The thing about studying Old Norse is that every time you convince yourself it's a sensible academic subject, you come across something like I did this morning: a story of giants playing catch with a two-hundred-pound red-hot seal's head.
(From this text.)
This is going to be my afternoon now...
Showing posts with label Those Crazy Vikings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Those Crazy Vikings. Show all posts
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Scandinavian Food, or, 'Is there anything Vikings can't do?'
This morning I was amused by this story from the BBC: Scandinavian food: Why is it becoming so popular in the UK?:
Why is Scandinavian food so popular? Well, I think we've been through this before; the answer to this question, just as to the question 'why is Danish drama becoming so popular in the UK?' is: Scandinavia is just plain cool. The BBC quotes a restauranteur who hits the nail on the head:
As for food - I don't know if there's much archaeological evidence to tell us whether the Danes brought a distinctive kind of food to England, but the literary evidence is clear on one point: there was a lot of it! At least, two twelfth-century historians thought so. William of Malmesbury, writing in the 1120s about a period some seventy years before, claims that "since the time of the Danes meals in England were served in the most elaborate fashion",* and Henry of Huntingdon agrees; he says of Harthacnut, son of Cnut and his wife Emma, and king of England between 1040-2:
There's no saying whether this is true or not (or whether any particularly Danish foods were served at these lavish feasts!) but it is true that Harthacnut himself actually died at a feast, suffering a fit while standing up to drink at a wedding celebration in Lambeth, in 1042. The wedding was uniting the families of two powerful Danish noblemen who lived and held land in England: the bridegroom was Tovi the Proud, patron of Waltham Abbey and its stubborn cross, and the father of the bride was Osgod Clapa (who owned a substantial amount of land in East Anglia, and may have given his name to Clapham). I don't know what food they served, but I bet it was cool.
A little linguistic point: that article talks a fair bit about fish, but it was the last picture of the Othello cake which really made my mouth water. And this leads me to observe that the English word cake comes ultimately from Old Norse, as does the crucial ingredient the egg; and indeed the word for the action which turns one into the other - whisk. Bakers can be especially grateful to the Danes ;)
* William also claims that in the time of King Edgar, the English 'learnt drinking from the Danes'. This is pretty hard to believe; somehow I think the Anglo-Saxons already knew quite a lot about drinking long before the tenth century...
Swedish food sales in the UK have risen by almost 30% in the past five years, with Norway and Denmark also reporting an increase in exports destined for our dining tables. So why is Scandinavian cuisine getting so popular here?
It began with the warm, creamy, cut-price meatballs designed to fuel flat-pack furniture fans seeking a break from the aisles of Ikea. But over the past few years Scandinavian cuisine has been spreading beyond Britain's retail parks and creeping into supermarkets and restaurants.
The latest figures from government agency Statistics Sweden indicate that Swedish food and drink sales in the UK were worth almost £290m in 2010. Norway measures its performance in weight, with about 127,000 tonnes exported here in 2011, a rise of 18% since 2006.
Last January, food trends agency the Food People tipped Scandinavian food as the "hottest UK culinary trend of 2011".
Why is Scandinavian food so popular? Well, I think we've been through this before; the answer to this question, just as to the question 'why is Danish drama becoming so popular in the UK?' is: Scandinavia is just plain cool. The BBC quotes a restauranteur who hits the nail on the head:
The Scandinavians are just like us, only cooler. Food, clothes, hairstyles, language; the way our northern neighbours do things has fascinated some English people pretty much as long as England has existed. This was true back in 795, when Alcuin was appalled that the people of Northumbria were imitating the hairstyles of the Vikings who were raiding their land; true also during the ninth and tenth century, when Danes and Norwegians settled in northern and eastern England and English people adopted the settlers' fashions in dress and jewellery; and perhaps most true of all in the first half of the eleventh century, when under the Danish king Cnut it was not only politic but highly fashionable to give your children Danish names and listen to stories from Norse mythology.
"It's not so different from the UK so it's almost a voyeuristic fascination for people, as if they are looking over their garden fence at neighbours they have never noticed before."
As for food - I don't know if there's much archaeological evidence to tell us whether the Danes brought a distinctive kind of food to England, but the literary evidence is clear on one point: there was a lot of it! At least, two twelfth-century historians thought so. William of Malmesbury, writing in the 1120s about a period some seventy years before, claims that "since the time of the Danes meals in England were served in the most elaborate fashion",* and Henry of Huntingdon agrees; he says of Harthacnut, son of Cnut and his wife Emma, and king of England between 1040-2:
It is said that his generosity was so great that he ordered royal meals to be served four times a day to all his court, preferring rather that they should be invited and leave scraps of what was set before them, than that they should not be invited and beg for scraps to be given to them, since in our time it is the custom for princes, either from avarice or, as they themselves say, from fastidiousness, to serve food to their men only once a day.(Henry, Archdeacon of Huntingdon, Historia Anglorum, ed. and trans. by Diana Greenway (Oxford, 1996), p.371).
There's no saying whether this is true or not (or whether any particularly Danish foods were served at these lavish feasts!) but it is true that Harthacnut himself actually died at a feast, suffering a fit while standing up to drink at a wedding celebration in Lambeth, in 1042. The wedding was uniting the families of two powerful Danish noblemen who lived and held land in England: the bridegroom was Tovi the Proud, patron of Waltham Abbey and its stubborn cross, and the father of the bride was Osgod Clapa (who owned a substantial amount of land in East Anglia, and may have given his name to Clapham). I don't know what food they served, but I bet it was cool.
A little linguistic point: that article talks a fair bit about fish, but it was the last picture of the Othello cake which really made my mouth water. And this leads me to observe that the English word cake comes ultimately from Old Norse, as does the crucial ingredient the egg; and indeed the word for the action which turns one into the other - whisk. Bakers can be especially grateful to the Danes ;)
* William also claims that in the time of King Edgar, the English 'learnt drinking from the Danes'. This is pretty hard to believe; somehow I think the Anglo-Saxons already knew quite a lot about drinking long before the tenth century...
Thursday, 19 January 2012
St Canute: England and Denmark in the Days Before TV
Danish chic at Jelling, in the church founded by St Cnut's
great-great-grandfather Harald Bluetooth in 965
great-great-grandfather Harald Bluetooth in 965
Denmark is cool these days. With the arrival of the political drama Borgen on British TV (it's the West Wing! But in Danish!), various articles have pondered why Denmark is so appealing to English viewers - and the answer, according to the Guardian, is because love of Scandinavia is "a pretty good bellwether for British middle-class homebound taste". Well, no one knows more about the middle class than the Guardian, so we must accept this judgement.
The basis for this theory, reasonably enough for a TV review, goes back only as far as World War II, but England and Denmark have a long, pre-television history which is sort of my specialist subject (well, it's meant to be). Today is the feast-day of Cnut IV, Denmark's first canonised saint, who helps to exemplify it.
Cnut was the great-nephew of his namesake Cnut the Awesome - er, I mean, Cnut the Great, who united England and Denmark (and Norway and Sweden and Scotland, sort of) in a single North Sea Empire, under his rule, from 1018-1035. Sadly this empire didn't survive his death and the general rubbishness of his sons, and by the accession of Edward the Confessor, only seven years after Cnut's death, England and Denmark were severed once more.
That didn't stop the Danish kings, first Cnut's nephew Svein Estrithson and then his many sons, from taking an interest in the English throne, and hoping they might get it back again. Svein apparently declined the opportunity to invade England in 1066, unlike just about every other king in Northern Europe; but in 1069, when the rule of William the Conqueror was looking distinctly unstable, Svein sent his brother and three of his sons, including the future saint Cnut, on an exploratory raid on the east coast of England. They joined up with English rebels led by Waltheof and occupied York for several days; if they'd held out a bit longer they might have triumphed, and the Norman Conquest would have been only a three-year blip in English history.
But the loose coalition between them fell apart (as Borgen shows us coalitions are wont to do) and the Danes sailed away again, pausing only to accept some of the spoils of Peterborough Abbey as plundered by Hereward the Wake. I didn't say they were the good guys. Svein's sons had another go at teaming up with Waltheof in 1075, but it didn't work any better (some stories say William the Conqueror bribed Svein's brother to stay away, infuriating the Danish king. Maybe he promised to build him a motorway.)
Anyway, time passed, Svein died, his son Harald took the throne, Harald died, and then Cnut became king in 1080. His time was occupied by various rebellions, but he didn't lose interest in England: in 1085 he gathered a fleet to invade, which apparently worried William the Conqueror quite a bit, but a threat from Germany distracted Cnut's attention and the fleet never set sail.
The following year, Cnut was murdered during an uprising while taking refuge in a church. Like many kings killed in such a way, he was soon considered a martyr and a saint. By 1101 he had been officially canonised - fast work for those days! (It took Wulfstan of Worcester, today's other saint, more than a hundred years. In the process, Cnut's name was transformed into Canute because of the Pope's inability to pronounce the one-syllable version - a problem we all sympathise with...)
I said Cnut hadn't lost interest in England - and England hadn't lost interest in him. From its early days the veneration of him as a saint was supported by English monks, mostly from the abbey of Evesham in Worcestershire. The priory at Odense, where Cnut was killed, had been founded by English monks and dedicated to St Alban, and throughout the twelfth century it remained in close communication with both Evesham and St Mary's in York (which had been founded by a Dane, Earl Siward of Northumbria, in 1055).
