AUTHOR'S FOREWORD

I have derived the character Hygferth from the mutilation of hostages at Sandwich by Cnut. I have tried to imagine how any of the survivors of this horror would have fared in later life without hands and feet. Time would have dragged in whichever monastic house that chose to care for them. It seems that such a man though maimed could well have recorded events in his day. So I have chosen him as the supposed author of this series of Sagas and an old companion, Frigar, as a source of some anecdotes.

The reign of Aethelred the Unready was one of the low points in English history. Aethelred gained the throne when his mother's henchmen murdered King Edward at Corfu. This was one hundred years after Alfred's heroic year of 878 and the peace of Wedmore.

It is difficult not to conclude the Aethelred's reign was a time of treachery and spite. The Chronicle has a lot to say about the tragedies of this period. There was ethnic cleansing, cowardice bribery and betrayal. The Danish leader Swein was a "convert" to Christianity. His son and successor Cnut was Christian and probably a psychopath. There was an ebb flow to events but eventually Cnut became king and Edward the Wessex heir to the throne went into exile in Normandy. It seemed as if all the work of Alfred had led to nought. In terms of his royal house this was to be the case. But his real achievement was the foundation of England as a unified nation. And England remained a unified nation despite Cnut's conquest and the later conquest of William the Bastard.

When society reaches the depths of depravity and despair it is then that it may show its reserves of inner will and of strength. This saga deals with cruelty, spite and viciousness. Cnut was essentially a terrorist who got to the top and won. The English had to endure his reign, as the chronicle puts it: "...for twenty winters".

The Danish and Viking raiders plundered England time and again and still there was more wealth created to attract them to plunder again.

This saga is inspired by what I have observed of the spite present in the petty town hall politics of my own times. I have seen many worthy people elbowed aside by the sneaky and the spiteful. In this there is nothing new. I have also noted that, to the spiteful, their spiteful deeds are seen as very clever. They are not.

A lack of empathy can be found in all walks of life and in all periods. The worst periods of history are when most leaders are those who lack empathy for others. This takes away moral restraint. Cnut though a "convert" to a new faith acted without the moral constraints of the old religion and had no understanding or regard for the moral constraints of his new religion. His conversion could have been more political than spiritual for Cnut probably only believed in Cnut.

This work was not easy to write. It was inspired (if that is the right word) by all the spiteful people whom I have had the misfortune to know or to observe or have made me suffer. Some of this work was written through gritted teeth and with rage in my heart.

Apologists for Cnut have brushed over his terrorist behaviour. This ought be corrected and I hope I have done that. There is no excuse for terrorising innocent people for political ends. I hope Aethelred, Cnut and others rot in hell or with the dark Lady Hel for all the evil that they did.

Trevor Morgan,
Rockwell Green, Somerset

Wessex Sagas
THE SAGA OF THE SPITEFUL: Part 1

Prologue

Hygferth the Mutilated Thinks Back

Springtide beyond the wall was verdant green
He looked back on the wreckage of his life
And wondered now at what just might have been
Had he not been a victim of that strife
He marvelled at all wonders of this world
And how most souls would now bask in its glow
He stayed hid like some banner kept unfurled
If pleasures he might feel they did not show
Crablike upon his mutilated limbs
He moved about within the abbey ground
Within the sounds of monkish prayers and hymns
Though peaceful here still no peace had he found
It's said God gives to those who would but seek
Though he sought Hope his soul remained so bleak

Through long despondent years he'd lived a life
Within the sacred house that tended him
He had hoped that one day he'd take a wife
A lovely Kentish girl so sweet and prim
They told him that she died by some foul hand
And all their Hopes of living useful lives
Were not to go the ways that they had planned
Both had been brought to woe through butchers' knives
They told him how she had called out his name
Before that butcher sliced her belly wide
Her courage there they said would bring her fame
And now alone he crawled about and sighed
For that short time he had known Hope and dreamed
Inside this silent man his soul here screamed

No feet, no hands, no Hope, all's wreckage now
A crawling hooded shape here in this place
And kept alive by monks tied to some vow
Awaiting here for some sign of God's Grace
Existing now not living – though alive
A symbol of the terror brought by kings
Such symbols spread true fear while they survive
They show the wrath that kingly vengeance brings
And spread afar in folk a sense of fear
And fear subdues the freest soul in time
And leaves a land bereft of joy and drear
And drags once happy souls here through the slime
Where overlording lords must have their way
Through loss of Hope and joy good folk then pay

White raven tore the frog's limbs off
Ate them and flew away
Frogs with limbs would stare and scoff
Yet each would have their day

Frigar the Strange Old Man With Wet Legs

Frigar "Wet Legs" his mind was clear
His body weak and old
He'd known much wrath and hate and fear
Once he'd been young and bold

Amid the madness he's but one
Who watched as war went on
And as each vengeful act was done
He turned more sad and wan

No one would listen for men said
This man was quite insane
They said "he's not there in the head"
And "he is so inane".

He'd wet himself, from time to time
He'd smelled of gone off pee
A prostate ailment is no crime
Unlike a mind that's free

He saw most things just as they were
To him to kill was bad
And evil deeds done by each cur
Caused him to weep so sad

He wept at stories of the slain
Professed that war was wrong
But all knew that he was insane
That he did not "belong"

His ailment caused him to decline
And palsy like he'd shake
His brain, his mind stayed clear and fine
His legs and back would ache

A monastery then took him
The monks too thought him mad
The stink of him was foul and grim
And he stayed wan and sad

A man there with no hands or feet
Took to him as a friend
They'd talk long hours in cold or heat
Their views both seemed to blend

Though both saw that the world was mad
And both had suffered long
This friendship made their hearts more glad
Sometimes they'd sing a song

They'd sing baud songs the gleemen taught
They'd sing a reverent hymn
Their souls seemed less confused and fraught
Their bodies both were grim

Frigar "Wet Legs" he was quite old
He'd lived through stupid things
There's many stories that he told
Of folly and of kings

Of Aethelred he knew a lot
For he once fought for him
He thought him foul and misbegot
His mother twice as grim

