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Forget the longships: this is the overlooked story of how the Vikings dominated eastern Europe
How did the Norse adventurers of the Viking Age impose themselves upon eastern Europe? Not with longships and raids, says one historian, but through canny adaptation
The Norse peoples of the Viking Age held much of western Europe tightly in their grip thanks to their imperious command of the sea. Their prowess as seafarers let them strike their targets at speed and then slip away just as swiftly, in repeated cycles of relentless raids from the fertile shores of the British Isles to the harsher coasts of Iceland that brought wealth and power. Viking longships carved with fearsome, dragon-headed prows crashed through imposing waves, delivering warriors to burn monasteries and terrorise prosperous lands. These vessels were key to their hit-and-run strategy, and to its eventual evolution into something more settled as the Norse forged enduring strongholds on hostile ground. But for the Vikings who ventured east toward the Slavic and Baltic regions, the story unfolded very differently. Conquests there weren’t defined by ocean raids, but by a remarkable capacity for canny adaptation. In the territories of today’s Russia, Ukraine and Belarus, the Norse traded the open sea for winding rivers, turning inland waterways into vital thoroughfares of commerce, conflict and state-building. “The rivers are absolutely critical,” explains historian Martyn Whittock, author of Vikings in the East, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. “We need to envisage them as the motorways of the early medieval world, which allow people access deep into the heart of the European continent, particularly the east.” When did the Vikings first head east? Archaeological finds from the mid-eighth century (including Scandinavian-style burials in places like Staraya Ladoga, near modern St Petersburg) show that the Norse were already present on the Baltic-Russian frontier before the famous raids on Britain had even begun. These early Norse pioneers were traders as well as warriors. They followed the Neva and Volkhov rivers into the interior, establishing bases like Ladoga and Novgorod. From there, they probed deeper, carrying boats and their cargo overland between river systems. Read more | Norse gods and goddesses: 14 of the most important deities venerated by the Vikings By the ninth century, Norse settlers were establishing footholds from which they could push further inland. “We first see Norse settlements appear in eastern Europe along the southern shores of the Baltic,” says Whittock. “Increasingly they were utilising river systems which flow into the Baltic, and by following them along their courses into what is now northwestern Russia, they could then port ships across gaps in the river systems to connect with other river systems.” Swapping longships for log boats While the famous longships were ideal for crossing seas, they were less suited to being hauled over rapids or dragging across portages. So, in the east, Vikings turned to different vessels. “To start with, we should be thinking of squatter, stronger and broader trading vessels than the dragon-prowed ships of popular imagination,” says Whittock. The Norse also adopted local craft. Archaeological evidence shows they purchased huge unfinished log boats from Finnic and Slavic neighbours, later fitting them with sails. These sturdy ships could handle rapids and were easier to portage than larger ships. Read more | The dark reality of Norse life on the edge And in winter, transport shifted to sledges, which were ideal for gliding across frozen rivers and snowbound plains. “We need to think of sledges, because we always think of summer transport,” says Whittock. “And yet in many of these areas, winter transport on frozen rivers or frozen, snowy landscapes would be on sledges. That's the kind of mental image we need to have: more of a mixed economy of transport.” By log boat or sledge, the Norse moved steadily southwards through modern-day Russia, past today’s Smolensk, into Ukraine, and eventually to Kyiv. That city became the hub of a new and lasting regional power: Kievan Rus, the central hub of the Rus Vikings. Who were the Rus, and where does the name come from? The name ‘Rus’ itself may refer explicitly to this river-faring identity. “It’s interesting that one of the possible word origins for the name ‘Rus’ is from a mixed Finnish, old East Norse word, which means rowers: those who row,” Whittock explains. Before they were the inhabitants of Kievan Rus, they were Vikings of the kind introduced by Whittock, moving along rivers, rowing against currents and hauling boats across land. This eastward expansion would have been impossible without the rivers that stretched across the Eurasian plain like veins. Read more | The truth about Viking berserkers “Those rivers that flow north into the Baltic allowed access well into the heart of Russia. It was then possible to pick up other major river systems that then flow south into Ukraine and towards the Caspian Sea,” Whittock notes. A closer look at the geography of eastern Europe shows the river system that made this possible. The Dnieper linked Novgorod and Smolensk to the Black Sea and Constantinople. The Volga carried Norse merchants towards the Caspian, opening routes to Persia and the Islamic caliphates. These rivers made Scandinavia part of a global economy stretching to Byzantium, Baghdad and beyond. The rise of Rus The Rus settlements steadily grew into a federation of principalities ruled by Scandinavian dynasties but populated mainly by Slavs. Over generations, intermarriage and cultural exchange transformed the Norse elites. They adopted Slavic languages, Byzantine Christianity and local customs. By the late ninth century, leaders like Rurik (credited as founder of the Rus dynasty) and his successors, Oleg and Igor, were consolidating power in Novgorod and Kyiv, extracting tribute from Slavic tribes and expanding their authority through warfare and alliances. By the late 10th century, rulers like Vladimir the Great were more Slavic than Norse in culture, even if their lineage traced back to Scandinavia. The Norse had become the Rus: a distinct identity forged by geography and circumstance. Kyiv emerged as the heart of this world. Its location on the Dnieper made it a natural hub for trade flowing between Scandinavia, Byzantium and the steppe. From here, the rulers of Rus built a power that stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea. 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 A distinct Viking identity: the Rus vs the Icelanders The Rus experience diverged sharply from that of Norse settlers in the west. In Iceland, Vikings recreated a Scandinavian society, carrying their laws, sagas and language with them across the North Atlantic. Isolation preserved their Norse culture in near-pure form. Read more | 10 incredible Viking stories from Norse mythology In eastern Europe, by contrast, the Vikings were absorbed into a much larger Slavic world. Over time, the Norse language faded, replaced by Old East Slavic. Pagan traditions gave way to Byzantine Orthodox Christianity. Norse sagas never took root; instead, the Rus produced chronicles and legal codes in Slavic style. “This began as a Norse Slavic state, but it increasingly became a Slavic state with Norse echoes. There was an awareness of origins and a real awareness of connectivity to the northern world, but by the year 1,000 this was an increasingly a Slavic state,” says Whittock. The Viking story in eastern Europe is one of adaptation and transformation. In the west, Norsemen dominated seas and coastlines. In the east, they turned rivers, frozen or flowing, into a tool of power. In the process, they stopped being only Norse. They became the Rus: a people who built a state undeniably distinct from their cousins in Iceland or Norway. Martyn Whittock was speaking to James Osborne on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Who was Thorkell the Tall? The pragmatic Viking warrior who fought for (and against) all sides
Who was the legendary Viking warrior Thorkell the Tall, and precisely how tall was he? From his links with the Jomsvikings to his role in the shifting Anglo-Saxon history leading up to 1066, his story has more twists than you might expect
