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On their hunt for profit,
they set sail into icy regions:

the captains of the German Hanse.

Three hundred years before Portuguese
and Spanish sailors

began to explore the seven seas,

they navigated their ships
thousands of miles across northern waters.

Yet the cogs, the cargo freighters
of the Middle Ages,

didn't always reach their destination.

Trade back then was
another word for adventure.

Reefs, gales and pirates

could turn an otherwise profitable voyage
into disaster.

The legendary wealth of the Hanse,

a league of long-distance traders
founded about 1200 AD,

came at a price.

Many of their cogs foundered
and took their secrets with them.

The Baltic Sea, a graveyard of ships.

Some 20,000 wrecks lie at its bottom,

from dugout canoes to steel cruisers
from two world wars.

Among them, the sunken relics
of the might of the German Hanse.

As if in a time capsule,
they have been conserved

as traces of a past which is now
being carefully revealed

by underwater archaeologists.

They discover a lot more
than teapots, coins and guns.

Their finds provide new insights into
an important chapter of European history.

Did the Hanse advance much farther
than was commonly believed?

A research vessel

scans the bottom
of the Baltic Sea for anomalies.

Underwater archaeologist Thomas Förster

has specialized in locating
historical shipwrecks.

State-of-the-art sonar technology helps.

There's a promising object on the screen.

Buoys are set to mark the site.

The divers must prepare
for icy conditions.

Yet visibility underwater is best during
winter because there are fewer algae.

It's a view into the past
through diving goggles.

In 1977, lifeguards came across parts
of a wreck off the Darss Peninsula.

Back then, due to the proximity
of the border with East Germany,

any exploration of the site
was unthinkable.

However, times have changed,
and so the divers

from the local Department
for the Conservation of Historic Monuments

can begin to decipher the jumble of ribs,
planks and stern.

Thomas Förster is assembling
the puzzle on his PC

to get an idea of the ship's construction
and enhance the missing parts.

His experience pays off.

It's a cog, the equivalent
of today's container ships.

And that's what it would have looked like.

Twenty-one meters long, seven meters wide.

Built from oak felled
in the Vistula region around 1300 AD.

Since it lay sideways in the silt,
its starboard section is well-preserved.

Its cargo as well.

The retracing of the cog's final voyage
tells of a most lucrative,

although not always law-abiding, commerce.

The league of merchants had woven
a pan-European network

that permitted long-distance trade
unhindered by any borders.

It proved to be an outstanding
blueprint for success

based on the revolutionary idea
of giving trade interests priority

over national policies.

At its heyday, some 200 cities
were members of the league

united by a common goal:
to maximize profit.

Operational accidents like the loss
of the cog off Darss

were merely write-offs.

Wiligrad Palace on the shores
of Lake Schwerin.

In the labs of the conservation
department,

the finds are being analyzed.

Like this three-legged pot
bearing the city seal of Lübeck.

Yet there are also countless specimens
of seemingly strange wooden spits.

Their function becomes clear
when the other finds are evaluated.

There are vertebrae of thousands of cod,
yet not a single head.

So, the cog had been
transporting stockfish,

which explains the spits.

The bones and wood have been preserved.

As for the fish themselves,
they must have been a welcome addition

to the diet
of their Baltic contemporaries.

The cargo is a first clue
to the cog's itinerary.

Stockfish came from the north
and promised a high profit.

So the unwieldy wooden freighter had
braved the rough waters of the North Sea.

A cog like this could load
up to 80 tons of cargo.

So it was well worth the risk
of cutting out any middlemen

and buying directly from the producers.

The Shetlands, known for their peat
and their sheep.

And, of course, for their ponies.

Back then, the islands
were under Norwegian rule.

Today, they belong to Scotland.

The fishing grounds off their rocky coasts
have plenty to offer.

Yet they lie far out
in the stormy Atlantic Ocean,

almost 1,000 nautical miles
away from the core area

of the Hanse in the Baltic.

