The Briton and the Dane by Mary Ann Bernal - hardcover edition now available

 

…With a sweeping elegance, I soon found myself utterly enchanted with The Briton and the Dane by Mary Ann Bernal. Gwyneth was a character that I immediately loved. She is young, feisty, and something of a free spirit. She cannot be tamed. Her wilfulness, often bordering on defiance made her a fascinating protagonist and one I enjoyed reading about, although I did feel sorry for the monks, whose patience Gwyneth put to the test on more than one occasion! Gwyneth’s story was also a lovely reminder of the joyful experience of first love.

The Briton and the Dane has a large cast of characters. There is not one but three romance stories within the cover of this book. Gwyneth’s brothers, the lovable David and the serious Stephen all have rather complicated love interests — David in particular! I thoroughly enjoyed learning about these supporting characters, and they helped to give the story depth. I especially enjoyed Stephen and Elizabeth’s story.

Bernal has a very engaging narrative and style, which held my attention throughout the course of this book. The political intrigue and the threat of war between King Guthrum and King Alfred (later to be known as The Great) gave this novel a sense of urgency. Peace was fragile, and war was on the horizon, add to that the complicated romance plot of our young intrepid protagonists, made The Briton and the Dane unputdownable.

I have read three books in The Briton and the Dane saga, and I have enjoyed them all. Bernal is a natural storyteller and writes fabulous escapism fiction.  — Mary Anne Yarde The Coffee Pot Book Club Book Award

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Book Spotlight: The Du Lac Curse: Book 5 of The Du Lac Chronicles by Mary Anne Yarde

God against Gods. King against King. Brother against Brother.

Mordred Pendragon had once said that the sons of Lancelot would eventually destroy each other, it seemed he was right all along.

Garren du Lac knew what the burning pyres meant in his brother's kingdom — invasion. But who would dare to challenge King Alden of Cerniw for his throne? Only one man was daring enough, arrogant enough, to attempt such a feat — Budic du Lac, their eldest half-brother.

While Merton du Lac struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of Budic's crime, there is another threat, one that is as ancient as it is powerful. But with the death toll rising and his men deserting who will take up the banner and fight in his name?

Excerpt

   

It had been a long time since Guinevere had last ridden a horse. She had loved galloping with the wind in her hair when she was a young girl, but youth was far behind her now. And yet, when she had first looked upon Alden du Lac, the years had rolled away and she was that shy young girl again, looking into the face of the man she had once loved. Alden looked so much like his father that it hurt her eyes and broke her heart to look upon him. Sister Agatha had once told her that time heals all wounds. But that was not true… A heart, once broken, can never be mended. You just learned to live with the pain.

Fate had been cruel, but Guinevere had tried her best not to become bitter. She had been made to marry a Pendragon, but her heart had always been faithful to the House of Du Lac. “Lancelot,” she whispered the name of the only man she had ever loved under her breath. Alden was what she had foolishly once imagined her own son would look like. Only there had been no son, just as there had been no future with the man she had loved. In the end, it was the Church that had saved, not only her life, but also her sanity. No one could stop her from loving God, and God would never stop loving her, no matter what.

And yet, here she was once again choosing Lancelot over God — choosing Lancelot over everything. The child whimpered, and she held onto him a little tighter.

“Shh, be brave,” she soothed.

“I want my Mother,” Jowan, Alden’s six-year-old son and heir, said as he sniffed back his tears.

“I know you do.” Guinevere wanted to reassure the child, tell him that he would see his mother soon. But she would not lie to him. She had been lied to as a child. She had been told that her mother had gone away for a few days, and then when her mother had not returned, she had been told that her mother had been delayed. Only she had not been delayed. She was dead. Guinevere may have been young, but she would have rather been told the truth from the start than to live a lie for two years before her father thought her old enough to understand.

Guinevere kicked the horse on again, and the child fell silent. Guinevere knew what she had to do, but that did not mean she did not have grave misgivings. Guinevere did not know how she would be received, but for the sake of Lancelot’s grandson, she would put aside their differences and ask… No, she would get down on her knees and beg this knight for help. It was the only thing she could do. It was that, or run away. Guinevere had been running for too long. She had been running from her past for years. It was about time she stopped.

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About the Author

Mary Anne Yarde is the multi award-winning author of the International Bestselling Series — The Du Lac Chronicles. Set a generation after the fall of King Arthur, The Du Lac Chronicles takes you on a journey through Dark Age Britain and Brittany, where you will meet new friends and terrifying foes. Based on legends and historical fact, The Du Lac Chronicles is a series not to be missed.

Born in Bath, England, Mary Anne Yarde grew up in the southwest of England, surrounded and influenced by centuries of history and mythology. Glastonbury — the fabled Isle of Avalon — was a mere fifteen-minute drive from her home, and tales of King Arthur and his knights were part of her childhood.

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Magic into Myth: Avalon, Mystical Isle of Medieval Arthurian Literature

Ancient Origins

The Isle of Apples, Isle of the Blessed, and the Otherworld. These titles have long been associated with the magical resting place of the early medieval king, Arthur Pendragon. A realm imbued with magic, mystery and mysticism, Avalon is as much a metaphor as a true metaphysical realm.

 Its existence and the essence of Avalon had therefore varied from author to author. What was Avalon's role in medieval literature, then? Was it magical or metaphorical? Was it both? Was it entirely unrelated to Arthur? Well, the last question is evidently answered with a resounding "NO"; but is there a question about Avalon that can be answered with a resounding "yes"? This work will examine the ways in which Avalon was depicted in medieval literature, how it was altered over time, and some of the literary and historical implications of the site's supposed mysticism.

An artist’s interpretation of Avalon. (Iribel/Deviant Art)

Avalon is Discussed More than Visited
Avalon has long been a staple of the literature of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. From it stems the majority of the magic that encompasses fairy-tale-esque retellings, and the pagan roots of the British world prior to the rise of Christianity under King Arthur’s reign.

In Avalon, the dreaded Morgan le Fay was taught the magic of the ancients, eventually using this magic to bring about the fall of King Arthur and his royal court. The precise name of the enchantress, and her role in Arthur’s story varies between retellings, but the roots of the dark sorceress who influences the court remains the relatively the same. Similarly, magic vs. sword and pagan vs. Christian have been used interchangeably as metaphors.

Morgan le Fay learned ancient magic on Avalon. (Manzanedo/Deviant Art)

Within medieval literature, Avalon appears to be discussed about more than it is seen. It is best remembered as Arthur’s eternal resting place. Literature discusses Avalon as the place from which magic stems, as a realm behind the veil of mists that encompasses the titular lake of the Lady of the Lake.

