The King Killers

The gravestone of the father of King Cadwallon.

Edwin met his end at the hands of what would seem like an unlikely alliance between Cadwallon, king of the Britonnic kingdom of Gwynedd and Penda, King of the Ango-Saxon kingdom of Mercia. A simplistic understanding of the time would think that Cadwallon and Penda should be enemies. But both wanted to bring down the over powerful Edwin. Although Penda was a pagan, his name could have derived from British Celtic (although the derivation is uncertain and the name unique).

The kingdom of Gwynedd was a stronghold of Romano-Britonnic civilisation. The gravestone of Cadwallon’s father, now set into the wall of the church of Llangadwaladr on the Isle of Anglesy, near the site of the court of the kings of Gwynedd, was written in good, if rather shaky, Latin: Catamanus rex sapientisimus opinatisimus omnium regum (King Cadfan, the wisest and most renowned of all kings).

 But in the brutal power politics of the 7th century, a mutual enemy outweighed any other considerations.

 When Bede, the proud Northumbrian, later recorded these events in his history he excoriated Cadwallon as a faithless Christian and destroyer of his fellow Christians, but evinced a muted admiration for Penda’s unrepentant paganism and sheer ability to kill other kings. Penda was the last of the great warlords, riding through the country leaving trails of vanquished kingdoms in his wake, like an insular version of Genghis Khan.

The Rise and Fall of King Edwin

Although Bede presents the council as approving the change to the new religion, Edwin himself did not convert . After all, the old gods had been kind to him. He had overcome his persecutor, Æthelfrith. His mentor, Rædwald, had died, probably of natural causes, leaving him the most powerful king in Britain. He had cemented an alliance with the Christian kingdom of Kent through his new wife. Why rock the altar?

It was a close encounter with death that decided Edwin to change religion. A rival king sent a suicide assassin but one of Edwin’s men took the blow intended for the king. In the struggle, Edwin was still wounded by the poisoned dagger. At the time of the attack, Queen Æthelburh was in labour and gave birth to a daughter that night. Edwin swore that if the new god gave him victory over the rival king, then he would pay him back, by his own conversion and by allowing the baptism of his new daughter.

Edwin duly recovered and waged punitive war against his rival, returning with enough heads to conclude that the deal had been sealed. He would tie his future fortunes to the new god.

The question was what would happen should the new god’s favour not always lead to victory and glory. After all, if it was simply a matter of signing up to a new religion and all your wishes coming true there would only be one religion in the world.

The fragility of the new faith was exposed when, in one of the catastrophic reverses that was a fatal feature of kingship during this era, Edwin, at the height of his power, lost the Battle of Hatfield Chase and his life too.

His queen fled to Kent with their children. Her priest, Paulinus, who had baptised hundreds of converts, fled too, later becoming Bishop of Rochester.

The church that Edwin had converted to and fostered essentially collapsed.

After all, in the currency of power, death in battle was the great bankruptcy.

The Conversion of King Edwin

A substantial part of Bede’s Ecclesiastical History is taken up with the long process of Edwin’s conversion to Christianity and, as a result, we have the first character portrait of English literature. Bede portrays Edwin as cautious and capable, a king weighing up the relative advantages of remaining true to the gods of his fathers or accepting the new god. The single most famous scene in Bede tells of the council that Edwin summoned, gathering his warriors and also his existing priesthood, to debate the merits or otherwise of conversion.

Rather unexpectedly, according to Bede the most enthusiastic advocate for conversion was Coifi, Edwin’s pagan priest. As Bede had close contacts with the Northumbrian royal court, there’s no reason to think that he made this up. According to Coifi, he had done everything the gods required of him, making sacrifice, offering up prayers, doing all that was required and, in return, he was no better off than men who had ignored the gods.

While it might seem strange to us that a priest should advocate giving up his religion on such pragmatic grounds, it does fit with the basic point of polytheistic religion. The world these religions dealt with was uncertain: disease, storms, famine and death stalked the world, personified by the powers of sky and earth. The gods, as those personifications, were as fickle as their earthly powers. The key purpose of religion was to change the odds in your favour by appeasing and placating inscrutable gods.

But Coifi says up front that he’d done all that to no end. He’d performed the rituals, made the sacrifices, done all that the gods asked of him, and it had not produced results. So rather like a man washing his hands of an unfaithful lover, he throws the old gods over and suggests they try their luck with a new god.

