The Anglo Saxons at War 800-1066

by Paul Hill

  There is one last word on the reason for all the confusion. If we could transport ourselves back in time and observe King Alfred’s noblemen riding to chase down the Danish foragers, to Ealdorman Æthelhelm’s march to Buttington, to Edward the Elder’s overtaking of the Danes at Farnham, to King Athelstan’s victorious pursuit of the retreating confederates at Brunanburh and to King Harold’s swift response to crises at either end of his kingdom, we would not be able to avoid one observation. The Anglo-Saxon army looked like a cavalry force. They simply got off their horses (for the most part) when it came to the important matter of sword play. Similarly, the Danes obliged by behaving in much the same way. With the Normans came a watershed and the dawning of a new era in mounted warfare in England. By the twelfth century the age of the brave warrior hero who faced his opponent on foot was all but gone.

  Tributes, Gelds and Mercenaries

  It is important to distinguish between two forms of payment raised throughout the age of the Viking invasions by the English kings. On the one hand there was ‘gafol’, a form of tribute payment to the enemy. On the other, there was ‘heregeld’. Heregeld was an annual ‘army tax’ first instituted in 1012 by Æthelred II (979–1016) to pay for the mercenary services of Thorkell the Tall. It remained in use until it was abolished by Edward the Confessor in 1051. When the idea was re-kindled by the Anglo-Norman monarchy its name ‘Danegeld’ recalled its very first purpose. The tax was based on landownership and was assessed at a certain number of pence per hide and it was collected at fixed times each year through the hundreds in the shires.

  There are hints that gafol payments predated the heregeld policies of Æthelred. It could be the case that King Alfred’s (871–99) trouble with his own archbishop came from a practice of raising tribute money through the church to pay off the Vikings in the early years of his Danish wars. Gafol was not set at a fixed amount and could be raised by almost any means in an emergency. It is sometimes mentioned alongside the word metsunge (indicating ‘feeding’ or ‘provisioning’), which in its own way narrows the gap somewhat between the two types of taxation, both of which provide a means of support for the foreign force with differing degrees of reciprocity.

  The payment made in 991 to the Danes of 10,000 pounds of silver was described as gafol by the chronicler and it was said to be the first payment (of the new age of invasions). Again, in 994 King Æthelred offered the Danes gafol and metsunge if they would leave off their raiding. This time it was 16,000 pounds and the Danes took up winter quarters at Southampton and were fed from the land of Wessex. It seems a heregeld was also paid in this year totalling 22,000 pounds. Again, in 1002 the king and his councillors agreed to pay 24,000 pounds in gafol and metsunge. In 1006–7 a colossal gafol of 36,000 pounds was paid. In 1009 to the misery of the men of East Kent a further 3,000 pounds was paid to get the raiders to leave. In 1012, it reached a huge 48,000 pounds. The next year saw a slight variation in terminology. The invading Dane Swein demanded ‘gyld’ and metsunge to over-winter, while Thorkell demanded the same for his fleet at Greenwich. After his return from brief exile in Normandy King Æthelred kept the payments to Thorkell. In 1014 a gyld of 21,000 pounds was paid to the Greenwich fleet. In 1018, after the wars with Æthelred and his son had been won and Cnut was king, the heaviest tax of all was levied at 72,000 pounds from across the kingdom and separately a sum of 10,500 pounds from London. This last was described as a gafol, but the circumstances of Cnut’s levy are, of course, somewhat different to the earlier ones, given that he was now the Dane in the ascendancy.

  It is clear then that some payments were to bribe the enemy to stop its raiding, while the others were literally to support or employ them. So, what use was made of these mercenaries over the years and who were they? The identity of Thorkell the Tall is clear enough, but it is not always that easy to distinguish the mercenary. First, we must be careful how we use this term. Increasingly, towards the end of the period men turned up on the battlefield who, despite their military obligation to their lord, may have had a stipendiary penny in their pouch as well. But these are not true mercenaries as such. Nor, for that matter, are the many groups who fought alongside Anglo-Saxon leaders as military allies. There is a distinction between the hired man (‘hyra-man’), who became familiar to the court of Alfred the Great as his wealth increased, and the fyrdsman, whose loyalties were based on more traditional lordship bonds and land tenure. Neither of these two categories could be said to be true mercenaries.

