Tag Archives: Medieval History

A Traitor’s Banquet – The Blood Feast of Roskilde

In 1146 Denmark descended into chaos and civil war upon the abdication of King Erik III (r. 1137 – 1146). He was the first Danish King to abdicate and, with no legitimate son to inherit the throne, the kingdom did not have the political stability to ensure a smooth succession. Sources written after the civil war, in the knowledge of the turmoil his departure created, judge Erik as a weak and short-sighted ruler. We however will not judge him too harshly. After abdicating Erik took himself off to a monastery and was dead within months – it seems likely he was incapacitated by illness, and it was this that forced him from the throne.

Enter Sweyn III, Cnut V, and Waldemar I. All three men were of direct descent within the Danish royal line, and each had the backing of a faction of the Danish elites as they sought to become sole king of Denmark. The support each enjoyed was legitimising and, in separate ceremonies, all three were crowned king – to this day, despite the fact that they ascended the throne in the same year and reigned concurrently, they are all considered Kings of Denmark. The status quo of three independent kings of Denmark lasted a decade, the kings variously allying or warring as they sought to gain control of the kingdom. Invariably it ended in treachery, at the infamous Blood Feast of Roskilde. The three men had arrived at an agreement to split the kingdom among themselves and met in celebration for a feast at Roskilde in 1157. By the end of the night one king would be a traitor, one would be a corpse, and one would be in exile. The youngest of these men, a noble son who would go on to become *spoiler* King Waldemar the Great, does not wish us to forget this injustice, the greatest treachery of the civil war.

I wish it to be known to everyone, present and future, that certain traitors, who were enjoying a pleasant meal with me and were engaging me in friendly conversation, without warning sought to run me through with naked blades, unarmed as I was and not fearing any such thing. But God’s mercy was with-out end, without help from anyone it protected me and with great power pulled me out from the midst of armoured men.

Background

We do need some background to this story to understand why these three men were fighting for the throne, and it is hideously complicated. In fact, it requires a diagram. (If you are mainly here for the murder and treachery, I won’t be offended if you skip this section)! We will start with the kingship of Sweyn II (r. 1047 – 1076) – a man of prodigious fecundity. Though we do not know precisely how many children Sweyn had, it was a least twenty, five of whom would succeed to the Danish throne.

Sweyn himself was the son of Estrid Svensdatter, daughter of the Danish King Sweyn Forkbeard, and sister to Cnut the Great, and it was through this lineage that Sweyn II held a claim to the Danish throne. As this claim was passed through the female line, it is often considered the start of a new dynasty which bears her name – the House of Estridsen.  We will gloss over the five years of Norwegian rule over Denmark that immediately preceded Sweyn’s kingship, and our diagram of Danish Kings will pick up in 1047, continuing through to the three claimants of the civil war.

The Danish Succession (1047 – 1146)

Danish succession

This should give you an idea of the line of succession and the relationships between our three antagonists. I have tried to keep things simple and, as such, there are some nuances missing here. For example, Erik III’s paternal line descended from the Norwegian ruler Magnus the Good who held the Danish crown prior to Sweyn II, and thus Erik held a claim to the kingship from both parents. Of more importance, the kingship was, in principle, elective. This explains why a succession of brothers took the crown instead of it passing to the young sons of the elder siblings, why the kingship passed through the female line twice, and why an illegitimate son could make a claim to the throne. But this ‘elective principle’ should be taken with a grain of salt. The electors were an exclusive circle of elites, all the candidates for the kingship were drawn from the same family, and the crown invariably passed to the next ‘of age’ male in the line of succession. Indeed, if we consider that Waldemar, as the legitimate grandson of an elder brother, was considered by most chroniclers to have the primary claim to the throne, it seems clear that ideas of primogeniture had begun to permeate the Danish court. (Though I should also note that, as Waldemar emerged the victor of the civil wars, our sources tend to be deeply pro-Waldemar and thus make deliberate attempts to play-up his legitimacy). With all these nuances and caveats explained, and the picture duly complicated, I don’t want you to be in any doubt that this is essentially a family squabble, pure and simple. Cnut V, Sweyn III and Waldemar were cousins, all great-grandson of Sweyn II, and all thought they were deserving of the family inheritance.

