I’m delighted to welcome Mary Anna Evans to the blog with her new book, The Traitor Beside Her and a blog post about the book’s setting.
When You Need to Know A Whole Lot About Your Nation’s Capital, But What You Really Need to Know Is What it Was Like in 1944….
It’s no spoiler, based on my book’s cover, to say that The Traitor Beside Her is set in and around Washington, DC. Based on the woman’s clothing and the three possibly military-ish planes in the sky, and also based on the word “traitor,” it would be a safe bet for you to guess that it is set during World War II. And you’d be right!
Much of the action in The Traitor Beside Her takes place across the Potomac River from Washington, DC, in Arlington, Virginia, where a code breaking operation being done at a place called Arlington Hall paralleled the more widely known work being done across the Atlantic at Bletchley Park. However, my protagonist, Justine Byrne—she of the fetching hat and coat on the book cover—crosses the Potomac twice during the book, both times in the company of a man who is trying to woo her.
One of those dates is a traditional dinner date, during which Justine is wined and dined, all while packing heat in her white satin evening bag. But that is a story for another day. At the moment, I’m more focused on a more humble, everyday date, the kind of date you might go on during wartime when money was short and there was no sugar to go in the ice cream soda that a 1940s-era suitor might ordinarily have bought for a girl he was sweet on. For this humble date, Justine and the young man take an ordinary walk in an extraordinary setting.
Justine lives in a government-owned dormitory near where the Arlington Bridge crosses the Potomac, so she and her date take a short walk to the city, with the Lincoln Memorial as imposing sight in front of them. To write this scene, I had to first make sure that the Arlington Bridge was even there in 1944 (Spoiler Alert 1—it was), and that you could walk across it (Spoiler Alert 2—you could), and that it was lit if you needed to walk back after dark (Spoiler Alert 3—there were indeed lights).
The Lincoln Memorial was there, looking much like it does now, only a lot newer. The same could be said of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, except there was a lot less pavement around it. These days, the pool is ringed with sidewalks, but not back then. There was just a narrow rim of pavement, presumably stone, at the edge of the pool. If Justine and her date want to walk around it, and they do, then they’ll be walking in the grass.
I thought this was all interesting information that was useful as the kind of background information that makes a historical novel feel real. But then I realized that it was also information that was important to my story. One of my characters uses a wheelchair. He can and absolutely does make his way through grass when he needs to do so. However, the lack of sidewalks making the Reflecting Pool easily accessible to him led me to another question. Was there a way to the pool in 1944 that didn’t involve a flight of stairs?
Well, the historical pictures that I could find didn’t tell me, and I still don’t know, but I acknowledged in the text that there were surely accessibility difficulties for that character in 1944, and I made sure that I did not put Jerry in a spot where he could not have been in that day and time. (Actually, I should say that I did not put him in a spot where he couldn’t easily have been in that day and time. Anybody who reads the climactic scene will see that Jerry always finds a way to do what needs doing.)
But if I told you what kind of trouble Jerry needed to get into in the climactic scene, I would need to give you Spoiler Alert 4, so I think I shall quit while I’m ahead.
Mary Anna
Thank you so much for sharing such a fabulous blog post.
Here’s the blurb
“Evans’s characters are vividly drawn, elevating this story and its revelations about women’s little-celebrated contributions to the war effort.”—Washington Post
“An exciting read with historical tidbits, a hint of danger, and a touch of romance.”—Kirkus Reviews
The Traitor Beside Heris an intricately plotted WWII espionage novel weaving together mystery, action, friendship, and a hint of romance perfect for fans ofThe Rose CodeandCode Name Helene.
Justine Byrne can’t trust the people working beside her. Arlington Hall, a former women’s college in Virginia has been taken over by the United States Army where hundreds of men and women work to decode countless pieces of communication coming from the Axis powers.
Justine works among them, handling the most sensitive secrets of World War II—but she isn’t there to decipher German codes—she’s there to find a traitor.
Justine keeps her guard up and her ears open, confiding only in her best friend, Georgette, a fluent speaker of Choctaw who is training to work as a code talker. Justine tries to befriend each suspect, believing that the key to finding the spy lies not in cryptography but in understanding how code breakers tick. When young women begin to go missing at Arlington Hall, her deadline for unraveling the web of secrets becomes urgent and one thing remains clear: a single secret in enemy hands could end thousands of lives.
“A fascinating and intelligent WWII home front story.” —Rhys Bowen,New York Timesbestselling author forThe Physicists’ Daughter
Mary Anna Evans is an award-winning author, a writing professor, and she holds degrees in physics and engineering, a background that, as it turns out, is ideal for writing her Justine Byrne series, which began withThe Physicists’ Daughter and continues with her new book, The Traitor Beside Her. She describes Justine as “a little bit Rosie-the-Riveter and a little bit Bletchley Park codebreaker.”
Mary Anna’s crime fiction has earned recognition that includes two Oklahoma Book Awards, the Will Rogers Medallion Awards Gold Medal, and the Benjamin Franklin Award, and she co-edited the Edgar-nominated Bloomsbury Handbook to Agatha Christie.
I write about the Saxon kingdom of Mercia a lot. I thought it had been entirely unintentional until now. But has it?
I grew up in an area that would one have been in Mercia. From a seemingly young age, I knew Mercia had once been a kingdom in its own right. I knew I lived in the centre of what had once been a mighty kingdom. The local church’s name, St Chad’s, was a dedication to a priest who converted the Mercians to Christianity. Tamworth, the next city along, was also a capital of Mercia (and where much of the Son of Mercia is set). Repton, a little further afield, a Mercian royal mausoleum, so when I went to university and began to study the period, I was, of course, drawn to that kingdom, to Mercia and to all it could offer me.
The Early English kingdom of Mercia is unfortunate in having no extant records surviving from the height of its power and reach. Northumbria has the works of the Venerable Bede and his Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Wessex has the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (ASC) – a collection of nine extant ‘versions’ of the same chronicle but with some later regional bias. Mercia has none of these things – although one of the ASC’s may be more Mercian in tone than others. Mercia also has a collection of surviving charters, and also many, many sculptures, that can be dated to this era.
