looking at his watch and wondering where the hell this WIlliam character was, said to meet him on the south coast 1066, and here it was and no sign of him. It was then that his men came to him and said "Look Your Majesty, we'd love to stay and die horribly in your service, get mutilated and maimed for life all to get you this throne your heart seems set on, but the thing is, we're militia, see, and, well, we have these crops that need to be harvested." So off they went to return to a much safer life as farmers (unless you happened to get in the way of the local lord, who might just that morning have arisen with an insatiable desire to mow down farmers, the things these lords get up to, I don't know) and Harald was kind of left armyless.

So he moseyed on up north, which seemed to be the in-place to go, where he met a rather despondent Tostig. "How many men you got?" he asked him possibly over a few pints of good dark ale (or, being the north, possibly grey ale, and also possibly not good). "Not much," belched Harald maybe. "A mere 300 ships, no more than 15,000 men." Tostig may have grinned and the two may even have clinked glasses, who knows? "That'll do for me," it's possible Tostig may have said, having perhaps spent too long among northerners, and so they banded together and went to kick the king out of the royal palace. As for William, well, Harald may have thought philosophically, he may turn up, he may not, but this guy has an army here and now, and I'll be buggered if I'm spending another season pulling my dick in this cold climate waiting for him.

At York, at the end of September, Tostig was able to have his revenge on the two earls, whom he and his new ally sent running like girls maybe as they roundly defeated them at the Battle of Fulford. Had they waited for Harold Godwinson, who had texted ahead saying there was heavy traffic on the A40 maybe, they might have triumphed, but as ever in English politics (and not just English of course) nobody trusted anybody else, and the two earls thought maybe Harold would set Tostig up as Earl of Northumbria. The other earl, Edwin of Mercia, may have shrugged that that would suck, but what had it to do with him, and may have been answered by the reminder that there was also a Norwegian bastard involved, who might fancy Edwin's earldom. So stung into action, the two decided fuck Harold, we can take these two pussies.

They were wrong.

So when Harold did finally huff and puff his way up the motorway he found his allies nothing more than a rapidly-receding cloud of dust, with Harald and Tostig there going "Now, about this throne." They met at Stamford Bridge, and in true Chelsea home style, there was a massacre. 2-0 to the English king as he not only defeated Tostig and Harald, but killed them both. The exertion, however, left his forces depleted, and all he could probably think was that this would be the worst time for, say, an attack to come from across the sea.

He had barely a month to wait.

Of course, I'm sure we all understand well enough that it wasn't as if William texted Harold - "You, me, Hastings. Be there." In fact, neither probably had any idea where the decisive battle would be, and like any king (or in this case, duke, but soon to be king) landing on foreign shores he was invading, William had a lot of raiding and harrying and possibly raping to do as well before he got to grips with his enemy. His power had obviously grown by now, and I don't know whether you could call him the de facto king of France, but he was certainly able to muster men from Flanders, Brittany and other parts of France to fight for him, and though as ever historians disagree over the size of his force, it's generally accepted to have been somewhere between the 7,000 and 10,000 mark. Hard to be sure, as contemporary historians and present ones never get on: if they see each other at your local, watch out and hold onto your pint. Naturally, those on William's side would have been exaggerating to make him look more of a threat than he was, but it's never possible to be sure. So we stick with this range.

Doesn't seem that huge really. King Harald only brought about 15,000, and his army was considered large. Well, as they say, it's often not how big it is but where you stick it, and William stuck it to the English. Let's not forget Harold's men were also shagged out after the Battle of Stamford Bridge, and a fresh army with a duke eyeing his crown was really the last thing he needed right now. Right now though, was exactly when William came, and he landed in England only a few days after the battle, Harold's army limping home and looking forward to putting their feet up with a cuppa and a copy of Soldier Times or whatever. Sussex was where he made his invasion, setting up a wooden castle (huh?) at Hastings and using it as a base for attack. Since this was Harold's stomping ground, the idea was to lure him there by wrecking everything around, levelling his relative's castles and basically causing shit all through the neighbourhood till the king came to ask them nicely to keep it down if they wouldn't mind, there were people trying to sleep, and Mildred at number ten had a newborn that just would not fucking stop crying.