The late Anglo-Saxon period was defined by ever-shifting struggles for supremacy. Across Northern Europe, chaos collided with opportunity, and Thorkell the Tall was among the many figures who set themselves onto this stage; a Viking leader whose life and legacy are marked by extraordinary military and political achievements, and a talent for canny survival. But despite his fame, the historical record leaves much about his life ambiguous. How can we separate fact from myth, while considering his significance within the context of the fading Viking Age? And, of course, just how much did Thorkell tower over his fellow men that he earned his name 'Thorkell the Tall'? How tall was Thorkell the Tall? There is no direct historical evidence that offers a precise height for Thorkell the Tall. His lofty height is only inferred by his epithet, which can also be translated as Thorkell the High. His name could, in fact, be a metaphorical allusion to high-ranking status, or his dominant presence. But, assuming that his name is a direct reference to an above-average height, it’s safe to estimate that Thorkell wouldn’t necessarily have had to be incredibly tall by modern standards to earn his title. This is because analysis of Viking skeletons suggests that an average Norseman stood at between 5’7” and 5’8” tall. Thorkell could have been under 6 feet, and still have been considered tall enough to be given his moniker. Thorkell’s early life and his links with the Jomsvikings The son of Strut-Harald, a Danish chieftain, Thorkell was descended from a noble lineage; something that allowed him early access to prominence. While he has no recorded date of birth, he first enters the historical record in the late tenth century – first recorded as fighting alongside the semi-legendary Jomsvikings (a fierce mercenary force of Vikings, deeply devoted to the Old Norse gods – though willing to eschew their beliefs for the right pay) in AD 986 during the battle of Hjörungavágr – an intra-Norse naval conflict. Over a decade later, Thorkell is then noted again at the turn of the millennium, AD 1000, in a second such conflict, again with the mercenary Jomsvikings, at the battle of Svolder. Read more | The truth about Viking berserkers Thorkell’s role in these two battles – if he was indeed present in them at all – is indicated by his inclusion in the Sagas. It was during this period that Thorkell the Tall theoretically displayed his mettle, proving his talents as a warrior and strategic leader. It’s not long after the turn of the millennium, and these battles, that Thorkell’s story converges with the Anglo-Saxons and the events that would form part of the buildup to 1066 and the end of the Viking Age. 1066: The battle for England Member exclusive | The year 1066 is the most famous in English history, but there's a lot more to the story than one bloody battle at Hastings. In this four-part series, medievalist Marc Morris talks David Musgrove through the full story of the Norman Conquest. Watch all episodes now Thorkell the Tall and Anglo-Saxon England Thorkell the Tall appears in the annals of English history during the turbulent reign of King Æthelred the Unready, when Viking opportunism still dominated the affairs of the Anglo-Saxons, and the descendants of Alfred the Great scrambled to consolidate the king’s unification of England. In 1002, Æthelred ordered the St Brice’s Day Massacre, a coordinated attack on Danish settlers in England following what had been a particularly intense decade of Viking aggression. This act of brutality was unwise, in the end, as it reignited Viking fury, enraging the Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard, spurring on a new series of Viking invasions aimed at punishing the English king. Thorkell played a leading role in these invasions. In 1009, at Forkbeard’s behest, Thorkell commanded a massive Viking fleet that landed in southern England. His army rampaged across the countryside, burning towns and extracting tribute. Thorkell targeted key locations, including Canterbury, whose archbishop, Ælfheah, was later taken hostage. However, allegedly against Thorkell’s wishes, the archbishop was executed by Viking warriors instead of being held hostage, instigating the possible beginnings of a rift between the Thorkell and his compatriots. Thorkell the Tall: a real-life Uhtred? In 1012, in the aftermath of his revenge on England, Thorkell’s allegiances shifted – and radically so. Leaving his Viking comrades behind, Thorkell switched sides and entered the service of King Æthelred. The reasons for this defection are unclear, but they may have been driven by political calculations or dissatisfaction with his Viking counterparts. This might not be as shocking as it seems; as a Jomsviking warlord in his past, Thorkell’s loyalty had historically been pragmatic and available to the highest bidder, and his decision to ally with Æthelred fits within the context of this murky Anglo-Saxon and Viking period where allegiances were fluid. And Thorkell’s role as an ally of England wasn’t simply tokenistic. He was appointed to lead a group of elite warriors known as the ‘Thingmen,’ who served as a personal guard for the king. His knowledge of the Vikings and his reputation as a warlord would have made him an invaluable asset (in the same vein as Uhtred of Bebbanburg from the fictional The Last Kingdom, who joins the side of Alfred the Great despite a deeply rooted Viking background). It was during this time that Thorkell forged even stronger links to the Anglo-Saxon cause by marrying one of the daughters of the king, with whom he possibly had his own children, including Edith Swanneck, the later wife of Harold Godwinson. Nevertheless, Æthelred’s reign remained unstable, and Thorkell’s allegiance to England would soon be tested by new developments. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-599953421-7d0ab0f-e1758894373465.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="Vikings on the horizon: This 12th-century depiction shows Viking ships arriving in Britain — a reminder of the raids and settlements that transformed the British Isles from the late 8th century onward. Even centuries later, the memory of Norse seafarers like Thorkell the Tall endured in medieval chronicles and imagination." title="Viking ships arriving in Britain, ca 1130" /> Thorkell turns cloak By 1013, Sweyn Forkbeard had launched a renewed assault on England, and Thorkell found himself caught between his Danish roots and his new English allegiance. When Sweyn’s son, Cnut, continued the campaign after his father’s death, Thorkell ultimately decided to revoke his new Anglo-Saxon fealties to align himself with the young Danish prince. Read more | Your guide to King Cnut: the fierce Danish warrior who ruled England Cnut’s conquest of England in 1016 (a crucial year in the building escalation toward 1066) marked the beginning of a new era. Thorkell was rewarded for his support with lands and titles, becoming one of Cnut’s most trusted advisors. He was appointed Earl of East Anglia, a position that granted him significant power and responsibility. And by shifting his loyalty once again, Thorkell proved himself as a canny and competent operator, with a keen ability to navigate the complex political landscape as circumstances demanded. Without ever becoming a king himself, Thorkell the Tall had defined himself as – arguably – one of the period’s most successful figures. The Vikings | A short course from HistoryExtra Academy Member exclusive | Join Professor Ryan Lavelle for our four-week course on the Viking period, covering everything from trading and raiding, to daily life. Explore the course now How did Thorkell the Tall die? Thorkell’s life after this remains obscure. He likely returned to Denmark at some point, perhaps to serve King Cnut in his broader Scandinavian empire, and by the mid-1020s, Thorkell disappears from the historical record entirely. Modern historians rely on a combination of primary sources, including the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and Norse sagas, to piece together Thorkell’s story. However, these accounts were often written decades or even centuries after the events they describe, and are coloured by the biases of their authors. And, crucially, as Thorkell passes out of their purview, knowledge of him and his actions fade too. So whether he died in battle, or from some disease, or ‘retired’ peacefully back in Scandinavia, away from the turmoil in Anglo-Saxon England, his story, effectively, ends with the success of Cnut.
