Toothaches have plagued humans since the dawn of homo sapiens. Archaeological evidence shows that people in the Neolithic period drilled holes in teeth for pain relief. A 6,500 year old Slovenian jawbone reveals a dental filling made from beeswax. More recently, Ancient Egyptians may have prescribed dead mice to treat toothaches. The treatment of infected or hurting teeth is a common thread throughout human history. How was this universal issue dealt with during the Middle Ages?

Medieval Diets: Bread and Sugar, or Lack Thereof

Although cakes, pastries, and chocolate are European staples today, sugar was not introduced into Europe until the First Crusade at the end of the 11th century. Crusaders first encountered sugar, or ‘sweet salt’ as they referred to it, during their visit to the Holy Land. Soldiers from the Crusades then carried the sweet substance back with them to Europe. However, it would take several centuries, and colonization of sugar-producing societies, before sugar became the food staple as we know it today.

The lack of readily available and refined sugar meant that people in the Middle Ages may have had better teeth than some people in the 21st century. However, tooth pain, decay, and infection were still ailments suffered in the Middle Ages.

Although sugar was absent, people in the Middle Ages ate other foodstuffs that decayed teeth. Bread was a staple, but medieval bread was ground by stone and extremely dense, causing teeth to wear down. Additionally, dental care was not a top priority. Despite the existence of medieval manuscripts advising methods of dental care, scholars like Juhani Norri suggest the average person in the Middle Ages likely did not have good dental habits. Diet combined with poor dental tendencies necessitated medical attention, procedures, and the people to administer them.

Medieval Barber-Surgeons

Although the treatment of dental pain has existed for millennia, the concept of a physician dedicated solely to teeth is relatively modern. Dentistry was a field spearheaded by French physicians beginning in the 18th century. Before dentists, if you were experiencing tooth pain, you would pay a visit to a physician, or a barber-surgeon, who combined the cutting of hair and the shaving of beards with operations like tooth extraction and bloodletting.

This was because these invasive procedures were deemed low status. The university curriculum at Oxford and Cambridge did not even include these surgeries for medical students. Instead, university-enrolled physicians spent their time analyzing the causes of different illnesses and their treatment using herbs and other concoctions.

This left operations like teeth-pulling and bloodletting “princypally with the handes of the werkman,” or barber, as a late Medieval English manuscript reads (Norri, p. 125). Rather than university, these jacks of all trades learned their craft through apprenticeships, which ranged anywhere between five and twelve years. Barbers may have also been the no-brainer choice for invasive procedures due to their readily available access to sharp instruments and tools, which they used for grooming.

Bloodletting and the work of barbers became so synonymous with each other that their relationship is symbolically represented today via the red and white barber pole. After bloodletting procedures, the blood-stained rags would be hung outside barber shops possibly as a form of advertisement, informing the public what they could get done in addition to grooming. The way these rags twisted in the wind would become the basis for the spiral shape of the barber’s pole, which remains an iconic symbol used by barbershops throughout the world today.

The Four Humors

Why was bloodletting a part of dental care? Medieval medicine perceived the human body as a delicate balance between the four humors, or fluids. These were phlegm, blood, bile, and black bile. Each humor was tied to a specific state of being: cold and wet, hot and wet, hot and dry, and cold and dry, respectively. One became sick when one of these became imbalanced. To reinstate balance, treatment targeted the humor opposite the imbalanced humor: if a hot humor was in excess, the treatment involved increasing cold humors.

Bloodletting was used to relieve humors in excess. This procedure was practiced throughout human history in Ancient Egypt, Ancient Greece, and the Islamic world. By the Middle Ages, it was widely accepted as a viable treatment for a number of ailments, not just for dental pain. Bloodletting released the ‘bad’ or excessive humor from the body. Venesection, or cutting into the arm, was the most common form of bloodletting, but leeches would also be used to drain blood.

Worm-Infested Teeth

‘Corrupt’ humors could also create worms in the brain that trickled down to the teeth, causing toothaches and decay. Like bloodletting, the connection between worms and tooth pain was widely accepted throughout different eras of human history and across different parts of the world. Ancient Egyptians, Sumerians, and people living as far as China all shared this belief. In fact, the association of tooth pain with worms persisted long after the Middle Ages, maintaining a role in medical treatment as late as the 18th century.

People believed that the worms first took root in the jaws then migrated into the teeth. Tooth pain would occur as a result of these worms moving. However, worms could also be stagnant, or remain still. When this happened, a person would not feel any pain. Regardless of whether worms were moving or stagnant, they needed to be swiftly expelled from the mouth. One common method to extract them during the Middle Ages was through fumigation. This involved placing henbane seeds on top of smoking coals, which the patient was supposed to inhale via a pipe. By placing smoke beneath the teeth, the worms would eventually drop out from the mouth due to suffocation.

However, unfortunate side effects of this procedure were convulsions and hysteria. This is because henbane was a type of seriously poisonous plant. Surgeons and physicians of the Middle Ages were well aware of this side effect, and medieval physicians were warned not to get too close. However, despite the warnings, this practice was still used in parts of England up until the 20th century. Another poisonous plant used for fumigations was hellebore, which was labeled as “venemous & dystourblyng [disturbing]” (Norri, p. 132).

Cauterization

Another form of dental treatment in the Middle Ages was cauterization. There were many variations, but all generally involved heating an iron or bronze needle and placing it directly on a hurting tooth. Although practiced for millennia, the procedure came to be largely associated with 11th century Arab physician Al Zahrawi. A highly motivated and busy medical scholar, he produced over 200 surgical tools and wrote an extensive 30-volume medical text, the Kitab al-Tasrif. A big proponent of cauterization, Al Zahrawi’s text references this treatment nearly 50 times.

In addition to treating other ailments, Al Zahrawi also proposed cauterization to fill tooth holes. This involved placing a hot iron directly on a tooth hole until it cooled. This was repeated several times, so “the pain [would] surely pass, the same day or the day after.” Al Zahrawi’s procedures were widely referenced and practiced throughout European medicine, especially those of cauterization.

The Medieval Netherlands even used a variation of cauterization for dental fillings. A hot iron pricker would dipped into a concoction of olive oil, marjoram, and seed of hemlock. Like the procedures of Al Zahrawi, this was applied directly to the hole in the tooth and re-applied several times.

Exodontia

Tooth pulling, or exodontia, was the final straw if nothing else worked and pain persisted. However, even in the Middle Ages people understood the risks associated with tooth extraction. This procedure was highly dangerous because it could be fatal. Medical texts warned against extracting teeth that were not loose. A Medieval Dutch physician wrote: “If there are holes in teeth with pain and the teeth are not loose the teeth should not be extracted. In many people this resulted in a fatal outcome without healing, many are deceased in this.” Wrongly or poorly pulled teeth could also result in jaw abscesses and bone splinters.

However, if a patient’s tooth was bad enough, they would pay a visit to the barber for this risky business. Teeth extraction in the Middle Ages was a public spectacle. Private dentist offices did not exist, so many treatments were done in public spaces, in some cases as part of a public performance. In addition to barbers, there were the journeying ‘tooth-pullers.’ In most cases they were charlatans, simply taking advantage of people’s pain in order to make a quick buck in the cities they were passing through.

Teeth-Pulling Charlatans

In fact, the word charlatan comes from the Italian ciarlatano, which meant someone who sold enslaved people, trinkets, and pulled teeth in public spaces (Wynbrandt, p. 30). They would usually be part of a traveling circus, and a wide stage would be set up in the town square. The procedures were made public as a marketing strategy. The more people in the crowd, the higher the chances there were people experiencing tooth pain who would be willing participants.

The tooth-puller, decorated with a necklace of teeth, would entice the crowd by first inviting an actor, unbeknownst to the crowd, who would perform having their teeth pulled. This encouraged others to follow suit. There were typically loud instruments being played, which would drown out the sounds of people’s screams. Their lack of credentials did not stop the tooth pullers, who would simply move on to the next town after their performances, leaving behind them a macabre trail of “life threatening complications” (Wynbrandt, p. 27).

Besides bloodletting, purging, and fumigation, some dental treatments incorporated materials that were downright vile. Some concoctions called for “excrement, urine, and any kind of dirt as the basic ingredients” (Norri, p. 132). The person administering them was encouraged not to reveal the medicine’s true ingredients. One recipe from a 15th century medical book recommends the physician to take “raven’s dung and put it in the hollow tooth and color it with the juice of pellitory of Spain that the sick recognize it not nor know what it be” (Wynbrandt, p. 29). Like the charlatan teeth-puller, these treatments were based on deceit.

The Legacy of Medieval Dentistry

The Middle Ages was a difficult era for toothaches. Surrounded by the bloodstained rags of barbers, cauterizations, and tooth-pulling charlatans, the average person was likely intimidated to seek dental treatment, for good reason. However regressive we may perceive these practices, many persisted well past the Medieval Period, some creating foundations for modern dentistry. Further, this macabre dental history may have bled into the modern psyche; could dental phobia be lingering trauma from medieval dental procedures?

Bibliography 

Norri, Juhani. “Dental treatment and related vocabulary in late medieval England.” Mémoires de La Société Néophilologique, 18 Oct. 2024, pp. 123–152, https://doi.org/10.51814/ufy.1041.c1457.

Wynbrandt, James. The Excruciating History of Dentistry Toothsome Tales & Oral Oddities from Babylon to Braces. St. Martin’s Press, 2024.

The Baltic region was a major center of trade and commerce in Medieval Europe. During the 14th and 15th centuries, Baltic trade was controlled by the Hanseatic League, a network of port cities across northern Europe that had its own armed fleet and foreign policy. Lübeck, Gdańsk, Riga, Tallinn, Visby, and Rostock were among the most important Hanseatic port cities.

