A Viking Market Kingdom in Ireland and Britain: Trade Networks and the Importation of a Southern Scandinavian Silver Bullion Economy (Routledge Archaeologies of the Viking World) [1 ed.] 9780367357849, 9781032197333, 9780429341625, 0367357844

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A Viking Market Kingdom in Ireland and Britain

Viking-Age trade, network theory, silver economies, kingdom formation, and the Scandinavian raiding and settlement of Ireland and Britain are all popular subjects. However, few have looked for possible connections between these phenomena, something this book suggests were closely related. By allying Blomkvist’s network-kingdoms with Sindbæk’s nodal marketnetworks, it is argued that the political and economic character of Viking-Age Britain and Ireland – my ‘Insular Scandinavia’ – is best understood if Dublin and Jórvík are seen as being established as nodes of a market-based network-kingdom. Based on a dataset relating to the then developing bullion economies of the central and eastern Scandinavian worlds and southern Scandinavia in particular, it is argued that war-band leaders from, or familiar with, ‘Danish’ markets like Hedeby and Kaupang transposed to Insular Scandinavia the concept of polities based on establishment of markets and the protection of routeways between them. Using this book, readers can think of interlinked Dublin and Great Army elites creating an Insular version of a Danish-style nodal market kingdom based on commerce and silver currencies. A Viking Market Kingdom in Ireland and Britain will help specialist researchers and students of Viking archaeology make connections between southern Scandinavia and the market economy of the Uí Ímair (‘descendants of Ívarr’) operating out of the twin nodes of Dublin and Jórvík via the initial establishment of Hiberno-Scandinavian longphuirt and the related winter-camps of the Viking Great Army. Tom Horne received an MLitt in Medieval Archaeology and a PhD in Viking-Age trade from the University of Glasgow, having read Ancient and Modern History at Balliol College, Oxford.

Routledge Archaeologies of the Viking World Series editors: Neil Price, Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson, and Ben Raffield

Vikings are a perennially popular topic across a broad audience spectrum, from the general public to academics at all levels, but there are comparatively few book series dedicated to the steady f low of Viking-related archaeological texts. Routledge Archaeologies of the Viking World showcases the latest outputs of the profession’s brightest scholars, including established names but particularly acting as an outlet for the new generation of early career researchers. The archaeological investigations of the Viking world within the series have a direct focus on the Scandinavians but also on the zones of cultural interaction that characterised their broad diaspora. The editors have particular interests in the eastern Viking Age, from European Russia to the Asian Steppe, the Arab world and beyond to the Silk Road and the Far East. This region is significantly under-represented in new English-language publications, and books on this theme will become a hallmark of the series alongside western studies. Viking Silver, Hoards and Containers The Archaeological and Historical Context of Viking-Age Silver Coin Deposits in the Baltic c. 800–1050 Jacek Gruszczyński Monarchs and Hydrarchs The Conceptual Development of Viking Activity across the Frankish Realm (c. 750–940) Christian Cooijmans A Viking Market Kingdom in Ireland and Britain Trade Networks and the Importation of a Southern Scandinavian Silver Bullion Economy Tom Horne For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge. com/Routledge-Archaeologies-of-the-Viking-World/book-series/RAVW

A Viking Market Kingdom in Ireland and Britain Trade Networks and the Importation of a Southern Scandinavian Silver Bullion Economy Tom Horne

Cover image: Raven penny of Anlaf Guthfrithsson. Image copyright and courtesy of Tom Holland. First published 2022 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2022 Tom Horne The right of Tom Horne to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-367-35784-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-19733-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-34162-5 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625 Typeset in Bembo by codeMantra

Dedicated to Norman and Marjory, and Colleen Batey

Contents

List of figures List of tables Acknowledgements Introduction Background 2 1 Market economics in Viking-Age Ireland and Britain Introduction 6 The Great Army and economic links to Southern Scandinavia 7 Chronological and geographical parameters 10 Historical background, 853–874: Laithlinn/Laithlind and Southern Scandinavians in Dublin 14 Bullion economy in the Danelaw (c.860s–950s) 18 Dirhams and the ‘Silver Route’ 20 A comparative approach 20 Economic anthropology and ‘post-substantivism’ 22

xi xiii xv 1

6

2 A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain Dublin and Jórvík 26 Sea-kings? 30 Irish perspectives 30 Broad-band networks: Southern Scandinavia and the Silver Route to Ireland 35 Jórvík and network trade 40 Scandinavian Scotland 43 A Viking kingdom 51

26

3 Archaeological and historical evidence A Danelaw caveat 52 Dirham influx: initial phases 53

52

viii Contents

Early Scandinavian ‘dirham-networks’ 55 The Samanid dirham phase, c.905–960 60 Abbasid-Samanid shift 62 Dirham-networks 63 Dirhams in Southern Scandinavia 64 Dirhams in Insular Scandinavia 67 Scandinavian England 72 Dirhams in Wales and Ireland 80 Dirhams in Scotland 82 Contemporary and later written sources for market trade 85 Discussion 89 4 How Viking networks operate Modes and mechanisms for the distribution of material culture 90 Trade models derived from Scandinavia and their value for the Viking west 91 Towards a market network model 99 Blomkvist’s ‘network-kingdoms’ 102 Network agents and market-based group affiliation 105 Network vessels and safer sailing 109 Actor-networks and network-actors: traders and economic agency 110 Silver Route 112 Urban and rural co-existence of market and non-market 113

90

5 Economic anthropology and Viking-Age Scandinavia Grierson’s caveat 116 Understanding exchange from formalism to substantivism 117 Substantivism and problems for understanding Viking-Age exchange 119 Doubts about Viking traders: Grierson and Samson 120 Vikings as market traders: from substantivism to post-substantivism 124 Substantivism: the ‘social turn’ and intersecting spheres of exchange 126 Post-substantivism and the ubiquity of markets 128 Nodal networks and market-site dynamics 129 Ohthere and the post-substantivist shift 132 Market trade in rural regions 134

115

6 Silver economies Silver and monetization 137 Payment (weight) standards 140 The problem with hoards 142 Insular Scandinavian silver economies 143

136

Contents  ix

Bullion in England 143 Celtic Scandinavia 149 Scandinavian Ireland 149 Wales and the Irish Sea Region 155 Scandinavian Scotland 158 Numismatic single-finds 167 New Scandinavian perspectives: Jämtland and Sandtorg 168 7 Beyond dirhams: the non-numismatic evidence Hacksilver, ‘Swedish/Islamic’ metrology, and weights 170 Standardized weights 173 Network-trader group affiliation 181 Actor-networks and the Silver Route payment zone 184 Highly mobile jewellery 185 The non-metallic package 195 Bi-directional networks 200 Imprints of a market network? Repeating chronological and spatial patterns 209

169

8 Case studies Hedeby 210 Vestfold 214 Sandtorg i Tjeldsund 220 Woodstown 221 Torksey 225 Understanding Jórvík via Torksey? 228 Pierowall, the Cuerdale Corridor, and Round-Scotland routes 229 Discussion 231

210

9 Discussion and conclusions Insular Scandinavian economic anthropology 232 Networks and silver economies 234 Uí Ímair 236 Silver and slavery 238 The Silver Route 240

232

Bibliography Index

245 287

Figures

I.1 1.1 1.2 1.3

2.1 2.2 2.3 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 3.7 3.8 3.9 6.1 6.2 7.1 7.2

Samanid dirham (PAS: NCL-544D22), The Portable Antiquities Scheme (CC BY-SA 4.0) 3 Eastern and Western Seaways showing potential network-kingdoms 9 Western Seaway (with Cuerdale Corridor) and Southern Scandinavia (Danish Corridor) 13 Dirham fragments, cubo-octahedral weights (a–c), oblatespheroid weight (d) from the Torksey winter-camp (Blackburn 2011: 238, 255) (Courtesy of M. Blackburn & the British Numismatic Society) 21 Ívarr’s family 29 Broad-band arm-ring fragment, Jeffreyston (PAS: NMGW-22CFAA) 37 ‘Frequency distribution’ of provenanced broad-band arm-rings in Insular Scandinavia 39 Dirham distribution 54 Dirham-hoards tpq 790–925 57 Dirham-hoards tpq 825–860 58 Dirham-hoards tpq 860–890 59 Hoards containing late Abbasid dirhams (dark dots) and early Samanid dirhams (light dots), tpq 880–910 60 Sites with high numbers of dirhams (light dots), and hoards with at least five dirhams (dark dots), tpq 850–950 66 Western Seaway dirham-hoards and single-finds 71 Coins from Danelaw mints, via the Portable Antiquities Scheme and Corpus of Early-Medieval Coin Finds (EMC) 73 English single-finds (●) and hoards (■) 74 Danelaw c.866–954 (top: Hel-hama 2012; bottom: Hoodinski 2011) (CC BY-SA 3.0) 144 Comparison of number of hoards and single-finds (Blackburn 2007: 139) 160 ‘Viking box and scales’ by Berig (CC BY-SA 3.0) 172 Possible Eastern Seaway balances and single-find dirhams 174

xii Figures

7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6

7.7 7.8 7.9

7.10 7.11 7.12

7.13 7.14 7.15 7.16 7.17 7.18 7.19 7.20 7.21 7.22 7.23 8.1 9.1 9.2

Cubo-octahedral weight (PAS: SWYOR-3ECDD6) West Yorkshire Archaeological Advisory Service (CC BY-SA 4.0) 176 Western Seaway cubo-octahedral weight distribution (author) | Northern European cubo-octahedral weight distribution 177 Single-find dirhams; standardized weights; Eastern Seaway-type balances 178 Oblate-spheroid weight (with corroded iron core extruding), North Cave, Yorkshire (PAS: SWYORE16C55) West Yorkshire Archaeology Service (CC BY-SA 4.0) 179 Insular Scandinavian truncated-sphere (oblate-spheroid) distribution 180 Knobbed penannular brooches, Insular Scandinavia 183 Top: ‘Permian’ fragment, Spofforth, Yorkshire (PAS: SWYOR-55BBB2), West Yorkshire Archaeology Advisory Service (CC BY 4.0) | Bottom: West Coast Cumbria hoard, fragment is uppermost artefact on left (PAS: ­LANCUM-FA14C8) Portable Antiquities Scheme (CC BY 2.0) 186 Spiral-rings, Insular Scandinavia 188 Hoards and assemblages with Baltic/Southern Scandinavian material (left) | Hoards with dirhams (right) 189 Vale of York hoard. Note filigree bead on chain with pin (PAS: SWYOR-AECB53) British Museum (CC BY-SA 4.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme) 190 Pin-and-chain distribution 191 Danelaw detail of Insular Scandinavian Thor’s-hammer distribution 194 Amber concentrations, Insular Scandinavia 197 Silk, Insular Scandinavia 199 Ringed-pin from 10th-century Waterford 201 Ringed-pins 203 Danish and Hiberno-Scandinavian arm-rings (author) | ‘Frequency distribution’ of provenanced broad-band arm-rings in Insular Scandinavia 205 ‘Insular Mount’ weights – Risby, Suffolk (PAS: SF20A507) Suffolk County Council (CC BY 2.0) 206 Insular Mount weights 207 Anchor-shaped weights 208 Between Cuerdale Corridor and Danish Corridor 209 Kaupang’s trading connections (i) c.800–850/870 and (ii) c.850–930 217 Cubo-octahedral weights 237 Danish Corridor and Western Seaway within the Silver Route 239

Tables

3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 7.1

Abbasid/Samanid shift in Insular Scandinavia 62 Scandinavian dirhams 65 Insular dirham-hoards (cf. Sheehan 2020: 424) 68 Irish dirham-hoards 81 Irish single-finds 82 Scottish dirham-hoards 83 ‘Type 3’ balances, Insular Scandinavia (cf. Steuer 1987b: 464–5, 525) 173 7.2 Balances with Eastern Seaway-type decoration 174 7.3 Knobbed penannular brooches, Insular Scandinavia 182 7.4 Spiral-rings, Insular Scandinavia 187 7.5 Pin-and-chain arrangements, Insular Scandinavia 190 7.6 Filigree beads, Insular Scandinavia 191 7.7 Thor’s-hammer pendants, Insular Scandinavia 193 7.8 Amber concentrations, Insular Scandinavia 196 7.9 Silk, Insular Scandinavia 198 7.10 Danish ‘prototype’ broad-band arm-rings, Insular Scandinavia 204

Acknowledgements

Endless thanks to my editors, Neil Price, Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson, Ben Raffield, and to Routledge, Manas Roy, and the anonymous proposal reviewers, all of whom were unfailingly helpful, constructive, and – above all – kind. To all my family and friends – thank you for everything. To those who made my PhD possible: Colleen Batey, Stephen Driscoll, Ewan Campbell, Chris Dalgleish, and many other kind tutors, colleagues, and friends at the University of Glasgow. To those wonderful people and institutions who helped: James ­Graham-Campbell, Dagfinn Skre, Clare Downham, Søren Sindbæk, John Sheehan, Nick Hogan, Jane Kershaw, Rory Naismith, Peter Preston-­Morley, Heiko Steuer, Christoph Kilger, Anton Englert, Nils Blomkvist, Volker Hilberg, Ingrid Gustin, Marte Spangen, Tor-Ketl Krokmyrdal, Cat Jarman, Gareth Williams, Stephen Harrison, Donnchadh Ó Ceallacháin, Ailsa ­Mainman, British Numismatic Society, the Royal Numismatic Society, Kevin Clancy, Lars Søgaard Sørensen, Martin Comey, Michael Lewis, the British Museum, the Portable Antiquities Scheme, Matthew Gibbons, Katie Wakelin, Kangan Gupta, Dirk Steinforth, Allison Fox, Kristjana Eyjólfsson, Daniel Sahlén, Emma Brownlee, Terence Christian, Annemarie Franz, Ryan McNutt, Marjory Horne.

Introduction

In an ever-more connected and integrated world where trade and the money to pay for it are increasingly in the forefront not only of our national but also our personal lives, it is unsurprising that archaeologists and historians seek to interrogate the importance (or otherwise) of economic networks in ­Viking-Age Scandinavia. As such, my book is as much a product of the present as the past, and I trust readers understand it as ref lecting a society obsessed with the creation and destruction of trade networks and related political structures. With that in mind, please indulge my use of contemporary theories of network connectivity (that have, in mitigation, been adapted to Viking-Age economic data) to help understand why Scandinavian Viking-Age trade and associated polities in the West evolved the way they did. In particular, I wanted to explain the political and economic situation in Scandinavian Ireland and Britain (‘Insular Scandinavia’). Based on the British and Irish silver corpus, my hypothesis was that Viking groups largely originating in southern Scandinavia brought this Danish region’s understanding of commercial (market) exchange to Insular Scandinavia and with it a currency based largely on the weighing of silver to calculate its value as cash within a transaction. Crucially, these developments were part of a wider borrowing of political structure from southern Scandinavia, the Baltic, and Scandinavian regions of eastern Europe where polities based on manipulating trade networks dominated. I argue that these ‘network-kingdoms’ (Blomkvist 2009), with their focus on royally supervised markets at key (‘nodal’) points (Sindbæk 2005), provided the structural model for a dominant group of Vikings, possibly from Danish southern Norway, within Insular Scandinavia. I think these southern Scandinavians took this prototype and the various evolving weighed and coined silver currencies that facilitated it to Ireland from the 850s, establishing a nodal market at Dublin, and then via the Great Army to England from 865. Among other factors I discuss throughout this book, I believe the creation of a second nodal market at York ( Jórvík) and the dynastic linking of this to Dublin via a family known as the Uí Ímair (descendants of Ívarr) indicate an attempt to recreate in Insular Scandinavia a Danish-style ­network-kingdom like that which seemingly created linked nodal markets at Hedeby (southern Jutland) and Kaupang (Vestfold) in the late 8th century.

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-1

2  Introduction

Background While the kings of Jórvík soon embraced the minting of coined silver (as had been the case at Hedeby) and moved away from weighing currency within the town, Viking armies operating in Ireland and England largely used weighed silver, meaning they favoured a bullion (metal-weight) economy. The evidence for this comes in the form of hoards and overwintering encampments known as longphuirt in Ireland and Great Army winter-camps in England. In lieu of smaller denominations within a coined economy, bullion economies used fragments of coins or jewellery, with silver examples known as hacksilver. A common form of hacksilver was fragmented pieces of silver coins from (what is now) Iraq and Central Asia, known as dirhams. The 9th and 10th centuries saw vast quantities of dirhams reach eastern Europe and the Baltic, being used as bullion currency and melted down for jewellery. As Kershaw (2020: 119) noted, they probably arrived ‘as a result of Scandinavian mercantile networks’ (we think largely in return for slaves and furs) ‘and are […] an easily recognisable element of the bullion economy’. In such a system, value is reckoned by the weight and purity of metal used as cash; in Viking-Age Scandinavia, this was generally silver, but gold and copper (as in Anglo-Saxon Northumbrian copper-alloy styca coins common to winter-camps) would also have been used for high- and low-value transactions in what was seemingly a multi-metallic payment environment (Screen 2020: 378; Williams 2020e: 44). It is important to note that bullion economies were not crude and shared most of the functions of coined ones, such as the storing of wealth and measure of value (Williams 2020e: 43; cf. Kershaw 2020: 123). As completeness in bullion systems was of secondary importance to weight and purity, Scandinavians fragmented coins and jewellery to create smaller denominations. Purity was checked by surface hardness tests like ‘nicking’ or, from the c.880s (Williams 2020k: 12), gouging minute divots or ‘pecks’ (Screen 2020: 378, 382). Hacksilver (and to a lesser extent hackgold and hack copper-alloy) was then weighed in scales or balances using a diverse and evolving range of specialist weights to determine its value (Kershaw 2020: 123–4; Williams 2020f: 23, 30, 33). Although 470+ dirhams and countless other bullion pieces have been found in Insular Scandinavia, the extension here of Scandinavian metal-weight economies has only relatively recently become a focus (Graham-Campbell & Williams 2007; Graham-Campbell et al. 2011; Williams 2020a). Even studies now giving silver economies and commerce due prominence still tend to be regionally centred – hence my stressing of Insular Scandinavia as a whole – and do not interrogate parallels in Scandinavia and earlier expansions into eastern Europe in detail. This was due to past focus on ‘social’ gifting (as opposed to commerce) and of locating sites associated with violence, such as 9th-century winter-camps in England (Old English: wintersetle) and Ireland (Old Irish: longphuirt = ‘ship-camp/forts’ [Williams 2020b: ix]).

Introduction  3

Figure I.1  Samanid dirham (PAS: NCL-544D22), The Portable Antiquities Scheme (CC BY-SA 4.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme)

A belief that Scandinavians were largely indisposed to commerce persisted into the 2000s (Samson 1991a, 1991b; Hedeager 1994). Consequently, there was a reticence to incorporate market theory developed in homeland Scandinavia on the back of that region’s dirham inf luxes and the excavation of markets like Birka (Sweden) and Hedeby that used silver in both hacksilver and (counted) coin forms to facilitate trade. While some Insular Scandinavian studies discuss commercial bullion use in longphuirt and winter-camps (Russell & Hurley 2014; Hadley & Richards 2016; Kershaw 2020; Williams 2020a), there has been no monograph-level overview considering these developments in a pan-Scandinavian context that identifies economically inf luential regions in homeland Scandinavia, something I aim to correct here. In this endeavour, I am aided by a new generation of researchers who have reinvigorated our understanding of Viking-Age economics, writing in particular about non-metallic ‘commodity money’ (generally animal products, fabrics, and other crops used as cash) alongside multi-metallic bullion economies that move away from a sole focus on silver (Screen 2020: 378; Williams 2020e: 43–4). While most Scandinavians would not have dealt with metallic money regularly, likely more commonly using home-grown commodity currency units such as a particular length and fineness of cloth, many would have appreciated it, given precious metal’s high value-to-weight ratio making carrying it relatively easy (Kershaw 2020: 114; Williams 2020e: 43–4). If you

4  Introduction

imagine having to pay for your dinner with a cow or a length of sailcloth, then you can see the advantages of having some dirhams! In any case, existing studies tend not look at Insular Scandinavian exchange in the round, focussing on regions (e.g., Williams 2020a on Yorkshire) and do not offer in-depth analyses of potential network structures/agents behind the spread of Scandinavian silver economies to Ireland from the 850s and Britain from the 860s. Consequently, I attempt a corrective by allowing evidence for commerce facilitated by metallic commodity-money to be interpreted beyond regional Insular Scandinavian studies, and incorporate a recent market-monetary focus from Co. Waterford’s Woodstown longphort and winter-camps like Lincolnshire’s Torksey, Yorkshire’s ‘A Riverine Site Near York’ (ARSNY), and the Derbyshire sites of Repton and Foremark ( Jarman 2021). Consideration of these camps as stimulating urbanization (Williams 2020b: ix) should also be viewed in terms of my suggested Southern Scandinavian origins for much of what was happening in Insular Scandinavian economics in the second half of the 9th century. I suggest network models normalizing market-centric commerce and access to long-distance and local exchange networks developed in homeland Scandinavian research on sites like Kaupang and Hedeby offer the most relevant template of how trade was approached by some (inf luential) Scandinavians in Britain and Ireland. These models also help explain the movement of ideas between East and West, such as bullion economies based on hacksilver weighed by specialist weights and the trade of high-value commodities like silk and amber. I argue the (850–950) economic trajectories of Viking-Age Ireland and Britain support the creation of an Insular Scandinavian version of the ­network-kingdoms proposed for Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian regions (Blomkvist 2009). From this, I make a case for a Viking (k)in-group, latterly known as the Uí Ímair dynasty, establishing network nodes at Dublin and then Jórvík, having previously introduced a particular type of bullion commerce to Insular Scandinavia along the lines of a putative southern Scandinavian homeland within a Danish network-kingdom controlling Denmark, southern Norway, and Skåne. Thus, (Danish) Hedeby and (Danish-founded) Kaupang were potential blueprints not only for Dublin and Jórvík, but also for the longphuirt and winter-camps, at least in terms of market and monetary functions. My Insular Scandinavian market-centric polity based on control of network trade routes is supported by my use of ‘post-substantivist’ economic anthropology, which argues markets encouraged social and exchange conditions where commercial economics and production could f lourish (Gustin 2004a; Skre 2008c). While I accept that gift-giving, designed to maintain and construct social relations, dominated exchange for most, post-­substantivism allows for the increasing importance of market exchange, even in military and rural environments. Ultimately, I suggest we understand 9th- and 10th-century Insular Scandinavia best if we view it through the prism of economics developed originally in Southern and Baltic Scandinavian market environments and the eastern

Introduction  5

and Islamic trade networks into which they were plugged. Specifically, ambitions of Great Army leaders like Ívarr and Óláfr and those selfsame individuals operating previously in Ireland and Frisia/Frankia should be understood as conscious attempts to transplant market-based economics, markets, and network structures prioritizing trade and tolls developed in southern Scandinavia and the east to Insular Scandinavia (Sheehan 2020). Indeed, as Williams noted (Williams 2020e: 43; cf. Kershaw 2020: 127), evidence such as Croydon’s dirham hoard (dep. 871/2, south London) and the distinctive bullion practices at the Torksey and ARSNY winter-camps indicates ‘the driving force for this economic model was southern Scandinavia’.

1 Market economics in Viking-Age Ireland and Britain

Introduction I think we understand Insular Scandinavian economic and monetary developments best if we imagine Dublin and Jórvík as linked nodal markets within a network-kingdom. The form of these developments suggests this kingdom was established by those with experience of silver-based market economies in Southern Scandinavia, but that they were then inf luenced by Insular innovations developed in longphuirt and winter-camps (Williams 2020d). While bullion is key to understanding the particular form of money dominating transactions initially, I acknowledge the role of coined silver minted by Scandinavian rulers in Jórvík (Kershaw 2020: 123). I also agree with Kershaw on the existence of a ‘multi-metallic’ economy involving the more irregular use of gold and (possibly) copper-alloy as cash. With apologies to Shakespeare, all that glistens is not gold (or silver), however: it is likely Insular Scandinavians used the most appropriate currency for a given transaction, whether coined (Münzgeldwirtschaft) or bullion (Gewichtsgeldwirtschaft) metallic cash, or non-metallic commodity-money such as units of cloth or foodstuffs such as dried fish. Beyond currency, I am concerned with the routes and economic character of long-distance trade, as this seems to have had a major effect on how Viking-Age kingdoms developed in both East and West. I propose trade networks were extended to Ireland and Britain primarily by those with experience of the advantages of market commerce and metallic currencies, with the latter initially focussed on silver in bullion form. These individuals and groups operated within a series of interconnected networks linking Scandinavia and the Viking east (the present-day Baltic States, Russia, and Ukraine) to Insular Scandinavia. Chief among the mechanisms of this transfer were individuals with long-term plans (cf. Cooijmans 2020: 4; Sheehan 2020). These included independent traders and those elites who established tradebased polities based on large, permanent market sites situated at nodal points on existing exchange and plunder routeways (Skre 2015). For those traders, the experiences of Ohthere of Hålogaland (seemingly in Arctic Norway) and Wulfstan of Hedeby (a Danish market-town now in northern Germany),

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-2

Market economics in Viking-Age  7

whose shipborne journeys to markets in Scandinavia and the southern Baltic were recorded in c.890 in a text for Alfred the Great, are key (Batley & ­Englert 2007; Englert & Trakadas 2009; Kruse 2020: 170). Of those elite actors with designs on establishing polities in Insular Scandinavia, my primary candidates are the leaders of 9th-century Viking warbands, most notably the Great Army (Old English micel here) (Williams 2020g: 92), many of whom had also been active in Frankia and Frisia (Cooijmans 2020). Let us now turn to the Great Army and discover how they may have linked Southern Scandinavia to political and economic developments in ­Britain and Ireland.

The Great Army and economic links to Southern Scandinavia With the original force landing in East Anglia in 865, the Great Army campaigned across England until c.879 (Woods 2020: 396; Williams 2020g). It seems elements previously operated in Ireland, Frisia, and Frankia (Williams 2020g: 93; ref. McLeod 2014: 109–71). Beyond England, elements of the Great Army also operated – with Dublin Vikings – in southern and central Scotland during the 870s. Likely dominated by Southern Scandinavians who probably considered themselves Danes, the Great Army became increasingly heterogeneous, attracting war-bands and individuals from across Scandinavia and the West (Woods 2020: 399). ARSNY’s assemblage in particular suggests previous activity in Ireland (Williams 2020h: 87). Seemingly consisting of thousands of people, probably including children and women alongside traders and craftsfolk, elements of the Great Army campaigned in Britain until the late 870s, overwintering at Torksey (872–873, Lincolnshire), Repton (873–874, Derbyshire), and ARSNY (c.874–875, Yorkshire) (Woods 2020: 396). Upon leaving Repton, the Army – always likely to have been compartmentalized – divided: one half under Healfdene (‘brother’ of Ívarr) went north, seemingly overwintering at ARSNY, then next to the Tyne in 876–877 (?) before settling in Northumbria, and the other, led by Guthrum and others, moving south (Williams 2020g: 93). The highly mobile Great Army would move quickly when campaigning in a modern-looking combined forces manner, before making camp at key (Roman) road and riverine nodes and ecclesiastical and manorial redistribution centres that allowed them to control traffic while also providing for their horses, warriors, craftworkers, and ships, something also true for eastern Europe ( Jarman 2021). It seems probable winter-camps and a winter peace allowed the Great Army to reprovision and redistribute a portion of its loot back to those it had raided (Williams 2020g: 94–5). As I will show you, the quasi-urban market form winter-camps took speaks more to the Great Army borrowing from Scandinavian prototypes in my Danish Corridor, Frisia, Frankia, and the Baltic than (northern and western) Norway (although see Krokmyrdal 2020).

8  Market economics in Viking-Age

Ultimately, I think the facilitation and regularization of commercial exchange (trade) through efficiencies gained via the use of monetary silver and the deliberate structuring of polities and their markets around new and existing exchange networks were central to the genesis and monetary shape of the Viking Age in the West (as in its centre and east – Hedenstierna-Jonson et al. 2020: 66; Jarman 2021). Looking at southern Scandinavian involvement in Dublin (853+) and what I consider to be related individuals in the Great Army, I argue that the dominant models for Insular Scandinavian political structures and exchange modes originated in Southern Scandinavia, which in themselves followed monetary and market innovations of Swedish and Gotlandic Vikings in the 8th-century Baltic (Konsa et al. 2009; Peets et al. 2011; Price et al. 2016; Gruszczyński 2019; Gustaffson 2020; Hedenstierna-Jonson et al. 2020: 61–2; Jarman 2021). I define Southern Scandinavia as including southern Norway, Denmark, and Skåne in south-west Sweden (cf. Hilberg 2020: 258). While early (late 8th century) Insular raids were likely launched from northern and western Norway (Heen-Pettersen 2020: 445–6), developments by the mid-9th century suggest Southern Scandinavians were the major inf luence on the economic character of the Viking west (Kershaw 2020: 117, 124, 127; Sheehan 2020: 425; Williams 2020e: 43). Indeed, recent finds from Norway appear to show a difference in the type of (looted) Insular finds between western and northern Norway and south-eastern Norway, with more status and ­d isplay-related items in the former and, in the latter, more market-economic artefacts like the Insular-Scandinavian bullion weights consisting of a lead base with fragments of Insular/‘Celtic’ copper-alloy metalwork or Northumbrian stycas (Heen-Pettersen 2020: 446; Kershaw 2020; Williams 2020a, 2020c). Six of these ‘Insular mount’ weights have been found in the Kaupang market (­Vestfold), suggesting this Southern Scandinavian association with economies using hacksilver, dirhams, and Insular-Scandinavian bullion weights confirms the market-centric nature of contact between south-­eastern Norway (and the rest of Southern Scandinavia) and Insular Scandinavia (Heen-Pettersen 2020: 439, 446; ref. Bill & Rødsrud 2017). While new Insular mount finds in northern Norway trade and exchange sites like Sandtorg i Tjeldsund (Krokmyrdal 2020) may change this picture, for now the evidence favours south-eastern (Southern Scandinavian) connections. To test this hypothesis, I analyse archaeological evidence and theories relating to the development of market-based economic networks. The former focusses on dirhams and other ‘mobile silver’, and the latter on trade and exchange models developed by archaeologists working with homeland Scandinavian and Baltic data as I investigate the what (the material culture and sites) and how (networks of communication, migration, raiding, and trade). The why is an understanding that individuals want regular access to high-value commodities in relatively low-risk environments. Accordingly, transposing to Insular Scandinavia what worked in the north-way (ON Norðweg) coastal route that became the Norwegian network-kingdom and a Swedish Baltic

Market economics in Viking-Age  9

network-kingdom (Blomkvist 2009) – namely, the deliberate establishment of trading sites within an overarching market network – makes sense. That elites created network-kingdoms in the West after having seen them prosper in Scandinavia and eastern Europe is perhaps unsurprising (cf. Blomkvist 2009: 174). However, while the network-kingdom phenomenon has been suggested for the Baltic and Eastern Europe (Smyth 1977, 1979; Blomkvist 2009; Jarman 2021) – e.g., a Danish kingdom based on Hedeby and Kaupang, and a Rus’ polity based on Novgorod and Kyiv – attempts to identify this for Insular Scandinavia are rare and brief (Smyth 1975, 1977, 1979; Downham 2007; Valante 2008: 57–80). This is not to say the literature concerning economic networks in the West is not catching up: indeed, the field is expanding, with important contributions concerning commercial and social economies and the interactions between them. Although interest in non-metallic forms of ­commodity-money like foodstuffs and fabric is increasing (Williams 2020e: 43–6; 2020f: 30–1), attention to silver suggests it is still considered pre-­eminent (e.g., ­Graham-Campbell & Williams 2007; Graham-Campbell et al. 2011; ­Williams 2020a). This ref lects the fact silver – weighed or counted – seems the primary facilitator of market exchange. What makes silver (and, to a lesser extent, gold and copper-alloy) special beyond portability and convenience as a store of value is that it could also be used as jewellery within display economies,

Figure 1.1  E  astern and Western Seaways showing potential network-kingdoms (author, after Blomkvist 2009: 177, with kind permission)

10  Market economics in Viking-Age

meaning it was also a vital part of gifting (Williams 2020e: 43). As Holm (2015: 82, cf. 2017: 42) summarized regarding silver’s usefulness: its ‘common acceptance […] expands possibilities for exchange by enabling purchase and sale to be separated in time and space’. Kilger (2020a: 58) noted the ‘monetary abstraction’ offered by silver allowed trading partners to ‘translate quality and quantity into a common scale’ and meant that unrelated commodities could be assessed side by side. Taken together, I think it is clear from the above that exchange studies are increasingly holistic and ref lect the likely messy horsesfor-courses nature of trading and gifting in the Viking world. The above also alludes to the fact that Viking-Age economics is a dynamic field: in particular, metal-detector finds frequently change the picture, from newly discovered winter-camps at Foremark in Derbyshire ( Jarman 2021), ARSNY (Williams 2020a), and the Galloway hoard in south-west Scotland (Graham-Campbell 2020; Goldberg 2021). Recent years have also seen an increase in publications relating to silver economies and dirhams in particular (e.g., Gruszczyński 2019; Gruszczyński et al. 2020). However, I identified a lack of a monograph concerning silver use, political structures, and the role of the market in Insular Scandinavia, all of which, I suggest, must be viewed together and in relation to earlier developments in Scandinavia and eastern Europe. It is also fair to say no recent work attempts to provide a context for the character of the mid-9th to mid-10th centuries in both Britain and Ireland. Those publications that do exist have been overtaken by the data, and require updating, as Smyth (1975, 1979), or are brief, as Kruse (2007). Previous studies tend to view elements in isolation and lack detail, particularly as they relate to commercial economies and market-based polities in Insular Scandinavia. Consequently, I have studied Insular Scandinavia as a whole, contextualizing it in relation to developments in Scandinavia and the Viking east. Of particular importance in relation to these developments are Skre (2008c) and Gustin’s (2004a) ‘post-substantivist’ economic anthropology, which is to say I agree with arguments that exchange sites create conditions for commerce to develop (Skre 2008c). In the context of Viking-Age Scandinavia, this means I do not follow the conclusions of some (e.g., Samson 1991b) who downplayed commerce in favour of gift-exchange. However, neither do I draw anachronistic (formalist) parallels with post-industrial markets, acknowledging the narrow, if vital, role of markets in Scandinavia and the mainly silver currencies facilitating them.

Chronological and geographical parameters Recent studies in the eastern Baltic, such as the Estonian Salme ship burials of the mid-700s that seem to contain the battered remnants of a central Swedish war-band, are expanding the chronological parameters of the Viking Age, with the beginnings – at least in the Baltic/east – now pushed back into the mid-8th century, with a potential jumping-off point around Lake Mälaren in what is now central Sweden (Konsa et al. 2009; Peets et al. 2011, 2013; Price

Market economics in Viking-Age  11

et al. 2016; Androschuk 2020: 55; Hedenstierna-Jonson et al. 2020: 61–2, 66, 68). At the other end of the spectrum, post-1050 (Late-Norse) sites in the Northern and Western Isles of Scotland are revealing Baltic Scandinavian bullion connections into the post-1050 ‘Late Norse’ period (Batey forth.; Horne 2020; Sharples 2020; Horne & Smith 2020a, 2020b). I begin my interpretation of Viking-Age chronology with the decades either side of 800, being the period that marks the beginning of western Viking economic networks (initially focussed on looting). This start date is on the basis of Skre’s work relating to the southern Norwegian trading site of Kaupang’s earliest long-distance trade links (2011a: Figs. 1–5, 2015) and historical evidence from Irish annals and Alcuin’s letter responding to the infamous Lindisfarne raid of 793. It seems the early 9th century saw the beginning of Southern Scandinavian interest in the plunder and trade routes to the Irish Sea established in c.790 by Norse from south-west Norway (Skre 2015). Between c.800 and 850, raiding and slaving connections were consolidated by diverse (Danish/Vestfold/Skåne) Southern Scandinavians and those Northern Norse who, like Ohthere, travelled south from the Arctic on the Norðweg, a sheltered coastal trade and communications route (ON Leið), that would give its name to Norway (Kruse 2020: 170). By c.853, it appears Southern Scandinavian elites based themselves at the Irish end of this route, either by taking existing longphuirt like Dublin or creating their own. The relationship between ‘Norse’ and ‘Dane’ in Ireland from the mid-9th century is as central to our understanding as it is confusing, so an explanatory historical sketch over the following pages. I argue the 9th century saw the creation and consolidation of a ­network-kingdom established by elite Southern Scandinavians (potentially an Ívarr and Óláfr known from the historical record) and maintained intermittently for a century by Ívarr’s Hiberno-Scandinavian Uí Ímair (‘O’Ívarr’) descendants. This assumes Dublin came under control of Southern Scandinavians in the mid-9th century and this was added to by the taking of York in 866/7 by the same or related individuals, now leading the Great Army. This constituted attempts by those who owed their understanding of market-based economics to Southern Scandinavia to control existing traffic relating to ­ ublin-Jórvík raiding, migration, and exchange and insert it into a novel D market network polity. In short, I think the period c.866–954 (the end-date marking the last Viking king of Jórvík’s death) witnessed an Insular Scandinavian market kingdom. The operation of Dublin-Jórvík network traffic, largely via Roman roads that still crossed the Pennines (Gooch 2012: 195), was discontinuous, however, with these hubs occupied intermittently by Irish and Anglo-Saxon kings. During these periods, and after the final Uí Ímair involvement in Jórvík (i.e., Eiríkr’s death in 954, considered by Downham [2007, 2009] to be an Uí Ímair), it seems likely the old maritime route between Southern Scandinavia and Dublin via Scotland again became the path of least resistance (cf. Kershaw 2020: 119). The geographical scope of my book encompasses interlinking networks from Central Asia to Ireland. The justification is archaeological and historical

12  Market economics in Viking-Age

suggestions that, in the 9th and 10th centuries, a series of ‘interlocking exchange zones’ linked Dublin and Uzbekistan through what McCormick (2001: 613; cf. Screen 2020: 380) described as a ‘northern arc of communications and commerce’. To ease interpretation, I split McCormick’s arc into Eastern and Western Seaways, the latter being largely interchangeable with Insular Scandinavia. ‘Seaway’ was chosen to emphasize the importance of waterborne transport to Scandinavians (Westerdahl 1998). As with the likely preference for trans-Pennine movements between Ireland and the Danelaw, however, this use of maritime terminology does not imply seaways were the favoured mode of an Uí Ímair network-kingdom. Indeed, during fair weather and hiatus of Anglo-Saxon pressure, Roman roads represented the most efficient routeways, as suggested by the location and contents of the Cuerdale silver dirham-hoard (c.905–910, Lancashire) and other such caches in the northern Danelaw (cf. Gooch 2012; Kershaw 2020; Williams 2020c). Here, I outline my labels for the regions discussed in this book:

Eastern Seaway: region encompassing predominantly waterborne and portage exchange routes from the eastern European river systems linking northern Europe to the Abbasid Caliphate and Samanid emirate through the Baltic. This includes a Swedish network-kingdom linking the Birka nodal market to the (largely independent) Gotland and the eastern Baltic seaboard (Blomkvist 2009; Gruszczyński 2019), as well as Rus’ and Volga Bulgar polities in Eastern Europe. Danish Corridor | Southern Scandinavia: this region delineates the Danish network-kingdom’s sphere of inf luence, felt most strongly in the 9th century via its control of Hedeby and Kaupang. It is largely synonymous with Southern Scandinavia, a term used to describe that region which first embraced the use of hacksilver currency (Hårdh 1996; Hårdh 2008; Kilger 2008a, 2008b; Blackburn 2009: 45; Sheehan 2013: 812), but can also encompass areas of Frisia and Frankia in which Southern Scandinavian war-bands operated. The term ‘corridor’ is a result of observations made concerning the likely primary pathway of dirhams (and other materials, such as silk and carnelian, thought to have travelled in concert) between Viking east and west. Norðweg: the region that became Norway is thought of as a ­network-kingdom that consolidated pre-existing coastal exchange routeways into centralized royal control. Western Seaway | Insular Scandinavia: the Scandinavian regions of the British and Irish archipelago. Cuerdale Corridor: this refers to the idea that the Cuerdale hoard may just as likely have had its final assembly in Jórvík (where 3,000 of its 7,000 coins were minted) as Dublin (Williams 2011a: 70–1; cf.

Market economics in Viking-Age  13

Graham-Campbell 2011a: 155–6; Gooch 2012: 194–5). Regarding the Jórvík coinage, Williams (2011a: 70–1) noted ‘freshly-struck coins minted in York form the most recent addition to the hoard suggests that that element of the hoard at least was on its way from York at the time the hoard was deposited’. Given there was a dual-economy operating in the northern Danelaw at that time (with bullion largely excluded from Jórvík itself from the mid-890s – Kershaw 2020: 123), Williams (2011a: 71) argued it was possible both numismatic and non-numismatic material was assembled there, reasoning (i) there were no Irish Sea Region coins; (ii) the imported coins could have been assembled in Jórvík (and probably so in the case of those from the Midlands and East Anglia); and (iii) despite the large element of Irish non-numismatic silver, a dual-economy Yorkshire make it possible that material was assembled there. This suggestion allows us to think of the Corridor as a bi-­ directional routeway, where currency and goods from (and collected in) the Irish Sea Region and Yorkshire mixed. Within the Corridor, extant trans-Pennine Roman roads would have facilitated journeys between Hiberno- and Anglo-Scandinavian settlements (Graham-­Campbell 1992: 113–5; Gooch 2012: 194–5).

Figure 1.2  Western Seaway (with Cuerdale Corridor) and Southern Scandinavia (Danish Corridor) (author)

14  Market economics in Viking-Age

Historical background, 853–874: Laithlinn/Laithlind and Southern Scandinavians in Dublin I argue that the Vikings who ultimately prevailed in Dublin were from Denmark or Danish-controlled Norwegian regions like the Vestfold, and can be identified with the ‘dark foreigners’ (Dubgaill) in Irish sources. Summaries of arguments about the origin of the kings of Dublin (and Jórvík) can be found in Downham (2011) and Steinforth (2018: 81, 89–92, 2020a). In Downham’s summary of the Irish historical evidence for conflict between rival Scandinavian groups known as ‘white’ and ‘dark’ ‘foreigners’ (2011: 191), I favour the interpretation of the Scandinavians of ‘Laithlinn’ (an unidentified Viking homeland or temporary base) being from Danish southern Norway, or Denmark itself: One can read the Irish chronicles from 848–53 two ways; firstly, that the people of Laithlinn were the first vikings in Ireland, then the Dubgaill come along, then the people of Laithlinn reassert themselves. […] Or secondly, if we identify people of Laithlinn with Dubgaill then we have an account of the Dubgaill/people of Laithlinn progressively asserting themselves over Vikings who were in Ireland before them. (Downham 2011: 191, my emphasis) Given my interest in identifying the origins of economic inf luence in Insular Scandinavia, my concern is identifying the geographical and socio-­economic origins of an Ívarr and his brother/-in-arms Óláfr who – arguably –­ established or re-established control of Dublin in c.853. Some argue for Laithlinn being in Man or, as Steinforth (2020a), Scotland; some that it is in that area of western Norway in which the heaviest concentration of the c.400 pieces of early Viking-Age Insular ‘loot’ lies (Heen-Pettersen 2020: 435); and others that it is impossible to know (Valante 2008; Etchingham 2010; Downham 2011). I default to the archaeology and the picture it sketches of an inf luence that looks more Danish than (northern) Norwegian, despite recent finds demonstrating market-based connections to southern and Insular Scandinavian bullion economies in Arctic Norway (Krokmyrdal 2020). For this, I look to Kaupang and post-853 Dublin, arguing Dublin’s economic characteristics and dynastic history makes most sense if viewed in the context of mid-9th-century attempts to link markets in the Vestfold and the Irish Sea Region (cf. Valante 2008; Skre 2015). Óláfr (OI: Amlaíb Conung  ) and Ívarr (OI: Ímar) According to Irish historical evidence, Óláfr (d.872/4?) and his ‘brother’ Ívarr (d.873?) took Dublin in 853 (Steinforth 2020b: 103, n.3). The Annals of Ulster (AU) state that in ‘[853] Amlaíb [Old Norse Óláfr], son of the king of Laithlind, came to Ireland, and the foreigners [Scandinavians] of Ireland submitted to him’ (Steinforth 2018: 89, AU 852 in Mac Airt and Mac Niocaill;

Market economics in Viking-Age  15

Macniven 2020: 151). Óláfr (OI Amlaíb) was accompanied by his brother Ívarr (OI Ímar) and Ásl (OI Auisle), and together they fought for Dublin with Máel Sechlainn and the probable Irish-Scandinavian Gallgoídil between 853 and c.863 (Steinforth 2018: 89). With domestic control seemingly secured, the ‘brothers’ (perhaps kinsmen or close associates) campaigned in Britain, with Ívarr heading to England in 864 and joining the Óláfr operating in Scotland from 866 (Steinforth 2018: 89, 2020b: 103, n.3, 2020b: 106). Steinforth (2018: 89) noted: Ívarr at this time disappears from the Irish annals and it is thought that he is the Ívarr who now appears in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Downham 2009, 21, 64–6). According to this, Ívarr arrived in East Anglia in 864 and joined the Great Army, which in 866/7 would seize York and turn southern Northumbria into a Norse kingdom […] Shortly afterwards, in 866, Óláfr and Ásl sailed to [Pictish] Fortriu, raiding and plundering successfully there. Williams (2020g: 93) agrees Ívarr was ‘one of the original leaders of the micel here [and] had probably previously campaigned in Ireland’. If Ívarr joined the Great Army from the beginning, I argue this suggests prior Dublin contacts with this (predominantly Southern Scandinavian?) force. Perhaps Irish instability in 853–864 delayed major operations by this family in Britain. In any case, Óláfr was forced to return to Ireland (without the now-dead Ásl) in 867 to shore up the family position, but returned to Britain in 870, where he and Ívarr successfully besieged Dumbarton Rock (Alt Clut), before returning to Dublin with boatloads of slaves in 871 (Steinforth 2018: 89–90, 2020b: 107). Steinforth (2020b: 107; cf. Griffiths 2010: 29) suggests that, with slaves including Angles among Britons and Picts, ‘Ivarr had travelled directly from York to Strathclyde and brought Anglian captives along with him’, likely arranging the attack via communications routes across the Pennines and north-west England suggested by distribution of Scandinavian hoards like that of Cuerdale with its Hiberno-Scandinavian character and freshly minted Jórvík coins. Ívarr died in Ireland in c.873 – called ‘king of all the Northmen in Britain and Ireland’ (AU) – and Óláfr was killed by Picts in 872/874 (Steinforth 2018: 90, 2020b: 103, 106; Williams 2020g: 93). Steinforth (2020b: 106) suggests that, with Óláfr king of Dublin and Ívarr king of Jórvík, they had established ‘a Viking sea-kingdom spanning the Irish Sea’ by 873 and knew the value of control of Man and north-west England in controlling routeways between Dublin and Northumbria. This chimes with my argument that Dublin and, ultimately, York were reconstituted by a family of likely Southern Scandinavian Norwegian origin (possibly Vestfold – see Valante 2008: 61, 63–75; cf. Smyth 1975: 16–20, 1977: 34–5, 125) as markets within a dynastic network-kingdom along the lines of practice probably witnessed by Óláfr and Ívarr in Southern Scandinavia and the Baltic (cf. Smyth 1975; Dumville 2005; Blomkvist 2009).

16  Market economics in Viking-Age

Supporting evidence for my position does not only come from historical interpretations, however: in 2020, a DNA study into ‘Viking’ burials indicated (albeit via a small dataset) dominance of Norwegian and what was likely Scotto- (Picto-) Scandinavian incomers into 9th-century Ireland (Margaryan et al. 2020). Importantly for my understanding of 9th-century events is that the study’s ‘Norwegian-like’ ancestry includes the Vestfold (Margaryan et al. 2020: fig.4, 394), meaning early Viking-Age settlers in Ireland and Dublin might have been ‘Norwegian-like’ in their DNA, but more ‘Danish-like’ in their economics. The strong presence (again, with small sample numbers) of a ‘North-Atlantic’ ancestry – seemingly focussed on the Northern Isles – in the Dublin region may also add credence to the location of Laithlinn (Óláfr is described by the AU as the son of its king) being in Scotland (cf. Steinforth 2020a). However, this is something I reject (for now) on the grounds that Óláfr and co. make most sense if they come from a region with trading towns like the Vestfold. I propose Óláfr’s family and groups like the Great Army saw what had been successful in Southern Scandinavia and attempted to recreate it, first in Ireland, then England. Thereafter, Ívarr and his heirs intermittently maintained a network-kingdom until the mid-10th century (Dumville 2005; Downham 2007). Following Downham (2007: 22–3; cf. Steinforth 2018: 89), I consider the Great Army Ívarr to be the same as the AU Ímar who died ‘king of all the Northmen in Britain and Ireland’, suggesting control over Dublin and the Jórvík kingdom. From the Irish name for Ívarr’s descendants, and work undertaken on the phenomenon of Viking-Age trade kingdoms in the Baltic (Blomkvist 2009) and Eastern Europe (Smyth 1975, 1979; Jarman 2021), I think of this Dublin-Jórvík realm as an Uí Ímair network-kingdom. This (loose) polity was likely inspired by early 8th-century Danish kings who established Hedeby and Kaupang on a seemingly economic initiative to exploit the sea route to Ireland via Scotland (Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015; Steinforth 2020a). It seems probable both Danish and Uí Ímair network-kingdoms were designed to exploit raiding and migration routeways to Ireland and Britain; while these earlier networks likely originated in northern and western Norway, their subsequent exploitation had a key Southern Scandinavian element and it is suggested by some (Wallace [1992] disagrees) that Dublin was partly modelled on Kaupang (Valante 2008: 54, 63; Skre 2015). This is based on the idea of Ívarr’s family originating in, or being familiar with, a Danish Vestfold (Smyth 1977: 125; Valante 2008: 61, 63–75). Previous arguments for this, based on non-Scandinavian written evidence and lacking full engagement with market-network economics (Smyth 1975, 1979), no longer need to be relied upon. Smyth (1975: 16–20, 1977: 34–5) had used these sources to argue Ívarr and his family were descendants of a ‘sea king’ (Ragnarr loðbrók) who held power in the waters connecting Denmark, Skåne, and Vestfold. Subsequently, Valante (2008: 69; cf. Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015) suggested Ívarr and his kin made Dublin a ‘direct satellite’ of Vestfold/Kaupang ‘to more effectively organize and control trade’. However, while Smyth and Valante

Market economics in Viking-Age  17

pointed to Óláfr and Ívarr’s potential Vestfold origins, others were less willing to commit to any location. Indeed, Dumville (2005: 91) chose ‘Scandinavian’ as a neutral term instead of Norwegian or Danish in order to describe Ívarr. Downham (2007: 14–16) linked Ívarr to a Laithlin/n/d outside Dublin that would always be unknowable as an exact location and which, in any case, may have changed over time (Downham 2007: 15, 15 n.28). This was in opposition to Ó Corráin (1998; cf. Downham 2007: 15; Etchingham 2010: 80), who, like Steinforth (2020a), argued that Laithlind referred to Scotland, and that this was where the Uí Ímair originated (cf. Etchingham 2010: 80; Steinforth 2020a). Etchingham (2010) took issue with Vestfold or Denmark origins for Ívarr, favouring western Norway as Laithlinn due to its concentration of Irish metalwork in burials. I think, however, that the graves on Norway’s western coast should be seen as markers on a network route between the Danish Corridor and Irish Sea, not necessarily the end point in which a polity was based (cf. Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015). Indeed, even if Laithlinn were on the Norðweg, Sindbæk (2011) and Holm (2017) allow for the strong attachment of ostensibly isolated, rural Scandinavian regions to the nearest quasi-urban market, which was probably Kaupang or a similar settlement like nearby Heimdalsjordet (Bill & Rødsrud 2017). Moreover, subsequent identification of (seasonal?) bullion-using market and boat repair sites in northern Norway, like Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020; contra Kruse 2020: 171–4) combined with Ohthere, who seemingly traded from the Arctic to southern Scandinavia and Wessex, suggest the whole of the Norðweg was ‘Danish-like’ in its approach to trade. The above fits (or does not fatally wound) my argument that Dublin was captured in the 850s by a family originating in a market-centric region of Southern Scandinavia centred on a Kaupang-Hedeby axis. The benefits of kingdoms based on trade and communications networks, like that being consolidated by Harald inn hárfagri in c.870s Norway, would have been clear to elite Scandinavians. This would have been true even for those who, like Ohthere, lived at great remove from major markets. Moreover, many nonelite Scandinavians would also have been aware of the benefits, particularly the availability of imported jewellery seen in burials and used in local social strategies (Holm 2017). This means that even those from northern Norway operating in Insular Scandinavia would not necessarily have seen Southern Scandinavian market environments as alien (and may have been familiar with Sandtorg-type seasonal markets). Consequently, even if you think northern Norwegians prevailed in Dublin, the likelihood is market concepts had already reached these regions from Southern Scandinavia via the Norðweg. Similarly, if you do not think the Ímar/Ívarr operating in Ireland was the same as in Britain, then the spread of market inf luence throughout Southern Scandinavia that seemingly provided Insular Scandinavia Viking leaders in the second half of the 9th century with their network-based economic models suggests those individuals would have been aware of best practice strategies in extracting maximum wealth with the lowest risk.

18  Market economics in Viking-Age

Imported and adapted silver economies An innovation that would-be market-network regents from Southern Scandinavia could bring to Ireland and Britain was hacksilver, bring its efficiencies and membership of a wider economic world. Merkel defined hacksilver as ‘a form of commodity-money, a pure exchange medium where the value is not manipulated but is solely a ref lection of the value of the material from which silver objects were made’ (2017: 45), i.e., deliberately cut-up silver facilitating the smaller, regular transactions associated with commerce. Hacksilver economies are considered responses to the major inf lux of dirhams from c.860, with a locus in Southern Scandinavian towns like Kaupang, but also non-urban central places like Uppåkra in Skåne (Williams 2020e: 40). I suggest hacksilver use spread through what would become the Uí Ímair network-kingdom via individuals like Ívarr and Ohthere or groups like the Great Army, all of whom most likely originally encountered this currency in Southern Scandinavia. Moreover, evidence from Britain demonstrates silver economies spread far beyond markets/winter-camps into their hinterlands (Kershaw 2020; Williams 2020a), something also the case for southern Norway and the Swedish interior (Gullbekk 2014; Holm 2017). In this way, silver economies developed in the Baltic and Southern Scandinavia (cf. Hårdh 2008: 97ff.) spread to the Arctic via agents like Ohthere and travelled with the likes of Ívarr and the Great Army to Frisia, Frankia, Ireland, and Britain.

Bullion economy in the Danelaw (c.860s–950s) From single-find evidence (stray losses or settlement finds), we know bullion weights, dirhams, and silver ingots were ‘prominent’ in the rural Danelaw, having ‘close parallels in Scandinavian bullion hoards and bullion material retrieved from specialised trading sites across Scandinavia and the Baltic, including Kaupang (Norway), Birka (Sweden), Hedeby (Germany) and Truso (Poland)’ (Kershaw 2017: 177; cf. Kershaw 2020: 114). Links to Southern Scandinavia can be seen in a fragment of 12-rod plaited neck-ring of likely Danish origin found ‘near Stamford Bridge’ in Yorkshire, possibly deposited in the mid-10th century, and other plaited types from the Flusco Pike no.2 hoard (c.925, Cumbria) and from Bedale, Yorkshire (Kershaw 2020: 116–7). Gold bullion may also have arrived in the same period, with a possible Southern Scandinavian origin for a complete (but purity tested) twisted rod armring (Kershaw 2020: 117). Kershaw (2017) argues metal-weight transactions were a relatively short-lived phenomenon in Danelaw urban environments due to the fact that, once in England, Scandinavian town-based elites became inf luenced by an Anglo-Saxon Münzgeldwirtschaft (coined-money economy: Steuer 1987b), based exclusively on royally minted coinage. Blackburn (2005b: 20) placed the earliest Danelaw coinages within the ‘imitative phase’, being ‘imitations of the successful neighbouring [­A nglo-Saxon] coinages’, being standard practice for young kingdoms prior

Market economics in Viking-Age  19

to a ‘national’ phase in which the mature polity started to produce their own ‘regal’ issues (as in Jórvík and East Anglia – Kershaw 2017: 175, 2020: 123). In East Anglia, the realm of Guthrum, Blackburn (2005b: 33–4) argued for ‘continuity of minting […] through the 870s and 880s. The Vikings, having inherited Edmund’s mint as a going concern, […] developed a monetary system that built on Edmund’s’. Subsequently, this system ‘spread out from East Anglia to other parts of the Danelaw in the 880s and 890s’ (Blackburn 2005b: 34). Indeed, from the 880s, evidence suggests Danelaw kingdoms were ‘economically vibrant states, that had assimilated the previous monetary system and were developing it in their own distinctive way’ (Blackburn 2005b: 36). Danelaw urban Münzgeldwirtschaften are not at odds with Ívarr-types importing Gewichtsgeldwirtschaften (weighed-money economy: Steuer 1987b), network-kingdoms, and Southern Scandinavian economics; these leaders would have wanted to introduce efficiencies that increased incomes and retinues – if coinage, imitative or indigenous, ‘did the job’ of increasing wealth accrued by trade and tolls better than bullion and brought additional prestige or an increased ‘premium’ (Screen 2020: 378), then all the better. Note here only the Southern Scandinavian markets at Ribe and Hedeby produced coinage in the 9th century (Kershaw 2017: 174), suggesting to me that many of those Scandinavians in the urban Danelaw were from, or knew, this region. In any case, Blackburn (2005b: 35) noted a rather Southern Scandinavian mix of monetary practice in the Danelaw, with ‘foreign […] coins and cut bullion or ingots in gold and silver, together with […] peck-marking coins and metalwork, [indicating] a dual coin/bullion economy in the late ninth and early tenth centuries’. To this, Kershaw (2017: 187–8) added an observation about the longevity of bullion use in England: Viking leaders in the Danelaw may have aligned themselves with ­ nglo-Saxon minting practices, but robust support for a bullion economy A continued for some two generations. […] Its maintenance as a currency may have served as a conscious act of cultural preservation, reinforcing distinction in a multi-ethnic society. For Kershaw (2017: 174), saying ‘Scandinavian settlers were quick to abandon bullion in favour of coin’ is unsustainable, particularly in light of Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) evidence demonstrating ‘both forms of tender circulated concurrently for several decades in the rural Danelaw’. Indeed, using the production dates of English single-find dirhams, Kershaw (2017: 184–5) uses the c.10- to 15-year average travel time from source (Blackburn 2008b: 39; Williams 2011: 66) to demonstrate ‘bullion and coin appear to have co-existed as forms of currency for some 70 or 80 years, from the onset of a sustained Viking presence in England in c. AD 865 to at least c. AD 930/40’ and possibly into the 950s (Kershaw 2020: 119). Tellingly, this fits my chronological parameters for the Uí Ímair network-kingdom.

20  Market economics in Viking-Age

Dirhams and the ‘Silver Route’ In the Danelaw as elsewhere, dirhams were key to the supply that sustained Scandinavian silver economies. Their mass inf lux into the Baltic – focussed on Gotland – and Southern Scandinavia habituated those regions to the use as currency of that silver not required for conversion into jewellery, subsequently using increasingly small fragments to facilitate exchange amid a growing volume of transactions (Screen 2020: 378). Being distinctive in form, ‘kufic’ script, and metallurgy, dirhams help delineate a ‘Silver Route’ network of Scandinavian economies. This network’s parameters and routeways are suggested by the westwards distribution of dirhams produced in Abbasid Baghdad and a Samanid emirate centred on ­Transoxiana-Sogdia with major mints at Tashkent and Samarkand. Dirhams were also counterfeited by a Volga network-kingdom centred on Bulgar and situated strategically between these polities on largely riverine trade routes connecting the lands around the Caspian and Aral seas to the Rus’ northern territories centred on Staraja Ladoga and Novgorod and thence the eastern Baltic. Steuer (2009: 295) used relative dirham densities (from single dirhams to hoards containing thousands of them) to suggest movement thereafter towards Gotland, the Birka-Mälaren region, and Southern Scandinavia. From here, dirhams were moved westwards to the eastern Danelaw and across the Cuerdale Corridor’s Roman roads towards Dublin (Steuer 2009: 295; Gooch 2012). My Uí Ímair kingdom was, therefore, inserted into this wider trading area, with dirhams being a widely recognized common currency of generally high-quality commodity-money (cf. Kershaw 2017: 174). Dirhams entered Baltic Scandinavia from c.800, perhaps following networks established by (Swedish) Salme types, being imported into Insular Scandinavia from c.865 to 870 until c.960 in vastly smaller, but still significant, numbers (Steuer 1987a; Naismith 2005; Kilger 2008a). However, beyond suggesting an initial Danelaw entry point from Southern Scandinavia (Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998; Naismith 2005; Brown & Naismith 2012) and not northern Norway, little has been done in Insular Scandinavian studies to identify those behind this movement, or to place them in a wider network-economic context. That this dirham transfer was primarily between Southern Scandinavia and the Danelaw, and the earliest depositions link to Great Army activity – the Croydon hoard (c.871/872) and Torksey (c.872–873) – indicates the Silver Route in the West related to Ívarr types.

A comparative approach ‘Kufic’ coins would have only been the tip of the network iceberg, however. In order to gain an understanding of the network as a whole, and working on the understanding dirhams deposited in Ireland and Britain represent just part of a wider package of imported bullion and commodities (Sheehan 1998), I gathered evidence for long-distance imports, such as amber and silk,

Market economics in Viking-Age  21

and other objects associated with supraregional Scandinavian market activity. The latter included traders’ personal accoutrements (brooches and pins) and weights linked to the weighing of dirhams. These ‘standardized’ weights, seemingly ‘regulated’ to a (very) approximate weight standard, appear in both cubo-octahedral (AD 860+) and oblate-spheroid (870+) form, being popular in those parts of eastern Europe and Scandinavia with large concentrations of dirhams (and closely associated with weighing dirhams and hacksilver as bullion). In concert with dirhams, the import of metrological forms associated with major markets like Hedeby, Kaupang, and Birka suggests market-­ orientated exchange was introduced to Ireland and Britain as a result of 9th-century contacts with the towns of southern and Baltic Scandinavia. Ultimately, my dataset showed concentrations of high-value imports in Dublin and Jórvík and of bullion and its associated metrological equipment in their hinterlands and along the routeways connecting these markets. This led me to a market-centric hypothesis best explained by network and economic theory I transposed from existing studies of exchange in the Baltic and Viking east. Here, e.g., urban concentrations of long-distance imports supported nodal-market network theories, where exchange was attracted to lightly administered ‘hubs’ identified and characterized by sustained import of exotic commodities (Sindbæk 2008).

Figure 1.3  Dirham fragments, cubo-octahedral weights (a–c), oblate-spheroid weight (d) from the Torksey winter-camp (Blackburn 2011: 238, 255) (Courtesy of M. Blackburn & the British Numismatic Society)

22  Market economics in Viking-Age

It seems the spread of supposedly socially ‘neutral’ (commercial) transactions was aided by unique ‘anti-social’ circumstances in both urban and temporary markets where looser (non-kin) bonds between traders, elites, and producers facilitated market transactions relatively unfettered by ‘­socially-embedded’ reciprocal gift-exchange (Gustin 2004a; Skre 2008a, 2008b, 2008c, 2008d; Kilger 2008b; Skre 2017: 2). That this could then spread to non-urban regions like northern Norway and Scotland via links to these ‘first-tier’ hubs and/or ‘second-tier’ regional markets – the latter likely being serviced predominantly by intraregional independent and erratic/irregular traders (Braudel 1972; Skre 2017: 17) – is suggested by the spread of bullion economy items to rural areas of Insular Scandinavia. This is based on an analogy with northern Norway which, even in the pre-Viking Age, saw ‘how the network of urban trade permeated […] even to its far corners’ (Sindbæk 2011: 58–9); something illustrated by the discovery of Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020) and Ohthere’s knowledge of coastal journeys from his Arctic home to the Southern Scandinavian trading centres of Kaupang and Hedeby (Englert 2007: 129; pers comm.). Thanks to metal-detecting, and investigations at the overwintering-camps of Torksey, Repton, ARSNY, Woodstown (Co. Waterford) and the post-c.1050 (Late Norse) Earl’s Bu (Orkney) and Bornais (South Uist) settlements, I suggest the Insular Scandinavian economic dataset has reached the point where it can be contextualized via comparison with network models created for Scandinavia (cf. Williams 2011b: 362). The relative neglect of long-distance exchange mechanisms connecting Insular Scandinavia (excepting Kruse 2007: 163) is not replicated for Scandinavia where interest has produced an enviable historiography from Bolin (1953) to Krokmyrdal (2020). Indeed, as demonstrated by adoption of nodal-market and ­network-kingdom models, my methodology is to use Eastern Seaway theory to help understand Insular Scandinavian trade and associated political developments. Eastern Seaway studies were transformed by thinking of Scandinavian long-distance exchange as displaying network characteristics (Seland 2017; Skre 2017: 1). Consequently, nodal urban markets like Birka can be thought of as firsttier sites, underneath which more ephemeral second-tier markets like Sandtorg operated within largely regional or local exchange spheres. Examples of the latter include seasonal beach markets as suggested for Pierowall (Orkney), longphuirt, and wintersetle. Ranked sites, introduced by Sindbæk (e.g., 2007a, 2007b, 2011), include the idea no areas were truly remote, being linked to first-tier sites through local markets or direct travel (cf. Holm 2017; ­K rokmyrdal 2020).

Economic anthropology and ‘post-substantivism’ I now turn to the second theoretical underpinning: economic anthropology as viewed in a network context. Economic anthropology studies how people conduct exchange, whether involving gifts ‘embedded’ in social

Market economics in Viking-Age  23

relationships (like presents), or more socially neutral (impersonal) acts of commercial trade, where a means of exchange like bullion or royally regulated coinage (intended to be counted ‘by tale’) facilitate transactions between strangers. Before Kruse’s (2007) sketch outlining the likely existence of markets and impersonal trade across Viking-Age Scandinavia, few Western Seaway studies engaged in the extent of market-exchange networks, with most adopting substantivist perspectives advocating the near-total lack of market economics. Foremost among these is Samson (1991a, 1991b: 87, 1991c), who saw his work as remedying Hodges’ Dark Age Economics (DAE, 1982), which had transposed Sahlins’ prehistoric ‘primitive trade’ (1974) to early-medieval contexts. Sahlins outlined a continuum between positive and negative socially embedded exchange from gift to theft (Samson 1991b: 90–1; cf. Hodges 1982: 14). As Samson (1990: 90) noted, Sahlins looked at this ‘continuum from positive to negative reciprocity to distinguish the varying social nature of different types of exchange’. Samson (1991b: 90–1) understood Sahlins’ continuum should be considered in terms of long-term personal relationships, not merely the moment of transaction: ‘Thus the giving of gifts, if reciprocated roughly equally over a long period, is balanced’. Hodges (1982: 14) referenced Sahlins as being critical to his ideas concerning exchange. Transposing this substantivist perspective to Viking-Age Scandinavia, Hodges considered elite supraregional trade in luxuries of great importance in economic change, being criticized by Skre (2008c: 327, cf. 2017: 1–2, 16, 19) as overly marginalizing ‘the dynamic power of the economy itself, along with the significance of other social groups’. Another criticism is that Hodges’ central markets (‘emporia’) were much more connected to their immediate economic hinterland than DAE allowed. That said, Hodges remains important for his focus on the importance of long-distance trade in high-value goods and the centrality of nodal markets to networks. Furthermore, Hodges’ marginalization of individual economic agency across a broader social spectrum was tempered in later works (Hodges 2000: 83, in Skre 2008c: 341). While DAE was a product of a time before the excavations at Birka and Kaupang that informed Gustin and Skre, consideration of the active economic involvement of what might be considered middle and working classes at emporia remains lacking, a central failing of substantivism (Skre 2017: 19). The substantivist position adopted by Sahlins (2004, orig. 1972) and Hodges (1982) argued exchange in pre-industrial societies was ‘embedded’ in social relations, with economy subservient to social control. Consequently, substantivism saw Viking-Age economics as ‘other’, a reaction to an earlier ‘formalism’ which viewed pre-industrial exchange as akin to modern capitalism, albeit on a smaller scale (Kilger 2008b: 256–7; Skre 2008b: 10, 2008c: 328–33, 2017: 1–2). While a useful corrective, over time substantivism – inf luential until the early 2000s – became rigid, tying exchange in ‘primitive’ Viking societies to gift-exchange and virtually excluding commerce (Kilger 2008b). Authors also tended to marginalize contemporary evidence

24  Market economics in Viking-Age

of apparent market traders like Ohthere while emphasizing the centrality of gift and counter-gift in (later) sagas. The inf luence of substantivism in Insular Scandinavian studies persisted until initial publication of winter-camps at Torksey (Blackburn 2008a, 2008b; Hadley & Richards 2016), ARSNY (Williams 2020a), and Repton ( Jarman et al. 2018; Jarman 2021), with their evidence of sophisticated multi-metallic economies and in-camp production dependent on access to imports obtained via long-distance market-networks. Evidence for groups thought previously to have ‘only’ been war-bands increasingly suggested their camps were like bazaars, with the commerce this implied operating alongside ‘traditional’ gifting and loot redistribution (cf. Skre 2017: 2). From this, it is easier for me to suggest their leaders had an ‘end game’ of kingdoms based on Eastern Seaway-style market-networks. It is as a consequence of this and parallel evidence of bullion economies operating in ostensibly ‘remote’ and/or rural regions of Insular Scandinavia, that I adopt a post-­ substantivist perspective. This means I view Insular Scandinavian economies similarly to those in Scandinavia, in that they were dynamic entities with ‘production of goods for sale, trade using silver or gold as forms of currency, the determination of prices according to demand and supply, together with other economic phenomena which substantivists would characterise as market-economic’ (Skre 2008a: 10). While commerce was only a small part of these economies compared to subsistence, it was of disproportionate importance to elites, hence royal investment in markets linked across trade routes to partner sites in network-kingdom structures. Furthermore, the willingness of traders to travel long distances to them also speaks to the need for all levels of society to access the exotic gifts and display items vital to everyone’s social strategy (cf. Holm 2017). This book is indebted to those who – like Skre et al. – developed the post-substantivist perspective. Alongside new data, my major contribution is to adapt and apply this model to Insular Scandinavia. In terms of network architecture, Sindbæk is also central for his discussions of first-tier markets and the relationship of rural areas and second-tier markets to them (2007, 2011). Similarly, Blomkvist (2009) is important for tying a particular type of political structure – network-kingdoms – to long-distance trade. Blomkvist’s trade-centric network polities echo Smyth (1979: 297–313), who compared an Uí Ímair trade-based polity linking Dublin and Jórvík with a Rus’ contemporary linking ‘trading strongholds’ at Novgorod and Kyiv. Valante (2008) and Downham (2007) also take their lead from Smyth’s observations of network links predicated on market trade and the specific ‘commercial’ connection between our Danish Corridor and Insular Scandinavia. Smyth’s avant la lettre Uí Ímair network-kingdom thesis was reinvigorated by Downham (2007, 2009; cf. Dumville 2005) who sought to bolster evidence for: (i) the identification of the Ímair from Irish annals active c.848/853–864 and c.871–873 with the Great Army figure and the Dumbarton siege (2007: 22–3; 64–7, 139–42) and (ii) the essential continuity of dynastic links and

Market economics in Viking-Age  25

attempts to maintain a Dublin-Jórvík-Danish Corridor axis within an Uí Ímair ‘pan-Insular’ realm between c.867 and 954 (2007). My final inspiration relates to Sheehan’s observations (2011a, 2011b, 2020) about connections between Ívarr and company’s movements and the introduction of Danish-style silver use in Insular Scandinavia. In the context of the earliest imported dirhams, Sheehan speculated Ívarr and the Great Army may contextualize how Danish models for Hiberno-Scandinavian broadband arm-rings reached these islands. Given the presence, alongside the first dirhams, of the Danish prototype at Croydon (c.871/872) and Torksey (c.872–873), Sheehan (2011: 98) suggested Ívarr was the link between Southern Scandinavian silver economies and their spread to Insular Scandinavia. From this, the idea Ívarr and associates may have had a plan to recreate the trade-based political units from their region of origin took root, to be bolstered by application of post-substantivist market and network theories to a growing Insular Scandinavian dataset.

2 A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain

I am not unique in suggesting a Scandinavian kingdom connecting Dublin and Jórvík or discussing the connectivity around and across the British and Irish archipelago. Neither is it a first to notice links between silver use in Southern and Insular Scandinavia. That said, I hope the bringing together of isolated allusions to markets and long-distance commerce spread out (and thereby somewhat lost) over decades of scholarship represents an important step in building a coherent case for the importance of markets and network connectivity in Britain and Ireland. To begin, I look at the historiography of a Dublin-Jórvík polity and the difficulties of assessing the Viking-Age historical evidence.

Dublin and Jórvík In c.841, four decades after first contacts between the Danish Corridor and the Irish Sea (Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015), Scandinavians established a longphort on the River Liffey in present-day Dublin (Smyth 1975: 17; Sheehan 2008: 282; Clarkson 2014: 60; Steinforth 2020a). On the evidence of weights and scales from the typically Scandinavian Kilmainham-Islandbridge burials in what is now western Dublin (Harrison & Ó Floinn 2015), and on analogy with the Woodstown longphort (Russell & Hurley 2014; Sheehan 2015), trade, production, and silver currency use probably occurred from the outset. Within a decade, however, the area was taken over by a group, possibly originating in the Vestfold region containing Kaupang and Heimdalsjordet (Smyth 1975: 16–17; Valante 2008: 67). Subsequently, Dublin was developed around the ‘black pool’ (Dubh Linn) next to the present castle into a permanent trade and craft settlement, possibly with Kaupang or another Southern Scandinavian market as a model (Valante 2008: 63, 71; Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015; Sheehan 2020: 425, 429; contra Wallace 1992). According to the Annals of Ulster (AU), Dublin’s Vikings were driven out in 902, with one group heading to Anglesey, Chester, and the Wirral (Steinforth 2020b: 105). The historical evidence seems to chime with the archaeological, given the silver hoards of Scandinavian character near Llanbedrgoch (Anglesey), at Cuerdale (c.905–910) and Huxley (c.900, near Chester), all of

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-3

A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain  27

which – as the c.900 Galloway Hoard from south-west Scotland – included broad-band arm-rings of the type associated with Dublin (Steinforth 2020b: 105; cf. Graham-Campbell 2020: 450–2, 459; Ager & Williams 2020: 36). While it was once assumed the c.902–917 exile included all Scandinavians (Clarke 1998: 346; Blackburn 2007: 120; Valante 2008: 51; Simpson 2010: 418–9), Temple Bar West radiocarbon dates suggest only elites were exiled from Dublin, with some/most traders and craftspeople remaining (Simpson 2000: 21–4; 2010: 418–9; cf. Clarke 1998: 346–8; Downham 2007: 27; Valante 2008: 51; Sheehan 2020: 428). Indeed, the evidence of contemporary Irish silver hoards of Scandinavian character in Northern Brega (whose king led the attack) and the Dysart dirham hoard (c.910, Mide) indicates ‘Scandinavian economic activity continued apace in Dublin, even if its military elite were absent’ (Sheehan 2020: 428). This exile may also help explain why minting was delayed until c.995, a century after Jórvík. York was originally captured by the Great Army in 866, then settled, seemingly principally by Southern Scandinavians, from c.867 to 877 (Hall 2004: 283, 2008: 379; Williams 2020a). Thereafter, until c.954, the Uí Ímair (‘descendants of Ívarr’) attempted to control Jórvík from their Dublin dynastic centre (Hall 2004: 283, 2008: 379, 380; Downham 2009: 166, 169). This was made difficult due to pressure from Wessex, who held Jórvík from c.927 to 939. During the Uí Ímair period, Jórvík and its northern Danelaw kingdom developed links towards the Danish Corridor (its principal exchange focus) and Dublin (Hall 2008: 379–80). Jórvík was particularly notable for its connections to Hedeby and the Eastern Seaway in general (Hall 1994: 84–6, 2004: 294; Clarke & Ambrosiani 1995: 96; Clarke 1998: 333; Valante 2008: 126–7), although we should not overestimate the volume of long-distance trade for Jórvík, as for Dublin. Smyth (1975, 1979) argued Ívarr et al.’s aim was to unite Dublin with Jórvík. Smyth (1975: 16, 18) considered Ívarr allied to Óláfr, with whom he besieged Dumbarton in 870. For Smyth (1975: 16–19), Ívarr was ‘one of the many sons of […] Ragnarr loðbrók’ who had campaigned in England in the 860s with his brother Hálfdan at the head of the Great Army, which had entered East Anglia in 865 (Woods 2020: 396). After Ívarr’s death in c.873, Hálfdan failed to reunite the kingdoms, but his attempts would set the recurring pattern of Ívarr’s descendants, who would spend parts of the first half of the 10th century ruling both (Smyth 1975: 20). As in my model, Smyth thought: (i) Dublin-Jórvík links originated in 9th-century activities of Ívarr et al.; (ii) Ívarr could have been of Danish Corridor (royal) origins; and (iii) strategic economic considerations were at the forefront of rationale for tying the sites together. As Smyth (1975: 20) noted, to the Dublin rulers, York appeared as a rich prize […] set in […] the centre of a f lourishing trade with Denmark and the Frisian coast. Situated so centrally in Britain, it was also a key point for Scandinavian trade between Dublin and the North Sea.