Why does Putin think Ukraine should be Russian? It’s all to do with the Vikings
Russian President Vladimir Putin’s narrative of a shared Russian–Ukrainian origin in the Viking-founded Kievan Rus is having dramatic implications in eastern Europe today. Here’s why the real history might be more complicated than the Russian president says
When Vladimir Putin states that Russians and Ukrainians are “one people”, he’s invoking a very specific vision of history. In essays and speeches, the Russian president has unfurled more than a thousand years of history to argue that modern Ukrainians and Russians share a single origin. “Putin’s claim is that because of a shared origin the Ukrainians and the Russians are one people, and that any division of them into two sovereign states is an artificial modern construct,” explains Martyn Whittock, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. Whittock is an author and historian whose recent book, Vikings in the East: From Vladimir the Great to Vladimir Putin – The Origins of a Contested Legacy in Russia and Ukraine, dissects that shared story and its connections to the medieval world of the Viking Age. Read more | Russia-Ukraine crisis: 9 milestone moments in history that explain today’s invasion At the centre of this origin story are the Rus (a particular group of Norse traders and warriors who settled in Eastern Europe and gave their name to both Russia and Belarus), and the towering 10th-century ruler Vladimir the Great, whose conversion to Christianity reshaped the destiny of the region. The Rus: the Vikings who headed east The Vikings are mostly remembered as violent raiders of the lands that lie south or west of Scandinavia: Britain, France, Ireland and Iceland. Yet from the 9th century, another branch of Norse seafarers set out east, rather than west. They navigated the great rivers of Eastern Europe – the Dnieper, the Don, the Volga – using their ships to link the Baltic to the Black Sea and the rich markets of Byzantium. These Norsemen became known as the Rus. “The Norse who came to this Slavic region are described as the Rus, and that’s a name that will run and run. It still exists in the name of Belarus and of course, Russia,” explains Whittock. The Rus were traders and warriors, dealing in furs, honey, wax and enslaved people. They established fortified towns along river routes, often marrying into Slavic elites. Over time they became culturally hybrid: Norse in origin but increasingly Slavic in language, custom and culture. Their most important political centre was Kyiv, which by the 10th century had become the capital of a loose federation of principalities known as Kievan Rus. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-961794534-e1090b6-e1758281079376.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="An illustration depicts Velikiy Novgorod during the Viking era. As a major trading hub on the river routes between Scandinavia and Byzantium, Novgorod played a crucial role in the development of the Rus’ and the wider Norse presence in Eastern Europe." title="Velikiy Novgorod" /> What was Kievan Rus? Kievan Rus wasn’t a centralised nation state but rather a network of regional centres including Kyiv, Novgorod, Smolensk and Chernihiv, bound together by dynastic ties and tribute. Its rulers belonged to the Rurikid dynasty, descended from the Viking chieftain Rurik. At its height in the 11th century, Kievan Rus stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Trade flowed south to Byzantium and north to Scandinavia. The society was multi-ethnic, comprised of Slavs, Norse, Balts, Finnic peoples and steppe nomads. Read more | Could you survive on the Vikings’ furthest frontier? Here’s the dark reality of Norse life on the edge Kyiv’s wealth and culture gave it prestige, but already the threat of future fragmentation was present: powerful local princes, rival trade hubs and external threats from nomadic raiders were all emerging. Vladimir the Great and the baptism of Rus One of Kyiv’s most celebrated rulers was Vladimir the Great, who lived c958–1015. “In AD 988, a decision was made by Vladimir’s court to convert to Eastern Orthodox Christianity. It was a game changer and of immense historic importance because it allied the Rus with the Eastern Roman empire,” Whittock explains. Vladimir ordered mass baptisms in the River Dnieper. From this point on, the Rus elite looked to Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine empire, for spiritual authority. Read more | The Viking connections to the Byzantine empire This decision had far-reaching consequences. Rus Christianity was Orthodox, not Catholic. Its holy books were written in Old Church Slavonic, not Latin. Its priests and rituals bound the region eastward, and created the notion of Holy Rus: a concept of Russian origins connected to both geography and religion. “We have this highly enhanced religious, national and ethnic character,” says Whittock. And it’s that character that would form the shared basis of Russia and Ukraine and the broader Soviet landscape in eastern Europe. Collapse, Mongol conquest and the rise of Muscovy Kievan Rus never became a lasting empire. In the 12th century, internal rivalries and shifting trade routes weakened it. In the 13th century, Mongol invasions shattered its unity. Power shifted north and east. Novgorod survived as a trading hub, but over time, the newer principality of Muscovy, centred on modern Moscow, ascended in prominence. Its princes cooperated with the Mongol khans, gradually building resources and influence. By the end of the 15th century, Moscow had thrown off Mongol dominance and emerged as the core of a new Russian state. Its rulers claimed continuity with Kievan Rus, insisting that the sacred legacy of Vladimir’s baptism had passed to them. Shared origins but divergent paths Russia, Ukraine and Belarus all trace cultural and linguistic roots back to this early medieval era, and to Kievan Rus. But despite that shared origin, their histories would diverge significantly in the succeeding centuries. Much of western Ukraine came under the control of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth between the 14th and 17th centuries. This exposed Ukrainians to Catholicism, Renaissance ideas and traditions of local autonomy. On the steppes, Cossack hosts developed a reputation for fierce independence, cultivating ideals of freedom and self-rule that became central to Ukrainian identity. Russia remained centred on Muscovy. From there it expanded eastwards, building a vast empire under an increasingly powerful autocracy. The tsars claimed universal authority, drawing church and state tightly together in ways that reinforced centralised control. Read more | Anglo-Saxon conversion: the coming of the cross (at the point of a sword) By the 19th century, the Russian empire sought to assert control over Ukrainian lands through Russification – the policy of imposing Russian language and culture to create cultural unity within the Russian Empire. Ukrainian language was restricted in schools and publishing, and folk culture was suppressed. “Very often the Russians are saying, ‘You’re exactly the same as we are’, and then carrying out Russification, which begs the question, why do you need to Russify if there’s no difference?” Whittock notes. The very act of trying to erase Ukrainian identity underscored its distinctiveness, but Russia succeeded in its aims, and most of Ukraine was absorbed into the Russian Empire. Ukraine in the Soviet century After the Russian Revolution that brought the Russian Empire to its end, Ukraine briefly declared independence in 1917–21 before being incorporated into the Soviet Union. Under Josef Stalin, Ukraine suffered terribly, not least during the Holodomor, the famine of 1932-33 that killed millions. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/09/GettyImages-96825291-b1bf3b3-e1758282037342.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This propaganda poster depicts Joseph Stalin with his arm raised in a gesture of authority and leadership. Such imagery was central to the cult of personality that surrounded Stalin during his rule, presenting him as the guiding force of the Soviet Union." title="Stalin Poster" /> In Soviet ideology, Ukraine was part of the brotherhood of Slavic nations, yet its distinctiveness was tightly controlled. Expressions of Ukrainian nationalism were branded as separatism. At the same time, Ukrainians played a major role in Soviet life, from industry to the military. This Soviet legacy left Ukraine deeply entwined with Russia but also fostered resentment at repeated suppression of national identity. Putin’s use of history In the 21st century, Putin has used the Rus story as a historical anchor for his policies. Following the annexation of Crimea in 2014, he compared the peninsula to Jerusalem, calling it sacred Russian ground where Vladimir the Great had been baptised. “All of these statements are rooted in the origin stories of Kievan Rus and are used to support a narrative by Putin that there is one monolithic Russian nation that has been divided by modern events, but must be brought back together again, if necessary by force,” Whittock observes. By invoking the concept of Holy Rus – the notion of the religious, historic and geographical origin behind both Russia and Ukraine – Putin presents himself and the modern Russian state as a re-unifier, restoring a shared history broken apart by artificial borders. For Whittock, the flaw in Putin’s version of history is its denial of Ukrainian agency. Read more | Did the Cold War ever really end? “Although we are the inheritors of our history, we are not prisoners of our history. We still have agency,” he argues. Putin’s claim that Ukraine is inseparable from Russia rests on a story that begins with Viking adventurers and Vladimir the Great’s baptism. The Rus were Vikings who created a new Norse-Slavic identity and founded the basis of the cultures that became Russia, Belarus and Ukraine. And, by invoking the history of Holy Rus, Putin presents history as a chain binding Ukrainians to Russia. It’s a genuine shared history, but, Whittock argues, it’s not one that should bind the present or future. “Putin denies the agency whilst emphasising the original unification. You need to recognise the reality of origins, absolutely, but you also need to recognise current people’s agency to decide their own trajectory and their own future.” Martyn Whittock was speaking to James Osborne on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
How did the Vikings shape Russia and Ukraine?