1. Lübeck

The commercial center of the Hanseatic League was the city of Lübeck in northern Germany. The city was founded on an island near rivers flowing inland and the Baltic Sea. Following the development of its port, Lübeck became the main intermediary for trade between Western Europe, Scandinavia, and the cities of Novgorod and Pskov in northwestern Rus’. The Lübeck law, one of Europe’s earliest supranational trade regimes, standardized trade practices and regulations across the Hanseatic ports.

Salt discovered in the nearby city of Lüneburg was transported to Lübeck for sale, powering much of the city’s economy. Demand was always high due to the use of salt for the preservation of herring and meats, a necessity for sailors. The revenue gained through the salt trade enabled the city to expand into a sprawling metropolis. It was also the center of the Hanseatic Diet, where representatives of all League member cities gathered to coordinate trade and commercial policy.

2. Gdańsk

The main Hanseatic port in present-day Poland was the city of Gdańsk (known in German as Danzig). Its location at the mouth of the Vistula River was optimal for trade to both inland Poland and other locations around Europe. Gdańsk’s immense wealth came from its grain and timber trade, as well as the export of other valuable raw materials like amber, potash, and tar. Even today Gdańsk is still one of the main Baltic ports and one of Poland’s primary export hubs for maritime trade.

Despite being a prosperous member of the League, Gdańsk’s city administration faced challenges. Its location meant that it had to choose between the Polish Kingdom and the Teutonic Knights. Its decision to side with the victorious Poles was rewarded with a grant of autonomy by King Casimir IV Jagiellon. This reward enabled Gdańsk to conduct its own trade policies and accumulate substantial wealth, which was displayed by the expansion of the city in a similar fashion to Lübeck. Gdańsk’s wealth and trading connections ensured its continued prosperity even after the formal dissolution of the League in 1669.

3. Riga

Further to the east, the city of Riga (today the capital of Latvia) was located at the mouth of the Daugava River. It was founded in 1201 by German colonists who hoped for the city to become a major trade hub. In 1282, the city joined the Hanseatic League and adopted the Lübeck law. Its merchants traded valuable goods such as furs, wax, and timber from medieval Rus’ in exchange for Western European textiles, salt, and wine.

Riga’s Old Town is the main part of the city that existed during the Medieval period. As the chair of the Livonian Hanseatic Diet, Riga held significant regional political power and oversaw the League’s trading posts in Russian cities like Smolensk and Polotsk.

4. Tallinn

In 1285, the city of Tallinn, known as Reval in German, joined the Hansa. Its location on the Gulf of Finland made it a trade hub for goods headed from Western and Central Europe to Russia. Tallinn was granted the crucial “staple right” in 1346, which forced all goods passing through to be sold locally, ensuring local merchants profited from all transit trade. This helped the city’s economy grow and profit more than its merchants had anticipated when the city first joined the League.

The city’s Old Town, including its iconic towers and city walls, was constructed using customs revenue collected by city officials. As the northernmost outpost of the League, Tallinn was formidable and heavily fortified, holding complex political alliances with Danish and Teutonic rulers in order to preserve its economic advantages. It also attracted German settlers, most of whom dominated the city’s economy until the Second World War.

5. Visby

The Swedish town of Visby, located on the strategically important island of Gotland, was contentious. In 1361, King Valdemar IV of Denmark conquered Gotland and looted the town’s coffers. It would suffer additional attacks from a variety of foes, including pirate gangs and the Teutonic Knights. In 1470, the town’s membership in the League was suspended and its independence was finally ended half a century later with an attack by a militia from Lübeck during a power struggle between rival Danish kings Frederick I and Christian II.

Visby’s merchants worked the lucrative east-west trade routes, transporting Russian furs, wax, and timber from Novgorod to German and Scandinavian markets. The wealth enabled the town to grow and build defenses, necessary in the face of repeated attacks, but it simply wasn’t enough to combat the hostility and trade rivalries. The legacy of the Hanseatic League remains in Visby today, but its chance at becoming the dominant port in the League was suppressed by the repeated attacks and lootings.

6. Rostock

In 1251, the German city of Rostock, located on the Warnow River, joined the Hansa. By the 14th century, Rostock was the largest city in Mecklenburg and a formidable naval power. Its location and absorption of several nearby ports helped the city to grow, making it rival Lübeck as one of the main Hanseatic ports in Germany. Its strategic interests were strengthened by the incorporation of the nearby fishing village of Warnemünde in 1323, ensuring direct and unimpeded access to the Baltic Sea.

Despite the attempts by German nobles to control Rostock, the city’s impressive wealth allowed it to maintain autonomy. The city’s location and economic power gave it a formidable amount of leverage that helped fend off any threats to the city’s income and status in the League. Rostock’s legacy was further strengthened by the founding of the University of Rostock in 1419, one of the oldest educational establishments in the Baltic region. Today, even after the fall of the League, Rostock remains a prominent German port.

The Anglo-Saxons invaded Britain in the 5th century. However, it would take many centuries before anything resembling “England” actually existed. Yet, by the Norman Conquest of 1066, England existed to such a strong degree that the Norman French conquerors came to be absorbed by it rather than the other way around. How was this firm and unshakable English identity created in those intervening centuries? To what degree was it the result of natural processes compared to the conscious effort of a select few? This article takes a look at the evidence.

The Venerable Bede: Writing a Nation Into Existence

A unified political entity which can be recognized as England did not emerge until the 10th century. However, even before it was a political reality, it was effectively a literary reality. Or at least, we can identify the presence of a collective English identity in the writings of Bede. He was a historian from the 8th century who wrote a work entitled Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum. It is better known in English as An Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

From the very title of the work, we can see that Bede promoted the idea of the various Anglo-Saxon kingdoms being part of one collective English identity. They were, collectively, the “English people.” This description tore down the barriers that were in place by the existence of various separate and competing kingdoms in the minds of those who read it.

We know that Bede’s work was extensively read. Even missionaries on the continent in the 8th century requested copies of it. The idea of a distinct English identity was thus quickly and extensively propagated through Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

Old English: The Language of the People

One key factor involved in forming a sense of common identity is the existence of a common language. After all, imagine if the various inhabitants of what is now England spoke different languages, or they spoke one language, but it was the same as that spoken by some other ethnic group. This would tend to work against the formation of a distinct, collective identity.

In the case of the early English, we know that the Anglo-Saxons did not entirely wipe out the native Britons from the territory that they conquered in the 5th century. In fact, in some areas of what was gradually becoming England, quite a large percentage of the population were Britons. They had their own language, Common Brittonic. Furthermore, the language of literature was Latin, which was a language used by countless other nations as well.

In the next section, we will see how Alfred the Great influenced the adoption of English over Latin as the language of literature. However, in the case of the spoken language of the countless Britons inhabiting Anglo-Saxon territory, the explanation for why they adopted English is unknown. What we do know is that there are almost no identifiable Brittonic loan words in Old English. This suggests that there was immense social pressure for the Britons to adopt Old English and stop speaking their own language.

This evident fact dovetails with a 2022 genetic study into the medieval English, which found evidence for significant integration between the Britons and the Anglo-Saxons. Hence, it was evidently a matter of the Britons wanting to adopt the language that would allow them to be better accepted within the communities in which they lived.

Alfred the Great: The Architect of “Englaland”

The social pressure that forced the native Britons to abandon their native tongue and speak Old English is only part of the equation. It does not explain how English won out over Latin as the language of literature.

In the 10th century, King Alfred the Great made significant contributions towards creating an English identity. One way was by actively promoting literacy among his people. He did not just promote any kind of literacy, or literacy in Latin. Rather, he specifically encouraged his people to become literate in English. In fact, he promoted the West Sussex dialect as a kind of standardized form of English. This significantly contributed to the sense of shared identity by the population across England.

Furthermore, Alfred commissioned the translation of various important Latin works into English. There is even evidence that some translations were done by Alfred himself. By doing this, he enabled his subjects to take pride in themselves as English people and not simply poor imitations of the Romans.

As well as promoting a shared language and encouraging literacy, Alfred also contributed to the identity of England by styling himself as the King of the Anglo-Saxons. This was in stark contrast to simply calling himself the king of his own kingdom, Wessex. By referring to everyone as “Anglo-Saxons,” he was intentionally portraying his subjects as part of one people, with one identity.

The Common Law: One People, One Justice

While England was still divided into various Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, the inhabitants were subject to various contradictory laws depending on where they lived. The inhabitants of Northumbria, for example, did not have the same laws as those of Mercia, who did not have the same laws as those of Wessex.

When Alfred the Great managed to establish himself as the King of the Anglo-Saxons, he established a law code which, in theory, was supposed to apply to all the English. To what degree it actually did is debatable. In any case, the law code in question is called the Doom Book. This law code is commonly seen as the ancestor to what later became Common Law in the Norman period, and as establishing the concept of a standardized legal system throughout the whole country.

Medieval sources make mention of a concept called the witan. The witan was an assembly of men of various positions who would hear a matter in the presence of the king and assist him in making a decision. For a long time, this was viewed as a precursor to the Parliament of modern England. However, scholarship over the past century has emphasized that this particular aspect of Anglo-Saxon governance does not, in fact, appear to have contributed to the identity of England as we know it. In fact, the assembly of the witan appears to have simply been an assembly of the king’s royal court. There was nothing substantively democratic about it. Rather, it was a royal institution.

The Viking Threat: Unity Through Adversity

Another factor that contributed to the formation of the identity of England came about through an external threat. From the late 8th century onwards, the Vikings fiercely and relentlessly attacked Britain. They managed to successfully conquer a large portion of it, which was governed under what was known as Danelaw.

