The End of Æthelred: On this day in 1016, King Æthelred II Died

“He ended his days on St. George’s Day, and he had held his kingdom with great toil and difficulties as long as his life lasted.”

Featured image: an etching from Wenceslaus Hollar depicts Æthelred’s tomb (on the right) at St. Paul’s in London as it appeared in the 17th century.

King Æthelred II, the longest-reigning Anglo-Saxon King of England, died on April 23rd, 1016. He was about 49 years old, making him among the longest-lived kings of his dynasty. Only three pre-Norman Kings of England lived as long as Æthelred: Alfred and Edward the Elder reached about 50, while Æthelred’s son Edward the Confessor lived into his early 60s. More commonly, rulers from the House of Wessex died in their teens, 20s, or early 30s, sometimes due to violence. As a result of these short life spans, Æthelred had come to the throne very young, at about age 11, because his father had died at 32 and his elder brother was assassinated at 16. Æthelred’s 38-year reign dwarfed those of both his predecessors and successors. No English king would surpass Æthelred’s nearly four decade-long rule until Henry III (another long-lived, former boy king). 

Æthelred is better known today as Æthelred “the Unready,” which is a corruption of the Old English unraed (meaning “ill-advised”). On the anniversary of his death, let’s take a closer look at the demise of one of England’s most notorious rulers.

“He Ended His Days on St. George’s Day”

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us that Æthelred died on April 23rd, 1016, at what must have seemed like the worst possible time. Cnut’s viking army controlled most of the country, augmented by support from English leaders who had turned their backs on Æthelred. London was the last stronghold still loyal to the old king, but just as Cnut was preparing to lay siege to it, Æthelred died inside its city walls. The Chronicle marks his passing with a brief but melancholy entry:

“Then it happened that King Æthelred died before the ships arrived. He ended his days on St. George’s Day, and he had held his kingdom with great toil and difficulties as long as his life lasted.” [1]

He certainly had many difficulties in his life — a classic understatement if there ever was one. Æthelred’s England had been plagued by viking raids since the 980s, although they did not become severe until the 990s and they did not threaten to overwhelm the kingdom entirely until the 1010s. For the majority of the reign, Æthelred ruled with firm authority, spending his time passing laws, killing and ousting rivals, and raiding neighboring territories. Nonetheless, despite the early decades of the reign being relatively successful and prosperous, the massive viking invasions of Thorkell the Tall (1009-1012), Sweyn Forkbeard (1013), and Cnut the Great (1014-16) would come to dominate later narratives, including that of the Chronicle itself. The most dramatic months of Æthelred’s life were in late 1013 and early 1014: already weakened by Thorkell’s campaigns in the preceding few years, England fell to Sweyn, King of Denmark, in late 1013. Æthelred held out in London for a time, resisting with “full battle,” but soon the entire nation regarded Sweyn as “full king.” [2] Æthelred withdrew to Normandy, where he lived in exile with his queen, Emma, and their young children. 

But Sweyn himself was an old man by the standards of the day. The House of Denmark had its own share of rulers who died young (Harold I and Harthacnut, for example, both died in their 20s) and Sweyn was nearing 55. He died suddenly in February 1014, prompting the English magnates to recall Æthelred, as long as he promised to behave better this time. [3] Æthelred agreed and came back to England, beginning his second tenure as King of the English. He still had to deal with Sweyn’s viking supporters, though, who now looked to Sweyn’s son Cnut for leadership.

Cnut wanted to live up to his father’s legacy, and the Chronicle tells us he made his base in Lindsey and was preparing to raid and harry England in the spring of 1014. It turns out that the old king Æthelred was the only one raiding and harrying that spring, though: before Cnut was ready, Æthelred amassed an army and attacked, causing Cnut to flee back to Denmark. Æthelred’s army “ravaged and burnt” the land and “all who could be got at were killed.” [4] In mid-1014, England was again ruled by the man it was most accustomed to, who had been on the throne since 978 (minus a few inconvenient months in Normandy). It was a stunning comeback, but Æthelred was approaching the end of his life.