But when he got the e-vite that was it, and it would be rude not to respond, so off he went to Hastings. He set up defensive camp on Saulac Hill, hoping to surprise William, but the duke's scouts were out and about and had probably recognised Harold due to the crown on his head or something. Anyway, they legged it back to tell their master the English ruler was on the way, and William rode out to meet them. It was October 14 1066, the day everything changed for England. In a stunning piece of irony, those little quirks history is wont to throw up from time to time, the place where the battle actually took place was called, um, Battle. It still is, and I assumed it had been renamed for the famous confrontation, but it seems it has always had that name. So in effect, it wasn't really the Battle of Hastings, but then, the Battle of Battle 1066 would just be silly, wouldn't it?

Anyway the battle lasted pretty much all day, and as you know, I don't do all this battlefield historians shite; not interested in who made a pincer movement or who cut off who from their forces, who took this flag or that ridge or any of that bollocks. But I'll see what I can pick out from the details, see if there is anything I should be writing and telling you about. Okay, I see there was a rumour started that William had been killed, and the army began to panic and retreat, the English pushing forward until the man himself appeared, shouting rather unnecessarily that he was alive, and led the counter-offensive as the English wet themselves and fled. Incredible as it may seem to us, but perhaps a totally English thing (and observed by the French too) the two armies appear to have broken for afternoon tea, taking a rest and getting their strength back. Bah! Wouldn't have happened at El Alamein, I can tell you that!

Nevertheless, once Harold went down that was that. Again with the differing accounts, but whether it's the truth or just the accepted one, the later Bayeux Tapestry has the famous drawing of the king being shot in the eye by an arrow and thus being killed. That may not be the case, but it's passed down into legend and popular history, and who am I to dispute it? Although some of his men rallied around the king's corpse and fought to the end, as in most battles, once the leader is slain the army is out of here, and so they were. William had won the day, and the last English king had bit the dust. A lot of long-winded explanations and theories over how and why William triumphed, but they seem to be mostly centred on the English attacking when they should have been defending (Newcastle United anyone?), being fooled by the feigned retreats the Normans pulled off during the battle, only to be led into an attack, and their lack of cavalry, which would always remain one of the Normans' biggest advantages.

A decisive and stirring victory it may have been, and indeed the beginning of the end for English rule, but if William thought the country was going to fold like a pack of cards and meekly accept a frog as their new sovereign, well, he was about to find out he was in error.
(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/87/Edgar_the_%C3%86theling.jpg)
Edgar Atheling (1052 - 1125 or possibly later)

We've heard of him before. He was the son of Edgar the Exile who, once his exile was over, returned to England only to earn a new name: Edgar the Dead. With so many powerful claims to the throne on the death of Edward the Confessor, and he being so young, still in his teens, at the time, Edgar Atheling was not really considered a runner, and Harold Godwinson was crowned instead. When Harold fell, and William began his march towards London in order to take the crown that was possibly rightfully his but never mind if it wasn't, he had won it by right of combat, the English elected Edgar as king. He never ruled though. In Southwark he fought with the English for control of London Bridge, unable to gain access to the city, he expected to encounter only token resistance at the bridge, but one of the leaders of the defenders, a man called Ansgar (or Esegar), the sheriff of Middlesex, had been with Harold at Hastings, and had returned to Southwark to organise its defence.

William, somewhat nonplussed to see such a force arrayed against him - even the townsfolk were armed and joined the effort - offered Ansgar the sheriffship under his rule if he would submit to him, but Ansgar told him where to stick it and they attacked. You have to give it to this guy: he was so badly wounded he had to be carried around in a litter, and had been offered pretty generous terms by the victorious duke, soon to be his king. If he recognised him not only would he be allowed retain his lands, but he could also have a seat on the council. Now, you can't say fairer than that, can you? But England doesn't like invaders, especially ones who rub out their kings, and so there was no compromise.

