EVIDENCE OF VIOLENCE FROM ANGLO-SAXON CEMETERIES

Deborah J. Shepherd
Program for Interdisciplinary Archaeological Studies
University of Minnesota
paper delivered at the
1997 International Medieval Congress, Kalamazoo, MI

What Violence? The Honorable and the Ghastly. Analyzing violence in Anglo-Saxon
cemeteries brings up two conceptual categories for discussion: the weapons of violence
conjuring up images of warfare and that inscrutable, unsettling violence related to unnatural,
perhaps ritualized, death. The presence of decapitated bodies and bodies seemingly buried alive
in Anglo-Saxon cemeteries has been argued for decades, and compared to these images, the
many so-called “warrior” burials seem quite natural and normal, almost comfortingly familiar,
given our traditionally preferred views of Anglo-Saxon life and values. The warrior here represents
the backbone of a minimally stratified and straightforward society, one with strong views about
honorable behavior and a man‟s ethical responsibility toward family, kin, and comrades of the
warband. In this mental picture of the male social order, it is easy to forget the complementary
cooperative, nurturing, and reproductive roles of the feminine social order quietly coexisting in the
household and out in the fields and pastures. Let us first consider warriors before discussing warrior
graves.
Warriors and Indo-European Society. Scholars such as Bruce Lincoln and C. Scott Littleton,
building on the work of Georges Dumézil, recognize a strong tradition of the powerful and glorified
warrior persona stemming from Indo-European cultural origins. Accordingly, the warrior fulfills a
vital role as protector of the social order and controller of scarce and necessary resources in Indo-
European society. The warrior confronts chaos itself. He protects the boundaries of Home from the
unknowns and terrors of the Outside. With this protection, a sense of Territory is achieved. In so
doing, the warrior continually reaffirms group cohesion. The group being defined, the Other—the
people on the Outside—become defined as well. The people of the Other are not part of the true
social order. Therefore, ethical and moral rules of behavior do not apply to them, and they may
with impunity be treated as non-human. To outlaw an undesirable person from the social order is
to expel him into the midst of this not-human Other.
As controller of scarce and necessary resources, the warrior protects society‟s access to
these materials or qualities. The quality of prestige, after all, is also a scarce resource. If need be,
the warrior is the means by which society extends its reach to gather in more resources. Since
resources on the Outside by definition belong to no human, the claims of the possessors of such
resources have no validity. Raiding cattle, pillaging settlements, pirating ships--these are all

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honorable and right actions for the warrior as long as they are directed toward the Outside.
One of the chief goals of the Indo-European warrior is to achieve immortality, called
“undying fame” by the Greeks (Lincoln 1987: 340). Indeed, prestige has a clear economic value
and is linked to deeds of valor. The words valor, valiance, and value are etymologically
connected, as are virtue and virility. The ultimate prestige, however, is ideologically defined by the
moment of heroic death. The paradox is clear to all warriors and was summed up in the person of
the treacherous Norse god Odin: the price of the immortality at the end of the warrior‟s quest is
the warrior‟s life. In this ultimate search for his own death, the warrior dehumanizes himself. In
battle, the best warrior is capable of achieving total auto-dehumanization: he is able to confront
the destruction with no hesitation, weakness, doubt or guilt. This attitude is certainly not limited to
the Indo-Europeans. The samurai called it “no mind” and the Crow Indians had a term that meant
“crazy-dogs-wishing-to-die” (1987: 344).
What is an Anglo-Saxon Warrior? The Non-Archaeological Sources. Among Anglo-Saxons,
native literary sources come from the later, Christian period. Oral tradition would be older, but
such poetry and legend would likewise not have been written down until later, by literate Christian
writers. Scattered Roman accounts dealing generally with the so-called Germanic or Celtic tribes
are sometimes colorful but must be interpreted in context. Julius Caesar in The Gallic Wars
confirmed native social attitudes toward warriors and the Outside when he wrote that “German
youths were not punished for robberies committed outside the boundaries of their own kingdom,
since they claim that these are carried out for the purpose of disciplining their youth and
preventing sloth.” Tacitus in Germania 31 wrote of certain warriors: “To whatever host they choose
to go, they get their keep from him, wasting the goods of others while despising their own”
(Davidson 1989: 16). Similarly, young Irish men, according to tales, belonged to roving bands
associated with the hero Finn MacCumaill and lived separately from family. Often they would
forage and rob, even steal women, but they and society understood the acceptable limits of this
behavior, and the young warriors were tolerated because they waged war on enemies and were
“necessary to the prosperity of the tribe” (M. Sjoestedt quoted in Davidson 1989: 14). These
separate associations of fighting men were clearly freed of the social restrictions placed on
ordinary people.
Scott Littleton has explained that for all their necessity, society nevertheless felt a repressed
dread and tension regarding warriors. Their violence could become unrestrained, treacherous,
and random. The warrior‟s ability to achieve auto-dehumanization was not something others
could see as fully controlled (1987: 345). Thus, placing warrior bands on the margins of society, at
a safer distance but where they could also effectively guard its borders, makes perfect sense. It is
quite possible that early Anglo-Saxon society behaved similarly. The Anglo-Saxon sentinel warrior
graves, appearing to guard territories from invasion, described yesterday by Elizabeth O‟Brien, fit

