Anglo-Saxon – HistoryExtra https://www.historyextra.com The official website for BBC History Magazine and BBC History Revealed Sun, 09 Apr 2023 06:57:06 +0100 en-US hourly 1 Seven Kings Must Die: what to expect from The Last Kingdom movie https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/seven-kings-must-die-last-kingdom-movie/ Mon, 27 Mar 2023 07:05:25 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=227283

Everything seemed golden for Uhtred, son of Uhtred at the end of season 5 of the The Last Kingdom. No longer is he Uhtred of Bebbanburg in name only, but lord of what we now call Bamburgh Castle in his own right.

Moreover, he is at peace. For all his oaths and all the questionable places they have taken him throughout the popular Netflix historical series, he is now content in his ancestral home, acting as a barrier between King Constantine II of Scotland and Edward the Elder of Wessex and Mercia.

And yet there are dark clouds on the horizon, which forms the basis of Netflix’s follow up film, Seven Kings Must Die. The synopsis promises more bloodshed:

“Following the death of King Edward, a battle for the crown ensues, as rival heirs and invaders compete for power. And when an alliance comes seeking Uhtred’s help in their plans, Uhtred faces a choice between those he cares for most, and the dream of forming a united England.”

What is the plot of Seven Kings Must Die?

Season 5 of The Last Kingdom took Uhtred’s story up to the end of The Flame Bearer, the tenth book in Bernard Cornwell’s epic saga, which culminates in Uhtred finally reclaiming his ancestral home of Bebbanburg.

That leaves three books left for adaptation: War of the Wolf, Sword of Kings and War Lord.

With Edward dead, it is likely we will see a succession crisis between Aethelstan and his half-brother Aelfweard, grandson of Wessex noble and season 5 antagonist Aethelhelm.

Speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast at the time of War Lord’s release in 2020, Cornwell told us exactly how his books would end: with one of the lynchpin clashes in all of British history, the battle of Brunanburh in AD 937.

“The battle marked the beginning of England, so obviously had to be included in the series,” Cornwell told us. This was the battle that made the ‘dream of England’ pursued by Alfred the Great a reality. It is where Aethelstan defeats a combined army of Vikings and Britons, claiming Northumbria and becoming the first ‘King of the English’.

The Last Kingdom’s Aethelstan has shown glimmers of becoming that warrior king, besting Uhtred in a one-on-one sparring match in an understated moment towards the end of the last season. From the look of the trailer for Seven Kings Must Die, there are more confrontations to come between the two men.

Who are the seven kings in Seven Kings Must Die?

If you’re wondering if the phrase “seven kings must die” has the ring of prophecy to it, you’d be right.

One of more intriguing things about the film’s title is that, though it has not been mentioned in the show, the seven kings are mentioned in a prophecy as early as book six in Cornwell’s novels.

In Death of Kings, Uhtred seeks out the witch – some might say seer – Aelfadell, whose utterings include this portent:

“Seven kings will die, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, seven kings and the women you love. That is your fate. And Alfred’s son will not rule and Wessex will die and the Saxon will kill what he loves and the Danes will gain everything, and all will change and all will be the same as ever it was and ever will be.”

What does it mean? One way of looking at it is that for there to be an England, there can only be one king, which means one kingdom.

There’s a plausible allusion here to the ultimate demise of the ‘Heptarchy’ of seven Anglo-Saxon petty kingdoms that existed from the fifth to eighth centuries. They were Wessex, Mercia, East Anglia, Northumbria, Essex, Sussex and Kent.

By the time The Last Kingdom begins, the latter three had already vanished having been absorbed into the other four. And at the point that Seven Kings Must Die picks up, Northumbria remains as the only kingdom not in Aethelstan’s grasp.

Most likely, the film’s title signposts that the we’re heading in the same direction as the books: to Brunanburh.

Were there seven kings at the battle of Brunanburh?

According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, “Five young kings lay dead upon the battlefield, by swords sent to their final sleep; and likewise seven of Anlaf’s earls, and countless of his host.”

The five are not identified, though the Anlaf of the Chronicle is Olaf Guthfrithson, King of Dublin and the architect of the anti-Saxon alliance.

Brunanburh is recorded in the Annals of Ulster as “immense, lamentable and horrible, savagely fought”, and decades later would still be referred to as the ‘great battle’ – even though by that time all knowledge of where it was fought had been lost.

Olaf is known to have fought alongside kings Owain of Strathclyde and Constantine II of Scotland. Yet both Olaf and Constantine are known to have survived the clash.

Who then are the five, and what of the other two? Only one thing seems certain: in keeping with the prophecy, if a unified England is to exist, Wessex itself needs to die.

What role Uhtred will play in the machinations of Anglo-Saxon England, we will have to wait and see.

The Last Kingdom: everything you need to know

Catch-up on all five seasons of The Last Kingdom and explore the real history that underpins the fictional adventures of Uhtred, son of Uhtred | Read more

Programme Name: The Last Kingdom - TX: 19/11/2015 - Episode: n/a (No. 5) - Picture Shows:  Uhtred (ALEXANDER DREYMON) - (C) Carnival Films 2015 - Photographer: Kata Vermes

Seven Kings Must Die releases on Netflix on 14 April

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How to survive the Dark Ages in Britain: 6 crucial tips https://www.historyextra.com/period/early-medieval/survival-guide-tips-dark-ages-kingdom-britain/ Mon, 28 Nov 2022 09:16:43 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=220269
1

Go big or go home

After Roman rule collapsed at the start of the fifth century, everything changed in Britain – politically, socially, culturally and economically. Migration from northern Europe and around the Irish Sea contributed to the development of new kingdoms across the island that competed for power, or just for survival, until the advent of the Vikings marked a watershed at the end of the eighth century. Some of these kingdoms – Wessex in south-west England; Mercia in the Midlands; Northumbria in the north-east; East Anglia; and Gwynedd in north-west Wales – left an enduring legacy. Others sank with barely a trace.