Now, I have to admit that that all got far more complicated than I anticipated when I started writing. Clearly the politics of Denmark leading into the civil war are convoluted, but hopefully the outline I have given you will put you in good stead to watch the entertainment as Sweyn, Cnut and Waldemar vie for supremacy, culminating in the dramatically named Blood Feast.

The Blood Feast of Roskilde                                           

I will let the twelfth-century Danish historian Sven Aggesen open proceedings, as Sven provides a succinct summary of the narrative as it has been passed down to us:

And when he was dead, [Cnut], the son of Magnus … was made king at the Viborg assembly, and Sven … was put on the throne by the Scanians. And while they were engaged in numerous battles, Waldemar, the scion of holy blood … gained possession of his father’s fief and gave assistance to both in turn, as if he stood between them.

However, after a long time, a council was held in Lolland, and the rulers decided to divide the kingdom into equal thirds and to confirm the treaty by an oath. But the treaty did not remain firm for long, as the outcome of the arrangement showed. For after the council had been held, the three we have mentioned came together that autumn in the city of Roskilde for a feast, and they dined first with King [Sweyn]. The peace and trust between them had been broken, and he had prepared a trap: he plan[ned] to kill [Cnut] and [Waldemar] that evening after vespers by means of commissioners previously instructed. When the lights had been snuffed, they slew [Cnut] and crowned him with martyrdom; but while they were trying to run [Waldemar] through with a naked sword, he was seriously wounded in the thigh, but God’s grace preserved him and he escaped. However, as soon as he had recovered somewhat from the pain of his wound, he set out for Jutland and gathered together an army. Sven, who was king of Scania, hastened after [Waldemar], king of Jutland, and they joined battle at Grathe. Nor was the victory long in doubt, for Sven was beaten, and killed by the hand of a peasant. And so the glorious victor, King [Waldemar], gained possession of the kingdom.

Let’s walk through what Sven tells us here with the help of some other chroniclers. The Blood Feast and, more broadly, the Danish civil war is covered extensively in other chronicles – most comprehensively by Saxo Grammaticus in his Gesta Danorum, but also within the Chronica Slavorum of Helmold of Bosau, the Knýtlinga saga of Óláfr Þórðarson (?), and in collected minor historical treatises and diplomatic texts. I will be relying mainly on Saxon to augment Sven’s account, though aspects of the other sources will also help with context.

Sven’s first paragraph covers a decade of civil war in a couple of sentences. Here the factionalism and independent coronations I noted above are on display. Each man is declared king by his own followers – Sweyn and Cnut are the older of the cousins and it is perhaps a little unsurprising that Waldemar, fifteen at the time of Erik III’s abdication, took a back seat. For a fifteen year-old claimant to the throne during a civil war, staying alive was rather an impressive feat and Sven indicates that Waldemar supported each of his rivals as it best suited him. Indeed, Saxo informs us that, in the early years of the civil war Sweyn was ascendant and well supported by Waldemar, whom he rewarded with a dukedom in addition to his patrimony. Cnut however wooed Waldemar to his cause through a marriage alliance and, at the time of the Blood Feast, Cnut and Waldemar were very close indeed. Which is not to say that Waldemar did not remain on friendly terms with Sweyn, and it was in fact this friendship that doomed Cnut on that fateful day in Roskilde.

