Note Sss. p. . The Death of the Ætheling Ælfred

I have stated in the text the chief versions as to the death of Ælfred. The different statements may be grouped under two main heads, those which put the event at its right date under the reign of Harold, and those which move it to some other time. It is the former class whose statements we must weigh against other; the latter are useful mainly as illustrating particular points, and as examples of the way in which legends grow.

The earliest English account is that which is found, in different shapes, in the Abingdon and Worcester Chronicles. Peterborough is silent about the whole matter. The story, except a few lines at the beginning, takes the form of a ballad, as it appears in Mr. Earle’s Parallel Chronicles. It is astonishing that Mr. Thorpe should have printed it as plain prose, when it plainly is, not only, like the songs of Brunanburh and Maldon, in rhythm, but actually in rime. This was seen long ago by Dr. Ingram, who not only printed it as verse, but attempted a riming version of his own in modern English. I have in the text analysed the account thus given. The remarkable point is that the Abingdon Chronicle distinctly accuses Godwine, while the Worcester version leaves out his name. In the prose introduction, Ælfred the innocent (“unsceððiga”) Ætheling lands and wishes to go to his mother, who sat at Winchester. Then says Abingdon, “Ac hit him ne geþafode Godwine eorl ne éc oþre men þe mycel mihton wealdan: forþan hit hleoðrode þa, swiðe toward Haraldes, þeh hit unriht wære.” But in Worcester it stands, “Ac þæt ne geþafodon þa þe micel weoldon on þisan lande; forþan hit hleoþrade þa swiðe to Harolde, þeah hit unriht wære.” So the beginning of the ballad stands in Abingdon,

“Ac Godwine hine þa gelette,
And hine on hæft sette;”

while in the Worcester version it runs,

“Ða let he [Harold] hine on hæft settan.”

There can be no doubt that here the Abingdon version is the original, and that the Worcester text, which destroys rhythm and rime, was altered by an admirer of Godwine. But as to the prose introduction the case is far less clear; the words “Godwine eorl ne éc oþre men” might just as well be an interpolation. So in Florence the mention of Godwine comes in very awkwardly; “Quod indigne graviterque ferebant potentes nonnulli, quia, licet injustum esset, Haroldo multo devotiores exstitere quam illis, maxime, ut fertur, comes Godwinus.”

Florence’s version is made up by modifying the account in the Chronicles, with some touches from other quarters. He makes both brothers come, changing the words “Ælfred se unsceððiga æþeling” into “innocentes clitones Ælfredus et Eadwardus.” While in the Chronicles Ælfred simply wishes to go to his mother (“wolde to his moder þe on Wincestre sæt”), and is hindered by certain men, Godwine or others, in this account both the Æthelings actually visit their mother (“ad suæ matris colloquium, quæ morabatur Wintoniæ, venere”), and Godwine and the other powerful men are simply displeased at their coming (“indigne graviterque ferebant,” as above). Then comes the strangest part of his statement; that Godwine seized and imprisoned Ælfred is simply translated from the ballad, but Florence now introduces the almost incomprehensible assertion that Ælfred, when he was seized, was going to London for a conference with Harold; “Hic quidem [Godwinus] Ælfredum, quum versus Lundoniam, ad regis Haroldi colloquium, ut mandarat, properaret, retinuit, et arcta in custodia posuit [‘hine þa gelette and hine on hæft sette’].” The companions of Ælfred, to the number of six hundred, are sold, killed, or tortured at Guildford; the place is not mentioned in the Chronicles. Emma then sends back her son Eadward, who had stayed with her (“qui secum remansit”) and had not set out with his brother, with all haste to Normandy. Then, at the bidding of Godwine and certain others (“Godwini et quorumdam aliorum jussione”), Ælfred is taken to Ely, and the rest of the story follows as in the ballad.

It is plain that Florence in writing this had one or both of the Chronicles before him, and tried to work in details from other sources which were really inconsistent with the account which the Chronicles gave. One change is of special importance. The ballad simply mentions the companions (“geferan”) of Ælfred without any account of their number or who they were. Florence makes them six hundred, and adds the very important statement that they were Norman knights or soldiers. The Æthelings come, “multis Normannicis militibus secum assumptis, in Angliam paucis transvecti navibus.” This touch clearly comes from the Norman version, which represents the first attempt of the Æthelings as an actual invasion, an idea which the Chronicles do not suggest. It is also plainly from the same source that he got the idea that Eadward had any share in the business.

