Part 5

Ivar Beenlöse (the Boneless) succeeded to the kingdom of Northumberland after Ella; where also such names of subsequent kings as Sigtryg, Regnald, Godfred, Anlaf (Olaf), and Heric (Erik), unmistakably show their Scandinavian origin. In Olaf’s time, at the beginning of the tenth century, the Anglo-Saxon king Athelstane (Adelsteen) succeeded in subjecting Northumberland, whilst Denmark and Norway, as before mentioned, were prevented by internal distractions from sending any effectual assistance to the Danes in England. Olaf fled to Ireland, and Godfred to Scotland, to assemble the Scandinavian warriors in those parts, and Athelstane in the mean time destroyed the Danish castle in York. It is related that Olaf returned with more than six hundred ships, and again took possession of York. He had with him a great number of Northmen and Danes from Ireland and Scotland, together with a great many Celtic Cymri and Britons, and the Scottish King Constantine was also in his army. Athelstane and this brother Edmund arrayed a mighty force against them at Brunanborg (Bromford?), where, in the year 937, a battle was fought; which, though unfavourable to the Danes, afforded the old northern bards matter for enthusiastic song, of which the Sagas have still preserved some remains. Subsequently a treaty with King Edmund, in 941, gave Olaf the dominion over the country east and north of Watlinga-Stræt; but the dispute soon broke out afresh. After the death of the Northumbrian King Erik in 951, Northumberland ceased to be a kingdom. From this time it became an earldom (Jarledömme), which was, however, for the most part, almost entirely independent of the Anglo-Saxon kings, and governed by Norwegian chieftains. For a long time it constantly received fresh inhabitants from the mother countries, Denmark and Norway. Many Norwegians came over; nay, even the King Erik just mentioned may possibly have been the renowned Norwegian King Erik Blodöxe, a son of Harald Haarfager, the first absolute sovereign of Norway. After the death of Harald, Erik became chief sovereign in Norway; but he and his queen, the notorious Gunhilde, ruled here with so much cruelty, that the Norwegians gave Erik the surname of Blodöxe (Blood-axe). Driven from his kingdom, he at length repaired to Northumberland, where King Athelstane is said to have made him a tributary king, and where, after many vicissitudes of fortune, he met his death.

Between the Northumbrian Jarledömme—whence the dignity of the Northern “Jarls” began to extend itself to the rest of England, which has still preserved it in the title of “Earl”—as well as between the Danish part of England and the proper kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons in general, disputes must naturally have prevailed of a more or less sanguinary kind. As a necessary consequence of this, the Danish kings, in their later expeditions against the Anglo-Saxons for the purpose of conquest, resorted to, and sought support in, the Danish part of the north of England, in the districts near the Humber. In the year 1013, King Svend Tveskjæg anchored in this river with a powerful fleet, when he came over to conquer England. In conjunction with his son Canute, who afterwards completed the conquest, he had previously lain at anchor at Sandvik (Sandwich), in Kent. From the Humber he anchored in the river Trent, at Gegnesburgh (or Gainsborough), in Lincolnshire; whence he harried the whole of eastern, and part of southern England. The Old Danish land to the north of Watlinga-Stræt was the first to pay him homage; the rest of England soon yielded to him, and King Ethelred was obliged to fly to Normandy. But just as Svend, in the midst of his victorious career, had returned to Gainsborough—just as he was fleecing and levying contributions both on laity and clergy—he suddenly fell from his horse at an assize, or _Thing_, in a fit of illness, and died the following night, the 3rd of February, 1014. Monkish chronicles relate that it was St. Edmund who killed him. Ethelred, who now returned to England, in vain ordered a strict search to be made for the body of Svend, with the view of wreaking a cowardly vengeance on the impotent corpse of the man who, when alive, had been so terrible an antagonist to him. But the body had been secretly conveyed to York, where it was kept concealed during the winter (but scarcely in the cathedral, although that church had been founded long before, and was, perhaps, even considerably enlarged by the Norwegian princes who resided at York). Towards the spring it was brought over to Denmark by some Englishwomen, who were probably of Scandinavian extraction, and placed in the cathedral of Roeskilde, in one of the pillars in the grand choir.