From Avalon, passed on by the Lady, comes the infamous sword Excalibur, and the intention behind its mystical/pagan origins is not only that it signifies Arthur as the “once and future king”, but also that Arthur has innately been tied to the world of Avalon. The Lady of the Lake, often portrayed as Lancelot’s mother and occasionally Merlin’s lover, has long alternated between being independent of Morgan le Fay and part of her. That is, the roles of the two are as often intertwined—one could even argue they are confused—as not.

Illustration by H.J. Ford for Andrew Lang's Tales of Romance, 1919. "Arthur meets the Lady of the Lake and gets the Sword Excalibur." (Public Domain)

Intertwining Arthur and Avalon
The primary medieval source of the myth of King Arthur comes from Geoffrey of Monmouth, 10th-11th century AD. Geoffrey’s Historia Regum Britanniae appears to have been utilized throughout the medieval period as an initial source for Arthurian legends. Portraying Arthur and his story in a historical fashion, Geoffrey’s history indicates that there likely was a historical Arthur, the details of which have always been scarce.

As such, the tales of Arthur and his knights have varied throughout the centuries, dependent upon the cultural perceptions and perspectives of the era. For example, the French writer Chrétien de Troyes (c. 12th century) emphasizes the more romantic aspects of being a knight under Arthur, and it is from Chrétien and his contemporaries that “courtly love” stems. 15th century Thomas Malory’s rendition Le Morte’ de Arthur provides a more comprehensive overview of Arthur and the Round Table, building upon Geoffrey's and Chrétien’s stories (among others).

Voyage of King Arthur and Morgan Le Fay to the Isle of Avalon, Frank William Warwick Topham (1838-1924). ( Public Domain )

It is widely believed that Geoffrey first mentioned Avalon as a mythical Otherworld, as well as Morgan le Fay as the island’s leader:

Geoffrey also says that Avalon is where Arthur’s sword, Caliburn [an earlier name of Excalibur], was forged, while the Vita Merlini provides another name for the same locations, the Insula Pomorum or Isle of Apples. The Avalon of the Vita is a utopian place where agriculture is self-sustaining and human life is longer, and is inhabited by nine sisters who are enchantresses (Morgan le Fay is the first of these nine).

Rushton, 215.

The taking of Excalibur by John Duncan. (Public Domain)

As Rushton states, Geoffrey of Monmouth called the leader of Avalon Morgan le Fay, and in this role she was often depicted as a powerful enchantress with the interests of Arthur and the survival of paganism in mind. (However when Morgan le Fay is blended with Arthur’s half-sister and the mother of his son, Mordred, her intentions are destructive). She has also been called Vivian or Morgaine, Arthur’s half-sister, and, in some instances—as mentioned above—she is occasionally blended with the character of the Lady of the Lake. (Thus, the reasons for her alternating allegiances in the legends.)

It is not Geoffrey, however, but Gerald of Wales who initially indicates that Avalon was the resting place of Arthur’s death. Writing in the 12-13th centuries, Gerald follows Geoffrey’s general depiction of Avalon, yet he asserts that Arthur dies before his body is taken to Avalon. Geoffrey, on the other hand, appears to imply that Arthur continued his life in Avalon after the fall of his kingdom.

While Gerald is not alone in his perception of the myth—as indicated by later writers of the myth such as 19th century Alfred Tennyson—Geoffrey’s viewpoint was more readily accepted in the medieval period and was subsequently borrowed by 13th century author William of Rennes, who “provides an idyllic description of Avalon, and the further detail that Arthur and a “royal maiden” who heals him and live together as a couple.”

‘The Last Sleep of Arthur in Avalon’ (1881-1898) by Edward Burne-Jones. (Public Domain)

The Debate on Avalon’s Existence
Avalon as a historical place has long been under debate as well. The elusiveness of the understanding of the location in British literature has made it nearly impossible to discern whether there truly was an Avalon or if Geoffrey created it with influences from the native Celtic religion. If Avalon did exist, it is usually attributed to Glastonbury in England, in part due to an island that disappeared sometime before or during the 12th century.

It also fits descriptions of the mythical isle, although—again—it is possible the island was imagined in the image of Glastonbury Tor without the Tor actually being the site. The debate of Avalon’s existence only grew when a pair of rich graves was discovered in Glastonbury near the mythologically-infused Tor, believed to be those of Arthur and his Christian wife Guinevere.

Glastonbury Tor has been linked to Avalon. (R Potticary/ CC BY SA 3.0 )

All in all, it cannot be doubted that Avalon played a powerful role in the expanse of literature surrounding King Arthur and his knights. The time period Arthur likely "lived" might remain hazy (though scholars lean toward the early medieval period of 500-900 AD), but that did not squelch attempts to understand and spread Arthur's historical and mystical tale during the medieval period. That exploration continues to this day, with no particular end in sight.

Yet it appears that the primary purpose Avalon served in medieval literature is to provide divine origins for Arthur's kingship and to connect the worlds of mortals and magic, Christian and pagan, during a tense period of transition.

The stories of Avalon maintain common themes—love, betrayal, and religious dissonance, to put it simply—and all have the same resolution: Arthur spends the last of his days in Avalon, and the pagan world preceding his reign has mostly passed. Therefore, Avalon's lengthy association with magic and old-world religion during the medieval period remains a sensible, though likely metaphorical, assertion.

Artist’s representation of Avalon. (AlexandraVBach/Deviant Art)

Top Image: ‘Avalon finalised.’ Source: cheery-macaroon/Deviant Art

By Riley Winters

5 things you (probably) didn't know about the crusades

History Extra

Here, Dr Aysu Dincer Hadjianastasis from the University of Warwick brings you five lesser-known facts about the crusades...

1) When caught in the crossfire, women didn't hesitate to don arms and armour
Whether women took active part in battle during the crusader period is a much-contested issue. While there is some evidence that corpses of Latin women wearing armour were spotted among the dead on the battlefield, historians have queried whether precious war gear would be ‘wasted’ on women who were unlikely to receive military training.

 However, in desperate situations, whether the women had an interest in fighting or not, they simply had to find ways to defend and protect themselves. Thomas of Beverley's poem on the deeds of his sister Margaret offers a fascinating insight to a female pilgrim's fight for survival in a dangerous place. Margaret had travelled to the Holy Land on pilgrimage and was in Jerusalem when it was besieged by Saladin in 1187. The poem tells us that she was able to avail herself of a breastplate but in the absence of a helmet she simply improvised with a cauldron!

