AUTHOR’S FOREWORD

Frigar is born in a cart on a pilgrimage his father is a cheorl from Wrantage. As a youth Frigar helps dig out the dead from a collapsed building. These were leading military men in England at that time. His long career as a professional soldier is through the blighted reign of Aethelred the Unready. As an old man he recounts his life to his two companions in the monastery that cares for him.

He lives to a great age and is known as “Wet Legs” due to his urinary incontinence resulting from a spinal injury.

He has led a bawdy and a lusty life and has been a survivor through the long years of defeat after defeat. As a boy his father taught him to “run as swift as the wind so you might survive a rout…” With the inept commanders appointed in this period this was to be a useful ability. Soldiers ought not have their lives wasted by fools.

Frigar marries and has a young daughter who dies from a disease. His wife dies soon after leaving Frigar alone. For several years he roams as a mercenary soldier in distant foreign lands but returns to fight for Edmund Ironside. He is wounded at the great defeat at Ashingdon and loses the use of his legs for several weeks. His recovery is not total as he is left partially urinary incontinent.

Whilst present at many actions Frigar was only on a winning side once. It takes a special resilience to cope with a whole string of failures. But if to be present at failures is your lot you have to cope somehow. Frigar copes and enjoys life as best he can.

He likes drink, both mead and ale, and enjoys carousing when it is safe to carouse. He is observant and has a good memory and this serves him well.

His young friend Hygferth is serious minded but Frigar is light hearted. Where Hygferth composes long sagas, Frigar is more interested in song and spinning yarns. They are good company for each other and they keep Julian the monk and scribe busy at his labours.

Trevor Morgan, Rockwell Green, Somerset

Wessex Sagas
THE SAGA OF THE SPITEFUL: Part 2
Frigar's Saga

Prologue

Frigar’s Death Bed

An ancient wrinkled man lay on his bed
His eyes were closed and he lay, death like, still
And yet his cheeks seemed youth like, flushed and red
But now his hands were blue wax like and chill
It seemed his far extremes were dying now
Each eye now seemed to dance beneath closed lid
A close companion wept and swore a vow
He swore to write of deeds this old man did
He swore to write each bawdy song and rhyme
The old man knew and taught him through the years
He too was old and burdened now by time
He’d keep this vow he’d sworn as he shed tears.
He’d worked long and it was now near complete
And so he waits for Death, as Death seems sweet!

Cultural Clashes

Where cultures clash then only one may win
For multiples of cultures lead to strife
And all but one are labelled as true sin
And worthy of the need for taking life
The rational where feuders rationalise
Is that their cause is just and true and right
Those not quite of their ilk they may despise
And treat them to the dark side and to spite
And when at last one cause may seem supreme
Hegemony obtains its stable rule
But strength may fall and fade just like some dream
All through the misrule of a single fool
As strength returns to those who were once weak
To those who were once strong all now turns bleak

Frigar’s Saga

The Pilgrimage (Spring A.D.962)

This land had long now been at peace
Though good times come and go
The Norsemen’s raids it seemed had ceased
There was less cause for woe

And Pilgrims for a saint’s day would
Go to some special place
Or seek through deeds men see as good
To gain some Hope of Grace

A Cheorl [1] of Wrantage and his wife
Sought out a sacred shrine
Their journey nearly cost a life
A drowning in the brine

Their ox that pulled their cart took sick
The wife she had birth pains
Now Fate we know may play each trick
That ends in loss or gains

Impetuous Rush

It seemed not far there to a hall
He saw across that plain
There was much time before nightfall
He set off in the rain

The wife and maids stayed where they were
The Cheorl rode down the hill
There’s many ways a man may err
For high tide here would kill

He took a road some Danes had took
All those long years ago
He rushed straight on he did not look
Nor see the tide’s swift flow

His horse she panicked she threw him
And left him in that marsh
Then waters came black, dark and grim
Fate may be cold and harsh
He swam as best he could but knew
His strength fast ebbed away
A misty realm seemed then in view
This seemed a sunny day

He felt himself now borne along
He heard a female voice
She told him that he must be strong
For soon he would rejoice

She told him then of Death and Life
How each must come then go
He wished now he’d stayed with his wife
Not been caught in this flow

And then it was the blackness came
The nothingness, the void
The good and those all full of blame
Face Norns none may avoid

It seemed as if all now was still
He felt warm and serene
The waters there were cold and chill
But not so in his dream

For years from now he was to say
All this came from some trance
And why he did not die that day
Could be put down to chance

But in his heart it all seemed real
Modron had saved his life
But some of truth men may conceal
Or else face pointless strife

The New Midgard to come

“Soon Midgard will seep from the minds of men
As new creeds will hold sway a thousand years
In far off time it will return again
As ageing creeds wage wars and folk shed tears
The wheel of time must turn so sure so slow
And ignorance may block out new true light
But from the east a new true dawn will glow
And bring with it new radiance new true light
Old creeds will fade but long will linger on
But never really go from out the land
Though their decline might seem so sad and wan
They may embrace the new light then at hand
A thousand years the new Midgard might last
But in their time all fade into the past”

Recovery

The nothingness slow went away
He lay limp near a tree
Once more it was a rainy day
For what will be, will be

It seemed it was not time to die
It seemed life was his Fate
He rose beneath that greying sky
His soul seemed drained of hate

He prayed his wife was well and safe
And that their child might live
His conscience seemed to nag and chafe
He prayed she might forgive

His folly was to rush each thing
He swore he would slow down
For caution does not bear a sting
Nor lead fools on to drown

Through Luck this time he had not died
But Luck’s a fickle lass
He stood and watched the ebbing tide
That it might let him pass

The waters went he walked inland
He walked back to the hill
It seemed events were now at hand
He felt a secret thrill

He seemed to know that all was well
His child alive and strong
How he should know he could not tell
In deed he was not wrong.

