The Wolves of Westseaxna-a tale of Wessex
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I am resigned to being the only reader who sees and understands the Queen's true nature. (
)Enjoy your weekend of Turkeys and whatever else it is Americans do on this holiday.
Very well said. You took the letters-to-words right out of my fingers.
The Queen gets one last rebellion to crush before her time comes to an end (I assume her time nears anyway - she's infirm now). And does so in proper fashion.
But, I wonder, might it be better if her rebellious vassals had some time to think about their misdeeds toward the crown? As in, perhaps some time in a dungeon, remaining until such time as the prince, when he ascends has dealt with other, perhaps more grave threats? Removing any aid the Lady Æthelræda might have when she inevitably attacks when the queen passes might be good for the realm in the long run.
Hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving weekend!
But, I wonder, might it be better if her rebellious vassals had some time to think about their misdeeds toward the crown? As in, perhaps some time in a dungeon, remaining until such time as the prince, when he ascends has dealt with other, perhaps more grave threats? Removing any aid the Lady Æthelræda might have when she inevitably attacks when the queen passes might be good for the realm in the long run.
Hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving weekend!
many thanks! Copious amounts of wine and food were consumed
many thanks!
thank you @El Pip and just for you the next scene shall be told from the queen herself’s POV. I think you’ll like it (if not necessarily her lol)I am resigned to being the only reader who sees and understands the Queen's true nature. (
Enjoy your weekend of Turkeys and whatever else it is Americans do on this holiday.
awwww thanks so much.Very well said. You took the letters-to-words right out of my fingers.
you make some very astute points there and ones the queen would do well to heed. Next post will reveal all.
many thanks man
Chapter 35, The Palace at Winchester, September 952 AD
‘Be still sire-this will go much easier on you if you cease your fidgeting!’
The old queen harrumphed as she eyed warily the steaming little bivouac that the spindly man with an eye patch held out for her. ‘five months you have been in my employ. Your wisdom I sought yet all I have got from you are these daily…’ She was interrupted by a violent coughing fit and immediately and rather tamely put her head inside.
Pass the Vicks!
‘My learnings and my wisdom encompass far greater things than the mere teachings I can pass on my lady-as well do you know. Now breathe deep – a canker of the lungs is a serious matter and must, perforce, attract serious remedies.’
I guess I've had a good innings
He has it right she thought as the tightness in her chest eased, if not from this wise man from far away lands she would be food for worms by now. Mayhap it were well for I feel every one of these sixty summers I have lived…
From somewhere far away she could hear his gentle tones, ‘….will provision you for the duration of your Witan – as long as you keep it short!’
She took her head out once more, rheumy eyes adjusting to the bright light of her private quarters, wrinkled and careworn face feeling a gentle autumn breeze blowing through the unshuttered windows.
‘It is a Witenagemot my learned friend – a full meeting of all my vassals, temporal, secular and spiritual. Dukes, Earls, Bishops – even Mayors shall be there. I sincerely doubt that it will be a short affair…’
Her physician tutted at that ‘well you are queen – command it to be so. Your condition is not disposed for lengthy meetings.’ He thrust the bowl at her ‘breathe once more – this concoction will buy you time.’
She did as she was told for the few months of their acquaintance had taught her that whilst she was mistress of all she surveyed, could command thousands into the field, issue edicts and laws and whose very word was life and death for so many, there were some whose knowledge and wisdom surpassed the finite bonds of earthly power. Here was such a man.
Just keep me going for 1 more year...
When once more she emerged she had to admit that the tightness had all but gone. Smiling she held out a regal hand for her physician and mentor. ‘That was well done Maoilios – well done indeed.’ Then more seriously, ‘but how long will that give me?’
The Greek man crossed to the window and peered at the distant sun, high in the warm late summer sky. Turning to Wulfryth he stated assuredly ‘one, mayhap two hours at most madam.’
Not long at all for all that must needs be done ‘Thank you sir. I have been most fortunate indeed to have been blessed with you in my winter years.’
‘Do not thank me-thank God and thank my extensive learning – as I say I have merely bought you time. Death comes for us all in the end.’
A nod of the head ‘as you say Maoilios the Wise, as you say. Now leave us and fetch forth my ladies so that I may be prepared for the events of the day – I trust that you will be on hand in the environs should my health fail me.’
If he was perturbed by her suddenly haughty dismissal he showed it not a whit, instead bowing low and retreating from her chambers leaving the old woman with her thoughts: it is passing strange that these last few years I have almost wished for death and now that it is almost upon me there are, of a sudden, so many things that I still have wish to do…
A small knock on the door.
‘You may enter.’
Here was pretty Sæflæd, one of the Duke of East Anglia’s brood. Pretty and pleasing: she did well enough for her mistress.
The young girl, who had but recently passed eighteen summers, gave a deep bow. ‘My lady may I prepare your hair and vestments.’
Wulfryth beckoned her in, ‘I have been dreaming of my sister of late girl. What think you of that?’
Sæflæd looked thoughtful. She might be young but she had something of her father’s bright intellect and, yes, cunning. She was no wallflower-all pretty petals and nothing in between it’s head-not this one. ‘Mayhap you feel closer to her at the now my queen?’
Wulfryth nodded gently, striving not to disturb the girl’s eager brushing of her once lustrous auburn locks-now all grey and brittle. ‘I think you have the right of it. She has been dead these thirteen years, sent by my father to a loveless marriage in West Francia and yet I do now have her clearly in my mind. Passing strange think you not?’
‘I have heard you were like peas in the pod when young my lady…’
‘We were’ the queen said brightly smiling. Then sadly: ‘we were until some ill happenstance robbed her of her wit, after which I was like to get more sense out of a cow in the field. I do miss her still – or the old her anyway…’
‘You must have greatly loved her my queen.’
‘I did…I have only truly loved two people properly in my long life.’ She paused as if daring Sæflæd to guess.
The younger girl stayed silent whilst determinedly continuing to brush.
‘My father and my sister girl. Who else? I have not loved any of my three husbands – two taken from me too early and one a coward whose flight back to his church in Italia almost scandalised me beyond repair.’
‘Men can be inconstant my queen.’
Wulfryth looked sad – her eyes playing some far off scene, ‘Yes they can at that girl. And their lust for power is untrammelled – always be mindful of that.’
Sæflæd nodded in agreement and offered gently ‘yet you must surely love your children, your two daughters and son? And what of their children?’
‘Children are a chore girl!’ Wulfryth snapped. ‘You love and care for them but no sooner are they grown but they are snatched forever from you…and for what? To satisfy dynastic ambitions and plays for power, that’s what! I have rarely seen my grandchildren, living as most do in foreign lands. I think they are afeard of me, in any case…’
Sæflæd did not respond to the bitter words, choosing, instead, to move the conversation to sunnier matters: ‘yet you have found me a wonderful match my lady.’ She beamed ‘I can positively say that I love him!’