He told Hygferth most that he knew
Hygferth remembered all
Of what this poor land was put through
And why it met its fall

Hygferth's Writings

Hygferth could read so read a lot
Scribe Julius helped him when he read
And all he read was not forgot
His mind is sound they said

The Abbot gave this scribe to him
So he could write as well
He studied histories sad and grim
Of how lands rose and fell

The books from Alfred's time he knew
And many more as well
This bookwork gave him much to do
And many tales to tell

He wrote of how the Romans left
And struggles for this land
And how the Britons were not deft
So Saxons could expand: -

The Britons Enter the Darkness

He watched the seasons come and go
He watched monks till the soil
He witnessed all the ebb and flow
The constant round of toil

He memorised the whole year through
The turning of each year
The orders of all tasks men do
This work brought him no cheer

Though maimed he watched yet could not act
His memory grew immense
A joyless man with charm and tact
He always talked good sense

Scribe Julius wrote what he composed
A kalends [1] for the year
In later years it was supposed
Julius composed it here

He turned his mind to recent times
He wrote of Alfred's war
He wrote of conquests and of crimes
He wrote like few before

Hygferth's Freedom

Hygferth wrote about the past
Like Bede had done before
Much that he wrote was not to last
Books rot stood on the floor

Though some work glistened with mildew
Soon after he had died
And what they were, well no one knew
For these got thrown aside

Now scholarship and study are
Important – well maybe,
But Hygferth prayed for more by far
He prayed his soul be free

Free from his badly riven shape
Free from dependency
Free from men who would stand and gape
Yes, Death would set him free!

There is a calm that may be there
When Rage is quite burned out
And like the dew it's everywhere
As mist drifts round about

Old certainties are lost from view
The swirling mists turn grey
As balmy skies then turn to blue
Upon a nice new day

On fresh filled graves the grass soon grows
All verdant moist and green
As time moves on then no one knows
Those things dead folk had seen

The Old Archive

But Hygferth left words in each book
Books in an old church store
And few would venture there to look
High on that wind swept shore

These got moved to some stately home
In some far future time
In storerooms just beneath the dome
As booty from some crime

The heirs of some great thieves become
More scholarly and just
Though times of peace are more humdrum
Not all just rots to dust

Transcripts were made of each old text
A college cared for them
A fire burned down the great home next
Those transcripts proved a gem

For old words they may stay alive
Where carefully catered for
Good work's done in the old archive
For it's not just a store

Old chronicles and sagas live
They tie us to our past
Their loss no one would now forgive
They're honoured now at last

"The sparrows dust bath in the yard
They sing outside the door
Long years may have been harsh and hard
But dust baths are no chore"

The Spiteful

The Mischievous Imp

The imp put on his old disguise
His followers fawned about
They saw him as all good and wise
Their minds were purged of doubt

"You trust in me – Mine is the Word
The only word that's true
Allow no others to be heard
For I will think for you

And those who will not bow the knee
Nor do all that I say
Nor offer only prayers to me
Must all be made to pay

The purity within your faith
May be cleansed with each death"
This fetid wafting wicked wraith
Paused then to take a breath

"I am all mercy and so kind
So you must kill for me
Enthralled I will enchant your mind
So go and kill – the free"

Now many imps they have deceived
As oafs hear what they preach
The widows and the orphans grieve
And Hope's put out of reach

And yet in time each imp is slayed
When good folk rally round
And all their oafs who fawned and preyed
Lay dead and in the ground

Round here the flags of truth hung limp
And nothing's as it seems
As down the alter of the imp
Good blood flows in great streams

A Calumny at Calne: A.D. 978

Archbishop Dunstan met with lords
Men versed in ways of war
High in a room with suspect boards
And soon they were no more

Most of the floor crashed down and fell
Some walls then toppled in
The place it seemed a living hell
All dust and groans and din

One timber section did not break
That was where Dunstan stood
Now did this happen for God's sake
And are all churchmen good?

He stood there by a small chalk mark
Upon an uncut board
It had been put there by his clerk
- Not all kill by the sword

Frigar helped dig out dying men
He saw the marks of saws
He seemed now in some Gryphon's den
Where blood dripped from its claws

A shield may parry any blow
But not those from behind
Safe is the man who does not show
What may be on his mind

He saw a clerk pay men with tools
Outside beside their cart
Some men it seems are not such fools
And some don't have a heart

Those lords had strove to keep raids out
Young Edward was their king
They'd kept the land a redoubt
- Life is the strangest thing

There seemed a scent upon the air
Sweet in that dust and grime
Was there a presence there somewhere
That guided fate through time?

Then Frigar felt an inner dread
Despair spread through his mind
Those lords who knew the most of war
Lay here now maimed or dead!

Though Dunstan he was Edward's man
He cared not much of war
The treacherous do just what they can
We've seen their like before

Frigar the soldier noted things
In life he'd face much strife
He'd see the deaths of lords and kings
Yet live a long full life

Regicide at Corfe: A.D. 978

When Aethelred was yet a boy
His kinfolk killed the king
From crowning him they took much joy
It was a foolish thing

His Mother knew not much of war
Her art was pure deceit
She did what traitors did before
The way to win's to cheat

At Corfe a young king was cut down
Sharp blades sliced through his flesh
He gained a martyr's sweet renown
Such foul deeds can enmesh

They trap the villains in events
Restrict what they may do
In living with the consequence
Past crimes catch up on you

Son of the Second Wife

A second wife in envy of the first
Would see her son now be all England's king
And so the elder son now seemed accursed
Her son however was a hapless thing
He cowered there before his mother's rage
By doing nought he aided fratricide
And he became a symbol of his age
When spite would now be on each winning side
Now Aethelred was like some weather vane
All changing with changes of the wind
His reign would cause the foulest darkest stain
It was through genocide this weak man sinned
This hapless thing became a hopeless king
All corners of his realm would see Death's sting

The Curses Bore Fruit at Corfe

A hundred years had since passed by
It was now Finan's eve
At Corfe some henchmen dark and sly
Would make all England grieve