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nicely into this equation.
There is an Anglo-Saxon poem known as “Wulf and Eadwacer.” Hilda Davidson interprets
(1989: 17): “In this poem the speaker is a woman, who refers to her lover as Wulf; she speaks of him
being on a separate island in the fens inhabited by men „fierce in slaughter,‟ apparently not far
away, but visiting her only rarely. If he comes with a troop, her people will try and capture him.
She has either borne a child or is expecting one, but this brings no happiness: „Wulf (or “a wolf”)
will carry off our wretched whelp to the woods.‟ She laments that there can be no true marriage
with her lover, and at the close she appeals directly not to Wulf but to Eadwacer. The idea that
the father of her child is one of a band of young men living outside the community seems the
most satisfactory.” The alternative interpretation that Wulf is an enemy Viking does not explain the
uneasy tolerance that the two groups seem to have for each other‟s continued proximity, nor
does it address the suggestion that Wulf‟s appearance to the speaker might be tolerated by her
people only if he comes alone.
The poem may be remembering an earlier time in Anglo-Saxon society—in
anthropological terms, a time when that society was still basically egalitarian and unstratified,
when warriors and their dangerous powers were contained by sending them to stay at a safe
distance. Marriage and a home life would be impossible, and even the offspring of warriors were
rejected by normal society. These simple and physically segregated warrior bands may be seen
as developing into the more socially integrated and controlled lith retinues of later, more complex
and stratified society in historical times.
It is also useful to consider Guy Halsall‟s distinctions between ritual and non-ritual warfare
(see Table 1). Ritual war is frequent and conducted on a small scale; it obeys certain rules of
conduct and limitation. Its expressed motivations are usually honor-based, but resource pressure
may also be a powerful driving force. Ritual war is also a good, in and of itself, for it offers the
opportunity for certain males to accumulate prestige, and for young males to be initiated, while
the general leadership structure and temporary political confederations are confirmed. Non-ritual
war is much rarer, more serious, and large scale. It represents the failure of ritual war to resolve
social stresses. It has no real purpose except to re-achieve a balance which may be much
different than the former circumstances (Halsall 1989: 161). Thus, early warrior bands were meant
primarily for the ritual form of warfare which continually maintained a balance between separate
and wary communities; these may have seen themselves as rivals for survival rather than as
potential members of cooperative regional polities.
New Archaeological Views. For trying to understand early Anglo-Saxon society,
comparisons with archaeological finds from the continent have also offered new insights. John
Hines has analyzed the contents of votive deposits of weapons in bogs on the continent. The
deposits in Saxon territory of military gear begin slowly in the late 2nd century AD and continue

