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How the Vikings reshaped Anglo-Saxon England
Dr Eleanor Barraclough explores how the Vikings' ninth-century invasion rewrote the future of Anglo-Saxon England
Alfred the Great’s victory over the Vikings at the battle of Edington brought the campaign of the Great Heathen Army to an end – but it didn't conclude the wider story. In the final episode of our Sunday Series on the ninth-century Viking invasion of Anglo-Saxon England, Dr Eleanor Barraclough and James Osborne trace how the outcome of the battle rewrote the future of Anglo-Saxon England. Want to know more about the struggle between Alfred and the Vikings? James Osborne rounds up essential reading from the HistoryExtra archive that explores this pivotal moment in Viking and Anglo-Saxon history – including insights into Viking culture, the everyday experience of Anglo-Saxon communities, Alfred’s use of religion and learning as tools of political renewal, and the long legacy of the Danelaw on English identity and culture. Go beyond the podcast
The Anglo-Saxons were terrified of Vikings. But were they really so different?
They might have fought as enemies in the 9th century, but the Vikings and Anglo-Saxons shared common languages and deep cultural roots
Viking aggression against Anglo-Saxon England escalated dramatically in the 9th century, with the arrival of the Great Heathen Army. The Norse invaders were portrayed in contemporary chronicles as terrifying outsiders; they were fierce raiders who were violent, alien and, ultimately, incomprehensible. But were the differences between the Vikings and Anglo-Saxons really so stark? Beneath the violence between these two peoples were many similarities, found in a rich layer of shared history. Shared origins across the North Sea One reason for these similarities is simple: the Anglo-Saxons themselves had once come from the same broad region as the Vikings. Following the collapse of Roman rule in Britain in the 5th century, groups from what is now Denmark, northern Germany and the Low Countries migrated across the North Sea and settled in England. Read more | The fall of Roman Britain: how life changed for Britons after the empire These groups – including Angles, Saxons and Jutes – filled the post-Roman vacuum and established the foundations of what would become Anglo-Saxon England, bringing with them languages, customs and social structures rooted in Europe’s northern lands. “From the Anglo-Saxon perspective, they are very aware of their origins in what is now Denmark and the northern coastline of continental Europe,” explains historian Eleanor Barraclough, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast about this 9th century wave of Viking invasion. “So those connections are still there.” Genealogies of Anglo-Saxon kings often traced their ancestry back to continental or even mythological Germanic figures, reinforcing this sense of shared heritage. Could they understand each other? Perhaps the clearest sign of this shared heritage was found in language. Old English (spoken by the Anglo-Saxons) and Old Norse (spoken by many Vikings) were both part of the Germanic language family. “You just have to look at the languages,” Barraclough explains. “Although they are distinct Germanic languages, they’re still very much both Germanic languages.” This meant communication, while not seamless, was certainly possible: “It would be a case of communicating with some grunts, some hand gestures, and some pointing,” she says, “but basically you would be able to understand each other to a certain degree.” Many everyday words would have sounded similar, making partial understanding possible even without formal translation. These were related languages with an overlapping vocabulary and structure. A shared cultural world Language was only one part of a broader cultural connection. An example of that shared culture is the famous Old English poem Beowulf. Beowulf is a cornerstone of Anglo-Saxon literature, written in Old English and preserved in an English manuscript. But its setting hints at non-English origins. “The first lines are: “Hwæt. We Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon,” Barraclough explains. “It’s Old English, [but] it’s talking about a Danish context.” The poem is set in Scandinavia – among the ‘Spear-Danes’ (the 'Gardena') and in regions corresponding to modern Denmark and Sweden. This suggests that Anglo-Saxon audiences were deeply familiar with, and interested in, stories rooted in the Scandinavian world. Read more | Beowulf: The Anglo-Saxons' action hero Referring to the oral tradition that the Beowulf poem might have been based on, Barraclough says “it certainly seems to be pre–the Great Heathen Army arriving,” indicating that these cultural links existed before the Viking invasions. The content of the poem itself also reflects a shared culture, with similar values around kingship, loyalty, warfare and honour that were recognised across northern Europe. And archaeology reinforces this picture. The famous helmet from the Sutton Hoo burial – often associated with the Anglo-Saxon king Raedwald – has echoes of Viking culture. “That helmet has its nearest parallels in Sweden and in Scandinavia more generally,” Barraclough says. Such objects point to a shared material culture spanning the North Sea. Religion: different, but related Religion offers another window into both similarity and difference. By the time of the Viking invasions, Anglo-Saxon England was largely Christian. Churches, monasteries and religious institutions – often the targets for Viking attacks – were central to political and cultural life. Many Vikings, by contrast, were still practising forms of pre-Christian religion. Read more | Christians and pagans in Norse society: the real religious rifts between Vikings Even here, though, there were shared roots. “We have relatively little that we can piece together about pre-Christian religion in Anglo-Saxon