Did the tubby single-mast cogs
really get that far?

Was the prospect of gain
that much stronger than caution?

Natasha Mehler thinks so.

The young archaeologist is an expert
on Hanse activities in the north.

As for her pregnancy, she merely quips,

"This way, my baby will get used
to field work early on."

Along with Endre Elvestad
and Mark Gardiner,

colleagues from Norway
and Northern Ireland,

she is searching for
the medieval seafarers' trading posts.

A protected bay like this
would have been a perfect site.

Even a heavy cog could have anchored here
safely 600 or 700 years ago,

provided it managed
the sea passage in one piece.

The team looks for evidence.

Any crossing must have been
an adventurous affair,

since the ships were comparatively small.

Getting here took two weeks,
mostly across open sea,

be there gales, sun or whatever weather.

And when they entered a bay like this,
which is a good, natural harbor,

they would certainly have been glad
to have made it.

Natasha has studied
contemporary sources

for references that may relate
to Hanseatic presence in the Shetlands.

She has assembled a list
of ancient place names,

but that won't help much
using modern maps.

...decided to leave.

They decided to banish them
to Papa Stour.

Ruby Brown's family has been
farming for five generations

around the bay at Gunnister Voe.

It's a lucky encounter.

Ruby knows the old names
and, as she tells the researchers,

there are even ruins around.

Early next morning, Endre Elvestad
is on his way to take a closer look.

The location, overlooking the bay,
is fine in principle.

But the building is much too large
for a storehouse.

And this mug is by no means medieval.

Endre is disappointed.
These are the remnants of a farmhouse.

But then...

a brick.

Bricks weren't used on the island,

so this one must have ended up here
after having served as ballast on a ship.

The cog at Darss, too,
had taken on bricks to stabilize the hull.

At the beach, there are
large blocks of stone.

Mark and Natasha are positive
that their layout isn't accidental.

Next one.

When they survey the blocks,
it becomes clear the stones were laid out

in a horseshoe pattern.

This was once a jetty, a small port.

Okay, fine.

Burnt fragments of grain.

They may be tiny, but the archaeologists
will still be able to determine their age.

And there are foundations
close to the jetty,

right behind the entrance to the bay,
a perfect site.

Yet on the naked rocks,
there's nothing more to be found.

Based on their finds, the researchers
reconstruct a plain storehouse

built of undressed stones
next to the jetty.

And the grain dates
from the era of the Hanse.

This is what Gunnister Voe
might have looked like back then.

The merchant would have lived
aboard his cog

and used the storehouse for trading.

His stay at this outpost would have lasted
throughout the summer months,

while he waited for the local fishermen
until the hold had filled with stockfish

in exchange for grain,
beer, wood and tar.

It was a win-win deal, as Mark Gardiner
from Queen's University Belfast explains.

It was for the benefit for everybody,

because the Shetland
has got access to goods

which they simply would not have
been able to obtain.

And, of course, the Germans got the fish
which they could sell

for a good price back in Germany,
so it was a good trade for everyone.

Endre prepares for a dive.

In view of the meagre finds on land,

he hopes that some traded goods
might have gone overboard.

This would allow it to be determined
more precisely

what had been traded here
apart from stockfish.

At eight degrees Celsius,
the water is crystal clear.

Conditions are perfect.

Yet apart from
a fantastic underwater flora,

there's nothing to be seen.

Had the lost items
been retrieved again by the merchants?

Or did they never lose anything
in the first place back then?

Whatever the case, it's a blank.

Next stop, the Island of Unst.
And the ruins of a church.

Christianity arrived here
as early as the tenth century,

long before the merchants of the Hanse.

According to ancient chronicles,
the king of Norway

had added the Shetlands to his realm
about that time.

The chronicles also tell of merchants
from the city of Bremen

who are said to have lived here steadily,
unlike the merchants at Gunnister Voe.

