From my blog...

The Modern Medieval: Day 1

Posted on August 22, 2016 by Patricia

ModernMedievalWelcome to a week of The Modern Medieval: a series of brief posts about modern day street names in England that evoke the medieval past. (Note: there are LOTS of them, but I’ll focus on just a few because otherwise this would go on forever.)

I recently made a quick visit to one of my favorite cities in England, Winchester, so let’s start there.

IMG_2373Founded by the Romans as Venta Belgarum, the city was completely restructured in the late 9th century under the direction of Alfred the Great and became the royal city of Anglo-Saxon England. The defensive walls were fortified, a royal residence was established, new central churches built, and a new street grid replaced what the Romans had laid out. The streets had names like Tannerestret, Goldestret, Sildwortenestret (silverworkers), and Scowrtenestret (shoemakers) that indicated where these industries took place within the town. Tanner Street is still there today, although you won’t find any tanners at work there. Kingsgate Street will lead you to Kingsgate, which marked the entrance to the Anglo-Saxon palace grounds. St. Peter’s Street, St. Thomas Street, St. Michael’s Road and Saint Swithun Street evoke memories of the churches that once stood there. (More about Saint Swithun on Thursday.) Not far from the Medieval Great Hall, you will find this:

GarStreet
Gar is an Old English word meaning ‘spear’, and Gar Street is a short block that, appropriately, turns into Archery Lane. The name is a nod to Winchester’s Anglo-Saxon past. Coincidentally, while we were wandering about the city we ran into this group.

NormansThey are armed with gars, but these are Normans so they would probably refer to their  weapons as lances. Pesky Normans.

Check in tomorrow to read about a street with a lascivious history in Shrewsbury.

 

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What Happened at Bosham Church

Posted on May 29, 2016 by Patricia
BoshamForCover

Bosham Church by Adrian News (Wikimedia Commons)

What we think of as history is sometimes little more than legend or hearsay or speculation – especially when we look back one thousand years or more. A writer of historical fiction must look at legends as well as facts, and must then determine if a given legend can be used in plotting a historical novel. Inventing a scene that incorporates a well-known legend – even if it is suspected to be apocryphal – can add depth to the personality of a historical figure or add perspective to an event. A good example is the story of King Alfred and the Burned Cakes. Bernard Cornwell incorporated this tale into his novel THE PALE HORSEMAN, presenting his readers with the moving portrayal of a young king who has lost all but his name, and who ignores the oatcakes burning on the hearth beside him because he is so intent upon formulating a plan for taking back his kingdom.

Which brings me to a legend about King Cnut. No, not the well known story about Cnut and the waves. This is a legend about Cnut’s daughter, and the setting for it is Holy Trinity Church in Bosham, Sussex.

Like many churches in England, Holy Trinity has a long history. In 1064 Harold Godwinson boarded a ship at Bosham and sailed from there to Normandy where he was coerced into swearing fealty to Duke William, setting in motion the events of 1066. We know this, not because it was written in some chronicle, but because the church appears on the Bayeux Tapestry beneath the words: UBI HAROLD DUX ANGLORUM ET SUI MILITES EQUITANT AD BOSHAM ECCLESIA (where Harold, duke of the English, and his knights ride to Bosham church). Historical record comes in many forms!

Bosham Church & Manor. Bayeux Tapestry. WikimediaCommons

Bosham Church & Manor. Bayeux Tapestry. WikimediaCommons

But the legend that interests me dates back even farther. According to a story passed down for a millennium, one of the graves inside Bosham church is that of King Cnut’s 8-year-old daughter who, in the year 1020, drowned nearby.  Is there any truth to this story? Well, a coffin has been found beneath the church floor, and it does contain the remains of a child; and because only the elite were buried inside churches, it could very possibly be Cnut’s daughter who rests here.

Stream near Holy Trinity Church, Bosham. WikimediaCommons

Stream near Holy Trinity Church, Bosham. WikimediaCommons

The legend, though, makes no mention of the girl’s mother, and this is where the novelist in me begins to ask questions and formulate theories:

If this daughter of Cnut was conceived in 1011-12, as she must have been if the dates are correct, where did that happen, and who was her mother?

Surely it was not Emma of Normandy, Cnut’s wife and queen. In 1011-12 Emma was the wife and queen of King Æthelred, not Cnut.

Could it have been Ælfgifu (Elgiva) of Northampton? She was the concubine of Cnut before he married Emma. Historians believe that Cnut’s relationship with Ælfgifu did not begin until 1013, but that assumption is based on the fact that Cnut was known to have been in England in that year. No one knows where he was in the years before 1013, or where Ælfgifu was, or when that handfast marriage (more Danico) was negotiated or consummated. Perhaps the historians are wrong. Perhaps Cnut’s relationship with Ælfgifu began earlier, and she was the mother of this little girl.

There is also a third possibility – a Danish woman named Gytha. In 1019 Gytha married Earl Godwin, and her large brood of children would include the Harold mentioned above who would one day become England’s king. It would also include an eldest son named Swegn, who would claim that he was not sired by Gytha’s husband Godwin, but by King Cnut. Frank Barlow, in his book The Godwins, writes that Gytha vehemently denied this. But he also writes,

Favourable to Swegn’s claim are his possession of a name which ran in the Danish royal family, his constant behavior among the Godwins as an outsider, and his apparent total exclusion from VITA, the family saga. Moreover, if Cnut was indeed Gytha’s lover, the favours he granted Godwin are more understandable.