28  A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain

Control of Jórvík facilitated Dublin’s trade – based on slaving? – to the potential Danish Corridor homelands of Ívarr and family. Proving slaving archaeologically is hard (Skre 2020: 437), but – as seen with the 870–871 campaign reported in the AU – contemporary historical evidence exists. Furthermore, evidence in the form of circumstantial archaeology of dirham distributions and possible slave corrals in Poland ( Jankowiak 2013, 2020; Driscoll pers. comm.) may point to new avenues for research into this economic dark matter (cf. Androschuk 2020: 56; Skre 2020). In any case, Smyth (1979: 297ff.) likened the Uí Ímair polity – a ‘series of trading strongholds’ – to that of the Scando-Slavic Rus’ in what is now Russia and Ukraine; a network-kingdom predicated on (attempted) control of supraregional trade routes and the markets linking them (cf. Blomkvist 2009). While Christiansen (1981: 849) satirized Smyth’s Uí Ímair as ‘ready-made geo-strategists’, scepticism towards long-term strategizing is not universal, and support was provided by Downham (2007: 1), who aimed to reaffirm ‘links between the kingdoms of York and Dublin in the late ninth and early tenth centuries’ and the centrality of the Uí Ímair to them. Downham’s model shared Smyth’s view that, from the 850s, Ívarr et al. dominated the other longphuirt from Dublin, before extending operations to England from c.865. Furthermore, Smyth’s network imperium was characterized by Downham (2007: 231, 234) as a ‘pan-Insular sea-kingdom’, albeit one which suffered territorial depredation at the hands of Wessex, the Irish, and fellow Hiberno-Scandinavians. Like Smyth, Downham (2007: 6–7) compared Uí Ímair long-term plans with that of the Rus’ Rurik and his heirs, suggesting a planned nodal network-kingdom is a robust concept through which ­Dublin-Jórvík connections can be assessed. How robust, then, was the proposed Uí Ímair network-kingdom? Smyth (1975: 102–3, 107–9) argued it was short-lived, centred on the 860s–870s and intermittently between 918 and 954. Downham (2009: 166–9) agreed with Dumville (2005) that Uí Ímair interest in Jórvík and Yorkshire predated the reigns of Ívarr’s grandsons Rögnvaldr (918–921) and Sigtryggr (921–927). Although of long-standing popularity in Irish historiography, Downham (2009: 166) noted British historians had, Dumville aside, ‘tended to be more cautious in admitting these links’. Dumville (2005; cf. Downham 2007: 86–7, 2009: 167) considered the family’s interests in ruling both towns were of a markedly more continuous nature, to be expected if they were attempting to maintain a network-kingdom. His argument rested on the observation a number of York-Jórvík’s rulers c.867–918 had names common to the dynasty, as shown by Downham: As Downham (2009: 168) concluded, it seems likely Jórvík’s rulers were descended from Ívarr. Moreover, their rule was generally regarded as ‘legitimate, long-term, and backed by a large body of local supporters’, suggesting continuity. Indeed, this model sees Uí Ímair presence in Jórvík as even more continuous than Smyth’s. It seems, then, I am on solid ground in suggesting an Uí Ímair network-kingdom – based on control of Dublin and Jórvík as fortified market-towns with access to the wealth of Insular and Southern

A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain  29

Figure 2.1  Ívarr’s family (Courtesy and © Clare Downham. Typesetting: Nancy McGuire)

30  A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain

Scandinavia – was this period’s political dark matter, i.e., that invisible factor necessary to explain surrounding economic developments. The importance of silver and rapid connectivity to the Dumville-Downham dynastic model is suggested by the Cuerdale hoard, deposited c.905–910 by the River Ribble at the western end of my Cuerdale Corridor. As Graham-­Campbell and Williams argue, like Downham (2007: 83), the mixture of Irish or Irish Sea-type hacksilver and new Jórvík coin suggests co-operation between the Uí Ímair (then exiled) and Danish Northumbria, perhaps representing a war-chest gathered in Jórvík and Yorkshire to fund Dublin’s reconquest (­Graham-Campbell 1987b: 344, 2011: 155; Williams 2011: 70–1).

Sea-kings? Those who argue for dynastic continuity tend also to characterize the Uí Ímair polity as a ‘sea-kingdom’ (Downham 2007: 231, 234; Ó Corráin 2008: 431), or at least one based on control of waterborne routeways. This trend owes much to Smyth (1979: 297–313), whose ‘Rus’ analogy’ predicted Blomkvist’s thesis (2009) concerning the apparent structuring of Scandinavian kingdoms such as those of the Norse, Danes, Swedes, and Rus’ around waterborne routes. Within Britain, the importance of Scotto-Scandinavian coastal avenues to the maintenance of the Uí Ímair polity was central to Smyth (1975: 35–6, 94–6; cf. Downham 2007: 138–9), who favoured a portage (where boats are dragged across strips of land between waterways) between the Forth and Clyde, an option facilitated by Ívarr and Óláfr’s Dumbarton conquest (and presumed subsequent influence over Strathclyde), and a plausible aim of this c.870–871 campaign. It seems likely Scottish maritime and riverine routes were important routeways between North and Irish Seas, but that they were relegated in significance when the more direct, less weather-dependent, Jórvík-Dublin land axis was open. Skre (2015) contextualized Norway as a kingdom that took its form from an existing exchange and communications route, i.e., the Norðweg (north-way), making its ruler a sjókonung (sea-king) who ruled over a ‘trade route on a grand scale’ (Clarke 1998: 339). Describing Ívarr and the Uí Ímair as sjókonung(s) on the Norðweg model is difficult, however: their polity was likely interested primarily in path of least resistance routeways. Given seasonal difficulties of travel around Scotland, or logistical difficulties of portage through it (­McCullough 2000), it is unsurprising that even a sjókonung would favour the Cuerdale Corridor with its still-serviceable Roman roads (Gooch 2012). What Uí Ímair interest in Scotland (Downham 2007: 137–75) tells us is control of east-west coastal and portage avenues were of ongoing importance to Scandinavian ­network-kingdoms, given Wessex’s ability to disrupt land routes.

Irish perspectives Any proposed Uí Ímair kingdom must, however, be viewed in the context of arguments minimizing the importance of Dublin-Jórvík links. Although

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agreeing with Smyth that Dublin’s wealth was probably related to supraregional slaving, Wallace (1987: 230–1, 237; cf. Smyth 1975: 88; Barrett 2008: 677) did not consider Dublin’s Jórvík trade to have been extensive or based on dynastic links. While I disagree with aspects of this, it is important D ­ ublin-Jórvík trade is not overstated. Indeed, the greater number of 10th-century Anglo-Saxon Chester coins in Dublin compared to Danelaw issues warn against ‘relying on political/historical references [to the Uí Ímair] as a barometer of relative commercial contact’ (Wallace 1986: 213). Furthermore, Dublin’s metrological evidence also suggested to Wallace (1987: 212–5; 2013: 304–8) the town was largely distinct from Scandinavia and eastern Europe. Wallace’s (1986: 220–1; 1987: 212) insistence that Jórvík was only a small part of Dublin’s commercial life, and – on the basis of numismatics – waned even further in conjunction with the decline of political ties from the 930s, anchors Dublin’s evolution to indigenous Irish inf luence over that from Scandinavia. The proposed disconnect between Dublin and our Eastern Seaway was based on the relative scarcity of oblate-spheroid bullion weights conforming to a ‘light’ Eastern Seaway c.22–23g ‘ounce’ unit, and a complete absence of the cubo-octahedral weights popular in that region. Wallace (1987: 213) proposed his ‘Dublin unit’ of c.26.6g, calculated via lead weights of presumed local manufacture (cf. Redknap 2020: 88), demonstrated preference for trade with western England and north-west Europe over Jórvík and Scandinavia. Despite this, Wallace (1987: 212–3) noted Jórvík weights ‘may be more easily grouped with the Dublin series than with Scandinavian specimens’, suggesting economic links. Moreover, combined with oblate-spheroids being ‘fairly well-known’ in Dublin (Wallace 2013: 308), the impression gained is of greater links towards Jórvík and Scandinavia than acknowledged. The lack of sieving, due to rescue excavation strictures, might also explain the failure to find any of the extremely small cubo-octahedrals, at least one example of which was discovered at the Woodstown longphort (Williams 2020f: 20, 2020e: 40–1, ref. Valante 2008: 42–3; Sheehan 2014: 206). In any case, in light of my suggestion the Uí Ímair polity was structured around markets, it is important to note that what is not disputed by Wallace (1987: 214, 2013: 314–5) is probable use of weights and balance-scales from Kilmainham-Islandbridge, the River Blackwater (longphort?) assemblage, and 10–11th-century Dublin to weigh silver as payment. Similarly, Wallace (1987: 215) argued Dublin’s large balances might have weighed ‘luxury imports and raw materials like amber’. Given my hypothesis of market-based connections between Southern Scandinavia and Dublin-Jórvík, I note with Wallace (1987: 215–6) that ‘after Haithabu [Hedeby], [Dublin has] produced the greatest amount of amber in Viking-Age Europe’. That Wallace considered it ‘brought in bulk’ led to Kruse’s (2007: 165) observation that ‘[long-distance market] trade must surely have accounted for much of ’ the 4,000+ pieces of Dublin’s raw and worked amber. In Wallace’s (1987: 216) opinion, ‘Although Dublin was primarily populated by Vikings of west Scandinavian or Norse origin, the source of its amber as well as where it was most popular in the Viking-Age

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was the southern Scandinavian or Danish area’. This southern Scandinavian connection is exactly what is expected from my Silver Route and Uí Ímair hypotheses, in that economic practices familiar to this region could spread rapidly into Insular Scandinavia, and this was mediated principally between Dublin and Jórvík. Dublin’s taste for amber might then be explained by historically attested involvement of Southern Scandinavians in the Irish Sea from the early 9th century (cf. Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015; Sheehan 2015) and the continuation of Danish-inf luenced cultural conduits via the Uí Ímair network-kingdom. Beyond amber, Dublin’s un-worked nodules of jet and bracelets and ­f inger-rings made from them (see Plather 2011: 135 for similar Kaupang examples), were considered by Wallace (1987) to have come from Yorkshire. However, while Wallace favoured Northumbria as the source of materials and manufacturing techniques, he did not make explicit the likelihood the prism for this was a Jórvík-Dublin market axis. Reticence to stress Dublin’s links to Jórvík and beyond can also be seen in reference to the dirhams Wallace (1987: 217) considered to have formed much of Ireland’s Viking-Age silver – all or most of which Wallace considered imported via Dublin – and which seem to have largely, if not exclusively, entered Insular Scandinavia via Jórvík and the northern Danelaw. This may also be the case for carnelian beads (Wallace 1987: 218) and silk (Wallace 1987: 219–20, 230). Wallace offered no opinion as to the network biography of these, despite the only other known contemporary concentration being at Jórvík. Wallace (1987: 214) believed commerce occurred at Dublin, even in its longphort phase, as suggested by the probable use of the metrological equipment to weigh silver. Second, although little silver has been found within Dublin (as Jórvík, see Kershaw 2020: 125), silver in Irish hoards was almost certainly ‘mediated through the Viking trading stations and towns’ (Wallace 1987: 206, 208, 216; cf. Sheehan 2014, 2015). Moreover, Wallace attributed dirhams to ‘Viking traders’, bringing to mind long-distance Ohthere types (Wallace 1987: 217; cf. Lowick 1984: 347–7). Finally, Wallace established bulk imports of raw materials, such as cullet (broken/waste glass for recycling) and amber between transhipment centres occurred, being suggestive of node-to-node market structures (1987: 218, 230; cf. Sindbæk 2008). Importantly, Wallace considers Dublin a nodal market where regular transactions in imported commodities were undertaken. However, I suggest Wallace was also correct in warning: (i) ‘Dublin’s rise should not be exaggerated to bolster foreign connections which it may never have had’; (ii) against anachronistic (formalist) back-projections of later medieval long-distance trade (1987: 235); and (iii) political connections did not necessarily equate to commercial ones (1987: 232). Despite these caveats, it is telling Wallace (1987: 239) characterized Dublin as being ‘part of a web which stretched from the Arctic to the Mediterranean’. Furthermore, Wallace also had a network understanding of long-distance trade and transport geography, using ‘Viking trade route network’ when placing Dublin in his ‘Viking Commercial Map’ and discussing regular maritime ‘traffic’ (1987: 239) in relation to the Dublin-Jórvík ‘seaborne monarchy’ (1986: 202).

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Beyond Wallace, little has been written about long-distance trade mechanisms in Insular Scandinavia, barring Graham-Campbell and Sheehan (1996, 2009) in their studies of arm-rings and silver hoards and the latter’s assessment of Woodstown’s silver assemblage (2014, 2015). While some are now tackling monetary-based trade in Insular Scandinavia (Kershaw 2020; Williams 2020a), these tend to concentrate on forms of commodity-money – whether silver, fabric, furs, or foodstuffs – or particular region at a particular time. Importantly, they do not offer (as Kruse [2007] and here) an overarching vision of how trade, silver economies, and the polities in which they operated developed. Of those who devoted space to the subject, Valante (1998/1999, 2008) is interesting for an understanding that only by acknowledging links between Southern Scandinavia and the Irish Sea can we begin to comprehend Dublin’s ‘Danish’-style operations, as seemingly expanded upon by Ívarr, whom Valante considered to have originated in the Danish Corridor’s Vestfold. In light of Ireland’s silver inf lux, Valante (2008: 48, 54) followed Sheehan’s interpretation (1998: 172) that some longphuirt – particularly Dublin, but also Linn Duachaill (Co. Louth) and Woodstown – ‘should be viewed primarily as important trading and market settlements, rather than simply as fortified raiding bases’. For Valante (2008: 50), Dublin was either the most successful of these or, more likely, was always intended to be permanent; something suggested by Kilmainham-Islandbridge’s evidence for silver currency (2008: 52). While I do not subscribe to Dublin being a ‘gateway’ market (Valante 2008: 52–3, 57ff.), it seems likely it was seen by those who developed it as a device to facilitate transfer of commodities (especially slaves), plunder, currencies, and people (including mercenaries) between Scandinavia and Ireland. On dirhams, Valante (2008: 54–6) followed Wallace (1987: 217; cf. Lowick 1984: 347 ff; Ryan et al. 1984: 361–4; Sheehan 2001: 54–9) in suggesting some of the silver seen in Irish hoards (which cluster around Dublin) was dirhams that had travelled via Novgorod and Kyiv, illustrating ‘Dublin’s connections […] to a much larger scale trade network’; something seen also in material from Norway, the Baltic, and Southern Scandinavia found in Cuerdale. Valante did not make it clear she was referring to that Danish Corridor part of Norway, but we know from Sheehan (1998: 188; cf. Lowick 1976) it was ‘statistically more likely’ dirhams and other Eastern Seaway-derived material like the oblate-spheroid and cubo-octahedral weights travelled via Southern Scandinavia. In any case, Valante did acknowledge ‘the vast trading network of which Ireland was a part’ (2008: 118) and noted Dublin’s importance in funnelling silver to Ireland, characterizing it as a market where tolls and taxes operated alongside silver currency. I assume much of this currency was in payment for slaves, which may have constituted the primary commodity of Dublin’s export trade. I suggest that any proposed political/dynastic links between southern Norway and an Irish Sea Region centred on the east and south of Ireland should be seen to mirror economic ambitions, these being almost certainly the reason links were created (cf. Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015; Sheehan 2011a: 98–9). Indeed, Valante (2008: 57ff.) noted Kaupang’s development as a market was

34  A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain

directly related to the early plundering and slaving activities of southern Norwegians and Danes. In time, markets (initially in the form of longphuirt) were established in the Irish Sea Region by inhabitants from the Danish Corridor whose models were the c.800 Danish foundations at Hedeby and Kaupang (cf. Valante 2008: 60–1). Indeed, Valante (2008: 63, 71; cf. Skre 2015) argued against Wallace (1992) in that she considered ‘Type 1’ Dublin houses and the other Hiberno-Scandinavian markets to have Kaupang-­ inf luenced origins. That Kaupang’s foundation was seemingly designed by Danes to take more structured economic advantage of pre-­existing plunder and trade routes to the Irish Sea helps us understand motivations for encouraging trade and creating an Insular network-­k ingdom. That this Southern Scandinavian (Vestfold) brand of market urbanism and Southern and Eastern Scandinavian inclination to polities based on the control of exchange routes was transferred to Dublin (and then Jórvík) by Ívarr or similar individuals, is central to my idea that, by understanding the politics and exchange environments of the Danish Corridor, we can understand much of Viking-Age trade and monetary economies in Insular Scandinavia. Regarding Dublin’s 10th-century trading partners, Valante (2008: 124) suggested ‘direct economic contact’ with southern Norway for iron, possibly in the form of ‘currency bars’ known (in brass) from Scandinavia (Sindbæk 2008: 152). This would also have been the case for schist whetstones. In return for commodities like iron, schist, steatite (a stone used for cooking vessels), and the walrus ivory Ohthere carried (Bately & Englert 2007), Valante argued ­Hiberno-Scandinavians traded and raided goods that almost certainly included slaves (2008: 125–6). Indeed, that such commodities could be obtained by trade as opposed to (elite) gift-exchange might be suggested by distributions of copper-alloy ringed-pins of Hiberno-Scandinavian type on a coastal routeway around Scotland towards Jórvík (in which variants were cast) and the Danish Corridor. Given their (probable) low-value, it is unlikely they were seen primarily as trade objects. Moreover, Fanning considered them personal possessions of traders (my traders’ items) left behind by Hiberno-­ Scandinavian traders (1994: 34–6). Notably, Valante (2008: 122) shared Fanning’s network-trade context for their distribution, arguing ‘some pins and the style was exported [from Ireland] throughout the Scandinavian world’. In terms of Dublin’s relationship with Jórvík, Valante marginalized the network significance of the latter’s ringed-pins by suggesting local manufacture, despite this suggesting technology-transfer between linked markets, as probably the case for Hedeby variants. While Valante suggested Jórvík ‘traded with Denmark regularly, so it was quite possible that some Scandinavian goods came to Ireland through York’ and that jet ‘must have come to Dublin via York’ as per ‘some of the amber in Ireland’, further discussion was limited in favour of stressing Chester links. Equally, the statement, ‘More exotic goods reached Ireland directly, from Denmark and farther afield, through either Ireland’s trade with Norway or via England’ (Valante 2008: 128) is ambiguous, with ‘England’ here potentially referring to Anglo-Saxon Irish

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Sea ports and/or Jórvík via the Cuerdale Corridor. However, Valante’s subsequent observation, adopted from Sheehan (1998: 129), that Insular dirhams ‘probably travelled through Denmark rather than Norway’ suggests ‘England’ meant the Danelaw. Valante’s discussion of Dublin’s silk, which references Wallace’s (1987: 230) suggestion they reached Ireland via the ‘English [Anglo-Saxon] ports’, suggests it could have arrived via Norway, which may well be equated to southern Norway and, therefore, the Danish Corridor. Valante’s assumption of a market-trade network in Insular Scandinavia, as well as reminding us of its bi-directional nature (cf. Williams 2020e: 43), is important for its relative rarity, as is the subsequent search for mechanisms (2008: 131). Here, Valante used the Norðweg from Arctic Norway to Southern ­Scandinavia (and England) to offer a model for long-distance trade involving crossing frontiers. While I consider Valante’s argument that specialized ­cargo-vessels were important to 10th-century traders more dubious (2008: 131–2), the observation these individuals probably moved seamlessly between exchange e­ nvironments – e.g., from Ohthere’s forced tribute from Sámi to market trade in the south – demonstrates ‘the market’ beyond traditional market-places. Indeed, in a ­passage important with regard to network economic anthropology, Valante (2008: 133) noted it was a critical mass of traders that regularized market-places and trade routes within networks (cf. Sindbæk 2008). I suggest this observation fits ­Gustin (1997, 2004a) and Skre’s (2008c, 2017: 16, 18–9) post-substantivism, where regular meetings/transactions at markets facilitated the growth of local and supraregional trader classes with their own rules and regulations.

Broad-band networks: Southern Scandinavia and the Silver Route to Ireland In terms of Scandinavian network links to Ireland, however, I think the most telling evidence is provided by the axis of silver jewellery types and hacksilver currency, most notably in the form of ‘broad-band’ silver penannular armrings. It is the treatment of silver that indicates the post-853 trajectory of the Hiberno-Scandinavian economy was directed by Southern Scandinavians, as Skre (2015: 246) noted: The earliest raids in Ireland, as well as the building of longphuirt, should probably be connected with the Northmen from Scandinavia’s rough western coast. But the development of some longphuirt into towns […] as well as the use of hack-silver and the production of silver arm-rings […] did not have their roots [in] western Scandinavia. These developments should be attributed to people who […] most likely identified themselves as Danes, even if they may very well have originated in Kaupang, in present-day Norway. Burials of c.800 containing Insular goods located in western Norwegian regions like Trøndelag, Rogaland, and Sogn og Fjordane ‘are traditionally

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interpreted as an indication of where the first Norse raiders set sail across the North Sea’ (Heen-Pettersen 2014: 4.1). I do not dispute this, but, like Skre, suggest subsequent mid- to late-9th-century economic and exchange developments relating to silver bullion currency and the apparent (re)establishment of Dublin as a Kaupang-like nodal market indicate transformative Southern Scandinavian inf luence. The best evidence for links between the silver economies of Southern Scandinavia and the Eastern Seaway more generally comes in the form of two types of silver jewellery found in Insular Scandinavia: a punch-­decorated ‘broad-band’ arm-ring originating in Denmark, often found as hacksilver or deliberately f lattened (as in the Galloway hoard – Graham-Campbell 2020: 450–2; Goldberg 2021). The second is the 9th- or early 10th-century ‘Permian’ spiral-ring, originally Russian but copied in Southern Scandinavia, they were possibly manufactured to a c.100g unit (25g sub-unit) weight standard (Williams 2020f: 32) and likely consisting of dirham silver (Sheehan 2020: 420). Notably, Permian-type rings were rare in Norway (Sheehan 2020: 420). As with dirhams and standardized weights, the distribution of both broad-band and Permian-style rings (normally as hacksilver) is telling about the spread of a particularly southern and Baltic Scandinavian style of silver economy to Insular Scandinavia, with concentrations across the northern Danelaw, the Cuerdale Corridor, and Dublin and the northern Irish Sea Region (Sheehan 2020: 416–25). Valante (2008: 122) argued broad-band arm-rings were produced to facilitate silver circulation, with the translation of huge numbers into hacksilver suggesting they were designed as currency as much as status symbols. I suggest the Danish origins of arm-rings manufactured in Hiberno-Scandinavian contexts implies use as a ‘network currency’, potentially mediated in the 9th century by Ívarr or a similar figure between Southern Scandinavia, Ireland, and Britain (cf. Sheehan 2009: 59, 2011: 98–9). This further links Insular Scandinavian use of silver currency in markets with Southern Scandinavia and a ‘visionary’ dynast (Sheehan 2011: 98–9; cf. Cooijmans 2020: 4 for ‘organisation and intent’ by Vikings in Frankia) connecting these regions in a nodal-market structure. Connections between silver trading currencies of Southern Scandinavia, the Irish Sea, and (rural) Danelaw have been discussed in relation to Ívarr and the Great Army (e.g., Brooks & Graham-Campbell 1986: 93–8, 2000; Sheehan 1998, 2020). However, this has not been done before via Scandinavian models that allow me to propose a network-­k ingdom structure deliberately copied from Southern Scandinavian prototypes to explain this phenomenon. Central to this is Sheehan’s demonstration that ‘the recognizable imported objects in Ireland’s early [c.800–1000] Viking-Age silver hoards appear to have derived in the main from Southern Scandinavia and the Baltic’ (1998: 192; cf. 2001: 58–9, 2007: 150–1, 2009: 60, 2011; cf. Brooks & Graham-Campbell 1986: 93–8). Furthermore, Insular Scandinavian distribution of Scandinavian and Baltic material was understood by Sheehan (1998: 186–94) to give clues concerning routeways connecting these

A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain  37

regions: it seems original Permian spiral-rings, and a lighter variant likely manufactured in Southern Scandinavia, ‘passed through Denmark, rather than Norway, en route from the Baltic’ on a route across England from c.870 (Sheehan 1998: 186). This echoes Brooks and Graham-Campbell (1986: 97), who noted ‘distribution of [spiral] rings and fragments in Scandinavia suggests that it is most probable that these passed through Denmark to reach eastern England and also Ireland’. This would fit my proposal for a Cuerdale Corridor being a regularized Uí Ímair routeway. This same Danish-­ Danelaw-Hiberno-Scandinavian axis seems to match that of the dirhams (Sheehan 1998: 187–8; cf. Steuer 2009: 295), suggesting Uí Ímair exchange connecting the Danish Corridor, Danelaw, and Dublin. Indeed, we know dirham silver was a common component of Hiberno-Scandinavian jewellery (Williams 2020e: 41, ref. Kruse & Tate 1995). Direct Danish inf luence is demonstrated by broad-band arm-rings, produced c.872/880–930 in Hiberno-Scandinavian contexts and possibly also at Torksey and Llanbedrgoch on Anglesey (Sheehan 2009, 2020; Ager and Williams 2020: 36). The Insular Scandinavian type was likely produced in Dublin and thereafter distributed in the Irish interior and across the Irish Sea and Cuerdale Corridor, but lead trial pieces for similar decorative stamps at Llanbedrgoch (Redknap 2020: 86) and Torksey suggest manufacture at these sites and silver economy connections to Dublin and/or Southern Scandinavia (Ager & Williams 2020: 36). In any case, the argument that this Hiberno/ Insular-Scandinavian version was a variant of a Danish prototype was originally proposed in view of the early, ‘Danish’, Croydon Hoard (c.871/872) associated with the Great Army, which contained dirhams, broad-band armrings, and spiral-ring fragments (Sheehan 2011a: 98). Torksey’s assemblage also includes fragments of Danish type broad-band arm-rings; that the first datable examples were from Denmark suggests they were the prototypes for

Figure 2.2  Broad-band arm-ring fragment, Jeffreyston (PAS: NMGW-22CFAA) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme)

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those seemingly produced subsequently in Dublin (Sheehan 2009: 60; 2011a: 98; cf. Blackburn 2002: 89–101, 2009: 48–50). As Sheehan’s (2009: 59) and Kershaw’s broad-band distribution suggests, a routeway linking the North Sea and Danish Corridor with Ireland across the Cuerdale Corridor and northern Danelaw seems clear (Figure 2.3), with Sheehan (2011a: 98) noting ‘Ívarr, the Hiberno-Scandinavian king of Dublin who campaigned with the Great Army in England […] may have been closely connected with the context within which the prototype material was initially introduced to Ireland’. This inf luence on jewellery and metallic commodity-money between the Eastern Seaway and Irish Sea was bi-directional: as Sheehan (1998: 196) recognized, a small group of arm-rings with animal-headed terminals from southern Sweden and Gotland ‘may have developed from Hiberno-Viking prototypes’ (cf. Williams 2020e: 43, 45). The spread of ‘pecking’, an apparent Anglo-­Viking innovation to test bullion currency purity developed c.875–890 (­Williams 2020e: 43) and Hiberno-Scandinavian-style artefacts such as ringedpins and those Insular mount weights of probable Insular Scandinavian origin to homeland Scandinavia (Pedersen 2008: 131; Williams 2020i: 16) also indicates the existence of Insular Scandinavian long-distance traders. Moreover, it suggests a symbiotic relationship between these traders and Uí Ímair markets – on analogy with Gustin’s (2004a) suggestions for Baltic network-traders and for Birka – and their trade of commodities to the Danish Corridor. The latter point fits Laxdaelasaga’s account of the sale of an Irish slave (Melkorka) in that region by Gilli ‘the Russian’ (Press 1880). By suggesting bi-directional links between Hiberno-Scandinavian silver use and the Danish Corridor, and the discovery of bullion silver from both regions in the Danelaw (Kershaw 2020: 127; Williams 2020d: 129), Graham-­Campbell, Sheehan, Williams, and Kershaw allow for a Dublin-Jórvík-Danish axis. This also makes sense of Jórvík and Dublin silk and the volume of amber in the latter. In addition, it fits the concept of an Uí Ímair network-kingdom, whose orbit can be mapped onto the distribution of silver linking Ireland with Southern Scandinavia and beyond. While the view of strong western coastal ‘Norse’ connections to the Irish Sea via the Scottish islands remains, and is seemingly borne out by burial evidence from these regions (Wamers 1985; Heen-Pettersen 2014), I think the evidence of silver-working and currency use suggests a market network that makes most sense when viewed in the context of the ‘economic and political vision’ (Sheehan, pers. comm.) of an Uí Ímair network-kingdom focussed on funnelling trade and tolls between Scandinavia, the Danelaw, and Ireland. Indeed, Cooijmans (2020: 4) suggests Vikings in Frankia repeatedly demonstrated ‘organisation and intent’ over many years, suggesting those Southern Scandinavian groups whom I argue went on to Dublin (from 853) and then England (from 865) were conditioned to planning in the pursuit of long-term political and economic goals. Furthermore, Insular hoards containing Eastern Seaway silver demonstrate an alternative to ideas Hiberno-Scandinavian connections through the Danelaw to Southern Scandinavia were of little importance relative to those

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Figure 2.3  ‘Frequency distribution’ of provenanced broad-band arm-rings in Insular Scandinavia (Courtesy and © Jane Kershaw – data: J. Kershaw & J. Sheehan)

with Anglo-Saxon towns like Chester by highlighting an interrelationship between these regions’ silver supply and silver-working traditions (Sheehan 1998: 184–8). This helps explain how Southern Scandinavian silver economies spread through a Southern Scandinavian-Danelaw-Dublin network. Here, we remember Southern Scandinavia includes southern and south-western Norway

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and – as Sindbæk (2011: 58–9), Clarke (1998: 339), and Sheehan (1998: 172) noted – even northern rural Norway was connected to the Danish Corridor market zone (cf. Heen-Pettersen 2014; Krokmyrdal 2020). This was achieved via long-distance return journeys made not only by Ohthere types, but also lower-status individuals who visited markets to purchase artefacts either for their own socially embedded gift-giving/display strategies, or as part of a ships’ crew involved in regional ‘tramping’-style coastal trading (cf. Braudel 1972). In short, non-numismatic bullion from the Baltic and Southern Scandinavia (and local variants) suggests ‘a southern Scandinavian/Baltic inf luence on the development of trade and exchange in Ireland through a “nodal market” in Dublin’ (Sheehan 2020: 415). Jórvík, too, must be seen similarly, with a nodal market developed on Southern Scandinavian lines and connected, quite deliberately, to both to this region of Scandinavia and Dublin, the latter becoming the dynastic caput of a ­Dublin-Jórvík network-kingdom.

Jórvík and network trade The above values a network-kingdom understanding that notes the importance of a Danish Corridor in terms of political inspiration and market-­ economic practice to Insular Scandinavia. However, many stress Dublin and Jórvík’s exchange ties to their hinterlands, implying long-distance trade was of little significance. Certainly, observations concerning the lack of silver bullion recovered (see Kershaw 2020: 125 for Jórvík) complicate any theory envisioning the spread of silver economies through a Dublin-Jórvík axis. While Jórvík has produced little by way of bullion (and only two oblate-spheroids and one of the dirhams associated with them), we must remember most excavation is of post-890s layers, i.e., the period in which minting became the dominant monetary force within (if not outwith) the city and its immediate hinterland (Kershaw 2020: 125; Williams 2020e: 42). Dublin has produced evidence for a vibrant bullion economy operating before the beginnings of its minting in the 990s, but its 10th-century collection of 180+ bullion weights speaks to a stronger regulation of standards in comparison to a c.850+ longphort like Woodstown; as with Jórvík, however, the delineation and excavation of longphort-era Dublin is a relatively new phenomenon and it may turn out that 860s Dublin and Woodstown were alike (Williams 2020e: 42). Although I focus on the relatively small market aspect of everyday economic life, with subsistence, local exchange, and gift-giving of primary importance for most, reaction to the previous over-emphasis of the role of markets and long-distance trade (cf. Kruse 2007: 163) created a bias against what evidence there is for a Dublin-Jórvík-Danish market axis, as seen in Hall (2008: 382), who suggested ‘York was part of a great international trading network that, for the most part, supplied high-value luxury goods; but the majority of its commerce and economic growth was focused on the provision of mundane items to its extensive hinterland’ (my emphasis). Hall noted Jórvík’s supraregional trade was insubstantial relative to local exchange, with what little there was of the former belonging

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to late 9th- and early 10th-century levels, declining markedly thereafter (1994: 87, 2008: 382; cf. Richards 2004: 162–3). Eastern contacts which brought silk, amber, a counterfeit dirham (Kershaw 2020: 118), and an Indian cowrie shell represented only sporadic links ‘centred chronologically in the first few generations of Scandinavian settlement’ (Hall 2004: 294). Similarly concerned with disproportionate focus on Jórvík’s exotic imports, Richards (2004: 162) argued that, while long-distance contacts were evident, supraregional trade was exaggerated, noting (2004: 163; cf. Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2559–604) ‘Only 500 of the 15,000 objects found at Coppergate were imported, and virtually the only tenth-century imported finds are a silk cap, a brooch from the Low Countries and a Badorf-type amphora’, with the conclusion ‘The lifestyle of the inhabitants of York would not have been noticeably different if international trading contacts ceased’. It could be suggested, however, that the limited nature of York’s rescue excavations (as Dublin’s) does not provide the full picture. High-value exotica were also less likely to have been lost. Furthermore, Kershaw (2017: 184, 2020: 125) notes the singular dirham suggests bullion was melted down for coins used in Jórvík and its environs. This, in turn, indicates much exotic silver disappearing from the Danelaw record, with most hoard ingots seemingly predominantly derived from dirhams (Kershaw in Jarman 2021: 62, n.2), meaning we cannot say how much entered originally. Although dubious about their volume, Hall suggested network mechanisms behind the long-distance imports, with the Coppergate silk ‘passed from market centre to market centre, a process suggested by silk items found in both Lincoln and York which share a distinctive weaving f law’ (1994: 86; cf. Muthesius 1982: 133; Clarke & Ambrosiani 1994: 96). Hall (1994: 86) also observed that Danelaw silk likely travelled the same routeways as dirhams. Beyond this, Hall (2004: 294, 2008: 382) noted, while the volume of amber was low in relation to Hedeby and Dublin, the quantities still suggested ‘deliberate transport from the nearest point of mass origin in the Baltic’. However, while (possibly) implying this import might have been by ‘itinerant specialists’, Hall (2004: 239) admitted more evidence was required to assess relationships between suppliers and craftworkers. Richards (2004: 166, 167), on the other hand, dismissed long-distance sources for amber, suggesting it was ‘more likely to have been collected on the east coast [of England] than imported from Denmark’, although conceded silk was the only import ‘which perhaps reveals Scandinavian traders acting as middlemen’ on routes via the Baltic to Jórvík. Kershaw’s (2017: 184; cf. 2020: 125) notes the lack of silver bullion and associated metrological equipment in Danelaw towns, with Jórvík producing ‘just a handful of potentially relevant finds, including two regulated oblate-spheroid weights and a counterfeit dirham, along with several ingot moulds and fragments of hand-held balances’. Referencing Kaupang, Kershaw (2017: 184) observed ‘this pattern is at odds with that observed within Scandinavia, where commercial bullion exchange appears to have been predominantly focused on urban sites’. I suggest, however, the absence in Jórvík may be explained by Great Army elements not only being inf luenced by

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wanting to adopt the prestige of minting coinage in the manner of their ­A nglo-Saxon neighbours (Screen 2020: 378), but also familiarity with minting in Southern Scandinavian Hedeby and Ribe. In any case, such arguments represent that strand of Western Seaway discourse that stresses the importance of towns’ economic relationships with hinterlands. This has, however, tended to slow engagement with the phenomenon of supraregional markets. While long-distance relations only made up a small part of the overall economic experience of Viking-Age Scandinavians, reticence to discuss that which made these towns special – namely, their long-distance network links (Sindbæk 2005) – represents unjustified marginalization. Due to this, MacLeod’s (1999) PhD – which identified pan-Scandinavian political, economic, and physical aspects of Viking-Age towns – is important in that it represents a precedent for taking (proportionate) account of long-distance exchange and the economic context in which this occurred. Moreover, it does so from the perspective of nodes at which economic activity concentrated. Focussing on Birka and Jórvík, MacLeod looked beyond regional horizons, allowing the possibility of contextualizing Jórvík and Dublin in relation to contemporary markets in Scandinavia. In contrast to regional emphases, MacLeod (1999: 356) argued towns in both Seaways were deliberately established to dominate the economic life of large areas through the attraction of ‘international and national trade routes, drawing raw materials and manufactured goods towards their guaranteed markets, and providing a focus for the manipulation of economic and political power by small groups’. Control of regional and supraregional trade routes is seen as central to Jórvík, being inextricably linked to the formation (as Hedeby and Kaupang with Danes, and Birka with Swedes) of network-kingdoms seeking to funnel long-­d istance commodities and tolls to royal markets. Such sites were political and economic tools, representing attempts to consolidate political power through economic control (MacLeod 1999: 360). Further to this, MacLeod (1999: 269) paralleled increases in Jórvík’s production vis-a-vis Anglo-Saxon Eoforwic with an ‘increasing economic liberty, as evidenced in both a wide subsistence base and the wide availability of luxury imports’. Increased economic ­ arkets freedom of the sort assumed by post-substantivists for Eastern Seaway m is seen as paralleled by expansion of crafting in Danelaw towns and the rapid spread of production technology and the movement of goods across the region (MacLeod 1999: 353). This linking of increasing economic agency – facilitated by using silver as a medium of payment – within Scandinavian ­market-places plugged into long-distance trading networks is key, and central to post-substantivism. As MacLeod summarized, ‘Both Birka, and its contemporary settlement […] in York, provide a picture of economic liberty […] based on the Scandinavian political and social prioritisation of trade and the […] material products of trade, in particular, silver’ (1999: 355). While Hall largely avoided how transactions operated within Jórvík (e.g., between craftworkers and suppliers), Richards (2004: 175–6, 177) emphasized

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socially embedded exchange over commerce. This emphasis is in contrast to MacLeod (1999: 357), who concluded that for Scandinavian nodal markets, ‘Buying and selling took place everywhere, on the plots, in the buildings, on the edges of the street, with large amounts of silver changing hands in bullion purchases’, something that also seems the case for longphuirt and winter-camps (Sheehan 2015; Williams 2020a). Seeing Jórvík as analogous to Birka and Hedeby and viewing it within the context of the Danelaw multi-metallic economy (Kershaw 2017, 2020), MacLeod (1999: 358–9) saw ‘copious evidence for active trade and manufacturing’ in a site developed as a focus for ‘Scandinavian economic networks’. As MacLeod noted, ‘there is evidence for intensive economic activity, for the production and consumption, sale and purchase, of everything from the most basic subsistence goods to exotica and luxuries from as far afield as the Indian Ocean’ (1999: 359). This represents a different impression than that of Jórvík as little more than a large regional site with occasional long-distance interactions. Overall, MacLeod demonstrated contextualizing Jórvík within a supraregional exchange network via Eastern Seaway comparanda allowed for a greater understanding of its role as a wealth-generator for not only the polities hosting such markets, but also traders and regional suppliers (cf. Holm 2017). Her study predicted network understanding of markets advocated by Sindbæk (2005), Blomkvist (2009), and Seland (2017), and post-substantivist perspectives on the development of market aspects of exchange within the intense transactional environment of markets that may only have witnessed intermittent long-distance trade and currency inf lux, but were nevertheless designed to attract and exploit them.

Scandinavian Scotland While the Dublin-Jórvík axis was central to any Uí Ímair kingdom, I suggest problems relating to maintenance of control over these markets and the Cuerdale Corridor ensured Scotland would remain an important interconnecting region despite a lack of towns, on analogy with Gotland (cf. Gruszczyński 2019: 247–51, 281). This was due to a combination of continuity provided by waterborne routes and the economic agency of the inhabitants who likely travelled to the Uí Ímair towns, as well as establishing their own (second-tier, seasonal) markets. Concentration on the routeway around Scotland is based on an understanding some traders travelling between Danish Corridor and Irish Sea would have skirted the coasts (Wilson 1976; Crawford 1987; Skre 2011a: 441; Skre 2015). In addition to Scandinavian preference for waterborne lifestyles (Westerdahl 1998), the presumed desire of supraregional traders to travel quickly between markets would suggest travel on a ‘Round-Scotland’ route, perhaps guided by local pilots (Wilson 1976: 110–1; Ritchie 1993: 21; Barrett 1995: 274; Lamb 2005: 51; Owen 1999; cf. Skre 2011a: 441, 2011b, 2015; Sheehan 2015). This fits Sindbæk’s idea (2011: 58–9) that non-urban areas – Sindbæk uses 8th-century northern Norway as an example, but could just as easily

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have been talking about Viking-Age Scotland – could still be part of a market society via visits to trading sites (cf. Holm 2017 for the Swedish inland, rural region of Jämtland). I do not suggest a coastal route was preferred, as more direct routes across the Pennines and through Scotland (Clyde-Forth; ClydeTweed; Great Glen) may have been favoured (Buchanan 2012). Consequently, Chapter 3 evaluates a Cuerdale Corridor that was, on the basis of hoards like Cuerdale containing material from the Irish Sea Region, Danelaw, and Eastern Seaway, the preferred Uí Ímair East-West link (cf. Gooch 2012: 195). Why, then, might Scottish routes be used? Scotto-Scandinavians had advantages within Insular networks, with Wilson emphasizing their nodal positioning between the North Sea, Irish Sea, and North Atlantic (1976: 110–1; cf. ­ ilson’s Crawford 1987: 134; Wallace 1987: 232–3; Barrett 2007: 310). Indeed, W ‘nodal region’ concept might explain the wealth demonstrated in hoards and burials. Given the f low of commodities from Dublin, Wilson (1976: 110) argued locals ‘were now in a splendid position to control the trade. They could victual the ships, exact tolls from them, or indulge in outright piracy’, much as might have occurred in Sandtorg given its location at a waterborne traffic junction (Krokmyrdal 2020). Wilson (1976: 111) concluded Scotto-­Scandinavians were in a core region, following Kaland (1982: 93–4) in rejecting models denying agency to (supposedly) remote and rural regions (cf. Clarke 1998: 339; Barrett 2008a: 677–8; Sindbæk 2011: 58–9), something now shared in studies from rural Sweden (Holm 2017) and northern Norway (Krokmyrdal 2020). Wilson (1976: 111) noted Scotto-Scandinavians generated wealth from links to Dublin, Jórvík, and Scandinavia in the same way ‘lands around the mouths of the great Russian rivers became rich as the result of the Scandinavian trade from the Swedish controlled merchant centres of Novgorod and [Kyiv]’. Ultimately, Wilson understood the benefits of networking, arguing ­Scotto-Scandinavians took advantage of positioning on long-distance routes passing through this region (cf. Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 62). Similarly, Morris suggested silver circulation between Ireland and Scotland indicated ‘little doubt that the western areas of Britain would have been affected by, if not linked to, the growing commercial centres in Ireland’ (1982: 88). Morris (1998: 90; cf. Crawford 1987: 126) wrote it was ‘clear […] ­Scandinavians in the northern and western parts of Scotland were not solely concerned with raiding or settling, but that economic aspects were involved’. Tellingly, Morris (1998) considered balances found in the Hebridean sites of Gigha, and the Kiloran Bay boat burial (dated to the 870s: Graham-Campbell pers. comm.), to be of trader type. Indeed, despite Crawford’s caveat (1987: 126) concerning the ambiguous role of metrology, which might (also) have been used to redistribute loot within gift-giving contexts, Morris (1998: 90) suggested Kiloran Bay may well be a trader’s grave. In any case, by the end of the Uí Ímair Age, Morris (1998: 90) looked to the Storr Rock (c.935–940, Skye) and Skaill (c.960–980, Orkney) dirham-hoards to suggest Scotto-­ Scandinavians could access considerable wealth. Crawford (1987: 134–5) also understood the wealth generated by being a nodal region, arguing for Orkney’s large, import-rich, c.850–950 cemetery

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around Pierowall Bay being a sign that ‘trading stations’ and ‘refuge points and revictualling stops’ were established to take advantage of a ‘nodal position’ making them ‘obvious places for merchants to take on fresh supplies or to sell cargo’, perhaps using surplus grain as a commodity-money. Crawford also found parallels with Eastern Seaway thinking on trade networks and political ambitions centring on ideas known to Westerdahl (1998) as ‘maritimity’ (a cultural preference for waterborne/maritime communications and exchange), and, with Crawford’s discussion of ‘thalassocracies’ based on control of maritime trade and plunder routes, that of Blomkvist (2009) on network-kingdoms. Indeed, Crawford (1987: 11–12) noted the Rus’ ‘forged their remarkable trading links across the Baltic and through the rivers of Russia’ and that Norway was as a trade route writ large (1987: 12). For Crawford (1987: 14), ‘Scandinavian Scotland existed only within a network of transport by sea and water-borne cultural links’, where routes were preferably coastal, enabling vessels to ‘sail within sight of land all the way south-west to Ireland and the Irish Sea, which opened up southern Scotland, northern and midland England and the whole of Wales’ (1987: 16). Portages were probably also used (Crawford 1987: 22; McCullough 2000), but this presupposes a desire to avoid the relatively sheltered Inner Hebrides, and that portages were safe, something which Rus’ experience – their boats were attacked on portages between rapids – warns against. Linking the pursuit of ‘lucrative trading business’ to ‘well-placed and defended centres’ in relation to ‘political conquest’, Crawford (1987: 49–51) also looked at Ívarr and Óláfr in terms of Dubliners’ focus towards southern Scotland in the second half of the 9th century; one shared with the northern Danelaw, a region with connections to Hiberno-Scandinavian (and Southern Scandinavian) bullion economies (Kershaw 2020: 127). As seen in the 870 capture of Dumbarton, Crawford argued that, by opening access to the Clyde, Loch Lomond, and Forth, Hiberno-Scandinavians understood ‘the importance of establishing a sea-route across the Scottish lowlands’ (1987: 51; cf. Smyth 1975: 22, 35–6, 94–6, Downham 2007: 138). Connecting intensification of Dublin interest in southern Scotland with contemporary Great Army activity, Crawford (1987: 51) also noted this ‘personal link between eastern England and Ireland […] may well have stimulated the forging of a maritime connection’ and a desire to ‘establish maritime contact with the Danish forces’ might even have been behind activity around the Clyde estuary. While I follow identification of the Irish Ímar with Ívarr ‘the Boneless’ by Smyth (1975) and Downham (2007; contra Valante 2008: 72), I note Crawford’s argument that, even if they were not the same, ‘It is not unlikely that the Norsemen of Dublin would want to establish a route through to the new and highly important theatre of Viking activity which was being established in north-east England at that time’. In short, Crawford recognized the hallmarks of a network-kingdom’s establishment. Subsequent research into Scotto-Scandinavian networks saw increased emphasis on maritime mobility and links along coastal ‘sea roads’ (Owen 1999). This represents a move away from the Dublin-Jórvík axis being almost entirely centred on Cuerdale Corridor roads or riverine and portage routes

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through Scotland. This trend also assumes greater Scotto-Scandinavian economic agency, with Owen in particular (1999, 2005) stressing long-distance communications and commercial elements to exchange. Importantly, Owen is aware of the diverse nature of exchange in Scotland, referencing the full spectrum of exchange (e.g., theft, extortion, trade), exchangers (raiders, traders), and commodities (‘mundane’ to ‘exotic’ (1999: 7, 10, 12), agreeing with Skre that people were ‘simultaneously economic and social agents’ (2017: 2). Owen (1999: 12; cf. Crawford 1987: 134) agreed with Wilson that ­Scotto-Scandinavians used their location for personal gain (1999: 13, 39), with the importance of the economically vibrant Irish Sea Region to ­Scotland emphasized, chiming with post-substantivist arguments that economic agency in non-urban regions is facilitated by association with supraregional networks (cf. Sindbæk 2011: 58–9). Owen also mirrored Eastern Seaway perspectives, highlighting the ‘sophisticated network of communications over great distances’ and the association of this network with the development of ‘commercial centres [predicated on silver] from York to [Kyiv]’ (1999: 7). Importantly, Owen’s adoption of a network perspective with its emphasis on small-worlds (Sindbæk 2007b) and network-kingdoms (Blomkvist 2009) allows for consideration of Viking-Age world-systems theory adopted by Barrett (2008a) for the Orkney Earldom. I suggest Owen’s discussion of a 10th-century Dublin-Jórvík axis, described as being ‘based on commerce and backed up by deft political manoeuvrings’ (1999: 48), also describes key nodal-network characteristics of the Silver Route within Insular Scandinavia. Owen saw Jórvík and Dublin as nodal points in an exchange network whose connections were aided by Uí Ímair attempts to funnel traders through their realm, one best thought of not as a ‘firmly organized statelike society [but] some kind of trading organization’ (Hårdh 1996: 174). Like Downham (2007: 137–75), Owen recognized any Dublin-Jórvík axis likely involved frequent interactions with Scotland, as with Constantine II (900–943), who married his daughter to the Uí Ímair Olaf Guthfrithsson (king of Dublin and Jórvík, 939 to 941). While the above speaks to Scandinavian involvement in south-western Scotland, a region likely considered part of Dublin’s sphere of inf luence, can we envision Uí Ímair network routeways around Scotland’s coasts? Lamb (2005: 49–52) suggested only the use of ‘local maritime knowledge’ – exchanged between sailors at revictualling stops, markets, etc. – explains successful inter-regional voyages, and particularly those of newly arrived Scandinavians. Lamb (2005: 50) also noted North Sea trading ports provided parallels for landing places where sailors could ‘congregate, weigh one another up, exchange news. There would develop that ‘under-culture’ of the sea, found in all ports, shared by men who existed outside of the structure of loyalties that bound land-based society together’. (I return to this idea when I argue distribution of display accoutrements like ringed-pins suggest development of Insular Scandinavian trader identities [cf. Gustin 2004a; Steuer 2009].) In what I think of as an analogous situation to Scotland, Kruse (2020:

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171–7) pictures regular potential sheltered coastal havens/harbours along the Norðweg, something now seemingly identified archaeologically at Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020), and easily remembered place-names designed to guide sailors that related to havens, pilots, and landmarks. Similarly, Scotland’s west coast saw Scandinavians and their descendants use place-name ‘mnemonic tools’ from the homelands to (mentally) map a new region with points for orientation (Kruse 2020: 181–2). Lamb (2005) suggested the first Vikings in Orkney could have been treated as traders by local elites. This recalls Woolf ’s (1999: 67) model for mutually beneficial co-operation of non-local maritime traders and landowners of suitable bays and beaches and fits an idea potential temporary/seasonal landing-places like Pierowall – and Sandtorg – had a role to play in facilitating trader movement via services like piloting, revictualling, and repair. Such sites could also host more localized regional ‘trampers’ (Braudel 1972) or ‘pedlars’ (Woolf 1999: 67) who shuttled along coasts and on inland waterways with goods purchased at hubs. Pierowall is only a theoretical market site, however, with none definitively identified in Scotland to date outside of Galloway’s Whithorn. Nevertheless, as Owen (1999: 27; cf. 2005: 301) observed, access to ‘goods and wealth was easy and there was little impetus to develop into a centre of trade themselves’. Can I talk, then, as Clarke (1998: 339–41), of ‘markets without urbanism’ in a Scandinavian Scotland that acted more like a nodal island? Nodal islands If I were to parallel Scotto-Scandinavians with Gotlanders and their lack of dominant elite-run urban nodal markets (Gruszczyński 2019: 248) combined with a shared ability to draw in wealth via maritime routes, the obvious issue would be the massive silver assemblage in Gotland compared to the relatively minute volumes in Scotland. Instead, I suggest it is better to identify Scandinavian solutions to harnessing trade routes to their advantage when those Scandinavians were situated on ‘remote’ islands, and also to compare like with like. I begin here with Ireland. As expressed in the number of hoards, Graham-Campbell’s (1975/1976) claim for the relative wealth of the island of Ireland over Scotland was attributed to the presence of towns. However, as Woodstown (Russell et al. 2007; Sheehan 2008, 2014, 2015; Russell & Hurley 2014), and the ­w inter-camps demonstrate, markets using silver currencies did not require to be urban (at least in the traditional sense – Williams 2020a: ix; Williams 2020j: 99–102). Indeed, commercial transactions occurred across northern Europe (­McCormick 2001: 606–13; Skre 2010; Sindbæk 2011), inclusive of rural Scandinavian Scotland and non-urban regions of Gotland (Gruszczyński 2019), Sweden (Holm 2017), and Arctic Norway (Krokmyrdal 2020), doing so at a wide spectrum of sites classed as ‘markets without urban populations’ (Barrett et al. 2004: 618). Moreover, it is inadvisable to compare volumes of imports in populous areas with urban settlements like the Irish

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Sea Region and the Danelaw with Scotland for which ‘even a modest volume of trade could be remarkably important to a relatively diffuse rural population’ (Barrett 1995: 169; cf. Barrett 2007: 303, 319). Those who do compare, as both ­Graham-Campbell (1976a: 126–7) and Kruse (1993: 197) did with their comparison of Scotto-Scandinavian hoards with their Irish equivalents (concluding overseas trade and silver use were negligible in Scotland), make an inequitable comparison: better analogies are found in non-Scandinavian Scotland and the North Atlantic (Barrett 2007: 319). In this scenario, the number of Scotto-Scandinavian hoards compares well with the Scottish kingdom (Smart 1985: 66–7), Iceland, and the Faeroes (Barrett 1995: 169–70; Graham-Campbell 2005: 133–6; Barrett 2007: 303, 319). How, then, might trade on non-urban islands work? Kruse (2007: 168–9) suggested Scandinavian traders visiting Scotland can be envisaged sailing to the largest farm settlement in a place […] with few or no towns […] and forging or renewing contacts with the main landowner. Gift-exchange, bribes, etc., may have followed part of the exchange, but presumably more impersonal trade would have followed. Woolf suggested using sagas to suggest how maritime trade worked elsewhere: caveats about post-Viking sources aside (Raffield 2019a: 685–6), he borrowed from an Icelandic free-trade model, where traders called at certain coastal sites, setting up temporary stalls under the supervision (and to the benefit) of local landlords (1999: 67). This model, like Braudel’s (1972) trampers gradually moving through areas without towns and trading at beach markets, facilitates our understanding of how wealth evidenced in pagan burials (c.850–950) reached Scotto-Scandinavians (beyond their own journeys to towns). Ultimately, both Woolf and Kruse considered Scotland, like Iceland and Gotland, to have had markets without (classic) urbanism. It is also worth noting that a non-urban Scotland makes sense given the proximity of Jórvík and Dublin, as urban monopolies seem to have been closely guarded (cf. Heen-Pettersen 2014 for this in the Trøndelag). What did Barrett (1995: 44) mean when he talked of markets in the context of non-urban Viking-Age Scotland, however? Barrett acknowledged commerce was part of the Scotto-Scandinavian exchange spectrum (1995: 175), arguing that market-trade co-existed with socially embedded mechanisms and that wealth (although limited and intermittent) could be generated from piracy, taxation, mercenary activity, shipping tolls, revictualling, piloting, and exporting (Barrett 1995: 274; cf. Wilson 1976: 110–1). This suggests a society – Barrett concentrates on Orkney, Shetland, and Caithness – involved in maritime networks, taking advantage of nodal geography to exercise economic agency (2008a: 677–8). In this, it resembles Arctic Norway with its historical (Ohthere) and now archaeological evidence from Sandtorg (­K rokmyrdal 2020) for bullion markets without (traditional) urban structures. That this agency percolated throughout Scotto-Scandinavian society from elites to an upwardly mobile class of wealthy farmers of the sort Holm

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(2017) considered in his model for Jämtlanders’ rural travel to nodal markets is considered likely (Barrett 1995: 280, 281). Where exactly, then, did trade using silver currencies occur in ‘non-urban’ regions? Barrett’s description of ‘ad hoc farmers’ markets’ (1995: 170, 171, 186) recalls Woolf ’s Iceland and a Danish/Gotlandic model (Owen 2005; cf. Carlsson 1991; Ulriksen 2004) for a previously ignored multiplicity of smaller, temporary markets ignored by written sources (cf. Gustaffson 2020: 79–83). That even substantial markets could be forgotten is strengthened by the discovery near Gokstad of the 9th/10th-century Vestfold market of Heimdalsjordet (Bill & Rødsrud 2017). The task for Scotland, however, is to find ‘mechanisms of market-exchange outside a formal market place’ (Barrett 1995: 174; cf. Hodges 1982: 15). Like Woolf, Barrett (1995: 174) argued for Iceland providing a good comparison in that it also lacked Viking-Age towns. Foremost among these parallels is the idea maritime traders, whether focussed on nodes or ­landing-places, wanted to seek out local magnates, thereby ensuring: A local monopoly on the use of violence (a logical prerequisite for peaceful trade), and trading partners with access to substantial wealth in commodities or currency. It is also possible that the landing points served as local markets for all segments of society, presumably with some benefit pertaining to the host. (Barrett 1995: 174) Early-Modern historical models for temporary markets show variants of this, including Hanseatic merchants trading directly with lower elements of society who produced export commodities: here, local elites extracted wealth via charges for renting beaches and building trading booths, in addition to duties for imports and exports and gifts (Barrett 1995: 175). Similar situations existed in 14th-century Norway (Urbanczyk 1992: 145), and temporary fairs seem to have been universal (Hodges 1988). Indeed, we might think today of farmers’ markets that are involved in commerce and pay local duties, but leave no permanent trace. Nodal positioning and silver economies If you accept my proposal that commercial trade was, on analogy, likely to have occurred across Scandinavian Scotland, there remains the question of what facilitated Kruse’s ‘more impersonal trade’ in Scotto-Scandinavian contexts. In answer to this, we know Scandinavians in Scotland used a bullion currency based on (evolving) silver economies associated with markets in south-western Scandinavia (Blackburn 2007: 122, 138, 2009: 61–2; cf. Hårdh 2008), but was Scotto-Scandinavian preference for bullion over counted coin due to the supposedly peripheral positioning of their settlements? Blackburn (2009: 61–2) considered this unlikely; Scotland’s nodal position ensured ­Scotto-Scandinavian settlements were not far removed from monetizing currents. Indeed, the mid-10th-century introduction of the Scotto-­Scandinavian

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version of ‘ring-money’ (silver penannular ‘currency’ rings of Hiberno-­ Scandinavian or Baltic origins, the Scottish version of which first appeared in a datable context in the c.960–980 Skaill hoard) does suggest increasing monetary regularization, if not exactly a move towards minting (Graham-­ Campbell & Batey 1998: 238–9; Blackburn 2008: 138; Kershaw 2020: 116), based on Hiberno-Scandinavian precedents. Popular in Scotland and Irish Sea Region contexts from the mid-10th to mid-11th centuries, Scotto-Scandinavian ‘ring-money’ is rarely found elsewhere, although the ‘prototype’ form is found in the Watlington (c.879–880), Cuerdale (c.905–910), Goldsborough (c.925), and Vale of York (c.927–928) hoards (Kershaw 2020: 116). Intriguingly, given the Baltic and Southern Scandinavian inf luence on Hiberno-Scandinavian jewellery forms (­Sheehan 2020), Kershaw (2020: 116) notes the Watlington example and a ­single-find from ‘North Yorkshire’ appear to represent ‘an early group of plain, ­lozenge-sectioned rings with a distribution centred on […] Gotland, but which also occur in 9th-century hoards from southern Scandinavia’, further demonstrating Sheehan’s model and my Silver Route network f low of silver moving from the Eastern Seaway to Ireland (then Scotland) in the ­Viking Age. Single-find coins from settlements suggest coinage use as (counted-notweighed) money from the early 10th century, indicating some Scotto-­ Scandinavians operated a mixed economy (Williams 2006, 2007; Blackburn 2009: 62) of rural Yorkshire type (Kershaw 2017, 2020: 123–6). This fits with models that allow for rural involvement in market-networks (Sindbæk 2011: 58–9; Gullbekk 2014; Holm 2017), and the consequent spread of bullion or dual/mixed-economy silver use into the farther hinterlands, as in the northern Danelaw (Kershaw 2017, 2020: 123–6). As Blackburn (2007: 136; cf. 2009: 62) concluded for Scotland, ‘Perhaps we are […] seeing something of a dual economy, where arm-rings, hacksilver and mixed English and continental coins remained an essential part of the economy, but individual coins could be used within settlements for daily transactions’. Moreover, a picture of early 10th-­ century rural settlements in a supposedly peripheral region being part of wider silver economies suggests there were indeed avenues for market exchange, and ones which, looking at the character of the c.900–980 Scotto-Scandinavian hoards, were focussed on a Hiberno-Scandinavian market zone. Beyond this, what can the sources of silver tell us about traffic f lows within networks? Scotto-Scandinavian hoards tell of contact from Ireland to the Baltic (Wilson 1976: 101, n.22; cf. Graham-Campbell 1976b), with Wilson noting hoards showed ‘contact with the Baltic, and beyond, whence came the Arabic coins’ (1976: 98). Similarly, Graham-Campbell and Batey (1998: 232) demonstrated correlation between provenance, routeways, and exchange mechanisms: of principal importance is their interpretation of routeways by which eastern silver reached Scotland, viz.: It is probable that the dirhams which reached Scotland did so by way of Denmark and the Danelaw area of England (whether by way of York or

A Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain  51

the Irish Sea area), given that over 5,000 such coins are known from Viking period Denmark, as against only about 400 from Norway. (Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 233; cf. Sheehan 1998: 188) In terms of this particular route, then, dirhams either largely reached Scotland via the eastern Danelaw or via the Cuerdale Corridor and Irish Sea. Regarding the latter route, the English coins looked at by Metcalf (1995: 19–20), and particularly those (50%) from southern Anglo-Saxon mints (and two from the Danelaw mint at Lincoln) in Skye’s Storr Rock hoard (c.935– 940), suggests they circulated in Ireland beforehand (Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 233). Similarly, Orkney’s Skaill had strong Irish Sea Region characteristics (Metcalf 1995: 20), suggesting to Graham-Campbell (1995: 47) that, like Storr Rock, it was at least partially assembled there, and/or the Irish Sea Region had close links in terms of silver circulation to Scotland, even beyond the Hebrides. Consequently, it seems currency links between Scotland and Jórvík were weaker than those to Dublin, probably ref lecting long-standing connections between the Danish Corridor and Irish Sea Region (Skre 2015). Overall, I am confident in saying that the disparate Scotto-Scandinavian region was one not only through which traders/currencies passed, but also where they operated: here, I look to Berwickshire’s Gordon hoard from the south-east border of present-day Scotland, the position of which possibly relates to a Clyde-Tweed routeway of value to the Uí Ímair and its traders (cf. Buchanan 2012). The presence of ingots – n.b., it seems (Sheehan 2014, 2015) ingots were manufactured at 9th-century longphuirt – and a fragment of Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-ring in Gordon suggest an Uí Ímair context for a hoard thought to date between the late 9th and mid-10th centuries, paralleling, in chronology and contents, the Goldsborough ­d irham-hoard (c.920, Yorkshire) from our Cuerdale Corridor (Graham-Campbell 1995: 27–8). From its nodal position, the diverse regions of Scandinavian Scotland operated amid market-centric networks and long-distance trade involving market-style economies was practised in an arc from Gordon to Galloway, however infrequently, during the Uí Ímair Age.

A Viking kingdom I have outlined caveats, but it seems reasonable to suggest the hypothesis that Dublin and Jórvík became nodal markets within a network-kingdom. Consciously developed in a predominantly Southern Scandinavian manner, this Uí Ímair polity was designed to attract commodities and tolls by creating permanent, secure markets that attracted long-distance and regional traders, as well as hinterland inhabitants seeking goods like jewellery that might benefit their social gift or display strategies. While Scandinavian Scotland and Wales were outwith this (loose) structure, they and their market life were certainly in its gravitational pull. In the following chapter, I test this hypothesis with my archaeological and historical dataset.

3 Archaeological and historical evidence

Having identified the diverse threads of scholarship indicating the possibility of an Insular Scandinavian kingdom plugged into a vast silver-using market network, I now turn to the numismatic and contemporary historical evidence that helps weave them together. Regarding the former, I focus on the dirhams present in both Seaways on the understanding that their distribution is akin to ‘an electrocardiogram [providing] a continuous and fairly complete record of how one key system functioned over a given period of time’ (Noonan 1994b: 216; cf. Screen 2020: 377, 379). Specifically, I consider their distribution in Insular Scandinavia to be indicative of this region’s active involvement in a wider silver-using trade network (the ‘Silver Route’).

A Danelaw caveat While I accept caveats warning against the uncritical association of coins with commerce (Grierson 1959; Samson 1991a, 1991b, 1991c; Wickham 2006), there is strong evidence linking dirham use and probable market trade in both Seaways, including Kaupang and Heimdalsjordet (Hårdh 2008; Bill & Rødsrud 2017) in the Vestfold, and Torksey (Hadley & Richards 2016) and ARSNY (Williams 2020a) in England. This line of argument is complicated, however, by the almost complete absence of dirhams within Jórvík (as Dublin), a proposed node for my market-centric network-kingdom. Indeed, Kershaw (2017: 184, 2020: 125) notes that the presence of only a single (counterfeit) dirham in Jórvík, in addition to only a very few items of bullion weighing equipment, suggests ‘commercial bullion exchange’ of the type seemingly common in Baltic and Southern Scandinavian urban markets was limited there and in the other Danelaw towns; the implication being that the market phenomenon here was very different to that of Baltic and Southern Scandinavia. Certainly, it appears Danelaw urban authorities excluded from circulation any payment silver that was not their own issue, likely melting down any bullion/dirhams and minting it into their own coins (cf. Screen 2020: 378). PAS-reported stray-finds and the evidence from winter-camps demonstrates, however, that a mixed bullion and coin silver economy did exist in the wider rural hinterland, where the writ of urban authorities was

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-4

Archaeological and historical evidence  53

weaker (Kershaw 2017: 184, 187, 2020: 125–6). Consequently, it seems probable that bullion was entering Danelaw towns and the difference identified by Kershaw between Danelaw and Vestfold urban forms of silver-based commercial exchange is due to cultural context: town-based Danelaw elites were reacting to minority existence within a wider coin-using Anglo-Saxon region, seeing production of (initially ‘imitative’) coinage as aspirational and befitting elites with royal ambitions. We note here Hedeby and Ribe’s mints were likely inspired by proximity to coin-using Frankish polities (Hadley & Richards 2016: 50–1). If, as I think seems likely, the Great Army was dominated by Southern Scandinavian elements familiar with a key nodal town like Hedeby and the Frankish kingdoms, then it follows that they were au fait not only with counted coin use (alongside weighed bullion), but minting itself: Once they had seized control of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, Viking rulers, such as Guthrum [in East Anglia], began to mint coins, which is usually regarded as requiring ‘an administrative infrastructure to issue them and regulate their use’. However, the lead impressions of dies and blundered stycas from Torksey suggest that the minting of coinage emerged during the overwintering phase, even before the Viking leaders had adopted the administrative apparatus of Anglo-Saxon kingship. (Hadley & Richards 2016: 50) It seems probable, then, that the paucity of dirhams in Jórvík was due to the melting down of bullion for its Anglo-Scandinavian coinage and the ingots found in Danelaw hoards (Kershaw, in Jarman 2021: 62, n.2), with the inspiration for minting being the result not only of interactions with the prestigious Anglo-Saxon Münzgeldwirtschaft, but also of a Southern Scandinavian inf luence (via Hedeby and Ribe) that can be seen in the winter-camps. As discussed elsewhere, the distribution of dirhams in Ireland suggests most entered the region initially via Dublin, where it seems likely most were melted down into ingots and the Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings popular in Insular Scandinavian currency and display economies. Before I discuss the Insular data, however, I think the reader would appreciate an understanding (or reminder) of the beginnings and evolution of the dirham inf lux into Scandinavia.

Dirham inf lux: initial phases Dirhams constituted the official means of payment in the Baghdad-based Abbasid Caliphate, which governed directly and through emirates some of which, like the Samanids, were effectively independent (Kilger 2008a: 200). Generally, dirhams were of standard weight (c.2.97g) and made with high-­ purity silver (Naismith 2005: 193; Blackburn 2008b: 65; Kilger 2008b: 309; cf. Jarman 2021: 64). These ‘kufic (script)’ coins included issuing authority,

54  Archaeological and historical evidence

0

200

400 km

N

Kaupang

Figure 3.1  D  irham distribution (© Kaupang Excavation Project, courtesy of C. Kilger & D. Skre)

as well as year and place of minting. Known in Scandinavia since c.800, dirhams and their fragments became standard payment units within much of the Eastern Seaway by the 10th century, encouraging large-scale silver use and adoption of a spectrum of bullion economies, some of which used ‘standardized’ weights based on a dirham-weight unit and balances based ultimately on Caliphal and Roman models (Kilger 2008a: 202, 206). Contemporary Arabic sources indicate processes behind their transfer to northern and western Europe in their descriptions of the sale of furs and slaves by Rus’ in return for dirhams (and glass beads, potentially a form of commodity-money) ( Jankowiak 2020: 105–6). Potentially, tens of millions of dirhams reached eastern and northern Europe during the Viking Age (Naismith 2005: 200; Brown & Naismith 2012: 697, n.7; cf. Lieber 1990; Noonan 1994a, 1994b; Jankowiak 2020: 105), with c.350,000–400,000 recorded in Europe to date (Gruszczyński 2019: 1; Jankowiak 2020: 105). Most would likely have been recycled into bullion, indigenous coinage, and status jewellery, with surviving coins probably representing a tiny sample of the total (Kruse 1992: 79; Metcalf 1997: 328–9; Naismith 2005: 205). In any case, approximately 99% of imported coins in Scandinavia between c.800 and 950 were dirhams. Of the c.95,000 found there, c.85,000 were deposited in Sweden (with c.67,000 of these found on Gotland alone) (Gullbekk, pers. comm.; cf. von Heijne 2004: 23; Naismith 2005: 200; Kilger 2008a: 202, 203). In Scandinavian contexts, dirhams were involved in a spectrum of use, likely including being counted by tale per their face value (Blackburn 2008:

Archaeological and historical evidence  55

69). That said, their association with weights and scales suggests their principal Silver Route use (outside Insular towns) was as easily recognizable, high-­ quality silver for use in transactions within metal-weight economies of the sort characterizing Southern and Baltic Scandinavia (e.g., Steen Jensen & Kromann 1998: 72). As Williams (2011: 69) suggested for the Danelaw, but which holds true for most dirhams in Scandinavian contexts, ‘Islamic coins […] were seen purely as conveniently small pieces of bullion, especially as many of them are found only as fragments’. Indeed, for both Seaways, Blackburn (2008: 69, 72, 2011: 229) and Gullbekk (2014) link dirhams at coastal ­landing-places or riverine settlements to the existence of market exchange (cf. Ager & Williams 2004: 137). I argue – as Gruszczyński (2019) for the Baltic – that the presence of dirhams in ‘active’ (currency) hacksilver hoards, and as stray/single-finds (suggesting loss during payment) demonstrates a relationship between dirham circulation and markets. Indeed, most Eastern Seaway commentators (e.g., Kilger 2008a, 2008b) assume a prominent market role for dirhams and, while Jórvík’s almost total lack (Kershaw 2020: 125) warns against assuming parallels, Insular Scandinavian hoards and single-finds persuade me the same was true there.

Early Scandinavian ‘dirham-networks’ I now try to understand periods of dirham importation and circulation to construct a more accurate picture of payment silver within long-distance networks. While market-places are considered to have an important role in dirham circulation ( Jórvík caveat acknowledged), they must be viewed in concert with hoards and single-finds in order to get the fullest possible picture (Kilger 2008a: 234–5). The following is indebted to Kilger, who takes account of network and, for Gotland (2020), social network and family/félag partnership perspectives, as well as the importance of the role played by the Danish Corridor in linking the Seaways. Use of dirhams in exchange became established in a region corresponding approximately to Ukraine and Russia (i.e., the interface on trade routes between Central Asia and northern Europe) around AD 800 (Noonan 1981: 51, 61–3; Naismith 2005: 199; Blackburn 2008: 52). In the Baltic, however, outside of a few 825+ Gotlandic outliers, and despite the early terminus post quem (tpq = earliest possible deposition date) of the coins, dirhams were rare before the 830/840s. In a pattern I suggest is instructive for the subsequent spread of dirhams to Insular Scandinavia, Kilger (2008a: 221) noted it was only when dirham silver ‘became part of the everyday and constantly repeated routines of exchange, that dirham hoards begin to appear in larger quantities in the same region’. Looking at tpqs of northern and eastern European dirham hoards, Jankowiak (2020: 108–9) identified peaks of imports in c.810, c.840, the 860s, and the 950s, adding that ‘the ninth-century inf low […] should really be seen as a single period, since no major discontinuities in trade between Scandinavia and the

56  Archaeological and historical evidence

Islamic world can be detected before c. 875’. After the 875–900 hiatus of imports of largely Abbasid dirhams from mints like Baghdad – dirhams continued circulating in this period – a ‘second wave’, now increasingly from Samanid mints like Samarkand in modern-day Uzbekistan, entered Scandinavia, peaking in the 950s before petering out by the 980s (Jankowiak 2020: 108). The 950–955 tpq peak is likely a product of inf low ceasing and resultant accumulation in the face of major disruption to Rus’ trade in c.950 (Jankowiak 2020: 109). It seems that, generally, dirhams entered eastern Europe and Scandinavia shortly after minting and were regularly produced, suggesting ‘f luctuations in their quantities [in Scandinavian contexts] ref lect the rhythms of their inf low, and not variations in their production’, meaning interruptions to networks, not minting, would have largely been behind falls in imports (Jankowiak 2020: 110). 800s–830s Beyond an 8th-century (tpq 786/787) Staraya Ladoga outlier in what is now northern Russia, the first dirham wave begins in earnest in the first decade of the 9th century, the distributions ref lecting rivers leading from the eastern Baltic towards the Khazars, who also likely traded furs and slaves, from Europe to the Abbasids ( Jankowiak 2020: 111–2). With slaving’s increase, c.810–830 saw depositions shift towards Slav regions and southern Baltic and Scandinavian-dominated marketplaces like Truso (Adamczyk 2020: 66–9), whence connections to Denmark were made: That the earliest dirhams found in the Baltic f lowed towards Denmark rather than Sweden or Gotland is reinforced by the string of finds along the southern Baltic coast and the near absence of early ninth-century hoards in Sweden and Gotland. ( Jankowiak 2020: 112) The formation of this Baltic Scandinavian ‘dirham network’ (Kilger 2008a: 226) in the first half of the 9th century began with deposition of the first hoards containing several hundred coins or more, some of which (e.g., Hässelby, Norrgårda-Norbys II, and Norrgårda-Jakobsons on Gotland, and Sønder Kirkeby from Falster, Denmark) also contained the probably ­d irham-derived Russian ‘Permian’ spiral-rings subsequently copied in Danish regions (Merkel 2017: 44; Sheehan 2020: 420). These larger hoards suggest higher levels of importation and circulation in the period that Sweden and especially Gotland joined ‘a common area of circulation of dirham silver, stretching from the Baltic Sea zone to Eastern Europe’ (Kilger 2008a: 226). 830s–860s Kilger (2008a: 228) argued that hoards deposited c.800–860 represented ‘individual activities in an early, preliminary stage in the use of dirham silver’.

Archaeological and historical evidence  57

N

Birka

Kniashchino

Peterhof

Vylegi Kholopii Go rodok

Kaupang

*

Ungeni

Demiansk Nabatovo

Østerhalne Enge

K retomino Bergen Prerow-Darss Penzlin Grzybowo Neub randenbu rg

**

Zavalishino Orsha Minsk P rovince Pokot Litvinovichi

Biebrich

Semenov Go rodok

Elmed

Khit rovka Borki Lapotkovo

Nizhnie Novoselki K remlevskoe Iarylovichi Novye Mliny

Novot roiskoe

Nizhniaia Sy rovatka

Tsimliansk Krivianskaia

Steckborn Ilanz

Ugodichi Sarskoe Go rodishche

…   Raducaneni-Iasi Svetlog rad Ka rchag Savane

Stisdzir

Arkhava

Pshaveli Mtisdziri

Bash-garni Agdam

* Gotland:

Hässelby Hammars Ockes I V isby Nor rgårda-Norrbys I Hejde-P rästgården

**

Prussia: Stegna Mokajm y-Sójki Braniewo Dlugobór Zalewo K rasnolaka

0

500

1000 km

Figure 3.2  Dirham-hoards tpq 790–925 (© Kaupang Excavation Project, courtesy of C. Kilger & D. Skre)

As Adamczyk (2020) and Jankowiak (2020: 112–3) demonstrate, Truso and the southern Baltic were removed from these nascent northern European dirham-networks in the mid-830s, with inf lows redirected to Gotland and the northern Baltic more generally. For the next two decades (840–860), dirham hoards suggest solid if unspectacular trade continued before an explosion in the 860s and 870s was followed by two decades (post c.875/877) of slump, possibly caused by unrest, raiding, and the collapse of the first Rus’ polity (due to revolts against intensive slaving?) recorded in historical sources ( Jankowiak 2020: 114–6). While imports likely slowed in this period, circulation/use seemingly continued: looking at hoards of tpq 860–890 and the (ploughed) post-850 levels at Kaupang (Kilger 2008a: 228; cf. Pedersen &

58  Archaeological and historical evidence

Figure 3.3  Dirham-hoards tpq 825–860 (© Kaupang Excavation Project, courtesy of C. Kilger & D. Skre)

Pilø 2007: 187–8), Kilger (2008a: 243) suggested silver ‘crises’ affecting exchange in Eastern and Western Europe (cf. Randsborg 1980; Noonan 1985: 42–8) were chimerical, and dirhams circulated widely in the second half of the 9th century. This is clear from both the evidence of a market (Kaupang) and hoards, with enormous numbers of the latter in Gotland (Östergren 2020: 208), including the remarkable Spillings hoard (tpq 870/871) of c.14,200 dirhams (Pettersson 2009). Indeed, while ‘Swedes, Gotlanders and Rus’ were ‘persuaded’ by Caliphal and Byzantine victims of their 860s+ raids that trade was easier than raid ( Jankowiak 2020: 115), their southern Scandinavian cousins were introducing dirhams and associated bullion economies to Insular Scandinavia.