The Final Months of King Æthelred 

 In 1015, the Chronicle tells us that King Æthelred fell ill. Normally the Chronicle flatly states that kings died, with no context whatsoever, so it’s highly unusual that the chronicler tells us of Æthelred’s illness. Despite the return of Cnut’s raiding army in 1015, Æthelred’s activity in the Chronicle largely ceases after his illness is announced. In 1016, he leads the London garrison out to meet with the army of his son Edmund, but then quickly returns to London, where he dies. 

Scholars have repeatedly suggested that the chronicler for these entries was based in London, perhaps due to the heavy emphasis he places on the city throughout Æthelred’s reign. If this is the case, then it’s possible (though by no means provable) that the chronicler had firsthand information about the king’s death and illness, which could explain why Æthelred’s illness is mentioned. London, after all, was where Æthelred died. 

The Londoners then proclaimed Æthelred’s son Edmund as king, but his reign was to be short and tragic. Despite leading a valiant campaign against Cnut, Edmund himself died later in 1016. The Chronicle remembers Edmund as one who “stoutly defended his kingdom while his life lasted.” [5] 

What Killed Æthelred the Unready?

We know Æthelred was ill in 1015, but little else. It’s not even certain that the illness of 1015 is the same one that killed him. 

However, we do know that two of Æthelred’s ancestors, Alfred (reigned 871-899) and Eadred (reigned 946-955), suffered from digestive issues. Asser’s Life of King Alfred says that Alfred suffered from “piles” (hemorrhoids) “even from his youth” [6] and was often debilitated by pain and illness. Throughout the Life of Alfred, the reader is constantly reminded that Alfred is sickly, such as how the king often carries out tasks “as far as his health and abilities would allow.” [7] Despite the piles and the mystery illness that plagued him later, Alfred managed to live a relatively long life by the standards of the day. Eadred was not so fortunate. He died at just 32, suffering from an illness that prevented him from swallowing his food, leaving his diagnosis somewhat less clear. [8] Was it a digestive issue, a problem with his throat, dental issue, or something else entirely? 

As for Æthelred’s illness, stomach problems stand out as the most prominent possibility, but that’s a very low bar to clear. It just as easily could have been cancer, a debilitating stroke, or something else. So, while stomach issues are possible due to family history, let’s be clear: we don’t know what killed Æthelred and never will, barring the unexpected discovery of his body. Speaking of the body, where is it? Well, it was at St. Paul’s in London.

The Remains of Æthelred the Unready

Given that London was under attack from Cnut, it’s hard to imagine Æthelred could have been interred or buried anywhere else. Traditionally, Winchester had been the location of many royal burials, but London was where the king died and the city had repeatedly proved to be fiercely loyal to him. Although Winchester was the closest thing the West Saxons had to a capital, it’s fitting that the king was laid to rest in the city that was most devoted to him. Maybe Æthelred himself would have wanted his mortal remains to lie there. 

Although the Chronicle doesn’t specifically identify St. Paul’s as the location, it was common knowledge that Æthelred’s body rested there. An etching from 1658 specifically depicts Æthelred’s tomb inside St. Paul’s, just eight years before the cathedral was destroyed in the Great Fire of London. [9] The king’s tomb was also lost in the fire, although Michael Wood concluded his Æthelred documentary with a tantalizing possibility. “Maybe his bones still lie here in a common grave somewhere in these little gardens around the back of Wren’s church,” Wood said, standing outside the modern cathedral. [10] It could have been little more than an off-the-cuff ad lib, but I can’t help but wonder. Is there any possibility that Æthelred’s remains, at least some of them, survived the catastrophic fire and were tossed into a common grave? I’ll admit it’s unlikely, but after the Richard III discovery, who knows?

We do have the remains of Æthelred’s wife Emma and their son Edward, and possibly those of another son, the aforementioned Edmund Ironside. It’s a shame that Æthelred is the one left out. Isn’t that just his luck? So today we remember this hardworking but unfortunate king. Like Ann Williams, I can’t help but feel “a certain fondness, even a certain admiration, for him.” [11] The Chronicle said that he “held his kingdom with great toil and difficulties as long as his life lasted.”  In my book, I took it a step further. My conclusion was that despite all his setbacks (some of which were self-inflicted), King Æthelred was “a survivor and a fighter.” [12]

