by Cat Jarman
While a majority of the Varangian Guard seem to have been Scandinavian, other nationalities could be part of it too. After Stamford Bridge, for instance, they included an increasing number of Anglo-Saxons fleeing England after the defeat by William the Conqueror (coincidentally also a descendant of Vikings).
THE CASPIAN SEA
From Constantinople, the trail further east becomes hazier. We have only a few hints of Rus’ or Viking journeys in the Middle East, in descriptions of expeditions to the shores of the Caspian Sea and of later attacks on Persia. One such route started at the point where the Dnieper enters the Black Sea, near Berezan. If you travelled eastwards by boat, you could enter the Sea of Azov, from which you could follow the River Don to the town of Sarkel. This had been built by the Khazars in the 830s with the help of Theophilus, around the time the Rus’ envoys travelled to Frankia. Continuing the journey, you could connect to the Volga or travel overland to Itil, the capital of the Khazars, on the shores of the Caspian. Alternatively, you could travel more directly overland by coming ashore in the eastern part of the Black Sea, in what is modern-day Georgia.
This latter route was chosen by one of the most infamous eastern travellers from Sweden, namely Ingvar the Far-Travelled. By his time in the eleventh century, the flow of silver to the north and west had begun to decline, with the result that fewer traders made their way to the east. Ingvar led an expedition that attempted to re-establish the trade routes, but the details are a little unclear. There is a highly imaginative saga account of his adventures, in which Ingvar, a warrior working for the Swedish king Olaf Skotkonung, travels east in search of his own kingdom. Along the way he encounters giants, dragons, witches and a queen who falls in love with him. Eventually he dies of illness.
Although most of this story involves creative licence on the saga writer’s part, we do know that Ingvar was a real person: over twenty runestones in Sweden tell of his expedition and commemorate those who fell alongside him, strongly suggesting that the adventure ended in disaster. Ingvar was roughly contemporary with Harald Hardrada and according to the saga he, like Harald, spent some time in the retinue of the Kyivan ruler Yaroslav the Wise in Novgorod, before continuing his journey. According to the runestones, Ingvar and many of his men died in Serkland. Some of the stones are elaborate, with one from Gripsholm commemorating a brother (either real or metaphorical) of Ingvar with the following detail: ‘They travelled in a drengr-like fashion, far for gold, and in the east gave (food) to the eagle, died in the south in Serkland.’[4]
No full explanation of where Serkland was has ever been found. Etymologically, the name could have a few different origins. One is that it means the ‘Land of the Saracens’ – i.e. Muslims, making its meaning something like the Islamic caliphate. Another popular interpretation is that the ‘Serk’ element comes from the Latin word sericu, meaning ‘silk’. This would mean that the name referred to the territories where silk was made. An even more fanciful explanation is that there is a connection with the word serkr, meaning ‘shirt’ or ‘gown’ – so the ‘Land of the Kaftan-wearers’. The geographical territory covered by the name Serkland changed over time, initially meaning the area to the south of the Caspian Sea but later on in the Viking Age coming to mean the whole of the Islamic world. A final possibility is that the name refers to the city of Sarkel itself, which was part of the territory of the Khazars.
The consensus seems to be that Ingvar’s journey took him to Persia, possibly to what is now Georgia or somewhere else in the Caucasus region; certainly somewhere between the Black Sea and the Caspian – a stepping stone on a journey towards Baghdad. Ibn Khurradadhbih described the presence of Vikings in this region in the Book of Roads and Kingdoms; importantly, as this was written down in the 840s, it shows that even in the earliest years of the ninth century such contact had been established.[fn2] His account also explained that these were trading expeditions, with men arriving by boat – some of whom chose to make an onward journey overland.
