For most people, the history of England begins with the Norman Conquest in 1066. The line of kings is generally traced to William I, the first Norman king who invaded across the channel and defeated the Saxons under Harold Godwinson, as famously depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry. This is certainly a convenient way to do things, but it is a gross oversimplification. The problem comes from the tangled web of Saxon kings which came before, not so much a line of succession as a web of competing claimants and warlords in a country far more in flux and less stable than Norman England. There are other problems with reaching back further than Wiliam I as well. The Saxon kings tend to have complicated names, disputed claims to changing parts of the country. While it is not true that the Normans united England, they certainly drew a line in the sand and it can be convenient to start with them simply because it was, indeed, a fresh start. So, who were these people that the Normans overthrew and subjugated, importing their own aristocracy which lasted for centuries? Saxon cliches are almost endless, think blonde giants with pigtails and battleaxes, think ornate Celtic designs and raiding parties who disappear into the mists of time. For this is the other great problem with the Saxons. We know of the later kings, but their earliest history rubs up against mythology. The Saxons were once invaders too, raiding parties like the later Vikings, Norsemen from far-off Scandinavia. That is, until they were invited to settle in England, invited to establish themselves permanently. We are told that the names of the first chieftains who came to England to stay were Hengist and Horsa. We also know the name of the King of the Britons who invited them: the mighty warlord Vortigern. Case closed, right? Well, unfortunately not. Because we also know who they faced to conquer this new territory, and here we are on far more problematic ground. For Hengist and Horsa fought Arthur, king of the Britons. And now we have to ask what is real at all? A Forgotten English Mythology? Attempts to uncover the truth behind the legends of King Arthur have been described as career-ending for historians and archaeologists. The consensus today is that there may have been such a figure, but anything we could know about the real man and his world has been almost entirely lost, with only the broadest brushstrokes remaining, hopelessly intermingled with later inventions. Aside from anything else we have no evidence of King Arthur. Everything about him was written centuries later, set in that same anachronistic later world. Lancelot and Gawain are chivalric knights of the middle ages, not post-Roman warlords. Only Merlin survives with a touch of the old Britain. And so Hengist and Horsa, brothers who arrived from Denmark at the head of an invasion force of the Scandinavian Saxons, Jutes and Angles and established a kingdom in southeastern England, must be legendary too? There is certainly much to suggest this. Let’s start with their names. The too-neat alliteration points to a fictional origin, as does the meaning of the names, which translate to “stallion” and “horse” respectively. It is not impossible that these were their real names, but they fall short on realism in the same way as “Magnum PI” or “Harley Quinn”. Puns rarely exist in the real world. Then there is their genealogy. According to the 9th century text History of the Britons attributed to the Welsh monk and historian Nennius, the brothers could trace their lineage back ten generations, to a pagan god no less. The association with this kind of fictional ancestry, especially one with such a round number, shows that at least a part of the story is fake. Nennius claimed that the brothers arrived on three ships, exiles from Germany who established themselves on the marshy island of Thanet at the most easterly point of what is now Kent. This island had been gifted to them in 447 AD by Vortigern, “King of the Britons”. Vortigern saw in the invaders potential allies in his ambition to fully control all of ancient Britain. The brothers and their companions had a reputation as fierce warriors, and Vortigern saw an opportunity to yoke that strength. He is another difficult character who stands at the edge of history. Like Hengist and Horsa (and Arthur) we only know of him from documents written centuries later. Like them, we have nothing that survives to prove his existence. According to the story Hengist and Horsa, welcoming into Britain, sent word to their homeland that this land was rich and offered much. This led to a wave of Saxon immigration: every year there were more Saxons, every year they had more fighting men and more to fight for. Vortigern’s critical error occurred when he was a guest at a Saxon feast. Drunk and enamored of Hengist’s daughter, he promised the Saxons the entirety of Kent for their kingdom if he could win her hand in marriage. Hengist agreed and Vortigern initially won himself a powerful ally in his new father-in-law. But there were problems. For a start, Vortigern was already married, to the daughter of the Bishop of Auxerre, a powerful man. Secondly and more pressingly, Kent already had a ruler and was not strictly Vortigern’s to give. And while Saxon allies were extremely handy at Vortigern’s side against Pictish insurrection, more and more kept arriving. With Vortigern in hiding from his (original) father-in-law, it fell to his son Vortimer to face the encroaching Saxons. He openly engaged them and forced them back to their isle of Thanet, but they were never eradicated. Hengist and Horsa fought Vortigern and Vortimer in 455 AD at a great battle at Aylesford. Horsa was there slain, with the Saxon kingdom ruled henceforth by Hengist and his son Esc. Two years later the Britons under Vortigern were crushed at Crayford and forced to flee: the Saxons had won
