Havelok's Age, Take Two

Til he [Godard] was biforn hauelok brouth,

Þat he haue[de] ful wo wrowht,

Boþe with hungre and with cold,

Or he [Havelok] were twel winter old,

(ll. 2452-55)

So, my previous theory was that Havelok might have been as young as seven when Godard handed him over to Grim, and thus 19 when his work ethic kicked in.

While seven is certainly before 12, I'm thinking we have to adjust Havelok's age upward, to 10 or 11, for a more natural reading. If so, he'd be 22 or 23 when it finally occurred to him to pitch in to help the family. 

Godard is Placed on a Mare With All Warranted Dignity

A charming scene, showing all the courtesies offered to an old enemy captured in flight after all his men have been slain:

But dunten him so man doth bere,
And keste him on a scabbed mere,
Hise nese went un-to þe crice:

(ll. 2448-50).  Apparently, it was not unusual for folks to be tied on ignomoniously (head at the tail end of the beast) on their way to execution.  The note for 2450 says:

2450. Cf. ll. 2505 and 2822. This appears to have been a common, but barbarous, method in former times of leading traitors or malefactors to execution. Thus in the Romance of Kyng Alisaunder, the treatment of the murderers of Darius is described:
He dude quyk harnesche hors,
And sette theron heore cors,
Hyndeforth they seten, saun faile;
In heore hand they hulden theo tailes.
—l. 4708.

Source: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/32049/32049-h/32049-h.htm#textnote2450

Now That's How to Celebrate a Coronation!

Nearly 800 lines away from the end of the poem, Havelok is crowned.  For guidance on proper expressions of joy on the restoration of the rightful heir, let's take a look at the happy Danes, shall we?

Hwan he was king, þer mouthe men se
Þe moste ioie þat mouhte be:
Great joy and many sports.
Buttinge with sharpe speres,
Skirming with taleuaces, þat men beres,
Wrastling with laddes, putting of ston,
Harping and piping, ful god won,
Leyk of mine, of hasard ok,
Romanz reding on þe bok;
Þer mouthe men here þe gestes singe,
Þe gleymen on þe tabour dinge;
There is baiting of bulls and boars,
Þer mouhte men se þe boles beyte,
And þe bores, with hundes teyte;
Þo mouthe men se eueril gleu,
Þer mouthe men se hw grim greu;
Was neuere yete ioie more
In al þis werd, þan þo was þore.
(ll. 2320-35)

Echoes

As I work my slow way through Havelok the Dane while taking Old Norse, it's fun to see some familiar words creep in.  

For example: 

Bitauhte hise children þre
Godard to yeme, and al his fe.
(ll. 2212-13)

I don't see "fe" in Clark Hall & Merritt's Anglo Saxon Dictionary,* but it's one of the first Old Norse words I learned.  Byock gives it as: "fé <gen fjár, gen pl fjá> n cattle, sheep; wealth, money."

And of course our beloved middle-earth makes an appearance:

In þis middelerd nis no knith
Half so strong, ne half so with.
(ll. 2244-45)

Since Drout and Goering started us off with "Cædmon's Hymn," this was actually one of the first Anglo Saxon words I encountered (normalized as middan-ġeard in Pope/Fulk's Eight Old English Poems).  And then in Old Norse, we have Miðgarðr (as normalized in Byock's Viking Language I).


====
*Update: alasnotme points out the Anglo-Saxon equivalent is "feoh".  Per Clark Hall & Merritt (citations omitted), we have:

fēo = feoh; also ds. of feoh.
feoh n gs. fēos, ds. fēo cattle, herd; movable goods, property; money, riches, treasure. wið licgendum fēo for ready money.  name of the rune for f.  ['fee']

Havelok's Floodlight Strikes Again

Aboute þe middel of þe nith

Wok ubbe, and saw a mikel lith

In þe bour þat hauelok lay,

Also brith so it were day.