King On the Run

Replica of the Sutton Hoo helment [By Ziko-C (Own work), CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3533575]

The 7th century was an era when the petty kingdoms of the previous two centuries began to be consolidated into larger units. The larger realms swallowed the smaller ones, although which kingdom absorbed which much depended upon the battle nous of particular kings. Northumbria had risen to prominence in the early 7th century by having as its ruler the most fearsome warrior of the time, Æthelfrith. Æthelfrith had begun the consolidation of Northumbria by killing the king of Deira and marrying his widow. The son of the late king, Edwin, fled into exile. As Æthelfrith cut a bloody swathe through the kingdoms of early medieval Britain, he always kept a weather eye on Edwin’s whereabouts. Having an exiled prince (ætheling in Old English, a man throne worthy) was a useful bargaining chip in the lethal game of thrones that united the disparate tribes of the time.

Edwin appears to have made a round of southern kingdoms, going from Mercia, the marcher kingdom in the Midlands, to the Britonnic kingdom of Gwynedd (that an Anglian prince might find refuge among the Britons might seem strange but it held with the oldest piece of realpolitik, that the enemy of my enemy is my friend), before fetching up in East Anglia in the kingdom of King Rædwald (who is likely to have been the man buried in the ship burial at Sutton Hoo).

In East Anglia, Æthelfrith had his quarry cornered and, as the most powerful king in the country, sent messengers to Rædwald requiring him to deliver up Edwin, in pieces or in person. But the obligations of hospitality laid upon the warrior caste were great. Faced with going against these principles, Rædwald chose to fight. Bede records that it was the scornful rejoinder of his wife that decided the vacillating king to chance his arms against Æthelfrith. It may also have been the realisation that giving up Edwin would explicitly announce his status as inferior to that of Æthelfrith and East Anglia was a rich and proud kingdom, relatively safe from Æthelfrith due to its distance from Northumbria.

So Rædwald and his warband, bolstered by Edwin and the men who had accompanied him into exile, decided to chance battle. They caught what seems to have been a relatively unprepared Æthelfrith on the River Idle in Nottinghamshire and there, the most feared king of his time died. It was no easy victory: Rædwald’s own son was among the dead. But in consequence, Rædwald became the most powerful, and richest, king in the land while Edwin took up the rulership of the kingdom of Northumbria.

Why Did They Come?

The North Sea is a dangerous body of water. What made many thousands of people embark on small boats and set out on the whale road so that they might arrive at a cold wet island in the sea?

There’s no single answer. Some may indeed have come as conquerors. In the fifth and sixth centuries Britain had split into a myriad petty kingdoms, many of which were so small and fleeting as to leave no trace of their existence. In such a context, a determined warlord with a retinue of fifty warriors could ta control of a kingdom and proclaimed himself its king. But amid the political chaos and worsening climate of the time, other people may well have arrived as refugees, pitching up together in a boat hoping to find better land to farm and a new beginning. Some may have been a combination of both: people going into exile after a defeat and finding the opportunities in the new country better than their prospects should they return.

No one story tells the tale and future work should reveal more of the nuances of what happened during those obscure centuries when Britain went from Britannia, where people spoke British Celtic and British Latin, to a land split into many kingdoms where people in the south, east and midlands spoke Old English and the people in the west spoke what was becoming Welsh and Cumbric, and Cornish.

Anglo-Saxon identities

While from the outside the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons seems like a slow-motion invasion, it would have often seemed different to the people living then.

In particular, local identities and loyalties were more important than ethnic identities, if such even existed then. Identity was familial and local, attached to a tribal grouping and lord, and to religion. The boundaries of these identities were not fixed although they would probably have been clear to the people of the time.

A good example is provided by the genealogy of the House of Wessex, Alfred the Great’s own house and the one that would go on to rule over the first unified English state. The founder of the dynasty was one Cerdic, which is undoubtedly a Britonnic name, as was true of his seven successors. This suggests that a Romano-British dynasty developed strong links, most probably through marriage, with some of the incoming Germanic tribes and set themselves up as rulers in the same way that the newcomers were doing. Having adopted the ruling style of the newcomers, the Cerdicings assimilated to their culture too but from the top down, becoming rulers to the Anglo-Saxons rather than their subjects.