A twelfth-century document says that at that time any Evesham monk was allowed to live at Odense for as long as he wished, and vice versa. We can name at least one man who did so: the first person to write a Life of St Cnut was an Englishman named Ælnoth, a monk educated at Canterbury, who had lived in Denmark for twenty-four years when he wrote his Vita.
The Peterborough Chronicle records Cnut's death thus:
Swa hit wæs on Denemearcan þet þa Dænescan, þe wæs ærur geteald eallra folca getreowast, wurdon awende to þære meste untriwðe 7 to þam mæsten swicdome þe æfre mihte gewurðan: hi gecuran 7 abugan to Cnute cynge 7 him aðas sworon, 7 syððan hine earhlice ofslogon innan anre cyrcean.
So it happened in Denmark that the Danes, who have always been considered the most trustworthy of people, turned to the greatest betrayal and the worst treachery which could be: they chose and accepted Cnut as king and swore oaths to him, and afterwards they shamefully slew him in a church.
You might wonder why a Peterborough monk of the late eleventh century, after three hundred years of Viking attacks, would think of the Danes as 'the most trustworthy of people'. There's a long answer to that question involving settlement patterns and trading routes and Beowulf and the development of national and regional identity in England; but let's go for the short answer: Denmark is cool.
Wednesday, 26 October 2011
Lady, by one light only We look from Alfred's eyes
I've been meaning to post this for a while, and the anniversary of the death of Alfred the Great is as good a day as any. It's from the prologue to G. K. Chesterton's 'Ballad of the White Horse', his poem about Alfred's battles against the Danes - about order triumphing over chaos.
I feel that as a fan of the Vikings, I can't quite endorse the idea of calling them "green devils out of the sea, with sea-plants trailing heavily and tracks of opal slime"; but otherwise this is awesome. It also contains some beautiful and heartfelt love poetry, addressed to his wife.
You can read the whole thing here.
Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.
Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.
Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.
Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.
But who shall look from Alfred's hood
Or breathe his breath alive?
His century like a small dark cloud
Drifts far; it is an eyeless crowd,
Where the tortured trumpets scream aloud
And the dense arrows drive.
Lady, by one light only
We look from Alfred's eyes,
We know he saw athwart the wreck
The sign that hangs about your neck,
Where One more than Melchizedek
Is dead and never dies.
Therefore I bring these rhymes to you
Who brought the cross to me,
Since on you flaming without flaw
I saw the sign that Guthrum saw
When he let break his ships of awe,
And laid peace on the sea.
Do you remember when we went
Under a dragon moon,
And 'mid volcanic tints of night
Walked where they fought the unknown fight
And saw black trees on the battle-height,
Black thorn on Ethandune?
And I thought, "I will go with you,
As man with God has gone,
And wander with a wandering star,
The wandering heart of things that are,
The fiery cross of love and war
That like yourself, goes on."
O go you onward; where you are
Shall honour and laughter be,
Past purpled forest and pearled foam,
God's winged pavilion free to roam,
Your face, that is a wandering home,
A flying home for me.
Ride through the silent earthquake lands,
Wide as a waste is wide,
Across these days like deserts, when
Pride and a little scratching pen
Have dried and split the hearts of men,
Heart of the heroes, ride.
Up through an empty house of stars,
Being what heart you are,
Up the inhuman steeps of space
As on a staircase go in grace,
Carrying the firelight on your face
Beyond the loneliest star.
Take these; in memory of the hour
We strayed a space from home
And saw the smoke-hued hamlets, quaint
With Westland king and Westland saint,
And watched the western glory faint
Along the road to Frome.
Pictures of Oxfordshire and Berkshire taken from the hill of the Uffington White Horse, last September.
Saturday, 15 October 2011
The Battle of Hastings, the Hermit King, and Loyalty unto Death
14 October is the date of the Battle of Hastings, so here is an unusual account of that momentous event. It's from a medieval Old Norse text called 'Hemings þáttr', the story of the adventures of a probably fictional man named Heming. Heming starts off in Norway, but his combative attitude to King Harald Hardrada makes it advisable for him to leave the country, and he goes to England. He lives at the court of Edward the Confessor, but his real loyalty is reserved for Harold Godwinson, and at the time of the Norwegian invasion and Norman Conquest he is fighting at the side of the English Harold. The latter part of his story, telling of the events of 1066, is founded on decent historical sources but elaborated with a great deal of clearly fictional conversations, dream visions, portentous omens, dramatic encounters, etc. It's not in any way reliable as a historical source but it's a very interesting text all the same; I especially like the author's taste for pithy dialogue, which is illustrated to good effect in this extract.
So we take up the story where Harold Godwinson has just defeated the Norwegians (and his own brother Tostig) at the battle of Stamford Bridge, and now he has heard that William of Normandy is intending to invade England.
This is my translation from the Old Norse.
[Helgi is a totally fictional character said in this text to be the Earl of Gloucester, but Waltheof was a real person; he almost certainly did not fight at Hastings, but he did lead rebellions against the Normans a few years later and was executed for treason. In this text he appears as an honourable English warrior, treacherously killed by King William. After his execution he was indeed venerated as a martyr - 'men believe he is a saint' - although only at Crowland Abbey.]
They keep him in secret, and lie to King William's men when they come looking for Harold's body, by saying that the bloody trail leading to their house (!) is caused by the old woman, who has gone mad and killed their horse. The king's men believe them, and go back and tell William that Harold is dead and his body can't be found. Then the old woman goes to Heming, and tells him that Harold is still alive.
I love this ending - so much better than what really happened. I'm a sucker for legends about Harold's survival after Hastings, and the idea of him spending the rest of his life as a hermit in Canterbury is just amazing. (In this alternative reality, we could imagine him living in Canterbury at the same time as the Bayeux Tapestry was being made there.)
So we take up the story where Harold Godwinson has just defeated the Norwegians (and his own brother Tostig) at the battle of Stamford Bridge, and now he has heard that William of Normandy is intending to invade England.
This is my translation from the Old Norse.
King Harold heard this, and gathered his men around him. His army was very badly wounded. The king bid them leave the country if they thought they were not strong enough to follow him, but all said that they would stay with him. The king said, "Give me up if you will not follow me loyally," but they said they would never part from him.
He mustered his forces to meet William, and a hard battle began. That was nineteen days after the day when Harald Sigurdson [i.e. Harald Hardrada] fell. There was a great slaughter among the Englishmen, because many in the battle were not strong enough to be there. They fought all day, and in the evening King Harold Godwinson fell. But Heming and Helgi and Waltheof drew up their men in a 'swine's snout' formation, and no one could break through it.
Then William said, "I will give you a truce, Waltheof, if you will swear loyalty to me, and you will have your inheritance and your earldom."
Waltheof said, "No oaths will I swear to you, but I will promise loyalty to you, if you do this."
"On those terms, we can make peace," said William.
Waltheof asked, "What options will these others, Helgi and Heming, be given, if they make peace with you?"
William replied, "Helgi shall have his inheritance and earldom. He must swear loyalty to me, and advise me about those matters in which he is better-informed than I. And Heming shall stay with me, and if he is loyal to me, I shall value him more than any other man."
Waltheof asked them, "What do you two plan to do?"
Helgi replied, "Heming shall decide."
Heming replied, "I know that to you Englishmen it will seem best to put an end to this strife, but to me it seems no joy to go on living after this battle. But I will not keep you in danger any longer than you wish, although I think that for Waltheof this peace will prove brief."
Waltheof replied, "Better that we be overthrown than that we trust no one! No more men will lose their lives for my sake."
They gave up the fighting, and made peace. Then William was accepted as king, and rode away from there to London. Waltheof asked for leave to go home, and received it; he rode away with twelve men.
The king watched him go, and said, "It is unwise to allow a man to ride away free who refuses to swear any oaths to us. Ride after him and kill him." They did so. Waltheof dismounted, and forbade his men to defend him. He went to a church and was killed there, and there he was buried; and men believe he is a saint.
[Helgi is a totally fictional character said in this text to be the Earl of Gloucester, but Waltheof was a real person; he almost certainly did not fight at Hastings, but he did lead rebellions against the Normans a few years later and was executed for treason. In this text he appears as an honourable English warrior, treacherously killed by King William. After his execution he was indeed venerated as a martyr - 'men believe he is a saint' - although only at Crowland Abbey.]
The Survival of Harold Godwinson
On the night after Harold Godwinson fell, an old cottager and his wife went to the battlefield to strip the bodies of the slain and get riches for themselves. They saw a great pile of bodies, and noticed a bright light above it. They discussed it, and said that there must be a holy man among the slain. They began to clear away the bodies where they had seen the light, and they saw the arm of a man sticking out of the heap of corpses. There was a large gold ring on it. The cottager took hold of the arm and asked whether the man was alive. He answered, "I'm alive."
The cottager said, "Get the corpses off him - I think it's the king."
They pulled the man up and asked if he could be healed. The king said, "I think I could be healed, but I don't think you two could do it."
The old woman said, "We'll try."
They picked him up and laid him in their cart, and went home with him.
They keep him in secret, and lie to King William's men when they come looking for Harold's body, by saying that the bloody trail leading to their house (!) is caused by the old woman, who has gone mad and killed their horse. The king's men believe them, and go back and tell William that Harold is dead and his body can't be found. Then the old woman goes to Heming, and tells him that Harold is still alive.