Before this time, the different Anglo-Saxon kingdoms battled for supremacy. This cultivated a sense of distinction and “otherness” between the inhabitants of those kingdoms. However, when the Vikings started to invade, the Anglo-Saxons saw that they all had a common enemy. This had the natural consequence of forcing them to work together and thus come to see themselves as one people fighting against an outside group.

Additionally, the Vikings successfully managed to conquer some of the major Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. For instance, they conquered Northumbria, East Anglia, and at least parts of Mercia. Therefore, this removed most of the competition from Wessex, which thus quickly stepped up to become the leading Anglo-Saxon opposition to the Vikings. As a result, the borders that had existed between the separate Anglo-Saxon kingdoms were mostly torn down.

The Vikings might have completely snuffed out the identity of England before it had even truly formed if they had been more successful in their attacks. As things turned out, Alfred the Great achieved a decisive victory against the Vikings at the Battle of Edington in 878. The result was a truce between Alfred and Guthrum, the Viking ruler. Due to this, the Anglo-Saxons were preserved as a people, and a distinct, collective identity was able to gain traction and flourish during the rest of Alfred’s reign.

The Legacy of the Angelcynn

As we can see from this brief consideration of the emergence of the identity of England, much of it has to do with Alfred the Great. As well as styling himself the King of the Anglo-Saxons, we also see a surge in the use of the term “Angelcynn,” meaning “English folk.” While that may just be a consequence of the greater English literacy that marked his reign, such literacy in itself had a large part to play in fostering the concept of a shared English identity.

Alfred’s development of a single law code for his kingdom likewise played a large part, as did his defense of the English against the invading Vikings, especially at the Battle of Edington. However, even before Alfred, Bede contributed to the formation of an English identity by writing a history specifically of the “English people,” which history quickly became enormously popular.

These factors, as well as others that we have seen, led to such a strong English identity that it was not snuffed out by the Norman invasion of 1066. Rather, the new ruling class eventually succumbed to that strongly established English identity.

In popular imagination, King Arthur is strongly associated with glorious castles, noble knights, and magical wizards. This is far removed from the reality of early Dark Age Britain in the 6th century AD. For instance, instead of castles, the centers of power were mostly either Roman settlements or reoccupied Iron Age hillforts. And what about Arthur himself? Did the legendary king really exist? In this article, we will examine five of the prime candidates for the historical King Arthur. Rather than being a single figure, they may all have contributed to the legend of the king.

1. Lucius Artorius Castus: The Roman Template

One of the historical King Arthur candidates that has become popular over the last few decades is Lucius Artorius Castus. He was a Roman officer who served in Britain at some point in either the 2nd or 3rd century AD. Supporters of this theory argue that Castus contributed to several fundamental aspects of the Arthurian legend.

The first obvious contribution that might be attributable to this historical King Arthur candidate is the name “Artorius.” Scholars widely agree that this is the origin of the name “Arthur,” which we see being used among the Welsh in later centuries. While we cannot be absolutely sure that Lucius Artorius Castus was the figure who introduced the name to Britain, it is not implausible. There is no other high-status figure named Artorius recorded as being present in Britain, certainly not earlier than Castus. So, the name of King Arthur may originate with this historical Roman officer.

Furthermore, Castus served at the legionary base at York, or Eboracum. This ties in with the fact that King Arthur is associated with the north of England in some of the earliest records. For instance, the battle list in the Historia Brittonum likely includes locations in the north. Hence, if Castus was a Roman officer leading the defence of the territory up to Hadrian’s Wall against barbarian invaders, that corresponds well with the legend of King Arthur.

Additionally, some researchers have argued that Castus likely led Sarmatian troops who had been stationed in Britain in AD 175. The Sarmatians were famous cavalry warriors, and they fought under a dragon banner. This seems tantalisingly similar to the tradition of King Arthur leading his knights under dragon imagery.

The Sarmatian connection gets even more significant when we realise that Arthurian lore contains some startling similarities to legends from the east. One such Ossetian legend, which might reflect what the ancient Sarmatians believed, concerns a hero named Batraz. He was unable to die as long as his sword stayed on land, so he had his men throw his sword into the sea. When they did, the sea turned blood red, the water began to boil and storm, and the waves made supernatural sounds.

This is similar to the legend of Arthur’s sword, Excalibur, being thrown into a lake and caught by the magical Lady of the Lake. Furthermore, it has been argued that the Sarmatians had a cultic practice of plunging a sword into the ground. The imagery of a sacred sword sticking out of the ground admittedly evokes the famous Sword in the Stone from the Arthurian legends. If Castus, as the leader of Sarmatian troops in Britain, became associated with some of the Sarmatian legends, then this could go a long way to explaining the legends of King Arthur.

However, one of the key drawbacks of this theory is that Castus likely left Britain in the 160s, before the Sarmatians had even arrived. Also, his position at Eboracum makes it unlikely that he ever led any troops into battle in Britain. As for the legends of Batraz and the sword cult, there is no definitive evidence that these were actually part of Sarmatian culture. The legends of Batraz, in fact, are not attested before the modern era.

2. Ambrosius Aurelianus: The Last of the Romans

A more plausible candidate for inspiring the legend of Arthur is Ambrosius Aurelianus. He was recorded by Gildas, a writer from the 6th century. Based on this evidence, scholars widely agree that he was a real figure. How may he, at least in part, have been the real King Arthur?

The most famous victory attributed to King Arthur in the legends is the Battle of Badon Hill. This was the last of the twelve Arthurian battles in the Historia Brittonum’s battle list. It was the battle that supposedly halted the Anglo-Saxon advance for a generation or two.

Gildas, however, infamously does not mention Arthur. From his De Excidio, we know that Ambrosius Aurelianus was a historical war leader who fought powerfully against the Saxons in the 5th century. We do not know much about his background, but Gildas does say that he was the “last of the Romans” and that his parents had “worn the purple.”  The exact meaning of this is debated, but evidently, Ambrosius was some kind of Romano-British aristocrat.

After mentioning him, Gildas states that from that time on, sometimes victory went to the Saxons, and sometimes it went to the Britons, until the Battle of Badon Hill. He does not explicitly say that Ambrosius was the victor at this battle. Nevertheless, he makes it clear that it was the climax of the Britons’ efforts to fight back against the Saxons. Therefore, many scholars interpret Gildas’ words to mean that Ambrosius was the true victor at the Battle of Badon Hill. It was only later, according to this interpretation, that the victory was taken from Ambrosius and credited to Arthur by later scribes.

3. Riothamus: The King of the Britons in Gaul

Another warlord from Dark Age Britain, who is one of the prime historical candidates for the real King Arthur, is Riothamus. He is known from two Roman sources, one from the 5th century and one from the 6th century. The more important of these two is the account by the 6th-century historian Jordanes.

He described how Riothamus, the king of the Britons, assisted the Romans in a battle against Euric of the Visigoths in the year 470. This idea of a king of the Britons travelling from Britain to Gaul to fight a battle in association with the Romans is fascinating for its similarities to the Arthurian legends. In the account of Arthur’s life by Geoffrey of Monmouth, Arthur is said to have travelled to Gaul with a large army to fight against the Romans.

In addition to this overall similarity, Riothamus is said by Jordanes to have fled to the territory of the Burgundians. It is argued that, given the location of the battle in the territory of the Bituriges, his route while fleeing would have brought him near a town called Avallon. This is then connected to the tradition of Arthur being taken to the Isle of Avalon after being betrayed by his nephew, Mordred.

While a tempting connection, other scholars find this alleged connection to be fraught with difficulties. For example, Riothamus was an ally of the Romans. In contrast, King Arthur is said to have fought against them during his European war. Additionally, there is no guarantee that Riothamus led an army from Britain to Gaul. He is called the king of the Britons, but there were already Britons established in the northwest corner of Gaul by the 5th century. Therefore, Riothamus could easily have been the king of that region.

The connection between Avallon and Avalon also ignores that King Arthur’s Avalon was where he went immediately after the Battle of Camlann, not immediately after his battles on the continent.

4. Owain Danwyn: The Bear of Powys

Another popular candidate for the real King Arthur is Owan Danwyn. In the context of historical figures who may have inspired King Arthur, he is usually called Owain Ddantgwyn, using an older form of his moniker. The foundation of this theory is based on a crucial piece of linguistic information. In Welsh, the word for “bear” is “arth.” The reason that this is so important is that Owain, according to this theory, was known as the Bear. Hence, stories about him may have contributed to the legends of Arthur.

The basis for this idea comes from Gildas. He directed some negative comments towards a king named Cuneglasus. As part of his condemnation of this historical king, he states: “thou bear, thou rider and ruler of many, and guider of the chariot which is the receptacle of the bear.”

In this statement, Gildas refers to Cuneglasus as a bear. Yet he also calls him the driver of the chariot of the bear. Based on this, some researchers argue that Cuneglasus was a commander in the army of someone else who was also known as a bear. These two pieces of information are harmonised by these researchers by claiming that the “Bear” was a nickname used by Cuneglasus and his father, evidently a nickname passed from father to son. According to later medieval genealogical records, Owain Danwyn was the father of Cuneglasus, thus connecting him to the name “Arth.”

Archaeology has shown that Wroxeter, or the Roman Viroconium, was a powerful city in the Arthurian period. This was in the kingdom of Powys, the kingdom that Owain ruled according to this theory. This could have contributed to the legend of Arthur having his grand city of Camelot.

However, scholars have highlighted that there is actually no basis for linking Owain to the kingdom of Powys. In reality, historians believe him to have been the king of Rhos, a small kingdom next to Gwynedd.

