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Today at 02:51 AM
This randomly popped into my head earlier this evening. From early 2010 so pushing it as far as my original criteria for this thread, but I think it has a very old school internet irreverence to it.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.
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.

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."
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.
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.

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.


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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.
But first...

(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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

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.
Hugh O'Neill and the Nine Years War: Ulster Stands Alone

Banished at an early age from Ulster by Shane O'Neill, who feared his claim to the lordship of Tyrone, Hugh was brought up at the English Court, and was in fact made Earl of Tyrone in absentia. Though he had lived his adolescence in England, Hugh hated the English and their occupation of his native land, and planned a rebellion, which would in fact turn into a war. He waited his chance, and when Shane O'Neill was killed and then succeeded by Turlough Luimneach, he became The O'Neill on Turlough's death in 1595.

When the lord of Fermanagh, Hugh Maguire, fought back against English incursions into his land, he was aided by Red Hugh O'Donnell (no, I don't know why so many people were called Hugh in Ulster: must have been a Nordy thing, as we say here in the south) and eventually he would form an alliance with O'Neill as they took on the English together. As The O'Neill, and also Earl of Tyrone, Hugh had the clout to enlist Scottish warriors, Irish mercenaries and even Spanish aid from Philip II. However he did not at first show his hand so early, siding with the Englishman chosen to impose the authority of the Crown on Ulster, Sir Henry Bagenal. There was bad blood between the two men, as Hugh had abducted Sir Henry's sister and married her without his consent. She had later died, some say as a result of a broken heart over the infidelities of Hugh, who seems to have become bored and uninterested in her once he had accomplished his adventure. In time, these two men would face off against each other, but for now they were allies, if uneasy ones.

The execution of The MacMahon in Monaghan, along with the seizing of other counties by the English invasion force pushed more and more Irish chieftains into opposition against Bagenal, and Hugh O'Neill, realising that Queen Elizabeth had no intention of granting him any royal commission that would give him power in Ulster - he had hoped or expected to be named Lord President - switched sides, deciding that his loyalty to his homeland was stronger than his ambition, at least as far as English rule went. Besieging the English castle at Monaghan, O'Neill engaged his erstwhile ally as Bagenal marched to its defence. The two-day Battle of Clontibret was the first major defeat for England in the Nine Years War, and demonstrated that Hugh O'Neill was a capable commander, a charismatic leader and a focal point for Irish resistance, and an enemy to be respected and feared.

Only a few hundred are known to have perished in the Battle of Clontibret, but the next time Bagenal and O'Neill clashed it would be much different, and only one would survive to tell the tale. A mere three years later O'Neill had again besieged an English fort, this time Lord Deputy Thomas Burgh's one on the River Blackwater, and Bagenal, after some argument with the authorities at Dublin Castle, marched to relieve it. O'Neill gathered his forces, pulling in reinforcements from Red Hugh O'Donnell, whom he had previously been hunting with Bagenal. The English learned too late there was a very good reason why they hadn't ventured too far into Ulster: the territory. It was hilly, rocky, mucky and provided little cover. The Ulstermen knew it intimately, the English were completely out of their depth. Cue ambush after ambush, and a major victory scored for the Irish in the Battle of Yellow Ford, wherein Sir Henry was killed by the man who had originally come back to Ulster as his ally.

Significantly, and as was to prove the case for centuries to come, the southern Irish did not support O'Neill, though he requested their help to push the Protestants out of Ireland. Their shared religious belief was not enough to overcome their aversion to the "wild Irish" and they still considered themselves at heart English, and loyal to the Crown. However, the aid of the Spanish raised the stakes for Elizabeth, who could not afford to allow Philip to gain a foothold in Ireland, a staging post from which he could launch an invasion of England, and so the repression of the Irish rebellion in Ulster - now a war really, hence the name - was stepped up and more commanders sent in to pacify, and destroy the resistance.