‘Aha a love match – lucky you…’ Wulfryth trailed off, ‘still I shall be with them both someday very soon…’
‘With who my lady?’
‘My father and sister of course. Who else?’
At that Sæflæd stopped her brushing, ‘please do not say such my lady-you will reign over us for many more years to come. You must!’
At that Wulfryth gave out her high tinkling laugh, once so commonly heard in the marbled halls of Winchester, ‘Me? Hah! I think not. I must walk with a stick-my eyes are failing me and even Maoilios’s ministrations cannot keep this canker from consuming me forever. No, I will welcome death’s gossamer wings when they shall come and I can feel their touch even now…’
Wulfryth suddenly stopped when she realised that her attendant was weeping softly. ‘Ah why do you weep girl? I am sorry.’ She awkwardly held out a kerchief ‘I did not mean to upset you so. Am much maudlin these days. Come let us get me into this fine dress.’
‘Very well my queen. It is just I cannot encompass this realm without your firm and just guiding hand.’
The queen stood to embrace her younger charge, holding her close until the sobs subsided and then readied herself for her vestments…
Some hours later Wulfryth, resplendently attired in white and red sable, made her painful way into Winchester’s great hall, leaning both on her stick and on Sæflæd to one side. On the other another of her attendant ladies. Atop her brow the glittering gilded crown of All-England.
‘My lords and ladies all will be silent and rise for your queen!’ The cry went up from Grand Mayor Cenræd of Deira, the Lord Chancellor of the realm. Wulfryth took in the scene: the hall had been arranged so that all her vassals might be seated, the lords and ladies in a great semi-circle to the front of the raised dais upon which sat her throne. She stood at the far end, upon a majestic red velvet carpet leading all the way to it. Behind and below her throne were arranged six seats, three to either side of her own throne: five for the members of her Small Council and the other, just to her right, was smaller, ornate and beautiful but lacking the majesty of her dragon throne. It was empty…
I have had more Councillors than there are stars in the sky - no, not in that way!
As she processed she was pleased to espy also, behind her station, the mighty banners of Wessex and England. Ringing the room were smaller ones that carried the sigils of all her lords and ladies, the mayors and bishops who comprised the Witenagemot. It was a truly imposing sight.
And so it should be for I have paid enough coin for it to be just so Wulfryth thought wryly as she hobbled down the hall, giving a nod here and a smile there. My Steward, Æthelsige of Salford is competent enough but I miss Mishael the Jew. Now there was a man who could make money talk! ‘Suspicious circumstances’ by God-murdered, more like, by my over-officious clerics-God rot them! Still I must perforce put a brave face on the matter and smile at them for they seem to love me yet…
Ah there is Werestan of Saint Swithun…he smiles beatifically at me but I wonder if he encompassed Mishael’s murder. Yes murder-for that is what it was-though none will say as much. Here is Cenfus, Bishop of Wells and his accomplice Ælfweard of Exeter. They profess love for me but still send their taxes to the Holy Father in Rome…
Ah my Mayors; Wulfgar of Boston, Sibert of Sarum and Dorchester and Oxford-good men all. Would that I could people my lands with such as these!
And now amongst my lords, powerful women ruling powerful demesnes; Duchess Leoglifu of Powys, my faithful Cuthberht’s heir, my kinsman Countess Beorthflæd, who rules the Eryi in wild and mountainous Gwynedd. May God bless them. And here is my favourite, the Duchess Æthelræda.
‘My lady of Kent, how fares you?’ Wulfryth enquired solicitously of her protégé, at the same time eyeing askance the livid scar that ran crossways down the Duchess’s hitherto pretty face. I had heard that she leads her own armies – utter folly!
Æthelræda bowed low and then met the queen’s inquiring gaze, ‘all is well my liege. All is now peaceful thanks to your good guidance and help…’
The queen took the duchess’s hands in hers, ‘indeed. I would have my foremost barons in amity with each other-above all when they are my son and she who I would see as an adoptive daughter…’
The Duchess could only smile at that. ‘Aye my queen – your largesse and good counsel have seen to that right enough. I am ever grateful for such a wise and just ruler.’
Indeed you are my girl and no doubt the offer of eighty pounds of gold from the royal coffers did much to concentrate your mind in the matter of your foolhardy war to wrest Surrey from my son…
Wulfryth ran her fingers gently down Æthelræda’s scar a disapproving look on her face ‘you must take more care, my lady of Kent. Courage and honour are not only to be found on the field of battle. We women must know our limitations no?’
A rueful smile in return, ‘Aye your grace – mayhap my youthful eagerness does get the better of me often times…’
‘No matter, no matter. You are hale and whole. Come walk with me.’ The other attendant was dismissed and Æthelræda took her place on the opposite side of Sæflæd such that the three continued to make their slow way down the carpet towards the dais. It was a powerful statement to all her lords just where the old queen’s affections now lay – it was also a warning to her son…
Once at the dais and seated the queen was all business. ‘Lord Chancellor – to work! What is the first order of the day?’
Cenræd shuffled forward, ‘the matter of your son, the king, my liege…’
‘Ah yes. You mean the duke do you not?’ She corrected peering around the Great Hall before asking ‘where is my son? Bid him enter.’
The Chancellor bowed, turned and banging his great mace of office into the marbled floor in stentorian voice boomed ‘My lords and ladies, the Duke of Cornwall and King of Saxony…’
A sudden tapping of something at his leg interrupted his announcement mid flow. It was the queen prodding him with her stick.
‘I did say the duke only did I not my lord?’
Cenræd was perplexed, retorted, ‘but he is King of Saxony my liege. Do I not also announce him as such as custom demands?’
‘You will announce him as what I tell you to sir. He is Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Surrey by my reckoning. Have him enter!’
Another strike from the mace and the doors to the far end of the Great Hall were flung open and Osweald entered. He was now, in actual fact, the King of Saxony, through his father’s claim but a furious argument with his mother had left him in no doubt that she would not recognise the title, taking, as it would, the counties of Cornwall and Surrey from the realm.
‘If you wish to continue as my heir you will never more speak to me of this kingdom of Saxony comprising as it does a mere two counties! I have never heard such folly - not even from Alexandr, your father! What are your future subjects to make of a prince that is so concerned with their weal that he embarks on foreign ventures in far away lands to win him a crown!’
‘But mama – Saxony is where we are from originally and of which your husband, papa, was prince’ Osweald had protested before adding weakly ‘and do you not think it wise for me to gain some experience of actually ruling before I accede?’
But she was not to be gainsaid, demanding peremptorily that he no more trouble her with the matter. The Prince, ever one for pleasing his mother, quietly let the matter drop.