The Even Newer Paradigm of the Arrival of the Anglo-Saxons

aDNA analysis has confirmed traditional view that there was really a period of mass movements. Large numbers of Anglo-Saxons did sail across the North Sea to Britain. But within that overall scheme, it’s clear that there is room for a great deal of nuance. There is also clear evidence for intermarriage between continental incomers and native Britons, as well as there being a significant number of arrivals from France too.

What we seem to have is a patchwork picture. Yes, there were large groups of settlers who arrived and who appear to have largely displaced the native population, particularly in eastern regions such as Kent and East Anglia. As we move west, the degree of admixture increases, with some families showing clear signs of marrying among both groups over a number of generations. And in the west there is relatively little presence of these continental ancestors. This does tally quite well with the accounts of Gildas and Bede. Factor in that this all took place over a couple of centuries and we have a sort of slow moving Anglo-Saxon creep north and west from their original strongholds in the south and east. It’s a mixture of conquest, intermarriage, alliances, slave taking and the slow consolidation of tiny kingdoms into larger polities.

aDNA and the Anglo-Saxons

DNA analysis techniques have advanced rapidly and, in particular, the techniques for finding and analysing aDNA have improved dramatically. Researchers discovered that DNA survived better, and with much less contamination, in the petrous bone in the ear. The petrous bone is one of the hardest and densest bones in the body, leading to it surviving better than other parts of the body and providing excellent aDNA samples.

That meant it would be possible to analyse the DNA of burials dating from the early Anglo-Saxon period to see where these people really came from. If the analysis worked, we would finally know which idea was correct, the old one of mass migration or the new one of elite takeover.

The most recent large-scale study, which involved the analysis of the aDNA from 350 burials across eastern and southern Britain carbon dated to between the 5th and 7th centuries found that 74 per cent of the genetic history of these people comes from continental north-western Europe. There was a marked east-west difference, with the main concentration of people having continental ancestry in the south and along the east coast, and the proportion having a native British ancestry increasing further west and north. There was also no sex difference, indicating that this ancestry derived from whole family groups arriving in Britain rather than Germanic warriors taking native Britonnic women as wives.

So the traditional view that there was really a period of mass movements of populations has been vindicated. It wasn’t a elite takeover. The Anglo-Saxons really did migrate in large numbers to Britain, displacing the native population.

DNA and the Anglo-Saxons

The widely accepted new paradigm of the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons abandoned the old idea of mass arrivals in favour of an elite takeover. Small groups of warriors sailed over from Europe, killed the native kings and took over their kingdoms while the native population gradually adopted the language and customs of their new rulers.

Then something new came on the scene that had the potential to completely confirm the new paradigm: DNA and isotopic analysis. Among other things, isotopic analysis of teeth allows us to find out where somebody was born and brought up. As teeth are the parts of the body that survive burial best, they offer a valuable insight into the origins of the person excavated. DNA analysis can show the descent of the individual concerned.

The first tranche of DNA studies provided somewhat contradictory findings. These studies attempted to extrapolate backwards from the contemporary population of England to work out where people came from, rather like the popular DNA testing kits that purport to tell people their ancestry. However, it proved very difficult to reliably work backwards as far as necessary to find the origins of the Anglo-Saxons. A much better way for testing this would be to take DNA from people buried between the 5th and 7th centuries and test what their ancestry was. But extracting usable, and uncontaminated aDNA (which simply stands for ancient DNA) was initially very difficult if not impossible.

The New Paradigm

The archaeologists and historians who came to the conclusion that the Anglo-Saxon invasion was not so much an invasion but rather a take over, an early equivalent of a hostile bid for a company, were influenced by a general presumption towards gradualism, which disposed them against the idea of a mass invasion by hordes of Anglo-Saxon invaders. Coupled with that was a reluctance to play into right-wing narratives about immigration. An elite replacement that left the vast majority of the people in Britain unaffected resonated better with modern prejudices than the idea of invaders displacing the natives and taking over.

So by the turn of the millennium, at least among academics, the old idea of mass folk movements and violent invasions had been pretty well entirely discarded. The arrival of the Anglo-Saxons was a cultural transformation resulting from small groups of warriors taking over the petty kingdoms of Britonnic kings and the native populations gradually adopting the language and customs of their rulers. The archaeological evidence trumped the patchy historical accounts.