Conflict and Whores

By W. B. Baker

Usurpers of the throne of Wessex feared neither fury from Heaven nor the justice of men.

When no avenging angel descended from the firmament or hero arose from amongst the citizenry to confront the growing labyrinth of despair, the very earth of Englands ancient graves rent open and issued forth a ghostly champion of their own.

Without mercy or compassion, its spectral hooves clattered through the cobbled Gates of Death that flanked the blazing backdrop of Hell and galloped through the blackened night to ruthlessly confront the Kings intolerable inhumanity.

As it had since time immemorial, Britains otherworldly sentinel let slip an unbridled rage mere men could never hope to dampen a savage, barbaric indignation that relentlessly trampled brutish humanity beneath its chiselled, avenging hooves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493178148

W. B. Baker

Member of The Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, the author has been recognized by the Congress of the United States of America and awarded the Queen’s Golden Jubilee Medal for his contributions to Literature. W. B. Baker has been honoured with inclusion in Gale (Cengage) Contemporary Authors, Who’s Who in The World, The Magistracy Medal of Honour (Order of St George), Top 100 Writers Author Laureate (Cambridge, England), and recognised with a Resolution from the Missouri Senate (United States). Enthusiastic readers in forty-one countries around the world attest to this author’s breath-taking imagery and his ability to convey the uncommon faith and courage of the British nation. “Kudos to the author for clouting our sensibilities – in an unapologetic attempt to awaken England’s devotion to a grand and goodly heritage … and his tireless service to the United Kingdom, its culture and its people.” — Royal Tunbridge Wells

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by W. B. Baker MBE.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2014903835

ISBN:                Hardcover        978-1-4931-7815-5

                       Softcover        978-1-4931-7816-2

                       Ebook        978-1-4931-7814-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons,

living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/10/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

By The Same Author

With Appreciation

Illustrations

Preface

Maps

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Appendix

About The Author

Selected Bibliography and Contributors

By The

Same Author

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With

Appreciation

A ppreciation is humbly offered to

The Right Reverend

Michael Greene-Butler

Whose inspiration and friendship over the many years have inspired my on-going efforts to portray, to some degree, his dignity and innate integrity.

Beyond any doubt, he remains my Dear and True Friend.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

M any organisations and individuals should, by rights, entertain specific mention for their important contributions with respect to the historical research and time-consuming analysis required for the production of this fictional work set in the county of Wiltshire and, specifically, within the region of the southern Cotswolds, with Malmesbury and Tetbury proper.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

John Linstrum

Late Organising Tutor

University of Wales

Dr John Mizell

Late Professor Emeritus

College of the Ozarks

Dr Daniel Paul Larson

President, Cayuga Community College

State University of New York

Terence Knapp, RADA

Professor Emeritus

University of Hawaii

Dr James Meikle

Late Professor Emeritus

College of the Ozarks

Dr Leonard Gittenger

Late Fellow

College `of the Ozarks

*     *     *

N oteworthy appreciation is, likewise, extended to the following organisation for their invaluable contributions of time, information, and expertise:

CADW

Welsh Historic Monuments

This organisation conserves, protects, and presents the built heritage of Wales and undertakes the Secretary of State’s statutory responsibilities for securing all ancient monuments for the future, for grant-aiding rescue archaeology work, and for offering grants to owners of historic buildings.

*     *     *

North Yorkshire County Council

County Hall

Northallerton

North Yorkshire

Sarah Carson

Administrative Assistant

Mayor’s Secretary

The Town Hall

Malmesbury, Wiltshire

Rick Turner

Inspector of Ancient Monuments

Arolgydd Henebion

Cadw Inspectorate / Arolygiaeth Cadw

Welsh Assembly Government

Lorraine Griffiths

Cynorthwyydd Personol i’r Cyfarwyddwr

Llywodraeth Cynulliad Cymru

Frank Olding

Heritage Officer

Blaenau Gwent

Wales

Julian Thomas

Brenda Cook

Caerphilly Castle

Caerphilly, Mid Glamorgan

Wales

Cyngor Bwrdeistref Sirol

Caerffili

Pecadlys Llyfrgelloedd

Pontllanfraith, Coed Duon

Wales

Caerphilly Local Studies Collection

English & Cymraeg

Caerphilly, Blackwood, Rhymney, and Bargoed

Glamorgan, Wales

And

Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru

The National Library of Wales

Aberstwyth, Wales

*     *     *

T he author would like to especially acknowledge the significant contributions of individuals providing additional materials and excerpts for the book cover. Though remaining anonymous, their positive critiques are greatly and wholeheartedly appreciated.

