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Is the Bayeux Tapestry in "mortal danger"? I think that's the wrong question to ask
Rather than focusing on the risk to the Bayeux Tapestry in its forthcoming loan to the British Museum, David Musgrove argues that we should be talking about how the massive media interest in the exhibition will surely be a huge reward for the venerable embroidery – and guarantee its long-term survival
It’s not often that a medieval embroidery gets broadcast across the huge electronic billboards at Piccadilly Circus. But that’s what happened on the morning of 26 February, as the British Museum made its first big splash to announce details of its forthcoming blockbuster Bayeux Tapestry exhibition (tickets go on sale 1 July). I was there to enjoy the experience, and it was a delight to see an artefact that I’ve spent a long time thinking about getting the full film-star treatment (I’m co-author of The Story of the Bayeux Tapestry). The exhibition is not without controversy. Questions have been raised by French campaigners and one celebrated English artist (David Hockney) on how fit the Bayeux Tapestry is to travel, and whether it’s right to subject this venerable artefact to the rigours of a trip from Normandy to London. These are reasonable concerns, but they miss the point. Yes, there is risk, but what about the reward? What does the Tapestry gain from being transported and displayed in such a high-profile way? I’d argue that, rather than putting the Tapestry at mortal danger of destruction, the loan guarantees its long-term survival and will be a boon for the tourist business in Bayeux to boot. What other medieval artwork or contemporary documentary source could hope to receive the wall-to-wall media exposure that the Tapestry is currently receiving? <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/02/20260226090016-92f3207-rotated-e1772119755759.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A busy city street with pedestrians and vehicles passes beneath a large digital billboard mounted on the side of a modern building. The billboard displays an advertisement for the British Museum, featuring a scene from the Bayeux Tapestry, with figures in period clothing and the words “REX,” “HAROLD,” and “The British Museum – From Egypt to…”. Surrounding buildings include shops with street‑level storefronts, and a white truck and van are visible in the foreground" title="The Bayeux Tapestry is broadcast across Piccadilly Circus, 26 February 2026. It has received the “full film-star treatment”, says David Musgrove (Image by David Musgrove)" /> When the exhibition opens in London in the autumn, there surely won’t be many people who haven’t heard of the Tapestry, the story it tells and the many mysteries it still contains. The queues will be round the block to see it. And when it returns to its newly revamped museum back in Bayeux in 2027, in time for the millennial commemorations of the birth of William the Conqueror, the press interest will be just as high: people will be keen to see how it will be displayed in its new permanent home. This is priceless PR, and it will keep a steady flood of visitors heading to Normandy for years to come, paying the museum entrance fee and spending their tourist money in the town and region. That is the long-term reward for the risk of the loan. Surviving against the odds The Bayeux Tapestry is likely around 950 years old (we don’t actually know when it was made, but most experts would agree that it was shortly after the event it depicts, the Norman Conquest of 1066). It was designed to be displayed, and probably to be moved around. Whether it was made for secular great halls or to be hung around the naves of churches, it was meant for show. The artefact offers a specific, partial and male-heavy telling of the Conquest story, positioning the Norman invasion as a straight clash between two worthy military men – England’s Harold and Normandy’s William – and excluding other important figures from the narrative (women generally, Norway’s Hardrada, Harold’s brother Tostig and Edgar Ætheling, the closest blood relative to the old king Edward the Confessor). I imagine that the designers would be delighted to see that, almost a thousand years on, the Tapestry is being displayed once more to such fanfare and is still able to get its message across. Read more | The strange story of the Nazi obsession with this legendary artefact still isn't over Given the Tapestry’s age, it’s not surprising that it’s a fragile artefact. It’s been through some tough times, having nearly been chopped up in the frenzied years of the French Revolution, wound and unwound for visitors on a rolling mechanism in the 19th century, soldered into a cylindrical zinc case during the Franco-Prussian War, and manhandled by the Nazis in the 1940s. These various depredations explain why it seems to be lacking its final panel, fraying into oblivion as the defeated Anglo-Saxon troops flee the field after William’s great victory at the battle of Hastings. It’s been patched up over the years, and wears some of this repair work pretty obviously. It’s fair to say that the 19th-century restoration it underwent wasn’t always particularly sensitively done. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/02/Coll.ections-Musee-Tapisserie-de-Bayeux-Fonds-documentaire-H.