Grieving a Fallen Hero: A Medieval Tale of Love and Tragedy

Flash Fiction

My fiction writing is for my members only (although you can read the first 25% free as a taster). The beauty of this period, for fiction writers, is that the surviving written record is so tiny that we can create these stories suggesting what their lives might have been like. To access this content (and unlock all my fiction writing), you can subscribe below.

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Historical preface

This short story is inspired by the ‘princely’ burial at Sutton Hoo, in Suffolk (England).

In the first half of the seventh century A.D., a huge funerary monument was erected overlooking the estuary of the River Deben. A ship had been dragged up the hillside, laden with treasure and the body of a king, before being buried under a huge mound of earth. The barrow, as these monuments are known, stood within a cemetery of smaller, but similar, barrows, perhaps the resting place of a royal East Anglian dynasty.

Many have tried to identify the individual buried there but this is usually a fool’s errand (unless you go hunting certain fifteenth-century kings). What we can say, from the grave-goods assemblage, is that this individual was rich, powerful, and important. He clearly held a social position significantly higher than any of his contemporaries.

I wanted to write this story to weave a narrative of humanity around these individuals who lived in a time and place so far from our own. It’s common to hear that historical people didn’t grieve death in the same way that we do because they faced it so much more often than we do. While there may be some truth in their exposure to death and dying, I think that this way of thinking does a disservice to the deep grief that they would have experienced with the loss of their loved ones. I believe that they would have mourned much as we do, even if they had more experience with death than we often do. This is why I write these stories, why I started this Substack: I wanted more than just to share the historical events; I wanted to share the real people.

I hope this story honours them.

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near Rendlesham, in the kingdom of the East Angles

early seventh century A.D.

My love, my deepest love. I can’t believe you’re gone.

I am frozen to this spot, oblivious to the chanting and wailing of your kinsmen. They are saying goodbye, willing the gods to be kind with you as you journey towards them, but I am locked in these overwhelming tears, unable to admit that I will never again see your smile or feel your tender touch against my skin.

Never again will I feel the warmth of your embrace, or blush when catching that glint in your eye. I can’t go back in time to relive the thrill of our courtship or see you meet our little one for the first time again, cradling her so gently in your hands, whispering softly to her as she caught your gaze.