It's possible those two earls, he of Mercia and the other of Northumbria, were there defending the town too, and though William's cavalry broke through, they faced such stiff opposition that they could not hold the bridge, so they set it ablaze, and Southwark was virtually razed to the ground. London continued to put up stiff resistance until the clergy, convinced by William that they should concede, swore their fealty and he was allowed enter the city. He was crowned the first Norman king of England on Christmas Day.

His first few years, however, were far from easy or peaceful. England had been battered into submission, with the only real alternative to William - now known forever more as "the Conqueror" - being the weak and ineffectual and inexperienced Edgar Atheling, and really nobody wanted to rally behind him. When William returned to Normandy in March though, the English took their chance and revolted here there and everywhere, leaving his half-brother Odo, (so far as I'm aware. no relation to he of the defence of Paris the previous century) and his partner, William Fitzosbern with rebellions to put down, which they did. William was back at the end of the year and took a hand in suppressing the revolts himself, the great strength of his policy being what would become a feature of Norman conquest, not only in England and Ireland but everywhere: he built castles and installed garrisons there, so that there was no chance of rebels getting too uppity again. If they did, there was a ready-made force there to take care of them.

But then there were rebellions and there were rebellions, and one definitely demanded his own personal attention.

The Harrying of the North: No Mercy from the Normans

In late 1069 the north rose. To almost paraphrase and parallel Game of Thrones, winter was coming and the north had united behind Edgar. I don't know if they proclaimed him "King in the North" or anything - most likely not; they'd have wanted him to have been recognised and acknowledged as king of all England - but they rallied and stood against William, still more or less at this point seen as an invader. England - and Ireland - would of course have cause to hate and revile the word Norman over the next few hundred years, even more than it had hated the word French. What became known as "the harrying of the north" was only the beginning.

(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/82/Map_of_Northern_England.png/440px-Map_of_Northern_England.png)

Up to now, I've held the view of the English that they were the sworn enemies of France, but Wikipedia tells me this rivalry didn't really develop between the two countries until much later, culiminating in fact in the Hundred Years War (1337 - 1453), one of the major battles of which was of course that of Agincourt, where Henry V booted French bottom and neutralised most of their nobles. Returning to choruses of "Hoorah!" for the most unlikely victory since Reading kicked Manchester United out of the FA Cup, he was adored by his subjects, but the French never forgot and so began the hatred between both. Maybe.

Look, that might account for the official, sanctioned establishment of the "auld enemy", but I have to believe that the ordinary folk started hating the French a lot sooner, like once William got confortable on their throne and started issuing edicts and levying taxes left, right and centre, and sending helpful bands of soldiers out with burning torches to ensure those who didn't pay the taxes paid in other ways, or just when he was bored.

Since there was no actual English king now to raise any objections, you could probably say with some degree of truthfulness that England was more or less a French possession now, an occupied territory, though that occupation would be one of the longest in history, lasting over half a millennium. So no state reaction, sure, but as anyone who has watched any version of the adventures of Robin Hood (of whom we will speak much more later) can tell you, the poor English common man fucking hated the French, and it has to be from here that any sort of enmity grew for those "frog-eating, slimy, snail-bothering sons of degenerate Vikings" (the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, just prior to being burned by William possibly). After all, if your country is invaded, conquered and then ruled by people who treat you as slaves and work and tax you into oblivion, how can you not hate them? Have you ever been to Ireland?

I suppose at this point it might be helpful to explain what "the north" comprised at the time. Borders and boundaries would be redrawn during William's reign, but at the time of his accession to the throne the north was Yorkshire, Durham, Northumberland, Lancashire, Cumberland and Westmorland (see map above). Many of these places, you may remember, had been part of Danelaw, and occupied by Vikings in the time of Alfred and Aethelred and so on, and they had little taste to bend the knee to a French king. They possibly saw their Norman cousins as Vikings who had submitted themselves to France, and were no longer worthy of the warrior race. Or maybe they just didn't like William, who knows? Either way, they weren't having it.

