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How England’s first king used an unexpected weapon to defeat the Vikings
When England’s first true king confronted Viking power in the north, one of his most effective weapons became his manipulation of loyalty
By the early 10th century, the concept of a unified England was still an unfinished project. Despite Alfred the Great’s victories against the Vikings – and the consolidating achievements of his children Edward the Elder and Æthelflæd – the power of the Norse raiders hadn’t simply disappeared. The Vikings had adapted to this new political landscape and embedded themselves within it, remaining the greatest threat to any ruler hoping to govern a unified English kingdom. Æthelstan was forced to grip this problem when he became king of the Anglo-Saxons in AD 924. As Professor David Woodman explains, speaking on an episode of the HistoryExtra podcast, it wasn’t until AD 927 that he was able to make moves against the Vikings that proved decisive, using an unexpected weapon to his advantage. England before Æthelstan The huge Viking invasions of the late ninth century had left much of eastern and northern England under Norse control. Later writers would call this region the Danelaw, but at the time it was simply a patchwork of settlements, armies and allegiances tied into a wider Viking world across the sea. Æthelstan’s grandfather, Alfred the Great, had stopped the Vikings from conquering the Anglo-Saxons completely. But he wasn’t able to restore the land to how it had been before the arrival of the Great Heathen Army in AD 865. Instead, in the decades that followed, Anglo-Saxon rulers learned to exist uneasily alongside Viking power, albeit with frequent bouts of violence and through tribute. Edward the Elder and Æthelflæd expanded English control, but by the time of Æthelstan’s reign, Anglo-Saxon authority still depended on vigilance against the Vikings. When he took the throne, his lands were surrounded by rivals: Norse settlers in the north, the kings of the Scots, and a constellation of Welsh rulers to the west. Any one of them might ally with future Viking attackers if the balance of advantage shifted, and no place demonstrated that danger more clearly than York. How Æthelstan responded to Viking pressure For decades, Scandinavian rulers had controlled York while forging alliances with neighbouring Anglo-Saxon and Scottish kings. That is why events moved so quickly when the Viking ruler of York, Sihtric died in AD 927. “Æthelstan marches quickly north and takes over in York,” says Woodman. “Contemporary narrative accounts don’t give much detail about how he did that, but we have detail from William of Malmesbury, who’s writing in the 12th century. “He talks about the fact that Æthelstan had to raze the Viking fortress at York to the ground. He had to burn it in order to take control there.” York had been the political and symbolic heart of Scandinavian power in Britain, linked into networks that stretched west toward the Irish Sea and east toward the wider Viking world. Seizing it bolstered Æthelstan’s position. But it also created new risks. Once York was taken, the question was no longer whether Æthelstan ruled a united England. For all intents and purposes, he did. But would his neighbours accept this new reality? “Quickly afterwards, he moves on to Eamont Bridge,” says Woodman. “And we have this remarkable occasion on which Æthelstan receives the submission of various kings.” The meeting at Eamont Bridge At Eamont Bridge, in what is now Cumbria, in the north west of England, Æthelstan summoned rulers who, until recently, had been his potential enemies. “King Constantine of the Scots, two Welsh kings, and the king of Strathclyde and Cumbria submit to Æthelstan at Eamont Bridge,” Woodman explains. “And they all seem to recognise his authority at this juncture. “Eamont Bridge is a really interesting place for Æthelstan to have selected,” he adds. “It’s at the very limits of his territory, so he’s right at the boundary of his extended kingdom at this moment.” There were also practical advantages to his choice of location. “Logistically speaking, it’s very interesting, in the sense that we have Roman roads converging in the area, from Scotland, Wales and York.” It was undoubtedly an easy place – relatively – for these disparate kings to converge. But it held another allure: it was a place of ancient monuments. “There’s a Roman fort there, there’s Mayburgh henge and there’s King Arthur’s Round Table henge,” says Woodfood. “There’s a sort of landscape of authority, a landscape of kingly power here that Æthelstan is using and harnessing to his own benefit.” ‘Devil money’ and the fear of Viking alliances The agreements made there were recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, and one phrase in particular stands out to Woodman. “It says that they all agreed with Æthelstan that they would stop idolatry,” says Woodman. “The Old English word used is diobolgeldæ, which is a compound made up of ‘devil’ and ‘money’. It literally means ‘devil money’.” That phrase points to how Viking power was conceptualised in Æthelstan’s England. Paganism, violence and silver were closely linked in Anglo-Saxon thinking. Viking leaders were known for using silver acquired through raiding, tribute and trade, to secure loyalty and bind together shifting coalitions of allies. The Vikings | A short course from HistoryExtra Academy Member exclusive | Join Professor Ryan Lavelle for our four-week course on the Viking period, covering everything from trading and raiding, to daily life. Explore the course now From an English Christian perspective, this made Viking wealth