So what factors brought long-term success? Growth was one key strategy. It wasn’t a universal prerequisite – East Anglia, for example, remained largely static in size and shape until the Viking Great Army conquered it in AD 869. But most of the big beasts of early medieval Britain were realms that pursued aggressive, expansionist policies.

Take Northumbria, itself formed from the merger of two smaller kingdoms, Bernicia and Deira. It swallowed up several near neighbours, and had a crack at others. Mercia was the midland realm with perhaps the greatest ambitions of all – particularly during the reign of Offa (ruled 757–796) and his successor Coenwulf (r796–821). In the eighth century, it controlled an empire that extended from the Welsh borders to the Wash and south to the Channel. At its height, Mercia could claim overlordship of Sussex and Kent, Hwicce, Lindsey and parts of Wales.

Wessex, the south-western realm that was later the only survivor of the Viking cataclysm, entered the mid-ninth century in control of all of Britain south of the Thames. Not all of the unsuccessful kingdoms lacked ambition, but all failed to capitalise on it. Some, such as Essex, were unable to press their advantages when they had them – or, as the next section shows, to hold on to their gains when they had made them.

2

Keep it together

One thing that pretty much guarantees political instability is division over major cultural issues. Being at loggerheads with yourself for a prolonged period of time offers opportunities for malign outside powers to twist the chisel and split the wood.

Take, for example, the kingdom of Essex that coalesced in the late sixth century. On paper, by the early seventh century its people, the East Saxons, had it all. Theirs was a solid chunk of contiguous territory between the Thames and the Stour encompassing the modern counties of Essex and Middlesex and much of Hertfordshire. That included a long stretch of coastline with easy access to continental imports and ideas. They also had some control of the lower Thames and its estuary, and riverine access into the heart of southern Britain.

And they had the walled city of Londinium – largely defunct, true, but still strategically vital and symbolically valuable as the former capital of Roman Britannia. Yet by the ninth century, the East Saxon kingdom was a shadow of its former self. Confined to Essex, its kings were bit players on the political stage, subject to the whims of others and on the verge of losing their independence.


On the podcast | Max Adams pieces together the evidence to uncover what happened after the fall of Roman Britain


So what went wrong? In a word, religion. The first king we know anything about – Sæberht (reigned c604– c616) – was pressured by his uncle, King Æthelberht of Kent, to convert to Christianity and allow the first church of St Paul’s to be built in London. His three sons were less enthusiastic. On their father’s death, they reverted to pagan ways and sent the bishop, Mellitus, packing. This pattern was repeated more than once: Christianity introduced with the backing of outside kingdoms was overturned by a pagan backlash.

Tension between Christian and pagan factions persisted, their leaders supported at different times by asymmetrical alliances with more powerful foreign allies: Northumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, Wessex. It was a trend exacerbated by a habit of joint but uncooperative kingship exercised by the East Saxon royal family.

These political fault lines were ripe for exploitation, and the senior partners in these alliances gained ever greater power. The main beneficiaries were the Mercians who, by the mid-eighth century, were effectively in control of London and Middlesex. By the time Essex fell under the sway of Wessex in the ninth century, its kings must have long given up hope of returning to the big league.

The kingdoms of the Dark Ages, c600

East Anglia

Settled by northern European migrants from the fifth century, this kingdom comprising the “northern folk” (Norfolk) and “southern folk” (Suffolk) survived until Vikings invaded in the second half of the ninth century.

Kent

Founded in folklore by fifth-century Jutish adventurers Hengist and Horsa, Kent entered history as a Christian kingdom in the late sixth century. By the eighth century it became dominated by Mercia, and was subsequently absorbed into Wessex after 825.

Essex

The realm of the East Saxons – at one time spanning what’s now Essex, Middlesex and southern Hertfordshire – was annexed by Wessex in the ninth century.

Wessex

Probably based originally in the Thames Valley, the kingdom of the Gewissæ shifted to Hampshire and Dorset, rebranding as Wessex. The West Saxons harried Sussex during the seventh and eighth centuries, and in 825 conclusively wrested dominance of southern Britain from Mercia.

Dumnonia

This long-lasting kingdom, in what is now Cornwall and Devon, had its origins in the pre-Roman Iron Age but was crushed by Wessex in the ninth century.

Mercia

From its heartland in the upper west Midlands, Mercia grew to encompass much of central, eastern and southern Britain. During the eighth century, notably under King Offa (r757–796), Mercia controlled Lindsey, East Anglia, Essex, Kent, Hwicce and Sussex, but declined in the ninth century after defeat to Wessex.

Gwynedd

The kingdom of Gwynedd was the longest-lasting and most politically important realm of the British west until England finally gained control in the 13th century.

Dyfed

Based on the Iron Age tribal territory of the Demetae, Dyfed was absorbed into the larger realm of Deheubarth in the tenth century, then invaded by the Normans following the Norman Conquest.

Northumbria

The land of the people “north of the Humber” was the product of a seventh-century merger between Deira and Bernicia, and extended as far north as the Firth of Forth. In the mid-860s it was settled and ruled by Vikings until it became part of the kingdom of England in 954.

Dál Riata

This Gaelic-speaking kingdom covered most of Scotland’s Atlantic fringe. It disappeared from history in the mid-ninth century, and parts of its former territory were incorporated into the kingdom of Alba.

Alt Clut

This kingdom was centred on Dumbarton Rock in the Clyde until the fortress there was destroyed in 870. Rebranded as Strathclyde, the kingdom staggered on into the 11th century.


3

Get religion, keep the faith

Though religion could be the undoing of a kingdom, it could also be instrumental in a realm’s survival. In the early stages of its spread across Britain, Christianity was not essential to the success of a kingdom.

