Saturday, 1 August 2015
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Pardon, gentles all
It has come to my attention that it is almost a year since I added anything to this blog. I had all good intentions to fill these cyber pages with tales of the long-dead County of Middenshire, but I fear, dear reader, that life (and a new job) got in the way.
Being conscious of the fact that not everyone is interested in history, even if it is the history of a place as fascinating as Middenshire, I have decided on a change of tack. No more will I be recounting the year by year history of the shire; rather, I will be placing snippets of note from William Thuck's diary and his perambulations on this blog - people, places, customs, folklore - in the hope that they will be of some interest.
Look out for the first of these in a day or so.
Being conscious of the fact that not everyone is interested in history, even if it is the history of a place as fascinating as Middenshire, I have decided on a change of tack. No more will I be recounting the year by year history of the shire; rather, I will be placing snippets of note from William Thuck's diary and his perambulations on this blog - people, places, customs, folklore - in the hope that they will be of some interest.
Look out for the first of these in a day or so.
Friday, 1 October 2010
Domesday Middenshire
The Domesday survey was King William's way of ensuring that a permanent record was made of who held what land, how many men worked it, what it produced, and, most important to the King, how much it was worth to him. Astonishingly, the entries for Middenshire survive. They were ripped from Great Domesday in 1415 at the time of the ostracism, and subsequent rebindings had eradicated any trace of their former presence. It is almost certain, therefore, that the Domesday entry was one of the documents salvaged by Geoffrey Thuck. Here, by way of example, is the entry for Pendlebury:
Gervase Vert holds Pendlebury from the King. In lordship 3 ploughs; 30 villagers with 15 ploughs; 3 smallholders with 2 ploughs; a mudder 1 virgate. Harold the Saltmaker had 3 virgates before 1066, now nothing. Then, 18 slaves, now 20. Elmo holds 1 hide which belongs to the church. Value before 1066, 25s, later and now, 15s.
Not surprisingly, the King demanded services other than the collection of taxes from his lords. The following is a list of all the manors of Middenshire, the names of those to whom they were granted, and the services required to be rendered. Incidentally, the words in brackets denote the names of the manors as spelt in Domesday:
Pendlebury (Pendelberge)Sir Gervase Vert, granted the manor of Pendlebury on condition that, when doing homage at Court, he should always be ready to wipe the Royal Nose with his sleeve.
Puckworth (Bugeurde)Sir Rollo de Prycke, required to present to the King two pigs and a silver vomiting basin at Michaelmas.
Lower Thuckworthy (Dugwrde) Sir Geoffrey de Veau, to play practical jokes on those barons whom the King had identified as toadies or lickspittles.
Thuckham (Tucham)Abelard de Ville, to represent the King at the annual pie eating contest in Aix en Provence every September.
Middenbury (Medburg)The Abbot of Middenbury, Roger de Rambert, to supply the Royal Household with personalised stationery from the abbey scriptorium, and one small duck every 7th of April.
Round Island (Iselrunda) Guy de Tougere. The island was small, muddy and uninhabited. No service was attached to this grant, but de Tougere, a man who, even in those days, was regarded as "ripe," having bad breath, body odour and "Fermage dez Pedz" (literally 'cheesy feet'), was required to swear an oath that he would always stand downwind of the King.
The Domesday record certainly seems to bear out the fact that Middenshire was poor; the total value of the Shire (i.e. the combined annual receipts of the six manors) was only four pounds seventeen shillings, broken down as follows:
Pendlebury: fifteen shillings; Puckworth: twelve shillings; Lower Thuckworthy: fourteen shillings; Thuckham: six shillings; Middenbury: fifty shillings; Round Island: nothing.
The lords of Middenshire ruled their provinces on the whole benevolently, but sometimes by force of arms or taxation as the fancy took them. Abelard de Ville, the gluttonous lord of Thuckham, combined his gourmandish hobby with taxation by creating a Food Rent. On collection day, he and his obese lieutenants would descend on the villagers in his thrall and eat everything they had.
The Lord who, at first glance, had seemed the unluckiest, de Tougere, was soon found to be by far the most fortunate. On Round Island was found a particularly rich silt which came to be known as Lucky Mud. It was good for crops, the complexion, absorbing odours, earth closets, and was a superior daub at a time when wattle and daub was a popular building method. Thus he was able to sell his Lucky Mud to other manors. It was rumoured that he even started an illegal mud trade with the mainland; illegal in the sense that he failed to pass of a proportion of the profits to the King.
William the First was succeeded by his younger son. This second Norman king, named (with a startling lack of originality by his father) William, was quickly given the nickname "Rufus," allegedly in recognition of his shock of red hair. However, it is far more likely to have been from the embarassment of an incident which occurred in Middenshire shortly after the start of his reign. As a goodwill gesture to his people, and in an attempt to persuade the Almighty to overlook his father's faults and speed him on his way to Heaven, he gave substantial gifts to church and people. Every large foundation was given ten gold marks and every smaller house, six. Parish churches were given sixty shillings each, and the enormous sum of £100 went to every shire for distribution to the poor. Not surprisingly, perhaps, Middenshire was totally forgotten in this share out. Abbot Roger travelled to Portland to petition a very minor clerk to the King's Exchequer about this oversight, but gained nothing. Rather, he was the poorer as a result of the encounter, since the clerk borrowed half a mark (six shillings and eightpence) from the cleric. Ultimately, the complaint filtered through to the King, who was spending Christmas 1087 in London, but by this time the Royal Coffers were all but empty. All the Middenites received was a formalised letter of apology from the King and the half mark owing to Abbot Roger. A short time later, William increased taxes, and further burdens were placed on the populus by another heavy round in 1096. Not surprisingly, the people of Middenshire had very little time for the King after this. William Thuck believed that the death of William Rufus, which occurred four years later, was no accident. The arrow fired by Walter Tyrrell on that ill fated hunting expedition of 2nd August 1100 was, according to Thuck, a "contract" killing, planned by Middenites and paid for in ducks, there being little in the way of currency available. Whatever the truth of the allegation, the late, but hardly lamented Rufus was succeeded by his younger brother, who became Henry the First.