culture,” Barraclough says. But, she says, surviving evidence suggests “similarities in the types of gods: Woden and Odin, for example.” Woden, the Anglo-Saxon pagan deity, and Odin, the Norse god, likely stem from a shared Proto-Germanic religious tradition, adapted and developed in different regions over time. What made them different? Despite these shared foundations, important differences between the Anglo-Saxons and Vikings remained. Religion was one of the most significant. For the now-Christian Anglo-Saxons, Viking paganism was threatening and alien, particularly when associated with violent raids on monasteries and churches. Political organisation also differed. Anglo-Saxon England was divided into kingdoms with established structures of governance, law and landholding. Viking forces, especially in the early phases of the Great Heathen Army, instead operated as mobile coalitions of warbands, with more flexible and decentralised leadership. These contrasting systems meant that Anglo-Saxon rulers were defending fixed territories, while Viking groups could move rapidly, regroup and adapt their strategies. So how similar were the Vikings and Anglo-Saxons? They were distinct peoples, with different political systems and, by the 9th century, different dominant religions. But they were also deeply connected. They spoke related languages, shared cultural traditions, traded across the same seas and traced their origins to overlapping regions of northern Europe. Eleanor Barraclough was speaking to James Osborne on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
How Alfred the Great saved the Anglo-Saxons from the Vikings
Dr Eleanor Barraclough tells the story of Alfred the Great's journey from his lowest ebb, to his ascent to reclaim his throne
As the Viking Great Heathen Army advanced to the borders of Wessex, the conquest of Anglo-Saxon England appeared all but complete. In the third episode of this four-part series on the Viking invasion of Anglo-Saxon England in the latter half of the ninth century, James Osborne is joined by historian Dr Eleanor Barraclough to examine how Alfred the Great rose from the cusp of defeat, to a stunning military victory at the battle of Edington. Want to know more about the struggle between Alfred and the Vikings? James Osborne rounds up essential reading from the HistoryExtra archive that explores this pivotal moment in Viking and Anglo-Saxon history – including insights into Viking culture, the everyday experience of Anglo-Saxon communities, Alfred’s use of religion and learning as tools of political renewal, and the long legacy of the Danelaw on English identity and culture. Go beyond the podcast
This morbid Viking Age death pit is more mystifying than it first seemed – here’s why
A newly discovered burial pit dating to the Viking Age contains the remains of at least ten young men. But were they victims of battle, execution – or something else entirely?
Violence was a defining feature of 9th-century Anglo-Saxon England. This was a period of aggressive Viking invasions, violent rivalry between Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, and harsh systems of justice. Conflict could erupt between rival powers, or within communities themselves. Against this backdrop, archaeologists have uncovered a striking discovery at Wandlebury, Cambridgeshire: a 9th-century pit containing the remains of at least ten young men, all showing clear signs of a violent death. Much of the initial reaction to the find suggested that the buried individuals may have been Vikings from the famous Great Heathen Army that nearly toppled Anglo-Saxon England during the second half of the 9th century. But who these men really were – and why they were killed – remains uncertain. The 9th century saw a force of mainly Scandinavian warriors – known to Anglo-Saxon chroniclers as the “mycel here” or “hæþen here” and to modern readers as the Great Heathen Army – campaigning across Britain. The army landed in East Anglia in 865, and its activities in the area of the Wandlebury excavation included a prolonged stay over winter near Cambridge in 874–875. Historians and archaeologists increasingly refer to this period as the ‘Long Ninth Century’. Spanning the late 8th to the mid-10th centuries, it was a time of upheaval, as Anglo-Saxon kingdoms came under intense pressure and began to reshape themselves. In the long run, this period of disruption helped lay the foundations for new political entities, including the kingdom of England itself. Read more | The triumph of the Anglo-Saxons: how the kingdom of Mercia powered the rise of England But this wasn’t only a story of armies and kings. It was also a time when violence formed part of everyday life. Punishment could be severe, and both warfare and justice could end in brutal deaths. As early medievalist Alex Harvey emphasises, this violence in the uncovered Wandlebury excavation pit cannot be attributed solely to Viking activity. “While the discovery is fascinating on its own, we can’t yet be 100 per cent sure that Scandinavian plunderers were involved,” he says, speaking to HistoryExtra. “Violence and military activity occurred in ninth-century England with and without ‘Vikings’; Mercia, for example, battled Wessex and Kent in the Viking Age.” He adds that conflict could be far more localised than the headline-grabbing invasions suggest: “Raids launched from what are now the Midlands into Wales were also common. We cannot rule out that such skeletal evidence isn’t actually from domestic campaigns such as these, or even smaller unrecorded judicial skirmishes between petty districts in and around the Cambridgeshire fen.” This wider context is crucial. It means that the burial at Wandlebury could be explained in multiple ways – not only as the result of Viking warfare, but also as part of local conflict or systems of justice. The Wandlebury discovery What, precisely, was uncovered at Wandlebury? While conducting a training excavation, archaeologists