Young Aethelred's retainers had
Martyred Saint Edward [2] there
Within a month they crowned the lad
As each had grabbed their share

This short-term gain would lead to loss
As thieves had stole a crown
They stole much land from off the Cross
From peaks all roads lead down

The church would now feel sore aggrieved
Its loss of land was great
But what is lost may be retrieved
Wronged clerics knew to wait

For clerics work through guile and graft
They do not show their hand
They were the founders of statecraft
And patient as they planned

Decline of the House of Wessex

The house of Wessex faced decline
They'd ceased now to be just
Upon the Danes new dawns would shine
Old hope rose from the dust

The Ghost of Gudrum rose again
There was joy in his wraith
Defeat had left a bitter stain
And he'd betrayed his faith

As Swein slept long deep in the night
Gudrum had come to him
Gudrum told him how Saxons fight
Told how his end was grim

"Do not believe a feigned retreat
Do not be overbold
Know that these Saxons can be beat
Know this has been foretold"

To know you foe's the way to fight
Gudrum taught him all this
Through guile and stratagem – not might
You gain the victor's bliss

The gods of old were ill at ease
And Loki was about
So raiders could do as they please
As Saxon hopes burned out

Gain in Pelf [3]

Where there's true faith in gain and pelf
Devine things are concealed
When men become obsessed with self
New terrors get revealed

In grabbing lands off Mother Church
Great men became more grand
But churchmen left sad in the lurch
Can prove so underhand

Unholy deals may well get done
Deals that could make lords grieve
When strangest changes have begun
Then churchmen may deceive

Where they must choose between two knaves
The Church serves its own needs
It matters not who's bound as slaves
Nor how a land now bleeds

For spiritual lords are like all lords
Each has their own estate
Each seeks a gain in all their hoards
None leave things down to fate

Life is all counter move and ruse
Life is a lethal game
Most time the weak are seen to lose
Or made to take all blame

Scapegoats get lined up for the noose
Great oafs they pass the buck
Havoc and horror are now loose
And poor men live by luck

"The cat it tried to climb a tree
To take chicks from a nest
As not one chick could fly off free
Life now seemed past its best"

Southampton: A.D. 980

From Romsey plumes of smoke were seen
Rise gentle in the sky
There, to the south, a fearful scene
Where town folk burn and die

The serpent ships came from the sea
The plundered town would burn
A prelude of what was to be
No fops at court would learn

Frigar saw that smoke afar
His warring thane was dead
He prayed there'd be no portent star
Southampton's streets were red

The young fop who replaced his thane
A favourite from the court
A fool with only half a brain
Who never once had fought

Their fyrd prepared to fight the foe
The fop sought each delay
Why this was done, well, none could know
So raiders got away

St Petroc: A.D. 981

More smoke curled up here in sky
It was a dreadful scene
An undefended town would die
Like it had never been

The serpent ships then loaded full
Of plunder and of slaves
With full spread sails of woven wool
Their bows rode through the waves

This work was easy for them here
They met no deadly might
They vowed to come another year
This land had lost its fight

Portland: A.D. 982

As Portland burned no one there learned
To strike back at these Danes
The tides of great events had turned
The land would face new pains...

Those serpent ships they sailed away
But there beside the shore
An old crone sent a curse their way
In vengeful oaths she swore

"May all your gain not profit you
May you reign but a year
And may your seed cause you to rue
May your life end in fear

From common folk you take as slave
May one bring you remorse
May your line all go to the grave
For what you do by force"

Watchet: A.D. 987

High up upon their northern shore
On cliffs above the sea
A saint had lived here long before
Where sea birds floated free

They glided on the gusty air
Hung still there in the sky
They cried as though they bore great care
Lorn is the seabird's cry

An anchorite dwelled by a shrine
At that place called Culbone
He prayed to God to show some sign
He prayed long and alone

A Dane but raised before the Cross
Einar known as the "Meek"
In worldly wealth he'd suffered loss
Yet through loss some may seek

Reclusive life it suited him
He loved the sea and moor
He'd sit and sing each sacred hymn
On high and by the shore

He'd tend the shrine, pray morn 'til night
He'd fast two days a week
Now some who seek, may well take fright
When what they find seems bleak

He broke his fast with some few sips
Of goats milk from a bowl
He saw a hundred serpent ships
And horror filled his soul

Saint Beuno's shrine then filled with Grace
All fear seemed to recede
Protected in this fulsome place
He chanted soft his creed

And then it seemed he was within
A strange and mystic scene
He saw a world all cleansed of sin
And here was heaven's Queen

He crumpled there down at her feet
He knew not what to say
The very soil it smelled so sweet
He choked and could not pray

A warmth appeared within his mind
He glowed now, all content
A host may seek but few will find
What has been heaven sent

"A time of strife now faces all"
He heard our Lady say
"And what must rise at end must fall
And all must have their day

Submit yourself now to these ships
Ask that you be enslaved
In time the words from out your lips
May see the heathen saved"

The Lady seemed to touch his brow
He lost all thought of fear
His destiny awaited now
Those ships had brought it near

...At Watchet on the Severn sea
Those raiders came ashore
From fear one man was now quite free
While wrath stalked here once more...

Yes, one man walked towards the town
Where hundreds fled away
No slavers bonds could bear him down
This was a joyful day

A forked-beard Dane his wrath aflame
Said, "You will be my slave.
So tell me slave what is your name –
I like a fool – who's brave"....

Ipswich: A.D. 991

The fire and flames now Ipswich felt
Maldon was fought and lost
Then cowards paid the first Danegelt
Through tax all bore the cost...

To pay a foe to go away
Is safer than to fight
As he'll be back another day
Who now sleeps safe at night?