Natasha looks for their gravestones
and comes across an inscription.

It's virtually indecipherable,
but if you know how, there are ways.

The old trick works.

There's an "S"...
and soon the entire text can be read.

It's the grave of merchant captain
Segebad Detken from Bremen,

who died on the 20th of August 1573,

having traded on the Shetlands
for 52 years.

Apparently, some weather-beaten seamen
had rather liked it up here.

Stockfish had brought him wealth.
Without violence and slavery.

The Hanse was following a different
concept than the conquistadors

when they plundered the southern
hemisphere in the 16th century.

The merchant's motto was,

"serious business
with long-term partners."

Hundreds of miles away from his true love,

a German merchant has left
his maxim above his bunk:

"Be forthright at all times,
but never neglect the need for vigilance."

to prove that the Hanse had advanced
as far as the Shetlands.

So the cog from Darss too might
have anchored here at some time.

Its cargo of stockfish
is a clear indication of contact.

Apart from its cargo, there were also
provisions of firewood

aboard the sunken cog.

Exactly what you needed
if you anticipated a longer stay

in treeless regions like the Shetlands.

A cooking pot like the one from Lübeck

would have been of little use
without a fire.

In all likelihood, the cargo of stockfish
was destined for a German port.

But which one?

Lübeck was the Hanse's gateway
to the north

as well as the seat of the league.

Lübeck law applied in all cities
of the Hanse, from Novgorod to Bruges.

Since 1987, its medieval city center
has been a World Heritage Site.

The Holsten Gate protected
the queen of the Hanse which,

back then, numbered among the greatest
cities of the Holy Roman Empire,

as Rolf Hammel-Kiesow

from the Research Centre
for the History of the Hanse explains.

Here, at the Mariners' Guild,
the Bergenfahrer,

who took their name from
the Norwegian port Bergen,

dined at a table of their own,
with a stockfish for a coat of arms.

A treasure from Hanseatic times.
And this was merely the small change.

The multitude of currencies tell
of their owner's far-flung connections.

The German Hanse operated
all over Europe, yet not without peril.

Documents in the city archives have
recorded pirate attacks on merchants.

Their wealth lured many a man
into trying his luck as buccaneer.

Some, like Klaus Störtebeker,
enjoy legendary status even today.

The merchants meticulously listed

everything that was of worth
to their trade.

They also recorded their losses
in terms of money.

Loss of life, however,
is hardly mentioned.

The Norwegian fjords were
perfect hunting grounds for pirates.

Natasha Mehler is an archaeologist
as well as a historian,

combining on-site research
and the study of written sources.

The Hanse went to some lengths
to defend their precious cargoes.

The cogs may not have been warships,
yet they were armed.

When times were getting especially rough,
the merchants even hired mercenaries.

But an all-out anti-pirate campaign
was much too costly

and stood little chance of success

due to the unfavorable
topography of the fjords.

Norwegian sagas tell of bloody sea battles
inside the fjords,

fought for the crown and for profit.

At the royal court at Bergen,

murder and mayhem seem
to have been the order of the day.

For their part, the Hanse merchants
set their minds strictly on business.

Norway offered them
considerable geographic advantages.

Their heavy cogs, always tricky to manage,

could sail in sight of the shore
over long distances.

Their destination was the German branch
of the Hanse

in the royal capital of Bergen.

The sail training vessel
of the Norwegian Navy

welcomes Natasha Mehler and Friedrich Lüth
of the German Archaeological Institute.

He supervises her project.

Their aim is to establish
the outer reaches of the Hanse Empire.

Yet first, they are enjoying a rare sight.

A German U-boat
and a Russian submarine nose to nose.

Bergen is celebrating
its annual Harbor Festival.

At its center, the Tyske Bryggen,
the German Pier,

once one of the four major branches
of the Hanse,

comparable only to Novgorod,
Bruges and London.

They were exterritorial settlements,
exempt from local law.