Archaeological and historical evidence  59

N

Torgård

Bertby Översävja Fittja Kaupang Långhalsen Hällestad parish Äskedal * Libagi Södra Gä rdslösa Algutsrum Skarpa Alby Broby Rantrum Torksey Croydon

Busdorf I

W esterklief II

Pinnow Karnice

Novgo rod Poterpel`tsy Lake Peipus Shumilovo

Porech`e V itebsk p rovince Drohiczyn Czechòw

Pankino Kuznetskoe Bol`shoe Timeorvo Moskva city

Toropets

Rostovets Khit rovka Lucesy Ost rogi Zheleznitsa Beavo Gruchino Supruty Borki Mishnevo Bobyli Mioseevo Pogrebnoe ravine

Muizen Poltava Novaia Laza revka

Chersones Sunzinskaia stanitsa Chikaani

* Gotland: Lilla Vägome Häffinds Spillings III Ajmunds Alskute Östris Hemmor Spillings IV V ikare Spillings II

Bölske Kysings Dals Slite Kinner Sojvide Hägvide Larsarve Lingsarve

0

Piccovani

500

1000 km 

Figure 3.4  Dirham-hoards tpq 860–890 (© Kaupang Excavation Project, courtesy of C. Kilger & D. Skre)

As Spillings’ dirhams were being deposited, their use spread to the nascent Danelaw. The earliest evidence of this is the Great Army associated sites of the Croydon hoard (c.871/872) and single-finds from Torksey (c.872–873). Consequently, we can say that if there was a reduction in dirham minting, especially c.875–900, this was not ref lected in similarly dramatic reductions in import from eastern Europe; circulation (viz. enormous increases in Eastern Seaway hoards deposited during this time), or reach (i.e., to Insular Scandinavia) (Kilger 2008a: 232). Kilger moves us away from only assessing dirhams via calendrical (tpq) dating to one attempting to focus on circulation within networks. This changes the traditional picture of a late 9th-century silver crisis, to one of silver glut in which, as

60  Archaeological and historical evidence

per evidence from Frisia and England, new Scandinavian regions were becoming involved (Kilger 2008a: 234–5).

The Samanid dirham phase, c.905–960 The period between the late 870s and c.900 is described by Jankowiak (2020: 116–7) as a ‘hiatus’ within which a lack of the genuine article saw Khazars produce significant quantities of counterfeits, likely to pay Scandinavians – who

N

Viken

Översävja Kaupang

Koldemosen Over Randlev I

*

**

Algutsrum Skarpa Alby

Cuerdale Millockstown Dysart Island

Drohiczyn Klukowice Czechów

*Gotland, late Abbasid hoards: **Gotland, early Samanid hoards: Dals Slite Kinner Sojvide Hägvide Larsarve Lingsarve

Lingsarve Lilla Hammars Buters Lilla Veller Bote Stora Velinge Ockes

0

250

500 km

Figure 3.5  Hoards containing late Abbasid dirhams (dark dots) and early Samanid dirhams (light dots), tpq 880–910 (© Kaupang Excavation Project, courtesy of C. Kilger & D. Skre)

Archaeological and historical evidence  61

by then only accepted dirhams, genuine or imitation – for slaves and furs. In 892/893, however, focus shifted as the Samanid victory over Qarluq Turks created a new routeway between Scandinavian traders and this region’s demand for slaves (Jankowiak 2020: 117). ‘Samanid wave’ dirhams of the early 10th century can be seen first in eastern Poland, possibly a region where slavers overwintered in what might have been fortified slave pens – similarly Kyiv likely grew in prominence via these new Central Asian routeways (Jankowiak 2020: 118). In c.910/911, trade – presumably based on slaves and furs, as suggested by Ibn Fadlan’s 921–922 account of a meeting with the Rus’ – with the Islamic world pivoted from Khazaria to Volga Bulgaria, matching an explosion of dirham imports throughout the Baltic (Jankowiak 2020: 118–9) and towards Insular Scandinavia. The post-890/900 period saw a rapid shift from essentially pure ­Abbasid hoards to mixed Abbasid/Samanid ones, with early clusters in Gotland and the region surrounding Dublin ( Jankowiak 2020: 118; Sheehan 2020: 422– 5). This was due to a massive inf lux transferred to Scandinavians by the Volga Bulgar network-kingdom, the structure of which seems to have been based on riverine trade routes between Samanids and the Baltic (Kilger 2008a: 239; Jankowiak 2020: 118). By the 930/940s, Baltic hoards indicate ‘widespread access to dirhams’, with notable concentrations on Gotland, Öland, and in Denmark, indicating an explosion in slaving, as suggested by evidence of depopulation from eastern Europe to the south Baltic ( Jankowiak 2020: 121). Like Khazars, Volga Bulgars produced imitation Samanid dirhams when faced with Scandinavian demands and insufficient originals ( Jankowiak 2020: 121); these also reached Insular Scandinavia, like at Jórvík (comparable to a ­ thers possible Torksey find – Hadley & Richards 2016: 50). This matches o from Cranwich, Thetford, and Middle Harling (Norfolk – PAS), an Irish find from Carrowreilly (Co. Sligo), and a possible example from Spofforth (Yorkshire – PAS). Around 900, Hedeby, too, minted counterfeits in cast lead-tin alloy (Steuer et al. 2002: 155–9; Hilberg 2009: 92). Such imitations support my network-currency hypothesis that counterfeiting was inevitable in a situation where the distinctive form of dirhams quickly became essential to trust within long-distance trade networks. Legitimate Samanid dirhams were issued (on a large scale from 892 to 893) from mines in Khorasan and Transoxiana at Samarkand, Al-Shash (Tashkent), and Andarabah (Naismith 2005: 199, 201–2; cf. Lowick 1976: 348; Kilger 2008a: 229, 235; Brown & Naismith 2012: 698). Fake or otherwise, inf low of (by now almost exclusively Samanid) dirhams to Scandinavia ceased around 954/955 ( Jankowiak 2020: 121; cf. Blomkvist 2009: 162; Screen 2020: 384), possibly due to declining silver content (noted by fastidious Scandinavians) possibly related to an exhaustion of mines after the historic peak of c.950 (Noonan 1990: 254, 1994: 215–36; Naismith 2005: 200; Jankowiak 2020: 121–2). Thereafter, supply switched to by then better quality Anglo-Saxon and German coins (Howard-Johnston 2020: 62; Screen 2020: 384).

62  Archaeological and historical evidence

Abbasid-Samanid shift Kilger (2008a: 240) talked of the ‘Samanid find-horizon’ differentiating 10th-century network exchange contexts from 9th-century (Abbasid) ones, but noted there was regional variation within this horizon: c.905–910 saw Samanid issues becoming dominant in Gotland; c.910 in Northern Jutland (e.g., Over Randlev I hoard, tpq 910/911); and post-c.915 in Uppland, Skåne, Bohuslän, and Aust-Agder. In the Vestfold-Oslofjord region containing Kaupang and Heimdalsjordet, Samanid hoards only appear after c.920 – a time when Kaupang’s active trading life (as assessed partially by volume of Samanid dirhams) was waning (von Hejne 2004: 365; Kilger 2008a: 237). This suggests Gotland was the earliest and, thereafter, major link in the network through which Samanid silver travelled further west (Kilger 2008a: 237; Sheehan 2020: 422–5). Within Insular Scandinavia, the Abbasid-­ Samanid Shift can be evidenced after the Abbasid-dominated Cuerdale hoard of c.905–910 (Lowick 1976: 22; Naismith 2005: 201–2; Brown & Naismith 2012: 698). The changeover can be seen in the near-even (8/6) Abbasid-­ Samanid split at Dysart Island (No.4) (c.910, Co. Westmeath), followed by Samanid domination of the Islamic element starting with Dean (1/3 dirhams) (c.915, ­Cumbria) and Goldsborough (9/19) (c.925–930, Yorkshire). In Ireland, the earliest Scandinavian hacksilver hoards – e.g., Millockstown (tpq 905; c.915/920?, Co. Louth) and Dysart Island (no. 4) (c.910) – contain Samanid issues alongside Anglo-Saxon coins of similar tpqs (Dysart’s latest pennies date to 907, its Samanid issues to 902/903). As Kilger (2008a: 237) understood, Samanid dirhams – soon after they were struck – were carried at the beginning of the 10th century direct to Gotland and from there to regions lying around the Irish Sea. A possible link between these two poles is the North and East of Jutland Table 3.1  Abbasid/Samanid shift in Insular Scandinavia Hoard

Location

Croydon Talnotrie Silverdale

London Galloway Lancashire

Deposition

872/873 875 900– 910/930 Cuerdale Lancashire 905–910 Magheralagan Co. Down 910 Dysart (no. 4) Co. Westmeath 910 Dean Cumbria 915 Millockstown Co. Louth 915–920 Goldsborough Yorkshire 925–930

Majority Abbasid

c.50/50

Majority Samanid

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Archaeological and historical evidence  63

adding: ‘The earliest Samanid hoards on Gotland, in the interior of Poland, in Ireland, and in the west of Denmark, give the impression of being the product of direct connections between the areas of origin and the area of deposition’ (Kilger 2008a: 238). I consider this observation to be key: that the Jutland connection with Insular Scandinavia is paralleled in the earliest hacksilver hoards in both regions suggests to me that use as a ‘means of payment in dense networks of small-scale transactions’ (Hårdh 1996: i) was transferred via long-distance traders. This is, in my opinion, the phenomenon in which supraregional traders helped spread economic ‘languages’, whether Gewichtsgeldwirtschaft and/or Münzgeldwirtschaft, through networks. This certainly seems the case at Sandtorg trade/exchange site with evidence of a hacksilver bullion economy, located in a ‘remote’, non-urbanized region of northern Norway near to Ohthere’s supposed homeland around Trømso (Krokmyrdal 2020). In any case, that the Insular Scandinavian silver inf lux I will discuss also appears to correlate with the Great Army indicates the spread might be linked to the type of (taxable) silver-based trade an Uí Ímair network-­k ingdom would want to encourage.

Dirham-networks The speed at which dirhams could travel huge distances indicates the rapidity of movement through exchange systems structured around waterborne networks. We can estimate an average timescale of 10–15 years from (Samanid) minting to deposition in the Danelaw (Blackburn 2006: 209; Williams 2013: 466; Kershaw 2017: 185; 2020: 118). However, Blackburn (2007: 129; cf. Kilger 2008a) noted ‘dirhams could travel faster than this, even from […] Central Asia’, with Kershaw (pers. comm.) suggesting some coins might have reached Scandinavia within a year or two of minting. Looking at the latest Torksey dirham (minted 866–868), Woods (2020: 399) notes a period of 4–7 years for a 5,000 km journey. This observation allows us to demonstrate that, immediately before an apparent c.875 interruption in supply of new dirhams into Scandinavia, ‘the network by which silver dirhams moved north and west was functioning very effectively. Torksey lay at one end of a communications and exchange network which saw coinage move rapidly across the continent’ (Woods 2020: 399). Regardless, gradual down-the-line or elite administered gift-exchange models do not fit this speed of transfer as well as that of my proposed Silver Route trader-network dominated by independent traders (as in Gotland – Gruszczyński 2019: 247–51). In any case, Kilger notes ‘the dirham network in the Samanid silver period’ is differentiated from the preceding Abbasid one in terms of its more ‘homogenous and consistent’ hoards of ‘typically compact composition’ (2008a: 239). This suggests Samanid-era networks were established on a regional basis, where economic agents from particular regions, such as Gotland (Gruszczyński 2019), maintained direct inter-regional contact, not with the Samanids, but with Volga Bulgars (as evidenced by distribution of their

64  Archaeological and historical evidence

counterfeits). From this, Kilger (2008a: 239) argued isolated early hoards such as Viken (Hälsingland, Sweden) and Over Randlev I ( Jutland, Denmark) were either ‘traces of individual entrepreneurs who apparently participated personally in early contacts along the River Volga’, or visited those places in the Baltic connected to networks emanating from this region: after this initial stage, established networks expanded into the Scandinavian Baltic to include, by the 920s, markets like Birka and (brief ly) Kaupang, which had continued to use existing (Abbasid) coin stocks via continuing supplies from eastern Europe. The spread of Baltic and Southern Scandinavian market economics to Insular Scandinavia in concert with dirhams suggested the latter’s acceptance as ‘tokens of value […] thus, the dirham hoards do not just reveal contacts between various regions […] but, rather and above all, the exchange of silver’ (Kilger 2008a: 242). In short, dirham distribution was part of the spread of bullion economies seemingly according to supraregional conventions like standardized weights and (approximate) unit standards that were, in themselves, attempts to normalize transactions undertaken by long-distance agents within diverse but related market environments (Kilger 2008a: 242; cf. Steuer 1987; Steuer et al. 2002; Gustin 2004a). Note here that, while I talk of the Silver Route, Kilger’s research suggests we are, like McCormick (2001), talking of a series of interlinked networks intertwining at nodes. These points could be individual marketplaces, or even islands (Gotland) and regions (Scotland) which represented natural seasonal or transport breaks in communications routes (Sindbæk 2007a, 2007b, 2008; Krokmyrdal 2020). Here, silver could be exchanged or melted down for commercial, social, or dual social-economic use (Skre 2017: 2), as per weight-adjusted ornaments, like Danish or Hiberno-Scandinavian broadband arm-rings or Scotto-Scandinavian ‘ring-money’. These could be used on site and exchanged towards the hinterlands, e.g., between a Kaupang and northern Norðweg sites like Sandtorg. At this point, Callmer’s separation of exchange involving dirhams into economic (single-find) and social (‘Hoard Societies’) spheres is best disregarded, with any distinction instead relating to differing exchange networks (i.e., inter-regional links maintained by individuals), not classes of deposits (Kilger 2008a: 242–6). Note here, too, that post-substantivism suggests people were always ‘simultaneously economic and social agents’ (Skre 2017: 2).

Dirhams in Southern Scandinavia I now interrogate the network structures behind westward dirham transit through the Danish Corridor: in terms of probability, which routeways were dirham-using agents taking across the North Sea? Did they reach Insular Scandinavia through northern Norse agents, or was Southern Scandinavia the more likely interface? Although there is new evidence for the spread of hacksilver economies with connections to Insular Scandinavian metal-weight

Archaeological and historical evidence  65 Table 3.2  Scandinavian dirhams Region

Dirhams (c.)

Percentage (c.) (%)

Gotland Sweden Denmark Finland Norway Total

67,000 18,000 7,500 1,700 638 94,838

70.6 19 7.9 1.8 0.7 100

practices in the shape of ‘Insular mount’ weights from Sandtorg in northern Scandinavia (Krokmyrdal 2020; cf. Heen-Pettersen 2020: 439–40), I concentrate on what dirham distribution tells us about what I consider to have been the essentially Southern Scandinavian character of silver payment in Insular Scandinavia. Although pre-dating Heimdalsjordet, Kilger’s map showing Norwegian dirham hoards of 5+ dirhams, and Southern Scandinavian examples of 50+ dirhams illustrates well the funnelling of dirhams through Southern Scandinavia (and particularly its Danish coasts) in my c.853–954 Uí Ímair Age (cf. Steen Jensen & Kromann 1998). It is also instructive that, beyond Kaupang’s 76 dirhams accounting for 11.9% of all 638 Norwegian dirhams (Kilger 2008a: 200; cf. Skaare 1976: 47–53; Khazaei 2001: 63–5), and 42 (c.6.6%) identified to date at the more eastern-orientated Vestfold site of Heimdalsjordet (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 223–4), two of the three largest Norwegian dirham hoards are also from the Vestfold-Oslofjord region (Grimestad: 77 dirhams, tpq 921/922, and Teisen: 63, tpq 932), relating them to Kattegat region hoards like Tissø (Kilger 2008a: 200). Hoards in western and northern regions of Norway are much smaller (Kilger 2008a: 201), such as the 2017 find of 16 fragmented dirhams (795– 830) from Hemnes on Kamøy (Rogaland) (Lars Søgaard Sørensen, pers. comm.), but show the spread of dirhams up the Norðweg (Skaare 1976: 236). Norway was a ‘trade route on a grand scale’ (Clarke 1998: 339; cf. Sindbæk 2011: 58–9), where even seemingly remote regions like in which Sandtorg is located were connected to the urban silver-based economies of Southern Scandinavia. Ultimately, I think dirhams in northern and western Norway were a result of travels of northern Norwegians who visited markets like Kaupang, as rural Swedish Jämtlanders did to ones like Birka (Holm 2017). The presence of over ten times the volume of dirhams in Denmark than Norway – more if including southern Norwegian sites like Kaupang, seemingly established within a Danish network-kingdom (Blomkvist 2009: 162) – has been used to understand how dirhams and other Eastern Seaway-derived items arrived in Insular Scandinavia (cf. Sheehan 1998: 187, 2020). Sheehan (1998: 188, 2020: 423) used this disparity to argue it was more likely dirhams entered Insular Scandinavia via Danish-centric networks, as opposed to routeways connecting northern Norway with Scotland’s Northern and Western

66  Archaeological and historical evidence

N

Rønnvik

N

Herten

Holtan

Torgård

Teisen Vela Grimestad Kaupang

Hammelev Bräcke Ramløse Sigerslevøster

Over Randlev I

Uppåk ra

Tissø Grisebje rggård

0

50

100 km

Hedeby

Neble

Terslev

Sønder Kirkeby

Figure 3.6  Sites with high numbers of dirhams (light dots), and hoards with at least five dirhams (dark dots), tpq 850–950 (© Kaupang Excavation Project, courtesy of C. Kilger & D. Skre)

Archaeological and historical evidence  67

Isles. Sheehan (1998: 188; cf. 2020: 423) also looked at similarities in patterning between dirham distribution and those non-numismatic hacksilver fragments of ‘southern Scandinavian and Baltic type’ (e.g., ‘Permian’ spiral-rings), concluding it reinforced suggestions ‘British and Irish [dirham] finds are statistically more likely to have passed through Denmark than through Norway’, as the ‘limited occurrence in Norway again indicates that the main route to Ireland for the Baltic material was probably not through the north’. Despite ‘new economic practices’ spreading north up the Norðweg (cf. Krokmyrdal 2020), Gotland and Southern Scandinavia remain the proximate sources for Insular Scandinavian Eastern Seaway material (Sheehan 2020: 423). Both Sheehan (1998: 184, 2020) and Kilger (2008a: 237) look to the Danish Corridor as the link between the Gotland-centric silver/dirham-­networks and Insular Scandinavia, something the latter considered collaborated by the presence of a Gotlandic arm-ring fragment in the Dysart Island (no. 4)­ dirham-hoard (c.910, Co. Westmeath). Given this, what can be said about the movement and uses of dirhams once in this region? In the following, I investigate distribution in relation to the network trade understanding underpinning my Uí Ímair model.

Dirhams in Insular Scandinavia Observations of similarities in distribution of numismatic and non-­numismatic silver represent what I consider to be an underemphasized strand in those dirham studies interested in overarching narratives. Indeed, beyond traditional concentration on individual hoards (e.g., Lowick 1976; Graham-Campbell 2011; Edwards 2013 on Cuerdale); or the hoards of particular micro- (e.g., Williams 2013, 2020a on the northern Danelaw/Yorkshire) or macro-regions (e.g., Naismith 2005 on England), holistic perspectives are rare, excepting Brown and Naismith’s (2012) brief survey of the dirhams discovered in Insular Scandinavia. Moreover, although acknowledging Insular dirhams ‘may yet have a contribution to make to knowledge of the trade and circulation of silver in the Viking Age’ (Brown & Naismith 2012: 698), this chapter did not concentrate on Insular Scandinavia’s position within wider dirham-networks or use within Insular Scandinavian silver economies; the latter aspect being important in assessing how long parts of this region were part of the Silver Route (cf. Kershaw 2020: 118–9, 127). Others have looked at the role of dirhams within silver economies introduced into Insular Scandinavia from the mid-9th century (Blackburn 2006, 2007, 2009). Of these, the most prominent are the Viking and ­Anglo-Saxon Landscape and Economy (VASLE) project (Richards et al. 2009) and Kershaw (2017, 2020), both of which used PAS data and attempted to link distribution of bullion weights to dirham distribution. Unlike my study, however, these concentrated only on England and Wales, illustrating regional tendencies in research, and the need for holistic studies of silver throughout Insular Scandinavia.

68  Archaeological and historical evidence

Moving beyond (entirely legitimate) regionalism, my approach looks at dirhams in addition to other aspects of what appears to have been a long-­ distance silver economy ‘package’ presumably familiar to supraregional traders. Unlike previous approaches, I apply this to Insular Scandinavia as a whole, providing a parallel to the pan-Scandinavian perspectives of the likes of Sheehan, Kilger, MacLeod, and Skre. This is returned to in Chapter 7, but, for now, regional case studies are required to establish the numbers, locations, and context of Insular dirhams. By the end of 2008, 350+ dirhams had been found in Insular Scandinavia, with the majority discovered in England and Ireland (Brown & ­Naismith 2012: 695). Just over c.50% (175–90 coins) were from hoards (Brown & ­Naismith 2012: 297), with the rest single-, stray-, or site-finds. Since then, the number of Torksey site-finds has more than doubled to 124+ (Hadley & Richards 2016: 39, 43), although ARSNY’s dirhams have been revised down from c.25 to 14 (Brown & Naismith 2012: 695, n. 3; Williams 2020e: 39). Table 3.3  Insular dirham-hoards (cf. Sheehan 2020: 424) Hoard

Region

Deposition (c.)

Latest dirham Travel (mint-range) time (c.)

Croydon ARSNY Talnotrie Silverdale Drogheda Cuerdale Co. Derry Harkirk Magheralagan Dysart Island (no. 4) Dean Millockstown Goldsborough Near Dublin Leggagh Thurcaston Flusco Pike [2] Penrith Area Bangor Warton/Carnforth Bossall/Flaxton Glasnevin Vale of York Mohil/Dunmore Cave Co. Kildare Storr Rock Furness Skaill Co. Meath Machrie

London Yorkshire Galloway Lancashire Co. Louth Lancashire Co. Derry Lancashire Co. Down Co. Westmeath Cumbria Co. Louth Yorkshire Co. Dublin Co. Meath Leicestershire Cumbria Cumbria Gwynedd Lancashire Yorkshire Co. Dublin Yorkshire Co. Kilkenny Co. Kildare Skye Cumbria Orkney Co. Meath Islay

872/873 874/875 875 900–910 905 905–910 910? 910 910? 910 915 915–920 [905] 925 e.10th 920 925 925 925 925 925 927 927 927–928 928 935 935–940 955 950–980 970 970

847 690–749 862 840 895 896 ? ? 785 903 905 905 913 ? 914 916 912 913 912 913 912 ? 915 892 ? 932 907 946 809 ?

25 100+ 13 60+ 10 9 n/a n/a 100+ 7 10 10 12 n/a 9 7 13 12 13 8 15 n/a 12 36 n/a 3 48 14 100+ n/a

Archaeological and historical evidence  69

Adding c.60 single-finds reported to the PAS since 2008, with 12 of these from Yorkshire (Kershaw 2020: 117–9; Williams 2020j: 11), and two ­fragments from Man, I can update Brown and Naismith’s figure to c.470 Insular Scandinavian dirhams, an increase of a third. Of the c.470, c.200 (43%) are from hoards and c.270 (57%) are single-finds. I suggest concentration in England and Ireland was due to the draw of their Jórvík and Dublin nodal markets, facilitated by an Uí Ímair network-kingdom. While Jórvík’s dirhams may have been converted to coin (Kershaw 2020: 125), it was likely this hub’s gravitational pull that attracted dirhams and other silver to the northern and eastern Danelaw in the first place. Regardless, I see dirham use as much a marker of Scandinavian market activity within the Western Seaway as the Eastern, and one which demonstrated a conscious connection to Southern Scandinavia and the Baltic. As of 2021, there are approximately 30 dirham hoards in Insular Scandinavia, all deposited in the century after c.870, with 70% dating c.900–930 (Sheehan 2020: 422–3). With at least 69 dirhams between them (Lowick 1976: 20–1; Brown & Naismith 2012: 697), the hoards from Cuerdale (31–6) and Goldsborough (35) alone represent c.15% of all Insular Scandinavian examples. Originally, Cuerdale may have had up to 50 dirhams (Williams 2011a: 50). This early 10th-century period was when most dirhams were imported into Gotland, then on a decreasing scale into Southern Scandinavia and, to a far lesser extent, Norway (Sheehan 2020: 423). This picture of dirhams spreading through the Baltic to Southern Scandinavia and then Insular Scandinavia (with a focus of deposition around Dublin and the Cuerdale Corridor) fits with that of non-numismatic silver from Southern Scandinavia, the Baltic, and Russia (Sheehan 2020: 423). Of the Insular hoards, three – Magheralagan (2+ dirhams, c.910, Co. Down); ‘County Derry’ (c.910); and Warton (3, c.925–935, Lancashire) – have an entirely Islamic numismatic element. Of note is that Magheralagan and Warton were associated with hacksilver, further indicating dirhams were considered bullion in Insular Scandinavia. Dirhams from hoards make up approximately 50% of the total (Brown & Naismith 2012: 697). Most are deposited around Dublin or directly across the Irish Sea in north-west England and towards York (Sheehan 2020: 423), informing my Cuerdale Corridor transport network (funnelling) model. The largest concentrations of site-find dirhams are at Torksey (124+) and ARSNY (14, with one in a possible on-site hoard), winter-camps occupied in the early to mid-870s (Hadley & Richards 2016: 39; Williams 2020e: 39), along with a tiny group at Oxborough in Norfolk (Brown & Naismith 2012: 697). The overwhelming majority of single-finds are from England, albeit with a marked southern and eastern bias compared to the hoards. To date, there is one Scotland single-find (Stevenston/Ardeer, Ayrshire), two from Wales (Llanbedrgoch, Anglesey), two from Man, and around nine in Ireland. The disconnect between hoard and single-find distributions suggested to Kershaw (pers. comm.) that the primary area of active transactional use of dirham silver bullion currency was the eastern Danelaw, correlating to the main distribution of the closely associated standardized weights. Kershaw (2017) argued the

70  Archaeological and historical evidence

predominantly rural Danelaw scatter differentiates it from the Eastern Seaway, where use tended to cluster in and around urban markets for most of this period, a picture now being challenged by subsequent finds from rural northern Norway (Sandtorg: Krokmyrdal 2020) and inland Sweden (Jämtland: Holm 2017). The period from 900 to 930 The 900–930 peak of Insular dirham import can be matched with ­K ilger’s 890–920 ‘Phase IVb’, the period from which Samanid dirhams entered Scandinavia, initially and primarily in Gotland (Sheehan 2020: 423–4). It is 915/920 before Samanid issues begin to predominate on the Scandinavian mainland, so there may be connections between Gotland and eastern Ireland, particularly as Irish Sea Region examples were minted between 905 and 914, with some deposited even before appearing at Birka and Kaupang (Sheehan 2020: 424) – these dirhams seem most likely to have been imported directly into the Irish Sea region from Gotland, presumably to Dublin and through southern Scandinavia, strongly hinting at a formative southern Scandinavian inf luence behind the establishment of Dublin as a Hiberno-Scandinavian interpretation of Danish-style market sites like Hedeby and Kaupang. (Sheehan 2020: 424–5, referencing me) From this, Sheehan (2020: 425) noted Dysart (c.910) contains not only Southern Scandinavian and Baltic non-numismatic silver, but also Samanid dirhams and a fragment of a Gotlandic type cast-band arm-ring, pointing to possible direct links between a package within Dysart and Gotland. Millockstown, Leggagh, and (probably) Drogheda also contain early Samanid dirhams, as do three c.920s Cuerdale Corridor hoards with Hiberno-Scandinavian characteristics (Goldsborough, Bossall/Flaxton, Bangor), all of which combine to firm up a Gotland/Southern Scandinavian link with Dublin (Sheehan 2020: 425). Sheehan (2020: 429, referencing me) uses the fact these early Samanid coins and hoards around Dublin containing Baltic and Southern Scandinavian non-numismatic silver were seemingly deposited around the 902–917 exile to suggest the possibility a Southern Scandinavian: seized the opportunity of a power vacuum in Dublin to develop a new trade network […]? This may not have been without precedent. Were the tangible links between Dublin and the southern Scandinavian/Baltic region in the early tenth century a repetition of the 840s, when ambitious ‘Danes’, perhaps operating out of Kaupang, may have exploited disruption among the Dublin Scandinavians to establish a trading site in their own image?. While I remind the reader of the present near-absence of dirhams from Dublin and Jórvík (although fragments potentially eluded rescue excavations and only a minute percentage of these towns have been excavated), they remain

Figure 3.7  Western Seaway dirham-hoards and single-finds (author)

Archaeological and historical evidence  71

72  Archaeological and historical evidence

the most likely conduit for their initial port of call (cf. Sheehan 2020). Rural Danelaw distribution might, therefore, ref lect traces of economically active individuals from Jórvík’s (non-immediate/wider) hinterland who visited those markets to trade (like northern Norwegians at Kaupang and Jämtlanders at Birka), happy to accept bullion in payment for goods (Kershaw 2017: 187, 2020: 125, 127). Regarding this disconnect, Gooch’s research (2012: 185; cf. Kershaw 2017: 182), which shows hoard distribution of post-895 coins produced in the northern Danelaw spreading in a band from northern East Anglia towards the Cuerdale Corridor, Man, north Wales, and fanning radially west from Dublin, may help. In view of my dirham distribution maps (Figure 3.7), it seems their spread provides the missing link between hoards and single-finds in that they link the northern Danelaw with Dublin and its hinterland. This hints at the (intermittent) economic sphere of inf luence of Jórvík-based Uí Ímair network regents and the travels of economic agents connected to them. There is also a notable correlation between northern Danelaw issues and dirhams in Storr Rock (c.935/940, Skye), Skaill (c.950–980, Orkney), and Machrie (c.970–980, Islay), suggesting an additional inf luence in this region. The Insular Scandinavian period of circulation of dirhams (roughly matching that of importation) is c.871–980, with most deposited c.900–935 (Briggs & Graham-Campbell 1976: 22). Coin-dated deposition dates from Croydon (c.871/872) to Skaill (c.955–980). Skaill contains the dirhams with the latest mint dates for the whole Western Seaway, with Samanid issues dating to 943, and Abbasid issues to 945. Based on a 10–15 year lag (Blackburn 2006: 209; Williams 2011: 66, 237, 2013: 466; Kershaw 2017: 185, 2020: 118) and my data, this suggests entry of the latest Skaill dirhams into the region around the mid-950s, which could fit Jórvík’s exit from the Uí Ímair network-kingdom following the c.954 death of its last Scandinavian king. I suggest Eiríkr’s death changed the raison d’être of the Uí Ímair polity, forcing it to focus (even more) on western England, the Irish Sea Region, and networks linking Iceland to western Continental Europe. It seems likely the earliest dirham depositions matched or post-dated Croydon, as at ­Torksey (c.872–873). The latest single-find dirhams date to the late 920s, with a battered fragment from the rural settlement of Cottam, Yorkshire minted in c.928/929 (Hadley & Richards 2016: 47; Haldenby & Richards 2016; ­Kershaw 2020: 118, 119). Given a decade+ time-lag, this suggests handling of dirhams (and Silver Route contact) into the 940/950s in the Danelaw (Kershaw 2020: 119). The ramifications of Cottam regarding the Uí ÍmairJórvík connection are considered below.

Scandinavian England Naismith noted ‘The general similarity of the English and Scandinavian find-patterns shows that, at least until c.925, England was part of the n ­ etwork connecting Scandinavia to Russia and, ultimately, the caliphate’ (2005: 202).

Archaeological and historical evidence  73

Figure 3.8  C  oins from Danelaw mints, via the Portable Antiquities Scheme and Corpus of Early-Medieval Coin Finds (EMC) (Courtesy and © Jane Kershaw)

74  Archaeological and historical evidence

I equate Naismith’s network with my Silver Route and, consequently, the Uí Ímair network-kingdom. While it is difficult to observe ‘pulses’ of Abbasid minting discernible in large Russian and Scandinavian hoards, traces are apparent in their smaller Insular cousins where enough dirhams survive, as in Cuerdale (Naismith 2005: 202). It seems clear, however, that dirham-­ network bonds between the Danelaw and Southern Scandinavia modelled by Kilger (2008a: 237) were weak, with the steep decline in coins minted after c.910 (Naismith 2005: 202) not ref lected in the Eastern Seaway, where decline in imports only occurred from the mid-10th century (Noonan 1990: 254; Blomkvist 2009: 162). As a result, while the Danelaw was connected to the ‘northern dirham-using world’ (Naismith 2005: 208), it was peripheral. In addition to distance, this was due to ‘weak’ nodal-network bonds and network-kingdoms that were vulnerable to collapse if nodes were removed (Sindbæk 2003–2013). Despite new finds, the general picture of dirham distribution in England has changed little since Naismith’s c.2005 map (Figure 3.9), which – I note – has a strong correlation to the distribution of hoards containing northern Danelaw coins (Gooch 2012: 185), suggesting to me they were considered part of the same multifaceted currency system. English dirham-hoards tend to be

Figure 3.9  English single-finds (●) and hoards (■) (Reproduced courtesy of R. ­Naismith & the Royal Numismatic Society)

Archaeological and historical evidence  75

a northern phenomenon, whereas single-finds demonstrate more of a bias towards east and south (Naismith 2005: 204; cf. Kershaw 2017, 2020). Hoard distribution ref lects my proposed Cuerdale Corridor, i.e., a ‘significant route way [through North-west England] between the York/Lincoln region and the Irish Sea’ (Blackburn 2007: 134). This idea of regular traffic on a Danelaw-Dublin axis complements Williams’ suggestion Cuerdale might just as well have been accumulated at Jórvík as Dublin, with earlier confusion over its contents’ provenance demonstrating similarities in silver traffic and use between Uí Ímair regions (2011: 70–1; cf. Blunt 1983; Graham-Campbell 1987b: 343). The near-lack of single-finds in the Scandinavian North-West (i.e., Lancashire and Cumbria – Blackburn 2007: 134–5) suggests this was a region through which bullion currency passed rather than was used. This contrasts with the northern and eastern rural Danelaw, with widespread casual losses considered indicative of intensive small-scale transactions characteristic of Southern Scandinavia (Kershaw 2020: 119; cf. Hårdh 2008). Indeed, that single-find distribution matches standardized weights is seen as further evidence of synchronization with Eastern Seaway dirham-networks as mediated through the Danish ­Corridor. Also notable is that dirhams from Torksey and ARSNY are highly fragmented, a characteristic shared with Yorkshire single-finds and major Southern Scandinavian markets (Kershaw 2020: 119). Great Army bullion networks The best evidence for active dirham use in Scandinavian regions of England is from sites where the other circumstantial evidence, like metrological equipment, is suggestive of bullion-based market trade and Southern Scandinavian links. A clear example of this comes from Torksey’s winter-camp. The discovery of multiple dirham fragments, of which 124 were processed by 2015 (Blackburn 2011: 229–30, 245; Hadley & Richards 2016: 39, 43), indicates active economic use; spread over a wide area as at Kaupang, they are unlikely to represent a scattered hoard (Blackburn 2008: 47–56, 2011: 229). In comparison, small-scale investigation at ARSNY has produced 14 dirhams (+1 in the apparent hoard), all of which are fragmentary (Kelleher & Williams 2020: 36). Despite Torksey’s military context and 9th-century focus – factors traditionally used to argue against ‘sophisticated’ market practice among western Scandinavians (cf. Kruse 2007) – Blackburn thought Torksey more than a temporary military camp, with ‘traders using, and losing, coinage, cut-­ bullion and weights’ (2011: 247). Indeed, association of dirhams with weights linked to dirham-inf luenced metrology and weight standards has its earliest Insular context at Torksey (Kilger 2008a: 233–4; Blackburn 2011: 221, 236–9, 247; Hadley & Richards 2016). These observations suggests there was no bar to what were, primarily, warriors in a 9th-century temporary site in Insular Scandinavia practising market trade and demonstrating facility with

76  Archaeological and historical evidence

a range of silver currencies familiar to Danish Corridor towns. Certainly, subsequent work at Torksey has bolstered any view of Great Army camps as economically active in market trade (Hadley & Richards 2016: 45). Indeed, Torksey’s market-economic material is extensive, indicating intensive trade and exchange in goods and probably in slaves. The evidence from Torksey suggests a hybrid economy with monetary as well as bullion transactions and the minting of coins, ref lecting something of the complexity of the multiple economic systems that co-existed during the Viking Age. (Hadley & Richards 2016: 62) Of Torksey’s 350+ weights, c.100 are of the standardized types associated with dirhams (and other light denominations of bullion and hackmetals), with c.100 cubo-octahedrals and six oblate-spheroids, forms introduced to Scandinavia from c.860 and c.870 respectively (Hadley & Richards 2016: 48–9). This compares to ARSNY’s 24 cubo-octahedrals and (possibly) one from Woodstown (Hadley & Richards 2016: 48–9; Williams 2020e: 40–1, 2020f: 20–3, 2020h: 85–7). Compared to winter-camp assemblages, there are higher numbers of heavier oblate-spheroids compared to (generally far lighter) cubo-octahedral weights among the English single-finds, with 34 of the former and 26 of the latter (Kershaw 2020: 120). This ratio differs markedly in winter-camps, with ARSNY having one (possible) oblate-spheroid to 28 cubo-octahedrals and Torksey producing four oblate-spheroids to 57 cubo-octahedrals (Kershaw 2020: 120). While this could ref lect the missing of often-minute cubo-octahedrals by metal-detectors, Kershaw (2020: 120) notes oblate-spheroids may capture the evolution of the hacksilver economy after the mid-870s, with the relatively large number of English single-finds belonging to a post winter-camp period of the bullion economy (Kershaw 2020: 120). ‘Insular mounts’, my name for composite copper-alloy and lead bullion weights of as-yet-undetermined Insular Scandinavian origin (Kruse 1992: 81–2; cf. Williams 2020i: 15–16), were found at both ARSNY and Torksey alongside the standardized weights popular (and manufactured) in the Eastern Seaway (Williams 2020i: 15–16), and especially its hubs (Steuer 2009: 298). Torksey’s c.37 Insular mounts link its bullion economy to the types of networked economic actors active at Woodstown, ARSNY, Llanbedrgoch, Kiloran Bay, and Kilmainham-Islandbridge, as well as sites like Kaupang and Sandtorg in Scandinavia (Pedersen 2008; Hadley & Richards 2016: 48–9; Krokmyrdal 2020), adding to my argument that Hiberno-Scandinavian Ireland, the northern Danelaw and Southern Scandinavia shared individuals/ groups and economic practice, with inf luence f lowing bi-directionally (cf. Kershaw 2020: 127; Williams 2020e: 43). This mixing of Eastern and Western Seaway weight types is also seen at Kaupang and Woodstown (Blackburn 2009: 58), as well as Dublin and, although in small numbers, at Jórvík

Archaeological and historical evidence  77

(Kershaw 2017). This further suggests bi-directional economic connections between the Danish Corridor and Insular Scandinavia, in addition to the ability of economic agents (traders, network regents, producers) to work within multiple differing but compatible silver traditions. As Skre (2017: 2) noted regarding the ‘simultaneous’ nature of pre-­Industrial economies and their agents being both economic and social, ­w inter-camps saw ‘multiple economies operating alongside one another’ (Hadley & ­R ichards 2016: 46). Here, Torksey’s highly fragmented dirhams indicate bullion use, while relatively whole English coin points to their being saved for use within the Anglo-Saxon Münzgeldwirtschaft (to sell back looted items to locals during the winter peace? – Williams 2020g: 94–5); remarkably, the early date of Torksey demonstrates that these simultaneous (multi-metallic) bullion and coin economies existed together with the presumed socially embedded redistribution of looted wealth to warriors by the likes of Ívarr from ‘the very outset of Viking settlement in the west’ (Hadley & Richards 2016: 49–50; cf. Skre 2017: 2). Importantly for my arguments regarding prior planning of Great Army’s operations in Southern- and Hiberno-Scandinavian environments, the evidence from Torksey suggests sophisticated commercial understanding arrived in Britain at least partially formed before developing its own adaptations, such as Insular mounts. Like Torksey, ARSNY is replete with items pertaining to bullion-based trade networks linking the Great Army in the northern Danelaw with Ireland and Southern Scandinavia: The presence of Islamic coins and [standardized] weights common in Scandinavia suggests that the driving force for this economic model came from southern Scandinavia. At the same time, the presence in Scandinavian contexts of the decorated lead weights more characteristic of Viking Britain and Ireland, together with the spread of pecking (apparently introduced by Vikings in England between c. 875 and c.890), indicates that economic inf luences travelled in two directions. (Williams 2020e: 43) This is echoed by Kershaw’s (2020: 127) conclusion for the rural northern Danelaw beyond the winter-camps: ‘single finds highlight sources of silver and weights in both southern Scandinavia and the Irish Sea region. Settlers and/or visitors from these regions, and their descendants, may have been the principal participants in Yorkshire’s bullion economy’. This picture is paralleled by ARSNY, which has produced >283 weights (some are likely to be gaming pieces), 70 silver pieces, 106 coins, two hackgold fragments, and a (repurposed) fragment of folding balance (Williams 2020k: 19). As Hall and Williams (2020: 83; cf. Hadley & Richards 2016: 49–50) noted, ‘Together, the weights, coins and hack-silver point clearly to a system of exchange based on silver bullion valued by weight and, more debatably, perhaps also based on the use of gold, copper alloy and even lead as bullion’.

78  Archaeological and historical evidence

Similarities between the telltale signs of markets of that type in that region and the ARSNY corpus of bullion, metrological equipment, and coins (Williams 2020k: 19) are important for my arguments relating to Southern Scandinavian and Baltic connections. Equally important is the quantity of ARSNY material from Ireland, suggesting inf luential members of the Great Army had been operating in longphuirt before arriving in England (Hall & Williams 2020: 84, ref. McLeod 2014: 109–71; cf. Kershaw 2020: 127). Intriguingly, the most likely period of Woodstown’s floruit (early 860s?) coincides well with important inhabitants travelling to England in 865. Croydon and early Danelaw silver links to Southern Scandinavia Like Torksey and ARSNY, I view the Croydon hoard (c.871/872, London) with its hacksilver and ingots alongside three pre-850s dirhams and c.250 Wessex, Mercian, and Continental coins in the context of a Great Army containing dominant Southern and Hiberno-Scandinavian elements (including veterans of Frisian and Frankish campaigns) co-led by Ívarr (Brooks & Graham-Campbell 1986: 100; Blackburn 2009: 48; Hadley & Richards 2016: 46). It represents the earliest dirhams in a Viking-Age Scandinavian context in England and, given its ingots and hacksilver, also the first evidence Scandinavians in this region were using mixed silver in a bullion economy (Blackburn 2009: 48). As with Brooks and Graham-Campbell (1986: 97), Kilger (2008a: 234) presumed the hoard had been in the possession of ‘Danish Vikings who had presumably obtained those dirhams in the lands around the Baltic Sea area’, possibly from the region around the Sønder Kirkeby hoard from Falster (tpq 846/847) with its pre-850 dirhams, or the hoard of 13 dirhams dated to c.850 from Strøby in south-east Sjælland. For Kilger, ‘The earliest hacksilver hoards of Western Europe around the Irish Sea and in England, such as Croydon and Cuerdale, or in the Netherlands, may be linked principally with the Danish Vikings’ (2008b: 321). Adding to these links, early Danish hoards (like Croydon and Torksey) produce Southern Scandinavian-type ‘Permian’ spiral-rings, suggesting relationships between early Danish dirham contexts and the nascent Danelaw (Kilger 2008a: 234; cf. Sheehan 1998; Hårdh 2008: 96, 111). Croydon also contained a Danish ‘prototype’ broad-band arm-ring (Brooks & Graham-Campbell 1986: 95; Sheehan 1998, 2009, 2011), supporting my idea of Ívarr and the Great Army as the originating mechanism of the Silver Route in both Britain and Ireland. I discuss this ‘broad-band’ network in Chapters 2 and 7, but for now it seems reasonable for me to suggest that these warriors provided the ­market-economic link between longphuirt, winter-camps, and Southern Scandinavia. I would argue that these Insular Scandinavian contexts from the third quarter of the 9th century are important in that their non-numismatic and numismatic elements indicate involvement in a network that introduced

Archaeological and historical evidence  79

market characteristics associated with Denmark and the Baltic to Ireland and then the Danelaw. This book is my attempt to argue it was this network, established by Dublin/Great Army leaders, the Uí Ímair would formalize within a network-kingdom. Late single-finds and Silver Route economies If an Insular Scandinavian zone of the Silver Route was underway by the 870s, when did it end? Until recently, the window of English dirham use appeared small (c.870–930), with dirham-hoards disappearing roughly in line with Aethelstan’s conquest of York in 927 (cf. Dolley 1955: 13; Naismith 2005: 206; Brown & Naismith 2012: 697). As Naismith (2005: 206) noted, ‘The latest hoard to contain Islamic coins is Bossall [/Flaxton], dated to c.927, and there are no known single finds of coins from the Danelaw minted after this date’. However, Yorkshire’s Cottam dirham dating to c.928/929 (Kershaw 2020: 118), and one from Buxton with Lammas (Norfolk, c.927/928), both unlikely to have been deposited before the mid/late-930s, could suggest that Aethelstan’s death in 939 and York’s reconquest by the Uí Ímair (namely, Óláfr Guthfrithsson, r.939–941) re-opened the Silver Route before maintaining it, intermittently, until Eiríkr’s 954 death. This is not, however, to link ending of Scandinavian political control with that of Danelaw bullion use, as the Thurcaston hoard (c.923–925, Leicestershire) contained Samanid dirham fragments (913–916, Samarkand), with Blackburn (2006: 209) noting they were likely recent arrivals, given the c.10/15-year lag. This not only provides a glimpse of a ‘purse of current money used in a bullion […] economy’ and helps us imagine what an Ohthere-type might have carried, it also suggests a ‘dual economy persisted for at least five years after the [Aethelf laed 918] reconquest in certain areas of the Danelaw, [albeit] perhaps limited to individual villages or families’. While these late single-finds may mean that we no longer must stick to the traditional paradigm (Dolley 1955: 13; Brown & Naismith 2012: 697) that Danelaw dirham imports ceased definitively in c.930, it remains clear dirhams circulated in Scotland and the Irish Sea Region (inclusive of the north-­ western Danelaw regions of Cumbria and Lancashire – Blackburn 2007: 119) until Skaill was deposited (c.955–980). This ‘Celtic’ circulation parallels Eastern Seaway dirham chronology, suggesting the Silver Route could continue to operate, albeit on a limited basis, through my Round-Scotland routeway if York and the Danelaw were under Anglo-Saxon control (Naismith 2005: 204–5; Brown & Naismith 2012: 697). Kershaw (2020: 118) observes it cannot be discounted that Cottam’s dirham, whose highly fragmented (0.16g) and damaged condition indicates lengthy circulation, entered Insular Scandinavia via Scottish and Irish Sea routes as late as the 940s and be unrelated to a continuing import of Silver Route bullion into the northern Danelaw. That said, I think it remains possible Cottam and other potential late single-finds from the c.950s like

80  Archaeological and historical evidence

the ‘near Stamford Bridge’ neck-ring fragment entered the Danelaw directly, with Kershaw (2020: 127) open to the possibility Dublin control of Jórvík after 938/939 reinvigorated bullion use due to the advantages of maintaining a bullion economy to facilitate trade, noting continued use of bullion east of the Pennines would have helped to facilitate economic interchange between the two Viking centres. It is thus entirely possible that metal-weight transactions continued at some level into the middle decades of the 10th century.

Dirhams in Wales and Ireland Dirhams are found in hoard and single-find contexts in the Irish Sea Region, although there are only a handful from the latter category from Ireland (c.9), Scotland (1), and Wales (2). Although rare, the discovery of two fragments at Llanbedrgoch on Anglesey (Blackburn 2007), and two from Man (one possibly from a beach market – Fox pers. comm) suggests use as payment, even in second-tier markets. Similarly, the single-find dirham from south-west Scotland (Stevenston/Ardeer), suggests dirhams were recognized as currency, linking the Irish Sea Region to Scandinavia via sites suggested by locations of Scotto-Scandinavian dirham hoards and of the bullion equipment found at Kiloran Bay (Colonsay), Gigha, and Scar (Orkney). In the context of circulation, and relevant to an Uí Ímair network-­ kingdom, Naismith (2005: 204) noted ‘extensive connections between the Viking kingdoms of York and Dublin’, something made apparent by the regular presence of coins from Jórvík and the southern Danelaw in Irish hoards (Blackburn 2007: 128). Similarly, Hiberno-Scandinavian silver bullion in dirham hoards at Cuerdale (Lancashire) and Goldsborough (Yorkshire) suggests the bi-directionality of these connections (Graham-Campbell 1992: 112–3; Naismith 2005: 204). Although a Round-Scotland route would have remained active, I suggest the probability – based on Danelaw hoard distribution on a Dublin-Jórvík axis – points to a preferred trans-Pennine routeway (cf. Blackburn 2007: 131), with the Wirral and Wales a stopping-off point for traffic. It is notable, then, that the only Welsh dirham hoard links to both Ireland and the Danelaw: five dirhams were found in the 1894 Bangor ‘A’ hoard (c.927, Gwynedd), part of a typical Insular Scandinavian hoard containing, like Dunmore Cave (no. 1) (928–930, Co. Kilkenny), a mixture of Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Scandinavian, and dirhams alongside hacksilver (Blunt 1954: 259–62; Boon 1986: 92–7; Blackburn 2007: 129, 130–1; Brown & Naismith 2012: 696, n.4). This combination is paralleled by hoards from Cuerdale, Dysart Island (no. 4), and Leggagh (c.923–924, Co. Meath). With 19 dirhams and distinctive non-numismatic pieces, Sheehan (2020: 416) suggests ‘Dysart embodies more completely than any other Irish hoard the contacts that existed between the southern Scandinavian/Baltic region and

Archaeological and historical evidence  81 Table 3.4  Irish dirham-hoards Hoard

Location

Deposition Dirham (c.) date-range

Drogheda Hall Co. Derry Magheralagan Dysart (no. 4)

Co. Louth Co. Derry Co. Down Co. Westmeath

905–910 910 910 910

Millockstown Near Dublin Leggagh Glasnevin Mohil/ Dunmore Co. Kildare Co. Meath

Co. Louth Co. Dublin Co. Meath Co. Dublin Co. Kilkenny

915–920 10th 923–924 927 928–930

Co. Kildare Co. Meath

930–935 970

Issuing authority (nos.)

c.895? Unknown 775–785 902/903

Unknown (‘many’) Unknown (‘many’) Abbasid (2); ? (many?) Samanid (8); Abbasid (6); ? (5) tpq 905 Samanid (2–3) Unknown Samanid? (1) 914 Samanid (1) Unknown Unknown (2) 870–892 Abbasid (1); Unknown (1) Unknown Unknown (1) 786–809 Abbasid (1)

Viking-Age Ireland’. Moreover, as Blackburn (2007: 131) noted, these hoards ref lected ‘money that had in part travelled across the northern Danelaw to the Irish Sea’. That Wales had only a secondary role, however, is clear from the number of dirhams in Ireland, forming part of the numismatic element of 77% (10/13) hoards deposited c.900x930/935 (Blackburn 2007: 129). Woodstown’s two dirham fragments brings the number of single-find coins to >9 (Russell et al. 2007: 38, 59; Russell & Hurley 2014; cf. Briggs & Graham-Campbell 1976: 21; Kenny 1991, 1994; Blackburn 2007: 130, 146, 147, 2009: 58; Sheehan, pers. comm.). However, that there are dirhams from Woodstown and ‘near Dublin’ (Blackburn 2009: 58) fits the pattern of ­association with markets connected to trade networks. Like the hoards, the regional domination of Ireland in the single-find corpus of Irish Sea Region dirhams indicates an east coast locus of economic agency. Although there is an outlier in the ‘Co. Meath’ hoard deposited c.970 (Sheehan 1998: 188, Table 6.2), the main period of dirham inf lux and circulation in Ireland ended, as England, around the time of Athelstan’s 927 capture of Jórvík; we think here of the Glasnevin (Co. Dublin), Dunmore Cave (no. 1), and ‘Co. Kildare’ hoards, deposited c.930. The latest securely dated and provenanced single-find dirham from Ireland – the Volga ­Bulgar Samanid counterfeit dated to c.900–910 (lost c.910/915–920/925?) from Carrowreilly in Co. Sligo (Kenny 1991: 172; Blackburn 2007: 144) – also fits this pattern. As Blackburn (2007: 129) asked: was the simultaneous demise of dirham in England and Ireland linked, the dirhams having generally come via the Danelaw in the company with the Anglo-Scandinavian coins, or did Ireland receive some dirhams directly from Scandinavia or via the Scottish settlements?

82  Archaeological and historical evidence Table 3.5  Irish single-finds Find-spot

Location

Mint date

Issuing authority

Woodstown (i) Woodstown (ii) Ballymore Carrowreilly

Co. Waterford Co. Waterford Co. Westmeath Co. Sligo

741–743 ? ? 900–910

Near Dublin (site A) Near Dublin (i) (site C) Near Dublin (ii) (site C) Millockstown ‘Sainthill letter’

Co. Dublin Co. Dublin Co. Dublin Co. Louth ?

900? 750–900? ? 905–906 ?

Umayyad ? ? Imitation Samanid (Volga Bulgar) ? Abbasid? ? Samanid ?

While Blackburn argued for ‘more direct’ dirham-network links between Scandinavia and Ireland in the early 10th century on the basis that the Drogheda (c.905–910) and Co. London/Derry (c.910) hoards which, although lost, apparently contained ‘many’ dirhams, he did not explain the mechanisms or routeways behind this, other than to argue ‘the distinctive pattern of the Scottish hoards would suggest that Ireland was not drawing heavily on the local currency there’ (2007: 129). I propose that efficiency suggests most dirhams reached Ireland via relatively quick maritime routes between Southern Scandinavia and the Danelaw. Indeed, it appears most coins entered Ireland via England, with the Irish Sea Region seeing increasing use of (counted) coined money from the 940s, although this was mainly Anglo-Saxon, with an Dublin imitative coinage being minted from c.995 (Screen 2020: 384; ref. Woods 2014: 299; 2015).

Dirhams in Scotland Naismith noted ‘Vikings who settled in […] Scotland remained in the Scandinavian economic sphere long after the use of dirhams and the common use of hack-silver had ended in England’ (2005: 204). Similarly, Blackburn (2007: 129; cf. Kershaw 2020: 119) argued dirhams ‘continued to arrive in Scotland until the mid-10th century’ on the basis of Storr Rock (c.935–940) and Skaill (c.955–980). While we know too little about the single alleged Samanid dirham from the lost Machrie hoard (c.970–980, Islay) (Brown & Naismith 2012: 696, n.6), and should consider the Talnotrie hoard (c.875, Dumfries & Galloway) with its wintersetl-like combination of Insular mount, Northumbrian stycas, English pennies, and dirhams as relating to c.874–875 Great Army activity in Scotland (Hadley & Richards 2016: 49; Williams 2020e: 37), Storr Rock and Skaill have secure Scotto-Scandinavian depositions. In the following, I ask if these two hoards are essentially Irish Sea Region outliers (cf. Metcalf 1995: 17), and whether we can count Scotland as part of the dirham payment zone.

Archaeological and historical evidence  83 Table 3.6  Scottish dirham-hoards Hoard name

Location

Deposition (c.) Dirham date-range

Issuing authority (nos.)

Talnotrie Storr Rock Skaill Machrie

Galloway Skye Orkney Islay

875 935–940 950–980 970–980

Abbasid (2) Samanid (19) Samanid (16); Abbasid (3) Samanid? (1)

846–862 895–932 896–946 Unknown

Storr Rock and Skaill dirham hoards Storr Rock (buried c.935–940 near the shore of the Sound of Raasay, Skye) contained ingots, Hiberno-Scandinavian hacksilver, and ‘Permian’-style ­spiral-ring fragments among 23 bullion pieces (Graham-Campbell 1995: 28). This accompanied coins, of which 19 were (mostly whole) dirhams, 90 ­A nglo-Saxon, and two Anglo-Scandinavian (from the Lincoln mint of the Uí Ímair king of Dublin and Jórvík, Sihtric Cáech). The latest of the (18 Samanid, 1 imitation Samanid) dirhams dates to c.932 and the Anglo-Saxon coins have a 933–938 tpq (Metcalf 1995: 20). Metcalf noted the numismatic element was similar to contemporary Irish examples like Leggagh (Metcalf 1995: 20; cf. Stevenson 1966: xiv; Blackburn 2007: 135; Brown & Naismith 2012: 696, n. 6). Similarly, the presence of Hiberno-Scandinavian and Eastern Seaway non-numismatic elements alongside Irish ones suggested to ­Graham-Campbell (1995: 28, 62) Storr Rock was, in all but location, an Irish Sea Region hoard. Predicting Skre’s ideas about ‘simultaneous’ social and economic considerations (2017: 2), Graham-Campbell (1995: 48) argued Skaill (c.955–980, ­Orkney) was ‘clearly “active” on more than one socio-economic level, and so is not be categorized simply as a merchant’s hoard’, viewing it as the property of a chief or leading family who had to deal with an exchange spectrum ranging from gift-giving to commerce. As with Storr Rock, Skaill owed a considerable quantity of its non-numismatic silver to Irish Sea sources (­Griffiths 2015, 2019: 475; Graham-Campbell 2019), something ref lected in finds from the contemporary settlement (Griffiths 2019: 474–5), although Graham-Campbell (1995: 47) was less confident in characterizing it as an Irish Sea Region hoard. Whereas the 19 Storr Rock dirhams formed a minority among Anglo-Saxon coins, only two of the 21 Skaill coins were non-Kufic, with one Aethelstan and one Anglo-Scandinavian Jórvík (swordless) ‘St Peter’ issue (Blackburn 2007: 136). In contrast to Storr Rock, most of the 19 Skaill dirhams are highly fragmentary, suggesting a quite different biography (­Metcalf 1995: 20), being more typical of Silver Route market/winter-camp use. Skaill is considered by Graham-Campbell to have been deposited c.960– 980, as the traditional c.950–970 bracket seemed too short to accommodate the dirhams’ travel time, with the latest legible examples minted as late as 945/946 (Graham-Campbell 1995: 34–48, 108–27, no. 24; Metcalf 1995: 20;

84  Archaeological and historical evidence

Stevenson 1966: xiv; Naismith 2005: 205, n.82; Blackburn 2007: 136). ­Graham-Campbell and Batey (1998: 233; cf. Sheehan 2020: 423) argued it was Probable that the dirhams which reached Scotland did so by way of Denmark and the Danelaw area of England (whether by way of York or through the Irish Sea Region), given that over 5,000 such coins are known from Viking period Denmark, as against only about 400 from Norway. Whether most Eastern Seaway material in Scotland came via Jórvík, via Jórvík and the Irish Sea, or directly across the North Sea cannot not resolved, but I think it likely all three were utilized on a horses-for-courses basis, where the routeways used changed on the basis of most efficient travel (or least resistance) during different seasons or with respect to changing or uncertain political control. In any case, if provenance generates internal hoard patterns that indicate ways in which silver reached a region (Metcalf 1995: 17; ­Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 232), it could be said that Scotto-­ Scandinavian hoard owners had particularly strong links with eastern England due to the provenance of Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Scandinavian coins accompanying the dirhams. This observation should, however, be tempered by Metcalf ’s suggestion that the Scotto-Scandinavian numismatic corpus ‘ref lect coins that have mingled after leaving England’ (1995: 17). Metcalf, however, was unwilling to confirm whether this mingling occurred in the Irish Sea Region and/or in Scotland. For Storr Rock, Metcalf (1995: 20) named Jórvík as the ‘proximate source for the dirhams’, and I presume he considered this also to be true for Skaill. While Irish Sea Region inf luence on the non-numismatic element suggests Scotland received its dirhams, spiral-rings, etc., via a network passing through the Danelaw and the Irish Sea, it remains possible these eastern elements (and even some of the Hiberno-Scandinavian and Irish) came from maritime contacts between Scotland and Jórvík. Indeed, that Cuerdale may just as likely have been assembled in Jórvík as Dublin (Williams 2011: 70–1; cf. Blunt 1983; Graham-Campbell 1987b: 343) opens the possibility Skaill had a similar biography. Consequently, some, most, or even all elements within Scotto-Scandinavian dirham hoards could have been taken by Ohthere-types past, or via Old Norse named sites on the east coast (n.b., Montrose’s harbour was ON Stromnay) from Jórvík to Scotland (Taylor 1995). Indeed, there may be many more historically invisible coastal sites like Montrose/Stromnay where traders could have broken journeys, as at Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020). Discussion of more ephemeral second-tier market sites leads me to the early 10th-century single-find dirham from Stevenston Sands (Ardeer) in Ayrshire (Stevenson 1966: Pt.1, xviii, no. 696; Blackburn 2007: 137, Table 4). While the find-location is an Irish Sea one, the potential evidence for second-tier beach/temporary markets like Sandtorg is important for ascertaining network structure in that I think it may offer a model for how a Round-Scotland route

Archaeological and historical evidence  85

through a non-urbanized region worked. According to this model, natural harbours would be used as way-stations by nodal-market traders, or as part of the second-tier ‘tramping’ trade networks (Braudel 1972) used by potential traders as that buried with a bullion weighing set at Kiloran Bay, whose connection ­ alnotrie) is seen to the evolving Great Army bullion economy (and, thus, also T in its telltale assemblage of copper-alloy stycas, bullion weights, and a balance (Hadley & Richards 2016: 43, 49; Williams 2020e: 37, 44). While I consider it likely dirhams from Scotland and especially those from Stevenston and Storr Rock can be traced to Hiberno-Scandinavian contacts (after travelling the Danish Corridor-Danelaw-Irish Sea axis), the possibility that dirhams (and non-numismatic elements) came directly from the eastern Danelaw cannot be dismissed summarily in light of east-coast connections. In any case, I contextualize dirham importation and circulation with the activities of Óláfr, Ívarr, and the Uí Ímair in the period c.865–954 in Scotland as elsewhere in Insular Scandinavia. I think it probable that, based on single-finds (Kershaw 2017), dirhams entered Insular Scandinavia predominantly via the eastern Danelaw (their area of primary use), meaning Anglo-Saxon political dislocation here could sunder the Danelaw from the Silver Route. The coincidence of dramatic decline in dirham imports to the Eastern Seaway from c.950 with Jórvík’s fall in 954 ensured that prioritization of Eastern Seaway links by the Uí Ímair declined rapidly, leading to the Dublin node realigning (Wallace 1987). I believe dirhams were a widely recognized form of Silver Route network currency, carried by traders with direct or indirect access to markets connected to each other via dirham-using ­trader-networks linking the Uí Ímair network-kingdom to the Eastern Seaway. Their presence in Scotland suggests even rural regions should be considered part of the Silver Route, something indicated by Sandtorg and Jämtland in northern Norway and the Swedish interior respectively, while dating of ‘current’ hoards (containing recently minted dirhams) of Storr Rock and Skaill suggests this was more the case when the preferred Cuerdale Corridor was disrupted by Wessex.

Contemporary and later written sources for market trade Having looked at what dirhams can tell us about exchange networks in Insular Scandinavia, I now turn to the more limited cache provided by the historical evidence. In terms of basic housekeeping, both Barrett (1995: 37–41; 2008b: 412) and Raffield (2019a: 685–6) argue that, used cautiously, historical sources can enhance palaeo-economic reconstructions, especially where incidental details (inserted for no obvious political/poetic rationale) suggest workings of the everyday economy. That said, historical sources are often criticized for revealing more about luxuries than the more economically significant bulk transport of day-to-day commodities (Wickham 2006: 819). They also demonstrate exchange other than trade could account for the movement of silver (Grierson 1959).

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However, as Kruse argued (2007: 164–5), the focus on gift-giving in material written during (Irish, Anglo-Saxon, Arabic) or after (Icelandic sagas) the Viking Age does not equate to the absence of commerce, and that ‘the wealth of documentary evidence that has survived leaves no doubt as to the existence of markets and trade from an early time […] Some were internal, but others must have had foreign traders’ (2007: 165). Beyond Torksey and ARSNY (Great Army) settlements clearly using bullion and coin commercially from the 870s (Hadley & Richards 2016; Williams 2020a), I think the written evidence I will discuss below clarifies how ‘the market’ characterized a trade network pivoting through Southern Scandinavia. Issues concerning the reliability of written sources aside, it seems reasonable to suggest contemporary texts can provide clues to the day-to-day practices of economic agents. This is not to say that the lack of contemporary Scandinavian history is not problematic, however. This is especially so when reconstruction of routeways and the nature of exchange systems is facilitated when contemporary written evidence from within the society in question is assessed in conjunction with exchanged artefacts and archaeological investigation of sites (Russell 2011: 63; cf. Liverani 1987: 66, 70). What, then, can be done? The deficit of contemporary written evidence beyond brief runic inscriptions (that do not, sadly, discuss economics) can be offset by incorporation of tangential historical evidence (cf. Kruse 2007: 164–5), i.e., contemporary texts written down in societies which interacted with trade-focussed societies like the Rus’. In this regard, we have the account from 921 to 922 (AH 309), which saw Ibn Fadlān undertake a diplomatic mission from the Abbasid court to the Volga Bulgar khagan (Westholm 2009: 140ff.). The Bulgars, producers of counterfeit dirhams seen in east and west, were a key network-kingdom on the Asian-Baltic route (Blomkvist 2009: 171). While there, Ibn Fadlān met Rus’, likely Slavicized eastern/Swedish Scandinavians, who brought commodities to the Volga, exchanging them for dirhams. While some, like Hedeager (1994) argued commerce was a temporary aberration from looting, or, like Samson (1991c), that silver to be used in gift-giving was the Rus’ goal, and not a medium of payment, Ibn Fadlān suggests Rus’ saw markets as vital to their exchange strategies: ‘The Rus begs for a rich and obliging merchant, who will buy on my conditions and not dispute anything I say’ (Ibn Fadlān on the Rus’ traders at Bulgar, Blomkvist 2009: 172). Ultimately, I think it is reasonable to equate the historical evidence for Rus’ facility with commerce with the archaeological evidence of Scandinavian camps and towns in Britain and Ireland on the basis of the clear similarities between Scandinavian activity in the east and west that was simultaneously martial and economic in nature (cf. Jarman 2021). Market trade in Anglo-Saxon literature While sophisticated market transactions involving dirhams might be expected for the silver-rich Rus’-Bulgar-Caliphate zone, written evidence for

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trade as early as the 880/890s can also be found in the Anglo-Saxon treaty between Alfred and the Great Army’s Guthrum, two of the four clauses pertained to trading goods between strangers: ‘And that every man know his warrantor in acquiring slaves and horses and oxen’ (EHD, no. 34, Kruse 2007: 165 – emphasis mine). Kruse (2007: 165) commented: ‘this is surely neutral trade – and it is important to note that it occurred at the end of the 9th century, a period when many scholars’, like Samson (Kruse 2007: 163), ‘have argued that little market-trade occurred at all’. Even at this early date, a leader of what was essentially an extended Scandinavian war-band was involved in a treaty in which commerce was clearly discussed, requiring law instead of socially embedded guarantees. To this end, I will now show how contemporary historical perspectives complement archaeological evidence that Southern Scandinavian market practice seemingly familiar to Ívarr and Guthrum entered Insular Scandinavia, and did so primarily via a Danelaw-Denmark axis. Here, supposedly telling incidental references to markets are embodied in Ohthere of Hålogaland (Bately & Englert 2007) and Wulfstan of Hedeby’s accounts (Englert & Trakadas 2009), composed at Alfred the Great’s court in c.890. Before likely trading in Wessex (Sawyer 2007: 139), Ohthere likely traversed a ­coastal-hugging journey down the Norðweg from his Arctic home to Kaupang and Hedeby. Wulfstan travelled between Hedeby and Truso. It seems clear both were involved in trade at significant (nodal) junctures of their journeys, although Ohthere seems also to have had an exploitative tributary relationship with local Sámi. We might compare Ohthere’s tribute-taking with Blomkvist’s (2009: 177–8) model of Eastern Seaway tribute-paying dependencies, and in particular the Rus’ who, according to written evidence pertaining to Prince Oleg (r.879–912/922?), spent part of their year collecting commodity tributes (like furs) before trading at Constantinople, where Rus’ had exchange relations ranging from commerce protected by treaties to raiding (Screen 2020: 380). The Ohthere model Ohthere remains popular for those who attempt to understand (i) the ability of Scandinavians to move freely within a spectrum of exchange from forced transactions to market-trade and (ii) operational logistics (e.g., vessel type, sailing routes). Regarding (i) considering the diverse packages within the Skaill hoard, it seems Scandinavians managed abstractions of thought required to deal in multiple exchange scenarios and could manage ‘social’ and ‘neutral’ media of payment accordingly (Kruse 2007: 167–9; Skre 2017: 2). For (ii), Ohthere’s knowledge of that ‘extended [Norðweg] trade route’ demonstrates the value of coastal-hugging journeys (popular in maritime societies: Braudel 1972) with ‘sheltered channels for easy communication […] so that seemingly remote settlements were joined by sea’ (Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 29). His Wessex journey also shows willingness and ability

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of crew and vessel to make open-sea journeys. Indeed, I wonder whether Ohthere used a m ­ ulti-purpose vessel like Gokstad, a ship linked to the nearby Heimdalsjordet marketplace (Bill & Rødsrud 2017). Furthermore, Sawyer saw commercial design: ‘Ohthere’s reason for sailing to Hedeby must have been to sell produce from northern Norway. His voyage to England […] was probably for the same purpose’ (2007: 139 – emphasis mine). Kruse agreed: ‘[Ohthere] was carrying goods and was thus presumably exchanging, but the source is not explicit that this was a “neutral” exchange, even if it is likely to have been so’ (2007: 164). In trading goods along a coastal routeway from a rural region to Southern Scandinavian hubs, was Ohthere ‘typical of his day, and [was it] itinerant traders like himself who kept trade active’ (­Valante 2008: 130)? It does seem possible mobile elites were one of the ways in which commodities (and gifts that, as presumably with Alfred, smoothed the way) were transferred through networks curated by Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon kings. Wulfstan, on the other hand, offers a more direct 24-hour sailing noncoastal model, which may have better suited less familiar/riskier environments. His journey from Hedeby to Truso also stresses separation of those few hubs concerned with long-distance trade from those which were not, emphasizing the importance of Dublin and Jórvík in Insular Scandinavia, and the likelihood some traders preferred a direct maritime path on the ­Dublin-Jórvík axis. This is something which might bolster Hall’s (1994, 2008) suggestion York’s Divelinstaynes originated in the Viking Age as a place where Uí Ímair Wulfstan-types might have docked. Sagas Any attempt to make market network theories work with the 12–13th-­ century Icelandic ‘family sagas’ must be treated with care, however (Woolf 1999; Gaimster 2007: 126; Raffield 2019b). Cautiously, then, we look to the story (purporting to be from the 940s) of the slave-trader Gilli in Laxdæla saga. While 13th-century Laxdæla saga fits the world suggested by market-site archaeology and Viking-Age literary evidence. Here, an Icelandic farmer visiting the Danish Corridor to buy timber, meets Gilli (and his Rus’-style hat), operating out of a merchant’s booth at a fair held on a Swedish island in the Kattegat, being part of the straight separating Sweden and Denmark. Hoskuld purchases an Irish slave (Melkorka) and pays with silver that Gilli, a man with whom he has no kinship ties, weighs in a balance (Press 1880). It is a transaction at the neutral end of the exchange spectrum, but with that element of social interaction – Hoskuld’s judgement about Gilli’s ­trustworthiness – which means that, as today, no in-person transactions are entirely without social interaction. While a potential clue, it would be irresponsible to over-emphasize this story. However, the overall picture of Viking-Age Scandinavian market practice as suggested by dirham distribution and context, in addition to

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contemporary literary evidence, seems to fit Hoskuld and Gilli. Indeed, such figures would have understood the exchange context of Eyvind Skáldaspillir (poet for Håkon the Good, r.934–961) who, according to Heimskringla, turned a large cloak-ring gifted to him into hacksilver so he could use it as cash to purchase a farm (Söderberg 2011).

Discussion Neither the more credible sagas nor tangential histories are at odds with the numismatic data. Both suggest conscious creation of a Southern ­Scandinavian-style market environment based on a nodal-market structure established by Dublin and Great Army leaders to formalize ad hoc connections, in evidence from c.800, between the Danish Corridor and Insular Scandinavia (Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015). Although Sandtorg and Ohthere suggest day-to-day familiarity with bullion-using markets even in Arctic Norway, what was happening in Dublin and Jórvík c.850–880 shares more characteristics with urbanized Southern Scandinavia. Common elements in tangential histories and sagas suggest Ohthere/Wulfstan-types would know first-tier markets and also, by accident (e.g., bad weather) or design (trading en route), at ­second-tier sites. Once there, Sandtorg’s assemblage indicates they could undertake market-based bullion transactions. It also seems clear, however, that to understand fully the mechanisms behind movement of goods and individuals, we require a greater understanding of network theory.

4 How Viking networks operate

Given the general reticence of using Insular Scandinavian data to engage fully with network and exchange theory, this chapter focusses on my assessment of Eastern Seaway models of Viking-Age exchange networks and whether they can be useful in elucidating the situation in Britain and Ireland. In this regard, I use Sindbæk (e.g., 2008) as the framework for an understanding of network mechanisms based on control of nodal markets and inf luence over the ­trader-networks connecting them. I do this because I believe a ‘nodal-network’ model makes best sense of (i) the distribution of economic material in Insular Scandinavia; (ii) Ohthere and Wulfstan’s potential itineraries; and (iii) the apparent economic and political strategies of Óláfr, Ívarr, and the Uí Ímair. To that end, I begin with Sindbæk’s place within Eastern Seaway historiography before discussing his ‘small-world’ network theory based on the importance of nodal/hub markets in view of the role of a Dublin-Jórvík axis. Beyond this, Blomkvist (2009) and others’ (e.g., Hårdh 1996: 178) contribution on the political context of networks is assessed; in particular Blomkvist’s conception of network-kingdoms, i.e., polities based on attempted control of supraregional networks’ nodal points and transport zones. Through Blomkvist, and those few pan-Scandinavian contributions to network logistics (e.g., Kruse 2007), I argue the Insular data is best considered via Eastern Seaway network theory.

Modes and mechanisms for the distribution of material culture Prior to any investigation of network literature, a description of the main methods responsible for distribution of exchanged material is required. The principal modes of exchange are:

Reciprocity – gift-exchange; it gains ‘negative’ (competitive) connotations the further removed the transaction is from the kin group Redistribution – central organising core takes or is given materials from subject territories before redistributing

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-5

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Market exchange – Specific location (‘market-place’) for external (‘port-­oftrade’) and internal trade, according to competitive commercial principles (Renfrew & Bahn 2008: 361) Whereas reciprocity and redistribution were considered ‘embedded’ in long-term social relationships, substantivists felt market exchange to be alien in pre-industrial societies, in that it was supposedly dis-embedded from society, a phenomenon ‘exacerbated’ by the use of ‘neutralising’ media of exchange like silver. Reliance on inappropriate or misunderstood anthropological proxies used by substantivists and their evolutionary models mean these labels are used cautiously, understanding that all forms, including market exchange, were present in all societies, albeit to varying degrees (Kilger 2008b: 256; Skre 2008c, 2010: 131, 2017: 2). The question of how distribution of objects suggestive of long-distance trade was achieved can be seen when the above modes are viewed in conjunction with the following mechanisms: Direct Access – user travels to source and returns with goods (no transactions) Emissary – trader sent by ruler to exchange with another across frontier Down-the-line – repeated, random, successive exchanges across frontiers Freelance (middleman) – traders operate independently according to market-exchange principles (profit-and-loss), taking goods to buyers (Renfrew & Bahn 2008: 375) Instead of a focus on determining which modes and mechanisms best fit distribution patterns, however, Viking-Age exchange networks have tended to be viewed in terms of the growth or contraction of urbanization. In opposition to this, and recognizing non-urban evidence for commerce from longphuirt/winter-camps (Williams 2020j: 99–102), and seasonal market-places like Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020), I investigate potential network structures and what ramifications of certain structural models are to our understanding of economic context (transactional/monetary) common to trading-sites and traders. Ultimately, does a picture of Ohthere-type figures as freelance traders undertaking commerce on supraregional journeys under the protection of network kings represent typical market activity?