Information about the Twelfth century onwards was far more accessible to William Thuck and he was able to write with greater authority. Therefore, all further historical information will be contained within the body of his great tour of the island shire.
Gervase Vert holds Pendlebury from the King. In lordship 3 ploughs; 30 villagers with 15 ploughs; 3 smallholders with 2 ploughs; a mudder 1 virgate. Harold the Saltmaker had 3 virgates before 1066, now nothing. Then, 18 slaves, now 20. Elmo holds 1 hide which belongs to the church. Value before 1066, 25s, later and now, 15s.
Not surprisingly, the King demanded services other than the collection of taxes from his lords. The following is a list of all the manors of Middenshire, the names of those to whom they were granted, and the services required to be rendered. Incidentally, the words in brackets denote the names of the manors as spelt in Domesday:
Pendlebury (Pendelberge)Sir Gervase Vert, granted the manor of Pendlebury on condition that, when doing homage at Court, he should always be ready to wipe the Royal Nose with his sleeve.
Puckworth (Bugeurde)Sir Rollo de Prycke, required to present to the King two pigs and a silver vomiting basin at Michaelmas.
Lower Thuckworthy (Dugwrde) Sir Geoffrey de Veau, to play practical jokes on those barons whom the King had identified as toadies or lickspittles.
Thuckham (Tucham)Abelard de Ville, to represent the King at the annual pie eating contest in Aix en Provence every September.
Middenbury (Medburg)The Abbot of Middenbury, Roger de Rambert, to supply the Royal Household with personalised stationery from the abbey scriptorium, and one small duck every 7th of April.
Round Island (Iselrunda) Guy de Tougere. The island was small, muddy and uninhabited. No service was attached to this grant, but de Tougere, a man who, even in those days, was regarded as "ripe," having bad breath, body odour and "Fermage dez Pedz" (literally 'cheesy feet'), was required to swear an oath that he would always stand downwind of the King.
The Domesday record certainly seems to bear out the fact that Middenshire was poor; the total value of the Shire (i.e. the combined annual receipts of the six manors) was only four pounds seventeen shillings, broken down as follows:
Pendlebury: fifteen shillings; Puckworth: twelve shillings; Lower Thuckworthy: fourteen shillings; Thuckham: six shillings; Middenbury: fifty shillings; Round Island: nothing.
The lords of Middenshire ruled their provinces on the whole benevolently, but sometimes by force of arms or taxation as the fancy took them. Abelard de Ville, the gluttonous lord of Thuckham, combined his gourmandish hobby with taxation by creating a Food Rent. On collection day, he and his obese lieutenants would descend on the villagers in his thrall and eat everything they had.
The Lord who, at first glance, had seemed the unluckiest, de Tougere, was soon found to be by far the most fortunate. On Round Island was found a particularly rich silt which came to be known as Lucky Mud. It was good for crops, the complexion, absorbing odours, earth closets, and was a superior daub at a time when wattle and daub was a popular building method. Thus he was able to sell his Lucky Mud to other manors. It was rumoured that he even started an illegal mud trade with the mainland; illegal in the sense that he failed to pass of a proportion of the profits to the King.
William the First was succeeded by his younger son. This second Norman king, named (with a startling lack of originality by his father) William, was quickly given the nickname "Rufus," allegedly in recognition of his shock of red hair. However, it is far more likely to have been from the embarassment of an incident which occurred in Middenshire shortly after the start of his reign. As a goodwill gesture to his people, and in an attempt to persuade the Almighty to overlook his father's faults and speed him on his way to Heaven, he gave substantial gifts to church and people. Every large foundation was given ten gold marks and every smaller house, six. Parish churches were given sixty shillings each, and the enormous sum of £100 went to every shire for distribution to the poor. Not surprisingly, perhaps, Middenshire was totally forgotten in this share out. Abbot Roger travelled to Portland to petition a very minor clerk to the King's Exchequer about this oversight, but gained nothing. Rather, he was the poorer as a result of the encounter, since the clerk borrowed half a mark (six shillings and eightpence) from the cleric. Ultimately, the complaint filtered through to the King, who was spending Christmas 1087 in London, but by this time the Royal Coffers were all but empty. All the Middenites received was a formalised letter of apology from the King and the half mark owing to Abbot Roger. A short time later, William increased taxes, and further burdens were placed on the populus by another heavy round in 1096. Not surprisingly, the people of Middenshire had very little time for the King after this. William Thuck believed that the death of William Rufus, which occurred four years later, was no accident. The arrow fired by Walter Tyrrell on that ill fated hunting expedition of 2nd August 1100 was, according to Thuck, a "contract" killing, planned by Middenites and paid for in ducks, there being little in the way of currency available. Whatever the truth of the allegation, the late, but hardly lamented Rufus was succeeded by his younger brother, who became Henry the First.
Information about the Twelfth century onwards was far more accessible to William Thuck and he was able to write with greater authority. Therefore, all further historical information will be contained within the body of his great tour of the island shire.