On the Muslim side, Usamah talks about an instance when a castle owned by his family was attacked and conquered by the Ismailis. The Ismaili leader tells Usamah's cousin Shahib that he will turn a blind eye if he goes back home, gathers his belongings and leaves the castle. As Shahib goes back home to collect his valuables he is startled by a figure who enters the house wearing a mail hauberk and a helmet, a sword and shield. The figure throws off the helmet, and lo and behold, it's Shahib's aging aunt. She berates Shahib for his cowardice and for letting down the family honour by considering running away and leaving all the women behind.

It is interesting that both sources were written by men, who praise women for their ingenuity without the slightest trepidation – despite the fact that these women's actions dealt a sound blow to accepted medieval gender roles!

2) During the crusader period medical knowledge was highly valued and constituted one of the crucial points of contact between eastern and western cultures
The memoirs of Usamah ibn Munqidh (1095–1188), The Book of Contemplation, are a goldmine of information about daily life in the Holy Land and include many anecdotes (some serious, some less so) on various forms of cultural exchange between the Latin crusaders and the natives of the Holy Land.

 It would be fair to describe Usamah as a person who was ‘born’ to the crusades. Born on 4 July 1095, he spent his long and adventurous life living side-by-side with the residents of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. In one anecdote, Usamah talks about an artisan from Shayzar named Abu al-Fath, whose son was suffering from scrofula [a tuberculosis infection of the lymph nodes in the neck]. While Abu al-Fath was in Antioch on a business trip with his son, a Frankish man noticed the sores on the boy's neck and offered them a remedy (“burn some uncrushed leaves of glasswort, soak the ashes in olive oil and strong vinegar”).

While the anonymous Frankish man seemed to be genuinely motivated by his wish to cure the boy, he was also keen to keep the ‘copyright’: Abu al-Fath had to swear by his religion that he wouldn't make money out of anyone that he cured using the recipe.

It appears that the remedy was indeed new to the Muslims, and as it cured Abu al-Fath's son its success ensured further circulation. The remedy was passed on to Usamah, who tells us that he himself used it on a number of sufferers. Through his memoirs, the remedy found its way to future generations.

c1275, a knight of the crusades in chain mail is kneeling in homage, his helmet being held above his head. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

3) Some crusader medical advice included remedies that were hardly palatable
 For instance, the 14th-century anatomist and royal physician Guido da Vigevano offered slug soup as antidote to aconite poisoning. In 1335 da Vigevano produced a text (Texaurus Regis Francie) urging the French king Philip VI to launch a new crusade. The text includes technical plans, drawings for siege engines and a wind-propelled chariot, as well as medical advice, including the above-mentioned solution to aconite poisoning – which despite sounding unpleasant, is actually very ingenious.

Aconite, commonly known as monkshood and still found in cottage gardens, is a highly poisonous plant and during the crusader period it was used by the Muslims against the crusaders. Why slugs, though? On noticing some slugs that were feeding on aconite leaves, da Vigevano seems to have experienced a light-bulb moment. He collected and boiled the slugs, concocting a soup out of them, which he first tested on animals. After achieving satisfactory results he took some aconite and tried the antidote himself.

Da Vigevano proudly reported that while the first two doses made him vomit, by the third dose he was free of the poison. Sadly, he never found out whether it was worth going through this nasty trial, as Philip VI's crusade failed to materialise.

 4) When all was lost and they were taken hostages, negotiation skills were all that mattered to crusaders
These skills undeniably came to the fore during the Seventh Crusade (1248–54). Initiated, led and largely financed by King Louis IX of France, the Seventh Crusade was one of the most logistically sophisticated expeditions to the East. While it held great promise at the start, it ended in abject failure.

Louis IX's acts during the crusade were documented by his close friend Jean de Joinville, who was privy to most of the negotiations and decision-making. Joinville provides us with one of the liveliest and interesting accounts in crusader history: he was obsessed with detail, blessed with a prodigious and photographic memory and had a passionate interest in clothing. To top it all, he had a barely concealed crush on Louis IX's wife, Queen Marguerite of Provence, who was also on crusade. Most chronicles of the crusades offer their audiences countless tales of individual bravery and sacrifice – Joinville does this too, but also gives us a king battling a bout of dysentery so severe that a hole has to be cut in his drawers.

Louis IX of France was captured in Egypt during the Seventh Crusade in April 1250. (Photo by Ann Ronan Pictures/Print Collector/Getty Images)

After a doomed expedition up the Nile to take the town of Mansurah, the crusaders try to retreat to Damietta but are forced to abandon the attempt. Joinville's party realise that they are running out of options and have to surrender. A crusader among the group clearly sees this as an act of cowardice and argues that rather than giving themselves up as hostages they should all let themselves be slain and go to paradise. Joinville bluntly reports: “but we none of us heeded his advice”.

Instead, once he is taken hostage Joinville does everything he can think of so that his life will be spared: he strikes a kinship with a Muslim man, lies to his captors that he is the king's cousin, fabricates a relationship to Emperor Frederick II and quotes Saladin when it suits him (“never kill a man once you had shared your bread and salt with him”). In the end it's Queen Marguerite's powers of negotiation that save them: she hands Damietta over to the Mamluks in exchange for her husband’s life and Louis pays 400,000 pounds for his army to be released.

5) The royal women of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem played crucial roles in political life, which sometimes meant that they had to endure successive marriages

 Royal marriage was an important political tool in the survival of the kingdom. The prize for the highest number of marriages goes to Queen Isabella I of Jerusalem, who married four times. All her husbands, bar one, were eliminated from the picture quite dramatically. She was forced to divorce her first husband, Humphrey of Toron, who was not only extremely reluctant to step up to the throne but also perceived to be too young, too intellectual and somewhat effeminate by the nobility. The divorce meant a loss of face for Humphrey, but at least he remained alive.

Isabella's second husband, Conrad of Montferrat, was not so lucky: he was assassinated by the much-feared Assassins, an Ismaili sect. Isabella married her third husband, Henry of Champagne, while heavily pregnant with Conrad's child and just a week after his death. This marriage lasted for five years and ended when Henry died falling from a castle window. Isabella's final husband, Aimery of Lusignan, died of “a surfeit of white mullet”: quite a preventable death.

How do we explain these serial marriages and what do we know about the woman who endured them? Was Isabella a helpless, romantic victim who was simply acting as a vessel in the transmission of legitimacy? Indeed, her life corresponds to the most turbulent period in the history of the crusader states: she witnessed the rise of Saladin and the fall of Jerusalem; she saw the Third Crusade come and go and Cyprus conquered, colonised and turned into a new kingdom.

The man who married Isabella would be king, so he had to be an experienced political ruler and an exceptional military leader. The decision wasn't Isabella's to make, however, as the barons were the active kingmakers, but she appears to have accepted their choices. By the end of her reign the kingdom had found stability and her eldest daughter's right to rule was secure.