5. Athrwys ap Meurig: The King of Caerleon

Our final candidate for the real King Arthur, who has been popular for several centuries now, is Athrwys ap Meurig. He was a king of Gwent and its two neighbouring kingdoms (Glywysing and Ergyng) at some point in Dark Age Britain. There is debate over whether he lived in the 6th century or the 7th century.

One of the biggest drawing points in favor of this theory is that he lived and ruled in southeast Wales. This is an area which is heavily associated with King Arthur in the legends. For example, King Arthur’s main court was said by Geoffrey of Monmouth to have been Caerleon-upon-Usk. The 11th-century Life of St Cadoc also associates Arthur with this area.

Furthermore, some researchers have pointed out similarities between Arthur’s legendary family members and those of Athrwys. One notable example is Gwrfoddw Hen. He appears in the Mabinogion as the maternal uncle of Arthur. Meanwhile, in the Book of Llandaff, a king of Ergyng named Gwrfoddw appears as an older contemporary of Athrwys. Ergyng was the kingdom of Athrwys’ mother, Onbrawst. There is also a tradition that Athrwys had a sister named Anna, just like King Arthur in the legends.

Many scholars believe that Athrwys lived too late to have actually been the real King Arthur. Nevertheless, many agree that he may well have contributed to the legends, especially as regards the Arthurian connection to Caerleon and southeast Wales in general.

How History Became Myth

In conclusion, we can see that there are several figures who may well have inspired the legends of King Arthur. While one was a Roman officer, most were Dark Age warlords. These historical King Arthur candidates all have different merits, and scholars continue to debate whether any or all of them really did contribute to the legends.

Lucius Artorius Castus might have brought the name “Arthur” into Britain. However, given what we know about his career, it is unlikely that he contributed anything other than that. Ambrosius Aurelianus may have been the true victor of King Arthur’s most famous battle, although the evidence from Gildas is ambiguous. Riothamus might be the core behind the legend of Arthur’s European campaign and his journey to Avalon, albeit both suggestions are fraught with problems.

As for Owain Danwyn, while possibly being known by the nickname “Arth” (the Bear), the arguments for him inspiring the legends of King Arthur have been rejected by most scholars for good reason. Finally, we have seen that Athrwys ap Meurig may have contributed to the tradition associating King Arthur with southeast Wales, as well as potentially lending his family members to the legends.

Throughout European history, legends tell of a grim cavalcade of spectral riders, chasing prey across the night sky in an eternal procession of ghostly horror. Found in cultures from the Germanic peoples to the Slavs and the Celts, this phenomenon was, and still is, a portent of doom, preceding war, plague, and death.

Striking fear into the hearts of all those who witnessed it, this is the Wild Hunt.

What Was the Wild Hunt?

Found across many cultures of Europe, including Slavic, Germanic, and Celtic societies, the Wild Hunt was a motif that involved the common idea of a procession of ghostly hunters making their way across the night sky. While the details may have varied from culture to culture, and indeed, from person to person, the theme remained the same, and it was always ominous.

It was believed to precede great catastrophes, and those who saw it feared for their lives. Their spirits could be whisked away to join in the eternal procession, or they could be abducted and taken away to some horrific fate in unearthly realms.

Tied into regional myth, the Hunt could be led by a wide variety of figures, from gods to legendary heroes and the spirits of people who actually lived. Accompanying them were a host of spirits that were equally diverse across cultures.

The Origins of the Wild Hunt

The term “Wild Hunt” existed for many centuries, but was popularized in modern literature by Jacob Grimm, who documented tales relating to it in his Deutsche Mythologie of 1835. Variations on the theme saw it being referred to as a  “Wilde Jagd ” (Wild Hunt), a “Wütendes Heer” (Raging Host), and a “Wildes Heer” (Wild Army) in different parts of Germany.

Grimm researched medieval and modern texts, as well as oral narratives surrounding the myth, noting how these stories changed over time. He traced the tale back to ancient times before Christianity spread through Germany, and suggested that the leader of the Hunt was actually the god, Wodan (or the Norse version “Odin”), or a female counterpart named Holda or Berchta. The Hunt could also be led by Wodan’s wife, whom Grimm called “frau Gaude.”

He further suggested that the Hunt was not always ominous tidings. It was, in fact, quite the opposite and represented good fortune. It was thought that the Hunt visited the mortal realm during Yule and other special occasions, accepting offerings and blessing the land and its people. With the adoption of Christianity, the old ways were recast in an unflattering light, demonized to discredit their support within communities.

Grimm’s theories, however, have been challenged in modern times. Historian Claude Leconteux noted that there is no evidence of Odin’s association with the Wild Hunt prior to the early modern period. This is unsurprising given that early Germanic religion was one of oral tradition.

Much of what is believed is based on Grimm’s assumptions rather than rigorous academic research. There is no evidence that associates the Wild Hunt with similar beliefs across pre-Christian Europe, although certain pre-Christian figures were later incorporated into the myth. A perfect example of this was the god Wodan, also known as Odin in Germanic mythology.

The Re-Interpretation of Odin in the Wild Hunt

Germanic (including Norse) myths lent themselves to the Wild Hunt myth, and Odin was particularly well-suited to guide it in Christian interpretation over the ages. Odin was the leader of the Æsir and was immensely powerful, invoked for strength, courage, and wisdom by his worshipers and as an instrument of terror to his foes.

In Germanic mythology, Odin was also the god of war and death, who, along with his Valkyries, oversaw the recruitment of fallen warriors into his army. His domain fitted the Christian interpretation of the Wild Hunt, as it struck down mortals and took their spirits to join in its unholy cavalcade.

The caveat is that in pre-Christian beliefs, Odin oversaw only those who died in battle, and he did not ride around causing doom and destruction and mass killings of people who were not warriors. As such, Odin and his motives were reinterpreted rather than lifted from ancient beliefs.

Other Cultures, Gods, and Legendary Figures

The Wild Hunt is not limited to German tales, and it is found in cultures throughout Europe, from Germanic people to the Latin European countries, the Celtic peoples, and in Slavic culture.

In Old English, one of the leaders of the Hunt was “Herla,” who has been suggested as being a form of Wodan or Odin. The Hunt was referred to as “Herlaþing” (Herle’s assembly). Another major figure associated with the Hunt in England is Herne the Hunter, a Shakespearean character influenced by folktales around the county of Berkshire.

The Hunt has many other names in England, including Herod’s Hunt, likely referencing the biblical King Herod who murdered infants, as Herod makes an appearance in certain French tales of the Hunt as well.

Unsurprisingly, Odin appears in the Scandinavian myths, and the Hunt has many names, including “Åsgårdsrei” (Asgard’s Ride) or “Oskoreia” (also tentatively translated as Asgard’s Ride) in Norway, and “Odens Jakt” (Odin’s Hunt) and “Vilda Jakten” (Wild Hunt) in Sweden.

In Wales, the myth appeared in the Middle Ages, and is led by either Arawn, who is the king of the Otherworld, or Gwyn ap Nudd, who, according to the tales, ruled the realm in Arawn’s stead for some time. The Hunt is accompanied by Arawn’s red-eared hounds and can be found in the tale of “Cŵn Annwn” (Hounds of Annwn).

In Slavic cultures, the myth is also present, although it is usually considered to have been imported from Germanic culture. In Polish, it is known as “Dziki Łów” (Wild Hunt), in Czech, “divoký hon” or “štvaní” (Wild Hunt or Pursuit), and in Belarus, it is known as “Дзікае Паляванне” (Dzikaje Paliavannie—Wild Hunt).

In Spain, the myth is first mentioned in literature in 1260 by a deacon named Gonzalo de Berceo, who described the event as a “hueste antigua” (ancient host), led by the Devil. The Hunt has many references and variations of names, the most imaginative of which are “Cortejo de Gente de Muerte” (Deadly Retinue) in Extremadura, and “Hueste de Ánimas” (Troop of Ghosts) in León.

In the Northwest of Spain and in parts of Portugal, the Wild Hunt is manifested as the Santa Compaña (Holy Company) and involves tormented souls in hooded white cloaks being led through the parish by a cursed, entranced living person who has no recollection of the event.

Italy, too, has many variations. Some stories involve the Hunt being led by King Theodoric the Great, who ruled over vast areas of the former Roman Empire. This is in contrast to the  Germanic legend of Theodoric as a heroic figure with apocryphal stories. It is said he encountered the Wild Hunt while trying to rescue the maiden Babehilt from a giant named Fasolt.

In the Lunigiana region of Italy, the Wild Hunt (Caccia Selvaggia) is known as the “Caccia Infernale” (Infernal Hunt), and is preceded by icy gusts of wind and involves packs of ferocious hounds and violent spirits.

The Wild Hunt in Modern Times

The symbolic representation of the Wild Hunt is poignant in that it is malleable and can be interpreted to fit certain traditions. It has found a home in the modern rebirth of paganism, the Wiccan religion. Some Wiccan groups have used the Wild Hunt to inspire their own rituals. Such an example was noted by anthropologist Susan Greenwood, who provided an account of a Halloween ceremony in Norfolk involving a race through a forest.

So popular was the idea of the Wild Hunt that it became a widespread trope that endures to the present, if not as a believable phenomenon, then as a form of entertainment. Adapted for fantasy fiction, it forms a central plot of The Witcher books, video games, and television series, created by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski. One of the biggest-selling video games, The Witcher III: Wild Hunt, follows the story of Geralt of Rivia as he attempts to find his ward, Ciri, who is pursued by the Wild Hunt, a group of powerful elves.