deeply suspect. Silver used to purchase military support or political allegiance was portrayed as morally corrupting: wealth tainted by paganism and bloodshed, deployed to undermine Christian kingship from within. By weaponising these payments and describing them as ‘devil money’, Æthelstan and his supporters were attempting to delegitimise a key Viking strategy and cut off its effectiveness. “It raises an interesting possibility that, actually, part of the agreement at Eamont Bridge was that none of these kings would side with the Vikings against Æthelstan, who were thought of as a kind of plague sent by the devil,” says Woodman. Why AD 927 mattered For Æthelstan, taking York had created new opportunities and new risks. If his various regional rivals accepted Viking money and support, his newly expanded kingdom could be destabilised in an instant. “And I think that would have been a big fear of his,” Woodman concludes. But instead, by forcing neighbouring kings to renounce those connections, Æthelstan was isolating Viking power not only militarily, but diplomatically and economically, while strengthening his own hand. From AD 927 onwards, Æthelstan would transform from a powerful ruler into a recognised overlord of England. In the years ahead, Viking coalitions would still rise against him – not least in the decisive battle of Brunanburh in AD 937, where they were roundly defeated. But they would do so without the same web of British allies. Æthelstan had successfully turned one of the Vikings’ most potent weapons – silver – against them, transforming it into ‘devil money’ that no Christian ruler could accept. David Woodman was speaking to Dr David Musgrove on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Could the Queen Mother have secured the loan of the Bayeux Tapestry to the British Museum 45 years ago?
After many centuries, the Bayeux Tapestry is returning to Britain in 2026. But as the loan draws closer, new information about attempts to bring forth a previous loan have come to light
A visit by the Queen Mother (Elizabeth II’s mother) to the opening of the Memorial Museum of the Battle of Normandy in 1981 might have smoothed the way to a loan of the Bayeux Tapestry to the British Museum almost 50 years ago, according to recently released files seen by HistoryExtra. The Bayeux Tapestry is being loaned to the British Museum in 2026, but attempts at a previous loan in 1980-1 have newly come to light. In early 1981, the mayor of Bayeux, Monsieur Le Carpentier, sent an invitation to the Queen Mother to attend the opening of the Memorial Museum of the Battle of Normandy, and asked her if she would agree to be a patron of the new institution. Reginald Hibbert, the British Ambassador in Paris, in February 1981 wrote a note to the Foreign Office, advising on how to react to the invitation. “I do not intend to suggest that the negotiations between the British Museum and the Musées de France should affect decisions on the invitation now being extended to Queen Elizabeth, but it is perhaps something which should be borne in mind. The British Museum might take the view that if the Queen Mother extends her patronage to the new Bayeux Museum the Bayeux Authorities ought to be ready to encourage the Musées de France to be more forthcoming over the Bayeux Tapestry. I would advise against such linkage as wholly inappropriate, but I think the point needs to be borne in mind by those who will tender advice to Queen Elizabeth.” Further, Hibbert made reference to “a minor dispute which has looked like causing difficulty between the British Museum and the authorities at Bayeux”. He explained that “The British Museum has been wanting to borrow the Bayeux Tapestry for display in London. The Musées de France recently reached a decision that the Tapestry could not be lent because it is too fragile”. Read more | The Bayeux Tapestry is beautiful, but what was its purpose? New research might have the answer The newly released file also contains a draft note by a Foreign Office official, J.C.A. Dove, composed in March 1981, and intended for the Queen Mother’s private secretary: “I should also explain that a favourable decision by Her Majesty could be instrumental in encouraging the French authorities to authorise the loan of the Bayeux Tapestry to The British Museum although I hasten to add that our recommendation is in no way connected in this aspect. Nevertheless I felt you should know that there have been some difficulties over negotiating a loan of the Tapestry”. The failed move for a Bayeux Tapestry loan The timing of this note is curious, as the difficulties cited were that in the previous November, Monsieur Pattyn, the Director of Heritage at the French Ministry of Culture, had turned down a request from the British Museum for a loan of the Tapestry. It’s not surprising that there should have been such discussions at the time, as Neil Stratford, the British Museum keeper charged with exploring the possibility, recalled to HistoryExtra in an interview in December 2025. “The British Museum director, David Wilson, discovered that the Bayeux Tapestry was going to be conserved and its museum was going to be shut for about two years. David Wilson commissioned me to go off to France and talk to the relevant ministries in France and in Normandy about it being put on show in London during the period when it was off show in in Bayeux”. For much of the 20th century, the Tapestry had been housed in the town’s Hotel du Doyen, but in 1980 work had started on a purpose-built exhibition space within the fabric of the late 17th-century Grand Seminary building. The Tapestry was placed in its new home in the old seminary in 1983. The redisplay