So today his brief to the Chancellor had not quite worked but so be it. He was dressed in fine tunic of black velvet and gold. Handsome britches and on his head not the crown of Saxony, as was his right, but the ducal coronet of Cornwall-these being another new tradition that Wulfryth had introduced to replace the old blue felt caps. He had done much to practice sword-craft and the like – had employed some of the finest warriors in Saxony to teach him and as a consequence had lost much of the stoutness that had earned him the sobriquet of ‘the fat’. He was looking ever more like the Dryhten that he would need to be when he was king.
The queen nodded with satisfaction as Osweald processed down the walkway and bowed low to his mother then knelt in the ancient sign of fealty, placing his hands between hers. It was a show she wanted above all and he would play it, for he did yet much love his mother and would do anything to gain her approval.
Once done he took his seat to her right side-that was his reward: he was being paraded to all as her son and heir
But don’t get ideas above your station my boy-I am not yet in my grave…
There followed much of mundane matters. Her Steward going over the state of the realm’s finances and how the well stocked treasury was being used to, once more, fund a massive drive of building throughout the land. Adding more fortifications to the fortified towns, building stables and barracks to enhance the Fyrd and new markets and ports. The kingdom’s medical facilities were also being upgraded and, in a show of royal financial power the Queen was spreading her largesse beyond the crownlands of old Wessex and Lindsay much to the delight of those lords and ladies who were fortunate enough to be gifted such projects.
But it was all boring stuff and on not a few occasions did Wulfryth find herself nodding off.
At last she roused herself in the middle of yet more ramblings by Æthelsige and interrupted archly. ‘Enough of matters of coin sir! Lord Chancellor mayhap you can apprise us of affairs beyond the realm?’
Coming forward once again the Chancellor, Grand Mayor Cenræd of Deira, once one of the Earldoms of East Anglia. He had served her faithfully in the position since King Orson had died and was even more ancient than she. Despite his shuffling gait and appearance the septuagenarian retained a certain youthful vigour and certainly remained bright of mind.
‘With all England united the great question for our realm must now be – whither next?’ He declared sweeping his staff out to a great map of Europa that had quickly been laid out by servants. ‘Wales is ours either through tribute or possession so shall it be mettlesome Hibernia where the queen’s daughter resides, their chieftains looking for a High king, or queen to rule o’er all?’ Another sweep, ‘and what of Caledonia, wild but governed by the Scot?’ A theatrical turn southwards: ‘or mayhap we should turn our attention to Hispania where the Moor still holds dominion and whence we can be sure the Holy Father shall once more send the faithful?’
So many lands that we can turn red...
Wulfryth turned to Osweald and back to the hall. ‘These are all questions for my son to answer since my time as your ruler is surely drawing to a close.’
A great cry of dissent from all assembled but it was stilled as Wulfryth held up a hand.
‘Come my lords, my ladies. I am old and grey - I have ruled over you all for almost forty years but the days of Wulfryth the Just are surely coming to a close, as sure as night must follow day. I have few regrets mind…’
More shouts of dissent, led, she noticed, by Æthelræda at the fore. That was good.
Fools! Death will not be stilled.
The hubbub continued, however, despite the efforts of Cenræd for it was as if the great and the good of England could not countenance in any way, shape or form, any ruler other than she who had governed their affairs for so long.
In the end it was her son who rose to his feet and with emollient tone declared ‘lords and ladies. Mayors. Please. There will be ample time for the mother of our nation to determine how we, as a people, might expand our influence and lands.’
They were, of a sudden, hushed. Osweald looked to his mother for a cue.
Go on boy – this is what I raised you for. The most imperceptible of nods from Wulfryth.
Osweald continued, encouraged: ‘mayhap…a great commission to determine our future path.’ A growl of assent. ‘And my mother shall, as sovereign, be at its head!’ At this a huge cheer went up. If the queen was at the Commission’s head then all must be well surely?
As the cheering continued Osweald took leave to sit and with satisfaction smiled at Wulfryth.
That was well done lad – well done indeed.
The queen tapped at her Chancellor once more, ‘I believe there are two lords not present here my lord?’
Her Chancellor stared blankly at her.
‘The Dukes of Lancaster and Essex sir!’ She suddenly snapped, ‘fetch them forth!’
A low murmur went up from the hall as they took in the import of this. Duke Hereberht of Mercia, the leader of the rebellion started last year and joined by Wulfryth’s own kinsman, the son of her dead cousin, Leofflæd, was a greybeard of seventy summers. All had heard how both had been cast into one of Winchester’s deepest, darkest dungeons when they had been delivered up by the Commanders of her Fyrd. Wulfryth’s oubliettes were terrible places and the stuff of nightmares. What state would the captives yet be in?
After some time, during which the queen fiddled absent-mindedly with her cane and her son looked worried behind her, at last the great doors to the hall swung open and the herald at the far end announced, ‘Dukes Hereberht of Mercia and Eormenric of Essex!’
A gasp from the crowd at the shambling shuffling figures before them. Chained at the ankle and having to be supported by their guards. They were thin and shrunken, clothes rotted and hanging off them. They were also filthy and many there were who turned away at the strong smell of ordure that emanated from the pair.
The queen, meanwhile, came alive at the sorry sight. They should be thankful that I have not tortured them!
‘Come forward sirs! Come.’ She beckoned them forth.
The prisoners approached and attempted to bow. A nod to the guards from Wulfryth and both were struck behind their legs and forced to their knees – the old man particularly painfully, such that he cried out in pain.
Wulfryth surveyed them dispassionately. All my life I have had to resist the base urge of men to resist my power-to take my queenship and all my life I have prevailed. Mayhap I should set these two a fine example. A public execution…
‘You who have disturbed the peace of the realm – what say you sirs?’
From the old man just anguished sobbing. Her kinsman, for his part, remained silent.
Nay execution and maiming are too good for the pair of you. You will rot for the rest of my days in the dungeons. It will be for my son to determine your weal when I am gone…if you survive.
‘I thought so…well there must be a reckoning sirs think you not?’ A hush throughout the Hall as Wulfryth spoke.
‘Hereberht Iceling, I take your counties of Leicester and Warwick back to myself-you have proved yourself unfit to hold them. I also revoke your Duchy of Lancaster. Take him forth.’
The guards manhandled the weeping old man from the Hall. It was doubtful he would live to truly bemoan his loss. This would break him.
Wulfryth now turned her cat-like gaze on Eormenric. ‘You are my kinsman, sir, but your branch of the family did ever grasp for more than its due. It was your aunt who, after all, tried to steal your mother’s inheritance was it not?’
The young man stared back- a defiant set to his chin but no words did he utter to match his bravado. Very well boy let us see who will be the victor here.
‘Only you can know what you thought there was to gain by joining such a foolhardy venture against your own kin, but it will cost you dear, of that I can assure you.’
Now he looks afeard…
‘I take from you your dukedom of Essex and the County of Gloucester. You shall remain a mere Baron by my grace only. It will be for my son to dispose of you when I have departed this life. I trust that the oubliette will afford you plenty of time to contemplate your treachery. See him hence.’
