[3 mins reading time]

There was once a king, quite a wise young man.

Handsome all except his nose, thin and high upon his face.

His eyes are better than those of most men. Light shines on his ships.

You will have heard of him, his name is Cnut. Many people have since believed he was a fool.

A thousand years ago or so, he wraps his arms around the countries of England and Denmark of the southern Norse. He frees slaves, brings cultural relief. The people’s memories are raw, so he seeks a hard swerve away from the reign of Æthelred. A ruler who turned upon his own people. Who listened only to the closest counsel.

Like many a high court, the world of Æthelred is family set against each other, regent and cousin claims. All look inward. At Corfe Castle, Æthelred’s brother is taken ill, a blade to the ribs, and so the other boy at ten is king.

A cloistered monarch if ever there is one. Thirty-seven years on the throne, and good at telling people it is all their own fault.

Now comes Cnut and his shining fleet of two hundred longships, dragon figureheads and coloured sails. It is said there were many kinds of shields arrayed, troops from many nations.
His father was Sweyn, King of Denmark for twenty-eight years, but he’s dead after only five weeks in England. Murdered in his bed by a ghost. Or he fell from a horse. It’s hard being a king.

What England gets is Æthelred again. He snatches back the crown. Cnut’s been welcomed, England’s nobles so disillusioned by Æthelred. Under his rule, they find England no longer suffers sea attacks. The first time for two hundred years.

Cnut thinks. There’s no point backing away, looking weak. A ghost will come again at night, for all he knows.

It’s cool for the equinox. Perfect for sitting by the sea.

The morning mist has lifted. Spirits will be staying in the marsh.

“You ready?” he says, to his nobles, to the crowd of court advisors. Some of these nobles are feeling settled in their new manors and marches. They really don’t want to be here.

“We’ll win today,” says Cnut.

The nobles see, they are trapped.

“Step forward once more, dear friends,” he says. He can’t clear out all conspirators, but they’re going to be in this together.

The tide comes in. He does not move.

A cheer from the river wall, a stifled laugh.

It’s a powerful scene. It has energy enough to launch tales for a thousand years.

Cnut thinks, I have their attention. At least this. The king, this lad, he’s twenty-two.

To this day, he is going to be misjudged. This was a king who wanted to show off his power. And who failed. He tried to command the sea. And failed. Oh, the people always chuckle at a king like this.

He cries out to his court, “Let the world know, the power of kings is empty and worthless in the face of the earth and sea’s eternal laws.”

“We should not pretend that nature will bend to our demands. Especially kings.”

“You will remember this day,” he says.

There he is, under the autumn sky, sitting on a throne. There are fishers and farmers and their families staring on.

His audience and advisors soon have wet toes. And feet, and ankles.

The base of the shimmering throne is soaked. His feet are drenched.

There are a thousand paths of sunlight on the glittering sea. A curlew calls from the mudflats, a pair of ravens from the shore.

Cnut is smiling, his arms held wide.

The tide’s going to be coming in for quite a while.