At Maeldun such a fight was fought
And yet the king's men lost
The only lesson that this taught
Was, with war there's a cost

And coward kings are craven things
They'd sooner tax than fight
But there's no respite Danegelt brings
When foes just grow in might

Ten thousand pounds of silver will
Pay shipwrights to build ships
And pay more soldiers who may kill
Upon fresh raiding trips

A cycle to depletion then
Was started by an fool
It sped up through those bad years when
An oaf was seen to rule

The Great Comet: A.D. 995 and Hygferth's Birth

Aelflid was old to be with child
The comet shone so bright
A gale tore through the land all wild
Upon her birthing night

That babe was still but breathed at last
His feet and hands seemed black
But this brief scare it was soon past
They got their colour back

These portents at his birth were great
A storm and fiery star
This child he seemed was touched by Fate
As many of us are

The comet passed across a land
That knew it faced more pain
What was meant by black foot or hand?
Aelflid could not explain

Her midwife spoke of portents here
Signs of she knew not what
She said this could mean joy not fear
She babbled on a lot

In side she felt this babe was cursed
To suffer but to live
His life would be the best and worst
He'd have a lot to give

She gave Aelflid a soothing word
The way that midwives do
But Aelflid though she never heard
This babe she knew she'd rue

She put him then straight to her breast
He latched on firm and drank
His later life would be a test
His mother's spirit sank

But for now she would give him love
And see him brought up well
She prayed to Christ in heaven above
But dreamt dark dreams of hell.

Mildburg's Curse Arrives

The curse was strong for long ago
Mildburg a swineherd's wife
Cursed Alfred's line to know true woe
Like she'd known in her life

Saint Finan's Day long years ago [9]
He'd let her good bread burn
Through him her household got such woe
But ebbing tides will turn

Her curse was that foul fate might smite
Alfred's bloodline 'til dead
Three years upon mid winter's night
Three times her curse she'd said

She's said it at a holy place
Where sacred spirits dwell
His bloodline was to fall from Grace
And some would burn in hell

The king he'd used her son in war
With pride he'd gone to fight
She saw nor heard of him no more
She died in grief and plight

The church had got her land
Her folk moved to the west
She failed to understand
How kings act for the best

Another curse was borne as well
A curse of one old Dane
Whom Alfred's daughter sent to Hel
He'd swung and hung in pain

Two serpents yearned for times long past
Sought lands more rich in gold
They slithered through the seas so fast
Their hearts resolved and cold

Her day had been so great, sublime
Her kin now held the land
Slow trickle though the sands of time
And Fate was now at hand

At hand to serve a bitter pill
To purge the land once more
And ravaged by more hate until
All life seems bleak and poor

Saint Brice

Saint Brice [11] loved when good deeds were done
He lived by God's good creed
But on his day much blood would run
From Aethelred's foul deed

In Blodmonth [12] surplus stock are culled
Men do it every year
A king whose conscience was quite dulled
Would slaughter Danes through fear

The folly of this nasty crime
Would bring avenging war
New good young men all in their prime
Would have to die once more

They'd die in wars that kings would wage
They'd cut each other down
With names not writ on history's page
We know not their renown

For it's the young who die in strife
They die for thane and king
They do not get a full long life
Nor hear their children sing

They do not grow all grey and old
Nor be an honoured sage
Nor tell tall tales so oft retold
They're gone in wars men wage

Gone like some shadow by the door
When clouds pass cross the sun
Gone like young men have gone before
For them no strife is won.

To do your duty's some good thing
To fight to beat the foe
It helps keep riches for each king
Whilst mothers weep through woe

There's women's woe there's manly deeds
The two come from the same
A mortal wound that fulsome bleeds
Is no good way to fame

Though fame may come from minstrel song
Or be wrote in a book
It helps the carrion chicks grow strong
It feeds the crow and rook

A ravaged land of rape and fire
Came from a fool's misdeeds
Danes came with wrath all hate and ire
Fool ends plucked up like weeds

A toad triumphant sat atop
The dung heap by the gate
There fawned upon be every fop
He did not know his fate

Bad Council

The Witun [13] of the nation met
Foul bigots in debate
Demanding more dark deeds than yet
They had required of late

"Our land is England not Danelaw
All Danes should be wiped out"
This hatred was so mean and raw
It had no room for doubt

"The wrongs Danes did in times gone past
When Ingvar led them here
Has left a stain that's unsurpassed
Time to avenge is here

If we could strike them all as one
On one same time and day
This simple task would soon be done
And we would have our way"

The great crime that they talked about
Seemed righteousness to all
And none there had the faintest doubt -
Pride comes before the fall

And Aethelred, known as Unrede [14]
Did as the Witun bid
When thousands of good Danes lay dead
There were a few who hid

Now witnesses are awkward things
If many should survive
They contradict the lies of kings
When they remain alive

Those freemen Danes who were all felled
And died at Saxon hands
Made Danish Kings demand Dane-geld
And raid all English lands

The Sister of the Danish king
Got burned up in a fire [15]
This gave him cause for everything
Resulting from his ire

The ways of kings are not complex
Cause leads to each event
A sister's death is war's pretext
That Danegelt can't prevent

But Aethelred more fool than king
Thought he might win his way
And justified each brutal thing
Done on St Brice's Day

The Screaming Spires of Oxford

Within the walls of Oxford town
Some Danes resided there
A king commanded them cut down
Within a public square

Princess Gunnhild hid from this rage
As many others did
But they got trapped as in a cage
When in a church they hid

That wooden church it burned so bright
The flames rose to the sky
Mid all the screaming and the fright
They took some time to die

The Sister and Her Death

Gunnhild had been a happy child
She grew with charm and grace
Her soul was tender sweet and mild
With quite a slender face

She was petite and oh, so slim
She sang sweet as a lark
To Swein she meant much more to him
Now his soul was so dark

Though Swein had reason for much grief
Gunnhild gave him much more
She gave to him firm belief
"There's pretext here for war"

Long time he'd envied England's wealth
He'd prayed for luck in war
This cunning man of guile and stealth
Had raided England's shore

That little sister with her death
There in the smoke and flame
Was gasping for her final breath
A pawn within a game

Siblings may have a common bond
They share the same background
And though Swein's feelings might be fond
He'd now hunt like a hound

There was more now to this event
That gave him cause for strife
A pretext now not to relent
And wage war all his life