The grim awfulness of what was being done was only now apparent and the lordling cried out in anguish as he was dragged from the Hall, ‘I am sorry cousin-forgive me! Forgive me!’
But there was to be no mercy from the queen - not today. Not ever.
Wulfryth could now feel her chest, once more, tightening and she rose unsteadily. Before her there was assent. Not one of her court opposed her – indeed they loved her. Some thought she would exact a steeper price – all knew that crossing the crown yet had dire and dread reward.
‘My lords and ladies it only falls on me to dispense these titles and so I shall do.’ An expectant hush, once more. ‘Step forth my paladins: my Marshal, Wulfnoth and my Commanders Ælfnoth and Wulfgar!’
‘To my Lord Marshall I bequeath the County of Gloucester which shall be a Grand City from henceforth. You shall also receive the Duchy of Lancaster that will make you Grand Mayor of the new Republic of Lancaster!’
The 3 Amigos!
A gasp arose. This was bounteous reward indeed. Mayor Wulfnoth stepped forward, as shocked as all, for never in his wildest dreams could he have envisaged such elevation. He knelt and paid obeisance to the queen, was raised up and watched in a daze as his companions were elevated to the Dukedom of Essex, in the case of Wulfgar; a man who had been but a lowborn Ceorl not many years previously. Wulfgar also received the County of Leicester. And Ælfnoth was made Earl of Warwick – it was unprecedented to raise so many commoners up so.
Mayhap but all are childless and all will owe the crown blind obedience. If they die without issue then their titles will pass back to the royal demesne. The reality is it costs me nothing and gains me much.
By now, however, the queen was really struggling. She had sat back down but was finding it difficult to draw air into her chest - a violent coughing fit ensued. Her son noted her discomfort and signalled for Maoilios. He appeared as if from the shadows and thrust a poultice into the queen’s hand.
Strepsil?
‘Breathe into this madam. It will help, for a short while…’
‘I must be gone from here,’ she uttered after taking a deep draw from the concoction, but she was of a sudden confused. ‘get me from this place.’
Osweald was, at once, upon his feet and helped by Maoilios they assisted Wulfryth to her feet once more and started proceeding from the room, almost carrying the frail old woman between them.
And as they departed suddenly a cry went up from someone ‘God bless you Sire! God Bless Queen Wulfryth!’
And it was picked up by others until the whole Hall was cheering, stamping and shouting ‘God bless Queen Wulfryth! God bless Queen Wulfryth the Just!’
None did notice in the hubbub that she reached for a kerchief and dabbed at moistened eyes as she left…
Les Affaires de la Reine de Wessex (translated). 1874. Prof Selman.
There was no Grand Commission, in the end, for Wulfryth, at this time, retired from public life and was rarely seen again. Her son, Osweald, increasingly took up the reins of the affairs of state. By the spring of 953 AD she was totally confined to her bed and incapable of arising, despite Maoilios’s attentions. For weeks, few matters of state were attended to and the whole country ground to a halt - It was as if the whole realm held its breath.
Finally Wulfryth I of England passed away peacefully on the morning of 17th July 953 AD, her son, two daughters and some of her grandchildren by her bedside, the latter having made their long journeys from Francia and Hibernia. Her monumental reign had been a long struggle but she had, in the end, served to strengthen immeasurably the Saxon crown and the Godhelming’s grip on it. Her death was the passing of the age, the dying of the light that finally brought, as her name said, the old wolf peace...
Wulfryth the Just, Wulfryth the Long-lived, the lawmaker and queen.
What a reign!
Stain glass window of Wulfryth I of England in Winchester Cathedral 2001
‘Be still sire-this will go much easier on you if you cease your fidgeting!’
The old queen harrumphed as she eyed warily the steaming little bivouac that the spindly man with an eye patch held out for her. ‘five months you have been in my employ. Your wisdom I sought yet all I have got from you are these daily…’ She was interrupted by a violent coughing fit and immediately and rather tamely put her head inside.
Pass the Vicks!
‘My learnings and my wisdom encompass far greater things than the mere teachings I can pass on my lady-as well do you know. Now breathe deep – a canker of the lungs is a serious matter and must, perforce, attract serious remedies.’
I guess I've had a good innings
He has it right she thought as the tightness in her chest eased, if not from this wise man from far away lands she would be food for worms by now. Mayhap it were well for I feel every one of these sixty summers I have lived…
From somewhere far away she could hear his gentle tones, ‘….will provision you for the duration of your Witan – as long as you keep it short!’
She took her head out once more, rheumy eyes adjusting to the bright light of her private quarters, wrinkled and careworn face feeling a gentle autumn breeze blowing through the unshuttered windows.
‘It is a Witenagemot my learned friend – a full meeting of all my vassals, temporal, secular and spiritual. Dukes, Earls, Bishops – even Mayors shall be there. I sincerely doubt that it will be a short affair…’
Her physician tutted at that ‘well you are queen – command it to be so. Your condition is not disposed for lengthy meetings.’ He thrust the bowl at her ‘breathe once more – this concoction will buy you time.’
She did as she was told for the few months of their acquaintance had taught her that whilst she was mistress of all she surveyed, could command thousands into the field, issue edicts and laws and whose very word was life and death for so many, there were some whose knowledge and wisdom surpassed the finite bonds of earthly power. Here was such a man.
Just keep me going for 1 more year...
When once more she emerged she had to admit that the tightness had all but gone. Smiling she held out a regal hand for her physician and mentor. ‘That was well done Maoilios – well done indeed.’ Then more seriously, ‘but how long will that give me?’
The Greek man crossed to the window and peered at the distant sun, high in the warm late summer sky. Turning to Wulfryth he stated assuredly ‘one, mayhap two hours at most madam.’
Not long at all for all that must needs be done ‘Thank you sir. I have been most fortunate indeed to have been blessed with you in my winter years.’
‘Do not thank me-thank God and thank my extensive learning – as I say I have merely bought you time. Death comes for us all in the end.’
A nod of the head ‘as you say Maoilios the Wise, as you say. Now leave us and fetch forth my ladies so that I may be prepared for the events of the day – I trust that you will be on hand in the environs should my health fail me.’
If he was perturbed by her suddenly haughty dismissal he showed it not a whit, instead bowing low and retreating from her chambers leaving the old woman with her thoughts: it is passing strange that these last few years I have almost wished for death and now that it is almost upon me there are, of a sudden, so many things that I still have wish to do…
A small knock on the door.
‘You may enter.’
Here was pretty Sæflæd, one of the Duke of East Anglia’s brood. Pretty and pleasing: she did well enough for her mistress.
The young girl, who had but recently passed eighteen summers, gave a deep bow. ‘My lady may I prepare your hair and vestments.’
Wulfryth beckoned her in, ‘I have been dreaming of my sister of late girl. What think you of that?’