Trade models derived from Scandinavia and their value for the Viking west Early attempts to model Eastern Seaway exchange envisioned a ‘trunk route’ passing through the Baltic with a few large markets connecting Western and

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Eastern Europe (Sindbæk 2010: 431; cf. Arbman 1937). Inf luenced by transport geography, Jankuhn’s (1956) routeways revolved around the most direct and stable paths between the (then few) known trading-sites. This ref lected ‘diffusionist’ perspectives for the origins of Scandinavian market-places derived from historical archaeology, being associated with the thesis (adapted from Pirenne by Bolin) that Scandinavian traders linked the Caliphate with Carolingia (Bolin 1953; Hodges & Whitehouse 1983; McCormick 2001; Sindbæk 2007a: 119, 2008: 153, 2010: 431–2; Blomkvist 2009: 157). Thus, trade merely transited Scandinavia, with urbanization accompanying cultural inf luence adopted from east and south (Sindbæk 2010: 432). By the 1990s, however, several (e.g., Callmer 1994; Ulriksen 1998; Näsman 2000) favoured a relatively busy array of sites acting as ‘central places’ to their hinterlands (Sindbæk 2010: 432). From previous emphasis on external causal factors, Central-Place Theory looked to internal, local, processes behind urbanization and the role of exchange in it (Sindbæk 2007a: 120, 2008: 153–4). The model envisioned relatively evenly spaced regional distribution centres and represented a processual outlook, applying a general model with little existing/new empirical evidence for most proposed new sites (Sindbæk 2010: 432). Sindbæk criticized both models, arguing they tended to concentrate on sites in isolation to the neglect of network context (2007a: 120, 2007b: 60, 2008: 154, 2010: 431–4). Moreover, they removed agency from traders, presuming them to have emanated from internal social processes or external force. Instead, Sindbæk’s model is based on differentiation between few ­nodal-market ‘emporia/hubs’ and many regional central places: Viking trade operated as a network [where] long-distance exchange took place in bulk along routes between specific localities, where large cargoes are loaded or unloaded. Archaeology shows that the distribution of imports, as well as crafts with imported raw materials, such as bronze casting, define a small group of sites as centres on quite another scale than other possible trading places […] It is not trade as such that distinguishes these hubs from lesser sites. The latter were obviously important for local trade and communicated with the nodal points – but not with the long-distance traffic between them. (2008: 154) I see McCormick (2001) in Sindbæk’s interest in the communications and ‘pervasive connectivity’ of Scandinavia (2007b: 59, 2010: 430). McCormick (2001: 607, 612) proposed a ‘northern arc of pre- and proto-historic contacts and trade’, characterized as a ‘northern trading world comprising a series of interlocking exchange zones’. Like Barrett (2008a: 677–8; after McCormick 2001: 733–77), Sindbæk positions his model in terms of world-systems theory with pronounced market characteristics. While ‘the greater and more important share of exchange was certainly conducted through the mesh of personal

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ties’, Sindbæk (2008: 150) emphasized ‘[market] trade was a quintessential cultural phenomenon in Viking-Age northern Europe’. Sindbæk’s perspective was conditioned by the volume of trade data emanating from excavations at Scandinavian and eastern European trading sites (Sindbæk 2007a: 121–6, 2009: 73, 2010: 432–3), including Birka (Ambrosiani 2004, 2008), Fröjel (Carlsson 1999; Åhfeldt 2020), Staraya Ladoga (Kirpichnikov 2004), and Kaupang (Skre 2007a). In addition, he reacted against prevailing distribution models assuming pre-industrial exchange ‘developed from a random, democratic basis, and to have grown into a static, a-historical equilibrium’ (2007b: 61). Sindbæk (2010: 433) analysed networks in terms of morphology, ‘rather than the mere cumulative trends’ apparent in evolutionary perspectives. Criticizing random hand-to-hand (down-the-line) models (Renfrew & Bahn 2004: 378), Sindbæk (2007b: 60; cf. Barabási 2003: 63) suggested predicted ‘monotonous decrease’ distribution patterns are rare, being ‘more likely a result of the averaging-out effect of changing practice and geographical distance, than an evenly distributed mode of exchange’. Whereas central place models are opposed to down-the-line in that they stress site inequality, they, too, were considered unsatisfactory in giving no dynamic properties to networks (Sindbæk 2007b: 60–1). Instead, Sindbæk married elements of Latour’s actor-network theory (2005: 175ff.) with Hohenberg and Lees’ (1996: 55ff.) idea of ‘heterogeneous formative principles’ in the formation of ‘network towns’. In this way, Sindbæk (2007a: 120) imagined his network as an aggregate of spatial, social, and economic relationships ‘continuously being formed by a heterogeneous assemblage of actors’, not simply the will of central-place elites, or random distribution of goods seen in down-the-line. The result is ‘nodal-network’ theory based on observation of material culture, which indicates particular sites tended towards disproportionate concentrations of imports. Sindbæk used the ‘scale-free’ network of Barabási and Albert (1999), in which a few nodes demonstrated many more connections than average, where connections are those determined from concentrations of references in contemporary literature and supraregional imports (Sindbæk 2007a: 120, 2007b: 60, 2012: 23). Here, nodal points formed a first-tier network, with local markets and central places performing second-tier (intra-regional redistribution) roles. Consequently, most traders who visited the former would rarely visit the latter (Sindbæk 2009: 77). Sindbæk’s ‘small worlds’ If you accept nodal-network arguments that certain sites dominated connections, it is easy to agree this created opportunities for shortened chains between them. Where my Chapter 3 demonstrated the rapid supraregional transfer of dirhams, Sindbæk (2007b, 2010: 436–7) offered a potential explanation via ‘small-world’ theory, which suggests networks made up of a small number of nodes through which a small number of people travelled would

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likely show such rapid links in terms of not only the spread of goods, but also ideas and techniques. Regarding the latter, this could mean ‘technology transfer’, as in the case of Danish broad-band arm-rings possibly introduced to Dublin by Ívarr (Sheehan 2011a: 98–9), and ‘economic transfer’, such as adoption of Southern Scandinavian market practice, whether up the Norðweg to sites like Sandtorg or to the Danelaw via the Great Army. As we have seen, Sheehan (2011a: 98) used Great Army contexts at Croydon and Torksey to suggest the broad-band arm-ring type adopted first in Dublin (and perhaps later in Llanbedrgoch and the winter-camps) originated in Southern Scandinavia, where the earliest examples of its form and decoration occur. Even if Ívarr did not commission the Hiberno-Scandinavian variant, it seems a reasonable suggestion individuals from the Danish Corridor were involved in transferring rings used as status currency-jewellery to Insular Scandinavia (Sheehan 2011a: 98, 2011b). Whereas previous geographically based network structures saw neighbour only link to neighbour in a highly clustered manner that would slow distribution, small-worlds work for those networks possessing features (like nodal markets) allowing for the fast movement of individuals like Ohthere, their silver currencies, and also information (e.g., of piratical threats). As discussed, this ‘few hubs, many connections’ model is that of scale-free network architecture (Sindbæk 2007b: 61, 2010: 436–7; cf. Barabási & Albert 1999). The result of this is that only a few people might have linked an Upplander who travelled to Birka and saw a bishop, from a Tuscan farmer who saw that bishop in Rome (Sindbæk 2007b: 70). It is important to remember these shortcuts when discussing cross-fertilization in material culture, especially in terms of the possible role played by Ívarr in the twin phenomena of economic and technology transfer involved in Dublin’s apparent adoption of broadband arm-rings. Regarding material culture, Sindbæk’s hubs are characterized by frequency of (i) long-distance imports; (ii) metrological and monetary exchange tools; and (iii) craft industries requiring the import of the more exotic or rare raw materials (2007a: 129). Sindbæk (2007a: 121) identified seven Eastern Seaway hubs conforming to the above: Ribe, Kaupang, Birka, Århus, Truso ( Janów Pomorski), Gross Strömkendorf, and Hedeby. Ribe, Kaupang, Birka, and Hedeby are characterized as ‘centres of expanding maritime interactions’, with traders associated with ‘this network […] also closely involved in the foundation of Truso and Wolin […] and Staraya Lodoga, Gnezdovo and Novgorod’, something also the case in Insular Scandinavia in terms both of ex novo creation of long-distance markets like Dublin and rebirths of others like York and Lincoln. Whereas Hodges (2000: 83) saw specialized craft production (i.e., copper-alloy working and glass-making, as opposed to the textile, bone-comb, and iron-working also found in more rural contexts) as more important than long-distance trade in the formation of emporia, Sindbæk (2007a: 126) suggested their restriction to large markets was due principally to supply; the distinguishing feature being not specialization as

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such, rather the relatively regular import of rare raw materials (Sindbæk 2010: 435). Noting regular production of copper-alloy and glass products, Sindbæk (2007a: 126) concluded this level of site ‘consumed raw-materials imported from a distance. They were thus directly dependent on the same steady supplies through long-distance exchange that are ref lected in the imports’. Such specific forms of production suggest ‘bulk’ trade (in the early-­medieval sense) moving along the most efficient and safest routes between markets. Regarding these routeways, the only Badorf-ware (an 8th–10th-century Rhenish [Rhineland] ceramic) found outside of their near-exclusive concentrations in hubs have been found on coastal sites between them (Sindbæk 2010: 435). Sindbæk considered Badorf-ware (cf. Hodges 1982: 58) a traders’-item (i.e., their personal possession: Skre 2011a), the distribution of which could be related to the paths and nodes they frequented: I make a similar argument in Chapter 7 regarding Hiberno-Scandinavian-style ringed-pins likely produced in Dublin and Jórvík (Fanning 1994: 36). Badorf-ware is similarly restricted to larger markets in England (Brown 2003: 23), indicating transport by long-distance Rhenish traders who, like Wulfstan, favoured direct travel to the security and guaranteed markets of hubs (Sindbæk 2007a: 121, 122, 2010: 434–5). On analogy with Badorf-ware as a traders’-item, finds of steatite cooking vessels in Dublin, Jórvík, Wolin, and Staraya Ladoga were taken by Sindbæk to reveal long-distance travel of individuals and even ‘commercial shipping’ (2013: 80). Soot and wear, combined with the general lack of ‘fresh’ items, is suggestive of personal consumption, not transport as commodities (Sindbæk 2012: 22, 2013: 78–80; cf. Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2541f.). Most importantly for Sindbæk’s model, however, is that clustering of such vessels in his nodal markets precludes random dispersal, as per down-the-line’s evenly diminishing frequency away from Norwegian/Shetlandic sources (Sindbæk 2012: 22–3). Rather, its ‘“lumpy” supra-regional distribution shows that interactions must have included long-distance movement’ (Sindbæk 2012: 23). As with Kruse (2007), I think the value of Sindbæk’s methodology is an interdisciplinary approach to assessing levels of market trade. Using ‘social network analysis’ on contemporary written sources, like journeys described in Vita Anskarii (Rimbert’s late 9th-century ‘Life of [Archbishop] Ansgar’) and those of Ohthere and Wulfstan, Sindbæk suggested affiliations between certain sites, people, and goods travelling between them ‘can be interpreted as the imprint of a complex communications network’ where the same actors created routes through repetition of journeys between the same hubs (­Sindbæk 2007b: 6). Sindbæk (2009: 75) reasoned Wulfstan was either a trader or passenger on a trading vessel (Crumlin-Pedersen 2010: 105), with ‘­Crumlin-Pedersen [proposing] Wulfstan was using a Slavic-built ship, perhaps on a regular trade route’ (Westerdahl 2009: 211). It is noticeable Wulfstan’s ship likely travelled between the Hedeby and Truso hubs without stopping in between at a beach market or night-harbour. Neither did it stick to the coast like the Norðweg. Sindbæk (2009: 76) noted, as Wulfstan was probably a long-distance trader (or on a long-distance trading vessel), he

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operated within a sphere of ‘routinized long-distance transport and exchange’ and, consequently, had no need to approach regional markets which were, literally, not on his horizon. Similar practice can been seen in Archbishop Anskar (d.865), who sought to convert Danes and Swedes, whom he visited as a passenger on (convoyed) trading vessels. His successor, Rimbert, wrote the Vita Anskarii of c.870 (Lebecq 2007: 170) where hints of ‘large-scale organisation of communications’ are apparent (such as juxtaposition of rulers and assemblies with large ports inhabited by foreign traders) in an account ‘[placing] four of the largest trading centres of the Viking world [Hedeby, Birka, Ribe, and Dorestad] as its communications hubs’ (Sindbæk 2007b: 63, 65). I suggest Sindbæk makes a compelling case for interpreting supraregional trade through the prism of nodal markets, one strengthened when Wulfstan’s hub-centric itinerary is considered. Consequently, two relatively uncontroversial points emerge: hubs were central to networks; and geographical distance between hubs was less important than the existence of well-worn routes between them known to be efficient and safe. That Anskar travelled on a trading vessel is also indicative of parallel development of long-distance exchange and missionary activity seen elsewhere in early-medieval Europe (Lebecq 2007: 170; cf. Wooding 1996; Campbell 2007), as well as providing an insight into how network traders convoyed to enhance security (cf. Bill 2009). ‘Routinization’ and transport geography Sindbæk (2009: 72) defined Wulfstan-type routes as ‘a well-known and frequently-used way between specific destinations’ – something routinized through regular practice, being created by ‘motivated acts of individual agents’. Routinized exchange is recurrent, taking the same types of goods along the same transport corridors to the same topographically, hydrographically, and seasonally convenient and secure sites by the same agents (Sindbæk 2009: 72), like Ohthere on the Norðweg or traders using the Cuerdale Corridor. The role of these agents is fundamental to Sindbæk’s idea they ‘stimulated proto-towns of a special kind among the Vikings. While social and economic changes, and aristocratic advantage, were widespread, it was largely the self-directed actions of these intrepid merchants which created […] nodal points’ (Sindbæk 2007a: 119). By undertaking regular journeys and/ or by sharing knowledge of these routes (Sindbæk 2008: 153, 2009: 72), it was traders who, in conjunction with network regents, helped dictate – as parts of a nexus of seasonal, geographical, topographical, hydrographical, social, economic, and political factors – which sites became nodal. As Sindbæk concluded (2007a: 129), ‘the choice of sites had to match the interest of travellers and the conditions of geography as much as the ambitions of rulers’. Privileged information such as the best routes and markets might even have been guarded within in-groups (Raffield 2016) to ensure monopolies. Given Sindbæk’s use of actor-networks, however, I note traders’ economic agency was part of this nexus of considerations: ‘there were only a few nodal points

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because these were regarded by individual long-distance traders as the optimal locations for meeting other long-distance traders’ (Sindbæk 2007a: 129). Ultimately, I would argue that traders’ agency was as important to the structure of trade as elite agency. Aristocratic presence at hubs seems clear from written evidence and the presence of royal sites like Hovgården overlooking Birka and the elite Gokstad burial close to Heimdalsjordet, but a key question remains: ‘was edict and patronage enough to secure the trading-network at this stage?’ (Sindbæk 2008: 155). Even an Uí Ímair network regent would struggle to entice traders from outside his ‘imperium’ (cf. Woolf 2004: 95–6) to his hubs if they were unattractive, with Sindbæk proposing ‘interdependence of traders’ in guilds and félags was more important than elite coercion: regardless of the political situation, each participant in a long-distance exchange will have had a significant incentive to seek out what he considered the most favourable, safe, and active places for trading. To a traveller spending weeks or months on the journey, a few days extra were inessential compared to the ultimate objective of finding suitable exchange partners. Undoubtedly, many traders took part in guilds and had standing agreements with long-time business relations. But if partners failed, any trader had to count on the market. This would compel most travellers to seek for the same few sites. (Sindbæk 2007a: 128) Sindbæk (2007a: 120) couched his analysis in terms not solely reliant on political and social explanations, however, borrowing from transport geography to see nodal markets as junctions where network traffic found it convenient and/ or necessary (e.g., portages – McCullough 2000) to assemble. The location of these junctions for long-distance communication and exchange was conditioned by a combination of seasonal factors and topographical and hydrographical circumstances that broke traffic f low (Sindbæk 2007a: 128, 129, 2008: 154; cf. Ulriksen 2009: 141), something that seems to have been true for Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020). Sindbæk’s thesis has become increasingly popular (Skre 2017: 1), with Kilger (2008a: 206) and Ulriksen (2009: 141) making use of the hierarchical model where a few markets were involved in a supraregional trade sphere among a multitude of lesser sites at which small-scale production, subsistence fishing, and refining of agricultural produce occurred. That ‘remote’ and rural sites (e.g., those along the Norðweg and in Scandinavian Scotland or Swedish Jämtland) engaged with network trade is expanded upon below (­Sindbæk 2011: 58–9; Holm 2017; Krokmyrdal 2020), but for now I move beyond nodal-­ networks to demonstrate how the work of others complements them. Westerdahl’s ‘maritimity’ and ‘transport zones’ Sindbæk (2012: 21) noted seemingly universal ‘patterns which are not obvious in the individual distributions; they independently highlight the significance

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of proximity along coastal interaction zones as a principal component in the distribution of material culture affiliations’. As with Viking-Age concentrations of silver currencies, Sindbæk proposed coastal, riverine, or Insular locations for trading sites were preferred, due to reliance on the ‘principal coastal sailing routes’ (2007b: 66, 69, 70). At this juncture, I think it is useful to incorporate Westerdahl’s concept of ‘maritimity’ (1998, 2009; cf. Ulriksen 1994: 797; McCullough 2000: 44–55), which suggests the transport aspect of maritime culture was innate to a ship’s crew, i.e., Scandinavians thought of communications and exchange primarily via waterborne routeways and portages and preferred waterside market-places (McCullough 2000). Westerdahl (2009: 208) incorporated the type of dynamism seen in Sindbæk’s model (also present in post-substantivism) in that he considered transit points and transport zones as patterns of ‘dynamic human adaptation to various circumstances’. Within his ‘maritime cultural landscape’ (­Westerdahl 1992; cf. Crumlin-Pedersen 2010: 125–43) – defined as ‘the whole network of sailing routes’ and all ports and harbours (cf. McCullough 2000: 44) – Westerdahl also talked of the ‘transport zones’ used in navigation. These zones could be considered in a perspective, via Braudel (1972), characterizing them as bi-directional corridors where traffic was concentrated, and in terms of the means of transport, by which vessel types were matched to the hydrography of the zone(s) through which they travelled (Westerdahl 1998: 1–2). These zones tended to be separated by natural obstacles to onward travel and, consequently, often coincided with the location of markets. Where Westerdahl defined seven zones, I suggest his ‘Coastal Transport Zone’ was Scandinavians’ primary focus. Here, my use of Braudel (1972) is central, even from his Early-Modern Mediterranean perspective, because such a zone refers to the type of coastal navigation Braudel knew as costeggiare (‘coast hugging’). As McCullough (2000: 47) noted in his extension of Westerdahl’s concepts to Scotland, ‘in the Norse maritime landscape, most navigation was either coastal navigation, island hopping, or an extension thereof ’ – the most common exception was Westerdahl’s ‘Zone of the Open Sea’, which was used when Ohthere-types travelled from the Danish Corridor to England, or by Wulfstan across the Baltic. Their larger and slower vessels would have benefitted from avoiding shallows and pirates as they ‘looped out’ into the sea between hubs: here, convoying provided the additional benefit of providing rescue vessels. Coastal sailing advantages were clear, however: land for refuge and supplies was close and topographical features could be named and passed on. That said, the apparent preference of economic agents within any Uí Ímair network-kingdom for our Cuerdale Corridor (Williams 2011: 70–1), and arguments for preferring Through-Scotland paths and portages over the difficult and seasonally dependent Round-Scotland route (Smyth 1975, 1979), suggests to me that land pathways were taken between nodal markets if this represented the path of least resistance.

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Kalmring’s ‘special economic zones’ Consideration of trader preferences is also a feature of Kalmring (2016: 11–12), who suggested the most important similarities between Hedeby and Birka (from a market-network perspective) were shared advantageous traffic geography situations on borderlands attractive to long-distance traders. However, his principal contribution to our further understanding of the attractiveness of such markets is his conception of them as ‘special economic zones’ (Kalmring 2016). In this model, success of small or temporary market-places led to takeover by elites, who then further differentiated them from their rural surroundings via creation of a distinct jurisdiction, protection, and demarcation in terms of harbour chains and ditches or walls, regularized tariffs by resident officials, and even protection of trade ships on their networked routes (Kalmring 2016: 15–16). Consequently, as Hodges argued for Viking towns in England, the unique social and economic conditions of these sites (cf. Skre 2017) stimulated innovation and growth in their hinterlands while bringing revenue for rulers’ social strategies (Kalmring 2016: 16; cf. Ljung 2020: 179). While I would argue this definition has much to say for it, archaeological surveys of urban hinterlands are increasingly suggesting trading sites were far more widespread than thought (see Krokmyrdal 2020 for Sandtorg in Arctic Norway) and it is becoming inescapable that towns did not have a monopoly on ‘urban’ market economics. Indeed, this is precisely what is suggested by metrological and bullion evidence from graves in distinctly rural Jämtland in a seemingly remote region of central Sweden (Holm 2015, 2017) and the urban-like functions seen in longphuirt and winter-camps (Williams 2020j: 99–102).

Towards a market network model I now look at how traders – cf. McCormick’s ‘specialised travellers’ – o ­ perating within networks created mechanisms to facilitate exchange. I further contextualize Sindbæk’s model with viewpoints that expand upon his contribution to create a Silver Route network model for the non-/numismatic material encountered in Chapter 7. Second-tier markets and their network roles Sindbæk (2012: 30) described the structure of his long-distance first-tier network as a ‘ring of route segments passing between the sites along the coasts […] The central sites in this network are predominantly sites with privileged access to maritime traffic, and typically sites with an urban character’, While this offers essential parameters, I believe it would benefit from more explicit ­acknowledgement of the critical network role of second-tier markets (­a lthough see Sindbæk 2011) and also the central importance of network-kingdoms across these segments.

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Turning to the first of these, it is suggested that Viking-Age trade saw two tiers, spheres, or orders of exchange interaction, with one concerning routes of long-distance traders, and the other suggesting ‘a widespread web of more local contacts’ (Sindbæk 2007a: 129; cf. 2010: 435). This stark distinction can be misleading, however: I suggest these apparently discrete spheres were intertwined due to the probability local markets relied on accessing long-­ distance commodities via their interactions with hubs (like Kaupang at the other end of the Norðweg). While Sindbæk (2007a: 127, 2011: 58–9) acknowledged communication between tiers at hubs, the network role of non-nodal sites may have been even more prominent, providing vital revictualling, piloting (Hedenstierna-Jonsson 2020: 18), and stopover opportunities, or the chance to trade and receive news at local markets if onward travel was blocked due to weather, political instability, and/or piracy. Moreover, can we say that ‘historically-invisible’ (Carlsson 1991) ­second-tier sites in Sindbæk’s ‘long-distance trade sphere’ were exclusively restricted to a secondary intra-regional redistribution of trade goods (Sindbæk 2007a: 123–7, 2009: 73ff.)? In this regard, Westerdahl (2009: 215) suggested that, despite Wulfstan’s apparent failure to visit second-tier markets, he could have stopped at ‘small merchant colonies or seasonal market sites’. Although Wulfstan and Ohthere only mentioned nodal markets, I warn against assuming this was the norm, as Alfred the Great’s scribes may have omitted details thought irrelevant to their purpose in establishing main sailing routes, markets, and polities. What is more, discovery of previously unknown market/repair/stopover sites like Sandtorg may change our view of the number of secondary markets traders may have passed and patronized en route to hubs. Indeed, Carlsson suggested ‘the places we know of from written documents or which have been discovered by pure chance are only the tip of the iceberg. We should calculate […] a vast number of trading places all around the Baltic coast’ (1991: 158, 2013; cf. Callmer 2009; Sindbæk 2009: 73; Ulriksen 2009: 140). Carlsson (1991: 157) argued it is unreasonable to suggest long-distance traders did not visit smaller sites, which ranged from repair yards, beach markets, weather-havens, and overnight harbours, I would add that some of them would have fulfilled all these functions, as may be the case with Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020). While I understand desires to downplay the role of ­second-tier sites considering the exceptional concentrations in firsttier markets of long-distance items alongside industries reliant upon supraregional imports of raw materials, we should not marginalize second-tier sites’ role in the first-tier network. Indeed, to take an example from the Uí Ímair ­network-kingdom, control/inf luence over Llanbedrgoch with its potential manufacture of broad-band arm-rings and its use of dirhams and Insular mounts (Williams 2020e: 40) could be seen in the context of maintaining lines of communication at the British side of the Irish Sea. Equally, the line of stray-finds of ­H iberno-Scandinavian style ringed-pins from around Scotland (Fanning 1994: 36) might indicate second-tier sites where

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Hiberno-Scandinavian traders stopped on the Round-Scotland route. Ultimately, I am suggesting some commodities may have been moved between hubs in a different manner to that suggested by an exclusively direct hub-tohub model and that we should look incorporating a complementary ‘tramping’ structure based on Braudel’s (1972: 107) idea of coastal navigation: The round trip, which could last several weeks or months, was a long succession of selling, buying, and exchanging [Trampers] were more like travelling bazaars […] This slow-motion shipping […] governed the geography of the coastal regions, in the sense that for one big ship capable of by-passing ports we must reckon dozens of boats and small sailing vessels that were processionary by vocation […] daily halts led to the remarkably regular establishment of villages, along coastal sea routes, the ports are found a day’s voyage apart. This indicates that, beyond a second-tier model that sees rural Scandinavians travelling non-stop between coastal settlements to nodal markets for a specific goal (e.g., buying jewellery for use in domestic social strategies), there may have been a ‘third way’ that saw crews act like medieval Iceland’s pedlars (cf. Woolf 1999), who probably based themselves at or near hubs, but then only traded within the particular region in which that market was based, shuttling back and forth as required (Horden & Purcell 2000). Ulriksen agreed ­second-tier coastal sites (cf. Callmer 1994, 2004, 2009) were in contact with the supraregional trading ‘sphere’, although intermittently. These were the beach markets (Ulriksen 2009: 141), night harbours, or boat yards without which the nodal network could have survived, but with great difficulty. It is, then, of interest Sindbæk’s model (2011) evolved to link hinterlands (and hinterland regions like the Norðweg) containing second-tier sites and rural coastal settlements more unambiguously to their nodal market. Having firmed up the importance of the second tier, I now turn to that second underdeveloped aspect, namely, the relationship of networks to political structures and elite agency in a period (c.850–950) when elite interest in market-trade was increasing (Callmer 1994: 79). Here, I argue that, in many cases, formation of polities was linked to attempts to ‘control’ exchange routes and draw traders towards hubs (as more attractive versions of central places). This appears to have been true not only for Norwegians, Danes, Swedes, and Rus’, but also for Ívarr and Óláfr (or similar individuals) in Ireland and Britain. Such polities attempted to mould themselves around networks of often considerable antiquity, or the constructs of generations of supraregional traders. While Sindbæk’s argument that politics was just one contributing factor to the structure of networks remains valid, the value of controlling trade seems to have had an impact on the structures of Scandinavian Viking-Age polities in the Baltic (Blomkvist 2009). Consequently, I turn now to Blomkvist et al. (2009) to demonstrate the value of his Scandinavian Baltic ‘network-kingdom’ thesis both in general terms (to

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facilitate long-distance exchange), and to show how it can be transposed to the Uí Ímair.

Blomkvist’s ‘network-kingdoms’ Blomkvist argued ‘formation of Danish and Swedish states in the Early Viking Age was mainly based on contemporaneous main sea routes. They can thus be designated network-kingdoms’ (2009: 173). While Sindbæk had suggested ‘hierarchy of sites cannot be reduced to a reflection of a political network’, he added ‘Long-distance exchange brought its own rules, which did not necessarily support existing political structures’ (2007a: 129 – my emphasis), suggesting they could support or encourage new ones. Blomkvist (2009: 164–5) suggests both Birka (founded c.750) and Hedeby (c.808) were established to take advantage of the convergence of sea-routes in their regions and facilitate trade contacts between their rulers and the Franks. Indeed, that trade was central can be seen in missions undertaken by Carolingians Ansgar and Unni in the 9th and 10th centuries, the ulterior motive of which was, according to Blomkvist, the maintenance of trade treaties. This connection between waterborne routeways, exchange, and polities is known from a 13th-century source about piloting services offered by Novgorod’s Grand Duke. Blomkvist (2009: 168) suggested similar arrangements could have operated at 9th- and 10th-century Birka and Hedeby. The link between trade agreements and protection was also discussed by Hedenstierna-Jonsson (2006: 97; cf. 2020: 18), who suggested warriors from Birka’s garrison escorted ships ‘providing the security in trade which was a prerequisite for attracting long-distance traders and skilled craftsmen’. ­Blomkvist (2009: 168) even suggested convoy duties were ones which rulers saw as integral to attracting traders. Moreover, for the Rus’ polity based around eastern European rivers and their connections to the Black, Caspian, and Baltic seas, Blomkvist also demonstrated (via Byzantine Emperor Constantine Porphyrogennetos’ mid-10th-century account and 10th-century Gotlandic rune-stones) that protection of traders along maritime and riverine corridors was often in the form of convoying. As today, Viking-Age trade benefitted from uniform states of power, clear regulations, and practical protective measures. To facilitate this, early-­ medieval transregional polities were formed and trade treaties were arranged between them (Blomkvist 2009: 172). Were these polities the result of the requirements of trade, though? Porphyrogennetos’ account of potential travails awaiting travellers on the Dnieper river emphasizes advantages of trading in regions with ‘uniform exercise of power’ as offered to Scandinavians by the Rus’ (Blomkvist 2009: 171–2). It seems clear therefore that, beyond knowledge of routeways and logistics, a degree of political stability and organization was required. Here, Ansgar’s 9th-century evidence, which talked of royal naval levies and international trade (at Birka), and Wulfstan, who, leaving Hedeby en route to Truso, mentioned passing Denemearc and Sweon, suggests these kingdoms were

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organised along the sea routes and strategic centres: Denmark around a handful of passages between the North and Baltic Seas […] The ­Viking-Age Sveariki was centred around Lake Mälaren and controlled the sea routes around the Swedish east coast, the Gulf of Finland […] as well as towards Gotland and Curonia. (Blomkvist 2009: 74) Established in c.800, the market at Truso ( Janów Pomorski) on the southern Baltic elucidates both the development of exchange networks and this Scandinavian desire to control them. Soon after its establishment, Truso d­ eveloped a majority Scandinavian presence, particularly of Danes (Adamczyk 2020: 66). This plugged Truso into the long-distance trade networks populated by Scandinavians, bringing in dirhams between c.810 and 830 (Adamczyk 2020a: 66–9). As Adamczyk (2020a: 71) notes, these mainly Danish traders ‘created a trading network which linked up the main centre for dirham redistribution in north-western Rus’, Staraja Ladoga, with the Baltic and Slavic societies who populated the interior of Warmia, Masuria and eastern Pomerania’, with silver likely used regionally as payment to its raw material suppliers (slavers?) in its hinterland. Subsequent reduction in dirham inf lows to Truso was probably due to other Scandinavian groups’ more successful control of trade and transport networks, moving them further to the north to places like Gotland (Adamczyk 2020a: 74). Blomkvist argued kingdoms and transport networks were inextricably intertwined, proposing the key motivator was the protection of royal nodal markets, transport zones, and (long-distance) traders. These network-­k ingdoms had a logic and structure based on attempted control of exchange based on nodal markets and a secondary, but vital, network of smaller trading stations and revictualling stops. As Zachrisson (2020a: 119) added, ‘trade routes were dependent on the protection of nodal sites that the kings could support and guard’. Zachrisson (2020a: 118) described multi-regional Viking-Age ‘network realms’, proposing the multiple boat burials from Nabberör (Öland) and Salme (Estonia, of Swedish/Mälaren origin) demonstrate the importance of ‘control of strategic points in the maritime landscape’ (and, in the case of Salme, overwhelming force) as early as the late 7th and early 8th centuries respectively. Zachrisson (2020a: 118–9) suggests Swedes and Danes fought over eastern Baltic routes (and their dirhams), potentially providing further insight into Truso’s decline. As per Brink’s observations (2007: 69, 71–2) on Svear and Danish polities, or Woolf ’s ‘Uí Ímair imperium’ (2004: 95–6), I think of these network polities being established (and fought over) in the late 8th and early 9th centuries not as unitary empires, but in terms of spheres of inf luence focussing on domination of trade links and attracting traders. Similarly, Hyenstrand (1989: 11–30; cf. Hårdh 1996: 174) suggested the Svear could be thought of as a trade organization with added tribute gathering; an Ohthere writ large. This is not to say control was easy, nor that royal nodes dominated their wider

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hinterlands more than intermittently, as Kershaw (2020: 125–6) has shown for Jórvík in relation to bullion-using rural Yorkshire. Rather, we presuppose Blomkvist’s (2009: 175–6) ‘tribute-paying dependencies’ which, after initial and, where necessary, repeated shows of force, entered into tributary and right-of-access arrangements in order to benefit from network-kingdom protection rackets. That this network-kingdom model was applicable to those Scandinavian polities – like the Uí Ímair realm – considered more ‘primitive’, whether about economic practices regarding silver, or relative lack of towns, is clear when we consider Norway and Ohthere. Network-kingdoms and the West Brink (2007: 66; cf. Crumlin-Pedersen 2010: 17; Skre 2015) characterized the Norðweg (‘northway’) from which Norway gets its name as a ‘very important trade route’ with Kaupang ‘the – or at least a – hub, where luxury commodities from the arctic regions were stored and traded with Danish, German, English, and Frisian merchants’. Brink considered Danish traders who visited Kaupang responsible for the Norðweg appellation, with the Norwegian kingdom a later development. On this, Blomkvist concluded (2009: 174), ‘Norway became a kingdom because it was united by a sea route […] since the kingdom was named after [it]’. At the time of Wulfstan and Ohthere in the 880/890s, it seems plausible that, despite the near or actual collapse of the Danish kingdom in the mid-9th century, some degree of Danish inf luence was still accepted at places like Kaupang ‘in order to have safe passage through Danish waters […] and access to Danish markets’ (Sawyer & Sawyer 1993: 88; cf. Roesdahl 1991: 129; Brink 2007: 71). ­ anishI suggest Norway’s creation should be seen in the context of a D and Baltic-derived model of trade routes and nodal markets within a ­network-kingdom. This would also be transposed via Óláfr and Ívarr to an Insular Scandinavia where Smyth suggested a useful comparison between Jórvík and Dublin Scandinavians and those who founded the Rus’ Kyiv principality: Smyth’s model was predicated on the Rus’ polity as a Gardaríki (kingdom of fortresses), where fortresses were trading strongholds (1979: 297). Similarly, the Dublin-Jórvík dynastic relationship, characterized by network connections interspersed with Irish/Anglo-Saxon interruptions (Blackburn 2005: 34), reinforced Ó Corráin’s (2008: 432) view of Dublin as a ‘sea-kingdom, the centre of far-f lung economic and social interests. It had real power and inf luence in the Irish Sea, Scotland, and northern England’. Attempts by Scandinavian rulers to expand/maintain trade routes were not always successful, but those efforts suggest control was the essence of the kingdom (Smyth 1979: 23). Indeed, MacLeod (1999: 359) characterized Scandinavian political organization as gathering economic activity to the ‘doorstep of political power, where it could be protected, prioritized […] and, most importantly, taxed and overseen’. Scandinavian towns were created at nodal points on existing trade routes with the aim to create and maintain economic

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(and thereby political) power through attraction of trade (cf. MacLeod 1999: 356–62). That network-kingdoms attempted to exploit existing exchange and migration routes (as the Uí Ímair on that established c.800 between the Danish Corridor and the Irish Sea – Skre 2015) indicates the prime factor in a network understanding of exchange: traders helped popularize certain corridors over others. As Callmer noted (2009: 130), however, supraregional kingdoms centred on hubs may only have held marginally more power than an aggregate of local elites and their second-tier trading sites, necessitating traders having good relations with both tiers, especially as the latter offered security, revictualling, and local markets, of which there were likely hundreds along coasts and rivers of the Scandinavian world.

Network agents and market-based group affiliation While traders had a difficult balancing act, they developed in-group procedures to make life easier and exchange more secure. Here, Sindbæk (2010: 437) understood that, at secondary market-places, most individuals knew each other, meaning social censure guarded against fraud and reduced requirement for third-party enforcement. In contrast, nodal-market traders would, logically, mainly exchange with strangers. However, if we apply the small-world model, this is not necessarily so. Considering small (permanent) hub populations, small numbers of long-distance traders, and those few regional traders who travelled to hubs, most of this restricted group would likely have known each other (Sindbæk 2010: 437–8). Consequently, any requirement for elite sanction was reduced, as there would often be social ties between traders. This close interdependence was central to security: I think Skre (2007b: 451) is correct that legal and physical protection offered to foreign traders by elites controlling the hubs was valued. However, while (later, written) evidence exists for elites providing piloting around their trading sites (Ulriksen 1994: 804, 2004: 8–9), and it was suggested Birka’s rulers used ‘marines’ to protect convoys (Hedenstierna-­ Jonson 2006), it seems probable traders also organized their own security and facilitating mechanisms, such as guilds (Sindbæk 2008: 155). Gotlandic picture stones (Crumlin-Pedersen 1991: 182; Ulriksen 1994: 804) and back-projections from medieval Scandinavian texts also suggest trader collectives may have secured their interests by operating ‘commercial’ ( félag) partnerships (Lebecq 2007; Müller-Boysen 2007; Sindbæk 2008: 155) alongside guilds. Such ‘professionalism’ may also have helped traders operate: discussing Grierson’s caveats (1959) warning against assuming commerce in the long-distance displacement of goods, Lebecq (2007: 173; cf. Müller-­ Boysen 2007: 180) argued that, even from the 8th century, the exchange economy of northern Europe […] was […] a commercial economy. That is, it was one practiced by free merchants who sold, carried, and resold merchandise in […] free markets […] Further, they exchange their goods for money payment.

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While Lebecq (2007: 178; cf. Müller-Boysen 2007: 182) considered Ohthere a multi-tasking ‘gentleman farmer, fisher, hunter, and trader’, he used 10th– 11th-century runic inscriptions to suggest growth of a ‘new, more complex system of merchant venture, with a genuine separation between capital and labour’. Here, ships could have multiple proprietors, some never part of the crew, being more like investors, as per the félag (‘laying one’s fee together’) partnerships whose felagi ‘shareholders’ pooled money and/or commodities (Müller-Boysen 2007: 182). In this regard, one 10th and two 11th-century hoards from Glammunds (Gotland) have been interpreted as indicating a cross-generational understanding of trading networks, either within a family or local community (Kilger 2020b: 444–5). If correct, hoards could provide insight into potential long-term arrangements behind félag, where family groups or communities traded in ‘companies’ over generations, using silver earned to fulfil social and subsistence practices (e.g., dowry, land purchase) at home (Kilger 2020b: 250–1). Within their commercial model, both Lebecq and Müller-Boysen (2007: 181–2; cf. Sawyer 1971: 192) stressed co-existence of violence and trade across Scandinavian networks (cf. Androschuk 2020a, 2020b). However, while convoys lessened piracy risks, how did traders keep the peace in the impersonal and suspicious world of market exchange, and how were relationships managed with fellow traders? Kilger assumed ‘cultural codes and socially defined routines […] structured the exchange of silver from region to region’ (2008a: 245 – my emphasis). Expanding on this, Blomkvist (2009: 168) noted Gustin (2004a), Hedenstierna-Jonsson (2006), and Larsson (2007) emphasized three factors vital to supraregional traders: (i) trust-facilitating mechanisms (e.g., familiar silver currencies; markers of group identity); (ii) long-term political foresight (e.g., network-kingdoms); and (iii) self-defence (e.g., convoying). While (ii) and (iii) were encountered in my network-kingdom discussion, trust-facilitating mechanisms and in-group identities remain unexplored, an aspect I now expand upon via Fanning, who posited that distinctive ­H iberno-Scandinavian ringed-(cloak)pins were markers of a particular group: ‘pins themselves would not have been the objects of trade […] but were probably lost by Hiberno-Norse merchants travelling eastwards from York or Dublin’ (1994: 36). Fanning (1994: 36) proposed ringed-pins were personal possessions lost or discarded by traders, putting them in the same category as imported cooking vessels (Skre 2011a; Sindbæk 2013) or bullion weights (Skre 2011a). However, this begs the question: why might traders feel the need to wear accoutrements displaying group identity? As before, I draw analogies from scholars working with material culture in the Baltic and homeland Scandinavia to help understand an Insular phenomenon. In this case, I know from Gustin’s work at Birka (2004a, 2008c) and Skre’s research at Kaupang (2011a) that a chief facilitating mechanism in long-distance trade was the creation of a trader group identity to affirm trust in transactions, being a result of the unique social context of markets. While I acknowledge Sindbæk’s small-world social ties, the suggestion that many

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trading partners might be familiar to each other does not mean new partners would not appear, or that the relatively loose ties of familiarity in what were ‘competitive’ transactions could be equated to those of the kin-group. In short, trust was vital and needed visual confirmation: During the Viking Age, there developed not just regulations and rules aimed at bringing the double-edged trade into a more secure and trustworthy form. The articles of material culture used in commodity exchanges and commercial transaction were also designed to evoke connotations of exactitude and reliability. (Gustin 2004a: 265) Archaeology has demonstrated the social-symbolic side of material culture, where symbols embedded in objects act ‘as a sign and symbol in communication between individuals and groups, the social function is viewed as the creation of group identity’ (Gustin 2004a: 259). Did the combination of long-distance traders and network-kingdom markets facilitate this, however? To (partially) answer this, I now look at the ‘standardized’ weights associated with the weighing of dirhams to assess a particularly relevant facilitating mechanism. Trust and weights ‘Standardized/Regulated’ weights are so named because they conform to (roughly) standard units and forms. The two best-known and distributed types are cubo-octahedrals and oblate-spheroids. Cubo-octahedrals take the shape of a cube with cut-off corners, being most commonly known in solid ­copper-alloy form. Oblate-spheroids, spherical weights with f lattened poles, generally had an iron core with copper-alloy coating. With their supraregional distribution, these weights represented types which Steuer (1987a) and others (Mikkelsen 2008: 547) suggested were associated with the strong inf lux of dirhams from the 860 to 870s, and were related to Sperber’s Islamic (or Rus’/Bulgar/Scandinavian variant thereof ) mitqāl weight standard of c.4.233g (Gustin 2004a: 258; Williams 2020f: 31). Kilger (2020a: 56) argued Viking-Age Scandinavian traders ‘probably had a profound knowledge of the Islamic mithqal system, which operated on a global scale within and outside the Caliphate’. Prestigious associations and familiarity was a winning combination: One way of ensuring trust in metal-weight transactions across different trading communities was to use standardised weights based on established weight units. By using a widely known, visually distinct and, most importantly, reliable weight type, a trader could help to boost confidence in their trading credentials. (Kershaw VM 2013)

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Although aware of alternative ‘social’ reasons for weighing (e.g., tributes, fines, loot), Gustin (2004a: 260) suggested that, given the largest concentrations of weights have been discovered in (Eastern Seaway) hubs (cf. Steuer 2009: 298), they should be seen within the context of another supraregional network activity, namely, long-distance trade, something seemingly confirmed by their association with balances and hacksilver. Indeed, viewed in conjunction with dirhams and portable balances (the latter often decorated with cubo-octahedral motifs) associated with standardized weights, Gustin (2004a: 260) concluded that they represented the ‘foundation for a smoothly functioning and commercially viable supra-regional means of payment’, being what only the aggregation of network traders, and not a ruler of one or two markets, could affect. That said, rulers could have legitimized metrological paraphernalia by controlling access to standard weights and measures, but it is difficult to see how this was maintained outside an urban setting, not least on analogy with persistence of bullion use outside the immediate hinterlands of Danelaw towns (Kershaw 2020: 125–6). Like Kershaw, Gustin (2004a: 264–5) argued that the reasons for the popularity and spread of standardized weights were that they were (i) comparatively fraud-resistant compared to lead types; (ii) of regular, geometrical shape; and (iii) of relatively standard weight units (associated with high-­ quality dirham silver). The trust this security bestowed was essential for growth of trade of the sort which created, then maintained, market-networks (Gustin 2004a: 265). The extension of weight-like ornamentation, particularly the cubo-octahedral form, into jewellery such as Eastern Seaway- and Danish Corridor-style knobbed penannular brooches and balances (Sheehan 2020: 418–20) indicates attempts to communicate group affiliation within what Gustin (2004a: 266–7) called a 9th- and 10th-century ‘supra-regional payment ecumene’. Looking at items relating to this economic zone in Birka’s graves, Gustin (2004a: 267) suggested females were also active in this sphere (cf. Stalsberg 1991; Kruse 2007: 167), indicating a role for trade across Scandinavian society. It certainly appears likely traders created mechanisms that facilitated supraregional commerce: as Sindbæk suggested, ‘potential tensions in the exchange situation were accommodated for by establishing shared cultural norms’ (2008: 155). Beyond visual clues of group identity and shared economic practice, we have place-name and runic evidence for the development of a Scandinavian lingua franca. Interestingly, it seems to have been a nodal-market phenomenon (e.g., Birka-svenska and Hedeby-nordiska) where languages comingled before spreading via the cultural-transfer element of networks (Brink 2007: 72–3), making it unsurprising if trade languages or specialized terminology spread to Insular Scandinavian markets as part of a suite of mechanisms facilitating exchange. In this regard, the development of short-twig runes, which were easier to write on wood, probably developed out of network towns, and may even be attributed to traders at Hedeby or Gotland who wanted a quicker and more practical form of writing for their business transactions (Åhfeldt et

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al. 2020: 8; Källström 2020: 144). While the long-branch form is generally seen in Denmark and short-twig in Norway and Sweden, Gotland has a geographical north-south split between short and long and a chronological divide between short (pre-1,000) and long (generally 11th century, but with two inscriptions from the 8th) (Kilger 2020a: 52–4). Most relevant for my argument, however, is the link between scripts and silver-based networks, with short-twig associated with dirhams (c.800–950) and long-twig with Western silver (c.950+) (Kilger 2020a: 54). This putative link between scripts and networks is important as being mutually intelligible was vital in terms of creating and maintaining in-groups (Raffield 2016) and trust (Gustin 2004a). Indeed, as Kilger noted, ‘Sharing information and conveying messages over long distances, such as information about conditions on distant destinations or […] commodities, would have been essential to the operation of trading networks’ (2020a: 55). In short: ‘runes, trade and silver were deeply interconnected within the context of long-distance exchange’ (Åhfeldt et al. 2020: 7, ref. Kilger 2020a).

Network vessels and safer sailing Although trust-generating mechanisms expressed through use and display of shared material culture and language would have contributed to security, I think the main concern would have been safe navigation to markets. Indeed, Bill (2009) argued maritime security was organized by polities with interests in the East-West trade in an Eastern Seaway where Vita Anskarii talked of convoying in the face of pervasive piracy. Callmer (2009: 114–5, 116; cf. Ulriksen 2009: 135) noted, however, that protection was probably low-level, necessitating crews to arm and work together. Negotiating skills would also have been necessary, and I can imagine Ohthere negotiating safe passage at second-tier sites. Given the likelihood weather would only rarely allow for open-sea voyages, Callmer (2009: 129) suggested slow-motion (tramping) progress via smaller markets offered advantages in lowering risks of sinking, although occasional use of pilots would have been necessary, and, if convoyed, the progress would have been slower. For Bill (2009: 352; cf. Ulriksen 2009: 142), Wulfstan’s round-the-clock sailing, possibly in a convoy, is suggestive of a continuation from Anskar’s to Wulfstan’s day of the mix of collective security to lower risk. In contrast, Ohthere probably anchored nightly, an apparently common procedure (Ulriksen 2009: 135). Here, guarantees of safe landing sites were vital (Ulriksen 2009: 135), with Callmer (2009: 115) noting negotiation of safe passage with ‘supra-regional or regional lords’ who controlled ‘stepping stones’ sites (Ulriksen 2009: 135). To this, Ulriksen (2009: 142) added it was security, not necessarily hydrological and meteorological conditions, which was the main determinant in setting-off, where the wish-list for journeys consisted of a pilot (or experienced skipper), a secure landing site on a good sailing route, and an explicit display of strength to discourage pirates.

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Looking at navigation via maritimity, Bill (2008: 179) suggested the ‘cognitive character of early medieval navigation must have benefitted the Scandinavians compared with the people in other, less sea-orientated regions and been part of the background for their maritime success’. Both Bill (2008: 179) and Bruun (1997: 1289) argued for a preference for a coastal navigation eased by generations of passed-on experience and aided by descriptive toponyms like – ness (ON headland). Callmer (2009: 128ff.) added that the memorizing of safe passages and topographic markers could be allied to the use of paid local pilots on difficult coastal segments or at the entrance to nodal markets, as may have been the case for Birka (Hedenstierna-Jonson 2020: 18). Indeed, this is something argued by Owen (1993) for facilitating Pentland Firth navigation between Caithness and Orkney. Another security feature may have been the development of specialized vessels. Perhaps caravans worked land routes, but can I talk about ‘cargo vessels’ on their waterborne equivalents? Vita Anskarii talked of ‘merchant vessels’ in the mid-9th-century Baltic, and Bill suggested Iceland’s settlement (c.870+) was only possible with ‘specialised cargo carriers’ of a sort Ohthere possibly used (Bill 2008: 177). I, however, prefer to tack with Crumlin-­ Pedersen (2010: 105), who argued for Ohthere’s use of a Gokstad-type ship as a multi-purpose raiding-trading-colonization vessel capable of operating along coasts and open sea. In terms of secure harbours for vessels, I do not use Callmer’s typology (2009) as it is likely most were multifunctional. I think it is, however, reasonable to assume that in terms of safety, revictualling, and vessel capability many journeys would have followed the Ohthere model. In other words, I suggest that while hubs were the main goal for long-distance traders, necessity and opportunism would have, intermittently, brought them to second-tier sites. At the very least, good relations with local landowners ‘guaranteeing’ safe conduct would likely have to be continually reaffirmed by gift-giving and providing commodities to be sold in beach markets (cf. Woolf 1999: 67). News from the outside world provided by long-distance travellers could also have been a commodity, as Alfred clearly considered it was regarding Ohthere and Wulfstan.

Actor-networks and network-actors: traders and economic agency A common factor in the above is the potential ability of traders within networks to move rapidly, suggesting to me a small-world scenario with dynamism bestowed on it by the individual choices of traders (cf. Sindbæk 2007b: 60–1; Kilger 2008a: 245). On this point, Kilger noted ‘It was primarily the agents of these […] networks who determined and controlled where, when, how, and in what circumstances, dirham silver came to be used’ (2008a: 245). Looking at Insular Scandinavia, Blackburn (2008a: 41) agreed about the small-world benefits of a network that could move dirhams so quickly. Beyond this idea of rapid transfer through trade corridors (which I argue fits

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a small-world actor-network model), Metcalf ’s suggestions for the structural mechanisms behind this (1997: 317) also segue with my Silver Route model in that it makes room for the role of second-tier markets alongside hubs. Indeed, that Gotland was a ‘trading place without urbanisation’, but with large harbours like Paviken – ‘with indications of craft industries and many site-finds of single coins, weights, and parts of balance, suggestive of a market economy’ – suggests nodal-market network roles could be performed in non-urban markets (Metcalf 1997: 325–7). I think this idea facilitates understanding of longphuirt, winter-camps, and dirham-using beach markets. That town-less Viking-Age Gotland co-existed with Birka like Ribe and Hedeby (Metcalf 1997: 327) suggests to me that, as is the case for other regions without urbanization or nascent alternatives like winter-camps, connections to urban network-kingdom markets linked to long-distance trade were important. Regardless of site hierarchies, Kilger (2008a: 242) argued for ‘the establishment of […] dirham silver as an accepted token of value within any region in which dirhams are found’, in line with my hypothesis linking dirhams with Silver Route membership. Kilger (2008a: 243) noted dirham distribution was ‘primarily the result of a series of exchange networks in Eastern and Northern Europe’, and that network parameters were dictated almost exclusively by network agents (2008a: 245). Kilger’s model was couched explicitly in the work of Sindbæk and Gustin where it concerned the gradual development of network mechanisms through the agency of network agents (2008a: 245). As such, dirham hoards are best understood as material expressions of ‘regular patterns of trade and trust-enhancing conventions that were developed from the growing long-distance trade of the Early Viking Period, but which also inf luenced that trade over the longer term (Sindbæk 2005)’ (Kilger 2008a: 242). I suggest these hoards (and market-place assemblages) not only demonstrated supraregional contact, but also the existence of supraregional currencies used by traders working within a wide payment-zone based on the use of tools of exchange bearing stylistic elements subsequently aped by their display jewellery. Kilger and Sindbæk characterized this long-distance network as a ‘dynamic’ phenomenon made up of interactions between heterogeneous network agents (Kilger 2008a: 242). It was network agents who were responsible for the distinct spheres of dirham circulation (Kilger 2008a: 245). They controlled how, where, and when dirhams were used, with the networks largely developed by them (Kilger 2008a: 245). While network regents were important in focussing economic activity to their market-centric versions of central places, I think it is highly likely they were tapping into pre-existing and developing traffic routes established and regularized by traders (and r­ aiders – Skre 2015). Regarding the principal structure around which interactions of dirham-­ using agents coalesced, Kilger (2008a: 205–7, 244–5) used Sindbæk (2005: 70–98) to propose ‘long-distance trade was channelled and coordinated through […] nodes’. Here, Kilger (2008a: 206; cf. Callmer 1980) argued it

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was at these nodes where dirhams were initially obtained (i.e., ‘channelled’) and used. Via metal-detecting at Kaupang, Birka (Rispling 2004), Tissø (Silvegren 1999: 99–104), and Uppåkra ( Jørgensen 2003: 190, fig. 15.14), I think it has become clear that these sites were familiar with dirhams, demonstrating markedly concentrated use. Indeed, Kilger (2008a: 246; cf. Sindbæk 2005: 70–98) concluded that, until the second quarter of the 10th century, ‘use of dirham silver was restricted to central nodes of long-distance trade such as Kaupang’. However, while association of dirhams with hubs in the Eastern Seaway might suggest Jórvík and Dublin were key to Insular distribution, it seems they soon found their way to the (wider) hinterlands, as evidenced by Irish hoards (Sheehan 2020), English distributions (Kershaw 2017, 2020), and ingots derived from dirhams (Kershaw in Jarman 2021: 62, n.2). For Jórvík, the almost immediate advent of (initially imitative) minting and consequent exclusion of foreign coin likely explains why dirhams are virtually absent. I agree that the speed at which dirhams could be taken from Eastern Seaway to the Western suggests a small-world network of the type modelled by Sindbæk is possible, with dirhams not being passed slowly down-the-line, but relatively rapidly, via dirham import zones offered by nodal markets (Kilger 2008a: 205–7).

Silver Route What, then, for my Silver Route model? Sindbæk proposed a segmented structure of predominantly coastal intermediate trunk routes connecting sites with a range of specialized functions through which long-distance communications were channelled, potentially rapidly. These segments formed the fundamental structure of long-distance exchange (Sindbæk 2012a: 30). The few hubs bound the Scandinavian world together due to their near-exclusive role as goals of long-distance traders, which had the effect of ‘[funnelling] exchange and communication into predictable, navigable routes’ (Sindbæk 2012b: 408). Moreover, regional connections ensured members of every community in a largely non-urban Scandinavian Viking-Age world communicated with hubs, particularly to gain access to accoutrements like the high-quality urban-produced oval brooches and glass or amber beads used to help tip the social balance in the gift-exchange environment (Sindbæk 2011: 58–9, 2012b: 408–9; cf. Holm 2017). My Silver Route modifies Sindbæk’s nodal-network concept in stressing a pragmatic role of the second-tier sites (revictualling, repair, temporary beach market), and the likelihood that if a long-distance trader could get a good price there before taking the additional risk of travelling to a hub, they would take it. All this is allied to my understanding that, while elites may not have been able to control long-distance exchange easily or consistently, they may have attempted to do so in the form of network-based polities centred on nodal markets. Ultimately, however, I agree that it was the economic agency of traders who, through routinization, frequented those markets offering the

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best security and trading opportunities and, as a result, decided which networks were successful. The Silver Route model is dynamic and inclusive of a range of sites and traders like Braudel’s coastal trampers, i.e., essentially regional traders who might only ever travel a stable route between hubs (e.g., Dublin and Jórvík). This fits Woolf ’s Icelandic scenario (1999: 67), where long-distance traders also called at in-between places and set up temporary stalls under the supervision of local landowners. These could be contrasted with my nodal traders who, like Ohthere, undertook trade across frontiers, visiting several hubs within several polities. Finally, I propose the category of rural colonists, i.e., those within the hinterland who perhaps ‘saved up’ to make (infrequent) trips to either second-tier markets or, more rarely, hubs (cf. Holm 2017). For all, I think a network structure mediated by network-kingdoms and efficient routeways routinized by traders seems to be the overarching parameter.

Urban and rural co-existence of market and non-market Why did Scandinavians spend so much effort travelling to exchange goods? Beyond professional traders, Sindbæk argued that Scandinavians from remote regions got involved in market trade (using silver currencies) because acquiring objects sold and produced in them was revolutionary in terms of the gift-giving process which framed their social experience (2011; cf. Barrett 2008a: 680f.; Holm 2017). Here, I argue for the involvement of ‘ordinary’ as well as professional agents in commerce, but with a more specifically social aim for the former. Indeed, even in the 8th century, rural communities in the far north of Norway (Sindbæk 2011: 58–9) obtained copper-alloy and glassbead ornaments which were almost exclusively the preserve of urban markets (probably, at that time, Ribe or Birka). According to Sindbæk (2011: 59), examples from rural areas at great distance from hubs suggested a dominant first-order nodal-market-centric network permeated [even] pre-Viking Scandinavia […] to its far corners. In terms that are meaningful for the [Viking-Age], there was no such thing as rural versus urban […] Every part of Norway maintained long-distance links with the budding urban network, and the opportunities and competition it generated. Similarly, Ulriksen (2009: 141) thought second-tier coastal landing-places in rural regions were points from which those who controlled agricultural surplus could ship them to the hubs in exchange for ‘luxurious items important for maintaining the social order and political connections’, thus linking all parts of Scandinavia with the urban silver-based trade network. Emerging evidence of bullion use from the seasonal Sandtorg market site, situated in a region considered to have been both remote and non-urban (Krokmyrdal

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2020), suggests to me that such sites were also a location for commerce involving silver currencies. I suggest Sandtorg-like temporary market-places near sea routes were not the only places connected to urban trade networks, however: the remote Swedish interior region of Jämtland has also been shown to have regularized links with markets (Holm 2015, 2017). Here, Holm’s analysis of grave goods indicate commerce and bullion was well known, inclusive of the ‘middle classes’ and especially among the farming community. Burials with scales, standardized weights (mainly oblate-spheroids), hacksilver and coin (in 1/3 to 1/2 of male graves) are paralleled with graves in Birka, suggesting these ostensibly isolated rural inhabitants traded and made payments with silver like their town-based peers (Holm 2015: 85–91). That urban metrological standards were adhered to and urban-manufactured devices were imported – at considerable effort – to Jämtland (Holm 2017: 42) indicates market transactions were relatively common, with local use in economic terms suggested by the finding of weights and scales in association with monetary silver and the adaptation and repair of weights (Holm 2015: 85–94). Holm (2015: 100) argues evidence like deliberately blunt arrowheads suggest harvesting of pelts for urban markets, likely transported when outdoor farming paused over winter and farmers took advantage of frozen conditions to transport commodities by sled to markets like Birka; a development presumably occurring due to a farming community’s desire to diversify into market production and trade in the face of croft failures in more marginal northern lands (Holm 2015: 102). I argue Jämtland suggests even non-elites from rural regions traded with urban networks and used silver to facilitate transactions, something I consider when looking at Scotland. However, this picture of the spread of the market throughout Scandinavia has not always been accepted; indeed, as I show in the following chapter, there is a long tradition of challenging attempts to suggest the importance of ‘economic’ exchange in Scandinavian contexts.

5 Economic anthropology and Viking-Age Scandinavia

To paraphrase Kilger (2008b: 256), a book discussing the importance of Scandinavian markets in addition to clarifying their means of exchange must take account of anthropology (cf. Samson 1991c: 124; Skre 2008b, 2008c: 333–5; Sheehan 2013: 809; Screen 2020: 380). In short, I agree with Samson that ‘economic anthropology demands medievalists rethink trade’ (1991c: 124). A problem, however, is that the inf luential ‘substantivist’ school to which Samson subscribed saw markets marginalized to the extent ‘some authors [seem] to argue that a market-trading society, with impersonal exchange, hardly existed at all for Scandinavians, or if it did, was only a feature during the last gasp of the Viking Age’ (Kruse 2007: 163). To understand this problem, I will outline the main schools of economic anthropology before they are considered in relation to Viking-Age Scandinavia. For the latter aspect, I focus on how a relatively new school – ­post-­substantivism – which allows for greater economic agency among those associated with Scandinavian markets (however defined), is appropriate for my book. While I guard against seeing commerce everywhere in Scandinavia, I do not think this is the same thing as looking for it in trading places and among those communities connected to them. Questioning substantivism has already resulted in ‘the model with pillaging, gift-exchanges and redistribution now [seeming] less plausible. Such occurrences cannot be denied, but they did not rule out the existence of trade and markets’ (Blomkvist 2009: 160). Indeed, as Kilger (2008b: 257) noted, ‘an overarching objective in the study of economic relations in prehistory should […] be the identification of gaps or zones that provided opportunities for non-binding and impersonal forms of exchange’. I note here that social uses of wealth sit happily alongside commerce, alluded to in Sindbæk’s suggestions (2011) relating to the necessity of those not involved directly or indirectly in raiding to purchase at market many of the accoutrements used in gift-exchange. Ultimately, I propose that, even where gift-exchange was dominant and market-exchange a minor part of economic life, these ‘spheres’ are not mutually exclusive. To comprehend the marriage of long-distance network theory with economic anthropology, I turn now to Bolin’s Mohammed, Charlemagne, and

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-6

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Ruric (1953). Following Pirenne (1937), this used dirhams to interrogate the role of Scandinavians in eastern trade and in linking the Abbasid and Carolingian empires. For Bolin (1953: 33ff.; cf. Screen 2020: 380), the key network mechanism for dirhams entering the Baltic was a Rus’ kingdom using raiding and tribute-paying dependencies to gather slaves and furs sold for dirhams to Volga-based Bulgar and Arabic traders (cf. Jankowiak 2020). This was a pre-Blomkvist (2009) description of a ‘network-­k ingdom’ (­Bolin’s [1953: 33] ‘politico-commercial position’) mixing violent appropriation and market mechanisms within a polity straddling trade routes. In this regard, Screen (2020: 380) notes some superficially commercial transactions were probably coerced and reminds us that the fur and slave ‘trade’ – redolent of peaceful, modern markets – followed raiding or, as in the case of Ohthere’s furs, enforced tribute. Although Blomkvist (2009: 159–60) supported aspects of Bolin with his network-kingdom concept, it was never popular among substantivists, who saw in contemporary literature and hoards only ‘parasitic’ barbarian raiders who were unsophisticated economically, had an obsession for metalwork used for gifts, and who gained dirhams through ‘looting’. This ‘Primitivist’ idea (Sheehan 2013: 814–7) – the ‘looting model’ (Blomkvist 2009: 160) – was used by Samson (1991b, 1991c) and Hedeager (1994). To see its first, and most important, iteration, however, we turn to Grierson and the dangers of assuming ubiquitous commerce in societies dominated by subsistence and gifting (cf. Sheehan 2013: 816–21).

Grierson’s caveat Grierson’s Commerce in the Dark Ages (1959) reminded everyone there were many socially embedded reasons other than commerce – like gift and theft – for the displacement of goods in the early-medieval period: recent work on the economic life of the Dark Ages […] takes it for granted that trade, and trade alone, was responsible for the distribution of goods and coins […] Such a view is too narrow, and prejudges too many issues. There are other means whereby goods can pass from hand to hand, means which must have played a more conspicuous part. (1959: 130–1; cf. Screen 2020: 379) Grierson (1959; cf. Blomkvist 2009: 159) suggested Bolin overestimated advances towards long-distance trade and network polities among Viking-Age Scandinavians. These caveats still resonate (Kershaw 2020: 113–4; Williams 2020e: 40–3), with Grierson popular as a corrective to those overstressing anachronistically modern market aspects to Viking societies (Kruse 2007: 163; cf. Lebecq 2007: 172; Müller-Boysen 2007: 180; Skre 2008c: 329; Blomkvist 2009: 159).

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By the 1980s, Grierson was, however, used uncritically to bolster ideas that Viking-Age economics was overwhelmingly raiding based: these ‘impoverished looters’ sought silver to redistribute, something which only changed to feudal land gifts when silver supply weakened in the 11th century (Blomkvist 2009: 160; cf. Kilger 2008b: 256; Skre 2008b: 10). By emphasizing the ‘social significance of the exchange of gifts in other “primitive” cultures’ (­Blomkvist 2009: 159), Grierson introduced early-medievalists to a substantivist understanding of exchange, most of whom were amenable, having been primed by the ‘coarse tone which [resounded] from the contemporaneous [written] ­ arket-sceptic source material’ (Blomkvist 2009: 160). If I can put it simply, m theory (‘substantivism’) was a reaction, and then an over-reaction, to the school of market-assuming (‘formalist’) thought.

Understanding exchange from formalism to substantivism The formalist school on the nature of pre-industrial economies is derived from neoclassical economics: i.e., the definition of typical behaviour as rational utility maximization under conditions of scarcity (Samson 1991b: 88). Formalists used the allegedly timeless nature of human economy to transpose this logic (involving post-industrial principles of supply and demand, profit and loss) to pre-modern societies (Skre 2008c: 333–5; Kilger 2008b: 256–7). According to formalism, a desire for personal profit is the norm, rather than social communication through object and obligation. An anachronistic tool, the unalloyed formalist perspective favoured until Grierson represented a ‘rather simplistic back-projection of contemporary [economic] explanatory frameworks’ (Skre 2008b: 10). While criticisms remain valid, I suggest a problem arises with the use of the otherwise excellent Samson (1991b, 1991c) to define a formalist school to which Samson’s ideas were opposed (e.g., Sheehan 2013: 810; cf. Samson 1991b: 88–90). Consequently, Samson’s definition assumed most Viking-Age Scandinavian societies were ‘non-monetary’ and, thus, had no relationship to ‘modern’ economics. An explicitly Marxist perspective, Samson saw capitalism as an unnatural incursion into the natural order of pre-modern gift-exchange. Consequently, I advocate caution in allowing his definition of market-based theory to form our understanding of the formalist model, f lawed though it is, and Viking-Age markets in general. While some overreact in dismissing market-centric perspectives on ­Viking-Age exchange (cf. Kruse 2007: 163), it was correct that formalism was criticized for uncritical application of post-industrial models to pre-industrial societies (Samson 1991b: 88–90; Skre 2010: 131; Sheehan 2013: 810). In addition, as Skre noted (2008c: 333–4, 2010: 131; cf. Lie 1991: 230), commerce is not an a-historical constant: it must be considered within its societal context, and not, as formalists argued, undertaken by ‘atomized actors who are governed by the ‘invisible hand of the market’’ (Skre 2010: 131). Moreover, ideas

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of rational choice, individual motives, and utility maximization sat uncomfortably with many, who argued that ‘man’s economy, as a rule, is submerged in his social relationships’ (Polanyi 1944: 53). Developing Malinowski (1922) and Mauss (1967, orig. 1923), Polanyi argued that, in pre-industrial societies, economic activities, exchange in particular, are ‘embedded’ in social institutions, i.e., they are interwoven into a society where they are entirely socially controlled (Samson 1991b: 88, 90; Kilger 2008: 256; Sheehan 2013: 810). Therefore, Viking-Age ‘Exchange systems may […] be seen as processes within a system where transactions have the purpose of either developing new social relationships or servicing and maintaining existing ones’ (Sheehan 2013: 810; cf. Polanyi 1944: 53). Inherent to this attitude was that the process of gift-giving, i.e., socially embedded (non-commercial) exchange to maintain or improve inter-personal relationships through ‘symbolic capital’ (Bourdieu 1990: 112–21), was more important than impersonal commodities. Polanyi and Dalton (1975) refused markets a prominent role in pre-­ modern/industrial societies. Due to an evolutionary perspective, Polanyi (1957; cf. Sindbæk 2011: 42) considered that a profound social transformation had to occur to turn traditional societies dominated by embedded exchange into complex modern ones, and considered this was a relatively recent phenomenon. By this logic, there was no open market in which it was possible to buy or sell goods in unlimited circulation in the early-medieval period. As Kilger (2008b: 256) summarized, economic transactions were either based upon hierarchical gift-exchange systems in which the distribution of prestigious objects of exchange was channelled through a political centre (redistribution), or the exchange of goods took place on a horizontal plane between two parties by way of simple bartering (reciprocity). For substantivists, there was a distinction between impersonal commodity and personal gift, which circulated in distinct exchange spheres. From the 1970s, substantivism began to dictate how analysis was approached, with Viking-Age scholars adopting a perspective which ‘toned down the significance of market-trade and instead focussed on the social side of exchange’ (Gustin 2004a: 256; cf. Kilger 2008b: 256; Blomkvist 2009: 160; Skre 2010: 131). This is the principal reason behind the ‘trade and exchange’ phrasing in modern literature, stressing that commerce is just one of the many reasons behind the transfer of material culture (Kruse 2007: 163). As Kilger noted (2008b: 256), substantivism continues to inf luence studies about economic relationships in the Scandinavian world (cf. Samson 1991b, 1991c; Hedeager 1994; Saunders 1995; Gaimster 2007: 126–7; Skre 2008c: 333–5; Sheehan 2013: 809). Consequently, I will now discuss its impact on Viking-Age studies, undertaken in light of excavations of markets such as

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Birka and Kaupang, and the subsequent reintegration of market-based models via the ‘post-substantivist’ perspective.

Substantivism and problems for understanding Viking-Age exchange While substantivism stems from necessary correctives of the transposition of modern market theories to pre-industrial societies, Kruse (2007: 163) warned against an over-zealous backlash: summarizing the pendulum swings of exchange models, Kruse noted: ‘first, the Vikings were only raiders; then they were peaceful traders with a small rogue element, and now they are not really traders’. As I will explain, the reality lies between the extremes. Debates about exchange have found it easier to attach itself to the Vikings than most early-medieval subjects because of sagas and the Hávamál (Odinic sayings), and their frequent references to social uses of wealth (Sheehan 2013: 809, 811ff.). Ultimately, the popularity of gift-giving in substantivist explanations of Viking-Age Scandinavian economies originates from Mauss, who opened 1923’s The Gift with verses from Hávamál which, he argued, demonstrated the overriding social importance of gift-giving (Samson 1991b: 87; cf. Vestergaard 1991: 99; Hedeager 1994: 132; Sheehan 2013: 809–11). Mauss (1967: 1) concluded that, ‘in Scandinavian […] civilisations, contracts are fulfilled and exchanges of goods are made by means of gifts’. Gurevič (1968) and Miller (1986) agreed: the process of the exchange of gifts in terms of its social implications was of paramount importance for understanding Viking-Age socio-economic context, with commerce relegated to insignificance (Sheehan 2013: 812). I argue that a problem remains, however: sagas and Hávamál were written long after the Viking Age. That they contained information 9th- and 10th-century Scandinavians would have recognized seems likely, but I think it inadvisable to base an understanding of the relative importance of gift over traded commodity on dramatic literature unlikely to focus on the mundane realities of market transactions. Indeed, those who have had direct experience of market archaeology (like Skre and Kilger at Kaupang, and MacLeod and Gustin at Birka) envision a different world to Mauss; one where, at least for individuals connected to hubs or second-tier sites, market-exchange was as or even more important than gift-exchange (Sheehan 2013: 815). My caution around sagas ref lects a preference for contemporary archaeological evidence suggesting a world in which trade conditions had a material impact on state formation (i.e., of network-kingdoms) and means of exchange (the spread of silver economies). Moreover, if sagas are seen as, essentially, morality tales whose primary concern with exchange relates to long-term reciprocal relationships, the focus of my book on shorter-term (often one-off ) market transactions allows for a lower emphasis on these texts. I do, however, acknowledge the potential insight of sagas into the Viking Age as per Raffield

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(2019b: 814). Similarly, I use Laxdæla saga’s Melkorka story on the basis that contemporary Icelanders retained folk memories of the importance of transporting slaves to Landnám-era Iceland. Away from sagas, Sheehan (2013: 812) pointed to the arguments of Gurevič et al. (1968: 131–3; cf. Samson 1991c; Hårdh 1996: 46–7) relating to silver hoards, and those of Saunders (1995: 38–40) and Myhre (1998: 25–8) regarding access to wealth in Norway as providing non-literary evidence for the importance of gift-exchange. However, I suggest this does not take account of network concepts and recent excavations which, as per Sindbæk (2011), Blomkvist (2009), Holm (2017) and Krokmyrdal (2020), point to the important market links of supposedly primitive, remote areas – as defined by a greater percentage of complete ‘giftable’ objects in hoards and (supposed) lack of urbanism – like northern Norway and Scotland.

Doubts about Viking traders: Grierson and Samson Writing long before excavations by Skre and others, Grierson felt archaeological evidence for Viking-Age commerce was, at best, ambiguous. For Grierson, even the then extant evidence in the 1950s for trade at Birka and Hedeby was not conclusive, arguing the traders buried there could not be proved to be Scandinavian. Grierson argued that Vikings were probably involved in markets, but it did not necessarily follow they were themselves traders (cf. Samson 1991b, 1991c). Grierson (1959: 128–9) suggested that, if the Vikings had economic impact, it was only because accumulation of loot created liquidity in Carolingian and Anglo-Saxon regions. Grierson understood that commerce exists in all societies (cf. Skre 2010: 133); he merely questioned its share of exchange, and those formalist interpretations ignoring the importance of gift-exchange throughout Viking-Age society. I think it is, then, correct that Grierson’s caveats still resonate (Gaimster 2007: 126; Kruse 2007: 163, 164; Sindbæk 2008: 150; Skre 2008c: 327), even for those who, like Müller-­Boysen (2007: 180) and Lebecq (2007: 172), identify commerce as an important socio-economic factor in Viking-Age Scandinavia. In any case, the Mauss-Grierson-Gurevič thesis was embraced by Samson (1991b, 1991c) who argued that ‘before the economy was monetarized, [Viking-Age] trade was of an altogether different nature to that practiced by medieval merchants’, with the latter characterized by ‘balanced, neutral exchanges’ ‘institutionalised and protected by the state’ (Samson 1991c: 124, 127; cf. Sheehan 2013: 810). For Samson, hoards were wealth repositories to be used in competitive giving; this was due to the dominance of hacksilver and jewellery over complete coins, with only the latter considered suitable for market trade (1991c: 132). Samson argued market transactions were uncommon in sagas, dismissing most instances because they involved ‘hawkers and pedlars’ (1991b: 91; cf. Gaimster 2007: 126). Although conceding there were supraregional trading journeys involving ‘selling or bartering at distant emporia such as Staraya Ladoga’ (Samson 1991c: 125, 132), they were primarily

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designed to increase the prestige of the participants, and/or to achieve a specific commodity goal for use in social strategies as per Müller-Boysen’s ‘­pillage-traders’ (1987; cf. Sawyer 1990: 286–7; Sheehan 2013: 814), not to ‘amass wealth’ in the sense of profit generation (Samson 1991c: 129). Thus, silver was a desirable commodity – not an exchange medium – to be used in gifting strategies to increase an individual’s social standing (Samson 1991c: 132). As Sheehan summarized, [Samson and Hedeager] propose that the Early Viking-Age Scandinavians who organised expeditions abroad were not actually traders per se and that, coming from the background of an apparent gift-exchange economy, they aimed at obtaining goods in order to earn prestige in their home economies, rather than simply as items of merchandise. (2013: 814) As I have shown, subsequent excavations have tested this theory to destruction, with clear and early evidence for sustained market economies throughout the Viking world. The Samson school Kruse (2007: 163) also saw inconsistencies in Samson, noting he ‘argued that the Vikings were not merchants, though occasionally the word “traders” creeps back into his discussions’. Moreover, Samson suggested commerce occurred at Staraya Ladoga, and was selective in his evidence (do ‘hawkers and pedlars’ not count in assessments of exchange?). One of Samson’s key arguments centred on the supposed mutual exclusion between commerce and violence: for him (1991c: 126, 127), Vikings were not real merchants, as they were too readily prepared to resort to violence. Samson did, however, concede raiders had to be prepared to act as traders (although it was against their nature). This tack was adopted by Hedeager (1994: 135), who argued Scandinavians only behaved well temporarily, as this was the most efficient way to get the valued metals required for domestic social strategies. I suggest this constitutes special pleading: while I agree with Samson, Hedeager, and Sheehan (2013: 816–21) that plunder and tribute were the principal methods used by Vikings to obtain precious metal (including copper-alloys), it does the Samson School no favours to deny Scandinavians like Ohthere meaningful commercial aspects to their exchange due to the presumption of forced exchange at any stage of the process, as trade and violence have always been linked. Many argue there was little difference between Viking-Age raiders and traders (Sawyer 1971: 192; Müller-Boysen 2007: 181–2; Sheehan 2013: 820). While these were no Hanseatic-style merchants, Samson took arguments to the extreme, obscuring the small but inf luential part of the economy characterized by those he concedes were involved in long-distance commerce

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in markets. The focus on violent expropriation is seemingly explained by substantivists’ reliance on Hávamál and sagas. As noted, however, this is problematic due to their anachronistic nature, where only elements may derive from contemporary (oral) material. As discussed (cf. Kruse 2007: 164–5), I believe it is better to base the historical evidence on an amalgam of the common elements in those (probably) contemporary non-Scandinavian sources, like Alfred and Guthrum’s treaty, that seem to show Vikings – even those leaders of ultra-violent Great Army war-bands – were familiar with markets, particularly as they pertained to slaving. Similarly, Anglo-Saxon negotiations over the return of the Codex Aureus from Vikings suggest sophisticated financial negotiation across frontiers (Screen 2020: 381). Indeed, even those sympathetic to substantivist caveats concede ‘Southern Scandinavians who sailed towards the silver-rich Islamic world around the Black and Caspian Seas’ were likely involved in ‘regular trading trips supplying furs, amber and ivory to the merchants of the Arab caliphates in Russia’ (Sheehan 2013: 816). This suggests to me that, if the archaeology is highlighted over written sources, we can see some Scandinavians acted very much like market traders. A key problem is that legitimate concerns about over-emphasizing more socially neutral (market) transactions in ‘primitive’ (i.e., non-urban, pre-­ industrial) societies, were, until relatively recently, crowding commerce out entirely; something as artificial as those formalist studies which did similar for gift-giving. The continuing, although diminishing, inf luence of uncritical substantivism on Viking-Age exchange continues to act as a drag, ref lecting wider issues with substantivism in an era in which site excavations and metal-detecting are providing increasing evidence for market-trade from the 9th century, if not before (cf. Kruse 2007: 163–5; Williams 2020a). Ultimately, I consider Southern Scandinavian markets (and secondary sites along the Norðweg) were more connected to Insular Scandinavia than supposed. In turn, this exposed the latter to Southern Scandinavian silver currencies and evolving market practice (and vice-versa: Williams 2020d: 129–30). Consequently, the ability of anthropology to see beyond unalloyed substantivism and allow for commercial exchange is important. Another issue with substantivism is its reliance on subjective observations about pre-monetary societies (cf. Samson 1991b: 87; Sheehan 2013: 811). However, recent years have seen Mauss and Malinowski in an increasingly critical light (Kilger 2008b: 256–7), with Malinowski considered guilty of idealizing (South Pacific) exchange relationships (Kilger 2008: 256). As Samson (1991b: 87–8) noted, substantivism suffers from the failing that, having been drawn from supposedly non-exploitative societies (Kilger 2008b: 256–7), it has difficulty in dealing with exploitative (capitalist) exchange. Furthermore, Polanyi’s ideas (1957) were based on the premise markets are abhorrent to human nature. Indeed, Kilger and Skre stress an anti-capitalist agenda in ‘embeddedness’, particularly apparent in the idea that capitalism was at odds with a natural, primitive purity such as supposedly existed prior to the Early-Modern period (Kilger 2008b: 257; cf. Skre 2010: 131).