It’s believed that any Mercian annalistic records that existed were destroyed by the Raider Viking attacks that gained in intensity throughout the ninth century. This is highly possible. It means that we never truly ‘hear’ the story of Mercia. We hear a Northumbrian view of Mercia. And we hear a Wessex view on Mercia. What of Mercia itself? We also hear views of Mercia from Alcuin and his collection of letters from the later eighth century.
Students of Early England are taught very much in a set chronological pattern of the Golden Age of Northumbria in the seventh century, the Supremacy of Mercia in the eighth and then the slow but seemingly unstoppable expansion of Wessex to claim all of England under one kingship so that by the time we reach 1066, England as we know it today, exists and is ruled by one king. This glosses over the fact that these kingdoms all existed simultaneously. They all fought and argued amongst one another. They all had ambitions to rule much more of modern England than their kingdom borders necessitated.
And, of course, the joy of redressing the balance a little is never far from my mind. I aim to make sure that people know of Mercia and don’t just think of its growth, supremacy and decline, as though the kingdoms of Northumbria and Wessex were more to blame for what befell Mercia than its own kings and inhabitants.
And so Mercia? What of Mercia during the Golden Age of Northumbria (the Gods and Kings trilogy)? What of Mercia through the decline of its supremacy (the Eagle of Mercia Chronicles), through the Viking Raider attacks and the growth of Wessex (the Mercian Ninth Century), after the death of Lady Æthelflæd (the Lady of Mercia’s Daughter) and what happened to Mercia during the final one hundred years of Saxon England (The Earls of Mercia series)?
What indeed? It’s not a small task, but it’s one I’ve set myself. And I’m far from finished with it. I have plans for more new titles, in time.
King Edward has married into the powerful House of Godwine, alongside making his wife’s brother, Sweyn Godwineson, Earl of Hereford. The House of Leofwine has received nothing, despite their continuing loyalty to the new king.
With the kingdom threatened by the pretensions of King Magnus of Norway, seeking to make good on the claim that he and Harthacnut agreed to inherit each other’s kingdoms should the other die first, King Edward is determined to build a ship army to counter anything his enemy might attempt.
But while the king’s eye is on external enemies, there are those closer to home determined to cause the king problems, most notably Sweyn Godwineson, who allies with the Welsh king responsible for the death of Eadwine Leofwineson, and then abducts the abbess of Leominster, refusing to give her up. With his sister as the king’s wife, Sweyn believes he can’t be touched until the church acts against him and he’s excommunicated and outlawed.
And Sweyn Godwineson hasn’t finished causing his king problems. When he returns to England without the king’s permission, desperate to recover his landed wealth and possessions, Sweyn finds more than just the House of Leofwine determined against his reinstatement.
Desperate men will take desperate actions, even the king’s brother.
‘The king has gifted more land to his wife,’ Lady Godgifu hissed to Earl Leofric as she strode from one end of their private quarters to another. He winced to hear the fury in her words.
‘She is his wife. It’s to be expected. He does no more than gift her the lands his mother held when she was queen.’
‘Is that right?’ his wife rounded on him, coming to an abrupt halt and rearing up before him. ‘It is merely the lands due to the queen, is it, just as the earls have lands due to them?’ Once more, Leofric grimaced to hear the fury in his wife’s words.
‘It is right, yes, and I’ve told you of the king’s reasons for making this marriage.’
‘Yes, you did, and with them, you implied that it would be a union worth nothing to the bloody Godwine family, and yet now, they have more landed possessions to laud over us and the other earls and their families.’
Leofric watched his wife, noting her flushed cheeks and how her lips were pursed as she once more paced from one end of the room to the other. All could hear the sound of her shoes over the wooden floorboards. All would hear, but whether they knew what it meant remained to be seen.
‘The king does us no disservice.’
‘And neither does he reward us for our loyalty,’ and here, his wife stabbed her chest forcefully with her finger. ‘Our loyalty and our desire to keep England united.’
‘The king must be seen to be caring towards his wife and any future children she must think to bear for him.’
‘But there are to be no children,’ Lady Godgifu all but shrieked, and now her face had bleached of all colour. ‘You’ve assured me,’ she almost spat.
‘And the king assured me. My dear, really, you must understand that this game the king is playing isn’t going to be concluded in a matter of months. He must be shown to be thinking of his wife’s future.’
‘Then he needs to do something to rein in that fat old Lady Gytha.’
Leofric recoiled at his wife’s harsh words, yet they were true. No one would deny them. Lady Gytha and her many, many years of childbearing had ensured the Godwine clan was huge. The House of Leofric was the very opposite, although his son, Ælfgar, was doing his best, alongside his wife, to ensure that the lack of children born to his father and mother was rectified in the next generation. Already they were the parents to three sons and a daughter.
‘What would you have me do?’ Earl Leofric capitulated. ‘The king can’t cast his wife aside so soon after the marriage. Neither can he purposefully withhold lands normally in the possession of the woman who is queen. Should he even attempt to do so, Earl Godwine will raise a stink at the witan.’
‘The king shouldn’t be fearful of that man,’ Godgifu sneered.
‘I don’t for one moment think he’s fearful of Earl Godwine. As I said, to ensure the earl and his family don’t suspect the king, he must do everything as he would, as though he knew there would be an heir at some point in the future.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Lady Godgifu finally swept onto the chair beside Leofric’s. ‘I don’t like it at all.’
‘And why, this morning, of them all, has it riled so much?’ Earl Leofric risked her wrath but knew the question needed asking.
‘Lady Gytha,’ Lady Godgifu began.
‘What of Lady Gytha?’ Leofric prodded when nothing further was forthcoming.
‘She, she,’ and here Lady Godgifu took a steadying breath and actually looked at her husband without the fury in her eyes. ‘She’s determined I’m only too aware of what her daughter has accomplished. She’s ensured word reached me of the queen’s latest acquisitions at Wantage and Lambourn.’