Notes

  1. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, translated by Dorothy Whitelock in English Historical Documents c. 500-1042, Second Edition (Routledge, 1979; accessed through the Taylor & Francis e-library), 249. 
  2. ASC, 246-47.
  3. ASC, 247. See also Brandon M. Bender, “The Anglo-Saxon Magna Carta,” presented at The Kansas Association of Historians, 2019. 
  4. ASC, 247.
  5. ASC, 249.
  6. Asser, Life of King Alfred, translated by Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge (Penguin, 1983; reprinted 1987), 89.
  7. Life of King Alfred, 107, 109.
  8. David Pratt, “The illnesses of King Alfred the Great,” Anglo-Saxon England 30 (2001), 74.
  9. Peter Stone, “The founding of St. Paul’s Cathedral,” The History of London, https://www.thehistoryoflondon.co.uk/the-founding-of-st-pauls-cathedral/.
  10. Michael Wood, “In Search of Ethelred the Unready,” In Search of the Dark Ages (BBC, 1981). 
  11. Ann Williams, Æthelred the Unready: The Ill-Counseled King (Bloomsbury Academic, 2003), xiii.
  12. Bender, England’s Unlikely Commander: The Military Career of Æthelred the Unready (Rounded Globe, 2019), 68.

The Anglo-Saxon Invasion of Normandy: When, if at all, did it take place?

Æthelred’s plan was to invade Normandy and capture Duke Richard II.

Sometime around 1060-1070, a Norman monk named William of Jumieges wrote of an earlier, undated English attack on Normandy. The invasion had been led by Æthelred II, better known as Æthelred the Unready, who reigned from 978-1016. William described the event in colorful, bordering on florid, detail, noting that Æthelred’s plan was to invade Normandy and capture Duke Richard II. However, the English were opposed by a local leader named Nigel (sometimes written Neel or Niel) and a force of angry peasants who soundly defeated Æthelred [1]. 

Few historians would be willing to accept the dramatic details of this account at face value, but some Anglo-Saxon academics seem to believe the account has a historical core. In other words, even if Æthelred did not really blush with embarrassment after being defeated by peasants, the English very well could have crossed the channel and raided Duke Richard II’s territory. But when exactly did this raid take place — if it took place at all?

Background: English and Norman Relations During Æthelred’s Reign 

Regardless of the attack’s dating and historicity (we’ll get there), it would be helpful to understand the context of this alleged invasion. Æthelred had ruled England since his childhood. He came to the throne in 978, around the age of 11 (most historians believe Æthelred was born sometime between 966 and 968). Little of note occured during his minority, but intermittent viking raids affected English coastal areas in the 980s [2]. 

In the early 990s, we find our first connection between Æthelred and Normandy. A peace agreement between Æthelred and Duke Richard I was mediated by Pope John XV’s legate, Leo of Trevi [3]. The agreement states that neither ruler should aid the other’s enemies, but who are those enemies? For Æthelred, it has long been assumed that his enemies were the vikings, but we should not rule out more mundane possibilities, such as political exiles [4]. The treaty is dated to 991, a year that also saw the English fight the Battle of Maldon against the viking Olaf Tryggvason. Maldon is often seen as a watershed moment in English history — as the point when viking incursions evolved from local nuisance to national threat. I’ve never been too fond of “watershed moments” in general, and many would argue that the arrivals of Sweyn Forkbeard in 1003 and Thorkell the Tall in 1009 were far more significant to the decline of Æthelred’s kingdom. Nonetheless, the early 990s did see escalating viking raids on England and it’s curious that this aligns with the treaty’s date. No matter what prompted the treaty, Richard I and Æthelred II were obviously on poor terms prior to the pope’s intervention.  

The next connection between Normandy and England comes in 1000, when the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle says that the vikings had left England and taken refuge in “Richard’s kingdom.” Richard I had died in 996, so this is his son, Richard II. In the same entry, the Chronicle says Æthelred took advantage of the vikings’ absence by leading an army to Strathclyde (Cumbria) and “ravaging very nearly all of it,” while his navy harassed the Isle of Man at the same time.

The third notable link between England and Normandy occurs in 1002, when Æthelred married Emma, Richard II’s sister. Emma was crowned queen, which is notable because Æthelred’s previous wife had little to no political standing, and certainly was not elevated to the rank of queen. Emma’s status as English queen must have greatly enhanced the prestige of Normandy, but what was in it for Æthelred? Presumably, the king sought Richard II’s cooperation against the vikings, or at least wanted him to close his ports to the raiders; remember that in 1000, the Chronicle places the vikings in “Richard’s kingdom.”