The next day Heming came to the king and there was a very joyful meeting. They talked all that day. Heming asked the king to go through the whole country and gather an army. "You'll soon win the land back from William."
The king said, "I see that might be done; but then many men would be forced to break their oaths [to William], and I do not want so much evil to happen because of me. I will follow the example of King Olaf Tryggvason [king of Norway], who after he was defeated at Wendland would not go back to his kingdom, but went out to Greece, and served God there while he lived. I will have a hermit's cell built for me now in Canterbury, where I will be able to see King William in the church as often as possible. And I will live only on the food you bring me."
This Heming agreed to. The king gave the peasants ample money, and then he went into his hermit's cell. He was there for three years, and no one knew who he was, except Heming and the priest who heard his confessions. Then one day when Heming came to see Harold, he told him he had contracted an illness which would be his death.
And one day when King William was sitting at table, they heard bells ringing throughout the town. The king asked why they were ringing so beautifully. Heming answered, "I think a monk has died - the one named Harold."
"Which Harold is that?" asked the king.
"Godwinson," said Heming.
"Who has been looking after him?" asked the king.
Heming replied, "I have."
"If that is true," said the king, "it will be your death! But we wish to see his body."
He went to the cell where the body lay. It had been stripped bare, but they all recognised King Harold. The body was beautiful and fair to look on, and they noticed a sweet smell, so that all who were there understood that he was truly a holy man.
The king asked Heming what he was prepared to do to save his life. Heming asked, "What are you asking for?"
The king said, "That you swear this to me: that you will be as true to me, all your life, as you have been to King Harold, and that you will follow me as you followed him."
Heming said, "I would rather die with him than live with you. I might have betrayed you long ago, if I had wished to!"
"It is true," said the king, "that if you were killed, there would be one less valiant man in England. I will now make you an offer: you will be the foremost baron in England, you will be in my own bodyguard, and you will be the leader of them all. If you do not want that, I will give you three pounds every year in reward for your service, and you can live anywhere you like in England."
Heming thanked the king for his offer, and said, "I will accept to stay in England, but from henceforth I have no desire to own any goods. This I will ask from you: that you promise to give me this very cell, and here I will live the rest of my days."
The king was silent for a long time, and then he said, "Because this request is made with a pure heart, it will be granted."
Then King William had King Harold's body clothed in a king's shroud, and his body carried out as honourably as possible. He was interred with the greatest honours. Shortly afterwards, Heming went into this cell, and served God there until the days of his old age; and at last his sight failed, and he died in that hermitage. And now there is no more to tell of Heming.
I love this ending - so much better than what really happened. I'm a sucker for legends about Harold's survival after Hastings, and the idea of him spending the rest of his life as a hermit in Canterbury is just amazing. (In this alternative reality, we could imagine him living in Canterbury at the same time as the Bayeux Tapestry was being made there.)
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Alphege, the Siege of Canterbury, and a Vikingfest
As I mentioned when I last posted about Alphege, Archbishop of Canterbury, back in April, this year and next mark 1000 years since the Viking siege of Canterbury and the archbishop's subsequent murder. I learned today that Canterbury Heritage Museum is planning to commemorate the anniversary of the beginning of the siege in September 1011 with a Viking City Trail and other exciting activities.
As someone who has often nurtured her love of Vikings at the little 'write your name in runes' section of said museum (admittedly, for the first time at the age of 19), this makes me happy. I love the name 'Vikingfest'. And words cannot express how much I want one of those 'Viking certificates'.
(The BBC article where I learned this says there will also be lectures and events at the cathedral, but I can't find any information about that yet.)
The siege of Canterbury is not one of those events which shows the Vikings in a very good light. In my post about Alphege I gave the English version of events from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which laments, with very untypical passion and poetic grief, how the chief city of English Christendom was reduced to pitiable wretchedness by the 1011 siege; of all the blows to English morale in the difficult period of Ethelred's reign, when Viking attacks seemed unstoppable and the official response ineffectual, the siege of Canterbury was one of the very worst. The disaster was capped by the murder of Archbishop Alphege by a mob of drunken Vikings the following year, after he had been kept for seven months in captivity.
This fits very well with the conventional view of Viking brutality, and it is no criticism of the Canterbury commemoration to say that this is the version of events which it seems chiefly to recall. However, there is a Viking version of events too, and it's rather interesting and deserves to be better known.
In 1011, England was under attack from a number of different groups of Vikings, working loosely in alliance with each other but led by different and independent-minded men. Among these were Svein Forkbeard, king of Denmark and ruler of Norway, with his son Cnut; Thorkell 'the Tall', a powerful Danish nobleman; and Olaf Haraldson, who, although a descendant of the kings of Norway with a claim to the Norwegian throne, was at this time a landless young man making his way in the world by plundering the coasts of Denmark and England.
Svein and Thorkell had been raiding on and off in England for the past twenty years; since King Ethelred's policy (ever since the Battle of Maldon) was to pay ever-increasing amounts of Danegeld to buy them off, this was a fairly profitable activity. It is, however, possible that Svein always had ambitions to be king of England (there had been Viking rulers in England before, especially in the north and east, and he may have thought he had just as much right to those areas, which had a substantial population of Danish settlers, as Ethelred of Wessex did). We should also recall that Ethelred had been guilty of his own atrocity against the Danes - what we might today call an act of ethnic cleansing - with the St Brice's Day massacre, in which Svein's own sister and her family may have been killed.
Svein and Cnut don't concern us here, at least for the moment. But at some point in c.1010 Thorkell and Olaf went into partnership together, and raided and fought several battles in East Anglia. The following summer, they laid siege to Canterbury.
From their point of view, this was a triumph. Later, when Olaf Haraldson was king of Norway, his court poets celebrated all the victories he had won in England, Denmark, Sweden and Normandy, and among them praised Olaf for his victory at Canterbury. Here's a verse from a poem named Víkingarvísur, by the court-poet Sigvatr Þórðarson (you can read a little about Sigvatr here, and the Old Norse text is from the skaldic project):
Veitk, at víga mœtir
Vinðum háttr inn átta
- styrkr gekk vǫrðr at virki
verðungar - styr gerði.
Sinn mǫ́ttut bœ banna
borg Kantara - sorgar
mart fekksk prúðum Pǫrtum -
portgreifar Óleifi.
In red is the name 'Canterbury'! Skaldic verse is a horrible thing to translate, but here's my best shot:
I know that the warrior, a terror to the Wends, fought an eighth battle at the stronghold. Mightily advanced the guardian of the warriors! The city-guardians could not defend the town of Canterbury from Olaf. Much sorrow befell the proud Portar [a name for the English, the origin of which is obscure].
A verse about Canterbury also appears in a poem called Hǫfuðlausn by another of Olaf's court-poets, Óttarr svarti (Óttarr the black):
Atgǫngu vant, yngvi,
ætt siklinga mikla,
blíðr hilmir, tókt breiða
borg Kantara of morgin.
Lék við rǫnn af ríki
- rétt, bragna konr, gagni -
(aldar frák at aldri)
eldr ok reykr, (of beldir).
Translation:
Lord, you made a great onslaught on the race of the kings [i.e. on the English]. Gracious warrior, you took broad Canterbury in the morning! Among the houses fire and smoke played fiercely. I have heard that you destroyed the lives of men; you triumphed there, kinsman of kings!
From the Vikings' point of view, then, the siege of Canterbury was a triumph - and why not? But the murder of Alphege was something very different. The archbishop was held captive at Greenwich by Thorkell's men, but his execution (he was stoned to death with animal-bones and ox-skulls) apparently took place spontaneously, not on Thorkell's orders. If Thorkell did order it, he soon repented; apparently as a result of this, he and Olaf both shortly afterwards went into alliance with King Ethelred, and agreed to help the English king against Svein and Cnut. (Their mutual dislike of Svein probably didn't hurt, but such defections were not unprecedented; twenty years earlier, the Norwegian Viking Olaf Tryggvason - he who was probably the leader of the Vikings at Maldon, no less - had also gone over to Ethelred, converted to Christianity, and been baptised by Alphege himself).
Olaf Haraldson kept his promise not to attack England again; he went back to Norway and won control of the kingdom, only to be killed in battle by his own people in 1030. He was known as a devout Christian king and on his death he, too, was considered a saint and martyr - he's the patron saint of Norway, in fact. So there's one part of the Viking story: the destroyer of Canterbury became a saint!
After Ethelred's death, Thorkell went back into alliance with Cnut, who was by that time king of Denmark and England. And did Cnut, the greatest of all Viking kings, triumph in the Vikings' destruction of Canterbury? He did not. Instead, he arranged for Alphege's body to be taken back from London to Canterbury in 1023, with great honour; and thus, said a later chronicler, "he sought to correct everything wherein either himself or his predecessors had done amiss, that the stain of unrighteousness might be wiped out as well before God as before men".
So there's another bit of the story: it's partly thanks to Cnut that Canterbury can celebrate Alphege at all.
See also:
Anselm and Alphege
Stained Glass of Canterbury
As someone who has often nurtured her love of Vikings at the little 'write your name in runes' section of said museum (admittedly, for the first time at the age of 19), this makes me happy. I love the name 'Vikingfest'. And words cannot express how much I want one of those 'Viking certificates'.
(The BBC article where I learned this says there will also be lectures and events at the cathedral, but I can't find any information about that yet.)
