superimposed on the ancient druidic tradition without a substantial struggle. Ireland underwent analmost bloodless conversion as kings and princes gradually accepted fresh ideas. The majority of the Gael, who had a long history of loyalty to their chosen leaders, followed them into the worship of Christ. Canon law took its place beside Brehon law in Gaelic society. For a long time observance appears to have been optional, however.
The people remained pastoral. The only towns of any size were those which developed around monastic centres. Tribal warfare continued unabated; cattle raids were as frequent as ever. Bands of outlaws, even if avowed Christians, were not above looting a monastery .
Literacy offered a fresh outlet for the artistic impulse. Masterpieces like the Book of Kells testify to a new faith and a soaring imagination. Christian craftsmen turned native gold and silver into objects of breathtaking beauty, such as the Ardagh Chalice. The Ireland of saints and scholars existed for several generations – but it could not last.
If the Gael were content to stay at home, others were not. The last decade of the eighth century saw the arrival of the Vikings. Their power in Ireland would reach its zenith with the Battle of Clontarf.
‘Viking’ was an appellation applied impartially to sea rovers from Norway and Denmark, as well as to adventurers from Sweden, Jutland, Iceland, and the islands and coasts of the Baltic. These people did not actually call themselves Vikings until the twelfth century, however. The origin of the word
viking
is something of a mystery. It may have been a verb describing what the Scandinavians did during three centuries of their history: they were seagoing marauders, they were Northmen who went ‘viking’.
Another term applied to them was ‘Land Leaper’, meaning someone who seizes another’s land. During the cold, dark, interminable nights of winter in northern Europe, a man could only dream of the sun – of green grass, of golden fields of grain. Dream … and long … and ultimately determine to find. And seize for himself . This very human urge motivated one of the most violent eras in history, but it was not the only cause.
A rise in the population of Scandinavia, which began in the seventh century, reached a climax in the tenth, putting great pressure on land and resources. Added to this was the resentment of the Norse
jarls
, or noblemen, with their own independent earldoms, at efforts being made to unify Norway under one crown.
The result of these forces coming together was an explosion of Vikings onto the world stage.
As with most of early history, facts about this periodhave been exaggerated and embellished until the underlying kernel of truth may be hard to find. A predilection for embroidering history is not unique to the Irish. Down through the ages famous historians have refused to let the truth get in the way of a colourful story. Plato, Herodotus, Giraldus Cambrensis – and that master propagandist, Julius Caesar – all employed creative fiction to suit their purposes. Thus it is not surprising that something as momentous in its time as the Battle of Clontarf has been heavily mythologised. The protagonists were always prime candidates for myth – none more so than the Vikings.
During the ninth and tenth centuries the political situation in Ireland had changed dramatically. Adding Vikings to the mix destabilised a complex societal structure built on blood and hereditary ties, an archaic code of law, and shifting military alliances. It also seemed to herald an increase in violence among the native Irish, who could not fail to be affected by the actions of the invaders.
The Norse and Swedes, whom the Gael identified as ‘the fair foreigners’ in the beginning, and the Danes, whom they described as ‘the dark foreigners’, often fought among themselves – not unlike the Irish. The Viking concept of warfare was somewhat different,however. They considered battle