If Cnut was indeed Gytha’s lover, might their relationship have begun as early as 1011-12 in Denmark? Might Cnut’s young daughter have been a member of her mother’s household when, in 1019, Gytha arrived in England to marry the English Earl Godwin who had extensive landholdings in Sussex including estates at Bosham? Could Gytha and her household have settled at Bosham where, the following year, the little girl would drown in the mill race beside the church?

In searching for answers to these questions, for links between the characters who inhabit my books, for drama, and for smoldering conflicts that will keep readers turning pages, I became a little like King Alfred. Too intent on names and dates and connections, I lost sight of something important. It wasn’t until I stumbled across the lovely poem below that I was jolted out of my feverish preoccupation with names and dates, and was reminded by just a scattering of words that this legend was about a child who had been loved, and whose parents, like all parents throughout time, must have grieved her loss no matter who they were.

CANUTE’S DAUGHTER
By Denise Bennett

Bosham Church

Photo: Hugh Llewelyn (Wikimedia Commons)

There are the expected
candles, flowers, lace-edged altar cloth,
tiled floor, carved pulpit, marble font,
plaque to the war dead…

but buried beneath the Chancel
is the small daughter of King Canute
who slipped and fell into the mill stream
aged eight.
For nearly a thousand years
this memory, carried on our breath
has been told and retold.

Outside, a thick frond of cream roses
are dipping low to taste the flow;
a family of mallards swim in sun;
here the spirit of a girl lingers.
I listen to her laughter, watch the amethyst
light play on the waves her father
tried to tame –

think of him
lifting his dead daughter,
stroking her wet, black hair
cursing that he could not
command the sea.

Sources:
Barlow, Frank. The Godwins. Pearson Education Limited, Harlow, UK, 2002
http://www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/magazine/record.asp?id=14790

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Guest Post: Bestselling Author Candace Robb

Posted on May 20, 2016 by Patricia

Have you ever wondered where an author’s ideas come from? How they develop from an image or idea and grow into story? My guest today, historical mystery novelist Candace Robb, is about to enlighten you.

CRobbCandace Robb is the bestselling author of 14 crime novels set in 14th century England, Wales, and Scotland, including the acclaimed Owen Archer series and the Margaret Kerr trilogy. Writing as Emma Campion, Candace has published historical novels about Alice Perrers  and Joan of Kent. Now she has begun a new historical mystery series built around her heroine Kate Clifford, a no-nonsense sleuth who is not only smart, but fierce when those she cares about are threatened. In this post Candace reveals how she first imagined Kate, and gives us a glimpse into her own complicated mental process as she invents characters, setting, theme and, ultimately, the blueprint for a mystery.

WHENCE KATE CLIFFORD: CONSTRUCTING THE SCAFFOLDING FOR A HISTORICAL CRIME SERIES

I discarded my original title for this post because I’d veered off in a different direction. Yet in rereading it, I thought it nicely described the seed from which the Kate Clifford mysteries grew, so I offer you—Kate Clifford and the Feuding Royal Cousins: the city of York’s response to the fall of Richard II and the Rise of Henry IV.

This will be a continual thread through the books, though of course the series will explore much, much more. Which is why my fascination with the fall of Joan of Kent’s son and the ensuing reign of King Henry IV shaped itself into a crime series rather than a historical novel, or a trilogy: I wanted the freedom to send out shoots in many directions. York stands in for the realm at a time of monumental change—King Richard II was the holy anointed king, so to those who believed in the divine right of kings, Henry Bolingbroke’s usurpation of the throne, however enthusiastically received by the barons of England, would have felt apocalyptic. Henry IV’s reign, in turn, would be fraught with bloody uprisings as many came to regret their support.

ServiceOfTheDeadBut whence Kate Clifford? After working with Alice Perrers and Joan of Kent, two strong women, although constrained by the gilded cage of the royal court, I wanted to return to my earlier work with women of the rising merchant class. Women of this class could enjoy far more independence than women of the royal court. Using situations I had come across in my research, I thought to create a 15th century woman of the merchant class intent on forging her own path, and show how that might be accomplished, albeit with some difficulty.

Implicit in this idea is a woman at a crossroads, someone who already has a modicum of freedom. In 1399, she might be a widow. A young widow in York. That married my two ideas: both Kate and the realm at a crossroads.

In late August a few years past, a young woman with dark, curly hair strode into my daydream—rather, she was striding down Stonegate (York) with a devilish glint in her eyes, flanked by two magnificent Irish wolfhounds.

Dogs

Inspirational wolfhounds in Candace’s neighborhood.

I liked her, but the wolfhounds—the tallest of dogs, at this time often used as war dogs—why did she keep them in a city? Was she visiting from the countryside? She patted something hidden in her skirts. An axe. A small battle axe. She turned left onto High Petergate, she and the hounds moving as a unit, then entered an elegant house, where she was greeted with respect as “Mistress” by an elderly couple though they, too, seemed of the merchant class. This was not her home, though she owned this property. A guesthouse?

About this time I was reading the biographies of members of parliament for York 1383-1421 (www.historyofparliament.org). This intriguing woman might be a member of any one of the many wealthy, influential, powerful families in York who served as MPs. Was she a Holme? A Graa? A Frost? William Frost was a figure I found particularly appealing—many times mayor of York, an opportunist easily adapting to the new royal regime though he had worked closely with King Richard II for the sake of the city’s charter. Reading between the lines, he was a man with many enemies, perfect for a recurring character in a crime series. William was too young to be my sleuth’s father, but he’d work well as a cousin. However, the Frost family did not seem likely to be the source of a young woman who moved about with Irish wolfhounds and hid battle axes, no matter how small, in her skirts. Her mother might be a Frost, married into a family in a wilder area, where she had raised her children.