The siege of Canterbury is not one of those events which shows the Vikings in a very good light. In my post about Alphege I gave the English version of events from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which laments, with very untypical passion and poetic grief, how the chief city of English Christendom was reduced to pitiable wretchedness by the 1011 siege; of all the blows to English morale in the difficult period of Ethelred's reign, when Viking attacks seemed unstoppable and the official response ineffectual, the siege of Canterbury was one of the very worst. The disaster was capped by the murder of Archbishop Alphege by a mob of drunken Vikings the following year, after he had been kept for seven months in captivity.
This fits very well with the conventional view of Viking brutality, and it is no criticism of the Canterbury commemoration to say that this is the version of events which it seems chiefly to recall. However, there is a Viking version of events too, and it's rather interesting and deserves to be better known.
In 1011, England was under attack from a number of different groups of Vikings, working loosely in alliance with each other but led by different and independent-minded men. Among these were Svein Forkbeard, king of Denmark and ruler of Norway, with his son Cnut; Thorkell 'the Tall', a powerful Danish nobleman; and Olaf Haraldson, who, although a descendant of the kings of Norway with a claim to the Norwegian throne, was at this time a landless young man making his way in the world by plundering the coasts of Denmark and England.
Svein and Thorkell had been raiding on and off in England for the past twenty years; since King Ethelred's policy (ever since the Battle of Maldon) was to pay ever-increasing amounts of Danegeld to buy them off, this was a fairly profitable activity. It is, however, possible that Svein always had ambitions to be king of England (there had been Viking rulers in England before, especially in the north and east, and he may have thought he had just as much right to those areas, which had a substantial population of Danish settlers, as Ethelred of Wessex did). We should also recall that Ethelred had been guilty of his own atrocity against the Danes - what we might today call an act of ethnic cleansing - with the St Brice's Day massacre, in which Svein's own sister and her family may have been killed.
Svein and Cnut don't concern us here, at least for the moment. But at some point in c.1010 Thorkell and Olaf went into partnership together, and raided and fought several battles in East Anglia. The following summer, they laid siege to Canterbury.
From their point of view, this was a triumph. Later, when Olaf Haraldson was king of Norway, his court poets celebrated all the victories he had won in England, Denmark, Sweden and Normandy, and among them praised Olaf for his victory at Canterbury. Here's a verse from a poem named Víkingarvísur, by the court-poet Sigvatr Þórðarson (you can read a little about Sigvatr here, and the Old Norse text is from the skaldic project):
Veitk, at víga mœtir
Vinðum háttr inn átta
- styrkr gekk vǫrðr at virki
verðungar - styr gerði.
Sinn mǫ́ttut bœ banna
borg Kantara - sorgar
mart fekksk prúðum Pǫrtum -
portgreifar Óleifi.
In red is the name 'Canterbury'! Skaldic verse is a horrible thing to translate, but here's my best shot:
I know that the warrior, a terror to the Wends, fought an eighth battle at the stronghold. Mightily advanced the guardian of the warriors! The city-guardians could not defend the town of Canterbury from Olaf. Much sorrow befell the proud Portar [a name for the English, the origin of which is obscure].
A verse about Canterbury also appears in a poem called Hǫfuðlausn by another of Olaf's court-poets, Óttarr svarti (Óttarr the black):
Atgǫngu vant, yngvi,
ætt siklinga mikla,
blíðr hilmir, tókt breiða
borg Kantara of morgin.
Lék við rǫnn af ríki
- rétt, bragna konr, gagni -
(aldar frák at aldri)
eldr ok reykr, (of beldir).
Translation:
Lord, you made a great onslaught on the race of the kings [i.e. on the English]. Gracious warrior, you took broad Canterbury in the morning! Among the houses fire and smoke played fiercely. I have heard that you destroyed the lives of men; you triumphed there, kinsman of kings!
From the Vikings' point of view, then, the siege of Canterbury was a triumph - and why not? But the murder of Alphege was something very different. The archbishop was held captive at Greenwich by Thorkell's men, but his execution (he was stoned to death with animal-bones and ox-skulls) apparently took place spontaneously, not on Thorkell's orders. If Thorkell did order it, he soon repented; apparently as a result of this, he and Olaf both shortly afterwards went into alliance with King Ethelred, and agreed to help the English king against Svein and Cnut. (Their mutual dislike of Svein probably didn't hurt, but such defections were not unprecedented; twenty years earlier, the Norwegian Viking Olaf Tryggvason - he who was probably the leader of the Vikings at Maldon, no less - had also gone over to Ethelred, converted to Christianity, and been baptised by Alphege himself).
Olaf Haraldson kept his promise not to attack England again; he went back to Norway and won control of the kingdom, only to be killed in battle by his own people in 1030. He was known as a devout Christian king and on his death he, too, was considered a saint and martyr - he's the patron saint of Norway, in fact. So there's one part of the Viking story: the destroyer of Canterbury became a saint!
After Ethelred's death, Thorkell went back into alliance with Cnut, who was by that time king of Denmark and England. And did Cnut, the greatest of all Viking kings, triumph in the Vikings' destruction of Canterbury? He did not. Instead, he arranged for Alphege's body to be taken back from London to Canterbury in 1023, with great honour; and thus, said a later chronicler, "he sought to correct everything wherein either himself or his predecessors had done amiss, that the stain of unrighteousness might be wiped out as well before God as before men".
So there's another bit of the story: it's partly thanks to Cnut that Canterbury can celebrate Alphege at all.
See also:
Anselm and Alphege
Stained Glass of Canterbury
Monday, 4 July 2011
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Cute Vikings
I love this kind of thing: a new children's book involving Vikings. I discovered it by accident, and it looks very cool.
Cute little Vikings are, though a contradiction in terms, always awesome. Case in point:
That may or may not be a picture of my own Playmobil Vikings re-enacting the fight between Thor and the Midgard serpent. With a gummy worm.
My ultimate aim is to be able to recreate my entire thesis through the medium of Playmobil. Since they already make castles, dragons and Viking ships, I'm well on my way; when they introduce a range of Playmobil monasteries, I think this goal will finally be achievable.
But seriously, the book looks good; plus, the little Viking is called Knut, and I think we all know that's the best Viking name...
ETA: this is probably also the place to post this link which very much amused me a while ago. Because all that stuff is true and yes, Knut really was just that awesome.
Cute little Vikings are, though a contradiction in terms, always awesome. Case in point:
That may or may not be a picture of my own Playmobil Vikings re-enacting the fight between Thor and the Midgard serpent. With a gummy worm.
My ultimate aim is to be able to recreate my entire thesis through the medium of Playmobil. Since they already make castles, dragons and Viking ships, I'm well on my way; when they introduce a range of Playmobil monasteries, I think this goal will finally be achievable.
But seriously, the book looks good; plus, the little Viking is called Knut, and I think we all know that's the best Viking name...
ETA: this is probably also the place to post this link which very much amused me a while ago. Because all that stuff is true and yes, Knut really was just that awesome.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Random Viking Story: Talking Heads and Blood-Stained Hair
In place of all the poetry I've posted recently, here's a dose of Viking bravado, from Jómsvíkinga saga. Members of the legendary Jomsviking brotherhood have been captured after a battle, and now, going to their deaths, want to show off how brave they are:
'The fifth one was brought forward and Thorkell asked him what he thought about dying. He said: 'I would forget the laws of the Jomsvikings if I was afraid of my death or spoke words of fear. No one can escape death.' Thorkell cut off his head. They thought then to pose the same question to each one of them before he was killed to see whether these men were as brave as they were reputed to be. They thought it a sufficient proof if none of them spoke words of fear.
A sixth man was led forward and a stick was twisted in his hair. Thorkell put the same question to him. He said he thought it was best to die with a good reputation, 'but you, Thorkell, shall live with shame'. Thorkell cut off his head.
Then the seventh one was led forward and Thorkell asked him as usual. 'I’m very content to die.' [he said.] 'But deal me out a speedy blow. I have here a dagger. We Jomsvikings have often discussed whether a man was conscious of anything after he had lost his head if it was cut off speedily. Let's do it this way: I'll hold the dagger up if I am conscious of anything; otherwise it will fall down.' Thorkell struck him and his head flew off, but the dagger fell down.
…
Then a young man was led forward whose long hair was as golden as silk. Thorkell posed his usual question. He said, 'I have had the best part of my life; and I am not interested in living longer than those who have just fallen… Let [the executioner] hold the hair away from the head and pull the head sharply so that the hair doesn't get blood-stained.' A man came forward, took hold of the hair and twisted it round his hands. Thorkell made a blow with a sword. At that very moment [the Jomsviking] pulled his head away sharply so that the blow fell on the man who was holding the hair and cut off both his arms at the elbows. [The Jomsviking] sprang up and said: 'Whose hands are in my hair?'
Earl Hakon [leader of the other side] said: ‘Things are turning out very badly – kill him and all those who are left without delay. These men are much too difficult for us to handle.’
Earl Eirikr said: 'We want to know who they are first. What is your name, young man?'
He said: 'I am known as Sveinn.'
The earl asked: 'Who is your father?'
He said: 'I am reported to be Bui’s son.'
The earl asked: 'How old are you?'
He replied: 'If I survive this year then I shall be eighteen.'
Earl Eirikr said: 'You shall survive it,' and made him a member of his own following.'
