We should of course, only draw conclusions from evidence. But the evidence is not always what it appears to be. Let us take, for example, the literary material. There are many works relied upon by modern historians that are at best only near contemporary to the events they are describing. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (for the most part) is but one. It is relied upon heavily in this volume, so it is necessary to explain its nature. It has its own complex history and comprises many manuscripts.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle forms an admirable basic narrative for events in this period, notwithstanding a curious reluctance to expand upon some significant events in the early part of the tenth century, a period of great importance to the military investigators of Anglo-Saxon England. We should bear in mind that generally we get a rather Anglo-centric view of British history from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, despite the fact that its scribes clearly drew upon a number of sources. That the chronicle began on the order of Alfred the Great (871–99) should not be forgotten. History shows that his dynasty would rise from the ashes of Viking devastation to a position of ultimate power in England. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle represents the earliest attempt in any society in Western Europe to construct a version of events in the vernacular tongue. Without it we would struggle for scraps of information from dubious sources for a huge period of the early history of Britain.
There are some sequences of entries in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that look like they were compiled at the time of the events taking place, but most are the interpretation of other sources. This is particularly true for the scribe who shows an almost paranoid interest in the progress of the huge Danish army that left England to campaign in France in the 880s. Clearly, he follows a Continental source for this material. For the period with which we are concerned, there is some confusion over dates and many simple entries were placed in the chronicle where we might have expected something more detailed. Manuscript A, the Winchester, or Parker Chronicle, is the oldest of the manuscripts and in the tenth century a number of scribes pick up the entries to 924 with another writing simple entries from the reign of Athelstan (924–39) to Æthelred II (979–1016). Despite the paucity of information for the period, the Parker Chronicle does at least have the famous poems celebrating the English victory at the Battle of Brunanburh (937) and King Edmund’s recapture of the five Danish boroughs (942), along with fine poetry in praise of King Edgar (975).
The two Abingdon manuscripts (B and C) largely use West Saxon sources, although C has an insertion between the years 915–34 known as the Mercian Register which deals with the exploits of the famous Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, who ruled the middle kingdom with an extraordinary energy. These brief annals cover the period 902 to 924 and sometimes repeat things mentioned in the main body of the text. The D manuscript (Worcester) is interesting for the characteristics it shares with northern sources. Worcester and York were closely associated ecclesiastical centres in the late tenth and early eleventh centuries, being held by the same man (Wulfstan) between 972 and 1016. The long-running Peterborough manuscript (E), which goes up to the twelfth century, has basic material for the period covered in this book and may be an early twelfth-century copy based on a Canterbury original, which replaced one that was lost in the fire at Peterborough in 1116. There is no Mercian Register or poem for the Battle of Brunanburh in this version. Manuscript H is merely a fragment with a twelfth-century entry, but the bilingual epitome of Canterbury (manuscript F) is interesting for the Latin text that accompanies the Old English.
The long history of the surviving manuscript attributed to Alfred’s biographer Asser is worthy of a book in its own right. Suffice it to say that the text has authentic sounding elements to it. The place names of Alfred’s England are given their Welsh names, as we might expect from a cleric from St David’s. But Asser sometimes struggles with his dates and the names of people to whom he must have been close, thus allowing room for historians to question the authenticity of the surviving version of the work. There are, however, some valuable descriptions of Alfred’s army in action at Ashdown (871) and Edington (878) which supplement material from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.
The chronicler Æthelweard, who wrote at the end of the tenth century about the wars of the previous era, seems to have followed a lost version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Æthelweard’s chronicle has a similar history to the work of Asser in that it comes down to us as a result of good fortune more than anything else. However, despite his tortured Latin syntax and difficult descriptions of battles, he remains a crucial provider of evidence for warfare. His accounts of the wars at the end of Alfred’s reign in the 890s, which involved the young Prince Edward (Alfred’s son and future king from 900–24), are the only detailed accounts for these military encounters. It is important to understand that Æthelweard was apparently at the heart of the political scene at the dawn of the second Viking age when he was putting quill to parchment, and in this respect must rank as one of the most important contributors of the era.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle formed the basis for the work of many more historians who added material of their own. William of Malmesbury, Simeon of Durham, Henry of Huntingdon and John of Worcester provide histories of the kings and events of the era. These were men of the twelfth century, an era of pan-European literary renaissance. William of Malmesbury gives us a detailed account of the reign of King Athelstan (924–39) and provides some revealing information about that king’s use of horses, use of allies and wide-ranging campaigns. Simeon of Durham adds important details gleaned from Northern sources about campaigns and historical traditions in Northumbria, while Henry of Huntington admonishes the English for being ripe for conquest and belittles their ability to use cavalry on the battlefield.