Monday, 23 August 2010
The Normans - Part 1
Shortly after the Battle of Hastings and his installation upon the throne of England, William the Bastard (later, the Conqueror) granted land to the retainers who had fought at his side against the Saxons. In some cases, the grants were unconditional, but in most, they were in return for services which the grantee was required to render to the King. Shortly after his coronation, William conferred upon Sir Geoffrey de Mandeville, one of his most trusted friends, the entire county of Middenshire. This was, of course, in addition to the many other lands granted to Sir Geoffrey in other parts of the realm.
Sir Geoffrey visited the county in December 1068, staying only long enough to burn down a couple of villages. He then returned to the King, who was at that time in Winchester, and said that, having seen the county, he really didn't want it. Far from being consumed with anger, William was probably secretly pleased, for it enabled him to divide the county amongst a number of minor retainers and clerics, who had somehow been forgotten when lands were apportioned after the conquest. Thus, men who had never before held land became tenants in chief, answerable only to the King, and William was absolved of his guilt at giving them nothing previously. For six men, Christmas came early in 1068. An additional gift was that of a Shire Reeve, to oversee the six manors and help the Middenshire lords to adapt to their new role.
The new Lords of Middenshire had little contact with the rest of the Kingdom. Living as they did in a poor shire where few people were above the subsistence level, they made a conscious decision to distance themselves from the greed and infighting which was rife between rival barons in the rest of the kingdom. The causeway made the shire easy to defend, always supposing any more powerful magnate had decided to indulge in some land grabbing. But, there was no reason for them to worry. The truth was that no one wanted anything to do with Sir Geoffrey de Mandeville's cast offs. So, these Middenshire Lords, on the lowest rung of the Norman Ladder, made the most of what little they had. After all, poor land was better than no land at all.
The Annals of St. Peter's tell us that the Lords set up a feudal system in Middenshire, modelled as closely as possible on that operated on the mainland. In this, the native English were held by the Normans in varying degrees of freedom or slavery. First were the freemen, who had their own land, but were still required to lend a helping hand with the Lord's crops at busy times of the farming year. Next came the villeins, who held 20 to 30 acres each of arable land, scattered in small strips about the common fields. They paid rent to the Lord (often in grain, animals or vegetables early on in the period) and were bound to spend two or three days a week working in the demesne, or Lord's fields. In practice, this meant gathering the manorial crops while their own rotted. A similar position was occupied by craftsmen, such as smiths and (in Middenshire) mudders, but their land allocation was rather less and there were less demands on their time by the Manor. Lastly, and at the bottom of the pile, were the serfs, or slaves. They held no land, were required to work the whole time on the Lord's own holdings, and were forbidden from leaving the village. There were a number of other restrictions on the lives of the people in general, which they must have found galling. They were forbidden from grinding their own corn at home, being required instead to use the lord's mill and pay for the privilege. In 1102, Ergot of Rye, Abbot of Middenbury, ordered all privately owned millstones to be seized from the serfs on his manor, and used them to re pave the floor of his tithe barn, but not before he and his monks, in a rare moment of relaxation from the rigours of monastic life, 'played at millstone rolling within the cloister upon the day of St. Gug.' Not content with making money from this, the lord also insisted that peasants baked their bread, at a price, in the Manorial Oven near the manor house. Perhaps this was not such a bad idea after all. The use of a roaring bread oven in the middle of a village made almost entirely of wood and straw would not have been a particularly sensible idea. The Annals record that in 1087, the entire village of Gargley was 'razed to the ground by a fierce and tempestuous fire, blame for which rested on a villein and a bunlet he had been unlawfully baking in his hovel.'
In overall charge of the villiens, and responsible for the work they did on the manor, was the Reeve. He could be free or bond, and was usually chosen by his fellows. He had to make sure that peasants rose early enough to work; supervised ploughing, sowing, reaping and all other farm work; kept an eye on the bone idle or careless; and presented wrong doers to the manor court. Basically, he was required to be 'a verray peyne in al mennes arses,' and could make life very difficult for those in his charge. He could also be corrupt. When, in 1290, the Reeve of Lower Thuckworthy was sent to Portland with £6 to buy new millstones, neither he nor the money ever returned. The manor court records describe the incident as 'A grave and strange mystery, and one for which there appears to be no answer.' Three years later, the Mystery of the Lost Reeve was still being talked about on the manor. Not all Reeves disappeared; most just used their office to their own private advantage and managed to cover up any irregularities when the Exchequer's men carried out their periodic audits. To their credit, Reeves were usually scrupulously fair they deceived and cheated everyone equally.
During the early years, there is no evidence of protest or rebellion by the native Middenites against their new masters. When faced with the question, 'Why not?', the Chronicler of the now Norman run Middenbury Abbey, who is clearly not a Norman himself, provides us with an answer of sorts:
These cruel men would stop at naught to gather such riches as were available from the people. Not an ear of corn, a nugget of dung, nor a single duck escaped their notice. Any man fool enough to make feeble entreaty to mercy was cowed by terrible frowns and cluckings.
So it seems that Middenshire was subdued not by violence, but by a few lower order Lords looking ratty and tutting a bit. The new owners probably wore mail coats and iron caps, which added to their fierce appearance, and got into the habit of baring their teeth and grasping their sword hilts in a martial manner if any dirty Saxon got a little too close. They were trying to live up to a reputation they had gained by the defeat of the Saxons at Senlac. In fact, they probably just wanted a quiet life, and the killing of peasants must have come very low down their list of Things To Do In Middenshire. In any case, their armed retinues were very small, as were the number of peasants at their disposal, and it would have seemed pointless to slaughter the very people they relied upon to work their land. Again, it should be remembered that these men were not experienced in causing misery on a grand scale, unlike some of their mainland counterparts. The past master of mayhem was, of course, the King himself, who laid waste huge areas of the North of England in the twenty years after the Conquest, in an effort to bring the native English to their knees in submission. The Middenites were unaware of their overlords' lack of experience in peasant management, and knew nothing of this murder and mayhem. They simply accepted the change. It is more than likely that they couldn't have cared less about the conquest, believing, rightly or wrongly, that a Norman Lord was no worse than any other. In any case, the system was not totally alien to the Middenites. Most of them had been subject to the authority of some individual more powerful than themselves, even prior to the conquest, so they were already quite accustomed to being treated like dirt; it was their lot in life. The Middenshire Lords were, on the whole, benevolent, and took pains to assure the people that the manorial system was nothing personal.
