I found it! After much digging, I found what I was looking for: reference to Canute’s palace in London. Not only did I find the location, but I stumbled across a juicy tidbit that would fit perfectly into my story. That’s certainly the advantage of writing historic fiction: a legend is usually more interesting than a dry fact, so why not incorporate it?
It turns out that Alfred’s re-constructed London comprised a very small section on the Thames, from Billingsgate Quay (just downriver from London Bridge), up to the current Blackfriar’s bridge. There was an old palace between St. Pauls cathedral and the Thames, apparently up against the Roman wall. Here it is thought that the late Anglo-Saxon kings lived and did their government business. The location of the palace is the same as the old Baynard’s Castle, which was built on its foundation by a Norman knight.
According to The Gentleman’s magazine, Volume 139, this is the spot where Canute killed the traitor Eadric and had his body thrown out the window of the palace and into the Thames. Wow! What a scene that must have been!
I’m writing this post as I research Anglo-Saxon London. I’d like to add some historical local color to my narrative, but aside from references to London Bridge and the Roman wall, I’m having a hard time finding mention of anything, anywhere – especially referring to a royal residence.
The three mile-long Roman walls surrounded what is roughly today’s city limits. What I didn’t know until yesterday was that after the Romans left Britain, Londinium declined and sat in ruins for about 400 years. During the dark ages, the Anglo-Saxons established a settlement about one mile west of the Roman walls, called Lundenwic. The town was at the mouth of the river Fleet (now underground), and served as a lively trading center until Alfred the Great re-established London within its old walls and fortified the city, calling it Lundenburh. This happened within a 10-year period after 886. Lundenwic was then pretty much abandoned and called Ealdwic or “old settlement” which evolved into Aldwych, its name today.
All this is very interesting, but it certainly doesn’t answer my question. However, I have bumped into references that Canute may have built a palace on Thorney Island, the site of the future Westminster Palace (Houses of Parliament). I’m a little confused, because this site is even further upriver from Aldwych, which was upriver from London Bridge. But at least it’s a start! Can’t imagine why Canute and Edward the Confessor would want a palace in a marsh, but I’ll keep digging.
Malcolm and Margaret at Queensferry, detail of a mural by Victorian artist William Hole Wikipedia
In many ways, St. Margaret is a bit of an enigma to us. Sister of Eadgar Aetheling (see my last post), her family was driven onto the shores of Scotland while fleeing from Norman-occupied England. She is said to have immediately captivated the King of the Scots, who was determined to make her his wife despite her oft-repeated assertions that she was destined for the church.
Apparently, circumstances pressured Margaret to change her mind about becoming a nun—not the least of which was the obvious need of her brother for foreign support of his claim to the English throne. But I suspect the main reason she decided to marry Malcolm was the condition of the Scottish Columban church. They observed the Sabbath on Saturday and worked on Sunday; they refused to receive the Sacrament and didn’t recognize the authority of the Pope. Once Queen of Scotland, Margaret took it upon herself to personally oversee the reformation of the Church, and she did so with ruthless persistence.
A grateful Catholic church remembered her as a perfect, flawless example of Christian piety and duly canonized her in 1250. What I find interesting is that I believe a canonized female saint must be either a virgin or a widow (please correct me if I am wrong!). Margaret met that particular condition by a mere three days. While she lay on her deathbed, husband Malcolm was off on another raid in Northumbria, where he met his end at the siege of Alnwick.
By all indications, their royal marriage was a happy one. Margaret bore six sons and two daughters; the eldest, Edward, was killed alongside his father in 1093. Three of their sons became kings: Edgar, Alexander I, and David I, who reigned until 1153. Their daughter Mary married Eustace III of Boulogne, and Edith (renamed Matilda) married Henry I of England, thus uniting the Normans with the old Anglo-Saxon dynasty.
On receiving news of Malcolm’s death, she is said to have thanked God for “giving her this anguish” at her last hour, then expired, leaving the survivors a difficult task of spiriting away her body while Edinburgh castle was under siege by Malcolm’s half-brother Donald Bane. (More of that in my novel HEIR TO A PROPHECY.)
Eventually, Malclom and Margaret were buried in Dunfermline Abbey, but she was disturbed again in 1560, when Scottish Calvinist iconoclasts were said to have desecrated the grave and stolen her head. It is thought that Mary Queen of Scots possessed this reliquary for a while, then the head was toted around Europe and lost during the French Revolution.
Eadgar Aetheling was a Saxon prince and grandson of Edmund Ironside, who was briefly king of England in 1016. He was born in Hungary where his father lived in exile, and in 1057 the family moved back to England at the invitation of the childless Edward the Confessor. His father, Edward the Exile died a few months later—without ever seeing the king—and the children were raised at court.