of the Tapestry provided a window of opportunity for a potential loan (similarly, today, the Tapestry is off display in Bayeux while its museum is being redeveloped). Neil Stratford received positive responses from Paris and Bayeux during his trip, and returned to the UK reasonably confident that a loan could be agreed. In the end, though, the decision on the loan was ‘non’ from France. According to a memo that Stratford wrote to the British Museum Director Wilson in December 1980, he gathered that Pattyn had been advised by his heritage experts that the tapestry required restoration, which would take five months. That would have necessitated the Tapestry being off display in Bayeux, and a consequent loss of tourism revenue. Pattyn had been further appraised that an extra period of time without the Tapestry on show in the town (were it on loan to the British Museum) would be unacceptable to Bayeux, particularly as restoration had to happen before any potential loan. Stratford understood that there were concerns in the French Ministry that if the tapestry were lent to the British Museum before this restoration was carried out, the Bayeux authorities might then reject the restoration work. Read more | The Bayeux Tapestry: a political football for 900 years There was clearly some mixed messaging over the dynamic between local and national forces in France, as Stratford makes reference to his own conversations with these authorities in Bayeux. His assumption was that it was with the town of Bayeux that the loan “initiative would founder” as it was his understanding that “the Tapestry was given to the citizens of Bayeux by Bonaparte and they have absolute legal control over its destiny”. Stratford acknowledged his surprise when he learnt that the Mayor of Bayeux and the town council had not actually refused the loan, though neither had they agreed to it. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/01/GettyImages-171166411-9c32e8c-e1768305774837.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This scene from the Bayeux Tapestry shows William of Normandy’s fleet crossing the Channel in 1066, followed by fighting between Norman and English forces. The embroidery presents the conquest as a divinely sanctioned campaign, charting the invasion that would transform England’s ruling elite and political order." title="Bayeux tapestry. Norman attack" /> The long history of Bayeux Tapestry loan negotiations The various negotiations for loans of the Tapestry to the UK that occurred during the 20th century (in 1931, 1953, 1966, 1972, and as demonstrated by the recent release of files, 1980) involved a blend of local and national politics in Normandy and France. In these conversations, there was some confusion over whether it was the French state or the Municipality of Bayeux who had the authority to sanction a deal. Clarity was provided by a 2017 custodianship agreement which stated that the French state was the owner of the work, and the city of Bayeux its long-term custodian. This renewable agreement remains in force until 2066, which will be the year of the thousandth anniversary of the battle of Hastings. If confusion over the ownership of the Tapestry had dogged loan discussions in the past, the importance of not damaging the embroidery was never in doubt. In 1980, the British Museum was at pains to stress that they had put the work in to demonstrate that the Tapestry could be moved without risk, and that the safe transport and display of the embroidery was a paramount concern to them. Neil Stratford’s recollection today of the conversations he had back in 1980 with Mlle Bertrand, who had been the Tapestry curator in Bayeux for many years, suggests that there were no qualms about its fitness to travel on the Normandy side of the Channel either: “Mlle Bertrand knew every inch of the tapestry. She said to me that the only reason that the odd thread pulls out is because it was restored in the 19th century and it's those restorations which occasionally pull out, but the original medieval sewing is as tough as old boots and that there's no risk whatsoever about moving it. That’s what she said to me.” Read more | “I counted the penises in the Bayeux Tapestry and I have no regrets”: what one Oxford professor found when he studied the rudest bits of the embroidery In advance of the forthcoming loan in 2026, concerns have been raised about the Tapestry’s fragility, but British Museum curators are working closely with French colleagues to ensure that the embroidery will be transported to the UK in a safe fashion. Indeed, the agreement between the UK government’s Department for Culture, Media and Sport, British Museum and French Ministry of Culture states that the loan “shall be undertaken in the spirit of a balanced partnership and mutual scholarly interest”. The agreement contains extensive provision for measures designed to ensure that the embroidery is not put at risk during its passage to the UK nor its presentation in the museum. Discussions for the current loan project have been a long time in fruition. Following a Bayeux Tapestry conference at the British Museum in 2008, BBC History Magazine ran an article canvassing experts on whether the Tapestry might ever be loaned to the UK, after the British Museum’s in-house Tapestry expert Michael Lewis had raised the idea (partly in jest) during the conference. Ten years later in 2018, the New Yorker magazine reported that in 2013, Lewis, as part of Bayeux Museums’s Tapestry scientific committee, said the idea occurred to him straight-away that the Tapestry could be loaned while the new museum was being built. 