  An example of the difficulties in interpretation might be the household hired men of King Alfred’s court. These men were bound to Alfred through love of their lord, but were rewarded not just by the old-fashioned gift and ring-giving mechanisms of yesteryear, but also by hard cash. Their roles within Alfred’s kingdom were manifold. Some would be messengers, horse-keepers and administrators as well as warriors. The English economy in the Viking period was becoming more monetarily based and Alfred was able to leave 200 pounds in silver coins to these followers on his death. These men were not mercenaries.

  The same may not be said for Alfred’s Frisian sailors, who featured heavily in his new naval reforms. But even here, the mercenary status of the sailors is never overly emphasised. There was a propensity to portray such people as an extension of the hired men philosophy, thus legitimising their ties to a more historic form of relationship with an Anglo-Saxon king. We cannot be sure of the status of the Frisians, but one thing is certain: they fought and died in Alfred’s new fleet.

  The tenth century saw increasing amounts of foreigners at the English court. Notably, there were Bretons who had fled to King Edward the Elder in 919 after the Vikings had invaded their lands. King Athelstan harboured the Bretons and stood godfather to one, Alan. Alan was raised in England before Athelstan masterminded a campaign in Brittany to restore the Bretons to power. But these were foreigners who fought alongside the forces of the English king as allies and not as paid mercenaries. King Athelstan’s famous struggles with the confederacy of Scots, Vikings and Strathclyde Britons saw him enlist the help of the Vikings Egil and Thorolf, if we are to believe Egil’s Saga. Again, the exact nature of the relationship is not known. There is likely to have been more at stake than the mere payment of money for service, since a whole kingdom was up for grabs.

  The new wave of Viking attacks which re-commenced around 990 saw an initial response by local leaders, who by now could operate independently on behalf of the Crown in their local areas. But England was still a remarkably rich land, more so now than it had ever been before. And it is in the reign of Æthelred II (979–1016) that the beginnings of a true ‘mercenary’ story can be told.

  In 994 after Olaf Tryggvason and Swein Forkbeard together ravaged the south coast of England and the gafol of 16,000 pounds was paid to the force in Southampton, Æthelred came to an agreement with Olaf that if any other fleet should attack his coastline, Olaf would come to the aid of the English for as long as the king could provision him. Also, it was agreed that lands that harboured such hostile forces should be treated as an enemy by both parties. The arrangement was preceded by the same sponsorship once shown by Alfred to Guthrum, but more importantly included the heregeld of 22,000 pounds of silver. Despite the fact that Olaf returned to Norway, it is generally thought that a mercenary naval force would have remained to assist Æthelred in the spirit of the agreement. One Danish leader, Pallig, was even given lands in return for his service. This can be seen as an attempt to legitimise him above and beyond the mercenary to someone who had a vested interest in loyalty to the king, but Pallig’s subsequent treachery and return to the bosom of the enemy proved it to be a worthless policy. Pallig’s disloyalty probably led to the notorious St Brice’s Day massacre of 1002 whereby the king in desperation ordered the extermination of Danes who had settled in England.

  Æthelred’s employment of Thorkell the Tall raises the question of the role of the later Anglo-Saxon housecarl. It has been argued that the institution developed out of the cult of the legenda
ry Jomsvikings and flourished in England from the time of Cnut to the Battle of Hastings (1016–66). Mythology surrounds these warriors and the legal guild that is supposed to have accompanied them. Earl Godwin’s trial, for example, is supposed to be an example of such Scandinavian legal deliberations. Much ink has been spilled over the origins of these famous heavily armoured axemen, but the likelihood is that they were Danish versions of the Alfredian household retainer. Through the next generation up to the Norman Conquest they became an Anglo-Danish version of the same thing. A man described as a housecarl in one document may turn up elsewhere as a thegn or minister of the king. That they existed as an entity is not doubted: they were present at the translation of the remains of Ælfhere in 1023, are recorded at the side of Queen Emma in 1035 and some are recorded as dwelling on 15 acres of land in Wallingford. That the housecarls were financially supported is not in question. The Domesday Book specifically records some Dorset boroughs taxed for this very purpose. However, whether the institution simply became another layer of the king’s and various earls’ household retinues, is another matter. The Danish connotations with the institution are, however, inescapable: 87 per cent of all housecarls mentioned in documents bear names of Old Norse origin but it remains the case that their role did not differ much from that of the English thegnhood into which they settled, save for the stipend that they seem to have received.