-Jeschke-Cliche-Rolf-Alber-FT-746.44-JESPHO09-a34a40a-e1772122650745.jpg" width="613" height="429" alt="A group of high‑ranking German military officers from the World War II era stand around a large table studying the Bayeux Tapestry. They wear dark uniforms with insignia and medals, and several lean in closely as if discussing strategy. The room is formal and dimly lit, with the tapestry dominating the centre of the scene." title="Coll.ections Musée Tapisserie de Bayeux - Fonds documentaire H. Jeschke -Cliché Rolf Alber - FT 746.44 JES_PHO09" /> So yes, the Tapestry demands careful attention and handling, and yes, we need to be mindful of potholes on the roads from Bayeux to Bloomsbury. But as Nicholas Cullinan, director of the British Museum, has pointed out, the business of moving priceless and fragile historical artefacts around the world is precisely what museums do on a regular basis. French and British experts are working together to ensure that the move and redisplay in London is carried out to the highest standards. Lessons from the Ladies of Leek To see what impact the loan exhibition will have, we need only look a little to the west of London and consider the story of its fabulous full-size 19th-century replica, housed today in Reading Museum. It was made by the Ladies of the Leek Embroidery Society 140 years ago, under the strenuous stewardship of Mrs Elizabeth Wardle. Almost immediately after they’d completed their work, Mrs Wardle and the stitching Ladies of Leek allowed their labour of love to go on tour, around the UK, and as far afield as Germany and the US. At a time when international travel was more challenging than today, the replica gave crowds on both sides of the Atlantic a first-hand view of this celebrated medieval artwork. Read more | Michael Wood on women's contributions to the Bayeux Tapestry Five times in the 20th century, requests were made from the UK for a loan of the original Bayeux Tapestry: in 1931, 1953, 1966, 1972 and 1980. All these attempts to secure a loan came to nought. In 1953, staff at the V&A were so confident that the Tapestry was coming that they prepared an introductory guidebook, and, as I reported in a recent article for HistoryExtra, in 1980 officials even considered whether a trip to Bayeux by the Queen Mother might have helped seal a deal. In 1966, negotiations faltered because it wasn’t clear to the British delegates whether they should be talking to the French state or the municipality of Bayeux to make progress. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/02/GettyImages-2236196240-7778166-e1772120361828.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A person in a white protective suit and blue gloves adjusts a large historic tapestry that hangs from a metal rail system in a controlled conservation workspace. The tapestry shows intricate woven patterns and text, and the individual is carefully supporting its surface with both hands, highlighting the delicate, detailed work of preserving cultural artefacts" title="A worker prepares the Bayeux Tapestry for transfer to the British Museum, September 2025. There were five attempts at securing a loan of this kind in the 20th century, all of which failed (Image by Getty Images)" /> In that year, the 900th anniversary of the battle of Hastings, though the original did not cross the Channel, the Reading replica sated the interest in Britain for a Bayeux Tapestry tour. It was sent on an extensive exhibition circuit around the UK from 1965 to 1967. From Aberdeen to Bournemouth, via Gateshead, Anglesey, Doncaster, Hereford and many other stops between, the replica was on show to anyone who wanted to have a look at this recreation of the medieval marvel. It was this sort of exposure that helped to cement the Tapestry’s place in our national consciousness as the archetypal artwork of the Middle Ages. Read more | The Bayeux Tapestry: a political football for 900 years From Tutmania to Tapmania If the Reading replica’s extensive touring schedule through the 19th and 20th centuries has helped to drive awareness of the Bayeux Tapestry, that is nothing to what the loan of the original 11th-century embroidery will do when it comes to London this year. Interest will be stratospheric. As Helena Dollimore, MP for Hastings and Rye, noted in a parliamentary debate on the Tapestry on 25 February, “The Bayeux Tapestry exhibition at the British Museum will be the exhibition of a generation”. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/02/K08G5Y-3103f6b-e1772120781998.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A section of the Bayeux Tapestry showing mounted soldiers in chainmail riding horses and holding spears, arranged in a dynamic battle scene. Decorative animals and motifs run along the top and bottom borders, and a line of Latin text appears above the riders." title="A section of Reading Museum’s replica Bayeux Tapestry. This facsimile toured the UK after requests for the original to be loaned were rejected (Image by Alamy)" /> She’s right, based on the recent polling carried out on behalf of the British Museum that says that 71 per cent of parents want their child to learn more about the story of the Tapestry whilst it is in the UK. Those children will, in time, want to share the memory of this experience with their offspring, and so the Tapestry will indeed get a generational boost from this. According to the British Museum’s chair of trustees, George Osborne, 7.5 million visitors are expected to flock to see the Tapestry. This loan will do for early medieval history what the mighty Tutankhamun exhibition at the British Museum in 1972 did for Egyptology. Tutmania blossomed then, and Tapmania will bloom among us this year. The ongoing visitor flow to Bayeux will mean that it will be amply financially supported for decades to come. That’s the reward to balance the risk, and that’s why the forthcoming loan to the British Museum is something we should celebrate and be immensely excited about.
What naughty historical details can be found in the famous medieval embroidery? HistoryExtra's David Musgrove explains all
You've probably heard of the Bayeux Tapestry that tells the story of the Norman Conquest of England in 1066, particularly the battle of Hastings. But you probably have little idea of the saucy depictions hidden within its stitches. When one academic counted the number of male genitalia that features in the action of the Tapestry, he counted 93. Is it possible that there's a 94th? Find out as HistoryExtra's David Musgrove takes a closer look at the threads' secrets… View Green Video on the source website
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.