*     *     *

S helly, Allison, and Rebecca Mitchell all deserve notable appreciation and special mention. When the author found himself in desperate need of encouragement, these three young women found the strength to believe when, much as one might be reluctant to confess, the candle of faith had almost succumbed to darkness.

Appreciation is also extended to Sarah and Robb Walter. In the course of life, we seldom come across kindred souls. Even more rarely one actually stumbles into the hearts of intuitive people who, for no apparent reason, accept a person with all their faults and frailties. It is my proud testimony to call them friends.

Great indebtedness is, likewise, due David and Teresa McAlister, for watching over both the physical and spiritual needs of the author through a particularly difficult season of my life. Even when dealing with great challenges in their own lives over the past twenty-four months, each found time to lift my spirit by exemplifying Christian values. Without their continual prayers and unfailing encouragement this publication would never have seen completion. Their love for each other defines them as a couple and characterises the finest features of their affection for the entire world to see.

Thanks are extended to Donald Cohron—for hours of laughter, unabashed honesty, and encouragement. Generous to a fault, Don has always made himself available to help and instruct—even with a terribly slow learner such as myself. Likewise, to Linda Cohron is extended my heartfelt gratitude; for being my friend when I had literally nothing to give her in return. This remarkable woman can always be counted on for her support and honesty—a truly virtuous woman.

In a world that, particular for the past twenty-four months, has grown quite barren and cold, it has been my great fortune to have embraced such fine and devoted friends.

*     *     *

G ary Scott Mitchell.

Where does one begin to praise a friend who has been closer than a brother: whose unrelenting pragmatism and common sense may be only surpassed by the gentleman’s steadfast denial to concede he might ever be considered as that guy.

A thoughtful, compassionate, and considerate human being who has spent a lifetime cultivating the sometimes preposterous and often improbable disguise of pirate and brigand:

A rogue,

A scoundrel,

A misbegotten knave.

Who, in real life, is one of the finest men I have ever known. As he has often proclaimed, a demigod should possess the finest of camouflage to secret his identity from the rest of us mere mortals.

Candour and withering honesty being virtually impossible to maroon from a ready, uncanny wit; Mr Mitchell has proven to be one of those most rare acquaintances. So uncommon indeed that, over the years, I count myself a better man largely due to the benefit of his friendship and all too often withering honesty.

Throughout a lifetime of travel around the world, it may be quite confidently stated that the author has found this gentle man to be invaluable as both colleague and confidant—the most exceptional and extraordinary of associates. For the best part of thirty years, it has been my privilege to know Gary Scott Mitchell.

Distinguished adversary, spurious blackguard, mongrel and scamp—for whom I would gladly throw away my life without a second thought.

No man could ever claim a finer friend. **

**Again, at the personal request of Mr Mitchell, copies of this awe-inspiring and yet still entirely inadequate eulogy are available for sale in the lobby.

*     *     *

Illustrations

(As They Appear With Chapter Headings)

