The Anglo Saxons at War 800-1066

by Paul Hill

  Quite where Alfred got his inspiration for his grand programme of fortifications we can only guess. He will have seen the effect that the Danes had when they had fortified themselves at Nottingham in 868 and laughed in the face of a combined force of West Saxons and Mercians, whose ability or inclination to conduct a siege was conspicuously lacking. He might also have remembered the Viking fortification at Reading, neatly built inside the triangle of the rivers Thames and Kennet, the gates of which let forth a devastating sortie en masse into the heart of his own army in 871. But it was much more likely to have been Alfred’s own education and travels that influenced the change. As a boy, the English king had travelled to Rome at least twice and saw for himself Pope Leo IV’s coordinated urban papal defences. He also knew of the well-organised fortification programme of Charles the Bald of France, who in the late 860s had re-instigated the defences of Angoulême, Tours, Le Mans and Dijon. Alfred must have kept a close eye on developments in Francia. He will have learned of Charles’s re-organisation of service duties concerning the twin fortifications of Pont de l’Arche, been aware too how that king had divided the fortifications into sections for which individual landowners would have responsibility for manning and maintaining. He will have known that to undertake the strategic fortification of his own kingdom would require a survey of taxable values and manpower of colossal proportions. What happened next in the ninth-century English landscape was one of the greatest military projects ever undertaken by a Medieval monarch.

  Alfred’s re-fortification programme would quite literally have the stamp of royal approval on it. William of Malmesbury, writing in the twelfth century, tells of an inscription he had seen in a Chapter House at Shaftesbury with his own eyes. It had read ‘Alfred made this town in 880’. This anecdote was given further credence when in 1902 a fragment of what may well have been the very same inscription was discovered. We might permit ourselves to imagine similar plaques in many of the forts across southern England.

  Listed in a document that is known as the Burghal Hidage, a sixteenth-century transcript of an eleventh-century Winchester document, are thirty-three southern strongholds accompanied by the following note: ‘If every hide is represented by one man then every pole of wall [about 5.03m] can be manned by four men. Then for the maintenance of twenty poles of wall eighty hides are required and for a furlong, 160 hides are required by the same reckoning.’ These mathematics have been applied by archaeologists to the evidence on the ground. The city of Bath is often used as a fine example. The Roman walled town of Bath is assessed at 1,000 hides in the Burghal Hidage. This equates to a length of 1,257m. Excavations to the north and east of the town walls show a defensive work that if continued around the whole circuit would amount to 1257.3m. Archaeological work in other towns produces similar surprisingly accurate calculations.

  Fig. 4. A fragment of commemorative plaque celebrating Alfred’s instigation of the burh of Shaftesbury.

  There are actually two versions of the document, however. Version A (from which the above quote comes) includes references to Burpham, Wareham and Bridport, but omits Shaftesbury and Barnstaple. Version B, called De numero hydarum Anglie in Britannia, also names Worcester and Warwick in an appended list. The list includes a value in hides for each of the strongholds. The whole of Cornwall, Kent and London are missing from the list, probably because at the time of the original compilation of the document these areas were under semi-autonomous rule, like Kent and Cornwall, or controlled from English Mercia, like London. However, while Exeter, Bath, Winchester, Portchester, Chichester, Rochester and Canterbury form an obvious network of key strongholds, those in Kent are missing from the record. It has been argued that Alfred’s refortification programme had not yet pushed as far east as central and eastern Kent on the eve of the return of the Danes to England in 892. This might explain why, when they came, the Danes chose Kent in which to land. The king seems to have removed animals and supplies from the land in Kent before the return of the Danes and this might explain why the enemy came back to England so laden with horses and supplies. But at what stage the Kentish areas were properly fortified along the lines of the rest of Wessex remains a mystery.

  The surviving list of fortifications (Map 1) shows that the burhs were not merely situated on the frontiers of the kingdom, but were carefully placed within the kingdom so that no burh would be more than a day’s march from another, a distance generally taken to be about 20 miles. Analysis shows they were a little further apart than this, but it is clear the defences worked not only as places of refuge for the local population during times of Danish incursion, but as bases from which to dominate a territory under hostile attack. The strongholds were close enough together for each of the garrisons to support each other in the event of combined military action. The estimated garrison strength of all the burhs of Wessex was around 27,000 men. Not all of them would take to the field at any one time, but the sheer numbers meant that wherever an enemy went inside Wessex, he would not be far from hostile opposition.

  Alfred made just as much use of the old Roman walled cities as he did of building new burhs in the Wessex landscape. The guiding principal was the distance that separated each of the forts. Not every fort went on to become a town in later years, but the refortification of the larger places provided the spring board for what would become a gradual urbanisation during the tenth century. Mercantile activity, coin striking and legal jurisdiction became key functions of many of these places in the decades to come. Indeed, King Athelstan (924–39) issued a law code directing that burhs were to be the centres of mercantile activity and subject to regular repairs. So, as the burgesses moved into the new towns, as the prices for burghal plots rose, a new economy formed. Alfred had brought urban life back to the south of England for the first time since the Roman era.