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Substantivist models of pre-modern societies also tend to rely on evolutionary perspectives (Skre 2008c: 327), with certain forms of exchange linked with particular socio-political phenomena. Accordingly, gift-exchange is indelibly linked to pre-modern societies and market trade to post-industrial ones (Skre 2008b: 10; cf. Sheehan 2013: 813). The insertion of substantivist theory into an evolutionary paradigm was the work of some of Polanyi’s most inf luential followers (Skre 2008b: 10). The result was that pre-modern societies, like those of Viking-Age Scandinavia, were pigeon-holed as being too primitive to have hosted inf luential levels of market trade. As Skre noted (2008b: 10), this application of ‘universal, stadial models’ has robbed substantivism of much of its early legitimacy, leaving it incapable of identifying the complexity of pre-modern economic life and the ‘dynamic potential of the production, consumption and trade elements of past societies’ (Sheehan 2013: 813). Both Samson and Vestergaard (1991) drew attention to Mauss’ emphasis on the process of exchange and the resultant marginalization of exchanged objects (Samson 1991b: 90; cf. Sheehan 2013: 810). Fetishization of the act and counter-act of gift-exchange discouraged investigation into the biography of the objects themselves. It also precluded studies into socio-­economic coding in objects, such as the cubo-octahedral weights and balances considered to be imprinted with symbols relating to trader identity (Gustin 2004a), which promise greatly to increase our understanding of the interplay of economic agency and trade. Substantivist attempts to marginalize markets appear forced: market places existed, as did money, and money was used in market places, yet, somehow, this was not an example of market economy (cf. Kruse 2007: 163). Such hair splitting – Samson stressed ‘Viking traders were not merchants’ (1991c: 127, emphasis original) – is a symptom of the problem: a necessary correction to the idea that Viking-Age Scandinavian traders were like medieval merchants (Samson 1991c: 124) led to over-marginalization of the role of traders and markets. The idea that, where (commodity or coined) money existed it was not also being used to pay for balanced transactions, but rather to reinforce social norms as a status exchange unit, is difficult to maintain. Indeed, Latham (1997: 3) noted if a currency contains both large units and small units which can be used as small change for petty transactions, then it is almost certainly a true general-purpose currency. If it is a true general-purpose currency, then it is operating in a market economy and not a reciprocity system. True general-purpose currencies and market economies are synonymous. I suggest the presence of such currencies in societies previously considered by some substantivists to be ‘primitive’, such as Viking-Age Scandinavia, casts significant doubt on the idea that non-industrial societies cannot have market economies. Samson marked an important stage in Viking-Age exchange studies, but allegiance to a pure form of substantivism means that – in light of discoveries

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like Sandtorg – his model is no longer applicable for a period where perspectives allowing for complex market forces seem more apt (Driscoll, pers. comm.). As a result of substantivist problems – necessary correctives in origin, but now prescriptive – recent decades have seen a new school of economic anthropology, defined by Skre as ‘post-substantivism’ (Skre 2008c, 2010; cf. Gustin 2004a; Kilger 2008b; Sheehan 2013: 813–4), which I will now discuss.

Vikings as market traders: from substantivism to post-substantivism Polanyi argued that the development of market exchange, theoretically socially neutral, suggested a major societal transformation. Substantivist-­ inf luenced studies (e.g., Hodges 1982: 50ff.; Näsman 1991: 111; Samson 1991b, 1991c; Hedeager 1994) suggested such a transformation had occurred in the Viking Age, but that it was a last-gasp of a period in which ‘silver and other forms of wealth had their principal significance as media of traditional elite display and gift-exchange’ (Sindbæk 2011: 42; cf. Kruse 2007: 163). As Sindbæk noted (2008: 152), ‘A crux in discussions of Viking-Age trade […] is the idea of ‘commercial revolution’, variously identified with the beginning (Näsman 1991, 2000; McCormick 2001; Hodges 2006) or the end of the period (Hodges 1982; Christophersen 1989; Saunders 1995)’. Sindbæk (2008: 152–3; cf. 2011: 42) argued for ‘radical change’ in the core Scandinavian mode of exchange to have occurred in the late 10th century on the basis of the evidence for the take-off of trade in low-value bulk staples like dried fish and the development of specialized cargo vessels. However, it was clear that, even before then, ‘market and non-market-exchange […] coexisted’ (­Sindbæk 2008: 152). According to the ‘late’ model, it was the silver inf lux (of dirhams, then English and German pennies), allied to societal transformation into more hierarchical forms, which allowed commerce to develop social and political significance. Here, silver acted as a socially neutral currency, dis-embedding transactions from social bonds associated with reciprocity. Fortunately, ‘this model of elite agency, market revolution, and silver as dissolving agent has since met diminishing enthusiasm among Scandinavian researchers’ (Sindbæk 2011: 42), being rejected by Kilger (2008b: 256) as an unsophisticated romanticization, and by Skre (2008c: 330ff.) as lacking historical perspective. I propose the inf luence on Viking-Age economic anthropology by substantivism be seen as largely unwarranted. Indeed, from the network signature of dirhams, and the presumed ­political-economic plans of Ívarr et al., expressed by what I see as the creation of a network-kingdom based on control of markets, I can make a case for the importance of commerce, as practised by traders and promoted by network regents, to Insular Scandinavia.

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Looking at the consideration of trade in Alfred’s treaty with Guthrum, and the volume of imports such as amber and silk in Dublin, Kruse (2007: 166) concluded: To deny that market-based neutral exchange occurred in the Viking Age is simply to ignore some of the limited evidence that is at our disposal. Opportunities certainly did exist for those who wished to take them, for moving goods across frontiers that was neutral. Moreover, the spread of hacksilver and counted coin to supposedly primitive regions like Scotland, even from the early 10th century (Williams 2006), suggests that neutral media of exchange like silver were far more widespread than a purely substantivist model would allow (cf. Blackburn 2007: 122, 136). Despite this, Samson (1991c: 125, 127) and Sheehan (2013: 817) queried the trade-centric model for explaining Scandinavia’s silver inf lux. Sheehan (2013: 817) wrote that it ‘[seemed] likely that, in many cases, the silver in […] hoards was actually the object, rather than the medium, of exchange’, and that ‘it may well be that many of these hoards functioned within the Scandinavian gift-­ exchange system rather than any significant form of commercial economy’. The entirely reasonable argument that silver in hoards was, in many cases, more likely giftable commodity than surplus currency because of the ­melting-down of dirhams and Permian-style arm-rings into ingots (and armrings) obscures the likelihood that ingots had a bullion currency role and that some regions, particularly Southern Scandinavia and areas connected to it, saw dirhams continue to circulate alongside ingot-based hacksilver, suggesting they could operate within the same currency sphere. Furthermore, Williams found it ‘difficult to interpret fragmentary hacksilver, a common element in both hoards and productive sites, as having any economic role which is not monetary’ (2007: 179–80). Rather than supporting a social interpretation of the use and value of silver, hoards actually suggest ‘silver moved seamlessly between the dual economies of display and bullion – from jewellery to hack-silver and back again’ (Sindbæk 2011: 42). Additionally, Sindbæk (2011: 43) noted recent studies of hoards and single-finds test ideas that Scandinavians were rarely involved in market trade, with evidence of intense circulation of silver even in the 9th century ( Jonsson 2011). Supporting his argument, Sindbæk pointed to three categories of evidence:   I hacksilver hoards rarely contain two pieces of the same object (cf. Hårdh 2008: 98)  II ‘distinct regional patterns’, being suggestive of ‘pervasive practices’ (cf. Hårdh 1996) III settlement single-finds: ‘their number provides a compelling argument for an extensive, day-to-day practice of exchange involving the handling of silver in small, calculated quantities’ (Sindbæk 2011: 43)

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Here, Williams’ (2006) argument for the economic use of coinage counted by tale found at a large proportion of coastal settlement sites across (essentially non-urban) Scandinavian Scotland from the early 10th century is pertinent. Even without silver, other types of commodity-money from medieval Scandinavia ‘show [market] trade operating effortlessly in the absence of money through various forms of commodities and counting systems’ (Sindbæk 2011: 43), further rejecting the substantivist idea that silver was required as a neutral medium. Indeed, one of the great scholarly advances of recent years is the consideration given to the market role of non-metallic commodity-money, such as cloth and foodstuffs (Williams 2020a).

Substantivism: the ‘social turn’ and intersecting spheres of exchange The most important adoption made by those uncomfortable with unalloyed substantivism, however, was the introduction of social anthropology (Gustin 2004a: 40ff, 257–8; Kilger 2008b: 256; Sindbæk 2005: 27ff., 2011: 42–5; Skre 2008c: 330ff., 2010: 131–2). Bourdieu (1990: 115; cf. Skre 2008c: 327, 2010: 131; Sindbæk 2011: 42) clarified the key point required to move beyond Polanyi et al.: stadial (evolutionary) models ignore widespread evidence that those in ‘traditional’ gift-giving societies were, in fact, entirely comfortable with calculated exchange; the only difference, beyond volume of transactions, being the inclusion of symbolic capital in addition to material enrichment (Sindbæk 2011: 42; cf. Sheehan 2013: 810). A way to conceptualize these intertwined forms of exchange is as ‘spheres’ that could, furthermore, co-exist: ‘there may be two forms of exchange transactions operating: firstly, transactions concerned with the social order (gift giving) and, secondly, transactions within the arena of individual competition (market-trade)’ (Sheehan 2013: 813). Prior to post-substantivism, polarization forced a false choice between formalism’s sub-capitalist markets or substantivism’s redistribution and reciprocity. Thanks to Gustin (2004: 257), Sindbæk (2005: 27ff, 2011: 42), and Skre (2008c: 333, 335, 2010, 2017), however, Viking-Age studies have been exposed to ideas that they need not be mutually exclusive. Most pertinently, Gudeman took the substantivist idea that there are two economic spheres in all societies (a socially embedded exchange sphere, and a socially neutral market sphere), but argued that they are interwoven with regard to institutions and customs (Gustin 2004: 257; Kilger 2008b: 256). As a complement to this idea, Lie demonstrated that, despite the problem substantivism had with neoclassical theory being applied to pre-modern societies, they actually incorporated its conception of market trade (Gustin 2004: 257; Skre 2008c: 333). Consequently, while ‘embeddedness’ was central to substantivists’ perception of economy in pre-modern society, Polanyi’s view of the market was that it was entirely subject to rational ‘mechanical economic laws, such as that of supply and demand, and [was] free of inf luence from social relations’ (Skre 2008c: 333; cf. Polanyi 1957: 256–7). Moreover, Polanyi shared formalist

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ideas that the market sphere was un-embedded, and that commerce possessed a timeless and homogenous character (Gustin 2004: 257). As a corrective to this view of an unchanging market, Lie (e.g., 1991) suggested assessing how far these are interwoven (cf. Gustin 2004: 258). In practice, this would constitute looking at any potentially inf luential social aspects to exchange (e.g., relations between network-actors) alongside any assessment of more traditional ‘economic’ factors, such as price or the volume of commodity exchange (Gustin 2004: 258). Hårdh’s (1996: 165; cf. Barrett et al. 2000: 15) position – based on analysis of Eastern Seaway hoards – is that socially embedded exchange and commerce co-existed, arguing that ‘the economic, social and religious spheres cannot […] be separated from one other. They were certainly more integrated in the Viking Age than they are nowadays’. As Kruse stressed (2007; cf. Grierson 1959; Sheehan 2013: 813), commerce was one small part of the whole socio-economic context, affecting a relatively minute few: the vast majority of Scandinavian exchange was ‘conducted through the mesh of personal ties’ within an overwhelmingly subsistence-agrarian society (Sindbæk 2008: 150; cf. Saunders 1995; Wickham 2006: 819–24; Sindbæk 2011: 43–4). I suggest it is also dangerous to remove the social element from what has been misleadingly termed ‘neutral’ exchange; it being argued convincingly that it is an impossibility to view any commercial transaction as entirely socially neutral due to relationships developed between traders and exchange partners (Sindbæk 2008: 154–5). Samson defined neutral exchange as a ‘straight swop or purchase’ which ‘initiates and terminates the transaction’ – ‘thus the neutral exchange is differentiated from the positive gifts and negative appropriations in that there is no lasting social relationship necessarily engendered between the actors’ (1991b: 91). The use of ‘necessarily’ warns us no transaction was ever completely devoid of social ramifications, an important point when we consider repeat meetings between supraregional traders and other economic actors in their networks. Equally, as Skre argued (2008c: 334), ‘All exchanges of goods in every social situation will have an economic element’. In any case, I consider it true that the 9th and 10th centuries were a transitional socio-­ economic period (cf. Barrett et al. 2000: 1, 2004: 219) that saw a gradually increasing volume of market transactions, not – as substantivists would have it according to a stadial model of socio-economic ‘evolution’ – an ex novo appearance of a new economic sector. Arguments about an early or late ‘commercial revolution’ have no place here as my study has no remit for a Europe-wide contextualization. All ­ arket that is required, as Barrett et al. (2004: 619), is a demonstration that m and non-market trade co-existed (cf. Skre 2010; Sindbæk 2011: 42–3), even within rural Scandinavian peripheries like Ohthere’s northern Norðweg, Swedish Jämtland, and Scandinavian Scotland (cf. Kruse 2007: 165, 167–8; Holm 2015, 2017; Krokmyrdal 2020). In any case, as Kruse noted (2007: 166), the general trend from ‘limited exotic trade to more intensive ­m arket-based transactions’ was as true for Scandinavia as it was for northern Europe as a

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whole. While some regions might have moved in this direction slowly – ‘different areas will have been at different stages, and the situation was ­ever-changing’ – Scandinavian traders could have practised market-trade throughout the Viking Age and, using non-silver commodity-money, even before (Sindbæk 2011: 43).

Post-substantivism and the ubiquity of markets I suggest any acknowledgement that markets and connections to market regions had a dynamic effect on the economies of even supposedly remote, rural regions segues well with what is termed post-substantivism. This perspective is a ‘third way’ between the reductionist dichotomy offered by substantivism and formalism, where ‘ancient socio-economic formations may […] just like contemporary ones, be understood in both social and economic terms’ (Skre 2008c: 335). Post-substantivism is a middle path between anachronistic market-centric and market-phobic perspectives, made appropriate for Viking-Age contexts in which multiple exchange forms co-existed (Sheehan 2013: 813). While post-substantivism’s origins are not solely found in Skre (see also Gustin 2004a), he remains, with Sindbæk (e.g., 2011: 42), its most vocal proponent (Sheehan 2013: 813). Essentially, Skre (2010: 131) wanted to develop a new conceptual language where commercial exchange forms could co-exist with others (cf. Polanyi 1963: 30; Sheehan 2013: 813), noting ‘it is time to decolonize this image of “the other”, past or present, and to open our eyes to trade as a thing people do’. The starting point for post-substantivism is the idea that economy is always embedded in society (cf. Sindbæk 2011: 42). While rational economic motives play a part, people cannot act in isolation of society (Skre 2008c: 333; cf. Gudeman 1986: 44; Swedberg & Granovetter 1992: 9; Lie 1997: 347–8; Sindbæk 2011: 42–3). This undermines Polanyi’s core distinction that economy was embedded in pre-industrial societies, but not in modern capitalist ones. It argues markets could be small but significant parts of societies like we find in Viking-Age Scandinavia (Skre 2008c: 333). That it was significant is suggested by the establishment of markets and the creation of network-centric polities to channel trader-networks towards them (cf. Blomkvist 2009). For Skre, gift and market co-existed during the Viking Age, albeit contextualized by chronological and regional variations and an understanding that societal constraints were inf luential (2008c, 2010; cf. Sheehan 2013: 813–4). Economy is always embedded in society, with the consequence that Polanyi’s ‘sharp substantivist distinction between the market economies of industrial societies and the embedded economies of pre-industrial societies vanish’ (Skre 2008c: 333). As with Lie (1991, 1997: 350), Skre’s (2008c: 334) approach avoids ‘oversocialized […] and undersocialized […] approaches, [seeking] to strike a correct balance in analysing markets and other economic phenomena and institutions’. Skre (2008c: 334) does not seek to deny the importance of

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social constraints to exchange, only stressing embedded market mechanisms remain market mechanisms (cf. Sheehan 2013: 814). I argue that the presence of hacksilver and coins (in hoards and as ­single-finds) on coastal sites with harbour facilities or ship-friendly beaches, a phenomenon apparent in both Seaways and recently discovered in Arctic Norway (Krokmyrdal 2020), reinforces Sindbæk’s (2011: 43) view that, given excavations of markets and the growth of metal-detecting, Viking silver economies were not purely based on raiding for gifting. Rather, I think it seems clear: i market-exchange was practised in Iron-Age and Viking-Age Scandinavia ii the idea of pre-Viking-Age commodity-money removes the necessity to see the 9–10th-century silver inf lux as the genesis of a ‘commercial revolution’ iii elite agency was important (e.g., establishing network-kingdoms and markets), but the resultant phenomenon of increased economic agency more meant that commercial opportunities could permeate throughout society and across regions As Sindbæk (2011: 43) concluded, ‘the basic question would now seem to concern not the fact of trade, but its wider significance’. Given this, what does post-substantivism mean for proposed supraregional networks and network traders? At this juncture, I look at what internal dynamics of markets and market-networks mean in terms of markets themselves (market-site dynamics) and long-distance agents (the Ohthere model).

Nodal networks and market-site dynamics A network capable of transferring a dirham struck in c.945 to Skaill, deposited as early as 955–960 (cf. Naismith 2005: 205 n.82), was too large and involved too many factors beyond the control of even the most far-reaching network polities for elite administered exchange to operate without independent traders. This reality was embodied by the growing mental horizons (Blomkvist’s [2009: 160] ‘merchant mentality’) of the network trader. Accordingly, I now investigate Eastern Seaway approaches that take account of how the growth of exchange networks based around markets like Birka and Kaupang developed not only the economic agency of traders, but also that of the (productive) inhabitants and rulers of markets. What is novel about my approach is transposing these post-substantivist models to those Insular Scandinavian individuals and communities were involved in Southern Scandinavian-style market economics. My justification for this rests on the presence of similar traded commodities (e.g., silk and amber), exchange systems (multi-metallic economies), and historical evidence for movement of traders and political elites between both regions. My ‘market-site

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dynamics’ should really be considered ‘applied post-substantivism’, in that it refers to how we view the creation and development of marketplaces within this theoretical context. If we consider markets embedded within all societies, ‘the interplay between certain social and cultural conditions will give different groups and individuals opportunities to develop themselves within the space marked out between economic motives and social duties’ (Skre 2008c: 334). I argue that the locus for these opportunities could be found not only in sites like Kaupang and Hedeby (Skre 2008d: 343), but also at Dublin and Jórvík, seemingly established by similar Southern Scandinavian network-kingdom initiatives. On a more temporary basis, winter-camps and longphuirt also offered similar market-economic opportunities (­Williams 2020j). Expansion of individual economic agency in these sites came about due to inhabitants whose livelihood was linked to regular transactions with persons beyond their kin-group. Skre (2008c, 2008d) noted towns had permanent populations reliant on selling products to survive, and that, combined with the expansion of long-distance trade which towns enabled, led to increased economic agency. Thus, sites founded on the logic of elite founders monopolizing imports of high-value commodities that made the difference in the context of competitive gift-giving (cf. Skre 2015), soon developed their own economic raison d’être. A broader section of Scandinavian society could now be involved in trade than had been the case in central places (Skre 2011: 444). I consider that this element would have been hoped for by the elites responsible for the formation of Southern Scandinavian-style nodal markets, as network regents would have understood enterprise brought in a greater volume of trade and tolls. It was as a result of this change from central places to what looked increasingly like market-towns with inhabitants engaged in a broad range of economic activities that special-purpose money (in the form of hacksilver) developed at these sites by the mid-9th century. This provided a convenient and portable means of exchange where bulky and/or perishable ­commodity-money (e.g., fish, cloth, cereals) were not practicable. This is not to say that silver currencies necessarily dominated, even within markets, as payment in goods seems likely to have been the predominant payment form into the Late Viking Age (Skre 2008d: 343). What does seem clear is that the development of silver economies in Viking-Age contexts can be linked to trade at markets. I also note that royal markets like Jórvík often sought to move beyond hacksilver to the production of their own coin, all the better to tax transactions and increase the prestige of the rulers (Kershaw 2020). At Kaupang, evidence suggests a trader of the Ohthere type could have met traders from Frankia, Slavic lands, Birka, and Insular Scandinavia (Kilger 2008b: 322; cf. Pedersen 2007, 2008; Skre 2011: 445–9). The layout of Kaupang and other Scandinavian markets suggests that all of the above – along with the permanent or semi-permanent inhabitants – were in a densely occupied space outwith their birth kin-group, creating the following situation, one which

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(cf. Skre 2015 for the probable [although disputed] inf luence of Kaupang on Dublin) was likely replicated in Western Seaway sites: Here […] was all that was needed for the development of a quite unique situation. Different moral preconceptions in respect of relations of exchange, with regard to what was appropriate or acceptable, needed to be clearly explained; different views about what was a […] just price had to be channelled; and conventions and rituals that established trust had to be defined and reaffirmed. It was in an urban context of this kind that exchange could cross over cultural, economic, religious and social boundaries. (Kilger 2008b: 322) Similar ideas about the internal dynamics of markets connected to long-­ distance exchange networks were discussed in Gustin’s Between Gift and ­Market (2004a). This charted the changing treatment of Birka by formalists and substantivists, demonstrating how theoretical debate has affected interpretations of a key market. According to formalists, exchange at this Svear network-kingdom trading centre was – in line with Arbman (1937) – merely an ‘undeveloped predecessor of today’s market-orientated system, and the difference between then and now chief ly concerned the quantities that were exchanged’ (Gustin 2004: 256). The alternative, substantivist, view saw it as a central place for administered trade into which the ruler funnelled and controlled the exchange of commodities used in gift-giving. No true market principles were involved; this Birka was a social tool of the elite, who redistributed imported prestige artefacts to bolster status. It was an ‘emporium with an administered commodity exchange’, and not a market centred on merchants seeking to make profit on the buying and selling of commodities (Gustin 2004: 257). Understanding such backlash interpretations represented a dead-end, ­Gustin (2004a: 257–8, 268) looked to Gudeman and Lie’s interwoven spheres of community and market to suggest the ‘occurrence of standardized weights and scales together with high-quality silver’ pointed to the co-existence of ‘trade for personal profit’ with socially embedded ‘politically motivated and controlled commodity exchange’ (Gustin 2004a: 268). Gustin saw the unique developmental context of marketplaces as key to understanding how commerce could take root even within societies where, until then, dense social networks precluded the growth of exploitative (commercial) exchange (cf. Skre 2008d: 343, 2011: 444–5). Her schema (Gustin 2004a: 268): i Inter-regional gift-exchange between courts establishes peaceful avenues of exchange and secures import of prestige objects used in social strategies ii Once (i) was formalized, opportunities for administered commodity exchange appeared, both inter-regionally and with hinterland

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iii Increasing control of exchange allowed for expansion of royal power and facilitated operations of independent traders involved in market trade for their own profit While the long-distance movement of commodities may not have had peaceful origins – Skre (2011a, 2011b, 2015) envisioned slaving and raiding as the impetus behind the routeway between our Danish Corridor and Ireland – I consider Gustin’s conclusions logical. Ultimately, her post-substantivist picture of a Birka where elite-controlled commodity exchange created protected conditions for commerce is convincing: Traders who acted as intermediaries in the administered exchange of commodities probably also pursued trade with their own, more everyday goods for the purpose of personal gain, and that they were then greatly assisted by the king’s protection both at the emporia when they stayed and on their travels. The protection and the privileges the trading actors enjoyed as agents of the king and the elite, when serving in the administered exchange of commodities, also facilitated their own trading enterprises. (Gustin 2004a: 268)

Ohthere and the post-substantivist shift Travelling around 890, Ohthere would likely have been familiar with the complex exchange scenarios outlined by Gustin. Kruse noted that even if Ohthere had been intending to sell his goods in England, he had used other forms of exchange during his travels, from his northern home to Kaupang and Hedeby; indeed, many of his goods […] had been obtained as tribute. (2007: 164) Using Ohthere helped Kilger (2008b: 321) model ‘the complicated knowledge of ways of making payments and value-norms, which those who participated in the long-distance trade of the Viking Period had to have’. I see my ­Ohthere-type as being comfortable with using coinage in monetized scenarios (e.g., the Wessex or Jórvík Münzgeldwirtschaften); hacksilver in bullion economies; and the gifting of complete ornaments in display-dominated regions. Kruse (2007: 163, 165) referenced Ohthere in her demonstration that there were, for Viking-Age Scandinavia, ‘markets and trade from an early time […] Some were internal, but others must have had foreign traders’. Regarding the historical evidence for commerce, that Ohthere was carrying goods also suggested to Kruse (2007: 164) that he was engaged in market commerce: ‘a Scandinavian trader would have had to deal with neutral trade at some of his potential markets, even at the beginning of the Viking Age’ (Kruse

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2007: 166). Given the volume of walrus ivory in England increased around the time of Ohthere’s visit (Pierce, pers. comm.), is it not unreasonable to suppose a similar ‘Ohthere mechanism’ – or, given the latter’s contemporary journey across the Baltic between trading sites in Denmark and Poland – a ‘Wulfstan mechanism’ for the transport of amber from the Baltic to Insular Scandinavia? Kruse (2007: 168) argued that traders travelling across the frontiers described by Kilger (2008b: 253) would have preferred visiting market-places (or coastal magnates at places like Skaill in areas with ‘few or no towns’) where security had been guaranteed in past visits. Once here, ‘gift-exchange, bribes, etc, may have formed part of the exchange, but presumably more impersonal trade would have followed’ (Kruse 2007: 169). It is this easy interchange from (largely) social to (largely) neutral exchange that I propose as my definition of market-site dynamics. Gustin and Skre shared the idea that trading networks orbiting nodal markets developed their own economic momentum, one expressed in the burgeoning economic agency of traders like Ohthere who had been freed from some of the social constraints on neutral transactions. Lebecq (2007: 178) saw similar in the development of the ‘small, artisanal enterprise’ he saw in the northern European maritime environment of the 8th and 9th centuries into a ‘pre-capitalist’ system, with separation of capital and labour, in the 10th and 11th. Moreover, Müller-Boysen (2007: 181) suggested royal power and free enterprise appear to have entered into a symbiosis, with the merchants seeking to be close to the king, in order to have protection in business, and the king in turn finding it expedient to keep the merchants close to him, because of the opportunities that this afforded him to collect trade taxes. Thus, I can see how mechanisms of interaction between Ohthere-types and network regents provided opportunities for mutually beneficial economic growth. It is also clear how understanding nodal-network theory and economic anthropology allow us to see the significance of market trade to political structures. I suggest that if you accept nodal markets and network-­ kingdoms operated from the 9th century onwards, and that network traders like Ohthere existed, then you should embrace that (post-­substantivist) theory which best contextualizes it. As I have shown, Polanyi defined supply and demand setting prices as being indicative of commerce. This was in opposition to administered trade characterized by prices governed by socio-political considerations. Post-­ substantivist theory obviates this distinction by attributing a social context to market trade, and economic elements to reciprocity and redistribution. As Skre and Sindbæk note, however, this is not to suggest markets played as important role in Viking-Age exchange as they do today (Sindbæk 2008: 150; Skre 2008c: 334). Similarly, post-substantivism does not mean that

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I can do away with the observations made by Polanyi and Samson. Rather, it challenges the exclusion of the market from pre-modern societies (Skre 2008c: 334; cf. Sahlins 2004: 277–314). Viking-Age exchange was a broad spectrum for which it is inadvisable to talk of diametrically opposed opposites (cf. Maleszka-Ritchie 2008: 36). This idea of exchange as a continuum is central to my understanding that gift-exchanges could have a commercial element and commercial transactions were undertaken within ‘traditional’ societies. The key aspect of post-substantivism is its insistence that economy has always been interwoven with social institutions, and that people exercised both social and economic agency, regardless of an arbitrarily attributed stage of socio-political ‘development’. This allowed me to gather and test data without fear of a narrowly ‘social’ or ‘economic’ approach. From formalism, post-substantivism strips prejudice about rational motives (cf. Sindbæk 2011: 42–3), and from substantivism, association of particular socio-political developmental stages with types of exchange. Particularly important is that the post-substantivist shift allows me to characterize markets as places hosting the regular exercise of a market-based economic agency, news of which would have radiated out towards their hinterlands along regional trade routes (cf. Holm 2017; Krokmyrdal 2020).

Market trade in rural regions I stress here that rural and non-elite Scandinavia was also involved in these developments. Ideas concerning the involvement of a wide range of society in long-distance trade networks have started to coalesce around the suggestions of McCormick (2001: 578; cf. Sindbæk 2011: 44), Barrett (2008a: 676–7; 680f.), Sindbæk (2011: 56–9), Sheehan (2013: 816–21), and Holm (2015, 2017). It is argued that the motivation was to gain prestige imports to be used for gift-exchange within local social networks, with all favouring a theory centred on achieving social advantage. I agree with Sindbæk (2011: 57) that this ‘sets an attractive explanative framework in terms of distributed individual agency, convincingly linking “commercial” and “social” motivations’. Importantly, however, Sindbæk (2011: 58) questioned Barrett’s (2008a: 678) dismissal of the role of the often distant markets, arguing that those interactions which constituted Scandinavian exchange networks were carried out irrespective of distance or frontiers to be crossed because ‘sailing distances were of much lesser concern than finding a successful arrangement, even if that involved a few more weeks at sea’. Discussing the c.750–800 burial at Ytre Kvarøy, Nordland, Sindbæk (2011: 59) demonstrated that remote rural communities had access to products manufactured in towns, adding that these sites illustrated how the urban market network percolated even pre-Viking-Age Scandinavia to its non-urban ­extremities. The recent discoveries of silver bullion-based trade and long-­ distance commodity transfer at the Sandtorg i Tjeldsund market site in Arctic Norðweg (Krokmyrdal 2020) and evidence for bullion use and connections

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to urban markets in rural, inland Jämtland (Holm 2017) demonstrate that this phenomenon continued into the Viking Age across Scandinavia. In a conclusion with ramifications for my understanding of supposedly remote areas like Scotland, Sindbæk (2011: 59; cf. Holm 2017; Krokmyrdal 2020) suggested there should be no hard and fast urban-rural distinctions, even in those parts of Scandinavia at a considerable distance from towns. In short, all Scandinavian regions could sustain supraregional exchange with the nodal-market network in to gain tools for social strategies. What I think places like Sandtorg may be telling us is that second-tier sites were even more prevalent than once thought and that from the 8th century onwards all Scandinavian regions could be ‘urban’ in the sense that, while long-distance trade was infrequent, commodities purchased in towns had real social significance: It is necessary to understand the Viking raids against the development of urban networks and what they transmitted. The desires and ambitions, which led to the Viking expansion, were developed through generations of travel to distant markets, in search of things that would reset social balances […] The knowledge, the maritime hardware, or the incentives, would not have emerged but for the generations through which occasional long-distance ventures to acquire durable, movable wealth had become embedded in political economies and family histories throughout Scandinavia. (Sindbæk 2011: 59) Combined with new sites like Sandtorg, this perspective allows me to contextualize peasants and elites from ‘peripheral’ regions, about whom the archaeology is increasingly demonstrating had access to imports, and allows us to see areas like what are now in northern Norway, inland Sweden, and Scotland as being integral if distant hinterlands to urban markets. I do not think of markets as economic islands, as they were most definitely islands in the midst of well-travelled networks, likely populated with many more ­second-tier markets for which we currently have evidence. As I will now show, the primary linking element was the use of silver as currency.

6 Silver economies

I will now show how a silver-dominated spectrum of multi-metallic cash economies interacted both within and between the Seaways, demonstrating how currencies and the organization of trade linked Insular Scandinavia to the Danish Corridor. Ultimately, I explain this by suggesting both regions were part of a Southern Scandinavian economic sphere, with its Insular Scandinavian roots in a putative Southern Scandinavian c.853 regime change in Dublin and a Great Army in Britain I consider to have been dominated by ‘Danish’ and Hiberno-Scandinavian leadership. Thereafter, these economic and exchange links were largely mediated (however intermittently) by an Uí Ímair network-kingdom until the mid-950s. That c.865–960 was the period dirhams were imported into Insular Scandinavia (cf. Sheehan 2007: 151) is thought by me to be symptomatic of my equation between continuing and regular Insular exchange contacts with Southern Scandinavia, potentially established by Ívarr (Sheehan 2011a: 98), and the survival of Insular Scandinavian silver bullion economies (cf. Kershaw 2020). In her study of Jórvík and Birka, MacLeod (1999: 332) argued trade was valued by warrior-aristocrats such as the Uí Ímair and the Norwegians, Swedes, Danes, and Rus’ kings, as a vital cash generator, which could then be used to buy commodities and property and in social strategies such as gift-giving. This was the ‘social prioritization of silver’ (MacLeod 1999: 332). The importance of silver to Scandinavian exchange is demonstrated by widespread access to seemingly massive silver stocks, as evidenced not only by its ubiquitous presence as single-finds and hoards, but also by the spread of bespoke weights and scales (MacLeod 1999: 334–5). As MacLeod summarized (1999: 335), ‘Silver was one of the most important unifying and motivating factors that allowed the functioning of the Viking world, with its diverse languages, ethnic groups, polities and far-f lung geographical limits’. I argue that it was the creation and management of silver-using markets as part of a strategy of (attempted) control of long-distance trade through network-kingdoms that best facilitated elite wealth accumulation, and leaders like Ívarr, Óláfr, and Godfred (Göttrik), founder of Hedeby, knew this. On analogy with the model proposed for Gotland in the period 825+(Skre 2011c: 84–5), Insular Scandinavia would have seen long-distance traders,

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-7

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in conjunction with economic agents within post-853 Dublin and the Great Army, who introduced the use of silver to facilitate transactions between strangers operating across frontiers (cf. Kruse 2007; Williams 2011: 355). Indeed, writing of the Baltic, but pertinent for those regions in which the Uí Ímair and traders connected to their markets were active, Skre (2011c: 85) noted ‘this use [of weighed hacksilver] gained momentum in the last quarter of the 9th century, when the introduction of a more precise type of standardized weights and increased hoarding demonstrate that silver had become an accepted means of payment’. From this, I suggest market-networks of interlinked network polities patronized by long-distance and regional traders formed a distinct economic zone in which silver was used as quotidian currency. Hacksilver-centric economies then spread to rural hinterlands, likely due to social desire for imports described by Sindbæk (2011) for the northern Norðweg and seen at Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020) and in Jämtland (Holm 2017). Jórvík’s early switch to imitative and then indigenous coinage did not mean that some towns within this predominantly bullion network were removing themselves from it; rather, this was a natural development of Scandinavian royal markets, like Hedeby, which would use any means to increase efficiency of income collection and prestige, regardless of the effect on their hinterlands (cf. Gruszczyński 2019: 283; Kershaw 2020: 123).

Silver and monetization In either Seaway, we cannot talk about linear development from economies based on status, to bullion, to imitative and – finally – regulated indigenous coinage: display and market economies likely worked in tandem throughout (Williams 2011b: 337, 338–42; Kershaw 2014; 157; Gruszczyński 2019: 241, 251–2, 282; Jankowiak 2020). That said, I suggest the general trend from c.800 was towards using silver as currency, with hacksilver growing in popularity as it showed its usefulness in periods of dearth in silver supply (if not circulation), as between c.875/880 and 900 (Williams 2011b: 340–1, 349; Gruszczyński 2019: 202–3, 205, 282–3). That social demand for silver for display jewellery was one of many factors leading to its use as a medium, not aim, of exchange is also apparent (Williams 2011b: 350, 352–3). However, beyond constant stimulation provided by desire for silver as a commodity (i.e., something with inherent value), the more immediate market-centric demands of commercial transactions and dues (e.g., tolls) were, within the context of a glut of silver in circulation between c.860 and 950, the key drivers behind the need for a special-purpose currency as a medium of payment and measurement and store of value (Williams 2011b: 351; Williams 2020e: 43). In terms of phases (Williams 2011b: 342–50), a paucity of silver before c.800 and low levels until c.860 slowed metallic monetary development, with the limited supplies used for gifted/display ornament, or small-scale minting at Ribe and Hedeby. A change is associated with the first major dirham inf lux from the 860s (Kilger 2008a), contemporary with the introduction

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of standardized weights in Swedish regions, the Danish Corridor, and the Danelaw (with significant concentrations at Torksey and ARSNY, but also with a rural spread – Kershaw 2020). This initial predominately Abbasid period largely ceased c.880, but was followed in the early 10th by the massive inf lux from Samanid sources via Volga Bulgar and Rus’ network-kingdoms, seemingly initiated by Gotlandic pioneers (Gruszczyński 2019). I think links between the 860s inf lux and the development of bullion economies are clear, but it was based on that ever-present social demand for silver used for items valued primarily in gifting. As Williams (2011b: 353) summarized: ‘demand for silver to feed social economies can be seen as the reason to accept silver in transactions in the first place, and then the utility of silver as a neutral form of exchange became apparent’. Silver constituted a natural bedfellow to other probable forms of ­commodity-money (e.g., amber, copper-alloy ingots, beads, fabric, preserved foodstuffs) that had served the requirements of those pre-860 markets involved in trade before the widespread availability of silver and its subsequent use as cash (cf. Williams 2011b: 352, 353). Markets required efficient forms of commodity-money like high value-to-weight ratio silver to function well, and adoption of bullion from c.850 to 860 ref lected both the increased availability of silver and an increasing number of transactions involving e­ ver-greater numbers of strangers (Williams 2011b: 355). Silver allowed for rapid transactions between those not bound by reciprocity or kinship, such as Ohthere in Kaupang and England. This is demonstrated by the spread of purity testing to indicate its currency role as a guarantor of future value (Williams 2011b: 355–6). That dirhams were often fragmented was taken by Williams (2011: 356) as evidence for their inf luence on ‘the monetary use of silver bullion’, strengthened by the seemingly direct correlation between their c.850 and 860 inf lux and the spread of hacksilver currency. Who, then, was responsible for the spread of a commodity-money so well suited to the frequent transactions between strangers that characterized market trade? Williams (2011b: 360–1) rejected ideas that market forces were behind the establishment of 9th-century towns, but added that post-860 developments, such as standardized weights, might owe something to the ‘invisible hand’ of the market. However, that the ‘shift to bullion economies seems to have been focussed in towns/trading-places which were atypical of Scandinavian society as a whole’ (ibid. 360) and had been established by royals, suggests to me it was network regents who managed the money used there. From this, they could develop their own coinage, as at Jórvík, and exclude other silver if the rewards (more efficient taxation) were worth the effort (establishing and regulating mints). Of course, recent research in Jämtland (Holm 2017), at Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020), and on Gotland (Gruszczyński 2019; Jankowiak 2020) is beginning to prove that, while inf luential markets (whether temporary winter-camps or nodal towns) probably drove monetary development for most, remote-rural and ‘democratic’ regions with pioneering traders (like Gotland) could spread silver economies widely.

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Williams (2011b: 341) noted ‘interaction between trading centres both within Scandinavia and with external (and silver-using) trading centres elsewhere in Europe and the East probably created a greater demand for a common means of exchange’. This describes the spread of network currencies, even among ‘pre-urban’ overwintering-camps (Williams 2020j) and non-­ urban Gotland (Gruszczyński 2019). As Sindbæk (2011) stressed, though, and as Kershaw (2020) demonstrated for the Danelaw, hoards and single-finds from non-urban areas show town and country interaction, with the latter probably containing more ephemeral second-tier markets with little to distinguish their economic agency from temporary winter-camps. This was probably explained by a social impetus to purchase nodal-market-style ornament for use in social strategies (as in Jämtland), and the requirement for market-dwellers to subsist. Danelaw towns without much evidence of bullion currency likely forced rural traders to use their own coinage, once established (Kershaw 2020). How, then, were inter-regional transactions organized ‘along the routes taken when transporting silver’ (Blomkvist 2009: 164)? Given my argument that an appreciable level of market-based exchange must have taken place to explain the wide spread of dirhams, how was exchange between different regions achieved? As Blomkvist (2009: 166; contra Grierson 1959: 128) argued, the gathering of Slavs and diverse Scandinavians described by Adam of Bremen for Birka suggested trading between regions with predominantly different economic practices. If this were true of the Eastern Seaway as a whole, it suggests differing silver economies within Insular Scandinavia could also communicate, as presumably was the case for Jórvík and the dual-economy of its more distant Danelaw hinterlands. I suggest that the mechanisms for this in both regions were the long-distance (raiders and) traders and the network-kingdoms that inculcated silver-based market exchange. Thus, on analogy with Birka, a Hiberno-Scandinavian trader from Dublin or Woodstown might mix with Orcadian or Kaupang-based colleagues in Jórvík. Here, I recall Kruse’s (2007) position that, even in the early Viking Age, it was possible to move goods across frontiers via ‘neutral’ exchange. However, Kruse acknowledged the complications involved in assessing how transactions occurred, especially given rules were constantly evolving. In that case, what was that constant bonding the network? My answer is that it seems market trade was the only realistic link, in that it was (relatively) socially neutral and therefore universal, in that it was not tied to any particular cultural practice or polity. A picture for how this might work in practice is provided by Kruse, whose possible scenarios faced by an Ohthere-type visiting Insular Scandinavia in c.890 are a rare consideration of the quotidian practicalities of inter-regional exchange (2007: 167–8). For Kruse, a Scandinavian long-distance trader who left home carrying commodities for the Western Seaway could rely on their trading partners (i) speaking a form of, or understanding, Old Norse; (ii) wanting commodities popular in the homelands and Viking east; and (iii)

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being au fait with bullion currency. This suggests to me that, while it was more ephemeral in some regions than others (cf. Blackburn 2009: 47–8), silver-based market exchange was possible across all the internal frontiers of Insular Scandinavia from the third quarter of the 9th century.

Payment (weight) standards What seems to have facilitated this is the apparent presence of two (extremely approximate) main weight standards across Viking-Age Scandinavia: the ‘early eyrir’, weighing c.26.4g, and a later one of c.24g thought to be inf luenced by Islamic standards and introduced in the 10th century (Merkel 2017: 43–4, after Kilger 2008: 279–88). Brøgger saw an ‘old Norwegian’ ounce (øre) of 26.5g succeeded by an øre of 24.59g, being commonly sub-divided into thirds (ertogs) of 8.19g (Williams 2020f: 31). The Old Norwegian øre is close to Wallace’s 26.6g Dublin standard, both being only slightly heavier than, and therefore likely related to, the 26.15±0.9g Sheehan attributes to Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings (Williams 2020f: 31). Woodstown is thought to have used a (rough) 22–24g øre and 24g (±0.8) is the (rough) unit for Scotto-Scandinavian ‘ring-money’ for this reason (Williams 2020f: 31). Ingots from England and Wales seem to meet an approximate 25– 26g unit (Kershaw 2020: 115, ref. Kruse 1988: 294). Although tight weight standards operating at this time within pre-modern realities are specious, it seems likely a vague ounce existed and we know ertogs and 1/2-ertogs or þveiti (1/6th = c.4–4.4g) were popular units (Williams 2020f: 32–3). As Williams (2020f: 33; cf. Kruse 1988: 294; Williams 2004: 83) puts it: A concentration of weights around the 4.00–4.25g unit, and of multiples of this unit, is recorded at a variety of sites, and the fact that odd-­ numbered units appear not infrequently as weights suggests that this, rather than the larger ounce or ertog, may be the key unit (Pedersen 2007: 145). Multiples of the ertog and the þveiti are also observable in the silver bullion. Although I do not subscribe to it, Merkel (2017: 45) notes that Hårdh (1996: 167) and Steuer (1987: 490) speculated about a ‘supra-regional trade organization that directly controlled weight standards, and this may have been formalized at the major trading centers of Scandinavia like Hedeby, Birka and Kaupang’, but that ‘It cannot be known if the standards developed simply as a trading convention or if there were political motives behind their development’. I favour the trading convention explanation as it seems unlikely that even capable elites like Göttrik or Ívarr were capable of much more than providing the muscle to protect their trading sites and sectors of the trade routes leading into and out of them. However it was regulated, there is a suggested 24–25.4g unit for cubo-­ octahedral weights (being the metrological reason these and oblate-spheroids

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are classed as ‘standardized’), with 25.4g being 6× an Islamic mitqāl of 4.233g (a unit based on the dinar coin), with the mitqāl considered a basis for ­cubo-octahedrals according either to an Islamic ‘market system’ (0.71g units) or a local ‘Islamic-Swedish’ (0.8g) development thereof (Williams 2020f: 31; ref. Sperber 1996: 110). Beyond the inf luence of Islamic metrology in the Baltic (Steuer 1987a), Kruse (2007: 169–73) thought arguments for pan-­Scandinavian weight standards were hollow: outside a vague c.25g (24–26g) unit, not enough well-preserved material exists to make telling statistical analysis, particularly on a regional level (Kruse 2007: 169; cf. Wallace 1987: 212–4, 2013 for Dublin; Kruse 1993: 193–6 for Scotland; Williams 2020f: 32–3). Indeed, if we think of the Kiloran Bay weight set from Colonsay, Scotland (Kruse 2007: 170), there is not even internal reconciliation. As with Blomkvist’s network-kingdoms being more akin to spheres of inf luence or ‘imperium’ (cf. Woolf 2004: 96), Kruse (2007: 170) suggested the firm political control necessary for the introduction and maintenance of standards was lacking. While I consider this broadly correct, Sindbæk’s small-world model and Gustin’s observations (2004a) on social connections between long-distance traders being expressed in shared cubo-octahedral design features across metrological equipment and jewellery, suggest to me a scenario where metrological practices (e.g., use of standardized weights, if not exact standards) could spread within trading communities. From this, I think that, if Wulfstan met Ohthere (if we follow small-word theory, this was possible), both might have used their own metrological equipment to measure out silver payment, assuming that market-peace would allow haggling to make up any discrepancy (Kruse 2007: 170–1; cf. Steuer 1987b: 479). Both might also have carried coined currencies and have been able to pay by tale. In any case, Kruse imagines traders leaving their kin-based social network of their home territory, making them vulnerable to fraud and attack, suggesting that personal contacts and a sense of fiscal and physical security in markets would have been necessary (2007: 168; cf. Bäck 1997: 152; Lebecq 1999: 235–7), something that may well have been the case during truces negotiated between Viking groups and local authorities for winter trading in Frankia (Cooijmans 2020) and England (Williams 2020h: 91). I propose traders may have been temporarily part of an ‘extended family’ social network which couched potentially risky transactions in socially acceptable terms at safe sites. Indeed, from this, the popularity of high-quality silver in a recognizable form (e.g., dirhams), and the use – where necessary – of weights and scales of familiar design, I can see how silver exchange linking a Kaupang to a Dublin might have worked. Kruse shared Blomkvist’s opinion that economic and monetary rules could be broken and that this was most likely to occur in places where market exchange occurred. As with Gustin (2004a: 267), Kruse’s model is multifaceted, with what I characterize as a horsesfor-courses model, where ways to trade over long distances between relative strangers was achieved by an ability to adapt currencies to the local/regional variants of accepted network payment types (cf. Kershaw 2020: 114).

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The problem with hoards This focus on markets (whether temporary or more permanent) to ascertain the parameters and spread of economic practice is relatively new and represents the recent uptick in their identification and excavation, with previous inf luential studies like Hårdh’s (1996) looking more at hoards. In her original thesis on silver use in Scandinavia, Hårdh (1996: 182) thought a region’s medium of payment was connected to its exchange characteristics, which were, in turn, connected to its politics and economics. From this, she argued monetary regions could be discerned through hoards, with hacksilver hoards considered to have represented ‘collections of means of payment’, and likely connected to markets. Hårdh’s analysis of neck-rings suggested weight/size was related to a region’s economic structure, with heavier rings linked to gift-exchange societies, and smaller to market-based ones. The other distinguishing element for rings was fragmentation levels, with those regions with lighter rings linked to higher levels of hacksilver. Hårdh (1996) considered thorough silver fragmentation to have started in South-Western Scandinavia around 900 (1996: 182), but, as we and Hårdh (2008) now know from the subsequent excavation of markets like Birka and Kaupang (Kilger 2008a), this is half a century too late. Although Hårdh’s hoard-focussed thesis was pioneering, the chronological and geographical parameters of its rules have now been revised considerably by the excavation of markets in both Seaways, something also undertaken by Hårdh (2008: 115–8) in her discussion of the mid-9th-century introduction of hacksilver bullion currency to Kaupang and her noting of the near-simultaneous spread of silver (working and economic practice) from that part of Southern Scandinavia to Ireland and Britain. In addition to markets offering better definition of the chronological spread of monetary economies, Blackburn suggested single-finds provide a better picture of circulation than hoards (2009: 45; cf. Metcalf 1992: 89–90). Since then, work in the Baltic (Gruszczyński 2019: 274–7) and Yorkshire (Kershaw 2020; Williams 2020a) has indicated that we need to view urban and rural, and hoard and single-find, data in the round to understand silver economies that often operated in parallel and developed non-linearly. Although critical in determining wider functions of silver within society, hoards do not give a full picture of its daily use: it was single-finds from Kaupang and Uppåkra that revealed use of hacksilver and small weights in transactions was a mid-9th phenomenon and not, as Hårdh had originally thought (1996: 84–130), an early 10th-century one (Hårdh 1996, 2008: 114; Pedersen 2008: 130; Blackburn 2008b: 31; Blackburn 2009: 44–5). In short, the increasing corpus of single-find evidence in both Seaways is painting a new picture of the establishment of a ‘vibrant silver economy’ far earlier than had been presumed on the basis of hoards (Blackburn 2009: 46). Indeed, hoards like that from Spillings on Gotland (tpq 867–874) containing hacksilver and c.14,000 dirhams (Pettersson 2009), demonstrate the massive volumes of silver bullion available to markets by the 870s (Blackburn 2009: 45–6).

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Insular Scandinavian silver economies Having looked at network and monetary f lows into Britain and Ireland, what can be said about the internal economic dynamics of Insular Scandinavia? I think the best way to consider this is to ask how easy would it have been for Silver Route traders to trade across this diverse region. Ultimately, I argue that they were probably linked by an acceptance of payment silver, in whichever form the dominant partner preferred. I note Blackburn’s use of the term ‘Insular-Scandinavian currency’ referring to a mixture of largely imported silver coins, ingots and whole or hacksilver ornaments (2007: 138), and imagine a permissive (horse-for-courses) payment scenario in operation, being inf luenced by Southern Scandinavian hacksilver economies, the use of indigenous coin sites like Jórvík, and the Anglo-Saxon Münzgeldwirtschaft. Indeed, Blackburn (2009: 65) demonstrated that mid-9th-century Scandinavian incomers to Insular Scandinavia introduced the Danish Corridor silver bullion currency consisting of ingots, hacksilver, coins, and arm-rings. From this, Blackburn argued (2009: 46) the three principal ways in which silver was used – i.e., in display, bullion, and coin economies – ‘were not mutually exclusive, and for much of the Viking-Age all three co-existed in Scandinavia. It should come as no surprise, then, if we find examples of all these practices [in Insular Scandinavia]’.

Bullion in England The largest volume of evidence for this Insular Scandinavian currency, and the presumed first port of call for much of it, is found in the Danelaw. The Danelaw is an anachronistic term denoting the area of Scandinavian legal writ in England, but which developed geographical meaning (Hadley 2006: 69; Downham 2007: 135). I use it here as short-hand for Scandinavian regions of England. Invaded from 865 by the Great Army, which probably originated in the Danish Corridor with important elements from earlier Frankish and Irish campaigns, year-round occupations evolved into both urban and rural settlement in the later 870s, until a c.954 rupture caused by the murder of Eiríkr permanently extinguished the kingdom re-established in 939 by the Uí Ímair, Anlaf Guthfrithsson (Downham 2007: 107–35; Blackburn 2006: 49, 2009: 47). This final break had been previewed by Edward the Elder and Aethelf laed’s conquests, and Athelstan’s political control over Jórvík/York from 927 until his death in 939 (Graham-Campbell 2001: 52; Blackburn 2006: 204, 205–6, 217–8; 2007: 129; Williams 2013: 469). Anglo-Saxons had well-developed coin economies (Blackburn 2009: 47, 51, 65), making it unsurprising Scandinavian town-dwellers developed a coined-money aspect to their economy faster than any other Insular Scandinavian region. However, as both Blackburn (2006: 49) and Kershaw (2017) note, using bullion was indicative of Scandinavian cultural survival and

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Figure 6.1  Danelaw c.866–954 (top: Hel-hama 2012; bottom: Hoodinski 2011) (CC BY-SA 3.0)

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continuation of membership of a greater Scandinavian economic sphere. In a discussion on the reasons behind the widespread and long-term rural evidence for bullion use in the Danelaw (2017: 183, Fig. 8), Kershaw (2017: 186–7) gives five reasons why it persisted: i ‘large scale transactions’ – heavy denominations of silver (and gold) bullion would have been useful for land and animal purchases, being particularly useful for new settlers ii ‘an international medium of exchange’ – similar to my characterization of silver bullion as a ‘network currency’, Kershaw notes its value for what Kruse calls ‘exchange across frontiers’ (2007), particularly with other Insular Scandinavians and homeland Scandinavia iii ‘easy to test, retains its value’ – a sharp tool is sufficient to test silver and, unlike regulated coins that ‘guaranteed’ value, debased bullion would not circulate for long   iv ‘tax evasion’ – noting Danelaw elites were probably urban based, Kershaw argued that, while bullion seems largely to have been excluded from Jórvík, Lincoln, Thetford, and Norwich, presumably because ­A nglo-Scandinavian rulers preferred to tax coin like their Anglo-Saxon contemporaries and royal models, it is relatively common in their outlying, rural hinterlands, for the probable attractive reason ‘bullion could not be taxed’   v ‘cultural marker’ – Kershaw notes ‘it is also possible that bullion proved resilient not because of market need, but because it signified an important aspect of collective identity’. While market need was seemingly foundational to my Uí Ímair network-kingdom, I agree with Kershaw about the public theatre of bullion use and its relationship to Scandinavian in-group identity, something discussed in relation to the Great Army by Raffield (2016) We have known for a while about the co-existence of bullion and coin (­dual-economy) in the Danelaw from c.871 into the 920s+ (e.g., Blackburn 2001: 134–5, 2005: 35, 2007: 129, 2009: 48–57; Graham-Campbell 2001; Williams 2007: 181–5, 2013; Kershaw 2017). I suggest, however, that the ­dual-economy may have continued in parts of the Danelaw even later, persisting until the final removal of Jórvík as an Uí Ímair node in 954 (cf. Kershaw 2020). Start of the multi-metallic economy Kershaw (2020) has identified c.180 single-finds of bullion silver and weights that suggest operation of a metal-weight economy – in rural parts of the ­ nalysis northern and eastern Danelaw, at least – from c.865 to 875 to c.940+. A of Yorkshire single-finds ‘displays a number of characteristics, which suggest a predominantly commercial role, including a high rate of testing and fragmentation and the use of known Scandinavian weight units’ (Kershaw 2020: 114). Although the northern Danelaw likely saw the bulk of transactions made

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via non-metallic commodity-monies, and the horses-for-courses accommodation of multiple money types seems to have operated here as elsewhere within the Silver Route, it is almost certain that a bullion economy operated in Yorkshire from the 860s to 870s to the mid-10th century (­Kershaw 2020: 114). The origins of bullion use were further south, however. The Croydon (south London) hoard represents the first datable proof (c.871/872) of Scandinavians in Britain using bullion (Blackburn 2009: 48). Croydon contained five pieces of hacksilver, three ingots, and 185 silver coins, of which 175 were Anglo-Saxon, seven Carolingian, and three Islamic (Blackburn 2009: 48). It probably consisted of looted material deposited by a Southern Scandinavian member of the Great Army (cf. Kilger 2008b: 321), as suggested by its Danish Corridor character (Blackburn 2009: 65). Torksey, situated on a quasi-island by the River Trent in Lincolnshire, was the site of a subsequent (872–873) winter-camp (Blackburn 2011: 221; ­Hadley & Richards 2016). Torksey has produced 124 small dirham pieces (Hadley & Richards 2016: 39, 43; Woods 2020: 404). Notably, similarly fragmented examples are associated with ‘Danish’ markets like Heimdalsjordet in the Vestfold (Gullbekk 2014: 336; Bill & Rødsrud 2017). Also discovered are several dozen pieces of hacksilver, including Permian or Southern Scandinavian spiral-rings and Danish ‘prototype’ broad-band arm-ring fragments. 37 of the 353+ weights are Insular mounts and 99 are cubo-octahedral (Hadley & Richards 2016: 39). Also included are copper-alloy ornament fragments and 174 Northumbrian copper-alloy styca coins (idem). Such assemblages are common in Kaupang, Hedeby, and Birka, and have strong parallels with ARSNY (including its probable hoard) which has, to date, produced 14 dirham fragments and 28 cubo-octahedrals (Blackburn 2009: 48–9; Williams 2020f: 20–33, 2020i: 15–16). Blackburn (2009: 49) suggested some of the lead trial pieces for counterfeit coin dies may even show a dual-economy was so ingrained in Southern Scandinavians by the 870s that even their itinerant armies struck imitative issues, likely to be used in trade with Anglo-Saxons (cf. the Alfred-Guthrum treaty). Where Blackburn argued ‘The great army’s experience of a mixed bullion economy can only have come from Scandinavia or northern Frisia’ (2009: 50), Kilger was more precise: ‘The earliest hacksilver hoards of Western Europe around the Irish Sea and in England, such as Croydon and Cuerdale […] may be linked principally with the Danish Vikings’ (2008b: 321 – my emphasis). While I would substitute ‘Southern Scandinavian’ for ‘Danish’ to account for Danish regions of southern Norway and Skåne, this picture of Danish Corridor Vikings introducing a dual-economy to Britain is surely correct. For Yorkshire, Kershaw (2020: 123) demonstrated ‘reckoning in weighed silver was commonplace’, with the many single-finds of bullion and individual weights suggesting ‘many people understood the principles of bullion exchange and could calibrate silver to known units’. Testing and highly fragmented pieces were common in this region, with the combination of large

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bullion and coin hoards and numerous single-finds painting an overall picture of relatively abundant silver stocks being used by many different hands on a regular basis (Kershaw 2020: 123, 124). Compared with Yorkshire’s vibrant bullion economy, Jórvík (and its immediate hinterland) has produced little bullion, with only one (counterfeit) dirham, two oblate-spheroids, and two Insular mounts; there are no bullion hoards within the city, and the coins in the hoards were tested (Kershaw 2020: 125). As Kershaw explains (2020: 125), this is likely the result of the post c.895 exclusion of bullion once indigenous coin minting had commenced, with the little evidence for bullion dating to its 867+ winter-camp period. Ultimately, it seems that Jórvík rulers could and did control silver in their locale, but that this control dissipated the further one got from the city (Kershaw 2020: 126). In all, northern Danelaw evidence suggests bullion had a commercial function used within Scandinavian-style practices with the silver stock largely sourced from the Irish Sea Region and Southern Scandinavia: ‘Settlers and/ or visitors from these regions, and their descendants, may have been the principal participants in Yorkshire’s bullion economy’ (Kershaw 2020: 127). This picture fits well with my Uí Ímair model connecting Southern Scandinavia to Ireland via the northern Danelaw Cuerdale Corridor. Dirham-networks, single-finds, and the end of bullion use If Southern Scandinavians introduced a dual-economy in the 860s and maintained one which ‘thrived’ in the northern Danelaw (Kershaw 2020: 123), when did it end? The traditional view was that Wessex’s conquest ended the Scandinavian bullion elements of the dual-economy, with Graham-­ Campbell suggesting a great diminishment before c.920 (2001: 59). Similarly, Naismith thought ‘The general similarity of the English and Scandinavian [dirham] find patterns shows that, at least until c.925, England was part of the network connecting Scandinavia to Russia’ (2005: 202). With the benefit of subsequent dirham-hoard finds, such as Vale of York (c.927–928) and Furness (c.955–957, Cumbria), Blackburn (2009: 50) argued it ‘persisted to some degree […] until the later 920s, while over in North West England it continued somewhat later’. PAS data implies some persevered into the 940s, or even later, and were using newly imported dirhams. This suggests both a continuation of links to Southern Scandinavia (although perhaps via the Irish Sea Region by then – Kershaw 2020: 119) and attachment to the Silver Route a generation beyond Naismith’s estimate. Looking at Wessex, we note political control does not necessarily equate to total control of monetary practice, as the Thurcaston hoard suggests. ­A lthough deposited close to Leicester (taken by Aethelf læd in 918), Thurcaston (c.923–925, containing two dirham fragments dating to 913–916) points to persistent monetary links to Scandinavia. Thurcaston also suggests continuation of a dual-economy 5–7 years after the transfer of political control to Anglo-Saxons (Blackburn 2006: 209). If this was the case, I argue we should

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not necessarily equate Anglo-Saxon political control with pervasive economic practice, and that the picture of the Danelaw into the 930s – and possibly the mid-950s – now allows for later membership of the Silver Route. As Kershaw noted (2017), calculating chronological parameters for the ­metal-weight economy is important because it was a key cultural and economic marker for Scandinavians and suggests continuing participation in wider Scandinavian exchange networks. Similarly to Blackburn, Kershaw (2017, 2020) used the presence of foreign single-find coin to suggest bullion use might have continued beyond the 930s. The latest single-find dirham found to date, dating to c.928/929, was found at Cottam in Yorkshire; given that dirhams took an average of 10–15 years to reach Scandinavia (cf. Blackburn 2006: 209, 2007: 129; Williams 2013: 466), combined with Cottam’s worn and highly fragmented condition, this could mean the date of loss was in the late 930s at the earliest and as late as the 940s. This is remarkable, especially as the Yorkshire find-spot was outside of the Irish Sea Region (Cumbrian) part of the Danelaw that has produced the latest English dirham-hoard, that of Furness (c.955– 957). Indeed, as Kershaw argued (VM – 2012a, 2020: 118–9, 127; Williams 2020d: 135), the significance of Cottam is ‘it suggests that a fresh source of silver continued to reach the northern Danelaw 60 years or more after the first Viking settlements’. Williams argued that the consistent presence of Islamic, Anglo-Saxon, and Danelaw coinage, in conjunction with Irish Sea Region non-numismatic silver suggested ‘continued contacts with Ireland, Scandinavia and southern England across the whole period’ (2013: 478; cf. Williams 2020d for ARSNY). Williams was referring to the period between Cuerdale (c.905) to the Vale of York (c.927–929), but, looking beyond the hoards to single-finds like Cottam, I suggest it may have been the case that these connections to the Irish and Baltic seas continued for another generation. In summary, I propose a bullion economy linked to Southern Scandinavia and Ireland may have persisted in areas of the Danelaw until the termination of Scandinavian political power at Jórvík in c.954 (or until the passing of the rural bullion-using generation alive then). Sindbæk warned against the weak nature of nodal networks (being highly vulnerable to the failure of any of the very few nodes). Consequently, I think the definitive ‘fall’ of Jórvík and its Danelaw kingdom may explain the ending of the Silver Route in Britain: the latest dirhams in this region (those dating to 945/946 in Skaill) pre-date Eiríkr’s death by ten years. This is within that 10–15 year timescale for deposition, suggesting that when the Jórvík node and its kingdom fell, Scandinavian Britain fell out of the network. As Kershaw concludes (2020: 127), while Jórvík-based rulers may have excluded bullion from their town, the continuation of bullion use may have been the result of network-kingdom links to bullion-using Dublin, with ‘the continued use of bullion east of the Pennines [helping] to facilitate economic interchange between the two Viking centres’ into the mid-10th century, thereafter dirhams would have entered via Scottish and Irish Sea contexts. As Williams (2020d) added for Yorkshire, but I think is true for the whole

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Danelaw, we should move away from ‘dual’ economies and instead see a series of interchanging and evolving practice involving multi-metallic bullion, coined silver, copper-alloy money, and non-metallic commodity-monies like food and fabric. Further suggesting the bi-directional nature of my Silver Route network, bullion innovations in Insular Scandinavia went east, having an inf luence on the still-developing silver economies in homeland Scandinavia (Williams 2020d: 129–30).

Celtic Scandinavia Unlike the Danelaw, Celtic regions of Britain and Ireland settled by Scandinavians offered relatively little pre-existing facility with silver used as payment (Blackburn 2009: 47–8). As a result, these incomers introduced ‘a new currency system based on the bullion economy that was currently developing in Scandinavia’ (Blackburn 2007: 138). Consequently, I ask how Celtic regions fit functionally and chronologically into an Insular Silver Route model where the eastern Danelaw and Uí Ímair Dublin and Jórvík are considered the nodal regions through which the primary routeways were articulated. Beginning with Ireland and Wales, I then look at Scotland with the ultimate aim of showing the latter was not an extension of a primitive economic ‘rule’, but was, on analogy with Sindbæk’s (2011) and Krokmyrdal’s (2020) Norðweg model, in the stream of the market currents which f lowed between the Danish Corridor and the Irish Sea Region (cf. Skre 2015; Kershaw 2020; Williams 2020d).

Scandinavian Ireland Via Kaupang, Hiberno-Scandinavians were connected to Southern Scandinavia as early as the first half of the 9th century (Skre 2011a, 2011b), and, in view of my Uí Ímair model, almost certainly from c.853. This is suggested by: (i) their adoption of a hacksilver-based silver bullion economy prior to the deposition of the early 10th-century Cuerdale and Dysart Island (no. 4) hoards with their fragmented Hiberno-Scandinavian silver (Sheehan 2007: 159–60; Blackburn 2009: 58); (ii) the importation and circulation of Danelaw and Islamic coin (Blackburn 2007: 128); and (iii) links to Danish silversmithing via broad-band arm-rings (cf. Sheehan 1998, 2009: 60, 2011: 98–9; Blackburn 2009: 59). Sheehan noted ‘The establishment of a commercially orientated urban economy formed part of the Scandinavian’s response to Irish conditions’ (2000: 49), and I would add that this was framed by ­Danish Corridor prototypes. With caveats about modelling almost entirely from hoards, the main source of Hiberno-Scandinavian evidence comes from the (108) c.800 to 1000 Irish silver hoards of Scandinavian character (Sheehan 1998: 167, 2007). Although mainly from areas outside Scandinavian settlements (Sheehan 1998: 173; 2007; cf. Kenny 1987: 511–2), they are considered to ref lect import and use of silver

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by Hiberno-Scandinavians at sites like Woodstown and Dublin. As Sheehan (2007: 160) concluded, the evidence from Cuerdale and Dysart (No.4) – both linked to Dublin and containing highly fragmented and tested [economic] silver – suggested that Dublin, even in its original longphort phase, may have been about to mint its own coins by c.902. Indeed, had the Uí Ímair elite not been exiled between c.902 and 917 (although, as has been suggested by Simpson [2010], Scandinavian economic life probably continued), Dublin may even have had a level of monetary sophistication (minting) known to Jórvík at the start and not, as transpired, the end of the 10th century. Blackburn (2007: 128) emphasized Danelaw-Ireland links, noting Danelaw coins appear regularly in Irish hoards, suggesting their importance to the Irish Sea Region economy. Although numismatic evidence suggests these links weakened for periods in the 10th century, Jórvík coins from the 939 to 954 iteration of the Uí Ímair network-kingdom appear in the Irish hoards (until the 960s) and as single-finds, suggesting active economic use (cf. Gruszczyński 2019). Danelaw issues probably accompanied dirhams found in Ireland (Dolley 1966: 28–9; Graham-Campbell 1976a: 62–4), suggesting a shared pathway through the Cuerdale Corridor. Matching the deposition sequence of most of the Danelaw, dirhams were a common feature of Irish hoards (10/13) from the first decade of the 10th century to c.930/935 (Sheehan 1998: 187–8; Blackburn 2007: 129). Indeed, Wallace (1987: 217; cf. Lowick 1984: 347–7) considered dirhams to have provided much of Ireland’s Viking-Age silver. What did the relationship with England mean? Blackburn asked if the simultaneous demise of the dirham in England and Ireland [were] linked, the dirhams having generally come via the Danelaw in company with the Anglo-Scandinavian coins, or did Ireland receive some dirhams directly from Scandinavia or via the Scottish settlements? (2007: 129; cf. Sheehan 1998: 187–8, 2001: 56; Valante 2008: 129) While dirhams in Ireland, Wales, and in ‘Hiberno-Scandinavian’ dirhamhoards in Scotland mainly date from periods where Uí Ímair controlled Jórvík, Cottam’s late dirham may have come via Ireland (Kershaw 2020). Although Cottam’s routeway is uncertain, I think dirham f low to Ireland was linked primarily to both Uí Ímair nodes being part of a network-kingdom linked to Southern Scandinavia (cf. Sheehan 2011a: 98). Hiberno-Scandinavian silver-working and Southern Scandinavia A feature of the Insular Scandinavian branch of the Silver Route is that it was bi-directional (cf. Valante 2008: 130; Williams 2020d: 129–30). I think economic agents from Dublin and the Irish Sea Region traversed internal frontiers on coastal and portage/riverine routeways around or through Britain towards Jórvík, the northern Danelaw, and Danish Corridor markets.

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Evidence (e.g., Dublin-style ringed-pins) in support of particular routeways follows in Chapter 7, but here I return to the arm-rings pointing to c.AD 800+ connections in silver economy between Ireland and Southern Scandinavia (Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015; Sheehan 2015), being formalized from c.853 via Ívarr and Óláfr (Sheehan 2011a: 98; cf. Downham 2007; Etchingham 2010). Of mid-9th-century Danish origin – the Great Army may have been the mechanism for the importation of Croydon and Torksey’s Danish ‘prototype’ versions – Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings were produced c.880–930 (Sheehan 1995: 21, 1998: 178, 2000: 51, 2011: 100; Kershaw 2020: 116), pertaining to a weight unit (c.26.15g) close to that suggested for Dublin (Wallace 1987: 206–7). This correlation suggests Hiberno-Scandinavian variants were originally produced there, although they may have been manufactured in Llanbedrgoch during Dublin’s Uí Ímair interregnum (Sheehan 2011a: 98; Kershaw 2020: 116) with lead trial sheets of the distinctive punch markings suggesting earlier production in Torksey (Ager & Williams 2020: 36). England and Wales have produced 20 find-spots, concentrating on North Wales and North-West England, and fragments possibly manufactured in the same workshop have been discovered in the Silverdale (c.900–910) and Cuerdale (c.905–910) hoards and as a single-find at Barmby Moor, with the latter likely confirming that this type of hacksilver was used as bullion in Yorkshire, outwith its main area of manufacture and circulation (Kershaw 2020: 116). They were likely used primarily for storage and circulation in a bullion economy seemingly dominant in Hiberno-Scandinavian contexts c.850– 930+. They were probably a form of ring-money, something seemingly confirmed by regular reduction to hacksilver (Sheehan 1984: 65; cf. ­Wallace 1987: 206; Sheehan 2000: 58). That they had Danish prototypes ref lected direct ties (of the sort expected in a nodal-network model) between the ­silver-based trading world of Southern Scandinavia and Ireland (Sheehan 2011: 98–9; cf. Kershaw 2020: 127; Williams 2020d: 129–30; 2020j: 101), something further evidenced by the presence of dirhams, eastern European or Danish-variant ‘Permian’ spiral-rings (cf. Wallace 1987: 219; Merkel 2017: 44), and Baltic-derived ingots and jewellery in Hiberno-Scandinavian/Irish contexts (Merkel 2017: 43–4). Indeed, ‘The recognisable imported objects in Ireland’s early Viking-Age silver hoards appear to have derived in the main from southern Scandinavia and the Baltic’ (Sheehan 1998: 192 – my emphasis; cf. Kershaw 2020: 127). Moreover, Sheehan also noted (1998: 196; cf. ­Graham-Campbell 1993: 82–3), that some Baltic designs may have developed from Hiberno-Scandinavian types, indicating that ‘contact between the Baltic region and Ireland did not operate in one direction only’. I believe bi-directional communication, on a Southern ­Scandinavian-Irish Sea Region axis, should be considered indicative of formation processes in ‘commercially orientated’ (Sheehan 1998: 197, 2000: 49, 2001: 51) ­Hiberno-Scandinavia silver economy with its suggested network-­k ingdom structure and political origins in the largely Southern Scandinavian Great Army. As such, Hiberno-Scandinavians and their northern Danelaw

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connections were more closely linked to Southern Scandinavia than the northern Norðweg or Scandinavian Scotland. Indeed, I agree with Sheehan’s (2001: 59) conclusion that the Eastern Seaway was, via the Danish Corridor, more important to Hiberno-Scandinavia than Norse regions in silver-­working and economy, despite supposedly predominantly Norse interest in Ireland. Essentially, Irish hoards represent silver that had passed through ­H iberno-Scandinavian markets (Graham-Campbell 1976a: 53; Wallace 1987: 206, 208; Sheehan 1998: 173–5; Valante 2008: 119). This spread of ‘economic’ silver (mainly in fragmented and ingot form) out from Scandinavian markets is suggestive of Sindbæk’s (2011: 58–9) theory that nodes inf luenced their non-urban hinterlands in the use of silver currency (if, as Jórvík discovered, not able to impose coin on them – Kershaw 2020). Hoards suggest hacksilver was used in Ireland from the late 9th century, if not for some time before (Blackburn 2009: 58). Indeed, given Uppåkra, Kaupang, and Torksey – which demonstrate the emergence of hacksilver payment in Southern Scandinavia and its extension into the Danelaw from c.850 to 860 (Hårdh 2008; Kilger 2008) – this should be considered a latest date. This is something suggested by Woodstown, which points to economic use of hacksilver from the mid-9th (Sheehan 2015). As Irish hoarding increased around 950, they were increasingly dominated by whole Anglo-Saxon coin. Increasing coin use by tale (Münzgeldwirtschaft) from the mid-10th is ref lected in Dublin’s stratified single-finds (­Blackburn 2007: 130). I consider this increase in Anglo-Saxon coin use a result of the northern Danelaw falling out of the Hiberno-Scandinavian network in c.954 and the consequent Anglicization of the Hiberno-­Scandinavian silver economy. I think the dating of the Hiberno-Scandinavian Gewichtsgeldwirtschaft can, then, be said to span c.850–950, matching that of the Danelaw. Its transformation into a de facto Münzgeldwirtschaft in the half century before Dublin minted (c.995) could be the consequence of this new Anglo-Saxon economic focus. As Bornholdt Collins demonstrated (2010; cf. Blackburn 2007: 129–30), this change can be seen in differences between Dunmore Cave hoards deposited in c.928 and c.965. Here, the former (‘No. 1’) displays Silver-Route bullion characteristics (fragmented Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Scandinavian, and Islamic coins with hacksilver ingots and ornaments), while the post-954 ‘No. 2’ hoard represents the Anglo-Saxon phase in its inclusion of nine whole coins (alongside fragmented coin and other hacksilver). Trading places and weight standards Whereas Wallace (1987: 212) suggested Dublin’s economy only really took off with ‘urbanisation’ in the 920–930s, I suggest commerce was central to those who created longphuirt in the 840/850s, with Sheehan (1998: 172) noting: ‘Some of these should be viewed primarily as important trading and market settlements rather than simply as fortified trading bases’.

