Eleanor Parker’s Conquered: The Last Children of Anglo-Saxon England is not a conventional military history of 1066, nor does it attempt to retell the Battle of Hastings blow by blow. Instead, it turns deliberately away from the battlefield and toward its human aftermath, tracing what happened to the sons, daughters, widows, and exiles who inherited the consequences of defeat. In doing so, Parker reframes the Norman Conquest as an apocalyptic rupture—not only a change of rulers, but a transformation of culture, language, landholding, and memory that reshaped the English world forever.
That focus resonates strongly with my own long-standing fascination with the Anglo-Saxon world and with the clash between what had been and what was coming into being. Late Anglo-Saxon England was already a cultural melting pot: Danish and English dynasties intertwined after the Viking Age, Celtic kingdoms pressed at the borders, and Christian monastic culture preserved learning while adapting older traditions. The Norman Conquest did not replace a static society; it overwhelmed a dynamic one, redirecting its evolution with astonishing speed. Parker’s book excels at showing how that redirection was experienced by individuals who lived through it, especially those too young or too powerless to shape events, yet forced to live with their consequences.
Much of what we know about this period comes from monastic sources—chronicles, saints’ lives, charters—and from the Domesday Book, completed in 1086. Domesday remains our most comprehensive snapshot of landholding in post-Conquest England, documenting who owned what, where power was concentrated, and how radically ownership shifted from English to Norman hands. Parker makes effective use of these sources, reading them against the grain to recover lives that are often only glimpsed in fragments. One particularly striking reminder from Domesday, which Parker highlights, is the presence of women landowners before the Conquest. Anglo-Saxon women such as widows and noblewomen could and did hold land in their own right—an autonomy that was significantly curtailed under Norman legal customs.
At the heart of Conquered is the family of King Harold Godwineson, the last crowned Anglo-Saxon king of England. Harold’s death at Hastings in October 1066—traditionally depicted with an arrow to the eye—has become emblematic of the end of an era. Similar, to how English Historians have linked the death of Richard III with the end of the middle-ages and the beginning of the Renaissance (Tudor propaganda, really). Parker, however, is less interested in Harold’s final moments than in the lives left behind. Harold had children by two women: Edith Swannesha, often described as his Danish wife or long-term partner, and Edith of Wessex (also known as Edith the Fair), whom later tradition framed as his Christian wife. Their children were scattered across the North Sea world in the aftermath of defeat, finding refuge in Ireland, Denmark, and possibly Byzantium. Parker traces these dispersals carefully, showing how the Godwine family’s influence lingered long after their political power in England was broken.
Harold’s formidable mother, Gytha Thorkelsdóttir, emerges as one of the most compelling figures in the book. Of Danish noble origin, Gytha had already lived through upheaval before 1066, including the reign of Cnut and the shifting fortunes of her family. After Hastings, she led resistance in the southwest, holding out at Exeter before eventually going into exile. Parker persuasively argues that Gytha deserves far more attention than she has received: she represents continuity with the Scandinavian-influenced elite of pre-Conquest England and embodies the resilience of a generation unwilling to accept Norman rule quietly.
The book also follows the children and relatives of Harold’s brothers and sisters, emphasizing how conquest was a family catastrophe as much as a national one. These younger Godwinesons inherited neither crown nor lands, only dangerous names and memories that made them targets in a new political order. Their stories underscore how the Norman Conquest was not merely a change of kings, but a systematic dismantling of an English aristocracy.
Beyond the Godwine family, Parker devotes substantial attention to the remaining heirs of the royal house of Wessex. Edgar Ætheling, grandson of Edmund Ironside, was the last male claimant of the ancient royal line. Briefly proclaimed king after Hastings, Edgar never ruled in practice. His life became one of perpetual displacement—moving between the English court, Norman captivity, and exile in Scotland. His sisters, Margaret and Christina, fared differently. Margaret married Malcolm III of Scotland and became Queen of Scots, later canonized as Saint Margaret for her piety and reforming zeal. Through her, Anglo-Saxon royal blood survived and flourished in Scotland, shaping Scottish kingship for generations. Christina, by contrast, chose—or was forced into—a religious life, becoming a nun and abbess. Parker treats these divergent paths with sensitivity, showing how gender, marriage, and religion shaped the limited options available to royal women after conquest.
Resistance also plays a key role in Conquered, particularly through figures such as Waltheof, Earl of Northumbria, and Hereward the Wake. Waltheof, of mixed English and Danish heritage, initially submitted to Norman rule but later joined a rebellion, for which he was executed in 1076—the only English earl to suffer that fate under William I. His death shocked contemporaries and later earned him a reputation as a martyr. Hereward, the so-called “hero of the Fens,” became a near-legendary figure, leading guerrilla resistance from the marshlands of East Anglia. Parker presents both men with care, acknowledging the layers of myth that surround them while grounding their stories in historical context. Like Robin Hood figures avant la lettre, they represent defiance in a world where open resistance was increasingly futile.
In concluding, it is worth addressing a point raised by other reviewers, with which I agree: Conquered does not necessarily present vast amounts of new information for readers already familiar with the period. Much of the material has been available in specialist studies, chronicles, and prosopographical research. Parker’s achievement lies elsewhere. This book functions as a single, coherent space in which these scattered stories are gathered, contextualized, and given narrative unity. It is concise without being superficial, scholarly without being inaccessible.
Ultimately, Conquered succeeds because it captures the human scale of an apocalyptic change. The Norman Conquest was not only the replacement of Anglo-Saxon kings with Norman ones; it was the erasure and transformation of an entire elite culture, absorbed into a new Anglo-Norman world. By following the children of that catastrophe—those who remembered the old England but had to live in the new—Parker gives voice to a generation suspended between what was and what would become. For anyone fascinated by the Anglo-Saxon world and its aftermath, this book offers a deeply resonant and quietly powerful lens on one of the most transformative moments in English history.