Tuesday Talk - King Cnut and Turning the Tide

We all know the man and the story: how silly King Canute thought he was so clever and powerful that he could even command the tide to turn. Well, Canute (or actually, Cnut or Knut) wasn't a silly or bad king of England - even though he was Danish and had conquered the country in 1016. He in fact ended up as being known as 'More English than the English'. He kept the peace, made good laws and built churches and religious houses. (OK we'll forget about the battles before he became king and the more than a few murders.) 

His 'summer residence' in England was on the West Sussex coast at Bosham (say it as Bozum) where his good mate, adviser and kinsman, Earl Godwine of Wessex, also lived - Godwine's son, Harold, was to become King of England in 1066. 

Sadly Cnut's daughter was drowned in the mill race at Bosham and was buried in the church - also very sadly her effigy was vandalised some years ago (now restored).

Bosham is depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry:

Harold embarking on a voyage to Normandy
(note the steps... and the height of the tide)

Harold and his brother entering
the church at Bosham

Holy Trinity Church, Bosham
(John Pollock proved that the tower, although altered,
IS the same one as that depicted in the tapestry)

My friend James sitting on steps
(see above)
that are very similar to those depicted
in the Tapestry.

Cnut was married to Emma of Normandy - who had been wife to the king Cnut had defeated in 1016, Aethelred 'the Unready'. Emma, now widowed,  was quick witted enough, though to hang on to her crown and married Cnut. (Read more of their story in my novel A Hollow Crown (UK title) The Forever Queen (US title)

The story of the tide is very probably true - although in reverse. Cnut was trying to show that he was NOT all powerful, that he was NOT God, that he could NOT do wondrous things like turn back the tide.

If the story is factual it is very, very likely that it took place at Bosham where the tide comes in very quickly (as several who have parked their cars on the quay have discovered to their dismay.) 

I wrote the scene below for my novel, and several years later heard from John Pollock Bosham's local historian - and sadly no longer with us. He was so impressed by this scene that he took his chair and plonked it on the quay, sent his wife over to the wharf on the other side of the creek to play the part of 'the crowd' and proceeded to read the excerpt aloud. His wife could hear every word - and John did get his feet wet.

He wrote to me to say that he believed every word of my piece to be more or less true.. 'A fascinating bit of research, my dear! Fascinating!'

I never did confess to him that I'd made it all up...

Excerpt:

No one particularly minded the King's quirk of odd behaviour; in fact, it drew more crowds as men, women and children from all the outlying villages made their hasty way to Bosham to watch the tide come in. He sat on the causeway, a yard or so below the steps that led up through the back wall of Godwine's manor-house courtyard. Come high tide, the water would slap below the top step, allowing for boats to moor there, for Godwine to board or disembark, whatever the height of the sea. He sat rigid in his chair, his mantle draped around his shoulders, his crown on his head, watching the tide creep slowly nearer, ignoring the whispers, the murmurings, the speculation. With polite gratitude he ate, drank, whatever Godwine's wife, Gytha, brought him but he refused to move from his chair.

    ‘You think I am equal to God?’ he exclaimed. ‘Then let me prove, once and for all, that I have no more power than any one of you.’

    And he sat, waiting patiently as the sea edged in higher. Clouds scudded over the sky, the wind turned. Gulls screeched and squabbled, waders, busy about their foraging, quartered the mudflats until the sea reclaimed the land; the moored boats, leaning drunkenly on their unsupported keels, waited forlorn, abandoned, with their sterns outward to where the sea had gone until gradually, trickling and gurgling, the water began to meander up along the channels, turning the reed-strewn mudbanks to whispering, rippling water, bringing the slumped ships awake.

    ‘My Lord,’ Godwine said, becoming anxious, ‘Sir, it is not wise to sit here below these steps. It may seem that it creeps like a scared mouse, but in reality the tide can gallop in. Especially on a day as today, with the wind full behind it.’

    'I know, Godwine, I know,’ was all Cnut said as he sat there.

   The excited, cheerful chatter of the swollen crowd, that had vied with the noise of the gulls, lessened to a baffled mumble. What was he doing? What was he intending to prove?

    Again, as the tide lapped at the cobbled causeway, Godwine came to Cnut, worried. ‘Sir? I beg you to move, it is unsafe here!’

    Cnut had been dozing. He startled awake and for a moment Godwine closed his eyes in prayer. Thank God! The King had heard reason! But no, Cnut was having none of it. He half turned, stared long and steadily at the array of people, gathered now at a safer distance. They fell silent, all eyes watching him, awed by his presence, convinced that here was a man about to perform a miracle.

