In 688, King Ine of Wessex succeeded to the throne. At this time, he decided to remove Earl Cyppa from Middenshire and take it for himself, probably as a result of some mistaken belief in its richness. However, standing in the wings was Nobba the Squeamish, Ine's half-brother and blood-kin to Cyppa. Nobba's claim to the throne of Wessex was, in reality, much stronger than Ine's. Although he was essentially a peace-loving man, Nobba decided to do battle with Ine for the Kingdom of Wessex. But, as he dressed himself in battle array, Nobba snagged a fingernail on a loose thread on his tunic, and promptly fainted. Ine sent a war band to kill Cyppa, then confronted Nobba. Having discovered that Middenshire was not the rich land he had expected, King Ine:
With contempt, decreed that Nobba should be King of Middenshire, this being the only kingdom over which he was worthy to rule. Accordingly, Nobba's men set upon his head a royal crown and proclaimed him ruler.
Thus, Middenshire became a separate kingdom. One might have thought that Ine would have taken the Shire for himself, as its position just south of Dorset would have rendered it of strategic importance. However, Ine discounted this, since any would-be rival to the throne of Wessex, attempting entry to the kingdom by sea, would have seen the Shire as little more than an enormous mud bank surrounded by treacherous shallows, and would have looked elsewhere for a safer place to land. This was, of course, to Nobba's advantage. It meant that he and his retainers were left in peace.
There is no doubt that Nobba's subjects adored him, but there is equally no doubt that he was not really suited to kingship, especially in those times. His nickname, originally coined by his father, was certainly apt. His fainting fit after the incident of the snagged fingernail was but one example of many. His delicate constitution knew no bounds. He became sick at the sight of seaweed, and slimy mud likewise caused his gorge to rise. He was a terrible sailor, and wine and rich food caused him agonies of indigestion. He was also known to turn pale in the mead-hall as the bards sang their sagas of past blood feuds and disembowellings. On one occasion, in an effort to prove to his subjects that he was not omnipotent, he sat in his throne upon the beach and commanded the waves to retreat (now, where have we heard a similar tale before?) His chair sank into the mud, and Nobba, heaving fit to burst, ran from the beach and hid from his people for a full month.
King Nobba died in 702. His subjects buried him in a great ship, surrounded him with wine jars and fine foods, and raised a great barrow over his head. Small wonder, then, that Nobba found no rest in death. His ghost could often be seen at sunset on top of his barrow, one hand clapped firmly over its mouth, condemned to retch and heave for all eternity in an everlasting attack of biliousness.
In 726, King Ine renounced the throne of Wessex and his kinsman Aethelheard "received the kingdom." The then King of Middenshire, Hwalig, hoping to bring to an end the enmity between his kingdom and that of Wessex, sent 'a gift of fine Middenshire mud to King Aethelheard, who received it graciously, but with much puzzlement.' One can just imagine the curiosity which attended the arrival of what was probably a huge iron cauldron, filled to the brim with glutinous silt. Fortunately, it appears that the gift was accepted in the spirit in which it was intended, and Aethelheard must have found some use for it, for in the following year, the so-called Treaty of Middenbury was signed. The two kings acknowledged each others' sovereignty, and Hwalig agreed to supply his Wessex counterpart with enough mud annually to re-daub the royal palace. In exchange, Wessex would never again lay claim to the Shire, but would supply military aid in times of dire need.
An attempt was made by King Hwalrus to produce a more solid alliance when he succeeded to the Middenshire throne in 747. He felt that the Treaty alone was insufficient, and thus made the traditional gesture of offering his sister in marriage to the House of Wessex. His proposal was treated with derision by his own Witan, who described her as 'a pig in a shift,' and, fearing that such a move might actually provoke war between the two kingdoms, the idea went no further.
In 754, Enig the Miserable succeeded at the age of 40. He was 'much troubled by sorrows, melancholy and great darknesses of countenance, so that many detriments were caused to the kingdom.' In other words, he suffered from severe depression, and found it impossible to think about anything except his own mortality. As a consequence, he never made a decision. In 777, he was suffocated in his sleep by his advisers who, tired of hearing him speculate on the time and nature of his death, had decided to put him out of his misery. They installed Eagnog, his ambitious son, who had no love for his father and had long yearned to wear the crown. At a ceremony of fealty after his coronation, Eagnog asked those who had 'released his father from a sorrowful life so that he might go forth to glory' to step forward. Expecting some reward, they did so and Eagnog had them summarily hanged.