uncovered a shallow pit containing at least ten young men, buried together with little care – suggesting they died at the same time and were quickly disposed of. Several skulls were grouped together. Chop marks on one of the jawbones indicate that at least one individual was decapitated, with the possibility of several more suggested by the pile of five heads. Notably, some of the skeletons were found in positions that suggest the binding of limbs – a feature seen in known Anglo-Saxon execution burials. Taken together, this appears to be evidence of deliberate killing. But who were these individuals? Were they Vikings, or Anglo-Saxons? Were they battle casualties, or executed criminals? Read more | Meet the mysterious leaders of the Vikings’ most fearsome army While ambiguous, the site does offer some clues. One complete skeleton belonged to a male aged between 17 and 24. He stood at around 6 ft 5 in – unusually tall for the period – and had a partially healed circular hole in his skull, likely the result of trepanation, a surgical procedure. Rather than indicating Scandinavian origin, however, his height may have been caused by a medical condition. The trepanation could have been carried out to relieve pressure headaches caused by a tumour affecting the pituitary gland, leading to excessive growth. In other words, while a ‘Viking’ explanation for his stature may be tempting, it cannot be taken as evidence of origin. All of these clues suggest that the dead may represent either a captured group of outsiders – perhaps Vikings – or local individuals executed under Anglo-Saxon law. The location of the burial may offer further insight. The pit lies close to Wandlebury Ring, an Iron Age hillfort that may have been used as a meeting or assembly place in the early medieval period, making it a plausible setting for executions. Other Viking Age burials in Anglo-Saxon England To better understand what might have happened at Wandlebury, the burial can be compared with similar sites from the same period. Viking groups sometimes buried their dead in large communal graves. One of the best-known examples comes from Repton in Derbyshire, where a mass burial of around 264 individuals has been linked to the Great Heathen Army. Read more | What do we know about Viking funerals? Scientific analysis of the teeth from these skeletons shows that many individuals grew up in different parts of northern Europe. This diversity is typical of Viking warbands, which were often composed of people from across the region. A similar pattern appears at other sites associated with violence between Anglo-Saxons and Vikings, including mass graves at St John’s College, Oxford, and Ridgeway Hill in Dorset. Ridgeway Hill, in particular, offers a striking comparison. There, 54 men – mostly young – were executed by decapitation, with their skulls buried separately: widely interpreted as defeated Viking warriors executed by Anglo-Saxons. These comparisons demonstrate that both interpretations remain plausible. The dead at Wandlebury could have been members of a Viking group, or victims of an Anglo-Saxon execution. So which is it? Violence beyond the Vikings At present, the evidence does not allow for a definitive answer. Determining the origins of the buried men – whether they were part of a Viking warband or local individuals executed under the law – will require further scientific analysis. For archaeologist Dr Tenaya Jorgensen, however, the most important insight may lie not in spectacular explanations, but in the everyday realities of the period. “Discoveries of deviant burials always offer a fascinating window into the past, revealing at least as much about a time and place as more conventional finds,” she explains, speaking to HistoryExtra. “In the case of this ninth-century mass execution, for which little context exists beyond the skeletal remains themselves, it can be tempting to look to the most documented events of the period for answers.” But, she says, that instinct can be misleading. “Ordinary life continued largely as normal, and normal during this period could be both violent and brutal in its enforcement of the law.” In that sense, the Wandlebury burial may reflect not an exceptional moment of Viking violence, but a more routine – if still grim – aspect of early medieval life. “While Viking raids never fail to inspire excitement,” Jorgensen adds, “there is equal thrill in understanding these executions within the context of more everyday events.” What is clear, regardless of the ambiguity, is that the burial captures a moment of extreme violence – one that could be explained multiple ways, emphasising the harsh and often brutal realities of life in 9th-century Anglo-Saxon England. 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
Dr Eleanor Barraclough follows the Great Heathen Army on its rampage across Anglo-Saxon England
As the Viking Great Heathen Army refused to leave Anglo-Saxon England, the pressure mounted on the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms to respond, placing the future of the land in the hands of Alfred the Great. In this second episode of our four-part HistoryExtra podcast series on the Viking invasion of ninth-century England, James Osborne and historian Dr Eleanor Barraclough explore the regions overrun by Viking forces and the rise of Alfred the Great amid the collapse of Anglo-Saxon resistance. Want to know more about the struggle between Alfred and the Vikings? James Osborne rounds up essential reading from the HistoryExtra archive that explores this pivotal moment in Viking and Anglo-Saxon history – including insights into Viking culture, the everyday experience of Anglo-Saxon communities, Alfred’s use of religion and learning as tools of political renewal, and the long legacy of the Danelaw on English identity and culture. Go beyond the podcast
Beyond the podcast: Alfred vs the Vikings
