Harry Harrison’s Hammer and Cross trilogy is a rollicking adventure story, but underlying its tale is a profound consideration of intellectual and social stagnancy of medieval Europe in the 9th century and consideration of its cause, the pervasive influence of Christianity and the Catholic Church. What if the re-birth of thought and invention could be kick-started 400 years earlier than the renaissance of the late 14th century? What might be the circumstances that would enable a man to set in motion the demise of Catholic absolutism and the birth of free thought and free men?
The trilogy begins in the late 9th century, in 865 AD, and it barely spans five years, but it’s enough to cover 1300 pages and sweep clean the historical slate, preparing the Western world to precociously toddle into the renaissance and enlightenment and beyond. The protagonist, Shef, is the bastard son of a raiding Viking and English noblewoman, and he is but a 17-year-old thane, a piece of property in an English village on the northeast coast of England, not far from York. The appearance of Vikings sets off a chain reaction, and circumstances enable Shef—through good luck, cunning, and perhaps the divine providence of a lesser Asgardian god—to rise from thane to joint ruler of England, driving off both Viking and French invaders. In this first installment and in the succeeding novels, Shef pursues new knowledge to overcome the power-hungry forces that will not abide his growing influence.
It is the pursuit of new knowledge—not bookish philosophy or theology, but a practical scientific empiricism—that allies Shef with powerful sponsors, members of Asgard’s Way, enabling him to bridge English and Viking loyalties. Shef’s inventiveness initially provides his forces catapults, lance launchers, an all-purpose pike, and crossbows reinforced with steel, then there is development of windmills to grind grain and drive engines to smelt iron, then the creation of iron-clad ships and experiments with rudimentary flight, and even the application of algebra to compute catapult trajectories at a crucial moment. Even as he creates more sophisticated weapons to fight off Viking, French, Greek, and Arab forces, there is awareness that his chief foe, Bruno the Catholic, is fast matching the development of comparable weaponry.
At the conclusion of the final novel, Shef brings Catholic forces to their knees, annihilating Catholic sovereignty, and enabling nations and people to choose their own paths. Shef is confident that the world will no longer succumb to the enforced ignorance of the previous 500 years, aware that the great school he founded with Asgard’s Way, in England, at the present site of Cambridge, is working to discover more techniques to improve agriculture, medicine, and the manufacture iron and steel, as well as create new machines. It is with this confidence in a world changed for the better that he vanishes from sight, escaping into anonymity and seclusion with his Viking wife.
While it is all solid entertainment, there are two quibbles. First, Shef’s avoidance of apotheosis touches on a major thread in the novel. Even as Christianity and Asgard’s pantheon are being shown as having convergences, and even as Shef seems to be bringing about the resurrection of dead god Baldur, driven and guided by his own patron god, there is in the second half of the final novel a sudden questioning of the reality of the gods, even the ones who have been observed in Shef’s visions (and external to his visions, as when Odin intervenes to help Shef kill Ragnar’s son at the end of the second novel). That man makes his gods in his own image is no new concept, but its intrusion at this juncture in the series makes it difficult to understand just how Shef could have been tapping into a collective religious psyche to fashion his own, more liberating god. The second quibble has to do with the future millennium—and it is no fault of Harrison that he’s not answered the question, as it was merely his task to show how the medieval period could be truncated—but one does wonder what might lie ahead in this alternate history, especially as the new world (the Americas have yet to be “discovered” and “conquered”).