In the next post, we'll take a look at Domesday.
Sir Geoffrey visited the county in December 1068, staying only long enough to burn down a couple of villages. He then returned to the King, who was at that time in Winchester, and said that, having seen the county, he really didn't want it. Far from being consumed with anger, William was probably secretly pleased, for it enabled him to divide the county amongst a number of minor retainers and clerics, who had somehow been forgotten when lands were apportioned after the conquest. Thus, men who had never before held land became tenants in chief, answerable only to the King, and William was absolved of his guilt at giving them nothing previously. For six men, Christmas came early in 1068. An additional gift was that of a Shire Reeve, to oversee the six manors and help the Middenshire lords to adapt to their new role.
The new Lords of Middenshire had little contact with the rest of the Kingdom. Living as they did in a poor shire where few people were above the subsistence level, they made a conscious decision to distance themselves from the greed and infighting which was rife between rival barons in the rest of the kingdom. The causeway made the shire easy to defend, always supposing any more powerful magnate had decided to indulge in some land grabbing. But, there was no reason for them to worry. The truth was that no one wanted anything to do with Sir Geoffrey de Mandeville's cast offs. So, these Middenshire Lords, on the lowest rung of the Norman Ladder, made the most of what little they had. After all, poor land was better than no land at all.
The Annals of St. Peter's tell us that the Lords set up a feudal system in Middenshire, modelled as closely as possible on that operated on the mainland. In this, the native English were held by the Normans in varying degrees of freedom or slavery. First were the freemen, who had their own land, but were still required to lend a helping hand with the Lord's crops at busy times of the farming year. Next came the villeins, who held 20 to 30 acres each of arable land, scattered in small strips about the common fields. They paid rent to the Lord (often in grain, animals or vegetables early on in the period) and were bound to spend two or three days a week working in the demesne, or Lord's fields. In practice, this meant gathering the manorial crops while their own rotted. A similar position was occupied by craftsmen, such as smiths and (in Middenshire) mudders, but their land allocation was rather less and there were less demands on their time by the Manor. Lastly, and at the bottom of the pile, were the serfs, or slaves. They held no land, were required to work the whole time on the Lord's own holdings, and were forbidden from leaving the village. There were a number of other restrictions on the lives of the people in general, which they must have found galling. They were forbidden from grinding their own corn at home, being required instead to use the lord's mill and pay for the privilege. In 1102, Ergot of Rye, Abbot of Middenbury, ordered all privately owned millstones to be seized from the serfs on his manor, and used them to re pave the floor of his tithe barn, but not before he and his monks, in a rare moment of relaxation from the rigours of monastic life, 'played at millstone rolling within the cloister upon the day of St. Gug.' Not content with making money from this, the lord also insisted that peasants baked their bread, at a price, in the Manorial Oven near the manor house. Perhaps this was not such a bad idea after all. The use of a roaring bread oven in the middle of a village made almost entirely of wood and straw would not have been a particularly sensible idea. The Annals record that in 1087, the entire village of Gargley was 'razed to the ground by a fierce and tempestuous fire, blame for which rested on a villein and a bunlet he had been unlawfully baking in his hovel.'
In overall charge of the villiens, and responsible for the work they did on the manor, was the Reeve. He could be free or bond, and was usually chosen by his fellows. He had to make sure that peasants rose early enough to work; supervised ploughing, sowing, reaping and all other farm work; kept an eye on the bone idle or careless; and presented wrong doers to the manor court. Basically, he was required to be 'a verray peyne in al mennes arses,' and could make life very difficult for those in his charge. He could also be corrupt. When, in 1290, the Reeve of Lower Thuckworthy was sent to Portland with £6 to buy new millstones, neither he nor the money ever returned. The manor court records describe the incident as 'A grave and strange mystery, and one for which there appears to be no answer.' Three years later, the Mystery of the Lost Reeve was still being talked about on the manor. Not all Reeves disappeared; most just used their office to their own private advantage and managed to cover up any irregularities when the Exchequer's men carried out their periodic audits. To their credit, Reeves were usually scrupulously fair they deceived and cheated everyone equally.
During the early years, there is no evidence of protest or rebellion by the native Middenites against their new masters. When faced with the question, 'Why not?', the Chronicler of the now Norman run Middenbury Abbey, who is clearly not a Norman himself, provides us with an answer of sorts:
These cruel men would stop at naught to gather such riches as were available from the people. Not an ear of corn, a nugget of dung, nor a single duck escaped their notice. Any man fool enough to make feeble entreaty to mercy was cowed by terrible frowns and cluckings.