In a four-part HistoryExtra podcast series, Viking expert Dr Eleanor Barraclough traces the struggle between Alfred and the Vikings, from the arrival of the Great Heathen Army in 865 to the decisive battle of Edington and its far-reaching aftermath. Below, find essential reading and listening to dive deeper into this pivotal moment in history
In the late ninth century, Anglo-Saxon England stood on the brink of collapse. A vast coalition of Viking warbands, remembered as the Great Heathen Army, swept across the country, shattering kingdoms that had endured for centuries. As Northumbria, Mercia and East Anglia fell, only Wessex remained – ruled by a young and untested king named Alfred. For the Vikings, this was the culmination of decades of expansion and ambition; for the Anglo-Saxons, it was a fight for survival. In this four-part HistoryExtra podcast series, Viking expert Dr Eleanor Barraclough traces the struggle between Alfred and the Vikings, from the arrival of the Great Heathen Army in 865 to the decisive battle of Edington and its far-reaching aftermath. Across the series, we explore the story from both sides: the world of the Viking army and the realities of life within it, the collapse of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, Alfred’s flight into the marshes, and the uneasy peace that reshaped England subsequently. Below, I’ve selected some essential reading and listening from our archives to deepen your understanding of this pivotal moment in Viking and Anglo-Saxon history – including insights into Viking culture, the everyday experience of Anglo-Saxon communities, Alfred’s use of religion and learning as tools of political renewal, and the long legacy of the Danelaw on English identity and culture.
How the Vikings pushed Anglo-Saxon England to the brink
Dr Eleanor Barraclough tells the story of the Great Heathen Army, and explains what it was like it live within it
During the latter decades of the ninth century, the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms faced an existential threat as Viking forces launched an assault on a scale never seen before. In this opening episode of a four-part series on how the Viking Great Heathen Army pushed Anglo-Saxon England to the brink, James Osborne is joined by Dr Eleanor Barraclough to discuss the coming of the Great Heathen Army and take a closer look at the everyday lives and motivations of the people who would soon lay waste to much of Anglo-Saxon England. Want to know more about the struggle between Alfred and the Vikings? James Osborne rounds up essential reading from the HistoryExtra archive that explores this pivotal moment in Viking and Anglo-Saxon history – including insights into Viking culture, the everyday experience of Anglo-Saxon communities, Alfred’s use of religion and learning as tools of political renewal, and the long legacy of the Danelaw on English identity and culture. Go beyond the podcast
Did the Bible really inspire an early medieval king’s disgusting death?
Edmund Ironside was an ill-fated king during a violent and turbulent time in the history of the Anglo-Saxons. But is the vivid story of his death just a myth? And if so, what does it have to do with the Bible?
“How can we forget all of the people who were stabbed through the genitals while sitting in their garderobe?” That’s the question posed by historian Katherine Weikert, while reflecting on the important role of toilets in the society of the Middle Ages. Beyond their practical purpose, toilets also played a role in people’s imaginations. As evidence of this, few medieval tales are as vivid – or as gruesome – as the alleged death of Edmund Ironside. According to later accounts, the Anglo-Saxon king Edmund Ironside was assassinated while sitting on a toilet, killed by a weapon thrust up through his body from below. It’s certainly a striking image. It also likely never happened. But if he didn’t die on the toilet, how did Edmund Ironside meet his death? Who killed him? And what does it have to do with the Bible? The king of a collapsing kingdom Edmund Ironside ruled England for only a few months in 1016, during one of the most unstable periods in early English history, with a resurgence of Viking aggression. At this time, England was an Anglo-Saxon kingdom without a standing army or centralised bureaucracy, making it vulnerable to repeated invasions. During Edmund’s rule, the Danish prince Cnut was leading a determined campaign to conquer England. Edmund was the son of Æthelred II – often remembered as Æthelred the Unready – and inherited a kingdom under sustained assault. The unflattering epithet ‘Unready’ doesn’t actually mean ‘unprepared’ in the modern sense, but comes from the Old English unræd, meaning ‘poorly advised,’ reflecting criticism of his rule. Unlike Æthelred, Edmund’s positive moniker ‘Ironside’ reflected his resilience in battle. Over the course of 1016, he fought a series of engagements against Danish forces, attempting to preserve English rule. The decisive moment came at the battle of Assandun in October 1016. Edmund’s army was defeated, and soon after, Edmund and Cnut agreed to divide the kingdom between them. Under this agreement, Edmund retained control of Wessex in the south, while Cnut took vast swathes of the rest of England. Within weeks of this, Edmund was dead. What the earliest sources say Despite the dramatic later stories, the earliest records of Edmund’s death are notably restrained. “The most famous example [of death on a toilet] in the English context is Edmund Ironside, who died in 1016,” Weikert explains, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. “But contemporary historical records basically just say he died, with no suggestion of wrongdoing.” The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle – a collection of annals compiled by monastic scribes, and one of the most important sources for early English history – records Edmund’s death without any hint of violence or conspiracy. Other near-contemporary writers are equally unremarkable. William of Malmesbury, writing