Interested in the Killing: Jack Ketch’s Infamous Trade
There is a reason that, in the public image of the medieval executioner they are almost always envisaged wearing a hooded mask. Execution was a bloody trade, and for many it came with an amount of social ostracising: better to remain anonymous then be known as a butcher. In point of fact this was not always true. Executioners could earn a pretty penny: not only was the work distasteful to most, but an executioner who became known for his skill could often expect a hefty tip from pout-of-favour aristocrats hoping for a quick and merciful death. There were those who however became famous for other reasons. There were those who revelled in the infamy and notoriety which came with the role, and those who were famous for the violence and brutality of their killing. Of these, perhaps the most famous is John Ketch, called “Jack”. Finding himself extremely busy during the tumultuous 1680s and the treacherous intrigues that swirled around the last years of the reign of Charles II, he did not shy from the limelight. On the contrary he became a man famous for his cruelty and being bad at his job. A Barbarous Man Jack Ketch may have become famous for the brutality of his executions in the 1680s, but in truth by that time he had been a professional executioner for decades. He is believed to have been first appointed in 1663, succeeding Edward Dun, who had inherited the role from Richard Brandon, the man who had beheaded King Charles II’s father. Not much else is known about the early years of the man’s life, nor of his early years as an executioner. Scattered accounts in the papers and notices posted at the Old Bailey, then as now England’s highest criminal court, are all we have. They all come with a sense of gruesome fascination: “Jack Ketch’s incomparable Receipt for the Cure of Traytorous Recusants” as one paper had it. He became famous because of a rash of aristocratic beheadings, intrigue the general public couldn’t resist. Jack Ketch leaned into the limelight, finding a route to fame for himself although he may not have intended it to be so. It seemed that the broadsheet papers of the time could not print enough for a fascinated public, and every detail of the executions at this time, but Jack Ketch did not find fame with his killings because of how skilled he was. Instead he became infamous for how badly he performed his task. His two most famous executions were performed on members of Charles II’s court, ranking aristocrats who had both conspired against the King. Both executions were political, the first against a political party leader, the second against a Duke. William Russell, Lord Russell was the leader of the Country Party, political antecedents to the powerful and influential Whigs. He had been observing, with growing alarm, what he described as “Popish plots” to overthrow Charles and place his Catholic brother on the throne, something he was fixedly against. This did not mean he was in favor with the King, however. Made a member of Charles’s closest Privy Council in 1679, he resigned a year later and retired to his country house, to watch the rise of the rival Tory party in London. For you see, Russell did not just fear the succession of James, childless Charles’s Catholic brother, to the throne. Although the King was Anglican, Russell looked at his close relationship with Louis XIV and other Catholic powers in Europe, considered Charles’s long continental period of exile, and reached a conclusion as to the King he did not like. This led to the Rye House Plot, an attempt to assassinate Charles and James in 1683. With the plot publicly uncovered in June, Russell was arrested and sentenced to death. And what Jack Ketch did next was barbarous. The broadsheet report is again lurid. Ketch, perhaps due to a simple lack of skill or perhaps something more cruel and unpleasant, took swing after swing at Lord Russell’s neck, until even the crowd which had assembled to watch, with strong stomachs all, had to turn away. Ketch himself would write a pamphlet after the execution for public circulation. The title: Apologie, should tell you everything about how the man himself thought he had come off. But the public found themselves fascinated with this incompetent butcher who had killed a lord. The second famous example of Ketch’s handiwork came two years later. With King Charles II dead the west of England has risen in rebellion at the installation of his Catholic brother as King James II. It was just as Russell had feared. This rebellion was known as the Monmouth Rebellion, named for its leader the 1st Duke of Monmouth. He was a lifelong soldier and the eldest child of Charles II and, although illegitimate, he had himself declared King in Taunton, and marched on London. The problem was that Monmouth didn’t really have an army at his back. He met royal forces at the Battle of Sedgemoor and was soundly defeated. Captured and arrested in July 1685, he was given to Jack Ketch. His execution is recorded in the diary of a gentleman of the time named John Evelyn: [The Duke] would not make use of a cap or other circumstance, but lying down, bid the fellow to do his office better than to the late Lord Russell, and gave him gold; but the wretch made five chops before he had his head off; which so incensed the people, that had he not been guarded and got away, they would have torn him to pieces. Jack Ketch was finding that his clumsy executions, although they had made him famous, were disgusting to the general public. And yet the papers kept reporting, as it seems the fascination of the readership had no limit. Ketch himself would not meet with a particularly happy end. After a stint in prison for assaulting an officer of the law which saw him