However, Æthelflæd’s brother Edward ended up coming along to unseat Ælfwynn. It would be his son, Æthelstan, who had been educated in the court of Æthelflæd, who, in 927, would finally succeed in unifying the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms.
And that, friends, is (kind of) where England comes from.
11
Ælfthryth
c. AD 945–c. 1000
Let us turn to Ælfthryth. That’s right, you’re getting two Anglo-Saxon queens for the price of one. This book is excellent value. But just because they’re both medieval English queens with similar funny næmes, it doesn’t mean they’re very much alike. For one thing, they lived about a century apart, and imagine if a thousand years from now someone assumed that people born in 1890 were pretty much the same as people born in 1990. That is, if there are still books and history and a world 1,000 years from now.
Anyway, Ælfthryth was born in 945ish in the kingdom of Wessex, which nowadays is basically a southern bit of England. She became the wife of King Edgar the Peaceable, who was known to be a peaceable kind of guy. But Ælfthryth wasn’t just any queen. She was a working queen. A career gal. A woman who proved that you really can have it all. You can be a wife and a mother, you can make it as a lawyer in a man’s world, AND you can install your son as king by murdering the rival heir to the throne! Lean in, ladies!
We’ll start with her lawyering. Lawyers didn’t exist in England in the 10th century as we understand them today, that is, as Alicia Florrick on The Good Wife. But there was such a thing as a forespeca, which is not a foreskin that wears spectacles, but rather a semi-official advocate and intermediary for individuals involved in disputes. This is what Ælfthryth did, mostly representing widows and unmarried women in their various legal dramas.
Speaking of legal dramas, why has no one commissioned a TV courtroom drama about Ælfthryth’s life? Here, TV execs, you can have a bit of the script for free:
‘Listen up, Leofric,’ Ælfthryth grunts, rolling up her sleeves and lighting another cigarette. She takes her time. Makes him wait. He’s sweating.
‘It’s time to cut the bullshit,’ she finally says, flicking ash in Leofric’s face. ‘You and I both know that the Bishop Æthelwold is a good friend of mine. So I can cut you a deal.’
‘But—’ Leofric stammers.
Ælfthryth slams her big, hairy hands on the table.
‘Shut the hell up, Friccy boy. What we’re gonna do is get that pretty little wife of yours, Wulfgyth, a lifetime tenancy of her shitty little farm—’
‘But she wants it to—’
‘WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SHUTTING THE HELL UP,’ she growls. Her pointy hat slips to the side, sexily.5
‘Now. What we’re going to do, Leo old pal, is get your wife a lifetime tenancy of her lands, after which they’re going straight back to Winchester, capiche?’
Leo looks at his hands, and murmurs his assent.
Ælfthryth leaves the room, returns to her queenly chambers, takes a hot bath, and makes love to the court jester.
There you have it. Yes, Ælfthryth was much more than your average Anglo-Saxon queen. She could have kicked back and chilled. She could have passed her days looking out of tower windows, sighing, worrying about fairies in the nearby woods, drinking dodgy wine, and having an affair with the court jester.6 Instead, she redefined what it meant to be queen, and also made herself some extra cash through her forespeca work. She was also a nuns’ rights advocate, which is like a gun rights advocate, but with nuns instead of guns.
Ælfthryth was the first queen to be formally crowned, and saw her queenship as a job with the rights and responsibilities of someone holding a royal office. When her husband died, she continued to refer to herself as ‘regina’, the regnant queen. If there’s anything medieval chroniclers hated, it was a politically powerful queen, and so Ælfthryth is accused in various histories of:
Murdering her first husband.
Witchcraft.
Adultery.
Murdering an abbot of Ely (using witchcraft, naturally).
Masterminding the assassination of her stepson in order to establish her son, Æthelred the Unready, who was just never ready, as the heir to the throne.
Being a meanie.
Of these accusations, the assassination of her stepson is probably the most true. But look, nobody’s perfect. Who cares if a few nephews and maybe a bishop have to snuff it along the way to consolidate your power? They had it coming.