Under the Danish rule, the Danish-Norwegian population in the north of England increased considerably, both in strength and numbers; although Christianity, by the wise arrangements of Canute, and particularly by his severe laws against heathenism, was almost completely disseminated there. Even after the Danish dominion had come to an end by the death of Hardicanute in 1042, and the Anglo-Saxon kings had again taken the helm, the old warlike spirit of the north continued, in spite of Christianity, to stir in the Northumbrian people. The successors of the Vikings still preferred, to a natural death, a glorious one on the field of battle; but Christian tenets no longer permitted them to be marked, when on the bed of sickness, with the point of a spear, in order to consecrate themselves to Odin, according to the heathen custom. The mighty Danish jarl Sivard (Sigeward or Siwerd) reigned over them at that time, who had fought in many battles both in England and Scotland, whereby his name became immortalized in Shakspeare’s “Macbeth.” When the news was brought to him that his son had fallen in battle, he inquired whether he had received his death wound in front or behind. Being answered, “Before;”—“In that case,” he exclaimed, “I have reason to rejoice, for no other death was befitting my son, or me.” When Siward himself afterwards lay on his death-bed, and felt the approach of dissolution, an old chronicler (Henry of Huntingdon) represents him as breaking out into sorrowful complaints, and exclaiming, “How shameful it is for me, that I have never been able to meet death in my numerous battles, but have been reserved to die with disgrace like an old cow. Clothe me at least in my impenetrable armour, gird me with my sword, cover my head with my helmet, place my shield in my left, and my gilded axe in my right hand, that I, the bold warrior, may also die like one.” Attired in full armour, he passed gladly to his fathers in the year 1055, and doubtless with the secret hope of enjoying in Valhalla a continuation of that proud martial life for which there would soon have been no longer room either in Northumberland or in the parent lands of Scandinavia.

Shortly after the death of Siward, the country near York also became the theatre where one of the last celebrated Vikings of the north fell. Harald Haardraade was indeed a Christian, and a king in Norway; but with him, as with many of his cotemporaries, Christianity dwelt only on his lips. In his heart he was still the bold Viking, who valued Hildur’s bloody game more than holy psalms, and who preferred conquest on foreign shores to the peaceful government of an hereditary kingdom. Whilst still young he had distinguished himself in expeditions in the East, and in the Greek Empire. It seemed to him disgraceful that those lands, particularly in the north of England, which had once belonged to his forefathers, should for ever be wrested from Norway. He therefore agreed to assist Toste Godvinsön against his brother, the English King Harald Godvinsön; but on the condition that he himself, if he succeeded in conquering Harald, should have the dominion of England, whilst Toste was to have the half of it as jarl, or earl. They landed in the Humber; but in the battle which shortly afterwards took place (in 1066) at Stamford Bridge, a little to the east of York, both Toste and Harald fell. Thus the latter gained no more of England’s soil than the English King Harald had offered him before the battle, namely, “seven feet of earth, or as much as he was taller than other men.”

This was one of the last serious attempts on the part of Denmark or Norway to reconquer England; and in the same year the Normans, after the battle of Hastings, in which King Harald fell, seized the kingdom which their Danish kinsmen had formerly possessed. William the Conqueror went in person against the Northumbrians; but before he disembarked he is said to have broken up the tumulus on the coast (by the Humber?) in which, according to the legend, Regner Lodbrog’s son, Ivar Beenlöse, had ordered himself to be buried, in order to avert the attacks of foreigners. William had to combat long before he could reduce Northumberland; but, as we shall afterwards see, he never succeeded in subduing that spirit of freedom and independence which the Danes and Norwegians had planted there.

SECTION VI.

Danish-Norwegian Memorials in the North of England.—Coins.—The Raven.—The Danish Flag.

If even the old Saxon south England is distinguished by its richness in legends and still-existing memorials of the Danes, it is natural that they should be met with in still greater numbers in the old Danish districts to the north and east of Watlinga-Stræt.

Here also the Norwegian saint, “St. Olave,” has been zealously worshipped, both in the country and in the towns. In Norfolk (East Anglia) there is a bridge called “St. Olave’s Bridge.” In itself it is a remarkable monument of a time when bridges over rivers were regarded as such considerable and important structures that, like churches, they were named after, or dedicated to saints; in ancient Scandinavia they even built bridges, as several runic stones testify, “for their souls’ salvation.” In the city of Chester, on the northern frontier of Wales, there is to be found in the southern outskirts, opposite the old castle and close to the river Dee, a church and parish which still bear the name of St. Olave. By the church runs a street called “St. Olave’s Lane.” In the north-west part of York there is likewise a St. Olave’s church, said to be the remains of a monastery founded by the powerful Danish Jarl Siward, who was himself buried there in the year 1055. There can be no doubt that similar churches dedicated to St. Olave were scattered about in other towns of north England, where further researches might possibly yet discover at least some of them.