  Map 1. Map of the burhs of the Burghal Hidage showing hidage value

  It was, of course, a slow process. To rebuild a kingdom takes years. As late as 892 one small fort in Kent was still being built by only a handful of men when it was descended upon by the enemy. This was possibly Eorpeburnan, often identified with Castle Toll at Newenden. It was not that people in Alfred’s kingdom were unused to having to perform the Common Burdens. They had been part of the social fabric for some time. Asser, however, in one important passage of Alfred’s biography gives us a glimpse of the difficulties the king faced in getting people to understand the importance of the work they were undertaking. It demonstrates that no matter how well organised a kingdom could be, much would depend upon the will of the people who were asked to defend it.

  And what of the mighty disorder and confusion of his [Alfred’s] own people–to say nothing of his own malady–who would undertake of their own accord little or no work for the common needs of the kingdom?

  Yet 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 . . . For by gently instructing, cajoling, urging, commanding and (in the end when his patience was exhausted) by sharply chastising those who were disobedient and by despising popular stupidity and stubbornness in every way, he carefully and cleverly exploited and converted his bishops and ealdormen and nobles, and his thegns most dear to him, and reeves as well (in all of whom, after the Lord and the king, the authority of the entire kingdom is seen to be invested, as is appropriate), to his own will and to the general advantage of the whole realm. But if, during the course of these royal admonitions, the commands were not fulfilled because of the people’s laziness, or else (having been begun too late in a time of necessity) were not finished in time to be of use to those working on them (I am speaking here of fortifications commanded by the king which have not yet been begun, or else, having been begun late in the day, have not been brought to completion) and enemy forces burst in by land and sea (or, as frequently happens, by both!), then those who had opposed the royal commands were humiliated in meaningless repentance by being reduced to virtual extinction . . . Those who
were severely afflicted, therefore, are contrite in untimely repentance, and are sorry that they had negligently scorned the royal commands; now they loudly applaud the king’s foresight and promise to make every effort to do what they had previously refused–that is, with respect to constructing fortresses and to the other things of general advantage to the whole kingdom.

  It was not all doom and gloom in Alfred’s kingdom, however. The system of fortifications would soon prove effective. But the use of fortifications as a method of regional domination was developed in the early years of Edward the Elder’s reign (900–24). Edward, with the help of his sister Æthelflæd, pushed English territory into the Danelaw and managed to hold it through the building of new fortifications and the taking of Danish ones (the campaign is outlined in Chapter 5, pp. 104–10).

  The burhs are thought to have seen an organisational decline by the late tenth century and the reign of Æthelred II (979–1016). This is a widely held consensus, but may not be entirely true. Certainly, the role of the burhs had extended from their basic military functions to include the economic side of urban life in many of the places. Maldon in Essex was clearly well enough defended for the Vikings to have to anchor at Northey Island and negotiate a pitched battle before they could consider attacking it in 991. There is no evidence that after a hard-fought battle they were even able to achieve this. Furthermore, it is observed by scholars that Æthelred instigated emergency burhs during his reign, once again re-using ancient giant earthworks such as the colossal hillfort at Old Sarum near Salisbury as places of refuge in times of attack (Plate 12). But the records speak for themselves. Through a mixture of treachery and direct assault, many English fortified towns were taken in the late tenth and eleventh centuries by forces greater than those that had come before and in times when a king could not be certain who his friends were. In such dangerous times, another phenomenon in fortification was showing itself, that of the private stronghold.

  Private Fortifications, Strongholds and Castles

  As far as the fortification of individual strongholds is concerned, the history and archaeology provide a mixed picture throughout the period. An entry for 757 in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle refers to an as yet unidentified place known as Meretun where a grand story of treachery and feuding is decided at the gates of a stronghold (a ‘byrig’), the implication being that some aristocratic residences were strongly enough defended to be provided with gates. But during the tenth century there seems to be an increase in the fortification of thegnly residences. The aspirations of the ceorls (free peasants) of Anglo-Saxon England are neatly encapsulated in an eleventh-century document describing what would be needed to achieve the status of a thegn. It builds a picture of a community enclosed within its own fortification: ‘And if a ceorl prospered, so that he had fully five hides of his own land, a church and kitchen, a bell-house and burh-gate, a seat and special office in the king’s hall, thenceforth he was worthy of thegnly rank.’ The result might be a residence such as that at Goltho in Lincolnshire where the manor was fortified as early as the mid-ninth century. At the other end of the scale would be the fortified palaces of the king himself. One can imagine, for example, King Athelstan visiting the royal palace at Cheddar complete with its timber palisades, long hall and corn mill among other outbuildings.