So it seems that Middenshire was subdued not by violence, but by a few lower order Lords looking ratty and tutting a bit. The new owners probably wore mail coats and iron caps, which added to their fierce appearance, and got into the habit of baring their teeth and grasping their sword hilts in a martial manner if any dirty Saxon got a little too close. They were trying to live up to a reputation they had gained by the defeat of the Saxons at Senlac. In fact, they probably just wanted a quiet life, and the killing of peasants must have come very low down their list of Things To Do In Middenshire. In any case, their armed retinues were very small, as were the number of peasants at their disposal, and it would have seemed pointless to slaughter the very people they relied upon to work their land. Again, it should be remembered that these men were not experienced in causing misery on a grand scale, unlike some of their mainland counterparts. The past master of mayhem was, of course, the King himself, who laid waste huge areas of the North of England in the twenty years after the Conquest, in an effort to bring the native English to their knees in submission. The Middenites were unaware of their overlords' lack of experience in peasant management, and knew nothing of this murder and mayhem. They simply accepted the change. It is more than likely that they couldn't have cared less about the conquest, believing, rightly or wrongly, that a Norman Lord was no worse than any other. In any case, the system was not totally alien to the Middenites. Most of them had been subject to the authority of some individual more powerful than themselves, even prior to the conquest, so they were already quite accustomed to being treated like dirt; it was their lot in life. The Middenshire Lords were, on the whole, benevolent, and took pains to assure the people that the manorial system was nothing personal.
In the next post, we'll take a look at Domesday.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Saxon Middenshire - Part 2
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.
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.
Monday, 16 August 2010
Saxon Middenshire - Part 1
After the Dark Ages, Britain was subjected to a number of invasions; the history books are full of descriptions of the Angles, Saxons and Jutes, who ultimately settled in this country and, after intermarrying with its existing inhabitants, contributed to the rich diversity of peoples we have today. We are mainly concerned with the Saxons, the names of whose kingdoms are still familiar to us; Wessex, Mercia, Northumbria, and so on. However, until now, the Kingdom of Middenshire has remained unknown, and it is time to redress the balance.
The Saxons began to arrive on our shores in the middle of the 5th century. It is likely that Middenshire was one of their first points of entry, but there is no firm evidence of this. What does seem evident, however, is that the native population did not welcome these new arrivals with open arms. The chronicler Ninnius, writing in the 7th century, records that in about the year 500:
The Leader Arsor or Arsorius, son of Mumbus the Usurper, did battle at the place known as Bedum, and killed many of the invaders that had come ashore, and he was victorious. And the chieftain of the invaders and his thanes went to Arsor, and reviled him for his attack. For, they said, Arsor was superior in numbers, and he had gone forth to do battle before the invaders were prepared. And Arsor slew them and made a great pile of their heads.
The likelihood is that Arsor was a Briton, probably, of mixed British and Roman blood. It is interesting to note the similarity between 'Arsor' and 'Arthur,' the supposed King of the Britons, and the closeness of 'Bedum' to 'Badon,' the scene of one of Arthur's battles which has not as yet been identified. Little is known about Arsor, other than what is recorded by Ninnius. He claims that 'Arsor used magic to defeat the Saxons at the battle of Goidoc, Making himself and his men like unto trees, he returned to human form as the foemen approached and slew them.' It is more likely that he and his men just hid behind a few trees and then leapt out from behind them as the Saxons approached. Ninnius also claimed that Arsor had a magic club, called Froc the Brow-Beater, from one blow of which a man would be killed. This was probably just an extremely heavy club which, if wielded with sufficient force, was bound to kill its owner's adversary. Like most of his contemporaries, Ninnius seemed to have problems coping with apparently simple concepts. For example, his manuscript describes elsewhere the 'Wonders of the country' (i.e. Middenshire), and mentions 'A miraculous tree, hung with leaves of the deepest green which are as sharp as needles and fall not, even when the season of the snows is upon the land.' He was talking about a pine tree.
Whoever Arsor was, and however stern his resistance, he was doomed to fail in his bid to keep Britain British. In 530, so the Anglo Saxon Chronicles tells us, the Saxon Cerdic and his son Cynric, who had first reached Britain some 35 years before, seized the Isle of Wight. Four years later, Cerdic died, and the island was given to his kinsmen Stuf and Wihtgar (after whom, presumably, Wight is named.) Hereafter, the Anglo Saxon Chronicles are silent regarding Stuf, but this omission is rectified by the Annals of Saint Peter's, the Abbey in Middenbury (albeit they were written many years later), which state:
In this year (543), Stuf and a number of his kinsmen arrived in Middenshire and set up an Earldom with the leave of the King. (i.e. Cynric of Wessex).
At the time Stuf was given the Shire, it had already acquired the name 'Mede Scire,' 'Meduscire' or 'Meod Scire,' which may translate as 'The Mead Shire' or 'The Shire of Honey.' (Albeit 'hunig' was the more usual word for 'honey'.) It may well be that in the time between the arrival of the first Saxons and the creation of Stuf's Earldom, someone named 'Meoda' or 'Medda' gave his name to the county. If the 'Mead Shire' idea is correct, it could well be that we are privy to a 1,400 year old joke, since William Thuck makes specific mention of Middenshire honey and its unpleasant taste.
From 543 until about 580, little is known about the Shire. Then, in the year 580, the pagan Saxons, used to worshipping Woden and their other gods, came face to face with Christianity in the shape of Saint Borroc.