Despite the immense popularity of the Witcher series, there is a possible derivative of the Wild Hunt that is even more famous—that of Santa Claus. In pre-Christian times, Yuletide was associated with Odin, and when Europe underwent a transition to Christianity, many of Yule’s traditions were adopted into the tradition of Christmas.

A common image of Odin is that of an old fatherly figure with a long white beard, riding his eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, across the night sky through the last days of December. It is easy to see how this would influence popular imagery of Santa Claus, and it is theorized that Odin was a direct inspiration for Santa Claus. Thus, Santa Claus may be connected to the Wild Hunt. The similarities between the Wild Hunt motifs and a reindeer-pulled sleigh riding across the night sky in midwinter are not easy to dismiss.

The Wild Hunt is a case in how mythology evolves, and elements of beliefs are preserved through the traditions of others. To this day, it persists in many forms, reflecting the human fascination with explaining death and the unknown.

According to the Norse sagas, in the 9th century, a man named Naddoður was returning home to Norway from the Faroe Islands when his ship sailed off course and brought him to a new land. Uninhabited except for a handful of Irish monks, Naddoður took the news of his discovery back to Norway and Sweden. Another man, Garðar Svavarsson, circumnavigated the island and modestly named it Garðarshólm (Garðar’s Island). The Vikings would go on to settle the island, which would become known as Iceland. Life in Viking Iceland is very well documented thanks to the Icelandic sagas. Rich archaeological evidence is now confirming, and sometimes contradicting, many of the stories recorded in the sagas.

How Was Viking Iceland Settled?

Evidence suggests that monks from a Hiberno-Scottish mission had already settled in Iceland before the arrival of the Vikings. The sagas mention the monks and suggest that they left when the Vikings arrived. There is also a potential mention of Iceland in De mensura orbis terrae by the Irish monk Dicuil, dated to 825. He claimed to have met some of the monks who lived on the island of Thule, where darkness reigns in winter and the sun does not set in summer.

The sagas credit a man named Hrafna-Flóki Vilgerðarson with the first attempted settlement of Iceland in 868 CE. He followed a raven to the island but struggled in the new land and returned to Norway after less than a year. He allegedly named the island Iceland after seeing fjords full of icebergs, and this name has lasted into modern times.

Archaeology suggests that there may have already been some Norse settlers in Iceland prior to 870, perhaps as early as the 6th century CE. This is based on evidence of Norse settlement prior to a volcanic eruption layer dated to 871. These seem to represent temporary habitation, for example, by hunters and fishermen.

Around 874 CE, Hallveig Fróðadóttir and her husband Ingólfur Arnarson arrived in Iceland. They settled vast swaths of land and, according to the sagas, were the first permanent settlers of Iceland. Although Norse sagas are full of promising detail and exciting adventure, they were written centuries after the events they depict, mostly in the 13th and 14th centuries, and are considered unreliable resources by many. Notably, they were written at a time when Iceland had already converted to Christianity, written in Old Norse but using the Latin script introduced with Christianity rather than the Norse runes. The most famous Icelandic author was Snorri Sturluson, writing in the early 13th century, who preserves most of our knowledge of Norse mythology.

Archaeology offers another avenue for exploring the Viking settlement of Iceland, sometimes confirming and sometimes contradicting the sagas.

Ships 

The sagas highlight ships and sailing as pivotal elements of the settlement of Iceland. Fewer than 20 Viking Age ships have been excavated in Iceland, but other evidence of this important nautical heritage has been uncovered. In Iceland’s Mosfell Valley, archaeologists have discovered stone ship settings. Stone ship settings are outlines of ships made from stone. Frequently, they mark graves. They have been found in numerous places in Viking Age Scandinavia, but are less common in Iceland.

In 2017, archaeologists made a series of successive ship discoveries in Eyjafjörður fjord in North Iceland. Three boat burials emerged from the earth. One ship contained the grave of a Viking Age chieftain, his sword, and his dog. Archaeologists are hopeful that more ships will soon be uncovered.

Settlements

The sagas indicate that it took the Vikings a while to establish their Icelandic settlements. It was an inhospitable new home, but the Vikings proved up to the challenge. The Book of Settlements enumerates the land acquisitions and transactions of around 400 principal settlers. Archaeology reveals that the Vikings settled along the coast and in the more habitable lowland areas.

Viking settlements consisted of farms with turf structures and expanses of arable land. According to Norse accounts, some 22 settlers made their homes in Skagafjörður. In Skagafjörður, archaeologists have found evidence of around 17-20 Viking Age farmsteads. Viking Age settlements continue to be excavated across Iceland, revealing broad consistencies with the settlement patterns described in the sagas. The archaeological evidence provides additional insights into how the Vikings built their homes and what their world looked like, details not always available in the sagas.

Longhouses

Perhaps the most iconic structure to emerge from the excavation of Viking Age settlements is the longhouse. Archaeologists have found several longhouses in Iceland. In 2001, archaeologists found the remains of a Viking settlement under the streets of Reykjavik. The earliest portions of the settlement dated to around 870 CE. A 10th-century CE longhouse was also uncovered.

In 2020, archaeologists announced the discovery of a new longhouse in eastern Iceland. The longhouse lay beneath the remains of another late 9th-century CE longhouse. Predating the top longhouse, the new longhouse threw a wrench in the established narrative of Viking settlement of Iceland. Archaeologists suspected that the new longhouse represented a seasonal settlement used by Norse fishers and trappers. The Norse sagas attest to the establishment of temporary settlements in Iceland by several Scandinavian figures, as well as permanent settlements.

People

The sagas suggest that the colonists of Iceland were Norwegian and British refugees of the Norwegian King Harald Fairhair’s taxation and colonization schemes. Although thousands of Vikings settled the island, only a few hundred graves have been excavated. Archaeologists have used strontium isotope analysis to assess 90 burials of early settlers. This analysis revealed that some individuals had migrated from areas other than Norway during the earliest phases of Icelandic colonization.

These people came from several places, potentially confirming the diversity of the settlers depicted in the sagas. In Ketilsstaðir, a Viking Age woman was found buried with brooches, beads, textile fragments, a touchstone, a knife handle, a spindle whorl, and a piece of chalcedony. Studies of the textiles buried with this woman support the interpretation that she was born in the British Isles and migrated to Iceland.

The sagas suggest that Iceland was “fully settled” by around 930, mentioning around 1,500 farms and place names. Archaeologists estimate a total population of between 4,300 and 24,000 people during the height of Viking Iceland. The end of the period of settlement is marked by the establishment of the Alþingi, or Althing, which was an assembly of the settlement‘s most powerful leaders, called goðar, to decide on laws and judge cases presented to them.

The sagas also suggest that feuds between the settlers were resolved through violence. According to the sagas, if a family member was killed by another settler, the family was honor-bound to seek justice through a revenge killing. This could result in blood feuds that wiped out entire families. In the Mosfell Valley, archaeologists found the body of one man who had been violently bludgeoned in the head with an axe or a sword sometime in the late 10th or early 11th century CE.

To be legitimate, killings had to be conducted openly and without any attempt to hide the act; otherwise, it would be considered murder. Murder cases could be presented to the Althing, which had the power to banish citizens from the settlement, usually for a specified period of time. Erik the Red was banished from Iceland for killing some of his neighbors, which led to the Viking settlement of Greenland.

Artifacts

Iceland’s environment presented numerous challenges to the Viking settlers. When the Norse arrived, the only land mammal on the island was the arctic fox. Archaeology reveals that the Vikings had to import animals for their survival. Excavations have revealed bones of cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, horses, chickens, dogs, and cats. Some of these domesticated animals would have been kept for their by-products, others as pets or food. Not all animals were for eating. Archaeologists have discovered horse remains in several hundred Viking Age graves, suggesting that horses were sacrificed in ritualistic burials.

Excavations of a 10th-century CE house in Reykjavik recovered beads, nails, a spindle whorl, and a piece of a glass vessel around the home’s hearth. These artifacts suggested that the hearth was a hub of activity during the Viking Age and pointed to cultural connections with the material culture of medieval Scandinavia, where beads and spindle whorls are commonly found at Viking Age sites. Although Iceland presented the Viking settlers with unique challenges, many artifacts point to the continuation of identities, styles, and lifeways established in Viking Age Scandinavia.

Trade

The sagas and archaeological record agree that many Vikings settled in Iceland. The sagas imply their break from mainland Scandinavia was not complete. Walrus tusks, jaw bones, and bacula from Viking Age contexts show that the Vikings engaged in significant walrus hunting and ivory extraction. According to the sagas, walrus items from Iceland were traded with Norway. Initial archaeological investigations seem to support this idea. Sagas also detail Icelandic imports of cloth from England, Norway, Ireland, and Constantinople. Textiles recovered from archaeological excavations indicate that the textiles were traded across the Norwegian Sea between Iceland, Norway, and the British Isles.

The End of Iceland’s Viking Age

All good things must come to an end. The Viking Age gave way to the medieval period. In around 1000 CE, Icelanders accepted Christianity as the island’s one and only religion. This was a political move to unite the settlers against pressure from the Christian Norwegian King Olaf Tryggvason, who was attempting to annex Iceland as part of Norway. Their resistance was temporary, and Norway conquered the island in the 13th century CE, bringing an end to the traditional authority of chieftains and making Iceland a Norwegian province. From genetics to cultural monuments, the Vikings have cast a long shadow through their settlement of Iceland. Together, the sagas and archaeology continue to shed light on their pioneering world.