The seventh-century pagan kings Æthelfrith of Northumbria and Penda of Mercia set the stage for the later dominance of their respective kingdoms with exceptionally aggressive careers. Æthelfrith was remembered by the early eighth-century scholar Bede (with some approval, it has to be said) for slaughtering 1,200 monks at the battle of Chester in c613–16. Penda, meanwhile, defeated the army of the saintly King Oswald of Northumbria at the battle of Maserfelth in c642 – then nailed the vanquished leader’s head and severed limbs to wooden stakes. Neither Æthelfrith nor Penda appear to have been held back by their heathenry.

Yet it is also true that no kingdom survived to face the Viking Age with its pagan beliefs intact – and those that held out the longest eventually came to notable grief in one way or another.

The South Saxons (the people of Sussex) kept up pagan practices longer than most. According to Bede, as late as the 660s they were still throwing themselves from cliffs in response to famine – in despair, perhaps, or as an auto-sacrifice to some bloodthirsty deity. When Saint Wilfrid washed up there in the portentous year 666, he is said to have encountered a sorcerer standing “on a high mound like Balaam” [a Biblical prophet], cursing Wilfrid’s crew and “trying to bind their hands with his magical art”.

The enduring paganism of the South Saxons made them vulnerable in a number of ways. First, it provided neighbouring kings (specifically, of Mercia) with a ready-made tool – sponsored baptism with diplomatic strings attached – by which they could formalise their position as overlords. Second, it opened the door to missionaries from elsewhere who could seed cultural – and, subsequently, political – influence at court and in the wider populace. In this way, older values and traditions were progressively overwritten until they were forgotten.

Third, failure to adopt Christianity on their own terms denied to the South Saxons the vital technology of remembering – writing – that might have helped to preserve and foster a sense of idiosyncrasy and communal solidarity in the face of outside pressures. As it was, however, whatever it was that made the South Saxons unique was lost through their conversion by outsiders. Almost all of the known history of the kingdom of Sussex is preserved only in the biography of a Northumbrian missionary, Wilfrid, and the second-hand testimony of a West Saxon bishop, Daniel of Winchester.

Facsimile copy of the Lindisfarne Gospels, which was created in the early eighth century (Photo by travelib history / Alamy Stock Photo)
4

Don’t forget where you came from (but if you do, make something up)

Everyone needs to feel like they belong in some way, and the sense of a shared heritage and common values can be a potent means for communities to feel confident and empowered. It can also provide an ambitious ruler with a compelling means of mobilising people in pursuit of some goal or other. At the same time, it can offer kings the sort of glamorous backstory that emphasises a right to rule, inherited qualities and the imprimatur of deep-rooted tradition.

Most of the nascent kingdoms of early medieval Britain understood this. It underpinned the endemic habit, prevalent until the seventh century, of burying the dead in the environs of (or sometimes inside) the monuments raised by prehistoric people millennia-dead. It’s also the reason for the production of royal genealogies peopled with the gods and heroes of a mythical age – a trend that lasted much longer.

The sense of a shared heritage and common values can be a potent means for communities to feel confident and empowered

One very physical example of how this was utilised is the Pillar of Eliseg, a large stone memorial raised on top of a Bronze Age cairn by the rulers of Powys in the early ninth century. The pillar (which still stands, north of Llangollen) was erected specifically to emphasise the contemporary achievements of King Cyngen. Importantly, it also compared them to those of his great-grandfather Eliseg and an impressive cast of heroic ancestors including the Roman emperor Magnus Maximus and the famous British warlord Vortigern.

It didn’t do Powys much good in the long run: the kingdom vanished for centuries as an independent realm after Cyngen’s death in 854 or 855. However, it was clearly thought essential, probably because his family were relative newcomers to the Powysian throne. At least it meant that he and his kin were remembered. The same wasn’t true of all other kings and kingdoms of the age.

The fifth-century British warlord Vortigern (left) in a 14th-century illustration. Vortigern’s reputation would later be used by King Cyngen of Powys to consolidate his rule (Photo by British Library Board. All Rights Reserved / Bridgeman Images)
5

Write it down…

There are many realms about which very little is known. Then there are those about which nothing is known beyond a name – otherwise obscure tribes such as the Sweordora and the Unecungaga, for example. And there are the unknown unknowns: the kingdoms that we don’t even know that we don’t know about. The factor that makes the difference is the survival of the written word.

In British history, the period from c400 to c800 is not distinguished by the quantity or the reliability of its surviving written sources. No contemporary written texts survive at all for large areas of the island, over very long periods of time. Those that do survive have particular regional and ethnic biases or are largely products of a later period. Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People (c731), for example, is a history framed deliberately to the advantage of English-speaking communities, Roman forms of Christianity and Bede’s own kingdom of Northumbria.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle assumed its original form in the 890s at the court of Alfred the Great, king of Wessex. At the time of its creation it represented a sophisticated tissue of favourable reportage, propaganda and tendentious lore designed to bolster the reputation and ambitions of the West Saxon royal dynasty. In this respect, it did a remarkably thorough job. Likewise, the early ninth-century Historia Brittonum was compiled to the benefit of the kings of Gwynedd.

There is, it must be admitted, a certain circularity here: the most successful kingdoms survived the longest, and the longest lasting were the most likely to produce written chronicles, charters and histories. Those that failed are the most likely to have seen their records lost or destroyed. Still, the point remains: if you don’t want your reign or your kingdom to be forgotten, the key strategy for ensuring a long-lasting legacy is simple: write it down.

6

…but don’t sign up to anything

Much of what is known about the detailed political history of smaller early medieval kingdoms comes from legal documents. In particular, we learn a lot from the appearance in such records of rulers and churchmen as witnesses to land transactions enacted by the kings of larger realms. Their supporting presence in such contexts demonstrates close political relationships, but it also indicates a subordinate role.