These traces of the importance formerly conferred on St. Olave in the towns of north England lead one to conjecture that, even after the Danish ascendancy in England was annihilated, a great number of Northmen must have continued to reside there, as was the case in London. This is so much the more natural, as, long before the Norman Conquest, the Northmen preponderated in many, perhaps in most, mercantile towns of the north of England, and particularly in the fortified towns occupied by the Danes. At the time of the Conquest, the population in some of the largest and most important cities towards the east coast, such as Lincoln and York, is said to have been almost exclusively of Scandinavian extraction; hence it was that Lincoln and York, at least, preserved their original Scandinavian “husting” throughout the middle ages, and even later.

In and about the last-named city, which was the chief place in Danish north England, are numerous Scandinavian memorials. The names of several streets in York end in _gate_. In London, where the same termination of the names of streets frequently occurs, some have, indeed, endeavoured to derive this _gate_ from the gates which these streets adjoined; and, as far as regards London, this explanation may probably in most cases be correct. But in York, where formerly there were at least a score of such streets, it is certainly by no means a probable conjecture that twenty gates existed from which their names were derived; and it therefore becomes a question whether these _gates_ should not be derived from the old Scandinavian “_gata_” (a street), particularly when they appear in compound names, such as Petersgate (Petersgade), Marygate (Mariegade), Fishergate (Fiskergade), Stonegate (Steengade), Micklegate (from the old Scandinavian “mykill,” signifying great); which have a striking resemblance with Scandinavian names of streets; nay, there is even a legend respecting Godram, or Guthramgate, that it was named after a Danish chieftain, Guthrum or Gorm, who is said to have dwelt there. The historical accounts of the number and influence of the Northmen in York cannot but strengthen these suppositions in a high degree.

North-east of York, on the coast towards the German ocean, is a promontory called “Flamborough-head.” It is separated from the main land by an immense rampart said to have been raised by the Danes, and called on that account “the Danes’ Dyke,” behind which they intrenched themselves on landing. At no great distance, near Great Driffield, is “the Danes’ Dale,” and “the Danes’ Graves,” where remains of the Danes who fell in a battle are said to have been dug up. South of York, on the Humber, between Richal and Skipwith, human bones and pieces of iron have likewise been found in several barrows, or tumuli, ascribed to the Danes. It is supposed that the Danes and Norwegians landed in this neighbourhood at different times, when proceeding up the Humber on their warlike expeditions.

The popular legend of the bloody battle by Stamford Bridge, or, as it was afterwards called, “Battle Bridge,” is not yet obsolete. A piece of ground near the bridge over the river Derwent is called “Battle-flats,” and in the surrounding fields, where, for about a century after the battle, large heaps of human bones were to be seen, joint-bones, together with iron swords and other weapons, have been ploughed up, as well as horse-shoes that would be suitable for the small Norwegian horses. The English chronicles which describe this battle are lavish in their praises of a Norwegian, who, in the midst of the fight, stood quite alone on the bridge over the Derwent, and for several hours kept Harald Godvinsön’s whole army at bay, until at length a man glided under the bridge and ran him through from below with a spear. The inhabitants of the village of Stamford Bridge have to the present day kept up the custom of celebrating this deed at an annual festival, by making puddings in the form of a vessel or trough; for, as the legend states, it was in a trough that the slayer of the Norwegian passed under the bridge. It is certain, however, that the river Derwent hereabouts has only lately been made navigable.

It would lead us too far to relate, even in an abbreviated form, all the legends, or to reckon up all the numerous memorials, which, to the north of Watlinga-Stræt, are connected with the Danes. It is not only the common people in England who in general ascribe every ancient monument of any importance to the Danes; there was a time, and no very distant one, when many learned men were but too much inclined to do the same. In proof of this it suffices to remark that the celebrated circle of stones at Stonehenge, on Salisbury Plain, in Wiltshire—the most superb monument of its kind in the British Islands, or even in the whole of northern Europe—was also at one time described by the learned as a Danish place of sacrifice, although it is clearly distinguished, both by its structure and whole appearance, from the ancient monuments of Scandinavia; and although, on the contrary, the highest degree of probability proclaims its having originated from the older inhabitants of England, the ancient Britons. It is undoubtedly true, that want of adequate experience and knowledge was generally the real cause why the learned were never able to distinguish, with certainty, between what ancient monuments were really Danish and what were not. Nevertheless they would assuredly never have given the Danes credit for so many monuments, at the expense of their own countrymen and ancestors, had they not acknowledged that the immigration and settlement of the Danes in England was of the most widely-extended importance.