Similar to Margaret of Beverley's cauldron-come-helmet in 1187, Isabella’s marriages can be seen as improvisations to protect the kingdom. The cauldron saved a pilgrim; Isabella's marriages ensured the survival of the kingdom at a perilous time.

Dr Aysu Dincer Hadjianastasis is a teaching fellow in medieval and early modern history at the University of Warwick.

Viking Camp Complete with Ship Building and Weapon Workshops Unearthed in England

Ancient Origins

The craftsmanship and shipbuilding capabilities of the Vikings are often overshadowed by stereotypical images of violent invaders, plunderers, and explorers. But it is worthwhile to remind ourselves that there were everyday aspects to the lives of the Norse men and women as well. Discoveries like recent excavations in Derbyshire help us reflect on the oft-forgotten skills of Vikings away from their homeland.

 A press release by the University of Bristol says that the Viking winter campsite from 873-874 has been known about in the village of Repton since 1975. However, the recent excavations by a team of University of Bristol archaeologists has exposed a larger area for the site to include sections used as workshops and for ship repairs.

A Viking ship. ( The-Wanderling)

According to the Daily Mail, ground penetrating radar revealed pathways and gravel platforms which were probably used as the foundations for tents or temporary timber buildings. One of the paths led to a mass grave site inside a deliberately damaged Saxon building which was discovered in the 1980s. New radiocarbon dating of a sample of the almost 300 people suggests that these are the remains of warriors who died in battle around the time of the camp’s usage. The team also noted that the building which housed the dead had once been used for a workshop.

Regarding artifacts, the archaeologists found some lead game pieces at the Viking camp. Broken pieces of weapons such as arrows and battle axes suggest that metal working took place at the site and Viking ship nails provide a clear indication for repairs likely taking place there as well.

Top: Fragment of axe-head found in association with Viking camp material. Bottom: Arrowhead found in association with Viking camp material. ( Cat Jarman, University of Bristol )

Speaking on the site, Cat Jarman, a PhD student at the University of Bristol, said:

“Our dig shows there was a lot more to the Viking Camp at Repton than what we may have thought in the past. It covered a much larger area than was once presumed – at least the area of the earlier monastery – and we are now starting to understand the wide range of activities that took place in these camps.”

Stamps showing ‘Everyday Life in the Viking Age.’ ( Public Domain )

The existence of the Viking winter camp was documented in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. It mentions the ‘Great Army’ annexing the kingdom of the Mercian king Burghred in 873. In fact, it has been argued that part of the reason that location was chosen for the camp was due to the nearby monastery which held the bodies of Mercian kings. The closeness to the river Trent would have also played a role.

The results of the excavations will be presented on the BBC Four series ‘Digging for Britain’ on November 22.

Students excavating the winter camp. ( Cat Jarman, University of Bristol )

Vikings are certainly a hot topic these days. Dramas such as Vikings (History Channel) and The Last Kingdom (BBC) have propelled an interest in the Norsemen to a new generation. Despite their popularity, there is much that people still misunderstand about the Viking age and its people. As Mark Miller reflected in a previous Ancient Origins article , a recent survey of 2,000 people in the UK shows,

“many British people are clueless about the Vikings. In fact, 20 percent didn’t even know Vikings were from Scandinavia. And 10 percent think the Viking Age happened much later, mistakenly thinking from the 15th to 18th centuries. Another 25 percent did not know the Vikings attacked the British Isles, instead thinking they raided South America.”

Danes invading England. From "Miscellany on the life of St. Edmund," 12th century. ( Public Domain )

A popular error regarding the appearance of a Viking is the 19th century myth of the Viking horned helmet . This stereotypical image has been traced to the 1800s, when Gustav Malmström, a Swedish artist, and Wagner’s opera costume designer Carl Emil Doepler both decided to depict Vikings in horned helmets. In contrast, depictions of warriors from the Viking age show them in iron or leather helmets, if they are even wearing the headgear at all.

A stereotypical painting by Mary McGregor from 1908 of Leif Ericson landing at Vinland ( Public Domain )

Top Image: A Viking weapon workshop. Credit: Kevin Roddy

By Alicia McDermott

Who Were These Vikings Buried Sitting Upright?

Ancient Origins

BY THORNEWS

Accidentally, in 1963 a burial ground with 24 graves deep inside the bay of Sandvika on the eastern side of the island of Jøa in Central Norway were discovered. The bodies buried in a sitting position dates back to the years 650 to 1000 AD, and analyses show that these Vikings belonged to a very special group of people.

Unlike other Viking Age graves, the graveyard was unknown because the bodies were not placed inside a burial mound that is clearly visible in the terrain, or marked in any other way. These dead Vikings were lowered into cylinder- and funnel-shaped sand holes from flat ground. The question is why.

Sandvika Burial Ground is Unique
The Sandvika burial ground is unique in Scandinavia, and these people are the only ones found with sitting bodies.

The burial custom had been very strenuous: Firstly, the person must have been dead for at least twenty-four hours so that rigor mortis could make it possible to shape the body into a seated position, and secondly, it must have been very difficult to form seats in the porous shell sand.

 However, these are not the only reasons why this particular group of Vikings is a mystery.

One of the skeletons found in the Sandvika sitting graves, Central Norway (Photo: NTNU Museum of Natural History and Archaeology, 1965-66)

Old Women – Small Men
In 14 of the 24 graves there were found skeletons and skeletal remains; 10 graves were empty.

 Of these, seven women and four men have been identified. Analyses shows that the women reached an average age of 47 years, much higher than average for Iron Age people, where the normal life expectancy for women was 39 years.

It has only been possible to determine the age of one of the men, and he died at the age of 40.

The reconstructed Tranås Iron Age farm located only a few hundred meters from Sandvika. (Photo: ThorNews)

The women had an average height of 157.2 centimeters (5ft 2in), and the men 162.6 centimeters (5ft 4in), which is much lower than the normal height for this period.

 The men were as much as 10 centimeters (3.9in) lower than the average for the Viking Age (172.6 cm / 5ft 8in) and 12 centimeters (4.7in) lower than people living in the Iron Age (174.7 cm / 5ft 9in).

The women do not differ so much – they only were 3.7 centimeters (1.5in) lower than the normal for Iron Age women (160.9 cm / 5ft 3in) and 0.9 centimeters (0.35in) lower than Danish Viking women (158.1 cm / 5ft 3in).

Heathen Hof Nearby
The dating of artifacts shows that these Vikings were buried fully clothed in the period 650 – 1000 AD, i.e. from the Merovingian period to the end of the Viking Age, and it seems like the burial custom ended when Christianity was forced with swords upon the Norse society.

