2 Books, 1 Epic Life &#8211; Devouring &#8220;The Hild Sequence&#8221;

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The World Is Hard, Especially For Women

Seventh century Britain: a time when men’s ambitions were larger than their means, when life was simple and hard and brutal. There was beauty, too, but it rarely lasted. Illiterate kings warred, scheming religions undermined each other, people survived and died. This was before chivalry, before knights in shining armor, before courtly love and before saints. This is where those things came from; this is the heritage of many of us; this is where we came from.

Hild is a remarkable novel set in this time; remarkable because of the world in which it is set, and due to the remarkable character upon which it centers. Remarkable because Hild was a real person, born in 614; and because the life glimpsed in these pages is what we believe it to have been, to the best of our ability to know. Even though it reads like some kind of epic fantasy, familiar enough to follow but strange enough in words and deeds to be otherworldly, it is our own past.

Hild is the daughter of tenuous royalty, but her father dies of poison before she is old enough to understand what that means, and her mother must use her wits and wile to remain relevant. A keenly intelligent, observant child (“Quiet mouth and bright mind!” her mother would admonish her), Hild is able to watch the world around her and see the patterns that unfold, both rural and courtly; when Hild’s uncle Edwin is triumphant in the field and positions himself to become not just lord but overlord of their world, her mother uses this uncanny ability to see beyond what is to declare her daughter “a jewel that brings light to the land”–a seer, a foreteller of what will be, a scryer of omens. Soon, Hild is sitting at the right hand of a superstitious, uncertain ruler; a favorite niece, quiet, rarely speaking, with a disconcerting gaze that brings both wonder and fear: the king’s seer. She is seven years old.

The world is hard, especially for women. Even young, Hild accepts this without a need for understanding.

“I know that one!” Hild remembered her mother’s words exactly – the light of the world must remember everything. She repeated them proudly. “Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them.”

Hild Was A Real Person

But this is not a novel merely of conquest and arms. It is also about a woman’s world, experienced by a remarkable girl who so quickly must think with not just the mind of a woman, but a woman at the midst of upheaval and uncertainty. A woman who must not only believe in her own worth and the worth of what she is able to discern of the world but also understand the beliefs and failings of those around her and use what she sees to protect herself and those she loves, both great and humble. With the aid – the machinations – of a few key players around her – her mother, and a hostage Irish priest who teaches her letters and plots – she walks the fine line between being indispensable and being a pawn of forces beyond her control.

And lest we forget, this is an author’s researched conjecture, yet Hild was a real person.

Things We Take For Granted Now Were Anything But Simple Then

In this novel, we get a glimpse of Britain as it was, when territories were in flux and trade was regionalized and specialized, based on the resources at hand. This place brewed the best mead, that one raised sheep whose wool was superior in fiber, another, at a confluence of waterways, could become a new trading center. The interplay of survival against a king’s tithe, marred by the new religion of the Christ folk who demanded baptism despite belief, where even a queen’s children were vulnerable to disease and politics, and loyalties were demanded yet not to be trusted, where slaves and wealt (newcomers, strangers) and farmers and privileged all ebbed and flowed in an ever moving transition of scrabbled influence and disregard. Where strength was displayed through intricate riches and spectacle, but those hidden away were often the most secure.

We see creameries and weaving huts (where even the highest royal women were skilled participants), war bans and children’s play. We witness the pull of ancestry and old gods, and the brashness of foreign gods and influence, and we get glimpses into the first rumblings of new thoughts and processes that would centuries later overthrow the ways of countless ages and become givens in our modern world. Things we take for granted–things as simple to us reading, but in the seventh century, were anything but simple:

“Why did you think I was an aelf?”

Gode, fingering the dense weave, said, “Because you’re taller than the world. Because I watched you sit and open a spell.”

Hild hitched herself up on her elbow. “A spell?”

“You opened it and it leapt into you and possessed you. You didn’t move for an age.”

“Oh. No. That’s a letter. A message. Words from someone far away.”

Gode nodded. “Magic.”

“No.” But it was magic, in a way.

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The Barbaric Underpinnings of Daily Life

Think of it. To someone who knows nothing of letters, or reading, or letters, would it not seem like magic to watch one unfold a scroll and be taken elsewhere in thought? In another passage, young Hild and her childhood playmate Cian are fascinated with how water refracts and bends submerged images. They stick their unschooled arms into a quiet pond and believe that in the water, their arms are magically broken and then made whole again when they pull them back out. To us, this is ignorance, but to them, it is a kind of water magic, with sprites lingering nearby to make mischief. And indeed, their lack of understanding does make it magical, in that even in this wonderment they are becoming aware.

In hundreds and hundreds of years, what things do we find unfathomable today will be commonplace, and we will be marveled at in our ignorance? And yet, as with Hild and her world, what hinge points of our world will be supplanted in the progression of civilization, and then forgotten? This glimpse of what we see as being barbaric allows us to consider that at one point, these sensibilities that we may find savage were simply the underpinnings of daily life.

Mildburh’s churn paddle thumped up and down more slowly as her cream turned to butter.