1066: The battle for England Member exclusive | The year 1066 is the most famous in English history, but there's a lot more to the story than one bloody battle at Hastings. In this four-part series, medievalist Marc Morris talks David Musgrove through the full story of the Norman Conquest. Watch all episodes now How the Bayeux Tapestry loan was finally agreed It was only in 2018 that the concept became a reality, when French President Macron announced the intention to bring the loan to life during an Anglo-French summit in the UK with then Prime Minister Theresa May. The timescale touted then was that the loan might happen in 2022 when the museum in Bayeux was being remodelled. Read more | Who were the Normans? The timeline might have slipped, and several British Prime Ministers come and gone, but President Macron has remained in power. It was he that made the announcement this year of the definitive exhibition timetable (September 2026 for 10 months) and destination (British Museum), in another Anglo-French summit with Sir Keir Starmer. Lord Parkinson, the Heritage Minister from 2021 to 2024 under the Conservative administration, told HistoryExtra that it was President Macron’s personal determination that saw the process through. “I think this really has come from Emmanuel Macron himself. In the Royal Gallery address to parliament [in 2025], he saw Theresa May was sitting in the second row, and he acknowledged that this is an idea that began when Theresa May was Prime Minister and it’s taken too long. So I think he’s aware that he made this very kind suggestion [of loaning the Tapestry]. He wanted to deliver on his promise, and this summit has allowed him to do that”. Macron also noted, in his July 2025 address at the British Museum, that it was the personal support of King Charles III that helped move things forward, along with the work of the two governments’ special envoys, M. Belaval for France, and Lord Ricketts for the UK. Royal backing does not appear to have been sought by UK government officials in the previous request in 1980, with the hesitancy over linking the Queen Mother’s potential patronage of the new museum of the Battle of Normandy to the British Museum’s negotiations. The Queen Mother did not attend the opening of the Memorial Museum of the Battle of Normandy in 1981.
Æthelstan is the king who created England. That's the view of his biographer David Woodman, based on how far he managed to extend his authority beyond his powerbase of Wessex and Mercia in the 920s and 930s
Æthelstan was crowned in Kingston upon Thames 1100 years ago, in AD 925. He went on to extend his authority far beyond his initial powerbase of Wessex and Mercia to become the first king of England. David Musgrove talks to Professor David Woodman, author of The First King of England: Æthelstan and the Birth of a Kingdom, to hear why we should remember Æthelstan's reign.
Eleanor Parker’s Life Lesson from History is that we should seek out wonder in the world around us
The Anglo-Saxons had a deep sense of wonder – they saw magic in the mundane, and expressed it through riddles. Eleanor Parker’s Life Lesson from History is that we, too, should seek out wonder in the world around us, and that a little bit of riddle-writing might help us find it.
The Bayeux Tapestry is beautiful, but what was its purpose? New research might have the answer
A new theory proposes that the Bayeux Tapestry was designed to deliver moral messages to medieval monks over dinner
The Bayeux Tapestry is one of the most astonishing artefacts to survive from medieval Europe. It tells the story of the end of Anglo-Saxon rule at the hands of Duke William of Normandy, whose victory in 1066 ushered in the Norman Conquest – one of the most significant turning points in British history. But beyond recounting the rise of Norman supremacy, what was the Bayeux Tapestry really for? Was it only an extraordinary work of propaganda, designed as a display of righteous power? Or was it intended to have a more specific and purposeful role? The answer to that latter question is: yes, according to historian Professor Benjamin Pohl of the University of Bristol. He argues that the Bayeux Tapestry was created to be a moral aid viewed by medieval monks while they silently ate their meals in a communal refectory. What was the Bayeux Tapestry for? Professor Pohl explains his argument in a new article 'Chewing over the Norman Conquest: the Bayeux Tapestry as monastic mealtime reading', in which he makes the case that the embroidery was designed specifically to be hung in the monastic dining hall of St Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury, where it would have accompanied spoken readings and prompted moral reflection. Following the rule of St Benedict, which governed monastic life across much of medieval Europe, medieval monks were expected to maintain complete silence while eating, aside from the voice of the reader delivering the day’s text. These readings delivered moral instruction to the diners, in a setting where any visual imagery would have reinforced spoken words and offered a focus for contemplation. A tapestry made for monks The Bayeux Tapestry famously depicts the events leading up to the Norman Conquest of England in 1066 through a series of cartoon-style embroidered scenes, accompanied by short Latin captions. Most scholars agree that the embroidery was probably made in, or near, Canterbury in the 11th century. That conclusion rests on similarities in its style and content with illuminated manuscripts that are known to have been held in Canterbury’s monastic libraries at the time. Read more | What one Oxford professor found when he studied the rudest bits of the Bayeux Tapestry But Pohl contends that the Tapestry