To the merchants, Bergen
was a most lucrative destination.

They applied the latest methods
of bookkeeping

as well as cashless transactions,

which only recently
had been developed in Italy.

Theirs was a globalized economy,
revolving around stockfish.

And that's what
the Germans offered for trade.

Cloth, fabrics, grain.

As well as its most potent
by-product: spirits.

Easy to make and in high demand
up in the cold north.

The cog from Darss would also have had
some high-percentage beverages aboard

when it entered Bergen Harbor.

In her search for traces of the Hanse,
Natasha is on familiar ground.

She has studied for two years in Bergen

and took part in excavations
in the old city.

The German Pier was rebuilt
after a devastating fire in 1955.

The German colony of merchants
was a strictly secluded area,

living space for 2,000 men,

all of them bachelors
as was required by Hanse rules.

While the rack railway takes us up
the hausberg overlooking Bergen Harbor,

Natasha tells us that in spring,
whole shiploads of girls

from Bremen or Hamburg
would have arrived.

A most welcome sight for the men far
from home and from any female company.

Most surely, they were
bristling with anticipation.

You can probably tell us
what went on here at the German Pier.

I mean, there were only men living here.

You have to imagine
that many merchants

had brought their staff along,
their journeymen, their apprentices,

so it was an all-male society.

Yet we may assume that life
wasn't too boring for them

and that there was some
opportunity for pleasure.

So, right next to the Pier
there was a red-light district?

Yes, there is positive evidence

that prostitution was practiced here.

And it wasn't just the girls'
favors that gave cause for quarrels.

There was huge competition
between merchants of the Hanse

and their Norwegian counterparts
about stockfish.

What made stockfish
such a precious commodity?

In the late middle ages,

stockfish was one of the most important
trading goods in Northern Europe.

There were more than 100 days
of fasting throughout the year,

and since fish was an approved
fasting diet, it was much sought after.

So, in all of Europe, stockfish
was in extremely high demand,

and being dried,
it was perfectly preserved,

easy to transport
and of almost limitless durability.

The Christian calendar
back then knew 140 days of fasting.

That's why stockfish trade
was a virtual money machine.

How much so becomes clear
when the archaeologists study footage

of one of the greatest
medieval excavations in all of Europe.

It had been undertaken
as an emergency measure

after the great fire of 1955.

There were hundreds of thousands of finds.

Merely 10% have been evaluated until now.

In the depot of the Bryggens Museum,
the German researchers

are looking for objects
which might shed some light

on the cargo of the cog from Darss.

Like these strange
elongated pieces of stone.

During the Middle Ages, they were
a highly valued import form Norway.

Whetstones from Eidsborg,
halfway between Bergen and Oslo,

were much sought after throughout Europe.

In the lab at Wiligrad, they have analyzed
similar finds from the cog.

And indeed, they show mica schists
from Eidsborg

which were traded via Bergen.

So, the cog must have called there
on its final voyage.

Its route becomes ever clearer.

Back at the depot.

A three-legged pot, found in the soil
below the German Pier.

A most precious object to archaeologists.

...more than a hundred years ago.

It's similar
to the one found in the cog

and is now being
carefully restored in Wiligrad.

Its glossy surface is due
to the corrosion of the bronze.

Retrieved from the bottom
of the Baltic Sea,

the pot is yet another proof
of the global contacts of the Hanse.

There are clues of an even earlier
establishment of the Hanse

somewhere in the Norwegian fjords.

It's still shrouded in mystery.

It's mentioned in yellowed texts,

and its name can be found
on old maps.

Notouw.

But no one has yet been able
to pinpoint its exact location.

A sunken place, surrounded by legends.

Notouw is said to have been
a prime target for raiding pirates

until the outpost was finally
relocated to safer Bergen.

A bay on the isle of Karmøy,
120 kilometers south of Bergen.

An old map has drawn
the researchers' attention.