Sæflæd looked thoughtful. She might be young but she had something of her father’s bright intellect and, yes, cunning. She was no wallflower-all pretty petals and nothing in between it’s head-not this one. ‘Mayhap you feel closer to her at the now my queen?’
Wulfryth nodded gently, striving not to disturb the girl’s eager brushing of her once lustrous auburn locks-now all grey and brittle. ‘I think you have the right of it. She has been dead these thirteen years, sent by my father to a loveless marriage in West Francia and yet I do now have her clearly in my mind. Passing strange think you not?’
‘I have heard you were like peas in the pod when young my lady…’
‘We were’ the queen said brightly smiling. Then sadly: ‘we were until some ill happenstance robbed her of her wit, after which I was like to get more sense out of a cow in the field. I do miss her still – or the old her anyway…’
‘You must have greatly loved her my queen.’
‘I did…I have only truly loved two people properly in my long life.’ She paused as if daring Sæflæd to guess.
The younger girl stayed silent whilst determinedly continuing to brush.
‘My father and my sister girl. Who else? I have not loved any of my three husbands – two taken from me too early and one a coward whose flight back to his church in Italia almost scandalised me beyond repair.’
‘Men can be inconstant my queen.’
Wulfryth looked sad – her eyes playing some far off scene, ‘Yes they can at that girl. And their lust for power is untrammelled – always be mindful of that.’
Sæflæd nodded in agreement and offered gently ‘yet you must surely love your children, your two daughters and son? And what of their children?’
‘Children are a chore girl!’ Wulfryth snapped. ‘You love and care for them but no sooner are they grown but they are snatched forever from you…and for what? To satisfy dynastic ambitions and plays for power, that’s what! I have rarely seen my grandchildren, living as most do in foreign lands. I think they are afeard of me, in any case…’
Sæflæd did not respond to the bitter words, choosing, instead, to move the conversation to sunnier matters: ‘yet you have found me a wonderful match my lady.’ She beamed ‘I can positively say that I love him!’
‘Aha a love match – lucky you…’ Wulfryth trailed off, ‘still I shall be with them both someday very soon…’
‘With who my lady?’
‘My father and sister of course. Who else?’
At that Sæflæd stopped her brushing, ‘please do not say such my lady-you will reign over us for many more years to come. You must!’
At that Wulfryth gave out her high tinkling laugh, once so commonly heard in the marbled halls of Winchester, ‘Me? Hah! I think not. I must walk with a stick-my eyes are failing me and even Maoilios’s ministrations cannot keep this canker from consuming me forever. No, I will welcome death’s gossamer wings when they shall come and I can feel their touch even now…’
Wulfryth suddenly stopped when she realised that her attendant was weeping softly. ‘Ah why do you weep girl? I am sorry.’ She awkwardly held out a kerchief ‘I did not mean to upset you so. Am much maudlin these days. Come let us get me into this fine dress.’
‘Very well my queen. It is just I cannot encompass this realm without your firm and just guiding hand.’
The queen stood to embrace her younger charge, holding her close until the sobs subsided and then readied herself for her vestments…
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Some hours later Wulfryth, resplendently attired in white and red sable, made her painful way into Winchester’s great hall, leaning both on her stick and on Sæflæd to one side. On the other another of her attendant ladies. Atop her brow the glittering gilded crown of All-England.
‘My lords and ladies all will be silent and rise for your queen!’ The cry went up from Grand Mayor Cenræd of Deira, the Lord Chancellor of the realm. Wulfryth took in the scene: the hall had been arranged so that all her vassals might be seated, the lords and ladies in a great semi-circle to the front of the raised dais upon which sat her throne. She stood at the far end, upon a majestic red velvet carpet leading all the way to it. Behind and below her throne were arranged six seats, three to either side of her own throne: five for the members of her Small Council and the other, just to her right, was smaller, ornate and beautiful but lacking the majesty of her dragon throne. It was empty…
I have had more Councillors than there are stars in the sky - no, not in that way!
As she processed she was pleased to espy also, behind her station, the mighty banners of Wessex and England. Ringing the room were smaller ones that carried the sigils of all her lords and ladies, the mayors and bishops who comprised the Witenagemot. It was a truly imposing sight.
And so it should be for I have paid enough coin for it to be just so Wulfryth thought wryly as she hobbled down the hall, giving a nod here and a smile there. My Steward, Æthelsige of Salford is competent enough but I miss Mishael the Jew. Now there was a man who could make money talk! ‘Suspicious circumstances’ by God-murdered, more like, by my over-officious clerics-God rot them! Still I must perforce put a brave face on the matter and smile at them for they seem to love me yet…
Ah there is Werestan of Saint Swithun…he smiles beatifically at me but I wonder if he encompassed Mishael’s murder. Yes murder-for that is what it was-though none will say as much. Here is Cenfus, Bishop of Wells and his accomplice Ælfweard of Exeter. They profess love for me but still send their taxes to the Holy Father in Rome…
Ah my Mayors; Wulfgar of Boston, Sibert of Sarum and Dorchester and Oxford-good men all. Would that I could people my lands with such as these!
And now amongst my lords, powerful women ruling powerful demesnes; Duchess Leoglifu of Powys, my faithful Cuthberht’s heir, my kinsman Countess Beorthflæd, who rules the Eryi in wild and mountainous Gwynedd. May God bless them. And here is my favourite, the Duchess Æthelræda.
‘My lady of Kent, how fares you?’ Wulfryth enquired solicitously of her protégé, at the same time eyeing askance the livid scar that ran crossways down the Duchess’s hitherto pretty face. I had heard that she leads her own armies – utter folly!
Æthelræda bowed low and then met the queen’s inquiring gaze, ‘all is well my liege. All is now peaceful thanks to your good guidance and help…’
The queen took the duchess’s hands in hers, ‘indeed. I would have my foremost barons in amity with each other-above all when they are my son and she who I would see as an adoptive daughter…’
The Duchess could only smile at that. ‘Aye my queen – your largesse and good counsel have seen to that right enough. I am ever grateful for such a wise and just ruler.’
Indeed you are my girl and no doubt the offer of eighty pounds of gold from the royal coffers did much to concentrate your mind in the matter of your foolhardy war to wrest Surrey from my son…
Wulfryth ran her fingers gently down Æthelræda’s scar a disapproving look on her face ‘you must take more care, my lady of Kent. Courage and honour are not only to be found on the field of battle. We women must know our limitations no?’
A rueful smile in return, ‘Aye your grace – mayhap my youthful eagerness does get the better of me often times…’
‘No matter, no matter. You are hale and whole. Come walk with me.’ The other attendant was dismissed and Æthelræda took her place on the opposite side of Sæflæd such that the three continued to make their slow way down the carpet towards the dais. It was a powerful statement to all her lords just where the old queen’s affections now lay – it was also a warning to her son…
Once at the dais and seated the queen was all business. ‘Lord Chancellor – to work! What is the first order of the day?’