‘And they came as a surprise to you?’ Leofric felt safer now that Godgifu’s flash of fury had dissipated.
‘No, not really. I knew it would happen. It’s just the way that terrible woman has of making sure all know about her family and its wealth. She has no shame.’
Leofric found a grin on his face and chuckled gently.
‘Why should she be any different to her husband? He’s shameless in his grasping ways. He shows no remorse for those he tramples along the way. He’s almost without morals.’
‘It’s unseemly in a woman,’ Godgifu harrumphed unhappily, and Leofric laughed all the more.
‘So you wouldn’t do it given half a chance?’
‘I most certainly would not. There’s no need to gloat about my landed interests to anyone. I’m the earl of Mercia’s wife. I must have landed wealth, but I don’t need to vaunt about it.’ Godgifu settled herself, perching, Leofric couldn’t help thinking, like a hen over her egg. Not that he dared say that out loud.
‘She’s proud of her daughter. Think how foolish she’ll look when there’s no child and her grandson isn’t the next king of England.’
Lady Godgifu lapsed to silence, and then a slow grin spread over her face, returning to its normal pale colour. ‘It’ll be interesting to hear the excuses when they start in September,’ she murmured. ‘Provided the king hasn’t played us for fools. I don’t wish to have to contend with that family having a queen amongst them as well as a future king.’
Leofric nodded, pleased to have placated his wife, for all worry ran through his chest. The king had assured him that it was a means of curtailing the growing power of the House of Godwine, but Leofric couldn’t help thinking that his king was a wily man. Maybe he was merely placating the House of Leofwine for now. He gnawed on his lip and worked to restore his composure.
Can the Norse and the Scots exact their revenge over the mighty King Athelstan of the English?
AD937
After the slaughter field of Brunanburh, a defeated Olaf Gothfrithson of the Dublin Norse and Constantin of the Scots narrowly escaped with their lives. In their kingdoms, failure has left them demoralised and weak.
Olaf licks his wounds in Dublin, whilst Constantin and the Welsh kingdoms who defied King Athelstan, are once more forced to bend the knee. As Athelstan’s reputation grows stronger day by day, their need to exact revenge on the overmighty and triumphant Athelstan has never been greater.
Olaf sets his sights on reclaiming the lost kingdom of Jorvik only for tragedy to strike at the heart of England and a reluctant new King, Edmund steps into the fray.
While England mourns the death of their warrior king, her enemies gather on her borders and England stands alone against the might of the Norse, Welsh and Scots.
Can the new king be victorious and banish her enemies once and for all or will England, and its king lose all that’s been gained and succumb to a new pretender?
There’s no cover yet but I will share once I have it:)
If you’ve not yet grabbed King of Kings and Kings of War then they are currently just 99p/£1.39 on Amazon UK and the equivalent worldwide. You can read about the series on my Brunanburh page.
I’m also asking my readers if they’d like to meet me virtually via a Zoom chat? If you think you might, then please complete the Google form. It’s just to see what readers would be interested in, their availability and timezones:) Nothing is set in stone yet.
I think we all know that I’m really not very good at remembering book birthdays, but I have remembered this one and so, happy book birthday to The English Earl. (This is the book that I always forget when writing out the series – so I think it needs some love – I even managed to give it an ISBN that was out of sync with the rest of the series).
Intrigued? Here’s the blurb.
England, November AD1035.
Cnut, the Danish king of England, is dead, his son and chosen heir, Harthacnut, fighting for the survival of Denmark against Magnus, usurper of Cnut’s eldest son’s rule of Norway. Cnut’s Northern Empire of England, Denmark, Norway and Sweden is fragmented and in turmoil, and that’s before news of his death even spreads.
The queen dowager, Lady Emma, has the support of Earl Godwine to rule until her son, Harthacnut, can come to England to claim his inheritance. But there are problems. No one knows how long it will take Harthacnut to regain control of his father’s Viking Empire, and the English will not allow themselves to be left abandoned in the meantime.
Earl Leofric of Mercia, has long been an ally of Cnut’s, but not always an ally of his wife, the queen dowager. And more, Cnut made concessions for his other surviving son, the result of his union with Lady Ælfgifu of Northampton in Mercia, and Earl Leofric must honour those, despite the queen dowager’s determination to ignore the son’s existence.
As England once more faces the threat of external attack, should Magnus prevail in Denmark, Earl Leofric has important decisions to make. He has a long held grudge to settle with Earl Godwine of Wessex, Cnut’s much-favoured earl, while ensuring his own family’s survival. Earl Leofric is the only truly English Earl within England and Mercia is his to command.
And the queen dowager should never be overlooked. In power for her entire adult life, she is desperate to retain her hold on the network of prestige she controls, little caring who she endangers along the way. The queen dowager has twice been England’s queen. She has always had more than the one son she shared with Cnut, and her older sons are keen to exercise their own claim to wear England’s crown.
Harald, son of Cnut and Ælfgifu, Harthacnut, son of Cnut and Lady Emma, Edward and Alfred, sons of Lady Emma and King Æthelred II; four men with an equal, and valid claim to the English kingdom, but there is only one kingdom available. Who will prevail?
Available in ebook, paperback, large print/hardback and with Kindle Unlimited.
Check out the Earls of Mercia series page on my blog for more details.
Mr. Percy Simmons, leader of London’s Theosophical Order of Odic Forces, is fully aware that his is not a case which Mr. Sherlock Holmes would ordinarily take up.
These are not ordinary times, however.
For something, some unquiet demon within Holmes stirs into discomfiting wakefulness under the occultist’s words. The unassuming Mr. Simmons has spoken of good and evil with the sort of certainty of soul that Sherlock yearns for. A certainty which has eluded Holmes for the three years in which the world thought him dead. While, for all intents, constructions, and purposes, he was dead.
But six months ago, Sherlock Holmes returned to Baker Street, declared himself alive to friend and foe alike, took up his old rooms, his profession, and his partnership with Dr. J. Watson—only to find himself haunted still by questions which had followed him out of the dreadful chasm of Reichenbach Falls:
Why? Why had he survived when his enemy had not? To what end? And had there ever, truly, been such a thing as justice? Such a thing as good or evil?
