Rebecca Gablé’s “Raven Throne”: Did Edmund II really die on the outhouse?

Rebecca Gablé, was the English King Edmund II really murdered on November 30, 1016, in such an inglorious manner as you describe in your novel “Raven Throne”?

Well, the only thing we know for sure about this period is that we don't know anything for sure. Sources are sparse. And the information we do have often contradicts itself. But there is one source that describes his death exactly like this: According to it, Edmund II went to the outhouse during a feast after winning a battle, but never returned. He was found dead sitting on the toilet. Someone had apparently been standing in the cesspool, ambushed him, and then plunged a lance through his rectum from below. You can't imagine a more horrible way for a king to die.

If this tradition didn't exist, would you, as an author of historical novels, have imagined such a brutal murder?

As for the depths of my imagination, I'd probably be capable of that. But I feel a responsibility to the story. I try to reconstruct what happened as accurately as possible. And that's why I would have steered clear of something so heinous. I don't want to give my readers nightmares. Edmund would probably have died a more merciful death.

Where do you set limits to your imagination?

Especially in the Middle Ages, there are large blank spaces. We can only roughly piece together what happened. In such cases, a writer is free to invent to her heart's content. Often enough, the recorded events are already so bizarre that nothing needs to be added—see Edmund's trip to the toilet.

Do you consider yourself a history teacher while writing?

My goal is for my audience to be able to form a picture of the era described. That's why I write such detailed afterwords, in which I reveal the gap between what I've invented and what actually happened. But I'm not a teacher, nor have I even studied history. First and foremost, I want my audience to have a good time reading. If they also get the feeling they're doing something for their educational horizons, why not?

Does your readership accuse you of historical blunders?

But yes. I used to be terribly upset about mistakes, but now I know they're part of the business. I always respond to such comments. Incidentally, historians are rarely among the critics. They seem more pleased when history is presented to the public in an entertaining way.

Her books reliably become bestsellers: What is so exciting about the distant Middle Ages?

I've been asking myself this question for more than a quarter of a century. I still haven't found a satisfactory answer. Several factors probably play a role. For one thing, we discover our own cultural roots in the Middle Ages. Barbara Tuchman wrote a wonderful book about the 14th century called "The Distant Mirror." It hits the nail on the head: We recognize ourselves from a distance. But of course, this period also gives us wonderful creeps. The Middle Ages offers drama and tragedy in abundance. At least in retrospect, it's extremely entertaining.

Was the Middle Ages really as dark as we imagine today?

Wars, plagues, famines: Often enough, it was dark. But it was also colorful and joyful. People back then were much more aware that they were surrounded by death at every moment – and that's what the church preached. Back then, any scratch from a rusty nail could mean death. Pregnancies ended fatally for both mother and child. Men died in battles. That's precisely why life was celebrated. People celebrated whenever there was a decent piece of meat in the pot. This awareness of our finiteness has been somewhat lost to us today with our modern science.

Your novel leaves the impression that wars were the dominant element of politics. Is that true?

That's hard to say in general. For the period in which "Raven Throne" takes place, however, it is. The eleventh century, with the Nordic kings on the throne—that is, the Vikings who sailed from Denmark—was a warlike time. The rulers were driven by the idea that only conquest brings honor. It was a matter of course that someone was constantly being subjugated.

In "Raven Throne," you focus on a historical female figure, the English Queen Emma. Why this particular ruler?

Emma of Normandy is an exceptional personality. This begins with the fact that she outlasted so many kings. Two of them were her husbands, two were sons, and two were stepsons. There's no other way to put it: despite the most adverse conditions, Emma triumphed in the end.

How did she even get to the throne?

As a teenager, she was transported from Normandy to England: She was forced to marry Æthelred the Unadvised. The nickname says it all about this king. Æthelred was about three decades older than her and already had ten children from his first marriage, some of whom were older than Emma. She came as a marriage pledge for an alliance between England and Normandy against the Vikings. That must have been traumatic for her. Nevertheless, she persisted and became politically active as soon as possible. When Æthelred died, she married his Danish rival, Canute the Great. Later, she exercised power over her sons.

How did she manage the feat of marrying Æthelred's original archenemy?

There is evidence that she arranged the marriage to Cnut herself. In any case, it was a marriage of equals, and that was saying something at that time. When he left to, say, overthrow the King of Norway, she took over government responsibility in England and covered his back. It was a long journey from a powerless little girl to a universally respected ruler. In the end, she even dictated her biography to a monk. The "Encomium Emmae Reginae," also known as "Emma's Eulogy," still determines what posterity will think of her.

Emma was also supposedly attractive. Or is that your addition for the appreciative readership?

That's what they say about Emma. But even if not, heroes and heroines don't have to be beautiful anymore. That changed with "Game of Thrones," at the very latest. This television series marked a turning point in fantasy and historical narrative. Since then, even a physically weak hero like Tyrion Lannister can make a positive protagonist.

Did Emma's cleverness perhaps consist in letting the men on the throne take center stage and pulling the strings in the background?

What alternative did she have? In any case, she persuaded Canute, that sword-wielding Superman, to listen to her. He, in turn, was smart enough to realize that she knew better than anyone how the English tick, why he should quickly abandon his pagan Viking ways and become the darling of the bishops.

Has interest in female fictional characters increased over the years?

There's always been a literary need for female characters. With my male heroes in previous books, I was somewhat of an oddity. But with Emma, I quickly realized that this character could be a worthwhile subject for a novel.

Would you generally advocate for a more female perspective on history?

I'm not involved in university life, but there is already the discipline of feminist history. It's certainly worthwhile to focus on women. But in the Middle Ages, men were the decision-makers. They shaped politics, religion, and culture. This can only be reinterpreted to a limited extent.

How much modernity do you allow your characters?

I try to ground my main characters in their time, for example, in their relationship to violence. My fictional protagonist, Ælfric of Helmsby, fights in various battles. Killing doesn't cost him a second's sleep. Corpses litter his path. That was normal in the Middle Ages and part of the male image. A free man who was allowed to carry a sword and never used it was essentially a ridiculous figure. Nevertheless, Ælfric is a loving father to his son. And why shouldn't there have been such a teacher in the Middle Ages?

There are some terrible villains in your novel, such as King Harald I, nicknamed the Coward. His quick temper is certainly reminiscent of today's politicians. Did you have a specific protagonist in mind?

I wasn't thinking of Donald Trump, if that's what you're referring to—although some of his characteristics would fit quite well. The historical coward was truly crazy; he was cruel, mean, and spiteful. A psychopath.

Do you sometimes have the feeling that international politics today is slipping back into medieval ways?

Yes, unfortunately. One increasingly gets the impression that the world is becoming worse and more unstable. The political, social, and civilizational advances of the 20th century are being sidelined. This creates a growing uneasy feeling that the world is regressing to the Middle Ages. Even if I don't want to draw simplistic parallels to the present.

Were people in the Middle Ages different from us?

They were shaped differently. Their reality was much harsher. Human life was worth nothing. But they fell in love just as much and were happy when the spring sun warmed them again after the winter. In such matters, they certainly felt just like we do.

What can we learn from the Middle Ages for the 21st century?

I would have answered this question differently in the past, but today I would say: nothing at all. My optimism has faded. But I still think it's good to know history so we can at least reflect: What was before, what is today? What in the past made us what we are today? But can we really gain anything from history that is beneficial to civilization? It doesn't look like it.

Rebecca Gablé: Raven Throne, Lübbe-Verlag, 896 pages, 30 euros

Source: Publisher