was not only made in Canterbury, but for Canterbury. He argues that it could have been designed to be hung around the walls of the monastic refectory of St Augustine’s Abbey on particular feast days, where it would have illustrated the moral themes of the day’s reading for the monks. He theorises that the embroidery would have been exhibited at head-height around their dining room, and that therefore it would have been “perfectly discernible from the seated position assumed by the monks and their guests during mealtimes in the refectory”. This followed “the long, pan-European tradition of using illustrated narratives in the form of wall paintings and – of particular interest here – textile hangings in monastic refectories”. Triumph and propaganda, or a moral warning? At first glance, the Bayeux Tapestry does not appear to be an ideal vehicle for moral instruction. On a basic level, it is a historical narrative that shows the events leading up to the Norman Conquest. In that, it appears to follow a broadly pro-Norman view of events, where the English King Harold makes, and then breaks, an oath to support Duke William of Normandy’s claim to the crown of England. This seeming act of perjury provides the context for William to muster his invasion fleet and then defeat Harold on the field of Hastings. Read in this way, the embroidery can appear to be a triumphalist account of conquest, leading some scholars to suggest that it was created for display in the great hall of a Norman castle, where warriors might reflect on their success. 1066: The battle for England Member exclusive | The year 1066 is the most famous in English history, but there's a lot more to the story than one bloody battle at Hastings. In this four-part series, medievalist Marc Morris talks David Musgrove through the full story of the Norman Conquest. Watch all episodes now However, other historians have suggested that the embroidery is more complex than this. Rather than being a celebration of conquest, it might alternatively offer a commentary on the worldly sins – namely the overambition and moral failure – of the people involved in the story. The borders of the embroidery contain scenes that draw on Aesop’s Fables, a body of stories widely used in medieval education to convey ethical lessons. Such imagery lends weight to the idea that the embroidery carried an underlying moralising message, one that would have been particularly suited to a monastic setting, where the rejection of worldly concerns was central to religious life. Professor Pohl contends that the ideal place for such moral messages to be delivered would have been in silent contemplation over dinner. Though the fabric of the refectory of St Augustine’s does not survive, documentary and archaeological evidence suggests that it was a substantial building, large enough to accommodate the full length of the Tapestry around its walls. Read more | How Tostig Godwinson’s brotherly betrayal hastened the fall of the Anglo-Saxons With the tapestry as an illustrative background, the mealtime reader would have talked about a moral theme while the monks ate and looked at the image in question. They would have been aided in this by the very basic Latin captions in the Tapestry, which would have been suitable for an audience of monks who did not all have deep Latin knowledge. Pohl points out that the way that the embroidery is split up into individual narrative scenes would also have allowed for a series of discrete, but interconnected, moral lessons to be taught to the munching monks. “Each episode is a tale of both good and evil, victory and defeat, damnation and redemption”, he says. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/12/GettyImages-51240889-c0967d0-e1765815066405.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This section of the Bayeux Tapestry shows the Norman army crossing the Channel in 1066, followed by the preparation of food after landing in England. The detail underscores the logistical organisation behind William of Normandy’s invasion." title="Norman Invaders on Tapestry" /> Was the Bayeux Tapestry forgotten? He agrees with the view that Abbot Scolland, who led St Augustine’s Abbey in the years following the Conquest, was a driving force in the creation of the Tapestry (perhaps working with, or for, Bishop Odo of Bayeux, the half-brother of William the Conqueror). He notes that Scolland also instigated the post-conquest building programme that included the construction of a new refectory building for the monks. Read more | Has history’s most famous comet been misnamed for centuries? “The answer is clear,” say historians Pohl suggests that Scolland commissioned the embroidery specifically for display in the new refectory that he designed. However, Scolland died in 1087, long before it was eventually constructed. Pohl further argues that the Tapestry may never have actually been shown as planned because by the time the dining hall was finally built, Scolland had been dead for half a century and the Tapestry may never have been displayed as intended. If the Bayeux Tapestry was made, and then stored and never displayed, this could help to explain its remarkably good state of preservation. It also raises the question of how the Tapestry eventually came to be in Bayeux. By the end of the 15th century, it appears in the inventory of Bayeux Cathedral. Pohl suggests that it may have remained in storage in Canterbury, and stayed broadly forgotten, until the 1420s, when it could have been offered as collateral to settle a monastic debt. From there, it may have passed into the hands of the Duke of Burgundy before ultimately making its way to Bayeux, where it survives today.