11th-century Europe: not just the Norman Conquest
Charles West explains how the 11th century saw a raft of major changes and a plethora of significant events that extend beyond the Norman Conquest
When we think of Europe in the 11th century, one date stands out: 1066. However, as Professor Charles West explains, this was a century of great change, and great events, across all of Europe. In conversation with David Musgrove, Charles talks about why we should perhaps be more concerned with the battle of Manzikert than the battle of Hastings, and why the 11th century is a story of cities and popes as much as it is of conquest and the Normans. Charles West is the author of Europe in the Eleventh Century: Beyond Revolution and Reform (Oxford University Press, 2025). <a href="http://www.awin1.com/cread.php?awinmid=3041&awinaffid=489797&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FEurope-Eleventh-Century-Revolution-Medieval%2Fdp%2F0198860234%2F%3F_encoding%3DUTF8%26pd_rd_w%3DnAZG5%26content-id%3Damzn1.sym.a7785aa2-ac28-4769-b3eb-cff7b9738627%26pf_rd_p%3Da7785aa2-ac28-4769-b3eb-cff7b9738627%26pf_rd_r%3D130-4414563-4593041%26pd_rd_wg%3DfXSDe%26pd_rd_r%3D5b153ec9-1b16-4286-8ae5-7ff403b76e63&clickref=historyextra-social-histboty.">Buy it now from Amazon
The conqueror’s queen: meet the real Matilda of Flanders
Matilda of Flanders sits in the shadow of her more famous husband but, writes Tracy Borman, she was an able political player who deserves to be better known
Matilda of Flanders was the formidable wife of William the Conqueror, the man who toppled Harold Godwinson to usher in the Norman Conquest in 1066. She broke the mould of queen consorts, wielding considerable power on behalf of – and sometimes in direct opposition to – her husband, and establishing an Anglo-Norman dynasty that would endure for centuries. But until the BBC 1066 drama King and Conqueror few people had heard of her, thanks to the male-dominated sources for the period. The Bayeux Tapestry, which depicts the Norman Conquest of England, includes over 600 different men and just three women – Edith of Wessex (who is Edward the Confessor’s wife, and also Harold Godwinson’s sister); an unnamed woman fleeing a building burned by William’s troops (who may or may not be Edith the Fair, Harold’s wife); and a woman the embroidery identifies as Aelfgyva, of whom we know less. What’s certain is that none of them are Matilda. Who was the real Matilda of Flanders? Piecing together the fragments of Matilda’s life before 1066 reveals a woman who was destined to rule – and given her pedigree, she was viewed as a great prize in the international marriage market. Although the records are scarce for Matilda’s years, she was probably born in around 1031. She was the daughter of the future Count Baldwin V of Flanders (then one of the most important principalities in Europe) and Adela, the daughter of King Robert II ‘the Pious’ of France. Matilda had two brothers, Baldwin and Robert. Described by a contemporary chronicler as ‘highly born’, she could trace her descent from the kings of France, the emperors of Germany and even the Anglo-Saxon dynasty. The latter connection would be of great value to her future husband, William of Normandy. Read more | Did Edward the Confessor really murder his mother? There is no surviving likeness of Matilda, but a later chronicler described her as “one of the most beautiful women that could be seen”. Her skeleton was examined in 1961 and recorded as being four feet two inches tall. This was likely a miscalculation, but she was known to be of small stature, as was her eldest son Robert ‘Curthose’ (meaning ‘short trousers’). Matilda was better educated than most noble women at the time. She was clever, politically astute, strong-willed and fiercely ambitious – qualities that would spark criticism and unease among her contemporaries, and that would shape the negative portrayals of her in the chronicles of the time. Among Matilda’s first suitors was a Saxon lord named Brihtric Mau (or Meaw), who had been sent to Flanders as an ambassador by King Edward the Confessor. Brihtric was one of the richest and most powerful nobles in England, and his vast lands spanned six western counties from Cornwall to Worcestershire. As well as being a man of wealth and influence, Brihtric was a tall and “stalwart”, with light blonde hair; one chronicler claims that Matilda fell in love with him at first sight. Without pausing to seek her father’s approval, she sent a messenger to England to offer herself in marriage. In an age when daughters were expected to meekly accept the fate that was decided for them by their parents, this was an astonishingly audacious act and gives an early glimpse of her forthright nature. But to her dismay and outrage, Brihtric rejected her proposal. Matilda never forgot the slight. Years later, when Queen of England, she had his lands confiscated and threw him into prison, where he died in mysterious circumstances. It was widely rumoured that Matilda had ordered his murder. View Green Video on the source website Matilda of Flanders and William of Normandy In the late 1040s, Matilda received a proposal of marriage from William, Duke of Normandy. He had been the duke since the age of about seven or eight, and was widely known as ‘William the Bastard’, thanks to his illegitimacy. Although he grew into a fierce warrior who saw off Normandy’s enemies and extended its territories, he never shook off the stain of bastardy. He therefore set his sights on a wife with more than enough royal blood for the both of them. Matilda’s father greeted Duke William’s proposal with enthusiasm – given his duchy bordered Flanders, it would be a strategically advantageous alliance. But when his daughter heard of it, she declared that she would not lower herself to marry a ‘base-born duke’. Furious, William rode over to Flanders and confronted his would-be bride, dragging her to the ground, rolling her in the mud and almost beating her to death “with his fists, heels, and spurs”. Read more | How historically accurate is King and Conqueror? According to contemporary chronicles, just a few days later Matilda announced that she would marry none but William, since “he must be a man of great courage and high daring” to have ventured to “come and beat me in my own father’s palace”. Whatever the truth of this outlandish tale, the couple were betrothed shortly afterwards. But there was another obstacle: Pope Leo IX prohibited the marriage on the grounds that William and Matilda were distantly related. Yet William and Matilda were not to be dissuaded; they defied the ban and married in secret in around 1050. Matilda as Duchess of Normandy Despite the inauspicious beginning, the marriage proved a resounding success. As the first Duchess of Normandy for thirty years, Matilda was immensely popular, both with the people of the duchy and her husband. One chronicler noted that her “fruitfulness in children excited in his [William’s] mind the tenderest regard for her”. She gave birth to at least ten children during their marriage, including four sons to continue the Norman dynasty – among them future Norman Duke Robert Curthose, and the future English kings William Rufus and Henry I. She played an active role in her children’s lives, superintending their education and ensuring that her daughters were imbued with as much learning as her sons. The growing status of this power couple on the European stage was acknowledged when, in 1059, Pope Benedict overturned the ban on their marriage. Matilda and her husband each commissioned a spectacular new abbey in Caen as a mark of their gratitude. The magnificent ‘Abbaye-aux-Dames’ and ‘Abbaye-aux-Hommes’ still tower over the city today. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-463982347-31caea2-e1758206602372.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This mid-19th-century illustration imagines Queen Matilda, wife of William the Conqueror, working on the Bayeux Tapestry. Though widely believed in earlier centuries, there is no evidence she created the famous embroidery." title="'Queen Matilda And Her Tapestry', (c1850)." /> What part did Matilda of Flanders play in the Norman Conquest? Matilda not only enhanced William’s standing in Normandy, but also bolstered his claim to the crown of England. The Bayeux Tapestry shows the moment when the childless Edward the Confessor is said to have nominated William as his heir. In either 1064 or 1065, fate played into William’s hands when Harold Godwinson was shipwrecked off the coast of France. He was soon escorted to the ducal court as an honoured guest, but it was clear that William had no intention of letting his rival return to England until he had recognised his own claim to King Edward’s throne. Matilda went on a charm offensive with their Saxon guest, who (again, according to the Bayeux Tapestry) swore an oath to uphold William’s claim. However, when Edward the Confessor died in January 1066, Harold forgot any promise he might have made and seized the throne. William at once began planning to invade and Matilda was behind him every step of the way. More alive to the importance of public image than her husband, she sought the Pope’s sanction for the invasion and gave her daughter Cecilia to the Abbaye-aux-Dames as a token of thanks. Matilda also commissioned a magnificent flagship, The Mora, for her husband to sail across the Channel in September that year. Read more | How Tostig Godwinson’s brotherly betrayal hastened the fall of the Anglo-Saxons It was Matilda who managed affairs in Normandy once her husband set sail. She was in the Benedictine priory of Nôtre Dame du Pré, a small chapel that she had founded in 1060 on the banks of the river Seine near Rouen, praying for William’s success, when a messenger arrived with the news that he had vanquished Harold at the battle of Hastings. She joyfully proclaimed that the priory should henceforth be known as ‘Nôtre Dame de Bonnes Nouvelles’ (‘Our Lady of Good News’). Matilda had good reason to rejoice for she was now Queen of England. Matilda and her father, Baldwin of Flanders Matilda’s father Baldwin V, Count of Flanders, was just as wily as he is in King and Conqueror. 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 It was only after William offered him a substantial bribe that he agreed to provide troops for the invasion of England. Admittedly, Baldwin was in an awkward position, for although William was his son-in-law, his half-sister Judith was married to Harold Godwinson’s brother, the exiled Tostig, who had allied himself with the Norwegian king, Harald Hardrada. Baldwin was also anxious not to antagonise his overlord, the French King. In the end, he chose to hedge his bets. As well as providing limited support to William, Baldwin also supplied his brother-in-law Tostig with ships and men to attack England. What happened to Matilda after 1066? Decisive though it was, 1066 was just the beginning of a long and bitterly-contested battle for Norman supremacy in England. It was a battle that Matilda fought with diplomacy and PR, rather than the sword wielded by her husband. She eventually won the respect of the resentful Saxons, who had first called her ‘the strange woman’ but by the time of her death in 1083 praised her as ‘Matilda, wealthy and powerful.’ Tracy Borman is the author of Matilda: Wife of the Conqueror, First Queen of England (Vintage, 2012). Listen to her speaking about Matilda on the Historic Royal Palaces podcast. King and Conqueror is streaming on BBC iPlayer now. For more content like this, check out the best historical movies of all time as chosen by historians and ranked by you, history TV shows and films to stream tonight, and our picks of the new history TV and radio released in the UK this week.
David Bates explores the life of the formidable medieval warrior and ruler, who inspired both fear and respect
In 1066, William, Duke of Normandy, crossed the Channel and changed English history forever. Known to some as a ruthless and ambitious conqueror and to others as a astute and innovative state-builder, his legacy is still debated today, almost a thousand years later. But how much do we know about the man behind this formidable reputation? As new BBC Drama King and Conqueror hits the screens, Emily Briffett speaks to Professor David Bates to chart William's dramatic rise to power and the brutal realities of Norman rule.
King and Conqueror’s most gruesome death should never have happened and would be “totally out of character”
Historian Tom Licence takes issue with one of King and Conqueror’s most egregious historical liberties
Bringing the Norman Conquest of 1066 to the small screen, King and Conqueror plays fast and loose with real history to tell the story of how Duke William of Normandy became King William I of England. The eight-part drama begins with the coronation of King Edward the Confessor and ends exactly where you think it would, with King Harold Godwinson, the last crowned Anglo-Saxon king of England, dead on the field at Hastings with an arrow in his eye. That’s a span of more than 20 years – and as such there is a lot of editing of the historical record going on. Some important characters are missing, and not just Edgar Aetheling, the claimant many overlook in the 1066 story. Events happen out of order. And a lot of real historical figures die in times, places and ways that raise eyebrows. But one particular plot point is so shocking, so unexpected, that we put it to medieval historian Tom Licence to get his reaction. And it’s such a massive spoiler that we’ve hidden it after these two images of the show's leads, James Norton as Harold and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau as William the Conqueror. Edward the Confessor is portrayed in King and Conqueror as a weak and ineffectual man, touched even – he believes he hears the voice of God whispering to him. If there is anyone whispering in his ear, it is his mother, Emma of Normandy. The real Emma was queen consort to both Aethelred the Unready and Cnut the Great, the only woman to have married two English kings. Two of her sons were also kings, first Harthacnut, and then Edward the Confessor. For her whole life, she had been an able political player. In King and