Vikings didn't just sail west: they also went east, playing a crucial role in the emergence of what would become eastern Europe – Martyn Whittock explores this overlooked story
The story of the Vikings who travelled to eastern Europe is just as thrilling as the story of those who headed west. It's also just as important – still being relevant today through deep rooted connections to the ongoing war in Ukraine. But what are those long-lasting links, exactly? Historian and author Martyn Whittock examines this complicated history in conversation with James Osborne. Martyn Whittock is the author of Vikings in the East: From Vladimir the Great to Vladimir Putin – The Origins of a Contested Legacy in Russia and Ukraine (Biteback, 2025). Buy it now from Waterstones
Could you survive on the Vikings’ furthest frontier? Here’s the dark reality of Norse life on the edge
Historian Eleanor Barraclough reveals the brutal challenges faced by Norse settlers in Greenland – a Viking world of fragile farms and endless winters
It’s true that the Vikings were formidable raiders, warriors and explorers – storming monasteries on the coasts of Britain, sailing rivers into the depths of eastern Europe and even journeying as far as North America – all while violently snatching territories and treasure as they went. But it’s also true that this only encapsulates a small aspect of the broader Norse world. The Vikings – those raiders and warriors – were one facet of a culturally and geographically expansive people who set out from the heart of Scandinavia to find wealth and land. That objective took them from Northern Europe to the fringes of the Abbasid Caliphate in the Middle East, to the depths of what would become Russia, and – far across the Atlantic – to Greenland: the ultimate destination of the fearsome Norse chieftain and father of Leif Erikson, Erik the Red. It was late in the 10th century, just before the turn of the milenium, that Erik the Red was exiled from Iceland for his violence. Seeking a new home, he led his followers west to one of the most unforgiving environments in the Norse world: Greenland. A harsh new Norse home For the Norse, Greenland was the furthest edge of the habitable world. Life there was not measured in the frequency of plunder or military glory, but in whether communities could last through freezing winters, scarce resources and constant uncertainty. Speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast, historian Eleanor Barraclough explained how the Norse arrived there in the first place, and what daily life was really like on this harsh frontier. “After being outlawed from Iceland, Erik the Red goes west and he explores the west coast of Greenland,” explains Barraclough. “Erik spends those three years as an outlaw going up and down all the fjords on this west coast, and he names it Greenland because people are more likely to want to settle there if it’s got a good name.” Greenland’s name may have been clever marketing, but the reality was anything but green. The island’s east coast was locked in ice, uninhabitable to all but nomadic hunters. As Erik soon learned, only the west coast, with fjords and small strips of grassland, offered a fragile foothold. Read more | A thousand years ago, the Vikings had a shock encounter with Native Americans that ended in disaster “The east coast is not habitable. It’s very, very icy. The west coast is a different matter … you can just about farm there. You’re very much on the edge of habitable land, but you are still at that edge, not beyond it.” Here, Norse settlers established two main farming regions: the Eastern Settlement, where Erik lived, and the Western Settlement further north. “At the Eastern settlement is a couple of thousand people and a good number of farmsteads,” Barraclough explains. “And then the Western settlement is smaller. There are maybe 80 farmsteads at its height.” <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/08/GettyImages-152200768-beac1f5-e1756397805244.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="These are the remains of Brattahlid, the eastern settlement founded by Erik the Red around AD 1000. As the heart of Norse Greenland, it thrived for several centuries — a remote outpost of Viking exploration and adaptation on the edge of the known world." title="Brattahlid, the eastern settlement, founded by Erik the Red" /> Farming at the edge of possibility Early settlers to this west coast of Greenland tried to transplant familiar Scandinavian farming practices. They brought cows, sheep, goats and horses in their ships, and attempted to grow crops such as barley. Archaeologists have found grinding stones that suggest early efforts to cultivate cereals. But Greenland’s climate made arable farming almost impossible. Read more | 8 Viking dates you need to know “They do try and grow crops initially, but it’s not really feasible,” says Barraclough. “It’s just too far north, it’s too remote. The winters are too long and cold and dark for that. For the most part, the Norse Greenlanders don’t see bread on their table.” Instead, livestock provided the basis of survival. During short summers, grass from fjord valleys was cut and stored as hay to feed animals through the winter. Cows supplied milk, sheep and goats provided wool and dairy products, while meat and hides were used sparingly. Families relied on butter, cheese and preserved dairy to survive the dark months – always hoping their fodder stores would last until spring. Vikings hunting the Arctic As time went on, farming alone could not sustain the settlements. Hunting and fishing became increasingly important. Seal meat and fat provided vital calories during the winter, with animals caught on sea ice or during migration. Reindeer offered venison and hides, while walrus supplied not only meat but also ivory tusks – a commodity so valuable it was exported to markets as far away as England. This delicate balance was constantly under threat. A failed fodder harvest or poor hunting season could tip households into famine. And crucially, unlike in Iceland or Norway, Greenlanders had no close neighbours to turn to for help. Life on the farmstead Daily life revolved around farmsteads built from stone, turf and timber. These were extended communities of families, workers and thralls: enslaved men and women who remain largely invisible in written sources but were central to Norse society. “The thralls, they are so often invisible, but there are a lot of them, and they’re usually doing the nastiest, coldest, dirtiest, most dangerous jobs in any farmstead,” Barraclough says. Read more | What was life like for Viking women? Thralls tended animals in freezing conditions, hauled fodder, cut turf and accompanied dangerous hunts. Their labour, though rarely acknowledged, underpinned the survival of the entire settlement. To live as a Viking Age thrall in Norse Greenland was to have one of the toughest lives across the entire Norse world. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/08/GettyImages-152204548-1-9d260f7-e1756397984165.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This illumination from the Icelandic Flateyjarbók shows King Harald Fairhair freeing the giant Dofri, who, in Norse folklore, becomes his foster father. Blending legend and history, the manuscript reflects how Icelandic scribes preserved royal sagas and heroic tales in richly illustrated form." title="Illumination from the Icelandic manuscript Flateyjarbok which shows King Harold Fine Hair cutting the fetters from the giant Dofri who was to become his foster father in folklore" /> Winter: the ultimate Norse enemy Summer in the fjords could be deceptively pleasant, with green fields and grazing livestock. But winter was the true test of life in Greenland. “Where you find most North Greenland farms, you will find green grassy fields. But the problem is the winters are very cold, very long, very dark and very icy … longer, darker, colder even than in Iceland,” says Barraclough. Read more | The Norse gods and goddesses you need to know Unlike Iceland, where communities could trade or travel during hard times with the not-so-distant Norway, a Norse heartland, Greenland’s isolation made mistakes deadly. Firewood was scarce, hay ran short, and livestock could starve in barns. Families endured months of darkness, surviving on dried seal meat, dairy products and whatever stores had been put aside. Survival on the edge of the world Ultimately, Erik the Red’s ‘Greenland’ was more an act of branding than of accurate description. For the Norse who followed him, survival here demanded a constant balancing act between fragile farmland, risky hunting and the uncertain rewards of trade. For centuries they endured, maintaining links to Europe through ivory and occasional voyages, even as their settlements clung to the limits of habitable land. But theirs was far from the Viking world of raids and conquest. It was a world of ceaseless struggle against climate and geography – where winters were the harshest enemies, thralls bore the toughest burdens and mere survival was the greatest reward. 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 This article is based on an interview with Eleanor Barraclough, speaking to James Osborne on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Emma of Normandy: not just a two-time queen consort of England