Il. 5.  The Ghost Horse of Wessex

Il. 6.  Malmesbury Mill on the River Avon

Il. 7.  The Cotswold Glen

Il. 8.  Chelsea, Faye, and Kendra on the Malmesbury Road

Il. 9.  Ceawlin’s Tapestry

Il. 10.  Spectre at the Door

Il. 11.  Watermill on the River Avon

Il. 12.  Malmesbury on Market Day

Il. 13.  Chapel of Father Joseph

Il. 14.  River Avon Walking Path

Il. 15.  The Bathing Pool

Il. 16.  Ceolwulf with his Tax Collectors

Il. 17.  Nemesis

Il. 18.  The Ghost Horse

Il. 19.  The Track to Tetbury

Il. 20.  Ceolwulf’s Bedchamber

Il. 21.  Outside the Women’s Cottage

Il. 22.  Antony’s Gift

Il. 23.  The Night Mare of Malmesbury

Il. 24.  Fred, The Red Crossbill

Il. 25.  Malmesbury Chapel

Il. 26.  Abaddon

Il. 27.  Colin’s Wretched Hopper

Il. 28.  Faye

Il. 29.  The Apparition

Il. 30.  The Great Hall at Glastonbury

Il. 31.  The Frontispiece

Il. 32.  The Deer Rut

Il. 33.  Modified Wagon Hub

Il. 34.  Hooved Retribution

Il. 35.  The Customised Drive Shaft

Il. 36.  Antony’s Saddle

Il. 37.  Colin’s Golden Diadem

Il. 38.  Faye’s Jewelled Crown

Il. 39.  Nemesis

Il. 40.  The Uffington White Horse

I nterior Illustrations, including all medieval woodcuts, line illustrations, and period engravings have been thoroughly researched and proven to be taken from Public Domain.

Photographs adapted by the author were procured under license from 123RF and freely available sources and domains.

*     *     *

Preface

F or the better part of the last decade, my Editor has, after scrutinizing each and every word of my last ten novels of English and Welsh historical fiction, returned his critique with the glaring observation that: the history and research components are impeccable; the characters show good development and identification to the reader; the plotlines and thematic statement of each volume demonstrate conscientious dedication to the overall prevailing statements proposed. All, without exception, have returned from this intelligent and discerning executive editor with one specific and conspicuous recommendation: that, in his judicious and sage opinion, each should have borne witness to far more ‘conflict and whores.’

Dedicating more attention to the brutality, ruthlessness, and callousness that historic rivals very often and inevitably inflicted upon each other was simple: it had merely been my assumption that readers were more interested in the causes and outcomes of conflict than the blood and gore often associated with the battles portrayed. What initially instigated far more compunction was the treatment of whores.

Any honest person will admit that, whether met with intrigue or open hostility, the mere subject of men and women prostituting themselves for the enjoyment or benefit of others triggers a knee-jerk response of revulsion. It is in our nature to immediately loath or withdraw in disgust from such behaviour; which is ironic only in that most agree prostitution is the oldest profession: refusing to ever be stamped from the pages of history by the very men and women who deem it vile. Such is the dichotomy of human nature, one supposes: that there is something of the base and crude within the species that simply refuses to admit its intrigue.

Be that as it may, I thought it vital to point out that, whether we may choose to be revolted or enthralled, history attests to the role of whores throughout antiquity. The King James Bible of 1610 found no real way of avoiding the subject either; forced to come up with a reverent way to deal with such behaviour. So, for my detractors, I would like to point out that the word ‘whore’ is referenced fifteen times in the Holy Bible: the word ‘whores’ appears twice; and ‘whoredom’ is referenced twenty-four times. Additionally, though the moniker of ‘prostitute’ itself only was mentioned once in Leviticus 19:29, the period appropriate term of ‘harlot’ appears an astonishing forty-two times in the Holy Scriptures.

That one should use the word ‘whore’ as a description of an act so freely discussed and bandied about by every religion around the world throughout history never raises an eyebrow: that one might use it outside the confines of the church is even less remarkable; that one might dare to use it as a description of men and women who sell their virtue in the arenas of government, the military, or the time-tested confines of relationships remains to be seen.

So, there it is.

It would be the hope of the author that each of us might truly assess what we are prepared to exchange for success, advancement, and acceptance in our own lives before casting aspersions on any literary work that simply dared to use a description or depiction that every woman, man, and child has been acclimated to since birth. That would, at least, give some peace of mind to those who actively pursue selling their bodies for money: that the people who indiscriminately judge them might truly recognise of what they are being accused.

I have, accordingly and much to the delight of my Editor, chosen to unflinchingly address the opposition face-to-face: bolstered by the knowledge that no one in the twenty-first century back to Biblical accounts of Adam and Eve can relate any event or instance ever recorded that did not, at some point or to some degree, likewise attest to the presence of conflict and whores.

*     *     *

R ather than offer some pretentious justification about the value of research and publication about people long dead and locations half-forgotten, I thought it wise to simply clear the air and offer some honest reflections.

First and foremost, no apologies are offered with regard to the characters portrayed within this work of historical fiction. Most authors would spend some time at this point to state how great liberties were taken with regard to situations and personalities; that, basically, they should not be held accountable for liberality with the truth taken in the name of artistic licence.