Which moves us on to Sven’s account of the council and the division of the kingdom. But first I should briefly note the kind of pro-Waldemarian propaganda we are invariably dealing with. Sven’s description of Waldemar as the scion of the holy blood makes his opinion pretty clear and, as we lead up to the Blood Feast, Saxo makes sure that he proclaims Sweyn’s duplicity at every moment. We are not supposed to be in doubt that Sweyn is the bad guy, and that Waldemar is a paradigm of virtue. However, in Saxo’s account there is a naivety to Waldemar’s virtue, a naivety which to which much of what occurs can be attributed. It was Waldemar who brought Cnut to meet with Sweyn at Lolland, and it was Waldemar who convinced Cnut to attend the feast at Roskilde despite his clear distrust of Sweyn. In the lead-up to the Lolland treaty, Sweyn had sought to return Waldemar to their former alliance, however the faithful Waldemar declared that you’re wasting your time if you go on trying to shatter the sympathy between Cnut and myself. Sweyn responded disingenuously that he had no such intent, merely a desire to establish peace with both of them, an interaction which resulted in the treaty. Having thus convince Waldemar of his integrity, the now twenty-six year-old Waldemar in his naivety was further able to overcome Cnut’s distrust of Sweyn, convincing him to attend the feast at Roskilde. Leading him into the lion’s den.

According to Saxo, this was no spur of the moment plot. One of Sweyn’s soldiers, Detlev, was prepared in advance and looking for a moment to undertake the nefarious deed, even seeking to put Cnut at his ease with friendly interaction. Shortly after, Sweyn removed himself from the hall, leaving Cnut and Waldemar alone with his men, preparing to assassinate the rival kings. Then the attack began. Waldemar, sensing the impending attacked, leapt from his chair and, wrapping his cloak about his hand fended of blows, though Detlev managed slice open his leg as he fled, bursting through his opponents and out the door. Turning his attention to Cnut, Detlev stabbed him in the head. Cnut was caught as he fell by one of Waldemar’s key advisors and a man destined for greatness, Absalon, the future Archbishop of Lund. But this was a harrowing moment for the young cleric. A man named Dobik stood over then, attempting to avenge Cnut, but he was struck down. Another of Cnut’s confederates, Konstantin, sought to lead Absalon from the hall, but he too was killed before Absalon, in the gloom, managed to bluff his way past the guards at the door. Yet Absalon was still pursued, and even trapped by a band of men as he sought sanctuary at the cathedral of the Trinity, before other men bravely rescued the cleric. Thus, with both the future sole king of Denmark and the future Archbishop of Lund escaping the slaughter, Saxo declares: In this way Fate preserved the future pillar of our fatherland, unwilling to let the hope of Denmark’s restoration disappear completely. And that hope did not disappear. The Blood Feast had occurred on the 9th of August, and on the 23rd October Sweyn and Waldemar met in a final battle at Grathe Heath, from which Waldemar would emerge victorious. And the restoration began immediately as, with the loyal Absalon by his side, Waldemar united Denmark, brought the country into the Wendish Crusades, and began a period of territorial expansion that would earn him the sobriquet ‘the Great.’

It’s all a little neat though, isn’t it? Waldemar was on good terms with Cnut, a relative both by descent and through marriage, so what would the two men have done if they had defeated Sweyn? Split the kingdom? That kind of arrangement has traditionally been a poor one with one of the kings dying shortly after. However, if Waldemar was able to control the narrative, he could scarcely have come up with a better one to absolve himself of ill-deed. His ally was murdered through treachery, he himself was wounded and fled, pursued by the traitor. Finally, turning to face his pursuer, by the grace of God, he was granted victory.

After eleven years of civil war, it was all over in the space of a month and, if we are to believe the chroniclers, Waldemar achieved this rapid victory by a mix of good luck, circumstance, and divine intervention. While I could never prove this, as our sources almost universally follow Waldemar’s narrative, I would contest that Waldemar’s victory was of his own making. It was Waldemar who acted as a go-between for the other kings, it was he who brought Cnut into Sweyn’s clutches, and it was he who somehow ‘miraculously’ escaped the Blood Feast. Was this in fact pre-arranged with Sweyn? It seems likely to me that Waldemar played Cnut and Sweyn off against each other, convincing each of his support, and taking the opportunities to eliminate them as they arose. The quote by Waldemar at the top of this article, in which he exhorts us to remember the treachery of that day, is our most contemporary account of events. Waldemar was creating his own narrative and, given his really quite extraordinary success as a king on the years to come, it seems likely the chroniclers were happy to follow. So who was the real traitor at the Blood Feast of Roskilde? Certainly it was Sweyn and his men that hewed down King Cnut V, but perhaps they too were mere pawns in the hands of the man who would become one of Denmark most extraordinary and accomplished kings, Waldemar the Great.

