One Folkloric Way King James I Thought A Murderer Could Be Caught Red-Handed

King James I (c. 1566-1625), when it comes to odd folklore, is best known for his ideas on witchcraft and evil forces. Yet, while studying and writing about these topics, King James also stumbled across topics that had nothing to do with demons or witches. He slipped a few these gems of non-witch folklore into the pages of his Demonology (published 1597), often using them to explain or elaborate on other theories that did pertain to witchcraft. One instance in which James did this was during his discussion of the infamous witch swimming (or dunking) trials, where the accused would be thrown into water and condemned if they floated. After elaborating on how a witch’s body supposedly interacted with water, King James segued to what folklorically would happen if a murderer came into contact with a victim’s blood.

According to King James, the body of a murder victim could provide investigators with more than mere forensic evidence. In his opinion, to solve the crime of murder, the authorities would need only to have all of the possible suspects touch the victim’s body and a miraculous sign would appear to pin the crime on a specific person. Regarding this peculiar sign, King James I wrote, “in a secret murder, if the dead carcass be at any time thereafter handled by the murderer, it will gush out of blood, as if the blood were crying to the heaven for revenge of the murderer” (Demonology, Book III, Chapter VI). Hopefully, few murder trials were solved through such evidence.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image of King James I meeting with Puritans, from a book by Henry Davenport Northrop (1836-1909), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Demonology of King James I (Book III, chapter VI), edition of Donald Tyson (Llewellyn Publications, 2011).

The Battle of Mons Graupius

Julius Agricola arrived in Britannia in the year 77 and took up the office of governor. He had a decorated résumé, as he previously served as governor of Aquitania from 74-76 and held the office of suffect consul of Rome in 76 before being sent to govern Britannia. Agricola also had plenty of prior military experience in Britain; he had served with Governor Suetonius Paulinus during the devastating revolt of Boudicca in 60 or 61, and Emperor Vespasian appointed Agricola to command the Twentieth Legion in Britannia from 69 to 73. With such administrative experience, as well as his knowledge of Britain’s geography and people, he was an ideal pick for the job of running Roman operations in Britannia.

Agricola’s two predecessors as governor of Britannia had been considered successful military leaders. Governor Petulius Cerialis (r. 71-73) led significant campaigns against the powerful Brigantes, while Julius Frontinus (r. 73-77) conquered the Silures of southern Wales. When Julius Agricola took the reins of government in Britannia around year 77, he quickly set to work showing that he was equal, nay superior, to his lauded predecessors. In his very first year in office, Agricola spread Roman influence into northern Wales, and even conquered the troublesome island of Mona (now Anglesey). Over the next several years, Agricola turned his attention to the north. By the year 79, he was campaigning by the Forth-Clyde Isthmus and the River Tay. Agricola started pushing toward the Highlands around 82, invading what the Romans called Caledonia, by land and sea. The highlight of the campaign—and the most famous moment of Agricola’s career—was the Battle of Mons Graupius, fought between the Romans and the Caledonians (or more likely a coalition of Pict tribes) in the year 83.

According to the historian Tacitus (Agricola’s son-in-law), the Roman fleet in Britannia was sent out to pillage and cause confusion during the days leading up to the confrontation at Mons Graupius. While the ships were causing terror and worry, Agricola marched his army to Mons Graupius, where a large number of hostile warriors were gathering under a leader whom the Romans called Calgacus. The location of the battle unfortunately remains disputed, but from the name Mons Graupius (‘Graupian Mountain’), the terrain was obviously mountainous or hilly. There were also thick patches of woods within running distance of the site, which would eventually play a part in the battle.

When the Roman army arrived at Mons Graupius, Agricola’s scouts reported that more than 30,000 enemy warriors were present. The Roman legionnaires, although reportedly assisted by 8,000 auxiliary infantry and 3,000 cavalry, were said to have been significantly outnumbered by the Caledonians. Agricola’s arrival at Mons Graupius apparently did not immediately cause a battle to erupt—the Romans had time to build a walled camp at the foot of the hill or mountain. The tense peace, however, would not last, as, according to Tacitus, the Caledonian war-leader, Calgacus, soon sent a portion of his army down the slope to challenge the Roman camp.

