Dominic Sandbrook - Adventures in Time: Fury of The Vikings

The Second World War

The Six Wives of Henry VIII

The First World War

Alexander the Great

Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile

The Fury of the Vikings

The Quest for El Dorado

Napoleon

With illustrations by Edward Bettison

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First published in Particular Books 2022

Text copyright Dominic Sandbrook, 2022
Ilustrations copyright Edward Bettison, 2022

The moral rights of the author and translator have been asserted

Cover art: Edward Bettison

ISBN: 978-0-241-55218-6

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For Ruben Carter

Then the Lord said unto me: Out of the north an evil shall break forth upon all the inhabitants of the land

The Book of Jeremiah

8 June 793

It was a cool, breezy day on the coast of north-eastern England. A day for strolling along the grassy cliffs and drinking in the sea air; for watching the seabirds high above, and skimming stones across the green-grey waves; for gazing out at the distant horizon, and wondering what lay beyond.

On the island of Lindisfarne, the monks had been up for hours. Some were bent over their desks, copying the exquisitely illustrated Bibles for which their monastery was famous. Others were working in the kitchens, or polishing and cleaning in the chapel, or patiently sweeping the long stone corridors.

But on such a fine morning, most of the younger men had slipped outside to work in the gardens. Life out here, two miles off the Northumbrian mainland, was often dark and wet and cold, so it was only sensible to make the most of the sunshine.

Lindisfarne, they all knew, was special a place like no other. There had been a monastery here for more than a century, attracting some of the holiest and most learned men in the land.

Its most beloved son, St Cuthbert, was buried only a few yards away, and every year hundreds of pilgrims came to pray at his tomb. This was a place where you could feel God close: a place of beauty, a place of peace.

The monks could never entirely forget the outside world. In recent months, pilgrims had brought reports of strange signs and omens. Some had talked of whirlwinds, and flashes of lightning, and great fiery dragons, soaring through the heavens

But on such a morning as this, when all was well with Gods creation, storms and dragons seemed very far away.

It was one of the younger monks, with his sharp eyes, who spotted the sails. He gave a cry and dropped his rake, pointing excitedly at the horizon, and his friends came running.

Yes! There was no mistaking it! Three great sails: one striped in red and white, one blue with the image of an animal, one a rich, deep yellow.

The ships were coming closer, as if heading for the island. The monks could not yet make out the men on board, but one of them turned to run for the Abbot.

As he did so, he almost bumped into another man standing right behind him, apparently frozen to the spot.

This monk was a foreigner, from the lands of the far North. A jagged scar ran from his brow to his jawline, as if somebody had tried to split his head in two. But he never spoke about his past, and none of them dared to ask about it.

Now he just stood there, staring at the sea, as the ships came closer, and closer, and closer. And on his face was an expression of utter horror

The raiders charged up the beaches of Lindisfarne like a storm from the depths of hell.

The first monk they met, on the path leading up from the shore, they hacked to the ground without a word, an axe splintering his skull in a moment. Then they raced on up the slope, their swords eager for slaughter.

More monks came towards them, their hands raised to beg for mercy. The Vikings cut them down where they stood. Blood splattered over the turf.

Now they were into the monastery, crashing through the doors, roaring and howling with diabolical rage. They pulled down the crosses and smashed open the tombs.

They piled up the holy vessels and stamped on the relics. They tore off the altar cloth, ripped up the Bibles and dragged out the desks. And all the time they were laughing, a chorus of cruel and savage joy.

When it was all over, and their fury was spent, they forced some of the survivors to carry their plunder down to the beach. And when all the treasures were aboard, they chained the younger monks together with fetters of iron, and forced them onto their longships, too.

They would fetch a pretty price, one of the raiders sneered, in the slave markets of the eastern riverlands.

That evening, as the sun sank over the Northumbrian hills, the longships set off for home. The rowers struck up their rhythm; the oars rose and fell.

Many of the monks were crying. But at the prow of the leading ship, the Vikings captain barely noticed.

He was too busy inspecting the golden cross he had taken down from the altar. And as he turned it this way and that, to catch the last of the light, a wolfish smile spread over his tattooed features.

Then he thrust it away in his sack, barked an order at the rowers, and turned back to face the east.

The attack on Lindisfarne, which took place on 8 June 793, sent a wave of fear through the people of western Europe. In every corner of the Christian world, churchmen wrung their hands with horror, and parents hugged their children close.

So began the Viking Age, one of the most colourful, exciting and blood-soaked episodes in history. For the next three hundred years, striking from their hidden bases in modern-day Denmark, Norway and Sweden, the Scandinavian pirates stormed across the map, looting and pillaging.