12
Zenobia
c. AD 240–274
The key to a happy marriage is mutual respect and an equitable division of responsibilities, or so my grandmother, who was married for more than 60 years, told me one day while pouring herself her midday whisky lemonade. (Drinking whisky lemonades at noon may also help toward a happy marriage.) In any case, this was the strategy of the happy couple of King Odainat and Queen Zenobia of Palmyra, Syria, in the 3rd century AD. Odainat took out the bins and triumphed over the Persian Empire to the East, and Zenobia did the washing up and conquered the Eastern Roman Empire to the West.
The Queen of Palmyra had many names. To the Greeks, she was Zenobia. To the Arabs, she was al-Zabba’. To the Romans she was Augusta. To her enemies, she was ‘Oh Shit Here She Comes We’re All Gonna Die!’ And to her mates, she was Z-licious. Zenobia was a ‘Hellenised’ (of Greek culture) Arab, and probably went by her Greek name, so we’ll stick with that.
Zenobia was born in the year 240, and married Odainat in 255. She was said to be a mega babe, with big, dark eyes, and teeth so white they looked like pearls. But more importantly, she was a boss bitch, who would go hunting and riding and battling with Odainat, and later led the charge as a general from the front of an army on her own military expeditions.
In 267, Odainat was betrayed and killed by the Romans for gaining too much power of his own, and Zenobia was like, ‘Well, fuck you guys.’ She conquered Egypt, as you do, spreading propaganda that she was descended from Cleopatra to make her conquest of Alexandria with 70,000 troops a breeze. She controlled trade routes to India down the Nile, as well as other Eastern-Western routes. Odainat had already conquered Arabia, Syria, Mesopotamia and more for Palmyra, and Zenobia added Egypt and Asia Minor, a classic power couple move.
Zenobia came to something of an agreement with the Roman emperor Claudius, who was busy fighting in the Western bits of the empire, and so just ignored her, saying, ‘Fine, have Egypt, ugh,’ but in Latin. And so for a few sweet years, Zenobia was queen of half the world, ruling across a vast empire and enjoying the riches produced by the caravan trade. She filled her court with scholars and intellectuals to hold great debates about philosophy and science and the issues of their time, like ancient Roman podcasts, sponsored by ancient Roman Squarespace.7
But soon, a new emperor took power in Rome: Aurelian. He wasn’t keen on having some girl from the desert rule half of his empire. And Zenobia was ambitious. She wanted her empire to rival Persia and Rome. She wanted to rule over a vast utopia. In fact, she didn’t just want to rule the Eastern Roman empire – she wanted to conquer Rome itself. Get it, Zenobia! You are strong and beautiful and you can do anything! She even designed the chariot she would use to someday enter Rome, like deciding what to wear to the Oscars before you’ve taken your first acting class.
Now, if you want to piss off a Roman emperor, (and let’s face it, you do), the best thing you can do is put him on the back of a coin, instead of the front. If you want to piss him off even more, take him off altogether, put your son on the front and put yourself on the back of the coin instead. How are you supposed to tell which is the front and which is the back of an ancient Roman coin? I don’t know, you’ll have to ask an ancient Roman. But this is what Zenobia did. She put her son Wahaballat on the front of the coin, and Aurelian on the back, and then just took that fuckboy off altogether, and added herself instead. She depicted herself as Selene, the moon goddess, in order to get that witchy look. Anyway, Aurelian was deeply offended. Who did this upstart thi
nk she was? But for a time he was still busy with the empire’s troubles in the West, fighting Goths and Vandals and other such troublesome teens.
Eventually, though, Aurelian returned to Rome, and persuaded the Senate to let him take back Egypt and the other lands under Zenobia’s reign. Egypt was an important source of wheat for Rome, and Aurelian very much enjoyed running through fields of wheat. Unfortunately for Zenobia, she had stretched her forces thin, and the Arab tribes and Armenian allies that formed the backbone of her military might were not enough to save Palmyra. She had also ignored bad omens before throwing herself into battle, which is not a very moon goddess move tbh.
Aurelian fought Zenobia’s forces out of Alexandria and Antioch and chased them back across towns and deserts until eventually they laid siege to the city of Palmyra itself and its 200,000 or so residents. Zenobia attempted to sneak out of the city to travel East and seek the help of the Persians, but she was captured by Aurelian.