When Edward the Confessor died in 1066, Eadgar Aetheling was the only surviving male heir of the royal house, but his youth made him an unacceptable choice for a crown that had so many powerful claimants. After Harold Godwineson was elected King by the Witan, Eadgar apparently tarried at the court, because after the Battle of Hastings, the surviving Saxon elite rallied around him as the true heir. They even went so far as to elect him King, but as soon as William of Normandy crossed the Thames, Eadgar’s supporters abandoned their Saxon king and submitted to the Norman conqueror.
Needless to say, William kept Eadgar Aetheling as hostage, but at the first opportunity Eadgar bolted and participated in the first unsuccessful revolt of Northumbria. He was a handy figurehead but knew nothing about leading anyone, much less a force of rebels. After another aborted rebellion, he fled England with his family and embarked for Hungary. However, a great storm drove their ship into the Firth of Forth, where they landed on the north shore near Queensferry and took refuge with Malcolm III, King of Scotland.
This was a lucky accident for Eadgar, because Malcolm fell in love with his sister Margaret and eventually married her, thus obliging the Scottish King to provide shelter and aid for Eadgar’s future incursions into England. In 1069, Eadgar was the titular head of a rebellion in Northumbria that achieved early success, and even wrested the city of York from the Normans. However, William came north with a vengeance and broke up the rebellion, bought off Eadgar’s Danish allies, and drove the Aetheling back to Scotland for protection. This was the beginning of the Harrying of the North, and England’s erstwhile king was nowhere in sight.
Although Eadgar stayed in Scotland until 1072, William eventually forced the issue by invading Scotland and demanding the submission of Malcolm. Malcolm reluctantly complied, but one of the terms may well have been the expulsion of Eadgar, since the Aetheling crossed over to Flanders. He was back and forth for a couple of years, bringing trouble in his wake, until Malcolm finally persuaded the Aetheling to make his peace with William and give up any claim to the throne.
Although his tenure in England was anti-clamactic, Eadgar did gain a measure of respect on diplomatic missions between Malcolm and William’s heir, William Rufus. Many believe that he rescued the children of Malcolm III from the clutches of Donald Bane, who usurped the throne after Malcolm was killed. He later led an army that helped young Eadgar wrest the crown back from Donald in 1097. He befriended Robert Curthose, the Conqueror’s other son, went on Crusade, and lived into the reign of Henry I. It is thought that he lived until 1125, which would have put him at the ripe old age of 75.
Edmund Ironside and Canute the Dane. CREDIT: Wikimedia
Earl Godwine is one of the delicious mysteries of the eleventh century. Having risen to one of Saxon England’s most powerful positions, as well as father to both a queen and a king, it is a wonder that his origins are so confused.
The most popular story—as written in the Icelandic Knytlinga Saga (written in the 1250s)—is that he was a shepherd, or son of a ceorl, who discovered a Viking Earl wandering lost in the forest after a great battle. Earl Ulf offered him a gold ring as payment for escort back to his ship, but Godwine decided to forgo the reward and help the Viking as a favor, hoping to earn his fortune in the Earl’s service. Somewhere along the way he caught the attention of King Canute, who made use of him and eventually raised Godwine up as Earl of Wessex.
Although this story says a lot about Godwine’s abilities, usefulness, or persuasiveness, I can’t help but think it highly unlikely that Canute would notice him at all if he was only the son of a ceorl—much less raise him up to the highest rank in the land after king.
However, there is another explanation that makes more sense. In some early documents, it is said that Godwine’s father was named Wulfnoth Cild, who was a Thegn in the service of King Aethelred the Unready. Wulfnoth had command of the Saxon Fleet, and in 1009 he was accused of some unspecified treason. Because of this, Wulfnoth deserted with 20 ships, and resorted to piracy on the Sussex coast. The king sent his uncle Bithric after him with the rest of the Saxon navy, but the ships foundered in a great storm and Wulfnoth finished them off by burning the fleet. The destruction of the King’s ships left the way open for that year’s Viking invasion, or, as some suggested, Wulfnoth joined Svein Forkbeard as part of his revenge.
Either way, Wulfnoth was in disgrace. But could it be possible that King Canute raised up the son in recognition of the father’s aid? If Wulfnoth was a Thegn, then Godwine’s advancement would seem much less incredible. No one knows for sure.
Another explanation, less colorful but very sensible, states that Godwine was mentioned in the Aetheling Athelstan’s will (the son of Aethelred the Unready). Aethelstan is said to have granted him his father’s confiscated estate in 1014. On Aethelstan’s death, Godwine is said to have transferred his allegiance to Edmund Ironside, and fought with him against young Canute. He supposedly stayed with Edmund until the end, after which he swore allegiance to Canute along with the rest of Edmund’s supporters. It is said that Canute favored Godwine because he rewarded those who proved loyal to his predecessor.