St.Borroc the Indomitable
St. Borroc the Indomitable, born in Ireland in the middle of the sixth century, is credited with having reintroduced Christianity to Middenshire after its disappearance during the Roman occupation. Thrown out of Ireland for being too voluble about his beliefs, he allegedly sailed to Middenshire in a stone coffin with nothing but a small bag of shamrock for sustenance. A violently devout Christian who took every opportunity to proclaim his faith, on reaching the shire he waded ashore and fell to his knees in gratitude for his safe deliverance. He immediately built himself a small cell in a secluded spot and, relying only on the bounty of the hedgerows and seashore, set out to convert the local warlike Saxons. He would hide behind a roadside bush and leap out in front of groups of armed men, yelling, 'Hear me, oh you heathens! There is only one true God!' and then rush madly away, only barely managing to dodge the spears hurled after him. He was a great believer in the positive power of prayer, and often inscribed blessings on small spherical rocks, which he then threw at passing Saxons. More often than not, the recipient knew nothing of the purpose behind the stone which struck him on the head and rendered him unconscious. (N.B. It is interesting to note that the word 'Borroc' passed into the Middenshire dialect as the name for any small round stone or other spherical object.)
Eventually, Saxon spies ascertained Borroc's name and purpose, and organised themselves to combat his attacks. Any Saxons travelling through wooded ways would post a lookout. On seeing any unusual movement or hearing anything from the undergrowth, he would shout, 'Hwaet! Borroc! Borroc!' The men would then form a circle facing outwards, and fire their bows in all directions. It was on one of these occasions that the holy man lost his life. Slowed down by his diet of nuts and limpets, he failed to avoid the lethal volley. Thus, with arrows feathering his saintly bottom, he died.
So it was that Christianity once more disappeared from the Shire, but on this occasion, the disappearance was for a much shorter period. In 597, St. Augustine began his mission to Britain, and St. Wenticus, one of his disciples, ultimately found his way to Middenshire. The holy man appeared before Earl Dybba, dressed all in white, chanting, and holding a wooden fish, as a tangible representation of the traditional Christian symbol. Dybba immediately ordered that Wenticus be strangled with a great eel, and then seized and ate the fish. When, a few days later, Dybba died in agony, his men took it as a sign that they should renounce their pagan beliefs. They destroyed all totems and idols and set up altars to their new God. However, the pendulum swung this way and that over the next hundred or so years, most Earls wishing to "hedge their bets" and worshipping before both pagan and Christian altars.
Here ends the first part of Saxon Middenshire.
The Saxons began to arrive on our shores in the middle of the 5th century. It is likely that Middenshire was one of their first points of entry, but there is no firm evidence of this. What does seem evident, however, is that the native population did not welcome these new arrivals with open arms. The chronicler Ninnius, writing in the 7th century, records that in about the year 500:
The Leader Arsor or Arsorius, son of Mumbus the Usurper, did battle at the place known as Bedum, and killed many of the invaders that had come ashore, and he was victorious. And the chieftain of the invaders and his thanes went to Arsor, and reviled him for his attack. For, they said, Arsor was superior in numbers, and he had gone forth to do battle before the invaders were prepared. And Arsor slew them and made a great pile of their heads.
The likelihood is that Arsor was a Briton, probably, of mixed British and Roman blood. It is interesting to note the similarity between 'Arsor' and 'Arthur,' the supposed King of the Britons, and the closeness of 'Bedum' to 'Badon,' the scene of one of Arthur's battles which has not as yet been identified. Little is known about Arsor, other than what is recorded by Ninnius. He claims that 'Arsor used magic to defeat the Saxons at the battle of Goidoc, Making himself and his men like unto trees, he returned to human form as the foemen approached and slew them.' It is more likely that he and his men just hid behind a few trees and then leapt out from behind them as the Saxons approached. Ninnius also claimed that Arsor had a magic club, called Froc the Brow-Beater, from one blow of which a man would be killed. This was probably just an extremely heavy club which, if wielded with sufficient force, was bound to kill its owner's adversary. Like most of his contemporaries, Ninnius seemed to have problems coping with apparently simple concepts. For example, his manuscript describes elsewhere the 'Wonders of the country' (i.e. Middenshire), and mentions 'A miraculous tree, hung with leaves of the deepest green which are as sharp as needles and fall not, even when the season of the snows is upon the land.' He was talking about a pine tree.
Whoever Arsor was, and however stern his resistance, he was doomed to fail in his bid to keep Britain British. In 530, so the Anglo Saxon Chronicles tells us, the Saxon Cerdic and his son Cynric, who had first reached Britain some 35 years before, seized the Isle of Wight. Four years later, Cerdic died, and the island was given to his kinsmen Stuf and Wihtgar (after whom, presumably, Wight is named.) Hereafter, the Anglo Saxon Chronicles are silent regarding Stuf, but this omission is rectified by the Annals of Saint Peter's, the Abbey in Middenbury (albeit they were written many years later), which state:
In this year (543), Stuf and a number of his kinsmen arrived in Middenshire and set up an Earldom with the leave of the King. (i.e. Cynric of Wessex).
At the time Stuf was given the Shire, it had already acquired the name 'Mede Scire,' 'Meduscire' or 'Meod Scire,' which may translate as 'The Mead Shire' or 'The Shire of Honey.' (Albeit 'hunig' was the more usual word for 'honey'.) It may well be that in the time between the arrival of the first Saxons and the creation of Stuf's Earldom, someone named 'Meoda' or 'Medda' gave his name to the county. If the 'Mead Shire' idea is correct, it could well be that we are privy to a 1,400 year old joke, since William Thuck makes specific mention of Middenshire honey and its unpleasant taste.
From 543 until about 580, little is known about the Shire. Then, in the year 580, the pagan Saxons, used to worshipping Woden and their other gods, came face to face with Christianity in the shape of Saint Borroc.