The ballad in the two Chronicles has about it something of that vagueness which is natural in a poem which is rather a pious lamentation than a narrative. The Norman account, true or false, is at least fuller and clearer. It first appears in William of Poitiers, the Conqueror’s chaplain, the extant part of whose narrative begins at this point. He is followed by William of Jumièges (vii. 8, 9), who is followed by Wace (Roman de Rou, 9759 et seqq.). I have given the substance of their story in the text, and I do not know that there is anything to remark, except that at the end of his tale William of Poitiers turns round and reviles Godwine in an address in the second person, much as at a later stage of his narrative he reviles Harold.

We now come to the version of the Encomiast. He is a perplexing writer to deal with; one knows not what to make of an historian who was either so easily imposed upon or else so utterly reckless as to truth. A contemporary writer who wipes out Emma’s marriage with Æthelred, who looks on the Æthelings as sons of Cnut, who is ignorant that his heroine was actually Queen-regent over Wessex, is really somewhat of a curiosity. His astounding statement (ii. 18) that Eadward and Ælfred were the sons of Cnut I have already spoken of in Note BBB. In his present account (iii. 1) Emma remained in England after the death of Cnut, grieving for the death of her husband and the absence of her sons (“sollicita pro filiorum absentia”). He then goes on; “Namque unus eorum, Hardecnuto scilicet, quem pater regem Danorum constituit, suo morabatur in regno; duo vero alii in Normanniæ finibus ad nutriendum traditi, cum propinquo suo degebant Rotberto.” These last are the sons of whom one, Ælfred, the younger of the two (“Alfridus minor natu,” iii. 4), is the victim of the present story. It is plain therefore that the “liberales filii” of Cnut, spoken of in the former passage, are meant to be the same as the Æthelings. All three brothers being absent, “factum est,” he goes on to say, “ut quidam Anglorum, pietatem regis sui jam defuncti obliti, mallent regnum suum dedecorare quam ornare, relinquentes nobiles filios insignis reginæ Emmæ, et eligentes sibi in regem quemdam Haroldum,” &c., &c. (see above, p. ). He then goes on with Æthelnoth’s refusal to crown Harold (see above, p. ), and with Harold’s ungodly manner of life (see p. ). Then comes the forged letter and the rest of the story, as I have told it in the text. The piece of detail most worthy of notice is the writer’s remarks (iii. 5) on the decimation of Ælfred’s companions (on the alleged decimation at Canterbury in 1012, see above, p. );

“Traditi sunt carnificibus, quibus etiam jussum ut nemini parcerent nisi quem sors decima offerret. Tunc tortores vinctos ordinatim sedere fecerunt, satis supraque eis insultantes, illius interfectoris Thebææ legionis exemplo usi sunt, qui decimavit primum innocentes multo his mitius. Ille enim rex paganissimus Christianorum novem pepercit, occiso decimo: at hi profanissimi falsissimique Christiani bonorum Christianorum novem perimerunt, decimo dimisso.”

Now when a writer, whether through ignorance or through design, goes so utterly wrong about the birth of his hero, about the position of his heroine and the general condition of the kingdom, one hardly knows how to accept anything that he tells us. Yet his account, if used with caution, seems to supply some useful hints. His account is the only one which, while consistent with Godwine’s innocence, explains the origin of the belief as to his guilt. If we accept his account of what happened between Godwine and Ælfred, the various statements become intelligible; we see how the opposite stories could arise, which in any other way it is hard to see. The tale of the forged letter has a very odd sound, and the details may easily be mythical. Yet something of the kind would fill up the gap in the Chronicles, in which Ælfred comes over to England without any particular reason for his coming, better than William of Poitiers’ wild tale of a Norman invasion, which is most likely a mere repetition of the attempt of Robert.

The Encomiast seems to have had no notion that Emma was at Winchester, but rather to have fancied that she was in London. Ælfred, before he has landed, is recognized by his enemies, who wish to seize him (“volebant eum adgredi,” iii. 4), but he escapes, lands elsewhere, and sets out to go to his mother (“matrem parabat adire”). When he has got near to her (“ubi jam erat proximus”), he is met by Godwine, who persuades him not to go to London, and takes him to Guildford (“devians eum a Londonia, induxit eum in villa Gildefordia nuncupata”). The mistake is remarkable, for to quarter Emma in London instead of at Winchester implies utter ignorance as to her real position. But it seems quite plain that the Encomiast did not mean to identify Godwine either with the “adversarii” of Ælfred whom he had mentioned just before, nor yet with the “complices Haroldi infandissimi tyranni” (iii. 5), who are spoken of afterwards. And he expressly shuts out the story of invasion and battle which appears in William of Poitiers. The companions of Ælfred are indeed called “commilitones” (iii. 4), but, when Baldwin offers him the help of an armed force, he declines it (“cum marchione Balduino moratus, et ab eo rogatus ut aliquam partem suæ militiæ secum duceret propter insidias hostium”). This seems to forbid the notion of a force such as the Norman writers speak of, a force which could dream of the conquest of England or even of Wessex.