“Deus!” quoth ubbe, “hwat may þis be?
Betere is i go miself, and se:
Hweþer he sitten nou, and wesseylen,
Or of ani shotshipe to-deyle,
Þis tid nithes, also foles;
Þan birþe men casten hem in poles,

Or in a grip, or in þe fen:
Nou ne sitten none but wicke men,

Glotuns, reu[e]res, or wicke þeues,
Bi crist, þat alle folk onne leues!”

(ll. 2092-2105).

So Ubbe has just made Havelok a knight, after all of Bernard's people "Litle and mikle, yunge and holde" (l. 2014) swear that Bernard has told the truth about Havelok's feats against the bandits.  He's taken Havelok under his wing, invited him home, promised to protect Havelok's wife... and now when he sees a bright light in the middle of the night, he assumes the worst.  Is Havelock wassailing at midnight?  Engaging in folly or frivolity at this time of night?!  Such men should be cast in pools!  No one's up at this hour but wicked men, gluttons, robbers, or wicked thieves!!

But he peeps in and sees the light coming from Havelok's mouth as he and Goldeborw are fast asleep, lying still as stones.  So he calls in a witness or two, both timid (arwe) and keen, knights and servants -- ok, it's actually "Mo þan an hundred, with-uten leye" (l. 2117).  No big deal.

And just how bright was this light?

So stod ut of his mouth a glem,

Rith al swilk so þe sunne-bem;

Þat al so lith wa[s] þare, bi heuene!

So þer brenden serges seuene,

And an hundred serges ok:

Þat durste hi sweren on a bok.

(ll. 2122-7).  So it's like a sun-beam, bright as the burning of 107 wax tapers.

But Havelok doesn't need to worry about being gawped at while he's asleep, right?  I mean, unlike Gawain, he probably sleeps in a shift or something.  No?  Or at least he and Goldeborw are probably under the covers.  No?  Or, um, well alrighty then.  Guess the 100+ witnesses get a free peep show:

And hauelok lay on his lift side,

In his armes his brithe bride.

Bi þe pappes he leyen naked:

So faire two weren neuere maked

In a bed to lyen samen:—

Þe knithes þouth of hem god gamen,

Hem forto shewe, and loken to.

(ll. 2030-6)

Then they see a bright cross on his back, and that clinches it.

How do they react?

Hise fet he kisten an hundred syþes,

Þe tos, þe nayles, and þe lithes,

So þat he bigan to wakne,

(ll. 2162-64).  Now Havelok assumes the worst: "he wende he wooden him slo, / Or elles binde him, and do wo."

A Turning Point in Havelok's Career?

But first a side note: One nifty feature of the spelling here is its economical use of the single letter "w" for an entire syllable, of the type we might now spell with "ough" or at least "ow": forw = furrow; goldeborw = Goldborough; borw = borough.  (Looks like 6 appearances of borw to 1 appearance of boru.)

So anyway, there's a sort of throwing game on, which they refer to as putting the stone (cf. shotput).  Just how heavy is this stone?  Glad you asked!  It's "al so heui so a neth" (1026) - so possibly the stone is as heavy as livestock ... or a net? The word neth appears twice in this formula, in ll. 808 and 1026, and both times it's glossed as a "net."  But unless the net is filled with fish, it doesn't seem like much of a challenge.  In any event, it takes a "Grund stalwrthe man" (1027) to lift the stone to his knee; there's never been a clerk or priest who could lift it to his breast (ooh, burn!).  It would seem that the game typically goes to the one who is able to "put" this stone "Biforn a-noþer, an inch or more" (1034).  But although our hero Havelok is the tallest man in Lincoln and the strongest man in England, he is not inclined to participate in the throwing game; he's too scared even when his master (the earl's cook) tells him to do it.

Þo hise mayster it him bad,
He was of him sore adrad;

(1047-48).  Luckily, he's a natural and he wins anyway by a substantial margin.  Instead of mere inches, he beats them by "Twel fote, and sumdel more" (1054).  And also luckily the others are good sports about it:

Þe chaunpiouns þat [þat] put sowen,
Shuldreden he ilc oþer, and lowen;
Wolden he no more to putting gange,
But seyde, “we dwellen her to longe!”