-Matt Firth

References:

  1. Feature image: The Blood Feast of Roskilde – each king is labelled by his name and Cnut can be seen being cut down. MS Sächsische Weltchronik, Forschungsbibliothek Gotha, Memb. I 90, f. 131v.
  2. Eric Christiansen, The Works of Sven Aggesen, Twelfth-Century Danish Historian, London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1993. [English translation abridged by me].
  3. Lars Kjær, ‘Feasting with Traitors: Royal Banquets as Rituals and Texts in High Medieval Scandinavia,’ in Rituals, Performatives, and Political Order in Northern Europe, c. 650-1350, edited by Jezierski et al., Turnhout: Brepols, 2015, pp. 269 – 294.
  4. Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards, Knytlinga Saga: The History of the Kings of Denmark. Odense: Odense University Press, 1986.
  5. Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum,edited by Karsten Friis-Jensen and translated by Peter Fisher, 2 vols, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2015.

If you liked this post, follow this blog and/or read the following blog posts:

Crusaders on the Baltic Shore – The Wendish Crusade (1147 – c.1185)

Kingship in the Viking Age – Icelandic Sagas, Anglo-Saxon Kings, & Warrior Poets

Sweyn Forkbeard, Olaf Tryggvason, and the Kingship of Norway

Viking Identity & Christianity – The Performed Violence of Olaf Tryggvason 

See our bibliographies on the Viking World and Chronicle Editions

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Creating a Saint – King Edmund the Martyr & the Great Viking Army

Riddled with spears, clinging to his faith, King Edmund of East Anglia was beheaded on 20 November 869 at the orders of Ivar Ragnarsson ‘the Boneless.’ Or at least that is what the tenth-century Passio Sancti Edmundi, Regis et Martyris of Abbo of Fleury would have us believe (note that I am using the Old English redaction of the text by Ælfric of Eynsham as my source). Unfortunately, as great as story as this is, it is just that, as story. The martyrdom of Edmund is an excellent example of late Anglo-Saxon hagiography and, particularly, of the cults of Anglo-Saxon Royal saints I have written about previously (Æthelberht of East Anglia, Kenelm of Mercia, Edward the Martyr). Yet there is something different about Edmund – Æthelberht, Kenelm, and Edward were all young kings, killed in their youth and innocence as a result of political machinations and their naivety. Though they do not suffer what is traditionally considered a martyr’s death – death in defence of their Christian faith – they are accorded a martyr’s death by virtue of their innocence. This ambiguity does not exist in Ælfric’s account of Edmund’s death. Edmund, according to Ælfric, tells Ivar’s messenger, who was sent to demand the capitulation of the East Anglian king: I will not defile my clean hands in your foul blood, because I follow Christ who sets us such an example; and I will happily be killed by you, if God ordains it so. Edmund intended to die a martyr’s death at the hands of the heathen vikings, and so he did. Continue reading Creating a Saint – King Edmund the Martyr & the Great Viking Army

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In this year [655] Penda perished and the Mercians became Christians. (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, C-Text).

In this year [655] Oswiu killed Penda at Winwædfeld and 30 princes with him, and some of them were kings. One of them was Æthelhere, brother of Anna, king of the East Angles. (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, E-Text).