This latter story promotes Godwine as a warrior rather than a politician, but I tend to favor the former version of the great Earl of Wessex. If you are interested in a further discussion of Godwine’s origins, you can find a long dissertation in the Vol. 1 Appendix of Edward A Freeman’s “History of the Norman Conquest of England”. Or, you can read more in my historical novel GODWINE KINGMAKER.
After Alfred the Great established the Danelaw north of Watling Street, the Norse transformed themselves from raiders of Britain into settlers of north Britain…mostly. As a result, the Viking chieftans ruled Northumbria for generations.
It is said that Siward might have come over with Canute, although others say his family had been in Britain for a few generations already. I like the Scandinavian legend that he was descended from a white bear and a lady. No wonder they called him “Siward the Strong”! Nonetheless, it is undisputed that Canute made him Earl of York sometime around 1031, and he ruled Northumbria until he died.
I have read that he was somehow related by marriage to Malcolm III, which made him either an uncle or cousin. When Macbeth killed Duncan and Prince Malcolm fled to England, it is believed he was taken in by Siward, who surely had it in his best interests to protect and nurture his future Royal neighbor. As events played out, Siward invaded Scotland on Malcolm’s behalf in 1054, and together they won a great battle at Dunsinane which sent Macbeth into exile and established Malcolm as King of Cumbria, for starters. Siward’s eldest son Osbeorn was killed in this battle.
Malcolm III became king of all Scotland after he eliminated both Macbeth and his stepson Lulach by the end of 1057. Alas, Siward did not live to see Malcolm’s victory. In 1055 he was stricken by dysentery, and as he lay on his sickbed, he bemoaned that after surviving so many battles he was forced to die like a cow. Siward insisted that he be dressed in his armor, put on a helmet and took to hand an axe and shield so he could at least die like a warrior. And so he passed from this world, leaving only a 10 year-old son Waltheof to survive him.
After the Norman Conquest, Malcolm was destined to meet Waltheof as a grown man and Earl of Northumbria, but was unable to return Siward’s favor and help Waltheof in his struggles against William the Conqueror. Poor Waltheof was the last of the so-called Anglo Saxon earls, and had the dubious distinction of being the only English aristocrat to be executed in William’s reign.
Macbeth fighting Malcolm III 19th cent. drawing by F.Wentworth
The relationship between Macbeth and Thorfinn Sigurdsson, Earl of Orkney is more than accidental. Thorfinn – known to historians as The Black – was grandson of King Malcolm II and may have been raised in Malcolm’s household. However, he quickly became enemies with Malcolm’s heir Duncan I, who tried to claim the earldom of Caithness on his accession to the throne. Thorfinn bitterly contested Duncan’s claims, and met him in battle at least twice, defeating the King’s forces both times.
Macbeth had a claim to the throne through his wife Grouch, and it is thought that Thorfinn and Macbeth became allies against Duncan. Shortly after the King’s second defeat at Torfness, it is written that Duncan met Macbeth in battle at Pitgaveny on Aug. 15, 1040 and was killed on the battlefield. This is a far cry from being murdered in his bed!
It is possible that after Duncan’s death, Thorfinn and Macbeth managed Scotland jointly, for it is said that at the height of his power, Thorfinn ruled 9 northern earldoms. Historians have written that Macbeth and Thorfinn went to Rome on Pilgrimage together. Some actually believe they were the same person, although I think this is a stretch. Nonetheless, you can read a lively story to this effect in Dorothy Dunnett’s King Hereafter.
It’s possible that Earl Thorfinn Raven-feeder came to Macbeth’s aid during the battle of Dunsinane. He is said to have sailed up the Tay in support of Macbeth, and probably aided the King’s escape from the battle, leaving Malcolm III victor on the field. I write about this at length in my upcoming book, Heirto a Prophecy.
Edward the Confessor accuses Earl Godwin of the murder of his brother, Alfred Aetheling, National Archives, UK
Godwine, Earl of Wessex was one of the most powerful Saxons of his day. At the height of his career, it looked like he was positioned to found a powerful dynasty. He had six strapping sons: Swegn, Harold, Tostig, Gyrth, Leofwine, and Wulfnoth, and his daughter Edith was married to the King of England. It is sad and ironic that by the battle of Hastings, his family was either dead or scattered, and of course all the English Earldoms were dissolved by William the Conqueror, who divided the spoils among his followers.