Frigar’s Birth
(On the Pilgrims’ High Path above Ethandun, Beltane A.D.962)

A cart was stopped besides the track
The mother screeched within
Birth pangs they say are like the rack
And are the price of sin

All women pay for what Eve did
When she was led astray
She did just as that serpent bid
Now pain’s the price we pay

In sin we are conceived and born
In union there’s sweet bliss
Eve’s daughter’s though, alone forlorn
Through pain atone for this

Poor Osburg now she was alone
Alone there in that cart
She did not whimper now nor moan
She yelled with all her heart
Before a midwife could be got
She gave birth to her boy
Those birth pangs they were soon forgot
And suckling brought him joy

She thought he sucked her nipples so
Ravenously and keen
She was content and all aglow
This made her feel supreme

Emotion surged through her soul right there
This was her first boy child
Her eyes took on an empty stare
And as he fed, she smiled

Wrantage Childhood Romps

Looking back in great old age
His childhood seemed so brief
A happy child quick moved to rage
And this could cause him grief

He was too easy to annoy
A boy you’d best not tease
He had a heart so full of joy
And tried quite hard to please

His Father told him wondrous things
Great tales about their land
Told him of his folk and their kings
And what might be at hand

He learned of Modron of the Brue
A river spirit sweet
Her waters had left Danes to rue
When she caused their defeat

She comes in dreams to drowning men
Who do not know the tide
Her waters cover fields and fen
Spread rapid cold and wide

He learned of her strange prophecy
Gave at his time of birth
He learned much of his ancestry
Of his folk and their worth

Their Midgard should soon fade away
A thousand years or more
Of how new powers might gain their sway
It seemed a fearsome lore

His Father told him of the woes
Their land might have to face
Told him they might not beat some foes
Would they survive disgrace?

It seemed their folk would dwell here long
This land and they were one
They would be here and they’d strong
As sands of time would run

And in a thousand years or more
This land would still be there
Tides flow and ebb along their shore
They bring both joy and care…

Edgar at Bath (Whit Sunday A.D.973)

Besides the west door in a crowd
Frigar watched Edgar pass
The sky was blue save one small cloud
As priests there call the mass

That cloud it seemed to hover there
Like one small shade of doubt
With happy faces everywhere
What could this be about?

The boy stood and gazed at the sky
Beneath that cloud so grey
His heart heaved and he gave a sigh
Then wept and walked away

He wandered out across the town
Went out the River gate
Beneath an alder tree swooned down
Mid visions brought from Fate

It seemed an ancient Dame was there
Or was she but a maid?
There seemed all havoc everywhere
Then silence in a glade

And in that glade a woman stood
Her face a radiant glow
“You’ll witness hate and great falsehood
And you will be laid low

Amongst the dead you’ll find new life
You’d fight a soldier’s fight
You’d never win through arms and strife
At end you’ll conquer spite

You’ll seek out joy through times all sad
You’ll help a broken man
You’ll comfort both the wan and sad
You’ll do the best you can

You are a part of my moist land
You are my joyful boy
The dark cloud showed you what’s at hand
Mid those crowds full of joy

For you alone gazed at the sky
And saw that cloud all grey
And you alone had pondered why
Wept on this joyous day

In sad days you will see the spite
That makes so many weep
And you’ll see Wrong defeat the Right
Watch wolves tear through the sheep

You’ll help a mutilated man
Though his life may prove hard
You’ll help the way a true friend can
Help him tell of Midgard”

She held his hand that puzzled child
She walked him through that glade
She showed him things so strange and wild
Then slowly seemed to fade…

What’s real and what’s a dream?
His brain it spun about
Is ought as it may seem?
The boy let out a shout…

“Dear Lady, Lady, tell me more
Please do not fade away
Pray do not leave me drenched with doubt
Do tell me more I pray”

Her voice remained though she had gone
She said, “I’ll tell you true
And when you’re glad and when you’re wan
Do know that I’m with you

Spirits stood by when you were born
It seems I am your one
I’ll see that you’ll not stay forlorn
When dark foul deeds are done

Your heart it is a songsters heart
I’ll help you with each song
But now my sweet I will depart
You must my boy be strong”…

What’s a dream and what is real?
Now he seemed more sure
A Spirit’s presence few may feel
That holds this sweet allure…

He felt some rain upon his face
Beneath that alder bough
It seemed he’d slept here in this place
Yet seemed not sleepy now

There was a strange scent on the air
A scent like womankind
It seemed about him everywhere
Was it just in his mind?

That rain dropped from a light blue sky
That one small cloud was gone
He fought against the urge to cry
But his soul had turned wan

In Bath that day the folk were glad
The English had one king
None saw that one boy oh, so sad
The poor bedraggled thing

For these strange visions left him weak
And sick throughout the day
He sat about all sad, all bleak
Yet watched the gleemen play

They acted out some simple tale
As laughter echoed out
Unseen a child stood drab and pale
His soul was filled with doubt

Then on the morrow they returned
Back down the old Fosse Way
He told his father what he’d learned
In Bath just yesterday

He told his father of his dream
And they spoke much of it
But neither knew what Norns may scheme
Nor knew what had been writ

His father told him of Modron
The day that he was born
That this Midgard would soon be gone
With futures so forlorn

Though one would live to great old age
The other was soon dead
To leave a boy to grieve and rage
That grief led on to dread

Their household then was brought quite low
His mother she grew ill
Once happy homes may sink with woe
As warmth may turn to chill

That road through grief would twist and turn
To travel there takes strength
Through sorrows then the young may learn
And gain through them at length

A Land Secure and Safe

King Alfred and his royal line
Saw English folk unite as one
But what must rise must then decline
And what is done may be undone
Long years this land enjoyed its peace
Enjoyed the plenty peace may bring
All seemed like good time might not cease
When England crowned a single king
In Bath a land would celebrate
Its Abbey bells would ring out loud
But peace ends when men desecrate
Betraying things that they have vowed
A land launched on the ways of sin
Is doomed to fall – Fall from within!

The Disputed Land Near Calne

King Alfred did not write a book
Wherein he told his ways of war
Our foes he knew one day might look
We’d then be back in fear once more
What’s in each head may not be read
And good loyal men will not reveal
But memories though they go when dead
And Death all knowledge will conceal
So when a plot killed crucial men
Most canny tactics all got lost
A land’s defences dwindled then
Churchmen got lands – but at what cost?
A murdering scheme may well be shrewd
But foes will gain where folk must feud

Early Experience at Calne

At Calne the lad became a man…
He watched a great misdeed
He heard the yarns that churchmen span
They seemed all full of greed

Yet each had sworn some sacred vow
To live a simple life
Yet some seemed so well fed somehow
And delved in worldly strife

Men died at Calne with skill in war
Victims of feuds of old
For Greed had now come to the fore
And hearts gone hard and cold

The Rise of the Murdering Queen

A martyr is a sacred saint
Who for their faith were slain
It’s said their souls are free of taint
Their killers marked like Cain

Now Edward was a youthful king
Whose Father’s second wife
Would plot to do that foulest thing
For she would take his life

She had a son, a boyish fool
She’d named him Aethelred
He was her cat’s paw and her tool
Once Edward was stone dead

So hirelings cut the young king down
Down there within Corfe Gap
A young fool then he got the crown
As wounded oaks seeped sap

Corfe gap remained a dismal spot
A place where tears flow free
It’s foul that folk should scheme and plot
But what would be would be.

Saint Edward’s corpse was buried fast
This made most folk forlorn
And so before much time had past
He was moved to Sherborne

They built for him a special shrine
This saint who lost his throne
This murder seemed a portent sign
Such crimes God can’t condone.

The Fool on the Throne

So mummy’s boy became a king
With Edward put to rest
He’d romp about and shout and sing
“Oh, I love Mummy best

And now I can do all I please
Send nasty men away
And Mummy says ‘Just take your ease,
Now go on out and play’

And I can play the whole day through
And tease just whom I may
Oh, there’s much that I’d like to do
I love to dance and play”

Though ‘Mother Dear’ was stern and grim
More deadly than a male
She simpered and she smiled for him
She knew she could not fail

The blood upon each hirelings’ hand
Left blood debts to be paid
The Norns they weave with many a strand
At end old debts get paid

The Council for a Massacre

Things in the land were mixed and some extreme
Good smiths would forge the best of steel
The bookwork of the scribes was quite supreme
But stupidness no doctor here could heal
Directionless good work may waste and fail
Despite the toil and effort that’s been done
As folly’s entered into with great haste
So demons are the only ones who won
When schemers whisper of some dreamed of plot
And urge a fool to slaughter and defame
Then good and truth they matter not a jot
When Danes are here and they may take the blame
Kings order slaughter and they say it’s right
But words do not disguise pure acts of spite

St Brice’s Day – East of Oxford (Friday 13th of November 1002)

Here many of the fleeing Danes
Had stood and fought and fell
One was alive and lay in dreadful pains
Though no one there could tell

The cold wind swept in from the east
More dead were tossed on him
By end of day the killings ceased
That were done on a whim

The orders of the oaf who ruled
Who always got things wrong
Not knowing whilst he sat and drooled
“In time the weak get strong”

The rigour set in with the dead
Where one man lay alive
And mid them though his wound still bled
He swore he would survive

Stealth may help a man survive
To lay still as if dead
Desperate there to stay alive
And not to see crows fed

Two Days Later – St Dubricius’s Day

Two days he lay amongst them there
Crawled out on that third night
He knelt and mumbled one short prayer
For victims of this spite

He prayed his God might yet save him
For vengeance he now sought
His soul it was now cold and grim
Yes, lessons here were taught

Surviving Danes had learned pure hate
Their souls quite filled with spite
And raging wars would not abate
All faced a constant fight

The ebb and flow of wars would spin
Insane about the land
But peace would come when one would win
Through means most underhand

But for now this one Dane arose
From out that heap of death
He would wreck vengeance on these foes
Until his final breath

An English soldier passed that way
And saw that Dane arise
Now each may do just as they may
Though why, few realise

That Dane he had the darkest fear
The soldier walked away
The one thought that his death was near
But he was spared this day

That English soldier was Frigar
He had refused to kill
These massacres would leave their scar
And Hopes turn cold and chill

He could not stop what king’s command
Kings may not be denied
He had no power to countermand
So he had stood aside

They do not serve who stand and wait
Whilst evil deeds are done
And yet get stained with guilt and hate
Once havoc had begun

And havoc comes whilst its not planned
Though guilt may be denied
Justice with force was near at hand
And this would turn the tide.

Yuletide at the Council 1006

Such careful plans get laid be fools
Who have their favoured few
Surrounded by such thieves and ghouls
Noughts right in all they do

Where selfishness consumes the mind
And all gets done for gain
Pure Greed has short-sight or is blind
And it plans all in vain

Where counsel men would sell all things
To fill their homes with gold
Where there’s misrule by useless kings
There’s wolves let in the fold

But these dolts chose to pay each beast
Pay them to make them tame
And year-by-year the pay increased
The wolves they loved this game

Eadric’s Merry Christmas and a Booming Market – In Slaves

Ah, Christmastide a jolly time
Some few they grew in wealth
A time of year so sweet, sublime
There’s gold in guile and stealth

A wealthy earl grew wealthier yet
Great lords can be great knaves
For where the poor got into debt
He sold them off as slaves

Slave markets they had boomed of late
And good deals could be had
All profit margins seemed first rate
Who said this world was mad?

Where simple loans can’t be repaid
Then recompense is here
To sell off debtors is sound trade
And creditors all cheer

With slaves sold off to foreign lands
They’re well rid of the poor
These goods get marked with fiery brands
This Earl sold more and more…

Frigar Settles Down

But great events within the state
Seemed far away from him
For life seemed good and free of hate
And nothing here seemed grim

He married such a pleasing wife
Their lives became entwined
There was, of course, domestic strife
But, that’s good for the mind

They wed at Wrangway to the West
Her folk had travelled there
Their feast was full of joy and jest
Out in the evening air

They sat beneath that old ash tree
Where sacred rites got done
The ale and mead was flowing free
There at the setting sun

Mildburg his wife could joke and jest
The way that Frigar did
And when at work and when at rest
True feelings were not hid

She’d got her name form some great aunt
Who once had thumped a king
Tales in retelling may enchant
With wisdom that they bring

Her great aunt had a lovely boy
He’d died at Ethandun
Poor Aunties life then lost all joy
She’d waned fast as the moon

They say her boy had died so brave
Upon an old causeway
He does not rest now in a grave
The tides washed him away

Her boy Cadfael was one of ten
Who blocked some Danes retreat
At Ethandun on that day when
The “Ten” performed their feat

Another Version of “The Ten Men”

The Father of the Bride then said
“We know that story well
Those ten poor lads they ended dead
But hear this tale I tell:

‘The candle clocks had timed each move
At Edington that day
And our folk here we disapprove
Of Alfred and his way

He promised boats would rescue all
And save them from the tide
Now all were at his beck and call
And Alfred would decide

To save those men who’d fought for him
Required not much to do
But Alfred’s heart was cold and grim
And so ten men would rue

He redirected all his boat
He let ten men be lost
This ballad to them Alfred wrote
About a “minor cost”

A “minor cost” is what he said
To lose those men would be
He’d seen some other Danes had fled
Not far off to the lee

So all his boats he’d sent that way
He would not spare just one
Cold hearts like his could win the day
But what at end was won?

Ah, kings it seems may break their oath
And leave ten men to drown
Their words are just a puff of breath
And they have brought us down”

The Father of the Bride was red,
Red with an old cold rage
He loathed that swine called Aethelred
His anger grew with age

“The Danes are back again once more
And wars and feuds both reign
Their wrathful men they rage ashore
Now all our folk know pain

Yes Alfred fought and saved the land
Our folk had all fought well
But now there’s more Danes near at hand
And their rage none may quell

Now our king of his royal line
Has brought our land so low
I see in this a sacred sign
That our foul king ought go

St Edward died from regicide
The throne was gained through sin
This, God above, cannot abide
So how can we now win?

Go hide your gold and coin away
Try not to pay Danegelt
For now let’s celebrate this day”
These words seemed so heartfelt

Married Life and Love

Whilst marriage is a compromise
Built on both take and give
They would not have it otherwise
They both knew how to live

To squabble and to bicker some
Where affections ebb and flow
To watch new happiness become
A constant inner glow

Both passion and true love may grow
Mid gentleness and ease
In all there is an ebb and flow
But both sought out to please

The “spear and spindle” [2] are as one
Together they’re complete
So life together had begun
And life was good and sweet

There is no trap in binding love
No toil, no ball nor chain
It seems a gift from heaven above
And life gets drained of pain

True lovers married folk may be
And both ought be caressed
Where both let passions flow quite free
Then love is at its best…

Lusty Moments

Like water raging through a gorge
There came a rush of lust
Like hot flames from a smithy’s forge
Heat rose through every thrust

The rhythm of their burning heat
That rose and rose and rose
The pleasures that were over-sweet
That dwindled at the close

Like lowland brooks meander slow
The strongest feelings fade
Yet there remains some afterglow
Beyond lust’s grand tirade

Sometimes a dream may well recall
That moment’s lustful rush
But all declines and all will fall
And still the grass grows lush

A Young Family

For quite some time life was all fine
He’d wed a Devon maid
But young love may sometime decline
When hopes are caused to fade

They had a family and it grew
They prospered and they planned
They did the things all parents do
As all might understand

When hard times put us to the test
That not all may survive
Some cease to feel when they’re caressed
They feel but half alive

Big tragedies are hard to take
Theirs was the worst of all
There is such grief and deep heartache
That may cause some to fall

To fall into that deep dire place
To fall and fail your kin
To fall and lose all hope of Grace
To cease to feel within

Though dark days may be brought about
Still dark day they too end
For mutual Love will conquer doubt
And darkest grief may mend

And darkest grief they did go through
The darkest grief of all
In all of this there’s nothing new
Hark - hear one angel call!

Their Little Girl

The Mother washed the child with gentle care
She softly dried her lovely white clear skin
And brushed and combed the lovely blond long hair
As overflowing thoughts were held within
She dressed the little maid in her best dress
Then dainty little shoes put on her feet
She gave the child a sweet and soft caress
Then went beside the fire and took her seat
And sat there for a while on that damp morn
Until came time to cook that special meal
Her Husband came with Sisters all forlorn
For all there felt such things that none ought feel
No feelings though got said, not out aloud,
As they wrapped round the soft white linen shroud.

Loss Then Wanderings

Great tragedies may bring great strength
Great sorrows fortitude
But fortitude gets sapped at length
Gets sapped by solitude

In silences where once was noise
Where laughter now has gone
Appearances may hold their poise
Whilst souls unseen turn wan

As emptiness fills up each day
Then all that’s left turns dull
That dullness never goes away
Life’s stuck in one long lull

All’s vague now and all’s indistinct
A fog floats through the mind
All hopes they fade, they go extinct
And those who seek won’t find

The sapping of the soul depletes
The body too at length
And as the last of faith retreats
Then so too does all strength

And sapped of strength, some fade, some die
Survivors face more grief
But red dry eyes no longer cry
When locked in disbelief

Some spiral down a dim decline
Whole families may fade
Though some it seems still have some spine
It’s just one last tirade

Some ranting of a dull dark soul
Drenched now in pure despair
For desperation does stay whole
And there is much to share

That lovely laugh no longer heard
Flits through a fevered head
There’s echoes there of some lost word
But all the future’s dead

The grass has grown long on each grave
Where once there was bare soil
But who’s that strong and who’s that brave
And who survives such toil

To carry grief about each day
Is far too much for some
It causes them to wilt away
And so they too succumb

The home becomes more silent then
Falls into disrepair
What point is there in working when
Inside you’ve ceased to care?

In drifting round an empty home
Some start to loath the place
And so they set off and they roam,
They roam in search of Grace.

Frigar’s Roamings

The husband left the empty hall
Passed fresh graves near the gate
When Love and Hope they fade, they fall
Then who can stand and wait

To wait for death that comes with grief
Is no good way to go
For life is short and life seems brief
And there’s so much to know

His wife and child were gone, were dead
Hopes rise and then they fade
Grief will ease in time, it’s said,
Though it will cast its shade

It’s always there it will be so
As long as you draw breath
Good memories though, they leave a glow
And all must live with Death

So Frigar roamed as Widsith [3] had
He roamed so far and wide
And then with time he grew less sad
Though now and then he cried

At long last he came home and sought
To help his blighted land
There were new wars that must be fought
And great change was at hand

End of the Rule of the Fool

There’s petty men who know not what to do
But they know that they must be in control
And whilst they rule they cause all else to rue
Their own position is their single goal
So just for this whole realms are caused to fall
For fools in office must all have their sway
And better men be at their beck and call
At end though even fools must have their day
A shame it is the damage they have done
For they will cause such folly and despair.
And when they face defeat from anyone
They’ll smash all that they can without a care
As fools in charge will cause so many woes
So Fool will damage much before he goes

Surviving Spiteful Fools

Where ruled by fools the wise seek to survive
To live that they once more might see good times
But when the quest is just to stay alive
And not to be a victim of dark crimes
Of those who have become but ravening beasts
Who come in many a garb with varying guile
Who come as kings, or thieves, or come as priests
Who rage, who rant, yet those who smile
But have the kiss of Caiaphas – are worse
As they drive to control or else destroy
The lives of all are lived as in some curse
Their fading memories lose all Hope all Joy…
Then those left with one goal – just to survive
Will find themselves to be but half-alive.