The only other independent witness is the strong partizan of Godwine, the Biographer of Eadward (Vita Eadw. 401). He perhaps shows some wish to slur the story over; but his account of the time between the death of Cnut and the election of Eadward is throughout confused and meagre. He brings in the story of Ælfred only incidentally, not in its chronological place, but much later, when describing the attempts of the Norman Archbishop Robert to sow dissensions between King Eadward and the Earl. He merely says that Ælfred, incautiously entering the country with some French companions, was seized and put to death by torture by order of Harold, his comrades being killed, sold, and so forth. As Godwine was still, under Harold as under Cnut, the chief counsellor of the King (“eo quoque tempore, ut superius, regalium consiliorum erat bajalus.” See above, p. ), the slanderer Robert took occasion to affirm that the deed was done by Godwine’s advice; but the Biographer strongly asserts the Earl’s innocence.

These are the earliest accounts of the business, all of them written by men who were alive at the time, and of whom the Encomiast of Emma personally knew Cnut, while the Biographer of Eadward personally knew Godwine. Their differences and contradictions are therefore the more amazing; and their one point of agreement is more amazing still, namely, that they all forget, as I said in the text, that Emma and Godwine were ruling in Wessex in the name, not of Harold, but of Harthacnut. The division of the kingdom, the regency of Emma and Godwine, are facts which cannot be doubted; they are affirmed by two of the Chronicles and they are implied by the other two (see above, p. ). But in telling the tale of Ælfred all this is forgotten. Even the Biographer of Eadward, the formal apologist of Godwine, seems, in the very act of defending him, to forget his real position. The Encomiast, whose version is the most favourable to Godwine’s innocence, seems to know nothing of any King but Harold; Godwine, if not Harold’s minister, is at least Harold’s subject. On comparing all these writers, the question at once arises, How far, when their main story involves so great a misconception, can we trust any of their details? The inconsistency is manifest; it seems to have been felt at the time. The ballad which laments the fate of the Ætheling is found only in those Chronicles which do not directly mention the division of the kingdom. And, even of these, one inserts the ballad in a form which does not accuse Godwine. The Peterborough Chronicler, who is so clear as to the division of the kingdom, says nothing about the fate of the Ætheling. The Norman writers, so eloquent about the fate of the Ætheling, know nothing of the kingship of Harthacnut. Florence, who attempts to combine the two stories, falls into all kinds of confusions and inconsistencies. It was no doubt the feeling of this inconsistency, the feeling that the story, as told, could not have happened at the time to which it is fixed, which made later writers, from William of Malmesbury onwards, move it to various other dates. William’s own account (ii. 188) is very remarkable. He hardly believes the story, because it is not in the Chronicles, but he tells it, because it was a common report; “Quia fama serit, non omisi; sed quia chronica tacet, pro solido non asserui.” He therefore had the Peterborough Chronicle before him. So just before; “Sane ne silentio premam quod de primogenito [Ælfred was certainly the younger] Ethelredi Elfredo rumigeruli spargunt.” The tale is placed by him in 1040, after the death of Harold and before the arrival of Harthacnut. Sir Thomas Hardy, in his note, proposes to read “mortem Cnutonis” for “mortem Haroldi,” but this is rather destroying evidence than explaining it. Ælfred enters the kingdom; by the treachery of his countrymen, chiefly of Godwine (“compatriotarum perfidia et maxime Godwini”), he is blinded at Gillingham (probably a mistake for Guildford); thence he is taken to Ely, where he soon dies. His companions are beheaded, save one out of each ten, who are allowed to escape.