Agricola chose to meet the incoming warriors in the field instead of behind his camp walls. He put his auxiliary troops and cavalry on the front line, and positioned his legions in reserve, backed against the walls of the camp. When the two armies came into range of each other, the battle opened up with back-and-forth volleys of missiles. Yet, what was most frightening to the Romans were the numerous chariots rolling out in front of the Caledonian forces. Agricola sent a large portion of his cavalry against the chariots, doing so presumably around the same time as the projectile exchange, for the deadly vehicles were apparently lured away from the front lines and were detained during the opening stages of the battle.

When the first wave of Caledonians had marched down to level ground, Agricola sent forward six Germanic auxiliary cohorts to meet the incoming warriors with swords and shields. These six cohorts were reportedly not chosen arbitrarily, but picked because their fighting style gave them a significant advantage against the Caledonians. The auxiliary forces reached their opponents without any harassment from the chariots, and began battling with the opposing infantry line. Agricola’s choice of the Germanic cohorts apparently paid off, as the warriors from Germania began pushing the first wave of Caledonians back toward the slope of Mons Graupius. When the frontline of the battle began to slowly creep up to higher ground, giving an increasing advantage to the Caledonians, Agricola sent more infantry from his reserves to reinforce the auxiliary cohorts. Around this time, the chariots were also completely defeated by the Roman cavalry, so the horsemen could refocus their efforts on other sections of the battle. Agricola kept some of the horsemen in reserve, but others were sent to crash into the flanks of the Caledonian infantry.

Calgacus and the rest of the uncommitted warriors on Mons Graupius, noticing that Agricola had sent more infantry and cavalry into the fray, finally made the decision to advance with the rest of the Caledonian forces into battle. These fresh warriors charged down the slope and began to envelop the Roman forces who were fighting on the frontline. Agricola countered this move by sending in the rest of the Roman cavalry, which had been held in reserve. Now it was the Caledonian side that was enveloped.

The hammer-and-anvil strikes of the Roman cavalry reportedly won the day. Unable to withstand the flanking attacks of Agricola’s horsemen, Calgacus’ warriors began retreating to the nearby forests. The Caledonians were evidently still organized when they withdrew into the woods, for they set up an ambush against the pursuing Romans. Yet, Agricola thwarted the ambush by ringing his infantry carefully around the woods like hunters, and sent his cavalry charging into the least brushy regions of the forest. These maneuvers reportedly ended any hope for a Caledonian ambush, and Calgacus’ formerly focused troops now began truly fleeing from the battlefield. According to Tacitus, Agricola’s army pursued the Caledonians until nightfall, and by the end of the day, around 10,000 of Calgacus’ warriors were slain.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Calgacus at Mons Graupius, in Pictorial History of Scotland A.D. 79-1646, 2 vols, vol. I, (London, 1859), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Agricola and Germania by Tacitus and translated by Harold Mattingly and revised by J. B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2009.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Gnaeus-Julius-Agricola 
• https://www.ancient.eu/article/776/tacitus-account-of-the-battle-of-mons-graupius/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Caledonia-ancient-region-Britain 
• https://penelope.uchicago.edu/~grout/encyclopaedia_romana/britannia/monsgraupius/monsgraupius.html  
• http://www.battlefieldsofbritain.co.uk/battle_mons_graupius_ad83.html  

The Battle Of Buttington

King Alfred the Great of Wessex (r. 871-899) struggled to survive against the powerful Viking threats to his kingdom in the 870s, and these scares prompted Alfred to impose sweeping military reforms on his realm. In the 880s, Alfred apparently began to divide his manpower into three categories—warriors on active duty with the kingdom’s field army, warriors on leave at home, and troops serving as regional garrisons. The latter group, the garrisoned warriors, were spread throughout the kingdom in a system of fortified burhs, which could act both defensively and offensively. In addition to bogging down invaders and Vikings until the field army arrived, the forces from the burhs could also band together and strike out at foes whenever the king’s main army was occupied elsewhere. This scenario is exactly what happened at the Battle of Buttington in 893.

The 880s, the time in which Alfred imposed his military reforms, was a decade of relative peace. In 892, however, Alfred’s domain was once more thrown into turmoil when two large Viking forces returned to England, landing in the region of Kent after a long period of pillaging in France. Hastein (or Hæsten), the most famous leader of the new arrivals, camped at Milton. The rest of the newly-arrived Vikings camped to the south of Hastein’s position, setting up their headquarters at Appledore. In response to this threat, King Alfred positioned his field army in-between the two Viking armies by 893, and worked with the burhs in the area to contain the raiders. Alfred had some success, and eventually caught a portion of the Vikings off guard near the Thames, at the Battle of Farnham. Yet, King Alfred was soon called away from the eastern front when he learned that a Viking fleet had appeared on the coast of Devon, in the southwest of England.

