He decided to move to an island some nine miles further out to sea – Inner Farne, or simply Farne Island as it is sometimes known. Here, surrounded only by the seasonal flocks of seabirds, he could pursue his chosen life with more rigour. Although he was living a life of solitude and contemplation, he would find that still others would not let him be. In the year 685, in his absence, the monks of Lindisfarne unanimously elected Cuthbert as their bishop – a post he accepted only after being implored to do so by his followers. He reluctantly returned to Lindisfarne.
Feeling that his end was nigh, Cuthbert returned to Farne Island to die. It was then that another phase of his story began. He asked his brethren to bury him in this isolated spot that he had come to see as his spiritual home. They were reluctant and begged him to allow them to bury him in the church back on Lindisfarne. Once again he finally acceded to their requests. On 20 March 687, by means of a sign that had previously been agreed, a monk stood on high ground on Farne holding aloft a lit candle in each hand. On Lindisfarne a monk awake and alert in a watchtower saw this signal that meant Cuthbert had passed away. His body was then buried in the church as had been planned.
It was common practice in those days to revere holy men by digging up their bones and putting them in a shrine above ground; it was thought to befit their status. In 698, eleven years after he was first placed in his grave, it was opened by monks who were planning to put his bones into a small reliquary. To their great surprise, his body was said to be incorrupt – that is, it had not decayed. His clothing was also still of pristine appearance. The amazed monks took this as a sign of his great sanctity and placed his mortal remains in a wooden coffin.
This enshrining of Cuthbert's body was to mark the real beginnings of his cult, which was later to spread as far as Germany, Austria and Italy, largely thanks to the writings of Bede. Relics of all kinds were revered. In the eighth century one of the original wooden churches from Lindisfarne was encased in lead and transported to Norham-on-Tweed (where St Cuthbert's relics were also taken some time between 830 and 845). As Richard Bailey, my academic guide on Lindisfarne, explained to me, the timber church, like Cuthbert's body and wooden coffin, had become a sacred relic in its own right.
St Cuthbert's coffin has Roman and runic characters inscribed on it. The runes, the old Germanic script, are usually associated with the pagan period but in Britain they continued to be used occasionally in Christian contexts. There are other examples from Lindisfarne of the use of both scripts, such as a name stone that has the female name Osgyth on it in runes at the top and Roman script at the bottom. Study of the coffin texts has revealed that the runic are dependent on the Roman – that is, the runic writing is simply a transliteration of the Roman. The latter script is dominant and the former secondary. The monks of Lindisfarne placed runes on what was a highly visible and venerated object, the coffin itself. Why?
It was patently an aspect of Anglo-Saxon tradition that did not clash with the Christian message. There are also other indications of the preservation of their ethnic art. A pectoral cross that was placed in the coffin with Cuthbert is adorned with garnets which were, as we know from the Sutton Hoo treasure, a favoured gemstone among the Anglo-Saxons. What was happening was a fusion, and not simply a replacement of one way of doing things by another. Ideas, beliefs and artistic styles were coming to Britain from the Mediterranean world, but they were not just supplanting what was already there. It was not just the runes and the garnets that continued to be used – it was also the spoken language. The liturgy was not just in Latin but also in Old English.
In fact it was not two but three worlds that were coming together, because the Celtic traditions were also part of the lifeblood of Lindisfarne from its founding by Aidan. The greatest expression of this interlacing of separate ethnic traditions is embodied in an illuminated book containing multiple messages: the Lindisfarne Gospels. The book contains not only the four gospels but also a few letters by St Jerome who translated them into Latin. It is generally thought to have been completed in 698 in honour of St Cuthbert, but this date has recently been brought into question as being perhaps a little too early.
