The Saga of Hengest

By Christopher Webster

Exiled after a bitter battle in Finnsburgh, the Angle thegn, Hengest, turns his three war keels to Britannia. All he wants is land and a mead hall of his own, but he ends up winning a country - a country that will later be named England.

The original Saga of Hengest is lost, except for a tantalising fragment known as the Freswael, which tells of that battle in Finnesburgh. The rest of the saga has been reconstructed from other, later, sources, mainly Layamon's Brut. This is the short version of the saga, the long version, over 700 pp. in length, is entitled English Dawn. A retelling in alliterative verse entitled Hengest, is also available.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: EKP
• Release date: Feb 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386314462

Christopher Webster

Christopher Webster was brought up in Conisbrough, which is famous for its well-preserved castle. The castle and its link with Hengest provided the inspiration for this book. Another inspiration was studying English at university, particularly the study of Anglo-Saxon. His first publication was Poetry Through Humour and Horror. This was followed by many more educational publications including the best selling 100 Literacy Hours and study notes on Christina Rossetti and Ezra Pound. His writing about Conisbrough includes The Castle Trilogy, Coal Dust Kisses, four books of short stories and and Conisbrough Tales, which he describes as ‘a Canterbury Tales’ for Conisbrough. He also writes in other genres, such as Poetry, Regency Romance and Science Fiction under a range of pen-names. He is currently living in Laken and teaching in a European School.

Book preview

I

Hear!

The Saga of Hengest, and of Horsa his brother,

Sons of Whitgils, son of Wecta, son of Woden.

Across the whales’ way they came to Britain,

And with well wrought weapons won fame,

And founded the land we live in, Angleland...

—The Saga of Hengest

SO BEGINS THE SAGA of Hengest, fairest of aethelings and founder of Angleland. But I am not going to declaim it to you again my old throat is not up to it, and my ague-twisted fingers are clumsy on the lyre strings. No. I will tell you the story in plain words, just the way it happened. Then, when you next hear the saga sung by some younger skald you will understand it better, and perhaps remember me. For the saga is my story too.

Like so many sagas, the Saga of Hengest begins with a feud. I have not the breath to tell, nor you the patience to hear, the ins and outs of it, for they are more complicated than the intertwining gripping beasts carved on the royal portal. Suffice it to say that Hengest first won a reputation as a swordsman in that feud, though at that time he was still learning his trade: gaining strength and skill in the butchery of the war-hedge. It was years later, after the first feud had ended and the second had begun, that Hengest came to the fore.

The ending of the first feud was sealed by the marriage of Hildeburh, King Hoc’s daughter, to King Finn – and how I pitied that poor beautiful young thing as she went sobbing into the arms of her enemy – and all for nothing! A second feud broke a few years later during a peace mission to Frisia. King Hoc wanted a closer alliance between the two peoples, for protection against the Jutes, who were pressing ever harder on our borders, and to set the seal on the Anglo-Frisian peace. Perhaps it was too soon for armed Angles to be seen again in Frisia, however peaceful the intention; perhaps the Jutes were working secretly to prevent an alliance; or perhaps it was simply not meant to be. Whatever the reason, things went wrong from the very first night in Frisia.

The voyage was commanded by Prince Hnaef, as King Hoc was by then too old for such a journey. Hengest, who was of royal blood, was second-in-command, and as Hengest’s skald, I was to go too. I can remember that voyage as though it were yesterday...

The ring-prowed ship rolled in the waves;

The sea heaved in storm, the sail billowed.

The sailors at the oars struck against the wind,

until, through the spray, they sighted land.

We sailed in Swan-neck, Prince Hnaef’s own ship. She was a magnificent vessel, clinker built for flexibility in high seas, and narrow for speed. But the rows of brightly painted shields along her gunwales and her fierce dragon prow, showed her for what she was – a war keel. Nothing less would have fitted the dignity of Prince Hnaef, but as I was soon to find out, war keels were not built for comfort.

At that time, Hengest was ‘theodnes thegn’ to Prince Hnaef – his leading thegn. He was a lion of a man, with a great tawny mane and a tawny beard that came down to his chest. He was strong and well-muscled, because he was always fighting or training to fight, and when there was any work to be done, such as kitting out Hneaf’s ship, he was not the last to come forward.

The crossing from Angeln to Frisia took several days and the weather was bad for most of way. Waves washed constantly over the low gunwales, and we were so busy bailing that we hardly had time to be seasick. There were no comfortable cabins below decks, such as might be found in merchant ships, so at night we had to huddle under a sailcloth awning and try to sleep as best as we could in our damp clothes.

Luckily, Finn Folcwalda, King of the Frisians, knew well the rigours of the sea crossing, and had prepared a warm welcome: a hall had been set aside for his visitors, and in the central hearth a huge fire was ready to warm us and dry our clothes. Our sea chests, which has served as rowing benches during the voyage, were brought to us by Finn’s servants. Prince Hnaef and his thegns, Hengest among them, unpacked their court clothes and, laughing over their damp and wrinkled state, dried them before the fire. Then they attended to their arms and armour, polishing swords and helmets and rubbing grease into byrnies lest the salt water caused them to rust. But I cared little for the paraphanalia of battle. I was more concerned about what the journey had done to my lyre. I unwrapped it and tested the tuning of its six strings, knowing that I would probably be called upon to perform later on.

Later that evening, Finn invited us to his mead hall where a feast had been prepared in our honour. Prince Hnaef and his thegns were dressed in all their finery: brightly coloured hose, embroidered tunics and gleaming byrnies. Helmets and shields were left behind, but swords were carried as signs of status. Finn’s hall was higher and longer than King Hoc’s and the gables and door posts were carved with gripping beasts which intertwined in dizzying patterns. I stopped to admire them for a moment, and thought I could see the same twists and turns that made up the plots of the great sagas.

The