York Minster

York Minster

The Cliffords were a family of the northern border with Scotland, and Richard Clifford happened to be Dean of York Minster in 1399 (and Lord Privy Seal). Father a Clifford, mother a Frost—an excellent pedigree. Now what could I add to make my character even more likely to get caught up in politics in York? Ah—her late husband might be a Neville. The Nevilles had a presence at Sheriff Hutton Castle in the Forest of Galtres just north of York, and Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland, was one of the greatest opportunists of the time. Perfect.

But why is she still walking around armed in the city of York, and why is she so determined to remain single even though she so wants children? Look to her late husband’s will. Wills are invaluable testaments to relationships and values. The ones that most intrigue me are those in which the dead seek to control their families from the grave with conditional gifts—I bequeath this to you on the condition that you do not remarry, or that you marry X, or until such time as our son attains his majority, or until such time as you remarry. By now my sleuth had a name, Kate Clifford—she preferred her family name to that of her late husband. And now she was the victim of just such a conditional will—that she would control her late husband’s business so long as she did not remarry, at which time the business would go to her brother-in-law. Of course I made said brother-in-law, Lionel Neville, a greedy, unlikable creature.

Mix into the mortar a violent past, a few surprise wards, and voila—the Kate Clifford series had a firm foundation. And now for the murder and mayhem!

Candace Robb did her graduate work in medieval literature and history, and has continued to study the period while working first as an editor of scientific publications and now for some years as a freelance writer. She was born in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, grew up in Cincinnati, and has lived most of her adult life in Seattle, which she and her husband love for its combination of natural beauty and culture. Candace enjoys walking, hiking, and gardening, and practices yoga and vipassana meditation. She travels frequently to Great Britain.

Candace’s current passion is exploring fuller and more plausible interpretations of the lives of women in the 14th century than are generally presented.  She also writes historical fiction as Emma Campion.

Learn more about Candace and her novels at her website, www.CandaceRobb.com, on her Facebook page, and on Twitter: @CandaceMRobb.

You’ll find all of her books available for purchase at your favorite bookstore or on-line retailer. And look for her newest novel, THE SERVICE OF THE DEAD, featuring Kate Clifford of York, out now in hardcover, e-book and audio book formats.

 

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Special Guest Post: Historical Novelist Elisabeth Storrs

Posted on May 2, 2016 by Patricia

elisabeth-storrs-tales-of-ancient-rome_mobile (1)Today I am delighted to welcome historical novelist Elisabeth Storrs, author of the Tales of Ancient Rome saga – three novels set in the late 4th century BC.
A graduate of Arts Law from the University of Sydney where she studied the Classics, Elisabeth’s inspiration for her novels was a sarcophagus that depicted a couple embracing for eternity. The casket was unusual because in this period of history, women were rarely commemorated in funerary art let alone in such a pose of affection. Her interest piqued, the research began. Eventually, Elisabeth’s discovery of a little-known story about the struggle between the Etruscan city of Veii and Republican Rome led to her penning of the Tales of Ancient Rome Saga, novels that immerse readers into a complex, ancient world filled with drama, love, loss and heroism. Now, here is Elisabeth, to tell you more.

elisabeth-storrsOne of the main themes in my Tales of Ancient Rome saga is an exploration of the lives of women in the ancient world through the portrayal of female characters from different cultures: a Roman bride (Caecilia), Roman prostitute (Pinna), Greek slave (Cytheris), Cretan courtesan (Erene), and also three Etruscan women: the aristocratic matrons Larthia and Ramutha, and lastly, the artisan (turned wet nurse), Semni.

What was the status and role of women in classical times? In both Greece and Rome they were chattels possessed by men. Athenian women were cloistered within women’s quarters and were restricted to household duties. In Rome they were second class citizens without the right to vote or hold property. Further, Roman women rarely ate with their men and could be killed with impunity by their husbands or fathers for adultery or drinking wine.

In early Roman and Greek cultures a woman’s primary purpose was to bear children in order to ensure the continuation of her husband’s bloodline. Their identities were defined by their relationship as either daughter or wife. Roman women were only known by one name, that of their father’s surname in feminine form. In death their remains were placed in a man’s tomb and they were not publicly commemorated. However, while Roman and Greek wives weren’t given the opportunity for education and social freedom – in Athens, courtesans were. These hetaerae “companions” were allowed to dine with men and drink wine at banquets while discussing politics, philosophy, literature and enjoying entertainments. Of course, they also provided sexual favours to the patrons who owned them.

In comparison, Etruscan women were afforded independence and education. They could share their husband’s dining couch and drink wine. They had two names denoting both paternal and maternal bloodlines. Some accounts also state that wives had sexual freedom and may even have been able to claim their illegitimate children in their own right. Also intriguing is historical evidence that high born women held positions as priestesses.

Tanaquil as painted by Domenico Beccafumi

Tanaquil as painted by Domenico Beccafumi

One famous Etruscan priestess, according to the historian Livy, was a seer named Tanaquil (Tanchvil in Etruscan). According to legend, her positive interpretation of an incident in which an eagle snatched her husband’s cap, then swooped down to replace it on his head, persuaded Tarquinius Priscus to go to Rome where he eventually become the first king of the Tarquinian Etruscan dynasty. As such Tanaquil was traditionally believed to be the “power behind the throne.”

So could the myth of a prophetess such as Tanaquil be based in fact? The Etruscans were indeed skilled in the art of foretelling the future from the flight of birds. And there is evidence from funerary art that women may well have been priestesses of high standing. The Tomb of Inscriptions is one such example. Members of several families were buried within its six chambers. Two of the ladies were designated as ‘hatrencu’. Extraordinarily, the women were not laid to rest beside their husbands and children which was usually the rule in Etruria for female burials in family tombs. Instead they lay in the company of women with different family names but bearing the same title of ‘hatrencu’. This collegial link has been persuasively argued as proving ‘hatrencu’ referred to a member of a priestly college concerned with a female cult dedicated to fertility and marriage.