Illuminating the Dark Ages
The book is now held in the British Library, as a national treasure. Its custodian, Michelle Brown, told me that one of the many remarkable things about it is that it was the work of a single scribe, the Bishop Eadfrith (with some very minor exceptions). Usually books produced in the scriptorium were the work of many hands. Work of this length and quality would probably have taken him ten years when one considers that he was, as a monk, expected to pray eight times a day and attend to the many other duties of his vocation.
It seemed only appropriate that such singularity of purpose should also have been involved in its binding and external decoration. Eadfrith's successor as bishop was Aethilwald, who bound the book in leather, while Billfrith the Anchorite, a skilled metalworker, adorned its cover with jewels and gold. The work of neither of these men survived, only that of Eadfrith. The book contains a few small areas of unfinished work which may mean one of two things. It has been suggested that he did not wish to show vanity by trying to attain a perfection that might offend God – thus leaving small areas unfinished, tiny blemishes on an otherwise exquisite masterpiece. It is perhaps more likely that Eadfrith died before he was able to complete his great work.
At this time paper was unknown in Europe and books were written on vellum, or dressed calf skin. In theory, at least 130 calf skins were used to make the necessary amount of parchment for the Lindisfarne Gospels. In practice, the number was probably much higher as a book of this truly exceptional quality would require skins of the highest standard – even those with only minor imperfections would have been rejected. It is usually possible to tell with parchment which is the side that had the hair on it and which was the inside of the skin. However, that used for the Lindisfarne Gospels is of such high quality that even the expert eye finds it difficult to ascertain which is which. On the other side of the island from the monastery the site of an old farm was excavated in the 1980s and 1990s and it was identified as a place where they were producing calves for vellum. Such locally available sources would have provided much of necessary vellum, but there was also probably a need to seek skins of sufficient quality from the mainland monasteries as well.
The preparation of the pigments for use as ink was a skill in itself – a subtle alchemy, a combination of artistry and chemistry. About forty-five colours and shades were used in the creation of the Lindisfarne Gospels. Green ink was produced by putting a piece of copper in vinegar or wine, scraping off the resulting green corrosion and mixing it with egg white. Yellow was obtained from arsenic, so great care had to be taken when using this particular colour. Black was derived from soot ground up with some kind of gum or from oak-galls. The source of much of this knowledge was the Mediterranean, but the northern scriptoria did not just blindly imitate – they developed the techniques further. The pen used by Eadfrith was made from either a reed or a quill feather.
The book is not just the envelope for a written text; it is an object in itself. A book such as this, both a supreme work of art and the focus of religious veneration, becomes a cult object. The Bible, the Holy Book, is of course of fundamental significance in the Christian religion so it is not surprising to find books such as the Lindisfarne Gospels being embodiments of the divine message or, as Michelle Brown puts it, 'of the Word made flesh, or rather, the Word made word'. On another level such books, literally and symbolically containing the Christian gospel, were the concrete expression and proof that the mission had reached the far shores of Britain.
The book is also an expression, perhaps even consciously so, of the fusion of cultures that was taking place around the turn of the eighth century. The script shows not only a clear Roman influence but also echoes runic elements in some parts of the book. Much of the ornament adorning the pages has clear precedents in Celtic textile designs, while other aspects derive fro
m Germanic metalwork. Michelle Brown certainly thinks that this work, by drawing together diverse cultural styles, was a means of saying to people who were (through their new-found Christianity) giving up their traditional allegiances that they had a stake in this new order.
Like the coffin of St Cuthbert, the book also provides the historian with a link between the pagan and Christian Anglo-Saxon worlds. The archaeologist Martin Carver eloquently expresses the profound significance of the Sutton Hoo jewels and the Lindisfarne Gospels when viewed together as twin treasures of Anglo-Saxon culture: 'Two great British monuments of native art [stand] clearly at either end of the seventh century, giving the country two stepping stones across the darkest period of its early history.'