Likewise, there are reports of ceremonies in which a king accepted baptism with a more powerful ruler as “godfather”. For example, Æthelwealh of Sussex was baptised in Mercia in 681, in the presence of King Wulfhere. The deal included an arranged marriage to Eafe of the Hwicce – another small kingdom under Mercian “protection” – and a chunk of territory around the River Meon.

Entering into arrangements like these may have seemed expedient at the time: insecure kings might seek to shore up their own position – perhaps in opposition to a rival internal faction or another predatory neighbour. And by accepting a degree of subordination to an “overking”, a smaller realm could gain a great deal of diplomatic leverage and military advantage; this happened repeatedly in Essex.

But the longer-term implications of such deals were rarely positive. Consider the kings of Hwicce. Osric, the first to appear (in charters of the late-seventh century) was styled unambiguously as rex – full king. However, in similar circumstances his successors suffered a demotion, appearing as subreguli – the slightly humiliating “under-kinglets” – or as comites (“counts” – literally, “companions”). One of the last kings of that realm, Uhtred, was afforded by King Offa of Mercia a grudging and limited “degree of rule over his own people”. He was the last to be granted even that.

By the ninth century, Hwicce had entirely lost its independence – not through war and conquest but through bureaucracy. Like many smaller kingdoms, Hwicce was managed out of existence.

Thomas Williams is a historian of the early Middle Ages and a former curator at the British Museum. His latest book is Lost Realms: Histories of Britain from the Romans to the Vikings (William Collins, 2022)

This article was first published in the October 2022 issue of BBC History Magazine

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Alternate history: what if Alfred the Great lost to the Vikings at the battle of Edington? https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/what-if-alfred-the-great-lost-battle-edington-vikings/ Thu, 17 Nov 2022 10:36:18 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=219990

King Alfred was far from successful in his early battles against the Danes. Shortly after succeeding his brother Æthelred as ruler of Wessex in AD 871, he was forced to make a fragile peace by paying the invaders to leave the kingdom, only to suffer further incursions over the next few years.

But by AD 878 and the battle of Edington, Alfred was sufficiently powerful to be able to force the Danes, led by the future king of East Anglia, Guthrum, into a modest retreat across the border into neighbouring Mercia. In the process, Alfred regained the stronghold of Chippenham, and a subsequent programme of fortress building managed to keep future Danish aggression at bay. These were tactics that would come to influence later Saxon leaders, including his children Edward the Elder and Æthelflæd, ‘Lady of the Mercians’.

Whether a different Wessex king could have achieved this success is up for scrutiny. Ryan Lavelle – professor of early medieval history at the University of Winchester and the author of Alfred’s Wars: Sources and Interpretations of Anglo-Saxon Warfare in the Viking Age (Boydell, 2010) – suggests that “perhaps Alfred had more drive than other rulers at this point in his life, but we don’t know if another ruler in the same position would have done better.”

“Perhaps he had skills as a negotiator. The peace in AD 871 was bought with money, and knowing when to purchase peace and how it could be negotiated was an important thing. Any ruler could buy peace if they had the wealth, but I suppose the thing here might be that Alfred knew it was a good time to do so in AD 871 and to regroup.”

In context: the aftermath of Edington

Seven years into his rule as king of Wessex, during which he suffered frequent Viking incursions, Alfred’s troops met the forces of the Danish leader Guthrum at the battle of Edington. His victory was highly significant, not least because Wessex was the only Saxon kingdom that hadn’t succumbed to Viking control.

Furthermore, not only did it mark the beginning of Wessex’s heavy fortification, protecting Alfred’s subjects from future invasions, but it also fostered peaceful relations due to Alfred’s insistence that Guthrum’s Christian baptism be a key clause of the post-battle Treaty of Wedmore. Overall Scandinavian control of each and every Saxon kingdom had been averted.

That regrouping, during which time Alfred probably recruited more warriors, laid the foundations of the victory at Edington. Were he not so organised, Guthrum’s westward expansion may have met little resistance. Had the Danes taken control of all of Wessex, would there have been much opposition from the West Saxons or other Anglo-Saxons? Might they have organised to repel these interlopers?

“Some sort of national uprising would have been unlikely,” explains Professor Lavelle. “The English after 1066 didn’t manage this when there had been decades of nominally national rule, so I don’t think we can expect groups of people who weren’t bound in any political fashion to have managed it in the circumstances of Alfred having been hammered at the battle of Edington.”


Watch: Michael Wood on Alfred the Great’s remarkable grandson, Æthelstan


Religious coexistence?

By the same token, a unified ‘Daneland’, whereby the regions under Danish control forged a federation or even a single state, was unlikely. “Although the Viking ‘Great Army’ is given a sense of unity by the West Saxons’ Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, it was a diverse bunch with different leaders and different interests, so the possibility exists that the ‘heptarchy’ of pre-Viking England could have continued for much longer, with a patchwork of territories.”

“Different Viking leaders might have disposed of the puppet leaders they’d installed, but I don’t think they would have done it with the greater aim of creating some kind of ‘Daneland’. However, this possibility would have been in the minds of the West Saxons and the Mercians in AD 878.”

Even if a post-Edington control of Wessex by the Danes was unlikely to lead to the unification of various kingdoms, Viking culture would nonetheless have come to bear on the West Saxons. One clear cultural difference concerns religion, with the Scandinavians’ paganism seemingly at odds with the Christianity of the natives. Certainly the outlawing of the latter belief would have profoundly altered the course of English history.

But Professor Lavelle sees less conflict here than might be imagined. “Vikings very quickly adopted Christianity in the places in which they settled. It suited Danish rulers to cooperate with existing networks of Christian authority, and while some of the Vikings may have been explicit in their hostility to Christianity, the variety of gods worshipped by Scandinavian pagans at this time would have meant that there was room for Christ among those gods. Also, I suspect that the networks of trade on which many Vikings relied would have meant that absolute hostility to Christianity was off the cards.”