'The fifth one was brought forward and Thorkell asked him what he thought about dying. He said: 'I would forget the laws of the Jomsvikings if I was afraid of my death or spoke words of fear. No one can escape death.' Thorkell cut off his head. They thought then to pose the same question to each one of them before he was killed to see whether these men were as brave as they were reputed to be. They thought it a sufficient proof if none of them spoke words of fear.
A sixth man was led forward and a stick was twisted in his hair. Thorkell put the same question to him. He said he thought it was best to die with a good reputation, 'but you, Thorkell, shall live with shame'. Thorkell cut off his head.
Then the seventh one was led forward and Thorkell asked him as usual. 'I’m very content to die.' [he said.] 'But deal me out a speedy blow. I have here a dagger. We Jomsvikings have often discussed whether a man was conscious of anything after he had lost his head if it was cut off speedily. Let's do it this way: I'll hold the dagger up if I am conscious of anything; otherwise it will fall down.' Thorkell struck him and his head flew off, but the dagger fell down.
…
Then a young man was led forward whose long hair was as golden as silk. Thorkell posed his usual question. He said, 'I have had the best part of my life; and I am not interested in living longer than those who have just fallen… Let [the executioner] hold the hair away from the head and pull the head sharply so that the hair doesn't get blood-stained.' A man came forward, took hold of the hair and twisted it round his hands. Thorkell made a blow with a sword. At that very moment [the Jomsviking] pulled his head away sharply so that the blow fell on the man who was holding the hair and cut off both his arms at the elbows. [The Jomsviking] sprang up and said: 'Whose hands are in my hair?'
Earl Hakon [leader of the other side] said: ‘Things are turning out very badly – kill him and all those who are left without delay. These men are much too difficult for us to handle.’
Earl Eirikr said: 'We want to know who they are first. What is your name, young man?'
He said: 'I am known as Sveinn.'
The earl asked: 'Who is your father?'
He said: 'I am reported to be Bui’s son.'
The earl asked: 'How old are you?'
He replied: 'If I survive this year then I shall be eighteen.'
Earl Eirikr said: 'You shall survive it,' and made him a member of his own following.'
Monday, 23 May 2011
Viking Quips
Vikings were keen on black humour, and in battle and at the moment of death they were likely to pull out a witty remark, usually a self-aggrandising joke at the enemy's expense. Here's one 'dying words' quip I read today:
When Tryggvi, who was the son of King Olafr Tryggvason (scary when he was a pagan Viking, even scarier when he was a Christian king) and an Englishwoman named Gyða, grew up and came to Norway from England, the rumour went round that he wasn’t the son of Olafr at all, but the son of a priest. Tryggvi denied this. He fought a battle against Sveinn (the son of Knut) who was then ruling over Norway, at a place called Tungunes. During the battle, Tryggvi picked up two spears at once and threw them, and as he did so he said, "That’s how my father taught me to say mass!"
(i.e. he resembles his father, Olafr Tryggvason, and is no priest's son).
Unfortunately Tryggvi was killed in the same battle, so had no opportunity to further prove his parentage...
ETA: this is probably the modern equivalent...
When Tryggvi, who was the son of King Olafr Tryggvason (scary when he was a pagan Viking, even scarier when he was a Christian king) and an Englishwoman named Gyða, grew up and came to Norway from England, the rumour went round that he wasn’t the son of Olafr at all, but the son of a priest. Tryggvi denied this. He fought a battle against Sveinn (the son of Knut) who was then ruling over Norway, at a place called Tungunes. During the battle, Tryggvi picked up two spears at once and threw them, and as he did so he said, "That’s how my father taught me to say mass!"
(i.e. he resembles his father, Olafr Tryggvason, and is no priest's son).
Unfortunately Tryggvi was killed in the same battle, so had no opportunity to further prove his parentage...
ETA: this is probably the modern equivalent...
Thursday, 17 March 2011
The Death and (Un)Burial of Harold Harefoot
On this day in 1040, King Harold Harefoot died in Oxford. Harold was England's third Danish king, the son of Cnut (his enemies said he was in fact the son of a cobbler, but that was surely just slander). Cnut had children by two different women: shortly after his arrival in England in 1013 he married Ælfgifu of Northampton, a member of a powerful Mercian family, and they had two sons, Svein and Harold (named for Cnut's father and grandfather). After becoming king of England in 1016, Cnut married the widow of his predecessor, the formidable Emma of Normandy, and they also had two children, Harthacnut and Gunnhild. Here's a family tree from a later medieval manuscript (BL Royal 14 B VI):
This omits Harold's brother Svein, because he never played any part in English history: he was sent to Norway with his mother in c.1030 and ruled there as Cnut's regent, with little success.
After Cnut's death in 1035, both Harold and Harthacnut seem to have been considered viable candidates for the throne. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us that a council was held in Oxford to discuss the matter, at which Harold was supported by Mercia and the north of England, as well as by the Danish fleet (the liðsmen), who were based in London. Wessex preferred his younger half-brother, but Harthacnut was away in Denmark at the time and thus missed his chance; before he could return to England, Wessex gave in and Harold became sole king. (Although the Archbishop of Canterbury supposedly refused to crown him.) Loyalty to the brothers split down traditional lines of allegiance in Anglo-Saxon England: Mercia and the north on one side, Wessex (by this period, the whole of England south of the Thames) on the other. Although there's a tendency to see Harold as the 'Danish' candidate, it's worth remembering that he was English on his mother's side, while Harthacnut was the son of a Danish father and a Norman mother, and both had spent more of their lives in Scandinavia than in England. Also, although Harold is sometimes called Cnut's 'illegitimate' son, pre-Conquest England (and Denmark) didn't have quite the same ideas of legitimacy as we do; Queen Emma certainly promoted the idea that her husband's other children should give place to her son Harthacnut, and Cnut may have agreed to this - but he made Svein regent of Norway, so only to a certain extent.
Harold's reign lasted only three years (1037-1040) and we don't have much to tell us what he did as king. Perhaps more interesting than what he did is what his early death prevented him from doing; it's intriguing to speculate about what might have happened if he had lived longer. He was only in his early twenties when he died - for some reason, not one of Cnut's four children lived to see the age of thirty. If Harold had lived and held his kingdom firmly, Harthacnut might never have returned to England; in that case Emma's other son, Edward the Confessor, would never have returned from Normandy either. No King Edward means no Norman Conquest, probably. Our view of this crucial period is shaped to a very great extent by the fact that history is written by the winners, and in this case Emma and her sons were the 'winners', literally writing the history of this time in the way which pleased them best; Harold and his supporters never got a chance to tell their version of the story. It's useful to try and push against the appearance of inevitability which history, particularly familiar history, tends to acquire; by the late eleventh century it might already have seemed inevitable that Edward should return to the throne and the Danish kings became a blip in Anglo-Saxon history - but it really wasn't. If Harold had lived, 'everything would have been different. For it would have been another world'...
Anyway, he didn't. He died in 1040, and was initially buried at Westminster. He may have had at least one son, who eventually became a monk in Aquitaine, but there was no one else to succeed him, and Harthacnut returned to England and was accepted as king. Harold's death, like his life, was not peaceful (even on his deathbed he was embroiled in a dispute between the two Canterbury monasteries about ownership of the port of Sandwich.) The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, no fan of Harold or Harthacnut, describes what happened next in 1040 with unconcealed contempt (from MS. C):
John of Worcester adds more detail, saying that Harthacnut, with the assistance of Earl Godwine, Ælfric Archbishop of York, Styr the master of the king's household, Eadric his steward, Thrond his executioner and 'other men of great rank', had Harold's body exhumed and beheaded, and the body thrown into the Thames. A fisherman dragged it up again and gave it to 'the Danes', who buried it at their church in London (probably St Clement Danes).
Poor Harold! If this story is true, it helps to explain why Harthacnut was so 'unkingly'. But Cnut's sons were not destined to rest in peace, it seems: Harthacnut himself was buried beside his father at Winchester, but in 1642, during the Civil War, his bones (together with those of Cnut himself, and Emma, William Rufus, and a number of other early kings) were dug up by Parliamentarian soldiers and scattered on the floor of the cathedral. Mixed up together, they were collected and preserved in six mortuary chests, where they now remain, unidentified - the greatest men and women of late Anglo-Saxon England, a jumble of bones. A kind of poetic justice for Harthacnut, at least, if he really did treat his half-brother's body with such disrespect.
This omits Harold's brother Svein, because he never played any part in English history: he was sent to Norway with his mother in c.1030 and ruled there as Cnut's regent, with little success.
After Cnut's death in 1035, both Harold and Harthacnut seem to have been considered viable candidates for the throne. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us that a council was held in Oxford to discuss the matter, at which Harold was supported by Mercia and the north of England, as well as by the Danish fleet (the liðsmen), who were based in London. Wessex preferred his younger half-brother, but Harthacnut was away in Denmark at the time and thus missed his chance; before he could return to England, Wessex gave in and Harold became sole king. (Although the Archbishop of Canterbury supposedly refused to crown him.) Loyalty to the brothers split down traditional lines of allegiance in Anglo-Saxon England: Mercia and the north on one side, Wessex (by this period, the whole of England south of the Thames) on the other. Although there's a tendency to see Harold as the 'Danish' candidate, it's worth remembering that he was English on his mother's side, while Harthacnut was the son of a Danish father and a Norman mother, and both had spent more of their lives in Scandinavia than in England. Also, although Harold is sometimes called Cnut's 'illegitimate' son, pre-Conquest England (and Denmark) didn't have quite the same ideas of legitimacy as we do; Queen Emma certainly promoted the idea that her husband's other children should give place to her son Harthacnut, and Cnut may have agreed to this - but he made Svein regent of Norway, so only to a certain extent.