  There are one or two references to mercenaries that fall outside the above explanations. One of these is that of the rebel Earl Ælfgar’s Irishmen who accompanied him on his campaign in Herefordshire in 1055 and who almost certainly received payment for their services after waiting impatiently at Chester. The other is that of the Flemings who served with Earl Tostig after he presumably enticed them from Flanders with promises of riches in the campaign of 1066. Neither of these examples of earls buying the service of fighting men seem to have had any lasting impact on the Anglo-Saxon state in the way that the settlement of the housecarls did, but they serve as a reminder that if anyone had the political clout and the money, he could entice people to fight with him.

  We have looked at the tributes and the payments made by English kings to foreign forces and discussed the background to mercenary employment in England during our period, but it is necessary to explore further another related dimension of warfare of the period, the naval aspect. Here, the mercenary once again plays a part in a very colourful history.

  Naval Warfare

  That the Anglo-Saxons were a competent seafaring nation is hardly a matter for dispute. The reputation given to King Alfred as the founder of a ‘royal’ navy hides the fact that before his impressive naval reforms of the 890s there were some perfectly successful defensive naval operations launched by the English rulers against Viking attackers. Ships were also used on the offensive as early as 633 when King Edwin of Northumbria conquered Anglesey and Man, and later in 684 when King Ecgfrith ravaged Ireland. There are some triumphant references to early successes in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle–an encounter at Sandwich in 851 masterminded by the Kentish King Athelstan resulted in the capture of nine enemy ships and the expulsion of a raiding Danish force. Even some of Alfred’s pre-reform naval forces could come back from an excursion with a story of great success, most notably in 875 and 882 when his forces captured some enemy vessels and again in 885 when an English naval force was sent to the mouth of the Stour in East Anglia and discovered and defeated sixteen ships only to lose the subsequent encounter.

  The story of the early English navy falls into several categories. First, there is the territorially organised system of naval service based on the 5-hide unit and land-holding obligations subject to updated legislation from the king. Then, from at least the reign of Alfred the Great (871–99), we have the use of stipendiary sailors of mixed origins, mostly Frisians, Danes and Norwegians. Such mercenary bands form a significant part of naval provision in the decades preceding the Norman Conquest, as we have seen above from our accounts of heregeld payments. There is also the growing reliance upon coastal towns (particularly those on the south coast which subsequently became the Cinque Ports of later Medieval fame) to provide a naval contingent in return for certain privileges. On the eve of the Norman Conquest then, the English king could call upon ships from his own household (and from his earls, ealdormen and bishops), from the shipfyrd recruitment system, from paid mercenaries and from any merchant vessels he could press-gang into service. The result was a fleet of such enormity it was the envy of many other rulers in Christendom, some of whom specifically asked for its help. English fleets reached their zenith under King Edgar (959–75) and from this time were capable of regional and national patrols, of blockade duty, foreign expedition, of working in conjunction with land forces and, above all, of meeting an enemy in the open sea and defeating it. In fact, Edgar’s naval achievements are nothing short of remarkable if we are to believe John of Worcester’s summary in his account of the great king’s departure from this world:

  During his life he formed a fleet of 3,600 stout ships, and after Easter, every year, he used to collect a squadron of 1200 ships on each of the eastern, western, and northern coast of the island; and make sail with the eastern squadron, until it fell in with the western, which then put about and sailed to the eastward while the western squadron sailed northward till it met with the northern, which, in turn, sailed to the west. Thus, the whole island was circumnavigated every summer, and these bold expeditions served at once for the defence of the realm against foreigners and to accustom himself and his people to warlike exercises.

