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Ale, terror and a martyr's death: what not to miss on the Bayeux Tapestry
Heading to the British Museum to see the Bayeux Tapestry for yourself? David Musgrove and Michael Lewis reveal the 10 things you simply must do when experiencing the world’s most famous embroidery in all its glory
- Dr David Musgrove
- , FSA
Published: September 10, 2026 at 9:00 AM
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1. Admire the whole thing full-length
The Tapestry hasn’t looked this good for at least 200 years
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It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity – or, really, once in a millennium: the chance to admire the Bayeux Tapestry in the land of its creation. This account of the events leading up to and during the Norman conquest of 1066 was probably made in England in the 1070s – and its arrival at the British Museum, where it’s on display until 11 July 2027, marks probably the first time since that it’s crossed the Channel.
Strictly speaking, the Tapestry is an embroidery – because the woollen threads of its design are stitched onto the linen backing cloth rather than being woven as one. But it takes its name from the French tapisserie, meaning ‘wall hanging’. It was first documented in a 1476 inventory of the treasures of Bayeux Cathedral, and it’s been in Bayeux ever since, bar a couple of brief sojourns elsewhere.
This astonishing artwork is 68.3 metres long and half a metre high. Running mostly from left to right, it tells the story in the style of a graphic novel across a central frieze, with short Latin captions. The story focuses on the interplay between Earl Harold of Wessex (later King Harold II of England) and Duke William of Normandy (later William I), and culminates in the battle of Hastings and Harold’s death. Above and below the action are borders populated by animals, birds, mythical creatures, decorative devices and mini scenes that may or may not relate to the main narrative.
A visualisation of visitors viewing the Bayeux Tapestry in the British Museum, where it will be accompanied by animations and ambient sounds | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
At the British Museum, for the first time in decades – possibly in its history – the Tapestry is being displayed in a single length, lying flat, providing the most intimate perspective since it was first put on permanent public display in 1842. Before then – since at least the late 1720s – it was rolled out only for antiquarian and guest visitors. In Bayeux between 1983 and 2025, it was shown in a U-shaped case. The flat presentation in London, requested by the French state, is designed to minimise stress on the fabric. It is unlikely to be displayed the way it was in Bayeux again.
As you survey the Tapestry, imagine how it might have been viewed in the 11th century. Was it meant to hang around the nave of a Norman cathedral, perhaps the edifice in Bayeux, newly consecrated in 1077? Was it instead intended to be draped along the walls of a great hall? The scale of the embroidery suggests that it was designed for a large audience, but the lighting in medieval buildings would have been dim, and the Tapestry may have been displayed only on special occasions, as was recorded in the 1476 inventory.
The Latin captions above the scenes are terse, offering little more than names and places. This has led some historians to suggest that the Tapestry was designed to be accompanied by a guide, who would have narrated the story to viewers as they walked along. In this way, it functioned as a visual prompt and a mnemonic device, inviting its audience to engage with the drama of 1066 in a uniquely immersive way.
Visitors to the British Museum exhibition will, sadly, not enjoy their own guide. But special animations behind the Tapestry – as well as ambient sound and visuals – will help bring it to life for 21st-century viewers.
2. Savour the feasts
Ale and kebabs were on the menu in 1066
Pause at the two great scenes of feasting, one showing Harold and his men, the other depicting the Normans dining with William’s half-brother Odo. Recent research has suggested that the Tapestry may have been designed as a moral aid for medieval monks to view while they silently ate their meals in a communal refectory. The inclusion of feasting, together with scenes of violence and betrayal, would have provided rich material for reflection on the virtues and vices of the powerful.
The Bosham feast scene, showing Harold and his men dining, perhaps in the future English king’s own manor | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
Another intriguing aspect of the feast scenes is that they show the English and Normans enjoying quite different meals. The English are eating in the upper storey of a house in Bosham, likely reflecting Harold’s own manor, recently identified through archaeological investigations. Their gathering is noteworthy for featuring much drink and little food. It is perhaps a nod to the frivolous nature of the English, but also to the way that Harold looks after the needs of his men.