Has history’s most famous comet been misnamed for centuries? “The answer is clear,” say historians
David Musgrove reports on new research that casts light on the appearance of the comet in the 11th century, and its depiction in the Bayeux Tapestry
Halley’s Comet was last seen from Earth in 1986 and is expected to return in 2061. It’s widely taken for granted that the Stuart astronomer Edmond Halley was the first to recognise its roughly 76-year cycle, an insight he formalised in 1705 and which ultimately gave the comet his name. However, new research by professors Michael Lewis of the British Museum and Simon Portegies Zwart of Leiden University says that attribution might be wrong. Their work suggests that credit may instead belong to an English medieval monk named Elmer. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/12/GettyImages-514079858-a25607f-e1764931346339.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="Halley’s Comet streaks across the sky in this 1986 photograph taken from the Ford Observatory, marking its most recent visit to the inner solar system. Once feared as a portent of upheaval, the comet is now a predictable visitor whose returns chart centuries of astronomical discovery." title="Halley's Comet, 1986" /> Elmer the flying monk Elmer, also known as Aethelmaer, lived in Malmesbury, Wiltshire, and is best remembered for leaping off Malmesbury Abbey attached to some homemade wings, attempting human flight, at some point between 1000-1010. In the words of chronicler William of Malmesbury, Elmer “had by some contrivance fastened to his hands and feet in order that he might fly as Daedalus, and collecting the air, on the summit of a tower, had flown for a distance of a furlong”. As well as recording Elmer’s early exploits in aviation, William also noted that – perhaps unsurprisingly – the flight did not end well. The monk ended up crashing to the ground, breaking his legs and becoming lame as a consequence. Despite this disability, he lived a long life and was still around (albeit elderly) during the Norman Conquest in 1066. Notwithstanding his very rough landing in 1005, Elmer’s legacy as the flying monk was secured, and even now, Malmesbury boasts a Flying Monk Brewery. Arguably, however, Elmer’s achievements in astronomy were more worthy of celebration than his achievements in aviation. Halley’s Comet, or Elmer’s? According to William of Malmesbury, a young Elmer observed Halley’s Comet in the year 989 and considered it a bad omen. Then, 77 years later, Elmer again saw the 1066 comet. William reported that Elmer once more saw it as a portent of doom, crouching “in terror at the sight of the gleaming star”. Given that Elmer seems to have identified the celestial body twice and attributed the same doom-laden values to it, is there an argument to be made that it was the medieval monk, rather than Edmond Halley, who should be celebrated for recognising its cycle? Read more | Isaac Newton: life, discoveries, rivalries and the truth about the apple According to Lewis, an expert on the Bayeux Tapestry, and the astrophysicist Portegies Zwart, “the answer is clear: Elmer beat Halley to identifying Halley’s Comet twice, also recognising (in some way) it had a regular cycle”. In their view, he effectively identified the comet’s recurrence centuries before Halley’s calculation. Elmer, 1066, and the Bayeux Tapestry Indeed, many medieval history enthusiasts will be aware that the comet is famously shown in the Bayeux Tapestry, which documents the course of the Norman Conquest. The article by Lewis and Portegies Zwart (titled The Significance of Halley’s Comet in the Bayeux Tapestry, published in the edited collection Dorestad and Everything After: Ports, Townscapes & Travellers in Europe, 800–1100) argues that Halley’s Comet would not have been visible from England in 1066 before 24 April, and possibly not until 30 April. But in the Bayeux Tapestry, the comet appears above a scene showing crowds reacting to the coronation of King Harold, which occurred in January. The mismatch between astronomical reality and artistic depiction raises questions about why the comet was placed in that scene. So what explains the discrepancy? Comet propaganda? Harold’s rise to the throne followed the death of Edward the Confessor and came at a moment of political uncertainty. In Normandy, Duke William regarded Harold’s accession as a usurpation, as William claimed Harold had sworn to support his own claim to the throne. The Bayeux Tapestry includes a prominent depiction of Harold swearing an oath on holy relics in William’s presence, but it offers no explanation of its purpose, leaving the episode open to interpretation. Lewis and Portegies Zwart suggest that linking the comet with Harold’s coronation was an intentional choice, designed to draw the two events together “for political reasons with the benefit of hindsight”. Their view reflects a broader trend in 11th and 12th-century sources, which retrospectively cast the comet as a portent of disaster for Harold and as a sign woven into the unfolding succession crisis. The most contemporary accounts (the various versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle) do not link the comet to the succession crisis. Instead, they associate it with the more immediate threat posed by Harold’s disaffected brother Tostig, who arrived shortly after the comet’s appearance with a fleet that raided England’s south coast. This occurred in the spring of 1066, several months before the Norman invasion. But, over time, the Norman interpretation prevailed. The comet became part of a retrospective narrative supporting William’s conquest and portraying Harold’s reign as doomed from the outset. Lewis and Portegies Zwart note that, had the outcome at Hastings been different, the same comet might instead have been remembered as an omen of the failure of William’s ambitions. Alas, for the Anglo-Saxons it was not to be… More from us HistoryExtra members can explore more medieval history with exclusive content from our archives Medieval manners and etiquette: dos and don’ts of the Middle Ages Medieval England's political miracle: how the 13th and 14th centuries laid the foundations for modern Britain How to go on a medieval pilgrimage Why there’s no such thing as a typical medieval peasant Not a HistoryExtra member? Explore our latest membership offers
The REAL history behind Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and more
If you thought Lord of the Rings, Rings of Power or The Hobbit was pure fairytale, you would be way off. HistoryExtra's James Osborne explains more
From the epic battles of Beowulf to the myths of Old Norse sagas and the real-world struggles of the Anglo-Saxons, Tolkien’s legendary world was deeply rooted in the past. But how exactly did these influences weave their way into The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit? In this video, we explore the sources that helped Tolkien forge his fantasy masterpiece, uncovering the warriors, monsters, and lost kingdoms that made Middle-Earth feel so real. View Green Video on the source website
Toilets through time: Anglo-Saxon and Norman cesspits
David Musgrove talks to Dr Katherine Weikert about the Anglo-Saxon and Norman toilet experience
Did King Edmund Ironside die on the toilet? Why did the rich and powerful in Anglo-Norman England want their clothes to smell of poo? And could you use the facilities in front of an audience? These are just some of the questions tackled in this episode of our Toilets through Time, where David Musgrove talks to Dr Katherine Weikert about the Anglo-Saxon and Norman toilet experience.