Emma of Normandy was queen consort to two of England’s best known pre-Conquest kings, Æthelred the Unready and Cnut the Great. But she was also a savvy political player who came into her own as queen mother, writes Dr Cat Jarman
Emma of Normandy is best-known as being queen consort to two kings – Æthelred the Unready and Cnut the Great – and the mother of two more, Harthacnut and Edward the Confessor. She was the daughter of Richard I (the Fearless) of Normandy and the Danish-descended Gunnor. She is also a pivotal character in King and Conqueror, the BBC's Norman Conquest drama, which paints Emma as a dominating force over her son King Edward – which leads to a very ahistorical demise – and in Netflix's Vikings: Valhalla, where she is portrayed as a politically-savvy queen wielding quiet power in the English court, often working to subvert the machinations of the ever-grasping Earl Godwin. Who was Emma of Normandy? Emma was one of nine children and most likely born in the AD 980s. A daughter of the Norman dukes, she was the great-granddaughter of the Viking warrior Rollo, the founder of Normandy who hailed from either Norway or Denmark. This made her of Scandinavian ancestry on both sides of the family. She was also the great-aunt of William the Conqueror. In the words of Godfrey, prior of Winchester’s cathedral monastery, writing in the 11th century: “She had kings as sons and kings as husbands; she shone forth in the glory of her progeny of kings; she excelled in virtue even the ranks of her glorious ancestors.” Emma of Normandy's first marriage: Æthelred the Unready In 1002, probably aged in her late teens or early 20s, Emma was sent to England to marry King Æthelred, as his second wife. The marriage was clearly a strategic one, aiming to strengthen an alliance between England and Normandy in light of harrowing attacks on both English and Norman shores by Scandinavian raiders. Æthelred had apparently accused Emma’s brother, Duke Richard II, of harbouring the Vikings and enabling their attacks, and the marriage was designed to ensure his allegiance. Read more | Aethelflaed: who was the warrior queen who crushed the Vikings? Their union was an unusual one, as although several English princesses had been married off to French and German rulers historically, no English king had married a foreign wife for almost 150 years. Upon her arrival in England, Emma was given the name ‘Ælfgifu’. The marriage resulted in three children: two sons, Edward (later known as Edward the Confessor) and Alfred, and a daughter, Godgifu. Few sources say much about Emma’s political activity in these years, and it seems her role was mainly one of being a wife and a mother: the most common description of her at the time was as the conlaterana regis: “she who is at the King’s side”. This first decade of her career was the one in which she was the least powerful, and one source, William of Malmesbury, suggests that she and her husband were never on good terms. The England that Emma found herself at the beginning of the 11th century was one marked by ongoing trouble and threats of Scandinavian attacks. In 1013, this came to a head when the Dane Swein Forkbeard successfully invaded England. Emma and her children were sent into exile in Normandy, later followed by her husband. Swein’s rule of England was to be short as he died the following year, and a messy two years of political disputes ensued even after Æthelred was restored to the throne. Emma of Normandy's second marriage: Cnut the Great In 1016, Æthelred died. More turbulence was to follow, and later that year England fell to Swein Forkbeard’s son, the Danish King Cnut. The following year, he is reported to have asked for Emma to be fetched to be his wife. Emma became queen of England, once again, but this time also of Denmark and Norway. As with her first marriage, this was a strategic one as it cemented Cnut’s role as king of England. Taking the widow of one of his predecessors as his own wife no doubt helped mark his superiority. At the same time, the union might be seen as symbolising friendship and alliance. While it is unclear what Emma herself really thought of it at the beginning, she later stressed that not only did the marriage bring peace but it was an equal union that she entered into with her own consent. Read more | Cnut’s invasion of England: setting the scene for the Norman conquest Her ancestry may well have affected her feelings. After all, her mother was the daughter of recent Danish settlers in Normandy, and northern origins were a key part of Norman self-identity. Emma likely spoke Danish from childhood and apart from her family connections, she was clearly important to Cnut – not least because of her knowledge of English politics. It seems likely that the partnership between the two grew over time, helped by the fact that they were more or less of the same age. In a document from the New Minster in Winchester, illustrating the monastery’s loyal benefactors, the two are depicted either side of an altar as a double act. This depiction – one of several – emphasises Emma’s political importance. Their marriage lasted until Cnut’s death in 1035. Emma of Normandy's children As well as the two sons and one daughter Emma had with Æthelred, she went on to have two more children with Cnut: Harthacnut and Gunnhild. Cnut also had two sons by his first wife, Ælfgifu (confusingly, the same name that was given to Emma), Swein and Harold Harefoot. At the time of Cnut’s death, Swein had been sent to rule in Norway along with his mother, while Harthacnut was ruling in Denmark. That left Harold as the only of Cnut’s sons still in England. Emma remained at Winchester, where Cnut’s military household was based, and was left in charge of the Royal Treasury and in a position of power. Read more | Norman women: the power behind the thrones Harthacnut was the legitimate heir and should have ascended the English throne, but he could not return from Denmark to claim the crown so Harold ruled in his stead as either regent or co-ruler. Competition for the throne was to continue. Emma’s sons with Æthelred – Edward and Alfred – had been in exile in Normandy and returned to England in 1036. Alfred was soon killed, after being captured and blinded under suspicious circumstances, and Edward may have briefly joined his mother in Winchester before returning again to Normandy. Eventually, Harold was recognised as sole king in 1037. Emma was exiled to Flanders, where she stayed with a distant relative, Count Baldwin and his wife Adela. But her ambitions for herself and her sons remained. Read more | Are women at the heart of the action in the Norman Conquest? Emma of Normandy as England’s queen mother Emma’s career in England can be divided into three distinct parts: the first two relating to her marriages, and the third to this period after Cnut’s death. Now, Emma worked to manoeuvre her sons into kingship, taking an active part in the political sphere as queen mother. When Harold died in 1040, Emma returned from Flanders and Harthacnut finally took the throne. The role as queen mother was clearly an important one, and she was recognised as an authority: she is listed as mater regis in witness lists during these years. Emma may have learnt about queenship from her mother, Gunnor, who was later hailed as the matriarch of the Norman aristocracy, dubbed the ‘mother of the dynasty’ in the 12th century. Harthacnut ruled for only two years, with Emma by his side, until his death in 1042. He was succeeded by his half-brother Edward. But the new king appears to have turned against his mother, arriving in Winchester a few months after his coronation and taking away her treasures of silver and gold, as well as most of the land she owned. Emma was allowed to stay in Winchester and eventually regained her position at court, though without her former status. The precise reasons for this are unclear: Emma was later accused of having been too harsh on Edward; of offering aid to Magnus of Norway for an invasion of England; and even of having had an affair with Ælfwine, the bishop of Winchester. It seems none were true. Edward most likely wanted to reduce her political involvement back to a simple status as the widow of the former kings, leaving him to rule independently. As far as we know, she lived the rest of her life in Winchester. What was Emma of Normandy’s legacy? Our actual information about Emma’s life is sparse, Much of what we know comes from the Encomium Emmae reginae, the Praise of Queen Emma. This narrative was written down in 1041/2 by a monk from St Bertin, in what is now France, and was commissioned by Emma herself. The Encomium, however, is not a straightforward biography, but an account – modified in several later versions – of the role she played in English politics during the reign of Cnut and his successors. A famous illustration shows her seated on a throne, a kneeling character handing the book to her, with her sons Harthacnut and Edward watching from the wings. The Encomium conjures the position she was in at the height of her power, aimed at her sons and written to influence the future. Despite her remarkable political career, her best known legacy is no doubt her Norman link to William the Conqueror, enabling the events of 1066 to run their course. In the words of 12th-century historian Henry of Huntingdon, describing her marriage: “From this union… the Normans were justified according to the law of peoples, in both claiming and gaining possession of England.” How and when did Emma of Normandy die? Emma died of an unknown cause on 6 March 1052. She was buried next to Cnut and Harthacnut in Winchester Cathedral. In 2019, a team from the University of Bristol announced that among the 1,300 bones mixed up in six mortuary chests from Winchester Cathedral were the remains of a woman who matched both the date and age of death of Emma. There are no records of other women of similar status buried there at the time and DNA work is in progress in an attempt to identify the remains more definitively. 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 Dr Cat Jarman is an archaeologist, broadcaster and author of River Kings: A New History of the Vikings from Scandinavia to the Silk Roads (HarperCollins, 2021) 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