The Normans are shown at Hastings making more of a meal of it, pillaging the English for provisions then cooking meats, some even on kebabs. Odo is shown at the head of a table in a Christ-like position, likely modelled on a scene of the Last Supper in St Augustine’s Gospels.
3. Look out for errors
Blemishes include ‘dodgy joins’ and rushed stitching
Keep your eyes peeled for some of the more obvious mistakes and oddities. Can you spot the infamous ‘dodgy join’ at the end of the first panel, where the borders don’t quite line up and the embroidery goes awry? Or the figures who seem to be missing their bodies, floating incongruously in the scene?
The end of the Bayeux Tapestry’s first panel, with a noticeably misaligned border, thanks to a ‘dodgy join’ of the material. It’s one of a number of errors in the embroidery | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
Also look out for a ship’s sail that appears to be square. The Viking tradition was for square sails, but most ships in the Tapestry have triangular sails. These were likely inspired by artist models, and give the impression that they billow in the wind. They’re used to spectacular effect in scenes showing the Normans crossing the Channel. If you look closely, you can see one ship with a square sail that was designed to be triangular – spot the outline stitch – but has been incorrectly infilled by the embroiderers.
These imperfections are clues to how the Tapestry was made. It was embroidered in nine separate panels, probably in a workshop setting, then stitched together to create a continuous narrative. The quality of the embroidery work seems to decline, or at least speed up, as the narrative progresses; perhaps the people doing the stitching were under time pressure to get the job done.
The presence of these mistakes also suggests that whoever designed the Tapestry was not present at the embroidery stage. This implies the embroiderers worked semi-autonomously and, perhaps, added their own independent details to the design.
- Read more | Politics and the Bayeux Tapestry: the inside story of the blockbuster loan to the British Museum
4. Wonder about the women
Female characters reveal the trauma of conflict
One of the most enigmatic moments in the Tapestry is the scene labelled “Ubi unus clericus et Ælfgyva” (“Where a certain cleric and Ælfgyva…”). Here, a woman – one of the few to feature – stands between two ornate pillars, her face turned towards a tonsured cleric who appears to be touching or slapping her face. Adding extra intrigue, a naked man with a swollen member in the border beneath seems to echo the posture of the cleric.
Many candidates have been proposed for who Ælfgyva might have been, and the scene remains a puzzle. Is it a reference to a scandal, a marriage or something else entirely? The Tapestry gives no clue, but surely she relates to a conversation between Harold and William in (probably) Rouen that’s shown preceding it. She might even be a flashback to a past episode. Her identification has not been helped by the fact that Ælfgyva was a relatively commonplace name, a partly Latinised version of the Old English Ælfgifu, and even used by people not originally called Ælfgyva – including Edward the Confessor’s mother, Emma of Normandy.
This scene, showing a tonsured cleric touching or slapping a woman called Ælfgyva, continues to puzzle historians | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
This is a rare moment in which a woman takes centre stage in the narrative, and it stands out all the more for that. Displayed alongside the Tapestry in the British Museum is a manuscript held in Oxford’s Bodleian Library, designated Junius 11. This is a book of Christian poetry made in Canterbury and dated to around AD 1000, and it’s on display to highlight the influence of Anglo-Saxon art on the Tapestry. It’s interesting to see the similarities between the biblical figure of Eve in Junius 11 and Ælfgyva in the Tapestry.
Scholars have noted similarities in style and substance between various Old English illuminated manuscripts and the Bayeux Tapestry. This observation has formed the basis of the theory that the embroidery was originally made in England, probably near Canterbury, where these manuscripts were held in monastic libraries.
Also look at the other women in the story. There’s Edward’s queen, Edith, who mourns his death in the story; an English woman who flees her house when the Normans burn it down; and the enigmatic naked women in the borders of scenes preceding the battle of Hastings. Intriguingly, given that the Tapestry was almost certainly embroidered by women, those depicted in it are all seemingly English – and all in distress. It’s likely, then, that those who helped create the Tapestry directly experienced the events they depict.
5. Cheer on a tragic Englishman
King Harold emerges as an unlikely hero
History is written by the winners, right? If that’s the case, then you might wonder why Earl Harold – the loser at Hastings – gets a broadly positive showing in the Bayeux Tapestry, especially in comparison with Norman written sources.