It now seems that the traditional date for the completion of the book, 698, needs to be looked at again. Scholarly detective work by Michelle Brown has led her to believe that this date is too early, and that some time between 710 and 720 is much more likely. The date of 698 was suggested because that was the year in which the body of Cuthbert was dug up. The little book that was originally buried with him (known as the Cuthbert Gospel of St John or the Stonyhurst Gospel) had sufficed as one of the cultic objects associated with him so far. But the internal evidence of the text and the techniques used in it suggest to her that the Lindisfarne Gospels seem much better placed at the later date. This dating also helps to explain other aspects of its production. The revised chronology fits well with the fact that Eadfrith died in 721, which would explain why he was unable to finish the last few parts of the text. It also explains why the book was not bound until the time of Eadfrith's successor Aethilwald – it was simply not finished until then.
Returning to the digging up of Cuthbert's remains: as his body was found to be incorrupt, his sanctity grew and his relics were required to reflect this burgeoning status. Michelle Brown suggests that the Lindisfarne Gospels were the literary result of this need for something bigger and more spectacular. She sees this as closely related to the Life of Cuthbert that Bede was working on at the same time. Bede's hagiography was actually an expanded version of an earlier life of the saint written by an anonymous monk from Lindisfarne. Bede and Eadfrith may have been in close communication because the book and the Life were two parts of a continuing strategy for the further exaltation of the saint. The twin monasteries and Lindisfarne seemed to have been working in unison to forward their mutual aim.
The monastic ideals that had, many centuries before, been born in the harsh and unyielding surroundings of the Egyptian desert were now exerting a powerful influence in what had been outlying regions of Europe. While being the major intellectual force of their time, the monks were also a tough breed. There were some who preferred the isolation of the hermit, like St Cuthbert. Others, most notably Bede, sought to understand and interpret the world from the safety of their own monasteries. Others still, like the greatly neglected Benedict Biscop, were intrepid travellers and risk-takers – but all worked to the same end. They had brought the influence of Rome back to England and, in return, sent their own intellectual and artistic achievements to the continent.
Although decadence and worldliness were already affecting the monastic world by the time of Bede's death in 735, an even greater threat was soon to endanger the intense physical and intellectual labours of the monasteries of north-eastern England. A new wave of northern barbarians was on the way: the Vikings.
Chapter Nineteen
VIKINGS: PIRATES AND POETS
In this year, dire portents appeared… immense whirlwinds and flashes of lightning, and fiery dragons were seen flying in the air. A great famine immediately followed those signs, and… the ravages of heathen men miserably destroyed God's church on Lindisfarne, with plunder and slaughter.
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ninth century
There is a gravestone from Lindisfarne that has been carved on both sides. One side shows a dramatic scene – the end of the world, a great cross appearing in the sky at the end of time. On the other side there is a war scene showing the Vikings, whose first raid on Lindisfarne was in 793. This event is the point at which the Viking Age is said to have begun. This fact in itself demonstrates how biased and arbitrary the recording of history can be. The barbarians enter history only when they enter the books of the 'civilised'.
From the point of view of the Scandinavian peoples who became known as the Vikings, we can imagine there was no dramatic change in their culture and lifestyle in or even around 793. Most of them would not have been involved in these raids, which were echoes of the earlier Saxon piracy. The initial Viking assaults on Britain are recorded by historians and therefore provide us with a useful inroad to the Viking world. Yet we must not make the mistake of thinking that this specific time marked a drastic change in Scandinavian culture. Later, the Vikings would leave Scandinavia in large numbers, which inevitably changed the makeup of their society more dramatically.
Over the last few decades many historians have felt it necessary to portray the Vikings in a new light. Traditionally they have been perceived as a very destructive force that disrupted the progress of European civilisation. The other, more positive, side of their culture has been brought more into the light of day. In the next few chapters a rounded portrait of these last of the northern barbarians will be given. For the moment, however, we cannot ignore the accounts of their violent pillaging of Britain, which continues to epitomise the image most people have of the Vikings – at least in Britain. The very word 'Viking' has a rather obscure history but seems to derive from the Norse word vik, meaning bay, inlet or creek. 'Viking' came to mean a pirate, a robber or a warring seafarer, presumably because such marauders either set sail from inlets or entered them in order to plunder. Although it really referred to only a small minority of the members of the barbarian societies of Norway, Sweden and Denmark, it became a term for them all. Inaccurate it may be, but the term stuck and for this reason we are obliged to use it to this day.