(1055-58).  (Not 100% sure of the second line here.  Seems to be The champions who saw that throw / Shouldered [each other?] and laughed;  -- Shrugged their shoulders? Nudged each other's shoulders? /  They would no more go to shotput, /  But said, "we've stayed here too long!")

Godrich hatches an evil scheme to marry off his ward Goldeborw, the rightful heiress of England, to our rugged yet unconfident hero.  

He wende, þat hauelok wer a þral,
Þer-þoru he wende hauen al
In engelond, þat hire rith was;
He was werse þan sathanas,
Þat ihesu crist in erþe shop:
Hanged worþe he on an hok!

(1096-1102)

Havelok is not one of our great wooers, unfortunately.  He refuses Goldeborw's hand, initially, due to practical concerns (his lack of means and station).  Godrich has to threaten him with death before he caves in out of fear: 

Hauelok was one, and was odrat,
And grauntede him al þat he bad.

(1153-4)  (As far as I can tell, "odrat" is an alternative spelling of "adrad" or "adred"; and I'm thinking "one" here might be "wan" rather than "alone").

Goldeborw also kicks at the proposed match; she refuses to marry anyone less than a king.  So Godrich has to threaten her with death too.  At this point it's not clear why he doesn't just go ahead and kill her, or else use the threat of death to get her to marry him or one of his sons, or to get her to assign him her interest in the kingdom, etc.  But I suppose a villain can't think of everything.  And his threat is effective, because she decides it must be God's will for her to marry Havelok.  God works in mysterious ways.  Luckily on their wedding night Havelok has a dream that convinces her he's going to be the rightful king of Denmark and England, so that's all sorted.  

The poverty-stricken Havelok, accompanied by his wife and Grim's sons, goes to Denmark for revenge.  He immediately checks in with an old friend of his father's, the earl Ubbe, and (1) asks him for permission to set up as a merchant (as one does when seeking revenge on a usurper who has murdered one's siblings in cold blood) and (2) gives him a gold ring (because, really, who doesn't have a gold ring for just such emergencies) and somehow also (3) sells the gold ring.  At this point, I assume the poet means our hero is "selling" the ring to Ubbe in return for Ubbe's support, but I suppose we'll find out soon.  

Havelok the Unlikely Hero

So, we left our hero a mere child at the mercy of the fisher-thrall Grim and his wife Leve.  Things were not looking good for him; he was bound and gagged (so he couldn't even try to save himself by appealing to their better natures, if any) and the couple were gloating over the bounty that was to come their way after killing him off.  Indeed, Leve handled him with particular roughness, throwing him on the floor, where his head hit a rock.  But Havelok started shining in the darkness, and the couple saw a sign on his shoulder, so they figured he was the Rightful Heir and threw their lot in with him.  Eventually, the family fled with Havelok when the usurper Godard feigned ignorance and disapproval of his prior instructions and promises to Grim.

Grim founds Grimsby and provides quite well for the family and Havelok; he is a good fisher of fish, as it were.  But after 12 years, it occurs to Havelok that maybe it's time for him to pitch and start contributing to the household:

Hauelok was war þat grim swank sore

For his mete, and he lay at hom:

Thouthe, “ich am nou no grom;

Ich am wel waxen, and wel may eten

More þan euere Grim may geten.

Ich ete more, bi god on liue,

Þan grim an hise children fiue!

It ne may nouth ben þus longe,

Goddot! y wile with þe gange,

For to leren sum god to gete;

Swinken ich wolde for mi mete.

It is no shame forto swinken;

Þe man þat may wel eten and drinken,

Þat nouth ne haue but on swink long,

To liggen at hom it is ful strong.

God yelde him þer i ne may,

Þat haueth me fed to þis day!

Gladlike i wile þe paniers bere;

Ich woth, ne shal it me nouth dere,

Þey þer be inne a birþene gret,

Al so heui als a neth.