Other Viking cultural influences might have included how life subsequently looked. For instance, Professor Lavelle imagines “the building of Viking great halls in the downlands of the English countryside”. Indeed, with Alfred’s programme of fortress construction only taking effect post-Edington, “perhaps the shape of English towns would have looked different as a result”.

That said, the core purpose of human interaction and society would have survived, even between Dane and Saxon. “The needs of towns as places for people to gather, to exchange news, to trade and sometimes to worship would have been the same, and to be part of a network linked to the sea was also important during the early medieval period. We can surely expect the Vikings to have shared the same interests.”

Ryan Lavelle is the historical advisor for 878 AD, a visitor attraction in Winchester inspired by the story of King Alfred’s victory at Edington

This article was first published in the December 2022 edition of BBC History Revealed

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In conversation: Michael Wood on the West Saxon king Æthelstan https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/michael-wood-aethelstan-guide-video/ Thu, 17 Nov 2022 09:37:57 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=219982

Who was Æthelstan? What were his greatest achievements? And how does he stack up to his grandfather, Alfred the Great? In this 25-minute video, historian Michael Wood answers everything you need to know about the 10th-century Æthelstan, who was the first West Saxon king to effectively rule over all of England.

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Winter is coming: the Anglo-Saxon year https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/anglo-saxon-year-podcast-eleanor-parker/ Tue, 13 Sep 2022 10:57:01 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=215751

How did the Anglo-Saxons think about changing seasons? Did they have the same months and use the same calendar as we do? What were the main festivals they celebrated, and why was winter such an important period for Anglo-Saxon poets? Eleanor Parker, author of Winters in the World: A Journey through the Anglo-Saxon Year, reveals more in conversation with David Musgrove.

Eleanor Parker is the author of Winters in the World: A Journey Through the Anglo-Saxon Year (Reaktion, 2022)

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Excavating Winchester: the dig that changed (urban) history https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/winchester-excavation-1962/ Tue, 06 Sep 2022 14:00:13 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=215121

On 27 February 1962, hundreds of people crammed into Winchester Guildhall for a public meeting. It was, in many ways, not such an unusual event: the foundation of a local committee, in this case the Winchester Excavations Committee. The meeting was, though, to have profound impacts, because it signalled, as The Times later said, the start of “one of the most important excavations worldwide of the 20th century” – nothing less than the beginnings of urban archaeology in Britain, and the recovery of a key to the pre-Conquest English past.

Exterior view of Winchester Guildhall in Hampshire, UK (Photo via Getty Images)

It had all begun – as some of the best archaeological stories do – with a rescue dig under a car park. At the turn of the 1960s, Trust Houses had announced plans to build a new hotel in the middle of Winchester, between High Street and the cathedral. Documentary evidence, brought together by the late Roger Quirk, indicated that this site was close to the location of the famous seventh-century Old Minster, and also of the New Minster founded by Edward the Elder to be a burial place for his father, Alfred the Great, and his dynasty. So the new development threatened the historic core of Winchester (Felix Urbs Wintonia: “the Fortunate City of Winchester”), England’s first “capital” and the principal seat of the Anglo-Saxon kings of Wessex.

A test dig in 1961 revealed 3 metres of undisturbed strata of material going back to the Roman era, spanning the entire Old English period – and there were signs of major buildings. “It was thought that the development was likely to be on the site of New Minster,” recalls Martin Biddle, who directed the Winchester excavations. “At that time there was no legal protection of any kind for the buried remains of the urban past – indeed, for any past except listed buildings.” Fortunately, he found allies on the city council, including the mayor, Dilys Neate, and in 1962 the Winchester Excavations Committee was established. It was a landmark moment in the unearthing of the city’s history.

International Effort

Nine more years of intensive excavation followed, the dig rapidly evolving from a rescue operation to a well-planned long-term campaign. The work was backed by two American universities, the Ministry of Works (as it then was), the Winchester and Hampshire Councils, the British Museum and the Society of Antiquaries – a fantastic combined effort that sustained the dig’s finances over so many years. In all, some 3,000 volunteers from more than 30 countries worked on the project, which won a United Nations award for international cooperation.

The dig captured the public imagination, spanning as it finally did some 2,000 years of history – from the Iron Age through the Roman-era town of Venta Belgarum, Anglo-Saxon Wintanceaster and Alfred the Great’s capital, to the Norman conquest and beyond. It was the most comprehensive excavation ever undertaken of an early English city.

What were the findings?

For all Old English history fans, as well as for scholars, the findings of the 1961 Winchester dig were thrilling. By chance, barely a month into the first season on Cathedral Green, the team discovered the base of the high altar of the Old Minster, founded around 650. They then exposed the foundations, enabling them to reconstruct a complete plan of the Old Minster, burial place of most of the early West Saxon kings. Subsequently they discovered the 10th-century New Minster and clues to the site of the royal palace, along with many other features: inscriptions, sculpture, metalwork, even fragments of wall paintings from the days of Alfred’s battles with the Danes. In a very real sense, this was the root of the English monarchy – after all, the current Queen traces her descent back to Alfred and his ancestors.

The dig spanned some 2,000 years of history, from the Iron Age, the Romans and the Anglo-Saxons to the Norman conquest and beyond

I can remember the excitement I felt as a student when I bought the interim reports each year; I’ve still got the dog-eared copies over which we pored, as if a whole new category of knowledge was appearing before our eyes.

Among the eye-opening discoveries was the fact that a completely new street grid had been replanned inside the Roman walls as part of the massive reorganisation of southern English towns at around the time of Alfred the Great. Now we saw for the first time what these “kings of the Anglo-Saxons”, as they call themselves, were actually doing in the late ninth and 10th centuries.