Even in our days English antiquarians are not disinclined to ascribe British, Roman, or Anglo-Saxon antiquities to the Danes; as well as to suppose, on the whole, that there are more monuments of the Danes extant in England, than, strictly speaking, that people can validly claim.

At first sight it might indeed appear that the Danes, who so early, and for so long a period, had extensive possessions in the north of England, must have left there a great number of tumuli, stone circles, and cairns; as well as, in consequence of their numberless fights and battles, a considerable quantity of entrenchments. It is sufficiently known how careful the old Northmen were to hand down to posterity the memory of a hero, and of his deeds. The doctrines of Odin even commanded it, as a sacred duty, to erect bauta stones in memory of the brave; which is one of the principal reasons why Scandinavia is distinguished, even down to modern times, by such a striking abundance of ancient monuments.

But with regard to England, we must not forget that the inhabitants of the central and northern parts had for centuries been Christians when the heathen Danes began to make conquests there. Among the Danes, as among the Northmen in general, the belief in their ancient gods had been weakened, and faith in their own power and strength had frequently usurped its place. Living among Christians in a foreign land, and doubtless, also, often marrying native females, they easily adopted, at least in form, the novel doctrines of Christianity, and with them the customs which they brought in their train. They soon renounced the usage of placing the dead in mounds, after the heathen manner, and of providing them with the weapons and ornaments which were dearest to them when alive. The bodies were buried in churchyards, or in the churches themselves; and the precious things which were formerly thought to secure for the hero an honourable seat in Valhalla, now for the most part remained above ground, where they generally found their way into the pocket of the monk, in order that he might deliver the deceased from purgatory by masses for his soul, and procure him an easy entrance into the kingdom of heaven. By degrees, as the Danes abandoned themselves to the influence of the higher civilization of England, they must also have adopted the most essential parts of the English dress, or at all events English ornaments; and consequently, even if only some few of these were deposited in the barrows, it became almost impossible to decide, when these graves were opened after a long lapse of time, whether it were Danes or Anglo-Saxons who had been originally interred in them.

Thus it is easily explained why but, proportionally, very few really Danish or Scandinavian barrows and monumental stones are to be found in England. We must not ascribe it to the progress of agriculture alone that, even in the north of England, we may search the fields in vain for stones, which, by runic inscriptions in the ancient language of Scandinavia, have preserved the remembrance of some distinguished warrior from the eastern lands beyond the sea. It is but rarely that one can even fancy that he has met with a Scandinavian runic stone; but a closer inspection will soon show that both the runes, and particularly the language in which the inscriptions are couched, betray a foreign, and especially an Anglo-Saxon, origin. The most important runic stone in these northern districts is found near the English border, in the Scotch town of Ruthwell, on the other side of Solway Firth. It is of considerable height, and is ornamented with a number of carvings of biblical scenes, mingled with figures of leaves, birds, and animals. Besides Latin inscriptions indicating and explaining these Christian carvings, there is a runic inscription on the stone which was long considered, both by British and Scandinavian archæologists, to be Danish, or at least to contain remnants of the old Scandinavian language. But it is now shown to be derived neither from the Danes nor Norwegians, but from the Anglo-Saxons, as the supposed Scandinavian inscription includes some verses of an old devotional Anglo-Saxon poem. The whole appearance of the stone, also, is rather Saxon than Danish. The runic characters are, in part at least, different from those of Scandinavia, and the words are not, as in them, separated by points. Ornaments with similar so-called Anglo-Saxon runic inscriptions are not altogether uncommon in England, particularly in the north. But as not a few ornaments, as well as runic stones with inscriptions in the selfsame character, are also found in the countries of Scandinavia, both in Denmark and Norway, and particularly the latter, and the west and south of Sweden (and there mostly in Bleking), it may be a question whether this runic writing was not originally brought over to England by Scandinavian emigrants. It would otherwise be inexplicable that they should have used entirely foreign runic characters in Scandinavia, whilst they possessed a peculiar and genuine Scandinavian runic writing of their own. The true state of the matter will not, however, be brought to light till antiquarians succeed in explaining, in a satisfactory manner, the inscriptions with Anglo-Saxon runes that are found in England as well as in Scandinavia, and which, for the most part, have not hitherto been deciphered.