Those who arrived on the shores of the Caspian would have been entering prime Khazar territory, which meant that diplomatic relations had to be in order. The Arab historian Al-Masudi, writing in the early tenth century, stated that pagans (which included Rus’) were living in Atil, the capital of the Khazarian kingdom in the north-western corner of the Caspian. They had a special area of the town to live in, which they shared with the Slavs – an important point because it makes a distinction between the two groups at that time. Crucially, Al-Masudi also wrote that both the Rus’ and the Slavs served in the Khazarian ruler’s army – much as in Constantinople.
While the earliest accounts of activity in this region suggest that relations were peaceful, it didn’t take long before trade turned to raids. First to come under attack was the port town of Abaskun on the south-eastern shore of the Caspian Sea, though the attackers were all killed. In 909, sixteen ships launched another raid, but this too was quashed and, reportedly, in a reversal of the usual course of events, many of the Rus’ raiders were taken away as slaves.
A few years later, Al-Masudi described a massive attack on multiple territories around the Caspian. Having been granted access by the Khazar Khaganate (using a typical tactic of promising a proportion of any future spoils), five hundred ships, each containing a hundred warriors, began raiding cities all around the southern shore of the Caspian. Attacks on modern-day Azerbaijan were described as follows: ‘The Rus’ spilled rivers of blood, seized women and children and property, raided and everywhere destroyed and burned. The people who lived on these shores were in turmoil, for they had never been attacked by an enemy from the sea, and their shores had only been visited by the ships of merchants and fishermen.’ The parallel to Alcuin’s account of the Lindisfarne attacks – that these were wholly unexpected – is striking.
Al-Masudi went on to explain that the raiders stayed in the Caspian for several months, living on islands a few miles from the coast, where none of the locals were able to reach them because they lacked ships of an appropriate type. Eventually, though, a fifteen-thousand-strong group of Muslims were able to defeat the Rus’ as they returned to the Volga to head homewards: apparently, thirty thousand were killed in total. A couple of details are important here. First, the vast size of the Rus’ fleet – fifty thousand men, if Al-Masudi is to be believed. The figure is almost certainly an exaggeration but even so, it is likely that this was a substantial force. Second, the account emphasises that it was the attackers’ boats and maritime skills that led to their success.
Following this, an account of an attack in Azerbaijan in 943 is given by the philosopher and historian Ibn Miskawayh. With his book Experiences of the Nations, he was one of the first Muslim historians to write a chronicle using eyewitness accounts of contemporary events. The telling is detailed and vivid, not merely describing the Rus’ and their equipment but also explaining, in a remarkably objective manner, the strategies they deployed as part of the attack. This particular raid, focused on the town of Bardha’a, was one of many such attacks on the Caspian Sea in the tenth century. Bardha’a was a flourishing town with a citadel, city walls and gates, as well as a weekly bazaar. It was surrounded by orchards and fields, and well known for its figs, fruit and hazelnuts as well as for its silk. Al-Masudi reports that the city was a market where furs from the north were sold, which is, presumably, how the Rus’ got wind of its riches in the first place.
Bardha’a is located on a tributary of the Kura, a river that flows east from the Caucasus Mountains, draining into the Caspian Sea. According to Ibn Miskawayh, the Rus’ had travelled across the Caspian by ship, presumably from the Volga. When they arrived on the shore, the governor of Bardha’a was prepared, meeting them with a crew of six hundred, but he soon realised that this would not be enough. Needing reinforcements, he called upon five thousand volunteers to wage jihad, a holy war, against the unexpected invaders. Unfortunately, the defenders had not anticipated the strength and fighting abilities of the Rus’. Those who weren’t killed
immediately, turned and fled. The Rus’ gave chase all the way to the town, which they entered and occupied at once.
What happened next is a little unexpected: according to Ibn Miskawayh, eyewitnesses reported that once inside Bardha’a, the Rus’ hurried around trying to calm the citizens with the following words: ‘There is no dispute between us on the matter of religion; we only want to rule. It is our obligation to treat you well and yours to be loyal to us.’ The defending army didn’t trust these words and resisted anyway, but they were swiftly defeated. The Rus’ had ordered the rest of the citizens not to take part. Apparently, ‘peace-loving men from the upper classes’ followed this advice, but ‘the common people and rabble’ threw stones at them, angry and desperate to show their displeasure.