Conqueror, she is vicious and manipulative, a woman who dominates Edward and goads him for his failures. She is the power behind his throne. When Edward finally snaps, he does so totally and utterly. In a moment of red mist worthy of Game of Thrones, he beats his mother to death with his crown. Did Edward the Confessor beat his mother Emma of Normandy to death with this crown? “Beating someone to death with his own crown? I mean, no, I don't think Edward did that, not to his mother.” That’s the view of historian Tom Licence, who was speaking to us while recording an episode of the HistoryExtra podcast on Edward’s life. “We can't be absolutely certain, but that would be totally out of character and wouldn't fit with my understanding of their relationship.” What was Edward’s character? Elsewhere on HistoryExtra, Licence writes that though Edward had a holier-than-thou reputation (he is known as ‘the Confessor’ for a reason) he was a king who was “strong, glorious, feared by his enemies”. “Edward's way of punishing people was to take away their assets or to put them into exile. He hit them in the pocket, not over the head,” says Licence. “He was not that sort of ruler. I could imagine Cnut the Great doing that. I could definitely imagine Aethelred the Unready doing that.” Aethelred the Unready was Edward’s father, and the man behind the St Brice’s Day Massacre of 1002 – the attempted slaughter of all the Danes living within his lands as revenge against the Viking incursions. Cnut was the king who claimed the throne through during the Danish Conquest of 1016, which is why Edward spent his youth in exile in Normandy. What happened to the real Emma of Normandy? There’s no record that the real Emma of Normandy was murdered, by her son or otherwise – but she was removed from the royal court. “Emma had all the cards before Edward becomes king, but there's a very clear turnaround, says Licence. “As soon as Edward gets on the throne, Emma's power is broken. He takes away her wealth, he deposes her favourite bishop, her lands are removed from her and she's sent, pretty much into retirement to Winchester, where she lives out her days.” Watch: The real history behind King and Conqueror View Green Video on the source website Emma died in Winchester of an unknown cause in 1052, almost a decade after she was sent there. “There's a good 10 years where she's doing nothing and has no influence whatsoever,” Licence points out. But there may have been another woman guiding Edward after Emma was removed from court – his wife, who happened to be Harold Godwinson’s sister. “The way I see it, Edith of Wessex, takes over [Emma of Normandy’s mantle]. Emma ceases to appear on the charters. Edith appears, and she is the one who's there at his councils and helping him make his decisions.” It was Edith who commissioned a tract called The Life of King Edward, which is one of the prevailing sources for our view of Edward as a pious ruler. “Edith, whom Edward marries in 1045, is the person who's orchestrating his theatricality,” says Licence. “She embroiders his garments, she commissions goldsmiths to make all the jewels that he wears, and she ensures that when he walks on stage in front of the public … he looks like a saint, like some patriarch from the Old Testament, like someone almost divine.” 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 What was Edward’s relationship like with his mother? While the real Emma and Edward may not have been at each other’s throats, historian Tom Licence characterises their relationship as being distant and predominantly political. “Today we might think of this in terms of parental neglect or a mother not looking after her son as she should,” says Licence. “And what Edward felt was that all through those years in exile she hadn't done enough to support him, to promote his claim to the throne, to help him come back to England.” What Emma had done instead was marry Cnut – and then had children with him. “He had become king in Edward's place, so you could just imagine how Edward would be feeling, how his mother had maybe betrayed him and allowed her new son to replace him – almost like a cuckoo in the nest.” Nonetheless, Licence doesn’t think that sense of betrayal would manifest into physical violence. He does, however, have a theory as to why Edward was depicted this way in King and Conqueror. “A previous biographer who didn't like Edward very much wrote that he was the sort of man who probably beat his wife. I don't think that's justified, or that we have any warrant for that. “And beating to death Emma, with a crown? No, no. Just, no.” King and Conqueror is streaming on BBC iPlayer now. For more content like this, check out the best historical movies of all time as chosen by historians and ranked by you, history TV shows and films to stream tonight, and our picks of the new history TV and radio released in the UK this week Tom Licence was speaking to Emily Briffett on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Far away from England, the mystery of Harold Godwinson's lost crown might have just been solved
New research into the history of a long-lost Belgian church suggests that something very precious may have been sold to fund its upkeep
Overlooking Bruges’ market square and a few hundred metres away from the neo-Gothic Provincial Palace stands a popular chain hotel, providing accommodation for some of the millions of tourists that visit the Belgian city each year. Looking at this unremarkable redbrick building, it’s hard to imagine that on the same site, an important place of worship once towered over this historic metropolis: the medieval St Donatian’s Church. And a new detail that has emerged from the archives of the church leads us to consider something even harder to imagine: could the crown of England’s last Anglo-Saxon king, Harold Godwinson, have been sold to pay for its upkeep? A church of sanctuary and sacrilege St Donatian’s church – named after the fourth-century French saint, Donatian – was established around AD 950 by Arnulf I, the count of Flanders. Prior to its destruction during the French Revolutionary Wars, the church was a college of canons, built to hold relics of St Donatian brought to Bruges from Torhout (a municipality in West Flanders) in around 870. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/08/PublicDomainsander-WL-45d2aa1.jpg" width="800" height="534" alt="A sketch of a beige church with many arched windows and a tower in the centre. It has a grey roof and many smaller buildings around it too. In the corner, there is a label reading "ECCLESIA CATHEDRALIS S. DONATIANI"" title="An illustration of St Donatian's in Flandria Illustrata, 1641 (Public domain)" /> Today, the church is best-known for being the scene of the brutal murder of another Flemish count, Charles the Good, who was attacked by a group of knights in 1127. Lesser-known, however, is the fact that the place of worship also played a significant role in the exile of Lady Gunhild – sister of the last Anglo-Saxon king, Harold Godwinson. Read more | Shakespeare didn't do the Norman Conquest, but the Bayeux Tapestry did, so where does that leave the BBC's King and Conqueror? The church became Gunhild’s final resting place, and recent research by Elisabeth van Houts, emeritus honorary professor of medieval history at the University of Cambridge, suggests that it may have greatly benefited from the spoils of the Norman Conquest. A family in exile It is one of the most famous tales in English history, detailed on the Bayeux Tapestry and depicted in BBC drama King and Conqueror: William of Normandy’s defeat of Harold Godwinson at the battle of Hastings. It fundamentally changed England’s political and social landscape, bringing with it a new language, new power structures and the eventual creation of the first national survey, Domesday Book. Harold was killed in the fighting, as was his brother, Tostig Godwinson, at the preceding battle of Stamford Bridge. But what happened to Harold’s surviving family after the Norman Conquest? The dramatic events of 1066 didn’t just end the Anglo-Saxon era and Harold’s life – they scattered his relatives across Europe. The king’s sister, Gunhild, and their mother, Gytha, fled England for Saint-Omer in Flanders, with Gunhild later moving on to Bruges. In 1786, almost 700 years after her death, the tomb of Gunhild was uncovered in St Donatian’s Church. Her tomb included a burial plaque alongside a long Latin obituary detailing her life in exile. Such details reveal that Gunhild lived a pious and simple existence in Bruges, where “she was abstained from all pleasures” and “did not eat anything that seemed sweet to her but instead took only enough to stay alive”. From this description, you would be forgiven for thinking that Gunhild lived in poverty, but in reality, she was still extremely wealthy. Indeed, the only contemporary document to discuss Gunhild, Domesday Book, reveals her vast riches, indicating that she “held the income of four manors, one in Sussex and three in Somerset, comprising approximately 30 hides, giving her an annual income of just under £30”. Much of this wealth would have been confiscated and redistributed by the Norman invaders, but Gunhild once again came into money upon her mother’s death. According to Elisabeth van Houts, “we can get some idea of [the size of Gunhild’s wealth] from the archive of St Donatian, which in the 14th century kept records of her bequest of gold and silver to the canons”. Read more | How well did Harold Godwinson and William the Conqueror know each other prior to the battle of Hastings? Given that the bequest was still being written about some 300 years after Gunhild’s death suggests that it was clearly of great importance. So much so, in fact, that the canons of the late 11th century had even buried Gunhild in the church as a sign of their gratitude. Relic in the roof? So – why were the canons so thankful for this bequest in particular? Van Houts’ research suggests that some of the gifts were no less than crown jewels. According to records from 1389, “the sale of certa jocalia (‘certain jewels’ or ‘precious objects’) given by Lady Gunhild for the repair of the church’s roof, vault and choir” were approved by the Bishop of Tournai. Antonius Schoonhoven – a canon of St Donatian’s – concluded that in Gunhild’s bequests, there “were among others an imperial crown (corona augustalis) and many works of the best authors richly ornamented”. In other words, the crown of Gunhild’s brother, Harold, may well have been bequeathed to the canons of St Donatian’s before being sold to fund vital works on the church. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/08/3BEHX1J-Harold-WL-3f1fcc8.jpg" width="1910" height="1273" alt="An illustration showing a king dressed in red with a blue robe sitting on a throne, holding a crown on his head. Around him, there are a group of men dressed in green, red and blue, talking to each other" title="A 13th-century manuscript illustration shows Harold Godwinson being crowned as King of England, a pivotal moment in English history (Image by Alamy)" /> We may never know the truth of the matter, but as Van Houts points out, “monastic houses acted as banks providing loans and mortgages from the 11th century… [and] the canons of St Donatian at Bruges would have expected to receive charitable donations from the English noblewomen”. Therefore, it is possible that Gunhild gifted the canons these precious possessions not merely as a sign of gratitude, but because she was expected to do so. Yet even if we don’t know the exact circumstances, the items would have likely been of huge personal value to Gunhild – both financially and emotionally. Historians have long speculated on what happened to Harold’s crown after the battle of Hastings, and there are no known confirmed records of its whereabouts beyond 1066. However, this insight into Gunhild’s fate after 1066 raises the tantalising possibility that it might have ended up with her in Bruges, rather than finding its way into the hands of the Normans. View Green Video on the source website King and Conqueror is streaming on BBC iPlayer now. For more content like this, check out the best historical movies of all time as chosen by historians and ranked by you, history TV shows and films to stream tonight, and our picks of the new history TV and radio released in the UK this week
Edith the Fair: the life of Harold Godwinson’s first wife
As seen in King and Conqueror, Edith the Fair was the first wife of Harold Godwinson, and a powerful player in the dynastic struggles of the late-Anglo-Saxon era. But despite her prominence, surprisingly little information about her life remains
Edith the Fair – also known as Edith Swanneck – is a name that appears only fleetingly in the contemporary records of the 11th century. Yet in her day, Edith was a woman of considerable status and power. As the first wife of Harold Godwinson, the last crowned king of Anglo-Saxon England, she played a part (albeit largely behind the scenes) in the momentous events leading up to the Norman Conquest of 1066. Now she is one of the leading figures in BBC drama King and Conqueror. Read on to discover her role in late-Anglo-Saxon England – and what happened to her after the battle of Hastings. Why is she called Edith the Fair? Edith the Fair is known by the epithet, ‘Swan-neck’, which derives from the Old English ‘swann hnesce’, possibly referencing her graceful physical appearance. While this term is sometimes interpreted romantically in later traditions, it might have served as a distinguishing nickname rather than a comment on her personal relationship with Harold – she was one of many prominent and powerful Ediths on the scene. Who was Edith the Fair? Some evidence points to Edith the Fair being born into a wealthy and influential East Anglian family – but which one, we don’t know. One theory suggests that she might have been a daughter of Thorkell the Tall – a prominent Danish nobleman, military commander and political opportunist active in England throughout the early 11th century, not to mention a possible commander of the Jomsvikings. Thorkell was a powerful figure during the reigns of Aethelred the Unready and Cnut the Great, serving as jarl [Danish