In my latest novel, Call to Juno, I have introduced a new female character who melds the legend of Tanaquil with the hatrencu buried in the Tomb of Inscriptions. She is Tanchvil, the high priestess of the Temple of Uni, who like the mythical Tanaquil divines the future from the flight of an eagle, Antar.

Tanchvil carefully removed the hood. The eagle’s head and breast were flecked with gold, his dark plumage shiny. If he chose to flap his enormous wings he could break free even before his mistress had loosened the leather restraints. And what was to prevent him from turning and ripping her face with his beak?

The hatrencu lifted her arm to send Antar skyward. Caecilia felt the swish of air as the eagle rose, his pinions extended, seeking the thermals. Holding her breath, she waited to see to which quadrant of the heavens he would fly. His wings stretched in perfect symmetry; the raptor spiraled higher, gliding over the southeast of the city before heading northeast. Then he hovered for a moment before diving and swooping upward again.

A strong thread exploring the concepts of fate versus freewill is woven throughout The Wedding Shroud and The Golden Dice, the first two books in the Tales of Ancient Rome saga. The theme continues in Call to Juno. Tanchvil’s role is crucial in prophesying the fate of Veii in the final year of its ten year struggle with Rome. The hatrencu warns Queen Caecilia and King Mastarna to be wary of the fickleness of Uni, their city’s regal goddess. For the Romans also worship her and seek to entice her to forsake Veii and take up residence in Rome as Juno the Queen. Both enemies call to Juno Regina to favor their cities. What destiny lies in store for them?

call-to-juno-by-elisabeth-storrsPraise for Call to Juno: A Tale of Ancient Rome by Elisabeth Storrs
“An elegant, impeccably researched exploration of early Rome and their lesser known enemies, the Etruscans. The torments of war, love, family, and faith are explored by narrators on both sides of the conflict as their cities rush toward a shattering, heart-wrenching show-down. Elisabeth Storrs weaves a wonderful tale!” Kate Quinn, author of The Empress of Rome Saga

About Call to Juno:
Four unforgettable characters are tested during a war between Rome and Etruscan Veii.
Caecilia has long been torn between her birthplace of Rome and her adopted city of Veii. Yet faced with mounting danger to her husband, children, and Etruscan freedoms, will her call to destroy Rome succeed?
Pinna has clawed her way from prostitute to the concubine of the Roman general Camillus. Deeply in love, can she exert her own power to survive the threat of exposure by those who know her sordid past?
Semni, a servant, seeks forgiveness for a past betrayal. Will she redeem herself so she can marry the man she loves?
Marcus, a Roman tribune, is tormented by unrequited love for another soldier. Can he find strength to choose between his cousin Caecilia and his fidelity to Rome?

Who will overcome the treachery of mortals and gods?

Elisabeth Storrs lives with her husband and two sons in Sydney, and over the years has worked as a solicitor, corporate lawyer and corporate governance consultant. She is the Deputy Chair of the NSW Writers’ Centre and one of the founders of the Historical Novel Society Australasia.

Call to Juno: http://www.elisabethstorrs.com/buy-books/call-to-juno.html
Website: www.elisabethstorrs.com
Triclinium blog: www.elisabethstorrs.com.blog
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/elisabeth.storrs/
Twitter https://twitter.com/elisabethstorrs
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/elisabethstorrs/

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A Tale of St. Patrick

Posted on March 17, 2016 by Patricia
St. Patrick, Salisbury Cathedral. Note the snake. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

St. Patrick, Salisbury Cathedral. Note the snake. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

As you may imagine, given my first name, I have a vested interest in St. Patrick’s Day.  Indeed, one set of great grandparents was Irish – Bridget and Patrick Curtin. They arrived in New York in the 1860’s, most likely from County Cork, although my sister, the family genealogist, has yet to find any verification of that. But whether Cork, Galway or Sligo – they were Irish.

No doubt you are aware that St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland; he is the bishop who drove snakes from the island; and he is the saint in whose honor cities in the U.S. pour green dye into their rivers in mid-March.

Chicago River. Photo credit Andrew Bracewell

Chicago River. Photo credit Andrew Bracewell

In honor of Ireland’s favorite saint, then, here is a story about Patrick that you may not have heard.

Patrick was sent to Ireland in A.D. 431 to be the island’s first bishop and to convert the pagan Celts who lived there. He seems to have had a rough time of it. The Celts were stubborn and wanted him to prove that what he told them about the joys of heaven and the punishments of hell were true.

Perturbed by their stiff-necked resistance to his message, Patrick set out to pray on the matter. He went to a lake, Lough Derg – today it’s the largest lake in County Donegal.

Lough Derg. By Kenneth Allen, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12963693

Lough Derg. By Kenneth Allen, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12963693

Unfortunately, a massive water serpent lived in the lake, and the thing swallowed him whole. It took him two days and nights to cut his way free. The serpent’s body turned to stone, creating two islands in the lake – Saints Island and Station Island. (Sure, and the Irish are great story tellers, are they not? Do you see a snake theme here anywhere?)

To continue: Patrick went into a cave on one of those islands to ask God to show him how to go about converting the stubborn Celts. God responded by taking him on a nocturnal trip to Heaven and to Hell. Apparently, after this intervention Patrick was so eloquent about what he’d seen that the pagan Celts were convinced. In the years following Patrick’s death, ecclesiastical settlements were established on both islands, and pilgrims flocked to them. By the 12th century Patrick’s Purgatory on Station Island had taken precedence over Saints Island because it laid claim to the cave where Patrick had had his visions, and its promoters promised similar visions to the penitent and prayerful. To be admitted, pilgrims had to go through many ecclesiastical hoops, not to mention the difficulty of getting to Ireland and Leogh Derg in the first place.