The view from Britain
It was on 8 June 793 that the Vikings sacked the monastery of Lindisfarne. The following summer Jarrow was raided. We have seen how richly furnished the twin monasteries were, thanks to the labours of Biscop and others. The fact that St Cuthbert's pectoral cross and the Lindisfarne Gospels were also both lavishly adorned shows why raiding these monasteries was highly attractive to Viking raiders. There is nothing to suggest that the pagan Vikings had any particular desire to attack the Christian faith or what it stood for; they simply wanted the treasures that were owned by the Church.
One of the leading intellectual successors of Bede was Alcuin of York (c. 735-804). A letter he wrote to the monks after the raid on Lindisfarne has survived, and in it he puts forward his opinion that the Viking assault was punishment from God for the sins of Anglo-Saxon society. Bede had said almost the same thing about the sins of the Britons leading to their punishment in the form of attacks by the then pagan Saxons. The monasteries of the Celtic tradition were also not spared the attentions of the Vikings, who plundered Iona in 795 on their way to further forays into Ireland. Further raids on Iona in 802, 806 and 807 led to its community's flight from the island.
These early sporadic and opportunistic assaults were largely the work of Norwegian Vikings. Later more concerted attacks by Danish Vikings would result in more long-term effects on the political landscape of Britain. The attacks inevitably had an effect on the monastic world and repeated assaults led, by 875, to the decision of the monks to abandon Lindisfarne. In the same year St Paul's monastery also closed. The monks of Lindisfarne fled to the mainland, taking Cuthbert and his relics with them. They travelled for a number of years seeking a new home, eventually settling at Chester-le-Street in 883. There is an interesting story behind the decision to found their monastery there.
One of the monks in the community had a vision in which St Cuthbert appeared and instructed him to reach an agreement with the Danes whereby the Church would support a Danish king rather than maintain traditional ties wit
h the Anglo-Saxon monarchy. This was not simply cynicism on the part of the monastic community, for the last Anglo-Saxon kings of Northumbria (before they had to accede their lands to Danish rule) had been plundering the coffers of the Church probably as much as the Vikings. By this time, it was not possible to make a simple equation between pagan, barbarian Viking raiders on the one hand and Christian, 'civilised' Anglo-Saxon victims on the other. It was much more complex than that.
After a century or so of comparative stability, renewed Viking incursions in the reign of Ethelred II led to the relics of St Cuthbert being moved yet again. In 995 Cuthbert's shrine was moved to Durham, where today his tomb is located in the Chapel of the Nine Altars in the cathedral.
Viking Expansion
So far we have only really looked at the Viking presence in these centuries from the point of view of the monasteries and the Church that supported them. There is a bigger picture to consider. We need to explore the Vikings' possible reasons for setting forth from their homelands and discover where else they travelled. Firstly, we must trace them back to their roots. The Gothic historian Jordanes believed that the homeland of the Goths was Scandza (Scandinavia); in Part One of this book, we have seen that archaeology does not back him up on this point.
Jordanes describes Scandza as a 'factory of tribes and surely a vagina of bands'. Although the Germanic Goths do not seem to have been made in this factory, the people commonly called the Vikings can certainly be said to have come off this cultural production line. As we also saw in Part One, the reasons for the Huns' arrival in Europe were not clear-cut and unfortunately the same is the case with the expansion of the Scandinavian barbarians – the north Germanic peoples who were the last of the pagans.
Barbarians- Secrets of the Dark Ages Page 21