in the 12th century but generally careful with his sources, “says nothing about this”, Weikert notes. The first suggestions that Edmund may have died unnaturally appear only later. “Adam of Bremen, writing in the late 11th century, suggests Edmund may have been poisoned,” Weikert says. This is the earliest hint of foul play. By the 12th century, however, the story had become far more elaborate. “We start getting the story that he was killed on the toilet by the 12th century,” Weikert explains. One of the earliest detailed versions comes from Henry of Huntingdon. “He says that Edmund Ironside was on the toilet and was either stabbed or shot with a bow from below,” Weikert says, pointing out that he highlights “the very uncomfortable idea of something going up through the groin and potentially out through the stomach.” Later writers embellished the narrative further. “Geoffrey Gaimar adds details, saying there was a crossbow that was booby-trapped,” Weikert notes. In this version, the king triggers the mechanism simply by sitting down. By the 13th century, the story was very well known. “There’s also a great 13th-century illuminated manuscript that shows this,” she says. “It’s quite gruesome.” A convenient villain As the story evolved, it needed a villain: Eadric Streona. Eadric was an ealdorman – a powerful regional noble and royal official in Anglo-Saxon England, responsible for administering large territories and leading troops – and a deeply controversial figure. At the Battle of Assandun, he switched sides, contributing to Edmund’s defeat. “A lot of this becomes tied to blaming Eadric Streona, or rather his son,” Weikert explains. His reputation for betrayal made him an ideal candidate for later accusations. Crucially, however, this connection appears only in later sources. “Later sources begin blaming him for the murder – well after the fact,” Weikert says. In this instance, it’s Weikert’s view that the villainous Eadric might not be at all to blame. Biblical echoes and medieval storytelling If the story of Edmund’s death – and Eadric’s role in it – wasn’t based on fact, where did it come from? Part of the answer might relate to the literary habits of medieval writers. “There’s likely a literary influence,” Weikert explains. Medieval historians were often clerics, educated in religious institutions and deeply familiar with biblical narratives. So, historical writing in the Middle Ages sometimes blended fact with Biblical moral interpretation rather than aiming for strict factual accuracy in the modern sense, and “often included biblical references to demonstrate their learning”. Read more | What was life like in a medieval town? A historical A-Z One Biblical story in particular may have provided a template. “There may be a biblical reference here, from the Old Testament, in the Book of Judges — the assassination of King Eglon of Moab,” she says. In that account, the Moabite king Eglon is killed in a private chamber by Ehud. The description is deliberately graphic. “The text says ‘the filth came out’,” Weikert notes. The parallels between this story and the story of Edmund’s death are quite clear. And, adding to the evidence that it might have been inspired by religious literature is the fact that this motif wasn’t unique to Edmund. “There are other examples too,” Weikert adds. Godfrey IV Duke of Lower Lorraine, who died in 1076, was also later said to have been killed on the toilet. This suggests a broader storytelling pattern, rather than a single historical event. Toilets through time Member exclusive | What was it like to do your business in a Roman communal toilet? Why was the devil thought to lurk in medieval privies? And did constipation turn Henry VIII into a tyrant? In this four-part mini-series, David Musgrove heads down the u-bend in the company of leading historical experts to see what we can learn from the most universal of all experiences: going to the loo. Listen to all episodes now But what would the motivation have been to embellish the story of Edmund’s death? By the 12th century, when the toilet-based version of the story emerges, writers were looking back on this period of upheaval: the Danish conquest of England and, later, the Norman Conquest. “There’s a sense that writers are trying to make sense of that turbulent period,” Weikert explains. By drawing inspiration from the Bible, stories like Edmund’s death helped impose moral order on chaotic events, transforming political collapse into narratives of betrayal and punishment. Blaming Eadric Streona as a Judas-like figure would have reinforced that moral framework. The more shocking the story, the more memorable it would be. And with parallels to stories from the Bible, a memorable story could become a moral guide. So what really happened to Edmund Ironside? Weikert says that, for Edmund, a much more mundane death is far more plausible. “He had just undergone months of warfare,” she says. Early medieval campaigning was physically exhausting, and Edmund himself could well have suffered a wound. Even relatively minor injuries could become fatal through infection and frequently proved deadly. “A sudden death would not be surprising if he had a festering wound. The most likely explanation is natural causes,” Weikert concludes. The story of Edmund Ironside is likely to be one of a king who died after a brutal campaign, in circumstances never fully recorded, later transformed into a convenient moral lesson. Katherine Weikert was speaking to David Musgrove on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation. 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
One of medieval history’s biggest mysteries has just been solved – and it rewrites 1066
A fresh re-reading of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle suggests that King Harold Godwinson didn’t race south by land after Stamford Bridge, but instead used a coordinated naval strategy. What does that mean for how we should understand the events of 1066?