Eventually the Rus’ tired of the squabbles and gave the town’s inhabitants three days to leave. Many did, but those foolish enough to stay were either murdered or taken prisoner. According to the account, ten thousand men and boys, along with their wives and daughters, were locked up. The women and children were held in a fortress, and the men were imprisoned in the mosque. The plan was clearly to take advantage of the situation in typical Viking fashion, so the men were asked to ransom themselves and pay their way out of captivity.
At that point a Christian civil servant named Ibn Sam’un, who lived in the town, intervened to help negotiate between the two sides. After some deliberation, the Rus’ agreed to a sum of twenty dirhams for each person’s ransom. Ibn Miskawayh reported that the more intelligent among the Muslims agreed, while others refused on the basis that this would imply they were worth the same as Christians. Negotiations broke down and the invaders were unsure what to do. They desperately wanted even those small sums – cash in hand was always better than a room full of corpses – and held out hope for a little while longer. Finally, having realised the money would not be forthcoming, they resorted to a massacre. Nor did the women and boys get off lightly, being subjected to rape and enslavement. A few of the captives managed to escape or took up their own negotiations: bartering for their lives with whatever valuables they had on them, they fled with a stamped piece of clay to show that they had bought themselves the right to be left unscathed.
The most curious part of this account is what finally brought the Rus’ down. News of the onslaught spread around the wider region and a joint expedition was organised to drive out the invaders. Yet despite a troop of thirty thousand men attacking the besieged town, morning and evening, day after day, they had no success. Then news broke that an epidemic had broken out among the Rus’ who were dropping like flies, their number severely decreasing. It turned out that, according to Ibn Miskawayh, when they arrived in Bardha’a they had overindulged on fruit, something they were not accustomed to, coming as they did from ‘a very cold country, where no trees grow’. The illness, combined with some clever tactics, meant that the defenders could gradually begin to wear out the Rus’.
The invaders retreated to their fort and eventually were exhausted. Finally one night they took their leave, carrying their loot on their backs, dragging women, boys and girls with them and leaving in their wake a slew of burning buildings. We hear that they had left their ships and their crews waiting in readiness by the river, along with three hundred of their men to protect them.
The account from Bardha’a is evocative, but it is also very informative. The attack on the town was deliberate and not just a raid, for it seems that the Rus’ planned to use Bardha’a as a raiding base or even to settle there permanently. Such an outpost on the shores of the Caspian Sea, with all its trade links with the Islamic world and onwards to other parts of the globe, would obviously have allowed for further trade and expansion. In the mid tenth century, the route here all the way from Scandinavia was active and thriving. A base here may even have disrupted access to goods for the Byzantines, at least without them having to go through the Rus’ first.
On a more practical level, the narrative confirms the same use of negotiation, intermediaries and ransom that we see throughout the Viking world. The use of negotiators to handle the ransom was presumably commonplace. Finally, the account provides an observation of burial customs. Ibn Miskawayh states that when one of the men died, they were buried with their weapons, clothes and equipment. He also says that a man would be buried along with his wife or another of his women and possibly also his slave ‘if he happened to be fond of him’. This seems to corroborate information from other sources, but it’s unclear whether that means it was another eyewitness observation and that the wife and/or slave would in fact be sacrificed. It is even more important to note that after the Rus’ left, the Muslims tended to dig up the graves, because in them they found swords which were in great demand thanks to their high quality. In other words, grave robbing appears to have been common, and this may explain why to date we haven’t found any graves in this region that can be securely associated with Scandinavian cultural traits.