A thousand years ago, the Vikings had a shock encounter with Native Americans that ended in disaster
When Old Norse explorers reached North America, they made history. But their brief, violent encounter with its indigenous peoples shows how cultural collisions could end in chaos. Historian and Viking expert Eleanor Barraclough explains the story
When Leif Erikson and his fellow Norse explorers first sighted the forested shores of what is now northeastern Canada, they became the first Europeans known to set foot in North America. This was near the turn of the first millennium in AD 1000, centuries before North America was ‘discovered’ by Christopher Columbus. But what followed was neither a tale of conquest nor colonisation. This was to be a short, tense and ultimately doomed instance of trans-Atlantic cultural contact. “According to the Norse sagas, the expeditions from Greenland to North America meet the indigenous people who live in these parts,” explains historian and Old Norse expert Eleanor Barraclough, speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast. This unprecedented encounter brought together peoples separated by thousands of miles and shaped by different environments, technologies and belief systems. And it began, as many tales of Norse adventure do, with violence and exile. Exiles in search of new lands The story of the journey by the Norse settlers of Greenland, to the shores of what is now Canada, begins with Erik the Red. The father of Leif Erikson, Erik was a man whose temper and penchant for murder had seen him outlawed from both Norway and, later in his life, Iceland, where he had been a prominent figure. Read more | The secrets of the Viking Great Army Banished, Erik sailed west from Iceland in search of new lands. With a small fleet of ships and his followers in tow, he landed on Greenland, creating official Norse settlements on it around AD 985. Barraclough explains that for a volatile but powerful – and ambitious – character like Erik the Red, the allure of Greenland was partly in the promise of the unknown. “I think, Erik, on a personal level, must have been very charismatic. Dangerous and murderous, but charismatic,” she says. “To [explore across the Atlantic] requires a Wild West mentality – and so someone like Erik would be the perfect person to settle somewhere like Greenland, because it's going into the unknown,” explains Barraclough. Greenland offered land and space but, it turned out, little else. “Even at its height, Erik’s settlement only has a population in the very low thousands,” says Barraclough. Read more | 10 incredible Viking stories from Norse mythology The harsh winters and limited resources ultimately prompted further expeditions westward from Greenland, again into unknown territory, in search of more land. The Norse sagas describe that it was Erik’s son, Leif, who led these expeditions. But what was he searching for? As Barraclough puts it, “It does look like resources are important. A sense of adventure is important, a sense of discovery, but also the possibility of new settlement.” <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/07/GettyImages-542354713-939e4c1-e1753791578991.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This illustration depicts the arrival of the first Norse settlers in Greenland under Erik the Red. Driven by exile and exploration, Erik led a fleet from Iceland to establish one of the westernmost outposts of the Viking world." title="Erik the Red's fleet" /> The voyage to Vinland Setting off from the Western shores of Greenland, Leif Erikson’s expedition likely reached the coast of Labrador – which the Norse called Markland, or ‘forest land’ – before sailing further south to what they named Vinland, believed to be the northern tip of Newfoundland. Read more | The truth about Viking beserkers The sagas describe Leif discovering a landscape rich in timber and resources, a sharp contrast to the rocky, forbidding coastline of Greenland. But the Norse certainly weren’t alone. First contact – and first trade Soon after landing, they encountered the indigenous peoples of the region, likely ancestors of the Beothuk or other Algonquian-speaking groups. The Norse explorers called these people the ‘Skraelings’, which Barraclough translates as “wretched ones” or “puny ones”. But despite the derogatory name, according to the evidence from the Norse sagas, the first interactions between the Norse and the native American communities were initially peaceful. Read more | Norse gods and goddesses: the deities of the Vikings “It starts off fairly amicably,” Barraclough says. “They're exchanging goods, trading dairy products for cloth, for skins and for pelts.” The scenes are striking in their familiarity. Much like later European explorers, the Norse initially engaged in cautious barter. But the similarities don’t end there – nor do they offer much cause for optimism. From trade to bloodshed Despite the peaceful start, the relationship soon soured and hostility flared. “Eventually the relationship breaks down,” Barraclough explains. “The Norse kill some of the people living there, and then obviously there are retaliations.” Read more | The legend of the Jomsvikings Quickly, this burgeoning relationship between two distinct cultures from across the Atlantic descended into a spiral of retaliatory violence and bloodshed. “That’s the point where they say: we can’t set up home there,” says Barraclough. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2025/07/GettyImages-520726071-2-285f5d7-e1753791675209.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="In this painting by Christian Krohg (1852–1925), Norse explorer Leif Erikson stands at the prow as he approaches the shores of North America, centuries before Columbus." title="Leiv Eiriksson discovers America. Artist: Krohg, Christian (1852-1925)" /> Outnumbered and out of place The Vikings soon abandoned the relative riches of the land they’d ‘discovered’ to return home to Greenland, after effectively being chased off by the native inhabitants. However, Leif Erikson wasn’t the only Norse explorer to attempt settlement. The sagas recount multiple expeditions to Vinland, involving other children of Erik’s, but these later expeditions to the edge of the North American continent shared the same fate – cut short by violence, a lack of supplies, and not enough support from the broader Norse world at large. Read more | The life of Freydis Eiriksdottir Unlike earlier Viking expeditions into Europe that also collided violently with the inhabitants of richer lands, these Greenlandic explorers lacked the numbers and infrastructure to impose control on this new and resource-rich region, or to assimilate into it. “They've just gone so far beyond what is culturally recognisable to them that there's nothing to assimilate into,” says Barraclough. “The numbers aren't there, the backup isn't there, but also that cultural familiarity isn't there either.” Why nothing lasted Despite their bold explorations – first to Greenland and then on from Greenland itself – Vikings never established a lasting presence in North America. Ultimately, Erik’s settlement of Greenland wouldn’t last either. As the Viking Age drew to a close across Europe, and after the failed expeditions to North America, the Greenlanders became increasingly isolated from their kin in the east. Over centuries the Greenland colony shrank away, eventually dissipating entirely. Read more | What was life like for Viking women? “Life gets harder and harder for the Greenlanders. It looks like it's a fizzle rather than a bang in terms of how Norse Greenland comes to an end. But we know that by around AD 1500 they're gone.” Unlike so many other instances from the history of the Vikings and their Norse colonies, the Greenlandic Norse explorers found a land – and a people – where they were unable to leave lasting influence. They journeyed to the edge of the known world, and beyond it, but what – and who – they found there decidedly rejected them. 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 This article is based on an interview with Eleanor Barraclough, speaking to James Osborne on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
Eleanor Barraclough examines the life and legacy of Erik the Red, the outlaw Viking who settled Greenland and birthed a famous – and infamous – dynasty
According to the Vinland Sagas of the early 13th century, Erik the Red was a violent and murderous outlaw. But he was also an explorer, a powerful leader and the father of a famous dynasty. Historian and Old Norse expert Eleanor Barraclough charts his fascinating life and legacy, in conversation with James Osborne.
