When Canute commanded the flood not to splash his royal leg

Cnut was a conqueror, a Dane, a Viking. And since 1016, this barbarian was also king of England. Coming from a country that was just beginning to find true faith. It came from the pulpits to punish the Anglo-Saxons for their sinful actions.

It was of course not the first time that the island was attacked by Vikings. As early as 865, the Great Pagan Army swept through the country and took over much of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms in the following years. Only Wessex held out bravely against the Danelag and even reconquered it under Alfred the Great, who became the first king of all the Anglo-Saxons in 886 and left his son a largely united empire.

Until Cnut arrived in 1013. Initially only as commander of the fleet of his father, the Danish king Sven Gabelbart. The time was ripe to combine the isolated attacks on England into a large-scale punitive invasion. The Anglo-Saxon king Æthelred the Unready not only stopped paying the Danegeld – a tribute to buy his way out of the Vikings’ plunder and destruction – but also had all Danes living in England murdered on St. Brice’s Day. They met in secret and tried to kill him!

Sven went on to conquer all of England, driving Æthelred and his Norman wife Emma back to their homeland and ruling the island from then on. But just two years later he died, so that Cnut had to fight for his inheritance again – against the newly proclaimed king Edmund Ironside in London, Æthelred’s son, who also died. And he won.

But he left Wessex to his opponent, over which he was allowed to rule for the remaining 48 days of his life. Then everything went to Canute, who became the sole king of England in 1016. And a few years later also those of Denmark and Norway.

Cnut’s empire became enormous, as did his name, but not his self-image.

Frankly, he seemed to see himself as the islanders saw him: a conqueror, a Dane, a Viking. To them he was not only a stranger, but also a wicked barbarian. But Knut did not want to be framed in this photo. He preferred to paint a new one, without blood and without those violent strokes that had gouged through the canvas like sword strokes. An unadorned head, bathed only in soft sunlight, and a face that was no longer cruel. It must have seemed almost familiar as it presented itself to the viewer against the green, hilly backdrop of its homeland. It was the self-portrait of a just and orthodox ruler. The portrait of a true Christian.

Only the Lord himself can know whether it was purely political calculation or a truly pious heart that guided the brush.

Nevertheless, Cnut tried not to frighten his new subjects with too many changes and strange rules. He tried to pick up where he broke the bond:

He divided his territory into provinces modeled on the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of Wessex, Mercia, Northumbria and East Anglia and raised the last Danegeld in 1018.

Not only did he adopt the laws of his late rival Æthelred, he also married his widow Emma, ​​although he was already married to Ælfgifu of Northampton. Æthelred’s sons in turn had to flee the country or were murdered on the king’s orders. After all, they could be dangerous to him.

But polygamy and the ruthless treatment of the overthrown dynasty so tarnished Cnut’s neatly designed self-portrait that not only the Archbishop of York labeled him a demon of vengeance sent by the Lord. So before Cnut’s solar crown completely lost its holy radiance and his gentle face turned into the grimace of a pagan prince of hell, he immediately appeared as an exuberant supporter of the church.

He rebuilt all the places of worship that had fallen victim to marauding Viking hordes. He filled empty monastery coffers, gave gifts to priests, bishops and abbots with the bones of martyrs, tax exemptions and pieces of forest.

Cnut then made a pilgrimage to Rome and underlined his repentance with all kinds of loud tears and fearless blows to the chest. His sins weighed heavily and sometimes even seemed to turn his feet into stone. But the pious wish that the Pope, in his boundless kindness, would grant Cnut’s pilgrim subjects on their way to Rome a secure peace and freedom from customs, enabled him to overcome all hardships.

It seemed that Cnut was not only dear to the emperor and close to Peter, but also wanted to be dear to all the people in his kingdom, whether Danish or Anglo-Saxon.

And despite the many triumphs he celebrated, he was not a king who mistook his scepter for a magic wand. For all his power, he never succumbed to the illusion that he was above all, that he could control and dominate them.

To prove this to his followers, who were constantly flattering him, he one fine day ordered them to place his throne on the shore when the tide came in. Then he sat down on it, stretched out his hands over the waves that were lapping more and more violently on the shore, and said:

“You and the land on which my throne stands are subject to me. No one has ever defied my royal orders and gone unpunished. Therefore I command you not to come upon my land, nor dare to splash the limbs or garments of your Lord!”

The sea did not listen. Undeterred, he continued to rise, splashing against the king’s feet.

Then he drew back and said:

“The whole world should know that the power of kings is vain and insignificant. No king is worthy of this title except that king whose commands heaven, earth, and sea obey according to eternal laws.”

After that, so the story goes, Cnut never wore his crown again. He placed it on a statue of the crucified Savior to praise God, the one true King.