Natasha tries a glass-bottom scope.

- There are bones...
- Bones, lots of bones.

...and some distance
further on, strange heaps of stone.

To Natasha and her colleague Endre,
it's soon obvious

that this must have been
refuse from ships.

And so they hope there may
even be more down there.

Time for another dive.

The bottom of the sea
is covered with pot shards,

bones and bits and pieces of all sorts.

Is this the household waste
of a settlement

or are these merely stray objects
lost while loading and unloading?

Both options are possible.

Yet most important: there are goods
Hanse merchants would have had in stock.

Siegburg stoneware,
a prime export from the Rhineland.

A merchant's seal
and his comb made of bone.

More pots from Siegburg.

There's no doubt medieval cogs
had called here.

Have the archaeologists
hit upon lost Notouw?

Time to apply some high tech.

What may look like a derrick is actually
a mobile laser scanner

able to reveal man-made structures
in the ground

which are nearly invisible
to the human eye.

The site at Avaldsnes will be given
a thorough work-over.

The geophysicists manage their job
in just two days.

One hundred and forty thousand
square meters

have been measured
down to millimeter size.

Natasha instantly identifies
layouts of houses,

a fascinating beginning.

Soon, the whole bay has been surveyed.

Evaluation of the structures clearly shows
these are Hanse-type layouts.

Combined with the other finds,
this is definite proof.

Notouw has been retrieved
from the fog of history.

And this is what
it would have looked like.

Piers, houses for storing and trade,
residential buildings and a church.

And yet did the cog from Darss
still call at Notouw

or at the new establishment
in Bergen Harbor?

This, for once,
the archaeologists can't tell.

The cargo would have been
the same in both cases.

At least, Bergen would
have been the safer option,

since the German Pier was next
to the residence of the Norwegian king.

He had granted the Hanse
quite a few privileges,

but then the league became
too powerful for his liking.

In 1284, he prohibited all foreign trade
north of Bergen

with the intention
of taking it over himself.

Yet, there must have been ways
to circumvent the royal ban.

Why else would the king have to renew
his order several times

with ever sharper threats of reprisal?

Natasha is positive that she will find
archaeological evidence

proving that the Hanseatic merchants
ventured far more north

than assumed until now.

And she's right.

There is news from Wiligrad.

An oak barrel retrieved
from the wreck of the cog.

After it has been cleaned in the lab,

there's even the owner's mark
clearly visible on the lid.

Next to the barrel
lay the antlers of a reindeer.

In medieval times, it was the raw material
for combs, tokens and beads.

Yet the real sensation is the content
of the barrel: yellow sulphur.

It was in huge demand
for fumigating barrels,

as medicine, and in increasing amounts,

to produce the latest addition
to weaponry: gunpowder.

The exciting point about it is sulphur
back then was solely found on Iceland,

which was also under Norwegian rule.

So, did the cogs break the royal embargo?

The island of fire and ice
might provide the answer.

Did the German Hanse push forward
to the land of geysers

as early as the 14th century?

To the end of the world,
as it was known then?

Although she is now
eight months into her pregnancy,

Natasha is determined to inspect
the sulphur fields at Krýsuvík

where the yellow crystals,
it is said, still can be found.

But first, she'll use the hot springs
to boil two eggs,

one for herself and one for her baby.

The sulphur samples she collects
at Krýsuvík will be analyzed in the lab.

The results will show that the composition
of the Icelandic sulphur

and that from the cog's barrel
is 100% identical.

After ten minutes,
there's two hard-boiled eggs.

They'll keep her going,
along with her son,

for whom she has chosen
an Icelandic name: Sölvi.

"Sölvi" stands for both sun and strength.

And strength she may need,

since she hasn't found
any archaeological evidence yet

for the presence
of Hanse merchants on Iceland.

The sulphur may just as well have been
brought home by Norwegian middlemen

and then loaded onto the cog at Bergen.

An excavation should help
to clarify matters.