Sherlock Holmes and the Silver Cord takes place in the aftermath of the events that see Holmes thought dead, alongside Moriarty. Restless after his three years away from Baker Street, Holmes takes every case coming his way until two seem to collide – the one certainly involving magic, the other, perhaps doing the same.
As with all good Holmes stories, the impossible slowly attains some explanation, in these perplexing cases, with Watson on hand to provide some much needed perspective for the ‘ordinary’ reader, as opposed to the brilliance of Holmes. And yet Holmes is bedevilled by his own demons – he has his own questions to ask and perhaps seek answers for – about good and evil and how he fits in the grand scheme of things.
This is perhaps a more perceptive Holmes than we might expect, and yet still very much fitting our expectations of how he acts and thinks, and this novel is, as the author admits, their attempt to answer some of the unsolved questions about Holmes that have bedevilled her about what happened to Holmes after the events with Moriarty.
A really enjoyable read – sure to appeal to fans of Holmes – and while Holmes might be struggling with his inner demons, he’s still able to conclude the mysteries presented to him in Sherlock Holmes and the Silver Cord.
M. K. Wiseman has degrees in Interarts & Technology and Library & Information Studies from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her office, therefore, is a curious mix of storyboards and reference materials. Both help immensely in the writing of historical novels. She currently resides in Cedarburg, Wisconsin.
Who were the many daughters of Edward the Elder who married into the ruling families in East and West Frankia?
Edward the Elder was married three times, to an unknown woman- who was the mother of the future King Athelstan, to Lady Ælfflæd – who was the mother of the future, and short-lived King Ælfweard, and finally to Lady Eadgifu – who was the mother of the future kings Edmund and Eadred. But, while each woman was mother to a future kings, this story focuses on the daughters. And there were a lot of them, and their lives were either spent in making prestigious marriages, or as veiled women – whether professed religious, or merely lay women living in a nunnery or an isolated estate.
Eadgifu[i], was perhaps the oldest daughter of King Edward the Elder, and his second wife, Lady Ælfflæd. She was the first to marry, to Charles III, King of West Frankia (879-929), who ruled the kingdom from 898-922. This union is written about by the near-contemporary writer Æthelweard in the prologue to his Chronicon.
‘Eadgyfu [Eadgifu] was the name of the daughter of King Eadweard [Edward], the son of Ælfred…and she was your great-aunt and was sent into the country of Gaul to marry the younger Charles.’[ii]
This was a marriage of some prestige for the granddaughter of King Alfred and one which saw her become the Queen of the West Franks.
Charles was much her senior, and one with many illegitimate sons, born to Charles’ concubines,[iii] as well as six daughters with his first wife, Frederuna.[iv] But, on the death of his first wife in 917, Charles had no legitimate heir to rule after him.
Eadgifu isn’t mentioned in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, but she does feature in The Annals of Flodoard of Reims 919-966. historian Sarah Foot maintains that as Eadgifu’s marriage isn’t mentioned in the work of Flodoard, it must have occurred before he began writing and, therefore before 919.[v]
Yet, Charles III didn’t rule a quiet kingdom, far from it, in fact. Louis, Eadgifu and Charles’ son was born in 921-922, and his birth seems to have coincided with Charles losing control of his kingdom to an overpowerful nobleman, who ruled as Robert, King of the West Franks from 922-923 when Charles III was briefly reinstated before being deposed once more and imprisoned, where he wound remain until his death in 929.
It is known that Louis was sent to the Wessex royal court, to be fostered firstly by her father and then by her half-brother, Athelstan.[vii] It’s likely that Louis was a similar age to Edward the Elder’s younger children. If Eadgifu returned to Wessex in 923 as well, she would have been in Wessex when her father died, her full-brother became king, albeit briefly, only for Athelstan, her half-brother, to become king.
On Charles’ death, in 929, Eadgifu was certainly once more living in England with her son Louis. And she would do so until 936 when Louis regained his kingship, and Eadgifu returned to West Frankia as the king’s mother.
Louis’ reinstatement does seem to have had much to do with his uncle by marriage, Hugh of the Franks (c.895-956), married to his aunt Eadhild.
We’re told by Flodoard,
‘Louis’s uncle, King Athelstan, sent him to Frankia along with bishops and others of his fideles after oaths had been given by the legates of the Franks. Hugh and the rest of the nobles of the Franks set out to meet Louis when he left the ship, and they committed themselves to him on the beach at Boulogne-sur-Mer just as both sides had previously agreed. They then conducted Louis to Laon and he was consecrated king, anointed and crowned by Lord Archbishop Artoldus (of Rheims) in the presence of the leading men of the kingdom and more than twenty bishops.’[viii]
But all might not be quite as bland as Flodoard states. Hugh might have been married to Eadhild, Louis’ aunt, but he was also an extremely powerful nobleman, brother to the previous king, Ralph. As McKitterick states, ‘No doubt Hugh calculated that he would be able to exert effective power within the kingdom as the young monarch’s uncle, chief advisor and supporter.’[ix]
Young Louis would only have been about sixteen when he was proclaimed king of West Frankia. He was also a virtual stranger to those he now ruled, having been fostered at the Wessex/English court since 923.
Louis was consecrated on 19th June 936. What happened during the early years of his rule is explored in The King’s Daughters, through the eyes of his mother.
(Read on below the references to find out about the other daughters).
[ii] Campbell, A. ed The Chronicle of Æthelweard: Chronicon Æthelweardi, (Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd, 1962), Prologue p.2
[iii] The matter of marriages, and concubinage is gathering increasing levels of interest. It is becoming apparent that the need for legitimate marriages was a matter laid down by the Church as a means to garner legitimacy. Before this, unions of concubinage may have held as firmly as church recognised marriages.