Not by any means for the first, nor the last time, did old enmities, bribes and pure enlightened self-interest among the Irish families lead to their defeat. After the Earl of Sussex had returned in disgrace to London, having failed to achieve his and Elizabeth's objective even with 17,000 men, command of the English forces was given to Lord Mountjoy, who proved a more savage prosecutor of the war against the Irish, making great gains in Leinster and Ulster. He bought off though one of the major Irish chieftains, Finghin MacCarthy, who promised to remain neutral and therefore did not respond to Hugh O'Neill's demand for reinforcements for James Fitzmaurice Fitzgerald of Munster, leaving the earl on his own to face Mountjoy, and soon to be defeated. MacCarthy got his though, as the treacherous English repaid his collaboration by arresting him along with Fitzgerald and putting both to death, thereby effectively ending resistance in the south.

In Ulster, now standing alone, Mountjoy continued to advance, his army now all but unstoppable, driving O'Neill and his forces back. But Hugh was waiting for his allies from Spain to arrive, which they did in 1601. Like the original Spanish armada though, this fleet of ships fell foul of the temperamental English weather and was scattered, a third of the six thousand troops having to return to Spain. The remaining 4000 landed at Kinsale and dug in to await the arrival of O'Neill, and the final battle.

The Battle of Kinsale (1600)

Hearing of the landing of the Spanish, Mountjoy rode to besiege them, and O'Neill, reluctant to venture into enemy territory in the south, delayed his march from his stronghold as autumn turned to a particularly bad winter. Finally realising that if he let the now surrounded Spanish force be defeated, further aid from Spain would dry up,  O'Neill marched to face the English and help his allies, who were at this point in a bad way, most of their arms and ammunition having been taken back to home port on the ships that had had to turn back during the storms.

But in the freezing and wet winter weather, as Christmas Eve 1600 approached, and the forces of O'Neill and O'Donnell arrived at Kinsale, it was obvious things were not going to go their way. Far from home, on unfamiliar territory and without the cover of their beloved bogs and forests of Ulster, the Irishmen were easy prey for the English cavalry and artillery, and they and the Spanish were routed in the final pitched battle between Irish and English for another several hundred years. The Spanish, surrendering while unaware that reinforcements from their king were already on the high seas, were allowed return home with honour. The fleet due to join them, on hearing of the defeat at Kinsale, also turned and headed home. Spain would no longer involve herself in Irish military affairs.

The Flight of the Earls and the End of Free Ireland

Broken, beaten and in disarray, the two main leaders of the rebellion fled, O'Donnell to Spain where he died a few months later, O'Neill back to Ulster where he fought on in what was becoming a hopeless war, and in which he admitted defeat in 1603, signing the Treaty of Mellifont in which he swore fealty to the Crown. English anger at the lenient terms allowed him and the other rebel lords forced him and Red Hugh O'Donnell's father, Rory, The MacHugh of Fermanagh and other Irish lords to take a ship out of Ireland for Spain, in the hope of raising an army to retake their homeland. This became known in Irish history as "The Flight of the Earls."

Blown off-course on their way to Spain, the earls landed instead in France, from whence they made their way to Rome, but though they were welcomed no monarch was willing to lend them military support, either in fear of the might of the victorious English army, or out of political necessity, unwilling to make an enemy of a country with whom they were not currently at war. Add in the fact, not inconsiderable, that after nine years of conflict the greatest chieftain in Ireland had been roundly defeated by the English, and a new offensive under his leadership seemed doomed to fail. Who, after all, backs the losing horse again?

So none of the earls ever saw Ireland again, living and dying in self-imposed exile, while the country they left behind, leaderless now, fell to the merciless English sword. Ulster was planted, settlers from Scotland and England, all Protestant of course, encouraged to move onto the land and build upon it, the native Irish reduced to little more than slaves. Thus did Ulster become almost an outpost of England, which it still is today, but more on that later.