Buried under centuries of plaster remain the seraphim mosaics of the Hagia Sophia. Over 700 years old, these mystifying angels have witnessed the building’s transformation from the glittering heart of Byzantium to a dominating symbol of Ottoman conquest and Islamic power. Embedded within these golden mosaics, the seraphim’s haunting eyes and massive six wings shine under the central dome, sanctifying the space as an iteration of God’s throne. Despite their erasure under Ottoman rule, the seraphim are once again gazing upon visitors of the Hagia Sophia.

The Mythology of the Seraphim

The seraphim derives from the Hebrew word “śārāf.” Meaning “to burn,” the seraphim are often translated as “the burning ones,” associated with the divine fire of God. Christianity ranks the seraphim as the highest order within the angelic hierarchy. Their existence is dedicated to their devotion to God, serving as the main and ultimate protectors of his throne.

Only two texts in the Judeo-Christian bible detail their unique composition and eerie features, differing from the humanlike depictions of the archangels and saints more common in Christian iconography.

In the Book of Isaiah, the Prophet Isaiah recounted seeing, “the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne […] Above him were seraphim, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory’” (Isaiah 6:1-4).

The seraphim are also mentioned by St. John in the Book of Revelation. Also seeing a vision of Heaven, John contends witnessing, “In the center, around the throne, were four living creatures, and they were covered with eyes, in front and in back […] Each of the four living creatures had six wings and was covered with eyes all around, even under its wings. Day and night, they never stop saying: “‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty’” (Revelation 4 5-9).

Following these biblical descriptions, the seraphim in early Christian art are depicted as massive celestial creatures with human-like faces and bulging eyes surrounded by three massive pairs of wings. Their wings are often outlined in red to represent the divine fire, and the flurry of their wings is in constant motion to praise and worship God.

Four seraphim were commonly placed or etched into the highest points of early Christian churches to replicate the scene of Heaven from Revelation, designating the space below as one of the most holy, devout, and protected spaces for worshipers.

The Seraphim in Byzantine Art

Following the final separation of the Western Roman and Byzantine Empire in 395 AD, Byzantine religious art developed its distinctive iconography and mosaic creations. While Western Roman mosaics depicted scenes of everyday life or mythology for floor and wall decoration, Byzantine mosaics became renowned for their gilded recreations of heavenly scenes and creatures on the ceilings and domes of their churches. Instead of using natural stones, Byzantine artisans used glass tesserae painted silver or gold, angling them so that the slightest amount of sunlight would make the tiles glow.

Once Orthodox Christianity became institutionalized as the official state religion from the 4th century onwards, Byzantine religious architecture became standardized, domed churches with golden mosaic ceilings inspiring artists throughout from Cairo and Ravenna to Bulgaria and Russia.

Once debates on Byzantine iconoclasm concluded in the 9th century, Byzantine artists began adding mosaics of Christ, the Virgin Mary, Old Testament monsters, biblical stories, and the hierarchy of angels. Religious icons and symbols glowed in Byzantine churches; the silver and gold tiles used as backgrounds and outlines emphasized the holiness and divinity of angelic creatures and religious figures.

Evoking their two biblical descriptions, the seraphim were depicted as a floating face with penetrating eyes surrounded by three pairs of wings. Four seraphim were often placed around or under mosaic depictions of Jesus, who was placed in the center of the highest dome or ceiling.

Re-creating the scene from the Book of Revelation, these mosaic seraphim signified that the altar space, usually below the central dome, was a mirror of God’s throne, marking it the most sacred, protected, and blessed area of the church.

Seraphim mosaics became a common artistic feature of Byzantine design until the fall of their empire in the 15th century. From then onwards, Western European depictions of saints and angels in more humanlike forms became the standardized depictions of heavenly entities.

The Seraphim in the Hagia Sophia

One of the most famous seraphim mosaics in Byzantine religious iconography is under the central dome within the Hagia Sophia. Completed in 537 AD in Constantinople, the Hagia Sophia remains one of the grandest architectural feats and displays of Byzantine design, its artistic influence witnessed across empires, religions, and continents. Ordered by Emperor Justinian I and designed by Anthemius of Tralles and Isidore of Miletus, the Hagia Sophia served as the largest domed church for almost 1,000 years. Centuries of earthquakes, sieges, and religious debates evolved the golden mosaics over time.

Archaeologists contend that the seraphim mosaics were added to the Hagia Sophia during a rebuilding period from 1346-1354, after an earthquake collapsed the church’s eastern arch and part of the central dome. During these repairs, the four seraphim were added to each pendentive under the Christ Pantocrator mosaic in the center of the main dome. Each seraph stood at 20 feet tall, their faces measuring four feet wide, and their wings outlined in different shades of blue and green tile.

In total, researchers believe that 16 seraphim and cherub angels may have been added to the Hagia Sophia throughout the Byzantine period, four to the nave pendentives and twelve to the golden vaults in the Southern Gallery. The seraphim were only able to guard the inner sanctum of the Hagia Sophia for just a century until their role was lost under the plaster and dust of the Ottoman Empire.

The Seraphim Under Ottoman Rule

Following the fall of Constantinople and the defeat of the Byzantine Empire by Mehmed II in 1453, most Christian iconography within the Hagia Sophia was concealed. Mehmed II immediately commissioned building projects to convert the Hagia Sophia into a functioning mosque, adding structures like a prayer niche and minarets. However, Mehmed II set a precedent by not eradicating the Byzantine mosaics within the complex. Instead, he placed the Ottoman Empire as the rightful inheritors of the Roman legacy, adopting the Hagia Sophia as proof of the lineage they are now part of. Thus, the mosaics were concealed, covered with curtains, or painted over with whitewash.

The glittering saints and angels disappeared, replaced with the etched names of Allah, the Prophet Muhammad, and the first caliphs. In 1609, during Sultan Ahmed I’s restoration projects, the seraphim were covered with more white-wash. Additional layers of plaster and metal buried the seraphim faces under painted stars.

The seraphim faces remained hidden until 1847, when they were rediscovered during a massive restoration project commissioned by Sultan Abdulmejid I. The Swiss-Italian brothers Gaspard and Giuseppe Fossati led the reconstruction, finding many Byzantine mosaics hidden under paint and plaster. Shocked by their discoveries, the Fossati brothers made sketches of the Christian icons before covering them up again with new plaster and paint. By this point, many historians speculate that the seraphim mosaics on the western pendentives had been destroyed or damaged as the wings were repainted by the Fossati brothers during the restoration project.

For the next 160 years, the only modern evidence of the seraphim faces were these sketches. It was not until parts of the seraphim mosaics were discovered in 1989, and one face was fully uncovered in 2009, that the seraphim once again peered down upon the Hagia Sophia.

The Seraphim Today

Following the secular reforms of the new Turkish Republic led by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk after the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1922, the Hagia Sophia was designated as a state museum and ceased operating as a mosque by 1935. Shortly after, new restoration initiatives began to uncover, identify, and restore the Byzantine mosaics. These projects, involving international organizations like the Byzantine Institute of America, recovered centuries of hidden mosaics, earning the Hagia Sophia the status of a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985. In 1989, restoration work began uncovering mosaic tiles under the painted seraphim wings on the pendentives.

It was not until scaffolding on the eastern arch was taken down in 2009 that the true extent of the seraphim was uncovered. Noticing mosaic tesserae under layers of loose plaster, further investigation and the removal of seven layers of plaster, paint, and whitewash revealed one of the seraphim faces for the first time in 160 years.

In 2020, the Turkish government converted the Hagia Sophia back into a mosque, raising the question of whether the seraphim should once again be covered to adhere to Islamic custom.

Regardless of their fate, these mosaics are evidence of Hagia Sophia’s mosaic-like past, gilded by the art, influence, and faith of multiple empires that changed the course of history under the haunting watch of the seraphim.

In the 13th century, a fierce rivalry began to dominate the Italian political scene, already plagued by an endemic state of unrest. Within the communes of northern and central Italy, the internal disputes among the urban elite led to the emergence of two opposing factions: the pro-papal Guelphs and the pro-empire Ghibellines. The feud, intertwined with the communes’ struggle for independence, would tear the Italian peninsula apart well into the 14th century, leading to exile, violence, and bloodshed. Let’s look into how the rivalry between Guelphs and Ghibellines originated and evolved.

Who Were the Guelphs & Ghibellines?

The exact etymology of the Italian terms Guelfi and Ghibellini is not clear. However, scholars generally trace the origins of the two parties’ names to the rivalry between the German dynasties of the Welf and Hohenstaufen.

After Emperor Henry V’s death in 1125, the Welf, dukes of Bavaria, vied for the throne of the Holy Roman Empire against the Hohenstaufen, dukes of Swabia. It is generally believed that the term “Ghibelline” derived from the Hohenstaufens’ castle of Waiblingen. In particular, it has been suggested that the names “Guelphs” and “Ghibellines” originated as battle cries (“Hie Welf!” “Hie Waiblingen!”) during the strife between the Hohenstaufen Emperor Conrad III and Welf VI of Bavaria. The theory, however, is dubious.

When the names Guelfi and Ghibellini began to circulate in the Italian peninsula in the 13th century, they acquired a new significance. The term Guelphs identified the party siding with the papacy during its struggle against the Hohenstaufen Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, who sought to reassert imperial authority over the Italian territories.

His claims alarmed the popes, who viewed Barbarossa’s Italian policy as a challenge to their own influence and independence. In the ensuing strife, the papacy allied itself with the Lombard communes, equally displeased by the emperor’s intention to restore imperial rights in Italy. In 1176, the Lombard League, led by Pope Alexander III, defeated Barbarossa’s forces at the Battle of Legnano. The struggle between the two powers, however, continued with Emperor Frederick II’s ascension to the imperial throne.