Today, on the other side of the small river Hovselva (English: the Hof River) is the Hov (Hof) farm located in the northeast – indicating that there was a pagan temple located close to the burial ground.

In all of the 24 graves there were found remnants of bonfires, so it is natural to assume that there must have been some kind of ritual that included bonfire in connection with the funeral.

Orientation and Knives
Another peculiarity is that about half the bodies were facing north-northeast (facing the Hof) and half to the south-southeast. No one was facing directly east and only one body was facing directly to the west.

An illustration showing the orientation of the bodies. Credit: Thor Lanesskog

As many as ten knifes were found in nine different graves. They vary in length, but none of them has a blade more than 20 centimeters and consequently had not been used as Viking combat weapons. The individuals they belonged to must have used these knives for a different purpose.

There were no other weapons found inside the graves, which is unusual for the Viking Age. However, there were also found beads, brooches, finger rings and keys, but there is no repeating pattern.

Specialists in Their Field
The similarities between the buried Vikings are many:

 Both women and men died at an old age, and the men were much lower than the average height in the Viking Age.

They were buried in a small area close to a heathen Hof, and the dead were put down in a sitting position. There was no marking of the graves but they may have been marked with ornamental shrubs or flowers.

Almost all of the graves contained remnants of bonfire, and there are no traces of weapons. However, there were found many “regular” cut knives.

The bodies were facing north-northeast and south-southeast. No one was facing directly towards the east.

Who was this specialist group of Vikings? Was it “hovgydjer”, meaning pagan priestesses – and were the knives used for sacrifice? If so, the theory that Viking Age priests only were women is not correct.

Maybe Norse pagan priests also were small men with special “feminine qualities”?

Top image: Main image: Screen of Gameplay of the video game War of the Vikings (public domain). Inset: One of the skeletons found in the Sandvika sitting graves, Central Norway (Photo: NTNU Museum of Natural History and Archaeology, 1965-66)

The article ‘Who Were These Vikings Buried Sitting Upright?’ by Thor Lanesskog, was originally published on ThorNews and has been republished with permission.

If King Alfred was great, was Æthelstan even greater?

History Extra

Æthelstan is shown dressed as a pilgrim with Guy of Warwick in a scene from the 14th-century 'Chronicle of England'. (Bridgeman)

Was King Alfred (reigned 871–99) really the greatest Anglo-Saxon king? Certainly he remains the best-remembered – even if it’s only for burning the cakes. But should it really be his grandson Æthelstan (reigned 924–39) – now largely forgotten – whom we celebrate as the most significant pre-Conquest monarch?

Alfred was a highly successful military leader who, in a battle at Edington in 878, resoundingly defeated the Danish army that had almost conquered Wessex. In the ensuing period of peace he launched a programme of educational reform that transformed the use of English as both a literary and a governmental language. Yet Alfred only ruled the West Saxon people, and those in the western part of the Midland kingdom of Mercia not under subjection to the Danes. When he died (the sole remaining native king in England), the east Midlands, East Anglia and Northumbria all lay in Danish hands.

Æthelstan, on the other hand, was the first king to rule all England and laid claim to an imperial overlordship over the whole of Britain. His military prowess brought him direct authority over not just Wessex and Mercia, but the Danelaw (the name given to the area of northern England where Vikings settled) and the kingdom north of the Humber. Celtic rulers from elsewhere in the British Isles subsequently submitted to his authority. He crushed a rebellion of the Scots king in 934, attacking his realm with a land and sea force and ravaging as far north as Caithness. When Æthelstan defeated a combined Norse-Scots-Northumbrian force at the battle of Brunanburh in 937, a contemporary poem entered into the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle recalled: “Never yet in this island before this was a greater slaughter of a host made by the edge of the sword since the Angles and Saxons came hither from the east, overcame the Britons and won a country.”

The tomb of King Æthelstan in Malmesbury Abbey. (Alamy)

 Foreigners also recognised Æthelstan’s status. He played a significant role on a European stage, forging alliances with royal and ducal houses across the territories of the former Carolingian empire through marriage and fostering arrangements. Scholars from Britain and abroad flocked to his court, bringing books, precious gifts and the relics of the saints (to which Æthelstan showed particular devotion). Alfred founded a dynasty. Æthelstan (who died childless) paved the way for that royal line (through his brothers and nephews) to govern all the English peoples via an effective administrative machine. When he died, an Irish chronicler lamented the demise of the “pillar of the dignity of the western world”. How can so great a king, once celebrated for his achievements, have fallen into such oblivion today?

Alfred’s posthumous reputation received a substantial boost from the profusion of literature that emanated from his court in the latter years of his reign – including the first version of the collection of year-by-year accounts of early English history we know as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

The statue of King Alfred the Great in Wantage, Oxfordshire. Alfred may widely be regarded as the father of the English nation, yet Æthelstan was the first to unite the English people under a single authority and proclaim himself "king of all Britain". (Alamy)

One of his circle, the Welsh priest Asser, also wrote a life of the king in the 890s, giving an unparalleled insight into his personality, his devotion to the saints, his practical and creative abilities and his attitudes to kingship. Texts translated from Latin into English at his court also included passages attributed to the king himself.

By contrast, the reign of Æthelstan is ill-served with narrative sources; the Chronicle offers the sketchiest narrative of events in his reign, there is no surviving biography, nor any writing attributed to his own authorship. Creating a picture of him as a man as well as a royal figurehead involves piecing together information from a disparate range of sources (and a good deal of imaginative licence).

Even so, after his death, Æthelstan enjoyed considerable fame. The West Saxon Latin chronicler Æthelweard saw Æthelstan as a mighty king and drew attention to his victory at Brunanburh (still remembered in the late tenth century as the ‘Great Battle’). Æthelstan’s submission of the Scots and the Picts brought significant and lasting consequences: “The fields of Britain were consolidated into one, there was peace everywhere and abundance of all things, and [since then] no fleet has remained here having advanced against these shores, except under treaty with the English.”

Æthelred the Unready (reigned 978–1016) called his eldest son Æthelstan – and worked through various Old English royal names before he thought to name his eighth son Alfred.

A king to remember
After the Conquest, Æthelstan’s reputation remained strong. To Anglo-Norman writers, he stood out as the founder of a united English realm, and – perhaps more significantly in that era – as having successfully asserted his authority over his Celtic neighbours. William, a monk of Malmesbury Abbey where Æthelstan was buried, paid him particular attention, providing insights not found in any other source, possibly drawing on a now-lost tenth-century life of the king. In William’s hands, Æthelstan became not just a king to remember but one about whom there were many stories, even popular songs worth recalling and repeating.