Pilgrims Approaching St. Patrick's Purgatory. By William Frederick Wakeman (1822-1900) - Scanned from D. Canon O'Connor: St. Patrick's Purgatory, Lough Derg, James Duffy and Co., Dublin 1903, plate facing p. 208., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4729694

Pilgrims Approaching St. Patrick’s Purgatory. By William Frederick Wakeman (1822-1900) – Scanned from D. Canon O’Connor: St. Patrick’s Purgatory, Lough Derg, James Duffy and Co., Dublin 1903, plate facing p. 208., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4729694

As for Patrick, given the number of stories that have attached to him he is as much myth as real. Did he ever really go to Lough Derg? Possibly. Possibly it was a pagan holy place like so many of Ireland’s caves, wells and streams, and Patrick may have gone there to appropriate it for Christian use. In any case, Patrick’s Purgatory is still on Station Island, although the cave was long ago replaced by a basilica. You can visit if you like – not as a tourist (no cameras allowed) – but as a pilgrim in search of renewal and peace.

Station Island Basilica, Lough Derg. By Andreas F. Borchert, CC BY-SA 3.0 de, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8738209

Station Island Basilica, Lough Derg. By Andreas F. Borchert, CC BY-SA 3.0 de, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8738209

As for the story about the giant serpent, I would not put too much credence into that. And to my knowledge, the blue water of the lake has never yet been dyed green on March 17. The Irish leave that sort of thing to the Yanks.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.

 

Posted in History, Ireland | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Emma, England’s Forgotten Queen

Posted on March 6, 2016 by Patricia
Mortuary Chest, Emma of Normandy, Winchester Cathedral

Mortuary Chest, Emma of Normandy, Winchester Cathedral (Wikimedia Commons)

Emma,
a gem more splendid through the splendors of her merits…

So begins the epigram written late in the 11th century by Godfrey, prior of Winchester, in honor of Emma, Queen of England.

Queen Emma died on 6 March, 1052, at age – well, actually, we don’t know how old she was. Although her death was mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and was commemorated annually by prayers at Winchester’s New Minster, at Ely Abbey and at Christ Church Canterbury, her birth date was never noted. We can be certain, though, that she lived to be at least 60 years old, perhaps into her 70’s, and that for 32 of those years she was a queen of England.

Queen Emma & King Cnut. New Minster Liber Vitae, 1031. British Library, Stowe 944, fol.6.

Queen Emma & King Cnut. New Minster Liber Vitae, 1031. British Library, Stowe 944, fol.6.

Although most people today will look at you blankly when you mention her name, Emma of Normandy would have been familiar to the people of England, Normandy, and Scandinavia during her lifetime and for many decades after that. How do we know? Well, to begin with, we have two contemporary drawings of Emma – and that in itself is remarkable.

Frontispiece of Encomium Emmae Reginae. 11th c. Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons

Frontispiece of Encomium Emmae Reginae. 11th c. Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons

In addition, she may be one of the few female figures stitched into the Bayeux Tapestry. (Not certain about that, but it could be Emma. Rabid medievalists have been known to argue passionately about it.)

Aelfgyva (Emma?) on the Bayeux Tapestry.

Aelfgyva (Emma?) on the Bayeux Tapestry.

And in the 12th century an unknown artist illustrated a manuscript of a Life of Edward the Confessor with beautiful color images of Emma.

Emma with her sons Edward & Alfred from The Life of Edward the Confessor, 12th c.

Emma with her sons Edward & Alfred from The Life of Edward the Confessor, 12th c.

There are textual references to Emma, too. She appears in one of the Norse sagas (Liðsmannaflokkr), and is mentioned in German, Norman and Anglo-Saxon chronicles. During Emma’s lifetime she commissioned a book to be written about events she witnessed or which impacted her in some way. It is known today as the Encomium Emmae Reginae, and it was certainly read and discussed at the Anglo-Danish-Norman court where she reigned as queen mother. More than 500 years later a copy of that book was owned by William Cecil, chief advisor to Elizabeth I, so it’s quite possible that the great Tudor queen, too, was familiar with Emma’s name and reputation.

And then there’s the play. Emma appears as a character in an Elizabethan drama titled Edmund Ironside. I’ve read it. It’s not a very good play, although at least one scholar thinks it may have been written by Shakespeare. If he’s right, it would have been a very early work. But Emma is in there, so someone in the 16th century knew her story well enough to imagine her as a real woman, a mother and a queen.

QueenEmmaVikingsScholars of medieval history, of course, have always known about Queen Emma. Many eminent historians – Alistair Campbell, Helen Damico, Simon Keynes, Eleanor Searle, and Pauline Stafford – have looked closely at Emma’s career. Their in-depth studies have informed recent popular biographies by Isabella Strachan and Harriet O’Brien. They’ve also inspired novelists such as Helen Hollick (I am the Chosen King), Dorothy Dunnett (King Hereafter) Anya Seton (Avalon), Justin Hill (Shieldwall) who cast Emma in supporting roles.

But when it came to popular recognition, Emma could not hold a candle to Eleanor of Aquitaine or Anne Boleyn – a situation, I am happy to note, that appears to be changing.

FQueenIn 2005 British historical novelist Helen Hollick made Emma the central figure of her book A Hollow Crown, which appeared in the U.S. in 2010 as The Forever Queen. Readers loved it, and awareness of who Emma was began to spread.