Previously, our understanding of urban history in this period had been limited to enigmatic documents such as the Burghal Hidage. This assessment list, dating from c914 AD, details more than 30 towns and forts, some of them reused Roman circuits and Iron Age forts, others newly built at that time. Thanks to the Winchester excavations, though, we could now clearly see the pattern of later Anglo-Saxon urban development. In fact, the discovery of the Winchester street plan even led to a reassessment of the London street plan of the ninth and tenth centuries.

Centre of gravity

Winchester was the showpiece for the dynasty. By the end of the 10th century, England’s economic centre of gravity had shifted to London, but at the time of the Norman conquest Winchester was still the royal city. The project looked at the new Norman city, with its castles and cathedral – still today the longest nave in Britain – and charted, too, the medieval decline and the later emergence of the early modern city in the Georgian period. Never before had such a programme been undertaken and carried through in any city in Britain or mainland Europe. Not surprisingly, there is hope that Winchester will eventually be graced by a museum celebrating England’s first “capital”.

The dig, completed in 1971, was followed from the mid-seventies by an ongoing series of Winchester Studies publications; 10 are already available, with seven more still to come. These lavish volumes, fabulously printed and illustrated, are now being digitised, with previously published volumes to be made freely available (for more details, see winchesterstudies.org.uk/publications). Set alongside the archaeology, they provide an incredible range of literary, poetic, historical and documentary evidence for the city’s story.

One aspect they highlight is that England was part of the growth of urban medieval Europe between the 10th and 12th centuries. During that period, perhaps 15 per cent of the population lived in towns and cities. Winchester housed a substantial concentration of people in an estimated 1,300 tenements, with perhaps as many as 13,000 inhabitants at its peak in the 12th century.

With a population of around 20,000, London was England’s biggest city. Though small by later standards, it was throned with merchants from all over northern Europe, one of the law codes of King Æthelred, dated to around AD 1000, singles out those of Rouen, Flanders, Ponthieu, Normandy and Frankia, as well as others from specific towns in the Low Countries and “the men of the emperor” (Ottonian Germany), who had especially wide-ranging privileges. Other tolls reveal that goods brought to London included timber, fish and wine from France.

Winchester in the 10th century

Winchester, the dig showed, shared in this growth. The work also revealed the beginnings of civil society in England. In the 10th century, there was more money, more mobility and – despite the impression given by the harsh laws of Edgar (king of the English 959-75) – more freedom. This information comes especially from hitherto unexamined sources published in the Winchester Studies series.

For example, a text describing manifestations of popular piety at the shrine of Saint Swithun in Winchester between 969 and 971 gives us the records of a popular cult just as it took off. Along with stories of miracle cures at the shrine – people recovering their sight or throwing away their crutches – these accounts are invaluable for the incidental details they reveal about the lower reaches of society as well as the middle classes. They show that in Edgar’s time it was possible for people to travel across England to buy and sell, to go on pilgrimage, or, if free, to seek work. People came to Winchester from London, East Anglia and Essex, Somerset, Northumbria and France. Even an English resident in Rome was lured home by stories of life-changing cures at the revamped shrine of Saint Swithun.

St Swithun’s Shrine Memorial at Winchester Cathedral (Photo by: Dukas/Universal Images Group via Getty Images)

The people who congregated in this rich West Saxon city, with its royal churches and markets, represent a cross section of wider 10th-century English society: blind beggars, merchants and moneyers, bell-founders and even a “skilled physician”. There were many foreigners, too; indeed, Edgar was criticised for inviting too many immigrants. It was not only in London that Flemish and Frankish merchants congregated; here in Winchester, a wealthy moneyer called Flodoald (a name from Normandy or Picardy) and his brother lived in the city, perhaps with his whole family. This is the kind of merchant implied in Æthelred’s laws, which regulated wine imports from that part of France. The Anglo-Saxon world was changing.

What we know about Winchester after the Norman conquest…

The Norman conquest initially struck a huge blow to this rich and diverse urban milieu. In Winchester, the area taken to make space for construction of the new Norman castle (including its ditches inside and outside the city wall) totalled nearly 4.5 hectares. Thanks to the work of the Winchester Excavations team, our knowledge of the post-Conquest city’s citizens now grows exponentially. For example, the first volume of the Winchester Studies examines the “Winton Domesday” (c1110). This house-by-house survey of the city shows where people lived and what jobs they did – staggering detail for a medieval population, encompassing people ranging from slaves and servants to merchants, priests and nobles. This enables us to link the lives of the real people in the survey with what the archaeologists find in the ground – sometimes down to the very house.

Astonishingly, it’s possible to place medieval Winchester’s inhabitants in their very houses and shops along the street

Thus on the north side of High Street, going towards the West Gate, the survey records properties as they had been in 1066. We find Edwin “Good-soul” in the second property, Leofwine the shoemaker in the sixth house, Wulfric the priest in the 10th tenement. Nearby was “the guild hall of the cnihtas [the knights or thegns]”, where they used to “drink their guild” – that is, hold their feasts – “held freely from King Edward [the Confessor]”. Further on were Ælfwin the moneyer and Leofflaed, daughter of Ecregal. There were shopkeepers, a herring-monger, priests and beadles – all members of the old community of England on the eve of the Conquest. Astonishingly, it’s possible to place the city’s inhabitants in their very houses and shops along the street. No other town in Britain has ever had this treatment – and maybe no other ever will.

The Winchester Excavations Committee continues to prepare its publications, and is now raising money to fund the production of the remaining volumes as well as digitising the entire output. This charity, with small teams based in Winchester and Oxford, is still led by the ever-dynamic Martin Biddle.