Various factors combined to diminish Æthelstan’s standing in the literary imagination during the late Middle Ages. Legends about a heroic British king, Arthur, received a substantial boost from the writing of Geoffrey of Monmouth. While Æthelstan’s martial success still gained approval, rumours first reported by William of Malmesbury that Æthelstan’s mother had been a concubine and he was therefore illegitimate gained increasing currency. The mysterious circumstances in which his younger brother, Edwin, was drowned at sea in 933 (supposedly in an open boat without an oar), and Æthelstan’s foundation of the church at Milton Abbas in reparation did him little good either. Æthelstan’s literary reputation reached its nadir in the 14th‑century poem, Æthelston, in which the eponymous hero comes across as a troubled and insecure king, struggling to achieve the moral authority to control his realm.

At the same time, other pre-Conquest kings achieved equal or greater prominence. Attempts to make a saint of Edward the Confessor began soon after his death; he was canonised in 1161. Most problematically for Æthelstan’s cause, Alfred was frequently hailed as the first king to have held sway over all England. Orderic Vitalis, writing in the 12th century, first made that claim, which was energetically promoted by monks at St Albans including Matthew Paris, who went so far as to say that “in view of his merits Alfred was called Great”. King Henry VI even tried in 1441 to get Alfred “the first monarch of the famous kingdom of England” canonised, but without success. No one tried to make a saint of Æthelstan, even though he never married and had such a great reputation for piety in his lifetime.

Æthelstan was overshadowed by the legend of King Arthur, shown in a c1250-80 vellum. (Bridgeman)

 Neither great nor saint, Æthelstan’s place in the popular memory started to slide as the reputation of Alfred increasingly eclipsed that of all Anglo-Saxon kings. Elizabeth’s reign saw an increasing interest in the history of pre-Conquest England; antiquarians collected early English manuscripts and began to publish Anglo-Saxon texts, including Asser’s Life of Alfred. This helped to increase popular understanding of Alfred’s qualities as a ruler and build his reputation as a scholar and statesman at the expense not just of Æthelstan but of all other Anglo-Saxon kings for whom no equivalent biographies survive. William Tyndale had claimed that Æthelstan commissioned an early translation of the Bible. But it was Alfred’s promotion of English over Latin as the language through which to get closer to God that would resonate in the reformed English church, eager to find the historic roots of the Ecclesia Anglicana in the distant past.

Alfred’s reputation flourished further after the publication (in Latin in 1678, and in English in 1709) of John Spelman’s Life of King Alfred, which promoted the king as first founder of the English monarchy. Prince Frederick (son of George II) and his circle of patriots enthusiastically evoked Alfred for his protection of English freedoms and his defeat of foreign enemies, on land and sea. Thomas Arne’s masque Alfred, first performed for Prince Frederick in 1740, concludes famously with the anthem Rule Britannia.

A tenth-century script of the Venerable Bede's 'History of the English People', which was translated during Alfred's reign. (Photoshot)

Thus, gradually during the 18th and 19th centuries, Æthelstan’s memory waned. Only the Freemasons remembered Æthelstan and celebrated him as their mythical founder in England, his ‘son’ (brother) Edwin the first English Grand Master. History books (especially those written for children) found much to celebrate in the deeds for which Alfred was famed, not just his victories over the Danes but his inventions – a candle-clock sheltering inside a horn lantern – and his supposed role in founding the English navy by having ships of a new, longer, design built to try and defeat the enemy at sea.

A national myth
Æthelstan’s right to be considered the first king of all England seemed long forgotten, that epithet given either to Alfred’s grandfather (Ecgberht, d839) or more often to Alfred. Anglo-Saxon topics were popular among Victorian painters but neither Æthelstan nor his great battle at Brunanburh found visual commemoration in any picture exhibited at the Royal Academy between 1769 and 1904; Alfred was however frequently depicted. It was Alfred who took the central role in the creation of a national myth of English and British origins; he became the archetypal symbol of the nation’s own sense of itself. The beginnings of political stability in Britain (which stood in marked contrast to the upheavals elsewhere in 19th‑century Europe) went back to Alfred’s day. As Edward Augustus Freeman argued, Alfred was the most perfect character in history; no other name could compare with his.

Nothing brings out the contrast between the two kings’ reputations better than the marking of the millennial anniversaries of their deaths. Thanks to uncertainty about the precise date of Alfred’s demise, his millennium was celebrated not in 1899 but in 1901. First planned in the aftermath of Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee in 1897, the celebration was to be a “National commemoration of the king to whom this empire owes so much.”

Crowds travelled to Winchester on Friday 20 September to watch Lord Rosebery unveil Hamo Thornycroft’s massive statue of the king set in the Broadway, Winchester, before proceeding to Winchester Cathedral for a service with the massed choirs of southern English cathedrals, at which the archbishop of Canterbury preached.

Both sides of a silver coin of Æthelstan, which proclaims him as "Rex To Brit" ("King of All Britain"). (British Museum)

 In stark contrast, a single notice in The Times of London for 25 October 1940 (buried under “Ecclesiastical News”), noted the supposed millennium of “Æthelstan the Great” (dating his death to 940, in error for 939). Lamenting that there might in happier times have been some celebration of this event, the correspondent remembered the king as the greatest and most munificent benefactor to St Paul’s Cathedral in London, his donations making that cathedral the richest in England.

Only with the revival of Anglo-Saxonism in the latter years of the 20th century, increased scholarly interest in the Latin and vernacular literature of England before the Conquest, and the critical editing of royal administrative documents, has Æthelstan begun to regain something of his former prominence. His reign lay at the source of many developments. First to unite the English peoples under a single authority, Æthelstan also accepted the submission of all the other rulers of Britain. Welsh kings attended regularly at his court, travelling round the kingdom with him.

 Æthelstan expressed his claim to hegemony over all Britain in a new language of imperial rulership and in visual symbols, most obviously his decision to wear a crown (shown on his coins and in the surviving portrait of the king giving a book to St Cuthbert). His sway over the whole island brought together under one rule peoples that had previously suffered significant political disruption and consequent social breakdown because of the Danish wars and Scandinavian settlements.

Æthelstan created an efficient administrative machine to govern a dispersed realm, and directed much of his legal activity towards the repair and renewal of this fractured and damaged society.

“Very mighty”, “worthy of honour”, “his years filled with glory”, “pillar of the dignity of the western world”, “pious King Æthelstan”: each of these near-contemporary comments reflects aspects of Æthelstan’s achievement and personality. He deserves to be brought out of the shadows that have obscured his memory and celebrated as a key figure in the making of England – and, indeed, the forging of Britain.