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Similarities between economic paraphernalia at Torksey and Woodstown demonstrate market practices from the 860s, and Kaupang and Woodstown case studies in Chapter 8 demonstrate early connections between the Danish Corridor and the Irish Sea Region (cf. Skre 2011a, 2011b; Sheehan 2015; Kershaw 2020: 127). Prior to this, however, I present a sketch of Dublin’s economy in light of its bullion weights and connections to a Southern Scandinavian payment zone. Dublin’s metrological evidence is then viewed in a wider Hiberno-Scandinavian and Silver Route network perspective. The many weights (200+) and scales found in Dublin and its immediate environs (Wallace 1987: 212–5; 2013: 304–8), suggest use in market transactions involving both bulky commodities and hacksilver. Most weights are lead and, according to Wallace (1987: 212–3; cf. 2013), pertain to a unit of c.26.6g; one which was, seemingly, adopted by makers of broad-band arm-rings. Beyond likely home-made lead examples, ‘spheres with f lattened poles’ (i.e., truncated-spheres) likely imported via the Danish Corridor and Danelaw are also ‘fairly well known’ in Dublin, although we do not have exact numbers yet (Wallace 2013: 308). While excavations did not find any (tiny) ­cubo-octahedrals, this may be down to a lack of sieving than actual absence (contra Wallace 2013: 304). Indeed, that two potential cubo-­octahedrals – one lead and one copper-alloy or silver – have been found at Woodstown (Wallace 2013: 308; Sheehan 2014; Williams 2020f: 20–3), indicate this form was known in c.860s Ireland. It seems as if, despite domination of one 26.6g unit, multiple units co-existed in Dublin (as Woodstown), where ‘every trader using scales to weigh silver or possibly other precious commodities would have had his own idea of how his personal weights related to a likely agreed standard’ (Wallace 2013: 304; cf. Kruse 2007: 169–73). Given this, I suggest an important consideration among Silver Route traders – i.e., those who probably introduced standardized weights – was the nodal market standard, as this created a neutral point of reference for disputes. Moreover, that traders in Hiberno-Scandinavian markets used weights associated with dirhams might suggest that it was advantageous in transactions to be seen to be seen with ‘nodal-market weights’, signifying membership of a broader payment zone linked to long-distance trader identity. ‘Viking ounce(s)’ in Ireland As described above, the elusive ‘Viking ounce’ (øre) ranges between c.24 and 26.6g, with Brøgger (1921) using Norwegian grave weights to suggest a light ounce of 24.59g, divisible into three 8.19g units (ertogs), that replaced an older 26.5g ounce, similar to a unit apparent in Dublin (Haldenby & Kershaw 2014: 112). Pedersen (2008: 144, in Haldenby & Kershaw 2014: 112), saw evidence of the light ounce, particularly an 8g ertog, at Kaupang. Wallace (2013: 313; cf. Haldenby & Kershaw 2014: 112; Redknap 2020: 88) concluded there were two main Irish Viking-Age weight systems: the

154  Silver economies

first, based on 26.6g, came from an old Scandinavian [Roman and Carolingian? Redknap 2020: 88] standard and was, seemingly, favoured in Viking Dublin, hence his ‘Dublin-unit’. Its presence in the 9th-century ­K ilmainham-Islandbridge cemetery (west of Viking-Age Dublin) suggested to Wallace (2013: 308) that its use there may have originated with the 840s longphort. The second system apparently pertained to a lighter ‘Scandinavian|Swedish/Islamic’ unit (22–23g) associated with the c.860s dirham inf lux (Ó Floinn 2014: 181–90; Redknap 2020: 88; cf. Pedersen 2008; Jarman 2021: 64). Wallace (2013: 309, 313) labelled this the ‘­Woodstown-unit’ on the basis that the c.200 metal-detected weights appear to have targeted c.22–23g. 31 of the 40+ pieces of Woodstown hacksilver, likely dating to the second half of the 9th century, appear to target this unit (Wallace 2013: 308; cf. Sheehan 2014). It is also known from Co. Louth’s Linn Duachaill longphort (Ó Floinn 2014: 181–90; Redknap 2020: 88). For Dublin, Wallace (2013: 304) considered the existence of the ‘heavy’ Dublin-unit and the relatively small numbers of ‘light’ Woodstown-unit weights to suggest regular weighing of bulky commodities (although I note very small weights may have been missed). This was in opposition to lighter units predominating at Kaupang (Pederson 2008: 140–4), Birka (Gustin 2004b: 16–23), and Woodstown; indeed, many of Woodstown’s weights (the lightest is 1.03g) were seemingly designed for minute hacksilver (­Wallace 2013: 308, 309, 314). Outwith Woodstown, the ‘lighter’ unit appears prominently in the 72+ weights found with raided ‘Christian’ hacksilver in the River Blackwater group of river-scattered bullion-economic and production items likely relating to a ‘lost’ longphort (Williams 202l: 19), suggesting to Wallace (2013: 311) the Woodstown-unit was associated with Scandinavian raider/traders who used silver in transactions. Wallace (2013: 311–2) asked whether ­Woodstown-unit hacksilver and weights were used to ‘trade in hacksilver with other Vikings’, with the Dublin-unit used for bulk trade (for slaves and food?) with the Irish – the mixing of units at markets therefore ref lected two different market spheres: one internal to Ireland; the other used on ‘merchandise destined for transmission to Scandinavian places outside of Ireland’. Can I, then, think of the light-unit as the ‘Silver Route unit’ used by inter-regional Ohthere-types? As Wallace (2013: 314) suggested: ‘by definition, light units almost certainly seem to connote weights directly introduced from Scandinavia or possibly used by Scandinavians in Ireland’. Given the Woodstown-unit was likely introduced via Baltic regions ‘where it evidently started in the early to mid-9th century in response to inf luences from the East and ultimately from the coin-using parts of the Islamic world’ (Wallace 2013: 313), I suggest the presence of standardized weights found (albeit in small numbers) in Dublin and Woodstown, along with dirhams, amber, spiral-rings, etc., demonstrates how Eastern Seaway economics spread along networks (Sheehan 2014; cf. Skre 2015; Kershaw 2020: 127; Williams 2020a).

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Wales and the Irish Sea Region Sheehan’s investigations into Irish silver sources demonstrated an inf low from Southern Scandinavia and the Viking East. Kruse (1992: 75ff.) presented a similar picture for the Irish Sea Region, noting the mobility of silver originating in or passing through the Danish Corridor. Kruse (1992: 79; cf. ­Wallace 1987: 217) also noticed correlation between dirhams and ingots in Irish Sea Region hoards, leading to the conclusion dirhams were considered part of this circulation, and, thus, part of the non-numismatic silver stock. I think this part was likely small, however, generally being ‘lost’ within a homogenized stock created by the circulation of bullion from multiple sources; i.e., what I would expect from the Silver Route (cf. Kruse 1992: 79). Writing about Cuerdale, a hoard I suggest encapsulates the Uí Ímair ­Dublin-Jórvík axis, Metcalf noted the Viking Age saw a huge increase in coin in-f lows into North-West England: while some, if not most, Anglo-Saxon coins probably entered via the Chester-Dublin routeway, Viking issues from Jórvík and Lincoln were seemingly a result of ‘the close political links in the first half of the tenth century between York and Dublin’ (Metcalf 1992: 97). In any case, this connection, as measured by volume of Jórvík coins, was of ‘declining monetary importance’ from c.930 (Metcalf 1992: 101). While Danelaw coinages declined from the late 920s, Blackburn (2007: 128, 130) showed that issues from post-Athelstan Uí Ímair Jórvík (939–954) continued to feature not only in Irish hoards until the 960s, but also among the single-finds, like an issue of Anlaf Guthfrithsson (king 939–941) and Eiríkr. Ultimately, then, I would argue Dublin and its Uí Ímair northern Danelaw links had an effect on the monetary situation in the Irish Sea Region into the 960s (cf. Kershaw 2020: 127). Market commerce and coastal trade While studying network trade in the Isle of Man is in its infancy, two dirhams have been discovered, one of which may come from a beach market (Fox, pers. comm., via David Wilson). Although all but one of Man’s 22 Viking-Age coin-hoards date to 960–1070 – leaving a puzzling gap in this strategically positioned island between c.850 and c.950 (cf. Wilson 2008: 105) – these dirhams suggest bullion was used here between the mid-9th and mid10th centuries. Silver mixing in the Irish Sea Region is likely to have happened at coastal trading ports and those beach markets, like Meols on the Wirral, revealed by single-finds of monetary paraphernalia and trade goods (Griffiths et al. 2007, 2010: 109–18). What, then, of Griffiths’ attribution of the ‘general spread of commerce’ in the Irish Sea Region to the ‘take-off of urban markets in the tenth century’ (2010: 101). I think the (initial) increase in commerce might better be attributed to the longphuirt of the mid-9th century; indeed, longphuirt may represent the involvement of market-conditioned Southern

156  Silver economies

Scandinavians from the Danish Corridor (and veterans from campaigns in Frankia) in the Irish Sea Region (Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015; Sheehan 2015; Cooijmans 2020). In any case, Griffiths’ implication (cf. Valante 2008), that selling slaves was important to this spread of market trade is important in that I and others ( Jankowiak 2020) consider slaving the primary (albeit hidden) mechanism behind the Silver Route. Moreover, Griffiths (2010: 101) recognized the monetary importance of silver to his slavers, arguing it ‘quickly took on a widespread role as a currency medium’ in the form of hacksilver, foreign coin and ‘in […] forms of currency such as standard weight ingots and arm-rings’. I wonder if slavery was behind the close relationship between Viking-Age Ireland and the Anglo-Saxon Münzgeldwirtschaft, as evidenced by the presence of a Chester moneyer from the reign of Edward the Elder (r.899–924) with the Scandinavian name Irfara (Ireland traveller) – Griffiths also noted that an Irish Sea Region dominated by Hiberno-Scandinavian wealth operated a silver Gewichtswirtschaft until ‘at least’ the mid-10th century (2010: 102), something suggested by the Furness (Cumbria) hacksilver ­d irham-hoard (c.955–957). Given my longphuirt-as-markets perspective, I note Griffiths suggested correlation between the mid-9th-century beginning of Irish Viking-Age hoarding (Sheehan 1998: 172, in Griffiths 2010: 104) and the newly founded Hiberno-Scandinavian coastal ports. In any case, I think it likely that it was in longphuirt where Kruse’s homogenized Insular Scandinavian silver stock was created by the amalgam of English pennies, dirhams, and spiral-rings before being poured into ingot moulds and beaten into the Hiberno-­Scandinavianstyle broad-band arm-rings found in hoards from Ireland to Skåne (a then Danish region, now in southern Sweden), including, importantly for my network argument, hoards in the northern Danelaw and Danish-inf luenced southern Norway (Griffiths 2010: 105). Llanbedrgoch For Wales, Redknap (2020: 87) looks at silver currency use seemingly focussed (as per hoard distribution) on the coasts; as was the case elsewhere in Insular Scandinavia, a multifaceted monetary economy appears to have operated. It is likely this was strongly inf luenced by (Hiberno) Scandinavian elements, as suggested by Pembrokeshire finds from Milford Haven (ON melr fjordr havn) and a headland near St David’s that include three or more broad-band arm-rings from the Jeffreyston Community hoard (f lattened like those in the Galloway and Huxley hoards perhaps connected to 902 Dublin exiles?) and Insular mounts from Freshwater West and near Robeston West (Graham-Campbell 2020: 450–2, 459; Redknap 2020: 87–8; Goldberg 2021). As with suggestions for historically invisible harbours in Scandinavian Scotland and the northern Norðweg, Redknap (2020: 88) posits there must be ‘many “lost” ports and havens of Wales (landing places and shelters, close to [coastal] transit routes’, with the distribution of silver and

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bullion weights strongly hinting at such sites around 10th-century ­M ilford Haven. Graham-Campbell suggested that the raiding and slaving activities of ­longphort-era Dublin (c.841+) raised funds to create and maintain f leets ‘sufficient to f loat trading ventures as well as raiding expeditions’, arguing it was Dublin longphort Vikings who popularized silver bullion as currency within their sphere of inf luence through purchase of subsistence commodities and building materials from the Irish hinterland and for regional and long-­d istance trade goods (Graham-Campbell 1998: 106; cf. Ó Floinn 1998: 142–3, 161–4). If the 902 expulsion had an effect of particular interest, it was likely spreading this brand of longphort-based raiding and trading around the Irish Sea to create or revivify second-tier markets (e.g., Llanbedrgoch) which would, ultimately, be focussed on Dublin and its Danelaw/Danish Corridor-­ orientated trade routes (cf. Griffiths 1992, 2010: 25–37, 100). To take the clearest example of this, I now turn to Wales and the creation of trading posts linked to Dublin and/or the Dublin-Chester/Jórvík axis by Hiberno-­ Scandinavians (Etchingham 2001: 147; cf. Graham-Campbell 1998: 122–5; Redknap 2000: 65–84; 2004; Griffiths 2010: 115). The c.1ha site at Llanbedrgoch on Anglesey seems to date from the late 9th or early 10th century and was ‘associated […] with the Hiberno-Viking commercial route between Dublin and Chester’ (Etchingham 2001: 147–8; cf. Griffiths 2010: 115, 118). Two dirham fragments and English pennies were found here, as were several decorated lead weights conforming to different weight standards, including Dublin’s (Redknap, pers. comm.). Llanbedrgoch has produced 31 lead weights, some of which resemble forms found at Torksey (Redknap 2020: 88). Metrological analysis suggests that ‘in terms of commercial networks, the […] Dublin/Waterford system was operating in North-West Wales’, with the many light weights suggesting measurement of precious metals (Redknap 2020: 89). Most silver, inclusive of the dirhams, was highly fragmented, suggesting a picture of ‘small change in bullion used within the enclosure, and of traders operating along a Dublin-­Northumbrian axis (the latter suggested by the presence of Northumbrian stycas) with access to native commodities’ (Redknap 2020: 89). As in Kaupang, bullion silver and weights were spread across the interior, suggesting the regular presence of Scandinavian traders seemingly confirmed by the presence of ­Scandinavian-type clothing accessories (Redknap 2020: 89). Llanbedrgoch’s hacksilver was mainly of Hiberno-Scandinavian origin, whereas the dirhams and glass beads may have derived, ultimately, from Eastern Seaway networks. My Silver Route hypothesis allows for such 9thand 10th-century second-tier market/production sites along the north Wales coast (such as Llanbedrgoch) and the Wirral (Meols) with their presumed role as anchorages, trading sites, and re-provisioning and boat-repair stopovers. I note, however, that Redknap (2020: 85) argues against Llanbedrgoch being the settlement of a post-902 ‘high-status intrusive Hiberno-Viking group, with the architecture being unlike Scandinavian sites in the Irish Sea

158  Silver economies

Region, western Scotland, or Scandinavia[’]. Moreover, the simpler types of ringed-pins found in and around this site, often assumed as markers of direct ­H iberno-Scandinavian contact, may have been locally made, with the overall picture of a site in contact with not only Viking Dublin, but also Ireland and England (Redknap 2020: 86–7). In all, Llanbedrgoch in the 9th and 10th centuries is what one might expect of a trading place within this region: an indigenous site with strong evidence for the invited presence of economically active Scandinavians (potentially also evidenced by a burial), as well as Irish and Anglo-Saxon merchants (Redknap 2020: 89–91).

Scandinavian Scotland Whether Llanbedrgoch and Meols are viewed primarily as way-stations between Scandinavian and English Irish Sea Region markets or the maritime leg on the Cuerdale Corridor, the presence of historically invisible trading sites is pertinent – particularly in view of previously unknown sites like Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020) – as I ask how much Scotland was involved in silver-based trade, and attempt to place Scotland in an economic and exchange context that caters for inclusion within a cash-using market network (cf. Macniven 2020: 151–2). Was Scotto-Scandinavian silver indicative of active participation in a wider bullion-trade network, or simply the result of a re-export of now economically passive silver from the Irish Sea to a region in which precious metals were rare and used more in social display than as currency? If the former, what were the mechanisms and routeways for this monetary inf luence? Macniven (2020: 151–2) noted the importance of protecting ‘revenue streams by controlling strategically important shipping routes’ between Scandinavia and Ireland. Coastal journeys between Jórvík and Dublin on a Round-Scotland maritime route may not have been uncommon in that they satisfied Scandinavian cultural preferences for waterborne transport (cf. Westerdahl 1998), was well within the capabilities of contemporary (Gokstad-style) ships, and avoided slow land- and portage-routes. ‘Routinization’ of this coastal path would have strengthened silver currency connections between rural Scotland and southern markets, in much the same way as Sindbæk (2011: 58–9) has proposed for the Norðweg and its connections to Kaupang, Hedeby and, through the Trondelag Gap between Norway and Sweden, to Birka. Indeed, the depositors of the Storr Rock (c.935–940) and Skaill (c.955–980) hoards were probably following regularized routeways established in the early 9th century by those travelling between the Danish Corridor and the Irish Sea Region (Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015). Such travellers would likely have been equally comfortable travelling the Scottish east-coast route south towards Jórvík, a journey suggested by the possible ON (?) – ness headland names on this coastline, and similarities between four-sided steatite ingot moulds found in Jórvík and Orkney (Curle 1982: 45; Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2477–8; Forster 2005: 63). Such moulds

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seem to have been associated primarily with nodal markets, also being discovered at Hedeby (Forster 2005: 63; cf. Resi 1979: 58). Could this trade association with ingot production fit my idea that Scotland was a Gotland-like, if much poorer, ‘nodal region’ (cf. Wilson 1976: 110–1; Crawford 1987: 135)? That is, a region where nodal-market functions were spread over a wide area, as alluded to by Clarke (1998: 339f.) in his comparison between Scandinavian Scotland and the Norðweg in which he argued ‘trading activity was [not] of necessity linked to urbanism’. Indeed, the discovery of the Sandtorg market in modern-day non-urban Arctic Norway (Krokmyrdal 2020) adds credence to my suggestion, as does Gruszczyński’s (2019: 248–50) characterization of ‘democratic’ Gotland’s lack of ‘emporia’. With this in mind, I turn to the Scotto-Scandinavian silver corpus to test my nodal region hypothesis. I also ask whether it can support the idea of a Round-Scotland route connecting the Irish Sea Region and the north-eastern Danelaw before a c.940–1065 period that witnessed a notable increase in precious metal (Crawford 1987: 131; Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 245–6; Blackburn 2007: 135–7), but which lies largely after the period of the Uí Ímair network-kingdom and, thus, my floruit of the Silver Route in Insular Scandinavia. With the discovery of the Galloway Hoard likely from the beginning of the sequence, the 35/36 Scottish Viking-Age silver hoards were deposited between c.900 and c.1065 (Barrett et al. 2000: 4, 2008b: 416; cf. ­Graham-­Campbell 1975/1976; 1995: 2, 83–4; Graham-Campbell 2020). Notably, four of the earliest hoards (i.e., Gordon, Galloway, Storr Rock, and Skaill, dating from c.900 to 980) have close associations with Uí Ímair activities and/or the Irish Sea Region (e.g., Graham-Campbell 1995: 28, 2020; Blackburn 2007: 75). Furthermore, the most comparable hoards to those of Scotland are from the Irish Sea Region, or Northumbrian hoards with Irish Sea Region-­derived materials, like Goldsborough’s dirham-hoard (c.925/930, Yorkshire, cf. the similar Gordon Hoard from what is now south-east Scotland). In terms of single-finds augmented by Treasure Trove reports of items like the 124g Scalpsie Bay silver ingot from Bute, there exists only one certain 9th-century coin loss (Birsay, Orkney), and twelve 10th-century examples, including the Ardeer dirham (Stevenson 1966; Blackburn 2007: 136, 137, Table 4; cf. Blackburn 2009: 62). While this compares unfavourably with the four-figure English single-find numismatic corpus, we look here to ­Williams’ (2006, 2007) ‘few coins, but few people’ argument that ­Scotto-Scandinavian finds ‘occurred in a large proportion of the known Scandinavian settlements, indicat[ing] that within these small communities, coinage [was] used from the early 10th century’ (Blackburn 2007: 136). This fits with Scotto-­Scandinavian coastal settlements interacting intermittently with bullion- and coin-­using traders, or travel by settlers/colonists to markets in which bullion and coin use was focussed, as was likely the case in rural Jämtland (Holm 2017) and Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020). In any case, as the following indicates, Scandinavian Scotland was not the poorest region in Insular Scandinavia:

160  Silver economies Hoards England (excluding the north-west) North-west England Scotland Isle of Man Wales Ireland

Single-finds

101 15 19 7 8 59

48% 7% 9% 3% 4% 28%

2.239 92 (4) 81 (13) 7 10 44

209

100%

2.473

90% 4% (0.2%) 3% (0.6%) 0.3% 0.4% 2% 100%

Figure 6.2  Comparison of number of hoards and single-finds (Blackburn 2007: 139) (Courtesy and © The British Numismatic Society) Note: figures in brackets represent probable Scandinavian losses.

As Blackburn (2007: 136) concluded: Perhaps we are [like the Danelaw and the Hiberno-Scandinavian markets] again seeing something of a dual-economy, where arm-rings, hacksilver and mixed English and Continental coins remained an essential part of the economy, but individual coins could be used within settlements for daily transactions. This seems correct. Ultimately, however, understanding Scotto-Scandinavian silver economies requires an appreciation of economic anthropology (cf. Kruse 1993: 196), and of the use of appropriate regional analogues with which to compare the Scottish corpus (i.e., comparison with Wales, the Isle of Man, and North Atlantic colonies, rather than the wealthy Danelaw and Irish Sea regions). Furthermore, the use of recent single-find evidence, and an appreciation of hoards, like Gordon, which demonstrate the presence of Irish Sea Region-derived hacksilver (including a broad-band arm-ring) and whole ingots as early as the late 9th century, should shift an appreciable increase in the use of silver as a medium of exchange from the mid-10th century, as suggested by coin-dated hoards, to around 900, if not earlier. Indeed, Galloway’s ingots, Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings and hack-silver, seemingly deposited c.900, or more broadly between c.880 and 930 (Graham-Campbell 2020: 451; Goldberg 2021), reinforces a view that south-west and (with Gordon) south-east Scotland was familiar with bullion as well as being connected to a Viking-dominated Irish Sea Region intimately connected to the Danelaw (Graham-Campbell 2020: 459). Galloway has forced reassessment of the nearby Talnotrie hoard (c.875). With its Insular mount, Anglo-Saxon ornaments and silver pennies, dirhams, and stycas, an Anglo-Saxon and Viking context similar to, if earlier than, Galloway is clear (Graham-Campbell 2020: 458, 459). Now that Talnotrie is seen as being likely to have been deposited by someone connected to a Great

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Army site like ARSNY (Williams 2020e: 37; cf. Hadley & Richards 2016: 49), Blackburn’s assessment of the coins around Jórvík and demonstration of the importance of copper-alloy stycas to the multi-metallic currency of the Danelaw can also be used to show connections between southern and western Scotland (specifically Talnotrie and Kiloran Bay) and Great Army elements from the mid-870s (Hadley & Richards 2000: 43, 49; Graham-Campbell 2020: 458, ref. Blackburn 2005: 145; Williams 2020e: 44). How to interpret this corpus theoretically, however? In the past, Scottish Viking-Age economics was dominated by formalist ‘maximalist’ perspectives on silver-mediated exchange and external trade, particularly for the interpretation of that c.935–1065 silver-rich period (Crawford 1987: 134–6; Kruse 1993: 196). This assumed all silver was to purchase something, whether commodities in a market or, via gift-exchange, the service of others (Kruse 1993: 196). Over time, however, this was tempered by adoption of substantivist ‘minimalist’ (low silver circulation) models stressing socially embedded uses for precious metals (e.g., Graham-Campbell 1976b: 118; Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 245–6; Kruse 1993: 196, 2007: 167). However, predicting theoretical developments in the Eastern Seaway (e.g., Gustin 2004a; Skre 2008c), some interpretations, such as Barrett’s (1995), have taken a post-­ substantivist tack, demonstrating external trade using silver currency was probably known, albeit on a low level, throughout the Scotto-Scandinavian Viking Age. Indeed, research on settlement single-finds have revealed that stray coins (and hacksilver, bullion weights, etc.) are appearing with more regularity, being suggestive of increased commerce and silver inf low from the early 10th century (e.g., Williams 2006, 2007: 204; Blackburn 2007: 136, 139). As I now demonstrate, numismatic evidence may not be isolated in suggesting the presence of silver traders in the period c.841/853–935/940 (i.e., from the foundation of Dublin’s longphort to the Storr Rock hoard). Ambiguous evidence for early bullion traders It was common to assume that scales and weights found in Kiloran Bay’s boat-burial in the southern Hebrides supported the appearance of bullionbased commerce by c.900 (e.g., Foote & Wilson 1970: 196–7), something also argued for the comparable balance and weights at the Tarbert portage site on the southern Hebridean island of Gigha (Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 92, 229). Similar arguments were advanced for lead weights found in the Scar boat-burial (Sanday, Orkney), likely dating to the same c.850–900 period as Kiloran Bay (Owen & Dalland 1999). As Crawford (1987: 126) pointed out, however, scales would also have been needed to weigh gifts of precious metals. Thus, it was impossible to state unambiguously whether the Kiloran Bay individual was a ‘Viking chieftain’, largely undertaking socially embedded loot redistribution, or an ‘armed merchant’ (Crawford 1987: 126). While I cannot solve this ambiguity, Crawford was open to the possibility of there being market traders (or multi-tasking trader-raiders ‘involved in

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the lucrative trading world of the Norse in Ireland’) in the late 9th-century Hebrides (1987: 127), an area considered remote and primitive even within the context of Viking-Age Scotland. However, this image of lucrative trade using silver currencies (even before the c.935–1065 period of peak silver deposition) has never met with full acceptance. For her critique, Kruse took as her starting point Graham-­ Campbell’s suggestion that, ‘overseas trade […] did not play a central part in the economic life of the Norse settlers of Scotland’ (Graham-Campbell 1976b: 127, in Kruse 1993: 197). Kruse (1993: 197–9; cf. 2007: 167) expressed concern that a few large hoards like Skaill were distorting the picture by creating the impression of a f lourishing metal-weight economy based on trade, at least from the mid-10th century (cf. Crawford 1987: 134–5). While the presence of hacksilver, metrological equipment, and ‘foreign objects’ from settlements and burials suggested to Kruse (1993: 197) that ‘some trading must have occurred’ within an ‘economic network’ linking Scotland to the Irish Sea, ‘the available evidence […] supports the cautious conclusions of Graham-Campbell. Silver arrived into Scotland, but by no means it seems with regularity or as part of one mechanism’. In terms of use and circulation of silver, Kruse (1993: 198–200, 2007: 167) argued against those who stressed the importance of silver to exchange on the basis of the small number of finds in comparison to Ireland and Scandinavia; the often heavyweight pieces (even of the hacksilver) in the (small number of ) hoards; and very few single-find coins, often concentrated in elite sites in the Northern Isles. For this model, trade involving silver currency did exist for Viking-Age Scotland, but arguments making grand claims for its scale and impact on local exchange are, on current evidence, misleading. While a valuable caveat – external trade was unlikely a major concern – Kruse’s perspective is based on unreasonable regional comparisons, a point I return to below in the discussion of Williams’ view (2006, 2007) on the single-find coin evidence. Graham-Campbell and Batey model Minimalist models still had to explain ‘growth in supply and circulation of silver between the 9th and 11th centuries in Scandinavian Scotland’ (­Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 246), alongside the presence of single-find silver; the role of hacksilver (even if heavyweight); and the early (9th-­century) presence of metrological material suitable for bullion. Some of these aspects were explored by Graham-Campbell and Batey (1998). While emphasizing the importance of internal production, consumption, and exchange for wealth creation, they noted ‘surpluses were achieved during the Viking period with which to equip boats for piracy and trade – the source of luxury goods, such as silver’ (1998: 226). For them (1998: 229, 231, 243; cf. Barrett 1995: 167), the use of hacksilver and the presence of ingot moulds (at the Brough of Birsay and Earl’s Bu on Orkney) was evidence for commercial use of silver, with hacksilver providing ‘small change’ weighed by the scales found in

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9th/10th-century contexts on Colonsay and Gigha. In summary, their model for the late 9th to mid-11th centuries is: Increased silver supply → increased market trade → increased fragmentation

This fits Sindbæk’s perspective (2011), and evidence from Jämtland (Holm 2017) that even rural regions could generate sufficient wealth internally to engage in external trade, with natural production surplus used as commodity money in market transactions. Thereafter, increase in silver supply led to its use as a medium of exchange instead of purely as a commodity. That (limited) ‘commercial’ use of silver was likely the case from the late 9th century is suggested by broad-band arm-rings such as the (hacksilver) example from Blackerne, Kirkcudbrightshire (c.900?), and the Shetlandic burial from Clibberswick, Unst (c.900). Beyond these, single-finds and hoards containing ­H iberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings seem either to be associated with the 902 Dublin expulsion (the British Museum’s ‘Unprovenanced Hoard’ (Graham-Campbell 1995: [21], pl. 7) of up to five rings) or their attempts to secure bi-directional Through-Scotland routeways towards Jórvík and the Danish Corridor. Of the latter, a fragment seemingly from Largo, Fife (a single-find later mixed in with the Pictish Norrie’s Law hoard?) fits Smyth’s vision of Uí Ímair network traffic using a Forth-Clyde route or trading/raiding vessels sheltering in the Firth of Forth at the ONnamed islands of Fidra/Fidrey and May (?). Also from eastern Scotland is the late 9th/early 10th-century Gordon hoard from Berwickshire, which included ingots and a hacksilver broad-band arm-ring related to the Hiberno-­ Scandinavian-type Huxley hoard from Cheshire (c.900: Graham-Campbell & Philpott 2009; Sheehan 2009) and the c.920 dirham-hoard from Goldsborough, Yorkshire, both situated within my Cuerdale Corridor. However, this perspective on what Scottish distribution of Hiberno-Scandinavian material can tell us about Scotland’s involvement in the Silver Route is not taken fur­ raham-Campbell (1995: 26–8, 103, 153–5, 157, 184, 249; Graham-­ ther by G Campbell & Batey 1998: 235–6; cf. Sheehan 2011a: 96). Ultimately, while Graham-Campbell et al. emphasized the small role of external market trade and commercial use of silver in Scandinavian Scotland, it seems clear being connected to the Silver Route and Uí Ímair markets stimulated the use of increasingly standardized and weighted bullion and coined silver as currency, something I will now investigate further. Ingots and markets From the late 9th century, Scotto-Scandinavians seemed comfortable melting down imported silver into ingots, probably for their ability to store bullion

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in a form both practical for hacksilver and also into display jewellery (which might be converted into hacksilver at a later date) (cf. Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 229–30). Ingots were, seemingly, most popular in Western Seaway contexts c.900–975, and are present in all but two Scottish hoards from this period (Kruse 1993: 188). Given the popularity of ingots in Irish contexts, it is unsurprising they make up significant proportions of Gordon and Storr Rock, previously noted for their pronounced Hiberno-Scandinavian connections (Graham-Campbell 1975b: 119, 124; Kruse 1993: 188–9). Metal purity tests (nicks) indicate even the earliest ingots from Scotland circulated, suggesting a currency role; interestingly, the numbers of nicks across the corpus suggests that they did so more than comparanda in England and Ireland, albeit possibly because this signified a secondary circulation there after manufacture of most pieces outwith Scotland (Kruse 1993: 189). That said, ingots were eventually manufactured in Scotland, with research confirming silver (and copper-alloy) in the ingot grooves from the Late Norse Orcadian Earl’s Bu steatite mould (Sahlén pers. comm.; Batey forth.). While Kruse (1993: 188) considered ingots – popular alongside broad-band armrings (made from ingots) in Ireland, the Danelaw, and Denmark – were uncommon in Scotland, this was due to the use of the English and Irish dataset as analogues, which is not comparing like with like in terms of population. Moreover, we note that 350+ of the then 484+ English ingots were from Cuerdale alone, skewing English figures. Indeed, looking at Kruse’s dataset in a different light, we see that, when compared to Wales, ingots were more popular in Scotland, and, as in Ireland and the Danelaw, known from the late 9th century. Indeed, that the earliest English finds date to Great Army contexts, and were popular in Danish and Hiberno-Scandinavian circles, might even suggest that ingots were an important marker for the spread of Southern Scandinavian-style bullion economy; one which Sheehan (2020: 415) and I associate with Ívarr and an Uí Ímair network-kingdom. In this regard, I look to the Uí Ímair-type Gordon hoard for its mix of Hiberno-­Scandinavian broad-band arm-ring and ingots (Graham-Campbell 1976b: 115). Kruse (1993) noted the contemporary popularity of using the ingot form to store silver in the northern Danelaw and Ireland as well as Scotland, supporting my Uí Ímair network-kingdom model for their popularity and circulation as a result of Scotto-Scandinavian links to Dublin and Jórvík. Kruse (1993: 190) also favoured connections to the Irish Sea providing the source for silver coins found in Scotland, with dirhams providing the silver used in some of the Storr Rock and Skaill ingots. From metallurgical connections to metrological ones, Kruse (1993: 193; cf. 2007: 167, 169–73) looked at ingots in relation to the Kiloran Bay and Gigha weights. Some of these were notably similar in construction to Insular mounts from Kilmainham-Islandbridge and (the seven from) Kaupang (Heen-­Pettersen 2020: 439). Given arguments for the Hiberno-­Scandinavian corpus (cf. Wallace 2013), it seems significant that the Kilmainham-­ Islandbridge and Scotto-Scandinavian weights demonstrate correlations to

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both the heavy ‘Dublin’ and lighter ‘Woodstown’ units, suggesting a similar horses-for-courses use of particular weights for particular transactions with particular traders. Indeed, as Kruse (1993: 167; cf. 2007: 169–73) concluded, the reason for varying weight standards co-existing could be related to some weights being ‘destined for different markets with other standards’. As Barrett demonstrated (1995: 44; 147–52), arguments for the use of silver in market-based transactions do not automatically entail adoption of an uncritical formalist interpretation, but that ‘there is considerable […] evidence for some market exchange in both Viking-Age and Late Norse Scotland’ (1995: 44). As with Kilger’s post-substantivism, Barrett assumed co-­existence of market and non-market exchange and looked at ‘the identification of gaps or zones that provided opportunities for non-binding and impersonal forms of exchange’ (Kilger 2008b: 257). More forcefully than Graham-Campbell and Batey (1998: 226), Barrett (1995: 275) argued for ‘the significance of export trade as a [secondary] source of wealth […] during both the Viking-Age and the Late Norse Period’, pointing to the 8kg+ Skaill hoard for the ‘potential quantitative importance of this trade’ by the mid- to late-10th century. Regarding the network mechanisms behind this, Barrett (1995: 136ff.) returned to a nodal-region model rejecting Scotland being a geographical and economic periphery. This acknowledged the importance of geography in generating silver inf lux through (small-scale) secondary sources of wealth in the form of passage tolls, re-provisioning, piloting, and export trade. In a parallel to the 8th-century Ytre Kvarøy grave material noted by Sindbæk (2011: 58–9) or that at Viking-Age Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020), Barrett suggested that exporting may be evidenced circumstantially by long-distance imports – where such imports are seen as corollaries of market exchange (1995: 154) – in particular the glass and amber ornaments from burials and settlements (1995: 161; Table 6.1, 444). While any ­opening-up of the Cuerdale Corridor by Ívarr-types probably decreased traffic through this region, I suggest such circumstantial evidence – dating, in the case of the burial corpus, from c.850 to 950 – points to it continuing during the Uí Ímair Age. What, then, of monetary silver in this trade? Here, Barrett suggested that, without a standard indigenous coinage, bullion could have acted as currency for inter-regional trade (1995: 166–9). Moreover, ‘the absence of native coinage need not imply the absence of market economy as Kruse (1993: 196–200) suggests – it simply implies the possible absence of a royal power with a monopoly on the control of exchange’; bullion was ‘coinage without a king’ (Barrett 2007: 167). Emphasizing at least some trade involving silver (Barrett 1995: 137; cf. Kruse 1993: 197), Barrett suggested it ‘likely that [it] was intended at least in part for market exchange. Evidence in support of this interpretation includes the use of hacksilver (rather than unfinished objects), purity checks (nicks), and weight standards’ (1995: 275). Indeed, nicking (one Skaill ingot had 30 marks) suggested silver could be exchanged frequently, ‘but also that the receiver was sufficiently concerned about its future exchange value,

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possibly his or her profit, to check’ (Barrett 1995: 167; cf. Kruse 1993: 167). As Barrett (1995: 275) concluded regarding Skaill: the significance of export trade as a source of wealth can be assumed during both the Viking-Age and the Late Norse Period. Imported objects, particularly (but not exclusively) [silver bullion] currency, suggest the existence of long-range market-trade in the Viking-Age. Without indigenous coinage, bullion could have acted as an adaptable currency for supraregional trade from the period in which we have Kiloran Bay, Gordon, and Galloway – c.850–900 – if not before (Barrett 1995: 167–9; cf. Kruse 1988: 285, 2007; Graham-Campbell 2020). I argue here that the reason for its limited presence between the late 9th century and Storr Rock and Skaill (c.935/940–980) was due to: (i) the operation of new, more efficient/faster, routes such as the Cuerdale Corridor; (ii) Scandinavian Scotland’s small population; and (iii) problems in investigating remote Scottish coasts, estuaries, and islands compared to the more metal-detector friendly PAS heartlands. Skaill hoard Skaill, deposited c.955–980 (tpq 945/946), contained 115+ silver pieces (­Graham-Campbell 1995: 34–48, 108–27; Metcalf 1995: 20; Griffiths 2013: 501), including Scandinavian neck- and arm-rings, and remnants of 17 ‘balltype’ penannular brooches of Irish Sea Region-type, examples of which are also found in the c.920 Goldsborough dirham-hoard (Graham-Campbell 1995: 34–5; Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 239; Griffiths 2013: 502). The Scandinavian rings included 31 penannular arm-rings of Scotto-Scandinavian ‘ring-money’, and a Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-ring. Also notable were a plain-ringed polyhedral-headed pin, a needle-type pin, and four complete ingots. There were 49 hacksilver fragments, consisting of ingot, brooch, pin, chain, rod, and hook (Griffiths 2013: 502). Twenty-one coins survive, of which 19 were dirhams in mainly poor condition from the Samarkand, Tashkent, and Baghdad mints, with the latest legible issues dated to 945/946. The other two coins were Anglo-Saxon: one Athelstan, and the other a swordless Anglo-Scandinavian St Peter of York (Graham-Campbell 1995: 34–48, 108–27; Metcalf 1995: 20; Naismith 2005: Griffiths 2013: 501–2). Skaill is used by each generation as a touchstone in palaeo-economic reconstructions. For Morris (1998: 90), it demonstrated wealth ‘brought into this region by merchant-traders’. Owen, on the other hand, used it to illustrate the diverse Viking-Age exchange spectrum: its collection of ‘active’ silver, i.e., ingots, ‘ring-money’, and hack-silver, to be used ‘as payments, gifts, or in exchange’ counterbalanced by those thistle brooches that remained wearable, suggesting that Skaill was, given its prestigious circumstances, as likely a chieftain’s as a trader’s hoard (Owen 1999: 28; cf. Barrett et al. 2000: 4; Owen

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2005: 301–2; Griffiths 2013: 522). Owen noted that Skaill overlooks a natural harbour and is associated with Viking-Age graves and possible early church (cf. Morris et al. 1985; Griffiths 2013). Such a prime settlement, likely held by prominent persons, would fit the Silver Route adoption of a model where local magnates (bœndr wealthy farmers, like Ohthere?) generated wealth and inf luence through a mix of farming, fishing, and the occasional hosting of regional and long-distance traders. While it seems less likely for a trader to have such spectacular brooches than a chieftain, the chieftain’s hoard model argued for by Graham-Campbell (1995: 48) does not take into account that economically active individuals (and félag-type trading collectives) may have been behaving, as Kiloran Bay, ‘sometimes as Viking, sometimes as merchant’ (cf. Crawford 1987: 134–6). Equally, the ‘prestige ornaments in useable condition’ (Graham-Campbell 1995: 48) may, on analogy with eastern Baltic hoards (Hårdh 1996), represent large payments for commodities purchased in bulk. Griffiths suggested that Skaill relates to a local ‘power centre’ (2013: 522), positing a close relationship between ‘patterns of hoard deposition and the geography of landed power and chiefdom centres in the Viking-Age’. Further clarification is, however, unclear as it is unknown whether Skaill was ‘sacred’ (i.e., deposited ‘irretrievably’ in wet or boggy ground) or ‘profane’ (i.e., within an active settlement context like Spillings). Griffiths leant slightly towards profane (‘a pragmatic concealment of worldly wealth within a dynamic phase of the establishment of mature Scandinavian authority over Orkney’) due to the dry (rabbit burrow) find-spot, which leaves open the possibility that Skaill represents a potentially active/commercial hoard used within ­supra-regional political and trade relationships.

Numismatic single-finds In Scotland, monetary studies have focussed on hoards, leading to a perception of minimal silver circulation (Williams 2006: 163, 171; 2007: 203; cf. Kruse 1993; Ritchie 1993; Graham-Campbell 1995). However, Williams (2006, 2007: 203, 204; cf. Bateson 1997; Screen 2020: 381) noted the growing non-hoard numismatic corpus from settlements – where single-finds are considered to offer a more accurate impression of currency circulation (cf. Stevenson 1966: xvi) – argues for more extensive familiarity with coined silver from the early 10th century (Screen 2020: 381), something also true for Dublin (Screen 2020: 381, ref. Woods 2014: 298–312). While, using Danelaw and Irish analogues, the number of coins from Scotto-Scandinavian contexts is low, Williams (2007: 203, 204, 2006: 167) argued this was expected due to: (i) absence of local production; (ii) low population density; (iii) limited metal-detecting; and (iv) the lack of ‘centres for monetary trade’. Moreover, where modern excavation has occurred, discoveries were made and are spread across Scotland. It has even been suggested that popular Anglo-Saxon coins could had ‘a potentially monetary or exchange function’, i.e., they were used

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as in the English Münzgeldwirtschaft (Williams 2007: 204). Although based on minute numbers, ‘the coins represented suggest that [they] were regularly in use from the early tenth century’ (Williams 2006: 171). This fits metrological evidence suggestive of bullion exchange as well as circumstantial evidence for silver being used to purchase the gifts of market-bought commodities seen in burials. This suggests to me that, even for supposedly peripheral and primitive Scotland, silver use was such that all regions of Insular Scandinavia could have participated – from 900 at the latest – in Southern Scandinavian-style economies. That this was the case from the later 9th century until at least the mid-10th also fits the idea that the economic and political ‘vision’ – Sheehan’s mot juste – shown by Ívarr-types and Vikings in Frankia (Cooijmans 2020: 4) was successful in attracting silver into Insular Scandinavia. That said, the low volume of Scotto-Scandinavian silver circulation in the Uí Ímair Age might suggest, as Wilson (1976: 98) argued on the basis of northern Danelaw ­d irham-hoard locations, that the main Uí Ímair routeway was trans-Pennine, or that traders passing through Scotland interacted only intermittently with the settlers. However, if we look beyond currency to long-distance commodities, we might discern a closer relationship between Scotto-Scandinavians and Uí Ímair markets than silver alone suggests.

New Scandinavian perspectives: Jämtland and Sandtorg As ever, I suggest looking to Scandinavian research for potential enlightenment. From the evidence sketched above, might we be seeing in Scotland a ‘remote’ rural region that had adopted the sophisticated market economics of the towns in the manner of a Swedish Jämtland (Holm 2017), in that travel to and from permanent markets – particularly Dublin – brought back both monetary economic practice and the metrological tools with which to facilitate it? Consequently, can we see in Scar and Kiloran Bay evidence of similar non-royal rural adoption of bullion as in Jämtland? Furthermore, do finds of previously unknown bullion-using temporary markets like Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020) in Arctic Norway bode well for future discoveries in Scandinavian Scotland? Adding to this idea of Scotto-Scandinavian connectivity to nodal markets might even be suggested by the aDNA research by Margaryan et al. (2020), which appears to make connections between northern Scotland and Dublin. Given the Scotland-to-Ireland nature of those links, I might even propose economic connections between Scotland and Southern Scandinavia and a suggestion that a Scotto-Scandinavian Laithlind (Steinforth 2020a) could have been the bridge between Óláfr and Ívarr’s possible Vestfold origins and Dublin.

7 Beyond dirhams The non-numismatic evidence

In this chapter, I corroborate the Insular Scandinavian pattern suggestive of a network-kingdom I identified with the dirhams using non-numismatic evidence. This dataset includes bullion, weighing equipment, jewellery, and exotic commodities deposited between the mid-9th and mid-10th centuries. I argue that a package of imports accompanied dirhams and suggest their regular transfer into Britain and Ireland points to market exchange. Regarding the mechanisms of this trade, I offer the distribution of some categories, considered traders’-items (i.e., their personal possessions) as evidence of maritime trade routes taken by Ohthere/Wulfstan-types. I also suggest that the distribution of some Insular Scandinavian material indicates a bi-directional network, where commodities and monetary innovations were also transferred from West to East (Williams 2020e: 43). That this was achieved primarily via the Southern Scandinavian-­DanelawIrish Sea Region axis suggested by dirham distribution seems likely, but the spread of some possible traders’-items also suggests (intermittent) use of the Round-Scotland route by traders operating within an Uí Ímair network-kingdom. My perspective owes much to Sheehan and Graham-Campbell’s (e.g., 2009) observations about Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings’ Southern Scandinavian origins. This was seen as related to the routeway of dirhams and ‘Permian’ spiral-rings (originating in Perm, today’s Russia, but later manufactured in Southern Scandinavia), whose distribution also suggested a ­Danish-Danelaw-Irish Sea Region axis (Brooks & Graham-Campbell 1986: 97). That I consider these connections between the Danish Corridor, Danelaw, and Dublin were based on market mechanisms (as opposed to gifting) stems from the likely commercial practice behind transfers of ‘foreign material found in quantity’ (Kruse 2007: 165). In particular, I look at amber concentrations in volumes unlikely caused purely by social exchange or local (­east-coast England) collection (Wallace 1987: 215–6; Mainman & Rogers 2000; Kruse 2007: 165). I argue that the problem with others’ observations about market-­network connections is they remain isolated in hoard- or regionally specific studies (e.g., Williams 2020a), or concentrate on England and/or Ireland: given

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-8

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Sindbæk’s (2011) and Krokmyrdal’s (2020) evidence for the Norðweg’s ­market-orientation even in its far north, and literary evidence of inter-­ regional traders like Ohthere and Wulfstan travelling through rural areas between permanent markets (Bately & Englert 2007; Englert & Trakadas 2009), I think Scotto-Scandinavian involvement should be considered more carefully, with Scottish routes potentially dominating Danish Corridor-Irish Sea connections from c.800 to 866/867, intermittently between c.866/867 and 930/954, and from c.930 to 954 on (cf. Skre 2011a: 441, 2015). My 954 cut-off date for the Uí Ímair network-kingdom is approximate, however, and connections may have continued for a period after Wessex’s capture of York (Kershaw 2020: 127). This is based on my understanding that a key reason for taking nodal markets (by Irish and English kings) lay in the continuation of lucrative going-concerns, and that the economically productive Scandinavian traders and craftworkers below the elites would not have been exiled (Simpson 2010: 418–9).

Hacksilver, ‘Swedish/Islamic’ metrology, and weights This section looks at distribution of ‘standardized’ oblate-spheroid and ­cubo-octahedral bullion weights and discusses evidence for weight standards across frontiers (cf. Steuer 1987b, 2009; Merkel 2017: 45–6). While the assumption is that standardized weights were used to weigh hacksilver, and dirhams in particular, awareness is maintained of possible alternative uses in metalworking for social display jewellery (Pedersen 2008: 159–61) and sharing loot. As I have discussed, the 9th century may have seen a c.24–24.5g ounce unit (øre) divided regularly into the c.8g ertog and c.4g half-ertog (Merkel 2017: 45, ref. Pedersen 2008: 148; Williams 2020f: 31–3; Jarman 2021: 64). As Merkel noted, oblate spheroid weights seem to fit into the øre system, [but] the ­cubo-octahedral weights generally fit into a system based on a unit of 0.35 grams and seem to represent a weight system based on the weight of a dirham between 3 and 3.5 grams. (2017: 45, ref. Pedersen 2008: 148; Sperber 1996: 55, 64; Steuer 1987b: 463, 477) However, this is not to suggest standards were ‘controlled’ or ‘distinct’ (Merkel 2017: 46), and I think it best to imagine an approximate ounce interpreted individually by traders, and/or decided by transactional partners at the beginning of a trade. Perhaps traders even weighed each others’ weights! The evidence for associating standardized weights with dirhams is that (Merkel 2017: 45–6): (i) the weight of a dirham seems important to their metrology; (ii) cubo-octahedral forms are seen in the terminals of the seemingly dirham-derived ‘Permian’ silver rings (cf. Hårdh 2007: 140); (iii) some

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  171

[early?] oblate-spheroids had pseudo-Arabic (kufic script) legends on their f lat poles (cf. Kilger 2008b: 307–9); and (iv) the first peak of Baltic dirham importation matches the introduction of standardized weights. In any case, hacksilver economies supported by dirhams and standardized weights saw an epochal change in the Scandinavian appreciation of silver away from attributing value to complete [‘Aurar’] jewellery to fragments (Kilger 2008b: 325; Merkel 2017: 45–6). As Merkel (2017: 46) notes, this may have also represented significant changes in society: The hacksilver economy broke the idea that value is based on objects that embodied individual units, but that value is determined by its relation to a unit of weight. The transition from objects valued as physical units to objects valued in association to a weight unit does not seem radical, but it denotes a change of who was in control of defining and determining value. The adoption of the hacksilver system was an economic re-organization, which may also represent a socio-political reorganization. The trend (at least in Southern Scandinavia) was increased fragmentation (Hårdh 1996: 84–9; Merkel 2017: 45–6), down to 0.1g, suggesting silver was being utilized in everyday payments, probably also among groups below elite society (Hårdh 1996: 24, 86; Kilger 2008b: 320–1; Merkel 2017: 45–6; cf. Holm 2017). What this tells me is that, increasingly, silver (and non-silver) commodity-money was being used because socio-political developments and the expansion of the Scandinavian world meant that exchange partners neither knew nor trusted the other, something also suggested by the increase of testing (e.g., nicking of silver bullion) from the 870s (Merkel 2017: 45–6; Williams 2020k: 12). Portable balances/scales Although rare in Insular Scandinavia, some portable balances excavated there are considered ‘Another invention adopted from the east […] They are sometimes found folded up snug in a specially-designed round tin’ (Westholm 2009: 146; cf. Steuer 1987b: 459ff.; Pedersen 2008: 126). Originally adapted from Arabic models (probably via Volga Bulgars) with a portability associated with mobile traders, they were almost certainly introduced through dirham-networks, being associated with standardized weights (Steuer 1997: 46; Schultzén 2009: 32; Westholm 2009: 146). A fragment of folding balance was found in ARSNY’s hoard – apparently repurposed as a Thor’s hammer pendant (Ager 2020: 15) – joining another fragment from the assemblage (­Rogers 2020: 19–20). Balances are regular finds in graves, usually associated with weights, and are also found in towns near metalworking detritus, suggesting an additional role in crafting (Kershaw 2020: 122–3). Cottam (Yorkshire) produced a dirham fragment and lead weights as well as two folding

172  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

balance fragments, with Kershaw (2020: 123) arguing the bullion association and lack of metalworking suggest commercial use. The first type of what I consider a Silver-Route ‘network balance’ is Steuer’s ‘Type 3’ (1987b). These devices entered Scandinavia from the last quarter of the 9th century (Kruse 1992: 72), before manufacture at some markets (Birka and Hedeby: Kruse 1992: 72; Pedersen 2008: 126–7; possibly also the Danelaw: Kruse 1992: 77). The following shows Insular Scandinavia balances attributed to Steuer’s Type 3 or possible local variants: Such devices probably ‘[arrived] with the stream of Arabic coins […] then carried to British Isles by Scandinavian merchants’ (Kruse 1992: 74; cf. Steuer 1987b: 462). In terms of distribution, I suggest the most likely examples are from 9th to 10th-century contexts in Norfolk and North Yorkshire and the Kilmainham-Islandbridge cemetery, situated to the west of the Poddle-Liffey Dublin longphort (Kruse 1992: 72–7). Given their association with dirhams, I think it notable that, although a tiny sample, ‘Type 3’ spatial patterning ref lects northern and eastern Danelaw distribution of single-find dirhams; in the Eastern Seaway, the vast majority have been found in Southern Scandinavia (particularly southern, Danish, regions) and the Mälaren region of eastern

Figure 7.1  ‘Viking box and scales’ by Berig (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  173 Table 7.1  ‘Type 3’ balances, Insular Scandinavia (cf. Steuer 1987b: 464–5, 525) Name

Location

Deposition (c.)

Context

Kilmainham-Islandbridge ‘R2402’ Thetford ‘n.57’ Thetford ‘n.56’ Kildale St Peter’s St, Northampton

Co. Dublin Norfolk Norfolk Yorkshire Northants

840–900 10th 10th 10th 10th?

Burial Site-find Site-find Burial Site-find

Sweden (Steuer 1987b: 465), suggesting to me movement from the Danish Corridor towards the Danelaw. Eastern Seaway-style design Cubo-octahedral design features on balances from Jórvík’s Coppergate (10412) and Kilmainham-Islandbridge (‘R1856’) in the west of modern Dublin (both of which include ring-and-dot decoration), ‘may indicate Scandinavian or Baltic production or imitation’ (Kruse 1992: 73; Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2559, 2645), possibly inspired by cubo-octahedral weights. It is also a feature of ‘Permian’ terminals (Merkel 2017: 46) and knobbed penannular brooches. The Isleham (Cambridgeshire) balance-pan with petal design may also be of Baltic origin. Features such as the cubo-octahedral element were known outside of the Scandinavian-Islamic payment sphere (Kruse 1992: 81), but I suggest those found in Insular Scandinavia during the Uí Ímair Age were more likely derived from Eastern Seaway connections. Examples are listed below, with my understanding the cubo-octahedral type is the most likely to have had Silver Route associations: As with the Type 3, distribution of potentially Eastern Seaway balances – the majority of which seem to have been deposited in the 10th century – matches Danelaw single-find dirhams and strengthens my understanding that the key routeway was from the Danish Corridor to the northern and eastern Danelaw:

Standardized weights Standardized weights have been discovered in both Seaways, presumably f lushed through with dirhams (Blackburn 2011: 237). Indeed, both forms had Islamic prototypes (Schultzén 2009; Williams 2020f: 20), and were likely related to (‘standardized’ with) the weights of Islamic coins (Steuer 1997: 285–9; Pedersen 2008: 119; cf. Kilger 2011: 264; Merkel 2017). Most consider their introduction related to bullion, being ‘typically associated with the weighing of silver at market sites in Scandinavia’ (Kershaw 2020: 119), and there is evidence for manufacture at Birka (Williams 2020f: 30). Rather than direct links to the Caliphate or its emirates, this ‘Swedish/Islamic’ system, centred around Type 3 balances and standardized weights, was probably adapted by Swedes from one employed by Volga Bulgars (Schultzén 2009:

174  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence Table 7.2  Balances with Eastern Seaway-type decoration Name

Location

Deposition (c.)

Design: cubooctahedral

Thetford ‘n.58’ Cromwell Isleham KilmainhamIslandbridge ‘R1856’ School St, Ipswich Exeter Wiltshire Claxby with Moorby York, 16–22 Coppergate ‘10412’ York, 16–22 Coppergate ‘10413’ Near Driffield North Kesteven Winchester

Norfolk Nottinghamshire Cambridgeshire Co. Dublin

? ? ? 840–900

✓ ✓ n/a ✓

Suffolk Devon Wiltshire Lincolnshire Yorkshire

10th 10th? ✓ 10th? 10th? ✓ 975–1050? ✓

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Yorkshire

975–1050?

✓

Yorkshire Lincolnshire Hampshire

7th–12th 10th–12th 10th–13th

✓ ✓?

Design: ring-and-dot

✓ n/a

✓ Single-dot ✓

Figure 7.2  Possible Eastern Seaway balances and single-find dirhams (author)

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  175

34, 39; Jarman 2021: 64). The Swedish/Islamic system could produce 12.7g weights, being 3× the mitqāl unit (via the dinar gold coin) and half a 25.4g øre, suggesting trade facilitating mechanisms between these linked economies ( Jarman 2021: 64). With evidence of production on Gotland and Birka (Williams 2020f: 20), the use of standardized weights was widespread from the 870s (Williams 2020c: 129), complementing the increasing presence of hacksilver in Southern Scandinavian markets from the mid-9th century (Merkel 2017; Williams 2020j: 101). That ARSNY has produced lead versions of both types ‘suggests an assimilation of the new style of weights into the wider pool of lead weights’ in Viking England (Williams 2020f: 21). As Kilger (2011: 26) noted, such metrological developments led to a breakthrough in acceptance of hacksilver as a payment and valuation system. Their wide distribution indicates these weights were a widespread phenomenon, presupposing, per Gustin (2004a: 260), they were connected to a supra-regional activity – commodity exchange. Together with the silver that poured into the Baltic Sea area in the form of Islamic coins, the standardised weights and scales were the foundation for a smoothly functioning and commercially viable supra-regional means of payment. I suggest that this was most likely inculcated within trader-networks. Cubo-octahedral weights (c.860+) Cubo-octahedral weights resemble cubes with cut-off corners, generally cast in copper-alloy (Gustin 2004a: 258; Blackburn 2002: 95–8, 2011: 236). Typically, the larger faces are decorated with punched dots or annulets, presumed either to show an absolute weight or relative position within a series. Weighing from 0.35g in the Eastern Seaway and 0.73g at Torksey (PAS: NML466707), they were most likely designed to weigh small pieces of bullion silver, most commonly dirhams (Steuer 2009: 294ff.; Kershaw 2020: 120); indeed, there seems to be correlation between cubo-octahedral and dirham concentrations in Torksey and ARSNY, as well as matching distribution in the English single-finds (Kershaw 2020: 120). Found in Novgorod, Truso, Bandelunde, Paviken (Blackburn 2002: 95), and Hedeby (Steuer et al. 2002: 139 ff., 2009: 297, 298; Hilberg 2009: 92), excavations in Birka seem to suggest intensive use in the Baltic from c.860 (Gustin 2004a: 314; Pedersen 2008: 132; Steuer 2009: 297). Less intensive use occurred in Great Army contexts from c.870 (Blackburn 2011: 236) where they have been found in both the ARSNY hoard (4, each with 6 dots on their faces) and site (24) (Williams 2020f: 31, 2020i: 15). Although likely of Arabic origin, Scandinavian manufacture was demonstrated by the discovery of four Gotlandic examples yet to be separated from

176  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.3  Cubo-octahedral weight (PAS: SWYOR-3ECDD6) West Yorkshire Archaeological Advisory Service (CC BY-SA 4.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme)

their cast-chain (Östergren 1989: 171f.). Their Eastern Seaway distribution is almost indistinguishable from that of oblate-spheroids (Schultzén 2009: 32). Also like oblate-spheroids, their Insular Scandinavian distribution is concentrated in the northern and eastern Danelaw, with 59+ examples from Torksey, and 28 from ARSNY, plus another four from a possible hoard or burial at the same (Blackburn 2011: 236; Williams 2011: 68; Hadley & Richards 2016; Williams 2020f: 20). I suggest this indicates a key role for the Great Army in introducing them to Insular Scandinavia. The other single-site concentration occurred at the ‘near Sheffield’ site in South Yorkshire (Kruse 1992: 80, 87, 88), and I suggest Great Army links here, too. A closely related form (with two hexagonal faces) was discovered in York, with near-parallel examples from the Abbasid Caliphate and Birka (Kruse 1992: 80). As with balances of possible Eastern Seaway derivation and oblate-spheroids, their distribution matches that of single-find dirhams in the eastern and northern Danelaw. Overall, the repeating Eastern Seaway pattern is of concentrations of dirhams and its associated metrological equipment in the eastern Baltic (particularly the axis between southern Finland, Åland, and the Mälaren region), Gotland, and Danish regions (Southern Scandinavia); from here, concentrations in the eastern Danelaw (especially Norfolk) and northern Danelaw (Yorkshire) further suggest that the Eastern Seaway and Danish Corridor network connected primarily with these regions: The only non-Danelaw finds are both from Woodstown with none from Dublin (Sheehan 2008: 291–2, 2014; cf. Wallace 1987: 212, 2013: 308). Of the Woodstown examples, one (‘600:4116’) is of possible silver casting (Sheehan

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  177

Figure 7.4  Western Seaway cubo-octahedral weight distribution (author) | Northern European cubo-octahedral weight distribution (Courtesy and © Jane Kershaw)

2014: 206; Williams 2020e: 41). The other may be of lead, and represent a locally produced variant. Virtual absence outside the Danelaw might be explained by: (i) their small size being missed during excavation; (ii) bullion economies there not requiring such small gradations to measure hacksilver

178  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.5  Single-find dirhams; standardized weights; Eastern Seaway-type balances (author)

(cf. Wallace 2013: 304); (iii) the failure of those economic agents presumed to have introduced them to travel beyond eastern England; and (iv) a cultural preference for heavier truncated-sphere weights, as in Dublin. Their Dublin absence is possibly due to their being overlooked amidst rescue excavations with insufficient screening processes (understandable for the time) and most excavations being outwith the original longphort south of today’s Dublin Castle. Coastal erosion and lack of metal-detecting in regions like Scotland may also be factors. In any case, as the following map suggests, these weights must have been associated with dirham-using economic agents from, or with links to, the Baltic. Oblate-spheroids (truncated-spheres) (c.870+) Oblate-spheroid weights – also known as truncated-spheres – became central to the Southern Scandinavian silver bullion economy (Steuer 1987b, 1997, 2009; Kilger 2011: 264–5). Introduced to Scandinavia from c.870, Eastern Seaway manufacturing sites have, like Type 3 balances, been located in Birka and Hedeby (Söderberg 2008: 999 ff.; Schultzén 2009: 32; Blackburn 2011: 239). Relatively heavy compared to cubo-octahedrals, they were probably used for higher-value bullion transactions, perhaps in the 20–50g range (Kershaw 2020: 120, 124).

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  179

Figure 7.6  Oblate-spheroid weight (with corroded iron core extruding), North Cave, Yorkshire (PAS: SWYOR-E16C55) West Yorkshire Archaeology Service (CC BY-SA 4.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme)

As Kershaw (VM 2012b) noted, oblate-spheroids are ‘closely associated with the weighing of silver as payment: a connection supported by the fact that some silver hoards […] contain oblate-spheroid weights’. Similarly, Åhfeldt (2020: 159) assumes the female in grave 9/89 at Fröjel (Gotland) could have been a trader due to the oblate-spheroid among the grave goods, adding that this weight type was ‘generally related to the silver trade and the operation of bullion economies, rather than used is craft activities such as bronze casting’. Dirham association is most noticeable in those presumed early examples with pseudo-kufic/Arabic legends (Schultzén 2009: 33; cf. Kisch 1959: 161–2; Steuer 1987b: 460ff.; Kruse 1992: 80; Sperber 1996: 96ff.; Pedersen 2008: 169–70). Later types incorporated a roundel of annulets with a triskele pattern (abstract pseudo-kufic?) in the centre (cf. Kruse 1992: 80), something also seen in the cubo-octahedral terminal of a knobbed penannular brooch from Västergarn, Gotland (British Museum 1921,1101.190). Generally iron-cored with copper-alloy shells, oblate-­spheroids could be of lead-alloy construction, as at one of the six from Torksey (Blackburn 2011: 239; Hadley & Richards 2016), Linton in Cambridgeshire, Dumbarton Rock, and Whithorn. The rare solid copper-alloy type (only 20 are known in Sweden) is found in Cleat, Orkney (Maleszka 2003: 287; cf. Kruse 2007: 173, n. 3), Fressingfield in Suffolk, Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire, and, from Lincolnshire, at Hatton and Torksey (Blackburn 2011: 239).

180  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.7  Insular Scandinavian truncated-sphere (oblate-spheroid) distribution (author)

As seen below, the main Insular Scandinavian concentration is in the eastern Danelaw, matching those of single-find dirhams and Eastern Seaway-type balances: Approximately 40 examples are known from England, including one possible iron core remnant from ARSNY (Williams 2020f: 20), with none from Wales. Scotland has produced two cast lead examples and one of cast ­copper-alloy type, in addition to recent (probable iron and copper-alloy) finds from Late Norse contexts at Bornais (Horne 2020; Horne & Smith 2020a) and Earl’s Bu (Horne, forth.). Wallace (2013: 308) noted they are ‘fairly well known’ in Dublin, but unknown in Woodstown (although only small-scale investigations have taken place here). The presumed Dublin ­concentration – Wallace did not give numbers – matches concentrations at Jórvík (eight) and Torksey (six) (Hadley & Richards 2016: Tab. 1, 39, 48; Kershaw 2017). This suggests to me that Southern Scandinavian-style economic links existed between Danelaw markets and Dublin. That such links towards the Eastern Seaway via the Danish Corridor were related to dirhams might also be seen in the visually identical weights found at Jórvík (‘10356’ and ‘10357’ weighing 21.90g and 26.97g respectively: Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2563, 2564) and the Russian Gnezdovo ‘1993’ hoard (Murasheva 2020: 78); distinctive weights matching those from neighbouring sites at Hemlingby and Valbo in

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  181

east-central Sweden (Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2563). Here, links connecting Rus’ with Swedes and Jórvík on the line of dirham movement, mediated via the Danish Corridor, seem likely.

Network-trader group affiliation Steuer (2009) argued that, from around the time in which Ohthere and Wulfstan travelled (c.870–890), Eastern Seaway traders adopted new methods and modalities of payment characterized by the spread of dirhams, hacksilver, and standardized weights. This was also a period when places traders patronized became markets, and one in which market economies could be detected through hacksilver and weights mislaid during transactions (ibid, 305). In Steuer’s (2009: 295) model, ‘emporia’ had moved on from being solely ‘the places of exclusive trade of luxury items to places where regular, everyday goods were available’. Steuer argued that standardized weights were not an innovation of elites or polities, but ‘evolved within the network of the merchants themselves’. Here, a concept seemingly introduced from the Caliphate via the Volga Bulgar and Rus’ network-kingdoms and refined in the Baltic, was spread among long-­ distance traders as they met in markets. Importantly for my argument, Steuer’s (2009: 304) model of a standardized-weight network stretched ‘from the inner regions of Russia, ranging from Hedeby to Truso, and even […] to the British Isles’, and was ref lected in the distribution of dirhams. Similarly, Gustin (2004a: 265) argued that a distinctive form of market-trade operated within Viking-Age Scandinavia, and that it relied upon trust and stabilizing mechanisms in the social relations between traders, some of which are preserved in material culture associated with commercial transactions. Focussing on cubo-octahedral weights and cubo-octahedral elements in objects associated both with transactions and traders themselves, Gustin suggested the use of familiar shapes/forms by traders (in metrological equipment and/or on personal accoutrements) created and strengthened group-identity (cf. Raffield 2016s in-groups). Such affiliation facilitated transactions between unrelated actors in the more socially neutral environments provided by marketplaces in the same way use of distinctive dirhams did as a trusted medium of payment. In gift-centric societies, trust mechanisms to reduce stress between supraregional traders were vital in market-based transactions where the aim was to maximize profit in a zero-sum game, and where fraud can be seen in counterfeit dirhams from Birka, Jórvík (Coppergate), and Hedeby (Gustin 2004a: 262–3) and Torksey’s fake gold ingot (Woods 2020: 406). Kershaw (VM 2013) agreed: ‘Like the picture of the Queen on a bank note, standardised weights provided visual clues that added credibility to a transaction’. While frequent meetings of buyer and seller would have removed some of market trade’s risks through the creation of long-term trust, and legal and physical protection might have represented the quid pro quo for payment by traders of tolls to elites, the wide spread of standardized weights suggests traders trusted them, possibly because their copper-alloy coating was

182  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

less vulnerable to tampering (Gustin 2004a: 264–5). Their associations with dirhams, in addition to form, material, and distinctive decoration ‘must have been perceived as exact and reliable’, facilitating trust during socially unstable transactions (Gustin 2004a: 265). From this, the extension of cubo-­octahedral design to balances, where they sat across from dirhams or other trusted bullion, as well as to personal accoutrements presumed worn by long-­d istance traders, suggests a desire to display membership of a group that understood commercial rules in a largely gift-giving world. Does it follow, then, that where we find examples of this ornament we also find the network? Here, I look at what Gustin (2004a: 261) described as ‘iconicity’ to explain the thinking behind the transfer of design elements across the scale pan: ‘if there is iconicity between the cubo-octahedral weights and certain cubo-­octahedral ornaments, the primary meaning contained in these ornaments […] must have carried the same associations and connotations as the weights’. Gustin (2004a: 265–6) suggested the social function of cubo-octahedral decoration was best demonstrated by ‘penannular brooches with faceted knobs’ or ‘knobbed penannular brooches’ (Graham-Campbell 2011a: 119; Sheehan 2020: 418–20). Some have, in addition to terminal cubo-­octahedral knobs, two additional knobs on the hoop. Originally developed in 9th-­ century Finland (Sheehan 2020: 418), Graham-Campbell (2011a: 119) saw westward progression of the manufacture of variants (inclusive of a more common type without pegs on the terminal knobs and a later pegged variety), via central Sweden and Gotland towards southern Norway (concentrated on the Danish Corridor around Kaupang, where they were likely manufactured) and – in silver – Dublin (Sheehan 2020: 418–9; Graham-Campbell 2011b: 105). Some Irish examples may be imports, however, and the ‘Hiberno-­ Scandinavian’ silver variant can be paralleled in southern Gotland (Sheehan 2020: 419). In any case, the production spread mirrored dirham-networks, as would be expected in my Silver Route network. Once in Insular Scandinavia (or after being manufactured there), they were deposited in Midlothian (allegedly), Caithness, Cuerdale, Man, and Ireland. The Irish ‘concentration’ suggests manufacture of a silver variant, potentially in Dublin, with Cuerdale’s fragment possibly dating this to the late 9th century (Graham-Campbell 2011a: 119). For Scotland, Gogarburn Table 7.3  K nobbed penannular brooches, Insular Scandinavia Name

Location

Deposition (c.)

Material

Context

Gogarburn Harrow Cuerdale Peel Beach Ireland (1) Ireland (2) Loughcrew

Midlothian Caithness Lancashire Isle of Man Unprovenanced Unprovenanced Co. Meath

850–present 9th/10th 905–910 9th/10th 9th/10th 9th/10th 9th/10th

Copper-alloy Copper-alloy Silver Copper-alloy Silver Silver Silver

Single-find? Single-find/burial Dirham-hoard Single-find Single-find Single-find Hoard (coinless)

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  183

in Midlothian may represent the jettisoning of a stolen Antiquarian collection (Graham-Campbell pers. comm.), but this cannot be confirmed, so is included. With regard to Harrow (Caithness), Batey (1993: 159; cf. ­Graham-Campbell 2011b: 105) noted the oval brooches from nearby Castletown (Batey 1993: 149, Fig. 6.1) were of Swedish form and that it was ‘worth pondering the fact that Eastern Viking elements could be represented in the Western Viking world, rather than simply those of [northern] Norwegian origin, which is our customary view’. Graham-Campbell (2011b: 105) suggested the Harrow find probably emanated from a Southern Scandinavian (Kaupang?) workshop – where it seems both pegged and pegless types were introduced before being copied – on account of its long pin (‘a southern Norwegian trait’). This is further proof of my understanding that supra-regional networks of this type were as likely to provide conduits for the transmission of style as they were the physical movement of objects. In either case, both would have relied on the movement of individuals with knowledge of manufacturing techniques, such was likely the case for combs (Steuer 1987b: 179ff.; cf. Ashby 2006). Given this westward procession of development, parallels with Graham-Campbell and Sheehan’s arguments for Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band arm-rings’ east-to-west object biography are clear (Sheehan 2009; Sheehan & Graham-Campbell 2009). I suggest the spread of cubo-octahedral brooches can be associated with long-distance trader-networks for the reason that they signalled a useful

Figure 7.8  K nobbed penannular brooches, Insular Scandinavia (author)

184  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

group-affiliation. This allowed parties in a transaction to ‘predict what they can expect of each other and of the encounter’ even without a common language (Gustin 2004a: 266). Indeed, Gustin (idem) may hint at a Silver Route network when talking of group-affiliation expressed by these brooches as a ‘supra-regional payment-ecumene’ where long-distance traders and producers favoured the ‘same scales, weights and foreign coins’.

Actor-networks and the Silver Route payment zone Beyond dirhams, I propose a mid- to late 9th-century trader payment zone can be detected through distribution patterns of traders’-items (such as knobbed penannular brooches) or hacksilver. A seemingly unambiguous example of non-numismatic bullion corroborating a particular dirham routeway into Insular Scandinavia is provided by the Dysart Island (no. 4) dirham-hoard (c.910, Co. Westmeath) (Ryan et al. 1984; Sheehan 1998: 169, tab. 6.1; Sheehan 2020: 421). Dysart is important for my Silver Route thesis because: (i) it demonstrates freshly minted Samanid dirhams ‘were carried at the beginning of the tenth century direct to Gotland and from there to regions lying around the Irish Sea’ (Kilger 2008a: 237) and (ii) they were associated with non-numismatic silver, with at least one, and probably two, piece of Baltic/Gotlandic hacksilver also present (Sheehan 1998: 184). As Kilger (2008a: 237; cf. Sheehan 1998: 171, Fig. 6.2) noted: ‘Gotland [was] the earliest region in the Baltic Sea zone that was supplied with Samanid dirhams, and subsequently passed the silver on westwards. This is corroborated by [Dysart] which also included a fragment of typically Gotlandic arm-ring’. While the Gotland attribution is unconfirmed – we have seen the spread of Baltic-style accoutrements to production centres further West – I suggest the speed of dirham transfer from Gotland to the Irish Sea indicates silver and trends travelled between Seaways in the hands of traders using short-cuts offered by small-world nodal networks. The fulcrum of this Gotland/Irish Sea Region axis was Jutland (Danish Corridor) where – surely indicatively – the earliest Samanid hoard from Southern Scandinavia (Over Randlev I, tpq 910/911) was deposited (Kilger 2008a: 237). Looking at Dysart’s possible Baltic piece(s), one fragment seems similar to the knobbed penannular brooch found between Vamlingbo and Sundre on Gotland (Sheehan 1998: 184, 2020: 418; Gustin 2004a: 140, Fig. 7.20). However, it is likely this was a southern Norwegian variant, as per two unprovenanced Irish fragments and one from Loughcrew, Co. Meath. In any case, an origin like Kaupang would still demonstrate Danish Corridor-Uí Ímair connections. Sheehan argued Dysart contained one definite fragment of Baltic provenance: a cast arm-ring of plano-convex section decorated with c-shaped stamped grooves, rare in Norway (e.g., the Bøstrand, Nordland hoard), but common in Gotland (1998: 184; Ryan et al. 1984: 341, 344, no. 95, pl. 9,25). There are at least two similar fragments (‘1:413–4’) of what ­Graham-Campbell called ‘Cast and sheet band arm-ring[s], with sub-group (i) ornament’ in the (Uí Ímair?) Cuerdale hoard that is considered a close relation

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  185

to Dysart (2011a: 317, pl. 19 – 1:413–6). The Cuerdale examples accompanied a Gußkuchen-type ingot common in Gotland and southern S­ weden, strengthening Sheehan’s idea of strong, early, links between silver import and silversmithing connecting Southern Scandinavia and the Baltic to the Irish Sea and particularly Dublin (Sheehan 2020: 415 [referencing me], 421). I suggest the axis connecting the Seaways – frequented by Ohthere/­ Wulfstan-types and their Insular equivalents – witnessed a range of silver currencies acceptable within the Silver Route, inclusive of hacksilver fragments of Southern Scandinavian origin, complete coins, and Baltic jewellery. Sheehan’s observations about Eastern Seaway bullion elements in Ireland are relevant to Insular Scandinavia as a whole in that they demonstrate the high mobility of silver and association with dirham routeways. From this position, I will now look to the paths of Permian-style spiral-rings into Insular Scandinavia as a further example of non-numismatic corroboration of exchange corridors delineated by dirhams, with Sheehan (1998: 185) noting ‘The distribution pattern […] is of interest since it bears directly on the route by which fragments are likely to have reached the west from the Baltic’.

Highly mobile jewellery ‘Permian’ spiral-rings Originally manufactured, likely using dirhams, from the late 9th century as weight-adjusted (c.100g, with 25g sub-unit) neck-rings in Perm, Russia, once in the Eastern Seaway they were generally converted into armrings (Sheehan 1998: 185, 2020: 420; Hårdh 2008: 108–13; Pedersen 2011: 158; Graham-Campbell 2011a: 88; Merkel 2017: 44; Williams 2020f: 32–3). Thereafter, (Danish) Southern Scandinavians seemingly produced (thinner and lighter) imitations like the fragments from Cuerdale (Graham-Campbell 2011a: 89; cf. Hårdh 2008: 109). As Merkel noted (2017: 44, ref. Hårdh 1996: 140–1; Hårdh 2008: 111), the ‘Danish’ variant weighed 50 or 200g, being manufactured there in the late 9th and early 10th centuries, with fragments circulating for the rest of the 10th. Recognized from distinctive corded/ striated fragments, some maintain polyhedral/faceted terminal rods similar to cubo-octahedral weights (Williams & Ager 2010: 25). This might relate to Gustin’s trader-­network payment-ecumene as an example of cubo-­ octahedral forms crossing the scale from weights to jewellery. In any case, analysis of Cuerdale’s terminal knob (‘1:374’) indicated it was made from dirhams (Graham-Campbell 2011a: 88; cf. Williams & Ager 2010: 25), suggesting a link to bullion currency. Prototype/original Permian spiral-rings are concentrated in what is now Russia, with notable volumes in Gotland and Öland; the probable Southern Scandinavian type is concentrated in Gotland and Denmark (especially Schleswig-Holstein) with finds also in Kaupang and Frisia (Hårdh 2008: 111). While two fragments were found in the early Torvik (Volda,

186  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.9  T  op: ‘Permian’ fragment, Spofforth, Yorkshire (PAS: SWYOR-55BBB2), West Yorkshire Archaeology Advisory Service (CC BY 4.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme)| Bottom: West Coast Cumbria hoard, fragment is uppermost artefact on left (PAS: ­LANCUM-FA14C8) Portable Antiquities Scheme (CC BY 2.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme)

Møre og Romsdal) hoard (c.850–900) from northern Norway, Sheehan argued from the presence of Danish-type broad-band arm-rings that this ‘may have been an import of southern Scandinavian origin’ (2011a: 97; cf. 1998: 186, 2020; Hårdh 2008: 109). They are seldom found in Norway (Sheehan 2020: 420), with the only other Norwegian example being from Østfold (Gjulem), notably placing it within my Danish Corridor (Sheehan 1998: 186). As I have argued, Danish or Rus’ provenance is of little importance in assessing network links to Insular Scandinavia in that they both fed into the Silver Route prior to entering (probably via Schleswig-Holstein and Frisian regions within the orbit of the Danish Corridor). Of the Irish finds, both the ‘Co. Dublin’ and unlocalized fragments may be Permian originals (Sheehan 1998: 185–6, 2011: 97–8; 2020: 420–1; Graham-Campbell 2011a: 88–9). In Britain, fragments have been found in nine locations, and – aside from early Great-Army associated outliers of Croydon and Torksey – date from the late 9th and early 10th centuries (Sheehan 2020: 421). Dating from c.871 to 935/940, these rings have been discovered in Croydon (871/2: the earliest coin-dated example); Silverdale (c.900–930); Cuerdale

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  187 Table 7.4  Spiral-rings, Insular Scandinavia Name

Location

Deposition (c.)

Fragment? Context

Croydon Torksey Silverdale Cuerdale Vale of York Bedale Llanbedrgoch Co. Dublin Storr Rock Unlocalized Irish West Coast Cumbria

London Lincs. Lancashire Lancashire Yorkshire Yorkshire Anglesey Co. Dublin Skye Ireland Cumbria

871–872 872–873 900–910/930 905–910 927–928 872–935/940 10th? 935 935/940 ? ?

✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓ ✓

Dirham-hoard Dirham-site Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Hoard Dirham-site Hoard Dirham-hoard n/a Hoard

(c.905–910: 38 fragments of both Eastern European and Southern Scandinavian manufacture); Vale of York (c.927/928); Bedale (872–935); Co. Dublin (c.935); and Storr Rock (c.935/940). Although every Insular Scandinavian spiral-rings is fragmented, they remained recognizable as high-quality, ‘exotic’ Eastern Seaway silver. All these hoards, Bedale aside, contained dirhams, suggesting they circulated together. Single-finds are restricted to an unknown South Lincolnshire productive-site (Graham-Campbell 2011a: 88, 109, n.5) as well as Torksey and Llanbedrgoch (Sheehan 2020: 421). Their distribution, excluding ‘West Coast Cumbria’ and the unlocalized Irish find, is mapped in Figure 7.10: Distribution shows concentration on a Jórvík-Dublin axis, suggesting this was the main routeway for Insular Silver Route silver (and the associated metrological and commodity package), and one which fits an Uí Ímair ­network-kingdom structured primarily around a Cuerdale Corridor. While being outside this main spiral-ring deposition zone, the geographical and chronological outliers of Croydon, Torksey, and Storr Rock demonstrate that, as with dirhams, their introduction was probably due to Southern Scandinavian (Great Army) links; and that Scotto-Scandinavians accepted exotic non-numismatic silver. Discussing Storr Rock, Graham-Campbell and Batey (1998: 236) presumed spiral-rings arrived in tandem with dirhams, being taken from the Danish Corridor to the Danelaw, entering Scotland via the east coast or by way of the Cuerdale Corridor and the Irish Sea (1998: 233). Within the Danish Corridor, as with the Danelaw, dirham concentrations corroborate with spiral-rings, suggesting both travelled in concert through these regions (cf. Sheehan 1998: 186–8). This Danish/Danelaw connection is, therefore, central to understanding Silver Route routeways into and within Insular Scandinavia. Moreover, the dirham/spiral-ring juxtaposition seen in hoards and markets (Hårdh 2008: 111), suggests there was a Silver Route bullion network-currency c.850/870–950/960, of which these were integral.

188  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.10  Spiral-rings, Insular Scandinavia (author)

Sheehan (2020: 421) notes four Southern Scandinavian/Baltic/Russian types (cast-band and single-rod arm-rings, spiral-rings, knobbed brooches) are present in Irish hoards and as single-finds, with Dysart possessing three. This is paralleled by Cuerdale, which has all four and a Gußkuchen ingot (Sheehan 2020: 421). Looking at Hiberno-Scandinavian parallels between Dysart, Cuerdale, Silverdale, Vale of York, Storr Rock, Bedale, West Coast Cumbria (PAS: LANCUM-FA14C8), and Llanbedrgoch, Sheehan (2020: 421–2) concluded: some of the imported southern Scandinavian/Baltic silver in the west may have gone directly to Ireland, particularly to the Dublin region; from there, some of it may have been redistributed across the Irish Sea to north and north-west England, areas that were, at times, closely politically linked with Dublin. The other possibility is that Southern Scandinavian/Baltic bullion arrived in the Danelaw/Jórvík and thence across the Cuerdale Corridor to Dublin, but the numismatic evidence – particularly dirhams – favours a ‘­D ublin first’ argument (Sheehan 2020: 422). Most dirham hoards cluster in two regions – Dublin and north-west England – with most of the hoards containing Southern Scandinavian/Baltic silver bullion, ‘suggesting [dirhams] generally circulated in tandem with this type of silver’ (Sheehan 2020: 422). In any case, hoards with Baltic/Southern Scandinavian silver artefacts and hoards with dirhams both cluster within the Cuerdale Corridor and

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  189

Figure 7.11  Hoards and assemblages with Baltic/Southern Scandinavian material (left) | Hoards with dirhams (right) (Courtesy of J. Sheehan and N. Hogan)

around Dublin, adding to that repeating pattern of connections between these regions and the Eastern Seaway/Danish Corridor (­Sheehan 2020: 422, 423; Figure 7.11), and mirroring the pattern seen in the distribution of hoards that include northern Danelaw coins in northern ­England, in eastern Ireland, and the Scottish islands (Gooch 2012: 185). Filigree beads Further 10th-century connections along an axis connecting Eastern Europe with Insular Scandinavia via Sweden/Gotland and Southern Scandinavia are suggested by distinctive pin-and-chain arrangements found in Gnezdovo; the Åland Islands; central Sweden; Denmark; the Vale of York dirham-hoard; a Ballinaby burial (c.900, Islay), and finds from Lagore (Co. Meath), and Garron Point (Co. Antrim): Ballinaby and Vale of York match Gnezdovo in consisting of pins attached to a filigree pendant bead (of Baltic type) and chain. The Gnezdovo (1993) hoard is especially pertinent to my idea of long-distance multi-cultural networks of silver-centric commerce in that it contained ‘steppe type’ belt mounts, a cast Scandinavian pendant, and jewellery decorated with Slavic-like filigree granulation (Murasheva 2020: 78). Garron Point could be a Hiberno-­Scandinavian variant using a ringed-pin and an apparent approximation of a filigree bead. The closest parallels to Ballinaby’s pin with a filigree-ornamented bead and terminal ring are from a 10th-century grave from Thumby-Bienebek

190  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.12  Vale of York hoard. Note filigree bead on chain with pin (PAS: SWYORAECB53) British Museum (CC BY-SA 4.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme) Table 7.5  Pin-and-chain arrangements, Insular Scandinavia Name

Location

Deposition (c.) Description

Context

Gnezdovo

Russia

10th?

Dirham-hoard

Vale of York

Yorkshire

927–928

Ballinaby

Islay

900?

Garron Point Lagore

Co. Antrim ? Co. Meath 10th

Pin with filigree bead + chain Pin with filigree bead + chain Pin with filigree bead + chain Pin + chain Pin + chain

Dirham-hoard Burial (female) Hoard ?

(­Schleswig-Holstein) and Hedeby, both comparable to a more elaborate 10th-century ball-headed pin from Birka Bj.832, and another (from the same workshop?) from Syllöda, Åland (Graham-Campbell 1995: 156). I now look at individual beads of filigree-decorated examples popular in Sweden (including Öland and Gotland) and Denmark (Graham-Campbell 1995: 156, 2011: 121–2): Peel Castle’s gold bead is of the Eastern Seaway s-spiral type represented in silver at Ballinaby and one of the two from the Scandinavian grave at Saffron Walden, Essex (Graham-Campbell 1995: 156, 2011: 122). The second Saffron Walden banded type is best paralleled by one from Karlevi (Öland). Of the Monaltyduff Baltic-style beads, one is s-spiral, and the other (with bands of granulation) has parallels in Cuerdale (‘1:1067’), and hoards from Vårby (c.940, Södermanland, Sweden), and Fölhagen (c.1000, G ­ otland)

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  191

Figure 7.13  Pin-and-chain distribution (author) Table 7.6  Filigree beads, Insular Scandinavia Name

Location

Deposition Description (c.)

Context

Saffron Walden (i) Saffron W. (ii) Cuerdale ‘1:1063’ Cuerdale ‘1:1064’ Cuerdale ‘1:1065’ Cuerdale ‘1:1066’ Cuerdale ‘1:1067’ Peel Castle (gold)

Essex

875–900

Burial (female)

Monaltyduff (i) Monaltyduff (ii)

s-spiral (cf. Ballinaby) Essex 875–900 Banded (cf. Öland) Lancashire 905–910 Spiral Lancashire 905–910 Spiral Lancashire 905–910 Spiral Lancashire 905–910 Spiral Lancashire 905–910 Globular Man 9th/10th? s-spiral (cf. Ballinaby) Co. Monaghan 9th/10th? Bi-conical Co. Monaghan 9th/10th? s-spiral (cf. Ballinaby)

Burial (female) Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Single-find Single-find Single-find

(­Graham-Campbell 2011: 122). Although examples are few, it seems the Silver Route’s Danish Corridor-Danelaw-Irish Sea axis as outlined by dirhams has a further index in Baltic-type filigree beads popular in regions through which dirhams traversed. What links, then, do these pendants, rings, and chains represent? Lagore consists of a silver chain and plate-head ringed-pin of Baltic or Southern

192  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Scandinavian origin. The chain is similar to some found on balances in Norway, suggesting a link to bullion-using regions (Sheehan, pers. comm.). Two copper-alloy examples of this non-Hiberno-Scandinavian form exist in 10th-century contexts from Dublin. Outside Dublin, an example from Inchbofin Island (Co. Westmeath) is paralleled closely by Hedeby and Baltic finds (Fanning 1994: 49). Tenth-century contexts for import seem likely, with production sites probably ref lected by clustering of finds at Hedeby and, especially, Kaupang (making them unlikely to date beyond the ending of activity c.930/950 at the latter). Fanning (1994: 50) suggested Irish examples ‘may have arrived in Dublin adorning the cloaks of merchants or their wives, trading out of Kaupang or [Hedeby]’. Returning to Lagore, ­Baltic-Ireland links are suggested in its paired pin-and-chain attachment, which Fanning associated with Viking-Age Swedish burials (1994: 50). Again, the dirham-network pattern I have identified is replicated, as are Southern ­Scandinavian-Dublin links. Beyond this, there may be parallels in burial practice from Sweden to Scotland and Ireland (Batey 1993: 159). Finally, as Williams and Ager (2010: 25) concluded in their discussion of parallels between the arrangement of brooches, bead, and chain in the Gnezdovo 1868 and Vale of York dirham-hoards, Russian pieces in the latter demonstrate a ‘system of trading links’ connecting the North Atlantic to Central Asia; this is the Silver Route. Thor’s hammers Distributions suggest Thor’s-hammer pendants – and hammer/crucifix hybrids (as at Gnezdovo, Goldsborough and Bornais) – are another indicator of individuals with connections to Southern Scandinavia, where such amulets were popular (Nordeide 2006: 219–20, ref. Wamers 1999); consequently, I consider them similar regional cultural markers to amber (cf. Wallace 1987: 216). As with the other proposed Silver Route indexes, distribution is focussed on Åland, the Mälaren region containing Birka, Gotland, Öland, and Southern Scandinavia (especially Skåne and Denmark), with a smaller but indicative presence in the Cuerdale Corridor and Dublin area (idem). Wamers (1999; cf. Nordeide 2006: 219) noted these pendants and their moulds concentrated in the Danish Corridor with a notable distribution in the Cuerdale Corridor, further strengthening my suggestions of network links between these regions. Additionally, large numbers of iron Thor’s-hammer rings (iron rings with pendants attached, as at Gurness, Orkney) are found in 8th- to 10th-century burials in Åland, Rus’ lands, and, particularly, the Mälaren region (450 rings) surrounding Birka (58 rings) (Nordeide 2006: 219). In comparison, only 12 have been found in Norway, and notably they cluster in the Danish Corridor part (Wamers 1999; Nordeide 2006). While they are considered primarily as potential bullion here, religious connotations are not dismissed, considering the hammer/crucifix-type and non-precious metal examples in copper-alloy and lead, as at Torksey (which has produced 4:

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  193

­ raham-Campbell 2011a: 125, 132, n. 30; Hadley & Richards 2016: Tab.1, G 39) and at ARNSY, where a portable balance was seemingly converted into such a pendant (Ager 2020: 15). Compared to 80+ finds from Denmark ( Jensen 2010: Fig. 3.1.1), there are c.21 English examples, with one Thor’s-hammer ring from the Broch of Gurness burial (c.900, Orkney), and a single-find from Bornais, South Uist, noted as being similar to the Goldsborough dirham-hoard hybrid hammer/ cruciform type (Sharples & Smith 2009: 115). That Southern Scandinavian pendant fashions were adopted in Insular Scandinavia is suggested by possible moulds for Thor’s hammers discovered in Whitby Abbey (Yorkshire), and a more certain Dublin example (Graham-Campbell 2011a: 126). Although unconfirmed, I suggest potential production in Yorkshire and Dublin strengthens suggestions of an Uí Ímair network-kingdom focussed on drawing wealth from Southern Scandinavia, probably in return for slaves and other Insular commodities. Indeed, as Graham-Campbell (2011a: 125) noted: ‘The popularity of Thor’s hammer pendants in the Danish area accords well with their introduction to and use in England’. Moreover, the majority of these appear to have been deposited within my Uí Ímair period (Graham-Campbell 2011a: 125). Their presence at Great Army Torksey and Repton (Grave 511; Biddle & Kjølbye-Biddle 2001: Fig. 4.14. I) as well as more recent finds at Foremark ( Jarman 2021: 55) recalls the introduction and use of many Silver Route categories, like dirhams, broad-band arm-rings, Table 7.7  Thor’s-hammer pendants, Insular Scandinavia Name

Location

Deposition (c.) Thor’s hammer?

Context

Torksey (4) Repton Foremark ARSNY Broch of Gurness Longtown Cuerdale Goldsborough Bossall/Flaxton Bornais Surlingham Near Holt Essex Wetwang Leconfield Sibton Swithland South Lopham Norfolk Great Witchingham

Lincolnshire Derbyshire Derbyshire Yorkshire Orkney

872–873 873–874 873–874? 874–875 850–950

✓ (Type 1.5) ✓ ✓ repurposed balance ✓(On neck-ring)

Great Army Great Army Great Army Great Army Burial (female)

Cumbria Lancashire Yorkshire Yorkshire South Uist Norfolk Norfolk Essex Yorkshire Yorkshire Suffolk Leicestershire Norfolk Norfolk Norfolk

9th/10th 905–910 920–925 925–927 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th? 9th/10th?

✓ (Type 1.5) ✓ Crucifix/thor Crucifix/thor Crucifix/thor ✓ (Type 1.5) ✓ (Type 1.5) ✓ (Type 1.5) ✓ (Type 1.5) ✓ (Stamped) ✓ (Stamped) ✓ (Stamped) ✓ (Stamped) (Au) ✓ (+ gold filigree) ✓ (+ gold filigree)

Single-find Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Dirham-hoard Beach-market? Single-find Single-find Single-find Single-find Single-find Single-find Single-find Single-find Single-find Single-find

194  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.14  Danelaw detail of Insular Scandinavian Thor’s-hammer distribution (author)

and standardized weights. I also note all the Danelaw hoards containing Thor’s hammers or variants – i.e., Cuerdale, Goldsborough, and Bossall/ Flaxton – were associated with dirhams, bringing to mind their juxtaposition at Southern Scandinavian Kaupang. The Orcadian Broch of Gurness example is most directly paralleled with contemporary female burials from the Mälaren/Birka region (­Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 128, 146–9; cf. Nordeide 2006: 219). That a Svear-type burial rite was being replicated in the Northern Isles around 900 reminds us of Batey’s observations (1993: 159) concerning Swedish-type brooches from Castletown in Caithness (found near Harrow’s knobbed brooch) and informs contextualization of those two gilt-bronze equal-armed brooches (Peterson Type 64) from the Scar boat-burial (c.875–950, Orkney) and Northton (Harris) (Owen & Dalland 1999: 60–73). Once considered exclusively from Troms, northern Norway, Birka has now produced moulds, potentially linking them to the Silver Route. I contend Scotto-Scandinavian finds of Eastern Seaway material and practices associated with Sweden suggest maritime transport and small-world networks could result in close ties between distant regions. The above demonstrates repetitive distribution patterns of imported material culture and silver currency linking Dublin (and its Irish Sea Region

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  195

hinterland) with Jórvík (and the northern Danelaw), suggesting to me patterns likely associated with regular network trade. I think the primary routeway seems, as suggested by the distribution of English-region dirham-hoards, to have been the Cuerdale Corridor. These connections brought over not only dirhams, but also other items of what I consider a larger silver currency package. This network-currency seems to have been associated with traders’-items, which – like standardized weights – allude to group-affiliation likely fostered primarily in market environments. While east-west distribution patternings have been remarked upon before (Sheehan 1998, 2011; Kilger 2008a), what is new is that my incorporation of Eastern Seaway theories of group-affiliation and facilitating mechanisms for long-distance trade allow these patterns to be contextualized within a network-based understanding catering for markets and their urban/professional and rural/occasional traders. Ultimately, I suggest circulation of silver, alongside traders’-items suggestive of the presence of long-distance traders (or adoption of their group identity by second-tier intra-regional ones), signifies involvement in a Silver Route payment zone, which should now be extended to Insular Scandinavia. Thus, contents from Dysart and Skaill-type hoards could have been used as cash from the Liffey to the Volga by mobile network actors.

The non-metallic package I now turn to those non-metallic commodities I consider part of the Silver Route trade package. This links into my idea this network focussed on highvalue trade, albeit likely mainly populated by slaves lost to the archaeological record (cf. Jankowiak 2020). Amber The concentrated import and working of amber in Dublin and Jórvík seems to ref lect first-tier nodal-market status (their hinterlands have not produced much amber) and a focus on commodities popular in Southern Scandinavia (Smyth 1979: 214; Wallace 1987: 215–6; O’Sullivan et al. 2008: 267; Valante 2008: 119). The latter point is unsurprising given my hypothesized Danish Corridor formation background of the Uí Ímair network-kingdom. Although small amounts of Baltic amber wash up in eastern England, and amber was imported into Britain and Ireland in the pre-Viking period (­O’Sullivan et al. 2008: 267), the volumes at Jórvík and Dublin, and the nature of some of it (i.e., nodules destined for working into objects) suggest significant, if irregular, importation from the Baltic (Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2501; Kruse 2007: 165). That methods of production and products in Dublin and Jórvík were ‘closely comparable’ also suggests to me this was an example of nodal-market technology-transfer on a Danish Corridor-Jórvík-Dublin axis (Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2517, ref. Harvey-de Terra).

196  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence Table 7.8  A mber concentrations, Insular Scandinavia Concentrations

Pieces (c.)

Deposition (c.)

Amber-working?

Context

Dublin Jórvík/York Armagh Peel, Man Whithorn

4,000+ 500+ ‘Hundreds’ 4+ 3+

9th–11th 9th–11th 10th 10th 845–1000

✓ ✓ ✓ ✗ ✓

Hub Hub Market Burials Market

Circumstantial evidence from Irish sites indicates the arrival of Scandinavians led to an increase in the volume of not only amber, but also silver and jet which, as the 9th-century silver and amber Derrynaf lan chalice (Co. Tipperary) suggests, was passed on quickly, having likely entered Ireland ‘almost exclusively via Scandinavian ports’ (Valante 2008: 96, 97; cf. Graham-Campbell 1976a: 39–74). This source seems probable for the hundreds of c.10th-century amber chips from 50 to 56 Scotch Street (Armagh), presumed by Valante (2008: 98) to have been ‘imported from Scandinavia’. Amber beads are well known from (c.850 to 950) female burials from Scandinavian Scotland, and also appear in Man’s St Patrick’s Isle graves. Concentration of amber in Hedeby suggests much would have been taken from the eastern Baltic to here, before crossing the North Sea (via the Vestfold?) to buyers in Jórvík and Dublin, from where circulation to Scotland and Man would begin. After Hedeby, Dublin has produced the greatest amount of amber outside Scandinavia (4,000 pieces: Wallace 1987: 215; Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2517). Remarkably, 50%+ of excavated houses and yards in Dublin have produced completed objects and/or amber-working waste, with the largest concentration in Fishamble Street’s ‘House FS20’. Jórvík has also produced significant quantities (482 pieces), with the largest Viking-Age concentrations in ‘Period 3’ (c.850–900, 21 pieces); ‘Period 4B’ (c.930/935–975, 161 pieces); and ‘Period 5B’ (c.975–1050, 125 pieces) (Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2501ff.). Jórvík’s peak of amber-import/production was the 10th century, but this continued into the 11th, emphasizing that Anglo-Danish York remained a market with Baltic connections even after the Uí Ímair. In any case, I suggest amber interest seems linked to this dynasty’s and the Great Army’s Southern Scandinavian tastes. Like Jórvík, Dublin’s assemblage consists of un-worked nodules, waste, beads, pendants, and rings (Kruse 2007: 165; Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2517). As Wallace (1987: 215–6) argued: ‘Although Dublin was primarily populated by Vikings of west Scandinavian or Norse origin, the source of its amber as well as where it was most popular in the Viking-Age was the southern Scandinavian or Danish area’. I debate the first point, but the latter fits my idea that Southern Scandinavians like Ívarr/Óláfr were instrumental in linking Southern Scandinavia with Dublin and the Danelaw. Furthermore, that significantly more amber has been discovered in Dublin than Jórvík (­Wallace 1987: 216; cf. Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2517), suggests to me Round-­Scotland trading journeys between Southern Scandinavia (via

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  197

the Norðweg) and Dublin were an important mechanism for import to Insular Scandinavia, and one which would survive removal of the Jórvík node from any Uí Ímair network-kingdom. This routeway might also explain the popularity of amber in (c.30 different) Scotto-Scandinavian contexts. I argue that unparalleled concentrations in Dublin and Jórvík suggest import was directed to Southern Scandinavian-orientated markets. Moreover, like Sindbæk, I note that such concentrations of raw material fit the idea of tiered markets where only first-tier hubs imported and produced on significant levels (even if the supply, as Jórvík’s, was intermittent). Indeed, that Lincoln (Flaxengate: Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2517) has only produced one piece of un-worked amber suggests, among other reasons, why it should not be considered nodal. Perhaps, through traders attracted to the relatively benign conditions of nodal markets, the Uí Ímair operated a monopoly on amber, with nodes exporting finished crafts to hinterlands. Furthermore, given the apparent spread of craft skills between hubs, that similar methods of production were used at Jórvík and Dublin suggests to me production and trade links are best explained by a network-kingdom. Owen (1999: 50, 2005: 305) considered amber in Scandinavian Scotland to represent ‘long-range trade with the Baltic’. However, I think this is only correct in the sense this was the probable ultimate provenance, with the proximate source being Jórvík and/or Dublin, purchased from them by Scandinavians from ‘rural’ regions (likely with ‘lost’ seasonal markets like

Figure 7.15  Amber concentrations, Insular Scandinavia (author)

198  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Sandtorg) according to Sindbæk’s model (2011) and Krokmyrdal’s findings (2020) for the northern Norðweg, and/or taken by coastal-trampers on their visits to second-tier beach markets. Indeed, that the initial mechanism was purchase at nodal markets (or linked second-tier sites) over exchange/gift is favoured by Kruse (2007: 165), who argued that for foreign material found in quantity [at a site like Dublin] trade will surely have accounted for much of it. It would be difficult, indeed, to think of another explanation [like gift-giving] to account for much of the amber, jet, ivory, silver [etc.]. Silk The idea of silk being like amber in its nodal concentration is shared by Heckett (2003: 52) who noted ‘it seems clear that very similar silk cloth was used to make caps to a pattern common to Dublin, York and Lincoln. Muthesius has suggested that the York and Lincoln caps of Z/no twist yarn are so much alike as to have been made from the same length of cloth (1982: 133) […] The similarities between the silks used are great, but may well indicate a type of cloth commonly accessible to the trading communities of Dublin, York, and Lincoln’. Silk could display socially differentiating long-distance connections and/or membership of supraregional social/economic networks (in Laxdæla saga, Gilli’s Rus’-style hat may have been silk-trimmed). Given the provenance of most of the material (Heckett 2003: 105), I think most silk entering Scandinavia – largely directed to nodes like Birka and Hedeby – did so using the same networks as the dirhams (cf. Heckett 2003: 106; Gerritsma 2008: 33). Certainly, Heckett (2003: 106) favoured a nodal structure for a ‘silk route’ matching that of the silver entering the Baltic region at Novgorod and/or Ladoga before passing Birka, Truso, Hedeby, and Kaupang on its way to the Insular hubs. As with amber, silk’s chronology suggests 9th-century introduction, 10th-century peak, and continuation into the early 11th. For Insular Scandinavia, nodal concentrations of silk (mostly caps, headbands, and hairnets from 10th-century contexts) at Jórvík (Hall 1994) and Dublin (Heckett 2003) are joined, to a much lesser extent, by Waterford Table 7.9  Silk, Insular Scandinavia Location

Fragments (c.) Deposition (c.)

Forms

Dublin

60

10th–11th

York, Coppergate Waterford Lincoln Dunmore Caves Kneep/Cnip

23 11 1 1 1?

866–970? 10th–11th? Early 10th c.970 10th

Caps, scarves, headbands, hairnets Caps Hairnets, braids, bowstring Cap Tunic? Impression on brooch (linen?)

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  199

(Heckett 1997: 743, 2002), Lincoln (Gerritsma 2008: 19, 28–9), and L ­ ondon (Milk Street: Heckett 2003: 91–3; Gerritsma 2008: 28–9). Outwith major markets, silk was identified at Perth (Heckett 2003: 94), but this could be post Viking Age (Dransart et al. 2012). Regardless, Batey (2002) places Viking-Age Scandinavians at Perth due to the presence of spear heads and sword hilts. Notably, one hilt has a parallel in Kiloran Bay’s ‘trader’ burial and is dated to the 10th century. According to Batey, their location in the Watergate (the original Perth riverfront) and the High Street (which ends in a bridging point over the Tay) suggests a riverbank market. In the West, silk or linen impressions on a brooch have been identified at Kneep/Cnip on Lewis (Welander et al. 1987: 165–6) and a possible silk tunic dating to the later 10th century was discovered in Dunmore Caves, Co. Kilkenny (Heckett 2002: 170; cf. Bornholdt Collins 2010). Similarities between silk caps from Dublin, Jórvík, Lincoln, London, and Birka suggest network connections. In particular, there are parallels in date (10th century); find context (market); and construction between the Dublin examples to those from 10th-century levels at Jórvík’s Coppergate and Lincoln’s Saltergate (Heckett 2003: 49–52, Table 4, p.116; cf. Muthesius 1982: 132–3; Walton 1989: 360–7; Gerritsma 2008: 19, 27). It seems clear from my distribution map that silk was directed to hubs, although a caveat is that poorer preservation conditions outside Dublin and Jórvík’s waterlogged contexts may skew results:

Figure 7.16  Silk, Insular Scandinavia (author)

200  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Regarding similarities between Dublin’s and Jórvík’s caps, Heckett (2003: 106) argued this ‘should represent strong cultural and trading links between these towns’ due to the ‘known historic ties between the Norse kingdoms of Dublin and York’. I think this suggests a network-kingdom capable of maintaining long-distance trade and exchange links to the regions producing and exporting dirhams, amber, and silk. Moreover, that the silk in markets was similar suggested ‘people must have been travelling and transporting goods between them, whether the exchange mechanism used was trade or gifts’ (Heckett 2003: 106). Importantly for my market perspective, while silk is an excellent candidate for gift-exchange, most scholars, like Heckett (2003: 107), lean towards a commercial mechanism structured around nodal markets for their distribution.

Bi-directional networks To this point, I have focussed on eastern materials entering the West, but what went east? I and others argue that the bulk was Insular slaves: Óláfr and Ívarr took literal boatloads of slaves from Dumbarton and central Scotland to Dublin in 871, and Valante (2008: 99) argued slaving was key to Dublin’s wealth. However, if evidence for this is circumstantial, what else suggests the movement of Insular Scandinavian traders eastwards? Here, I suggest there is room to speculate about Hiberno-Scandinavian Ohtheres and Wulfstans travelling either on the Round-Scotland route, or by the Cuerdale Corridor to Jórvík and the Danelaw. Ringed-pins Ringed-pins, found from Newfoundland to Gotland, were adopted from Irish prototypes by Hiberno-Scandinavians (particularly Dubliners, who produced these cloak-fasteners in huge numbers). They generally took the form pictured, with variants changing the facet/pin-head and ring (Fanning 1994: 3–12). The variants considered here are of the plain-ringed type with loop, polyhedral, and baluster pin-heads on the rationale their production date-range (from Dublin’s corpus) was contemporary with the Uí Ímair. The majority of Dublin’s 263+ examples were discovered in Fishamble Street – that area with high concentrations of amber and silk – hinting at association with long-distance trade/rs. The popular loop-headed type is known mainly from c.925×975 Dublin contexts (although, as Valante [2008: 7; 71, n. 92, 93] I am careful with a Dublin chronology that may shift earlier). This range is matched by most closely related baluster- and polyhedral-headed variants. In terms of distribution beyond Dublin/Ireland, I consider the phenomenon of regional variants, with most Eastern Seaway examples showing signs, like ring-and-dot ornament, of local manufacture (as Birka, Kaupang and Hedeby) (Fanning 1994: 21). However, some, like three loop-headed and one baluster-headed types from Hedeby, look like Hiberno-Scandinavian imports (Fanning 1994: 19–20, 23, 24), suggesting, as Hall (1984, in Fanning 1994: 33), that these may have been ‘personal possessions’ (traders’-items) of

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  201

Figure 7.17  R inged-pin from 10th-century Waterford (Courtesy of Waterford Museum of Treasures)

202  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Hiberno-Scandinavian ‘visitors’. Wallace (1986: 219, 1987: 222; cf. Fanning 1983a, 1983b) argued their distribution should be understood more in terms of transmission of style than physical movement from Dublin (cf. Steuer 1987a: 179ff. regarding this phenomenon and Ambrosiani’s Type B combs). However, for the polyhedral type – ‘almost exclusively associated with Ireland and the western Viking settlements’ – found in the ‘Viking trading centres in Denmark’ and Sweden, Fanning noted these pins ref lect the links between [Danish and Swedish] trading centres and the Insular west highlighted by other artefact types found in Dublin. The pins themselves would not have been the objects of trade, but were probably lost by Hiberno-Norse merchants travelling eastwards from York or Dublin. (1994: 34–6) Whether ringed-pins represented distribution of traded items, traders’-items, technology-transfer, or, as is likely, a combination, I suggest we are witnessing flow through a network. Indeed, the single-find of a loop-headed type which, given its Eastern Seaway variant styling, was ‘probably an import from a centre like Hedeby’ (Fanning 1994: 21) in Brooke (Norfolk) seems to confirm the bi-directional character of this Silver Route structure (cf. Williams 2020e: 43), and reiterates the importance of hubs in the propagation of ringed-pins. As Fanning indicates (1994: 20, 22, 35), concentrations, whether of Hiberno-­ Scandinavian imports or locally produced variants, in the nodes of both Seaways, argues for a nodal-market superstructure and connections maintained by inter-regional traders. Fanning’s distributions (1994: 35) emphasize connections from Dublin around the coasts of Scotland to the northern Danelaw and, ultimately, the Danish Corridor and Eastern Seaway (where concentrations occur in Kaupang, Hedeby, and Birka). Augmented by finds reported to Treasure Trove in Scotland (Eyjólfsson pers comm.), this evidence for a routeway skirting coasts towards the Danelaw can be seen on my updated version of Fanning’s maps: The importance of Dublin-Jórvík trade/r links in the first half of the 10th century, although disputed by Wallace (1987: 230; cf. Smyth 1975: 88; Fanning 1994: 33), is suggested to me by the presence of all of the plain-ringed sub-­d ivisions in the latter: three of the four English examples of Hiberno-­ Scandinavian baluster-headed pins were found in 10th-century Coppergate contexts; moreover, the contemporary polyhedral variant was predominant in both markets which, Fanning noted, were ‘ruled over by the same Scandinavian dynasty’, having been deposited, along with the baluster type, on the ‘trading routes of the Hiberno-Norse’ (Fanning 1994: 24–5, 32, 33; cf. Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2582; Hall 1984: 104, 1994: 19). Thus, while Jórvík-produced variants may have existed (Fanning 1994: 33), ringed-pins appear indexes of the Dublin-Jórvík axis. Ultimately, Fanning’s linking of distribution to Uí ­ ublin-Jórvík axis Ímair trade routes is key in relation to a route carrying a D around Scotland. If I append Treasure Trove finds (presumed to have been

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  203

Figure 7.18  Ringed-pins (author, after Fanning 1994)

deposited in the late 9th to mid-/late 10th centuries) to Fanning, it adds to a picture of 10th-century east coast links between Jórvík and, e.g., Shetland’s steatite quarries (Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2605). Together, they suggest traders from the Irish Sea Region and Scotland sailed this coast, possibly using beach markets or night-harbours at Montrose (ON Stromnay) or the possibly Scandinavian-named isles of Fidra and May in the Firth of Forth to break journeys, trade locally, and make repairs (cf. Krokmyrdal’s Sandtorg). Broad-band arm-rings I suggest this bi-directional network can also be seen in silver use across the Danish-Danelaw-Dublin axis that saw Danish broad-band ‘prototypes’ (produced c.850–880) deposited by the Great Army in the 870s, before being copied by Hiberno-Scandinavians and exported around the Irish Sea Region (as evidenced by numerous examples in the c.900 Galloway hoard – ­Graham-Campbell 2020: 450–2) and back to Scandinavia between c.880 and 930 (Sheehan 2020: 4). In terms of any nascent Uí Ímair network-kingdom’s role, Sheehan (2011: 98; cf. Downham 2007: 63) used the earliest datable Insular Scandinavian examples of broad-band arm-rings (Great Army contexts at Croydon [871/872] and Torksey [872–873]) to suggest the mechanism for Danish prototypes reaching Dublin was Ívarr himself.

204  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence Table 7.10  Danish ‘prototype’ broad-band arm-rings, Insular Scandinavia Name

Location

Deposition (c.)

Context

Croydon

London

871–872

Torksey

Lincolnshire

872–873

Blackerne Cuerdale ‘Ireland’ Emyvale Co. Westmeath

Kirkcudbrightshire Lancashire Ireland Co. Monaghan Co. Westmeath

900 905–910 ? ? ?

Dirham-hoard, Great Army Winter-camp, Great Army Burial Dirham-hoard ? ? ?

The distribution of broad-band rings of both Danish (deposited c.850–910) and Hiberno-Scandinavian (c.900–950) type suggests to me bi-directional silver/display economy links between the Irish Sea and the Danish Corridor via the Cuerdale Corridor (cf. Sheehan 2011a: 96–9; Kershaw 2020: 127; Williams 2020e: 43), with non-Insular Scandinavian examples generally being found in: (i) Norwegian hoards of Southern Scandinavian character, like Torvik (c.900– 950, Volda, Møre og Romsdal); (ii) South-western Norway, like the Vela ­dirham-hoard (c.900–950, Rogaland); and (iii) Southern Norway, like Kaupang and dirham-hoards from Os (tpq 834, Halden, Østfold) and Grimestad (c.930, Vestfold). I argue that distribution maps – note the telltale ‘funnel’ out from Dublin towards Southern Scandinavia apparent in many of these distributions – indicate the main routeway linked the Cuerdale and Danish Corridors: ‘Insular mount’ weights Another category suggestive of bi-directionality is bullion weights. Kruse (1992: 81–2) suggested my ‘Insular mounts’, her ‘Lead Weights with ­Copper-alloy or Enamelled Mounts’ (mainly of reused [often gilt copper-­ alloy] Insular metalwork fragments inserted into a lead base) might have spread from the Irish Sea to Norway, where 27 have been found, with a concentration of six in Kaupang (Heen-Pettersen 2020: 439–40). Kruse suggested the earliest examples, as well as the largest concentrations (at Kiloran Bay and Kilmainham-Islandbridge) were in the Irish Sea Region, and were, thus, likely to have origins among this region’s traders. Recently, Williams (2020d: 131, 2020f: 22, 2020i: 15–16) and Kershaw (2020: 120) described these as ‘Insular Viking’, arguing no clear origin can be stated for weights. That said, with their floruit in the late 9th century with use and production into the early 10th, combined with what I have discerned about their distribution between Ireland, the Danelaw, and Southern Scandinavia, an association with the Great Army seems likely (Hadley & Richards 2016: 49; Kershaw 2020: 120; Williams 2020m: 80). Regardless of origin, Kershaw’s idea that Insular metalwork held a symbolic value – a ‘visual reminder of the source of Scandinavian wealth in precisely the contexts in which bullion was being exchanged’ chimes with Gustin’s

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  205

Figure 7.19  Danish and Hiberno-Scandinavian arm-rings (author) | ‘Frequency distribution’ of provenanced broad-band arm-rings in Insular Scandinavia (Courtesy and © Jane Kershaw – data: J. Kershaw & J. Sheehan)

206  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.20  ‘Insular Mount’ weights – Risby, Suffolk (PAS: SF-20A507) Suffolk County Council (CC BY 2.0) (Courtesy of the British Museum’s Portable Antiquities Scheme)

(2004a) ‘iconicity’ projecting positive associations to in-groups (cf. Raffield 2016). Perhaps the safest term for these weights’ origins is ‘­Insular-Viking’ (Heen-Pettersen 2020: 440, ref. Kruse 1992: 82; Williams 2015: 111–2, 2020i: 16; Kershaw 2020: 120) or Insular Scandinavian. In any case, Insular mounts were popular among Insular Scandinavian traders and raiders by the time of the longphuirt and winter-camps, with one from Woodstown, 30+ from Torksey (Blackburn 2011: 223, 226; Hadley & Richards 2016), scores reported to PAS, and seven at ARNSY (Williams 2020i: 15–16). A late 9th-century context is also likely for the River Blackwater (longphort?) assemblage, Llanbedrgoch, Talnotrie (c.875) and Kiloran Bay (c.900) (­Williams 2020f: 22; Hadley & Richards 2016: 49). Single-finds are growing

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  207

Figure 7.21  Insular Mount weights (author)

and, while undated, likely belong to between c.860 and the first half of the 10th century (Kershaw 2020: 120–1; Williams 2020f: 22). As with standardized weights, Insular mounts are associated with bullion, being found with portable balances in graves (like Kiloran Bay) and ‘at market and productive sites in presumed commercial contexts’ (Kershaw 2020: 120). Current thinking is that the decoration personalized weights for easy recognition (­Kershaw 2020: 120; cf. Williams 2020f: 22). With caveats about ‘standards’ in ­early-medieval realities, rough adherence to a c.24–26.6g ounce is apparent, with one of 24g observed in some northern Danelaw examples (Kershaw 2020: 121). Insular distribution of Insular mounts suggests use within that funnel shape I have identified expanding outwards from Dublin towards Southern Scandinavia and Frisia, with banding indicative of network connections across the Cuerdale Corridor. Beyond the Irish Sea, Scotto-Scandinavian distribution may also suggest some (limited) trading activity of those who used these weights along Through-Scotland routes traversing the Great Glen, Central Belt, and southern Scotland. Distribution on the other side of the North Sea is limited but increasing, consisting of those 27 in Norway before the discoveries at Sandtorg (Krokmyrdal 2020), two examples each from the 10th-century female grave at Hopperstad in present-day northern

208  Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence

Figure 7.22  Anchor-shaped weights (author)

Norway, and in the Danish Corridor at Vig (Aust Agder). Hopperstad is near the probable ‘Kaupang’ market-site in Sognefjord, and the Vig example has a close parallel in Sancton, near York, suggesting use by market traders, as Kruse suggested for Insular Scandinavia. A ‘handful’ have also been found in Denmark (Kruse 1992: 81, 82; cf. Skaare 1976; Williams 2020f: 22). This distribution, mainly Insular but with concentrations in Southern Scandinavia and K ­ aupang, ­augments my theory that Vikings active in Ireland in the 860s (as at ­Woodstown), were then active in the Great Army (cf. Williams 2020m: 80) and maintained bi-directional links to Danish Corridor markets. Anchor-shaped weights Eastward metrological links emanating from Dublin are also indicated by ­anchor-shaped lead weights found in Chester, Jórvík, and Hedeby (Kruse 1992: 83). They are considered directly related to Dublin trade, given the numbers found there and their adherence to Wallace’s 26.6g unit (Kruse 1992: 83). Indeed, as Kruse (1992: 84) suggested: ‘In some cases, such as the lead anchors from Coppergate and Chester, the likelihood is of an Irish owner, probably a merchant who also worked in Dublin’. While the dataset is too limited to make major suppositions, this pattern fits what I have observed in exchange connections between the Irish Sea Region and Southern Scandinavia

Beyond dirhams: non-numismatic evidence  209

as understood within a 9th/10th-century Dublin-Danelaw-Danish Corridor axis, the major routeway of which passed through the Cuerdale Corridor. Ultimately, the range and presence of a multitude of (probable) lead bullion weights in burials and markets, suggests widely accepted variety, with each user maintaining their own idiosyncratic collection, albeit one which looked in both form and weight to general currents and standards popular among those who traded.

Imprints of a market network? Repeating chronological and spatial patterns Ultimately, the distributions tell the same story: within the Uí Ímair Age, eastern ‘economic’ materials and/or styles were funnelled, largely through the Danish Corridor, towards the nodal market and dynastic caput of Dublin via Jórvík and the Cuerdale Corridor. I suggest an Uí Ímair network-­k ingdom was responsible for this development which saw, between c.866 and 954, the Cuerdale Corridor favoured over a Round-Scotland route established in c.800 (Skre 2015). In all, my non-numismatic evidence suggests dirhams were not alone in coming West, and the routeway they outlined was bi-­ directional with a focus on the markets in which efficient, network-friendly, market-based transactions occurred. I now discuss those markets.

Figure 7.23  Between Cuerdale Corridor and Danish Corridor (author)

8 Case studies

I have argued Dublin and Jórvík were hubs of a network-kingdom operating (intermittently) between c.866 and 954. From this perspective, I now assess marketplaces that seemingly corroborate my model of supraregional network connectivity and the sharing of market-based economic practice between the Danish Corridor, Danelaw, the Irish Sea Region, and Scandinavian Scotland, beginning with Hedeby.

Hedeby This 24-acre site is located at the head of the Schlei fjord, being the narrowest part of the Jutland peninsula (Hilberg 2008: 101; von Carnap-­Bornheim et al. 2010: 511; Hilberg 2020: 259), with a 17km portage connecting the Baltic and North seas (Kalmring 2016: 11; Hilberg 2020: 259). Founded or re-founded by Danish king Godfred (Göttrik) in c.808, presumably to control trade and take tolls and gifts, its floruit was c.850–950, before its destruction in 1,066 (Skre 2007b: 449; Hilberg 2008: 101, 2009: 80; Westholm 2009: 132; Kalmring 2016: 11). Hedeby operated as a commercial centre with ­market-network links seen in ‘evidence of long-distance trade with prestige and utilitarian goods’ (Hilberg 2009: 102). It is an archetype of a major Eastern Seaway market, with Hedeby likely a key node of a network stretching from Dublin to Baghdad (Hilberg 2009: 91, 102, 2020: 258; cf. Wiechmann 2007: 29; Westholm 2009: 132; von Carnap-Bornheim et al. 2010: 513). Situated on borderlands between not only my seaways but also Scandinavia and Frankia, this cosmopolitan town – see also the large non-local element in Birka (Hedenstierna-Jonson et al. 2020: 65–6) – was in an excellent position to exploit traffic and borderland geography (Kalmring 2016: 11). Indeed, Lebecq (2007: 170) used the routes reported in c.890 by Ohthere and Wulfstan to characterize Hedeby as a central place in the communications systems of Northern Europe, or more precisely as a port or trading place, to which one comes from the north coast of Norway and Oslo Fjord, passing through the Danish narrows, and from which one sets off […] along the south coast of the Baltic.

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-9

Case studies  211

Certainly, both earlier and later historical references (e.g., the c.870 Vita Anskarii and late 10th-century Chronicle of Aethelweard) indicate Hedeby was a nodal point on a missionary and trade route from the first half of the 9th century which began/ended in Insular Scandinavia before heading east via Gotland and Birka (Lebecq 2007: 170). Both Lebecq (2007: 171) and Müller-Boysen (2007: 180) saw Hedeby as an inter-regional market created to attract traders to the Danish network-kingdom. As I have argued, access to pre-existing connections was a network-kingdom prerequisite, as was the subsequent creation of sister markets across sea lanes (like the foundations at Kaupang and Jórvík). This latter aspect seems paralleled to the capture of York and the Cuerdale Corridor by Ívarr et al. to complement control of Dublin and access to Kaupang and Hedeby. Hilberg (2009: 91) understood Hedeby as a ‘meeting point for traffic and transport’ and was the place most Scandinavian traders would have known (2009: 102), particularly Danes in Jórvík (2020: 258). As Sindbæk noted (2010: 30), Hedeby featured disproportionately in contemporary literature, being the ‘crossing point for travels going east into the Baltic, north towards Norway [and] west towards England’, suggesting ‘little doubt that Hedeby was the most significant nodal point’ (Sindbæk 2009a: 76; cf. Hilberg 2020: 259). Hilberg (2009) also considered Hedeby a centre dealing in long-­ distance import of raw materials and production of utilitarian and prestige goods, as expected by Sindbæk’s nodal model. Like Dublin (Valante 2008), Hedeby’s interest to its rulers may have been based on tolls and slaves, with additional earnings as a bureau de change between metal-weight and coined currencies in Carolingia, England, and Danelaw towns (Blomkvist 2009: 165). Merkel (2017: 47) considered craft sales and revenue control were behind Hedeby’s establishment, seemingly as a mix of administered central place and free market with encouragement of silver currencies to facilitate tax/toll collection. Sindbæk suggested Hedeby was the node ne plus ultra because it displayed most links to other Scandinavian sites (Sindbæk 2007b: 68, 2009a: 76, 2012: 30). This image of Hedeby as a fulcrum is bolstered by evidence of sustained harbour investment, particularly from the 880/890s (Kalmring 2010: 240f.; Hilberg 2020: 259). As befits a node, Hedeby was a place where traders shared knowledge and affirmed network (in)group-affiliation through shared artefact types and language (Hilberg 2009: 91, 2020: 262; Raffield 2016). Indeed, Källström (2020: 144) suggests short-twig runes had ‘origins in eastern Scandinavia around the trade routes in the Baltic Sea. The town of Hedeby, with its connections in all possible directions is then probably the best candidate’, noting ‘[r]unic script had a practical function in the early Viking Age society on [Gotland], which can reconcile with Liestøl’s ideas of the short-twig futhark as a writing system created by [traders]’ (2020: 145). Liestøl (in Källström 2020: 130) saw short-twig as a time-saving device for writing on wood, being popular at Hedeby as well as at Kaupang, Gotland, Birka, and Ladoga, suggesting to me nodal-network propagation.

212  Case studies

Hedeby was also a place where conditions existed for accepting dirhams into the Silver Route Gewichtsgeldwirtschaft (Steuer et al. 2002: 154; Hilberg 2009: 92; Hilberg 2020: 259). That said, Hedeby was perhaps primarily a Münzgeldwirtschaft, with the overall picture one of transactional choice: ‘weights and scales, silver ingots, hacksilver fragments, locally made coins, and foreign coins from as far as Afghanistan attests to the importance of silver as an exchange medium and the complexity of the local and supra-regional transfer of silver’ (Merkel et al. 2014: 197). Imitative coinages (from Carolingia and England) were produced in Hedeby from the early 800s (Screen 2020: 378) and used alongside bullion. It is unsurprising that the Danelaw economy, introduced by the ‘Danish’ Great Army, mirrored that of Hedeby where indigenous coin interacted with bullion (Gooch 2012: 224ff.; Merkel et al. 2014; Merkel 2017) and doubtless other (perishable) commodity monies. Although few ingots have been discovered at Hedeby, 100+ moulds, paralleled by ‘numerous examples […] at Kaupang’ (Merkel 2017: 44), indicate an important role. As Merkel (2017: 44) noted: ‘This type of bar ingot is concentrated in southern Scandinavia in the formerly Danish areas, but examples are commonly found on Gotland and there is a scattering in eastern Ireland’; such a Gotland-Southern Scandinavian-Ireland distribution is exactly as I would expect for the Silver Route (cf. Sheehan 2020). Lack of ingots is also seen at Jórvík, and Hedeby also parallels Jórvík in that, to date, neither has produced much hacksilver (Merkel 2017: 42, ref. Hilberg 2011: 218–20; Kershaw 2020: 125), suggesting most was melted down. That said, a growing metal-detected dataset of bullion and associated weights suggests hacksilver was prominent in 9/10th-century Hedeby alongside coins and weight-adjusted rings and ingots, and locally manufactured oblate-spheroids were among the multitude of standardized weights (Steuer et al. 2002: 139ff.; Steuer 2009: 298). Ultimately, it seems three silver economies co-existed in 9th–11th-century Hedeby: bullion, complete rings (for gifting?), and indigenous coinage (Merkel 2017: 47). Again, a picture of transactional choice to facilitate network trade emerges, where ‘merchants and rulers of Hedeby were readily able to adapt to the wider changes to the economy’ (Merkel 2017: 47). I suggest this chimes with arguments for how co-operation and co-existence articulated network trade, its traders, and ­network-kingdoms hosting it (Gustin 2004a). Beyond currency, Hedeby’s East-West links can be garnered from the mass production and distribution of small open-work brooches of quadrangular form with a Borre-style animal head at each corner (Hilberg 2009: 95). A Danish type (models for moulds are also found at Gudme, Lerje, and Tissø), in an artistic style particularly popular in Southern Scandinavia and the Danelaw (Hilberg 2020: 257, ref. Kershaw 2013: 42–116), their Silver Route distribution encompasses Sweden, Norway, England, the Danelaw, and Dublin (Maixner 2004: 140; Leahy & Paterson 2001: 94 ff.). Given Sheehan’s work (2020) on bi-directional inf luence and transfer of jewellery types across the North Sea in the mid-800s, I also note Ashby believed the 9th-century

Case studies  213

Trewhiddle style quadrangular brooch of the type discovered in Bawburgh, Norfolk, was the inspiration for the Danish Borre variant (Hilberg 2009: 95, 97). Moreover, Borre-style lozenge brooches of late 9th to c.950 date concentrated in the Danelaw and especially Hedeby also speak to North Sea connections (Hilberg 2020: 258). Following a similar (Silver Route) distribution to quadrangular brooches is cast copper-alloy comb plates presumably produced by moulds found only in Hedeby (Hilberg 2009: 80, 81, 2020). Of 17 find-spots, the furthest West is London, with the eastern parameters at the Rus’ trading centres of Staraya Ladoga and Gnezdovo. The main Eastern Seaway points for deposition are Gotland (in late 9th- to early 10th-century burials), Birka, and Hedeby, with Gotlanders probably playing a ‘decisive role in their distribution up to Birka and [Russia]’ (Hilberg 2009: 80). Return visits from Gotlanders are also suggested by fragmented Gotandic brooches in Hedeby (Hilberg 2009: 100). Hedeby’s close relationship with Gotland can also be inferred from Hedeby’s dirham imports, which peaked between c.890 and 950/970 (Steuer et al. 2002: 154; Wiechmann 2007: 196ff.; Merkel 2017: 62–64; Hilberg 2020: 260). I also note the importance of Gotlanders’ Jutlandic/Hedeby connections to the westward extensions of Kilger’s dirham-network (2008a: 237). To the West, Hedeby and Insular Scandinavia were linked (Blindheim 1976: 27; cf. Roesdahl 1998: 124; Hilberg 2020), with metalwork suggesting this was particularly true of contacts with England and the Danelaw (Hilberg 2009: 100, 102, 2020: 258). Exchange and crafting relations between Hedeby and the West can be seen in 9/10th-century Anglo-Saxon ornamental metalwork of everyday type (Hilberg 2009: 97, 2020; cf. Wamers 1985: 33ff.; Pedersen 2004: 43–7; Hilberg 2020: 259). As for the adoption of Anglo-­ Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon-style dress accessories seen in ­Hedeby’s burials, Hilberg (2009: 98) suggests some of these exchange relations were governed by market conditions: everyday items were less likely to be loot, indicating a nodal-market sphere connecting Anglo-Saxon and Insular Scandinavian towns with the Danish Corridor, where such pieces were seemingly bought and traded. Seven Trewhiddle-style strap ends (popular in the eastern Danelaw) have been discovered at Hedeby (Hilberg 2009: 98) and at Truso ‘perfectly matching the voyage of Wulfstan’, their simplicity suggesting casual losses of traders’-items by Anglo-Saxon merchants (Hilberg 2020: 263). Two bronze hooked tags and two fragmented Anglo-Saxon handled combs are also known, suggesting to Hilberg (2009: 98; cf. 2020: 263) these types of items were ‘linked with the presence of people from England, perhaps merchants, traders or travellers like Wulfstan. But these even can be associated with people travelling from Hedeby to the Anglo-Saxon realms’. Contacts with the North and Irish Seas from the late 9th century are also attested by Hedeby’s copies of Western Seaway-style accoutrements (Hilberg 2009: 100). These include brooches of pseudo-penannular and thistle type, in addition to ­Hedeby-produced ringed-pins (Hilberg 2009: 98, 100; cf. Graham-Campbell

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1987a: 234–6; Fanning 1994: 34–6). While many ‘Insular’ pieces are likely to be of southern Norwegian (Vestfold?) manufacture, I think the adoption, then manufacture, of Insular dress/fasteners suggests regular high-profile presence in Danish Corridor markets of traders and metalworkers who were from, or familiar with, Jórvík and Dublin. This bi-directional movement of craft such as metal adornments and combs indicates high levels of personal mobility and cultural interaction within a network. Multiple moulds for bossed penannular brooches have also been discovered at Hedeby (Graham-Campbell 1987a: 234–6). About one, Wallace (1987: 207) wrote: ‘One odd group, of which a mould has been discovered at Haithabu, are regarded by Graham-Campbell as the products of Viking craftsmen working with an Insular tradition, but within a Scandinavian milieu’. Manufacture in Hedeby probably explains the large numbers of ringedpins there ( Jankuhn 1956), but Hiberno-Scandinavian presence should not be discounted (cf. Fanning 1994: 34–6). On this aspect, Hilberg (2020: 263) notes Insular Scandinavian craftsfolk may have travelled to Hedeby and that imports/traders’ items like Anglo-Saxon and Irish combs and Trewhiddle pieces ‘suggests the presence of seafarers or artisans from the West’.

Vestfold Hedeby’s connections to Jórvík and the Danelaw were particularly apparent in the shared popularity of Borre-style lozenge brooches (Hilberg 2020: 257, 258, ref. Kershaw 2013: 42–116; Williams 2013), but these should be seen in combination with links to the Vestfold within the Danish network-­k ingdom (Hilberg 2020: 258). With approximately 300 single-finds, mainly from Heimdalsjordet (183) and Kaupang (107), Gullbekk (2014: 336) suggested Vestfold’s imported coin indicated ‘daily transactions and the development of trade institutions and standards that became important beyond these places in Viking society more widely’. Hacksilver was the prevailing currency from the c.850s in Kaupang, with most single-find coins fragmented, and nearby Heimdalsjordet apparently saw even higher levels of fragmentation (Gullbekk 2014: 336). Likely emanating from the Vestfold, fragmentation became widespread on the Norðweg, as evidenced by Sandtorg and the Rønnvik hoard (tpq 949) in the north of present-day Norway (Krokmyrdal 2020: 69, 88 ref. Gullbekk 2011: 99; contra Williams 2011b: 338). Heimdalsjordet Situated 15km north of Kaupang and 500m south of the Gokstad ship (c.900), Heimdalsjordet has produced evidence for market trade in the shape of hacksilver, fragmented coins, and imported weights; crafting is seen in iron goods, melting/working of precious metals, copper-alloys and lead, and production of amber jewellery and whetstones (Bill & ­R ødsrud 2017: 212–3). Beyond Gokstad, several other burial mounds have been

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identified, with one boat grave excavated and another suspected (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 216). Of 173 mainly highly fragmented coins, 40/43 have been identified, almost all dirhams (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 217, 223). This may indicate Heimdalsjordet was more eastern-orientated than Kaupang, with the latter having a higher proportion of Western coins (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 224). Other imported metalwork demonstrates Heimdalsjordet interacted with Britain and Ireland, Frankia, and the east. Of 147 weights, 44 are cubo-octahedrals and 27 are oblate-spheroids, three of which have the pseudo-Kufic script thought to associate this type with dirhams (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 218). A large percentage (24%) of the imported beads are carnelian and rock crystal, linking the site to the east and suggesting Heimdalsjordet’s floruit was c.860– 950, when these beads were most abundant – other beads show connections to Western Europe, the Mediterranean, and Britain (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 218–9). The eastern beads were possibly high-value commodity-money, in a similar currency sphere to dirhams (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 219). Proportions of coin and weight types indicate Heimdalsjordet looked to the Baltic and Islamic east in the way that Kaupang looked to Insular Scandinavia, and – given its relatively small number of associated graves and issues with f looding – was seasonally occupied (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 226). If Kaupang was ‘Danish’ (Skre 2011b, 2015; Hilberg 2020: 258), it is possible Heimdalsjordet was established by Norwegians (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 227, ref. Skre 2007: 463–8). While Kaupang was focussed to the west and south and ref lects establishment by Southern Scandinavians, Heimdalsjordet may have specialized in eastern networks to supply the elite family behind Gokstad with prestige imports, thereby being more akin to a ‘modernised ­central-place’ than a true trading town (Bill & Rødsrud 2017: 227–8). Kaupang Probably the Skíringssalr in Ohthere’s account, Kaupang was founded around 800 by a Danish king on the north-western edge of his realm (Skre 2011b: 444; Hilberg 2020: 258). In Danish control until c.900, it was a thriving market until a rapid post-c.930 decline (although activity until the 950s is suggested by some burials – Skre 2007b: 468). Either side of the Danish period, it had been the central place (probably designed to control recently established raiding and slaving Round-Scotland routes into the Irish Sea) of a small polity ruled by the local Yngling dynasty (Skre 2011b: 443) before its reinvention as a ‘fixed point along the new and promising sea-route to Northern England, Scotland, and Ireland’ for the Danish network-kingdom (Skre 2011b: 446). This meant the Danish king could facilitate his subjects’ Western travel while simultaneously diverting towards himself a proportion of their economic gain (Skre 2015). Between c.800 and 850/870, Kaupang was dominated by Southern Scandinavians, Frisians, and Slavs, with increasing numbers of Norwegians

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thereafter (Skre 2011a). Kaupang’s foundation was seemingly part of an initiative to use planned towns situated on inter-regional raiding, exchange, and communications routes to bolster the Danish kingdom against Franks and Western Scandinavians (Skre 2011b: 443, 444). While, by the end of the 9th century, Kaupang was possibly under Norwegian control (the ­Danish kingdom may have collapsed temporarily under Frankish pressure in the mid-9th), its exchange links to all points, including Southern Scandinavia, continued until the second quarter of the 10th. That these connections continued (seemingly unabated by regime-change) is likely explained by similarities in economic motives among Scandinavian sea-kings (cf. Skre 2011b: 447). It seems Kaupang’s role was to facilitate access to Insular goods and attempt control of plunder and trade sea-routes to the Irish Sea Region (Skre 2011b: 443). Ultimately, I characterize Kaupang as a Silver Route node relatively unaffected by changes in political control, its essentially Danish character central to understanding the wider Southern Scandinavian characteristics of this network. Given the focus on control of sea-routes within my hypothesis, I now investigate contact between Kaupang and Insular Scandinavia. Beyond this, I consider Kaupang’s contemporary contacts with Hedeby and the Eastern Seaway and the market-economic connotations of this orientation. In terms of modes of importation, Skre differentiated between traded-goods and personal possessions (traders’-items) with the former giving a better idea as to those regions with which Kaupang had regular trading connections and the latter being brought in by trader-settlers (2011a: 417ff.). Kaupang’s Irish Sea contacts are seen through the site’s life, strengthening in line with the political shift to the ‘westerly-oriented’ Norwegian kingdom (Skre 2011a: 417, 2011b: 443, 2015). However, it is clear from the categories of imports that the almost complete lack of personal-possessions of the sort brought in by settlers (e.g., ceramics) and traders (e.g., Baltic or Insular-style metrological equipment) suggests trading was largely conducted by Danes and Norwegians, not Insular Scandinavians (Skre 2011a: 440). That aside, Insular connections are seen in the jet/shale arm-rings found in Kaupang in all periods (Skre 2015). The numbers (23) and uniformity of type suggest import was more commonly as traded goods than traders’-items (Resi 2011: 125, 127; Skre 2011a: 424–5, 428). While Skre implied (2011a: 425; cf. Hunter 2008: 108, 112), distribution of jet/jet-like arm-rings as a traded commodity may be linked to large-scale production at Dublin, the possibility remains that some were produced in Jórvík (Mainman & Rogers 2000: 2498–500), perhaps by craftsfolk involved in amber-working. Kaupang’s corpus is paralleled in typology and material with Jórvík and Dublin, suggesting to me these objects represent an Uí Ímair network-kingdom export commodity (cf. Skre 2011a: 428, 2015). Skre (2011a: 428) concluded the presence of jet was linked to trade between Kaupang, the Irish Sea, and northern Danelaw; that these materials appeared in Kaupang in higher volumes than at other similar Eastern Seaway sites also suggested individuals in the Danish

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Figure 8.1  K  aupang’s trading connections (i) c.800–850/870 and (ii) c.850–930 (Courtesy of D. Skre, © Kaupang Excavation Project)

Corridor cultivated exchange across the North Sea (cf. Hilberg 2020). I propose that jet imports are, then, key to demonstrating: (i) early 9th-century Irish Sea contacts and, from c.840 to 850, with longphuirt; and (ii) links from the late 860s until the mid-950s with Jórvík and the Danelaw. Importantly

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for my market emphasis and its chronological parameters (850s–950s), Skre (2011a: 428) noted ‘the material from Ireland clearly shows […] activities of the Scandinavians were strongly motivated economically from the start: realized at first by plundering, and then from c.840 by a permanent presence that provided greater opportunities for trade’. Irish Sea Region and Southern Scandinavian silver also reached Kaupang, where seven broad-band arm-ring fragments have been discovered (Skre 2015), one of which is of Hiberno-Scandinavian type (Hårdh 2008: 97, 113–4; Skre 2011a: 428). Relating their distribution to silver and craft connections, Skre (2011a: 428) stated ‘the large number of fragments of arm-rings produced either in Ireland or Denmark at Kaupang and in the treasure hoards along the Norwegian coasts shows quite clearly that these areas were linked into traffic between Denmark and Ireland’. Thus, from the mid-9th century until 930+, silver, ‘jet’ and, possibly, lead from areas within the Uí Ímair Insular imperium reached Kaupang (n.b., a market situated in the Danish Corridor from which Ívarr and others involved in Insular Scandinavia may have come), suggesting to me a mixture of currency, display items, and quotidian materials prompted and sustained a long-distance network linking a Southern Scandinavian trading economy to the Danelaw and Irish Sea Region. Skre noted ‘from the very beginning, goods were reaching [Kaupang] via the Baltic and southern Scandinavia’ (2011a: 427). Beyond dirhams (­Blackburn 2008; Kilger 2008a; Rispling et al. 2008; Skre 2011a: 423), an important metric for eastern trade is the presence of cubo-octahedrals and truncated-spheres. Kaupang has, to date, produced 47 of the former and 23 of the latter, along with two balances of probable eastern origin (Pedersen 2008: Table 6.4, 126; Skre 2011a: 437). These link Kaupang to the dirham payment ecumene (Gustin 2004a) comprising eastern European river-systems (i.e., Volga Bulgar and Rus’ network-kingdoms), south-western Finland, Birka and the Mälaren region, Gotland, and Southern Scandinavia. Like standardized weights and balances, beads made from glass, carnelian, and rock crystal from the Caliphate found in Kaupang seem to match Eastern Seaway dirham-networks (Skre 2011a: 425–6, 2011b: 446). As Skre (2011a: 426) noted for a suite of high-value, low-bulk imports including dirhams, copper-alloy ingots, textiles (e.g., silk), and beads, their arrival demonstrated that for most of Kaupang’s life ‘goods were arriving from the Caliphate via the eastern parts of Scandinavia’, but that this was likely mediated through Southern Scandinavia, probably on the Hedeby-Kaupang sea-route. That Kaupang gained much of its eastern material through Hedeby and Southern Scandinavia, and not directly with the Baltic, is suggested by knobbed penannular brooches discovered there, of which only two were of definite eastern type (C52517/70, C52519/15513; Graham-Campbell 2011b: 104–6), with the three complete examples from graves suggested to be of the southern Norwegian type possibly manufactured at Kaupang (­Graham-Campbell 2011b: 105). Skre (2011a: 437) concluded this lack of eastern Scandinavian personal-possessions suggested metrological equipment

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entered Kaupang via the ‘south-western area of that [Baltic] network: the Danish lands, and perhaps Hedeby in particular’. Consequently, knobbed penannular brooches found in the Western Seaway either passed through Kaupang or, more likely, were manufactured there. In any case, I suggest movement of such Baltic-style dress-accessories towards Insular Scandinavia ref lects Silver Route network f low, and indicates Kaupang, containing original knobbed brooches and, seemingly, self-produced variants, was integral to their transport to Britain and Ireland. In the Eastern Seaway, amber is found along southern Baltic coasts, Denmark, and Frisia (Resi 2011: 107–9, Fig. 6.1; Skre 2011a: 423). By the 10th century, Wolin was a key exporter, but, given strong Danish links, Kaupang’s may have come from around Hedeby (cf. Resi 2011: 122; Skre 2011a: 427). Danish connections are made more likely by ‘House A200’, the only structure to produce significant quantities of Southern Scandinavian pottery, and which provided evidence of amber-working; both features agreeing ‘with the assumed southern Scandinavian origin of these people’ (Skre 2011a: 438). Moreover, the surrounding plot (‘1A’) is also notable for concentrations of Insular artefacts, adding further evidence to the view that Danes or – more likely given genetic traces (Margaryan et al. 2020) – Norwegians who were from ‘Danish’ regions of southern Norway) were particularly active among Scandinavians in Britain and Ireland, and were possibly even those responsible for the concentration of amber in Uí Ímair Dublin (noted by Wallace [1987] as a particularly Danish cultural trait) and Jórvík. Silver jewellery, payment rings, imported coins, and ingots were used in Kaupang’s metal-weight economy, further linking it to Southern ­Scandinavian-style market practice (Hårdh 2008: 113–8; Pedersen 2008: 159–66; Skre 2008d: 347–52, 2011a: 423, 437, 2011b: 448). However, while Skre (2011b: 448) argued that, until the c.930 ending of Kaupang as a major market, the site was the ‘north-westernmost limit of the tight and cohesive distribution of dirhams and [Scandinavian/Islamic] weights’, we should now see Kaupang not as an end point, but rather as a conduit for these towards Insular Scandinavia and particularly the Danelaw. Indeed, Insular mounts containing 9/10th-century metalwork found alongside Kaupang’s standardized weights indicates that, as befitted a site looking towards the North Sea and Baltic, inf luences in transactional forms were also received from Insular Scandinavia (cf. Williams 2020e: 43), whether by returning Kaupangers or Insular Scandinavians visiting Kaupang. Skre suggested we think of Kaupang as an outlier of the southern and eastern Scandinavian hacksilver economy (2011b: 445), indicated in the first half of the 9th century by trade goods and personal possessions brought in to it by Danes, Slavs, and Frisians (Skre 2011b: 443). Skre’s proto-Norwegian western Scandinavians (2011a: 438–9) were also present in this phase, but their numbers would increase from the later 9th with the growing interest of the polity that would transform the Norðweg into the Norwegian network-kingdom. While these Scandinavians expanded links to Insular Scandinavia (as seen in

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continuing movement of jet/jet-like materials and broad-band arm-rings), those with the Baltic, likely mediated via Danish regions, were maintained, best illustrated by the inf lux of dirhams and standardized weights and balances from c.860 (Skre 2011b: 448). However, subsequent evidence indicates that Kaupang was not the most Westerly 9th-century outlier on an ‘economic border zone’ of Southern and Eastern Scandinavian rules; I suggest that label would better be applied to longphuirt and winter-camps. Indeed, it seems probable that the urbanization (also in army camps – Williams 2020j: 99–102) seen in Hiberno-­Scandinavian and Danelaw contexts – and the use of multiple forms of silver c­ urrencies – was ‘most probably the result of people from areas that already had towns – in other words, Danes, including folk from Viken [Vestfold] – settling there’ (Skre 2011b: 448; cf. Sheehan 2020: 415).

Sandtorg i Tjeldsund No hypothesis is immune to new discoveries, and that of Sandtorg i Tjeldsund (Troms) has important ramifications. What makes this site so important to my work is that it alters our perspective of trade and exchange not only in northern Norway, but also for other ostensibly ‘remote’ regions of the Viking world. It also allows for a reappreciation of the view of a ‘lack of trade along the [Norðweg, Leið] coast’ (Kruse 2020: 171) and assumptions only sites with early ‘kaup’ or market/trader names are likely to be associated with commerce (Kruse 2020: 172). While we knew from Ohthere the NorseSámi borderlands could play host to individuals who travelled to distant urban markets, and who presumably received and used metallic currencies at them, we had little concentrated artefactual evidence that might lead us to believe markets, however seasonal, operated in Arctic Norway. Now, Krokmyrdal (2020), who combined place-name evidence with topographical and ­hydrographical-based reasoning and metal-detecting with limited excavation, has revealed a previously unknown Viking-Age market. Situated on a tidally moderated shipping lane, ‘Sandtorg’ (‘the market [ON torg] place on the sand’) on the Tjeldsund (‘tjeld’ is ‘to tent’, suggestive of a camp-site for ships’ crews) is a perfect example of one of Sindbæk’s ‘traffic breaks’ (Sindbæk 2005: 107–8, 264–5, n.b.; Krokmyrdal 2020: 86; Kruse 2020: 172 thinks ‘torg’ equalling ‘market’ may be a later phenomenon). It may also be an example of a haven developing into a place for trade and exchange (Kruse 2020: 177). Moreover, Sandtorg’s regional hinterland contains graves with imports, weights, and silver, traditionally seen as evidence of a nearby market (Krokmyrdal 2002: iv). While rural Jämtland (Holm 2015, 2017) demonstrates proximity of a market was seemingly not necessary to produce burials with trade-related grave goods (as those goods were clearly brought in from distant nodes like Birka), the association remains valid. Silver economy is suggested by hacksilver (Krokmyrdal 2020: 37) and bullion weights, including an oblate-spheroid and an Insular mount (Krokmyrdal

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2020: 40–1, 107). Metalworking – a standard marker for a trade site, whether permanent or temporary – is suggested by the raw material of a boat-shaped iron bar and multi-metallic production waste (Krokmyrdal 2020: iv–v). As at market sites elsewhere, organic-rich black earth occupation layers suggest long-term (if intermittent/seasonal) occupation of a large site, currently estimated at c.20 acres. As Krokmyrdal (2020: v; cf. 67) notes, ‘The largest number of iron bars, pig iron, banks, slag and loupes ever found at one site in northern Norway is interpreted to indicate a smithy at Viking Age beach level’, possibly within a boat repair yard (2020: 87). While it is not yet known if Sandtorg was more a temporary hostel for ships awaiting the tide and a boat repair yard than a large-scale market (Krokmyrdal 2020: v), early evidence indicates market exchange in Arctic Norway beyond the historical evidence of Ohthere. In terms of dating, initial estimates place Viking-Age activity between c.800 and 900, with much of it before 850 (Krokmyrdal 2020: iv), and the oblate-spheroid demonstrating trade/exchange after c.870. Historically invisible sites like Sandtorg are often hinted at by dispersed evidence from the hinterland and antiquarian literature; indeed, that market commerce and southern trading sites were known on the northern Norðweg had already been suggested by Ohthere and the presence of similar material to Kaupang in Lofoten (Krokmyrdal 2020: 8, ref. Stylegard 2009: 88). Krokmyrdal (2020: 9, 63) saw the value in circumstantial evidence (e.g., graves with imports, metrological items, silver; bullion; metalworking) for identifying possible smaller exchange sites, something discussed below in relation to graves next to Orkney’s Pierowall Bay. Sandtorg is also important for its evidence for East-West links along my Silver Route network. Connections to Insular Scandinavia from the second half of the 9th century can be seen in the Insular mount (Krokmyrdal 2020: 84). Lead, too, may be from Britain (Krokmyrdal 2020: 46). From the east, Ts.15265.3 is described as an ‘oriental fitting’ Krokmyrdal associates with movement of dirhams, while Ts.15793.2 is a fragmented shieldshaped buckle or pendant (Krokmyrdal 2020: 37, 40). We also note here suggestions from Stora Karlso on Gotland of 9th-century long-distance trade between Gotland and the ‘north Norwegian coast’ (Gustaffson 2020: 88). Taken together, the site is indicative of network trade/exchange involving market-based transactions and also displays a concentration of ferrous and non-ferrous ironworking traditionally associated with commodity exchange sites (Krokmyrdal 2020: 81, 93). With its evidence for metalworking and long-distance exchange, despite being ephemeral enough to be historically invisible, Sandtorg is like Woodstown.

Woodstown The Woodstown longphort is found on the south bank of the Suir, three miles west of Waterford. Most activity seems to have taken place in the second half of the 9th century (Sheehan 2014, 2015), with abandonment by c.950,

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possibly in favour of Waterford (Russell et al. 2007: 42–5; Williams 2020h: 86). Williams (2020e: 41) suggests a floruit before the Great Army camps/870s due to the near-absence of cubo-octahedrals and no oblate-spheroids, introduced in the 860s and 870s respectively. The presence of a univallate defended riverside site with industrial/craft and trading activity evidenced by amber, jet, metalworking furnaces, bullion weights, and hacksilver has led to it being considered a major Hiberno-Scandinavian trading and production centre with long-distance exchange links (Russell et al. 2007; Sheehan 2015). Woodstown has produced a possible amber bead and ring, as well as a fragment of amber (Harvey 2006: 6), with the latter suggesting to Russell et al. (2007: 36, 59, 79) that raw amber was being turned into jewellery that appealed to those with Southern Scandinavian tastes (cf. Wallace 1987). Three fragments of jet/lignite were also discovered (Russell et al. 2007: 79). The combination of trading, ingot-production, and craft-working recalls contemporary Eastern Seaway sites like Gotland’s Paviken, with British parallels at Torksey and Llanbedrgoch (Russell et al. 2007: 35). Tools associated with wood-working and textile production indicate varied activities and the presence of women (Russell et al. 2007: 36–7), suggesting a relatively stable market environment. Woodstown’s silver assemblage, c.42 pieces mainly detected in disturbed topsoil, but also from an in situ furnace, is rare in Ireland, although the predominance of hacksilver compares with that of Kaupang and Uppåkra in the Danish Corridor, and Torksey in the Danelaw (Sheehan 2014, 2015; Williams 2020e: 40). The finds from the 9th-century Linn Duachaill longphort (Annagassan, Co. Louth) may be analogous to those of Woodstown (McKeown 2005; Russell et al. 2007: 28; Sheehan 2008, 2015), and the River Blackwater bullion assemblage may represent a dispersed longphort (Bourke 2010; Williams 2020l: 19). Woodstown has produced two complete, and twenty-four hacksilver fragments of ingots; six hacksilver arm-rings; six pieces of ‘droplet’ casting waste; one hacksilver sheet; one hacksilver rod; a possible hacksilver brooch fragment; and, possibly, a cubo-octahedral (Sheehan 2006, 2014; cf. Russell et al. 2007; Williams 2020e: 40–1). At 2.51g, this potential (silver?) weight is ‘consistent with the mean weight of cubo-octahedral weights from England in general and ARSNY in particular’ (Williams 2020e: 41). Sheehan (2015; cf. Bornholdt Collins 2010) has also suggested Mumu’s hacksilver hoards, such as the Mohil/Dunmore Cave (no. 1) dirham-hoard (c.928–930) containing a dirham of c.870–892, represented Woodstown-derived silver. Although the Mohil (no. 2) hoard was deposited c.965, i.e., perhaps more than half a century after the ending of Woodstown, that it contained droplets (hammered like at Kaupang), suggested to Sheehan (2015) that this silver, too, had transited Woodstown in the 9th or early 10th century. One ingot was discovered in a furnace used to produce iron, copper-alloy, and silver objects, suggesting Woodstown was an important silver-working centre (Sheehan 2014, 2015). Of the two fragmentary dirhams, one (Russell et al. 2007: 38, 59; Sheehan 2014; Williams 2020e: 41) probably minted at

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the Umayyad Wasit (now Iraq) mint between 741 and 743 (before circulating for a century or more) recalls similarly fragmented dirhams discovered in Hedeby, Heimdalsjordet, Kaupang, and Birka (Gullbekk, pers. comm.). The other dirham may date to between 866/867 and 922/923 (Williams 2020h: 86). The (hacksilver) character of the Woodstown corpus suggests the ­market-based operation of a Southern Scandinavian-style Gewichtsgeldwirtschaft – the Danish Corridor evidence for which suggests had started by the mid-9th century – maintained by mercantile connections to the Danelaw and Baltic, something also suggested by the amber (cf. Russell et al. 2007: 24). Sheehan (2015; cf. 2006: 2–4) supports this commercial view of Woodstown, adding that the predominance of hacksilver seemingly lost over time in small, everyday transactions appeared to signify currency use. That we are only looking at a tiny proportion of Woodstown’s evidence suggests hacksilver use was regular, as does the presence of test-marks on approximately 1/3rd of the silver, most notably the ingots (Sheehan 2006: 2–4, 2015; Russell et al. 2007: 34–5; Blackburn 2009: 59). As Russell et al. (2007: 35) concluded: ‘much of [Woodtown’s silver] had clearly changed hands repeatedly in situations removed from the immediate threat of violence’. The Woodstown economic material (hacksilver and weights spread out over a productive site with trade-goods) bears strong similarities to Torksey, which Blackburn (2002: 100) argued represented ‘commercial activity, rather than an army sharing out its booty’. Furthermore, Woodstown’s evidence for intense production involving imported materials (e.g., of iron objects, possibly including ship-rivets, in addition to silver and copper-alloy ingots) already appears extensive, with many probable metal-working furnaces/ heaths identified (Sheehan 2006: 2; Russell et al. 2007: 35). I suggest it is the multiplicity of (bullion) weights, however, that gives the best insight into the intensity of market activity at Woodstown. Over 200 weights associated with weighing metal in commercial transactions (Sheehan 2004: 187) have been discovered at Woodstown, matching the Dublin corpus in size (Russell et al. 2007: 24, 34; cf. Wallace 2013; Williams 2020h: 86). Most are, as at Dublin and Kaupang, undecorated lead, but two are Insular mounts and one is a cubo-octahedral example weighing 2.5g, which could be silver, but might be copper-alloy, like a broadly similar example from Kaupang (Sheehan 2014; cf. Pedersen 2008: 150). As Sheehan (2013: 15) remarked, ‘this is one of the target weights identified by Kyhlberg in his analysis of a series of small polygonal weights from Birka’. This should be viewed in light of Wallace’s suggestion (2013: 313) his c.22–23g ­Woodstown-unit was introduced from Scandinavia in the mid-9th century as part of the inf lux of Islamic material. The great volume of weights from Woodstown (cf. 25 found in York: Kruse 1992: 78) suggests ‘many individuals had a need to weigh material regularly, and this in turn implies that trade must have been a major activity at the site’ (Russell et al. 2007: 34). The presence of several Insular mounts links Woodstown to presumably similar bullion-related transactions at Llanbedrgoch, ARNSY, Torksey, Talnotrie,

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and Kiloran Bay and further links Woodstown and other 9th-century longphuirt with subsequent activity in the Irish Sea Region and the Great Army, c.865+ (Hadley & Richards 2016: 49; Williams 2020h: 86, ref. McLeod 2014: 112–32). What, then, was exchanged to ‘produce such extensive quantities of weights and hacksilver’ (Russell et al. 2007: 37)? As with Valante’s thesis (2008: 86–90) for Dublin and Linn Duachaill’s wealth, it seems likely slaving was key (cf. Russell et al. 2007: 37–8). That Gilli-types used dirhams as a medium of exchange for Irish slaves may explain one of the processes by which dirhams reached Hiberno-Scandinavian markets. In any case, as Russell et al. (2007: 38) noted, the Woodstown dirhams demonstrate connections to an eastern-orientated network. Ultimately, it seems Woodstown was a location where regular small-scale transactions using hacksilver regulated by weights recognized across the Viking world were common, and where a range of high- and low-value commodities were manufactured. It was at the ‘centre of a complex economic network, by no means all aspects of which were violent, and which at some levels extended beyond Ireland’ (Russell et al. 2007: 38). Into a society with cattle as its basic unit of value/ wealth, ­H iberno-Scandinavians, being largely restricted to their longphuirt, introduced a metal-weight economy of multi-metallic character but dominated by silver to Ireland, likely via a mix of trade, gifts, tribute, and alliances (Sheehan 2020: 427). As in England, these military-backed markets likely operated within local political structures, being useful wealth generators (Sheehan 2020: 427). Skre (2015: 246) suggested initial establishment of longphuirt was linked to individuals from the northern and western Norðweg; thereafter, however, Dublin and Waterford urbanization, the use of hacksilver, and the production of broad-band arm-rings was likely the result of an inf lux of people who probably thought of themselves as Danes, albeit originating around Kaupang. In this, Skre agrees with my picture of the Silver Route in Insular Scandinavia as being a largely Southern Scandinavian innovation originating in the Vestfold. However, Sandtorg suggests the Southern Scandinavian model was relatively easy to export to regions without urban precedents, so I suggest that northern and western ‘Norse’ inhabitants of the Norðweg would have been capable of setting up longphuirt as markets. In any case, I agree with Skre that Danes (and/or Danish-inf luenced northern and western Norwegians) were, from the 840s, behind: (i) introducing a Southern Scandinavian market-style hacksilver currency; (ii) production of ‘standardised’ currency broad-band arm-rings; and (iii) the proto-urban nature of longphuirt where, as was the case for Woodstown (and likely Dublin), market-trade and production based on imported long-distance raw materials could occur. Looking at Kaupang and Uppåkra (Skåne), both located within the Danish sphere of inf luence in the 9th and part of the 10th centuries, Sheehan (2015) agrees with Skre. For Sheehan, Southern Scandinavia was a region in which both towns and hacksilver currency were growing; that Woodstown was

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connected to this is suggested by similarities between its silver assemblage and those from Kaupang and Uppåkra. Having demonstrated connections between Danish and Hiberno-Scandinavian silver-working traditions between c.850 and 880 through the development of the broad-band arm-ring (Sheehan 2001: 51–9), Sheehan used Skre to further parallel Woodstown’s hacksilver, likely dating from these decades, with that of markets in Scandinavia which, like Kaupang, seemed to use hacksilver as currency from around the time of the first longphuirt (cf. Hårdh 2007: 114; Pedersen & Pilø 2007: 179–80). Both Sheehan and Skre look to southern over northern Scandinavia to understand the Hiberno-Scandinavian relationship to silver. As Sheehan (2015) noted, it was the Danish-Norwegian region in which Kaupang and Heimdalsjordet were situated that was responsible for the spread of a hacksilver economy from Southern Scandinavia to Ireland: Norðweg inhabitants may only have had a few years’ grace (c.790–800) in unaccompanied enjoyment of raiding and slaving opportunities in Scotland and Ireland before the nascent Danish network-kingdom sought to funnel raided commodities through their own ports. I suggest that, by the mid-9th century, Southern Scandinavian future members of the Great Army would either establish or takeover longphuirt, making or refashioning them in the image of Kaupang (cf. Sheehan 2020: 425). Consequently, this ‘Danish’ element introduced their love of amber and developing ingot-based hacksilver economy in longphuirt which were, in essence, examples of market urbanization in a Danish Corridor style (cf. Williams 2020j: 99–102). Indeed, Skre (2015: 239; cf. Wallace 1992: 9–14) suggested Wallace’s ‘Type 1’ house from Dublin owes its form to Kaupang. Importantly, in view of Sandtorg, I think it is this Southern Scandinavian taste that suggests Danish inf luence over Norwegians, but it must be said that there was likely no hard and fast definition between them, particularly given the inf luences travelling the Norðweg.