Our most famous living archaeologist, Biddle turned 85 this June; he was not yet 25 when the Winchester Excavations Committee was founded in 1962. At the age of 12, he dug for eminent archaeologist Mortimer Wheeler at Verulamium (the Roman town just outside modern St Albans); at just 20 he excavated at Jericho for Kathleen Kenyon, another hugely renowned archaeologist. His later projects include amazing detective work on the reputed burial place of Jesus in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. In the 1970s and 80s, he turned his attention to Repton in Derbyshire, with its incredible mass burial of Viking dead. He solved the riddle of the origin of “King Arthur’s Round Table” in Winchester, dating it to the late 13th century, and addressed many other conundrums. Not least of these efforts was his brilliant untangling of late Roman St Albans, proving continuity from the Roman period to the Anglo-Saxons. No one in our lifetime has done more to expand our knowledge of Britain’s early history.

Roman architecture remains preserved in Verulamium Park in St Albans (Photo: Getty Images)

But Winchester is still his baby. It took 10 years to dig and another 50 to publish the results – and the work is still ongoing. No other excavation has contributed more to our understanding of the urban past in Britain, bringing a lost world back to life. So we should celebrate Martin for a career of incredible exploration throughout which his drive, his expertise and his curiosity have never flagged. “I was lucky enough to be there at the start,” he says – never imagining, perhaps, that from those small beginnings in the car park by the cathedral would emerge one of the greatest urban archaeology projects in the world.

Michael Wood is professor of public history at the University of Manchester. His latest book is a new edition of In Search of the Dark Ages (BBC, 2022)

This article was first published in the September 2022 issue of BBC History Magazine

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My history hero: Ian Hislop chooses Alfred the Great (AD 849–99) https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/history-hero-ian-hislop-chooses-alfred-the-great/ Tue, 06 Sep 2022 10:05:07 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=213345

Alfred the Great: in profile

Alfred the Great was king of Wessex from AD 871–99. He won a decisive victory against the Vikings at the battle of Edington in 878, and successfully defended his kingdom against further Viking attacks. Generally considered an enlightened warrior king, he brought scholars to his court, translated key texts from Latin and improved England’s legal system and defences.

When did you first hear about Alfred?

I got the Ladybird children’s book about him at school and have been interested in him ever since.

What kind of person was he?

Alfred was clever and insightful without being duplicitous. However, there was a certain amount of elbowing people out of the way to ensure that history would recognise his achievements. I doubt whether he really did let the woman’s cakes burn while on the run from the Vikings – but the story has been a great inspiration for not very good historians!

What made Alfred a hero?

His success in repelling the Vikings and helping to create a sense of national identity among England’s disparate kingdoms. He not only set up a system of burhs [fortified settlements] to defend the country against the invading Vikings, but convinced Englishmen that they could stand up to the Norsemen. The emphasis he placed on learning, language and literature also shows him to be ahead of his time.

What was Alfred’s finest hour?

I’d say there were two. Firstly, saving a version of Anglo-Saxon England from the Danes. Secondly, fusing his military and diplomatic skills with the power of the church to create a united kingdom of England.

Would there be an England as we know it today without Alfred?

No. It would have been a very different place and may well have been a split kingdom. It’s sometimes forgotten that the Normans built upon an established English kingdom – the system of the hundreds and the shires, and a version of civil society that might work – that was largely Alfred’s creation.

Are we in danger of losing sight of his greatness?

Yes, the popular view seems to be that nothing much happened in England between the Romans leaving and the Normans arriving, and that our ancestors simply ran around in the dark during the intervening years. Believe me, it’s a lot more interesting than that!


On the podcast | Robert Gallagher brings to light newly discovered evidence about Asser, the biographer of King Alfred:


Is there anything that you don’t particularly admire about him?

He played people off against each other, and thought that anything was acceptable against the pagans. But his achievements far outweigh his defects. He wasn’t called “the Great” by accident!

What would you ask Alfred if you could meet him?

In the same way I asked my parents, who lived through the Second World War, what it was like not knowing we were going to win, I’d like to know if he really believed if he was going to triumph over the Vikings.

Ian Hislop is editor of Private Eye, and a team captain on the BBC quiz show Have I Got News For You

This content first appeared in the Christmas 2021 issue of BBC History Magazine

Discover more history heroes, our monthy series in which popular figures from the present tell us about who inspired them from the past

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15 minutes of fame | Michael Wood chooses St Hadrian of Canterbury https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/saint-hadrian-canterbury-who-life-why-remembered/ Tue, 23 Aug 2022 11:42:18 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=214267

Who was St Hadrian?

St Hadrian was a seventh century scholar who helped turn early medieval England into a cultural powerhouse.

In 731, the English historian Venerable Bede introduced his readers to a “vir natione Afir”, “a man of African race”. This was Hadrian. His life was indissolubly bound up with another figure, Theodore of Tarsus, who was an Assyrian Greek.

“The two of them came together to England in c669,” explains Wood, “tasked by the pope to bring Mediterranean learning to the English people.”

Historian Michael Wood. (Image by Alamy)

St Hadrian’s life

Hadrian was born in the seventh century. “Although we don’t know for sure about Hadrian’s background and origin, we know that he came from North Africa,” says Wood. He was perhaps raised in the coastal town of Apollonia in today’s Libya, which had at least four Byzantine churches in his day. By the time of the Arab invasions across the Near East and the collapse of Byzantine rule c642, Wood explains that Hadrian was probably already a Christian priest.

Hadrian fled along with many others, and established himself in Naples, “a fantastic centre of Latin and Greek culture,” says Wood. “From the 500s onwards, many great writers had arrived there, and a huge amount of literature was produced.” Hadrian immersed himself in this world of multi-lingual learning and built up a reputation for his linguistic skills, possibly even serving as a translator when the Byzantine emperor visited Italy.

By the late 660s, Hadrian’s reputation was such that Pope Vitalian asked him to take over the vacant archbishopric in Britain, explains Wood. It was a very pagan land – “the land where sticks and stones were still worshipped, according to Pope Gregory the Great” – and the conversion mission of St Augustine in 597 was still recent history.