Who was REALLY buried at Sutton Hoo? The secrets behind the famous helmet
Who was buried inside the ship at Sutton Hoo, one of the most significant archaeological finds in British history? David Musgrove explores the enigmatic burial site and explains more about what was found inside the Suffolk mounds
HistoryExtra's David Musgrove explores the enigmatic burial site of Sutton Hoo in Suffolk, famous for its treasure-filled 27-metre ship, first excavated in 1939. The site, today managed by the National Trust and brought to life in 2021 Netflix film The Dig, continues to captivate, and highlights a dynamic period in Anglo-Saxon history. Despite the wealth of artefacts found inside the ship, the identity of the buried individual remains unknown. What are the leading theories? Discover more in this video as we look closer at the contenders, including an Anglo-Saxon king and a Byzantine soldier. Plus explore the various buried items that suggest a tantalising mix of both Christian and pre-Christian influences. Of course, we also get closer to the famous Sutton Hoo helmet, and its possible connection to the Norse god Odin. View Green Video on the source website
Who was Thorkell the Tall? The pragmatic Viking warrior who fought for (and against) all sides
Who was the legendary Viking warrior Thorkell the Tall, and precisely how tall was he? From his links with the Jomsvikings to his role in the shifting Anglo-Saxon history leading up to 1066, his story has more twists than you might expect
The late Anglo-Saxon period was defined by ever-shifting struggles for supremacy. Across Northern Europe, chaos collided with opportunity, and Thorkell the Tall was among the many figures who set themselves onto this stage; a Viking leader whose life and legacy are marked by extraordinary military and political achievements, and a talent for canny survival. But despite his fame, the historical record leaves much about his life ambiguous. How can we separate fact from myth, while considering his significance within the context of the fading Viking Age? And, of course, just how much did Thorkell tower over his fellow men that he earned his name 'Thorkell the Tall'? How tall was Thorkell the Tall? There is no direct historical evidence that offers a precise height for Thorkell the Tall. His lofty height is only inferred by his epithet, which can also be translated as Thorkell the High. His name could, in fact, be a metaphorical allusion to high-ranking status, or his dominant presence. But, assuming that his name is a direct reference to an above-average height, it’s safe to estimate that Thorkell wouldn’t necessarily have had to be incredibly tall by modern standards to earn his title. This is because analysis of Viking skeletons suggests that an average Norseman stood at between 5’7” and 5’8” tall. Thorkell could have been under 6 feet, and still have been considered tall enough to be given his moniker. Thorkell’s early life and his links with the Jomsvikings The son of Strut-Harald, a Danish chieftain, Thorkell was descended from a noble lineage; something that allowed him early access to prominence. While he has no recorded date of birth, he first enters the historical record in the late tenth century – first recorded as fighting alongside the semi-legendary Jomsvikings (a fierce mercenary force of Vikings, deeply devoted to the Old Norse gods – though willing to eschew their beliefs for the right pay) in AD 986 during the battle of Hjörungavágr – an intra-Norse naval conflict. Over a decade later, Thorkell is then noted again at the turn of the millennium, AD 1000, in a second such conflict, again with the mercenary Jomsvikings, at the battle of Svolder. Read more | The truth about Viking berserkers Thorkell’s role in these two battles – if he was indeed present in them at all – is indicated by his inclusion in the Sagas. It was during this period that Thorkell the Tall theoretically displayed his mettle, proving his talents as a warrior and strategic leader. It’s not long after the turn of the millennium, and these battles, that Thorkell’s story converges with the Anglo-Saxons and the events that would form part of the buildup to 1066 and the end of the Viking Age. 1066: The battle for England Member exclusive | The year 1066 is the most famous in English history, but there's a lot more to the story than one bloody battle at Hastings. In this four-part series, medievalist Marc Morris talks David Musgrove through the full story of the Norman Conquest. Watch all episodes now Thorkell the Tall and Anglo-Saxon England Thorkell the Tall appears in the annals of English history during the turbulent reign of King Æthelred the Unready, when Viking opportunism still dominated the affairs of the Anglo-Saxons, and the descendants of Alfred the Great scrambled to consolidate the king’s unification of England. In 1002, Æthelred ordered the St Brice’s Day Massacre, a coordinated attack on Danish settlers in England following what had been a particularly intense decade of Viking aggression. This