There is a seesaw in events
Things tumble to and fro
The Saxons felt the consequence
From their avenging foe

"Rightful Vengeance" [18]

"A rightful vengeance we must get
Against foes in this land
None may forgive, no, nor forget
What all foul Danes have planned"

He fancied every Dane a knave
And killing them no crime
With unarmed men he was so brave
And felt so in his prime

He taxed the people bled them white
Paid foes to go away
So full of spite yet could not fight
All ways the people pay

They pay for kingly pomp and pride
They pay a useless fool
Who got his crown through fratricide
His mother's gormless tool

But he had sprung from Alfred's line
That ruled long in the land
Where Alfred schemed this whelp would whine
All things got out of hand

A fool may be quite useful too
A king to dupe and use
When kings are fools whole realms may rue
For fools are prone to lose

The middle ranks within the realm
May well work hard and well
But when an oaf is at the helm
Most are steered home to hell

The Stain on Brice

The name of Brice must bear a stain
Yet Brice was good as gold
He'd sought to free the sick from pain
His heart was warm – not cold

He'd worshiped God and did good deeds
He prayed both night and day
But on his day foul men plant seeds
Of hate that rots away

It rots all hope down to the mud
Blind hate that won't abate
It feeds on flesh it thirsts for blood
It ravages a state

Unrede it is ought bear that stain
He caused the coming storm
And all good council was in vain
His heart was cold – not warm

Yes Brice's name ought bear no stain
For Brice was good as gold
Now from his day the Danes would gain
And chaos would unfold

The Hermit in His Den

A hermit dwelled within his den
He yearned to hear the lord
On Brice's day he heard him then
When hanged by some stout cord

"Oh, God what crime there did I do
That I should have been slayed?"
Saint Peter said, "It was not you
God heard the words you prayed"

So come on in there's place for you
You have lived free of blame
The crime that killed you is not new
Christ suffered much the same

You do not need to do much wrong
To face the wrath of Sin
Your soul and spirit have proved strong
So you are welcome in"

In time his killers they too died
To judgement they were brought
Before the Lord they all were tried
Their pleadings stood for nought

For God knew of the crime they did
And saw they got their due
Saint Peter said "We'll be well rid
It's off to Hell for you

So go on in there's place for you
You are so full of blame
The crimes you did are nothing new
So go burn in the flame"

The sulphurous stew is brimming round
Each dark and murd'rous soul
It seems at last a home they've found
Deep in that filthy hole

The Cleansing

A young Dane girl who loved to sing
And dance such merry jigs
Hung limp and dead – a lifeless thing
That men would feed to pigs

The men they danced in joy and glee
Their acts had caused this rout
As dead hung limp now from each tree
The joyful danced about

There seemed a strange scent on the air
So horrid sickly sweet
And crowds of crows were everywhere
A king supplied their meat

And trussed up folk stood in a line
Awaiting axe or rope
The day it was quite cool and fine
That day they butchered Hope

The strange scent there upon the air
The scent of death and hate
Pervaded all and everywhere
It was the stench of Fate

More Wrongs by the Self-righteous

Great feelings of self-righteousness
Will justify great sin
But acts of greatest wantonness
Are no sure way to win

The wrathful ones who rant and rage
End up in sad decline
They shuffle forlorn from the stage
At core they have no spine

It's easy to kill fettered men
To see that each throat's slit
Or drown their mothers in a fen
Throw children in a pit

These brazen deeds that braggarts do
They do through stupid fear
But should the foemen come in view
They'll flee straight to the rear

For braggarts talk a mighty fight
When they are safe and sound
Big mouths are first to flee in fright
When danger is around

And how the council of this king
Could talk of great deeds done
They could boast of most everything
Except they never won

They lost most fights and ran away
To live and lose once more
To face defeat another day
Just as they'd done before

Excuses flowed like honey sweet
Each time they lost a field
As year-by-year they faced defeat
Their one skill was to yield

But kings who favour fawning fops
Deserve all that they get
And as their fortune slowly drops
The lands get plunged in debt

For Danegelt raised to pay a foe
To make him go away
Is folly as all now must know
For they came back next day

This king was the epitome
Of folly and defeat
Danegeld's now held in infamy
But still his words seemed sweet

Him and his council could talk well
And tax 'til men bled white
It seemed there's nothing they'd not sell
Just to avoid a fight

But still the foe came back for more
Each year they saw more gain
They got more gold without the chore
Of battles or of pain

The Dead Hand

Why do they feel so insecure
Why do they feel so frail
Unsure they'll lose a sinecure?
Or scared that they might fail?

All walks of life may be the same
The best don't rise to top
Where Mediocre gets the fame
The Able get the chop

With sound procedures well set up
An institution's made
And in good time there's no let up
Until it is obeyed

All newness then will be locked out
And good work chucked aside
No matter what its all about
No new things get inside

Inertia of the intellect
Is then seen all the time
It is the only prime suspect
Its dead hand is the crime

Though trust it is a goodly thing
Not trusting is more sound
When on the throne's a dithering king
And vengeance lurks around

Righteousness versus Rights

Self-righteous ones reject the rights
Of those who disagree
And those they fear may face new plights
And none can then be free

Not free from fear nor free from harms
When righteous ones holds sway
And life may well lose all its charms
As Hope is sapped away

Self-righteous ones who have the might
May turn all things to gall
As they become a fatal blight
And cause so much to fall

A chosen few who "speak for God"
Claim all their acts are fair
Drive all before with scourge and rod
And breed a true despair

What use then is this righteousness
That stifles every right
And causes so much sad distress
And seems akin to spite

Don't Let Hatred Loose

Begone self-righteousness right now
Away with each excuse
Let us now make this simple vow
"We'll not set hatred loose"

That sister that King Swein had lost
Was very dear to him
This winter long with its hoar frost
Had been so bleak and grim

His mind had wandered off through grief
He'd spent his time alone
He doubted now each old belief
Yet he held Denmark's throne

But far away good Danes lay dead
Thousands put to the blade
Where streets of English towns ran red
Debts there must be repaid