Continue reading The Battle of Winwæd and the Rise & Fall of Pagan Mercia

Cnut the Great, the Conquest of England, and the Puzzle of London

In 1016, the young Danish prince who was to become Cnut the Great, King of England, Denmark, and Norway, laid siege to the city of London as part of the campaign that saw him crowned King of England by 1017. London was one of very few English cities of European significance – a trading port, an economic and administrative hub, and population centre. And, in 1016, it was also the centre of Anglo-Saxon resistance to Cnut’s campaign of conquest.  Throughout Cnut’s English offensive, London was a base for the Anglo-Saxon king Æthelred II (‘the Unready’) and, after Æthelred’s death, the city unilaterally declared his son Edmund, king of England in the face of Cnut’s aggression. Despite the capitulation of Wessex and the declaration of Cnut as king by a gathering of leading nobles and clerics in Southampton, the city continued to hold out against the Danes. Indeed, the siege did not end in Danish victory, but in treaty and settlement. As such, the resistance of the independent minded Londoners had implications upon how Cnut would conduct juridical, financial and religious policy in relation to the city. Cnut could not allow the city to exert that kind of autonomy unchecked. However, the Danish king had ambitions of establishing an Anglo-Scandinavian Empire and London was strategically important in that vision. Valued for both its continental connections and its wealth, Cnut could not afford to stunt London’s economic life through punitive repression. The Danish king’s early years were then characterised by a series of carefully balanced retributive policies that were designed to remove London’s agency for rebellion, while not crippling it as an established economic and commercial centre. It is these punitive measures that this article will focus on – it should be noted that later in his reign Cnut did adopt a more conciliatory approach to the city.

This post is based on Matt’s published article which can be read in full: ‘London Under Danish Rule: Cnut’s Politics and Policies as a Demonstration of Power,’ Eras Journal, Volume 18, No. 1. Continue reading Cnut the Great, the Conquest of England, and the Puzzle of London

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Monsters and otherworldly powers are a real danger to the Icelandic saga-hero. Many an Icelander has to deal with ghosts, with trolls, with the undead, or contest with witch’s curses. There are few who have to deal with more monsters than Grettir Ásmundarson (also know as ‘the Strong’), a historical outlaw with a mythologised past. Today I am going to look at three episodes of Grettir’s fighting monsters as he works to clear Iceland of its monstrous inhabitants. Grettir is not always loved or loveable, but he performs a function in a newly Christianised Iceland that other men do not seem able to perform. Grettir alone stands against to monsters. Or rather, Grettir is the only one who seeks them out, as we shall see in each case – the fight against the undead mound-dweller Kar the Old; the famous battle with the revenant Glam; and a fight to the death with a troll-wife and her ‘friend.’ And these are but a sampling of the monsters and monstrous available in Grettis saga! I will be looking at some of the similarities between the tales, the function of the tropes, and what I think the author is up to. However, my main focus today will be on storytelling and, while this is a rather long article, I anticipate it will be an entertaining one! Continue reading Monsters and the Monstrous in the Sagas – The Saga of Grettir the Strong

Death for Dinner: The Battle of Auberoche and French Tactical Ignorance

The power and efficacy of the longbow as a significant weapon of medieval warfare is evidenced most aptly in the infamous battles of the Hundred Years’ War; Crécy, Poitiers, and Agincourt being the most notable examples. However, its successful use in warfare, particularly by the English (and their Welsh subjects, whose involvement we shouldn’t forget), predates both the Hundred Years’ War itself, and significantly the Battle of Crécy within the war. Continue reading Death for Dinner: The Battle of Auberoche and French Tactical Ignorance