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until the 6th. In the 4th and 5th centuries particularly, substantial collections appear, some offering
evidence of being large simultaneous deposits. By sorting through the weapon types and
numbers, Hines determines that—assuming the large deposits represent booty from a defeated
enemy army—the warbands active at the time of the Saxon emigration to Britain numbered a
few hundred men at most, larger than the primeval communal warbands hypothesized here but
smaller than the organized armies envisioned in a number of later histories (1989: 38). The bogs
themselves are interpreted as cult sites, and the purpose of the deposits is assumed to be the
appeal to deities for continuing victory. The size of the warbands, the apparent increase of
military activity, and the value of ritual deposits, in Hines‟ view, speaks of a society reaching
critical stresses, yet relatively few contemporary “warrior” graves exist in this area. Proportions of
such graves in continental cemeteries hardly rise above 4% of the total graves. Contrast this to
figures ranging from 10 to 30% at Anglo-Saxon inhumation cemeteries. Similarly, mass deposits of
weapons such as found in the continental bogs are not known from Britain. Finally, although Hines
refers to the warriors as an “elite,” he wonders whether the occupation of warrior among the
Saxons was an hereditary station or one that might have been thrust upon selected males from
each large household in a fashion resembling the draft (1989: 44). But it seems that such a
dispersed society could hardly successfully enforce a draft system, and we may be confusing
ourselves by referring to a group that is part-outcast as an elite. Certain men were most likely
members of warrior bands in the 5th century because they were allowed no other role in society.
In later, Norse society, by comparison, warriors, chieftains, and kings were said to worship
Odin in order to achieve victory in battle. In some ways, Odin was the chief god, having
mysterious knowledge of things, having mastered the magical powers of runes, and being the
purveyor of the victories that made men into kings. But so much of Odin had to do with death; the
god himself had died by hanging and stabbing in order to achieve much of his enigmatic
wisdom. The victory for which a warrior might sacrifice could become his doom. Odin often took
his own followers to his deathly self, especially the very best. Thus, ordinary society would have
little to do with Odin. Thor was the people‟s choice. Thor could control the weather, bring good
harvests to fertile fields, and protect the well-being of the home and family. Thor did not seek to
destroy his faithful. Following Odin required an unwavering ideological and ritualistic commitment
that could hardly be instilled in random adult recruits from ordinary households. It is far more
reasonable to assume that being a successful warrior was a role to which one was born and
raised.
Recent studies of Anglo-Saxon “warrior” graves have provoked some new controversies.
Heinrich Härke has analyzed the weapon assemblages in 5th- through 7th-century graves along
with the associated skeletal remains and has concluded that not only are many of the weapon
sets incomplete and non-functional, but they are buried with individuals who are hardly likely to

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be warriors (Table 2). Some are far too young, as young as 1 year, and others are way past their
physical prime. Some had physical disabilities, such as spina bifida, inhibiting practical
participation as a warrior at any time in their lives. Finally, other burials in the same cemeteries
contained skeletons bearing probable indications of fighting wounds, implying someone with true
battle experience, yet accompanied by no weapons at all (1990, 1992). Härke‟s conclusion was
that being buried with weapons was not a sign of actual warrior occupation but of membership in
a kin group of particular and presumably important social standing. Thus, keeping a weapon in
burial reflected family, not individual, status. Härke calls epigenetic data on hereditary traits into
play in an attempt to prove family relationships among those with weapons and does have some
moderate success. The weapon graves actually peak in percentages of total burials in the late
6th century, a time of peace. When hostilities increase in the 7th century, society is changing, and
weapon-bearing graves actually decline in relative numbers (1990: 30). Härke also considers the
possibility that weapons in graves are ethnic markers, separating many of the Anglo-Saxons from
the Romano-British population, although I would certainly hesitate to lump all Anglo-Saxons into
the “warrior” grave category.
Perhaps Härke is correct in assuming the gradual integration of the warrior stratum into
ordinary society at this time. That the political climate was exceptionally peaceful would certainly
facilitate acceptance of the formerly frightening warrior persona closer to hearth and home.
Once integrated in this way, the socially marginal warriors might indeed transform into a kind of
leadership elite, especially since other cultural factors are contributing to increasing social
complexity at this time (the 6th and 7th centuries). Regional polities are rapidly forming. The point
is, however, that the warriors had not necessarily begun as a social elite. And it is still questionable
that they were all connected to one another by normal kinship relationships although being
fathered by one of the followers of the war god may well have influenced a male child‟s social
role. A sense of kinship may also derive from the tradition of oaths of fealty so intimately
associated with warbands (Lund 1991: 116). Therefore, it is reasonable that a time of uncertain
social integration would experience a temporarily heightened tendency to mark the important
sub-groups such that those I am calling the followers of the war god would be made plainly visible
at death. Only when their roles as military and political professionals became socially integrated
and commonplace, could the symbolism of corporate identification with the warband
community be relaxed. A correlated social change involves the acceptance in Anglo-Saxon
society, now including Romano-British elements, of certain individuals having a potentially
hereditary right to superior authority—a level of social inequality perhaps not quite acceptable in
the 5th century but established by the 7th. The short-lived expansion of weapon graves in the 5th
and 6th centuries may point to this sociopolitical transformation (Table 3).
The Elusive Female Warrior: Literary and Archaeological Views. We also should not ignore

