Your forgotten king Guthrum here again. The Town Cryer, Squire Derek, has asked me for more words of wisdom. He says the people of Hadleigh love a powerful, charismatic despot who tells it like it is, even if he bends the rules now and again.

Well, I didn't bend the rules: I made them.  And I never heard anyone complain.  More than once, anyway.

But what to say? I've already said my piece - how my memory has been neglected by a town that doesn't appreciate the art of compromise.  I'm not going to bang on about it – unlike some do about Rowland Taylor. I was always a doer, not a talker.

It's like that 'difficult' second battle.  The first one is easy – everyone is up for it, and there's nothing to lose.  But the second battle? People wonder if it will be as enjoyable as the first.

Or like the Cnuts. King Cnut I was great, but, as everybody knows, Cnut II - not so much.

By the way, top tip, if you ever have to write to The Great Cnut, always, always spellcheck. Wars have been started for less.

Perhaps I should say something about the new Ealdormen (and one Ealdorwoman – who'd have thought it?) who have joined the town's Council of Elders. Not gonna lie, I never paid much attention to the machinations of my vassals.  And I certainly didn't take questions from them.  In that respect, I hear the Chief Ealdorman is a man after my own heart.  He's got the right idea.

I can only offer them three maxims from the ninth century that I'm sure have stood the test of time:

Tell the serfs only what they need to know.  Remember: they work for you, not the other way around.

There is no universally acceptable solution to Benton Street.

One other thing caught my eye – the Grand Feoffment which owns the almshouses.  The very word makes me nostalgic.  As I'm sure you know, a feoffment is a deed of land given to a serf for a pledge of service.  It warms my heart to see that tradition has lasted. But I hear the serfs have had the temerity to complain about their lodgings. And they have built-in running water! You have to admire their bölír. Actually, any charismatic despot worth their salt would recognise this as an opportunity to win over the populace and fix the problems. It is, as you say, a 'no-brainer'. Just use the cash from the Guildhall.

You might think us primitive, but we looked after our vulnerable townsfolk back in my day.  Scandals like this were avoided. 

The real scandal is I don't have a statue.  Did I mention that?  And I've found the perfect spot for it: the middle of what you call the 'mini roundabout' on the High Street.  You'll be able to see me all the way up Angel Street, and I can continue to serve the people by pointing the right way to go round. Which, from what I see, is any fussocking way round you like, haha.

Well, that's all I've got. You can see why I had scribes for this sort of thing – not my cup of mead. 

Squire Derek keeps asking me for 'themes', 'story arcs', and whatnot. A bit rich coming from him, given his lack of attention to the basics, like spelling. All I will say is: for God's sake, he should never write to The Great Cnut.