Slave Einar the Meek Speaks

For fifteen years Einar had toiled
For Swein but now he ceased
As springtime fern fronds they uncoil
This slave had been released

For Swein had asked him how he coped
So seemingly serene
And Einar said he never hoped
For things that might have been

For just that once to Swein alone
He told what he had been
And how he'd stood before the throne
Of heaven's very queen

How she'd sent him to be Swein's slave
Sent him to say one thing
"That all Denmark must now be brave
Swein would be England's king

The foul crime done against the Danes
Had caused a land much shame
And many English Earls and Thanes
Would now feel much the same

For Aethelred had gone too far
The Fool was butcher now
And Swein now was their rising star
Would he but make a vow

And vow of conquest then to rule
A just and goodly king
Rid all of England of the Fool
Or face Death's fatal sting"

Then Swein he swore a sacred oath
Before a crude wood cross
All Denmark was tied to this troth
Great Fools now faced great loss

Einar then said his work was done
He'd now be free or dead
He was free by the set of sun
Beneath a broad ash tree

So he took ship and travelled long
Went back to Watchet town
As he walked west he sang a song
And never more would frown

He climbed the hill up to Culbone
And went back to his shrine
He lived there long but not alone
His life would be sublime...

A Raid on a Town and Abbey

The town was now besieged again
Arrows arched through the sky
One archer was to bear a stain
Once he let his shaft fly

It sped up from right out his bow
Where ravens flew by there
One raven did not see below
What flew up through the air

The arrow pierced her side and wing
She spiralled to the ground
Beyond the wall where churchmen sing
She spiralled round and round

Wulfstan a novice saw her fall
Beside a flowering tree
She made the faintest weakest call
So he stepped close to see

No vital part of her seemed hurt
He stroked her quivering head
He lifted her from out the dirt
It seemed she hardly bled

Within the large officinal [21]
He patched the wounded bird
That town and abbey did not fall
All through a sacred bird

The raiding army turned away
That archer was hanged high
For blasphemy he had to pay
The raven did not die

The archer hanged in that ash tree
He never said last words
And as his Danes put back to sea
He fed great carrion birds

To kill may be a mortal sin
And men must kill in war
The crows and ravens always win
As they have done before

Just now and then a bird gets harmed
Though this would not be planned
The lives they live it seems are charmed
They fed well in this land

The novice was a cryptic child
Most monks thought him serene
So enigmatic yet so mild
His healing powers supreme

That novice patched that wound so neat
He used some green bread mould
With comfrey and some honey sweet
That looked like liquid gold

That raven was healed by his care
She stayed there summer long
On Martinmas she flew elsewhere
By then she had grown strong

The feathers on that raven's wing
That grew around her scar
Grew white – but here's the strangest thing
They looked just like a star

Just like the white star in the east
That led wise men of old
To seek the ancient king and priest
As in the Gospels told

They travelled through lands bare and wild
To find the new born boy
That infant who was Christ the child
Then left amid much joy

Ravens are like some pagan's soul
They take pure joy from life
With feathers black as North Sea coal
They're gorged on human strife

Next spring when Wulfstan knelt to pray
That raven landed there
It was a balmy April day
Mid hymn song everywhere

She fluttered to his outstretched arm
She gazed into his face
With him she felt so free from harm
And she seemed touched by Grace

This pagan bird now bore a sign
That told that Christ was born
And right there by that ancient shrine
No monks there felt forlorn

The times were grim the times were bleak
But this bird with her star
Told of old truths that they must seek
'Cross lands both near and far

It seemed Wulfstan was singled out
Within this troubled land
Despite the coming dreadful rout
His was a guiding hand

In later life he rose in rank
His realm was on the brink
His form of speech abrupt and frank
Would cause good men to think

That raven with the white starred wing
That year she raised a chick
Pure white it was the strangest thing
With plumage full and thick

Its whiteness seemed a mystic sign
But none knew what it meant
It lived long years well fed and fine
Though it ate less at lent

A south breeze came so warm each spring
Each spring it seemed to sigh
That warmth it is a wondrous thing
When it comes by and by

It seems to sigh at good deeds done
It sighs for every saint
Each good deed sees that God has won
And takes away a taint

That south wind's tune will hum until
The final trumpet call
When there's an end to Satan's will
And sin at last will fall

The lives of saints will be retold
When we are dead and gone
When sheep are safe within the fold
And that new dawn has shone

The White Raven

A lamb lay wounded in the field
White raven could now feed
He dined in open unconcealed
His was the basest need

Two living eyes he tore out slow
He pecked each dainty piece
This made his stomach juices flow
His dining did not cease

He pecked some meat from off each leg
As some grass got turned red
He stopped mute, heard the poor lamb beg
Then pecked it's side instead

A little liver tasted nice
A kidney was a treat
For though his soul was cold as ice
It warmed his heart to eat

That poor lambs death was oh, so slow
White raven dined for long
But at the end all things must go
Though they have done no wrong

White raven flew back to some priest
Who knew not what he did
Its hungers they would never cease
For it's fowl soul seemed hid

White raven could act like a friend
Could seem to be close by
But some dark souls they may not mend
Oh, hear the east wind sigh

White raven raids that marten's nest
And eats all eggs and young
That Martens songs they are the best
And saddest songs yet sung

The Rape of an Older Woman

The old Noki [22] lay on the ground
Her crotch was bruised and wet
Six Saxons as they raged around
Had raped her for a bet

And then to show she was profane
To show their faith more true
Some of them there raped her again
Then beat her black and blue

She crawled away hid in a ditch
And lay there for a day
As Saxons hunted for that "Witch"
And swore to "make her pay"

Those Saxons moved on further east
The Noki hid herself
She knew that every Saxon beast
Just raged for lust and pelf

A Cook for a King

In later years she cooked good meals
For Saxons when she could
And in each dish she stirs concealed
A fungus from the wood

'Destroying Angel' [24] works so slow
And it takes just a sliver
Then in six weeks it kills each foe
Rots away each liver

Six times sixty men would die
Who dined with her replete
And when one daughter asked her "Why?"
She said, "Revenge is sweet"