It's a special site at the base
of the mythical Snæfellsnes Glacier,

the very spot where Jules Verne,

in his novel
"Journey to the Centre of the Earth,"

had his heroes enter the world below.

Excavating a sand dune
poses quite a challenge.

Time and again the loose ground caves in.
Yet, the effort is worth it.

There are bones of codfish, but no heads,
just like in the cog.

So, this too was a place
where people produced stockfish.

And there's a whetstone,
again like one of those in the cog.

To Natasha it's evident.

This was a triangular
or even a multilateral trade

which started to develop
as early as the late Middle Ages

and then spread through Europe
and subsequently worldwide.

Yet all this
isn't sufficient proof

for the presence of the German Hanse

that far north.

If there's any more evidence,
it's somewhere out there.

But where?

A lonely beach on Iceland's
gale-blown west coast.

High on a cliff above a sheltered bay,
there are stone foundations

which immediately
draw the researchers' attention.

Geophysical equipment is applied
to trace the layout

of what seems to have been a building.

The shards that come to light
are of German origin,

but that doesn't necessarily mean
that they were brought here by Germans.

Gradually, the remnants
of the building are laid open.

However, it's a disappointment.

The layout is a classical
Icelandic design.

It's the night of midsummer solstice.

Farmers from all over the area have met

for their traditional celebration
of the longest day of the year.

It's a welcome diversion for Natasha.

She may be frustrated
by the recent results,

yet she still believes that she'll find
traces of the Hanse Empire

here in faraway Iceland.

Even if nautical experts
have long argued against this option.

The cogs, they say, didn't have
the navigational equipment necessary

to cover such distances
across the open seas of the north.

But Natasha finds an ally
in the archives in Iceland's capital.

A vault in Reykjavik.

Natasha is impatient to see
what the head archivist will show her.

It's the manuscript
of a contemporary witness.

The Hauksbók.

About 1300 AD, one Haukr Erlendsson

wrote down all kinds of information
relating to the seafaring of his times.

He describes how to sail from Bergen
to Greenland, without any maps or compass,

just by using a plumbline
to read the bottom of the sea.

And among the finds
in the wreck off Darss,

there was just such a plumb of lead,

the first of its kind ever found.

Its lower part had been filled with fat,
which served as an adhesive

to bring up particles
from the various sea bottoms,

helping the navigators
to plot their course.

And then, finally,
there is a reference to Iceland.

So the cogs might indeed
have managed the voyage.

It's a boost for Natasha, and proof

that the combination of archaeological
and historical sources pays off.

She'll continue her search
in the land of volcanos.

Luckily, they are long extinct,

as was already recorded
on ancient drawings of the Hekla.

"This mountain doesn't burn anymore."

Friedrich Lüth has met
with a collector of ancient maps.

Oswald Dreyer-Eimbcke once held the office
of Consul of Iceland in Hamburg, Germany,

for more than 20 years.

Here we have
a reference to sulphur.

And here to stockfish.

Sulphur and stockfish,
the main commodities of the Hanse's trade.

Yet are there also place names hinting
at the presence of German merchants?

There's Kumbrumvik.

And this means?

"Vik" means bay.

Like in Reykjavik and Kumbrum?

It comes from Kumbara,
that's for cargo ships.

So, Kumbrumvik is the bay
of the cargo ships.

Now they just have to find
Krumvik, as it was also spelled.

The old maps point the way.

To the peninsula of Snæfellsnes.

A comparison of historical
with actual maps

has narrowed down
the search to a few bays.

On Iceland, he's a character.

Hildibrandur, the shark farmer.

His dried shark's meat
is a notorious local treat.

The stench may be overwhelming,
but taking a bite is a must.

Natasha politely declines,
pointing to her state of pregnancy.

She knows that the taste
will linger on for days.

Yet the ordeal pays off.

The bay they are looking for,
Hildibrandur says,

lies right under their noses.