Alongside the Roman invasion of Britain in 43 AD, 1066 stands as one of the most pivotal years in British history. It marked the end of Anglo-Saxon rule and the ascendancy of the Normans under William the Conqueror. At the centre of this story is King Harold Godwinson, the last Anglo-Saxon king. In the space of just a few weeks, he fought two major battles at opposite ends of England. In September, he defeated the Viking king Harald Hardrada at the battle of Stamford Bridge in Yorkshire. He is then said to have rushed south, covering some 200 miles to confront William, Duke of Normandy, who had landed on the Sussex coast to attempt to take the throne. According to the traditional account, Harold and his army arrived exhausted – but just in time to fight at the battle of Hastings on 14 October, where he was killed. This dramatic forced march has been used to explain both the pace of events, and Harold’s eventual defeat: his troops, worn out from the journey, were at a disadvantage against William’s forces. But what if that version of the story is wrong? New research now suggests that one of the most famous – and decisive – military marches in English history may never have happened at all. A journey by land – or sea? In new research, Professor Tom Licence of the University of East Anglia argues that Harold didn’t lead a desperate overland march from Yorkshire to Sussex. Instead, much of the journey south may have been made by sea. The idea that the march itself may be implausible is not entirely new. “There’s an argument going back to the that this great heroic march is almost impossible,” he says, speaking to HistoryExtra. He explains that even when compared with the most demanding marching rates recorded in modern warfare (for example, in the American Civil War) the speed required to cover the distance simply doesn’t hold up. “To cover that distance in that period of time on foot is just unfeasible,” he says. Crucial to Licence’s argument, he says, is the finding that the long-assumed march is “nowhere mentioned” in the contemporary sources – and is rather a post-hoc interpretation. Previously, historians have offered explanations for this, saying that much of Harold’s army might have travelled on horseback, leaving slower troops behind. Partly, it’s interpretations such as this that have reinforced an image of Harold as a rash and desperate leader who rushed to confront William. 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 But what has been largely overlooked, Licence argues, is a far more practical option: the use of ships. Licence explains that his research centres on a reassessment of a key phrase in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, one of the key historical sources that tells this story. A long-standing Victorian interpretation claims that Harold’s ships “came home,” which has been taken to mean that he disbanded his fleet before the battle of Hastings. Licence argues this reading is mistaken. “One of the key breakthroughs in my research is that when it says that he “sent the fleet home” it’s actually referring to London,” he explains. “On previous occasions it refers to the fleet going homeward to London … so if we read it that way, which I think we must, then we see that Harold still had use of his fleet. If you’ve got good weather and you’ve got ships in which you can move your troops, you move them by sea,” he says. “That’s the pattern we see throughout the Chronicle.” Not all historians are convinced that the traditional account should be set aside. Stephen Morillo, emeritus professor of history at Wabash College, describes Licence’s argument as “an interesting theory, and certainly possible,” but has reservations. Speaking to HistoryExtra about the research, he says that, in his view, the traditional account “is not just a Victorian invention.” He points instead to the 12th-century text The Chronicle of John of Worcester, written decades after 1066 that records that after Stamford Bridge, Harold, “at once, and in great haste, marched his army towards London,” before continuing south to face William. He also notes that “none of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle versions says how Harold got south,” despite the source elsewhere not being “shy about noting sea transport when it happened.” Harold’s coordinated campaign Nevertheless, rather than a frantic dash across England, Licence’s research creates an image of a potentially far more organised and flexible campaign than was previously assumed. Under appropriate conditions at sea, a journey from the Humber to London would have taken no more than four days – far quicker than the twelve or thirteen days required for even the most extreme forced march. Adding to this, Licence says the scale of Harold’s available fleet may also have been greater than previously assumed, because the king might have added to his number of ships with those taken from the freshly defeated Harald Hardrada. “The