While King Alfred was focused defending the southwest, the Vikings in the east (the Appledore and Milton armies) combined together at Shoebury, in Essex. From there, they trekked far across the country, following the Thames and then the Severn, eventually setting up camp in the Welsh region of Buttington. They had made good time, for when the new headquarters on the Severn was completed, King Alfred was still occupied with the Viking fleet and army in the region of Devon.

Unfortunately for the Vikings at Buttington, Alfred’s network of garrisoned burhs allowed the kingdom to defend itself, even if the king was not present with the official field army. As Alfred was not present, Ealdormen Æthelred, Æthelhelm and Æthelnoth took control of the situation and mobilized the nearby burhs, and also called in the support of Alfred’s Welsh vassals and allies. This army of Anglo-Saxons and Welshmen successfully surprised the Vikings at Buttington and besieged the camp from all sides. The Vikings on the Severn were quarantined in the siege for many weeks, which no doubt put King Alfred at ease as he continued his campaign against the separate Viking fleet and army in Devon. The besieged forces at Buttington held out until they had to start slaughtering their own horses for food. Yet, once the horse meat ran out, the Vikings decided to make a desperate charge against the besiegers.

At an unknown time in 893, the starving Vikings poured out of their camp and attacked the army of the Ealdormen. It is unknown whether the goal of the Viking charge was to simply escape or, more ambitiously, to defeat the besiegers in battle, but, whatever the case, the Vikings became bogged down during the combat, resulting in a “mighty slaughter of the Danes there” (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, entry for 893). Many Vikings, however, did punch through the Anglo-Saxon lines and these survivors fled all the way back to Essex, on the eastern side of England. The Battle of Buttington, in addition to showcasing the effectiveness of the garrisoned burh system, was also said to have convinced any remaining Viking-aligned Welsh leaders to defect to King Alfred’s side.

Picture Attribution: (Battle of Stamford Bridge painted by Peter Nicolai Arbo  (1831–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012.
• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854. 
• Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources translated, introduced and denoted by Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge. New York: Penguin Classics, 2004. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Alfred-king-of-Wessex 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Alfred_the_Great/ 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803095539594  

The Unlucky Victory Pilgrimage Of Archbishop Ælfsige of Canterbury

A clergyman named Ælfsige succeeded Archbishop Odo as the leader of the archbishopric of Canterbury around 958 in Anglo-Saxon England. For a medieval man-of-the-cloth, it must have been a dream come true. Yet, before he could truly take up his duties, he needed to receive his pallium, a lamb’s wool vestment granted to archbishops from the pope in Rome. Historically, archbishops in England obtained their palliums in various ways. The first archbishops of Canterbury in the 7th century simply had their palliums shipped from Rome to Britain. In the 8th century, however, the archbishops of Canterbury began either traveling to Rome or sending representatives to collect their palliums. By the 10th century in which Ælfsige lived, the norm had become for the archbishops to personally venture to Rome to receive their palliums from the pope. Following this tradition, Archbishop Ælfsige of Canterbury sailed across the English Channel in 959 and traveled through France, eventually reaching the Alps.

With Italy and Rome just on the other side of the mountains, Archbishop Ælfsige eagerly began his trek across the Alps. Yet, his journey had a tragic and anticlimactic end. As the monk, Florence of Worcester (d. 1118), bluntly put it in his chronicle, “Ælfsige, archbishop of Canterbury, on his journey to Rome to obtain the pallium was frozen to death in the ice and snow whilst crossing the Alps” (Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, AD 959). When news reached Canterbury that their brand-new archbishop was dead, debates promptly broke out over who would be the next ruler of the diocese. The most prominent candidates were Byrhthelm (bishop of Wells) and Dunstan (bishop of Worcester and London). Ultimately, the latter clergyman’s faction won the day, and Saint Dunstan became the Archbishop of Canterbury. Unlike his predecessor, Archbishop Dunstan of Canterbury successfully reached Rome around 960 and received his pallium from Pope John XII (r. 955-964).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Alpine Pass in the Winter with monks, painted by Carl Blechen (1798–1840), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854.
• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/pallium-ecclesiastical-vestment 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/religion/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/odo-oda-canterbury-st 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Dunstan-of-Canterbury 
• http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11427a.htm 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/John-XII 
• http://www.vatican.va/news_services/liturgy/details/ns_lit_doc_20091117_pallio_en.html  