Hygferth is Taken from Saint Paul’s Church, Stamford to Sandwic Bay

The iron band it chaffed his neck
The chains had cut his skin
His youthful looks now seemed a wreck
Yet Hope still shone within

So here inside of this church he prayed
Prayed for some new insight
Though soon his Hopes might be betrayed
By raging men and spite

He asked what patron saint they had
“Saint Paul” a priest told him
And though his state right here seemed sad
It did not seem that grim

He thought of storms faced by the saint
Of shipwrecks on the shore
Though hostages may bear some taint
That Saint had born much more

He had his small book with him there
He wrote of Paul’s shipwreck
With candles flickering everywhere
That iron still chaffed his neck…

Mutilated

Those were the last words his hand wrote
The took him to a bay
With iron blades they hacked and smote
And cut his hands away

A shearwater had glided by
Above him on that beach
It swooped across that soft blue sky
Where Hope hung out of reach

Four patches of that sand turned red
About him where he lay
The stumps though tourniqueted still bled
It was a warm dry day

The Great Flood – Michaelmas Eve 1014

Great waves piled high far out at sea
The tide and wind combined
Greats floods they came and few could flee
That east wind moaned and whined

In Kent and Thames and Essex too
A cold wet death came in
Apocalypse was overdue
In lands where rulers sin

And many souls were took that night
The whole land shook with dread
They’d lived through fear and wrath and spite
And now all Hope was dead

In time the bloated corpses rose
And floated in each stream
In sadness that years end would close
Yet still foul men would scheme

So new rounds of old wars went on
A whirligig of Spite
To new depths went the woebegone
Who’s wrong now and who’s right?

Meadowsweet [5] at Ashingdon

The Meadowsweet is flow’ring late
It should be through by now
Along each ditch around each gate
But not where men might plough
Some weeks ago it should have gone
It should have set its seed
This summer had been damp and wan
It seemed naught might succeed

Beyond those bleak midsummer days
Times were now warm and fine
And many a bloom’s sweet late displays
Swayed in the warm sunshine

But warm late days may bring on gales
That rage across the land
And bring with them more tough travails
Where winter’s near at hand

But just for now this hour is sweet
Before Fates are revealed
Events it seems are seldom neat
Who knows what lays concealed?

Ashingdon Saint Luke’s Eve, October 17th 1016

Surgeons all have their great patron
Saint Luke protects their trade
Here the foemen would not soften
All died through rope or blade

Defeated men had their throats slit
Or swung high from each bough
And most the dead were stained with spit
Those victors are dead now

But on that day they were so proud
Proud of the work they’d done
Their boastfulness seemed over proud
Through treason they had won

The bravest men there all lay dead
They’d fought to one last man
Because of wounds he had not fled
Or so his story ran…

Frigar at Ashingdon, St Luke’s Day 1016

Old Greedy’s men all turned and ran
A gap was opened wide
Frigar had felt this was their plan
He watched and softly sighed

Now Ironside had been betrayed
So he would lose the day
He fought so hard yet unafraid
And did not pause to pray

Wounded, Edmund was lifted then
And carried from the field
They left behind their rearguards men
And told them not to yield

Frigar was struck down from the rear
A slingshot hit his spine
It seemed that Death was oh, so near
On him fat crows might dine

His legs seemed gone, no longer there
He lay still on the ground
As havoc raged there everywhere
He watched events roll round

That sling shot came from Greedy’s men
Betrayal seemed complete
So Frigar lay as if dead then
Amid that sad defeat

Now victors do not kill the dead
They chase a fleeing foe
And Frigar heard some last prayers said
Across that field of woe

Aftermath of Ashingdon

Sad Frigar lay upon the field
Of Ashingdon that night
Amid the dead he lay concealed
These victims of men’s spite

There was no holy mystery
This field it stank, was grim
This dark sad day in history
Was darker yet to him

No past life passed before him there
No memories all sweet
Each nearby corpse with empty stare
Was just so much dead meat

At fifty-four Frigar was old
Yet he sought not to die
Through that night, bleak and sad and cold
He lay with lips all dry

His wilful soul cried out for life
He lay there like the dead
Conflicting moods engaged in strife
In torrents through his head

So still he lay men trod on him
He seemed corpse like to all
A stench arose so foul and grim
He heard a she wolf call

The soft moon glowed behind a cloud
The sheen was eerie pale
A priest he heard pray out aloud
That wolf now seemed to wail

His dead legs seemed tingle there
And then they raged their pain
A corpse gazed with an empty stare
Were all lives lived in vain?

This place it seemed no sacred spot
More like a butchers store
But this meat here it was to rot
Or feed wild beasts once more

A cutpurse moved amongst the dead
She came close to his side
Her fingertips were tinged with red
She seemed so stony eyed

She reached beneath him for his purse
His hand closed round her face
And no one heard her muffled curse
Caught in his dark embrace

“Lay like the dead and you will live
There’s riches you may gain
Your thieving ways I will forgive
I am a wealthy Thane

I have much gold and land as well
And much of this is yours
Help me escape from out this Hell”
But then he had to pause…

Frigar and Cutpurse

Cutpurse she squirmed first in his grasp
Then lay quite still right there
She barely made the faintest gasp
Hers seemed a wan despair

She waited for the blade to come
And cut her belly wide
She’d seen the battle lost and won
Now lay here at his side

The whispered words at last got through
Her brain raced in her head
They lay there in some Housejarl’s view
And so she too played dead

But she had seen that blood soaked Dane
Kill many wounded men
His cloak was soaked with many a stain
And he gazed at her then…

But his eyes seemed so big so sad
He had an angel’s hue
The sight of him seemed weird and mad
“Ah, so, what would he do?”

But that Jarl seemed to be deranged
“So strange such men can cry!”
The scene about her now seemed changed
She knew she could not die.