He's familiar with the old place names,
so hopes are high that,

having travelled hundreds of kilometers
across all Iceland,

they've finally made it.

Natasha sums up
what they have found out so far.

The place names
are really a great clue.

In Icelandic, this promontory
is called Kaupstavertangi,

which means "promontory of the traders."

And the bay is called Kumbaravogur,
the "bay of the cargo ships."

So, we have two references for trade.

Lüth and Natasha once more
turn to high-tech equipment

to back up their information
with archaeological evidence.

They chart the area above the bay
with a differential GPS,

recording each topographical detail
and its height above sea level.

For instance, the prominent patterns
of tiny knolls.

But not every elevation
is a grown-over foundation wall.

Excavating the site would take months.

So, they rely on technology
to track actual layouts.

Without having to use a spade,

the archaeologists succeed in identifying
the layout of a trading house.

But was it Scandinavian or German-style?

This is how the settlement of the merchant
of Krumvik might have looked like.

The layout as well
as the wooden architecture

are definitely not Scandinavian
but of German origin.

Lüth and Natasha have their proof.

How can you tell that this was
an establishment of the Hanse?

Well, there are the clues
from historic maps,

and if we look at the topography,
with its wonderfully protected bay

where even bigger ships could anchor,

we see all the prerequisites
for such a place.

Then, immediately next to the shore,
a bit higher up on dry land,

there are the remnants of a building
we've been able to document.

It's quite clear that
this layout is distinctively different

from trading sites
of the purely Norwegian era.

It's a typically German layout.

These buildings were solely
for trading purposes.

The traders came here once a year,
for a few weeks perhaps,

stayed on their ships, and each morning

they went over to the buildings
on the land

where they exchanged their goods.

The Icelanders brought their commodities,
stockfish or some sulphur,

and traded them for the goods
from the ships.

Beer was another favorite commodity.

There was a brew of lesser quality
for the ship's crews,

and then the trader's brand
which was reserved for sale.

So the German Hanse did trade
with the Icelanders without any middlemen.

Ignoring the ban from the king in Bergen,
they exchanged their famous beer

for sulphur and stockfish,
making a fortune once they got back.

Displaying courage, a pioneering spirit
and a knack for lucrative opportunities,

the German merchants built an empire
that even as early as the Middle Ages

spanned far wider than the Baltic Sea.

The advance of the Hanse into the world
of the north opened new horizons.

So, we're standing here
at the border of an immense empire

stretching from Novgorod to Greenland.

Yes, there is evidence
the Hanse traded

even as far as Newfoundland.

It was a gigantic economic empire
built on trust, and it worked.

Basically, it was a precursor of
the European Economic Union, or the EU.

The Hanse,
a European Union of the Middle Ages.

A fascinating concept.

It shows how modern
and transnational people

were thinking some 700 years ago.

The presence of the Hanse
in the north had long been forgotten.

Today, we know that their cogs

sailed to Iceland and maybe
even as far as Newfoundland.

A role model for success
which did not depend

on violence and exploitation
but on trust and reliability,

on the exchange of goods
for the better of both sides.

The Hanse, a league
of seafaring merchants from free cities.

And a ship sunk more than 600 years ago

helped to clarify
how far they did advance.

His owner could expect a handsome profit

as it closed in on the German part
of the Baltic coast around 1350 AD.

But as it seems,
he fell victim to a fierce gale.

The cog ran aground, sprang a lethal leak

and sank rapidly,
taking its cargo down with it.

Bad luck for the merchant,
a windfall for the archaeologists.

The Baltic Sea claimed a victim
of a forgotten chapter of history,

yet it also preserved it,
and in the end, returned it to science.

The cargo of a foundered medieval cog

helped to establish the true range
of the German Hanse,

as a reminder of an economic empire that
constituted the origins of modern Europe.

And as for Natasha, she has given birth
to her Sölvi, the sun and the strength.