Elizabeth did not live to see the eventual defeat of Ireland, dying in March of 1603, only six days before O'Neill's surrender, and succeeded by her cousin Mary's son, James VI of Scotland, who then became James I of England. It was however through her efforts that Ireland was subdued, even if James reaped the rewards of such a successful campaign.

Ireland's last gasps of resistance died in the Battle of Breifne, where Brian Og O'Rourke was defeated by his half-brother Tadhg, aided by Henry Folliot and Rory O'Donnell (who would later flee Ireland with O'Neill and MacHugh and the other earls), bringing at last all of Ireland under undisputed and unchallenged English rule.

To paraphrase H.G. Wells: Ireland belonged to the English.
The Revolt of Silken Thomas and the Fall of the House of Kildare

Realising that the most powerful family in Ireland at that time were the Fitzgeralds, the Earls of Kildare, Henry summoned Gearoid Og (son of already mentioned Gearoid Mor, the de facto High King Henry VII had grudgingly installed) to London and imprisoned him in the Tower. However the Englishman sent to Ireland to replace him found it an impossible task, and Gearoid Og returned home in triumph, but was summoned back to London in 1534, and this time died there. Before he left for England though, wary of the king and remembering his previous treatment, Gearoid Og left his son Thomas, Lord Offaly, in charge, warning him to ignore any summons to England and to be on his guard against the Irish Council, whom Gearoid did not trust. Thomas, Lord Offaly, is known to history as Silken Thomas.

Mindful of his father's cautions, Silken Thomas - so called due to the finery he was purported to wear - rode to Dublin and crashed a meeting of the Irish Council, slamming down the ceremonial sword of office that marked him as vice deputy in front of the lord chancellor, and declaring his opposition to the Crown. He then massed his troops, demanding all Englishmen be expelled from Ireland and calling for allegiance to the Pope, in the process hoping for aid from Rome and from Spain, but none arrived. Once again, however, it was not the English who defeated an Irish revolt but in-fighting and score-settling among the Irish themselves. Jealous of the power of the Kildares, the Butlers saw a chance to break that dynasty and fought against Silken Thomas's army, defeating him and sending him to England, where he was executed in 1537.

Enraged at the revolt, and sensing also a chance to break the power of the Kildares forever, with Gearoid Og and his son both dead, Henry sent a sizeable army - somewhere in the region of around two thousand men - to lay siege to the stronghold of the Kildares, Maynooth Castle, his army bringing with them artillery, the first time this had been used in Ireland. The outcome was a foregone conclusion, and the defeat of the most powerful family in Ireland was quickly accomplished. Worried that their tacit support for the rebellion might anger the king, the Irish lords moved quickly to confirm Henry as Head of the Church of Ireland.

The Kingdom of Ireland

Having no choice but to send settlers to colonise Ireland and thus regain control of the lawless land, Henry used a practice called "surrender and regrant". What this meant was that the Irish lords would surrender their lands to the Crown, who would grant them back to them, under multiple conditions. First, and most importantly, they must swear fealty to Henry and renounce the authority of the Pope. Second, they must take English peerage titles and abandon their traditional Irish titles. They had to attend parliament, speak English and undertake English customs, live by English laws and encourage the spread of the same throughout their holdings.

In return they would be granted a royal charter to confirm their ownership of the lands, and the protection of the Crown. In 1541 Ireland was declared a kingdom, no longer just a lordship as it had been, and all its inhabitants considered subject to the English Crown. In some ways though it would be separate, with its own House of Lords and House of Commons, and its own courts. The Church of Ireland was established as the state church under Henry, and the dissolution of the monasteries was passed by a compliant Irish parliament. Nevertheless, for all their subservience, the Irish people never acceded to Protestantism and the Reformation in Ireland was pretty much a failure.