My own novel about Emma, Shadow on the Crown, was published in 2013 in North America, Britain and the British Territories. It has since been translated into four languages, which means that readers in Russia, Germany, Italy and even Brazil are becoming acquainted with Queen Emma. The sequel The Price of Blood, was released in 2015. It continues Emma’s story and will be followed by a third book to complete the series.

So, through the efforts of scholars, of historians, of novelists who love history, and of readers who love historical fiction, this remarkable woman is once more being recognized as a significant figure in English history. On this day, 964 years ago, she left this middle earth. I am thinking of her today – as I do every day, actually – with admiration; and I salute all those who are helping to spread the word about Emma of Normandy, the all-but-forgotten, twice-crowned queen of England.

RussianShadow1

Shadow on the Crown, Russian edition

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Favorite Childhood Reads

Posted on January 29, 2016 by Patricia

January is when many bloggers write about their favorite books of the previous year. I’m going to be a little perverse and look back a little farther than that – all the way to…

Grammar School

When I was a kid I could usually be found curled up somewhere with a book.  I had favorites, of course – books that I read and loved. Every reader has such a list, and mine is a long one, but here are the three books at the very top.

little-womenLittle Women by Louisa May Alcott (1868)
How many girls have been inspired by Louisa Alcott, I wonder. The number must be in the millions. She gave us a loving family, a supportive mother and four sisters to choose from as role models. All the elements that we look for in a moving story are here: conflict, tragedy, romance, noble heroines and heroes, disappointments and, eventually, a happy ending. I owe Ms. Alcott a great debt for creating the character of Jo March and inspiring me to be a teacher and a writer. Keen-eyed readers of my novel The Price of Blood will find a nod to Ms. Alcott in one of its scenes.

AnneGreenGablesAnne of Green Gables by Lucy M. Montgomery (1908)
Montgomery’s redheaded Anne Shirley appealed to me because although she was clever and good-hearted, she managed to get into one scrape after another. Clinging to a bridge support, stranded, in the middle of a river and getting her best friend Diana Barry drunk on elderberry wine are just two examples. For a ten-year-old me who didn’t always make the right decisions, Anne was not so much a role model as a kindred spirit. (How many times did my father say to me, “I don’t know how someone so smart could be so dumb”?) For years I wished that my hair was red and that my middle name, Ann, was spelled with an E.

SecretGardenAThe Secret Garden by Frances Hodgsen Burnett (1911)
At first glance Mary Lennox appears to be an unlikely heroine. Orphaned, unlovely and sullen, she is self-absorbed and even a little mean – until she meets her cousin Colin and sees herself reflected there. Of all my favorite heroines, Mary had the most to learn – about herself and about the world. Like the slumbering garden that she nurtured into wakefulness, Mary’s personality blossomed under the gentle guidance of the people who befriended her. Did I recognize myself in sullen little Mary when I was a child? Probably not, although I see my young self in her now; I could pout with the best of them. No, I was enraptured instead by the huge, mysterious house in which she found herself, by the Yorkshire moors that struck me as no less strange and mysterious, and by the garden that, growing up in suburban Los Angeles, I could only imagine.

Does anyone read these classic novels today? There is a whole new crop of adventurous heroines now to inspire girls, and I have a feeling that Jo, Anne, and Mary have been replaced by newer heroines like Hermione and Katniss. But where did Hermione and Katniss come from? No writer works in a vacuum. The writer’s mind – and the readers’ minds! – carry the memories of earlier stories and earlier characters, embedded so deeply that often we don’t realize they are there. They color our expectations of what a heroine should be or what a villain should be. Sometimes the influence is conscious. Katniss Everdeen’s last name, for example, is pulled from a character in Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd; and J.K.Rowling’s literary allusions are legion. Without her wide reading, surely begun in childhood, there would be no Hermione or Harry.

So while I applaud the new heroines, I also hope that the moving stories that inspired so many readers once upon a time will continue to be read and treasured by little girls for years and years to come.

On Pilgrimage:

Concord3

Orchard House, Concord, Mass. Where Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women.

Green Gables, Prince Edward Island, Canada. Where L.M.Montgomery wrote Anne of Green Gables

Green Gables, Prince Edward Island, Canada. Where L.M.Montgomery wrote Anne of Green Gables

On the moors, Yorkshire.

The Yorkshire moors, that figure so prominently in The Secret Garden. Burnett wrote the book, though, at Great Maytham Hall in Kent, where the gardens can still be seen.

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The Last Kingdom, Episode 8: The Battle of Edington

Posted on November 30, 2015 by Patricia

878 A.D. In the seventh week after Easter King Alfred rode to Ecbryht’s Stone…All those of Somerset came to meet him, and those of Wiltshire and Hampshire…they were glad of his coming. ..He went from that camp…to Edington, and there fought with the whole force and put them to flight… Then the force gave him hostages, and great oaths that they would go from his kingdom; they also promised that their king would receive baptism.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, translated & collated by Anne Savage

For seven weeks now The Last Kingdom has been journeying toward the Battle of Edington, which is the climax of this season finale. But there is so much that happens before that battle! Those of us who have read Bernard Cornwell’s book The Pale Horseman have a general idea of what will occur, but because writer Stephen Butchard has been forced to re-work some characters and events, there are some surprises in this episode even for those who know the story.

Change is in the air after the four difficult months in the marshes at Athelney. Alfred has been tested, and he comes out of this trial stronger and more determined, convinced that God is with him. He has come to a decision about what must be done to preserve his kingdom, and he turns for advice to Uhtred and Beocca.