[iv] Details taken from McKitterick, R. The Frankish Kingdoms Under The Carolingians, 751-987, (Longman, 1983), p. 365 Genealogical table
[v] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.46
[vi] Bachrach, B.S. and Fanning, S ed and trans, The Annals of Flodoard of Reims, 916-966 (University of Toronto Press, 2004), 20A
[vii] William of Jumieges in his Gesta Normannorum Ducum III.4 (PASE)
[viii] Bachrach, B.S. and Fanning, S ed and trans, The Annals of Flodoard of Reims, 916-966 (University of Toronto Press, 2004), 18A (936). Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.168
[ix] McKitterick, R. The Frankish Kingdoms Under The Carolingians, 751-987, (Longman, 1983), p.315
[x] Van Houts, E. M. C., trans. The Gesta Normannorum Ducum of William of Jumieges, Orderic Vitalic, and Robert of Torigni, (Clarenden Press, Oxford, 1992) pp82-83 Book III.4
[xi] Bachrach, B.S. and Fanning, S ed and trans, The Annals of Flodoard of Reims, 916-966 (University of Toronto Press, 2004), 33G
[xii] PASE Greater Domesday Book 353 (Lincolnshire 18:25)
Eadhild[i], perhaps the second daughter of Edward the Elder and his second wife, Lady Ælfflæd, marriage Hugh the Great, later known as dux Francorum, in another continental dynastic marriage similar to that of her sister. Under 926, Flodoard of Reims states, ‘Hugh, son of Robert, married a daughter of Edward the Elder, the king of the English, and the sister of the wife of Charles.’[ii] This wasn’t Hugh’s first marriage, but that union was childless.
There’s no record of the marriage in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. However, once more, it is mentioned in Æthelweard’s Chronicon, ‘Eadhild, furthermore, was sent to be the wife of Hugo, son of Robert.’[iii] And also in Flodoard’s Annals, as mentioned above.
There is a later, really quite detailed account in the twelfth-century source of William of Malmesbury’s Gesta Regum Anglorum. He describes Eadhild as ‘in whom the whole mass of beauty, which other women have only a share, had flowed into one by nature,’ was demanded in marriage from her brother by Hugh of the Franks.’[v]
Hugh was a very wealthy individual. His family, ‘commanded the region corresponding to ancient Neustria between the Loire and the Seine, except for the portions ceded to the Vikings between 911 and 933. Hugh also possessed land in the Touraine, Orleanais, Berry, Autunois, Maine and north of the Seine as far as Meaux, and held the countships of Tours, Anjou and Paris. Many powerful viscounts and counts were his vassals and deputies…a number of wealthy monasteries were also in Robertian [the family named after his father] hands. Hugh himself was lay abbot of St Martin of Tours, Marmoutier, St Germain of Auxerre (after 937), St Denis, Morienval, St Riquier, St Valéry and possibly St Aignan of Orleans, St Germain-des-Pres and St Maur des Fosses.’[viii]
Eadhild, sadly died in 937, childless, and in The King’s Daughters her death sets in motion some quite catastophic family feuding.
(Read on below the references to learn more about The King’s Daughters)
[ii] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.47. Bachrach, B.S. and Fanning, S ed and trans, The Annals of Flodoard of Reims, 916-966 (University of Toronto Press, 2004), 926
[iii] Campbell, A. ed The Chronicle of Æthelweard: Chronicon Æthelweardi, (Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd, 1962), Prologue p.2
[iv] Bachrach, B.S. and Fanning, S ed and trans, The Annals of Flodoard of Reims, 916-966 (University of Toronto Press, 2004), 8E
[v] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.47. Mynors, R.A.B. ed and trans, completed by Thomson, R.M. and Winterbottom, M. Gesta Regvm Anglorvm, The History of the English Kings, William of Malmesbury, (Clarendon Press, 1998),ii,135,pp218-9
[vi] McKitterick, R. The Frankish Kingdoms Under The Carolingians, 751-987, (Longman, 1983), p.314
[vii] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.47
[viii] McKitterick, R. The Frankish Kingdoms Under The Carolingians, 751-987, (Longman, 1983), p.314
Eadgyth,[i] has her marriage mentioned in the entry for the D text of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle under the year 924. Alongside Athelstan’s unnamed biological sister, she’s the only one of Edward’s daughters to be mentioned in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. ‘..and he gave his sister across the sea to the son of the King of the Old Saxons (Henry).’[ii]Sarah Foot notes that in the Mercian Register section of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, this sentence in 924 is unfinished. The D text chooses to complete this sentence differently, referencing the union of Eadgyth to Otto, as opposed to the union of Athelstan’s unnamed sister to Sihtric of York. This then explains why the reference occurs in the annal entry for 924, whereas the union took place in 929/30, following a Saxon military triumph over the Slavs in the late summer of 929.[iii]
Æthelweard’s Chronicon again adds to our knowledge by informing his readers that Athelstan sent two of his sisters for Otto to choose the one he found most agreeable to be his wife.
‘King Athelstan sent another two [of his sisters] to Otho, the plan being that he should choose as his wife the one who pleased him. He chose Eadgyth.’[v] This story is also told in Hrotsvitha’s Gesta Ottonis. ‘he bestowed great honour upon Otto, the loving son of the illustrious king, by sending two girls of eminent birth, that he might lawfully espouse whichever one of them he wished.’[vi]
Bishop Cenwald of Worcester accompanied both sisters to Saxony. The account of his visit can be witnessed in a confraternity book from St Galen, where he signed his name. Eadgyth was certainly the mother of a son and a daughter, Liudolf and Liudgar.
Read The King’s Daughters to discover more about her story.
[ii] Swanton, M. trans and edit The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, (Orion Publishing Group, 2000), p105. And Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.49 n69
[iii] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.48
[iv] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.48
[v] Campbell, A. ed The Chronicle of Æthelweard: Chronicon Æthelweardi, (Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd, 1962), Prologue p.2
[vi] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.49, but Hrotsvitha, Gesta Ottonis, lines 79-82 and 95-8 ed. Berchin 278-9
[vii] Swanton, M. trans and edit The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, (Orion Publishing Group, 2000), C p.124
King Athelstan is said to have sent two sisters to the court of Otto of Saxony, for him to determine which he would marry. This sister has vexed historians, even Æthelweard in his Chronion is unsure of her name,[i] and he wrote his text much earlier than other sources available, by c.978 at the latest. It would be hoped that a woman who left England only forty years earlier might have been remembered. Æthelweard believed she had married, ‘a certain king near the Alps, concerning whose family we have no information, because of both distance and the not inconsiderable lapse of time.’[ii] He held out hopes that Matilda, to whom he dedicated his work, might be able to tell him more.
