The original historical notes for Men of Iron (they were so long I rewrote them)
This is not really a story of historical fiction, but rather archaeological fiction. Pick up any non-fiction history book on Britain at this time, and you’ll find very little written about what was happening, because we do not know what was going on, other than perhaps in the south and south-west (where there was more continuity from the earlier ‘Roman’ period). If it’s a book about Mercia, there’ll be even less until the seventh century. It’s impossible to write about the history of a kingdom when there are no written records. And so we must rely on archaeology.
The decision to write about these formative years in what would become Mercia has been a long time coming for me (and it is set mostly in what would become Mercia although the name never appears in the books).
All that can be said with any certainty about Mercia is that a narrative had formed by the eighth century which was an attempt by the rulers of that time to explain how they came to be in control of the heartland of Mercia. It also attempt to explain how they ruled the wider Mercian kingdom (which included many other tribal affiliations: from the North Mercians, South Mercians and Middle Mercians to the outlying areas – the kingdom of the Hwicce, alongside that of the Magonsæte, being two of the best known tribal areas which people have heard about, and the Hwicce the region where I’ve based the Eorlingas). Bede, writing his Ecclesiastical History of the English People, finished by 734, knew some of these details, although he really did not like Penda the pagan – one of the most powerful Mercians in the seventh century (who it’s believed may have been from the Hwiccan kingdom) – but did grudgingly admit that his contemporary ruler of Mercia, Æthelbald, was a powerful individual, eclipsing the kings in his homeland of Northumbria by the eighth century.
Barbara Yorke has written:
The surviving sources allow us to say with confidence little more than that the kingdom of Mercia was in existence by the end of the sixth century. p. 102, Kings and Kingdoms of Early Anglo-Saxon England
How that kingdom came about, we do not know. I’ve chosen the date of this series carefully. It falls between the Battle of Camlann, said to have taken place in 537 according to the Welsh Annals, a later written source, and a later battle between ‘kings’ which occurred in the 570s and is mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, written 300 years after these events.
It’s difficult to determine any cohesive narrative from what is truly the Dark Ages for the whole of Britain. Others might look to the stories of the legendary Arthur (no, I don’t believe he existed), and Hengist and Horsa and think that’s enough, but having read K. R. Dark’s fascinating look at Britain at this period, Civitas to Kingdom, many years ago, I realised that what happened elsewhere might not have happened in Mercia, and equally, that generalisations shouldn’t be used about what would become the Saxon kingdoms in any single part of it. It was an island of petty tribal chieftains. It was not a country or a kingdom. This is an attempt to make some sense of what archaeological findings have been made and devise something that ‘could’ have happened. These people did not exist as I have named them, although I have adopted tribal names that are recorded in a later document (see below).
Wærmund is a name taken from a Mercian genealogy found in the Welsh Annals. There are a number of different variants of a Mercian genealogy. This is the one I’ve used, below.
Woden begot Watholgeot, begot Waga, begot Wihtlæd begot Wæround, begot Offa, begot Angen[geot], begot Eomer, [begot Icel,begot Cnebba, begot Cynewald, begot Creoda], begot Pybba. Pybba had twelve sons, two of whom are better known to me than the others, namely Penda and Eobba. Aethelred was the son of Penda; Penda was the son of Pybba. Aethebald was son of Alweo, son of Eobba, [brother] of Penda, son of Pybba. Egferht son of Offa, son of Thingrith, son of Eanwulf, son of Osmond, son of Eobba, son of Pybba.
Other versions of a Mercian genealogy are found in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for the year 626 (A2 Version, also known as the G version) when discussing the later reign of Penda which lists many of the same names, but has Wihtlæd as the son of Woden. David Dumville has noted that this represents a West Saxon interpretation of Mercia (the ASC was conceived of and begun in Wessex) – as such, he stresses the ‘Anglian’ tradition of this source, i.e. possibly Mercians writing about Mercians.
I’ve chosen Wærmund’s name somewhat randomly, but with the idea that he wasn’t the first of his family – and that, indeed, he is originally from one of the Wash tribes for which we have details from the Tribal Hidage. Every time I write a new series, something clicks for me, and in this case it’s that whatever the genealogies represent, it needn’t be those who ruled Mercia as a kingdom as we recognise it, but those who ruled the ‘tribe’ beforehand. Yes, they did claim descent from the god, Woden, but most of the Saxon kingdoms did.
It’s believed that the kingdom of the Hwicce was perhaps a native British one and that they came to merge with the Saxons, or rather at this time, Anglian invaders, and then fell under the sway of the wider Mercian kingdom. (The terminology is complex to get right.)