Hild and Hereswith moved on to the next tray and then the next. They worked smoothly until all the trays were empty. Mildburh turned the butter out of her churn onto a granite slab set in an elm bench, and she began to shape it with wooden paddles.

While Hereswith wiped her arm and pinned her sleeves back on, Hild fetched a lump of grey salt for Mildburh and mortar and pestle to crush it in. She loved the gritty crunch and thump under her hand. It sounded like a cat eating a bird.

Graciousness Is A Breath Away From Savagery

There is little romance here; there is beauty and finery, and exquisite skill and workmanship, but so much is vicious and visceral. Graciousness is only a breath away from savagery. Affection and desire are expected yet cutting and disposable. There is a brutality to life, but it is all there is and therefore precious and fought for. And remarkable.

Hild moves somewhat slowly, at the pace at which life was forced to move in the seventh century. We see what shapes Hild, and we marvel at that which she holds inside herself, that which is unique and wholly realized in her own understanding of who she is. Her self-awareness is something many of us yearn for in ourselves. Yet not everything that transpires in the novel is clear, to us or to Hild, which makes her ability to see the patterns that shape her future even more compelling, for we (with all our advancements) cannot come close to seeing them for ourselves. We can only watch her from a far distance and hope she can take the omens she sees and use them first, for her advantage, and second, for their truth.

Yet this is where we came from. This is amazing. This book is remarkable.

~Sharon Browning (2014)

Book Two – Menewood by Nicola Griffith

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An Epic of War and Resilience

If you liked Hild, you’ll find that the sequel, Menewood, is a truly essential and electrifying read. Set in the brutal, beautiful world of 7th-century Britain, this second book in The Hild Sequence is the continuing, fictionalized saga of the historical St. Hilda of Whitby—but strip away the sanctity. This is the story of a warrior, a strategist, and a survivor.

Hild | The Genius Warrior Leader

Our protagonist, Hild, is a towering figure, both physically and intellectually. People believe she is a seer, but her power lies in her unparalleled ability to read the pattern—foreseeing political and military outcomes by keenly observing nature and human behavior. In Menewood, Hild evolves from a king’s advisor into a formidable Lady of Elmet and an exceptional commander. She is unapologetically strong, queer, and dedicated to a unique form of leadership, focusing on building sustainable power rather than playing the destructive games of the war-kings.

From Court Chaos to Communal Survival

The story has Hild thrown into chaos when the unstable King Edwin’s reign collapses. The first half of the book depicts the terrifying reality of total war—a brutal, devastating conflict that shatters Hild’s world. The second half is where the novel finds its true focus on survival and rebirth. Hild retreats to the hidden, fertile valley of Menewood, where she must use all her wit and military skill to rebuild a community from the scorched earth. It’s a great story of struggle for endurance, resource management, and the forging of a secure future for her people.

Non-Traditional Family Structures

In The Hild Sequence, the historical setting of 7th-century Britain is depicted in a way that allows for greater fluidity and acceptance of same-sex relationships and non-traditional family structures than later periods of history.

The protagonist, Hild, is consistently portrayed as being attracted to women. Her primary deep, lifelong relationship is with a woman, Begu, whom she refers to as her gemaecce (a close, platonic or intimate companion). While she does marry a man, Cian Broadcloak, out of political necessity and mutual respect, her emotional and romantic inclinations are shown to be focused on women.

The Gemaecce Dynamic

The concept of the gemaecce is used by Griffith to represent a recognized form of deep, socially accepted pairing that can be either platonic or intimate, and is often same-sex. This reflects the novel’s commitment to portraying a world where same-sex relationships were not necessarily condemned or hidden in the way they were after the full institutionalization of Christianity in later centuries.

The Hild Sequence depicts a society where Hild’s relationships and sexuality do not become a major source of conflict or scandal. The focus is on political power, survival, and social structure, not on policing sexual identity. This suggests a subtle, integrated depiction of queer lives within the social fabric of the period.

Deep Immersion and Lasting Impressions

In The Hild Sequence, Griffith’s research is breathtaking, offering total immersion in the sights, sounds, flavors, and cultures of the Anglo-Saxon and British worlds. The novel explores leadership, contrasting the bloody, endless cycle of political power with the nurturing, sustainable power rooted in community and connection to the natural world.

If you are looking for a historical epic that is challenging, deeply intelligent, and ultimately an inspiring story of resilience and self-determination, Menewood is the book you should read.

A Decade of Waiting | The Return to Hild’s World with Menewood

For fans of Nicola Griffith’s Hild, the wait for completion of The Hild Sequence with the sequel, Menewood, has been epic. After Hild was released in November 2013, we waited a full ten years for the continuation of the saga. It was worth the wait.

While Menewood deepens the story and character arc of Hild, it is written with enough skill and context to function as a powerful standalone novel. However, for those who read the books in sequence (as now you can), The Hild Sequence is a wonderful duology, offering a sweeping, immersive two-volume portrait of 7th-century Britain and the rise of one of history’s most formidable women.

~J.S. Hood (2025)

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