Setting the Stage: The Papacy, the Empire, & the Italian Communes

The Hohenstaufens emperors’ attempts to restore imperial control over Italy split the Italian political scene into two factions: those who sided with the empire (the pars imperii, later known as Ghibelline), hoping to legitimize their authority, and those who saw the support for the papacy as a means to safeguard their autonomy.

In the 11th and 12th centuries, as the Kingdom of Italy began to disintegrate, a new form of government emerged in northern and central Italy: the comuni (communes). In the absence of a centralizing authority, the communes, some of the first nonmonarchical governments in medieval Europe, quickly became a key part of the new political order.

Indeed, boosted by a wave of economic and trade growth, the towns in north and central Italy turned into autonomous city-states, asserting their right to establish forms of self-government. As the communal institutions began to expand their control over the countryside, extending beyond the cities’ walls, they also pursued their own political and diplomatic agendas, de facto acquiring (and claiming) higher degrees of independence from the empire and the papacy.

Over time, the division sparked by the Hohenstaufen emperor’s Italian policy evolved, with the already existing rivalry within the communes and between the city-states providing breeding ground for factionalism.

From Florence…

As the death of Frederick II (1250) left a power vacuum in Italy, a bitter feud between Guelphs and Ghibellines pitted local factions and towns against each other. In his Divine Comedy, Dante described the Italian peninsula as an “inn of sorrows” and a “ship without a helmsman in harsh seas.” Indeed, in the political order that emerged after the decline of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, the papacy saw an opportunity to fill the void, beginning to exercise imperial prerogatives and securing the influence of the Papal States in the political scene. The popes’ oscillating policies, however, led to chronic instability across the peninsula.

The early stages of the Guelph-Ghibelline feud that split the Italian peninsula in the 13th and 14th centuries began in Florence, where the political antagonism turned more brutal and deadly than in any other town. Chronicler Giovanni Villani dates the first violent clash between local families in 1117, emphasizing the role of the influential Uberti family in the dispute. At the time, however, the terms “Guelphs” and “Ghibellines” were not yet used to identify the feuding factions.

The earliest mention of a Guelph presence in Florence would emerge only in 1248, when a letter sent to Frederick II referred to a “Guelph party” in the city. In the previous years, Cardinal Ottaviano degli Ubaldini, the pontifical legate to Florence, had urged a group of local families (later known as Guelphs) to oppose Frederick II’s imperial vicar. On February 2, 1248, however, a coalition led by Manente “Farinata” degli Uberti seized control, expelling the Guelph families from the city and destroying their properties. The Guelphs would return in 1250, forcing the Ghibellines into exile.

… To Italy

In 1251, Farinata’s group signed a secret pact with the Tuscan towns of Siena, Pistoia, and Pisa, identifying themselves as the “Ghibelline party of Florence.” The pact is the earliest extant document to mention the term Pars Ghibellinorum. By 1260, the feud between Guelphs and Ghibellines had spread to the rest of the peninsula, spread by groups of Florentine exiles. Meanwhile, the papacy, supported by Charles of Anjou (the brother of King Louis IX of France), strongly opposed the claims of Manfred, Frederick II’s natural son.

The two factions clashed at the Battle of Montaperti on September 4, 1260, where the pro-Manfred Ghibelline forces, led by Siena, defeated the Guelph Florentine army. The battle was one of the bloodiest events in the Guelph-Ghibelline rivalry. In Inferno 10, Dante referred to Montaperti as “the carnage, the great bloodshed that stained the waters of the Arbia [a stream near Siena] red.” In the aftermath of the battle, the Florentine Guelphs were once again forced into exile.

Six years later, however, the Guelph forces, supported by the papacy and Charles of Anjou, scored a pivotal victory against the Ghibellines and Manfred’s army at Benevento. The battle marked the end of the Ghibelline influence in Florence (and Italy). In the following years, the Guelphs launched a violent persecution against their political rivals. Some deceased members of the Uberti family, for example, were posthumously condemned, their remains exhumed and destroyed. The Guelph victory, however, did not end the factionalism, and toward the end of the 13th century, more conflict erupted within the Guelph party.

Guelphs, Ghibellines, and National Identity

By the mid-13th century, the Guelphs and Ghibellines who clashed at Montaperti had little in common with the original pro-papacy and pro-empire factions. Indeed, what began as local disputes within the communes changed character over time, leading to the emergence of organized political parties that resorted to mass political exile to define themselves.

The political warfare inevitably created political disunity throughout the Italian peninsula. At the same time, however, the birth of the Guelphs and Ghibellines partially recomposed the extreme factionalism within the communes, contributing to the formation of larger regional states. In the 19th century, during the Risorgimento, the patriots fighting for Italian unification and independence saw the exile experienced by many (including Dante) during the 13th and 14th centuries as a mirror of their own diaspora, creating a new paradigm of nationhood.

In the 8th and 9th centuries, the Carolingian Renaissance sparked an intellectual revival in Europe, laying the groundwork for the emergence of the oldest institutions of higher learning in the Middle Ages: the universities. The first universities began to appear in the 11th century, first in Italy and then in northern Europe, replacing the previous monastic and cathedral schools. Born as corporations of teachers and students, the universities attracted people from all over the continent, and eventually acquired charters from the church or kings. Let’s take a look at eight leading medieval universities.

1. University of Bologna

Reputed to be the oldest university in the Western world, the University of Bologna was established around 1088 as a spontaneous initiative of a group of students. At the time, Bologna was experiencing a “revolutionary” time that saw the birth of the commune (comune, a republican government), the rise of new social classes, and the increasingly turbulent relations between the papacy and the Holy Roman Empire.

The newly established learning institution focused its attention on the study of canon and civil law, aiming to find legal solutions to the many conflicts of the 11th and 12th centuries. Combined in the same Studium, the School of Canon Law and the School of Roman Law played a key role in mediating the fight between the papal and imperial authorities. In doing so, the Bolognese scholars laid the groundwork for the legal system of Medieval Europe.

By the 12th and 13th centuries, the University of Bologna had become one of the leading centers of learning in Europe, attracting students from all over the continent who brought with them considerable wealth. Thanks to the booming economy and its famed university, Bologna became known as La Dotta (The Learned) and La Grassa (The Fat).

Known for:

• Petrarch, Italian poet
• Leon Battista Alberti, Italian Renaissance humanist and architect

2. University of Paris

Like Bologna, the University of Paris was also established as a corporation of students and teachers. It formed around 1150, when it replaced the cathedral school of Notre-Dame, and was divided into three “superior” faculties (theology, canon law, and medicine) and one “inferior” faculty (arts).

In the mid-13th century, following support from the papacy, the University of Paris became a self-governing legal entity, with its own statutes and regulations. By the end of the century, it had gained considerable prestige as the leading center of theological studies in northern Europe. Over the following centuries, the university, with a rigidly fixed program founded on Scholasticism, was a staunch supporter of Roman Catholic orthodoxy.

The many students arriving in Paris to enroll in the university’s program were accommodated in several colleges. The most famous was the Sorbonne, established by the theologian Robert de Sorbon around 1257. It soon became the stage for many theological disputes.

Known for:

• Albertus Magnus, German Dominican friar and philosopher
• St. Thomas Aquinas, Doctor of the Church

3. University of Oxford

Records of teaching activities in the town of Oxford date as far back as 1096. However, the university emerged only some time later, probably around 1167, when Henry III, following a dispute with Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury, prohibited English students from studying in Paris.

By the end of the 12th century, the University of Oxford had already become a well-established center of learning, the oldest in the English-speaking world, offering courses in theology, law, medicine, and liberal arts. Modeled on the University of Paris, the English institution was also composed of several colleges that served as privately endowed boarding houses for impoverished scholars. The oldest college, University College, was founded in 1249, followed by Balliol and Merton in the early 1260s.

Over the following centuries, alongside the traditional program in the liberal arts, the University of Oxford began to focus on the emerging physical sciences.

Known for:

• Cardinal Wolsey, Lord High Chancellor of England (1515-1529)
• John Wycliff, English theologian

4. University of Cambridge

In the early 13th century, the relationship between town and gown (students and townspeople) in Oxford soured, and life in the English town was disrupted by frequent riots. To escape this hostile environment, some scholars moved to Cambridge. Their arrival led to the establishment of a university around 1209.

To avoid any hostilities between the students and the residents of Cambridge, King Henry III ordered that scholars would be allowed to remain in the town only under the supervision of a master. Thus, colleges were soon built to provide orderly places of residence. The first, Peterhouse, was built in 1284 with funds donated by Hugo de Balsham, Bishop of Ely.

Known for:

• Isaac Newton, English physicist and mathematician
• Charles Darwin, British naturalist

5. University of Salamanca

The oldest institution for higher learning of the Hispanic world, the University of Salamanca was originally established in 1218 by Alfonso IX. The first teaching activities, however, began more than 30 years later, in 1254, during the reign of Alfonso X (Alfonso IX’s grandson), with the establishment of three chairs in canon law, and one chair each in grammar, art, and physics.

Shortly after its establishment, the University of Salamanca was already on its way to becoming a leading center for learning. Pope Alexander IV gave it the status of General School in 1254, and the following year, a series of papal bulls granted recognition for all degrees awarded to its students.

During the Age of Exploration, the University of Salamanca became one of the most important institutions dealing with the “discovery” of a “New World.” Thanks to the lectures held by Francisco de Vitoria (1526-1546), the university shifted its attention to international law, addressing key issues of the new age, such as the nature of power and justice, international conflicts, just war, and the rights of indigenous communities.