Some of my favorite moments in this episode occur when the camera is focused on Alfred as he listens to the men around him, because although Alfred’s determination has strengthened, in other ways he has softened. There is a warmth here that we did not see in the cool, level-headed king of the earlier episodes. One example of this occurs when Brother Asser warns Alfred against trusting Uhtred. He is a man without a soul, Asser says – echoing words that Alfred himself has spoken in a much earlier episode. But Fr. Beocca cries Then I will be his soul, lord! The ensuing dialogue, this argument over Uhtred’s soul, is fine writing, and Alfred’s expression as he listens conveys the change in his attitude toward Uhtred even though he says almost nothing.

When Uhtred weeps over a terrible loss, the camera angle includes Alfred observing him from a distance. Later, when Alfred goes alone to Ecbryht’s Stone to search for a sign of the men he has summoned, it is Uhtred who follows him and hears him say, Not a single man has come. And it is Uhtred who encourages the king with, Then we must wait, lord. It is subtle, this bond, this mutual respect that has been formed in the marsh between the two men, but it is there. 

Alfred can be cold as well, as we witness in a scene set in Odda’s hall. He is stern and hard, even toward a grieving father. His mind is bent on saving his kingdom, and there is no forgiveness for treachery. As the armies prepare for battle Alfred gives a stirring speech to his men, and before it’s all over, this ailing, cerebral leader becomes Alfred, the warrior king.

Uhtred has changed, too – no longer the hothead we saw in earlier episodes. Fearing (correctly) that Brother Asser might try to undermine his relationship with Alfred, Uhtred turns to Fr. Beocca and asks him to intercede. The brash adolescent who blundered armed into the king’s assembly at Winchester has matured. You are the man I’d always hoped you would become, Fr. Beocca will tell him.

But the priest, like Uhtred, recognizes that Uhtred’s maturity has come at great cost.

Even Æthelwold, Alfred’s nephew who believes he should be king, is given some moments of grace before, during and after the battle. It is difficult to know what, exactly, moves him to act as he does in one particular scene when he follows Alfred, clearly with a murderous intent that he, surprisingly, purposefully sets aside. This is a scene that was not pulled from the novel, and all in all Stephen Butchard leaves us with a more positive image of Æthelwold than Cornwell did. That being said, because we don’t know Æthelwold’s motivation, there is still plenty of opportunity for him to turn to the dark side should the show go into a second season.

As for the battle, in my copy of the book it goes on for 36 pages. For the screen it has been trimmed down considerably.

Nevertheless, filmed both from above and from the viewpoint of the men in the shield wall, it gives the watcher a feel for the horror of medieval war.

I’ll leave it to others to describe it except to point out one thing: midway through, Uhtred, driven by rage, goes over the enemy shieldwall and is surrounded by Danes. This moment hearkens back to the first episode, when his father charged through the Danish line and found himself in the same position, surrounded by the enemy. But Uhtred’s father was part of an army that was divided, and despite his courage, the Saxons did not follow his lead. This time it’s different. This time the warriors follow Uhtred because they are fighting, united, under a single king: Alfred of Wessex.

Erik Kain in Forbes.com recently wrote: The market is better than ever for Medieval drama, and there’s plenty of room for more great shows about knights and warriors, swords and sorceresses. I hope that BBC2 and BBCAmerica agree with that view and that The Last Kingdom, which has received nothing but wildly positive reviews as far as I can tell, will go into a second season. We want to see more of Uhtred of Bebbanburgh and of Alfred the king.

Posted in Anglo-Saxons, History, Review, The Last Kingdom, UK, Vikings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

The Last Kingdom, Episode 7: The Sack of Wessex

Posted on November 23, 2015 by Patricia

When last we left our hero Uhtred, the question on the table was, “What’s up with Leofric?” Why did Uhtred’s good friend (who we REALLY LIKE!) offer damning evidence against our favorite Northumbrian regarding their lawless adventures in Cornwall?

The answer: Leofric explains that Odda2 had 20 men ready to swear against Uhtred, so he was going to be condemned no matter what, and all Leofric could do was give him a warrior’s death via single combat. In the book, it is someone else that Uhtred must fight, and the entire sequence is far more complicated. But this is a television drama with only so much time and money allotted to it. Screenwriter Stephen Butchard continues to do a terrific job of weaving story-lines together in a way that remains true to the behavior of the principal characters and to the themes that Bernard Cornwell introduced in his novels.

When Uhtred and Leofric duel, they don’t pull any punches. It’s a fight to the death, and it is not something that Alfred – who is angry that two of his best warriors are about to kill each other – cares to watch. If you saw the show or if you’ve read The Pale Horseman, you know how the combat ends, so let’s move on to the real heart of this episode.

There are two memorable tales about King Alfred, and the most significant one is that he was a king who hid out with his family and whatever remained of his followers in the marshes of Somerset for four miserable winter months. His fortunes were about as low as they could get. In this episode there is a wonderful moment when, having escaped from the Danes by the skin of his teeth (with Uhtred’s help), Alfred and the few followers with him remind a contemptuous Uhtred that Alfred is a king. Uhtred’s reply: He is Alfred. A man. King of nothing. And the camera shot opens up to reveal the water-ways dotted with small, reed-covered islands which are now Alfred’s kingdom.

It’s looking very bleak for Alfred, but there are even darker moments to come.

At this point Uhtred harbors enormous resentment against Alfred because he believes the king has been unjust towards him and even lax in fulfilling his responsibilities as king. And always there’s that issue of the priests: Too many priests and too much praying – not enough action taken against a Danish enemy that cannot be trusted. Uhtred’s anger fades, though, as the episode progresses, and it is Uhtred – not Leofric or the priests or even Ælswith – who gives Alfred hope. The scenes between Alfred and Uhtred and their discussions about God, a sick child and an ailing kingdom are especially moving. David Dawson’s portrayal of Alfred, a man who believes his child is being punished for his own sins, is full of raw emotion.