St.Borroc the Indomitable
St. Borroc the Indomitable, born in Ireland in the middle of the sixth century, is credited with having reintroduced Christianity to Middenshire after its disappearance during the Roman occupation. Thrown out of Ireland for being too voluble about his beliefs, he allegedly sailed to Middenshire in a stone coffin with nothing but a small bag of shamrock for sustenance. A violently devout Christian who took every opportunity to proclaim his faith, on reaching the shire he waded ashore and fell to his knees in gratitude for his safe deliverance. He immediately built himself a small cell in a secluded spot and, relying only on the bounty of the hedgerows and seashore, set out to convert the local warlike Saxons. He would hide behind a roadside bush and leap out in front of groups of armed men, yelling, 'Hear me, oh you heathens! There is only one true God!' and then rush madly away, only barely managing to dodge the spears hurled after him. He was a great believer in the positive power of prayer, and often inscribed blessings on small spherical rocks, which he then threw at passing Saxons. More often than not, the recipient knew nothing of the purpose behind the stone which struck him on the head and rendered him unconscious. (N.B. It is interesting to note that the word 'Borroc' passed into the Middenshire dialect as the name for any small round stone or other spherical object.)
Eventually, Saxon spies ascertained Borroc's name and purpose, and organised themselves to combat his attacks. Any Saxons travelling through wooded ways would post a lookout. On seeing any unusual movement or hearing anything from the undergrowth, he would shout, 'Hwaet! Borroc! Borroc!' The men would then form a circle facing outwards, and fire their bows in all directions. It was on one of these occasions that the holy man lost his life. Slowed down by his diet of nuts and limpets, he failed to avoid the lethal volley. Thus, with arrows feathering his saintly bottom, he died.
So it was that Christianity once more disappeared from the Shire, but on this occasion, the disappearance was for a much shorter period. In 597, St. Augustine began his mission to Britain, and St. Wenticus, one of his disciples, ultimately found his way to Middenshire. The holy man appeared before Earl Dybba, dressed all in white, chanting, and holding a wooden fish, as a tangible representation of the traditional Christian symbol. Dybba immediately ordered that Wenticus be strangled with a great eel, and then seized and ate the fish. When, a few days later, Dybba died in agony, his men took it as a sign that they should renounce their pagan beliefs. They destroyed all totems and idols and set up altars to their new God. However, the pendulum swung this way and that over the next hundred or so years, most Earls wishing to "hedge their bets" and worshipping before both pagan and Christian altars.
Here ends the first part of Saxon Middenshire.
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Middenshire under the Romans
The Britain in which the Romans found themselves was divided into tribal kingdoms. Most people have heard of at least one or two of these; the Brigantes, the Cornovii, and, probably the most famous, the Iceni, whose Queen Boudica (erroneously named Boadicea by the Victorians) very nearly overpowered the Romans in her revolt of 61 AD. The existence of these tribes is well-documented, but the deliberate removal of Middenshire from the annals of British history in the fifteenth century meant that up until now, the tribe of the Thicii, and their warrior queen, Vicii, have remained in total obscurity. No more than brief facts are available; Thuck's description of the tribe is a "tenth generation" document. The original, probably dictated to a Roman scribe, was copied and re copied during the intervening years, no doubt being embellished on each occasion. For this reason, the 'facts' may not be wholly reliable.
Vicii of the Thicii
Queen Vicii was a contemporary of Boudica and, like her more famous counterpart, had two daughters. For some reason now unknown (since the Romans were almost universally hated and reviled) Vicii took a fancy to Caius Libidinus Naso, the prefect of the region, and attempted to win him by making sacrifices to the Thicii god of carnality, Bubotostis. Naso was appalled, since she and her daughters were of repulsive appearance and had awful table manners. He attempted to nip the problem in the bud by having her whipped and thrown into the River Medder, but this was a terrible mistake. Vicii, roused to fury, mustered her tribe and, mounting her battle sledge (It was not possible to operate a chariot, with or without the scythes that writer Pomponius Mela claimed British tribes had access to in the muddy conditions which prevailed), rode at their head to Naso's villa. Standing on the steps of his house, she delivered her ultimatum - either he took her as his wife, or she would massacre the Roman garrison. The sight of this screaming harridan, stripped to the waist and anointed with battle mud, was too much for the already terrified Naso. He retreated into his villa and threw himself upon his sword, choosing to die by his own hand rather than submit to the amorous advances of a woman who would have been regarded as a paragon of vileness, even if she had been a man.
The distraught Vicii realised too late that she had destroyed the only man she had ever loved. She had not realised (says William Thuck) that Roman courtship was more delicate than that dictated by Vicii custom. The latter involved the woman (since the society was matriarchal) indecently exposing herself, howling like a wolf, and inviting the man of her choice to take her in a muddy puddle. In her grief, she embarked upon an orgy of rape and murder. Her palace guards captured and held down the more handsome members of the Roman garrison until they could be 'dealt with' by the queen. Most died of shame within a few minutes; those who did not were handed over to Vicii's daughters, who soon finished them off. At the conclusion of this terrible banquet of ritual slaying, the Thicii made a huge pile of their enemy's kneecaps (they believed the soul resided in the patellae) and then boiled and ate their sandals. Vicii abdicated in favour of her elder daughter, married Carrac the Sightless of Dumnonia, and the word 'bath' was not mentioned in the Shire for many years.