Godwine’s eldest daughter Edith, Queen and wife to Edward the Confessor, survived until 1075—probably restricted to her Winchester estates—although it is difficult to find any reference to her after the Norman Conquest. King Edward is said to have hated Earl Godwine and resented being obliged to marry Godwine’s daughter; he needed the great earl’s support and may have agreed to wed the girl as one of Godwine’s conditions. Nobody knows for sure, but it is rumored he avoided her bed as much as possible (this adds to his saintly repute), though they seem to have had cordial relations. She never gave birth to an heir, and hence the field was wide open after Edward died in 1066.
Swegn, the oldest son, was a constant source of trouble to his father. He eventually committed the crime of abducting a nun, and later murdered his cousin Beorn, which precipitated the Witan’s declaration that he was nithing (wretch, coward; good-for-nothing). By the time of his father’s outlawry, he repented his sins and went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem from which he never returned.
The second son Harold succeeded Edward the Confessor, and was crowned King on Jan. 6, 1066. His reign only lasted nine months, and he was killed at the Battle of Hastings on Oct. 14 in the same year. His brothers Gyrth (Earl of East Anglia, Cambridgeshire and Oxfordshire) and Leofwine (Earl of Kent, Essex, Middlesex, Hertford, Surrey and probably Buckinghamshire) were also killed at Hastings.
Gyrth and Leofwine’s death at the Battle of Hastings, scene 52 of the Bayeux Tapestry. Source: Wikipedia
Tostig, the third son, was fiery and quick to anger. When his brother Earl Harold was forced to side with his enemies and persuade King Edward to depose him as Earl of Northumbria, Tostig swore to come back and wreak revenge. He accomplished this retribution by convincing Harald Hardraada to invade England in September 1066, where both the King of Norway and Tostig Godwineson met their deaths in battle at Stamfordbridge. Ultimately, this brought King Harold Godwineson north, leaving the coast unguarded at the moment William the Bastard crossed the Channel; Harold’s absence proved fatal to his kingship and the Saxon cause.
This left poor Wulfnoth, the only surviving son after the Battle of Hastings. He had been a hostage in Normandy as long ago as possibly 1052, when the Normans fled England upon Godwine’s return from exile. After Hastings, King William kept him confined, and on his death William Rufus brought him back to England and detained him at Winchester. It was possible Wulfnoth was permitted to join the monastery there, but regardless he was a comfortable prisoner all the way until his death in 1094.
Earl Godwine and Gytha had three other daughters: Gunhilda of Wessex, a nun who died in 1080, Aelfgifu, and Marigard. It is probable that Gytha returned to her native Denmark after the Norman Conquest.
The Three Weird Sisters were the central theme to Macbeth, and yet reams of scholarly material have been written in an effort to determine their exact role. Many believe that they were witches, especially considering the 16th century beliefs and witch hunts rampant under King James. Did they cast a spell on Macbeth, or were they merely foretelling the future in the first act of the play?
It’s easy to take them at face value, considering Shakespeare’s use of spells and words commonly associated with witchcraft at the time. If you want to get down to the “meat” of the play (i.e. Macbeth’s murder of King Duncan), one can accept the Weird Sisters as witches and move on… no problem. But this doesn’t explain their motivations: why would the witches wreak such havoc in the first place? Just to stir things up, so to speak?
Another point of view is to associate the Weird Sisters with the fates. The word weird has its origins in the Saxon word wyrd meaning fate, or personal destiny. Some attribute the first modern use of the word to Shakespeare.
More to the point of my manuscript, the word wyrd translates to Urðr in Norse, namely one of the Norns of Scandinavian mythology who controlled the destiny of mankind. The Norns are said to appear at the beside of a newborn and shape the child’s future.
It is possible that Shakespeare intended to portray the weird sisters as the Norns, shaping the destiny of the royal Stuart line which culminated in King James I, Shakespeare’s patron. James is said to have claimed descent from Banquo. Hence, their prediction “Thou Shalt ‘Get Kings, thou Thou be None”, the inspiration for HEIR TO A PROPHECY.
Malcolm III was said to have built his tower around the time he married Margaret Aetheling, c.1070. You can still see its remains today when you walk from the famous Abbey (where Robert the Bruce is buried) through Pittencrieff Park and up to Tower Hill.
The tower measured about 48’x52′ and was thought to have had two stories and perhaps 20 small rooms plus servants quarters. It was already perched about 70′ on a hill above a little stream, and may have been accessed by a drawbridge, which would have made it pretty well fortified. Here is a 1790 engraving drawn by Mr. John Baine, Civil Engineer, Edinburgh:
Composition View of Malcolm Canmore’s Tower
Incidentally, the Pittencrieff estate was purchased and donated to the town of Dunfermline by Andrew Carnegie, who was born there in 1835. Thanks to Carnegie, everyone can enjoy the park and castle ruins that were closed to the public when he was a child.