5
the female side of the warrior tradition. Old Norse literature produced a pesky tradition of shield
maidens, girls who behave as young men and fight. Eventually they choose to become “mature”
women, drop their male identity, marry, and assume a women‟s place in society. This is not the
same phenomenon as the stories of supernatural female valkyries of Odin who summoned
warriors to their doom and Odin‟s own hall. Carol Clover (1986) offered one intriguing
interpretation over a decade ago that shield maidens might be functioning as substitute sons. In a
society which, according to later saga literature, stressed inheritance through the male line of
valuable personal qualities such as tremendous courage or strength in battle, real-life shield
maidens might be necessary to substitute for the lack of a male heir so that important traits would
be preserved from loss. Later, these women would then marry, produce sons, and continue the
inheritance through succeeding generations.
For whatever reason, Germanic society seems to have thought of women as something
more than fragile and certainly capable when in need. Hilda Davidson again refers to the roving
Irish warbands that sometimes seem to have had women living and even fighting with them,
making the band a kind of alternate society. Women certainly may have prepared food and
performed other nurturing tasks like caring for the wounded, but they could and would also
function like the ancient Greek women, as inciters of battle, pushing the men on, and even joining
in with them (cf. 1989: 17). This scenario is more comprehensible when we think of the controlled,
small-scale conflicts of ritual war.
Quite recently, some archaeologists have charged that certain of the skeletons in weapon
graves are indeed biologically female. It is quite true that many times in the past, when an
osteological report conflicted with a grave goods assemblage including weapons, the
osteological report, no matter how precise, was discounted. Lucy provides several examples of
this bias, and others can readily be found. S. J. Wenham reports that in a group of 7 skeletons
excavated apparently in the early 1980s from Eccles, Kent, and showing severe weapon blade
injuries in a manner consistent with armed self-defense, 6 were identifiably male. The seventh
skeleton, “possibly female,” is now unaccountably lost. Was this “possible” woman intentionally
involved in a battle, or merely a victim? Other reports of female skeletons found with weapon
assemblages are coming from Scandinavia (Hjørungdal 1994; Petré 1993), and I believe it is only a
matter of time and effort for a significant number to be documented.
The Beowulf Perspective. But what are these women doing with swords and other
weapons in their burials? Women can be associated intimately with weapons without being
warriors themselves. In Beowulf, following John M. Hill‟s insightful anthropological interpretation,
Hrothgar, King of the Danes, offers many gifts including what amounts to a kind of adoption and,
by implication, his patrimony to Beowulf. Gift-giving is vitally important to Anglo-Saxon social
relations, commitments, and responsibilities, but Wealhtheow, Hrothgar‟s queen, thinks he has