Thus was the light of civilisation extinguished in Middenshire. Then, 150 years after these events, (around 208 AD) troops of the Emperor Severus crossed the causeway, demolished the mud wall erected by tribal leaders and quickly overran the shire. There was some brief resistance when the more warlike elements of the Thicii escaped to the Floody Plain. However, a Roman legion, specially trained to fight on short stilts, forced its way into the boggy wastes and slaughtered the tribe in a particularly unpleasant manner by force feeding them with live frogs, washed down with muddy water. The Romans were eventually able, by their ruthlessness, to overawe the native dwellers. But not for long. The Brito-Middenites began a campaign of civil disobedience. They refused to speak Latin, wore their togas back to front, and did unspeakable things in bath houses. The Romans made a valiant effort to combat the unco-operative attitudes of the natives, by building ingenious aqueducts, hypocausts, and settlements with the streets laid out in "grid" patterns, but it was no use. They gradually became more and more disillusioned, and the initially strong system of Roman government in the shire began to collapse. By the time Emperor Constans (337-350) visited Britain in 343, things were far too free and easy for his liking; in fact, Thuck claimed that the Emperor's risky winter Channel crossing was mainly for the purpose of restoring firm rule in Middenshire.
It seems that Constans was responsible for the building of a fort near Pussing as part of the so called "Saxon Shore," a defensive measure against the Saxon raids. He also stationed three cohorts of Legio XXXIV Canis Magnus in the shire, but, within ten years, many of the soldiers, used to much warmer climes, were so depressed by the rain, the mud and the cold that they made away with themselves. Those who were left gradually died from self neglect until, in 360, the Emperor Julian's representative in the shire, Publius Aurelius Gallo, installed a cohort of barbarians. If Gallo thought that the auxiliaries from Germania would grind the Middenites into the mud, he was mistaken. The Germani and the natives possessed such similar characters that they struck up a firm friendship, which even included intermarriage of the two. This situation lasted until all troops were withdrawn around 401. Once more, the shire vanished into the mists of oblivion, a period aptly named "The Dark Ages."
Vicii of the Thicii
Queen Vicii was a contemporary of Boudica and, like her more famous counterpart, had two daughters. For some reason now unknown (since the Romans were almost universally hated and reviled) Vicii took a fancy to Caius Libidinus Naso, the prefect of the region, and attempted to win him by making sacrifices to the Thicii god of carnality, Bubotostis. Naso was appalled, since she and her daughters were of repulsive appearance and had awful table manners. He attempted to nip the problem in the bud by having her whipped and thrown into the River Medder, but this was a terrible mistake. Vicii, roused to fury, mustered her tribe and, mounting her battle sledge (It was not possible to operate a chariot, with or without the scythes that writer Pomponius Mela claimed British tribes had access to in the muddy conditions which prevailed), rode at their head to Naso's villa. Standing on the steps of his house, she delivered her ultimatum - either he took her as his wife, or she would massacre the Roman garrison. The sight of this screaming harridan, stripped to the waist and anointed with battle mud, was too much for the already terrified Naso. He retreated into his villa and threw himself upon his sword, choosing to die by his own hand rather than submit to the amorous advances of a woman who would have been regarded as a paragon of vileness, even if she had been a man.
The distraught Vicii realised too late that she had destroyed the only man she had ever loved. She had not realised (says William Thuck) that Roman courtship was more delicate than that dictated by Vicii custom. The latter involved the woman (since the society was matriarchal) indecently exposing herself, howling like a wolf, and inviting the man of her choice to take her in a muddy puddle. In her grief, she embarked upon an orgy of rape and murder. Her palace guards captured and held down the more handsome members of the Roman garrison until they could be 'dealt with' by the queen. Most died of shame within a few minutes; those who did not were handed over to Vicii's daughters, who soon finished them off. At the conclusion of this terrible banquet of ritual slaying, the Thicii made a huge pile of their enemy's kneecaps (they believed the soul resided in the patellae) and then boiled and ate their sandals. Vicii abdicated in favour of her elder daughter, married Carrac the Sightless of Dumnonia, and the word 'bath' was not mentioned in the Shire for many years.
Thus was the light of civilisation extinguished in Middenshire. Then, 150 years after these events, (around 208 AD) troops of the Emperor Severus crossed the causeway, demolished the mud wall erected by tribal leaders and quickly overran the shire. There was some brief resistance when the more warlike elements of the Thicii escaped to the Floody Plain. However, a Roman legion, specially trained to fight on short stilts, forced its way into the boggy wastes and slaughtered the tribe in a particularly unpleasant manner by force feeding them with live frogs, washed down with muddy water. The Romans were eventually able, by their ruthlessness, to overawe the native dwellers. But not for long. The Brito-Middenites began a campaign of civil disobedience. They refused to speak Latin, wore their togas back to front, and did unspeakable things in bath houses. The Romans made a valiant effort to combat the unco-operative attitudes of the natives, by building ingenious aqueducts, hypocausts, and settlements with the streets laid out in "grid" patterns, but it was no use. They gradually became more and more disillusioned, and the initially strong system of Roman government in the shire began to collapse. By the time Emperor Constans (337-350) visited Britain in 343, things were far too free and easy for his liking; in fact, Thuck claimed that the Emperor's risky winter Channel crossing was mainly for the purpose of restoring firm rule in Middenshire.
It seems that Constans was responsible for the building of a fort near Pussing as part of the so called "Saxon Shore," a defensive measure against the Saxon raids. He also stationed three cohorts of Legio XXXIV Canis Magnus in the shire, but, within ten years, many of the soldiers, used to much warmer climes, were so depressed by the rain, the mud and the cold that they made away with themselves. Those who were left gradually died from self neglect until, in 360, the Emperor Julian's representative in the shire, Publius Aurelius Gallo, installed a cohort of barbarians. If Gallo thought that the auxiliaries from Germania would grind the Middenites into the mud, he was mistaken. The Germani and the natives possessed such similar characters that they struck up a firm friendship, which even included intermarriage of the two. This situation lasted until all troops were withdrawn around 401. Once more, the shire vanished into the mists of oblivion, a period aptly named "The Dark Ages."
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