Three's Not Company: Political Factions in Ireland

Around this time then you had three separate social and ethnic groups in Ireland, who are designated as a) the Old English, who were descendants of the original Norman settlers, b) the Old Irish, no explanation needed there and c) the New English, the settlers who arrived during Henry's reign. Of these three groups, only the last took to the Reformation, being not only staunch Protestants but also Puritans, the toughest, most uncompromising and most hardline opponents of Catholicism (it was of course these who would later sail away from persecution in the seventeenth century to find a new life in a new world, as they departed aboard the Mayflower, bound for America, where they would become the Founding Fathers of that embryonic nation). Both the Old English and Irish clung to their old religion, devoted to the Pope, the former the richest of the three groups while also possessing the most land.

Hatred would of course erupt between the New English and their other counterparts, both English and Irish, but in 1542 the Counter-Reformation was underway and Jesuit and Franciscan monks arrived in Ireland to minister to the population, bolster the observance of the Catholic faith, and ensure forever the defeat of the Reformation in Ireland, a momentous event that left our tiny island unique in being ruled by a Protestant monarch but practicing our own religion.

The death of King Henry VIII would allow his son, Edward, to succeed him as Edward VI, but this was at age nine, and so for his six-year reign power would be in the hands of his regents the Dukes of Somerset and Northumberland. A sickly lad, he would die in 1553.  England would thereafter experience fifty years of female monarchy, as the first woman to officially sit on the English throne would avenge her father's persecution of Catholics by reversing the trend, while her sister, succeeding her, would become one of the most famous rulers in English history, and practice a more lenient attitude towards the worship of her subjects. Both would, however, impact negatively upon the history of Ireland, which would stubbornly refuse to bend the knee to the English Crown, and would pay a heavy price for her disobedience and rebellion.

Bloody Mary - Mary I (1553-1558)
Anxious that his Catholic sister Mary should not ascend the throne and undo all the reforms he and their father had instigated, Edward named Lady Jane Grey in his will, a cousin once removed, but she lasted a mere nine days after the young king's death, when she too was put to death and Mary was crowned Queen of England and Ireland. How the Irish must have celebrated, overjoyed that a Catholic now sat on the English throne! Sadly for us, it made no difference. Mary was as unfeeling towards the "troublesome Irish" as had been her predecessors, and she went ahead with the plantation of the counties of Offaly and Laois, closest to the areas outside the Pale, determined to Anglicise Ireland once and for all.

Mary attained her dark sobriquet, however, not due to her persecution of the Irish but of her own countrymen, the  Protestants of England. Once the ruling class and favoured state religion for over forty years, these were now urged to recant their beliefs or be burned at the stake for heresy, a threat she put into horrible practice. Although Mary was married to the Spanish King Philip II, he was not proclaimed as King of England, merely jure uxoris, a kind of "queen's consort" title for a male, sort of like I assume, had America a female president, her husband would be, what, First Gentleman? Also something similar, maybe, to the position Prince Albert occupied when married to Queen Victoria later. Anyway, Philip was never King of England, merely the husband of the Queen. The close involvement, however, of the Spanish king allowed Mary to repair the relationship with Rome which had fractured under her father's reign, and England came once again under the jurisdiction of the Pope. Tellingly though, the monasteries seized by Henry VIII were not returned to the Church.

Mary was a cruel woman. Even after he recanted his faith, having watched his brother bishops being burned alive, Archbishop Thomas Cranmer was forced to go to the stake too. The burnings of what would later become Protestant martyrs were highly unpopular, even among the Spanish, but Mary persisted with the persecution and burning of Protestants until her death in 1558.

Elizabeth I (1533-1603)
Surely one of the most famous and celebrated of England's monarchs, and the second woman (discounting Matilda in the far past and Lady Jane Grey's nine-day reign) to occupy the English throne, Elizabeth banished forever the idea of pure male succession in England. From her reign on (well, from Mary's, but that was so relatively short and fraught with anger and fear that it didn't do much to sweeten the people's attitude towards a Queen) both men and women could be expected to rule if their claim was legitimate. Speaking of which, Elizabeth, as the daughter of Anne Boleyn, whose marriage to Henry had been annulled by the Pope, was seen as illegitimate, and proclaimed as such by Pope Pius V. More, he pronounced her a heretic, and called for all Catholics to rise up against her and overthrow her, calling her "the pretended Queen of England and the servant of crime". He also warned that any Catholics who obeyed her or swore allegiance to her risked excommunication, absolving them from their loyalty to her and encouraging them to support her rival, Mary Queen of Scots.