Where Æthelstan is remembered
Æthelstan supposedly visited Beverley in the East Riding of Yorkshire on his way to fight a major battle in the north and paused to pray for victory at the shrine of St John of Beverley (a prominent figure in Bede’s History, and an early bishop of Hexham). On his return south, victorious, he refounded Beverley church as a collegiate community of canons and granted it land and a number of privileges including the right of sanctuary. Three monuments in the minster recall the king, including a life-size statue cast in lead in 1781 added to the screen at the entrance to the choir. Æthelstan stands holding a sword in one hand, and in the other the charter of privileges he had given to the town of Beverley. On the opposite side of the archway leading into the choir is a similar statue of Bishop John of Beverley.

Outside the guildhall at Kingston upon Thames in Surrey stands a piece of grey-wether sandstone, believed to be the Anglo-Saxon coronation stone on which Æthelstan was crowned in September 925. The stone once lay in St Mary’s chapel in the town; when that was destroyed, it was moved to the market place, where it served as a mounting block. The Masonic order of Surrey led a campaign in the 1850s to re-situate the relic in a more formal setting, arranging for it to be moved in 1854 to its current location, mounted on a heptagonal base and surrounded by railings. Re-laying the stone involved appropriate Masonic ceremonies, including the sprinkling of the monument with corn, oil and wine.

The coronation stone in Kingston upon Thames on which Æthelstan was crowned in September 925. (Alamy)

In the restored Norman abbey church at Malmesbury in Wiltshire, Æthelstan is commemorated by a late medieval tomb chest in perpendicular style, now in the north aisle.

The king’s recumbent, full-length effigy lies beneath a heavy traced canopy. The original head has been removed and replaced with another of unknown date. Æthelstan was a generous patron of Malmesbury in life and chose to be buried there, near the tomb of St Aldhelm. In the 12th century, William of Malmesbury saw the king’s remains and remarked on his fair hair. During the Reformation his bones were lost and the tomb is now empty.

St Cuthbert and the kings of Wessex
 Both Alfred and Æthelstan are associated with legends relating to St Cuthbert (bishop of Lindisfarne, d687). At his time of greatest need, before the battle of Edington, King Alfred supposedly received a night-time visitation from the saint, who promised him victory and a glorious future for his sons. If Alfred would be faithful to Cuthbert and his people, Albion would be given to him and his sons, and he would be chosen king of all Britain. Æthelstan – who claimed that very title: king of all Britain – showed great devotion to the saint’s shrine on a visit to Chester-le-Street in 934. He gave many precious gifts including a book containing Bede’s life of Cuthbert. The frontispiece to that volume depicts a double portrait of the crowned King Æthelstan presenting the manuscript to Cuthbert.

Sarah Foot is Regius Professor of ecclesiastical history at Christ Church, Oxford and author of Æthelstan: The First King of England.

Ælfthryth: England’s first queen

History Extra

Illustration by Sarah Young.

If asked to name a medieval queen of England, most would probably fasten upon Eleanor of Aquitaine, the influential wife of Henry II, made famous by Katharine Hepburn in The Lion in Winter. A few Plantagenet and Tudor enthusiasts might think of Elizabeth Woodville, the capable consort of Edward IV and grandmother to Henry VIII. One or two of the more adventurous might even fix upon Emma of Normandy, the indomitable wife of King Cnut in the early 11th century. Many would struggle to think of any at all. But very few indeed would name Ælfthryth, the third wife of King Edgar (reigned 959–75) and mother of Æthelred ‘the Unready’ (r978–1013 and 1014–16).

This is understandable. Beyond her outlandish name (sometimes modernised as Elfrida), Ælfthryth faces a number of difficulties. For a start, our sources for her life are much scarcer than they are for her more famous successors. To this may be added the lower public profile of Anglo-Saxon history.

All too often we think of the Middle Ages as starting in 1066. Before this lurks the mysterious ‘Dark Ages’: a period filled with fascinating, semi-mythical figures such as Arthur and Merlin, but little in the way of real historical evidence. Still, it is a pity that she is not better known, for if any medieval English queen deserves to be a household name, it is Ælfthryth. And for all the importance of an Eleanor or an Elizabeth, it is Ælfthryth who has the honour of being the ‘first queen of England’.

Ælfthryth’s reign came at a decisive time in English history. The second half of the ninth century had seen the Vikings subdue the north and east of England. Only the kingdom of Wessex, south of the Thames, survived – and this only thanks to the dogged efforts of Alfred the Great (r871–99). Under Alfred’s successors, the English went on the offensive, and by his grandson Æthelstan’s time (r924–39) most of what is now England had been brought under their control. Later kings had to fight hard to maintain these gains, but in the end they succeeded.

Ælfthryth herself was born in the early to mid-940s to a prominent family in the South West. Upon coming of age, she was married to Æthelwold, the ealdorman of East Anglia (a royal officer, the equivalent of the later ‘earl’). Æthelwold’s family was one of the most powerful in England (his father had borne the nickname ‘half-king’, on account of his quasi-regal standing) and in this capacity he was responsible for almost a quarter of the realm. However, Æthelwold soon died under circumstances that are unclear. But rather than a setback, this proved the making of the young Ælfthryth.

Rival spouses
In 964 Ælfthryth, still only in her late teens or early twenties, went on to marry King Edgar, who had himself succeeded to the throne five years earlier. Like Ælfthryth, Edgar had been married before. In fact, he had two prior spouses, one of whom was still alive. Not surprisingly, there were questions as to whether this was a true marriage ‘till death do us part’: an indissoluble union in the language of the church.

 Such concerns were soon put to rest, however. On the occasion of the marriage itself, Edgar granted land to his new wife – a particular honour accorded to neither of his previous consorts. In fact, this seems to have been a different kind of union from the outset. Unlike her predecessors, Ælfthryth regularly appeared in government records. And, far from being there for purely decorative purposes, she seems to have influenced and guided royal policy.

 Before this, royal wives had been minor players. They appear only rarely in the documentary record, and when they do, they invariably bear the title ‘king’s wife’ or ‘king’s consort’ rather than ‘queen’. Such terms emphasise the dependency of these women on their husband; queen was not yet an office in its own right. But this too was now to change. From the start, Ælfthryth is styled ‘queen’.

The rugged ruins of Corfe Castle, built on the estate where King Edward was murdered. (Alamy)

The reason for this change lies in another break with tradition: Ælfthryth was also the first consort of England to be crowned and consecrated. The tradition of royal consecration had developed on the continent in the early Middle Ages. At its heart lay the ritual anointing of the monarch with holy oil and investment with symbols of office (above all, the crown – hence the modern term ‘coronation’). The ceremony enacted and symbolised the transition from heir apparent to king, and was thought to endow the monarch with divine favour. It made him king ‘by the grace of God’.