There was a strange scent in that place
A scent so sickly sweet
A single tear ran down her face
Her sweet scent was discrete…

The Passing Spirits of the Blessed

“Some Soul arose above that field
That field of brutal strife
Those last rearguards man would not yield
Instead each sold his life

Where forty Wessex men lay slain
Across a narrow way
There were about three hundred Dane
That died there on that day

Those souls they paused yet felt no plight
They knew life’s span was done
Against such overpowering might
They’d had no where to run

They dallied there with others dead
Before that setting sun
With Grace ahead they felt no dread
Their lives on earth were done

One passed a man prone on the ground
That man he seemed was chilled
That soul passed on it made no sound
With others of the killed

But Cutpurse there she had the Sight
She watched souls of the dead
Most rose up to the heavenly height
A few just howled and fled

When she told men what she had seen
Most said she must be mad
And babbled on all low and mean
“The likes of her are bad”

But one man though who’d felt so cold
As ghosts had passed him by
Believed these stories that she told
To him, they weren’t a lie

She’d saved him on that awful day
When those two were concealed
She’d sought out help they’d got away
From off that dismal field

She said she’d faced such awful woe
She’d faced rape and abuse
Her life had now sunk down so low
That Hope was too obtuse

Full Crops

Each crow’s crop bulged, was full with meat
And rotund wolves now slept
All ravens too was quite replete
As from the field she crept
So Cutpurse sought to save one man
A victim of the Dane
Once out of sight she swiftly ran
She ran for help, not gain.

The promise of reward meant nought
She sought to save one life
She did a thing some good Lord taught
Mid wrath and hate and strife

She found a house of goodly men
Monks known for their good deeds
She knew that many sought them when
They suffered greatest needs

And all those monks went back with her
To there where brute beasts fed
There in the mists all seemed a blur
And all but one was dead

The day warmed up, was clear but fine
The atmosphere seemed rank
The crows came back again to dine
Soon that whole place just stank

Sloes [6]

The Sloes grew lush in each hedge roe
They glinted firm and black
This year they put on quite a shoe
Besides each field and track

Although they seemed to glisten sweet
To glint in bright sunlight
Yet still they were not good to eat
There’s much that fools the sight

The look of things may not tell all
As alls not as it seems
Fooled by this sight some child might bawl
Saliva flows in streams

For sloes you see they taste austere [7]
As sour as some cause lost,
They’re better at the end of year
When they’ve been kissed by frost

The hedgerows all round Ashingdon
Were filled with sloes so sour
The Norns would see who lost, who won,
Who got the kingly power

In just two days first frost would form
Kiss sloes and turn some sweet
So those few who survived the storm
Might have a few to eat

Abbot Aelfwine and Good Deeds

Abbot Aelfwine, was one good man
His Faith seemed pure as gold
He lived true through his life’s long span
And now he was grown old

Old in the service that he did
Long had he done good deeds
His loyal monks did as he bid
From good, more goodness breeds

Two years ago at Sandwic Bay
He’d saved some hacked up men
Whilst most were dead by end of day
Some were to live again

But some must live without their hands
And some without their feet
The dead were buried in the sands
But life’ not always sweet

One young Northumbrian man lay wan
He came from Uhtred’s clan
As both his hands and feet were gone
He lived, an empty man

There was no Hope in his young heart
His eye’s pools of despair
They’d loaded him into a cart
All seemed born down by care

That year Lord Uhtred too was slain
Old bloodfeuds took his life
But here midst all this rage and pain
Some monks had hid his wife

And she had paid the monks with gold
To board the lad, her kin
Few thought the lad might yet grow old
He seemed destroyed within

Aelfwine had said that each good deed
Could be some sign of Grace
The laws of God all men ought heed
All else is low and base

His holy house would care for those
Who had been maimed in war
They’d see each one got sweet repose
This work was Love, not chore!

But this one young Northumbrian lad
It seemed had gone beyond
His eyes blue grey seemed deep and sad
Some doomed souls don’t respond

The Slow Drip

Cutpurse with Frigar sought and found
The help of Mother church
Cutpurse she did not stay around
Nor leave him in the lurch

She travelled far back to the North
This made sad Frigar sigh
She went to live beyond the Forth
There’s was a sweet good-bye

In the Grip of That Drip

Frigar had started that slow drip
His urine leaked from him
His wound had got him in its grip
The time ahead seemed grim

Though his legs slowly came to life
Walking was hard at first
He knew he’d not now need a wife
His member hung accursed

It hung and dripped, the seep was slow
His legs got raw and red
In life this was his cruellest blow
But yet he was not dead

A monk in the officinal
Mixed him tisane and balm
These gentle treatments, all herbal,
At least did him no harm

The stench of piss now seemed his lot
Yet he still sought to live
He’d found a safe and healthy spot
His joy became effusive

The Fading Pains

The raging pains had gone away
His wet legs were a curse
But he’d survived that evil day
And Death would be much worse

He took joy in some simple things
In food and drink and song
And the joy the friendship brings
His soul seemed good and strong

He met a mutilated boy
A soul who had lost Hope
And he showed him new ways to joy
Showed him that he might cope

The Faithless Way

Where is the faith in faithless men who lust
And would have any woman who they may
That way just leads to Death and to the dust
With souls then sent to Hell on judgement day
Through faithful love a man and woman know
The true joy that our God intends for all
Through sin, alas, most head towards true woe
And woe is there for souls who face the fall
But faithful love may keep away foul sin
And through this some may come at last to Grace
And God will welcome good souls come within
And bask therein the presence of his face
A lack of faith may cause a fatal flaw
All souls must face the fall who break God’s law

Sad but Safer Epilogue (1016 Cnut Reigned)

A Dane then ruled all of the land
Few new foul deeds were done
Nor rarely now were such things planned
By victims who had won

They could have done much killing there,
They taxed the land instead
They saw they got an ample share
And you can’t tax the dead!