After her capture, Aurelian wanted to bring Zenobia back to Rome to participate in his triumphal procession. He wanted to stick it to the senators who had made fun of him for getting beat by a girl, and to humiliate her before the plebs in order to make his willy feel big and strong. It didn’t even make sense to be having a ‘Triumph’, which was meant to celebrate victories against foreign powers, because technically Palmyra was part of the Roman Empire. Or at least, that’s what Rome thought.
What happened next is unclear, but it’s likely that Zenobia preferred to take her own life than be carted back to Rome to be shown off to the plebs in a triumphal procession. Aurelian sacked the city, and six centuries of Arab empire in Syria came to an end (until the Islamic conquests four centuries later). In the centuries that followed, Palmyra would be destroyed and rebuilt many times, though it never returned to the cultural and economic pinnacle it had achieved in the days of Zenobia. Today, in what is left of Syria, Zenobia appears on the 500-pound-note, and Palmyra’s spectacular ruins, once a popular spot for tourists, were largely destroyed when ISIS took the city and blew up the parts of the ruins it thought were too idolatrous. Way to go, ISIS! That’ll show those 2,000-year-old gods …
13
Tomoe Gozen
c. 1157–1247
Not much is known about the life of the 12th-century Japanese warrior Tomoe Gozen. An account written in the 14th century says she was ‘especially beautiful’, but these histories of fearsome female warriors always seem to say exactly that. Maybe there’s something about a woman who can twist a man’s head off in the heat of battle that inspires everyone to remark loudly and frequently about her beauty and grace.
Although we don’t know much about this legendary figure’s personal life, she boasted an impressive and well-documented CV of her military career. According to the same chronicler who said she was a babe, Tomoe ‘was prepared to confront both demons and gods,’ and was ‘a warrior equal to a thousand men,’ as all women are. She was exceptionally strong, a skilled rider, and an unparalleled archer who rode into battle with a bigass sword and a bigass bow. Her hobbies included riding untamed horses at breakneck speed, and leading large armies into battle.
Tomoe fought in the Genpei Wars, a battle between two Japanese clans that lasted from 1180 till 1185. At her first battle, Tomoe personally defeated seven mounted warriors, no biggie. At another battle in 1183, she commanded 100,000 cavalry, adding more leadership experience to her résumé.
At her last fight in 1184 before retiring to, I dunno, take up knitting and gardening, Tomoe charged straight up to the feared, giant, muscled warrior Onda no Hachiro, who was flanked by 30 mounted fighters, and casually grabbed him, pulled him off his horse, pinned him against her saddle, the better to get the leverage she needed to twist his head right off his fucken body, and toss it casually aside like a cherry pit. It was a move that came to be known as Your New Recurring Nightmare!
I wonder if the last words Onda no Hachiro spoke were, ‘Wow she’s really stunningly beautiful but she would be even prettier if she smi—’
Riiiiip.
14
Sorghaghtani Beki
?–1252
Sorghaghtani Beki became the leader of the Toluid line of the Mongolian imperial family when her husband, Tolui, died in 1232, something I know we’re all still upset about. (RIP Tolui, we will never forget you, may angels lead you in.)
Sorghaghtani was a conniving political schemer with an insatiable thirst for power who would do whatever it took to install her son Mongke on the throne. Sounds like my ex-wife! Sorghaghtani successfully held her family apart from the various squabbles between different royal families in the 1230s and 1240s, like when your parents and siblings are all arguing and you politely refuse to take sides to remain the hero of the family and the sole inheritor of your great-uncle’s fortunes. She also positioned her family to be at the service of whoever happened to be ruling at any given moment, providing armies to support their campaigns, and presumably sending nice gift baskets with fancy cheese and fruit and jam.