  What resemblance these fortified residences had to actual castles is another matter. The castle as it was known in Norman England was a slightly different animal than these types of residence. There are similarities in social function, particularly for the smaller castles of the later period. The Anglo-Saxon residences seem to have been surrounded by ditch and palisade works similar to those of the later ring-work Norman castles (the cultural ancestry of which may have been in the preceding period anyway). Also, the provision of a church tower in the Anglo-Saxon fortifications may have performed the same sort of function as a Norman keep. Many of the other local functions provided by the lord of the manor will have been executed from these Anglo-Saxon residences just as they were in later Medieval English castles. However, there seems to be one important difference. The castles of the immediate pre-Norman period built in England by Edward the Confessor’s hired men and followers had an overtly militaristic role to play, their positioning and garrisoning were carefully thought out, particularly in the marcher areas of England and Wales and Dover, where they were strategically placed. The Norman castle dominated its landscape in a very effective and different way than the Anglo-Saxon fortified thegnly residence.

  Chapter 5

  Campaigns, Battles and Sieges

  Campaigns

  871: Wessex Takes on the Great Heathen Army–a War of Attrition?

  The nature of the campaigning against the Great Heathen Army and its detachments prior to the watershed Battle of Edington in 878 was characterised by closely fought battles which brought Alfred the Great’s Wessex almost to its knees. Here, we shall look at the campaigns of 871 which represented the most desperate fighting seen in England since the fall of Roman Britain many centuries before.

  The Danish army ‘of hateful memory’ was led by Halfdan, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, and at least one other Danish leader for whom we have a name, Bagsecg. We cannot be sure how big it was, perhaps only 1,000 men or maybe more, but its activities had already devastated those ancient kingdoms it had passed through. In the autumn of 870 it decided to leave its East Anglian base and headed to Reading, a royal estate in Berkshire. At the confluence of the rivers Kennet and Thames, the Danes set themselves inside a remarkably well-defended fortification, which comprised one long ditch cut from one river to another, probably moated and palisaded with gates at intervals. The route the Danish army took to Reading is not known. It is likely Halfdan began his journey from Thetford in East Anglia on the Icknield Way. If he had chosen to avoid London, where there may well have been another Danish attachment, then he will have followed this ancient roadway to Royston, Wilbury Camp, Offley, around Dunstable, finally crossing the Thames at Goring. Whichever way he got there, Halfdan arrived at Reading and began his fortification unmolested while he waited for a naval contingent to join him.

  Reading was a wise choice for Halfdan. Like any royal estate, it had resources at hand. Such places were the centres for the food rents and dues owed to the Crown. In the winter the estate will have been well stocked for the oncoming months. Nearby, there was the abbey at Abingdon, itself a huge repository of food, wine and portable wealth. And so Halfdan sat there, hovering menacingly above Wessex, preparing to do to Æthelred I’s kingdom exactly what his Danes had done to East Anglia.

  It was now deep into winter. It was Christmas time, and the Danes were quickly set in their camp with Halfdan presumably predicting a lack of activity against him from the West Saxon brothers over this period. But if this was true, one man had been keeping a close eye on the invaders and he would soon spring into action. Halfdan and Bagsecg had only three days to think about their strategy before having to reassess the situation. Nobody knows quite why Jarl Sidroc sallied out of the gates at the Reading camp on New Year’s Eve, but it reports like a foraging or scouting party, perhaps even a reconnaissance-in-force to examine the local route ways and options for his master. Around the north of the Great Windsor Forest he travelled, clinging to the banks of the Kennet, coming out onto the ‘plain of the Angles’ at Englefield through which a Roman road passes. He was already around 10 miles from camp.

  The Danish detachment was pounced upon by Ealdorman Æthelwulf of Berkshire, a man who had undertaken a similar surprise attack on Weland, the great Viking raider, in 860 after the burning of Winchester. Æthelwulf, a shadowy figure, seems to have been widely revered. Clearly, he carried a reputation of sorts for military prowess and he would not fail to impress here. Caught in the open country, Jarl Sidroc and another leading Dane paid for their reconnoitre with their lives as they were cut down in the plain. As the survivors fell back to the camp and the gates were opened to the sorry wounded, Halfdan and Bagsecg will have been surprised tha
t Wessex had such a loyal friend patrolling Berkshire. But for all his guile, Æthelwulf’s strategy seems to have been to teach a detachment a lesson in the landscape, and not to besiege or defeat the Great Heathen Army itself. For this to happen, he would have to send news of his victory to Æthelred and Alfred in Wessex with a plea for aid. Just four days later the West Saxons arrived at the gates of the Reading camp fully equipped for war.

  Some Danes working outside the gates of the camp were cut down by the arriving English army. At some stage the Danish leadership made a quick–and as it turned out–decisive choice of action. The Danes from within the camp burst out of their own gates with an overwhelming ferocity which saw a hard-fought pitched battle commence. During this battle Æthelwulf, the loyal ealdorman, perished and the West Saxon brothers had to call a retreat. It was an ignominious defeat for a force that should have been capable of managing an effective siege. The extent of the defeat and the disorganisation of the Wessex men in the rout is captured by Gaimar, a later (twelfth-century) writer, who gives us a clue that the English, despite their panic, not surprisingly had the better knowledge of the local topography: