source show that royal blood was considered to be important, but these family trees are not very convincing to modern eyes, with their descent from legendary gods or heroes such as Woden. The Chronicle contents itself on occasion with an unsupported assertion that âthat kin goes to Cerdicâ, the semi-legendary founder of Wessex, while in Christian times it was sometimes thought advisable to take the line all the way back to Adam, as in the entry for the year 855 discussing the ancestry of the West Saxon King Aethelwulf. The question therefore arises whether a man was eligible to become king because of his ancestry, or whether it was customary to concoct a suitable royal line of descent for whoever achieved that status. It is certain that there were no fixed rules regarding the succession, because the kings in the sources are very often not the sons but the brothers or cousins of their predecessors, or â especially in ninth-century Mercia â have no known relationship to them at all.
This led E.A. Freeman and other nineteenth-century writers to suppose that the Anglo-Saxon states were essentially democratic, their kings being elected from among the eligible candidates by the âwitanâ or royal council. âIn every kingdomâ, Freeman argued, âthere was a royal family, out of which alone, under all ordinary circumstances, kings were chosen; but within that royal family the Witan of the land had a free choice.â This view has long since been discarded by scholars, not least because there is no evidence of any constitution, written or otherwise, which could have laid down such a rule. We also know that what we think of as âfeudalâ hierarchies of loyalty and obligation already existed, and would have constrained the choice of anyone who was in a position to nominate a king. On the other hand rulers must in a sense have been âchosenâ, because in the absence of a strict law of succession no one could obtain the throne without strong support within the kingdom. This helped if anything to strengthen the institution, because a candidate who was obviously unfit to rule would lack sufficient backing from the start.
We do not hear of long periods of weak government during royal minorities, as happened in the later Middle Ages; Coenred of Mercia, for example, did eventually succeed his father Wulfhere, but not until twenty-nine years after Wulfhereâs death in 675. At that time he had apparently been an infant, so the throne had passed instead to his uncle Aethelred. On other occasions the situation was less clear cut, but even when it was necessary to fight for the throne this at least ensured that it passed to a successful warrior. Offa himself, we are told, though widely recognised as a worthy ruler, had had to fight a civil war against at least one rival and seize power âthrough bloodshedâ.
A kingâs primary role was as a leader of warriors, and like every Anglo-Saxon nobleman he based his power on his following of armed âheorthgeneatasâ, or âhearth companionsâ. Often referred to as âgesithsâ, or from the eighth century onwards as âthegnsâ, these men were bound to him by personal ties of loyalty. The ideal at least is illustrated by the story in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of the killing of King Cynewulf of Wessex. The leader of the assassins, Cyneheard, tried to persuade the men who came to avenge the king to desert, pointing out that some of their relatives were serving with his forces: âand then they said that no relative was dearer to them than their lord, and they would never follow his slayer.â The poem on the Battle of Maldon takes this view of loyalty to an extreme, describing how the retainers of Earl Byrhtnoth refused to flee from a lost battle against the Vikings, preferring to die to a man beside the body of their lord. They were rallied by a Mercian noble named Aelfwine, who reminded them of the
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