The generally held belief, advanced by historians for more than a century, is that Denmark’s first brick-building techniques came straight from Lombardy in northern Italy in the mid-1100s. But a new scientific investigation indicates the path of this technology was far less direct—and the story may need a serious rewrite.
Researchers investigated 305 brick samples from two early Danish brick churches in Ringsted and Sorø, and two Lombard churches, Cerreto and Chiaravalle. Utilizing a broad suite of analyses such as thermoluminescence dating, X-ray diffraction, magnetic susceptibility, FTIR, XRF, LA-ICP-MS, and detailed mortar studies, the team compared the age and raw materials that went into producing these medieval structures. Their results, published in NPJ Heritage Science, collectively undermine the long-held view that Italian craftsmen or ideas directly shaped Denmark’s early brick architecture.
One of the clearest revelations involves timing. The Danish churches date to roughly 1181 and 1185, placing them squarely in the rapid rise of brick construction under King Valdemar the Great and Bishop Absalon. In contrast, Cerreto is far older, ca. 1105, while Chiaravalle is younger, ca. 1267. In this way, the Italian churches roughly bracket the Danish ones by several generations. The immense age differential makes it improbable that the same master builders or their immediate successors could have worked on both regions’ projects. There is also a lack of solid documentary support for the historical suggestion that Danish elites encountered Lombard brickwork firsthand.
Technical evidence adds to the picture. Though the two Italian churches of Cerreto and Chiaravalle lie close to each other and share similar clay sources, the two Danish churches stand only 15 kilometers apart and have nearly the same date, yet their clays possess quite different mineral compositions. Techniques of manufacture also differed. The brick joints in the Italian buildings are just a few millimeters thick, giving them a refined and tightly fitted appearance. In Denmark, the joints were irregular and sometimes as much as two centimeters thick, reflecting a very different building tradition. Distinct approaches to brick shaping and surface treatment also reinforce this divide.
It was also not possible to find meaningful links by conducting mortar analyses. Whereas some binder-aggregate ratios overlapped among the sites, others diverged, and the organic components did not show any consistent pattern that would indicate a shared technological lineage. Even the sorting of bricks by color—a practice observed in all four churches—does not appear to point to a common origin; the firing conditions and manufacturing techniques are very dissimilar.
According to the architectural, chemical, and chronological evidence combined, the researchers conclude that the idea of a direct Lombard-to-Danish technology transfer is no longer convincing. The data instead point to a more gradual, network-driven diffusion of brick-building knowledge across medieval Europe. As a more plausible conduit, the Cistercian monastic order emerges, active across Italy and Germany and into northern Europe. Northern Germany, where brick architecture was also developing in the late 1100s, likely served as a major intermediary.
The study ultimately reframes how medieval technology traveled—not through a single, dramatic import, but rather through layered exchanges among monasteries, craftsmen, and regional building traditions.
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