One of the main points of contention was the earldom of Northumbria. This area had been a trouble spot since the days of Danelaw, often allying against the king, and by this time it had changed hands three times since the days of Tostig (remember him?). The first had been when a supporter of his, with the unlikely name of Copsi (sounds like a character from Beatrix Potter!) took over, swearing fealty to William, having fought Harold with Harald, as it were, on the side of Tostig at the Battle of Stamford Bridge. But the north was against William, and within weeks of being made the new earl Cosplay sorry Pepsi sorry Copsi was killed, replaced by Osulf, who was in turn murdered and the earldom then bought by his cousin, Cospatrick. Who promptly offered his allegiance to Edgar. And so here we were.

William, having had quite enough of these Anglo-fucking-Saxons and their treachery and treason (there's always an excuse for it) rode to Northumbria and Edgar and Cospatrick and assorted allies all scattered, making a beeline for Scotland, where the king, Malcolm II, always happy to stick it to an English monarch, especially a new one finding his feet, said "Come on in, all o' ye! Sure ye'll find braw shelter at mah hearth, ye ken!" or something. William then solved the problem of the Earldom of Northumbria by conferring it on someone he could trust, a Norman. Job done.

Or not quite. Secure now in his new position, Robert de Comines rode into Durham and swiftly adn brutally learned that the one thing the north did not like was a fucking Frenchman trying to lord it over them. So that was the end of him, and the beginning of a resurgence of the revolt. The rebels then burned York castle, which really ticked William off and he rode back, snarling "That fucking castle cost me a lot to build, you English bastards!" And someone may have whispered in his ear so that he added, shrugging "Oh. Right. Yeah. And you killed my newly-appointed earl, too!"

As it often does, rebellion spread, so other towns rose in support of Edgar, who turned to a Viking, Sweyn II, a nephew of Cnut the Great, who was probably none too pleased to see what a pig's breakfast this William head was making of his uncle's ex-kingdom, and sent a large fleet against him. They retook York, but when William came again to make them give it back, they quipped "Didn't want your stupid castle anyway!" and ran back across the border to Scotland. Possibly seeing what a useless wimp this Edgar Atheling was, Sweyn headed back down the coast, William bought him off in the time-honoured fashion and he buggered off back to Denmark with all his ships. You could probably hear the sound as William clapped his gloved gauntlets together and eyed the north.

"Right!" said he, probably. "Now let's sort this fucking place out once and for all!"

And so he did.

The people would remember it forever as the Harrying of the North. Historians would call it genocide. Even later, more sympathetic writers of Norman descent would opine that it was cruel and merciless, but that William had no choice. Basically, it was a slaughter. The Viking blood that pulsed in his  Norman veins was up now, and William had had just about enough of these English. He set to ensuring they would learn their place, would stay there, and would never rise again. Nobody was spared: towns, villages, households; men, women, children, animals, possibly even furry toys - all fell to the sword, the arrow and the fire. The North was set ablaze from border to border, the fires possibly reflected in the eyes of the king and his men as they went about their business like demons from Hell. Well, they wouldn't be demons from anywhere else, would they, but you know what I mean.

An Anglo-Norman chronicler wrote in 1116 of the fury of the king, and how savage - and indeed, unjust - his reprisals were: "The King stopped at nothing to hunt his enemies. He cut down many people and destroyed homes and land. Nowhere else had he shown such cruelty. This made a real change. To his shame, William made no effort to control his fury, punishing the innocent with the guilty. He ordered that crops and herds, tools and food be burned to ashes. More than 100,000 people perished of starvation. I have often praised William in this book, but I can say nothing good about this brutal slaughter. God will punish him."

It may not really have been the best policy. If you're trying to establish your rule on a foreign land, trying to (presumably) create alliances and win allies, torching half of the country is probably not the way to go. Then again, it was only the north. This would, however, instil forever in that half of the country a hatred, resentment and resistance to William's rule which would come back to haunt him. English kings had raided and gone on the rampage before, but not, it would seem, in such an indiscriminate and murderous way. Villages were torched, crops destroyed, livestock killed, the whole land laid waste. In the ensuing and inevitable famine, it was said, with some support, that people turned to cannibalism in order to survive. I don't believe this had happened in England before this, so there's a mark of shame William was never able to remove from his reign.