Normandy was absent from English politics in any meaningful sense for a decade after the marriage. Normandy became significant again in 1013, when the Danish king Sweyn had overrun large parts of England, leaving Æthelred with control of only London. Emma and her children by Æthelred fled the country at this time, sailing to her brother’s court in Normandy [5]. Æthelred stayed behind to defend London, but when London did finally capitulate, the king also sought refuge in Normandy. At least from what the Chronicle tells us, this is the first concrete benefit of the marriage alliance between Æthelred and Emma. Æthelred may have benefitted in other ways, but we have been left no record of them. At the very least, he had a safe place to go after being expelled from his own nation. Early the next year, Sweyn died and Æthelred was invited to reclaim his crown — as long as he agreed to certain conditions [6]. Still living in Normandy, Æthelred sent envoys to England to negotiate his return to power. Once the negotiations were complete, he left Normandy in spring 1014, arriving to widespread support in southern England. He attacked Cnut (Sweyn’s son) shortly after this, expelling the vikings from the country. Æthelred died two years later amidst renewed viking attacks, aged about 49 [7].

Anglo-Saxon Historians on the Normandy Invasion

So, with this summary of Anglo-Norman relations in mind, let’s take a look at what experts have to say about the alleged invasion of Normandy, which is not mentioned in the Chronicle. Ann Williams is somewhat skeptical of the account in her Æthelred biography, owing to William of Jumieges’ confused chronology, [8] but not all scholars have expressed similar reservations. For example, Ryan Lavelle readily accepts the account in his 2002 biography of Æthelred. After a lengthy analysis, he concludes that “there is no valid reason to expect the account of William of Jumieges to have been anything other than correct” [9]. He also mentions the Normandy attack in Alfred’s Wars [10]. Eric John also includes the invasion, without questioning its historicity, in his memorable Reassessing Anglo-Saxon England [11]. Levi Roach mentions William of Jumieges’ tale in his own Æthelred biography, but clarifies that it should be “treated with caution” due to its “unreliable” chronology [12].

However, Richard Abels, in his 2018 Æthelred biography, omits the Normandy invasion entirely — the only campaign led by Æthelred that he does not discuss [13]. It’s not hard to see why, though; this event is one of the murkiest details of an already dimly-lit era. It’s not mentioned in the Chronicle, one of the few broadly-focused sources of the era. It has little to do with Æthelred’s overall struggle against the vikings (although it does have a tenuous connection if Æthelred was trying to disrupt Normandy as an area of Norse influence). It does not directly connect to the St. Brice’s Day Massacre, with Æthelred’s remarkable expressions of piety, or with his exile and triumphant return. 

Non-Academic Interpretations of the Normandy Invasion

In fact, the Normandy invasion is so obscure that little about it has made its way onto the internet — it has still stayed, for the most part, contained to the middle chapters and footnotes of strictly academic books. I could find only two detailed references to it online. The first was on a site called Military Wikia, which summarizes William of Jumieges’ account and adds occasional analysis, citing a single French source (Francois Neveux’s A Brief History of the Normans) but, curiously, not William’s account itself. The second comes from a blog post by author A.J. Sefton, which also largely summarizes William of Jumieges’ version. Military Wikia and Sefton both call it the Battle of Val-de-Saire. A website called English Monarchs makes brief reference to the invasion, if only to condemn Æthelred for his foolishness (the page is a safe haven for many of the most antiquated views on the king). Aside from those, though, I could find no supplemental detail outside of the handful of academic works I mentioned earlier.

So we already have very little to go on. However, this under-researched conflict in Æthelred’s reign is still worthy of attention. It’s a fascinating event, and one that helps fight back against the prevailing view (at least in popular culture) of Æthelred as a battle-shy monarch. But when did this alleged invasion take place, and should we consider it a historical event at all?

Dating Æthelred’s Normandy Invasion

Ryan Lavelle believes Æthelred’s attack took place c. 1000, while Levi Roach places it c. 1002 [14]. Here we have two of the foremost Æthelred experts placing the alleged invasion within a two-year span, which is remarkable considering that William of Jumieges does not provide a year at all. 