Eliza Butterworth gives a wonderful performance as well. Her Ælswith is usually the woman we love to hate, but in this episode she is a worried wife and a desperate mother, grieving over the suffering of her child and terrified that she is about to lose him.

The child’s illness and imminent death bring Alfred to a personal crisis, worse than any he has experienced before because this is a crisis of faith. Leofric recognizes this and tells Uhtred, If the child dies it will take the fight from Alfred’s bones.

It is Uhtred who takes it upon himself to urge Alfred to action for the sake of his sick child, persuading him that God is not punishing him, but testing him. He has one chance to save his child, and one chance to save his kingdom. The two are intertwined, and Alfred must trust that his God will use a pagan healer to restore his son’s health.

It is no easy matter for the healer, either. She claims that if she saves the life of infant Edward, some other child will die in his place, and she is haunted by that knowledge.

The issue of Christian beliefs vs Pagan beliefs plays a large role in this series as it must have in Wessex at the time, although probably not for the king in such a personal way. In Britain, pagan beliefs and rituals would linger well into the 11th century and beyond, condemned by priests like Beocca. Denmark would not begin to embrace Christianity for another 100 years after the time frame of The Last Kingdom, and then a Danish Viking – a Christian – would wrest the crown of England from the heirs of Alfred.

But that part of the story lies in the distant future. For now we are still with Alfred in the Somerset marshes, in the tiny village of Athelney, awaiting the final episode and the single great battle that Alfred, with Uhtred’s help, must win in order to take back his kingdom.

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The Last Kingdom, Episode Six: He is the One

Posted on November 15, 2015 by Patricia

“I was young and I was foolish and I was arrogant and I was never able to resist a stupid impulse.” UHTRED. The Pale Horseman, Chapter 5. Bernard Cornwell

That about says it all, Uhtred. In Episode Six our hero scores a hat-trick of stupid impulses and manages to alienate Alfred, Mildrith and apparently even his buddy Leofric.

Poor Uhtred!

But it’s not all bad. He finds treasure hidden in a midden, he gets the church off his back (briefly), and he gets a new woman, Iseult.

For viewers who have not read Cornwell’s books, I hope you have realized by now that when it comes to women, Uhtred is the James Bond of Anglo-Saxon England. There’s always another girl in the wings.

But poor Mildrith! She seems to visibly fade beside this exotic shadow queen in the gorgeous gown who arrives with Uhtred from Cornwall.

Iseult is a gwrach – a sorceress, who tells Mildrith “You are no longer part of Uhtred’s path.” Ouch.

Mildrith, though, is tougher than she looks, and writer Stephen Butchard has done a fine job of revealing the depth of her character in these few brief scenes. She sends Uhtred to sleep with the goats, and then like Brida she’s smart enough to cut her losses. She determines to find a new protector since her husband isn’t willing to do the job. By the way, divorce was acceptable in Anglo-Saxon and Danish cultures. Their kings frequently practiced serial monogamy – one wife after another as necessary, even after Christianity had taken hold.

Another character who is given a bit more depth in this episode is, surprisingly, Æthelwold. He is still something of a buffoon, but he takes quite a risk in tagging along with Uhtred on his lawless adventure to Cornwall.

So, what does Æthelwold hope to gain by siding with Uhtred, and what does young Odda hope to gain by siding against Uhtred (besides, possibly, Mildrith)? Well, King Alfred is not in good health. If he dies, it is not his infant son who will be placed upon the throne by the witan, but a warrior who has proven his ability to lead men. Young Odda seems to be attempting to place himself in that position, and he doesn’t need a warrior like Uhtred standing in his spotlight, so Uhtred has to go. Æthelwold also recognizes Uhtred’s skill as a warrior and seems to understand that Uhtred may be of use to him if something should happen to Alfred. The stakes for both men are high.

While in Cornwall Uhtred runs into King Peredur, who is a real charmer in his backward pigsty of a stronghold. He reminds me of a lecherous King Lear. Uhtred also runs into a Danish warlord who proves to be as devious and loathsome as he looks. In the books his name is Swein of the White Horse, but Butchard has re-named him Skorpa, probably because he doesn’t want us to confuse him with Kjartan’s son Swein from earlier episodes.

And Asser has finally arrived on the scene! One look at his clean face, neat hair and  stylish, wrinkle-free grey habit and we just know that this guy and Alfred are going to be kindred spirits. Get used to him. As Uhtred says in The Pale Horseman, “I had just met a man who would haunt my life like a louse.”

Asser was a Welsh monk, later a bishop, and at Alfred’s invitation he became a fixture at the king’s court. In 893 he wrote the Life of King Alfred, and it’s thanks to him that we know as much about Alfred as we do. Uhtred hates him immediately, of course, and the feeling is mutual.

Which brings me back to Uhtred’s buddy, Leofric. At the end of the episode we are left dangling over a cliff-edge of suspense about Leofric. Stephen Butchard has done some skillful snipping and re-weaving of characters and story-line in this episode, and I’m wondering what he is going to offer as motivation for Leofric’s about-face in this final scene.

Am I right in thinking that there is something going on behind Leofric’s pugnacious scowl? Does he have a plan to save both Uhtred and himself? Is he being blackmailed by Odda, who is, after all, his lord? Butchard has veered away from the book here, and we are as astounded as Uhtred by his actions. We’re just going to have to wait until next week, though, to see what, if anything, he has up his chain mail sleeve.

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