Chronicle says that the Vikings came with 300 ships and left in 24,” Licence points out. “No one has really asked what happened to the other 276.” Licence isn’t suggesting that all of these ships would now have been at the disposal of the Anglo-Saxon fleet. But a large number might have been. And, if captured and repurposed, these vessels could have significantly expanded Harold’s naval capacity. “This is a maritime world. Ships are power,” he says. “You cannot overcome an opponent, particularly a seaborne opponent, unless you have a fleet yourself.” England in the 11th century was not a landlocked kingdom scrambling to respond, but a naval power whose fleet was “the talk of northern Europe.” Campaigns in Wales and Scotland in the years before 1066 consistently involved coordinated use of ships and land forces. And the advantages of sea transport went beyond speed and logistics. When moving an army by sea, “you give them a chance to rest, and you contain them all,” Licence explains. “If they’re on the ships they can’t desert, which they can if they’re part of a large army on the march.” Still, Licence doesn’t entirely rule out some movement by land or horseback; something that Morillo asserts would have been possible. Covering roughly 200 miles in twelve to thirteen days would require “a pace of sixteen to seventeen miles a day,” he says. “[That’s] well within the realm of possibility for a small force of around 5,000 men, most of whom would have been riding horses on campaign, as Anglo-Saxon thegns and certainly the housecarls always did, before dismounting to fight battles on foot.” But, central to Licence’s research is the idea that if ships were available (and, he says, they were) then the main body of troops including Harold himself would have travelled by sea. “He wouldn’t have wasted twelve days marching when he could have got down to London in three days.” Within this context, Licence says, Harold’s actions in the days leading up to Hastings begin to look much more strategic. “He is no longer this valiant but desperate character dashing south,” he argues. “He is a much more sophisticated operator, using forces by land and sea in tandem, like his opponents.” This also paints Hastings as less predetermined, Licence says. “I think the battle could have gone either way. It could easily have been William who was killed that day.” On this, Morillo agrees. He says the battle of Hastings was “a very near run thing, far from predetermined even on the day.” He concludes that what Licence’s research demonstrates for certain is that “there is always more to learn about the Hastings campaign and the battle itself.” Rethinking the sources for 1066 Beyond changing the record on how Harold reached Hastings, the research also raises questions about how historians should interpret key sources, and challenge assumptions. The Bayeux Tapestry, a vast embroidery depicting the events surrounding the Norman Conquest, has long been used alongside the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle to reconstruct 1066. But its selective narrative highlights the need to reassess familiar accounts. Dr David Musgrove, content director at HistoryExtra and co-author of The Story of the Bayeux Tapestry, notes that the tapestry itself omits Harold’s northern campaign entirely. “This discovery is particularly timely with the forthcoming arrival of the Bayeux Tapestry. It’s notable that the Tapestry completely ignores the fact that Harold fought a battle in the north before arriving to face Duke William in the south. The Tapestry’s narrative of the events of 1066 presents a very specific, and very partial account, of the conquest story. It focusses exclusively on southern England and northern France, and makes no reference at all to what happened in the north of England before the battle of Hastings.” He concludes, “research like this from Professor Licence is vital in helping to fill in gaps.” Unravelling The Bayeux Tapestry Member exclusive | Expert historians unpick some of the biggest questions surrounding the Bayeux Tapestry, from its creation and purpose, to the incomplete story it recounts and its modern-day legacy Listen to all episodes now Musgrove’s co-author, Professor Michael Lewis, curator of the Bayeux Tapestry exhibition at the British Museum, also relates the new research to the tapestry. He says, “with the Bayeux Tapestry coming to the British Museum later this year, Professor Tom Licence's research shows there is much still to be learned about the events of 1066. Hopefully this new research inspires people to also come and see the Tapestry whilst it is in London.” What the new research ultimately demonstrates is that the story of 1066 is far from settled. And, with the Bayeux Tapestry set to go on display in Britain, this reassessment arrives at a moment when the events of 1066 are returning to the forefront of public attention, inviting a fresh look at one of history’s most iconic narratives.