The names of the tribes come from the problematic and difficult-to-date Tribal Hidage, which survives in an eleventh-century document, but is believed to be a copy of an eighth-century document. It lists thirty-five kingdoms, which comprise ninety-five different tribal names believed to have amalgamated to form these thirty-five kingdoms, which were then further merged to form the six main Saxon kingdoms of the Heptarchy (the seventh, Northumbria, is not included in the Tribal Hidage). Feel free to go and try and make sense of the Tribal Hidage. Every non-fiction writers seems to use slightly different spellings and because some are so similar, it is incredibly confusing. Some of my tribes changed names repeatedly as I endeavoured to make them ‘fit’ the narrative and the journey my characters make. All mistakes are mine.
There are a wealth of Roman villas surviving in Gloucestershire, perhaps most famously Chedworth Roman Villa, and also many Roman mosaics, some of which are not available for public viewing as they have been covered up beneath the soil that has preserved them to ensure that continues. The tribe of the Eorlingas is associated with Arlingham, just below Gloucester, to the east of the River Severn. As far as I can tell, Frocester is the closest Roman villa ruin to have been discovered from nearby to where I wanted to base the Eorlingas, but with so many of them, it almost feels as though they might have been falling over them – there are fifty-two known Roman villas in Gloucestershire alone.
The idea of an economy dependent on iron had not really resonated with me before, but Robin Fleming’s comment that mining, metallurgy and smithing stood at the heart of the Roman economy made me reconsider this. She points out that from the late fourth century (which is traditionally deemed to be the end of Roman Britain – well, 410 is) there is a scarcity of traditional, crucial and once common everyday items – nails, evident in the lack of hobnail books and also coffins. She does, however, stress that the Romans had a successful ‘recycling’ scheme and that forging iron objects from these recycled elements may well have continued. However, pattern-wielded blades (which had largely come to dominate what we believe early Saxon/Anglian kings wielded in their battles) could not be made from recycled iron or from a single type of iron alloy, with at least four different iron alloys needed. Therefore, an age ‘without’ iron almost ensued. It is possible that these skills were lost and then needed to be rediscovered. Equally, it is possible that the evidence for such occupations as smelting have disappeared from the archaeological record in many places because of the transient nature of the process. I find the lack of nails in the archaeological record, however, very intriguing. It certainly points to something being lacking.
Languages in this era are, of course, impossible to reconstruct. It’s believed that English, Latin, British, Pictish and Irish would have been spoken. It must also be assumed that those coming to this island from Scandinavia and Germany would also have brought their languages with them. I’ve decided to use the terms Latin, Saxon, British and Brythonic in the text. (I had to make myself a chart to ensure I didn’t have people speaking to other people who didn’t share a language – it wasn’t pretty). There would potentially have been a vast number of local dialects as well, just as there are today.
The small iron-cast horse which Meddi has is based on a bronze object uncovered at Frocester. It is a fabulous piece, described in the site report as ‘crudely designed, with wide open mouth and large upstanding ears’. It is quite small, less than two inches in length, if I’ve understood the dimensions correctly, and shows the horse having reins but no stirrups. The horse was controlled by a bridle alone, and the horses were smaller, at twelve to fourteen hands, the equivalent of a hackney pony, or forty-eight to fifty-six inches tall (according to the internet). Stirrups were introduced by the Saxons.
I have struggled to find references to the religions at this time. Ronald Hutton’s Pagan Britain contains some useful passages. This somewhat leads into burial rites, which are often much of what we know of our ancestors. It does appear confusing – the magnificent ship burials at Sutton Hoo were preceded by burials beneath what is now the visitor centre (and which I think are more fascinating than the ship burials – or rather, the process of how they went from the one to the other within a generation.) Cremation and interment were somewhat haphazardly applied throughout Britain. My own distinctions between peoples are merely an attempt to highlight the differences between them. The depiction of the burial of Meddi’s daughter beneath inhabited buildings is a known phenomenon from this period, and written about by Robin Fleming in her chapter Living with Little Corpses in The Material Fall of Roman Britain 300-525CE.
For anyone affected by this storyline, or concerned by it, as someone who has experienced the loss of a child, I’m perhaps too comfortable including such story elements. To those who have also endured it, I extend my heartfelt sympathies and assure you, it does get easier. Eventually. (what follows below has been added at the end of the proofread for Lords of Iron).
This passage leads somewhat well to a thought by Meddi as she nears the end of book three.
‘I’m Meddi, seeress of the Eorlingas. It’s been a long and troubled journey to reach this moment in my life when hatred has bled away to nothing but a dull ache where the life I thought I’d have has a child has failed to come to fruition. But I would change nothing, aside from the loss of my daughter.’
I think this is perhaps the most ‘me’ I’ve included in a novel (not that I’ve spent my lifetime filled with hatred, but I hope you understand the sentiment).
Perhaps, in the end, this trilogy has been as much for me, as it has been for my readers. Thank you.
Read about Meddi, the seeress of the Eorlingas
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MJ Porter 