The Mass-Murdering Convulsions Of John Smith Of Leicester

In the early 17th century, a young boy named John Smith stirred up fears of witchcraft in the town of Husbands Bosworth, in Leicester, England. His condition, possibly epilepsy or hystero-epilepsy, manifested in his childhood and his convulsions were visibly shocking to his family and their friends. These worrying parents and guardians, however, were no common folk. John Smith came from a prominent family—his father was Sir Roger Smith; his uncle was the silver-tongued sermonizer, Henry Smith; and his grandfather, Erasmus Smith, was Bosworth’s Lord of the Manor. As the boy was of noble blood, his concerned family friends also were prominent figures. One such acquaintance was Sir Henry Hastings, who took special interest in defending the boy against a perceived demonic threat.

Sir Henry Hastings was the High Sheriff of Leicester between 1607-1608. While Sir Henry was serving in that capacity, John Smith (reportedly four or five years old at the time) began behaving oddly and started to suffer afflictions that resembled seizures. The possibility of witchcraft quickly came to people’s minds, and Sir Henry Hastings questioned several suspicious persons in that regard. Yet, no known convictions for bewitching the boy were brought about during Sir Henry’s term as High Sheriff.

Although Sir Henry Hastings could not convict any witches between 1607 and 1608, the idea that witchcraft was involved must have festered in him and the boy’s family for years. Their fears could only grow as young John Smith’s condition persisted during his childhood, and the family apparently reached a breaking point in 1616, when the boy was 12 or 13 years old. A certain alderman named Robert Heyrick described the hysteria caused by John Smith’s disorder in Bosworth. In a letter dated July 18, 1616, Heyrick claimed that the boy would fall into fits where he loudly struck his own chest hundreds of times. Many of the well-to-do citizens of the town witnessed the episodes, and the aforementioned Sir Henry Hastings tried to stop the boy from causing any self-harm. Heyrick wrote (in ye olde English, mind you), “Sir Henry Hastings hath doon what he colld to hold him in his fit; but he and another as strong as he could not hold him; yf he might have his arm at liberty he woolld stryke himsellfe suche bloes on his brest, being in his shirt, that you myght here the sound of yt the length of a long chamber” (Letter of Alderman Heyrick to Sir William, July 18, 1616).

The family of John Smith was apparently so desperate to cure the troubled boy that they brought in several so-called Wise Women, or rural healers, whose knowledge of herbal and folk remedies made them frequent targets of witch-hunters. Alderman Heyrick, in his letter, mentioned the visits of these Wise Women, writing “When he [John Smith] was in his fyt, they [the Wise Women] were soomtymes brought to him, and then they were chardged to speake sarten words…at the end of the last he woolld fall out of his fit as quyetly as if one did lay him doune to slepe” (Letter of Alderman Heyrick to Sir William, July 18, 1616). Although these healers were apparently able to bring the boy out of his fits, their cures were not permanent. The failure of the women to totally cure the boy no doubt frustrated and angered the fearful family, yet, for the healers, it was their patient, John Smith, who would be the most dangerous foe.

Sometime during the first months of 1616, likely after being treated by some of the Wise Women, young John Smith began accusing the healers and their associates of being the cause of his affliction. The boy’s family and the local judicial system agreed with the accusation and the Bosworth Witch Trials were begun. By the time that Alderman Heyrick began writing his letter on July 18, 1616, the witch-hunt had been in full swing for four or five days. In that time, the authorities had filled their jails with suspected witches, and “9 of them shal be executed at the gallows this fornone, for bewitching of a younge gentellman of the age of 12 or 13” (Letter of Alderman Heyrick to Sir William, July 18, 1616). Unfortunately, the nine women mentioned here were indeed executed by hanging because of the boy’s claims.

