Ever looked at a chess piece and felt like it was judging your life choices?
If you’ve seen the Lewis chessmen, you know the feeling. Those wide-eyed, slightly panicked faces look less like stoic warriors and more like people who just realized they left the oven on. They are iconic. They are weird. And honestly, they’re probably the only reason most people care about 12th-century ivory carving.
But here’s the thing: half of what we "know" about them is basically a mix of Victorian guesswork and romanticized folklore.
Found in 1831 on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, these 93 pieces (mostly walrus ivory, some whale teeth) have spent the last two centuries becoming the rock stars of the British Museum and the National Museum of Scotland. But the story of how they got there—and what they actually are—is a lot messier than the museum plaques suggest.
The Lewis chessmen weren't even "Scottish" when they were made
People get defensive about this. Since they were found in Scotland, they're a Scottish national treasure, right? Well, sort of.
In the late 12th century, the Isle of Lewis wasn't part of the Kingdom of Scotland. It was part of the Kingdom of the Isles, ruled by Norse-Gaelic kings who swore fealty to the King of Norway. When these pieces were carved—likely in Trondheim, Norway—they were being shipped across a Viking-influenced maritime empire.
Trondheim was the hub. It was the place where you’d find specialized workshops capable of turning raw walrus tusks from Greenland into high-end luxury goods. The craftsmanship is staggering. If you look at the backs of the thrones—which the National Museum of Scotland finally started showing off in a new display in 2024—the knotwork is incredibly dense. It’s "Scandinavian Romanesque" at its peak.
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Some scholars, like Gudmundur Thórarinsson, have argued for an Icelandic origin, citing the "Margret the Adroit" theory about a famous female carver. It’s a compelling narrative. Most mainstream archaeologists, however, still point to Trondheim because of the specific architectural styles carved into the thrones.
The "Discovery" is a total mess of lies
The official story? A local guy named Malcolm MacLeod found them in a sand dune at Uig Bay after a storm uncovered a stone cist. Simple.
Except it’s probably fake.
Early accounts are a disaster. One story says a cow kicked over a pot. Another claims a "cabin boy" swam ashore with the treasure and was murdered for it. In reality, the hoard was likely found by someone who didn't want to pay the "treasure trove" tax to the Crown, so they kept the details vague. By the time the Society of Antiquaries got involved in 1833, the "facts" had been scrubbed and replaced with a romanticized version that wouldn't get anyone in legal trouble.
We don't even know if it was a "hoard" in the traditional sense. It might have been a merchant's inventory. There are 78 chess pieces in total, but they don’t make four perfect sets. There are too many kings and not enough pawns. It’s more like a traveling salesman’s sample case that got buried and never retrieved.
Why the bishops are a "smoking gun"
For a long time, people debated the age of the pieces. Then they looked at the hats.
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The bishops wear mitres. In the mid-12th century, the fashion for bishop hats changed; the peaks moved from the sides to the front and back. Because the Lewis bishops have their peaks front-and-back, we know they can’t be older than about 1150. But they also lack the extreme height that became popular by 1200.
This narrows the window of their birth significantly. It also proves they were meant to be bishops—a piece that was actually quite new to the game of chess at the time. Before this, the piece was often an "elephant" (from the Arabic al-fil).
The Berserkers: More than just "rooks"
The most famous pieces aren't the kings. They're the warders—the rooks.
Four of them are depicted as "Berserkers." They are literally biting their shields in a state of ritualistic battle fury. It’s a direct reference to Old Norse sagas.
"They went without coats of mail and were furious as dogs or wolves and bit their shields..." — Snorri Sturluson, Ynglinga Saga
Seeing this high-level Viking mythology merged with a Christian game (full of bishops and kings) shows just how much those two worlds were overlapping in the 1100s. The artist wasn't just making game pieces; they were capturing a cultural transition.
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Where they are in 2026
If you’re planning a pilgrimage, don’t expect to find them all in one place. The hoard was split up almost immediately.
- The British Museum (London): Holds 82 pieces. They are currently the center of a massive 2026-2027 cultural exchange program where they're being sent to France in a high-stakes trade for the Bayeux Tapestry.
- The National Museum of Scotland (Edinburgh): Holds 11 pieces. Their new 360-degree display at the entrance to the Kingdom of the Scots gallery is the best way to see the "hidden" carvings on the back.
- Museum nan Eilean (Isle of Lewis): Usually has six pieces on loan. There is a constant, simmering political tension about whether more of the pieces should return to the island where they were found.
How to tell a real one from a fake
You can buy a "Lewis set" at almost any museum gift shop. Most are resin.
The originals have a specific "greasiness" to them. That’s the walrus ivory. Over 800 years, the organic material absorbs oils and changes color. Interestingly, when they were first found, some supposedly had traces of red stain. Medieval chess wasn't "Black vs. White"—it was often "Red vs. White." The red came from cinnabar, a mercury-based pigment.
If you see a set that is perfectly pristine and bright white, it’s a modern reproduction. The real ones look tired. They look like they’ve seen too many wars, both on the board and off.
Actionable Insights for the History Fan
If you want to actually "experience" the Lewis chessmen beyond just staring at them through a glass case, here is what you do:
- Check the 2026/2027 Loan Schedule: Before you book a flight to London, verify where the pieces are. With the Bayeux Tapestry exchange happening, many of the pieces will be in France for the first time in centuries.
- Look for the "Bored Queen": Look at the Queens. They aren't "thinking." They have their hand to their cheek in a traditional medieval pose of contemplation or sorrow. In the 12th century, the Queen was the weakest piece on the board, only able to move one square diagonally. Their faces reflect that lack of power.
- Visit Uig Sands: If you go to the Isle of Lewis, stand on the beach at Ardroil. The wind is fierce, and the dunes are constantly shifting. It makes you realize how easy it would be to lose—and find—a treasure in that sand.
- Play Hnefatafl: The hoard included 14 "tablemen" for other games. If you want to understand the Viking mindset, learn Hnefatafl (Kings Table). It’s an asymmetric game of capture that feels much more "Norse" than the standard rules of chess.
The Lewis chessmen aren't just artifacts; they are tiny ivory mirrors of a world that was half-Viking, half-Christian, and entirely obsessed with strategy. Stop thinking of them as "old toys" and start looking at the faces. Someone carved those expressions on purpose.