In his mother’s womb, he was fated to avenge his father – how was pregnancy understood in the Viking age?
A powerful prophecy was made in the Laxdaela Saga, a tragic 13th-century Icelandic tale filled with gory twists and turns. It concerned the unborn child of the beautiful Guðrún, a woman caught in a violent sequence of love, betrayal and revenge…
Guðrún was pregnant by her husband Bolli, though their marriage was not happy. After a series of taunts and insults played out between Guðrún, Bolli and Kjartan, Bolli had participated in the murder of Kjartan, who Guðrún had once loved the most. Seeking revenge for that death, a man named Helgi murdered Bolli, in front of Guðrún. Helgi then wiped the blood from his deadly spear on the shawl covering Guðrún’s belly, saying, “I think that under of the corner of that shawl dwells my own death”. Helgi’s words became reality. The child she was carrying would one day grow up and kill him. This striking story is one of only a few references found in Old Norse texts to pregnant women and their unborn children. But how typical is it? And what does it tell us about how Vikings understood pregnancy, unborn life and the women who carried it? New research into Viking understandings of pregnancy Those are the questions that new research, published in May 2025, has sought to answer, aiming to unpick the ambiguity and uncover what pregnancy was really like for Viking women, and examine its place within Old Norse culture and society. In ‘Womb Politics: The Pregnant Body and the Archaeologies of Absence’ (Cambridge Archaeological Journal, 2025), Marianne Hem Eriksen, Katherine Marie Olley, Brad Marshall and Emma Tollefsen examined 300 years of Viking texts, images, and burial evidence – and what they found was a culture that had surprisingly mixed views on pregnancy. In some places, the unborn were seen as people with destinies of their own. In others, pregnancy was treated more like a health condition, with no suggestion that the fetus had a separate identity at all. What’s most striking, though, is how often pregnancy is simply left out of the record – not missing by accident, the authors say, but likely made deliberately invisible. Women in the Viking Age Hem Eriksen notes that there was no one way of experiencing life as a woman in the Viking Age. Most people lived on rural farmsteads where everyone had to do their part, and agricultural tools have been found in both male and female burials. Based on grave goods, some women seem to have been associated with long-distance trade or metalworking. One task that seems particularly female-gendered, however, is textile production, yet this task would probably look quite different whether you were a subaltern woman doing large-scale textile production in a pit-house, or a high-status woman weaving by the hearth in the feasting hall. What women across social groups and standing may have had in common, was the experience of pregnancy. As the research explains, women who lived before effective forms of contraception likely spent much of their adult lives being pregnant, recovering from pregnancy, and nursing. Yet despite this centrality, pregnancy is rarely talked about in the written sources. So the researchers dug deeper. Looking across sagas, poems, law codes and Christian writings, they searched for hints about how Vikings understood pregnancy. Read more | Viking women: raiders, traders and settlers Legends and language While most Old Norse descriptions of pregnancy were inferred rather than described, literature and language do provide some useful insight into how Vikings thought of pregnancy. Guðrún’s story in the Laxdaela Saga is a potent example of when the Vikings gave “more existential weight to the fetus,” say the study’s authors. The story of Guðrún and her unborn son shows how the Vikings could sometimes imagine the fetus as a separate person, with its own fate. When Helgi wiped the blood on her shawl, he was already seeing Guðrún’s fetus as a boy with a destiny, independent from his mother. Other Old Norse phrases for being pregnant – such as “to go not a woman alone” and “to walk with child” – support this interpretation too. So, then, did Vikings see unborn children as integrated social persons? It might not be that straightforward. Researchers also found words that emphasise the mother’s physical, or embodied, experience of being pregnant. When describing pregnant women, Old Norse societies used adjectives like ‘bellyish’ and ‘unlight’. Meanwhile, ‘health-lack’, ‘unstrong’ and ‘sickness’, highlighted the physical impact of pregnancy and labour, essentially viewing pregnancy as a female health condition. It's a view that contradicts the story in the Laxdaela Saga – pointing to the idea that Vikings could also see the unborn as not yet having their own individual identity or personhood. A pregnant warrior? Away from textual sources, the researchers also sought out information from physical evidence: burials and artefacts. Across the Viking Age, only one convincing visual representation of Viking pregnancy survives: a silver figurine, discovered in the 1920s in a burial mound in Aska, Sweden. The object is just 3.8cm tall and it depicts a circle with a human in its centre, cradling a round belly with her arms. It’s widely understood to represent pregnancy. Intriguingly, this woman may also be wearing a helmet with a cloverleaf-shaped nose guard. When seen against the mounting evidence that some women were buried with full weapons' gear: could pregnant Viking women, alongside their unborn children, also be seen as warriors? According to the authors, the artefact provides firm evidence that the notion of “a pregnant woman in arms was not an unthinkable concept”. The burial record Meanwhile, one of the most puzzling parts of the study comes from the burial evidence. Across the thousands of Viking Age burials that have been recorded by archaeologists, the authors of the new research found only 14 examples of a mother being buried with her infant: a number that’s misaligned with the fact that death during or around pregnancy was extremely common in medieval Scandinavia. What could have caused this “extremely low” number of burials of mothers and infants together? The authors don’t believe this low number could be down only to poor preservation of the remains, nor that Viking women and infants who died in pregnancy and childbirth were exclusively cremated rather than buried. Instead, they suggest a third possibility: that mothers and their newborn children were separated, rather than being buried together. Read more | Gods, myths and rituals: what we know about Viking religious beliefs This is one explanation as to why burials with Viking women and newborns are so rare – despite the evidence that death rates were so high – and the study suggests this was intentional by the Vikings. The authors suggests a couple of theories for why this might have happened. The newborns might have been used as ‘grave-goods’ in the burial of other bodies, in the same way the Vikings buried adults with animal bodies – or used in other ritual practices. Alternatively, perhaps the newborns weren’t formally buried at all – which gives rise to the as yet unanswered, unsettling question of whether Vikings saw dead babies as worthy of grieving over at all. A culture of contradictions? In the end, the Viking view of pregnancy appears full of contradictions. The unborn could be seen as future warriors – or not as people at all. Pregnancy could be seen as powerful, or as a health burden to endure. It’s an ambiguity that seems paradoxical given how preoccupied the Vikings were with kinship and family. Were the unborn their own beings with their own lives ahead of them, or not? Was pregnancy simply a state of health? Could the pregnant women even be warriors, in some form or another? And what happened to the mothers and infants who didn’t survive the experience? Without clear evidence one way or another, the Viking Age understanding of pregnancy remains a complex puzzle: one in which birth, life and death were ever-present and deeply intertwined.