act of brutality was unwise, in the end, as it reignited Viking fury, enraging the Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard, spurring on a new series of Viking invasions aimed at punishing the English king. Thorkell played a leading role in these invasions. In 1009, at Forkbeard’s behest, Thorkell commanded a massive Viking fleet that landed in southern England. His army rampaged across the countryside, burning towns and extracting tribute. Thorkell targeted key locations, including Canterbury, whose archbishop, Ælfheah, was later taken hostage. However, allegedly against Thorkell’s wishes, the archbishop was executed by Viking warriors instead of being held hostage, instigating the possible beginnings of a rift between the Thorkell and his compatriots. Thorkell the Tall: a real-life Uhtred? In 1012, in the aftermath of his revenge on England, Thorkell’s allegiances shifted – and radically so. Leaving his Viking comrades behind, Thorkell switched sides and entered the service of King Æthelred. The reasons for this defection are unclear, but they may have been driven by political calculations or dissatisfaction with his Viking counterparts. This might not be as shocking as it seems; as a Jomsviking warlord in his past, Thorkell’s loyalty had historically been pragmatic and available to the highest bidder, and his decision to ally with Æthelred fits within the context of this murky Anglo-Saxon and Viking period where allegiances were fluid. And Thorkell’s role as an ally of England wasn’t simply tokenistic. He was appointed to lead a group of elite warriors known as the ‘Thingmen,’ who served as a personal guard for the king. His knowledge of the Vikings and his reputation as a warlord would have made him an invaluable asset (in the same vein as Uhtred of Bebbanburg from the fictional The Last Kingdom, who joins the side of Alfred the Great despite a deeply rooted Viking background). It was during this time that Thorkell forged even stronger links to the Anglo-Saxon cause by marrying one of the daughters of the king, with whom he possibly had his own children, including Edith Swanneck, the later wife of Harold Godwinson. Nevertheless, Æthelred’s reign remained unstable, and Thorkell’s allegiance to England would soon be tested by new developments. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-599953421-7d0ab0f-e1758894373465.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="Vikings on the horizon: This 12th-century depiction shows Viking ships arriving in Britain — a reminder of the raids and settlements that transformed the British Isles from the late 8th century onward. Even centuries later, the memory of Norse seafarers like Thorkell the Tall endured in medieval chronicles and imagination." title="Viking ships arriving in Britain, ca 1130" /> Thorkell turns cloak By 1013, Sweyn Forkbeard had launched a renewed assault on England, and Thorkell found himself caught between his Danish roots and his new English allegiance. When Sweyn’s son, Cnut, continued the campaign after his father’s death, Thorkell ultimately decided to revoke his new Anglo-Saxon fealties to align himself with the young Danish prince. Read more | Your guide to King Cnut: the fierce Danish warrior who ruled England Cnut’s conquest of England in 1016 (a crucial year in the building escalation toward 1066) marked the beginning of a new era. Thorkell was rewarded for his support with lands and titles, becoming one of Cnut’s most trusted advisors. He was appointed Earl of East Anglia, a position that granted him significant power and responsibility. And by shifting his loyalty once again, Thorkell proved himself as a canny and competent operator, with a keen ability to navigate the complex political landscape as circumstances demanded. Without ever becoming a king himself, Thorkell the Tall had defined himself as – arguably – one of the period’s most successful figures. The Vikings | A short course from HistoryExtra Academy Member exclusive | Join Professor Ryan Lavelle for our four-week course on the Viking period, covering everything from trading and raiding, to daily life. Explore the course now How did Thorkell the Tall die? Thorkell’s life after this remains obscure. He likely returned to Denmark at some point, perhaps to serve King Cnut in his broader Scandinavian empire, and by the mid-1020s, Thorkell disappears from the historical record entirely. Modern historians rely on a combination of primary sources, including the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and Norse sagas, to piece together Thorkell’s story. However, these accounts were often written decades or even centuries after the events they describe, and are coloured by the biases of their authors. And, crucially, as Thorkell passes out of their purview, knowledge of him and his actions fade too. So whether he died in battle, or from some disease, or ‘retired’ peacefully back in Scandinavia, away from the turmoil in Anglo-Saxon England, his story, effectively, ends with the success of Cnut.