She met the king of Denmark's son
Her learned about her trade
She told him of the deeds she'd done
And got to be his aide

Swein's Son Cnut

Now Swein he had a deadly son
So focused on each goal
He would not stop 'til he had won
His was the coldest soul

Swein had great fury and great zeal
His passion burned like fire
Cnut from birth knew to conceal
And hide his darkest ire

With raging men of open wrath
All know just where they stand
Cnut's moods were not like such froth
And hard to understand

He was firm like to solid ice
North where the sun won't set
He'd freeze men out right in a trice
There's nothing he'd forget

Unlike Unrede he's sure and strong
With guile and dark resolve
He'd fight such wars so cruel and long
And his ways would evolve

Swein had turned to Christian lore
But he still knew old ways
He honoured much that went before
Right to his end of days

It seems Cnut was a Christian man
But what now could that mean
His life was lived by scheme and plan
From blood his hands weren't clean

Swein Wins

Much of the land had turned to Swein
Their homes had been bled white
Great loyalties are broken when
Men had their fill of spite

The fawning favourites who got grace
And favour from this king
Would gain position would gain place
But could not do a thing

For smiling fops are of no use
Saving they bring all down
And where they gain then all will lose
And all our Hopes may drown

Now Swein he led some well armed men
Who all knew how to fight
And fops within a serpent's den
May not win just through spite

The one thing that all fops can do
Is run swift as the wind
And flattered kings are left to rue
If only they'd not sinned

To be a fool is sin in those
Whose place it is to rule
Events may lead them by the nose
So farewell to you – Fool!

Aethelred Flees

Great money spent on ships was not a waste
For in them futile fools can sail away
To Normandy they went and with great haste
Far better that than vengeance have its way
Saint Brice's Day had caused long years of pain
And made avenging Danes seek to invade
Across the land it caused a deadly stain
As all about great enemies were made
A cause ought be quite worthy of a fight
With genocidal men a fight's not braved
Each monster when confronted will take flight
Him and his retinue were all depraved
Saint Brice in paradise wept for each Dane
All killed upon his day with such distain

And when Swein conquered this great land
Much banqueting was done
Some meals were sumptuous and grand
And paid for by his son

All kings 'til now had come from Cerdic's line
It seemed now this was coming to and end
Had that great comet been some sort of sign?
A sign that God above himself might send
But with years end the seasons turned so chill
From Samhain to Imbolc [25] then all is cold
In victory King Swein became so ill
This robust man so soon seemed to go old
And faded through the dark time of the year
On Candlemas [26] his sister [27] came to him
In such sweet dreams that death would hold no fear
He saw her as she was so young and slim
She beckoned to him from the whitest light
His soul entranced then turned towards that sight

Swein Dies

A life spent on great strife it was a waste
His sister beckoned him now he had won
When Death calls then a king too must make haste
And Swein now left behind a hateful son
Cnut had made no friends in this great land
And Councilmen thought they could turn back time
Old Fool they thought at last could understand
And put behind each folly and each crime
The choice they had was Fool or man of steel
They chose the Fool believing he'd amend
Cnut in rage would cause the realm the reel
For men like him oft triumph in the end
Swein's soul went up to God and it was well
As Cnut drove all the land deep down through hell

Aethelred Returns

The Witun of the nation met
To try again once more
But they achieved more folly yet
Than they had done before

The old Fool he was welcomed back
They stuck a deal with him
And so they faced each fresh attack
And life continued grim

Great new decrees were issued then
A fleet was built at cost
But still he chose such foppish men
That each new fight was lost

Aethelred's Decrees

"A rightful vengeance we must get
Against our foes in war
None may forgive, no, nor forget
Just what we're fighting for"

He taxed the people bled them white
Paid Danes to go away
So full of spite yet could not fight
In war the people pay

They pay for kingly pomp and pride
They pay a useless Fool
Who got his crown through fratricide
His mother's gormless tool

A she wolf spewed on the ground
Her runt licked up her sick
One day he'd have to face a hound
All firm and strong and quick

Cnut's Crimes

"Now we are here to spread great fear
To let this land know woe
That we may show resolve right here
Mock as they sink below

Below the burdens of dark Fate
Struck down by pure despair
Here is no place to hesitate
There's terror here to share

So as we raid and rage about
Let their tears make us smile
So let them know there is no doubt
We think them truly vile

So tourniquet each limb now do
So we'll not a take life
Then when their hands and feet are blue
Work with a butcher's knife

We'll take our time we have all day
When done we'll put to sea
Unlike us fear won't go away
For what must be must be"

Each mutilated hostage then
Was placed upon that shore
These deeds that men may do to men
Left England insecure

The lopped off parts were dipped in tar
And placed beside each man
Men with no hearts know how to mar
And do so where they can
.
His feet and hands now in a sack
This were tied to his belt
And as he lay there on his back
Some sickly scent he smelt

Rejected Man

Rejected men may act in rage
Cnut's was a colder way
Recorded now on history's page
Like crimes at Sandwic Bay

The wrists and ankles had been bound
So much less blood was lost
And most survived that bloody ground
And good monks bore the cost

Through Mother Church and tender care
The mutilated live
Far monasteries all took their share
Though most might not forgive

The Church would have a darker hour
And do wrongs in the land
From Sandwic tender care would flower
Much in the way Christ planned

The tale of that Samaritan
Foretells each goodly deed
When Charity is here with man
They lived by Christ's true creed

Though Cnut's act was a maledict
Good monks were caring then
As Houses of Saint Benedict
Fed mutilated men

They cared for them all their lives long
An act so true and pure
They did it for such deeds are strong
And faith made them secure

The Raven is a hungry bird
Fat toads it loves to scoff [28]
A young toad slipped from off a turd
An old toad pushed him off

In later years a mutilated man
Crawled on a chancel floor
He failed to see some godly plan
In what had gone before

Great Floods

Beyond full Moon spring tides are nigh
As gales blew from northeast
The surge piled waters monstrous, high
They drove in like some beast

That silent beast drove in at night
As folk slept sound abed
The morrow brought a dreary sight
For thousands then were dead

The wave drove up the eastern shore
Up rivers far in land
It's like folk knew not of before
Was judgement day at hand?