The whole point of historical fiction is to express some point or idea that the author wishes to make—that may or may not have actually played a role in how history might be told or recounted by those who took a part. Histories, one must remember, have always been written by the victors; by those who have a particular axe to grind or perspective on what actually happened. They are, as a consequence, quite often no more accurate than the fanciful ranting of writers several generations removed.

I would, however, have to offer very many apologies for any misrepresentation of actual fact: it being my foremost intent to base fictionalised accounts of relationships upon the solid base of recorded history. One wonders if, at some future date in some other existence, the author might be held accountable for any artistic license by those portrayed. If that be the case, then I at least will be able to defend the nature of the individuals portrayed within this work; for I, by default, am a direct consequence of their character and personalities.

Dealing with so rich a period of Britain’s history, it became clear from the outset that there was simply no way one might be true to every historical event that was occurring in England, Wales, and Scotland during the years in question. One simply was forced to draw from practical experience in dramatic production and modify the premise slightly to state that: if it is not in the book, then it doesn’t exist. Otherwise, this novel would simply become another dry account of events long past and often better off forgotten.

For my authorities, I refer the reader to the bibliography and contributors portion of the text at the close of this publication. While many, many more references are available on the subject matter, this author thought it prudent to simply list a representative selection of what is currently available for examination and trust the intrepid researcher to sort them out as best as possible to suit one’s needs and individual interests.

One of the most difficult challenges which presented itself in the creative process was that of remaining objective to the intents of characters. If there has been any failure to present the historical characters as they actually were, I can assure you that it has not arisen from any wilful neglect, carelessness, or idleness on my part. It was done completely deliberately: with the hope that this author might trust to their kind indulgence for any forgiveness forthcoming should ever we meet on some distant plane. Drawing upon my own family as inspiration, my ancestors are portrayed as incarnations of those whom I have known during my lifetime. Any indictment of their true character will be a matter of their own defence should the need ever arise.

All this being said, it remains this writer’s great privilege to proudly claim a genealogy rife with ancestors with great accomplishments and even greater disappointments: a spurious heritage that, after much thought, will probably be better off to end with the author. Still, I would proudly stand beside a parentage which bears the odd stain rather than remain with those who have deliberately elected to unceremoniously cast their ancestry away.

Though the one single goal of my entire life is to be acknowledged by the nation of my birth; and by all accounts, it appears that I shall fall far short of my forefathers who were accounted Kings, Earls, and received their knighthoods for, seemingly, far less than I have ever done—nevertheless, at all times and in every season, it is with great delight and honour that I am and will forever be proud to call myself a son of Britain.

—W B Baker MBE

Maps

E nglish, Welsh, and Scottish readers may find themselves at a distinct advantage—being quite familiar with the topography and terrain of England and Wales. It would; however, be entirely sensible to include illustrations of the region of the Cotswolds in Wiltshire and the medieval regions of Northumbria, Anglia, and Wessex for those poor individuals who suffer from the terrible misfortune of being born outside Britain.

These illustrations should allow readers an opportunity to recognise the importance of the territory in question with regard to its location on the North Sea. For this very reason, customized illustrations have been included to reveal not only the boundaries of the counties, but many of the locations of landmarks throughout England and Wales that are specifically mentioned within the text.

Map One

Map of Medieval Britain

Illustrating Boundaries Of

Early Kingdoms

Map Two

Map of

Early 7th Century

Inhabitants

Map Three

Map of Ireland

And

The Irish Sea

Map Four

Map

Of

Wiltshire

Map%201.jpgMap%202.jpgMap%203.jpgMap%204.jpg

Dedicated To

Lady Marion V Brett

T he heart-rending announcement of our beloved Lady Marion’s untimely passing struck a sombre chord within the collective hearts of the many thousands who had come to know and love her through the years. We are bereaved, as all men and women are and ever will be, with the passing of so singular, fair, and beautiful a melody that was the life of our Marion: yet conscious of the splendour of her inimitable song… the poignant notes of which will ever reverberate in the minds and memories of those who shared the distinct privilege of her friendship, compassion, and unfathomable serenity.

S olomon advises us in Proverbs to note well the qualities and attributes that mark the character of a virtuous woman.

‘Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.

The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life…

She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy… Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness…

Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.’

It has long been my experience that rarely, perhaps only once or twice in a lifetime, our lives are graced with an individual who embodies what the Creator might have truly had in mind when He created WOMAN.