Royal consecration had become common in England in the ninth century, but it was reserved for ruling monarchs, invariably men. That Ælfthryth should be formally anointed like her husband marks an important point of departure. It indicates that, in both practical and symbolic terms, queenship was starting to become an office. Ælfthryth’s influence would not be owed entirely to her husband, but also to ‘divine grace’.

The partnership between Ælfthryth and Edgar is visible throughout the remaining years of his reign. In the year of their marriage, they began to reform the bishopric of Winchester. This was a process that involved removing the existing clergy, who were accused of lax standards, and replacing them with monks. In future years, the two worked closely to foster similar reforms elsewhere. And when, in 973, Edgar decided to undergo a spectacular second coronation at Bath, Ælfthryth was right there by his side.

A succession struggle
In early July 975, at the height of his powers, Edgar died at the age of no more than 32. This had not been foreseen, and a succession struggle soon erupted. This pitted Ælfthryth and Edgar’s son, Æthelred, against Edgar’s eldest son, Edward (Æthelred’s half-brother).

Most surprising is that there was a dispute at all. Though succession rules had yet to be formalised, it was generally anticipated that the eldest son would succeed (at least in the absence of a royal brother). That some were willing to back the much younger son Æthelred, who may only have been six at the time, requires some explanation.

It’s likely that the imposing figure of Ælfthryth lay behind their decision. As queen, she had enjoyed great power and influence and was understandably hesitant to let go of this. Edward’s succession posed a real threat to her. If Edward proved long-lived, there was every chance that Æthelred might be cut out of the succession. Yet Ælfthryth was not just power-hungry. As a consecrated queen, she may have felt that she was more legitimate than Edgar’s previous wives: his only true consort. And if this were so, then Æthelred was his only true offspring.

It was this that seems to have been the real point of contention: was Edward a throne-worthy heir, or an illegitimate bastard? Some were clearly convinced of the latter, but in the end age trumped legitimacy and Edward was consecrated king in his father’s stead.

Edward’s succession was a major blow to Ælfthryth, and such wounds were not easily healed. Barely had Edward taken control of the realm, when he was killed at Corfe in Dorset by supporters of Æthelred and Ælfthryth. He had been travelling to visit the two at the time, and it is hardly surprising that suspicion has often fallen upon them. However, contemporary sources, of which there is little shortage, do not implicate them. We are probably dealing with a situation rather like that of Henry II and Thomas Becket two centuries later: one of zealous supporters seeking to do their masters a favour, and going beyond their orders.

A scene depicting Ælfthryth looking on while King Edward (on horseback) is stabbed to death. Ælfthryth benefitted from the murder - but did she order it? (Bridgeman)

Whatever the precise circumstances, this act landed Æthelred on the throne that his mother had worked so hard to secure for him. However, he was still a child (no older than 12, and perhaps only eight or nine) so there could be no question of him ruling on his own. Instead, an informal regency was established with Ælfthryth and her supporters at its head. For the next six years, it was they who would rule with quiet efficiency. Only when the queen regent’s chief allies, Ælfhere of Mercia and Bishop Æthelwold of Winchester, died in quick succession in 983 and 984, did Æthelred finally take control of affairs. Initially, he distanced himself from the politics of his regents, and for the next eight or nine years Ælfthryth disappears from the record entirely. She was clearly removed from court, and her policies with her.

Crisis of confidence
 These years saw something of a youthful rebellion from the teenage Æthelred, who took the opportunity to promote new favourites and attack religious houses associated with his earlier regents. Yet it was also at this juncture that the Vikings began to plague his coasts. In 991 they defeated a major English force at Maldon in Essex. Æthelred suddenly suffered a crisis of confidence.

As was common in the Middle Ages, the king interpreted this as a sign of divine displeasure, and set about mending his errant ways – starting with restoring his mother to favour. He welcomed Ælfthryth back at court and reversed previous policies. Æthelred also charged his mother with the important task of raising his children (her own grandchildren, the heirs to the throne). Reconciliation seems to have been complete.

When Ælfthryth died on 17 November 1001, the king was deeply moved. She was buried at Wherwell, the nunnery she had founded in Hampshire. Soon after Æthelred issued an extraordinary document in favour of this centre. Like most royal enactments, the resulting text opens with a meditation on God’s will. Yet unlike other documents of the era, this quotes the biblical dictum: “Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return,” then cites the fifth commandment: “Honour thy father and thy mother”.

Ælfthryth’s legacy lived on in the queens who followed her. Æthelred’s second wife, Emma of Normandy, cut quite the figure in future years, as did Edith, the wife of Edward the Confessor (and the sister of Harold Godwinson, the last Anglo-Saxon king of England). The office of queen had been born, and had a long and bright history before it.

 Ælfthryth’s inspiration
Two women who set the template for the queen’s achievements

In the years before Ælfthryth, the status of royal women varied significantly. The dynasty that united England in the early 10th century was that of Wessex (south of the Thames), and prevailing attitudes were drawn from there. At the time of Alfred the Great, the king’s Welsh biographer, Bishop Asser, criticised the “strange” West Saxon tradition of denying royal consorts the title of queen – a custom that reportedly went back to the king Beorhtric in the early ninth century (r786–802), whose wife accidentally poisoned him! This is the stuff of legend, but whatever the real grounds, West Saxon royal women – aside from Judith, crowned queen of the West Saxons in 856 – did not have a high profile.

Ælfthryth, shown in a manuscript from Abingdon Abbey. (Bridgeman)

Elsewhere, matters were different. In the Midlands kingdom of Mercia, royal wives traditionally held a more active role. It is here that the most famous female figure of the 10th century is to be found: Æthelflæd, ‘lady of the Mercians’.

Æthelflæd was the eldest daughter of Alfred the Great. She married the Mercian nobleman Æthelred, who oversaw the region on Alfred’s behalf. When her husband died in 911, she took power, working with her brother, King Edward the Elder (r899–924), to conquer much of the east Midlands and East Anglia. Her political links to Wessex doubtless helped her position, but her achievement is no less impressive for this. She may have offered a model for Ælfthryth, whose first husband hailed from East Anglia.

 Another likely inspiration was Eadgifu, wife of Edward the Elder. Little is known about Eadgifu during her husband’s reign, but when her sons Edmund (r939–46) and Eadred (r946–55) ruled, she seems to have been the power behind the throne.

Levi Roach is a lecturer in history at the University of Exeter and author of Æthelred the Unready (Yale University Press, 2016)