Harold and Harthacnut
Harold's reign lasted only three years (1037-1040) and we don't have much to tell us what he did as king. Perhaps more interesting than what he did is what his early death prevented him from doing; it's intriguing to speculate about what might have happened if he had lived longer. He was only in his early twenties when he died - for some reason, not one of Cnut's four children lived to see the age of thirty. If Harold had lived and held his kingdom firmly, Harthacnut might never have returned to England; in that case Emma's other son, Edward the Confessor, would never have returned from Normandy either. No King Edward means no Norman Conquest, probably. Our view of this crucial period is shaped to a very great extent by the fact that history is written by the winners, and in this case Emma and her sons were the 'winners', literally writing the history of this time in the way which pleased them best; Harold and his supporters never got a chance to tell their version of the story. It's useful to try and push against the appearance of inevitability which history, particularly familiar history, tends to acquire; by the late eleventh century it might already have seemed inevitable that Edward should return to the throne and the Danish kings became a blip in Anglo-Saxon history - but it really wasn't. If Harold had lived, 'everything would have been different. For it would have been another world'...
Anyway, he didn't. He died in 1040, and was initially buried at Westminster. He may have had at least one son, who eventually became a monk in Aquitaine, but there was no one else to succeed him, and Harthacnut returned to England and was accepted as king. Harold's death, like his life, was not peaceful (even on his deathbed he was embroiled in a dispute between the two Canterbury monasteries about ownership of the port of Sandwich.) The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, no fan of Harold or Harthacnut, describes what happened next in 1040 with unconcealed contempt (from MS. C):
Her swealt Harald cing. Þa sende man æfter Harðacnute to Bricge, wende þæt man wel dyde, 7 he com ða hider mid .lx. scipum foran to middan sumera, 7 astealde þa swiðe strang gyld þæt man hit uneaðe acom...'Here King Harold died. Then people sent to Bruges for Harthacnut, thinking they did well (ha!), and he came here with 60 ships before midsummer. He established a tax so harsh that it could hardly be borne... and those who had previously been so eager for him then became disloyal to him. And he never did anything kingly as long as he ruled. He had the dead Harold dragged up and thrown into the marsh.'7 him wæs þa unhold eall þæt his ær gyrnde, 7 he ne gefremede ec naht cynelices þa hwile ðe he ricxode. He let dragan up þæne deadan Harald 7 hine on fen sceotan.
John of Worcester adds more detail, saying that Harthacnut, with the assistance of Earl Godwine, Ælfric Archbishop of York, Styr the master of the king's household, Eadric his steward, Thrond his executioner and 'other men of great rank', had Harold's body exhumed and beheaded, and the body thrown into the Thames. A fisherman dragged it up again and gave it to 'the Danes', who buried it at their church in London (probably St Clement Danes).
Poor Harold! If this story is true, it helps to explain why Harthacnut was so 'unkingly'. But Cnut's sons were not destined to rest in peace, it seems: Harthacnut himself was buried beside his father at Winchester, but in 1642, during the Civil War, his bones (together with those of Cnut himself, and Emma, William Rufus, and a number of other early kings) were dug up by Parliamentarian soldiers and scattered on the floor of the cathedral. Mixed up together, they were collected and preserved in six mortuary chests, where they now remain, unidentified - the greatest men and women of late Anglo-Saxon England, a jumble of bones. A kind of poetic justice for Harthacnut, at least, if he really did treat his half-brother's body with such disrespect.
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Dangerous Jokes
Harald Hardrada had that nickname for a reason - he was not a man to be messed with. But horrible as this is, I do find it funny:
Harrying in Denmark in 1048, Harald’s men "burned down the farm of a great chieftain called Thorkel Geysa, and carried off his daughters in chains to the ships because they had made derisory remarks the previous winter about King Harald’s plan to invade Denmark; they had carved anchors out of cheese, and said that these could easily hold all the king of Norway’s ships.”
Haralds saga harðraði, ch.32
The girls were OK; their father ransomed them. Still: don't tell jokes about Viking kings.
Harrying in Denmark in 1048, Harald’s men "burned down the farm of a great chieftain called Thorkel Geysa, and carried off his daughters in chains to the ships because they had made derisory remarks the previous winter about King Harald’s plan to invade Denmark; they had carved anchors out of cheese, and said that these could easily hold all the king of Norway’s ships.”
Haralds saga harðraði, ch.32
The girls were OK; their father ransomed them. Still: don't tell jokes about Viking kings.
Friday, 8 October 2010
Nine Things You Didn't Know About Edward the Confessor
Or maybe you did, what do I know.
5. After the death of Edward's father Ethelred, his mother married Cnut, king of Denmark, the man who had replaced Ethelred on the English throne. This would have made for some awkward family Christmasses, except that there isn’t any evidence that Edward ever met his stepfather.
When Cnut was dead and there was some confusion over the succession, Queen Emma is said to have supported the claim of Magnus, king of Norway, over that of her son. She was popularly accused of all kinds of scheming against, well, anyone who wasn't Harthacnut, the son she had with Cnut. After he became king, Edward, in a supremely unsaintly act, had his mother's property and lands seized, supposedly because of her support for Magnus. It was a political mess but also, I think, rather a sad situation all round.
(That's Cnut and Emma up there, demonstrating their piety in front of an altar in a manuscript from the New Minster at Winchester. As ruler of England, Cnut, always astute, adopted a model of Christian kingship which went down rather well among his new subjects, becoming a patron of the Church and a devotee of English saints. His sudden love for all things English extended to everything except his stepsons, who spent the twenty-five years of his reign in exile.)
5. After the death of Edward's father Ethelred, his mother married Cnut, king of Denmark, the man who had replaced Ethelred on the English throne. This would have made for some awkward family Christmasses, except that there isn’t any evidence that Edward ever met his stepfather.
When Cnut was dead and there was some confusion over the succession, Queen Emma is said to have supported the claim of Magnus, king of Norway, over that of her son. She was popularly accused of all kinds of scheming against, well, anyone who wasn't Harthacnut, the son she had with Cnut. After he became king, Edward, in a supremely unsaintly act, had his mother's property and lands seized, supposedly because of her support for Magnus. It was a political mess but also, I think, rather a sad situation all round.
(That's Cnut and Emma up there, demonstrating their piety in front of an altar in a manuscript from the New Minster at Winchester. As ruler of England, Cnut, always astute, adopted a model of Christian kingship which went down rather well among his new subjects, becoming a patron of the Church and a devotee of English saints. His sudden love for all things English extended to everything except his stepsons, who spent the twenty-five years of his reign in exile.)
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Nine Things You Didn't Know About Edward the Confessor
Edward in the Bayeux Tapestry, because the Norman Conquest was all his fault.4. Edward is often called "the last Anglo-Saxon king",* but I don't like that designation (this may be more 'a thing you didn't know about me' than about Edward). Yes, he was the son of an Anglo-Saxon king, but by blood and inclination he was Anglo-Norman: his mother was Norman, and he spent 25 years in exile in Normandy before becoming king of England. When he returned to England in 1041, he barely knew the place; he hadn't seen it since he was a teenager, and I'd love to know what kind of English he spoke at that point - future patron saint of the English! He brought Norman priests and noblemen with him, and didn't get on very well with the Englishmen who had served Cnut (more of that tomorrow).
So it might be more accurate to call Edward's valiant elder half-brother, Edmund Ironside, the last Anglo-Saxon king. Edmund died in 1016, having given half his kingdom to Cnut; then there were three Danish kings of England, Anglo-Norman Edward, and, in 1066, Norman William. Not a Saxon among them. The eleventh century was awfully complicated - but so much fun.
*The other two kings of 1066 notwithstanding: poor uncrowned Edgar Atheling doesn't count, and Harold Godwinsson certainly doesn't.
Friday, 21 May 2010
Random Viking Story
I was reminded today of my favourite story about Cnut, king of Denmark, Norway, part of Sweden, and (most importantly to me) of England from 1016 to 1035. Even for a Viking, Cnut was seriously cool, and not just because of the size of that empire: he ruled in England (unlike some other Conquerors one could mention) with an emphasis on continuity in administration, law and religious practice which shows not just an ability to recognise the benefits of a sophisticated society like late Anglo-Saxon England, but also excellent political acumen. There seems to have been almost no rebellion against Danish rule after he became king. During his lifetime he kept his empire together with remarkable diplomacy and skill, not just by brute force; it only began to disintegrate after his death, which suggests a great deal about his personal strength of character. I'm quite attracted by the sense one gets from stories about him that he was given to grand political gestures, of which the most famous is the legend about ordering the waves to obey him to demonstrate to his followers the futility of earthly kingship.The wave story is probably apocryphal, but there's an earlier story which may well be true, since it is attested in some form in a very early source (the Encomium Emmae Reginae, an account of his life which is also fascinating for what it suggests about his relationship with his wife, the mother of Edward the Confessor). To me it's a particularly intriguing combination of Christian and what you might call natural justice. It might be relevant to bear in mind that Cnut may well have been a teenager at this point.