Shal ich neuere lengere dwelle,

To morwen shal ich forth pelle.”

(ll. 788-810)

I'm not quite sure how old Havelok is at this time.  Godard confines him and his sisters in a tower for three years; when Godard criticizes their wailing, Havelok is the one who speaks for the group. Godard then slits the girls' throats while the brother stands watching; he kneels and begs for his life and promises to flee Denmark and give up all rights to the throne.   (Not very heroic, but he's a small child.)  Godard spares him for the moment, apparently briefly moved by pity, but then reaches out to Grim to kill the boy for him.

The roughly contemporareous French lay says Havelok is seven years old when Grim sees the boy's miraculous flame and flees with him.

Developmentally, I suppose a child younger than seven (possibly even a very mature four-year old) might have the ability to beg for his life and make suitable promises, but remember that Havelok has been imprisoned for three years.  Given the overall neglect and cruelty of their incarceration, it seems unlikely that he'd have had much opportunity to improve his vocabulary, rhetoric, etc.  So seven is probably Havelok's youngest plausible age in the poem at the time he's transfered to Grim's custody, because he could have mastered the necessary language skill basics by age four when he was imprisoned.

If so, he'd be 19 now at the time when his work ethic kicks in.

+++

Not long afterward, there's a famine in the land.  He goes off to Lincoln, clad in an old sail cloth (!), to survive.  After 2 days' involvuntary fasting, he answers a call for porters:

Hauelok shof dun nyne or ten,

Rith amidewarde þe fen,

And stirte forth to þe kok,

[Þer the herles mete he tok,]

Þat he bouthe at þe brigge:

Þe bermen let he alle ligge,

And bar þe mete to þe castel,

And gat him þere a ferþing wastel.

(ll. 871-78)

If I'm understanding this correctly, our hero gets the gig by shoving 9 or 10 of his rivals down into the mud and leaving them there.

Havelok the Dane

Slowly making my way through this poem.

I've reached the point where a second untrustworthy guardian makes a fisher-thrall an offer he can hardly refuse:  “Kill my ward and you’ll be free and rich, plus I’ll take the moral fall for it.”  Gosh, what's the catch?

“Grim, þou wost þu art mi þral,

Wilte don mi wille al,

Þat i wile bidden þe,

To-morwen [i] shal maken þe fre,

And aucte þe yeuen, and riche make,

With-þan þu wilt þis child[e] take,

And leden him with þe to-nicht,

Throw this child into the sea”.

Þan þou sest se Mone lith,

In-to þe se, and don him þer-inne,

Al wile [i] taken on me þe sinne.”

(ll. 527-36)

Some other lines that struck me at the time of reading:

Just how young was his little girl?  She couldn't speak with mouth!

Of his bodi ne hauede he eyr

Bute a mayden swiþe fayr,

Þat was so yung þat sho ne couþe

Gon on fote, ne speke wit mouþe.

(ll. 110-3)

OK, so she was so young she had not learned to walk, or to speak.  Got it.  But the way of expressing it really pleases me for some reason: She could not yet go on foot, but perhaps she could crawl.  Check.  Then it's followed by the concept she could not yet speak with mouth.  That amuses me for some reason (the implied idea that perhaps she could communicate in some other way at this stage).

Just how faithless was this ill-chosen guardian?  For his oath he didn't give a straw!

He let his oth al ouer-ga,

Þerof ne yaf he nouth a stra;

(ll. 14-15)

I love seeing this linguistic pattern ("he didn't give a __") which surely remains current as long as human nature remains what it is.  I think one can still use the word "straw" here, though many other options are of course available.

Nice alliteration

And wo [so] diden widuen wrong,

Were he neure knicth so strong,

Þat he ne made him sone kesten,

And in feteres ful faste festen;

(ll. 79-82)

And it feels like it could almost work in modern English - fetters, fully make fast, fasten - but I couldn't find any way to pull it off non-risibly.  
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Current status: almost 25% of the way through (line 733 of 3001).