Torksey I think of longphuirt and winter-camps as cousins instead of siblings, allowing for major differences in certain areas, but not ones that outweigh shared links to the Southern Scandinavian and Baltic economies and the Viking groups operating across the West. Consequently, it is fair to turn from Woodstown to Torksey, with the latter a c.55ha Great Army overwintering site in 872– 873, an Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (ASC) dating corroborated by age profiles of dirhams and Anglo-Saxon pennies and a lack of purity testing marks, a practice thought to start c.875 (Woods 2020: 397, 402). Torksey’s highly fragmented hacksilver is accompanied by large numbers of cubo-octahedrals, demonstrating Great Army utilization of both by the early 870s (Williams 2020e: 41). This level of fragmentation is paralleled at ARSNY and at Kaupang and Uppåkra, sites that also produce large numbers of cubo-octahedrals; indeed, this link to the Danish Corridor led Kershaw (2020: 124) to speculate

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whether ARSNY had particularly ‘close connections to southern Scandinavian central and market places’. Surrounded by marsh and river, the effective island of Torksey was situated at a ‘nodal point in the regional transport network’ (Hadley & Richards 2016: 31) on a route controlling access to Lincoln at the strategic junction of the Trent and Fossdyke (Graham-Campbell 2001: 55; Blackburn 2002: 90; Hadley & Richards 2016: 23). Like the seasonal trading and ship repair site at Sandtorg and permanent markets at Birka and Hedeby, Torksey was positioned at a traffic junction, in this case between a spur of Ermine Street that avoided the Humber Estuary and the Trent (Hadley & Richards 2016: 31). Additional protection was afforded by the vantage point of a 10m-high bluff (Hadley & Richards 2016: 32). The size suggests a settlement with women, children, craftsfolk, and traders present (Blackburn 2011: 246; Hadley & Richards 2016: 23; Woods 2020: 396). Although occupation may have continued into the early 10th century, numismatics suggests Torksey’s floruit was confined to c.872/873–880 (Blackburn 2011: 247). Torksey’s 124 dirham fragments represent the largest Insular concentration (Hadley & Richards 2016: 39, 43; Woods 2020: 404). Dispersal across the site suggested to Blackburn (2002: 92) they were being ‘actively used […] in significant number’, with their dating parameters ‘highly suggestive of activity concentrated in the 870s’ (Blackburn 2011: 244–5; cf. Hadley & Richards 2016: 44). The latest dirham is dated 866–868, which, if deposited 872–873, would be quick even considering the Silver Route’s efficiency. Notably, the ‘late’ dirhams demonstrate the Great Army or newcomers to it were in contact with (southern) Scandinavia after the 865 arrival of the main body (Hadley & Richards 2016: 44). The fragmentation of Torksey’s dirhams – no complete coins have been discovered – is unparalleled in Insular Scandinavia, being emphasized by the tiny 0.42g average fragment weight, with most weighing under 0.5g; this compares to an 0.6g average at Kaupang, 1g+ weight of most Cuerdale examples, and the 1.59g average of the PAS corpus (Woods 2020: 404–5). Looking at other forms of hacksilver, Woods (2020: 405–6) demonstrated close comparison between Torksey’s fragmentation and Kaupang and Uppåkra. Such treatment suggests ‘regular economic use’ and likens activities in what was first and foremost a temporary camp in enemy territory to major Scandinavian markets (Woods 2020: 406). With Permian-style spiral-ring fragments and a fragment of an original (Danish) type broad-band arm-ring (Hadley & Richards 2016: 39), the overall profile of silver and its treatment is also similar to contemporary Eastern Seaway markets (Blackburn 2011: 230, 244–5, App. 2, 93; Woods 2020: 405–6), suggesting to me membership of a wider Scandinavian dirham-using bullion currency block (cf. Woods 2020: 403). Strengthening this interpretation are 300+ weights associated with bullion, including 99 cubo-octahedrals and 6 truncated-spheres as well as 37 Insular mounts (Woods 2020: 403, ref. Williams 2015: 110–3). As with the 866–868 dirham, the standardized weights demonstrate the transfer of this

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latest phase of the Southern and Baltic Scandinavian bullion economy and its constituent parts was quick (Woods 2020: 404). In terms of weight ‘standards’, such as they were, Woods (2020: 403–5; cf. Williams 2020f: 21) detects associations across standardized weight types while noting a wide variation of between 2 and 50g across all weights, being unsure whether this ref lects different units or the weighing of a wide range of bullion. It appears that, like ARSNY (Ager & Williams 2020: 33, 36; Kershaw 2020: 33), Torksey’s bullion was multi-metallic (cf. Williams 2011; Hadley & Richards 2016: 47–9; Kershaw 2020), with a remarkable concentration of hackgold and copper-alloy ingots, including an example of the latter hammered in the style of silver ingot, suggesting three tiers of bullion value (Hadley & Richards 2016: 47–8; cf. Woods 2020: 406). There are 12 hackgold pieces; their similar characteristics to the hacksilver suggests they were used in the same (economic) manner, something reinforced by the discovery of a fake gold (plated) ingot, causing Woods (2020: 406) to conclude ‘[g]old must have been in fairly regular use [“as a high-value part of the m ­ etal-weight economy”] to make forging hack-gold worthwhile’. Hackgold has also been discovered in the Watlington Hoard (c.879–880, Oxfordshire), further strengthening claims of its currency role among the Great Army (Ager & Williams 2020: 33, 36; Williams 2020e: 37). Similarly, chisel-cutting and transverse hammering of copper-alloy hackcopper ingots in the style of silver ones and common use of copper-alloy coins and fragmentary decorative pieces in Insular mounts suggests a ‘low-value’ role for base metals in bullion currency (Woods 2020: 406–7; Williams 2020d: 129). Beyond this, unfragmented Anglo-Saxon coins and apparent production of forgeries indicate Torksey operated within a Münzgeldwirtschaft (Hadley et al. 2016: 49–51; Kershaw 2017; Woods 2020: 409). The unclustered spread of whole coins across the site suggests quotidian use in exchange; moreover, that ­A nglo-Saxon coins tended not to be fragmented suggests tale use, at least for a minority of transactions (Woods 2020: 408–9). Connections to the Irish Sea Region are less apparent at Torksey, with few items among the hacksilver corpus of c.65 pieces, such as a cut fragment of Irish penannular brooch and a silver-gilt brooch (Blackburn 2002: 95, 2011: 233; Woods 2020: 403). Further Irish links might also be evidenced by ‘pieces of Irish decorated metalwork’ (Blackburn 2002: 99). An Irish (or Hiberno-Scandinavian) ring-headed pin has also been discovered (Blackburn 2011: 227, 233), which could indicate the presence of a longphort-based trader. In addition, evidence of inter-circulation of Irish and Southern Scandinavian silverworking traditions, such as was then (c.850–880) developing the Hiberno-Scandinavian variant of the Danish broad-band arm-ring, was demonstrated in Torksey by the presence of lead trial strips with impressions of triangular and other punched decoration (Hadley & Richards 2016: 51–2), as used in both Danish and Hiberno-Scandinavian variants (Blackburn 2011: 224). This provides insight into wintersetle/longphort mechanisms by which Southern Scandinavian silversmithing travelled to Ireland (cf. Sheehan 2011a: 98).

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Manufacturing is further evidenced by ‘melts’ (metalworking droplets) of copper-alloy, silver; gold and lead sheeting with impressions of coin dies imitating silver and gold coins; and Viking and Anglo-Saxon jewellery and dress fittings, suggesting the Great Army was counterfeiting coinage to use in coined economies alongside their bullion use, as well as manufacturing decorative items (Woods 2020: 409–10). I suggest the coins, hacksilver, weights, and metalworking suggest a Danish Corridor-style market, the closest parallels for which are the ‘classic emporia and central sites of Viking-Age Scandinavia and […] ARSNY’ (Blackburn 2011: 245). From this, I argue Torksey’s concentration of fragmentary dirhams has the effect of extending their association with Southern Scandinavian market-trade to this region, even among war-bands, and even at this ‘early’ date. As Blackburn (2011: 246–7) concluded: ‘There can be no doubt […] commercial activities were prominent. The finds show that there were many traders using, and losing, coinage, cut-bullion and weights’ in a site which was, as Woodstown, Repton, and ARSNY, more than a camp. I think this picture of Torksey hints at market processes happening at Jórvík’s presumed c.860s winter-camp and at Danelaw connections to Ireland and Southern Scandinavia (cf. Kershaw 2020: 127). Metalworking and import of metalwork from Ireland, Frankia, and Southern Scandinavia indicate the mix of raiding and market-scale production characterizing the Silver Route network in which the Great Army operated, and widespread stray-finds of bullion (focussed on dirhams and ingots) demonstrate the introduction of Danish Corridor-style currency to the Danelaw by the same mechanisms that spread it to sites like Sandtorg via the Norðweg. As Hadley & Richards (2016: 45) note, ‘[t]hat Viking armies were accompanied by individuals involved in trade is suggested by the finds from Torksey’, adding the parallel of a contemporary Viking force being given permission to operate a market on a Loire island. This connection to Frankia, as Ireland and Scotland, speaks to the Great Army’s range of operations (Hadley & Richards 2016: 54–5).

Understanding Jórvík via Torksey? There is no silver bullion from the Coppergate or Hungate, and only two oblate-spheroids from the former (Williams 2020e: 42). Consequently, I cannot say Jórvík’s silver exchange corpus is like that of Torksey, instead being focussed on minting and Münzgeldwirtschaft. However, what I find is rarely expressed is that most excavated sites date to after the establishment of mints in the 890s, leaving the possibility that the winter-camp era settlement(s) that may prove similar to Torksey and ARSNY have yet to be discovered (Williams 2020e: 42). Williams’ argument (2020j: 100) that permanent urban settlement was not planned from the outset in Jórvík (or Dublin) is not entirely convincing because we are only beginning to explore the 9th-century longphort-phase of Dublin and, at Jórvík, have not located the winter-camps

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of 866–867 and 869–870. I think micel here leaders (like Ívarr) intended to establish permanent markets in both eastern Ireland and northern England and, when possible, link these foundations within a network-kingdom based on permanent markets in Southern and Baltic Scandinavia; the link between the gravitation towards urban markets at Dublin and Jórvík and the nearest (and closest) models being in Southern Scandinavia (Kaupang, Hedeby, Ribe, etc.) seems compelling (cf. Sheehan 2020: 425). Indeed, Williams (2020j: 101) notes the intermediate stage (winter-camps) ‘show clear contact with the emerging bullion economy of southern Scandinavia’, strongly suggesting ‘some familiarity with’ a wide range of urban and ‘pre-urban’ markets in that region. I argue these groups within the Great Army used this knowledge of a range of sites to suit their needs at any particular time, with temporary markets (winter-camps) evolving into towns once mobility was a secondary consideration to the prestige and advantages of urban development. In any case, while I agree with Williams that the majority of the Great Army would have come from rural settlements (even in Southern Scandinavia), the movements of their leaders, and Ívarr/Óláfr in particular, points to a desire to establish permanent market-towns in both Ireland and England.

Pierowall, the Cuerdale Corridor, and Round-Scotland routes Establishment of the northern winter-camps marked the opening-up of the Uí Ímair network-kingdom’s Cuerdale Corridor, as demonstrated by the trans-Pennine line of hoards containing dirham and Northern Danelaw coin between the eastern Danelaw and the Irish Sea (Gooch 2012; Steinforth 2020b). As Skre (2011a, 2011b, 2015) has shown, however, connections between the Danish Corridor and Irish Sea on the Round-Scotland route predated the winter-camps by over 70 years. While I argue the Cuerdale Corridor was the preferred routeway between c.866/867 and c.927 and from c.939 to c.954, it is almost certain, given Westerdahl’s ‘maritimity’ (1998) and/or the economic agency of Scotto-Scandinavians who visited Uí Ímair markets, that the Round-Scotland route was well used during the Uí Ímair Age. This was likely especially so in periods of Anglo-Saxon rule at York – perhaps marked by the deposition of the Storr Rock hoard in c.935/940 – and became of renewed importance from the mid-950s. What, then, was the market situation for Scotto-Scandinavians and those traders who traversed this region? While we have encountered dirham-hoards and the Ardeer/Stevenston Sands single-find as potential second-tier beach market sites, frequent claims have been made (and frequently refuted) for Orkney’s Pierowall being a market connected to inter-regional trade routes, and it is to this debate I now turn. Although there were no towns in northern and western Scandinavian Scotland (in the south, Whithorn is very much an Irish Sea Region site), neither was there necessarily an absence of markets, something Sandtorg emphasizes. Indeed, within the context of

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network-kingdoms based on facilitating trade routes and traders, settlers here may have provided profitable services pertaining to security and ease of passage. As Krokmyrdal (2020: 82) noted for Sandtorg, but which might be true for Scotland, a large ‘goods exchange place’ could well have existed without a permanent population: ‘If several important service functions [such as boat repair, hostelling] have been gathered on site, can Sandtorg have been a reasonably large commodity exchange place that attracted people from a larger area?’. Scotland’s colonization might even represent the post-routinized settling of an exchange route between Scandinavia and the Irish Sea (cf. Clarke 1998: 335–6). If the latter point is correct, and I assume Danish Corridor market-traders existed among the raiders, can I find Scotto-Scandinavian trading sites with Southern Scandinavian-style market attributes, or which served the Silver Route? On this point, Clarke (1998: 340; cf. Crawford 1987: 135) suggested Pierowall and similar sites could have acted as ‘revictualling’ stations and places of ‘refuge’, with the region trading in an organized manner without urban infrastructure. Crawford (1987: 116, 135; cf. Kaland 1982: 88) suggested Pierowall as a possible trading-station where grain was sold (and/or used as commodity-money) in exchange for imports. Their arguments were based upon 17 furnished graves surrounding the natural harbour (Crawford 1987: 135; cf. Graham-Campbell & Batey 1998: 129–35; Owen & Dalland 1999: 177) since, as in Denmark and Gotland, cemeteries around good landing sites are often associated with market-places (Owen 2005: 297, 299; cf. Carlsson 1991; Ulriksen 2004; Krokmyrdal 2020). Pierowall’s cemetery has the greatest concentration of Scotto-Scandinavian burials and contains two possible boat-graves and a wide range of imported goods, inclusive of at least five Irish/Hiberno-Scandinavian ringed-pins. Both Clarke and Crawford saw Pierowall as a beach market of the sort argued for the Irish Sea Region (Sheehan et al. 2001; Griffiths 2010) and the Eastern Seaway (Carlsson 1991; Ulriksen 2004), with Crawford emphasizing the Northern Isles’ ‘nodal position’ on intersecting trade routes to offer ‘fresh supplies or to sell cargo; it would also enable the earls to exact some form of toll from merchant ships – if not plundering them – while they passed’ (1987: 135). Owen (1999: 23; cf. 2005: 297–302) shared this view of Pierowall as a site where commerce occurred at an occasional market, adding that these are the sort of ephemeral sites archaeologists interested in exchange should be looking for, on analogy with work done by Carlsson (1991) and Ulriksen (2004) for Gotland and Denmark respectively. To this, I also add Sandtorg as evidence for markets in the northernmost regions of Norway, something that the evidence of Ohthere (c.890s) and hoards like Rønnvik (tpq 949) already indicated. Furthermore, Owen (2005: 300) argued that Pierowall, and other as-yet-undiscovered sites, had economic roles between the establishment of longphuirt (c.840+) and the deposition of Storr Rock (c.935/940). In short, if we look in Scotland for ­second-tier markets like that found on Beginish Island off the coast of County Kerry (­Sheehan et al. 2001) and at Sandtorg, we may just find them.

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Criticism of this ‘Pierowall Argument’ abounds, however. Looking for Kaupang-like markets in Scotland, Morris (1998: 90–1) concluded ‘[h]ints from cemeteries such as Pierowall are not sufficient to maintain the hypothesis [of comparison with Kaupang]’. Similarly, Barrett (1995: 171; Barrett et al. 2000: 23) rejected it on the grounds of inappropriate comparison with Kaupang, with another objection being the lack of metrological equipment in the graves. This is indeed problematic in any interpretation of Pierowall as a regular trading place, but I counter that the use of commodity-money like grain or fish (weighed by eye) was probably more common in Orkney and northern Scandinavian Scotland as a whole. Doubtless, future drawing of parallels with sites like Sandtorg will prove more satisfying. Given Sindbæk’s arguments (2011: 58–9) concerning the Norðweg and purchase of gifts from distant towns, and Holm’s (2015, 2017) similar conclusions for Jämtland, Scotto-Scandinavians might have simply sailed to Dublin (or Jórvík) rather than wait for passing traders, something also suggested by Morris (1998: 91). Thus, there was perhaps no need to set up a substantial market. In any case, such a rival could have brought Uí Ímair opprobrium. Given what we now are beginning to learn from Sandtorg, however, Pierowall (or another site) might yet be confirmed as a market serving the Northern Isles and Caithness.

Discussion I feel confident in suggesting the template for the major Insular Scandinavian markets was from the Danish Corridor (cf. Sheehan 2020: 425), with Kaupang and Hedeby providing the main inspiration. Indeed, I have argued that understanding Kaupang in respect of its East-West trade links, market economy, and network relationship with Hedeby, allows for improved understanding of dynamics in a Western Seaway where traders and raiders from the Vestfold had been involved since the beginning of the 9th century, with particularly intensive links, exampled by the Hiberno-Scandinavian variant of the broad-band arm-ring, in the period c.840–880. While the data suggest that, after my proposed creation of the Uí Ímair network-kingdom, the Cuerdale Corridor was the principal route on that Irish Sea Region-­ Danelaw-Danish Corridor axis, Scotto-Scandinavian material and the trail of ringed-pins indicate the Round-Scotland route remained in operation, becoming reinvigorated from the 930s as the Scandinavian political situation in the Danelaw deteriorated.

9 Discussion and conclusions

In this book, I have asked whether Sheehan’s observations (2011: 98–9) concerning Ívarr’s mid-9th-century movements and the introduction of Southern Scandinavian silver use into Ireland and Britain could be contextualized as the beginnings of an Insular Scandinavian network-kingdom that would, ultimately, see Dublin and Jórvík as nodal markets facilitating and focussing exchange between the Irish Sea Region, northern Danelaw, and Danish Corridor. Owing to the lack of an understanding of the place of Insular Scandinavia within wider networks of communications and commerce, observations on long-distance exchange links between our Seaways tended to be without context. This persisted, despite Smyth’s suggestions for a symbiotic relationship between Dublin and Jórvík predicated upon supraregional economic and political ambitions of Ívarr et al. (cf. Sheehan 2009, 2011). Only relatively recently has Smyth’s model started to be not only refined (Downham 2007), but also bolstered by my own and Sheehan’s speculation (2020: 425) pertaining to links between Southern Scandinavia and Dublin. Past reticence to investigate wider network structures, preferring to focus on Jórvík and Dublin’s local and regional exchange, is only now being challenged by Ashby, Harrison, and their York-Dublin research group. Prior to recent initial publications of Woodstown, Torksey, and ARSNY, this was coupled with a general acceptance of the presence of markets and professional traders, but with a failure to interrogate what this entailed for Insular Scandinavian economics and its assumption, until relatively recently, that commerce was of little importance during the 9th century. While interest in maritime networks was greater for Scandinavian Scotland, these studies were primarily regionally focussed and/or concerned with later periods, and did not speculate on relations between Dublin and Jórvík, their hinterlands, and second-tier markets.

Insular Scandinavian economic anthropology I stress that, when looking for market trade in pre-industrial societies, use must be made of a perspective that does not overly marginalize commerce. Substantivism was an important corrective to formalist trends that saw modern

DOI: 10.4324/9780429341625-10

Discussion and conclusions  233

capitalist systems in past societies. However, substantivism became dogmatic, increasingly incapable of unbiased interpretation of the growing body of data from sites like Birka, Hedeby, and Kaupang, where commerce using silver currencies was prominent from the mid-9th century. Substantivists, dominant in Viking-Age studies from the 1960s into the 2000s, assumed exchange in pre-industrial societies were ‘embedded’ in social relationships, being subject to social control rather than supply and demand, with prices fixed according to social conventions. Thus, gift-exchange was seen as the pre-eminent mode of distribution over merchant-traders. A positive aspect of substantivism was challenging anachronistic transposition of post-industrial economics onto early-medieval societies. Problems arose, however, when substantivists’ view of the Viking Age as ‘Other [became] over-dominant in relation to the formerly widely held idea of it as Same’ (Skre 2008a: 10), a fault compounded by what Skre termed its neo-evolutionist thinking, which linked particular types of exchange with particular stages of socio-economic development: ‘primitive’ ‘chief ly’ societies were almost entirely characterized by the gift and counter-gift, whereas modern society was wholly ­market-orientated. As Skre noted (2008a: 10, 2017: 2), rigid models prevent our understanding of different types of exchange co-existing, presenting market exchange as a marginal phenomenon. At best, the Viking Age was reduced by substantivists to a transitional period between Iron-Age gift-economies and their medieval market successors (cf. Samson 1991c). Unalloyed substantivism was a crude yardstick to measure the dynamism of prehistoric economies, given its desire to understand economic change within the social structures and relations of the particular society in which the economy was ‘embedded’. Equally, the formalist view of economy as an unchanging entity that could be transposed to any earlier society was f lawed, as it too denied the ‘significance of the dynamic power that is inherent in production and consumption as well as in trade’ (Skre 2008a: 10). The failings of both schools have been highlighted in studies centred on Eastern Seaway nodal-markets like those of Gustin (2004a) on Birka and Sindbæk (2005, 2007) on Baltic network exchange. Looking from Kaupang, and what is now southern Norway more generally, Skre suggested Viking-Age Scandinavian societies produced goods specifically for trade and used silver as commodity-money to facilitate this. Moreover, prices were likely determined relating to supply and demand ‘together with other economic phenomena which substantivists would characterise as market-economic’ (Skre 2008a: 10; cf. Kilger 2008b: 256–7; Gullbekk 2011). Consequently, a ‘third way’ between the substantivist-formalist dichotomy was developed; one which argued that, even in seemingly primitive societies, trade was natural – even if only a minute part of the everyday economy for the vast majority of society (Skre 2010). It is only with this perspective that Insular Scandinavian markets make sense, both in terms of their material-culture evidence for commerce (even among war-bands), and contemporary written evidence for regular ‘neutral’ exchanges involving Scandinavians, even in the

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9th century (Kruse 2007: 164–5). Ultimately, trade was neither desocialized nor purely economic: as Gustin (2004a: 267) concluded, traders acted not only to exchange goods, but also to achieve ‘fame and honour’; thus, they would socialize with foreign elites while on a visit to ‘trade in special goods for personal profit’. Such a description would fit Ohthere perfectly.

Networks and silver economies I borrowed from Baltic-derived network models to elucidate Insular Scandinavian evidence for trade. I looked at similarities in imported raw commodities and crafting techniques (e.g., of amber, jet, and silk) which suggested that, despite the distances, nodal-markets could be, on the basis of Sindbæk’s small-world model, closely linked. As with post-substantivism, transmission of: (i) market practice (e.g., standardized weights); (ii) crafts (e.g., broad-band arm-rings, copper-alloy brooches, jet bracelets, and ‘Type B’ combs); and (iii) cultural communication (e.g., the cubo-octahedral design element), is seen in terms of a dynamic interaction of conjoined spheres of economy and society. The primary agents are considered to have been long-distance traders and rulers of the networked markets in which the above were learnt and transmitted. Consequently, data was understood in terms of three network areas: trader-networks, nodal markets, and network-kingdoms. To look at trader-networks, I combined Sindbæk’s (2005) actor-­ communications networks with Kilger’s observations (2008a: 242) on dirham distribution, which saw their spread as expressions of regular trade patterns and conventions developed by traders to enhance trust. These emerged from the increasing long-distance trade seen in the first half of the 9th century, but, in turn, began to inf luence that trade. Thus, Viking-Age networks were the result of communications between agents of differing origins (Kilger 2008a: 242). Here, Gustin’s model (2004a) of an Eastern Seaway payment zone and Kilger’s model of dirham acceptance recognized by network traders is relevant: it was these network traders who decided where dirham silver was distributed, with a likely preference for secure/safe nodal markets as the initial point of entry to a region (Kilger 2008a: 246; cf. Sindbæk 2005: 70–98). Thereafter, a combination of literary, hoard, and new site evidence in the form of Ohthere, Rønnvik, and Sandtorg respectively suggested to me that second-tier markets had a vital role in ‘non-urban’ regions. First-tier, or nodal, markets were likely founded by Scandinavian elites for three reasons (Skre 2008d: 353, 354): (i) tolls from long-distance trade; (ii) pre-emption on exotic goods; and (iii) creation/strengthening of the polity as part of network-kingdom structures. Nodal markets probably dominated silver circulation by dint of their facilities (e.g., piloting/convoying, trust-­ establishing mechanisms, and a monopoly on violence) and positioning on exchange routes linking wealthy areas like the Danish Corridor and the Irish Sea Region. Here, due to the (relatively) regular supply of raw materials, industries for the manufacture of nodal-market commodities (particularly

Discussion and conclusions  235

jewellery) were developed within trader-networks (cf. Sindbæk 2005: 94–5; Kilger 2008a: 246). It was principally in nodal markets where a Gewichtsgeldwirtschaft developed in the second quarter of the 9th century off the back of pre-existing market use of commodity-money (most likely using agri/ mari-cultural surplus commodities like grain and fish alongside fabric and furs) and the increase in dirhams. From this, sites like Hedeby, mirrored by Jórvík (Kershaw 2017, 2020), also developed a Münzgeldwirtschaft with imitative and indigenous coinage, likely due to surrounding prestige inf luences. To take Kaupang (active c.800–930/950) as an example, it can be demonstrated that, as with concurrent developments at Hedeby, markets pioneered the use of silver (and hacksilver from c.850) as a medium of exchange decades before the hoard corpus shows hinterland use (Skre 2008d: 351–5; Gullbekk 2014). The simultaneous adoption in sites connected to long-distance trade of standardized weights from c.860 to 870 (including Insular Scandinavia) suggested ‘virtually this entire region became integrated into a single economic zone’ which, building on the market use of other (non-silver) forms of ­commodity-based currency, further facilitated trade (Skre 2008d: 351–2). Before I suggested the same was true for Insular Scandinavia, Skre (2008d: 354–5) demonstrated that frequent, small, transactions in sites like Kaupang and Hedeby drove the acceptance of hacksilver and standardization of weights and (approximate) weight standards. Nodal markets were not only drivers of silver currency (including minting), or the production of aspirational ‘nodal-market’ jewellery, however. Both Gustin and Skre noted the unique social conditions of the urban (and proto-urban, longphort/wintersetle-type) markets: for Gustin (2004a: 268), ‘administered exchange of commodities […] paved the way for the trading actors who were willing and able to pursue trade for profit’; for Skre (2008d: 355), ‘transformative significance’ lay ‘in the opportunities that the loose social networks in the towns, created by long-distance trade and the urban way of life, provided for the growth of economic agency’. While nodal-market rulers were central, the setting-up of these sites on the Eastern Seaway model was designed to further economic opportunities for the traders and craftworkers drawn to them, thus bringing in more wealth via production and tolls. Having been removed from the personal household of the central place, craftworkers were less tied to local elites, leading to increased economic agency as they now had to generate income by marketing their products to local and long-distance traders. While social transactions were intertwined with economic enterprise, regular purchase of subsistence supplies and the sale of products to traders would have created the need for universally accepted currencies – a role often filled by hacksilver (Skre 2008d: 352), but also coin counted by tale (as in interactions with Anglo-Saxons). Into this environment, long-distance traders introduced new commodities which had no socially determined prices, further impressing the value of ‘neutral’ currencies. With the above in mind, network-kingdoms – i.e., polities ‘organised along the sea routes and around strategic centres’ (Blomkvist 2009: 174) –

236  Discussion and conclusions

and their spread from Swedish and Danish prototypes to the Dnieper and Liffey make sense. If one nodal market was good, were two not better? This would be especially so if markets commanding differing exchange routes could be established. Thus, Ívarr and the Uí Ímair could attach Dublin to the network connecting the Irish Sea Region with their (putative) Southern Scandinavian homeland, before attaching York/shire and the more direct access it provided to the Danish Corridor, a region the journeys of Ohthere and Wulfstan suggest was a major economic hub of the western (and eastern) Viking world. To an extent, these structures offer protection of trade routes, traders, and the markets themselves. For the Dublin-Jórvík Uí Ímair network-kingdom as for that of the Novgorod-Kiev Rus’, the primary role of the original dynastic caput (Dublin and Novgorod respectively) seems to have been to ensure military protection of the market node closest to the richest markets (i.e., Jórvík for the eastern Danelaw and the Danish Corridor, and Kyiv for Constantinople) (Smyth 1979: 304). It was this need for protection, however, that suggests a key network-kingdom problem: the Viking Age was permeated by violence. The crisis of the Danish kingdom, which established both Hedeby and Kaupang, in the 850s under pressure from the Franks, could be paralleled with problems faced by the Uí Ímair with Wessex in the late 920s and again in the mid-950s. Where, however, links between Hedeby, Kaupang, and Insular Scandinavia continued under new management, the Anglo-Saxon takeover of York in c.954 seems to have returned the Uí Ímair to a single-hub city-state status; contacts with Scandinavia continued, but focus turned to the Irish Sea Region and blossoming links with Chester and Bristol (Wallace 1987).

Uí Ímair What I think continued links between Hedeby and Kaupang (irrespective of political control) suggest is that, as long as markets were retained within the Scandinavian orbit (from the 960 to 970s York was developing into an ­A nglo-Scandinavian town, albeit with strong Danish presence: Hilberg 2020: 257–8), Silver Route connections persisted. This is probably because it was Scandinavian-to-Scandinavian trader-networks which were the only constant in the Silver Route. Specifically, I argue it was long-distance traders who exercised economic agency by favouring markets offering security and a familiar, Scandinavian, bullion or dual-economy silver exchange environment. Here, silver could be used as weighed or counted currency, the former using metrological equipment linked to a group affiliation also signified by the wearing of distinctive jewellery types. Furthermore, it seems distribution of materials associated with the overarching (Silver Route) network can be better understood by linking Dublin and Jórvík into a network-kingdom structure that fed into similar configurations in the Danish Corridor and beyond. Indeed, distribution maps suggest a ‘funnelling effect’ (likely created by the pull of Uí Ímair markets) of Silver Route material heading west from

Discussion and conclusions  237

Figure 9.1  Cubo-octahedral weights (Courtesy and © Jane Kershaw)

the Baltic through the Danish Corridor, the eastern Danelaw and Jórvík, across the Cuerdale Corridor to Dublin: This being the general rule, there are exceptions, however. The first is the presence of Silver Route materials of the period c.850–960 in Scotland, i.e., outwith the funnel. I think these supposed Scotto-Scandinavian outliers can be explained, though, in that their proximate source can be linked to the ­Dublin-dominated Irish Sea Region, the Jórvík-dominated eastern Danelaw, or both. This suggests rural settlers, like those proposed for the northern Norðweg by Sindbæk (2011: 58–9) and Jämtland by Holm (2017), or tramping-traders linked to second-tier markets (like Pierowall and Sandtorg?), patronized Uí Ímair markets. The second point is that Scotto-Scandinavian contexts represent distribution linked to continuation of the Round-Scotland route between the Danish Corridor and the Irish Sea by nodal-market traders; this may explain distributions of Insular mounts and ringed-pins. Another apparent exception is the spread of material identified by the PAS in rural parts of the eastern Danelaw. I suggest that, on analogy with the influence of the Kaupang-Hedeby market zone on the Norðweg (as seen at Sandtorg), this region could be considered a hinterland of Jórvík, with much of the material entering the Danelaw there before being taken out to ­Anglo-Danish settlements. My work, as Kershaw’s (2020), shows that the Southern Scandinavian economic ‘rule’ was readily adopted within the Danelaw; something perhaps not surprising if one considers some of its settlements, like Cottam (?), the descendants of Danish-style army/market sites. The following map attempts to combine all my Insular Scandinavian data that seems to pertain to an Uí Ímair inf lected Silver Route network. The density of material is notable, although a bias towards eastern English

238  Discussion and conclusions

data (particularly the good metal-detecting conditions of East Anglia) is something to be wary of. Thicker lines indicate the likely main routeways, while thinner ones are suggested secondary routes. Given the relative site concentrations seen above (e.g., amber, silk), I see every justification for highlighting the likely nodal markets of Dublin and Jórvík and the communications and exchange corridors linking them, whether directly across the Cuerdale Corridor, or via routeways through and around Scotland.

Silver and slavery This study’s elephant in the room and its dark matter is slaving, and particularly its link to the inf lux of dirhams into Scandinavia and the value of establishing nodal markets (Skre 2008d: 353), which has recently been the focus of the ‘Dirhams for Slaves’ project. This study sought to understand 9thand 10th-century trade connections between the Islamic world and northern Europe and the contemporary monetization of Scandinavian societies via the dirhams left in its wake, these coins being presumed to have been payment for slaves (; Gruszczyński et al. 2020; Skre 2020: 438). I note here that, further to the saga account of Gilli selling Melkorka in the Danish Corridor, Vita Anskarii author Rimbert purchased slaves in Hedeby in 870 (Steuer 2009: 302). Work is currently being undertaken to find archaeological correlates of the slave trade (e.g., Jankowiak [2012] on the use of hillforts as holding pens), but prima facie models are already quite convincing in suggesting slaves were one of the primary commodities exported from Scandinavia and the Rus’ network-kingdom (Skre 2008d: 354). In particular, Jankowiak (2013, cf. 2020) has stressed links between dirham imports and the supraregional trading of slaves and furs. I agree with Jankowiak (2020: 106, cf. Skre 2020: 438; Gruszczyński et al. 2020), who concluded Viking-Age slaving was ‘the main framework explaining the inf low of dirhams to northern and eastern Europe’. Skre’s proposal that Gotlanders were slavers par excellence, trading slaves bought around the Baltic littoral and using dirhams taken from their sales in eastern Europe (mainly to Islamic merchants?) to pay for them is also intriguing (2020: 443–6). I wonder if, to follow Skre’s language if not his model, the Uí Ímair network-kingdom was led by both slave-takers and slave-traders? This would make sense of Óláfr and Ívarr’s campaigns at Dumbarton and in southern Scotland, which led to their taking 200 ships of captives back to Dublin in 871, presumably where these takers became traders. Smyth (e.g., 1977: 154–68) and Valante (2008: 86–91) suggested longphuirt locations ref lected the desire of founders to raid the most populous areas and then export slaves, efficiently, from the coast: perhaps, on analogy with Jankowiak’s work, from holding pens on the Dublin Bay islands of Ireland’s Eye (ON Írlands Ey) and Dalkey (Dalk Ey) (Smyth 1979: 240). Both Smyth and Valante made, respectively, explicit and implicit comparisons between Dublin and the Irish Sea and Rus’ trading strongholds (i.e., Smyth’s Gardaríki) in their role as slave markets, with Smyth (1979: 298–9) in particular linking winter gathering of slaves in Ireland and Britain with subsequent trading journeys to Jórvík and

Figure 9.2  Danish Corridor and Western Seaway within the Silver Route (author)

Discussion and conclusions  239

240  Discussion and conclusions

the Vestfold in the Spring. For Valante (2008: 87), Irish slaves represented the ‘greatest marketable resource’ from the region, suggesting their disposal under Danish Corridor-style market conditions: ‘After Olaf and Ivar’s arrival [c.851], Dublin at least was intended to be a permanent market-town, modelled on the success at Kaupang, organized and with nobly-born leadership and ties to trade centres abroad’ (Valante 2008: 90). Underlying all of it, I suggest, was slavery, facilitated by markets on the Southern Scandinavian and Baltic model and exchange routes to the Danish Corridor.

The Silver Route What, then, is my Silver Route model, as it pertains to the connections into Insular Scandinavia from Southern Scandinavia and the Baltic in the second half of the 9th and the first half of the 10th centuries? As I have outlined, I believe first-tier markets were established by families with royal power (likely from Frankish, Frisian, and Anglo-Saxon prototypes), being designed to take advantage of robust trader-networks which could survive political change as long as the new management was Scandinavian (or it was held as a going concern). Thus, Kaupang and Hedeby could continue trading after problems with the Danish network-kingdom, but the removal of the Jórvík node forced both Jórvík/York and Dublin into even closer exchange relations with Anglo-Saxons. These first-tier markets were central to the Silver Route, as suggested by the conf luence of written evidence for traders, long-distance imports of raw material used in ‘mass’ production, and their positioning on key land and/or waterborne communications routes. Therefore, Hedeby connected with the Norðweg and Insular Scandinavia via Kaupang (cf. Lebecq 2007: 170) and similar Southern Scandinavian markets, and Jórvík used the North Sea, rivers, and Roman roads to connect to the Irish Sea and Danish Corridor. Some second-tier markets were almost indistinguishable from first-tier examples in their long-distance connections (as appears to be the case for Sandtorg), failing or ending after relatively short periods due to problems like location/environmental change (e.g., silting of rivers) or conf lict. This might explain the apparent transfer of Woodstown’s operations to Waterford. Others however, as perhaps Pierowall and Llanbedrgoch, were likely involved primarily in the secondary circulation of commodities, being – on analogy with Gotland (Carlsson 1991) – most commonly beach markets served by tramping vessels travelling intra-­regionally with only occasional stopovers by long-distance traders. The Silver Route originally took its name from dirhams. Sheehan’s suggestions, however, broadened horizons in linking dirham movement to non-numismatic silver, whether of eastern European or Southern Scandinavian origin. Specifically, I propose the inf lux of this silver package can be related to the seemingly largely Southern Scandinavian Great Army, a group I think responsible for the introduction of standardized weights and a Danish Corridor-style bullion and (urban) coined economy, known in their homeland markets since at least the mid-9th century.

Discussion and conclusions  241

Silver currencies were likely used (alongside pre-existing non-metal commodity-money like grain and cloth) to facilitate transfer of high-value commodities like jewellery (made from amber, jet, silver, and copper-alloy), bone/antler combs, and fabric (e.g., silk). These were ‘nodal-market’ goods popular both within the first-tier markets where they were produced, but also within the second-tier trading sphere which saw non-urban regions like the northern Norðweg and rural areas like Jämtland and Orkney purchase this Silver Route package. Thus, slaves, jet, lead, and accoutrements (the Insular Scandinavian package) were exchanged for amber, glass, silk, and silver (the Eastern Seaway package), with silver serving a dual purpose as commodity and exchange medium. Bi-directional technology-transfer concerning combs, broad-band arm-rings, and ringed-pins followed the money, being passed through the Silver Route initially on a node-to-node pathway. Given most rulers would have stayed within their network-­k ingdoms, supraregional traders were likely the chief mechanism for this. Was this commerce, however? While mindful of caveats – see the continued relevance of Grierson (1959) in Kruse (2007: 163); Lebecq (2007: 172); Müller-Boysen (2007: 180) – I employ a post-substantivist nodal-market network perspective to argue the Silver Route was a largely commercial collective of networks. Using Eastern Seaway analogues, I used the existence of first- and second-tier market sites, silver economies, and long-­d istance trade of commodities – some of which were then manufactured in considerable numbers by professional craftsfolk in markets – to envision the existence of the following in both Seaways: Independent merchant-traders: as Lebecq (2007: 173, 178), I imagine Ohthere as a multi-tasking ‘gentleman, farmer, fisher and trader’, akin to a mid-9th-century Frisian ‘entrepreneur’ from the Miracula sancti Goaris who was ‘master of his ship and his slaves, owner of his cargo, and with [silver] to spend […] in charge of his own ship even in difficult waters’. Individuals like this preferred nodal markets, even with tolls, because of security (e.g., overseen by Birka’s ‘prefectus vici’ royal official) and near-guaranteed demand for their goods which they could sell via a convenient range of network currencies. Trampers and Felagi: beyond individual entrepreneurs seen in ­A nglo-Saxon and Frankish literature, I imagine small companies, perhaps of Braudel’s tramping variety, whose crews were responsible for spreading silver economies to coastal communities. Lebecq (2007: 178) and Müller-Boysen (2007: 182–3) have even suggested a separation of capital and labour with shared ownership ( felagi) and hired crews carrying ‘corporate cargoes’(cf. Kilger 2020b). Economic Dynamism: I agree with Lebecq’s argument (2007: 176) that, ‘from the moment [Scandinavians] were installed in these western territories, they became economic agents, creating or developing port settlements, sometimes genuine towns, minting coins, practicing commerce and creating mercantile contacts. These contacts

242  Discussion and conclusions

included the hinterlands of their new territories as well as the lands of their birth’. I think any observation of Torksey, ARSNY, Llanbedrgoch, and Woodstown in concert should conclude likewise. Lebecq’s model was echoed by Müller-Boysen (2007: 180) who, like Kruse for the Great Army (2007: 164–5), noted 9th-century references to Scandinavians relating to ‘active trade relations’. For Müller-Boysen, Hedeby was an important indicator of the desire of Scandinavian kings to protect traders and, thus, attract them (alongside their goods and tolls) to their trade-based kingdoms. That the earliest sources noted rulers’ interest in trade suggested the 9th century saw Scandinavian rulers realize the wealth- and gift-­generating potential of entering into a symbiosis with traders who got protection in return for tolls (Müller-Boysen 2007: 181). Here, Sheehan’s suggestions for Ívarr having economic and political ‘vision’ in his Western Seaway activities (pers. comm.; cf. 2011: 98–9) and the Vikings in Frankia (Cooijmans 2020: 4) can be matched by Müller-Boysen (2015: 210), whose Scandinavian elites displayed engaged ‘economic policies’ and protected traders. While Müller-Boysen and Lebecq’s formalist language and reliance on written and runic evidence (some of which is late) are contentious, it seems likely independent ‘professional merchants’ like Ohthere were a ‘typical part of the scene at that time [where] expeditions were regularly mounted and trade connections maintained’ (Müller-Boysen 2007: 183). Moreover, the idea of ship ‘companies’, operated by extended families between a Pierowall-type site and Uí Ímair hubs, seems credible. Lebecq (2007: 177) noted the Danes’ re-­ establishment of Jórvík led to an increase in the volume of silver, leading to the establishment of a mint. Moreover, Lebecq viewed Dublin as the ‘kingdom dedicated to exchange with the hinterland and with overseas’, with his avant la lettre nodal network-kingdom importing ‘Baltic amber, northern walrus ivory [and] oriental silk’ (2007: 177). With the perspective an Eastern Seaway-based study can provide, Lebecq (2007: 177–8) suggested Jórvík and Dublin demonstrated that, after their violence had disrupted it, Scandinavians ‘contributed towards the reactivation of manufacture and commerce in Northern Europe’. Mercantile actions of Scandinavians in these towns linked Ireland, then Britain, into a wider exchange and communications network, with Lebecq (2007: 178) also noting, as Smyth (1979: 297–313), that this Western ­proto-urban commercial focus was mirrored in the foundation by the Rus’ of their Gardaríki trading strongholds. Lebecq’s (2007: 178–9) model, influenced by McCormick and Bolin, argued the evidence pointed towards Scandinavia being the ‘automatic intermediary’ between East and West, concluding ‘it was no doubt by the Russian river system and the Baltic that the eastern silks […] reached the Dublin market’. As my chronology suggests, however, these links had 9th-century roots.

Discussion and conclusions  243

The Silver Route chronology centres on an Uí Ímair Age (c.850s–950s), but acknowledges the period c.800–850 in which routeways between the Danish Corridor and Irish Sea were established by Danish Corridor raiders and settlers (Skre 2015). Steuer (2009) noted Wulfstan’s journey was undertaken at a time (c.870–890) of major change to the organization and structure of trade. Linked to the inf lux (and periodic dearth) of dirham imports, and a new type of Scandinavian market established in regions connected by the Silver Route, the decades after 860 saw new methods of payment and monetary systems established. Being more quotidian exchange and production sites than existing central places, Eastern Seaway nodal markets created conditions for currency systems that could deal with high-frequency transactions between relative strangers, and it was in these sites that hacksilver became the pre-eminent currency for network trade from the mid-9th century. With these sites as their model, longphuirt and winter-camps adapted their functional elements for Insular Scandinavia.

c.800–840/850 – Raiding, migration, and slaving connections between Danish Corridor and Irish Sea Region established on a Round-­Scotland route (Skre 2011a, 2011b, 2015). End of this phase sees establishment of longphuirt c.853–866/867 – Dublin longphort taken over by Southern Scandinavians. Taking of York leads to creation of a network-kingdom based on funnelling trade via Jórvík and Dublin c.866/867–954 – On/off control of Jórvík by Uí Ímair. Aethelstan’s rule of York c.927–939 likely necessitated Scandinavian reinvigoration of Round- and Through-Scotland routes c.954–960? – Death in 954 of Eiríkr ended the Insular Scandinavian floruit of the Silver Route as Jórvík is removed from the Uí Ímair network-kingdom. ‘New’ dirhams cease to enter England and Ireland, with the latest (c.945/946) deposited in Skaill (c.955–980)

It seems increasingly clear that re-evaluation of existing Insular models and chronologies in view of sites like Kaupang, Heimdalsjordet, Birka, Hedeby, and now Sandtorg can provide a robust interpretative framework through which I and others can assess a range of Insular Scandinavian market data. While transposing models from one region to another is not without problems, parallels between the datasets relating to trade and exchange indicate market network connections between the Seaways, an impression strengthened by the development of the Uí Ímair polity into what Blomkvist would surely recognize as an archetypal network-kingdom. Moreover, evolving from longphuirt and winter-camps, the growth of Dublin and Jórvík also speaks to an appreciation of Sindbæk’s Scandinavian-style nodal markets.

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Index

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables and italic page numbers refer to figures. Abbasid dirhams 56, 60 Abbasid/Samanid shift 62–63; in Insular Scandinavia 62 actor-networks: and network-actors 110–112; and Silver Route payment zone 184–185 Adamczyk, D. 57, 103 Åhfeldt, L. 179 Alfred the Great 7, 100 amber 20, 31–32, 41, 195–198; beads 196; concentrations, Insular Scandinavia 196, 197; in the Eastern Seaway 219; in Scandinavian Scotland 197–198; ‘Wulfstan mechanism’ for transport of 133 anchor-shaped weights 208, 208–209 Anglo-Saxon coins 62, 83, 155, 167, 227 Anglo-Saxon literature 86–87; market trade in 86–87 Anglo-Saxon Münzgeldwirtschaft 18, 53, 77, 143, 156 Annals of Ulster (AU) 14, 26 anthropology: economic 22–25, 115–135; social 126; and unalloyed substantivism 122 ‘applied post-substantivism’ 130 Arbman, H. 131 archaeological and historical evidence 52–89; Abbasid-Samanid shift 62–63; contemporary and later written sources for market trade 85–89; Danelaw caveat 52–53; dirham influx 53–55; dirham networks 63–64; dirhams in Insular Scandinavia 67–72; dirhams in Scotland 82–85; dirhams in Southern Scandinavia 64–67; dirhams in Wales and Ireland 80–82; early

Scandinavian ‘dirham networks’ 55–60; Samanid dirham phase, c.905–960 60–61; Scandinavian England 72–80 arm-rings: ‘broad-band’ 27, 36–37, 39, 94, 100, 149, 153, 156, 163, 193, 203–204, 218, 220, 224–226, 231, 241; Danish 205; Danish ‘prototype’ broadband 78, 94, 204, 227; Gotlandic 184; Gotlandic type cast-band 70; Hiberno-Scandinavian 205; HibernoScandinavian broad-band 25, 51, 53, 64, 140, 151, 156, 160, 163–164, 169, 183; jet/shale 216; Permian-style 125 Baltic network-traders 38 Baltic Scandinavian bullion economy 227 Baltic Scandinavian ‘dirham network’ 56 Baltic Scandinavian market environments 4 Barrett, J. 46, 48–49, 85, 92, 127, 134, 161, 165–166, 231 Batey, C. 50, 84, 162–163, 165, 187 Between Gift and Market (Gustin) 131 bi-directional networks 200–209; anchorshaped weights 208–209; broad-band arm-rings 203–204; ‘Insular mount’ weights 204–208; ringed-pins 200–203 Bill, J. 109–110 Blackburn, M. 18–19, 49–50, 55, 63, 75, 79, 81–84, 110, 142–143, 146–150, 160–161, 223, 226, 228 Blomkvist, N. 24, 30, 43, 45, 86–87, 90, 101, 104, 106, 116, 120, 139, 141, 244; ‘network-kingdoms’ 102–105 Bolin, S. 22, 92, 242; Mohammed, Charlemagne, and Ruric 115–116 Braudel, F. 48, 87, 98, 101, 113, 241

288 Index broad-band arm-ring fragment 37 ‘broad-band’ arm-rings 27, 36–37, 39, 94, 100, 149, 153, 156, 163, 193, 203–204, 218, 220, 224–226, 231, 241 broad-band networks 35–40 Brooks, N. 37, 78 bulky and/or perishable commodity money 130 bullion: ‘an international medium of exchange’ 145; ‘cultural marker’ 145; ‘easy to test, retains its value’ 145; ‘large scale transactions’ 145; ‘tax evasion’ 145 bullion (metal-weight) economies 2 bullion economy: Baltic Scandinavian 227; in the Danelaw 18–19; and English single-finds 76; Great Army 85; hacksilver 63; hacksilver-based silver 149; Hiberno-Scandinavian 45; Insular Scandinavian 14, 24; Insular Scandinavian silver 136; mixed 146; multi-metallic 3; Southern Scandinavian-style 164, 168, 227, 229; Yorkshire’s 77, 147 bullion in England 143–149 bullion networks, Great Army 75–78 bullion use, end of 147–149 Callmer, J. 64, 105, 109–111 case studies 210–231; Hedeby 210–214; Pierowall, Cuerdale Corridor, and Round-Scotland routes 229–231; Sandtorg i Tjeldsund (Troms) 220–221; Torksey 225–228; understanding Jórvík via Torksey 228–229;Vestfold 214–220; Woodstown longphort 221–225 Celtic Scandinavia 149 Central-Place Theory 92 Chronicle of Aethelweard 211 chronological and geographical parameters 10–13 chronological patterns, repeating 209 Clarke, H. 40, 47, 159, 230 coastal trade 155–156 coastal trampers 113 Codex Aureus 122 coins: Anglo-Saxon 62, 83, 155, 167, 227; from Danelaw mints 73 Collins, Bornholdt 152 Commerce in the Dark Ages (Grierson) 116 commodity money: bulky and/or perishable 130; eastern beads as 215; high-quality 20; metallic 4, 38; nonmetallic 3, 6, 9, 126, 241; non-silver 128; pre-Viking-Age 129

comparative approach: market economics 20–22 Corpus of Early-Medieval Coin Finds (EMC) 73 Croydon silver links to Southern Scandinavia 78–79 cubo-octahedral weights 21, 175–178, 176, 237 Cuerdale Corridor 12–13, 30, 35–37, 43–45, 51, 69, 72, 75, 85, 98, 150, 158, 163, 165–166, 187–188, 192, 195, 200, 204, 207, 209, 211, 229–231; hoards 70; as regularized Uí Ímair routeway 37; Roman roads towards Dublin 20 Cuerdale silver dirham-hoard 12 Dalton, G. 118 Danelaw: Bullion economy in 18–19; c.866–954 144; caveat 52–53; Insular Scandinavian Thor’s-hammer distribution 194; silver links to Southern Scandinavia 78–79 Danish arm-rings 205 Danish Corridor: within the Silver Route 239; and Southern Scandinavia 12 Danish ‘prototype’ broad-band arm-rings 78, 94, 204, 227 Dark Age Economics (Hodges) 23 ‘dark foreigners’ (Dubgaill) 14 dirham-hoards: tpq 790–925 57; tpq 825–860 58; tpq 860–890 59 dirham-influenced metrology 75 dirham influx (initial phases) 53–55 dirham networks 63–64, 147–149; early Scandinavian 55–60 dirhams (coins) 2, 169–209; Abbasid 56, 60; actor-networks and Silver Route payment zone 184–185; bi-directional networks 200–209; distribution 54; fragments 21; hacksilver, ‘Swedish/ Islamic’ metrology, and weights 170– 173; highly mobile jewellery 185–195; hoards with 189; hoards with at least five 66; imprints of a market network 209; in Insular Scandinavia 67–72; network-trader group affiliation 181–184; non-metallic package 195–200; non-numismatic evidence 169–209; repeating chronological and spatial patterns 209; Scandinavian 65; in Scotland 82–85; and the ‘Silver Route’ 20; sites with high numbers of 66; in Southern Scandinavia 64–67;

Index  289 standardized weights 173–181; in Wales and Ireland 80–82 Downham, C. 11, 14, 16–17, 24, 27–30, 45–46, 203 Dublin: early Viking-Age settlers in 16; economy 152–153; high-value imports in 21; and ‘interlocking exchange zones’ 12; and Jórvík 26–30, 34–35; Laithlinn/Laithlind and Southern Scandinavians in 14; network nodes at 4; southern Scandinavian involvement in 8; stratified single-finds 152; 10th-century trading partners 34 early bullion traders: ambiguous evidence for 161–162 early Scandinavian ‘dirham networks’ 55–60; 800s–830s 56; 830s–860s 56–60 Eastern Seaway 12; showing potential network-kingdoms 9; single-find dirhams 174 Eastern Seaway-style design 173 Eastern Seaway-type balances 174, 174, 178 economic agency and traders 110–112 economic anthropology 22–25; Insular Scandinavian 232–234; and ‘postsubstantivism’ 22–25; and Viking-Age Scandinavia 115–135 Economic Dynamism 241–242 England: bullion in 143–149; dirham networks 147–149; and end of bullion use 147–149; Scandinavian 72–80; single-finds 147–149; start of the multi-metallic economy 145–147 English hoards 74 English single-finds 74 exchange: ‘social turn’ and intersecting spheres of 126–128; understanding, from formalism to substantivism 117–119 Fanning, T. 34, 106, 192, 200, 202–203 filigree beads 189–192; Insular Scandinavia 191 formalism 23, 134; sub-capitalist markets 126; and substantivism 117–119 ‘frequency distribution’ of provenanced broad-band arm-rings 39 geography, transport 96–97 The Gift (Mauss) 119 Gooch, M. 13, 72

Gotland 12, 20, 38, 43, 47–50, 54–67, 55, 69–70, 103, 108–109, 111, 136, 138–139, 142, 159, 175–176, 179, 182, 184–185, 189–190, 192, 200, 211–213, 218, 221–222, 230, 240 Gotlandic arm-rings 184 Gotlandic type cast-band arm-rings 70 Graham-Campbell, J. 30, 33, 37, 47, 50, 78, 84, 157, 162–163, 165, 187 Great Army: bullion economy 85; bullion networks 75–78; and economic links to Southern Scandinavia 7–10; wintercamps 2 Grierson, P. 116–117, 120–124, 139, 241; Commerce in the Dark Ages 116 Grierson’s caveat 116–117 Griffiths, D. 155–156, 167 group affiliation, market-based 105–109 Gußkuchen ingot 188 Gustin, I. 10, 23, 35, 38, 106, 108, 111, 131–133, 141, 175, 181–182, 184–185, 204, 233–235; Between Gift and Market 131 hacksilver 2, 170–173; -based silver bullion economy 149; bullion economy 63 Hall, R. 40–42, 77, 200 Hårdh, B. 140, 142 Hávamál 119, 122 Heckett, E. 198–200 Hedeby 2–4, 6, 9, 16, 18–19, 21–22, 27, 34, 41–43, 53, 61, 87–88, 94–96, 99, 102, 108, 111, 120, 130, 132, 136–137, 140–146, 158–159, 175, 178, 181, 192, 196, 198, 200, 202, 208, 210–214 Heimdalsjordet 214–215 Heimskringla 89 Hiberno-Scandinavian 28, 34, 45, 149–151, 156–157, 200, 203, 224; armrings 205; bullion economy 45; silverworking and Southern Scandinavia 150–152 Hiberno-Scandinavian broad-band armrings 25, 51, 53, 64, 140, 151, 156, 160, 163–164, 169, 183 highly mobile jewellery 185–195; Filigree beads 189–192; ‘Permian’ spiral-rings 185–189; Thor’s hammers 192–195 Hilberg,V. 211–214, 236 hoards: and assemblages with Baltic/ Southern Scandinavian material 189; containing early Samanid dirhams 60; containing late Abbasid dirhams

290 Index 60; with dirhams 189; English 74; with at least five dirhams 66; problem with 142; silver economies 142; Skaill 166–167;Vale of York 190 Hodges, Richard: Dark Age Economics 23 Holm, O. 10, 17, 48, 114, 134–135, 237 imported and adapted silver economies 18 independent merchant-traders 241 ingots and markets 163–166 Insular dirham-hoards 68 ‘Insular mount’ weights 204–208, 207; Risby, Suffolk 206 Insular Scandinavia: Abbasid/Samanid shift in 62; amber concentrations 196, 197; bullion economy 14, 24; currency 143; Danish ‘prototype’ broad-band arm-rings 204; dirhams in 67–72; economic anthropology 232–234; Filigree beads 191; ‘frequency distribution’ of provenanced broadband arm-rings in 39; knobbed penannular brooches 182, 183; period from 900 to 930 70–72; pin-andchain arrangements 190; silk 198, 199; silver bullion economy 136; silver economies 143; spiral-rings 187, 188; Thor’s-hammer distribution 194; Thor’s-hammer pendants 193; truncated-sphere (oblate-spheroid) distribution 180; ‘Type 3’ balances 173, 173 Ireland: dirhams in 80–82; Scandinavian 149–154; Southern Scandinavia and Silver Route to 35–40;Viking kingdom of Ireland and Britain 30–35; ‘Viking ounce(s)’ in 153–154 Irish dirham-hoards 81 Irish Sea Region 155–158; Llanbedrgoch 156–158; market commerce and coastal trade 155–156 Irish single-finds 82 Islamic metrology 141, 170–173 Ívarr 5, 7, 11, 38, 45, 77–78, 85, 87, 94, 101, 104, 136, 140, 151, 164–165, 196, 200, 203, 211, 218, 229, 232, 236, 242; death of 15; economic and political strategies of 90; family 29; and Óláfr (OI: Amlaíb Conung) 14–17; politicaleconomic plans of 124; Smyth on 27 Jämtland 85, 99, 114, 127, 135, 137–138, 159, 163, 168, 220, 231, 237, 241

Jankowiak, M. 55, 57, 60, 238 Jankuhn, H. 92 jet/shale arm-rings 216 Jórvík (York): and Dublin 26–30, 34–35; and network trade 40–43 Kalmring, S. 99 Kaupang 4, 8, 9, 16, 93–94, 104, 215–220; Danish foundations at 34; Kaupang-Hedeby axis 17; Southern Scandinavian trading centres of 22; trading connections 217 Kershaw, J. 2, 6, 18, 19, 38, 41, 50, 52–53, 63, 67, 69, 72, 76, 79–80, 104, 108, 138–139, 143, 145–149, 152, 179, 204, 225 Kilger, C. 10, 55–56, 59, 62–63, 68, 78, 97, 106, 109–112, 115, 118–119, 124, 132–133, 175, 184 knobbed penannular brooches 182, 183 Krokmyrdal, T.-K. 22, 120, 135, 170, 198, 220–221, 230 Kruse, A. 10, 23, 46, 48, 86–88, 95, 119, 121, 125, 127, 132–133, 139–141, 155, 162, 164–166, 198, 204, 208, 242 ‘kufic (script)’ coins 20, 53 Laithlinn/Laithlind and Southern Scandinavians in Dublin 14 Lamb, R. 46–47 late single-finds and Silver Route economies 79–80 Laxdæla saga 88, 120 Lebecq, S. 105–106, 120, 133, 211, 241–242 Llanbedrgoch (Anglesey) 26, 37, 69, 80, 94, 100, 151, 156–158, 187–188, 206, 222–223, 240 long-distance trade 6 longphuirt (longphort) 2, 4, 6, 11, 22, 28, 33–35, 43, 51, 78, 91, 99, 111, 130, 152, 155–156, 206, 220, 224–225, 230, 238, 243 MacLeod, M. 42–43, 68, 104, 119, 136 Malinowski, B. 118, 122 Margaryan, A. 168 ‘maritimity’ 45, 97–98 market commerce and coastal trade 155–156 market economics: bullion economy in Danelaw 18–19; chronological and geographical parameters 10–13; comparative approach 20–22; dirhams and ‘Silver Route’ 20; economic

Index  291 anthropology and ‘post-substantivism’ 22–25; Great Army and economic links to Southern Scandinavia 7–10; historical background 14; imported and adapted silver economies 18; Laithlinn/Laithlind and Southern Scandinavians in Dublin 14; Óláfr (OI: Amlaíb Conung) and Ívarr (OI: Ímar) 14–18; overview 6–7; in Viking-Age Britain 6–25; in Viking-Age Ireland 6–25 market exchange 91 market network 99–102; imprints of 209; second-tier markets and their network roles 99–102 markets: -based group affiliation 105–109; and ingots 163–166; post-substantivism and ubiquity of 128–129; secondtier 99–102; trade in rural regions 134–135; urban and rural co-existence of 113–114 market-site dynamics and nodal networks 129–132 market trade: in Anglo-Saxon literature 86–87; contemporary sources for 85–89; later written sources for 85–89 market traders,Vikings as 124–126 material culture: mechanisms for distribution of 90–91; modes for distribution of 90–91 Mauss, M. 118–119, 122, 123; The Gift 119 McCormick, M. 12, 64, 92, 134, 242 McCullough, D. 98 mechanisms for distribution of material culture 90–91 Merkel, S. 18, 140, 170, 171, 185, 211–212 metallic commodity money 4, 38 metal purity tests 164 metrology: ambiguous role of 44; dirham-influenced 75; Islamic 141, 170–173; Swedish/Islamic 170–173 Miracula sancti Goaris 241 mixed bullion economy 146 modes for distribution of material culture 90–91 Mohammed, Charlemagne, and Ruric (Bolin) 115–116 monetization and silver 137–140 Morris, C. 44, 166–167, 231 Müller-Boysen, C. 106, 120, 133, 242 multi-metallic bullion economy 3: England 145–147; start of 145–147

Naismith, R. 72, 79–80, 82, 147 network-actors 110–112 network agents and market-based group affiliation 105–109 network-kingdoms 102–105; Eastern and Western Seaways showing potential 9; and the West 104–105 networks: broad-band 35–40; dirham 63–64, 147–149; and second-tier markets 99–102; and silver economies 234–236 network trade: Jórvík and 40–43; routes 4 network-trader: aggregation of 108; Baltic 38; group affiliation 181–184; in the Isle of Man 155 network vessels and safer sailing 109–110 nodal islands 47–49 nodal-market network theories 21 nodal networks: arguments 93; and market-site dynamics 129–132; smallworld 184; weak nature of 148 nodal positioning and silver economies 49–51 nodal traders 113 non-market: urban and rural co-existence of 113–114 non-metallic commodities: amber 195–198; silk 198–200; money 3, 6, 9, 126, 241 non-metallic package 195–200 non-numismatic evidence 169–209 non-silver commodity money 128 Norðweg 11–12, 17, 30, 35, 47, 64–65, 67, 87, 94–97, 100–101, 104, 122, 127, 137, 149, 152, 156, 158–159, 170, 197–198, 214, 219–221, 224–225, 228, 231, 237, 240–241 Northern European cubo-octahedral weight distribution 177 numismatic single-finds 167–168 oblate-spheroid weights 21, 178–181, 179 Ohthere model 87–88; and the postsubstantivist shift 132–134 Óláfr 5, 11, 14–18, 27, 30, 45, 79, 85, 90, 101, 104, 136, 151, 168, 196, 200, 229, 238 Owen, O. 46, 47, 110, 166–167, 197, 230 payment (weight) standards 140–141 ‘Permian’ spiral-rings 185–189 Permian-style arm-rings 125 Pierowall: and the Cuerdale Corridor 229–231; and Round-Scotland routes 229–231

292 Index pin-and-chain: arrangements 190; distribution 191 Pirenne, H. 92, 116 Polanyi, K. 118, 122–124, 126, 128, 133–134 Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) 19, 73 portable balances/scales 171–173 post-substantivism 115, 124–126; and economic anthropology 22–25; and the ubiquity of markets 128–129 post-substantivist shift 132–134 pre-Viking-Age commodity money 129 reciprocity 90–91 redistribution 90–91 Redknap, M. 156–157 Richards, J. 41, 42, 53, 228 Rimbert 238; Vita Anskarii 96, 109–110, 211 ringed-pins 200–203, 203; from 10th-century Waterford 201 ‘ring-money’ 50 Rögnvaldr (918–921) 28 ‘routinization’ and transport geography 96–97 rural colonists 113 rural regions and market trade 134–135 safer sailing 109–110 sagas 88–89 sailing, safer 109–110 Samanid dirham 3; phase, c.905–960 60–61 Samson, R. 23, 86–87, 115–118, 120– 124, 125, 127, 134 The Samson school 121–124 Sandtorg i Tjeldsund (Troms) 220–221 Scandinavia: economically influential regions in homeland 3; trade models derived from 91–99 Scandinavian dirhams 65 Scandinavian England 72–80; Croydon silver links to Southern Scandinavia 78–79; early Danelaw silver links to Southern Scandinavia 78–79; Great Army bullion networks 75–78; late single-finds and Silver Route economies 79–80 Scandinavian Ireland 149–154; HibernoScandinavian silver-working and Southern Scandinavia 150–152; trading places and weight standards 152–153; ‘Viking ounce(s)’ in Ireland 153–154 Scandinavian Scotland 43–51, 158–167; ambiguous evidence for early bullion

traders 161–162; Graham-Campbell and Batey model 162–163; ingots and markets 163–166; nodal islands 47–49; nodal positioning and silver economies 49–51; Skaill hoard 166–167 Scotland: dirhams in 82–85; Scandinavian 43–51, 158–167; Storr Rock and Skaill dirham hoards 83–85 Scottish dirham-hoards 83 Scotto-Scandinavian Laithlind 168 Scotto-Scandinavian ‘ring-money’ 50 sea-kings 30 second-tier markets and network roles 99–102 Seland, E. 43 Sheehan, J. 25, 33, 35–38, 40, 50, 67, 68, 70, 80, 120–121, 125, 150, 152, 155, 169, 183–185, 188, 212, 220, 223–225, 232, 242 Sigtryggr (921–927) 28 silk 198–200; Insular Scandinavia 198, 199 silver: and monetization 137–140; and slavery 238–240 silver economies 136–168; bullion in England 143–149; Celtic Scandinavia 149; imported and adapted 18; Insular Scandinavian silver economies 143; Jämtland and Sandtorg 168; networks and 234–236; new Scandinavian perspectives 168; nodal positioning and 49–51; Numismatic single-finds 167–168; payment (weight) standards 140–141; problem with hoards 142; Scandinavian Ireland 149–154; Scandinavian Scotland 158–167; silver and monetization 137–140; Wales and the Irish Sea Region 155–158 Silver Route 240–244; Danish Corridor and Western Seaway within 239; and dirhams 20; to Ireland 35–40; and late single-finds 79–80;Viking networks 112–113 Silver Route payment zone: actornetworks and 184–185 Sindbæk, S. 17, 22, 24, 40, 43, 90, 92–93, 96–102, 106, 108, 110–115, 124–125, 129, 133–135, 137, 141, 148–149, 152, 158, 163, 165, 170, 197–198, 211, 220, 231, 233–235, 244; ‘small worlds’ 93–96 single-find coins 50 single-find dirhams 178 single-finds 147–149; English 74

Index  293 Skaill hoard 166–167 Skáldaspillir, Eyvind 89 Skre, D. 10–11, 23–24, 30, 35–36, 46, 68, 77, 95, 105, 117, 120, 122–124, 127–128, 131–133, 137, 215–216, 218–219, 224–225, 229, 233, 235, 238 slavery and silver 238–240 small-world nodal networks 184 ‘small worlds’ 93–96 Smyth, A. 10, 16, 24, 27–28, 30, 45, 104, 232, 238, 242 social anthropology 126 ‘social turn’ and intersecting spheres of exchange 126–128 sources for market trade 85–89 Southern Scandinavia: Croydon and early Danelaw silver links to 78–79; Danish Corridor 13; dirhams in 64–67; Great Army and economic links to 7–10; Hiberno-Scandinavian silver-working and 150–152; and Silver Route to Ireland 35–40 Southern Scandinavian-style bullion economy 164, 168, 227, 229 spatial patterns, repeating 209 ‘special economic zones’ 99 ‘specialised travellers’ 99 spiral-rings 187, 188 standardisation 21, 54, 64, 75–76, 107–108, 170–171, 173–181 standardized weights 21, 54, 64, 75–76, 107–108, 170–171, 173–181, 178; cubo-octahedral weights 175–178; oblate-spheroid weights (truncatedspheres) 178–181 Steinforth, D. 14–17 Steuer, H. 18–20, 107, 140, 172, 181, 243 Storr Rock and Skaill dirham hoards 83–85 substantivism 124–126; and formalism 117–119; ‘social turn’ and intersecting spheres of exchange 126–128; understanding exchange from formalism to 117–119; and understanding Viking-Age exchange 119–120 ‘Swedish/Islamic’ metrology 170–173 ‘thalassocracies’ 45 Thor’s hammers 192–195; distribution 194; pendants 193 Torksey 4–5, 7, 20, 22, 24–24, 37, 52–53, 59, 61, 63, 68–69, 72, 75–78, 86, 94, 138, 146, 151–153, 157, 175–176,

179–181, 186–187, 192–193, 203, 206, 222–223, 225–228 trade and exchange 8, 40, 118, 200, 220, 244 trade models: derived from Scandinavia and value for Viking west 91–99; Kalmring’s ‘special economic zones’ 99; ‘routinization’ and transport geography 96–97; Sindbæk’s ‘small worlds’ 93–96; and value for the Viking west 91–99; Westerdahl’s ‘maritimity’ and ‘transport zones’ 97–98 traders and economic agency 110–112 trading places: Scandinavian Ireland 152– 153; and weight standards 152–153 transport geography 96–97; ‘routinization’ and 96–97 ‘transport zones’ 97–98 trust and weights 107–109 ‘Type 3’ balances, Insular Scandinavia 173, 173 Uí Ímair (descendants of Ívarr) 1, 236–238 Ulriksen, J. 97, 101, 109, 113, 230 unalloyed substantivism 233 Valante, M. 16, 24, 33–36, 196, 200, 224, 238, 240 Vale of York hoard 190 Vestergaard, E. 123 Vestfold 214–220; Heimdalsjordet 214–215; Kaupang 215–220 Viking-Age: chronology 11; economics 3; exchange studies 123; graves 167 Viking-Age Britain, market economics in 6–25 Viking-Age exchange networks 90–91: market-centric perspectives on 117–118; substantivism and problems for understanding 119–120 Viking-Age Ireland, market economics in 6–25 Viking-Age Scandinavia: economic anthropology and 115–135; exchange from formalism to substantivism 117–119; Grierson and Samson 120–124; Grierson’s caveat 116–117; market trade in rural regions 134–135; nodal networks and market-site dynamics 129–132; Ohthere and post-substantivist shift 132–134; post-substantivism 124–126; postsubstantivism and ubiquity of markets 128–129; ‘social turn’ and intersecting

294 Index spheres of exchange 126–128; societies 233; substantivism 124–126, 126–128; Viking-Age exchange 119–120; Vikings as market traders 124–126; Viking traders 120–124 Viking-Age Scotland 44 Viking-Age Swedish burials 192 Viking and Anglo-Saxon Landscape and Economy (VASLE) project 67 ‘Viking box and scales’ 172 Viking kingdom 26–51; broad-band networks 35–40; Dublin and Jórvík 26–30; Irish perspectives 30–35; Jórvík and network trade 40–43; Scandinavian Scotland 43–51; seakings 30; Southern Scandinavia and Silver Route to Ireland 35–40 Viking networks 90–114; actor-networks and network-actors 110–112; Blomkvist’s ‘network-kingdoms’ 102–105; market network model 99–102; mechanisms for distribution of material culture 90–91; modes for distribution of material culture 90–91; network agents and market-based group affiliation 105–109; network vessels and safer sailing 109–110; Silver Route model 112–113; trade models from Scandinavia and value for Viking west 91–99; traders and economic agency 110–112; urban and rural co-existence of market and nonmarket 113–114 ‘Viking ounce(s)’ in Ireland 153–154 Vikings: as market traders 124–126; from substantivism to post-substantivism 124–126

Viking traders: doubts about 120–124; The Samson school 121–124 Vita Anskarii (Rimbert) 96, 109–110, 211 Wales 155–158; dirhams in 80–82 Wallace, P. 31–35, 140, 150, 152–154, 180, 196, 202, 208, 214, 223, 225 weights 170–173; anchor-shaped 208–209; ‘Insular mount’ 204–208; trust and 107–109 weight standards, Scandinavian Ireland 152–153 West and network-kingdoms 104–105 Westerdahl, C. 45, 98, 100; ‘maritimity’ and ‘transport zones’ 97–98 Western Seaway: cubo-octahedral weight distribution 177; with Cuerdale Corridor 13; dirham-hoards and single-finds 71; Insular Scandinavia 12; showing potential network-kingdoms 9; within the Silver Route 239 Williams, G. 5, 13, 15, 30, 55, 75, 125–126, 138–141, 148, 162, 167, 192, 204, 228–229 Wilson, D. 44, 46, 168 Woods, A. 226–227 Woodstown: economic material 223; longphort 221–225; silver assemblage 222 Wulfstan-type routes 96 Yorkshire: ‘A Riverine Site Near York’ (ARSNY) 4–5, 7, 10, 22, 24, 52, 69, 75–78, 86, 138, 146, 161, 175–176, 180, 222, 225–228, 232; bullion economy 77, 147 Zachrisson, T. 103