6
gone too far with this offer. Giving treasure is a proper kingly act, but he has no right to choose his
own successor in this manner. Wealhtheow tries to change the terms of the offer, to delete the
adoption without offending either party. She is forthright in pointing out what is proper and urges
Hrothgar to accept the ful, a drinking vessel, she offers, in order to drink to and cement the
agreement according to the terms she outlines. However, Wealhtheow not only intercedes with
Hrothgar‟s gift-giving choices but makes some of her own. To assert her status with Beowulf
directly, she offers him valuable gifts from herself in addition to the ful to drink to the commitment.
These are mainly treasure rings, items of metallic worth, but also include a mailshirt (1995: 100-3).
Although she gives no actual weapon, and in this case, Hrothgar had already done so, it is not
out of the question that a woman of high status might make a gift of a weapon on an
appropriate occasion.
An Alternative Interpretation of Weapons in Graves. Given the nature of gift-giving in
Anglo-Saxon and related societies, we must realize that the gifts one gives are in many ways as
important as the treasures one keeps. Having a valuable sword is a mark of status, but so, too, is
giving such a sword. Is it unreasonable to imagine the some of the gifts given to the dead were
meant as objects that the dead might give again, in turn, in their own world? We must remember
that there are other purposes for gaining wealth than to accumulate it. By giving, an Anglo-Saxon
bought prestige and good reputation. These were valuable commodities worth purchasing. A few
women might have the status in life, like Hrothgar‟s queen, to warrant burial with gifts fit for a
queen to give. These could reasonably include male objects as well as female objects. Härke also
found a strong association between weapons in graves and vessels for drink—which may more
importantly be tools for oath-taking.
Those Other Burials (Alleged Live Burials and Decapitations): Issues of Sacrifice in Pagan
Anglo-Saxon Society. The other sorts of funerary violence alluded to at the beginning of this paper
are not a part of the scheme of warrior behavior presented here. Archaeologists have often been
shy of dealing with the evidence for such fearsome behaviors as live burial and decapitation,
fearful perhaps also of dealing with a topic perceived as more sensationalistic than properly
academic. Perhaps it is embarrassing to think, as is assumed, that the pagan Anglo-Saxons
behaved in such uncivilized ways. Yet, these burials could use closer scrutiny. I am not convinced
that the behaviors are truly pagan and I would argue that they might alternatively be the result of
cultural stress induced by a new-found fear of the dead. Such a fear would result in confusion
over human relationships with supernatural powers which the Anglo-Saxons once more easily
understood and managed. The likely source of this fear and confusion would be the effects of the
early stages of Christian conversion.
Throughout northern Europe beginning in the 7th century, until 5 centuries later in Finland
where I have studied cemeteries in detail, the first substantial evidence of religious change due to

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Christian missionizing appears in the burial ritual. Almost immediately some obscure burial
behaviors appear as well, suggesting a new-found fear of the dead incited by changes in
funerary ritual reflecting the imposition of religious beliefs that have not yet been internalized by
the population (cf. Crawford 1993). Most behaviors, whose meanings were also preserved in
medieval folklore, seem to be attempts to contain the spirits of the dead.
What is needed to pursue this question further is a more precise classification and
chronological dating of graves exhibiting specific irregular funerary behaviors. I suggest that the
dates of at least some significant behaviors may prove later rather than earlier, Christian
conversion period rather than pagan. When compared to the systematic behaviors associated
with the early “warrior” graves discussed here, these other behaviors—most notably prone burials,
where the person appears to have struggled in the grave, although other explanations for the
skeletal positioning are possible, and decapitations or other mutilations—appear erratic and
unstable in their cemetery contexts. Hilda Davidson has gathered together an impressive amount
of the evidence for potential human sacrifice in Anglo-Saxon society (1992), but she also lacks
close chronological parameters. However, the sacrificial behavior, if that is what it is, is often quite
unrelated to other known pagan cult contexts, and we are again brought back to the suspicion
that these behaviors are extreme responses to sudden, sharp cultural stresses.
In this paper I‟ve attempted to draw some distinctions between well-known but not so well
understood burial practices of the Anglo-Saxons. Archaeologists often give only lip-service to
religious contexts of burial, but as Catherine Hills described in her presentation on “Burial Ritual
and Belief” Friday, the meanings are likely to go much deeper into the religious life and worldview
of the culture.

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