lord] of East Anglia under the latter and playing a key role in the shifting power structures of the Anglo-Danish realm. If Edith was his daughter, this would have placed her firmly within the upper tiers of Anglo-Scandinavian nobility, reinforcing her suitability as a consort for a leading nobleman such as Harold Godwinson. The Domesday Book (compiled two decades after the Conquest) records an ‘Eddeva the Fair’ as the pre-Conquest holder of more than 270 hides of land (a ‘hide’ was an Anglo-Saxon unit of land roughly equivalent to the amount of land needed to support one household) across Cambridgeshire, Suffolk, Norfolk, Essex and beyond. Though the identification with Edith Swanneck is not conclusive, it’s plausible that these records refer to her. If so, this placed her among the wealthiest women in England at the time, ranking just behind Queen Edith – Harold’s sister, and wife to King Edward the Confessor. The scope of these landholdings suggests Edith would have held considerable economic and administrative responsibilities, overseeing estates that would have included agricultural production, household management and religious patronage. This power alone would have positioned her as an important local figure, even if she didn’t hold formal titles. Edith the Fair and Harold Godwinson Edith was evidently one of the most significant figures in Harold Godwinson’s life. They had a Danish-style marriage, or more danico – a form of cohabitation recognised under Anglo-Saxon law, though not by the Church. Such unions were common among the Anglo-Danish nobility, carrying legal rights and social legitimacy, especially in the earlier part of the 11th century. There is little doubt that Edith was seen at the time as Harold’s lawful wife, and their children as legitimate. The pair were likely together from the early 1050s until Harold’s accession to the throne in 1066. During that time, they had at least five children, including another Harold and Ulf, both of whom would be involved in later resistance to Norman rule. Edith appears to have lived with Harold primarily at his estates in East Anglia and Wessex. What happened to Edith when Harold married a second time? On 5 January 1066, Edward the Confessor died without an heir, triggering a succession crisis. Harold, then Earl of Wessex and the most powerful nobleman in England, was elected king by the Witenagemot, the council of nobles, and crowned the next day. At some point – likely in 1066 – Harold entered into a Church-sanctioned marriage with Ealdgyth (who, unhelpfully for us, was also known as Edith) of Mercia. She was a sister of Edwin, Earl of Mercia, and Morcar, Earl of Northumbria. This marriage was evidently a canny political arrangement, designed to secure the loyalty of the earls, whose support Harold needed to consolidate his kingship. While such political marriages were common, Edith’s displacement marked a personal and legal turning point. As a handfasted wife, she now had no formal claim to queenship, and her removal from Harold’s household would have rocked her social and political standing. Watch: The real history behind King and Conqueror View Green Video on the source website Was Edith at the battle of Hastings – and did she identify Harold’s body? Later that year, Harold faced two major invasions: one from Harald Hardrada of Norway (supported by Harold’s spurned brother Tostig Godwinson) in the north, and the other from Duke William of Normandy in the south. After defeating Hardrada and Tostig at the battle of Stamford Bridge in September, Harold marched rapidly south to confront William’s invading force. At the battle of Hastings on 14 October 1066, Harold was killed. His death was followed by the rout of his army and, ultimately, William’s accession to the English throne. One of the most enduring traditions involving Edith the Fair relates to the aftermath of the battle of Hastings. According to some later sources, including the Norman poet Wace’s Roman de Rou and the writings of William of Malmesbury, Harold’s body was so mutilated that it could only be identified by a woman variously described as his mistress or common-law wife. The veracity of the story is hard to judge. The Norman chroniclers don’t mention Edith by name, but nevertheless, the tradition persisted and by the 12th century, it had become part of the broader narrative of the conquest. According to some versions of the story, Edith appealed directly to the victorious William the Conqueror for the right to bury Harold's body and was granted permission. The body was then interred at Waltham Abbey, which Harold had founded and patronised during his lifetime. Other sources suggest Harold’s remains were never clearly identified, or were buried elsewhere. What happened to Edith the Fair following the Norman Conquest Very little is known of Edith the Fair’s life following 1066. If she is indeed the ‘Eddeva’ of the Domesday Book, then her estates were confiscated or transferred to Norman lords by 1086, as was typical for many Anglo-Saxon nobles and their families. She may have lived quietly under Norman rule, possibly under the protection of surviving family members. There’s also no firm evidence that she entered a religious house, remarried or fled the country, though such outcomes were common for women in her position. Edith and Harold’s sons, Harold and Ulf, survived the Conquest and may have fled to Ireland or Scandinavia. One was captured by William and possibly held as a hostage, while the other later returned to England during the turbulent reigns of William’s successors. Like their mother, they too largely vanished from the political stage and historical record. 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 King and Conqueror is streaming on BBC iPlayer now. For more content like this, check out the best historical movies of all time as chosen by historians and ranked by you, history TV shows and films to stream tonight, and our picks of the new history TV and radio released in the UK this week
How Tostig Godwinson’s brotherly betrayal hastened the fall of the Anglo-Saxons
Though overshadowed by his famous brother Harold, Tostig Godwinson played a small yet crucial part in the dramatic downfall of Anglo-Saxon England as told in the series King and Conqueror. Fuelled by betrayal and ambition, discover how one brother’s quest for power helped to bring about the end of an era