“It’s an unbelievable idea,” explains Wood, “that this guy who calls himself a man of African nationality – maybe he was Berber or Amazigh or a kind of half Greek, half native Libyan – had been asked to become Archbishop of Canterbury.”

Initially, Hadrian twice refused the post, suggesting other candidates including Theodore instead. Despite initial doubts that probably stemmed from his advanced age, Theodore ultimately accepted – but on the condition that Hadrian came with him. “It’s absolutely incredible,” says Wood of their journey. “They went there to bring the learning of the whole eastern Mediterranean world to Britain.”

The school they later established in Canterbury became famous throughout Europe. “They went everywhere and did everything together,” wrote the Venerable Bede of Hadrian and Theodore in 731. “It was the happiest time since the English first came to Britain.”

Why does St Hadrian deserve his 15 minutes of fame?

“In terms of the people who deserve better mention in British history, I think he’s one of the most important,” says Wood. The teachings of Hadrian and Theodore “lasted for centuries. In the tenth century there were people saying ‘we still drink from their springs’. They were such extraordinary and exceptional teachers.”

Wood explains how Hadrian “saw something in this whole project that was fantastic for future generations.” It was under their aegis, he says, that Benedict Biscop founded the monastery at Monkwearmouth, and then King Ecgfrith of Northumbria, a few years later, founded the monastery at Jarrow. “These are powerhouses of European culture, foundational moments in European culture.”

You can listen to the full interview and find more episodes in our 15 minutes of fame podcast series

Michael Wood is a historian, broadcaster, and Professor of Public History at the University of Manchester. His bestselling book In Search of the Dark Ages has recently been revised and republished by BBC Books, and is available now

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15 minutes of fame: St Hadrian of Canterbury, medieval African theologian https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/15-minutes-fame-podcast-st-hadrian/ Mon, 22 Aug 2022 15:32:12 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=214312

It’s the HistoryExtra podcast’s 15th birthday, and to celebrate, we’ve asked 15 historians to nominate a figure from history they think deserves their ‘15 minutes of fame’. In this episode, Professor Michael Wood nominates St Hadrian of Canterbury. Speaking with Spencer Mizen, he hails the achievements of this seventh-century scholar who helped turn early medieval England into a cultural powerhouse.

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15 minutes of fame | Marc Morris chooses Saint Wilfrid https://www.historyextra.com/period/anglo-saxon/st-wilfrid-who-life-why-important/ Tue, 02 Aug 2022 14:49:27 +0000 https://www.historyextra.com/?p=212391

Who was Saint Wilfrid?

Born in Northumbria , in c634 AD, Saint Wilfrid became a bishop of Northumbria.

Described as a “model of eloquence and politeness” by his biographer Stephen of Ripon and presented as rude and abrasive by the Venerable Bede, Wilfrid lived a long life that spanned the seventh and early eighth centuries, and his controversial career had a great impact on Anglo-Saxon England.

Historian Marc Morris selected St Wilfrid as a historical figure worthy of 15 minutes of fame.

 

Saint Wilfrid’s life

We are well-informed about Wilfrid’s life, Morris explains, because the Anglo-Saxons converted from paganism to Christianity in the course of the seventh century, resulting in fuller written sources. From these sources, and most importantly his contemporary biography, we can see that Wilfrid was a larger-than-life character.

As a teenager Wilfrid was sent to the monastery on the island of Lindisfarne, where he learned the fundamentals of the Christian faith. After a few years, however, he decided to visit Rome. This would have been “a mind-blowing experience” for a young man from Northumbria, Morris explains. Prior to this point he would never have seen a community with more than a few hundred people, whereas the population of Rome in the seventh century was around 100,000 people.

As a result of this experience, says Morris, Wilfrid “was completely converted to the Roman idea of what Christianity should be”. When he returned to Britain a few years later, his adherence to Roman practices and ideals “sets him at loggerheads with the Celtic tradition in which he’s been raised”.

Throughout his adult life, Wilfrid continued to clash with both ecclesiastical and secular rulers, falling out with both the king of Northumbria, Ecgfrith, and his successor, Aldfrith. As a result, he spent several years living as an exile in other Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. As bishop of Sussex in the 680s, he was responsible for mass conversions to Christianity, some of which, according to his biographer, were forced. But this, says Morris, was par for the course with Wilfrid. Certain of his mission, he didn’t care “who got flattened in the process”.

Wilfrid’s importance as a historical figure becomes clear when his life is compared with that of other saints, explains Morris. For example, Cuthbert, a very well-known saint from the same time, lived a conventional saint’s life, “meandering from village to village on foot, converting”. Wilfrid, by contrast, travelled far more extensively, and was constantly embroiled in controversy – engineering dynastic coups, fighting pagans hordes, and making repeated trips to Rome.

 

Why does Saint Wilfrid deserve his 15 minutes of fame?

Saint Wilfrid deserves his 15 minutes of fame, says Morris, “simply because he was such an interesting, impactful figure who has been largely forgotten.

“He is arguably the most important individual in terms of the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons,” says Morris, and this can be seen in his incredible legacy. Though he made many enemies, he was also well-loved by many. Without Wilfrid, Morris believes, the conversion process would have happened at a much slower pace.

Ultimately, Wilfrid provides us with an interesting story to tell. As Morris says, other individuals who were pious and God-fearing were good people, but the stories of their lives are lacking in incident. Wilfrid, on the other hand, was “relentless, constantly on the move, and constantly clashing with people”. This is a gift to historians and authors, and for that reason alone he deserves to be remembered.

Dr Marc Morris was speaking to Emily Briffett. Morris is a historian and author whose most recent book is The Anglo-Saxons: A History of the Beginnings of England (Hutchinson, 2021)

Listen to the full interview and find more episodes in our 15 minutes of fame podcast series

Article compiled by Isabel King

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