In the event, the attempts by Mary's Scottish and French supporters to dethrone or indeed assassinate Elizabeth all failed, and Mary was executed, leaving Elizabeth as the unchallenged Queen of England, and the Pope as a lasting enemy as she confirmed Protestantism as the state religion. Unlike her sister and predecessor, however, Elizabeth did not force her subjects to conform to her own religion, and allowed them to worship as they saw fit, once they swore loyalty to the Crown.

Which is, of course, where Ireland once again comes in.

Although Elizabeth took a much less hardline approach to religion than had Mary or Edward, or her father before them, she had no patience with those who tried to convert Protestants to the Catholic faith in order to draw them away from their allegiance to her, fulfilling Pius's edict, and the missionaries that arrived in England to do just that were hunted, persecuted and executed. This naturally did not go down well in Ireland, and though Elizabeth herself, who disparagingly referred to Ireland as "that barbarous and rude country", declared no harm would come to the Irish, she turned a blind eye (or gave tacit, plausible deniability-like approval) to the efforts of her commanders there to put down the many rebellions that sprung up against her rule, and indeed, between rival Irish families, as it had ever done.

Blood Ties, Bloodshed and Blood Oaths: Rivalries in Ireland

Two of the then most powerful Houses in Ireland were the Ormonds and the Desmonds in the south. After a failed rebellion by the Desmond Fitzgeralds in 1573, their leader, James Fitzmaurice, sailed to Europe in search of Catholic support to overthrow the heathen English. This gave the new pope, Gregory XIII, the chance to sow mischief for the heretic queen, and he promised 1000 men, at the head of whom James Fitzmaurice landed near Dingle in Kerry, bearing papal letters that exhorted the Irish and the Irish lords to defy the queen and rise up against her in the name of Rome and the Catholic faith.

Unfortunately, the pope's men were easily outnumbered by the English forces, and they were trapped and massacred. A terrible revenge ensued, as Elizabeth's commanders carried out a scorched-earth policy, reducing the south to a smoking wasteland as famine walked the land, all cattle and livestock having been slaughtered by the English in addition to the wholesale murder of the populace. This defeat and the ravaging of their earldom put paid to the Fitzgeralds of Munster, and like their cousins the Earls of Kildare under Henry VIII, their power was forever broken. Their lands were confiscated by the Crown and given to English settlers, as the policy of plantation took hold, something that would continue to be the English answer to subduing Ireland over the next few centuries.

Across the border though, things were very different. For anyone who may know something of Irish history and/or geography, it should be pointed out that at this time all of Ireland was one: the division we have today which created Northern Ireland and the Republic was a long way away, and the entire island of Ireland was one country, under Irish control. Ulster, the northern province, had resisted the English more fiercely than its southern cousins, and Elizabeth found it hard to break them, as almost all of Ulster was still Irish. In addition, there were no maps the English could follow that showed them what lay beyond what we now know of here as the border: none had been made, and none were encouraged obviously. Ulster was, to the English, terra incognita, as unknown and wildly terrifying as Darkest Africa - and probably as dangerous.

The ruling family in Ulster was the O'Neills, and The O'Neill was Shane, who brooked no opposition to his rule, striking from his stronghold of Tyrone and demanding fealty from every other lord. English expeditions who ventured into Ulster typically became lost, then ambushed, and were never heard from again. In an effort to come to a compromise with Shane, the queen invited him to London, where he was made a Captain of Tyrone, but on his return, as he attacked other lordships, he was defeated by an alliance of his enemies and killed. However, his successor would go on to be one of the most famous and dangerous men in Irish history.