By the autumn of 1066, the once-mighty Godwin family looked set to crumble – and at the heart of this collapse was a bitter feud between two brothers, Harold Godwinson and Tostig Godwinson. Their competing ambitions and rivalry played no small part in the eventual end of Anglo-Saxon England, and the onset of the Norman Conquest. Tostig, long overshadowed by his brother Harold, would ultimately become both an instigator and a victim of one of the most consequential years in English history – a moment explored in the new BBC series King and Conqueror. Who was Tostig Godwinson? Tostig Godwinson was the younger brother of King Harold Godwinson, the king who lost his crown (and life) to William the Conqueror at the battle of Hastings in 1066. Through his support of the Norwegian king Harald Hardrada, Tostig helped to hurry the two invasions of 1066, that weakened England’s defences and left the country vulnerable to Norman conquest. Tostig as Earl of Northumbria Tostig’s place in the story of 1066 is inseparable from the extraordinary power of his family. His father, Godwin of Wessex, rose from obscurity to become the most influential noble in England: so powerful that when he and his children were exiled by the king, Edward the Confessor, in 1051, popular pressure forced their return within a year. It was a clear signal: the Godwins rivalled the authority of the crown itself. When Godwin died in 1053, Harold took his place as the Earl of Wessex, effectively becoming second in power only to the king. Tostig gained the earldom of Northumbria two years later in 1055, when Earl Siward – a loyal supporter of Edward and a powerful figure of Danish descent – died without an heir. Though a southerner, Edward appointed Tostig to fill the position, likely due to his family’s clout at court rather than local popularity. What is certain is that Tostig’s rule in Northumbria was troubled from the start. The region had strong Scandinavian ties and operated with a degree of autonomy. Its aristocracy was unused to southern interference, and Tostig’s governance quickly bred resentment. He was accused of levying oppressive taxes, implementing unfamiliar laws and executing nobles without due process. By October 1065, dissatisfaction boiled over into open rebellion. The revolt was led by local magnates and thanes, – including Gamelbearn; Dunstan, son of Æthelnoth; and Glonieorn, son of Heardwulf – who had deep roots in the region’s ruling elite. They stormed York, killed Tostig’s supporters, and declared him outlawed. Watch: The real history behind King and Conqueror View Green Video on the source website Why did Tostig betray his brother Harold? The rebels sought support from Harold Godwinson – and rather than defend his brother, Harold negotiated with the rebels, ultimately agreeing to replace Tostig as earl. This was likely out of a desire to prevent a wider civil war on the cusp of an expected Norman invasion. King Edward, old and ailing, was reportedly enraged by Harold’s actions but ultimately bowed to necessity. Tostig was replaced as earl by Morcar, brother of Earl Edwin of Mercia, in a concession to northern demands. Tostig viewed Harold’s actions as a profound betrayal, but for Harold, the preservation of national stability outweighed familial loyalty. With the kingdom under threat from multiple foreign claimants, the spread of rebellion in the north was a dangerous distraction. Tostig’s offer to Harald Hardrada Furious and humiliated by his toppling and by being abandoned by his brother, Tostig was forced into exile. First he travelled to Flanders, where he had family ties through his wife, Judith, daughter of Count Baldwin IV. He sought aid from European courts to reclaim his earldom, approaching William of Normandy, who was preparing his own claim to the English throne, but found no welcome there. Tostig ultimately turned to Norway, offering his support to King Harald Hardrada. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/08/HaraldHardades-424811c.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This depiction shows Harald Hardrada, King of Norway, on horseback. A seasoned warrior and claimant to the English throne, he led a failed invasion in 1066 — ending in defeat at the battle of Stamford Bridge and marking the twilight of the Viking Age." title="Hardrada" /> For Tostig, this formidable Norwegian monarch served both a path to revenge and a chance to return to power. For Harald, the timing was fortuitous. Hardrada was an infamous warrior-king who had spent his youth fighting across Europe, from the Byzantine empire to the lands of the Kievan Rus. A half-brother of King Olaf II of Norway, Harald had fought at the battle of Stiklestad (1030) and spent years as a mercenary in the Varangian Guard before returning to claim the Norwegian throne in 1046. He ruled as a fierce, autocratic monarch, feared in Scandinavia and renowned across Christendom. His own claim to the English throne derived from a tenuous but not implausible agreement: in 1038, Harthacnut (son of Cnut the Great and Emma of Normandy) and Magnus I of Norway had supposedly agreed that if either died without an heir, the other would inherit his kingdom. When Edward the Confessor died childless in January 1066, triggering a bitter succession crisis, Harald viewed it as an opportunity to revive this claim. His purported promise to Duke William of Normandy years earlier aside, Edward had not named a clear heir, and there were multiple potential claimants to the throne. The Witenagemot – the Anglo-Saxon council of nobles – chose Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex, as king. He was crowned swiftly, but two fearsome rivals quickly emerged: William, claiming Edward had promised him the crown, and Hardrada, citing his Norse inheritance rights stemming back to Cnut. Hardrada didn’t actually press his claim until approached by Tostig. Tostig’s offer of support, and his inside knowledge of the Anglo-Saxon state and infrastructure, made the proposition suddenly irresistible. So, with both set to gain, the two men forged a mutually advantageous alliance. In September 1066, they launched their invasion of England. Stamford Bridge: Tostig’s revenge backfires Harald and Tostig landed near York and defeated local forces at the battle of Gate Fulford on 20 September, killing hundreds of English troops. They then demanded hostages and supplies, expecting little resistance. But Tostig’s brother Harold, displaying remarkable speed, force-marched his army north and took the Norwegian host by surprise at Stamford Bridge on 25 September. Accounts describe a dramatic clash: the English fought across a narrow bridge, with one giant Norse warrior said to have held it singlehandedly before being felled from below. But, having been caught unawares, Harald and his men were roundly defeated. Hardrada was killed in the chaos (arguably bringing the Viking Age to an end with him), and Tostig, refusing to yield, died fighting beside him. Had Hardrada succeeded, Tostig would likely have been restored as Earl of Northumbria, possibly even elevated further in gratitude. But, in the long-term, he likely would have been in considerable danger. As a Godwinson, and a brother of Harold, Tostig would have been a rival to deal with; not a vital ally for support. In the end, Tostig’s grand ambitions and feud with his brother died with him at Stamford Bridge. Yet if his true aim was to bring about his brother’s downfall, he did ultimately get his wish at Hastings, even if he didn’t live to see it. 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 King and Conqueror is streaming on BBC iPlayer now. For more content like this, check out the best historical movies of all time as chosen by historians and ranked by you, history TV shows and films to stream tonight, and our picks of the new history TV and radio released in the UK this week