Ironically, it was the witch-obsessed King James (VI of Scotland, I of England) who put an end to the Bosworth Witch Trials. The king arrived in the chaotic town in mid-August, 1616. At the time, the first nine women had already been executed, but six more were still imprisoned on suspicion of witchcraft.  During his short stay in town, King James took interest in the trial and interviewed John Smith. Yet, the king had encountered false charges from children before, and when he watched and listened to the troubled boy, something caused James to be skeptical. Believing either the witchcraft accusations, or the fits, themselves, were completely fraudulent, King James sent John Smith to be interrogated by Archbishop Abbot of Canterbury. The archbishop came to the same conclusion as the king, and young John Smith eventually confessed that he had falsely accused all of the women. When the confession was brought to King James, he had the imprisoned women released without a trial. Tragically, one of the six captive women died before she could be released, bringing the deaths resulting from John Smith’s accusations to a total of ten.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene of a witch trial by Joseph E. Baker (1837-1914), Public Domain via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Demonology of King James I (introduction), edition of Donald Tyson (Llewellyn Publications, 2011).
• https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/3693732.pdf 
• https://husbandsbosworth.info/historical-information/bosworth-witches 
• https://www.britannica.com/science/hystero-epilepsy

King Hardecanute Reportedly Desecrated The Remains Of His Half-Brother

King Canute the Great seized the throne of England following the deaths of King Æthelred the Unready and Edmund Ironside in 1016. After seeing to things in England, Canute then asserted his claimed over Denmark between 1018 and 1019 (his father had been King Svein Forkbeard of the Danes) and he later usurped power in Norway by deposing King Olaf II Haraldsson (Saint Olaf) in 1028.

In addition to taking the English throne, King Canute also claimed the queen. Canute married Queen Emma, the widow of Æthelred the Unready, in the year 1017. Although Emma returned to England, her sons Ælfred and Edward (fathered by the late Æthelred), remained in exile. Not long after the marriage, presumably 1018 or 1019, King Canute and Emma had a son named Hardecanute, who would eventually inherit much of his Canute’s domain. Hardecanute was soon shipped off to Denmark, where he was tutored and prepped for kingship. By 1028, King Canute had enough trust in Hardecanute’s loyalty and talents to affirm the young prince as a governor or minor king in Denmark.

Yet, not all of Hardecanute’s siblings had been exiled and one half-brother, in particular, posed a significant challenge to Hardecanute’s future. While Hardecanute was seeing to his responsibilities in Denmark, a half-brother named Harold “Harefoot” was making powerful friends in England. Harold was born from Ælgifu of Northampton, who was favored by King Canute before he married Emma, and although Hardecanute seemed to be the favored prince, Harold managed to build himself a formidable faction of English thanes and earls. When King Canute died in 1035, Hardecanute easily assumed the full kingship over Denmark, where he had been the region’s effective ruler since at least 1028. Yet, England was another matter—it became a political warzone, with Earl Leofric of Mercia leading a party in favor of King Harold Harefoot, while Earl Godwine of Wessex and Queen Emma rallied to the cause of Hardecanute. Yet, Hardecanute’s long absence from England was used as a political weapon by Harold, who, in contrast, was a familiar face to the English noblemen. In the end, Emma and Earl Godwine could only contain Harold to the rank of co-king of England, or possibly regent. Yet, by 1037, Harold had gathered enough strength to do away with political pretenses—he declared himself the sole king of England and forced Queen Emma to leave Britain.

Harold’s reign was bittersweet. On the one hand, he successfully defended his kingdom’s frontiers against attack, albeit he reportedly took considerable casualties on the Welsh front. On a more negative note, his reign also saw a gruesome assassination—Ælfred (son of Æthelred and Emma) was said to have been kidnapped while in England to see his mother; he was then reportedly mutilated and left to slowly die from his wounds. Additionally, the threat of an invasion by Hardecanute always loomed over England in the years after Harold’s proclamation of sole rule. Nevertheless, Harold Harefoot died in 1040, before any conflict could erupt between the half-brothers. After Harold’s death, Hardecanute, who was lurking beyond the English Channel with a fleet of sixty ships, crossed over to England and assumed control of the vacated throne.

