An Anglo-Saxon detective story

Why do the bones of luminaries such as King Cnut, Emma of Normandy and William II lie mixed up in six chests in Winchester Cathedral? And what do these remains tell us about the evolution of early England? Cat Jarman investigates

- Cat Jarman

It’s the morning of 14 December 1642, and the city of Winchester is quiet. Inside the cathedral, the clergy are painfully aware of a looming threat outside. Two days earlier, parliamentarian soldiers had entered the city, snatching horses and looting the town.

In the midst of a civil war dividing the country into those who support the king and those who are for parliament, religious institutions are especially at risk, because power and religion lie at the heart of the conflict. So when, on that December morning, soldiers smash through the cathedral’s great west door, the clergy are appalled but not surprised. They watch in terror as the troops storm the nave with colours flying, drums beating and torches lit, some even riding on horseback.

Over the hours that follow, the building is desecrated. Eventually, the soldiers turn their attention to the tops of the finely carved stone screens that surround the central presbytery, the cathedral’s beating heart. There on a ledge sit 10 neatly spaced wooden chests, placed up high by Richard Fox, bishop of Winchester, in the 1520s. The remains of King Cnut and his wife Emma lie within the chests, as do those of Ecgberht and numerous other West Saxon kings, along with William II and various venerated bishops.

The troops climb up to the chests and rifle through them callously, smashing some on the cold stone tiles. Observers watch in shock as the soldiers pick up the bones and hurl them at the beautifully crafted stained-glass windows that adorn the cathedral. It is only hours later, recovering from their terror, that the clergy begin to pick through the detritus of the onslaught, attempting to return what remains to a safe place once again.

A tragic tale