The King Lives! Scandinavian Legends of Hastings and Svolder

Tradition (and most chroniclers) tell us that on 14 October 1066, the Anglo-Saxon army saw their King, Harold Godwinson, killed on the field of battle. It was a moment upon which the battle hinged for, seeing their leader dead, the Anglo-Saxons fled the field, pursued and killed by the Normans in their unruly rout.  But is all as it seems? There is also a tradition that Harold in fact survived the battle and, deciding the loss of the kingship was God’s will, devoted his life to God as a hermit (or anchorite). Well, if I am being honest, all is as it seems and, removing the debate about exactly how Harold died, it is pretty clear he did not walk away from the battle. But such legends are a bit of fun and it is not entirely uncommon to find them attached to kings who enjoyed a certain amount of popular support, and who ‘apparently’ lost their lives and kingships in battle (and had no known burial place). Indeed, I have previously written about Olaf Tryggvason’s death at the naval battle of Svolder, and he too is reputed to have survived his fully-armoured plunge into the open ocean, and thereafter journeyed on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. What we see with both men is an element of hagiography creeping into accounts of their defeats, in which martial loss is divinely ordained, thus necessarily turning temporal defeat into spiritual victory. It speaks to a kind of cultic reverence (and nostalgia) among their supporters. Continue reading The King Lives! Scandinavian Legends of Hastings and Svolder

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An act of torture is rarely an act of finality in feud cultures – the family of the tortured man, whether he survives or not, will rarely allow such a deed to stand without vengeance. For that reason, it is rare to find examples of torture in saga literature (excluding perhaps the King’s sagas – that Olaf Tryggvason could be a bit intense). This means that, where saga authors do relate occasions of deliberate mutilation, they stand out within the literature and gain a certain amount of infamy.

So today’s is a brief(ish) post, a kind of follow up to our article on the body in law, looking at the logistics of some of the more famous acts of brutality from saga literature (both from a physical and literary perspective): the ‘fatal walk’ of the Viking Broðir in the aftermath of the Battle of Clontarf, Hrafnkel Freysgoði and his men being strung up by their heels and, of course, the infamous blood-eagle. What we will see in these instances of torture is that, even where the act is physically possible, the sheer unlikeliness of the deed and the manner in which these violent interludes are deployed by saga authors recommends them more as literary tropes than genuine deeds. Which is not to say that brutality did not occur in the Viking settlement cultures of Iceland, Ireland, and Britain during the period, or even that these accounts have origins in cultural memories that evolved over time but, in this article, I want to focus on the acts as written.

Disclaimer: I will only be as graphic as what is written in the saga texts, but there are descriptions of disembowelment, evisceration and bodily torture.

Continue reading Blood Eagles, Fatal Walks, and Hung Meat – Assessing Viking Torture

When Justice Cost an Arm & a Leg – The Mutilated Body in Medieval Anglo-Scandinavian Law

The breaking of a body is a powerful act. In the medieval world, it was a matter of life or death. A mutilated body marked out its victim for social censure and, critically for a labour-based society, if the injury impacted the ability of the victim to work, it marginalised their social function and forced them to rely on communal charity. Thus, such an act was both a punishment of great impact when performed within the context of law, and a matter demanding compensation of money or blood when performed outside of the law. With that in mind, today I am going to home in on the body in law and in particular the dichotomy of mutilation as a transgression of the law and as a tool of the law. In doing so I am going to focus on Anglo-Saxon law, and the Icelandic Grágás as representative of Scandinavian law.  I promise to try keep it interesting and provide some feuding, some torture, and some storytelling (alongside wergild legislation and evolving legal cultures) – look out for men being hung by holes cut into their heels toward the end! Fun right? Continue reading When Justice Cost an Arm & a Leg – The Mutilated Body in Medieval Anglo-Scandinavian Law

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From its emphatic beginnings at Clermont in 1095, to its ultimately dramatic and triumphant conclusion at Jerusalem in 1099, the First Crusade was an arduous journey of devotion, determination, survival, and some would argue, divine intervention.