King Harold I Harefoot was buried in Westminster after his death. Yet, Hardecanute had unfinished business with the man who usurped his throne and exiled his mother. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Hardecanute was willing to go to incredible lengths to get payback against his troublesome sibling. Not long after arriving in England, Hardecanute reportedly “caused the dead Harold to be dragged up, and had him cast into a fen” (ASC 1040). The act of tossing his half-brother’s remains into a wetland was a poor start to what would be an ungraceful and unpopular reign in England. In his short period of rule, Hardecanute earned himself a reputation for brutality and oath breaking before he died of drinking problems in 1042. He was succeeded by his half-brother, Edward the Confessor, a fellow son of Queen Emma.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Image of King Canute from the Young People's History of England, c. 1870s, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources;

• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012.
• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Canute-I 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Hardecanute 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Harold-I 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Godwine 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Leofric  

Æthelred The Unready Lost A Large Portion Of His Navy Due To His Feuding Vassals

Æthelred the Unready (r. 978-1016) ruled England during one of its darkest ages. As early as 980, he was faced with an influx of Viking activity the likes of which had not been seen since the days of Alfred the Great (r. 871-899). Yet, unlike Alfred, who was eventually able to adapt his forces to effectively combat the Scandinavian threat to his kingdom, Æthelred the Unready seemed hopelessly incapable of utilizing his resources in a way that could defeat his enemies. As portrayed in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Æthelred’s style of defense was evidently to let his regional ealdormen defend their own domains against the Vikings, and if the ealdormen failed, Æthelred would pay the Vikings money in hopes that they would leave. The king apparently mobilized his army on very few occasions, and when he did personally go on the march, it was often a punitive mission against his own people. Æthelred did, however, raise fleets against the Viking threat, yet something always seemed to go wrong when the English ships were gathered together.

According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, it was as late as 992 when Æthelred the Unready decided to make a concerted effort to mobilize his navy against the Vikings. That fiasco ended with the admiral in charge of the English fleet defecting to the Vikings (read about this in more detail HERE). After that incident, Æthelred the Unready apparently reverted to his previous strategy of paying money to the Vikings, especially when too many of his ealdormen began to die in battle. Yet, in 1007, after numerous ealdormen had been slain in Viking raids and after four payments of tribute had been made to the invaders, Æthelred the Unready finally announced a kingdom-wide edict commanding that new ships and armor be built across England.

By 1009, enough ships had been constructed to make some of the Englishmen feel hopeful of their future. Yet, as had happened the last time Æthelred raised his fleet against the Vikings, something bizarre occurred to thwart the unlucky king’s plans. Unfortunately for Æthelred, two of his powerful vassals decided to start quarreling in 1009. The two people in question were Ealdorman Brihtric and a certain powerful lord of Sussex called Wulfnoth Cild. Æthelred failed to reconcile the two noblemen, and, even worse, the king openly gave his support to Brihtric. Infuriated, Wutlfnoth Cild commandeered twenty English ships that were docked in his domain and used them to raid southern England.

When news of the raids spread, Ealdorman Brihtric quickly offered to hunt down his rogue rival and the king agreed to the plan.  In addition to his vocal support, King Æthelred the Unready also put Brihtric in command of eighty newly-built ships. Now at the helm of a large armada, Brihtric sailed off to capture or kill his enemy. Yet, the battle between the foes never occurred—in a tragic twist of fate, Brihtric’s fleet was ravaged by a massive tempest that left all eighty of his ships damaged or sunk. When Wulfnoth heard of his rival’s distress, he reportedly sailed to the shipwrecks and set fire to all of the vessels that happened to still be afloat.

According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, the naval disaster between Brihtric and Wulfnoth was a breaking point in the reign of Æthelred the Unready. With the destruction of Brihtric’s eighty ships and the other twenty ships of Wulfnoth still on the loose, Æthelred the Unready apparently abandoned his shipbuilding project and England fell into a state of overwhelming depression. The chronicler in charge of recording the events of 1009 wrote, “When this was thus known to the other ships where the king was, how the others had fared, it was as if all counsel was at an end, and the king, and the ealdormen, and the high ‘witan’ went home, and thus lightly left the ships” (ASC, 1009).

The English ships lost that year were sorely missed. Before 1009 had ended, the general regions of Kent, Hampshire, Berkshire, Sussex and Essex faced Viking activity, while the more specific locations of Sandwich, Canterbury, Chiltern, Oxford, Staines and London were also mentioned as having been targeted by raiders. With such a combination of bad luck and ineffective defense, it is unsurprising that the Danes overran England by 1013 and forced Æthelred the Unready to flee to Normandy.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Bayeux Tapestry. Scene 39, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Ethelred-the-Unready 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Sweyn-I