The land became a milch cow and
It gave a steady flow
This never did get out of hand
So folk might thrive and grow

The monster that became their king
Spent most his time away
So poor folk now had space to sing
And children safely play

The Death of Eadric Streona

Cnut he did a casual thing
Gave Greedy to his foes
His simplest pleasures as a king
Were fear and then death throes

“Go take a blade, see that it’s blunt
And do not hack too fast
Slow butcher up this greedy runt
And let these pleasures last

His dying ought to take some time
Time he may think about
Each victim of his every crime
And how he caused their rout

Good men had died when he took gold
At Ashingdon’s sad field
Where they were left dead stark and cold
And England had to yield”

And Uhtred’s folk set slow to work
They hacked no vital part
Some widows there each with a smirk
Played dice to win his heart

For half a day of jolly play
They let bad Eadric die
His hacked out heart got tossed away
None of his kin would cry

You cannot cry hanged in a tree
His kin they all danced well
Up in the air their feet danced free
Danced all the way to Hell

And Edmund’s ghost watched Eadric’s ghost
Be dragged by demons down
He gazed there from the Heavenly host
With neither smile nor frown

It’s men of flesh who will enmesh
And slaughter whom they may
On high where all is good and fresh
Such things just cause dismay

Cnut knew vengeful ways of men
He thrived on death and feud
The best of pleasures he took then
To feed his turpitude

Eadric lived bad and he died bad
No tears got shed for him
Those he enslaved turned wan and sad
Their sad lives poor and grim.

Cnut Relaxes

Cnut he had a lovely day
The sun it shone so bright
The best of things had come his way
And he had grown in might

At Glastonbury he prayed aloud
Now all the wars had ceased
For all his foes were dead or cowed
By this dark loathsome beast

He gave gold to the abbey there
Gold stolen by his kin
Life seemed to him free of all care
This beast so soaked in sin

He saw sat there beside a priest
A mutilated man
This callous murderous arriviste
Just stood there all deadpan

Two pairs of eyes with cold dark stares
Gazed there across the nave
Deprived of Hope, burdened with cares
Can make a cripple brave

“So first you steal then you give back
The things you Danes have stole
That thing you seek that you will lack
There’s no Hope for your soul

If you’re so great then turn the tide
Make flowing waters turn
Show all you’re not just spite and snide
Teach King, that we might learn”

That cripples voice it echoed round
The nave and rafters too
Then silence reigned there was no sound
And silence can ring true

For all know none may turn the tide
Tides have their ebb and flow
Cnut there seemed all drained of pride
That cripple was aglow

“Come, King show me a mighty feat
Prove you are truly blessed
Give back to me my hands, my feet
That all might be impressed

I saw a savage slavering thing
Hack limbs with his own knife
Is that work of a Christian King?
Or low beasts born of strife?

How can a beast salvation seek?
How can he save his soul?
A souls whose Fate is dire and bleak
Somewhere in some hellhole

Some have their hell upon this earth
Live lives in sad disgrace
Some strut as if they are of worth
Then face a fiery place…”

His voice trailed off he gazed in rage
Quite hoping to be killed
A silence seemed to reign an age
The atmosphere was chilled

Cnut gazed quietly at that man
Then looked at all around
Where beads of sweat now softly ran
And none there made a sound

“Wulfric tells me I must rule well
And honour Church and Law
In this I choose now to excel
This I pledge neath the Tor

This abbey gets a special right
There’s no tax I’ll impose
Your cripple here has much more fight
Than any one of those”

Cnut then pointed at great lords
Men who once ruled this land
And then he turned and faced towards
That cripple close at hand

“It seems to me you want to die
I’ve seen that look before
So think me cruel, I’ll not comply
That’s not what I’m here for

I grant to you a well-fed life
You are not my quarry
I grant much coin for bed and board
I grant one word, ‘Sorry’.

This abbey seems a special place
This land seems special too
Brave cripples I will not erase
Such things I will not do”

Now mercy is a special thing
Perhaps it’s touched by Grace
But mercy by this devious king
Seemed strange and out of place

He’d bathed in blood to get the throne
He’d terrorised the land
He did not do things to atone
This all ought understand

For mercy to a man like him
Was just another tool
His use of it was likewise grim
This cold king was no fool

Now men who did not want to die
He’d kill and make it slow
He’d sit and smirk a smile so wry
And dine and watch them go

But men who did not wish to live
Who sought to spur his ire
He would show mercy, he’d forgive
And leave them sad and dire

The cripple saw through this amazed
This king was truly foul
He slumped there then as if quite dazed
He slumped there with a scowl

Years of Yarns and Song

Friendships may seem sometimes quite odd
Yet opposites attract
It may be subtle Fate or God
The way folk interact

Frigar seemed old and he leaked piss
For some hours every day
His quaint aroma none might miss
It kept most folk at bay

Hygferth was sad and drooped all wan
And raged against his Fate
He sat about all woebegone
His heart all filled with Hate

He raged against a Liar who
Said he would face no harm
Now mutilated he would rue
That Liar and his charm

Cnut had seemed a friend to him
Then in one brief tirade
Cnut himself all cold and grim
Had wielded that dire blade

Both wrists and ankles he cut through
Each stump he burned and tarred
These casual things that Kings may do
Could leave a kingdom marred

So many of his kin were dead
His life despoiled and bleak
He’d gone through madness and through dread
And all about seemed bleak

Then Frigar came into this place
That man who stank of piss
That Frigar with his kindly face
And deep aroma none might miss

Edward Returns

Cnut’s two sons their rule was short
One cruel the other weak
Oft times events were bleak and fraught
Assassins’ knives so sleek

Atheling Alfred a blameless boy
Edward’s nearest of kin
His heart so full of hope and joy
Fell foul to men of sin

This foolish boy all sweet and kind
Was seized, his eyes cut out
He died disconsolate and blind
And good monks laid him out

At Ely in the holy place
Good monks intoned a hymn
Some said the boy had gone to Grace
A whole town wept for him

So spite now still stalked all the land
Few lessons had been learned
Dynastic change it was at hand
Young Alfred’s line returned

Edward was made the king at last
And Danish rule was done
All prayed bad times were in the past
Of good signs, there came none

Famine and Much Death, 1046 –1047

The stomach of that famished man
Seethed with a fearsome ire
The sands of time they slowly ran
Food was his one desire

His belly it was bloated out
His limbs just skin and bone
The famine had long crept about
Folks hearts had turned to stone

The drive to eat suppresses all
And conscience fades away
Through famine all may meet the fall
For all are made of clay

But weakness will at last set in
With bleakness of the mind
At end poor starving folk can’t win
And life ends all unkind

An empty village echoes here
Bleached bones are all about
The traveller felt a cloying fear
This seemed a site of rout

Three years ago he’d passed this place
Dined with his joyful kin
Now tears ran down his deep lined face
“Oh God, what was their sin?”