Background: in 1016, Edmund Ironside*, son of Æthelred the Unready, fought numerous battles against Cnut and his Danish army, but was eventually forced to agree to divide England so that he and Cnut would each rule half the country. Shortly afterwards Edmund was murdered, and his death was widely attributed to an Anglo-Saxon ealdorman, Eadric Streona. Eadric had been powerful under Edmund's father Æthelred, and in all the surviving sources, he has the very worst of reputations: treacherous and disloyal, always willing to betray his companions for the chance of personal gain, and blamed for various underhand political murders. Basically he was a really horrible man and a notorious traitor.
Cnut and Edmund had agreed that when either of them died, the other would become king of the whole country. The story goes that Eadric saw the opportunity for a great reward from Cnut if he killed Edmund and helped Cnut to rule England, so he arranged for Edmund's death.
Cnut then became king. Eadric went to him and reminded him what he had done, confidently expecting a high reward. He greeted Cnut boldly: "Hail, whole king, you who yesterday were only half a king; may you reward the promoter of your wholeness."
Cnut, pretending not to understand him, replied: "Good God*, tell me who has been such a great friend to me, so that I may set him higher than all his comrades?" Eadric answered proudly, "Myself."
Cnut called one of his earls to him and said, "This man shall be paid what we owe him," and said to Eadric, "As a reward for so great allegiance I will set you higher than all the leading men of the English." He immediately took up a battle-axe and cut off Eadric's head with one blow, and ordered the head to be set on a stake on the highest tower in London.
Highest, get it? Classic Viking joke.
* best nickname ever? I think so.
* or some rather less Victorian oath
Medieval Economic Transactions
"After the siege of Durham in 1006, Earl Uhtred placed the heads of the slain round the walls after the heads had been washed by four women. To each of the women he gave a cow as the reward for her labours."
Sunday, 1 November 2009
The Cloud of Witnesses
On this All Saints Day, I want to write about one of my favourite saints, Edward the Confessor. I meant to write about him a few weeks ago, on his feast-day, October 13th, but flu got in the way (mine, not his).
It's interesting to consider why some Anglo-Saxon kings were canonised and others weren't. Anyone who was killed violently was an obvious candidate to be a martyr, even if they weren't exactly murdered for their faith; certainly, poor Edmund of East Anglia was killed by those nasty pagan Vikings, but Edward the Martyr was only thirteen when he was murdered, supposedly by his stepmother (the mother of Ethelred the Unready) for political reasons, and he had a reputation for bad temper and rash behaviour, so he is not the most obvious candidate for sanctity.
As Ethelred's son, Edward the Confessor was the nephew of Edward the Martyr, but he was more suited by nature for sainthood than his unfortunate teenage uncle. He was pious and charitable, and since he was the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, it is not difficult to understand why post-Conquest kings venerated him. The end of his reign, which led directly to the Norman Conquest, was one of the most important moments in English history, but to understand Edward as a man and a saint it is interesting to consider his early life - before he was a saint, or even a king.
Of course this information comes from various sources, some of which are not as reliable as others, but my excuse for repeating it is that sometimes with medieval history it doesn't actually matter if something is true or not; what matters is that it was said, by someone, for some reason.
Edward was born in about 1003 and spent his childhood in a vulnerable, disintegrating country. His father, King Ethelred, dealt with the persistent scourge of Viking attacks in a number of ways, each as ineffective as the last. His efforts ranged from the feeble (attempts to raise armies who never turned up) to the extremely violent (in the year before Edward was born, he ordered that all the Danes living in England should be killed). His son Edmund Ironside, Edward's older brother, did his best to fight against the invaders, but frequently clashed with his father and disobeyed him. In 1013, Edward and his younger brother Alfred fled with their mother to her homeland of Normandy, while the Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard, assisted by his son Cnut, besieged London. Ethelred was forced to surrender and join his family in exile.
Edward's family had ruled Wessex for hundreds of years; to be forced out of England must have been a massive humiliation. There was some back-and-forth over the next few years; Sweyn died and Ethelred was invited back, but soon died too; Edward Ironside ruled for a couple of months, but was eventually forced to cede power to Cnut. Edward, Alfred and their mother Emma remained in Normandy throughout this time of uncertainty and change; they must have wondered if they would ever return to England.
Emma was said to despise her feeble husband. She was a formidable woman; maybe she thought she could have done a better job than Ethelred. Edward is supposed to have been on bad terms with his mother - perhaps she thought he was as weak as his father. After Ethelred's death, Cnut married Emma. It was a marriage of political advantage to them both (peace with Normandy was in Cnut's interests) but it also seems to have been a loving marriage, and in the history Emma commissioned of her life, she shows much more affection for her children by Cnut than for her sons by Ethelred. Despite their mother's remarriage, Edward and Alfred remained in Normandy. Cnut can't have wanted them around; he was a shrewd ruler - of three kingdoms! - and knew better than to have potential Anglo-Saxon heirs to the throne hanging around, even if they were also his step-sons.
This convoluted situation is par for the course among medieval royalty, but it still strikes me as intriguing. Edward was potentially heir to a country he hadn't even been in since he was a young teenager, and from across the Channel he must have seen his mother actively working against his interests in favour of her son by Cnut. No wonder they weren't on good terms... He lived in exile like this for 30 years. He probably never thought he would be king of England, let alone patron saint of the kings of England!
Cnut died in 1035 and after brief reigns by his two sons, Edward at last became king in 1042. As well as being patron saint of the kings of England, he is the patron of troubled marriages: in 1043 he married the daughter of one of the powerful noblemen Earl Godwin. Godwin had been suspected of involvement in the brutal murder of Edward's younger brother Alfred and the king's marriage with Edith was an attempt at reconciliation. The reconciliation succeeded; the marriage did not. It was perhaps never even consummated, and the couple lived separately. Meanwhile, antipathy between Edward and his mother continued: he seized her property, and she seems to have encouraged rebellion against him. He ruled for over twenty years, and then came 1066, Harold (who was Godwin's son and Edward's brother-in-law) and William, and the Norman Conquest.
Edward's public role made him a saint, but it's his personal life which makes him a sympathetic figure to me. I suppose one oughtn't to romanticise, but it seems such a sad life: decades of exile, a failure of a father, a mother who married his father's enemy, a murdered brother, a disastrous marriage... Anglo-Saxon life was not easy at the best of times, but Edward's sounds so unsettled and lonely. It's just sad. And yet he was a virtuous and holy man, who showed the power of God in his life, and he was admired and venerated, and miracles were worked through him. When I hear sermons about how saints are difficult for us to relate to because they are always happy and glorified (and I heard two such sermons today), I think about Edward the Confessor and that hymn which says of the saints:
Once they were mourning here below,
And wet their couch with tears;
They wrestled hard, as we do now,
With sins and doubts and fears.
Well, I can relate to that.
It's interesting to consider why some Anglo-Saxon kings were canonised and others weren't. Anyone who was killed violently was an obvious candidate to be a martyr, even if they weren't exactly murdered for their faith; certainly, poor Edmund of East Anglia was killed by those nasty pagan Vikings, but Edward the Martyr was only thirteen when he was murdered, supposedly by his stepmother (the mother of Ethelred the Unready) for political reasons, and he had a reputation for bad temper and rash behaviour, so he is not the most obvious candidate for sanctity.
As Ethelred's son, Edward the Confessor was the nephew of Edward the Martyr, but he was more suited by nature for sainthood than his unfortunate teenage uncle. He was pious and charitable, and since he was the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, it is not difficult to understand why post-Conquest kings venerated him. The end of his reign, which led directly to the Norman Conquest, was one of the most important moments in English history, but to understand Edward as a man and a saint it is interesting to consider his early life - before he was a saint, or even a king.
Of course this information comes from various sources, some of which are not as reliable as others, but my excuse for repeating it is that sometimes with medieval history it doesn't actually matter if something is true or not; what matters is that it was said, by someone, for some reason.
Edward was born in about 1003 and spent his childhood in a vulnerable, disintegrating country. His father, King Ethelred, dealt with the persistent scourge of Viking attacks in a number of ways, each as ineffective as the last. His efforts ranged from the feeble (attempts to raise armies who never turned up) to the extremely violent (in the year before Edward was born, he ordered that all the Danes living in England should be killed). His son Edmund Ironside, Edward's older brother, did his best to fight against the invaders, but frequently clashed with his father and disobeyed him. In 1013, Edward and his younger brother Alfred fled with their mother to her homeland of Normandy, while the Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard, assisted by his son Cnut, besieged London. Ethelred was forced to surrender and join his family in exile.
Edward's family had ruled Wessex for hundreds of years; to be forced out of England must have been a massive humiliation. There was some back-and-forth over the next few years; Sweyn died and Ethelred was invited back, but soon died too; Edward Ironside ruled for a couple of months, but was eventually forced to cede power to Cnut. Edward, Alfred and their mother Emma remained in Normandy throughout this time of uncertainty and change; they must have wondered if they would ever return to England.
Emma was said to despise her feeble husband. She was a formidable woman; maybe she thought she could have done a better job than Ethelred. Edward is supposed to have been on bad terms with his mother - perhaps she thought he was as weak as his father. After Ethelred's death, Cnut married Emma. It was a marriage of political advantage to them both (peace with Normandy was in Cnut's interests) but it also seems to have been a loving marriage, and in the history Emma commissioned of her life, she shows much more affection for her children by Cnut than for her sons by Ethelred. Despite their mother's remarriage, Edward and Alfred remained in Normandy. Cnut can't have wanted them around; he was a shrewd ruler - of three kingdoms! - and knew better than to have potential Anglo-Saxon heirs to the throne hanging around, even if they were also his step-sons.