Cenræd shuffled forward, ‘the matter of your son, the king, my liege…’
‘Ah yes. You mean the duke do you not?’ She corrected peering around the Great Hall before asking ‘where is my son? Bid him enter.’
The Chancellor bowed, turned and banging his great mace of office into the marbled floor in stentorian voice boomed ‘My lords and ladies, the Duke of Cornwall and King of Saxony…’
A sudden tapping of something at his leg interrupted his announcement mid flow. It was the queen prodding him with her stick.
‘I did say the duke only did I not my lord?’
Cenræd was perplexed, retorted, ‘but he is King of Saxony my liege. Do I not also announce him as such as custom demands?’
‘You will announce him as what I tell you to sir. He is Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Surrey by my reckoning. Have him enter!’
Another strike from the mace and the doors to the far end of the Great Hall were flung open and Osweald entered. He was now, in actual fact, the King of Saxony, through his father’s claim but a furious argument with his mother had left him in no doubt that she would not recognise the title, taking, as it would, the counties of Cornwall and Surrey from the realm.
‘If you wish to continue as my heir you will never more speak to me of this kingdom of Saxony comprising as it does a mere two counties! I have never heard such folly - not even from Alexandr, your father! What are your future subjects to make of a prince that is so concerned with their weal that he embarks on foreign ventures in far away lands to win him a crown!’
‘But mama – Saxony is where we are from originally and of which your husband, papa, was prince’ Osweald had protested before adding weakly ‘and do you not think it wise for me to gain some experience of actually ruling before I accede?’
But she was not to be gainsaid, demanding peremptorily that he no more trouble her with the matter. The Prince, ever one for pleasing his mother, quietly let the matter drop.
So today his brief to the Chancellor had not quite worked but so be it. He was dressed in fine tunic of black velvet and gold. Handsome britches and on his head not the crown of Saxony, as was his right, but the ducal coronet of Cornwall-these being another new tradition that Wulfryth had introduced to replace the old blue felt caps. He had done much to practice sword-craft and the like – had employed some of the finest warriors in Saxony to teach him and as a consequence had lost much of the stoutness that had earned him the sobriquet of ‘the fat’. He was looking ever more like the Dryhten that he would need to be when he was king.
The queen nodded with satisfaction as Osweald processed down the walkway and bowed low to his mother then knelt in the ancient sign of fealty, placing his hands between hers. It was a show she wanted above all and he would play it, for he did yet much love his mother and would do anything to gain her approval.
Once done he took his seat to her right side-that was his reward: he was being paraded to all as her son and heir
But don’t get ideas above your station my boy-I am not yet in my grave…
There followed much of mundane matters. Her Steward going over the state of the realm’s finances and how the well stocked treasury was being used to, once more, fund a massive drive of building throughout the land. Adding more fortifications to the fortified towns, building stables and barracks to enhance the Fyrd and new markets and ports. The kingdom’s medical facilities were also being upgraded and, in a show of royal financial power the Queen was spreading her largesse beyond the crownlands of old Wessex and Lindsay much to the delight of those lords and ladies who were fortunate enough to be gifted such projects.
But it was all boring stuff and on not a few occasions did Wulfryth find herself nodding off.
At last she roused herself in the middle of yet more ramblings by Æthelsige and interrupted archly. ‘Enough of matters of coin sir! Lord Chancellor mayhap you can apprise us of affairs beyond the realm?’
Coming forward once again the Chancellor, Grand Mayor Cenræd of Deira, once one of the Earldoms of East Anglia. He had served her faithfully in the position since King Orson had died and was even more ancient than she. Despite his shuffling gait and appearance the septuagenarian retained a certain youthful vigour and certainly remained bright of mind.
‘With all England united the great question for our realm must now be – whither next?’ He declared sweeping his staff out to a great map of Europa that had quickly been laid out by servants. ‘Wales is ours either through tribute or possession so shall it be mettlesome Hibernia where the queen’s daughter resides, their chieftains looking for a High king, or queen to rule o’er all?’ Another sweep, ‘and what of Caledonia, wild but governed by the Scot?’ A theatrical turn southwards: ‘or mayhap we should turn our attention to Hispania where the Moor still holds dominion and whence we can be sure the Holy Father shall once more send the faithful?’
So many lands that we can turn red...
Wulfryth turned to Osweald and back to the hall. ‘These are all questions for my son to answer since my time as your ruler is surely drawing to a close.’
A great cry of dissent from all assembled but it was stilled as Wulfryth held up a hand.
‘Come my lords, my ladies. I am old and grey - I have ruled over you all for almost forty years but the days of Wulfryth the Just are surely coming to a close, as sure as night must follow day. I have few regrets mind…’
More shouts of dissent, led, she noticed, by Æthelræda at the fore. That was good.
Fools! Death will not be stilled.
The hubbub continued, however, despite the efforts of Cenræd for it was as if the great and the good of England could not countenance in any way, shape or form, any ruler other than she who had governed their affairs for so long.
In the end it was her son who rose to his feet and with emollient tone declared ‘lords and ladies. Mayors. Please. There will be ample time for the mother of our nation to determine how we, as a people, might expand our influence and lands.’
They were, of a sudden, hushed. Osweald looked to his mother for a cue.
Go on boy – this is what I raised you for. The most imperceptible of nods from Wulfryth.
Osweald continued, encouraged: ‘mayhap…a great commission to determine our future path.’ A growl of assent. ‘And my mother shall, as sovereign, be at its head!’ At this a huge cheer went up. If the queen was at the Commission’s head then all must be well surely?
As the cheering continued Osweald took leave to sit and with satisfaction smiled at Wulfryth.
That was well done lad – well done indeed.
The queen tapped at her Chancellor once more, ‘I believe there are two lords not present here my lord?’
Her Chancellor stared blankly at her.
‘The Dukes of Lancaster and Essex sir!’ She suddenly snapped, ‘fetch them forth!’
A low murmur went up from the hall as they took in the import of this. Duke Hereberht of Mercia, the leader of the rebellion started last year and joined by Wulfryth’s own kinsman, the son of her dead cousin, Leofflæd, was a greybeard of seventy summers. All had heard how both had been cast into one of Winchester’s deepest, darkest dungeons when they had been delivered up by the Commanders of her Fyrd. Wulfryth’s oubliettes were terrible places and the stuff of nightmares. What state would the captives yet be in?
After some time, during which the queen fiddled absent-mindedly with her cane and her son looked worried behind her, at last the great doors to the hall swung open and the herald at the far end announced, ‘Dukes Hereberht of Mercia and Eormenric of Essex!’
A gasp from the crowd at the shambling shuffling figures before them. Chained at the ankle and having to be supported by their guards. They were thin and shrunken, clothes rotted and hanging off them. They were also filthy and many there were who turned away at the strong smell of ordure that emanated from the pair.
The queen, meanwhile, came alive at the sorry sight. They should be thankful that I have not tortured them!