  So, not only did the English king have a great navy at his disposal, he also trained it once a year as well. This is a remarkable reference to the state of readiness for a force not found in any references to land armies of the period. But the numbers of vessels seem to be huge. There is yet to be an explanation for it. No account of the multitude of fleets summoned or bought throughout this whole period matches anything like this number. The very largest numbers in its hundreds. If Edgar truly had managed to establish such a force then it is little wonder that John of Worcester thought so highly of him. John may have been carrying a message of popular memory of a phenomenally powerful king, but doubt must necessarily continue to be cast on this figure of 3,600 ships. A reduction in number by a factor of ten might be more appropriate.

  So where did it all start? Alfred’s ships, which are described by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 896 as being ‘neither of Frisian design nor of Danish, but as it seemed to himself that they might be most useful’, were built in response to the raids of the Northumbrian Danes. The Danes came to Alfred’s shores in their ageing ‘askrs’ (warships). They were now to be met with an almost impossible sounding fleet of ships of twice the length, up to sixty oars or more, steadier and more responsive than the traditional Viking longship. The English ships were not built to the askr design, or to the cog-like Frisian merchant design known in northern waters. They were an innovation. Alfred had captured enemy ships in the past and was presumably able to have men examine their design. In fact, a later Medieval chronicle assigns this brave new fleet of Alfred’s to the year 877 and not 896. This much notwithstanding, these new ships were to be famously deployed off the southern coast of England in 896 with interesting consequences (see pp. 114–17). The references to the Frisian and high-born English crews of these new ships provide the only indication of how they were recruited. It would seem that these ships were the king’s own and not the ships raised by the territorial fyrd system.

  Edward the Elder’s remarkable assemblage of 100 ships that he summoned to campaign against the Northumbrian Danes in 911 have nameless crews, but the sheer numbers suggest a territorial organisation attributable to the fyrd system. Throughout the early tenth century there are references to similar expeditions that must surely have been crewed from the shires of the expanding Kingdom of the English. King Athelstan, for example, is recorded as supporting the exiled Breton Alan who had been at the English court for years on account
of the Viking harassment of his country. Les Annales de Flodoard record the campaign in a short account that leaves us in no doubt as to Athelstan’s maritime capability: ‘the Bretons, coming back from overseas, with the support of King Alstanus, regained their land.’ Similarly, the campaign of 934 by which Athelstan systematically reduced vast areas of Scotland all the way up to Caithness was said to have been achieved by a joint land and sea force, although how it actually operated is not said. Athelstan, who was always at the centre of international politics, was even able to raise a fleet in 939 in support of Louis d’Outremer’s claims to Lotharingia, although once again we are told nothing of where it came from or what it did save for raiding along the coastline. Malcolm of Scotland’s promise to King Edmund (939–46), that he would be his cooperator both on sea and on land is perhaps a recognition that such allied naval help was indeed still required in northern waters. Nor has the significance of King Edgar being rowed across the River Dee by his northern subordinates in 973 been lost. Edgar had taken his presumably enormous fleet to Chester, and it was here according to John of Worcester that eight under-kings of the Scottish and island kingdoms swore to be faithful allies by land and sea.

  Later records indicate that the territorial unit by which the shipfyrd was recruited seems to have been the 5-hide unit, just as it was for land armies. Malmesbury, in Wiltshire, is often cited in this regard as records suggest that for its 5 hides one warrior would travel on royal expeditions ‘by land or sea’. The implication here is that the same warrior could be required for either type of duty. Across England the records from Devonshire to Lincolnshire would tend to indicate much the same sort of thing. There were some exceptions, however. The town of Leicester, a central stronghold in the Danelaw, was required to provide twelve warriors for the land army but if the king went to war by sea it was asked to provide four horses and send them to London with supplies and weapons. Warwick, too, was different. Here ten warriors were required for fyrd service, but for a naval enterprise, according to the Domesday Book, they provided four boatswains and four pounds.