This convoluted situation is par for the course among medieval royalty, but it still strikes me as intriguing. Edward was potentially heir to a country he hadn't even been in since he was a young teenager, and from across the Channel he must have seen his mother actively working against his interests in favour of her son by Cnut. No wonder they weren't on good terms... He lived in exile like this for 30 years. He probably never thought he would be king of England, let alone patron saint of the kings of England!
Cnut died in 1035 and after brief reigns by his two sons, Edward at last became king in 1042. As well as being patron saint of the kings of England, he is the patron of troubled marriages: in 1043 he married the daughter of one of the powerful noblemen Earl Godwin. Godwin had been suspected of involvement in the brutal murder of Edward's younger brother Alfred and the king's marriage with Edith was an attempt at reconciliation. The reconciliation succeeded; the marriage did not. It was perhaps never even consummated, and the couple lived separately. Meanwhile, antipathy between Edward and his mother continued: he seized her property, and she seems to have encouraged rebellion against him. He ruled for over twenty years, and then came 1066, Harold (who was Godwin's son and Edward's brother-in-law) and William, and the Norman Conquest.
Edward's public role made him a saint, but it's his personal life which makes him a sympathetic figure to me. I suppose one oughtn't to romanticise, but it seems such a sad life: decades of exile, a failure of a father, a mother who married his father's enemy, a murdered brother, a disastrous marriage... Anglo-Saxon life was not easy at the best of times, but Edward's sounds so unsettled and lonely. It's just sad. And yet he was a virtuous and holy man, who showed the power of God in his life, and he was admired and venerated, and miracles were worked through him. When I hear sermons about how saints are difficult for us to relate to because they are always happy and glorified (and I heard two such sermons today), I think about Edward the Confessor and that hymn which says of the saints:
Once they were mourning here below,
And wet their couch with tears;
They wrestled hard, as we do now,
With sins and doubts and fears.
Well, I can relate to that.
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
St Margaret of Scotland
One of my particular interests - professionally as well as personally, if the next few years go to plan! - is the Danish conquest of England. I like to call it 'The Conquest' on purpose to be confusing, because most people, like me, only learned at school about one medieval conquest of England - the Norman one (and not much about that, if you went to the same kind of school I did). But in 1016, exactly fifty years before the more famous conquest, England was invaded by the Danish king Cnut, and became part of a great pan-Scandinavian empire including Denmark and Norway. When you think that there had been Scandinavians settling in various parts of the British Isles for two centuries before that - in Ireland, Scotland, and northern England in particular - and you add in The Conquest, it's incredible that this Norse strain in British history has been so generally forgotten in the popular imagination.
St Margaret of Scotland, who is commemorated on June 10th, was a victim of The Conquest. She was the granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, who was the last Anglo-Saxon king of England before Cnut, and that makes her the great-niece of my favourite saint, Edward the Confessor (Edmund's half-brother). Edward has an excellent story of his own, which I'll write about another day. He and Edmund were both the sons of Ethelred the Unready, a king of Gordon Brown-like incompetence. For a short time first Ethelred and then Edmund divided the kingdom with Cnut, but they both died in 1016, leaving Cnut as unchallenged king. Cnut then married Ethelred's widow. He was just that hardcore.
Anyway, Margaret's father (also called Edward) was only a baby at this point, and like all the other surviving members of the royal family, he was exiled to the Continent. Logically, he is known as Edward the Exile. He ended up in Hungary, where he grew up and married, and that's where Margaret was born. He had a son, Edgar, too, and another daughter. A pretty rubbish time for the English monarchy, I think you'll agree - Cnut ruled until his death in 1035, and was succeeded by his two sons, and it probably didn't look like there was much chance of Margaret's family getting back their ancestral kingdom.
But then! Edward the Confessor came back from exile and was chosen as king. How? That's a story for another day. Well, he heard that his nephew Edward was still alive, and sent for him and his children to come to England and be his heirs. They came. Unfortunately, Edward (the nephew) died pretty much as soon as he returned - probably murdered. So now Margaret and Edgar were in England, a country they had never seen, but to which Edgar was heir apparent. This was in 1057, when Margaret wasn't much more than ten, and Edgar was even younger. The children spent the next ten years living in England at the court of their great-uncle, who (although he was married) never had any children.
This is the bit of the story I find particularly fascinating (I get a little speculative and historical novel-ish at this point, because there's no evidence about Margaret's childhood). What kind of relationship did Edward and Margaret have? The childless king and the fatherless princess, both former exiles, both future saints, both known for their piety and faith... Did Margaret study his example? What did she learn, in that court, of the fragility of earthly power, of the changes and chances of this fleeting world? And Margaret and her brother were Edward's only surviving family, the only link, through their grandfather, to his long-ago childhood before The Conquest. Is it too fanciful to think he might have talked to her, or to Edgar, about their ancestors, the kings of Wessex, and their failures and their successes?
Probably. This is why I study literature, and not history.
Edward the Confessor died in 1066, when Edgar was only fourteen. Now we come to the other conquest. Briefly, Edgar was too young to rule, so Harold Godwinson, Edward's brother-in-law and perhaps the most powerful man in England but for the king, was chosen as king. William the Conqueror invaded. Harold was killed at Hastings. Etc.
Edgar and Margaret, with their mother, fled the country, and ended up in Scotland, where they were taken under the protection of King Malcolm. Malcolm, probably looking for a connection with the house of Wessex, married Margaret as his second wife. She became a queen and the mother of kings and queens. And here we see an indication that her Anglo-Saxon heritage really did matter: her first four sons were given the names of English kings, Edward (for her father? her great-uncle?), Edmund (her grandfather) , Ethelred (great-grandfather), and Edgar (great-great-grandfather). Her eldest daughter, Edith, bore the name of Edward the Confessor's wife.
What did she learn at Edward's court...?
Margaret lived a devout life, personally pious and a benefactor to the church. She died in 1093 and was canonised in 1250; she is one of the patron saints of Scotland.
St Margaret of Scotland, who is commemorated on June 10th, was a victim of The Conquest. She was the granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, who was the last Anglo-Saxon king of England before Cnut, and that makes her the great-niece of my favourite saint, Edward the Confessor (Edmund's half-brother). Edward has an excellent story of his own, which I'll write about another day. He and Edmund were both the sons of Ethelred the Unready, a king of Gordon Brown-like incompetence. For a short time first Ethelred and then Edmund divided the kingdom with Cnut, but they both died in 1016, leaving Cnut as unchallenged king. Cnut then married Ethelred's widow. He was just that hardcore.
Anyway, Margaret's father (also called Edward) was only a baby at this point, and like all the other surviving members of the royal family, he was exiled to the Continent. Logically, he is known as Edward the Exile. He ended up in Hungary, where he grew up and married, and that's where Margaret was born. He had a son, Edgar, too, and another daughter. A pretty rubbish time for the English monarchy, I think you'll agree - Cnut ruled until his death in 1035, and was succeeded by his two sons, and it probably didn't look like there was much chance of Margaret's family getting back their ancestral kingdom.
But then! Edward the Confessor came back from exile and was chosen as king. How? That's a story for another day. Well, he heard that his nephew Edward was still alive, and sent for him and his children to come to England and be his heirs. They came. Unfortunately, Edward (the nephew) died pretty much as soon as he returned - probably murdered. So now Margaret and Edgar were in England, a country they had never seen, but to which Edgar was heir apparent. This was in 1057, when Margaret wasn't much more than ten, and Edgar was even younger. The children spent the next ten years living in England at the court of their great-uncle, who (although he was married) never had any children.
This is the bit of the story I find particularly fascinating (I get a little speculative and historical novel-ish at this point, because there's no evidence about Margaret's childhood). What kind of relationship did Edward and Margaret have? The childless king and the fatherless princess, both former exiles, both future saints, both known for their piety and faith... Did Margaret study his example? What did she learn, in that court, of the fragility of earthly power, of the changes and chances of this fleeting world? And Margaret and her brother were Edward's only surviving family, the only link, through their grandfather, to his long-ago childhood before The Conquest. Is it too fanciful to think he might have talked to her, or to Edgar, about their ancestors, the kings of Wessex, and their failures and their successes?
Probably. This is why I study literature, and not history.
Edward the Confessor died in 1066, when Edgar was only fourteen. Now we come to the other conquest. Briefly, Edgar was too young to rule, so Harold Godwinson, Edward's brother-in-law and perhaps the most powerful man in England but for the king, was chosen as king. William the Conqueror invaded. Harold was killed at Hastings. Etc.
Edgar and Margaret, with their mother, fled the country, and ended up in Scotland, where they were taken under the protection of King Malcolm. Malcolm, probably looking for a connection with the house of Wessex, married Margaret as his second wife. She became a queen and the mother of kings and queens. And here we see an indication that her Anglo-Saxon heritage really did matter: her first four sons were given the names of English kings, Edward (for her father? her great-uncle?), Edmund (her grandfather) , Ethelred (great-grandfather), and Edgar (great-great-grandfather). Her eldest daughter, Edith, bore the name of Edward the Confessor's wife.
What did she learn at Edward's court...?
Margaret lived a devout life, personally pious and a benefactor to the church. She died in 1093 and was canonised in 1250; she is one of the patron saints of Scotland.
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