‘Come forward sirs! Come.’ She beckoned them forth.
The prisoners approached and attempted to bow. A nod to the guards from Wulfryth and both were struck behind their legs and forced to their knees – the old man particularly painfully, such that he cried out in pain.
Wulfryth surveyed them dispassionately. All my life I have had to resist the base urge of men to resist my power-to take my queenship and all my life I have prevailed. Mayhap I should set these two a fine example. A public execution…
‘You who have disturbed the peace of the realm – what say you sirs?’
From the old man just anguished sobbing. Her kinsman, for his part, remained silent.
Nay execution and maiming are too good for the pair of you. You will rot for the rest of my days in the dungeons. It will be for my son to determine your weal when I am gone…if you survive.
‘I thought so…well there must be a reckoning sirs think you not?’ A hush throughout the Hall as Wulfryth spoke.
‘Hereberht Iceling, I take your counties of Leicester and Warwick back to myself-you have proved yourself unfit to hold them. I also revoke your Duchy of Lancaster. Take him forth.’
The guards manhandled the weeping old man from the Hall. It was doubtful he would live to truly bemoan his loss. This would break him.
Wulfryth now turned her cat-like gaze on Eormenric. ‘You are my kinsman, sir, but your branch of the family did ever grasp for more than its due. It was your aunt who, after all, tried to steal your mother’s inheritance was it not?’
The young man stared back- a defiant set to his chin but no words did he utter to match his bravado. Very well boy let us see who will be the victor here.
‘Only you can know what you thought there was to gain by joining such a foolhardy venture against your own kin, but it will cost you dear, of that I can assure you.’
Now he looks afeard…
‘I take from you your dukedom of Essex and the County of Gloucester. You shall remain a mere Baron by my grace only. It will be for my son to dispose of you when I have departed this life. I trust that the oubliette will afford you plenty of time to contemplate your treachery. See him hence.’
The grim awfulness of what was being done was only now apparent and the lordling cried out in anguish as he was dragged from the Hall, ‘I am sorry cousin-forgive me! Forgive me!’
But there was to be no mercy from the queen - not today. Not ever.
Wulfryth could now feel her chest, once more, tightening and she rose unsteadily. Before her there was assent. Not one of her court opposed her – indeed they loved her. Some thought she would exact a steeper price – all knew that crossing the crown yet had dire and dread reward.
‘My lords and ladies it only falls on me to dispense these titles and so I shall do.’ An expectant hush, once more. ‘Step forth my paladins: my Marshal, Wulfnoth and my Commanders Ælfnoth and Wulfgar!’
Some cheering now for these were the warriors who had won the Welsh wars for England, had seen off the Breton invasion of Deheaubarth and who remained vigilant against the Viking.‘To my Lord Marshall I bequeath the County of Gloucester which shall be a Grand City from henceforth. You shall also receive the Duchy of Lancaster that will make you Grand Mayor of the new Republic of Lancaster!’
The 3 Amigos!
A gasp arose. This was bounteous reward indeed. Mayor Wulfnoth stepped forward, as shocked as all, for never in his wildest dreams could he have envisaged such elevation. He knelt and paid obeisance to the queen, was raised up and watched in a daze as his companions were elevated to the Dukedom of Essex, in the case of Wulfgar; a man who had been but a lowborn Ceorl not many years previously. Wulfgar also received the County of Leicester. And Ælfnoth was made Earl of Warwick – it was unprecedented to raise so many commoners up so.
Mayhap but all are childless and all will owe the crown blind obedience. If they die without issue then their titles will pass back to the royal demesne. The reality is it costs me nothing and gains me much.
By now, however, the queen was really struggling. She had sat back down but was finding it difficult to draw air into her chest - a violent coughing fit ensued. Her son noted her discomfort and signalled for Maoilios. He appeared as if from the shadows and thrust a poultice into the queen’s hand.
Strepsil?
‘Breathe into this madam. It will help, for a short while…’
‘I must be gone from here,’ she uttered after taking a deep draw from the concoction, but she was of a sudden confused. ‘get me from this place.’
Osweald was, at once, upon his feet and helped by Maoilios they assisted Wulfryth to her feet once more and started proceeding from the room, almost carrying the frail old woman between them.
And as they departed suddenly a cry went up from someone ‘God bless you Sire! God Bless Queen Wulfryth!’
And it was picked up by others until the whole Hall was cheering, stamping and shouting ‘God bless Queen Wulfryth! God bless Queen Wulfryth the Just!’
None did notice in the hubbub that she reached for a kerchief and dabbed at moistened eyes as she left…
Les Affaires de la Reine de Wessex (translated). 1874. Prof Selman.
There was no Grand Commission, in the end, for Wulfryth, at this time, retired from public life and was rarely seen again. Her son, Osweald, increasingly took up the reins of the affairs of state. By the spring of 953 AD she was totally confined to her bed and incapable of arising, despite Maoilios’s attentions. For weeks, few matters of state were attended to and the whole country ground to a halt - It was as if the whole realm held its breath.
Finally Wulfryth I of England passed away peacefully on the morning of 17th July 953 AD, her son, two daughters and some of her grandchildren by her bedside, the latter having made their long journeys from Francia and Hibernia. Her monumental reign had been a long struggle but she had, in the end, served to strengthen immeasurably the Saxon crown and the Godhelming’s grip on it. Her death was the passing of the age, the dying of the light that finally brought, as her name said, the old wolf peace...
Wulfryth the Just, Wulfryth the Long-lived, the lawmaker and queen.
What a reign!
Stain glass window of Wulfryth I of England in Winchester Cathedral 2001
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The Queen is dead...
Long live the King!
"What a reign!" is right! Even to the bitter end, her resolve never once faltered, and she has perhaps left England in a better state than the one she found it in. Would that one could say the same of all monarchs...
It seems as though we are on the cusp of a sea-change here; do Osweald's pretensions perhaps betray Continental ambitions?
Long live the King!
"What a reign!" is right! Even to the bitter end, her resolve never once faltered, and she has perhaps left England in a better state than the one she found it in. Would that one could say the same of all monarchs...
It seems as though we are on the cusp of a sea-change here; do Osweald's pretensions perhaps betray Continental ambitions?
And so it ends - a worthy queen and one who will leave a mark on the country for a long time after she departs it. But one wonders, our English history frequently saw it's most successful rulers followed by those... less so. (William I to William II, Henry I to Stephen or Matilda, Edward I to Edward II, Edward III to Richard II, Henry V to Henry VI, heck, you could even make an argument Henry II to Richard and John) And the way you've written Osweald, clearly less capable than Æthelræda, does not fill me with confidence.
Though as @Specialist290 mentions, the insistence to be recognized as the King of Saxony does make me think there may be some continental ambition forthcoming.
And as one final note, it was fitting to see Wulfryth dispense justice as one of her final official acts. Her defiance against the face of death to the end was true to her character.