From health to wealth, here are the strange secrets medieval toilets reveal about life in the Middle Ages
From lost silver coins to fossilised faeces, medieval cesspits have become some of the richest archives of everyday life in the Middle Ages
A cesspit isn’t where most people would choose to look to learn more about the story of the Middle Ages. Cesspits – lined shafts or dug-out pits designed to hold human waste – were a very ordinary feature of medieval towns and settlements. The Middle Ages saw towns’ populations growing in number and density, and that meant more waste – waste that needed managing. So, in towns from Anglo-Saxon Southampton to Viking York, pits were dug, lined with timber or stone, and periodically emptied. They were unglamorous but absolutely essential. Perhaps surprisingly, for archaeologists, these old waste chutes have become some of the richest sources of evidence for how people lived. Because cesspits were used daily by ordinary households rather than reserved for elite figures of society, they can preserve the material culture of everyday medieval life. “We need to remember that people dropped things in toilets then, as now,” says historian Katherine Weikert, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. The dense organic material at the bottom of a cesspit cushions whatever falls into it. “We often find things that are unexpected. You can find something in a cesspit and it’s intact. It lands in a smoosh, then it gets covered up.” Read more | What was life like in a medieval town? A historical A-Z Under certain conditions, these have become a treasure trove for archaeologists. “If that cesspit doesn’t get cleared out or gets abandoned, it’s just there waiting to be found, which is amazing.” In these sealed environments, various fragments of everyday life survived, waiting to be uncovered: pottery, leather, seeds, scraps of material and, in some cases, objects whose journeys began far beyond Britain. A silver coin from Córdoba One of Weikert’s favourite examples of an important archaeological find from within a cesspit comes from ninth-century Southampton, then known as Hamwic – an Anglo-Saxon trading centre on England’s south coast. Hamwic flourished between the 7th and 9th centuries as a port linking England to continental Europe and Scandinavia. Excavations have revealed workshops, imported pottery, glassware and evidence of long-distance exchange. Hamwic was one of several so-called ‘emporia’– which were seasonal or semi-permanent trading hubs that connected regional producers with international merchants. “There is a cesspit that was excavated there, and the archaeologists found a silver coin made in the Umayyad Caliphate of Córdoba,” says Weikert. The Umayyad Caliphate of Córdoba, based in what is now southern Spain, was one of the most powerful and prosperous states of early medieval Europe and the wider Islamic world. Founded in the 8th century after the Islamic conquest of Iberia, it became a major centre of trade, scholarship and urban development. Its silver coinage – typically dirhams – circulated widely throughout Europe and was valued for its prestige. “This is a very valuable silver coin from far away, from Islamic Spain, moving from Córdoba to Southampton in the ninth century, only to be dropped in a cesspit,” Weikert says. Perhaps the owner of the coin didn’t notice. Or perhaps they did, and judged the rescue effort to be too unpleasant. Climbing into a cesspit to retrieve a coin would have been physically possible, but fraught with obvious hazards. The presence of the coin in Hamwic demonstrates how connected Anglo-Saxon England was to the Mediterranean world. Silver travelled across religious and political boundaries, passing through merchants’ hands, across markets and along sea routes. Islamic silver is known to have circulated widely in northern Europe during this period, sometimes melted down and re-struck into local coinage. “It’s such a great example of what we can find in toilets,” Weikert says. “What we find there gives us a massive picture of transnational trade and travel and people and life. It’s brilliant.” The York coprolite: a medieval health record In 1972, construction work in York uncovered an exceptionally well-preserved piece of fossilised human excrement. This dated to the 9th century, when the city was part of the Viking kingdom of Jórvík; Jórvík was a major urban centre under Viking rule, linking the British Isles to wider Viking trade routes across the seas. It quickly became known more colloquially as the ‘York poo’. This, as Weikert explains, “is a good example of how we can also learn about dietary trends.” “Scientific testing on it demonstrated that this person’s diet was largely composed of bread and meat,” she says, “which is slightly unusual because other people in that area had diets that included fruits, vegetables and other grains.” Toilets through time Member exclusive | What was it like to do your business in a Roman communal toilet? Why was the devil thought to lurk in medieval privies? And did constipation turn Henry VIII into a tyrant? In this four-part mini-series, David Musgrove heads down the u-bend in the company of leading historical experts to see what we can learn from the most universal of all experiences: going to the loo. Listen to all episodes now The sample also revealed evidence of ill-health. “It also demonstrated that this person had intestinal worms and could have suffered from things like anaemia, even blocked bowels if the infestation was advanced,” Weikert explains. Intestinal worms were common in pre-modern societies. “These worms can be spread in a number of ways, including faecal-oral contact, which can happen in many different contexts,” she notes, such as through contaminated water, unwashed hands or poorly cooked food. Without modern sanitation or germ theory, medieval communities had limited means of preventing such infections. Read more | Married three times by the age of 15: Margaret Beaufort, the woman who birthed the Tudor Dynasty Weikert says that this would have been painful for the person concerned, and that “they probably had stomach pains and cramping.” It is even possible that diet and illness were linked. “It could be that the bread, rather than the meat, was part of the diet to try to help heal or at least alleviate some of that discomfort.” Findings such as this demonstrate the value of cesspits as archaeological sites. Due to them having been used by ordinary households rather than curated as treasure hoards, they capture an unfiltered view of medieval life. For archaeologists, cesspits are invaluable precisely because they serve as an unbiased lens into what medieval people lost, traded and ate. Katherine Weikert was speaking to David Musgrove on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation. 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