Known for:

• St. Ignacio de Loyola, founder of the Jesuit order
• Calderón de la Barca, Spanish poet

6. University of Padua

The University of Padua was established in 1222 by a group of students and teachers who decided to leave Bologna and form a free body of scholars in the present-day Veneto region. Grouped in different Nationes according to their place of origin, the students paid their teachers with their own money and elected the rettore (rector).

Over the following centuries, the University of Padua gained recognition as the leading center of modern medicine. Indeed, the introduction of empirical and experimental methods, alongside a focus on the observation of nature, made the university a pioneer in anatomical investigations.

In the mid-1400s, Padua was one of the first institutions to revive the practice of human dissection (long forbidden) and to build a permanent anatomical theater. The university’s regulations even made it mandatory to perform at least two examinations of human cadavers every academic year.

Known for:

• Nicolaus Copernicus, astronomer from Royal Prussia
• Galileo Galilei, Italian astronomer, philosopher, and mathematician

7. University of Naples

While most medieval universities were the result of the spontaneous initiative of students and teachers, the University of Naples is the oldest institute for higher learning founded by a ruler. Indeed, Emperor Frederick II established it in 1224, even before scholars had arrived in the city.

Embroiled in a fierce conflict with the papacy at the time, Frederick II envisioned the new center of learning as a means to counterbalance the preeminence of the universities in northern Italy, which he considered too strongly influenced by the popes. (After all, Bologna was part of the Papal States at the time.)

As a result, the administration of the University of Naples was rigid and centralized. Its teachers were hired directly by Frederick II, who also paid their wages, making them royal employees. Moreover, teachers and students were banned from traveling to other universities and were required to swear their loyalty to the emperor. Thus, the university served as both a center for learning and a political tool aimed at training skilled bureaucratic professionals.

Known for:

• Giovanni Boccaccio, Italian poet and scholar
• Giambattista Vico, Italian philosopher

8. University of Heidelberg

The University of Heidelberg, the oldest in Germany, was founded in 1386 by Rupert, the Elector Palatinate, with the consent of the pope. Modeled after the University of Paris, its students resided in colleges.

In April 1518, the University of Heidelberg gained visibility for hosting Martin Luther’s defense of his Ninety-Five Theses, a series of propositions for debate that would spark the Protestant Reformation. In 1556, the university formally became a Protestant institution at the behest of Otto Henry, Elector Palatinate.

Known for:

• Philipp Melanchthon, Protestant reformer
• Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, German philosopher

Editor’s Note (April 30, 2026): This article was updated to correct the identification of Copernicus’s origin and to add a new FAQ section.

The illegitimate son of Duke Robert I of Normandy, William I succeeded his father as a child and spent much of his early reign pacifying his duchy. In late 1066, he enshrined his place in history by invading England and defeating Harold Godwinsson at the Battle of Hastings. William’s conquest was one of the most impactful events in English history and its legacy continues to the present day.

The Boy Duke in his Early Years (1028–1047)

William was born in 1027 or 1028 in the Château de Falaise in Normandy. He was the only son of Duke Robert I, nicknamed Robert the Magnificent. His mother Herleva was the daughter of a courtier. Since William was an illegitimate child, he was sometimes known as William the Bastard to his detractors. The Norman elite that William came from were the descendants of Viking raiders who had settled in northern France and later acknowledged the sovereignty of the Frankish king after being granted the territory that came to be known as Normandy.

When Robert died in 1036 while on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the boy succeeded his father as Duke of Normandy. This angered many Norman nobles who believed that as an illegitimate child, William had no right to the duchy. Rival factions sprang up around William, who was constantly threatened with assassination. William’s early years as duke were spent under the protection of loyal guardians, several of whom, including Osbern the Steward, were murdered in his defense.

Nonetheless, the young William soon proved to be a formidable political force. He forged an alliance with local Church leaders, reinforced his ranks with more loyalists, and convinced some of his detractors, including Archbishop Mauger of Rouen, to side with him. By being ruthless and calculating, he managed to avoid being hunted down by his enemies.

Forging his Authority (1047–1060)

Normandy’s chaos caused real concern throughout the region. Nobles were assassinated, castles were stormed and looted, undermining the stability that had persisted since the establishment of the duchy a century earlier. William managed to overcome many of these challenges with the assistance of advisers like his kinsman Count Gilbert of Brionne and Archbishop Mauger.

In 1047, William rallied an army behind him to fight the rebellious barons. He was supported by King Henry I of France, who saw William as a reliable ally in keeping Normandy stable. Guy of Burgundy raised a force to challenge William and the French King but was crushed at the Battle of Val-ès-Dunes in 1047. William was a skilled commander and his leadership was far superior to the rebellious nobles.

William still faced challenges from opponents who refused to accept him as Duke. Nonetheless, a truce was signed, which enabled him to exert control over the rest of Normandy. After the battle, he exiled Guy and installed nobles loyal to him in castles throughout the Duchy. When Henry betrayed him and backed another invasion of Normandy alongside dissident nobles, William beat them off, permanently consolidating his control over the Duchy.

A Contested Claim and England’s Succession Crisis (1060-1066)

Across the Channel in England, the childless King Edward the Confessor was approaching his sixties. Although he had been married to Edith of Wessex in 1045, Edward had resented the influence of Edith’s father, Earl Godwin of Wessex, the most powerful Anglo-Saxon aristocrat. Edward’s mother was the Norman princess Emma of Normandy, and he had spent many years in Norman exile.

Some sources, including the Norman chronicles, claim that Edward promised the crown to William after exiling Earl Godwin and his sons from England in 1051. However, Godwin soon raised an army and forced Edward to restore his earldom in 1052. The Earl died the following year and was succeeded by his son, Harold Godwinsson. When Edward died in January 1066, Harold quickly claimed the throne on the basis that Edward had named him as his successor on his deathbed.

The Normans argued that Harold had usurped the throne, particularly as he had made a promise to support William’s claim during a visit to Normandy several years earlier. As a result, William began preparing a fleet to invade England. Elsewhere, additional claimants such as Harald Hardrada of Norway also prepared to invade England. A race had developed to see who could take the English throne and keep it.

The Invasion and the Battle of Hastings (1066)

William left Normandy in the hands of his wife, Matilda of Flanders, while he awaited the opportunity to cross the Channel with his fleet. His forces were substantial in size with over a hundred ships built from scratch. The army consisted of a mixed force including both Normans loyal to him and mercenaries from around the rest of Europe. Difficult weather delayed his departure until late September.

King Harold found himself facing assaults on multiple fronts and moved to parry each of them. In the north, Harald Hardrada and Harold’s estranged brother Tostig marched on London, but were defeated and killed at the Battle of Stamford Bridge. Harold had already disbanded his army on the way to London when he received news of William’s landing at Pevensey Bay. As the king hurried to raise new forces, William’s Normans raided the south coast, seeking to provoke Harold into doing battle before he was fully prepared.

Harold brought a force numbering several thousand to Senlac Hill near Hastings in East Sussex and ordered his men to form a shield wall and hold their ground. The Normans advanced up the hill and on the morning of October 14. Although the attackers made little progress initially and William was obliged to raise his visor in response to rumors that he had been killed, the English shield wall began losing its integrity and Harold was killed in the midst of the fighting.

By the end of the day, the Anglo-Saxon army had been routed and William was marching on to London. With Harold dead, further efforts by English nobles to rally a new army to oppose William proved futile, and William was crowned king of England on Christmas Day 1066.

The Norman Transformation of England (1066-1087)

In order to prevent English nobles who had supported Harold from challenging him, William adopted a carrot-and-stick approach. He allowed certain English nobles to retain their titles while crushing an attempt by Harold’s mother to organize a revolt against him. Additional challenges followed when a revolt broke out in the north and a Danish invasion force landed to oust William in 1069. He responded with a brutal series of military campaigns known as the Harrying of the North to extinguish any embers of rebellion.

William often struggled to maintain power because his lands were separated by the English Channel. Between 1067 and his death 20 years later, he crossed the Channel at least 19 times to ensure that he could maintain proper control of both England and Normandy.

To help maintain control of England, he rewarded Norman nobles with English land and titles. This new class of Norman aristocrats began to build castles across England as feudal power bases. While William continued to face Anglo-Saxon uprisings during his two-decade reign, he centralized power and strengthened the English monarchy. As a means of facilitating tax collection and as a record of the Norman conquest, in 1085 William ordered the compilation of a survey of the landholdings held by himself and by his vassals throughout his kingdom, organised by counties. In less than a year, the results of the survey were compiled into the Domesday Book.

William’s Final Years and His Legacy

In 1086, William returned to France as part of an attempt to rally support from other French nobles to stand up to the French throne. He was still concerned after Henry’s prior betrayal and attempt to march against him. While leading an army against the town of Mantes, he was reportedly injured in the saddle. On September 9, 1087, he died in the priory of Saint Gervase at Rouen. The exact cause of his death was confused by different accounts by contemporary observers.

He was laid to rest at the Abbey of Saint-Étienne in Caen. The duchy of Normandy passed to his eldest son, Duke Robert II of Normandy, while the kingdom of England was inherited by his second son, King William II of England. The two brothers began fighting each other to inherit their father’s entire legacy, resulting in further anarchy in Normandy. The two realms were reunited under William’s third son Henry, who succeeded William II as King Henry I of England in 1100 and defeated Robert in battle to become Duke of Normandy in 1106.

With the Norman conquest, William the Conqueror had a huge impact on English history. The Norman aristocracy that William put in place dominated English politics for centuries, the English legal system was influenced by Norman customs, and the English court spoke French for the next three centuries. The fact that the English king held extensive territories in France, which further expanded during Angevin rule, often led to conflict between England and France.