How have these scholars managed to narrow the attack down to a two-year range? Let’s start with the obvious and work our way backwards. The supposed invasion of Normandy must have taken place during Æthelred’s reign (978-1016) and can be further narrowed down to the years when Æthelred and Richard II were both in power. Richard II ruled Normandy from 996-1026, so our range of years is now 996-1016. However, it would be nearly unthinkable that Æthelred would have attacked Richard after the marriage to Emma, which further shrinks our range to 996-1002. We’re getting pretty close now, but we still aren’t quite there. I suspect there are two main reasons for the narrower 1000-02 estimate.

First, the Chronicle places the vikings in Normandy in 1000, not earlier. Æthelred clearly wants to punish the Normans for something in William’s account, and the Chronicle gives us a very strong motive when it independently notes that the Normans had been giving vikings shelter. Hadn’t the Normans and English agreed to avoid such practices in their 991 treaty? It could be that the agreement effectively terminated with Richard I’s death in 996 [15]. Either way, though, giving shelter to a viking force that had just been in England (!) was reason enough for Æthelred to be angry. 

Second, remember that Æthelred conducted two similar raids on Norse-influenced territory at this time: against Strathclyde (or Cumbria) and the Isle of Man, both in 1000. The Chronicle considers them part of the same expedition, an amphibious campaign that involved Æthelred marching north by land with his army, while his navy “went out round by Chester”. When the ships failed to make contact with the king’s land force, they ravaged the Isle of Man. So we know from the Chronicle that Æthelred was already engaging in behavior like this at precisely this time.

Alternative Dating

However, not everyone has placed the Normandy invasion at the start of the eleventh century. Eric John mentions that “it seems sensible to suppose [the treaty of 991] followed the invasion” [16]. While it does seem possible for the 991 treaty to be a side-effect of armed confrontation, William’s original words make this doubtful. Even though both dukes in question are named Richard, William identifies his Richard as the brother of Emma, so it can only be Richard II. I don’t think John meant to imply that there could have been two English invasions of Normandy; there is no reason to duplicate Æthelredian attacks without compelling evidence, so he most likely mixed up his Richards (an easy thing to do when dealing with turn-of-the-millennium Normandy). 

Williams declines to provide an exact date at all, which is understandable given the odd chronology of William of Jumieges’ account (for example, Nigel, who supposedly repelled Æthelred’s attack, does not appear until the 1020s, well after Æthelred had died) [17]. 

The only other non-1000-02 date I could find comes from a non-academic source, the aforementioned English Monarchs site. The site’s page for Æthelred says that, “Behaving with his customary arrogance, Ethelred succeeded in alienating his new brother-in-law and made an unsuccessful attempt to invade Normandy.” Judging by the word “new,” the page’s author seems to mean the invasion took place after Æthelred and Emma’s marriage, but not by much. So let’s call it 1003-04. I find this dating implausible, mainly because such an act would be incredibly stupid, even by Æthelred’s standards. Æthelred did make colossal errors in judgement from time to time, such as the St. Brice’s Day Massacre or his decision to assassinate Sigeferth and Morcar in 1015. But the idea that Æthelred would enter a marriage alliance and immediately break it is well outside the realm of possibility. It’s also worth noting that it’s hard to find a monarch who reigned as long as Æthelred who didn’t commit some severe errors of judgement; 38 years is a very long time to rule mistake-free.

So is the Invasion of Normandy a Historical Event?

Unfortunately, answering such a question is rarely straightforward, so it’s more helpful to think in terms of probability than “totally true vs. totally untrue.” As for the flamboyant details, like a blushing Æthelred and the dialogue that takes place between Æthelred and one of his soldiers, I think it’s safe to store them away as fiction. 

But as for the general core of the idea, that Æthelred attacked Normandy, I don’t think there is any strong reason to disbelieve it. We have been presented with the account from William and supplemented it with detail from the Chronicle and from papal negotiations, and it’s clear that there was tension between England and Normandy at this time. As for Æthelred’s marriage to Emma, it’s true that marriage alliances between friendly kingdoms did take place in the Middle Ages, but England and Normandy (as shown earlier) were not friends. This makes the marriage look far more like a diplomatic solution to long-running tensions. 