Continue reading Relighting the Fire of the First Crusade: Warriors, Priests, and the Holy Lance of Antioch

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The Germanic king or lord as the dispenser of treasure, the ‘giver of rings,’ is a familiar image. The reason it is familiar is that it permeates that famous Anglo-Saxon epic poem, Beowulf. In the opening lines of the poem, we are introduced to Scyld Scéfing, a man known for violence against his enemies, and his gifts of treasure to his friends, a man of whom the poet says þæt wæs gód cyning (that was a good king). His son in turn is a chip off the old Scyld and, no less vigorous in war or generous in his gifts, has the loyalty of his men, being praised as léofne þéoden, béaga bryttan (beloved prince, ring giver). Later in the poem, just as Beowulf himself is about to benefit from such kingly largesse at the court of Halfdan, a king of the Scylding line, Halfdan is referred to as sinc-gyfan (treasure/ring giver). All these terms are kennings – evocative poetic metaphors common to Old English and Old Norse poetry – and the Beowulf author is implying that gift giving and Kingship are the same thing.  There were, of course, many other elements to cultural perceptions of successful kingship in the Anglo-Scandinavian world, but those are for a different day. In this article I am going to take the lead of the Beowulf poet and concentrate on the king as ‘giver of rings.’ Continue reading Kingship in the Viking Age – Icelandic Sagas, Anglo-Saxon Kings, & Warrior Poets

Crusaders on the Baltic Shore – The Livonian & Estonian Crusades (c. 1198 – 1290)

The Eastern Baltic was unlike any other region where Rome sanctioned Crusade. The Northern Crusades cannot be cast as either a purely political expansion of territorial borders, or a purely religious expansion of the word of God. The territories under pagan control acted as a non-Christian buffer between Western and Eastern Christianity and, while the crusades were ostensibly directed at their conversion, for Latin Christendom, it was critical that they converted to the right type of Christianity. In the eyes of both Orthodox and Latin Christians, the pagan tribes of the Baltic shore did not so much represent aberrant religious groups needing conversion, as the inhabitants of lands that were strategically critical to the territorial and religious ambitions of both Eastern and Western Christianity.  It is not surprising then to find that, in the Baltic lands of eastern Europe, the crusading ideal evolved to match the unique conditions of the region, combining conversion, conquest, and commerce in a manner peculiar to the Northern Crusades. Continue reading Crusaders on the Baltic Shore – The Livonian & Estonian Crusades (c. 1198 – 1290)

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Dressed in armour, watching his fleet fall to his Danish rival, King Olaf I Tryggvason of Norway threw himself into the sea, sinking to his death and denying his enemies the pleasure of killing him. The death of Olaf (r. 995 – 1000) at the Battle of Svolder returned the Norwegian crown to Sweyn Forkbeard the king of Denmark (r. 986 – 1014), and the Danish hegemony. The Norwegian crown had fallen under the tenuous control of the Danish Kings c. 971 during the reign of Sweyn’s father, Harald Bluetooth. Thus, when Sweyn seized the throne of Denmark at the expense of his father in 986, he also ostensibly assumed the throne of Norway. Continue reading Sweyn Forkbeard, Olaf Tryggvason, and the Kingship of Norway

Crusaders on the Baltic Shore – The Wendish Crusade (1147 – c.1185)

In 1147 Pope Eugenius III declared a crusade against the pagans of the Eastern Baltic, the first papal call to holy war not explicitly aimed at reclaiming Christian territories from Muslim rule. Instead, Eugenius’ decree gave the Latin Christians of Northern Germany and Scandinavia mandate to aggressively expand their borders into the lands of the Wendish Slavs on the northern frontier of Christendom. It would become a mandate with a long afterlife – once the northern borders of Christendom were opened to the crusading ideal, they remained open for three centuries. In the Slavic lands of North-Eastern Europe, the Scandinavian kingdoms and northern states of the Holy Roman Empire had seen opportunity for political and economic expansion; any intent Rome may have had in establishing the Northern Crusades as a vehicle to win souls to Latin Christianity was subordinated to regional politics.

Continue reading Crusaders on the Baltic Shore – The Wendish Crusade (1147 – c.1185)

The Walls of Carcassonne: Power and Wealth in Defensive Architecture

Throughout the medieval world it wasn’t exactly difficult to work out who the powerful and wealthy members of society were, you just had to look for the biggest buildings. Medieval fortifications were, to put it simply, an expensive and often audacious symbol of power. Continue reading The Walls of Carcassonne: Power and Wealth in Defensive Architecture