But God decreed that fire not flood
Would come on judgement day
Great towns they were inversed in mud
Hope seemed to fade away

Men said Cnut controlled that wave
He could turn back the tide
This caused a sad old Fool to rave
And go to bed and hide

The Old Failure

Now with his mother gone and dead
He'd tried to rule the realm
But soon all hapless hopes had fled
With weakness at the helm

For weak men who are brash without
May talk a wondrous fight
But where an outcome is in doubt
They switch from fright to flight

And all plans made are made in vain
Because of one weak man
And all the land must bear a stain
Each time his army ran

To vacillate is no bad thing
Or ponder what to do
It's never good though in a king
Weak kings make kingdoms rue

In London town he got things right
This king who often lied
And lived a life immersed in spite
And then – at last – he died!

Succession is a wondrous thing
It's neither foul nor lewd
It has within a hidden sting
- A good excuse to feud -

The Council of the realm it met
And stirred up yet more hate
And plunged a land in deeper debt
Than had been caused by Fate

They turned back to the Wessex line
Spoiled Edmund would be king
Ironside's a name that may sound fine
But it meant not a thing

Now Edmund was but half a dupe
But luck was not with him
When loss is great who can recoup
When chance to win is slim?

Death Bed Thoughts of a Failure

"Failure you've been so total and complete
You've been a true companion now for me
With you about all failures seem so sweet
Your bondsman now I am I'll not be free
Tied to you through the dismal vale of life
Bound to you from my birth until my death
You've seen my sweet defeat in every strife
Confirming that I am a waste of breath
Ah, Fates this gift I would throw back at you
But I would only fail as you know well
Through things undone and all things that I do
In Failure alone I will excel
There's no way now I can abandon Hope
I never had it – And I've failed to cope"

Aethelred Dies

Through fawning fops and feuding fools
An ancient line's brought low
At death oafs face the realm of ghouls
Who'll waft them off below

There's trepidation near the end
As life it ebbs away
Each fawning one had proved no friend
As Fool had had their day

A raging foe is at the gate
Saint Brice had spurred them on
A dying form a cause for hate
Soon to be dead and gone

His mother made him be the king
He had been mummy's boy
This sad pathetic inept thing
Deprived his realm of joy

But worse still, yet worse still again
Though he would soon be dead
He lay there in a spreading stain
For he had wet the bed

The stink of pee the blubbering sound
The rattle from the throat
An heir may hover there around
The priest who prays by rote

The rasping sound the wheezed last breath
The smell just like a fart
As joy erupts there with his death
There's shovels in the cart

Edmund Ironside is King Awhile

But joy like men does not last long
Through power men may rule
But England was no longer strong
All thanks to some old fool

Some rallied to their new made king
And some held back awhile
And Fate like some capricious thing
Will watch, as life turns vile

Cnut and War Return

The clash of arms it lack sweet charm
They fought across the land
And Edmund never came to harm
With strategies well planned

He could not win he lacked the might
He could retreat to west
The thought of that gave Cnut a fright
Gudrum had failed that test

Conceding is a canny thing
Where fighting may go wrong
Cnut became a canny king
Both treacherous and strong

Cnut's Trepidation

Cnut did not fight in Somerset
The place that bore a dread
Since Gudrum none now could forget
That place where hopes had fled

Through Cnut's long years of bitter strife
He'd warred most everywhere
Yet all throughout his vicious life
Few Danes would venture there

The place it had a special spell
It held most Danes in thrall
Where it is said such spirits dwell
Who cause the great to fall

The Norns it's said drew water here
For that great tree of life
And none must ever venture near
Who are intent on strife.

Beneath the briny sacred Meare
Dwelled Modron long ago
It's said her power lingers near
And strikes down every foe

Agreement and Dinner

Two kings divided up a land
A treaty was drawn up
Then each one shook the other's hand
And then sat down to sup

Cnut had brought an old crone cook
She made them quite a stew
She gave Edmund a happy look
The way good servant do

Edmund and the Destroying Angel

Thirty years of preparation
A dozen years of strife
Poison showed no hesitation
It swiftly took his life

Thirty minutes preparation
Stirred slowly in a pot
Souls may gain a sweet salvation
Their poisoned corpses rot

All phallus like they thrust up through the ground
It's like as if they'd fertilize the sky
They spread their fertile spore all here around
Yet eat of them and you are sure to die

Edmund Dies

The ink dried on the parchment soon
Five weeks it passed so quick
Beneath a sad and waning moon
A brave duped man fell sick

No treatment seemed to work on him
He faded fast and died
His urine seemed to smell quite grim
His faithful healer cried

To know why great men oft times die
To know what did the deed
This one close friend was moved to cry
Through signs some healers heed

With Ironside now out the way
Cnut gained all the land
He smiled serene upon that day
An old crone died as planned

A messenger brought in to her
Coins of the purest gold
A coat of lovely ermine fur
A blade of steel so cold

With coat and coins and fresh slit throat
She was thrown down a well
She sank so quick she did not float
She sank straight down to hell

Edward Flees to Normandy

Now one heir of the Wessex line
Was young but canny too
He liked life and the warm sunshine
So crossed the seas of blue

He would become Confessor king
Cnut's line would die out
Ah, Fate it is a mystic thing
The one sure thing is doubt

Cnut King for Twenty Winters

With enemies now dead or gone
Cnut had got his way
Yet somehow life seemed vain and wan
And dogs will have their day

With no substantial foes to kill
Great killings had to cease
Though in exhaustion there's no thrill
It brings the start of Peace

For twenty winters he held sway
But all at last will die
In great crowds on his funeral day
No one was seen to cry

Dwindling to Inanity

Moping 'round a pointless palace
At end the doleful fade
Life has been a poison chalice
The poison was self-made

King's Promise, King's Will

That king had promised them some land
From his will they would gain
But darker forces were at hand
And then yet still more pain

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