We must also rely upon material that was written in a certain style, such as sagas or poems. With careful interpretation these can be useful. Poetry was the language of political justification in the Anglo-Saxon and Norse worlds. So, despite the obvious bias in works of great praise and despite the struggle of some poets to find the right words to fit the meter of their art form, these works do at least mention people and places, battles and military formations that help to colour the picture. The poems of The Battle of Brunanburh (937) and that of the The Battle of Maldon (991) are good examples.
There are numerous references made in this book to the epic poem Beowulf which frequently mentions military weapons and equipment as well as providing an image as to how the Anglo-Saxons saw the ideal warrior role model. Similarly, evidence is drawn from poems such as Maxims and from the Exeter Book anthology, for example The Wanderer and The Ruin, all of which help to expand on the picture.
Not all the written material is of English origin, however. Old Norse sagas such as Egil’s Saga and Olaf’s Saga are invaluable, despite being written centuries later. If they do nothing else, they capture the spirit of the time. Likewise, Irish writings are extremely useful in helping us reconcile the dates and activities of Vikings in Ireland who were also active in Britain at around the same time. There is also the written material provided by Norman scribes such as William of Poitiers, whose account of the Battle of Hastings campaign is not only near contemporary and written by a man close to the Conqueror himself, but comes from the quill of someone who knew a great deal about tactical evolutions, strategies and close-quarter fighting both in antiquity and in his own day.
There is also the invaluable Burghal Hidage, the heritage of which is discussed below (pp. 89–92). This document gives an insight into the structure and organisation of a defensive strategy for Alfred the Great’s entire kingdom. Similarly, the wills, or more specifically heriots, of great noblemen of the period that describe the war gear due to be returned to a lord on the death of its custodian provide further written evidence of military equipment not mentioned elsewhere in such numerical detail (see pp. 48–51).
To all of this material, we must add the evidence obtained from archaeology, which can both challenge and support the evidence from the literary sources. Archaeology provides crucial evidence in respect of Anglo-Saxon warfare. We have already noted above the recent dramatic discovery of headless Scandinavians at Weymouth, and there has been a similarly dramatic discovery in Staffordshire of Early Anglo-Saxon gold treasures comprising a helmet cheek piece, gold crosses and sword accoutrements galore. This remarkable find is at the centre of a struggle for custodianship at the time of writing, and historians and archaeologists are developing theories as to what it all actually means. This deposit of riches may represent a collection of war booty taken during the great campaigns at the end of the Dark Ages in England between the warring Saxon kingdoms (a period just outside the scope of this book). Archaeology, then, constantly replenishes the evidential record. For example, in 1982 at the bottom of a well in York an Anglian helmet complete with mail aventail (protective curtain around the neck) and splendid decoration was unearthed (Plate 14). It provided archaeologists with a mine of information about techniques of manufacture so far unknown (see p. 178). Again, in 1997 a magnificent iron helmet from a grave in Northamptonshire was retrieved (now known as the Pioneer Helmet, named after the site’s corporate owners) with boar crest and a surviving cheek piece.
The other evidence that is drawn upon in this book is that of the pictorial depiction. This can be in the form of a relief sculpture, an artist’s illustration on a manuscript text, a tapestry (of which the Bayeux ‘embroidery’ is the most famous example) or a number of other depictions in ivory, on bone, leather or anywhere where there is a visual representation of a warrior or battle scene or other military subject. These visual images are the source of much debate. Caution is the watchword. If we are to take things at face value, then the Norman cavalry that attacked King Harold’s army at Hastings in 1066 comprised horses of varying shades of unlikely colours. Yet, there is much within this spectacularly important piece of visual work that makes perfect pictorial sense so long as it is treated with respectful interpretation.
When it comes to visual representations of things like armoured warriors wielding their weapons, of various ways a warrior could wear his armour, the position of strapping and such like, the question we have to ask ourselves is ‘what was the artist trying to get across to the viewer in this representation?’ We might also consider whether the artist was trying to be accurate or just plain lazy. We will find that the visual evidence left behind by our illustrators is capable of giving significant information.
So, with all this available evidence in whatever form it takes, are we in a position to understand why it was that the Anglo-Saxons went to war in the first place? What was it that compelled an Anglo-Saxon freeman to take to the campaign trail?