‘Louis, brother of Rudolf of Burgundy, and his English wife were influential figures in that region when Rudolf died young, leaving only a child, Conrad, as heir.’[vi]
More than this, it is impossible to say. It is unsettling to realise that the daughter of one of the House of Wessex’s kings could so easily be ‘lost’ to our understanding today, and indeed, to that of her descendants only forty years later. This raises the awareness that if noble women could disappear from the written records, then so to could almost anyone.
[i] This sister may appear as Anonymous 921 on PASE
[ii] Campbell, A. ed The Chronicle of Æthelweard: Chronicon Æthelweardi, (Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd, 1962), Prologue p.2
[iii] Mynors, R.A.B. ed and trans, completed by Thomson, R.M. and Winterbottom, M. Gesta Regvm Anglorvm, The History of the English Kings, William of Malmesbury, (Clarendon Press, 1998), pp.199-201
[iv] Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011) p.51
[v] Please see Foot, S Athelstan (Yale University Press, 2011), p.51 for this fascinating discussion in its entirety.
[vi] Foot, S ‘Dynastic Strategies: The West Saxon royal family in Europe,’ in England and the Continent in the Tenth Century: Studies in Honour of Wilhelm Levison (1876-1947) (Brepols, 2012), p.250
The King’s Daughter is the story of these women and their lives (mostly) in Continental Europe, and I hope you’ll enjoy it.
Here’s the beginning from A Conspiracy of Kings (there might be spoilers if you’ve not read The Lady of Mercia’s Daughter)
Chapter 1
Tamworth, the kingdom of Mercia, 918
We feast that night. There are smiles and tears on everyone’s faces as Tamworth’s great hall is swept clear of the men and women from Wessex. My armed guard ensures no one hurts them as the Mercians pull tables and benches to fill the vast space left behind. My servants, taken only somewhat by surprise as they were expecting a feast one way or another after the witan, rush to ensure everyone has a drink, if not food.
Cousin Ecgwynn hurries to me as I watch the activity, questions on her lips and I throw my arms around her, unheeding her sumptuous gown while I wear the clothes of a warrior. Usually, she would protest. But not today.
‘Enough of that,’ Cousin Ecgwynn complains, batting my embrace away, and not delicately. She holds my arms away from her, glaring at me.
I can see the flicker of rage in her blue eyes and the tightness of her stance.
‘You let me believe you were dead! I’ve been mourning for you, as I would a sister, and coming so soon after the death of Lady Æthelflæd….’ Her normally serene face floods with tears as her words trail off. I thrust my arms around her again, holding her tighter, hoping to make her understand, using my strength gained on the training field to overpower hers. I absorb her scent, the familiarity of home, the reminder of all that my uncle and Archbishop Plegmund tried to take from me.
‘I’m sorry, dear Ecgwynn. It was.’ I pause, unsure what to say, speaking into her ear as I continue to hold her tight. ‘Well, in all honesty, it was all we could think of to ensure that Uncle Edward’s treachery was exposed.’
I don’t call King Edward of Wessex her father. That would be too cruel. I think that, like me, Lady Ecgwynn could happily forget that a man was even involved in her conception and birth. Certainly, he’s done little enough for her since he became the king of Wessex when she was no more than a child and banished her to Mercia alongside Cousin Athelstan.
But Cousin Ecgwynn’s not finished yet. Once more, she pulls her way clear of my embrace, determined to argue with me.
‘But my brother knew and still didn’t tell me. That’s too cruel,’ her angry voice is gaining force. I know there’s nothing to do but try and explain. I could make excuses all night long, but she’s almost my sister, and she deserves the truth.
‘He knew. But only because he came to me and saw that I still lived after the attack in the north. Admittedly, cousin Athelstan could have told you that I wasn’t dead, but then, how would you have greeted King Edward when he came to Mercia to stake his claim for it? He couldn’t know that I yet lived.’
‘I’m not a woman to have her head turned by the arrival of a man whose only call on her affection is to claim to be her father. I wouldn’t have put your scheme in peril!’ Her voice is shrill with outrage, all tears forgotten, as she chastises me, her words coming almost too fast to decipher.
To the side, cousin Athelstan hovers, and I know why. He’s not scared of facing any man on the battlefield, but his sister? Well, he’d sooner not see her angry, and certainly, he’s content for me to be the one to soothe her.
I realise then that we erred when we made our plans.
‘No, I know you’re not. Apologies, cousin Ecgwynn. It wasn’t done because of a lack of trust. It was just better if as few as possible knew the truth.’ I can see that being so brutally honest at least pleases her, even if her forehead remains lined with anger and her lips purse tightly.
I hold my arms out once more. This time she steps into them willingly, a faint wrinkle on her nose because I smell of horse and sweat. I feel her shoulders sag, and her body trembles as though she’s going to cry. But she steps away from my embrace mere moments later, a watery smile on her face.
‘If only everyone I ever loved who died could come back to life, as you have. It would make my heart ache less.’ I nod. Abruptly, my thoughts focus on my mother, and despite my warrior’s prowess, my grief is fresh. I’d gladly step into my mother’s arms and cry away all my sorrows and disappointments at my uncle’s actions.
‘What would your mother think?’ Lady Ecgwynn asks, her thoughts following mine as she loops her arm through mine to walk amongst the people toasting my good health and the future of Mercia. Their voices range from soft to the roar of a battle cry. I chuckle at the exuberance, aware that cousin Athelstan stays close. He and cousin Ecgwynn will need to make peace with each other at some point. But not yet.
‘I hardly know what my mother would think or do. She and Edward were never close; at least, I don’t think they were. But, I believe she understood his ambitions well, all the same.’