Much of what has been related here is gleaned from The Annals of Saint Peter's, part of which survived and found its way into Thuck's cannon. A fair proportion of the document is dull in the extreme, but here are a few of the entries; those in italics are direct translation from the Latin:
777 In these days, Pussa came to the Shire, wishing to usurp Eagnog. He stood upon the causeway, calling to Eagnog and his Earls, 'Why do you not come forth and fight, or do your tails wind about your legs? Come forth now, if men you be.' And Eagnog did not hear, for his Mead Hall was far away. Pussa took up a horn, and blew a great blast, and still Eagnog did not come forth to answer his challenge. So Pussa went forward to the Mead Hall alone and demanded entry. But the King and his company were hunting in the East of the Shire. Pussa turned about and left the Shire. He reached the causeway once more, and the waves washed him therefrom, and he returned wet to his own Mead Hall.
793 In this year were seen terrible portents and omens. There were storms of rain, hail and snow; disastrous gales and grim waterspouts; the earth shook and swallowed up a herd of pigs. Great blasts of lightning split trees asunder, and a dreadful rain of ducks afflicted the land. And it was at this time that Bihtwihc suffered from dire rumblings in the bowels.
816 King Bihtwihc passed away, and his son Wucca received the Kingdom.
818 It was in this year that Wucca received baptism from the holy Cuffa, and gave land at Mede Burgh for the building of a house for the monks. And also in this year Cuffa was hallowed first bishop of the Shire.
838 Abortive raid on Middenbury Abbey by Vikings.
840 Ealdorman Aethelhun and the men of Dorset fought the Danes at Portland and lost. The Danes sailed from there to Round Island and set up an encampment.
841 Bishop Cuffa went to Round Island to preach to the heathen Danes.
844 Ailric received the Kingdom and ruled wisely and well for five years; but he was always afflicted with some gross disorder of the face. At first as a youth, his suffering was brought by sanguine blotches, and then at the end of his life by the white itch beneath his beard. In this same year the good Bishop Cuffa entered the Kingdom of Heaven.
845 Bishop Weonga, troubled by the behaviour of the people, which he still considered heathen in many ways, produced a list of penances and punishments for 'Idolatrous and unclean practices'. This gives a fascinating insight into the workings of the churchman's mind:
If anyone eats something which a mouse has defiled, he is to fast for seven days.
If a monk gives another a bowl of liquor in which a mouse has been drowned, he is to sing 100 psalms.
If a man break wind whilst receiving the Sacrament, he is to fast for five years, the first three years on bread and water.
If any man indulge in abominable practices in the shadow of a heathen stone, he shall do penance by battering his head against the North wall of the House (i.e. Middenbury Abbey) whilst saying the Our Father.
The making of detestable charms is utterly abhorrent, and shall be punished by the maker kneeling before Our Lord's altar for 40 days whilst scourging himself with the skin of the scaly worm. (This was most likely the Middenshire Rough Snake.)
This last item is interesting, since amulets and 'scaly worms' form part of another manuscript preserved by William Thuck. Entitled 'Leechdoms, Charmings and Glamours,' and written in Old English, it contains a large number of spells, charms and remedies for various ailments. One of these involved the beating of a lunatic with the skin of a Rough Snake to cure him; another, the eating of a small wheaten biscuit with the names of the four Evangelists written thereon to relieve toothache; and yet another, the drinking of a cup of ale brewed on a Monday, and containing seven worms, seven woodlice and seven spiders, to cure 'A morbid dread of crawling things.' One wonders in the last instance whether the cure was actually worse than the disease.
In 1016, Cnut became King of England and resolved that no part of the land should fall outside his rule. He and his men made their way to Middenshire, expecting heavy resistance from the Middenites who, his Witan said, had tails and communed with Satan. He was therefore rather surprised when he was met by King Codda, ten men and a dog. In the event, only the dog put up a show of resistance as Codda gave up his kingdom in exchange for an ornamental cloak pin and a handful of nuts. This done, Cnut began a royal progress of this newest part of his kingdom. One thing which quickly became clear was that, if the Middenites were in league with the devil, they had gained nothing from the alliance, since the only things of value he found were a silver coin and a phenomenally large pig. The animal, too dangerous to approach, was killed by burning down its sty. The carcase was rescued from the flames before it was consumed, and it was then butchered and sent as a gift to allies in Denmark. They quickly developed a taste for smoked pig meat; a previously unknown fact which may explain the present day Scandinavian industry which produces bacon both for home consumption and export.
In the next post we'll hear about the Normans in Middenshire.
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