He knelt and prayed as in a daze
He prayed the hours away
This beaten man seemed in a daze
At end he went away…

The Plundering of Porlock 1052

Hrald and his nine ships of war
Came into Porlock Bay
He caused great havoc once ashore
All in one dismal day

He slaughtered many local men
Who tried to stop this thief
He moved to meet his father then
And left behind great grief

This earl’s son plundered his own land
He lived by sword and fire
It seemed more vicious spite was planned
As he moved through each shire

For hostages were seized and held
And folk were made to pay
Just like they’d had to pay Danegeld
He caused such deep dismay

Hrald, Godwinson like a beast
Raged far across this land
His dark ambitions are increased
Are worse times near at hand?

Edward and Godwin

Edward and Godwin seemed the same
Both seemed ruled by foul Spite
Great woes were caused in each one’s name
Are all great men a blight?

For few great men may soil a hand
With blood or dirt or grime
For such men are too great and grand
To mire themselves in crime

Yes gentlefolk have gentle ways
So hirelings do their deeds
The great and good they stand and gaze
At each foe as he bleeds

Yes, nobles have ignoble souls
Pursuing feuds with zest
To common men they’re just arseholes
Who ought be cursed, not blessed.

Frigar “Wet Legs” Goes Forth

An old man mounted on a mule
His left leg wet and red
This wizen wreck, he was no fool
Though old he was not dead

He was not dead to human Hope
Not puffed up with false pride
Through times travails he’d learned to cope
This was his final ride

With mind so clear but body weak
He could face earl and king
He knew to win first he must seek
To face Death and its sting

He had not planned some diatribe
Nor did he seek to bleed
He rode there with a monk, a scribe,
Who tended every need

Though Julian the monk felt fear
The old man would not yield
With time of battle very near
They rode out in the field

Between two armies there they came
They stopped and there they’d stay
He called the king and earl by name
Besides the Thames that day

The Ancient Soldier Speaks Out

“Begone you fools who’d seal the fate
Of those who follow you
Go settle your ‘affairs of state’
The way grown men ought do

Now I am old so if you choose
You may have me cut down
It’s England here that’s doomed to lose
Who cares who wears a crown

You leaders fight and you risk all,
All of another’s blood
Are all of England’s best to fall
Here on this patch of mud

The Norse await with rage and hate
To stalk this land once more
We can abate the hand of fate
If we defend our shore

But you would squander our defence
Dead soldiers cannot fight
So where here is the use and sense
In squandering England’s might

Both Earl and King may well be strong
There’s ethics in each case
There’s ethics in what’s right and wrong -
But this is low and base

Are you but boys or now grown up
Can you not parley more?
Just sit and talk and share a cup
What have you got brains for?”

Earl Godwin screamed, “Kill that old fool
His impudent he’ll die”
His heart was dark and hard and cruel
But who there would comply

No archer chose to draw his bow
No shot put in a sling
That old man sat there all aglow
Between both earl and king

King Edward said, “Go run him through
And bring me back his head”
Those words there he was left to rue
Better they’d not been said

Not one man chose to lift a spear
No sword got drawn that day
Both armies then began to cheer
“Wet legs” had stopped the fray

The English Soldiers’ Victory by the Thames

No common soldier had to die
To satisfy the vain
No widow wife was left to cry
Nor common folk know pain

When battles are not fought at all
Then common soldiers win
When at the spiteful’s beck and call
It’s then that soldiers’ sin

Frigar the Victor

Frigar deserved a victor’s crown
Real victors hate all strife
Wars drive the human spirit down
They mar each soul for life

Years after any war is done
It gets refought in dreams
It matters not which king has won
Who can forget those screams?

Dead friends may haunt your sleep at night
Nightmares they haunt the mind
Deep sad eyes then seem filled with blight
For conscience is unkind

The fixed stare of a dying child
The body limp and chilled
Can make a soul turn mad or wild
You’re marred when you have killed

For killing is the work of war
Each kills to get their way
As long as kings feel insecure
They’ll wage wars when they may

But now and then a wars not fought
And then men do not die
Though times remain all tense and fraught
At least no widows cry

At least no orphans are left bleak
Nor households lose a son
Nor minds turned mad or sad or weak
Because of what they’ve done

The earl soon died in some dark rage
That king he got no heir
Soon he might shuffle from the stage
But why should I now care?

Home to Muchelney and to Death

Frigar came home relaxed and glad
His soul seemed full of peace
Julian, he seemed more wise but sad
But somewhat ill at ease

Frigar’s Death Bed

Here near the end he lay on his last day
With eyes now closed he waited, calm for Death
Deep in his mind he drifted far away
Far off beyond each petty shibboleth
His body he no longer seemed to feel
He was again upon that river path
All childlike once again he seemed to reel
Surprised to find himself now back near Bath
That woman’s voice it came so soft and clear
He saw her now she stood before him there
His spirit raced his soul was filled with cheer
He felt unburdened of all worldly care
He listened rapt to what our Lady said
He was Her’s here for he was now quite dead

‘Twas you alone gazed at the sky
And saw that cloud all grey
And you alone had pondered why
Wept on that joyous day

You sought out joy through times quite mad
You helped a broken man
You comforted the wan and sad
In that long race you ran

In sad days you have seen the spite
That made so many weep
There were some Wrongs that you put Right
Kept wolves from out the sheep

You saved good men from early ends
So widows were not made
Forced King and Earl to make amends
So soldiers were not slayed

You helped one mutilated man
To keep on with his life
With all those merry yarns you span
Of stupid kings and strife

Mid all the wrath that roamed the land
You reached the greatest height
For few it seems might understand
The folly of all Spite

For Spite it is that blights life most
Spite and an angry soul
Escape all spite come join the Host
For you are now quite whole”

She held his hand that new dead soul
She walked him through a glade
It seemed at last he was now whole
They slowly seemed to fade…

Slow Crawl from the Graveside

Crablike and crawling from the grave
A mutilated man must cry
They’d prayed for Frigar old and brave
Though all at end must die

They’d washed him in the morning time
His seeping curse now gone
He seemed returned now to his prime
His eyes though dead still shone

They seemed to glint still with some light
Like Will o’ wisps so green
He’d left this world with all its spite
His soul had left unseen

In purgatory he’d lived so long
His heart and soul both hurt
He’d wrote and sung each merry song
And not sunk to the dirt

They’d dug dirt here though for his grave
And they laid him therein
His soul had soared up with the brave
All purged and free of sin…

Frigar’s Bod