Sorghaghtani was admired across the world for her intelligence and political skill. The Persian historian Rashid al-Din praised her ‘great ability, perfect wisdom and shrewdness’, and a Syrian scholar Bar Habreus quoted a bit of poetry in describing her: ‘If I were to see among the race of women another woman like this, I should say that the race of women was far superior to men.’ Which is basically the 13th-century equivalent of a guy saying, ‘You’re not like other girls …’
Anyway, by playing enemies against each other while being everybody’s best friend, Sorghaghtani managed to manoeuvre her family into graciously accepting power for itself. ‘Oh, I guess we’ll step in and help out running things if you guys can’t figure it out!’ The competing branches of the royal family came together and elevated Mongke to be the new khaghan, the emperor. There were still two dissenting princes who wanted the throne for themselves, however, and planned to assassinate Mongke at his coronation. They would have got away with it too, if it weren’t for a meddling falconer who, while out searching for a lost animal of some kind (I’m gonna say it was a falcon), came across an abandoned wagon belonging to the plotters that was absolutely stuffed with weapons. The princes were revealed, and paid the price. RIP princes.
Mongke decided the only thing he could do was have a purge, and swept all of Mongolia in search of plotters and conspirators. Sorghaghtani even found the mother of the princes guilty of treason, and accused them of black magic to add a little extra oomph to the charges, and so they too met their sorry end. Sorghaghtani had succeeded in making her son the khaghan, and wasn’t about to let anyone threaten her family again. Not after spending so much money on lovely fruit baskets.
And that, kids, is why you don’t plot to assassinate the khaghan. Just say no!
15
Wǔ Méi
16th/17th century AD
The Five Elders of Shaolin may or may not have existed, but if they did, they may or may not have lived at the Shaolin Temple, which may or may not have been destroyed by the Qing dynasty of China in either 1647, 1674, or 1732. If these events did happen, then one of the Five Elders may or may not have been Wǔ Méi, also known as Ng Mui, and if she was, then she is the inventor of several powerful and deadly martial arts forms.
For the sake of argument let’s just say all of the following is true.
Once upon a time a young woman named Yim Wing-chun said she’d only marry some crappy local warlord whose proposal she had rejected if he could beat her in a fight. She wasn’t into him at all, so she went to our girl Wǔ Méi to learn how to fly-kick a man in the face which, as everyone knows, is the best reason to undertake any type of exercise. Wǔ Méi said that her system was inspired by a fight between a snake and a crane. It was such a deadly method that she generally kept it to herself, but she went ahead and taught it to Yim Wing-chun, according to the doctrine of sisters before misters.
And so young Wing-chun kicked that warlord’s ass, and the martial art style came to be kno
wn as Wing Chun. It’s a system in which your attack and your defence are wrapped up in a single move, like when you’re at a club and avoid the advances of a creepy rando by making out with some other OK-seeming dude.
If our girl Wǔ Méi did exist, she also may or may not have chopped off the head of a tyrannical emperor, before retiring to become a Buddhist nun – a nun who fought for justice with the power of fly-kicking men in the face. And she may have once kicked a kung fu master in the neck in defence of a 14-year-old boy. Or she may not have. Who’s to say?
That’s about all we know about Wǔ Méi, but honestly it’s more than we deserve.
16
Kosem Sultan
c. 1589–1651
Kosem Sultan was one of the most powerful women in the 600-year history of the Ottoman Empire – having started her life in slavery. Born in 1590ish on a Greek island, Kosem was sold as a slave to an Ottoman official in what is now Bosnia, who then sent her to the imperial harem in Istanbul’s Topkapi Palace.
As we saw with Khayzuran, male European travellers to the Ottoman Empire, frustrated that they were not allowed inside, depicted the harem as a place of ‘exotic’ women in a constant state of naked languishing. But let’s forget what those horny white boys thought was going on, because the imperial harem was so much more than that. In this private women’s sphere of the palace, spanning 400 rooms and inhabited by the Sultan’s relatives, concubines, wives, and servants, Kosem was educated in theology, maths, music, and literature. The harem was a centre of significant political power in the imperial administration, and none of its inhabitants was more powerful than the mother of the reigning sultan, the valide sultan. Kosem would work her way up the ranks of the harem, becoming the legal wife of Sultan Ahmed I, and later the valide sultan, the queen mother and ultimate matriarch of imperial life.
100 Nasty Women of History Page 4