Bounded by cobbled streets, dominated by the Norman cathedral that looms overhead, and surrounded by picturesque rivers, travel writer Bill Bryson called it“a perfect little city,” and many agree. (Durham itself was so flattered by this kind description that they crowned Bryson as Chancellor of their beloved University.) Durham is a proud city: proud of its heritage as the seat of the semi-autonomous land of the Prince Bishops, proud of its mantleas the ancient “Cradle of Christianity,” even of former resident Joseph Borruwlawski, a Polish dwarf better known as “The Little Count.” Durham is so proud, in fact, that Burruwlaski’s portrait hangs in City Hall.

Durham began as a home to the cult following of the great Cuthbert (eventually St. Cuthbert). A monk renowned for his miracle-making, fairness, and athletic prowess, he died an early, tragic death. But when Cuthbert’s body was uncovered having resisted decay years after his death, people declared it a miracle, and consequently, eager travelers arrived in hoards to his monastery. Thus the city of Durham was born, destined to be a tourist attraction. Unfortunately, this immense popularity meant it invited some undesirable visitors, too—like the Vikings.