Shakespeare wrote a play, Twelfth Night, which inspired much of the plot of the film Shakespeare in Love, including the main character of Viola. In the film, Queen Elizabeth, so memorably portrayed by Dame Judi Dench, asks Master Shakespeare for a ‘comedy next time’, something for Twelfth Night. And we know immediately that the feast will be just that - a feast with revels.
Traditional activities at this time include eating ‘king cake’(with a bean inside it to represent the Christ child), singing Christmas carols - something most folk perhaps only do until Christmas Eve - chalking the door (writing numbers for the year and crosses), having one's house blessed, and attending church services.
There is also the tradition known as Wassailing - the practice of gathering in an orchard and drinking and singing in the hope of encouraging a good harvest later in the year. ‘Wassail’ comes from Old English ‘Wes hal’ (be whole i.e. good health), the language the Anglo-Saxons spoke. And the observance of Twelfth night is very old indeed.
In 567 A.D, the Second Council of Tours proclaimed the days from Christmas to Epiphany as a sacred and festive season, creating what became known as the twelve days of Christmas, or Christmastide.
So we can be pretty sure that to the strongly religious Anglo-Saxons of the pious King Alfred the Great’s court, Twelfth Night was observed as a very special religious feast. (Alfred ruled from 871-899.)
Imagine then that you’re a little girl, maybe eight or nine years old. It’s been a long day, of service in the church and then a feast: you might have seen more than one type of meat on the table, because this was such a special occasion, and that could have been beef, mutton, goose or pork, either boiled or roasted. There might also have been shellfish from the nearby River Avon.
Any cheese served would have been ‘hard’ - there would have been nuts, too, probably hazel. A cereal ‘briw’ of barley, with leeks, onions, garlic or cabbage might also have been supplemented with dried peas or beans. Oh, and the drink… wine, mead, beer, and plenty of it.
How much King Alfred would have eaten is unknowable, but he was plagued by some form of digestive illness, so perhaps he showed some restraint. You, on the other hand, would probably have been allowed some watered ale or even a little wine and now, stuffed, you’re ready for bed. You have your younger brother close by, and your mother is tending your even younger siblings. You, as the daughter of the king, have nothing to fear. Or do you?
You’ve always been aware of the Viking threat, and known that your father often goes away to fight the invaders. You have bad dreams about scary, scaly monsters, because you’ve never seen an actual Viking and your imagination runs amok in the dark of the night. But not tonight. Not when all are gathered together and have been entertained with songs and stories. There might have been dancing too, and now you settle down, replete. And yet, for all the devotions, God appears not to be smiling on Alfred’s hall this night.
It was Alfred who commissioned the work we call the Anglo-Saxon-Chronicle, and the entry for 878, reads: ‘In this year in midwinter after twelfth night the enemy army came stealthily to Chippenham, and occupied the land of the West Saxons and settled there, and drove a great part of the people across the sea, and conquered most of the others; and the people submitted to them, except King Alfred.’
Alfred’s biographer, a contemporary, tells us that Alfred went with a small band of nobles into hiding ‘amid the woody and marshy places of Somerset. He had nothing to live on except what he could forage by frequent raids.’
Now, the Chronicle does just say ‘after twelfth night’ so it wasn’t necessarily on that very night, but the whole episode must have been terrifying for Alfred’s young children, and the scene in Chippenham forms one of the opening chapters in my novel about his eldest daughter, Æthelflæd. For dramatic purposes, I chose to set it on Twelfth Night itself.
The book charts her life, most of which was spent in Mercia, not Wessex, the land of her birth. Her tireless campaign to fight off the raiders, first alongside her husband and father, and then with her brother, is the stuff of legend. But to me, a huge part of her make-up was the fear of the unseen invaders, the night-terrors that their attacks had induced. And there is a pivotal moment later in the book when she meets one such ‘Viking’ and finally faces her fears.
It was an immense honour for me to spend time with this lady, taking what is known about her life and reimagining it as a tale of historical fiction. I really felt that I got to know her, as I pondered how she would react to the challenges in her life, challenges that started in early childhood and continued throughout her adulthood. I owe her a lot - this was the book which secured me an agent, and kickstarted my writing career. It also won me awards, as well as being longlisted for the Historical Novel Society Indie Book of the Year.
A few years ago, whilst taking photos for my first nonfiction book, I visited the site of her grave and was really quite overcome with emotion. Lady Æthelflæd was an extraordinary person, the only female ruler of an Anglo-Saxon kingdom, who was succeeded - albeit briefly - by her daughter. A woman ruler did not succeed a woman ruler again in England until the Tudor Age. So, if you’re reading this with a glass of mulled wine at this festive time of year, perhaps raise it in a toast to Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians. A woman who knew what it takes To Be A Queen.
Annie Whitehead
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