Towards the end of the tenth and early eleventh centuries, several further raids were carried out in this part of the world with varying degrees of success. Yet although these caused terror and devastation locally, the presence of Rus’ and Scandinavians, wherever they originally came from, did not leave an enduring legacy. Nevertheless, it was not the end of the journey for everyone. Although we have not found any physical evidence, the Vikings did make it all the way to Baghdad with their trade of furs and swords. As far as we know, they never dared to attack the city. It is likely that those who made it that far would have been few in number and lacking logistical support and tactical advantage. Elsewhere, they could have relied not only on large numbers of troops but also the ability to escape by boat. But it’s also possible that the Khazars were too successful in preventing them from moving further, as a letter written in 960 by the Khazar king Josef suggests. Josef wrote to the caliph of the Islamic caliphate of Cordoba, explaining that he lived by the mouth of the river and guarded it from enemies (including the Rus’), who came there to fight. He stated that ‘If I would let them for an hour (to sail down to the Caspian Sea), they should raid the whole Arab country all the way down to Baghdad.’
Finally, then, some journeys may have gone overland to the splendour of Baghdad; the city of trade, knowledge and culture and a vital stepping stone on the Silk Roads. By the ninth century, the time when the carnelian bead found in Repton might have travelled through here, Baghdad had grown to vast proportions. The city was surrounded by fertile agricultural land and could therefore easily sustain a large urban population. In just over a century it had grown to become the world’s largest city. It’s not difficult to see why: its location, which had been strategically chosen by Caliph al-Mansur, placed it on the Tigris and at the closest point to the Euphrates, in the heart of what was once Mesopotamia (the land ‘between two rivers’), ideally placed for trade, something that was crucial for its foundation right from the start.
Apparently, when al-Mansur had been searching for the best location for his new capital and asked around, he was told that this site was ideal as here, ‘you receive supplies by ships from the west via the Euphrates and you receive goods of Egypt and Sham [Syria]. You also receive supplies carried by ships from China, India and Wassi via Tigris.’ This really was a nexus point for the Silk Roads. Sailing around five hundred kilometres downriver would take you directly to the Persian Gulf, from which you could connect through to the vastly significant Indian Ocean trading networks, and further onwards to India and China. Upstream, you could travel through a string of towns as far as what is now Turkey.
If your choice of transportation east was land-based, you could easily reach Baghdad by camel caravan. In the records of Ibn Khurradadhbih, he describes the routes through the Volga that end in Baghdad and states, crucially, that the Rus’ were able to communicate with Slavic-speaking slaves who were already living there, and who had presumably learned Arabic. This is a vital piece of the puzzle. Those slaves, the hidden population that we can’t quite uncover, evidently had
another function, that of translating and interpreting. It is easy to imagine how you would have had no choice but to learn the language of your captors if you were to survive and maybe try to improve your life situation. Multilingualism would have been both a necessity and a clear advantage.
A traveller to the markets there would have wound their way through market stalls, with the scent of exotic spices and myriad sounds, from animals to diverse languages, assaulting the senses until they reached the river ports. There they would have seen a hundred ships of different types, loading and unloading precious cargoes. The range of goods you could find was mind-blowing: everything from silks from China, Japan and Korea to paper and silver from Samarkand, ebony and ivory from East Africa, copper and gold from Egypt, rugs and leathers from Bukhara, and saffron and horses from Azerbaijan, to mention just a few. And from India, spices, tigers, elephants, coconut and minerals – including gemstones like carnelian. While some goods would have been for internal consumption in Baghdad, a large proportion would have been exported.
For much of the Viking story, this is where it ends. Baghdad is the furthest south-east we have any evidence that anyone travelled, and it is most likely that this was the case. A few years ago there was a flurry of excitement when a researcher claimed that he had found evidence of Viking settlement on the Arabian Peninsula: rock art found in Qatar, he argued, that could only be depicting aerial views of Viking ships.[5] The shapes, he wrote, resembled the Skuldelev ships from Denmark with outstretched oars and were nothing like dhows, the ships you would find locally. However, the theory has since been disproven.[6]