In the early part of the embroidery, Harold is shown carrying a hunting hawk while on his way to Bosham, on the south coast, then praying at the local church. He rescues Norman soldiers from quicksand, and is rewarded by Duke William following the Breton campaign for his efforts in that war.
After the oath scene – when Harold swears on holy relics to support William’s claim to the English throne – the mood shifts, and the earl’s actions are cast in a more ambiguous light. But finally he is shown dying a hero’s (maybe even a martyr’s) death at the battle of Hastings.
Harold (right) rescues Norman soldiers from quicksand in an early part of the Bayeux Tapestry. He may well be cast in a positive light in the embroidery to be seen as a worthy opponent to William | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
This is curious, given that the Tapestry is often regarded as a work of Norman propaganda. Why make Harold look so good? The answer may lie in the need to set up a binary contest between two worthy adversaries, Harold and William, ignoring all others. The narrative builds up Harold as a tragic hero whose downfall is all the more poignant for his earlier virtues. For William’s victory to be truly glorious, Harold must be a formidable opponent, not an outright villain.
Another intriguing possibility is that the Tapestry was used to keep the English onside. Generally somewhat overlooked, but highlighted in the British Museum exhibition, is the fact that the English did not automatically accept William as their king. For years after Hastings, many rebelled. A hoard of some 2,500 silver coins buried in Somerset in the aftermath of the Conquest – a large part of it shown in the exhibition – highlights the English people’s concerns for their future, but also hints at rebellion in the south-west. So maybe the Tapestry was a tool used by the Normans to pacify the English, or to at least allow them to read in their own interpretation of events.
6. Ask whether it's an ode to Odo
The Bayeux bishop plays a starring role
There are lots of things we don’t know about the Bayeux Tapestry. For example, we don’t know for certain who ordered it to be made. The most obvious answer is that it was made for William to commemorate his victory – and that might be true – but most Tapestry scholars agree that the Conqueror’s half-brother Bishop Odo had a hand in proceedings. Seek out Odo – he’s named several times – and you’ll see that he has something of a starring role in the embroidery, albeit turning up quite late on.
Bishop Odo is shown in battle carrying a club. His significant role in the Tapestry has led some to believe he commissioned it | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
Odo is depicted as a dynamic and important character: advising William to build an invasion fleet; blessing the Norman feast; even rallying the troops in the thick of battle, wielding a club rather than a sword – as befits a bishop.
The Tapestry positions Odo as a much more pivotal figure in the 1066 drama than the documentary sources indicate, which has led many experts to assume that he was in some way responsible for commissioning the embroidery. He had both the means – vast wealth and landholdings in England and Normandy – and the motive: to celebrate the Norman victory, to burnish his own reputation, and perhaps to curry favour with his half-brother.
- Read more | Could the Queen Mother have secured the loan of the Bayeux Tapestry to the British Museum 45 years ago?
7. Count the penises
(And ponder why on Earth they’re shown)
Those with a keen eye can count 93 (or perhaps 94) penises in the Tapestry – nearly all of them attached to horses, though a handful belong to naked men in the borders. Some scholars have suggested that the abundance of genitalia is a sign of the designer’s playful or even adolescent sense of humour; others see a deeper symbolic meaning, linking virility and power to the main characters. It is notable, for example, that William’s horse is particularly well endowed at a key moment.
Does the man on the right have a scabbard, or is it the 94th penis? | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
The human genitalia in the borders may allude to Aesop’s Fables or serve as moral warnings about lust and betrayal. Certainly, the way that the naked man with the prominent penis apes the posture of the cleric in the Ælfygva scene surely means that the two are connected.
The questionable 94th appendage swings beneath the tunic of a man walking in the border – a scabbard, or something more saucy?
8. Soak up the emotion
The embroidery reveals moments of comedy – and terror
Despite the often violent subject matter, the Tapestry is not without its moments of levity. Look for the scene where Norman soldiers seem to be playfully fighting each other with shovels as they raise a castle mound, while their fellow excavators seem to be dropping clods of earth on one another’s heads.