The St Brice’s Day Massacre: what really happened?
David Musgrove talks to Dr Ben Savill about the violence of 13 November 1002, when Danes in England were attacked, known as the St Brice's Day Massacre
The 11th century of English history features more than its fair share of bloodshed in battles, but right at the start of the new millennium, before 1066, one event that has always seemed to especially stand out for the brutality of its violence: the St Brice’s Day Massacre of 13 November 1002. “It continues to exercise a curious allure over successive generations of undergraduate essay-writers and their lecturers, whose own occasionally lurid interest follows a historiographical tradition going back almost a millennium, beginning with the Norman observers who sought to depict the event as one of the great, gory English national sins justifying the conquest of 1066.” That’s a quote from Dr Benjamin Savill, of Trinity College, Dublin, in his article Remembering St Brictius: Conspiracy, Violence and Liturgical Time in the Danish Massacre of 1002, published in the Journal of Ecclesiastical History - and it hints at a much broader story. What was the St Brice's Day Massacre? The massacre is a striking incident, but one for which we have only limited evidence (in common with most of the events of the period). There is a reference to it in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which notes that “in this year the king ordered to be slain all the Danish men who were in England”, and a further more detailed comment in a diploma of King Æthelred the Unready (the reigning monarch at the time) for the monastery of St Frideswide, Oxford, of 1004. That diploma describes how the Danes in that city sought sanctuary in a church, which was set upon and burnt down by “all the people in pursuit”. Archaeological evidence has recently supplemented those sources, with discovery and excavation of mass graves in Oxford and Dorset. Both excavations, but particularly the Oxford one, have been linked to the events of November 1002 as possible mass execution sites. How many were killed in the St Brice's Day Massacre? With that limited dataset, the question of how widespread the violence was, and whether it deserves to be called a massacre at all, has been subject to considerable academic debate. Speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast, Dr Savill gave his take on the matter: “It depends on what you're reading. If you're looking at the later sources coming from the Normans and Anglo-Normans, it was depicted as hyper-bloody, with babies being snatched and thrown out of windows and stuff like that, and it was happening all across the nation. Our only really concrete evidence for it is what we see in Oxford. But the point to make is the fact that this gets its own big entry in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which is pretty laconic most of the time, signifies that this was a serious event. Read more about how Viking raiders and marauders become lords and kings “In the Chronicle,” says Dr Savill, “they phrase it as something that applies to the kingdom at large. The thinking across the last few decades is that perhaps we’re not looking at total genocide, but that small groups of settlers within towns, people who were with the Danish army – mercenaries or former mercenaries – were killed on that day. You get into slightly dodgy territory by down-talking massacres, but what’s important is that this clearly played a significant role in public memory. Whatever size it was, it was perceived as significant and that's the key point.” Why did the St Brice's Day Massacre happen? To grasp why the Danes living in England at the start of the 11th century were singled out for such treatment, you have to understand the context of the reign of King Æthelred II. Famous for his posthumously applied and pejorative moniker of ‘the Unready’, he has been the subject of some revision in recent years and with a corrective challenge to the view that he uniquely laid the foundations for the fall of the Anglo-Saxons. Scholars have recently emphasised how the state was well-managed and centralised in his reign, and that he himself was calculating, rather than incompetent. Æthelred had a long reign, from 978–1016, and one punctuated by serious incursions from Viking raiders. Æthelred’s response to the arrival of Viking forces in great numbers in the 990s was to pay them off, and to employ them as mercenaries. As a consequence in 1002, there was a truce, but also considerable concern about a court conspiracy, with the Danes there implicated in a plot to overthrow the king. Academics have argued that, rather than an unregulated bout of mob violence, the events of 13 November 1002 were a planned response to this conspiracy plot, possibly drawn up by reform-minded churchmen among Æthelred’s counsellors. According to Dr Savill, a second and more interesting strand to the revision of Æthelred (for this, he recommends Prof Levi Roach’s recent biography Æthelred The Unready) has been to “emphasise the degree to which the idea of religion and reform really comes into play from the 990s. Æthelred is what we might call a penitential king, who publicly admits and arguably does penance for his own personal sins. This was linked to the creation of the idea of the English as God's people, a theocratic kingdom that would look good in God's eyes”. That’s important in the context of Dr Savill’s interpretation, which is that not only was the massacre a planned act, but that it was planned specifically to take place on the feast day of St Brice. Brice, or Brictius, was a fifth-century bishop of Tours in what’s now northern France. As a saint he cuts a curious figure because in life, he was unpopular as bishop, faced a conspiracy from his own subjects, did penance, and then returned triumphantly. There were parallels therefore to King Æthelred, and Brice perhaps offered a suitable saintly figure who might intercede and help drive out the Danes. Read more: 5 forgotten Viking battles that shaped Britain's destiny How the St Brice's Day Massacre became one of the king's biggest mistakes If we accept that the 13 November violence was planned as a response to the presumed conspiracy, and that also Æthelred and his advisors were committed to penitence and religious reform, then in Dr Savill’s view, the link to St Brice is a way to control the narrative, an attempt to ensure that the violence was read not as a massacre, but as an act of legitimate state justice. “The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle specifically says that this was done on the day of the mass of St Brictius because there was a conspiracy to overthrow the king in his kingdom. And I think given how absolutely committed Æthelred and his advisers were to religious practice, to reform, to the cult of saints, by the first decade of the 11th century, that it is not a coincidence that they chose this particular day to frame this very problematic political action that they're undertaking.” If that was their aim, Æthelred and his advisors failed. Events got out of hand and out of their control, as exemplified by the burning of the church in Oxford. Thus the 13 November 1002 has come down to us as a massacre, and a scar on public memory, rather than the act of saint-sanctioned legitimacy that Dr Savill suggests was the aim. And that's not all. In the aftermath of the killings, the Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard launched a series of attacks that might have been retaliatory. These incursions destabilised the Anglo-Saxon kingdom and laid the foundation for the subsequent interludes of Danish rule (by Forkbeard, Cnut the Great, Harold I, and Harthacnut) that would occur throughout the 11th century. If those Viking retaliations really were a direct response to the murder of Danes in England at Æthelred's decree, the Anglo-Saxon king's command could be described as one of the worst mistakes in English history. Dr Ben Savill was talking to David Musgrove on the HistoryExtra podcast