‘Your mother was an excellent judge of character,’ cousin Ecgwynn confirms. ‘Although she did trust Archbishop Plegmund, the poisonous snake.’
My voice ripples with laughter as I picture Plegmund’s face too easily as the head of a snake.
I’m delighted to feature an excerpt from Finlay McQuade’s new book, Life and Death in Ephesus, a short story collection.
From “Nestorius.”
The next day, sure enough, the church of the Evangelist was half empty, but the murmurs of protest were twice as loud as the hissing and whispering of the day before. Even so, Nestorius persisted. Desperate to demonstrate the simple logic of his argument, he introduced a new metaphor into his sermon: “Ferment the grape and what do you get? You get a sublime wine that buoys your spirit and lifts you heavenward. Squeeze the olive and what do you get? You get a taste of ancient earth, a hint of delight first tasted in the Garden by our earliest ancestors. But when you mix the two, what do you get? The sublime headiness of wine? No. The rich earthiness of Eden? No. You get a noxious mixture that retains the qualities of neither. Such is not the nature of Jesus Christ. “Jesus was a man and had all the qualities of a man, including the capacity to suffer and die. And he was also and always will be a God, who did not die and did not fear the pains of death as you and I inevitably will. Our Lord Jesus Christ had two natures, the one human and the other divine. The blessed Virgin gave birth to the one, but she did not give birth to the other, because the Son of God already existed and had always existed. That is why I have said and I say again that the blessed Virgin was the Christ-bearer, not the God-bearer. And yet, from that miraculous moment of Incarnation, the God and the man were united as one: human and divine in perfect union.” It seemed at first to have made an impression on his audience, for they were quiet. Later, on reflection, he thought that perhaps they were dazzled by the clarity of his argument, but no closer to accepting its truth. Then a scrawny little monk with a red clean-shaven face in the pew nearest to the altar stood and shouted in a deep bass voice, “HERETIC! HERETIC!” and continued to shout it until he was joined by a scattering of others in the dim interior of the church, and gradually by just about everyone present, “HERETIC! HERETIC! HERETIC!”
Here’s the blurb:
For over a thousand years, Ephesus, on the Aegean coast of what is now Turkey, was a thriving city. It was the site of the Temple of Artemis, one of the Wonders of the World, and a destination for religious pilgrimage long before the advent of Christianity. In the first century CE, St. John and St. Paul introduced Christianity to Ephesus, where it survived its turbulent beginnings and, in the fifth century CE, hosted the God-defining Council of Ephesus.
Life and Death in Ephesus is a collection of stories about major events in the history of Ephesus. Characters appearing in these stories include Herostratus, first to commit a “herostratic crime”; Alexander, the warrior king; Julius Caesar and Mark Antony, both lovers of Cleopatra; Heraclitus, the philosopher who said, “You can’t put your foot in the same river twice”; St. Paul, persona non grata in Ephesus; Nestorius, whose characterization of Jesus split the Eastern and Western church, and others, also important, whose names I have had to make up.
Hilke Thür, a leading archeologist, has said of these stories, “Life and Death in Ephesus will be a delightful and enjoyable accompaniment to the many available guidebooks. Not just tourists, but anyone interested in history will benefit from reading them.”
Finlay McQuade is a retired educator. He was born in Ireland, went to high school in England, and university in the USA. He has a BA in English from Pomona College, an MA in British and American literature from Harvard University, and a PhD in education from the University of Pittsburgh, where he also taught writing courses in the English department. He spent some happy years as a high school English teacher and soccer coach, but after co-authoring the book How to Make a Better School he found himself in demand as a consultant to schools and school improvement projects in the USA and often, also, abroad. He ended his career in education when he retired from Bogazici University in Istanbul, where he had mentored young teachers in the school of education.
For eight years after retirement, he lived in Selcuk, Turkey, among the ruins of the ancient city of Ephesus. The streets and squares of Ephesus became his neighborhood. His companions included archeologists, tour guides, and souvenir sellers. His curiosity about the people who had lived in those empty buildings for over a thousand years resulted in Life and Death in Ephesus, a collection of stories chronicling major events in the city’s history.
Now, back in the USA with time on his hands, he finds himself returning again and again to memories of his boyhood on the coast of Northern Ireland. The result of these forays into his past will be another collection of stories, part memoir, part fiction, called Growing Up in Ulster.
Ælfwynn, the daughter of Æthelflæd of Mercia and her husband, Æthelred was born at some point in the late 880s or early 890s. It’s believed that she was an only child, although it does appear (in the later accounts of William of Malmesbury – an Anglo-Norman writer from centuries later) that her cousins, Athelstan, and his unnamed sister, were sent to Mercia to be raised by their aunt when Edward remarried on becoming king in 899. There is a suggestion that it might have been Alfred’s decision to do this and that Athelstan was being groomed to become king of Mercia, not Wessex.
Ælfwynn is mentioned in three charters. S367, surviving in one manuscript, dates to 903, where she witnesses without a title. S1280, survives in two manuscripts, dates to 904 and reads in translation.
‘Wærferth, bishop, and the community at Worcester, to Æthelred and Æthelflæd, their lords; lease, for their lives and that of Ælfwynn, their daughter, of a messuage (haga) in Worcester and land at Barbourne in North Claines, Worcs., with reversion to the bishop. Bounds of appurtentant meadow west of the [River] Severn.’[i]
[i] Sawyer, P. H. (Ed.), Anglo-Saxon charters: An annotated list and bibliography, rev. Kelly, S. E., Rushforth, R., (2022). http://www.esawyer.org.uk/ S1280. See above for the full details under Æthelflæd
Historians have reconstructed this haga in Worcester in ‘The city of Worcester in the tenth century’ by N Baker and R Holt.
In S225, surviving in one manuscript, dated to 915, Ælfwynn witnesses below her mother. Hers is the second name on the document. This could be significant, as she would certainly have been an adult by now, was she already being prepared as the heir to Mercia on her mother’s death?