With that said, how likely is it that Æthelred would risk his people’s lives (and his own) to attack a neighboring territory? Well, judging by the Chronicle, very likely. He did the exact same thing with Strathclyde and the Isle of Man in 1000. Inside his own country, he had attacked Rochester in 986 in response to a land dispute. He led an army against Cnut in 1014, as well. Cnut then put to flight, “leaving his allies to endure Æthelred’s very bloody reprisals,” in the words of Eric John [18]. 

Despite Æthelred’s (largely outdated) reputation as a passive and militarily inactive ruler, his martial abilities are the least of my concerns. In fact, I feel so strongly that Æthelred was militarily resourceful that I wrote a short book about it. He was no Æthelstan or Edward the Elder, but he was more than willing to lead his men in person and campaign in enemy territory. 

So with all that in mind, it’s looking more and more like the Normandy attack fits snugly into English history c. 1000. 

William of Jumieges’ poor chronology is cause for reservation, but not enough for me to disregard the source as a whole. I accepted the core of a much later account in my book, where I concluded that Olaf Haraldsson probably did help Æthelred retake London in 1014, despite the account’s late composition, its dramatic details, and some occasional diversions from the Chronicle [19]. Another source, De obsessione Dunelmi, has far more egregious chronology errors when discussing Æthelred (it’s about 40 years off), but that has not stopped academics from using that portion of the source [20].

Perhaps the biggest strike against William’s account is that it does not appear in the Chronicle [21]. The Chronicle is the most valuable account of English politics in Æthelred’s reign, and many of its entries can be corroborated by other sources. For example, the Chronicle mentions a battle at Maldon in 991, which is also the subject of an epic poem. In 986, the Chronicle says Æthelred ravaged Rochester, which is confirmed by two later writers (Sulcard of Westminster and Osbern of Canterbury) and by Æthelred’s own charters. However, I would be wary of using the Chronicle’s silence as the main basis for discrediting the attack. If the attack made no sense in the political context of the time, I would be more likely to write it off. But it does make sense in the political context of the time: England and Normandy had been at odds for at least a decade (judging by the treaty), Normandy had been offering shelter to vikings, Æthelred had been embarking on punitive campaigns, and something prompted these two unfriendly territories to seek a marriage alliance [22]. 

So in all, yes, I think it’s probable that Æthelred the Unready really did attempt to invade Normandy around the year 1000, even if it cannot be proven beyond a doubt. Suspicion should fall on William’s identification of Nigel as the Norman defender, and on his more theatrical details, but I do not think the general premise of the account should be discarded. 

Notes

  1. William of Jumieges, Gesta Normannorum Ducum, translated by Elizabeth M. C. Van Houts (Claredon Press, 1995).
  2. The Anglo Saxon Chronicle (ASC) records attacks in 980-982 and 987-88, but none from 983-86.
  3. See Dorothy Whitelock, English Historical Documents 500-1042: Second Edition (Routledge, 1979; online version from the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007); Ann Williams, Æthelred the Unready: The Ill-Counselled King (Bloomsbury Academic, 2003), 43-44; Ryan Lavelle, Æthelred II: King of the English 978-1016 (Tempus, 2002), 51; and Levi Roach, Æthelred the Unready (Yale University Press, 2016), 117, 187.
  4. Roach, 117.
  5. ASC 1013-14.
  6. Brandon M. Bender, “The Anglo-Saxon Magna Carta: Æthelred the Unready’s Agreement of 1014.” Presented at The Kansas Association of Historians, 2019.
  7. ASC 1014-16.
  8. Williams, 55.
  9. Lavelle’s full analysis in Æthelred II can be found on pages 97-99, with the quoted sentence on page 99.
  10. Lavelle, Alfred’s Wars, 9-10.
  11. Eric John, Reassessing Anglo-Saxon England (Manchester University Press, 1996), 141.
  12. Roach, 187.
  13. Richard Abels, Æthelred the Unready: The Failed King (Penguin, 2018).
  14. Lavelle, Æthelred II, 97-99. Roach, 187.
  15. Roach, 187.
  16. John, 141.
  17. Williams, 55.
  18. John, 148.
  19. Bender, England’s Unlikely Commander: The Military Career of Æthelred the Unready (Rounded Globe, 2019), 55-58.
  20. Ibid., 37-39.
  21. Lavelle makes the same point in Æthelred II, 99.
  22. ASC 1000, 1002.