L ady Marion Brett gave tangible definition to the word.

L ike the Biblical description, she gave clarity to strength and honour , those who knew her will ever rise and call her blessed. Favour is and ever will be deceitful. Beauty is a passing bloom that fades far too early in the morning and, as such, can never define the wonder of a sunset. But, as The Word teaches us, a woman that fears the Lord… she shall ever be praised; for her industry, her faithfulness, and her integrity.

E ver the caregiver, Marion put her heart and soul into ministering to the needs of others. Trained at the Royal College of Nursing in London with a specialisation in Midwifery, Lady Brett assisted and attended the births of over two thousand infants before becoming a Lecturer in Midwifery at her Alma Mater. She knew Winston Churchill personally: a circumstance that, considering her tenacity and ready wit, had, no doubt, a great influence upon the Prime Minister and Lady Brett alike. Marion went on to serve as Lady in Waiting to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth for several decades and spent a great deal of time in volunteer service to The Right Reverend Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury. In all respects, Lady Marion Brett had a long, full, and consequential life: an existence that any statesman or saint would have to give pause and consider well worth living.

T hat being said: none of us mourn her for her accomplishments. We celebrate the intangible aspects of her personality that made her special to each of us as individuals: in that, Marion had a gift of making each of her friends and colleagues feel significant. Perhaps that is what strikes me most of all—that, as did our Saviour, Marion saw the good in people: the potential of aristocracy and commoner alike… the innate desire of people to be far better than they might actually be… the inherent goodness within the oftentimes besmirched human soul.

H aving known Lady Marion Brett for so many, many years and witnessed first-hand this gentle woman’s pluck and bravery, it is my honour to ever call to remembrance how, irrespective of person, she fearlessly stood up for her principles… for the downtrodden… for those often unable or unwilling to speak for themselves.

Lady Marion Brett exemplified the teachings of our Saviour… personified better than any woman I have ever known the meaning of the word honourable . . . was and ever will be my dearest friend and cherished love.

S olomon was correct.

L ady Marion Brett was special to the point of being truly exceptional. Noble… in every aspect of her bearing and behaviour. Worth far more to the world and those who shared the distinct honour of knowing her than mere rubies could ever be.

*     *     *

Image%205.jpg

Chapter One

B lasts of frosty breath burst in rhythmic explosions from the great creature’s nostrils as the white mare thundered through the dense brier thickets and gashed a path down from the easternmost ridge through the moonlit fields of standing oats and flax.

So, too, the cadence of the pale beast’s hooves beat out an unmistakable, repetitive fury against the splintered stone whenever the blinding tempo of her unshod feet inevitably encountered the barren cart track. The gentle gleam of moonbeams lightly illuminated the twin shoulders of the winding trails that divulged, even in the early hours of dawn, the faint footprints of humanity.

Relentlessly, the heavily-framed juggernaut drummed out its unbroken, crushing, and wildly percussive soliloquy that went on for untold miles.

It cantered in opposition to the meted measure of the days of men: a direct contradiction to the plodding trudge of civilisation—an exuberant midnight romp across the patchwork of farms and forest for no other reason than to glory in its own strength, freedom, and speed. White mane and tail fluttered in the cool night air like pennons of a great sailing ship at sea. Slender, muscular forelegs stamped through the furrows at their discretion while the animal’s huge bellows of lungs metered out a rhythm of their own—entirely capable of maintaining the canter until, if need be, well-nigh the end of time.

Majestic—Nobility in Creation’s grandest design.

No neighs or whinnies escaped the ashen apparition’s heaving throat to contest the unearthly calm.

There was no need. Indeed, the silvery-hided conqueress had no equal and knew it.

Her domain extended past the crumbling walls of narrow-minded men; further than mankind might dare to challenge with their roads and barricades: far more distant and far-flung than any outlying outposts of humanity might ever dare to venture. The great white mare was queen regnant not of what she might merely survey but, in truth, of any inch of soil she might indiscriminately decide to traverse: a realm that negotiated every mountain and meadow; that navigated criss-cross the firmament beneath her hooves without oversight from any but her own inclination.