Ælfwynn is named in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in the C text under 919. ‘Here also the daughter of Æthelred lord of the Mercians, was deprived of all control in Mercia, and was led into Wessex three weeks before Christmas; she was called Ælfwynn.’[i]
[i] Swanton, M. trans and edit The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, (Orion Publishing Group, 2000), p.105
And from there, we hear nothing more of Lady Ælfwynn, the second lady of the Mercians. Even though this is the first record of a ruling woman being succeeded by her daughter.
There’s no further mention of Ælfwynn in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. It’s been assumed that she became a nun, and she might well be referenced in charter S535, surviving in one manuscript, and which Eadred granted at the request of his mother, dated to 948, reading,
‘King Eadred to Ælfwyn, a religious woman; grant of 6 hides (mansae), equated with 6 sulungs, at Wickhambreux, Kent, in return for 2 pounds of purest gold.’[i]
[i] Sawyer, P. H. (Ed.), Anglo-Saxon charters: An annotated list and bibliography, rev. Kelly, S. E., Rushforth, R., (2022). http://www.esawyer.org.uk/ S535
Bailey has suggested that, ‘In view of its close association with the women of the royal family, and of Eadgifu’s patronage of Ælfwynn (in S535), I would venture to suggest that it is possible she too may have ended her days at Wilton.’[i]
[i] Bailey. M, ‘Ælfwynn, Second Lady of the Mercians’, Edward the Elder, 899-924 Higham, N.J. and Hill, D. H. ed (Routledge, 2001), p.125
This would mean that rather than ruling as her mother would have wanted her to, Ælfwynn was overruled by her uncle, who essentially stole her right to rule Mercia as soon as he possibly could on her mother’s death. It must be said that he might have later paid for this with his life if he was indeed putting down a Mercian rebellion in Farndon when he died in 924.
Alternatively, there is another beguiling theory that Ælfwynn might not have become a nun but was, in fact, married to Athelstan, an ealdorman of East Anglia, known as the ‘Half-King,’ because of the vast control he had in East Anglia. It’s long been believed that this label might well have resulted from the fact that Athelstan was an extremely powerful and well-landed nobleman who was much beloved by the Wessex royal family and its kings. However, it might well be because he was indeed married to the king’s cousin (under Athelstan, Edmund and Eadred). If this is the case, and it’s impossible to prove, then Ælfwynn, as the wife of Ealdorman Athelstan, had four sons, Æthelwold, Æthelwine, Æthelsige and Ælfwold, and these sons would be friends and enemies of the kings of England in later years. She might also have been given the fostering of the orphaned, and future King Edgar, which would also have made these men the future king’s foster brothers.
‘he [Athelstan Half-King] bestowed marriage upon a wife, one Ælfwynn by name, suitable for his marriage bed as much as by the nobility of her birth as by the grace of her unchurlish appearance. Afterwards she nursed and brought up with maternal devotion the glorious King Edgar, a tender boy as yet in the cradle. When Edgar afterwards attained the rule of all England, which was due to him by hereditary destiny, he was not ungrateful for the benefits he had received from his nurse. He bestowed on her, with regal munificence, the manor of Weston, which her son, the Ealdorman, afterwards granted to the church of Ramsey in perpetual alms for her soul, when his mother was taken from our midst in the natural course of events.’
Edington, S and Others, Ramsey Abbey’s Book of Benefactors Part One: The Abbey’s Foundation, (Hakedes, 1998) pp.9-10
If this identification is correct, ‘This would explain why she was considered suitable to be a foster-mother to the ætheling Edgar. It may even explain why Edgar was considered in 957 suitable to rule Mercia.’[i]
[i] Jayakumar, S. ‘Eadwig and Edgar’, in Edgar, King of the English, 959-975, ed. D Scragg (Boydell Press, 2014), p.94
If Lady Ælfwynn did survive beyond the events of 919, it seems highly likely she would have continued her friendship with her cousin, Athelstan, when he became king of Mercia, and then Wessex and then England. It’s also highly likely that she might have rallied support for him in Mercia.
Certainly, the first known occurrence of a woman succeeding a woman in Saxon England ended in obscurity for Lady Ælfwynn.
So, who is my Lady Ælfwynn?
Well, she’s a warrior woman, reeling from the unexpected death of her mother. She is her mother’s daughter. She knows what’s expected of her, and she has no problem contending with the men of the witan, her uncle, Edward king of Wessex, or indeed, the Viking raiders. She and Rognvaldr Sigfrodrsson have a particularly intriguing relationship.
Here’s the beginning of The Lady of Mercia’s Daughter
‘The men of the witan stand before me in my hall at Tamworth, the ancient capital of the kingdom of Mercia. The aged oak beams bear the brunt of centuries of smoking fires. Some are hard men, glaring at me as though this predicament is of my making. They are the beleaguered Mercians, the men from the disputed borders to the north, the east, and the west, if not the south. They’re the men who know the cost of my mother’s unexpected death. And strangely, for all their hard stares and uncompromising attitudes, their crossed arms and tight shoulders, they’re the men I trust the most in this vast hall. It’s filled with people I know by name and reputation, if not by sight.
Those with sympathy etched onto their faces are my uncle’s allies. These men might once have understood the dangers that Mercia faces, but they’ve grown too comfortable hidden away in Wessex and Kent. Mercia has suffered the brunt of the continual encroachments while they’ve been safe from Viking attack for nearly twenty years. Some are too young to have been born when Wessex was almost extinguished under the onslaught of the northern warriors.
Even the clothes of the sympathetic are different from those with hard stares. Not for them, the warriors’ garb. There are no gaping spaces on warrior belts where seaxes and swords should hang, but don’t, as weapons must not be worn in my presence.
No, they wear the luxurious clothing of royalty, even if they’re not members of the House of Wessex. They have the time, and the wealth, to ensure their attire is as opulent as it can be. They don’t fear a middle-of-the-night call to arms. They don’t need to maintain vigilance or continuously be battle-ready. They don’t have to fight for their kingdom and their family at a moment’s notice or be ready to lose a loved one or face a fight to the death.’
MJ Porter 