It is surely very clear that the Anglo-Saxons had a sophisticated and comprehensive answer to the questions posed by their military enemies. The reasons a lowly Anglo-Saxon went to war were nearly always governed by the directions of their lords and masters, the ealdormen and kings of the day. The training of the warriors now seems to be in evidence, if only by strong inference. The impact of going to war was clearly profound, leading to death, misery, exile and the loss of one’s lord. On the other hand, the benefit of victory could be untold riches and prestige for many who participated, a chance not only to impress, but to acquire.
The problems associated with cycles of vengeance in the Anglo-Saxon world seem also to have consumed entire generations, leading to internecine warfare when it might have seemed to independent observers that the eyes of Englishmen should look beyond their borders for the greatest of dangers. So much of Anglo-Saxon warfare was linked in with the notion of kinship and lordship ties. The use of hostages and the swearing of binding oaths have clearly been shown to be fundamental concepts in political negotiation. The desperate fate of some of these men shows clearly the great human cost incurred when one side or another reneged on an agreement. But treachery seemed to lie everywhere for some kings. Æthelred II (979–1016) was one such unfortunate ruler for whom an apologia is long overdue. The great efforts he made to restore his kingdom to the former Alfredian glory it once had were often overshadowed by those who would intrigue with the Danes for their own advantage.
It is hoped that the accounts of the ravaging, harrying, sieges and pitched battles throughout the period outlined above have shown the true nature of the Anglo-Saxon experience of warfare. The pain, the injuries and sorrow are also apparent. Often grim and bloody and always an industrious undertaking, the Anglo-Saxon art of war was every bit as energetically pursued by its leaders as those of other nations and cultures, despite Alfred’s moans about the recalcitrance of some his subjects who were tasked to build fortifications. Æthelred II’s desperate but laudable attempt to re-kindle Alfred’s military renaissance in 1008 stands testimony to this energy, regardless of how unlucky in politics the man was. It is clear now that, for the most part, what we know to be true of other Medieval cultures in Western warfare is usually true of the Anglo-Saxons, save for the still hotly debated but misguided notion of the ‘cavalryman’. It is simply a question of continuing to interrogate the evidence until we find the answers.
We have seen how the Anglo-Saxon kings used their financial resources while both under duress and in the planning of campaigns and long-term defences. The usage of mercenaries and the consequent supplementation of the already impressive naval provision are a case in point. On land, the reductions of wide areas of hostile landscapes and grand military strategies have demonstrated that the pitched battle was the exception and not the rule, except in times of extreme crisis such as that which unfolded in Wessex in 871. Moreover, the grand fortification schemes of the late ninth and tenth centuries and their links to a wide-ranging system of beacons in the landscape points to an adoption of a less attritional style of warfare.
How the armies of the day fought is a question that will continue to be asked, if only because the written evidence is so coloured by classical precedent. However, there is just enough material to make observations on likely formations and fighting styles. On a strategic level it should be apparent just how vast the Anglo-Saxon campaigning landscape really was, with expeditions reaching as far as the eastern coast of Scotland and indeed beyond the boundaries of the British Isles.
Some interesting characters have appeared in this volume, too. The seemingly desperate Æthelwold, son of Æthelred I, was only doing what he thought he had to in order to gain his rightful inheritance to the West Saxon throne in the early years of the tenth century, even if it did apparently result in revoking his religion. His story is an example of the power of the familial link in succession crises. Mercenaries such as Thorkell the Tall and traitors such as Eadric Streona provide the narrative with colourful contributions to say the least. All of them were, of course, power hungry in an age when prestige was demonstrated by wealth. At the top of all this stood the king and his household. For the most part, at least until the wars of 1016 and the accession of Cnut, these kings were of the ancient royal line of Cerdic, a line seemingly permanently broken in 1066, but partially restored in the twelfth century. For all we have said about the weapons, the armour and all the other instruments of war used throughout the period, we must not forget that this last point is what it was all about: kin. The year 1066 is important because that link was broken and then much later re-formed in a Norman guise. For many people, then and now, that was not good enough. Centuries of tension between the monarchy and the people followed.
The final word on the subject of Anglo-Saxon warfare might best be attributed to the biographer of the man who made the English nation the power house in Britain that it subsequently became. It is a quote that demonstrates the importance of power being centralised in the monarch of the day. Asser said of Alfred the Great: ‘Once he had taken over the helm of his kingdom, he alone, sustained by divine assistance, struggled like an excellent pilot to guide his ship’. That ship sailed on triumphantly during the tenth century to a point where it became a victim of its own successes. The decline of the later Anglo-Saxon military state is a debatable subject, especially given the sterling efforts under difficult circumstances of Æthelred II and later reforms by the Dane Cnut.
It is still the case that Anglo-Saxon England did not die because of its failure to address a decline in military provision. It died because on the morning of 14 October 1066 the final battle of Anglo-Saxon England was fought by an English king (not, as it happens, of the line of Cerdic) against a man whose kin-based claim to the ancient throne was spurious at best. With the childless Edward the Confessor dead, and his nominated successor slaughtered on the field of Hastings, there was only a young prince of the Old English royal line left to promote the blood line of the English throne. King William’s power and political acumen would prove simply too strong. In the years that followed 1066 Anglo-Saxon England, ancient and renowned, became Anglo-Norman England. The rest, as they say, is history.