Though as @Specialist290 mentions, the insistence to be recognized as the King of Saxony does make me think there may be some continental ambition forthcoming.
And as one final note, it was fitting to see Wulfryth dispense justice as one of her final official acts. Her defiance against the face of death to the end was true to her character.
Wow...making a republic in the north of England on purpose and aligning your dynasty with saxony...
What could possibly go wrong?
An impressive reign though and one that has opened the door for more female rulers to come. Now you do have a toehold in Europe, even if it's...there, I should imagine England will find itself caught in two directions as it was in otl (although this time it's Germany or the rest of Albion, not France). Should be interesting.
What could possibly go wrong?
An impressive reign though and one that has opened the door for more female rulers to come. Now you do have a toehold in Europe, even if it's...there, I should imagine England will find itself caught in two directions as it was in otl (although this time it's Germany or the rest of Albion, not France). Should be interesting.
Strong-willed in her last appearance to her lords. And even a two county kingdom is still a kingdom. The new king will hardly ignore it.
A fitting end to her reign, not without a sense of the petty - even if potentially justified.
Practical to the end - I liked the informed mixture of largesse and cynicism of the appointments for the Three Amigos. Will be interesting to see if Osweald faces any challengers early on, whether he opts for peace or conquest (if given the choice) and whether he will be driven to move from under such a mighty shadow. Too much insecurity could result in hubris and trouble. Vale Wulfryth!
And so endeth the reign of a mighty Queen, must say what a fantastic way you depict the final days of this woman and it is with some sadness almost that we get to see her exit the world stage.............And my god what a resurgent Byzantium
At last she's gone, far too merciful an end for such a monster but at least the realm can look forward to a better future and new opportunities, instead of suffering constant rebellion and civil wars, provoked by an evil and sociopathic monarch.
Outstandingly inaccurate delusions from the Summary Screen. Wulfryth was defined by letting her base urges get the better of her, if she had resisted the temptation to be so arrogant, insulting and petty she wouldn't have provoked so many pointless rebellions, she was also spectacularly un-Just, not very Godly and probably couldn't spell Temperate. I can't imagine how much gold Osweald had to bribe the monks with to get that summary written.
Outstandingly inaccurate delusions from the Summary Screen. Wulfryth was defined by letting her base urges get the better of her, if she had resisted the temptation to be so arrogant, insulting and petty she wouldn't have provoked so many pointless rebellions, she was also spectacularly un-Just, not very Godly and probably couldn't spell Temperate. I can't imagine how much gold Osweald had to bribe the monks with to get that summary written.
Indeed what a reign-I have really enjoyed writing her with all her foibles. And yes she certainly left the realm in a very good state. With a 2k treasury, many building works and England's status hugely enhanced. And all as a woman in manly times. As for continental ambitions the fact that Osweald now has a toehold there suggests that would be a good place to start...or maybe Ireland, part owned by heathen Bretons...who knows?The Queen is dead...
Long live the King!
"What a reign!" is right! Even to the bitter end, her resolve never once faltered, and she has perhaps left England in a better state than the one she found it in. Would that one could say the same of all monarchs...
It seems as though we are on the cusp of a sea-change here; do Osweald's pretensions perhaps betray Continental ambitions?
She was feisty and defiant to the end as you say-I have really enjoyed portraying her endless fight against lords who felt she had no right to be ruling at all. Interestingly by the end she is universally loved by all, Lords, Mayors and Bishops so that says something about how they saw her. The succession will be interesting indeed because Osweald's stats are less than stellar but he has no really bad traits save the gluttony one so we will have to see how he fares especially with such questions re territorial ambitions to answer.
Yeah that Republics thing happened almost by accident to be honest-I always forget that if you ennoble Mayors this is what happens lol. The advantage of course is they can really generate great income through trade etc so let's see how the Grand City of Lancaster gets on eh? As for Saxony I still haven't yet determined whether Osweald and his lords will plump for a divided Ireland or see what's what in Saxony. Exciting times!
This is very true. Haven't yet started a play through so have yet to work out how this will work but as you say a kingdom is a kingdom (though I may destroy the title and just absorb into England-just need to work out what that might do to any de Jure claims etc)
Very true she loved her shows but i think those 2 rebels got off lightly particularly as she has the 'cruel' trait and prisoners can now be maimed and tortured hehe
Thanks mate yes she did very well and Osweald has very big shoes to fill indeed. I am excited to see how he rules and what happens with his lords. I think he gains a bonus for the length of his mother's reign but haven't started a play through yet to check.
Many thanks my friend and yes I note that the Byzantine Empire is huge in the game. More marriages to be arranged there methinks haha.
Thanks very much-I enjoyed myself
At last she's gone, far too merciful an end for such a monster but at least the realm can look forward to a better future and new opportunities, instead of suffering constant rebellion and civil wars, provoked by an evil and sociopathic monarch.
Outstandingly inaccurate delusions from the Summary Screen. Wulfryth was defined by letting her base urges get the better of her, if she had resisted the temptation to be so arrogant, insulting and petty she wouldn't have provoked so many pointless rebellions, she was also spectacularly un-Just, not very Godly and probably couldn't spell Temperate. I can't imagine how much gold Osweald had to bribe the monks with to get that summary written.
I think you are being a tad harsh-she was a woman for her time and I think she was temperate-she might have been far more generous in her use of torture and killing for instance but the worst she did was throw her recalcitrant lords into the Oubliette. Let's see how you like Osweald shall we haha?All: thanks so much for your fantastic comments and giving our Wulfryth the send off she deserved. I have really enjoyed writing her and that is thanks to you. There will, necessarily be a pause as I have now caught up with the game and need to playthrough but in these busy times of Christmas, shopping etc the next update may well be in the New Year. So for that apologies but I am sure that you will bear with me.
Merry Christmas to you and yours. Looking forward to where your tale goes in the new year.
Yes, all the best of the season to you - this week we are heading into some classic Christmas weather here: every day predicted to be 30 degrees Celsius plus, with an Ashes test (cricket for our non-Commonwealth friends) in Perth at the end of the week.
Hope you and all readers have a great festive season. A good time for catching up on all those AARs you wanted to read, even if the Christmas cheer makes it a bit harder to write them ...
Hope you and all readers have a great festive season. A good time for catching up on all those AARs you wanted to read, even if the Christmas cheer makes it a bit harder to write them ...
And to you my friend. Enjoy the heat in Oz. We have SNOW here in Manchester (a relatively rare occurrence). Have a wonderful festive seasonYes, all the best of the season to you - this week we are heading into some classic Christmas weather here: every day predicted to be 30 degrees Celsius plus, with an Ashes test (cricket for our non-Commonwealth friends) in Perth at the end of the week.
Hope you and all readers have a great festive season. A good time for catching up on all those AARs you wanted to read, even if the Christmas cheer makes it a bit harder to write them ...