Ignoring the thorns of alders and spiny yellow gorse, the powerful charger thundered through the forests’ cloaks and along the darkened corridors amidst the ageless trees. Triumphant conqueress of a thousand indistinguishable rampages, the pale mare clambered and clattered defiantly through the rounded stones of ancient, pebbled streams: the water leaping back from the explosion of her detonating hooves in what seemed to be more deference to the great steed’s power than any instinct for survival. So, too, the owls and other night birds dropped their wings in deference; stag, boar, and wolf alike froze in the aimless tracks of their midnight wanderings in what appeared more reverence than admiration.

In a solemn world of silent night, the white mare had no equal: within a speechless realm of grunts, howls, and growls; the majestic pale equine was a god.

Discreet flicks of discerning ears kept the meadow’s champion informed of everything and one around her; sensitive nostrils flared and gave position and circumstance. Here was not fainthearted humanity; that stumbled upon the darkened mountains and trembled at the shadow of death. No… here was a creature that heaved her head defiantly into the driving rain; that revelled at the thought of combat; an apparition that could and would not ever begin to understand the concepts of dread or apprehension.

Whetted hooves sliced through the spattering pathway of a winding stream and on through the early hours of gross darkness that signalled the imminence of sunrise. Large, dark penetrating eyes caught the tips of the impending dawn’s bright lances as they began to prick through the hollow emptiness of night and stab at the eastern sky from behind the distant hills.

Noticing their gleaming shafts, the great beast swerved instinctively toward the west and careened up the impressive grade without ever breaking stride.

Without provocation and in an apparent race against the rising sun, the spectre tore headlong through the fields and stony hedgerows and galloped toward the envelope of darkness that retreated into the vernal equinox. She hurtled up the westernmost ridge of the horizon into an even darker forest of larch and evergreens and, with nothing short of wild abandon, bolted into the fading shadows and instantly disappeared into the glistening dew of the glen’s wakening greenery.

*     *     *

You may think me a tad presumptuous to say so, but I have always found it more than judicious to start with whores."

The King’s observation met with hooting approval from his intoxicated comrades gathered around the tables. Though, what with his reputation for violence and unbridled retaliation, Ceolwulf the Saxon had come to never expect any less.

Usurping the throne of Wessex from his older brother under what any might consider less than praiseworthy circumstances, there were none who had not promptly or discreetly gone into hiding still left alive who might question, let alone dare to investigate, their present unsavoury monarch’s entirely debatable right to rule.

Tracing an unbroken lineage from Cerdic, the very first Saxon chieftain to invade Britain from Germany, Ceolwulf tolerated absolutely no hesitancy or vacillation from his peers. Cerdic had bequeathed his lands to Cynric, his son; who then bestowed the throne to Ceawlin, his eldest; who, according to the right of kings, would have then passed the whole of Wessex to oldest boy, Cuthwine Cathwulf.

Though Cuthwine then had three sons to whom he might have left the kingdom: Cynebald, Cedda, and Cutha; his father, Ceawlin, lost the throne in June of the year 592 to Ceol, his cousin, at the Battle of Wodnesbeorg or Woden’s Barrow, later referred to as Wednesbury; very likely at the tumulus now referred to as Adam’s Grave, overlooking the Vale of Pewsey: the very year Cutha had been born.

Ceol ‘The Ruthless,’ being a nephew of Cynric himself, ruled Wessex for six long years before succumbing to wounds received on the battlefield. Without hesitation, his brother Ceolwulf stepped into the unexpected vacancy and assumed the reins of power: a decision which led more than a few to wonder from exactly where Ceol’s fatal wound might have originated. Such immediate action was necessary; since Cuthwine’s diadem had mysteriously disappeared the very month Ceawlin had been rudely dethroned by his own kinsman.

Originally a narrow, filleted band of pure gold set with no precious stones or delicate filigree, the semi-oval Saxon crown resembled more the regalia of their Roman overlords than the jewel encrusted crowns of Rædwald of East Anglia and his contemporaries upon the continent. Still, without the indisputable symbol of power that had been passed down through the ruling family since the time of Cynric, the illegitimate successors to the throne of Wessex quickly fashioned a suitable replacement that, for any but Ceawlin’s survivors and rightful heirs, would pass for the rightful badge of royalty.

Truth be told, Ceolwulf was every bit as callous and cold-blooded as his older brother; though none who dared to say so was ever afforded an opportunity to reconsider or capitulate. So, whenever the King of Wessex’s