    ‘You think I am God?' Cnut boomed. ‘You think I dare to compare my humble self with the Lord Christ's Father in Heaven? For myself, I would not be so conceited as to agree with you, but you are, all of you, honest and brave people. Many among you read and write, are learned men and women - who am I to gainsay what you must know above me? I am one, you are many. You say I have the power of a saint, then let me see it for myself!’ The water was lapping at his feet, swilling on to the folds of his cloak, seeping into its rich embroidered binding, the salt irreparably staining its plush, expensive wool.

    He sat, his hands resting on the carved, gold-gilded arms of the chair, feeling the wet coldness of the tide seep into his boots. He raised a hand, glared at the running water, coming ever faster now, in full spate.
    'I am a God, they tell me!' he boomed. ‘As a God I make command of you, the sea! I tell you, you wicked, murderous tide, to go back! Get you gone! I command you, the waves, to cease, to stop your invasion of my land!’ Nothing happened. A wave, higher, rolling with the eddying current splashed against the chair, sending spray into the air.

    Solidly, Cnut sat there, unflinching, unmoving. The tide was to his knees, his lap. Again he boomed his command for the tide to recede, his voice running over the concerned murmuring of the watching people. Beyond the roll of the tide relentlessly sweeping inwards nothing happened.

    ‘My Lord, you must come!’ Godwine, kneeling on the top steps, stretched out his hand imploring, Gytha at his side, weeping. Where was Queen Emma? Oh, she ought be here, drum sense into the stupid man! 
    'Cnut, this is naught but folly! Come away! Now!’

   'I command again!’ Cnut bellowed to the swell of water. 'I demand you heed my word and retreat, that you cease from the flood and turn away. I order it!’ The sea was to his chest, spluttering into his mouth, soaking his beard.
    All talk had ceased, was turning to cries of alarm and fear, a woman began to scream, another to cry. Many were on their knees, praying. Godwine himself was shaking, the housecarls, his own and the King's, arrayed behind him along the manor wall, alarmed, afraid, uncertain what to do. Cnut had bade them be still, to do nothing whatever might happen, but surely he had not meant for them to allow him to drown?

    'Pull him out!' Godwine stuttered, unable to bear the tension any longer. 'Let us pull him out!'

    'Leave him!’ A voice called from the courtyard. Godwine swung round, saw Emma walking towards him. She had come at last, thank God! She would talk sense into her husband!

    'My lady, he will drown!'

  Emma went to the top step, stood, observing her husband sitting rigid, stubborn, on his chair in the sea, the water almost up to his chin. 'Damn silly way to prove your meaning,' she muttered.

    'My Lady...!' Godwine begged, falling to his knees as she stood there, immobile.

    'Hush, man, have more faith in your Lord King!' Emma snapped. She rarely wore her crown in public, only on feast and holy days, when it was essential to show the full regalia of queenship. Today she wore it with a pure white linen veil that fluttered to the shoulders of a gown that was a turquoise blue, the sleeves of the under-tunic a darker colour. At her throat, her wrists, gold jewellery, studded with rubies and gems as vivid as her dress. Standing on the top steps, she lifted her hands as a preacher would.

    'My Lord God,' she cried, 'may you see this day that our King is a wise and humble man, that he shows to you that although he is anointed with the Chrism, that although he is touched by your hand and your blessing, he can but command the men and women and children of this land, not the wind or sea that is upon it. That he can command but mortal things, for he himself is but mortal!'

    She stood down into the water, descending the first three steps, and reached out her hand to Cnut who rose from his chair, sodden and cold, took her fingers in his own as he waded through the swirl of the sea and climbed the steps.

    'You see,' he roared, lifting his arms to the crowd, 'I am a King by the Grace of God, but I am not God himself!' With an extravagant gesture, he took his crown from his head and hurled it into the tide, let it drift there, significantly poignant.

    He walked away, striding towards Godwine's manor-house, as dignified as he could, considering the weight of his heavy, sodden clothing.

    'You had me scared my lord,' Godwine admitted as he personally stripped the clothes from his King in the privacy of his own chamber.

    'I had to show them in a way they would understand, my good friend, and this was all I could think of.' With a half grin, through chattering teeth, he added, 'I knew full well what I was doing - though I had not bargained on the water being so bloody cold!'

    Did not admit, even to Emma later that night as he huddled into her warmth, that he had considered staying there, remaining seated, of going to join his drowned daughter, of trying once again, to see her sweet, smiling face. But sense had prevailed. He would see her again, one day, at a time of God's choosing, not his own.

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