This date, if it rested on any authority, would be far more probable than the other. Henry of Huntingdon (M. H. B. 758 D) pushes on the story yet a reign further. It is now placed after the death of Harthacnut in 1042. On that King’s death the English send for Ælfred, the elder of the Æthelings, to succeed to the Crown. He comes, and brings with him a great number of his mother’s kinsfolk and of other Normans. Now Godwine (“quum esset consul fortissimus et proditor sævissimus”) has determined that the new King shall marry his daughter. But he sees that Ælfred’s high spirit (“quia primogenitus erat et magnæ probitatis”) will not consent to this scheme, while he thinks that the milder spirit of Eadward (“frater minor et simplicior”) will submit to the yoke. Godwine then harangues the Witan (“intimavit igitur proceribus Angliæ”); Ælfred has brought with him too many Normans; he has promised them lands in England; it will not be safe to allow so valiant and so crafty a people to take root in the land; the strangers must be punished lest other strangers should venture to presume on their kindred with Kings to meddle with Englishmen and English affairs (“ne alii post hæc audeant pro regis cognatione se Anglis ingerere”). Ælfred’s Norman companions are then decimated at Guildford, in the fashion above mentioned; but even the tenth part seem to the English too many to be allowed to live (“nimium visum est Anglis tot superesse”); so they are decimated again; the Ætheling is blinded and sent to Ely, as before. Ralph the Black (157) brings in his version incidentally. Under the reign of Harthacnut, he says, “Edwardum fratrem suum a Normannis revocans, secum pacifice aliquamdiu habuit. Nam alter frater, Alureclus scilicet, ad stipitem ligatus a Godwino in Hely peremptus est, ter decimatis commilitonibus apud Guldedune, port mortem Haroldi, antequam regnaret Hardecnutus, consilio Stigandi archiepiscopi.” This last strange statement may be taken in connexion with a scandal which charged Emma herself with a partnership in the deed. (See p. and Note SSS.) There is no need to point out that Stigand was not Archbishop until long afterwards.

Bromton (X Scriptt. 934 et seqq.) gives several versions, but decides in favour of one grounded on that of Henry of Huntingdon. He adds several particulars, especially that the English nobles were so enraged against Godwine that they vowed that he should die a worse death than Eadric the betrayer of his cyne-hlaford (“dominum suum naturalem regem”) Eadmund. (It is a little remarkable that these words are used without any hint as to the supposed kindred between Godwine and Eadric.) On this Godwine flees to Denmark and remains there four years, his lands and goods being meanwhile confiscated. But Bromton’s most remarkable version is one in which the death of Ælfred, combined with an attempt to poison Eadward, is attributed to the joint action of Godwine, Harthacnut, and Emma herself. The same scandal turns up again in the Winchester Annals (Luard, Ann. Mon. ii. 22) as part of the legend of Emma and the ploughshares. So also in Bromton himself, X Scriptt. 942. But the Winchester Annalist had just before (Ann. Mon. ii. 17) given his own version. The tale is placed in the reign of Harthacnut. Godwine wishes to open the succession to his own son Harold. He entices Ælfred over—Duke Robert, notwithstanding his death and burial in the East, keeps Eadward back in Normandy—and causes one tenth of his companions to be beheaded, the rest to be tortured and crucified, and the Ætheling himself to be embowelled. Godwine’s instructions to his agents are given in two very graphic speeches. I trust that so pleasant a writer as Richard of the Devizes is not answerable for this stuff. See Mr. Luard’s Preface, p. xi.

Lastly, two charters ascribed to Eadward the Confessor, but of very doubtful genuineness, speak of the murder of Ælfred in a way which ought to be noticed. In the first (Cod. Dipl. iv. 173) Eadward is made to attribute the death of his brother to Harold and Harthacnut conjointly, and to speak of himself as being with difficulty rescued from them; “Invadentibus regnum Swegeno et Cnuto filio regis [ejus?], regibus Danorum, ac filiis ipsius Chnuti Haroldo et Hardechnuto, a quibus etiam alter meus frater Ælfredus crudeliter occisus est, solusque, sicut Joas occisionem Oðoliæ, sic ego illorum crudelitatem evasi.” In the other (Cod. Dipl. iv. 181) the crime is attributed to the Danes generally; “Dani qui ... fratrem meum alium Ælfredum miserabiliter interemptum enecaverant.” Now, even if these charters be spurious, they still have a certain value as witnessing to popular belief on the subject. Neither of them mentions Godwine; had they done so, Godwine’s sons could hardly have been represented as signing them. But the mention of the fact in charters signed by them might imply that the subject was not one which they at all sought to avoid. The second charter is perfectly vague; but the language of the former, attributing the deed to Harold and Harthacnut, is remarkable. That Harthacnut personally had no hand in it needs no proof; neither was Eadward at any time in the least danger at the hands of Harthacnut, who always acted towards him as an attached brother. Is the charge against Harthacnut meant to convey an indirect charge against the representative of Harthacnut, that is, against Emma herself?

I have thus fairly put together, as far as I can, the evidence on this most perplexing question. That Ælfred landed and was put to death by order of Harold there can be no reasonable doubt. But one can hardly say more, except that, of all the accounts of his coming, the least likely is that which connects it with a Norman invasion under the command of Eadward. The charge against Godwine implies a state of things which we know not to have existed; on the other hand it is strange that his one direct apologist should not have used so obvious an argument on his behalf. In my whole history I know no more remarkable instance of mistakes and contradictions on the part of writers who had every means of being well informed.