Then allow your eyes to wander a little to the right, to rest on the tragic vision of a woman and child escaping their burning home, torched presumably by the jocular castle-builders’ compatriots. The fear on the faces of the fleeing pair, and the mother’s anxious grip, make for a powerful moment. The embroiderers were comfortable juxtaposing the horror of war with the lighter side of life.
This scene, depicting a woman and child fleeing a home torched by Norman troops, lays bare the horror of war and conquest | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
In those few frames that flit from fun to fire, you can see how the makers of the Tapestry almost 1,000 years ago managed to invest their subjects with emotion, character and expression. It’s a remarkable thing, and provides another reason to reflect on who this tapestry might have been made for.
9. Think again about Harold's death
The infamous arrow in the eye may be a 19th-century invention
Of course, you’ll pause at the infamous scene in which Harold appears to be struck in the eye by an arrow at the battle of Hastings. This image is compelling, but not as straightforward as it seems. There is debate as to whether the Tapestry originally depicted Harold with this ocular injury, or whether the detail was added during later restoration.
In the early 19th century, the English artist Charles Stothard was sent to Bayeux to make a copy for the Society of Antiquaries of London. In his drawings, he chose to restore parts of the Tapestry to the condition he believed it was in when it was first documented by researchers almost a century earlier, joining up the needle holes he could see. Stothard’s drawings likely informed the work of the restorers who carried out repairs to the embroidery itself later in the 19th century. Careful analysis of the embroidery and the earliest drawings of it suggests that, before these restoration efforts, a spear was shown passing just over the head of Harold, rather than the present arrow in his eye.
This is all quite aside from the further conversation about whether the man in question is actually Harold, or whether the king is being shown felled by axes in the previous frame, or even that both figures are him.
Did Harold really die from an arrow to the eye? | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
Look out for other parts where the embroidery has been restored. Telltale signs are added patches of linen and lighter thread colours.
The Tapestry’s survival is in part due to it being locked away out of sight for much of its history, but centuries of handling, rolling and restoration have left their mark. It’s also faced some hairy moments, including nearly being chopped up to cover a cart during the French Revolution.
That it survives in its current state is as much down to luck as to its careful preservation in recent years. The French state, Bayeux Museum and the British Museum have worked together closely to ensure the safe transport of the Tapestry from its home in the Bayeux Museum to the new display in the British Museum. That process involved the expertise of many conservators, collection care technicians and the museum’s exhibitions’ team, among others. Around 100 people were needed for the extraction in France, and a team was specially trained for its installation in London. The Tapestry was also condition-checked by a team of Anglo-French conservators after it was moved into its new £600,000 display case.
10. Don't stop at the end
Was the tale of the Norman conquest cut off in its prime?
When you get to the end of the Tapestry, you’ll no doubt conclude that something is missing. The embroidery is clearly damaged in the final scene, which shows the English fleeing the field of Hastings in disarray. Most experts agree that the ending has been lost, and that the last panel would likely have shown William being crowned in Westminster Abbey – a deliberate echo of the opening scene in which his predecessor, Edward the Confessor, is shown on the throne.
English soldiers flee the battle of Hastings in what is now the Tapestry’s final scene. On the original embroidery there was probably more to come | Credit: Trustees of the British Museum
While you’re mulling that over, you might reflect on what else isn’t shown in the Tapestry. It tells a specific and partial account of the Norman conquest and omits some notable moments. In particular, there’s no nod to the other battles fought in 1066 in the north of England, or the fact that Edward the Confessor had possibly nominated someone else entirely – Edgar Ætheling – as his successor, not William or Harold.
The exhibition takes a moment to reflect on the enormity of the Conquest, both in the moment – the impact on the many people affected by the bloody battle – but also in the longer term. On 14 October 1066 – the date of the clash at Hastings, with which the Tapestry ends – William’s regime was just beginning. By the time of his death in 1087, he had established a line of monarchs that, for better or worse, endures in some form to this day. The Norman achievement – if we can call it that – was to change England forever.
Dr David Musgrove is content director of HistoryExtra. Professor Michael Lewis is curator of the British Museum’s Bayeux Tapestry exhibition. The paperback of their book The Story of the Bayeux Tapestry is out now, published by Thames and Hudson
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This article was first published in the October 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
Authors
Dr David Musgrove
FSA
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